#I tried to do filters and make this one smoother and

[distantsonata]

#i don't know who this woman is #but she has stepped into my home #and I want her to step on me #yes #you may #you may have the honor of fucking killing me #I'm done giffing for tonight lmao #I tried to do filters and make this one smoother and #PROGRESS #are u proud of me giffers #are you #is that a derogatory term #if someone called me a giffer I'd #cry #Spy X Family #Anime #Gifs #My gifs #I ever put a lil watermark on there :) #thorn princess #briar #yor forger #sorry if I tagged things wrong #I'm literally at this part of the show lmao #I saw it and was like #GIFFING IT #yor #SXF #spy x family gifs #yor gifs

[angelsworks]

Happy Birthday Klaus Mikaelson x Pinkie Pie! Reader

Type: Challenge One shot

Challenge Masterlist -> Here

Summary: You celebrate Klaus’ birthday, much to his displeasure.

Warnings: Nothing really , mentions of violence

If you could do anything for anyone it would be making them feel special. In a world practically bursting with people, it’s easy for some to fall through the cracks. Into the lonely abyss of forgotten. While you enjoy time to yourself, sometimes it’s too much.

The feeling of not being connected to anyone had deeply upset you since you were young. Maybe it was friends never trying with your relationship, or busy parents or teachers never bothering to learn your name because of your quiet nature. All of it combined really brought you down.

Until it didn’t and it instead pissed you off. You channeled how you felt to become more sociable in high school, using it as your chance to start again. You spoke with everyone no matter the clique or social status. Determined that no one in your reach would feel like you.

Naturally this filtered into celebrating birthdays. Whether it was bringing in presents or cards to any and everyone you’d spoken to. People in your class, in your after school groups, on your street. By sophomore year you’d cemented your position as the peppy party planner who was always the life of the party.

You’d kept that up all the way till senior year. Happy to make others happy. You kept a list of everyone birthday. Always staying on top of them. So why did everyone expect you to exclude Klaus Mikaelson from your list?

“I just don’t get it, how do you even know his birthday?” Caroline asked, before stabbing a piece of cake on her paper plate.

You smile as you pack away some blue solo cups, “I know everyone’s birthday.”

The blonde gives you a questioning look.

You laugh, “Maybe I’ve got some Bennet blood in my veins and I’m psychic.” You muse.

Caroline rolls her eyes, “When you can light candles with your mind let me know.”

“If I could, I still wouldn’t be able to put enough candles on Klaus’ cake.” The party had been for one of the girls in your art class. She’d asked if you’d help make it a memorable birthday and you could do nothing but deliver.

“I just don’t know if it’s a good idea. There’s all that stuff that happened with him and what if he like, I dunno, kills you?”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes at your friend. “That was ages ago. Now him and Elena are practically on speaking terms. Rebekah had no problem when I brought her a cake.”

Caroline chokes on the freshly frosted piece of blue birthday cake. One you’d made especially for Emily. From the rest of the decorations and the dress code, anyone could tell that was her favourite colour.

“Rebekah Mikaelson? She’s crazy. The amount of times she’s tried to kill me, to kill Elena.” She starts to rant.

It was true the Mikaelsons had brought trouble into town with them. Klaus was desperate for Elena’s blood, ready to kill anyone who stopped him. He and his family often clashed with Caroline and her friends. Occasionally you too, yet you tried to stay out of it.

After all parties had gotten what they wanted, with much mediation on Elijah’s part and changing of the a spell on Bonnie’s, they managed to reach an agreement.

“It was all smoother over, what it not?” You ask her, still busy packing away decorations. “Aren’t you meeting Elena today?”

Caroline raises her eyebrows in shock and practically throws her cake down. She takes a napkin to wipe her face, then starts to collect her stuff.

“You are totally right. Elena wants me to help Jenna pick out an outfit for her and Ricks anniversary.” She tells you.

“Thank you so much for this. Just be safe with Klaus okay. Don’t do anything reckless.” You wave her off, finally being able to stack boxes of party supplies together.

You say your goodbyes and watch the blonde hurry off. It doesn’t take long to pack all the items away. You see Emily before you leave. She’s clearly having a good time, with more than juice in her solo cup. She slurs her goodbye and thanks you extensively, at one point wrapping her arms around you in a jumble of a hug.

For Klaus’ cake you decided to go simple. Well simple ish. It was a plain enough cake that said happy birthday in white buttercream. It was covered in a blue fondant. When you finish you realise how boring it looks. While you don’t want to push your limits with this cake, you also want to go above and beyond for Klaus.

You’d heard of his tales, of what he’d done in the past. You’d also seen him around town. Always alone. It seemed he didn’t have all that many friends, outside of his siblings. Even they didn’t act like friends.

It reminded you of how you felt all those years ago. Alone and sad. Lonely in a town so small you’d bump into teachers all the time. Sometimes in the most inconvenient locations.

So you added extra details. You fashioned a brush and paint pallet out of fondant. Arranging it carefully on top of the cake. When you were satisfied with your work you put the cake in the box and in the fridge.

You wrote out a card and packed his present in a small bag. The present in question was a pack of small canvases and brushes. You knew he liked to paint. Once you’d seen his work on the wall of the Mikaelsons house. It was a large piece, portraying a field of flowers and a serene sky filled with the colours of a sunset. It was truly marvellous.

Yet it got you thinking, what about little canvases? Little piece of work that wouldn’t be as large a project, but could require just as much detail and precision for the small space.

Eyes wide and lips pulled up to smile brightly, you walked through the door of the bar. It was a little difficult with the large cake in your hands and present and card bag dangling from your arm, but your managed. You searched for Klaus, finding the man in a booth in a the corner of the bar. He sat alone of course, nursing a glass of scotch.

He didn’t look up when you walked towards his table. The bar was fairly empty and he was clearly in his own world.

You place the cake down on the table, then pulled the bag of your arm, placing it down next to it. Then you sit opposite him in the booth, moving the items on the table aside slightly so you can see Klaus.

Klaus’ eyebrows knit together in confusion. He knew you of course. Noticed you at his family’s ball and around town. He’d heard Rebekah gushing about you to Elijah. Talking about how happy she’d been when you brought her a cake and made her feel special.

“What all this Love?” He asks. You try not to let the pet name mean anything. While Klaus is an extremely attractive person you’re here for a purpose.

“Happy birthday!” You smile wildly then pull out a party blower from your pocket, giving it a blow. Much to the other patrons (not that there are many) displeasure.

He lets a small smile grow on his face, “Sorry love, but I think birthdays stop counting after you move into a four digits age.”

You shake your head, “No way. If you’re immortal then so is your birthday buddy.”

“Buddy?” He asks incredulous.

You push the bag towards him. To which he cautiously peels back the the tissue paper and pulls out the contents.

“They’re mini canvases.” You tell him. Then explain how you’ve see his work - which you think was really beautiful - and how you though painting a smaller canvas would be a different challenge and a change for him. He nods along. Almost entranced by what you’re saying.

“That’s really thoughtful, love. Thank you. I can’t remember the last time anyone celebrated my birthday.” He told you earnestly. Genuinely so appreciative of your kind gesture.

“Well that’s a real shame Klaus.” For a moment your eyes connect and you feel rooted in place. You try not to blush so instead move on to remove the cover of his cake.

“Now don’t get too upset, but there aren’t any candles on your cake. I think it would be a little difficult to fit over 1000 candles on there.” He laughs. Eyes move to appraise the cake. They widen in surprise at the detail on the cake and the paint pallet and paintbrush you’ve created.

“This looks amazing love. Thank you.” It’s the first time you’ve seen Klaus Mikaelson smile. It’s genuine and lights his face. For a moment he doesn’t look like some scary vampire. He looks like a man enjoying his birthday.

“Happy Birthday Klaus Mikaelson. Have a great day.” You say, reaching a hand out to his own.

Time seems to slow as you stare into his eyes. Your hands entwine and your heart skips a beat. You notice how there’s some green in his dark blue eyes. For a moment they shine gold.

It’s enough to bring you out of your daze. You move to stand only for Klaus to stop you.

“Aren’t you staying for a piece?”

#angelsworks post #klaus mikaelson headcanon #TVD #klaus x reader #mlp au #mlp challenge #klaus Mikaelson x reader #tvd oneshot #klaus mikaelson one shot

[tinycozycomfort]

rest in the cup of my palms (part two)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter two: do you feel it, too?

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or  you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: you fight hard to keep old habits at bay. joel falls into his head first.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut (w individual tags to come), ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn / (for this chapter) -> semi-public dry humping, kissing, mentions/fantasies of p in v sex, possessive thoughts, no one is drunk but everyone blames the wine, joel miller loves his kid!

word count: 5.3k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: i'm in shambles over the response to the first chapter, this series is my baby and it means so much that you guys liked it. thank you a million times for reading!

read on ao3 / main masterlist

“The wait begins as soon as I wake up. There is never any “after”. Life stops from the moment he rings the doorbell and enters.”

Annie Ernaux - Getting Lost

───────

Joel hasn’t touched the plastic tube since he brought it home last week. 

It’s become something he has to hide from, a nagging thought that pulls at his pant-leg like a child, clawing for his attention—open me, open me. Over and over he hears it, while in the office or cooking dinner or folding the wash, a whisper that begs him to reach in and claim his prize. When he’s really tired, brain damp from the days he has to work, the voice pours into something smoother, and suddenly it's that pretty girl—the one who’d made the thing—asking for the same; to be peeled back and stretched wide for him, cunt and heart and all. 

He finds himself losing a lot of very real time in the fantasy, chunks of his life spooned out to make room. 

The compulsion isn’t unfamiliar; it’s one that Joel thinks has something to do with his protective nature—or maybe that he’s seen enough living through the filters of hurt and mistrust—that makes him cling to the things he finds precious.

It traces back as far as the girls in grade school, when they would bring him little home-made valentines and wave him kisses first stamped onto open palms. He grew enamored with them, picking them flowers and scribbling symbols of promise in their note-books—the very beginnings of his acts of service. His heart would swell with it, a cartoonish thing, growing and pumping until he could keel over to one side from the size. He chased it in those early years, back somewhere between the brothering and fathering, moving through many someones he could fawn over, easing his need to possess. 

He can feel the need rising now, for the first time in too long, his body hurtling itself towards the ledge of something scarier, and he welcomes it. His hands itch for it, for the kind of love with teeth, that bites and tears into the edges of a substance much meatier, providing a place for the points to pierce and hold. He won’t call it what it really is, prefering to stomp out the whisper that warns him of its arrival—obsession. He likes to use less severe terms: thoughtful, involved, fascinated.

Knowing better in his age, he tries at least to be realistic during waking hours, and around Ellie, reminding himself that he has a hard time stepping down when he builds his hope high enough. He moves instead to just dreaming about you—in little tidbits and at guest-star capacity—to tide himself over until the week rolls back around.

Now, on a new Monday, he lets his daughter head off to class before he allows himself the privilege of unwrapping his reward.

He fishes around in the back of the hallway closet where he hid the case, retreating to his room to finally have his time alone with the creature he’d made of the object, letting it free from its cage.

He pops off the cardboard top of the roll, pulling the drawing out with the very tips of his fingers to not smudge something on accident. The sound of it sliding out sets his skin alight—this gift is one he asked for, but it feels like it was given to him all the same. Sharing a piece of you with him so freely, he feels special. 

He’s gotten used to seeing himself around the house, Ellie’s ever-growing library of renditions of him are fixed to the fridge by mis-matched magnets and framed in little glass panels in her room. It leans on the side of betrayal to have someone else’s version of him up, but he just wants to see it—if it’s as intense as he remembers it. As different.

His knuckle follows the curl of the paper to flatten the image, tacking it up to the wall with painter’s tape to avoid damaging the surface, like his daughter taught him. Joel sits on the corner of his bed and feels a hot wave of emotion fill his chest. 

He looks hopeful. It’s a garment he’s never seen himself wear. He’s soft and shy and child-like, face penciled in with detail that reads like a well-worn novel, bending and twisting to the curve of his expression. It’s a finely crafted summary. It’s guide-lines. It’s instructions, the very important parts of him spelled out in bold, black charcoal, with the gray shades of his complexion filling in the gaps. 

Was he that easy to pick apart? 

He’d seen some of the other drawings, the way everyone else had chosen to capture solely his pose, perfectly articulating the crook of his elbow or the network of muscle under the skin of his calf. 

But you’d chosen to show him. 

Something about it looks so familiar, enough to bring forward a memory of the conversation that had him feeling the briefest pass of deja vu—of you glancing down at the ground, quieted maybe by his proximity or his compliments; bashful. 

He walks out into the living room where Ellie keeps her sketchbook, the one with all the references. He thumbs through it—she’s given him permission to see this one—and flips to the page he remembers watching her use last week. And when he sees it, he feels like he’s going to faint. 

It was you. 

That was your face his daughter had been so beautifully replicating. Upon examining the fragmented portrait, he sees a striking resemblance to the one you’d made of him. They’re the same. Not the likeness, of course, but the visage. You knew what he felt like—had felt it yourself.

He already knew you, before you’d even spoken a word to each other. He admits that Ellie was only capable of piecing together so much of you, and even with the extra bits he’d caught in your brief meeting, he feels like he’s missing out. He wants to see the whole picture. You, in totality. 

When he arrives at the school building, he’s overtaken with a wash of what he thinks might be stage-fright. It makes him feel sick, stomach rolling with an embarrassment that scorches like youth—fight low and flight high—and his body starts to feel sore with the effort it takes to keep himself from fidgeting. 

Ellie’s teacher meets him in the hallway and passes him his slip, and he hums his way down to the bathroom to undress, admittedly working up the courage to confront you. 

As he enters the classroom, his excitement bottoms out. You’re not there. He keeps sweeping the room with his eyes, hoping you somehow had been hidden amongst the other bodies. He tries to sell himself the idea that you’re just in the bathroom, or on a break or late, but the wooden bench you’d sat in last week is obviously untouched. 

He clambers onto the stool, trying to replicate his pose from the previous lesson, much more uncomfortable now that he has nothing to distract him. The two hours are painful, and he finds himself counting seconds to fill the minutes in increments of ten until he can leave. 

His back hurts when he stands. 

On his way out, the blonde woman hands him a little flier, two pieces of neon copy paper glued together to make a double-sided image, advertising the group show this coming Friday. Ellie has already reminded him more times than he can count, but he takes it from the woman with the best smile he can muster, slipping out the door in a stride he’s hoping doesn’t come across as wounded. 

───────

The on-campus gallery is what someone a lot kinder than Joel would call cozy—a tight, short chamber with no windows and a single entrance, like a trap. 

He’s too keyed-up to be kind. He feels like nitpicking.

The metal door at the head must have been an afterthought, kicking back into the frame loudly every time someone walks through, nothing implemented to catch it. A continuous beam of fluorescent lighting wraps around the room in an all-encompassing spotlight, cooking the smell of fresh paint off the wall. It reminds him of picture day, or apartment hunting or something else equally unpleasant. 

He was always going to come to this, because he can’t imagine a version of himself who wouldn’t support his daughter, but he’s not happy about it, and he’s starting to feel dizzy from the too-fast swirl of anxiety in his stomach. 

Ellie had removed herself from his side the moment they made it into the building in search of her friends, with just a squeeze of his forearm and an ‘I’ll introduce you later’ left in her wake. He’s clung tightly to the wall ever since, making his way around the room to look at all the drawings, again and again and again until he feels like he’s on a track. 

Discomfort is a factor, but most of his indignation has to do with not seeing you in class—pointed at himself for the absurdity of his expectations—the voice in his head taking a bitter turn. Were you avoiding him? Would you not attend this, either? Did he do something wrong? His mind rambles on as he fiddles with his imitation cocktail glass, the shiny slip of plastic sticking to his fingers. There’s still a generous portion of what has to be five-dollar wine pooled at the bottom, bitter and opaque enough to stain. The woman who poured it for him did so nearly to the top, maybe sympathetically, disregarding that there was money obviously trying to be saved—deeming his cause a worthy one. He doesn’t even want it, really, nauseous at the idea of actually finishing it, but not having something in his hand was winding him even tighter. So he nurses it—even as it goes warm between his grasp, more unappetizing now than it had been twenty minutes ago—sip after sip to try and appear engaged. 

Eventually Joel grows tired of waiting, for Ellie to come back or for you to come at all or for this night to just be over, and picks a drawing to pause in front of. It’s a portrait of someone he’ll never meet, another graceful stranger coming together in an amalgamation of grays. He can hear people walking behind him, talking quietly and occasionally stopping to look over his shoulder at it in passing. 

“Hm. Quite the fan of my work, are you?” He almost ignores the comment, thinking it's for someone else, as it usually is, until there’s a figure taking up too much of his periphery. 

He’s a little dazed when he looks over, the hot, sour wine settled now in the pit of his belly, buzzing with a flare of something not-missed. He’s prepared to see more than one person beside him, perhaps a couple that had been talking near him rather than to him, but when he swivels his neck, it’s you. You’re just as pretty as he remembers, the face that he looks for in his sleep, but this time you’re not as shy, staring at him straight on—maybe similarly loosened by the pale yellow liquid in your own cup. 

Heat gathers at the rim of his jaw—his neck is red by now, he’s sure of it. Already exposed and driven by the faint whisper in his mind, he opens his mouth to speak without thinking, “You weren’t there this week.” 

You make quick quotes with just your pointers half-heartedly, “‘Sick,'” and breathe a laugh, “Had a few academic duties to fulfill. Gotta keep the scholarship intact.” 

There’s a thick moment of silence, but he can’t look away, eyes weighty and cheeks stinging. It’s awkward but he finds comfort in it, embracing the adjustment like it's a step towards better connection. 

Someone brushes his arm as they walk by and Joel uses it to his advantage, “Do you want to step outside? It’s a little hot in here.” 

There’s a flash of something like surprise across your eyes, but you shrug, “Sure.”

He crowds behind you as you walk step-in-step out the unarmed emergency exit, just to feel the closeness of your body, much better than the distance he’d felt in your absence on Monday. 

The night is worse than cold but it feels good against the heat in Joel’s chest. He can smell your perfume wafting back as he follows your movements, and it makes him pant. He’s ill, has to be—that or the wine was stronger than he thought, because the weird tie he feels is one he can’t explain as being healthy or normal or not fucking scary. But when you turn on your heel to face him, taking a seat on a hip-high planter in a secluded outer corner of the building, it feels right. Natural. 

He shuffles so that he’s far enough for you to be safe from his touch, and he shoves a hand in his pocket for good measure, “Thank you again for the drawing. It’s really beautiful.”

“Yeah, of course. Thank you for saying that.”

He wants to say something more, like you’ve captured me in a way that makes me hopeful about myself, but settles instead for, “My daughter liked it a lot, too.” It’s a bold-faced lie, but he thinks that keeping your gift a secret would look less appealing. 

“Is she here?”

“Somewhere, yeah. Ran off the second we got in. I’m not a comfort anymore, I guess.”

“Is she yours? Comfort, I mean.” You pick at the crown of the cup, rolling it gently in your hands like its real glass, and you both watch the fuzzy pattern of light that catches on its uniform surface. Joel wonders if you have a comfort of your own—if you need one.

“Is it bad if I say yes? It feels cheesy but the kid is my rock. Dunno what I’m gonna do when she grows up.” He shoves at the concrete under the toe of his boot. It didn’t taste as bad coming out as he thought it might. He hasn’t said that out loud to anyone other than himself, but you look at him like you know exactly what he means. The delicate beginnings of a smile crest on your face, cheek pinched, void of all the uncomfortable sympathy he's gotten from Tommy and Maria at the few things he made the mistake of revealing. He can’t find it in himself to stop now with your gesture, feeling relief in having a place to voice his heartbreak, “Honestly I’m scared, but not just for me, y’know? I worry about what she’s gonna find in the world. I just want to keep her safe.” 

“She knows it, I’m sure. I know what it feels like to have no one to root for you—I would’ve killed for that. The only thing you can do for her is be there when she comes home,” You’re looking down again, and he doesn’t like whatever’s made you want to pull back from him—be shy, “Spend time with other people you care about and that care about her. Make that network for her to lean on.”

“All I got is my brother. His wife too, sometimes. My nephews. A few years ago it was just me and him. Ellie—that’s her name. She, uh, isn’t ‘mine’,” he makes the bunny-eared quotes with the hand holding his drink, “Not by blood, anyway. But she popped up out of nowhere and I don’t know how to go back to being on my own.” 

“It’d be good to have a network of your own, too—if you’re up to it. It’s hard to do, trust me, but I don’t think I could do a lot without my friends.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I don’t think that’s in the cards for me anymore. I can’t conjure up much of anything worth listening to these days. Forgot how.” 

“Don’t do that. You have a lot to say—you’re plenty. Just start with one person. There’s always time to make more.” He knows you’re talking to him, but it feels like you’re also talking to that little boy inside of him, small and unloved and still bleeding.

“Do you need any more? Friends.”

You look up from your lap, pushing a piece of your hair back from your face like you need to get a better look, searching for a way you could be misinterpreting him, “I might have room. You have a recommendation for me?”

He reaches out, grabbing the empty cup from your grasp, stacking it with his own and depositing them by your side. He doesn’t miss the way you watch him, how you widen the spread of your legs on instinct, enough to suggest his entrance. He wades out on one leg to bring himself in, testing the water.

Your lips are parted, and when he looks into the opening between them he imagines he’s seeing to the center of you, and everything else keys out. Cars pass by on the strip of street behind him, driven by ghosts, providing nothing but a low song for your bodies to dance to together, his chest swaying closer to yours with every breath. You move with him, and it feels rehearsed, like all of the steps you've taken to get to this moment were purposeful, done in perfectly orchestrated succession for the hundredth time. 

“Do you feel that, too?” He asks, wanting to know if he’s reading too much into it, feeling that sweet edge of thoughtful-involved-fascinated scrape his skin like a sharp knife, “Do you? Like you know me?” 

“Yes,” you breathe, and it’s all the permission he’s ever needed. 

He leans in, lips skating yours, the warm cave of your mouth begging to be explored. He tries so hard to take his time, soft brushes tethering you to each other with the weight of everything he’ hasn’t had the time to say. His whole body is pins and needles—a fierce heat that floats so high it feels like ice. You sigh into him, the start of a moan, and his composure snaps. Service, he reminds himself, act on it—it feels almost divine when he thinks about all the ways he could pledge his loyalty, ready to bend at your altar every day of his life if it meant you’d sing for him again.

Joel brings a hand to the side of your neck, thumb digging into the pulse point at the corner of your jaw to bring you forward, licking into your mouth in search of more noise. He groans when you relax into his hold, so pretty and willing, and works you until you’re just as fervent, daring to suck his bottom lip between your teeth—going for blood. 

The voice in his head is yours again—open me, eat me, unhinge your jaw and swallow. 

He slots his other hand around the bone of your hip, pulling you nearer to the ledge of the planter, pressing his cock into your inner thigh as it swells to life. You gather his shirt in your hand, a tight fist, shifting yourself against him so you can grind into it instead. No one else exists, no one else could ever exist in this moment, or any moment you attend, for the rest of forever. He wants to fuck you, to see how far the attachment could go, how far he could reach down before he finds a warm, bed-shaped slot for him to rest in. He wants to live inside the body of someone who sees him so clearly. He wants to know every thought in your head before it comes to fruition. 

The wine tastes better coming from off your tongue, and he’s gleaning the flavor from every corner of your mouth like he can achieve a second-hand high. His full weight is rocking into you with enough force now that he has to plant a heel in the ground to keep you both from tumbling. He risks a thumb in your waistband in the flurry, tugging at it in the hope of another invitation. 

Before you have a chance to decide, the loud press of the swing-door at the front of the building opens, and Joel staggers back, remembering where he is and why. 

You look winded to say the least, hair bent from the imprint of his hand, mouth in a perpetual ‘o’, and he’s scared to see the state of his own face, not to mention the visible strain of his cock in his pants. He kicks an ankle out to try to adjust, heaving through an open maw at the thought that you might be affected in that way as well, picturing the slick wet in between your legs—a beautiful sheen from just his mouth on the top half of your body. 

You shimmy off the edge, straightening your shirt and he immediately steps back in for more, draping the full breadth of his hand against your collarbone, curling the tips around the top of your shoulder.

“Joel. I— I need to go inside.”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Are you okay?” 

You lay a hand over his with a squeeze and he retracts it, “Yeah. I just wasn’t expecting… I don’t know if I can do this right now.”

He can feel his breath restricting, heart plummeting down so far it feels like it’s landed in the ball of his foot; the second time this week you’ve pulled away. He thinks back to the face you made at him in the gallery, back before he fucked this up. Maybe you never meant for this to happen at all.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice strained, “I just need a little time. Just some time, I’m sorry.”

“No, no I understand. Don’t be sorry. Will you take my number? Just in case?” He wants to make sure you’re okay after this, if you want that, and selfishly he wants to give you a way to have him, knowing this might be the last time he runs into you. He’s too afraid to leave it up to chance.

“Yeah, yeah okay,” You pass him your phone with shaky fingers. 

“Only if you want to, honey,” He’s disheartened by the whole thing, but he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so he’s careful to double-check, even if it’s a blow to his hope, “You don’t have to.”

“I know. I’m just—the wine, sorry. I think it was bad.” You huff out a strained laugh, “I want it. Your number, I mean. Promise.” You practically shove the thing at him and he takes it this time, entering the contact with as little squinting as possible to save himself from any further humiliation. 

───────

You all but run into the bathroom in the back of the building, needing a moment alone to consider what the fuck it is that’s going on right now—what’s been going on since he walked into your class two weeks ago and overstayed his welcome. 

You stumble in, bracing yourself against the porcelain basin, switching on the faucet to drown out some of the pounding in your head. You’d been lying when you said the wine was catching up to you—very much sober—but now, in this suffocating, gray room, you feel like it must have at least accelerated the churning in your gut. 

You let water gather in your hands, bending to dip your face in the too-cold pool between them. 

Every day has been mostly encouraging if not indifferent but this feels like the start of a bad dream you won’t be able to wake up from, dragging you right back to that dark box you’d been existing in. He came in from nowhere, kicking down your reserve, for what? For a fuck? To enjoy you in passing? Or worse, to stay? You’re unsure which would be harder to receive.

And it’s unfair—for him to show up right at the point of being fully on your own, as soon as you’ve chosen to avoid getting caught up in that part of your life. You’re past the point of surrendering your time—know better than to want to be bogged down by a crush or the preconceived idea of the perfect stranger. 

You don’t know him, and you don’t need to. 

But you want him so bad it hurts; so bad you had to fake a cold to skip class because you couldn't face the idea of seeing him for the last time. You debated skipping the grade for the exhibition too, but you used any excuse to convince yourself he might not show. You weren’t sure who his daughter was, or how enthusiastic she was about the program, so you figured it was a fair shot. You outwardly willed him not to come, at yourself in the mirror and in the shower and out loud the car, all while secretly praying he’d be in attendance, right up to the moment you saw him.

When you stand up, staring at your rigid body in the plastic mirror above the sink, you’re pained at the sight. You look tired, shoulders tense and eyes bleary. Stray beads of the cool water stick to your skin, refusing to dry in the lingering humidity, balling up together to drip into the open lip of your shirt. You can barely feel it falling over your chest before being soaked up by the material. You feel outside yourself.

Someone starts to knock at the door, a quick and invasive interruption to the moment of absolute panic you’d been enjoying. You managed to twist the lock shut on the door at least, so you click your heel against the tile in a wordless someone’s in here, but the knocking persists. 

“Occupied.” You try, wet hands slipping against the edge of the sink. This shit isn’t normal. None of that even comes close to normal. 

Still, the heavy thrum against the hollow metal continues, and you take a deep breath before practically ripping it out from the socket of its frame. When you have it open, Ian’s posed between the V of the slot, face bewildered. 

“Really, truly, I love you, but what the fuck was that?” 

───────

Four days from the start of spring break, you’re out at some stranger’s place off Maple, invited by both Ian and your roommate—making it a little harder to get out of—in a joint, well-intentioned attempt to make you leave the safety of your room. A party will be nice, they’d explained, nothing serious, and a week off’s supposed to be fun, right? 

The house is pretty, but whoever owns it has demanded everyone remain out on the cobblestone patio, uneven flooring making for a jagged line of bodies packed too tight to fit. 

A fire burns in the middle of the yard, billowing out puffs of smoke you know will linger in your clothes for at least two washes. You swipe at some soot that's gathered in the bowl of your jacket sleeve absentmindedly. There’s no music tonight, maybe because there’s real school tomorrow—the elementary school down the street not quite on the same schedule—and you start to think going out on weeknights is quickly becoming more your speed. There's just the soft blanket of everyone murmuring, trying to stay warm in the chill of the wind. 

Ian’s prepping some guy across the fire to meet you; you can tell by the look on his face, like he’s planning something elaborate. You smile at him, at least amused by his effort to help you forget the weekend. He’s right, it is spring break, and Joel is nothing but a consequence of your stress-induced impulsivity. 

Still, despite your efforts, you’re thinking about him again, even if to punish him. You can still feel the line of his cock against your thigh, pressed hot and heavy into your body like an offering. You rub your thighs together, cursing him for giving you enough material to fantasize about for weeks—your punishment in return.

Ian crosses the circle with your new prospect, and you tilt your cup in mock cheers. Behind him he mouths hot and nice, tell me what you think. You nod, and the guy steps forward to block the flame. He’s handsome, airbrushed face and sweet cologne and long, thin fingers, nothing like how someone else’s had felt at the junction of your hips. 

You swallow, hard.

You honestly don’t hear a word that comes out of his mouth from the second it opens, not even to catch his name. Instead, you think about how nice it’d be if you could pay attention, how much easier it would be to fuck someone you thought was nice and safe and not at the forefront of every free moment you’d been afforded in the last two-and-a-half weeks. About what a relief it would be for him to mount and rut into you without consequence—no emotional burden, just boring and lukewarm like the last bite of something you can’t find a place to throw away. It’s always been easier when you didn’t want more. Yet now you want every night, hold out a hand in your dreams and let him into the part of you that has already carved out a hole in his shape. 

This guy couldn’t pull your mind off of Joel even if he was fucking you. 

When he offers to grab you a drink, you agree and then head into the house, like you’re not supposed to, as soon as his back is turned. There’s a few locked doors, and then one at the end of a hallway that opens up into a bathroom. You slip in, not bothering to switch on the light in an attempt to hide out from being found.

Here you are searching for reason in a dirty mirror above another sink, with nothing but the weak glow of a plug-in air freshener to guide you, too soon after the last time. 

You’re angry, suddenly, at how far he’s burrowed himself into your head, with so little to go on. He’s doing nothing but showing you yourself, a tired tactic to get you to fall in love with him while you do all the work. He was just pretending, right? He couldn’t actually want to love you. You groan, when the fuck was love even part of this equation?

You dig your phone out of your purse. The lock screen is bright—bold lettering reminding you it’s nearly midnight—but you click into your contacts anyway, because it’s not like you’re going to call him or anything. His page is still open, the Texas area code populating under Joel - Ellie’s dad—typed out with caps and all like that’s his only meaningful identifier. You scroll to see where he’d punched in ‘just in case‘ in the notes section of his info-card, and that decimates the cliff of restraint you'd barely managed, sinking in on itself under you.  

Your hands are wet with unease, held hostage by the way he’d read your thoughts out loud. You did feel it too, that searing weight of knowing—of being acquainted with him despite only meeting once before. He had to have been honest in at least that confession. You ask yourself for permission—‘was he going through this as well? what exactly was he feeling? would he explain if you asked?’—until it turns into selling yourself justification—‘you could just fuck him, right? that’s all this has to be, right?’.

Yes, you decide. Just another test of will—you can do it. You can pass. 

Your finger hovers over the number, closing the screen and opening it again and again and again until you just bite the bullet and fucking press it, the screen going black as you shove it against the side of your ear, covered again in darkness. 

He picks up within two rings. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi. Joel,” You offer him your name like a secret, “It’s me. Did I wake you up?”

“No, sweetheart. Are you okay?” 

“Can I come see you?”

#joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic #joel miller/reader

[rk1k-moved]

Hey, can I ask about your process when you create gifs? Like what programs and settings do you use to keep them so sharp and colorful while also compact enough to fit in a tumblr post? When I tried making gifs they were all mostly blurry and discoloured and I'm not sure what did I do wrong

heya!! of course you can! :D

disclaimer: i'm half asleep so i apologize if there's any confusion with my explanation.

i use just photoshop 2023 with the video frames to layers method. to keep the size manageable, i like to have at max sixty frames with 0.04-0.05 frame delay, but it's honestly personal preference with how fast or slow you want to make your gifs.

with coloring, i find that focusing on the more dominate colors in the color table help make the gif look smoother and reduces the amount of odd colored pixels that tend to be more prominent when too many are present. with my last set, red and yellow took up most of the color table. so i made to sure to focus on boosting those colors.

my base coloring usually rounds to eight layers and looks like this:

i use curves and levels to remove whatever tint is present while brightening it up a bit more, followed by two selective color layers: one for black and white set to absolute, and the other set to relative to make the reds and yellows pop. i fiddle with the other colors to reduce them a bit by adding in either white or black depending on how dark the gif already is, and of course color balance to even it out a bit.

my favorite part is adding the vibrance, usually cranked to 75% to 80%. since the colors are typically over saturated afterward i use hue/saturation to reduce it, but luckily with this set i only had to reduce them by -10 each vs the amanda set which i had to reduce every color by a lot.

the exposure is my own personal preference, by adding anywhere from +0.002 to +0.005 on offset to give it a sort of matte look.

when it comes to sharpening, it depends on what i'm giffing. with dbh i find that two smart sharpen filters (500% with a 0.3 radius, 10% with a 10% radius), gaussian blur (0.7, 25% opacity), and noise (1%, 50% opacity) look the best nearly every time.

when i finally get read to export, i use these settings:

i hope that i explained this at least somewhat coherently. if you have any other questions or need me to explain something better, please don't hesitate to ask! i'd be more than happy to help!!

[rampldgifs]

hi! first of all, i want to say that i love your gifs so much, you always make such beautiful things. i recently started giffing, and i was wondering if you have any tips about settings or process you usually use in your coloring psds? i'm struggling on what steps i should follow :(

hello ! thank you for taking the time to say this !

i usually never know what to say off the top of my head because i am generally chaotic & do things by whim and instinct rather than any real process, but !!! luckily, i was just talking to a friend about it recently so here's what i got.

photoshop settings- i've mentioned this in my main blog before, if you're not already doing this, load all your giffing steps into an action. if you don’t know how to make an action this handy tutorial tells you how. - change your most used commands into easily reachable keyboard shortcuts on the keyboard. for example, assuming you're right handed, your right hand will be cropping and colouring so you could switch command + (w) to open file>export>save for web to see your saving settings / command + ( ` ) to select the next tab. (i'm on a mac so imagine i used windows alternatives ) by using your left hand.

gif saving settings you might have your favourite go-to settings i.e. selective/pattern & bicubic etc. but just like not all sharpenings are created equal, different gif save settings work better for different sharpening styles. try different combis, the results may surprise you. for example, i used to swear by selective pattern+bicubic sharper when saving gifs, but i switched my sharpening style, and started going for a smoother, cleaner, glowier look, and realised after a lot of trial and error that adaptive/diffusion + bicubic smoother works best for the high value sharpening+gaussian blur settings i'm using to create what i want. the big lesson here is don't be afraid to strip everything down and go back to basics sometimes, it's tedious, but it usually pays off. i tried to find the post that taught me this for you and i can't but this one is an alternative !

colouring - the main things you'll be doing to colour a gif are (i don't always follow these in order but usually i do): a) brighten ( i.e. curves, levels, brightness, i used to add a white balance filter but stopped doing that years ago ) b) deepen ( these would be your contrast/gamma correction & offset on exposure adjustment layer/left arrow thingy of the levels adjustment layer ) c) colour correct, the hardest part ! it's like doing makeup. you'll end up using probably everything, colour balance, curves in the rgb setting (i need to learn to get comfy with this bc i'm not yet, but! soon.), selective colour my bff, hue/saturation & vibrance. there are great tutorials out there, but my most recent game-changer is i've finally figured out how to use the channel mixer adjustment. it helps to focus on a neutral colour in the background of your gif when it has an awful orange/green/whatever filter when using channel mixer (like a white wall or blue sky that has turned gross looking bc of the film's base filter), then adjust and play around until it turns into the colour it's supposed to be. then it will be easier to pile on layers over to colour your fc. i am ofc still learning, i have no idea how colour lookup works (i've read tutorials and still don't understand jvhakjx). d) final adjustments. this is when after the above, you decide whether you want to stylise your colouring, make it more vibrant, less vibrant, give it a tint, brighten again or enhance certain colours before saving! - a great way i got the hang of colourings is to open up colouring psds other people have made and toggle each adjustment layer on and off to see what difference they make to the base, you'll start to understand what the purpose of each thing is and why the layers are in that specific order.

last but not least, it took me 10 years to make gifs the way i do now ! my early gifs were all experimental, i went through so many phases (some i'm quite ashamed of, like the low vibrance/high saturation + high brightness trick i used to abuse. why did i do that.), and i did in fact master each adjustment layer (by this i mean learn to use them to their best potential) one by one. don't get discouraged, be patient with yourself and don't be afraid to try things !

#answered. #rph #rpc

[repentarium]

the truth is i've been dreaming of this tired tranquil place tag 5/?

ao3

The first meal Steve makes in their new apartment goes just fine - it's a veggie lasagna, it's cheesy and warm and makes the whole house smell nice, and Eddie eats until he feels sick, which is absolutely a win. 

The second meal Steve makes should go even smoother. It's just a very quick pasta in alfredo, he closed with Robin and Eddie is coming back late from some event at the record store so he needed to do something fast and easy. 

The problem is, the pasta has a few moving parts - the sauce in one pan first, the penne in another, and garlic bread in the oven. It's just the frozen kind, it takes nearly no thought. 

But he gets distracted. There's something wrong with the sauce, it's separated like a lava lamp, and while he's trying to fix that the pasta overcooks and boils over. He throws it into a colander (he hates cleaning a colander but he has to get it off the heat and he bets he can ask Eddie to clean up) and drains it, then goes back to the sauce. When that's finally looking okay again, if not as silky smooth as he'd like it, he goes to fetch the pasta and finds it all clumped together and gummy. He's standing staring at it, poking at it with a fork like it might be alive, when the smoke alarm goes off. 

The damned garlic bread, the easiest part. 

He throws the pasta into the cheese sauce, hoping somehow it'll work itself out, throws open the oven door and there's a huge whiff of smoke. Coughing, he throws the charred bread onto the stovetop, turns off the oven and opens the window. 

When Eddie comes in ('Honey, I'm home!' he's yelling before he's opened the door) he finds Steve standing precariously on one of the stools they'd commandeered from the streets of the good neighborhood on trash day, wobbling and waving a hand towel at the shrieking alarm. 

'Ahhh!' Steve yells. He's half-joking but also he's so glad Eddie got home before he could talk himself into a real panic attack about the whole thing. 'Everything is so fine.'

'Uh-*huh*...' Eddie has a finger in his ear and brushes close to Steve. He jumps up and smacks the alarm with his other hand, hitting some button than Steve would have seen if he'd calmly looked but the alarm had set his teeth on edge. 

They stand looking at each other for a full minute, smoke still fill the air around them, and Steve starts laughing hysterically, nearly falling off the stool. Eddie just puts a hand on his elbow to stabilize him, starts to laugh too when he realizes everything is okay. Steve's laugh may still have an edge of panic to it, but he and Eddie sit under the open window as the smoke filters out, and the fresh air helps. 

'We may just want to order takeout.' Steve says finally.

'I bet it's salvageable!'

Steve doesn't believe him, he didn't see the night of the living penne over there, but Eddie stands and helps him up with a hand, goes to the stove. He stirs the pasta up, breaks up the clumps, says 'anything covered in cheese is delicious, Steve.' He tries to scrape off the burnt parts of the garlic bread, but by the time he breaks through to the soft parts there's barely anything left. 

They eat their pasta with wonder bread, toasted and buttered, sitting at the bar on their thefted stools, and through the smell of smoke it's still homier than his old house ever was. 

There are photographs held to the refrigerator with little fruit magnets including a polaroid his fought Max for, where there are four bodies sleeping and warm on Steve's old couch. All the kids are present in them and in a million small things around the house. In the dragon painting Will gave them (the dragon is blowing a stream of smoke straight up, spinning a giant basketball), in the books from Dustin lining the floorboards, in the truly horrible soap dispenser from Max (something sculpted and gotten secondhand, some sort of creature that may have a hint of raccoon in its family tree but good god its eyes). In the cardboard standup of a huge popcorn bucket with a face Robin helped him smuggle out of Family Video, which lives leaning against the wall half behind the boxy tv.

In his actually present roommate, smiling with a full mouth and rehashing the in-store release party of someone 'too mellow and whiny, you'd love him Steve'.

After dinner, after the smoke has cleared out and they've teamed up on cleaning the kitchen, they turn on the TV and play cards in front of a Twilight Zone marathon. Because it's creepy enough to be interesting but not enough to be upsetting, at least that's the theory. 

It’s quiet and it’s calm and Steve doesn’t mind losing because it makes Eddie crow and jump up and ruffle Steve’s hair in some kind of display of victory, and it’s such a contrast compared to his life flooding out of his body through Steve’s hands in the Upside Down, a vision that sometimes feels just around the corner even though it was over a year ago and the wounds are all probably scar tissue just like Steve’s. Silverskin that catches the light and only feels like a bump to his fingers even if sometimes still feels like it could bleed when he moves wrong.

Steve has this nightmare sometimes, one that’s not about death or monsters or people floating until their limbs break. It’s recurring, and he sometimes figures it out and tries to do something different but it never works. 

He has it again that night, after the anxiety of the smoke alarm.

He’s on some plane, trying to disembark to catch a connection, but there’s never a break in the line and he just knows he’s going to miss his flight, but he’s waiting and waiting for the end of the line of people, all of them showing at him and moving important slowly. 

When the last person finally passed, he grabs his luggage, struggles to carry it through the too-slim aisle, and speedwalks off of the plane. 

He hasn’t been on a plane since he was young enough his parents still liked to keep him around, so everything feels like what a kid would describe. Too big, not logical. He walks onto the gangway between the plane and the airport, and he knows he’s going to miss his flight so he takes a shortcut, through another plane and another gangpway somehow, and he has to climb up these stairs and step over large gaps with all of his things, things he keeps dropping thirty feet below - his jacket, his hat, his big suitcase, his little one, his satchel, and the flight attendants on the tarmac keep yelling at him and telling him he has to go to the baggage claim to pick everything up but he has to make his flight, dammit. 

He’s shaken awake by Eddie saying ‘Hey, big guy, it’s okay, take a breath for me.’ and Steve goes from near tears and hyperventilating to so embarrassed he feels like the skin of his face is going to slough right off. He gulps a few deep breaths, avoids Eddie’s eyes even though he’s trying to catch Steve’s, focuses on some spot on the wall over his shoulder. Notices that the shoulder he’s not looking at is bare and has a little red mark from a sheet’s fold on it and focuses on that instead. 

‘Sorry. I’m. I’m okay.’ 

Eddie is looking at him, finally gets him to meet his eye. Steve has talked to Eddie about all the horrible nightmares after all the horrors of everything, knows Eddie has them too, and he feels so stupid because this was a dream about a damn airport.

‘You are. You’re okay, you’re home. Everything is fine.’ Eddie’s hands feel big and warm on Steve’s shoulders, and Steve has started matching his breathing and he didn’t even realize, a big breath in through the nose and slowly letting it out through the mouth. 

The word home hits him and it hits him hard. 

Eddie stays with him as his breathing slows, as he stops taking everything in at the quick shutter speed that comes with panic. He sees that Eddie's eyes are tired but kind, feels his hands still on his shoulders. Eddie's rambling about some dream he had once about trees that came to life and walked around, and he's laughing about it and Steve's trying to focus on the story. 

'Anyway, the big oak tree turned out to be a massive dickhead so the other trees just pushed him off a cliff.'

Steve laughs back at that, thinks about of course an oak tree would be a dick. 

'There ya go, Stevie. You're okay. Wanna talk about it?' Eddie finally takes his hands off of Steve, tucks his legs under him on the bed. 

'Not really anything to say,' Steve yawns, 'I'm sorry I woke you up.'

'You didn't wake me up, I couldn't sleep,' Eddie lies, 'I heard you yelling in here and figured you'd wanna get out of there.' He pokes at his own temple. 

'The most fucked up thing is it wasn't even about the Upside Down, it was just a run of the mill nightmare, it was stupid.'

'We've been through so much I bet even the normal nightmares come from it though, like you don't shake off the trauma like that. It's not stupid.'

'You're actually kind of smart, Eddie.'

'"Actually". Great. Thanks for the confidence.' He stretches out a leg to kick at Steve, leans back on his arms a little for range. 

'I mean it!' Steve's laughing a little. 'You're smart! You read for fun!'

Eddie squints at him, but must come to the conclusion that he means it. He stands and stretches, long like a cat, and says 'I'm going to the grocery store to get ice cream, there's no way I'm going to be able to sleep.' 

In the faded light that pours in from the streets through his curtains, Steve can make out harsh lines of tattoos and scars like a transit map. He wonders if any of his tattoos were ruined. 

'It's-' Steve looks at his alarm clock '-three in the morning, no way. You'll get murdered.'

'You can come with me for safety.'

'The only place open this late is like 45 minutes away.'

'And they will happily exchange ice cream for my hard-earned cash, so I will happily be patronizing them.' 

Steve agrees with a huff that's mostly for show even though he can feel a headache brewing at the base of his skull that he hopes won't be a migraine. He takes a painkiller and chugs a glass of water. 

After they'd both shrugged on hoodies and sweats and untied sneakers, after Steve had won rock paper scissors so they climbed into the Beemer, after Eddie swore and went back inside for his wallet, Steve sits looking at the lights coming from the apartment windows. They're warm and soft and inviting, and they'll be there when they get back. He thinks about how their apartment has a face and a personality, how by making it into a home they'd given it life and how he kind of feels like it's done the same for him. 

He watches Eddie's silhouette moving around, looking for his wallet, and he thinks about how lucky he is that they're in each other's lives, Eddie and Steve and their warm little home over the cafe. 

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #steddie #stranger things fanfiction #fanfic #mine #tranquil place

[jakeyp]

hi ives! this set is gorgeous and if you don't mind, can i ask how you did the transition on the 3rd gif? i tried to do it myself but it didn't look as smooth 😂 thanks in advance! 💕

hi nonnie! ofc!! it was inspired by my talented bestie @arthurpendragonns hers is smoother in case you'd like to ask her how she did it aksdhsk but i'll explain what i did under the cut!!

so let's say that you have your two gifs ready for the transition! IGNORE THE GIFS I USED HERE THEYRE FROM A SET IM MAKING AKJSHDKS

anyway u have them ready, sharpened and colored:

i recommend each gif to be around 20 frames long! (is that how u say it idk my english sucks when i do tutorials 😩)

the next thing you do is convert each gif to smart object (right click › convert to smart object)

then make a copy of each gif! (ctrl + j to copy the layer) and then you have this:

now, you will add gaussian blur to the copies! (filter › blur › gaussian blur) with a radius of 10 pixels!

see, they both have blurry copies! next up, you have to arrange your gifs this way:

basically you're pushing the second gif and its copy to the end of the first one! notice the blurry ones are on top of the normal ones!

lastly we're gonna use keyframes to play with the opacity of the blurry gifs!

first you're gonna click on the lil arrow to make these options appear:

and click on the tiny stopwatch icon next to "opacity"! you'll notice a small diamond shape appear at the beginning of the blurry gif:

make sure the opacity of your blurry gif here is 100%!! then drag the diamond to the very end of your gif:

and once you have it there, change the opacity to 0%, and you'll notice another diamond appears at the beginning of ur gif:

we don't want that diamond at the beginning tho! akjsdhks drag the diamond to the right so it should end up like this:

this is what makes the effect smoother, better, sexier :)

now we do essentially the same thing with the second gif! click on the lil arrow to make these options appear:

remember we're only manipulating the blurry gifs, very important :)

here, make sure the playhead is at the beginning of your gif

now click on the lil stopwatch icon next to opacity to make the diamond appear:

this time, make sure the opacity here is 0%, and push the diamond to a quarter of your gif:

now that you have it there, change the opacity to 100% and again the second diamond appears at the beginning of your gif!

and voila! that should be it :) 

look at that glow up asdksd 

 if my explanation made zero sense feel free to send another ask or send a dm! :)

#asks

[canimakethat]

Starting off strong with how I mean to go on - by randomly including you in my diy adventures with little to no editing or filter because.

Well.

Effort is hard and a bitch is mentally ill.

I was inspired by these super damn cute plant trays but I felt like I could make them. However I didn't want to use a wheel or anything in the oven because of laziness. Which meant air dry clay.

So, I wanted to make some plant trays with air dry clay. Decisions made I can shop! Simple, right?

Crayola Air Dry Clay for Kids, Natural White Modeling Clay, 5 Lb Bucket

Crayola Model Magic 4-Ounce, Earth Tone, Modeling Clay Alternative

I used crayola because it was cheap and there. My mistake was using two types of air dry clay - model magic and air dry clay which were different enough that they didn't want to stick together. It meant when I was rolling out the clay it was peeling up.

Also please note that the model magic WILL stain things. My hands were brown after handling until I washed them. (also also the texture of the model magic is Very Good.)

^ peeling is uncute. The rolled ball jewelry tray about should be ignored in this complaint. She is stunning and unproblematic. We'll talk about that later.

I also tried using a textured rolling pin which, in retrospect was a mistake with the marble look I wanted.

I think if I did this again I'd use one clay and the textured pin instead, or two of the exact same in every possible way clays for marbling. (I would also check the bottom to see if it was the hoped-for appearance first before adding the sides.)

As you can see the bottoms are BEAUTIFUL. A bit spotty from the staining, but not bad! Too bad I didn't look until it was too late.

I let them cure for 72 hours and sanded them both to see if that made a difference - and I think it did! Not much, but they're smoother and almost stone-like on the top.

This is the big one, halfway sanded. The right is untouched, left sanded. Ignore the messy desk this is not an aesthetic blog. (But do appreciate the sticker desk.)

Here's after four coats of matte modge podge. Which I've never used and apparently takes 4 weeks to cure which is HATEFUL. You can still see some of the texture in there bet eh, you aren't going to see this part much anyway so I'm letting it go.

After sealing them, I did finish with an acrylic coating because these are plant trays meant to catch water... and air dry clay + modge podge? Not waterproof, honeybee.

Here's the final result in their natural habitats, complete with happy plant that's almost ready for it's new pot and overdramatic plant that has only been out of the window for one day.

Overall, I enjoyed this project and I'm glad it's not sitting on the project shelf. I regret not filming it, but maybe next time.

#diy project #plant trays #air dry clay #can I make that

[daisysprimordialplayground]

Anyone doing reads on/for Daisy?

Please put a stop to it for tonight, lol. There's a lot of knocking around. if the door gets closed on you...why would you open another one? It means I am busy/don't want people in there. Thank you for those who are doing it attempting to do it for me, but....you don't need to enter my head for that. Do it differently. ANd someone keeps opening & closing & opening & closing the same door over and over again. Also, yall will go in one and right out another sometimes. WTF are you guys up to?

I wasn't allowed to write for most of the day (only my morning one/didn't get as much done with that as I would have liked), but got sstuff done this morning. So I did more financial planning, craft planning, and tried to do some drawing but that will wait until I get a paper-like screen protector. I am so unused to it. I've had the tablet for a year and barely used it for the reason I bought it. I feel like the smooth screen is smoother than my last one because it has always bothered me. I didn't bring any sketchbooks with me partly because I wanted to force myself to use it. BUT...I was told by my cards to wait, because there were 'theives' and it was the strange thief/messenger one from little prince. The oen with the dog barking at the bird with the two men with guns turned away/so it actually meant messages were being passed on? But there were no door sounds or anything, only a pull of some kind/some kind of jsut..force/dampener of some kind. I think it has to do with me channeling from the Frontier. I can only do so much at a time.

What if my guides told me to hold off because they wanted me to make a post like this/knowing I would go for a late night writing sessions (which is always when it gets busy up there). There are too many from you guys! I do not watch them as much as I did! Don't waste your time! I don't even know everyone (for sure) who is on the team aside from those I listed! And my brain works in a way where it filters out a lot/files away stuff like people I don't know knocking around my head. So I don't feel it/know it until I find the person/know for a fact they're there. WHICH MEANS ALL THAT NOISE IS FROM THOSE I HAVE LISTED!!!

Also...are all of yall night owls? (and I do know some of you have a more significant tie difference) My mornings are so quiet! It is always the evening where it starts. I'll try to schedule more in the morning, then. I need to get back to focusing on things for longer than 2 hours at a time, so it's just a little shifting around that'd be needed. (so, essentially I had planned on 2hrs of writing in the morning, 2 in the afternoon, & 2 in the evening)

So there's the scientifi brain function zones, potentialyl the whole level of hell system (which yall may not have to worry about..but literally, soemtimes it feels like there is an elevator going up & down my spine and a different one with lower to upper head), and then the spiritual/aetherial part of it. Probably more, too.

Is someone looking for something that is no longer there?

Interesting, I was very interested in key charms & pendants, specifically today.

Uh oh...who done and lost it? Don't worry, I will know who and I think I already do! (that's reason 2 for having it appear differently per person)

I didn't think it would happen so quick. I guess my signature is still as strong as ever. She likely knew right away. It is interesting that you could all still 'pass it along'. At least, I assume you could since no one else seemed to know it was gone. It probably pissed her off, thinking there was another reason for its continual disappearance.

She thought blending in with the 'rush' would help her. Maybe, if some of you still have issues in some areas you need to change your schedule up too, if you have one. Remember what I said about the pre-used bad luck? It is similar. I spent a few hours 3-4 scrolling through Temu & such to find out which crafts I would do. And I did active, non-brain stuff, listened to an audiobook, did a lot of math/measurements. She is literally opening the doors to nothing every time and doesn't know that (mostly) everyone is out and it's (mosstly) just her hanging around.

I decided on getting wooden dowels to hang from a loftbed instead of those clothing racks. WAY cheaper that way. And, it turns out the desk I really wanted had an issue of blocking off a space...but I decided I liked it that way so I could have a secret 'spirituality'/tarot reading corner. Then, tried deciding between buying more of the hangers I already had at home or getting a new kind here. I thought I decided until I started writing. I figured out which 4TB SSD & 32 GB RAM upgrades compaatible with my laptop. (only $350 for both!?) Unfortunately, the videocard and motherboard are soldered together. But I got a nvidia rtx 2060, so it's not terrible for gaming. It is possible to upgrade them still, but it's not worth it to me.

We did a lot of work in the garage/had to move a lot out to put a rug down. I made lists of writing magazines/contests (what order to submit as well) and remembered something I had started doing to books before I stopped that booktube channel. I am now going to use it in my writing, as planned. I am weakest in description, so it is a way to ensure I have enough of a 'percentage' of that. And that things like worldbuilding exposition, characterization, emotions/thoughts, and dialogue & all that have a healthy balance.

Do you think she's interested in any of that?

And, more importantly: Would she know how to interpret those energeis/see it? Everyone thinks differently/sees things differently and even dreams differently. Not everyone has fullblown cinematics in their head, or thought dialogues. Do you understand what I am trying to say?

[makingstillwithyou]

slow descent into madness | and finally escaping the editing bat-cave

dated: 230331

technical difficulties but they got worse:

this past week… has really been something. the reason i call it an ‘editing bat-cave’ is because that’s exactly what i turn my room into when i edit a project- i’ll sit with my laptop and a bottle of water, open up my editing program (filmora 10), and just… disappear into the process until i check the little clock on my laptop and realise it is now six hours later.

from having my (brother’s) laptop shut down at almost regularly-occurring 15 or 20 minute intervals because it couldn’t deal with my editing program and the high-quality footage to scouring the internet for ways to fix the problem and make my editing process just a little bit smoother, it was quite a lot to deal with.

still, i didn’t let all of this affect me and just kept on working- making sure to save my project as often as i could so i wouldn’t lose any progress once the program crashes as per schedule.

starting in earnest:

i whittled my ‘usable footage’ down to 27 minutes of cut footage, and then got to using it to tell the story i wanted to. i actually realised with a start at this point that the footage i had might not be enough for the music video, but since planning another shoot day (even just a small one- an hour or two at most would’ve given me enough time to film the extra couple of shots i wanted for diversity) at this point was practically impossible due to my actors not being available, i just had to try my best to work with what i had.

it took me a couple of days, but i finally completed my first draft of the music video (which meant that i had synced up all the clips i wanted where i wanted on my timeline in accordance with the song lyrics and music) by the 30th of march.

color-grading:

from there, i then moved on to do the colour gradation for the music video, experimenting with a couple pre-set lut’s but ultimately deciding on colour grading all my footage myself so that it would fit and look best with the aesthetic i was going for.

initially, i had actually planned to have all my flashback scenes where the couple was together colour-graded in soft, warm hues (yellows and oranges) and to have the present scenes where the main character was alone colour-graded in stark, cold hues (blues and greens) in order to really drive home the contrast between the two states of emotion.

but ultimately, i realised that colour-grading my present scenes like that (in harsh blues) didn’t make them look good since a lot of my present scenes naturally had warm, sunny tones to them.

things work out for the best:

instead, to make sure that the flashback scenes and the present ones had a clear contrast between them, i opted to put a grain and film filter on the flashback scenes and construct a viewfinder overlay to put on top of the point-of-view flashback scenes so that it would seem like the main character was filming his significant other in those scenes.

this allowed for a much more natural-looking colour gradation for my music video footage overall and still let me clearly differentiate between the two types of scenes in my music video, so i thought it was a good call on my part.

making the title (an ode to canva):

after i was done with this, there was only one thing left: to make the music video title! in order to make the title, i turned to my photo editing ‘software’ of choice: canva. i know it’s not professional photo editing software by any means, but photoshop has always felt too complicated and clunky for me whenever i’ve tried it, and canva truly works wonders for most everyday projects with the bonus of having a wonderful, clean, easy-to-use user interface.

plus, i’ve used canva for all of my photo editing needs since something like 2018, so it’s a program i’m really comfortable with, and that’s always bound to make the going easy, so canva was a no-brainer choice for me here. in any case, i got to work playing around with the official album art for the song ‘still with you’ released by jungkook’s music label ‘bighit entertainment’, and that’s how i ended up with the following:

animating the title:

after i was done making the title art to my liking, i headed back over to filmora (my video editing program) to fiddle around with the effects etc. there and maybe figure out how to get some movement into the title.

while looking for some inspiration regarding this on the internet, i came across a tutorial on how to do a handwriting effect for titles, and though it was (quite frankly) an unnecessarily long process and i very well could have just settled for a simpler title sequence, i decided to give it a go since the handwritten title would go really well with my overall music video aesthetic (there’s something sentimental and analogue about both handwritten notes and old film, after all).

after a lot of fiddling around with different settings and trying out a variety of movement effects on my title, i finally ended up with the following, which i was fully satisfied with:

at this point, all that was really left was to add my newly-made title sequence to my music video timeline, but i felt like something was missing in the title card… and that ‘something’ was: a little ‘writing with pencil’ scratching sound so that it would really feel like someone was writing the title.

making the credits:

after i had added the sound effect, my title was complete, so i moved onto the next order of business: making the credits. i opted to keep my credit sequence fairly simple, with just a film overlay on top of some unused b-roll footage of my main actor walking along the beach and simple, white credits popping up on top of the footage.

first export of the video:

it was now that i was finally ready to export my music video! i exported the project in 4k with a happy heart, and when i played it after it was done, i realised that i had put the grain intensity a little too low (25%) for the flashback scenes and that the grain was barely visible in the final video despite having looked okay in the viewfinder of the editing program.

still, adjusting the grain settings to a higher intensity (50%) wasn’t really hard to do, and i just exported the project once again. this time, when i watched the music video all the way through, i was overjoyed not to find any faults in it.

and finally, escape:

and that is how i finally escaped my editing bat-cave! it might’ve been one of the most stressful, awful weeks of my life where i felt my sanity slowly slipping away from me every time filmora crashed or my (brother’s) laptop shut down on me, but i finally did it, and ‘proud’ is an understatement for how i feel about the outcome of this project or myself for finishing it.

& that’s all for today!

signing off now,

rida zeeshan siddiqui 🤍

#coursework development

[humanlomo]

Affinity photo stable release

#AFFINITY PHOTO STABLE RELEASE FOR MAC#

#AFFINITY PHOTO STABLE RELEASE PDF#

#AFFINITY PHOTO STABLE RELEASE 32 BIT#

#AFFINITY PHOTO STABLE RELEASE FULL#

Edit live filters, adjustments, effects, blend modes and masks non-destructively.

#AFFINITY PHOTO STABLE RELEASE FULL#

Full support for unlimited layers, layer groups, adjustment layers, filter layers and masks.

#AFFINITY PHOTO STABLE RELEASE PDF#

Work with all standard formats like PNG, TIFF, JPG, GIF, SVG, EPS, EXR, HDR and PDF.RGB, CMYK, Greyscale, PANTONE© and LAB colour spaces.Open, edit and save Photoshop® PSD files.Massive image support (100+ Megapixels).With a huge toolset specifically engineered for creative and photography professionals, it has everything you need to edit and retouch images, create full-blown, multi-layered compositions or beautiful raster paintings, and so much more. That may be the reason you are experiencing slower stacking performance? On my MacBook Pro (2.6Ghz 6-core, AMD radeon 5300M 4GB Graphics which is run of the mill) it stacks super fast.Faster, smoother and more powerful than ever, Affinity Photo continues to push the boundaries of professional photo editing software. It is recommended that hardware acceleration is enabled unless you experience unusual performance problems or our technical support team instructs you to disable it." Affinity Photo can make use of multiple GPUs in parallel. Īlso version 1.9 supports hardware acceleration on both the PC and Mac.įrom their help files: "Hardware acceleration is available for many graphics processors (GPUs), whether integrated into your computer's CPU (central processing unit), a discrete graphics card or onboard processor, or external and connected via Thunderbolt 3. Thomas, are you using the latest version 1.9 of Affinity Photo? They support every type of calibration frame including bias frames. So be sure to save your work from time to time - but this advice might be considered for any software -) Never had this in older versions of the software. What I did not like so much were a few crashes of AP here and there. However, with what I tried so far, the stacking result from AP or DSS is equally good. The AP stacking does not know of bias images. In DeepSkyStacker you have more options to control what's going on. Having tried the stacking feature in Affinity Photo, I found it uncomplicated but rather slow. I found most operations were similar enough to PS that I think anyone proficient in PS could figure things out reasonably quickly.Īnyhow for $49 I would say if someone is starting out and already had something like APP or PI to stack and do some early processing then AP would be a good substitute to PS and avoiding the perpetual "Adobe tax" PS has now. I really like to work in a full screen mode for PS so that is something I would hope they address. The best you can do is remove most of the UI but the menubar and window decorations remain.

#AFFINITY PHOTO STABLE RELEASE FOR MAC#

It exists for Mac but it uses MacOS functionality to remove the menu and window borders. One negative I noticed is there is currently (afaik) no full screen preview in Windows. Overall I'd say for my processing AP does everything I need as far as the post-processing I would usually do in PS. Then I used Selective Color adjustment layers to tweak the final palette. I used a gradient map for each filter to blend them as Red/Green/Blue. Once I had the S/H/O all stretched in AP I combined them into an RGB image.

#AFFINITY PHOTO STABLE RELEASE 32 BIT#

My version of PS (CS3) would choke on 32 bit floating point TIFF files but AP worked with it fine. This time I just pulled the stacked linear images into Affinity Photo (AP) and stretched them there. My usual workflow is to stack in APP, stretch/blend in PI and then use the color tools in PS to "season to taste". I downloaded the trial and did some quick processing of some SHO data.

#Affinity photo stable release

[borgkane1]

Method Creates How To Bypass Windows 7 Password

Once an individual your digital information product out in the world, a person you stop people from ripping that? After all, it's simply a file that are able to be copied, and your download link is sitting right there on the online for anybody to find that it's. There are pdf shaper crack that you can buy to protect your work, but tend to be also some really easy and free methods that may be effective. You might think it works. 7 zip beta crack think it is weak. Here's why. Services present a quick question when asking to answer the "password reset" doubts. They ask you as part of your city of birth, high school mascot, or favorite movie, etc. You answer these questions and then start when using the service. Dr. Birbals: since you could have not mentioned what kind of noise you are getting, then it is tricky to pinpoint difficulty. However, generally many of noise is associated with the some type of short-circuit or loose connection. A great idea is your PC checked regarding any such matter. Also please check the earthing of your electricity connection, as improper earthing may also result particular kind of noise with problem inside your PC. Tip number three. Install an in-depth protection system. You should install antivirus, firewall, anti-spam filter and two of modules for complete protection of the computer. At present, essentially the most popular antivirus is Kaspersky Internet Security, ESET Smart Security, Symantec Norton and one dozen women and men. Do not skimp on procedures. $50-70 for an annual license cannot be compared light and portable loss of important information, which take place due to an insufficient associated with protection for this PC and don't forget to regularly update the signatures database. It's very best to configure software program to update automatically. The next sheet of your file is TDS. Send in the details for No 23 in the event that you have income only from wage. If you have income furthermore salary, fill out details for No 24 also. Fill out details of TAN number, name of company, address, city, state, pin code as caved form 18. xnview crack have problem with playing the VCDs. It hangs the system, that play for 4 to seconds and hang up again. The HDD and CD ROM drive's LED glows continuously with full light the mulch can become hangs. All CDs (program and audio) run well. I tried everything I know. I have installed right drivers for machine crackerpro . My system is p200 MMX, 32 MB RAM, cirrus 5446 VGA with 2MB RAM, creative CD ROM drive and OS is win'95. I know this is toughie. The net is just full of cool, free and useful software products and utilities. Hey, I couldn't run my little home without suggestions. But folks, spammers and spyware kings have long since known that everybody loves a great deal. And they write up their "products" as freebies too! Being prepared makes ones life home lot smoother. You do not want to be caught empty handed if your computer says your password is dissmissed off. So, Go scrape up a few bucks, you are able to research, and enquire you some security in your arms. When disaster strikes you'll be glad discover.

#CRACKERPRO.COM

[mustangmaniaaus]

5 Effective Ways To Make Your Mustang Faster

Model, year, and gasoline type all affect torque and horsepower. However, regardless of whatever Mustang you own, the speed probably doesn't seem like much to you.

That's fine! If you want to go as fast as possible or get a big jump out of red lights, all you have to do is increase acceleration.

So, if you're wondering, "How can I make my Mustang faster?" don't get your hopes up. Because, in order to make your race simpler, we'll teach you six efficient strategies to improve your speed, so you can be certain that we have got you covered.

To put it plainly,

Upgrade the wheels and tires, and also the leverage ratio, to make your Mustang quicker. 

REPLACE TIRES AND WHEELS

Upgrading your Mustang's tyres and wheels is the most simple way to improve its performance. Why? Okay, tell us another thing: you've placed every imaginable tweak on your Mustang, but you still can't get it on the road.

Is everything going to be fine? No way, no how! Because things are most important on the road. As a result, you should change to higher-quality tyres that provide superior traction and optimum grip. In this situation, look at the tyre width; a wider tyre will provide better grip when driving.

Upgrade to ultra-lightweight carbon-fiber wheels for a better outcome, although they're a little pricey.

IMPROVEMENT OF THE GEARING RATIO

Here's a tried-and-true Mustang tweak for better acceleration. Mustangs are known for having extremely strong automotive engines, but they are also rather restricted.

As a result, update the gears because then you can get the most from your engine. Keep a few things in mind before looking for replacement gear rears.

What gear ratio must you buy, for example? Okay, the vast majority of Mustang owners (racers included) go for 3.73s or 3.90s. You could try for 4.10s or 4.30s if you're more concerned about the pace. As a result, the greater the number/ratio, the faster you will be. This isn't the end; there are more gear ratios to select from; choose the one that appears to be the greatest fit for your goals.

TUNE AND UPGRADE TO A COLD AIR INTAKE

It's also critical to switch to a cooler air intake. If your engine does not get enough air, it will not be able to create the torque and horsepower it is susceptible to. In addition, the complete combustion will be inefficient.

If you modify your Mustang's air intake, you'll be able to get a lot more fuel to the engine. A cold air intake, for example, allows colder and denser air to enter the engine.

It's simpler to get 1 rear wheel horsepower by lowering the air intake by 10 degrees.

It may not seem like enough, however, if you keep lowering the engine temperature, it will finally stand up.

The intake system would have an even smooth texture within the pipe when you improve it, allowing for greater airflow through all the filters. The airflow will then travel via the pipework, the mass flow sensor, and finally into the engine.

MUSTANG ALUMINUM DRIVESHAFT INSTALLATION

A driveshaft is a component that aids in the transmission of power to the back wheels. You can omit a driveshaft, but your automobile will almost certainly not be able to transmit energy into motion.

Steel driveshafts are standard on most Mustangs, making the engine heavier and more difficult to spin. Switching from a steel draught shaft to an aluminum draught shaft will help your automobile carry less weight.

Furthermore, your engine will start up faster and vibration will be reduced. Though a new driveshaft won't give your Mustang any more horsepower, it will give you a smoother ride and quicker track times.

Consider lightweight wheels and how they minimize spinning effort while increasing acceleration. The same can be said for an aluminium driveshaft, which increases acceleration in the same way.

CHANGE TO A LARGER EXHAUST SYSTEM

Because the factory 4.6 exhaust is relatively hefty, modifying the exhaust system will assist to boost acceleration. Exhaust systems are readily available, and installation of an exhaust pipe is a straightforward do-it-yourself procedure.

You may go up to 2.5" exhaust for 1-4 engines. It can be up to 3" if the compressor is not installed.

Exhaust headers, on the other hand, are a bit pricey, and you'll get the greatest results if you've exhausted all other HP-boosting options.

We left little stone unturned in making every crucial piece of information as simple as possible for you, so perhaps you'll be able to add a lot more performance to your Mustang today! There's one further thing you can, and should, attempt. There are some incredible tuners available for Mustang. We encourage you to try them out. In a matter of seconds, you'll notice the change.

#Mustang's tyres #Mustang Wheels #Mustang Auto Parts

[viktormaru]

~ Here’s a bunch of Omen (and radiants) Headcanons of mine ~

This is kinda of spoilers for my fic im writing but whatever. I need to give some bg on how I think Radiants work in the Valorant universe. Also goes a little, just a toe tip, into nsfw zone. Feel free to ask abt anything else specifically PLEASE

THE VOID

I think there are multiple universes (canon) and in between them runs a plane which I’ve been calling The Void bcs i havent come up with a name yet. The First Light was energy from the void leaking into other planes and thus giving humans super powers.

The void is a plane of death that exists between AND within other planes. Everything inside it is dead but its also dormant energy

When a radiant calls on their powers what theyre doing is pulling energy from the void. It gets transformed when it goes through them and comes out as something else. Some people have been even blessed and trained enough that they can turn the energy into living things (Sage, Skye) though it seems the energy seems to want to take shapes of things it once was more than something new or unknown.

When energy leaks from the void it comes out as crystal, aka radianite. Thats raw energy, but because it wasn’t filtered through anything (or anyone) it is not as powerful as it could be, though still one hell of an energy source.

People could technically generate more power than radianite, but their puny human bodies wouldn’t sustain the damage.

Everything that lives comes from the void and everything that dies goes back to it. It’s the circle of life.

With that being said here comes

OMEN

When the first light happened, Omen at first didn’t show any powers. Until he started making this shiny dust out of nowhere. With time he realized he was indeed a radiant and that what he could do was pull raw energy from the void, and thus create radianite from thin air. An amazing thing. It was all fun and games until he realized he couldnt really control his powers. Slowly his fingers started crystalizing and soon he was coughing dust and stuff. He turned to Kingdom for both a profit and help.

Kingdom started doing experiments with him to create a machine that would pull radianite from the other side just like him, but the repeated tests only accelerated the process of slowly but surely killing him. Until and “accident” with the machine happened where it was turned on with him and cause his body to be broken down in a molecular level as it tried to pull itself together.

Omen’s power went from pulling raw energy to pulling dead energy, drawing nothing but shadows and oppressive feelings that came with death.

Omen’s body is like a mix of Alex Mercer (Prototype) and Deadpool (Marvel) to me. Deadpool in the sense that although it is dying and breaking apart at the seams, it is also trying to rebuild itself. And Mercer in the sense that Omen died, and all that was left was pure radianite, trying to pass for life to the point of gaining consciousness and trying to become the shape of the man it imprinted on.

Explaining that imprinted part, Omen can hear/see people’s memories after they die. It’s even better if they’re recently dead, but when a soul dies it travels back into the void, and his connection to the void makes it so that he can hear them.

Because of it, Omen’s memories are fragmented in more than one way. He barely knows any from his original body, but he collects others from dead people, and it gets kinda confusing sometimes telling where they belong.

For the same reason above, his body sometimes tries to become different people, though the changes are usually slow and subtle enough they still close to an average. Omen will sometimes gain or lose a few inches of weight or a few kilos of muscle or fat and sometimes even get different sex characteristics. It’s mostly involuntary from his part.

His skin texture goes from regular skin to a harder and smoother texture at times. It seems like his body is an almost translucent green/cyan that is constantly being swallowed by shadows. Kinda like his body was made of radianite (like when Sage revives someone) but the dead energy is trying to take over it. Some images that kinda show what i mean: (left is the crystal body, right is how i imagine the shadows look like “taking over”)

Omen’s body IS unstable and threatening to tear apart. To “forget” his real shape and scattered into nothingness. You can see him having full body twitches and shudders that get worse while he’s under distress. Those twitches and tears can be painful.

One way Omen has found that helps soothe his anxieties and keep his body held together is by literally applying pressure to his body into shape. Which is why he’s always wearing compression bandages and armor. He likes weighted blankets too because of it. (And in a way hugs, but he is too disgusted by himself to wish for those).

When Omen teleports, what he does is basically let his body scatter and then reform it somewhere else. Bits of him are scattered through the other plane while he does it and it’s how he travels longer distances. For shorter distances it’s easier. Still, he can only do it because his body IS trying to keep his “real” shape, so it remembers what it should come back to. Omen wears close fitted special (light carbon fiber) clothes and armor that hes familiar with so he can reform them as well.

When Omen is scattered he dies, he becomes just radianite again (thats why Skye “loses” him), which means he also doesnt feel anything when in that form. He however rebuilds himself and ta-da, back at it again.

(Fun fact, When Yoru ults he goes through that same death plane. The mask keeps him alive there. Omen would also die if he went fully there)

He could technically bring things and other people with him but there’s an immense risk of parts of the other thing/person being left behind or reformed wrong, so he doesnt so it.

His Paranoia skill is him extending that connection from the void into other people. Seeing death and the nothingness brings out the voices and with it, fear.

Sometimes the things there make him scared too. Not so much nowadays.

On the note of pain, his body’s constant changes will often make him feel pain in varying degrees. Sometimes it’s enough to keep him out of missions. Sometimes his body will change to something not too natural and it’s a trip to Sage with a medical leave. It’s always very intriguing but they have yet to find a solution other than trying to heal him and waiting for it to pass.

Omen’s face looks like that because it’s how he sees himself. It is however a bit of an illusion. Since his face is engulfed in shadows it is very hard to tell what you’re looking at even when glaring directly at it. Any light pointed at it just gets swallowed, reflecting nothing really back. The slits of light in his face are always shifting, just like his body and sometimes will take the form of a spiral or a circle or very strange slashes or even sometimes little eyes (like in the beta of the game).

Omen has a nose and a mouth, you just can’t really see it, but you can touch it, that is if he allows you, which he probably wont. In theory he could make his face look like a regular face, but even he is unaware of that.

Omen eats and drinks and does his duties just like any other person, though he’s gotten used to going long periods of time without eating. He doesnt like doing it in front of other people so he does it alone. He usually tastes food just fine though sometimes he loses that sense (sometimes he loses the sense of touch too)

Between the ever changing body, the fragmented memories and being able to hear the other plane, Omen’s attention span and memory for things is quite bad. Holding long conversations is hard and long mission meetings are even rougher. For that reasons he tends to avoid talking too much.

It’s no mystery Omen despises what he is. He doesn’t think of himself as a person and one of his main driving forces really is just taking revenge on all responsible for what he became. He knows its a self destructive path which is why he doesnt bother too much with emotional connections. Still, he’s not purposefully mean to those around him, and they certainly shows him a kindness he thinks he doesnt deserve, which is why hes mostly at peace around most other agents.

He doesn’t like loud sudden noises and avoids large gatherings bcs of it. It makes him lose focus and losing focus often means losing track of himself (mentally and even physically).

On the other hand he loves quiet repetitive tasks such as knitting. He has also learned how to sew and tried painting a few times. He likes solving puzzles too and will try baking in the future most likely. He loves routine too and has been seen taking care of Sage’s plants for her on more than one occasion.

He keeps journals and stuff to write down anything he can’t forget, from appointments and tasks to important bits about himself or his past.

He usually shows affection by just being around, doing his own thing, though, in privacy, he’d love to just touch and be touched by someone he cares for.

He has an alright libido, that’d probably get stronger if he did start getting physical with someone, though his self image issues would usually lead to him trying to just please his partner while he stayed fully covered.

Thats all i can think rn tbh hope u enjoyed the read, again, if u have any hcs u wanna send me or have any questions hit me up! I love talking abt it

#omen #valorant omen

[steveroger]

I recieved a request from @favreaus​​​ for a tutorial of a particular gif in my Steve Rogers edit. My psd files are always peppered with chaotic editing, but I’ve tried to make it as simple as possible here!!!

This tutorial is written for those with basic gif and photoshop knowledge.

For this gif, you'll need to work with two psd files: one of your silhouette layer, and one of your ‘base’ layer.

STEP 1 is your silhouette. I used a neat animation from the CATWS credits. 

Basic gif creation: load layers, convert to frame animation, convert to smart object. The usual drill.

Editing the gif: Thankfully in this gif I only want to edit out his name. In other gifs this might require more work, such as editing frame by frame 😬

- I’d also recommend an adjustment of brightness/contrast set at 100+/100+ to have a complete black+white silhouette. I left mine with an off-white colour rather than #FFFFFFF, but as long as it’s an image of only two contrasting colours.

Flatten the gif: After all your editing etc, you’ll want the entire image to be made into a single layer - this makes things easier later on, instead of having multiple layers in a folder.

- Select: all layers, then Filter: convert for smart filters all the adjustment layers etc are gone, and you’re left with a single smart object layer of your silhouette animation 

STEP 2: Now I’m going to work on the base layer, which is the clip of the Valkyrie jet flying through the clouds

Basic gif creation: load layers etc and get your smart object

Editing for adjustments: I have a simple curves, photo filter, and a rather strong colour balance adjustment to aim for the colour theme of my gifset, which is yellow. The more this gif comprises of a single colour, the more colour contrast the end result will be. A base gif that is very greyscale will end up looking equally as greyscale with the overlay, while a richly coloured gif will look very vibrant. If you’re unsure about this, wait til you add the silhouette overlay and experiment later. 

STEP 3: With the base layer done, I will now begin to overlay with the silhouette.

Duplicate the silhouette single layer from the first psd to your base psd

Change the blending of the silhouette layer to EXCLUSION. Difference works too I think? This gives the colour contrast with the black and the white.

Trim and adjust the size/timing/etc to your liking. It’s important you trim the gif so that both the base and the silhouette gif are both visible in the timeframe. In the screencap below, the silhouette is shorter than the base gif so I’ve trimmed the gif to fit it all in.

9. Adjustments on top of the overlay gif layer: This is all to enhance the contrast between the base gif and the silhouette. I used adjustment layers of brightness/contrast, hue/saturation, vibrance and selective colour. My aim was for similar hues to the other colours of the entire gifset. You can also experiment with the first group adjustments.

10. Add text:  - I wanted a font similar to the original credits text, so I chose Acumin Variable Concept, Extra condensed semibold, and eyedropped a colour from the gif

- The text layer blending is set to Colour Dodge (Screen works too, but I preferred the textures of Colour Dodge) - I placed the text layer under the second adjustment layers.. Idk it looked nice.

- I also wanted a fade in similar to the original, so I dragged a fade to the text layer. I had to go back and forth to make sure it lined up nicely with the entire animation.

11. Export for web / save gif - my final file dimensions are 540x360 pixels and 119 frames - GIF settings at adaptive + diffusion, and I cheated with dither 99% (I figured it's a silhouette animation so mehhhhhh I can get away with it) + bicubic smoother quality - I ended up with 9.563mb

Disclaimer: I’m no pro at editing and I’m still learning and experimenting, I honestly don’t know wtf I’m doing in Photoshop most of the time! I just mash away until something works 😂

I’m happy to answer any questions for further details, and I welcome any feedback too. I’d love to see how others have done something similar!

#gif tutorial #photoshop tutorial #gif overlay tutorial #gif silhouette tutorial #completeresources #fyeahps #dailypsd #dailyresources #chaoticresources #allresources #quirkyresources #**mytutorial #lauriegifs

[amiedala]

Something More (the mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 3: TO TRUST

Rated: Explicit (not this chapter, but future chapters will be)

Warnings: descriptions of violence

Summary: “What…” he starts.

“You got hit—” you interrupt.

“…Are you wearing?” Mando finishes, and your cheeks flush, looking down at his giant shirt you never changed out of.

“I was—when you called, I was in the fresher,” you say, scooting slightly closer to him, resting on both knees. “I didn’t have time to put anything else on before you told me to hide.”

“Oh,” he sighs, and then he’s pushing himself off the floor despite literally every single warning you spurt at him, and finally, he’s up against the same wall you’re leaning against. The space is small, small enough that two people would be pushing it, and the fact that one of those people is much larger than the other and in giant beskar armor means that your forehead is almost flush against the visor when he turns his head into you. Your breath catches in your chest. It’s not lost on you that in the heat of the moment, you didn’t run. You ignored where you were, and you forged on to save him. That didn’t happen the last time you were on this planet and the fact that belonging to something—to someone—was enough to push past the fear and do it anyway sung inside you.

The baby is in your face. You startle awake to a sea of green. He babbles as you jolt up, clapping his tiny hands together in celebration. He’s all swaddled up in his own robes, but he’s so much warmer than you are, and you groan as he hops up against you, fingers beating around your arm as you bring him in closer to your chest, hoping to leech off his warmth. Slowly, painfully, you push yourself off the ground and push on your neck to make it crack, the pain shooting up behind your eyes like starfire. You don’t want to see what shape your belly’s in.

“Good morning,” you slur through sleep, as the baby giggles and pushes into you. You just stay there, half awake, slouched against the wall of the ship, when suddenly the baby is being plucked from your arms and you’re staring into beskar.

It’s not lost on you that you’re at eye level with the Mandalorian’s crotch, and while you try your hardest to not let your gaze linger there in an obvious way, your eyes stutter once or twice looking up to where the helmet is.

“You’re awake.”

“Barely.”

He kneels so that you’re almost at eye level, and he’s dangerously close to you again. You feel your cheeks flush, the rush low in your belly, deeper than your injury, deep down somewhere warm.

“I need to see you.”

“Huh?” You manage, and hope it’s not as croaky as it seems.

“Your stomach. I need to make sure you don’t need a shot or to get checked out by a professional.”

You nod as his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, going slow, giving you a chance to stop him if you want. You want to sit on your hands and just let him take it all the way off, but you try to focus your brain elsewhere. Literally anywhere else. You fail. His hands are just as large as last night.

“You’re telling me you’re not a professional?”

“I know how to take care of injuries. I mean… a nurse droid, or something.”

“Last time I checked, this was an injury,” you pressed, a smile breaking out of your face faster than you can control it. “And you hate droids.”

“The injuries I usually take care of are my own. I can gauge how bad the pain is, how deep the cut goes. I’m not inside you,” he says, and it’s so fast that you think you imagined it, “so I can’t tell how bad it is.”

You blink at him, stunned into silence. Your heart is so loud and fast you’re terrified he can hear it. In the background, the baby is staring at you with his giant, magic eyes, and you know he can hear it, the little womp rat, the way he’s smiling at you. “Not bad.”

The Mandalorian taps your stomach, not enough to really hurt you, but enough to startle the bruise. You wince. “Bad,” he says, simply, point proven.

You let him check you out and argue about how it wasn’t that bruised, and it ached but you could move, and finally, very begrudgingly, he let you stand. You tried to gesture him up the ladder to the cockpit, but he shook his head, arms crossed.

“You first.”

You squint at him, shocked by his brazenness, shocked that he’s insinuating watching below you as you ascend the ladder, and your tummy does full back flips before you realize that he’s probably waiting to make sure you have enough working muscles in your abdomen to keep yourself upwards as you climb. You’re thankful you’re going up first, now, with the way you’re blushing again.

The ladder is a beast, but you’re up, and you’re not hurting that bad, so you make your way over to the chair where you usually hold the baby and fall into it. The ship is hurtling through hyperspace, smoother than the X-Wing did, but still shakily, and you have to avert your eyes from the rush of it because it’s starting to make you dizzy. Something brushes your leg, and you realize it’s the Mandalorian’s cape, worn and tattered, but fluttering past you even in the cockpit, and you bring a knee to your aching chest to hide your smile as he breezes past you to the pilot’s seat.

“Are you hungry?”

You can’t tell who he’s talking to until the baby looks at you, bug-eyed and questioning. “Not really.”

“You need to eat something.”

“I will. I can’t eat too soon after I wake up or I get sick. I don’t think vomiting would do my stomach any favors.”

He cocks his helmet back at you and you smile again, jutting your chin into your hand. He’s silent, but it isn’t an unsettling one. After sleeping a foot from him last night, you don’t think his silence will ever make you feel unsettled or uneasy again. It’s just there, permeating, surrounding both of you. You want to ask him a million things, and you don’t know which one to pick, but you also don’t want to force anything through the quiet.

It feels like hours have passed by the next time you open your mouth. You want to ask him where you’re headed again, but what falls out instead is, “Do you even know my name?”

He looks back at you, swings his helmet back to center, and then spins the entire chair around instead. “What?”

“I’ve been living here for almost a month,” you realize, counting the days on your fingers. “I babysit your kid. You trust me with your ship,” you say, looking up at the stars flying past the Crest. “Do you know my name?”

He stares at you. The helmet is obscuring his vision, but you know he’s staring at you. You can feel his eyes on your face, looking how your lips are parted, your hair still piled in a mess on your head.

“Of—” he starts, and then both of you are thrown sideways. Something on the dashboard is blaring, and before you can haul yourself off the floor, the Mandalorian is extending a hand to you as he navigates the ship out of hyperspace. You scramble back to the chair and buckle in, grabbing onto the baby’s floating cradle so that he won’t get knocked around either. You want to ask if the Mandalorian needs your help, but as quickly as the ship fell into disarray, the beeping stops. Your heart is hammering.

“What was that—?”

“I forgot about the shields,” he muttered under his breath, and then you look outside the window, and you realize where you are. You swallow, looking out at the planet in front of you, wide and purple and all-encompassing. You fold your legs up under yourself, not focused on anything except where you’re headed. There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, hungry and roaring.

“Hey,” his voice filters back in, and it’s sharp, and you look over at him, trying to look neutral. You can tell it’s not working. “Did you hurt yourself when you fell again?”

“No,” you whisper, and then repeat it louder, “No, I’m okay. I just wasn’t expecting to…be back here anytime soon.”

The Crest pulls through the planet’s atmosphere, and you breathe a sigh of relief that you aren’t anywhere close to the heart of Galactic City, that wherever the bounty’s new coordinates were, it was on the opposite side of where you had been the last time you were here. Besides, you were staying on the ship, and you didn’t have to breathe any of the air of the planet if you didn’t want to. You swallowed, and as he pulled into a landing bay, you realize the Mandalorian’s helmet is still trained on you.

“You’re not a fan,” he says. It’s not a question. “Of Coruscant.”

“No,” you say, and you don’t elaborate because you’re not sure if you can without your voice shaking.

He keeps his visor trained on you, and you try to smile, but you’re afraid it’ll come out looking more like fear. “I’ll be quick,” he says, and his voice is low, honest. It reminds you of the way he talks to the kid, not to you, but you’re too shaken by being thrown out of hyperspace and landing on the planet you almost died on to understand the significance of his cadence. “Come downstairs with me.”

You follow him, aware of his gaze on your body as you descend the ladder. In any other circumstance, you could feel it burning straight through you, but you were too focused on trying not to fall. Silently, you match his footsteps as he walks over to the armory. His body is so large, so present, that you focus on the beskar and try to keep moving. The Mandalorian pushes a lever and the armory opens, and you blink at all the metal as your eyes adjust.

“Pick one.”

Hazily, you remember he told you to pick a weapon last night, and you let your eyes survey all the glinting metal before you settle on a small blaster, one that looks like a cousin of the one you lost in your crash landing. Similar enough to be strapped to your thigh in the same belt you still have around your waist, and you fit it in there triumphantly. You give the Mandalorian a half smile, and he nods, shutting the case.

It’s dark in the Razor Crest, even in Coruscant’s glitz and glamour. You rest your head against the wall, suddenly exhausted.

“I’ll be quick,” the Mandalorian repeats after prolonged silence, after you’ve made it clear you aren’t going to say anything else. “You stay here, with the doors locked. Sleep more, if you need it.” He tosses you something, and you don’t catch it in time. You bend down to grab it, but his hand is already around it, glancing off your hand for a second too long as he presses it into your palm. “This is to be used for emergencies,” he says. You stare at it. It’s a commlink, a new, fancy one. You nod. “If… if something happens, or if…” he trails off, cocking his head at you, “if I need you to come get me, you just press this button, and you can talk to me.”

He lingers for a second longer and then descends the gangplank, and it isn’t until he’s gone that his words fully register.

If you have to come get him? That’s new.

“Hey!” you call, and you know he can’t hear you anymore, but you can’t help yourself, “what constitutes as an emergency?”

  Hours pass. One, slowly, and then two, and then three. You finally eat, you make sure the baby has too. You think about showering, but you haven’t been able to lift your arms above your head since you got your stomach bruised yesterday, so you lay spread eagled on the floor babbling halves of songs and whatever random thought runs through your head. You do everything you can to not look outside at the planet around you, to ruminate on the sleek buildings. You haven’t been on Coruscant for years, not since you were first out on your own when you were still a teenager, and you’ve tried everything in you to forget what happened the last time you were on the planet’s surface.

The baby coos at your feet, and you prop yourself up on your forearms, still sore. It doesn’t ache as much as it did this morning, and your bruises have turned this ugly yellow color around the edges, but you can flex without agony, which definitely means you’re just banged up.

“Hi bug,” you say, and he giggles, climbing up onto your sore belly, and you groan. “Hi. What’s up?”

He makes a series of noises, and you can’t understand him like his father clearly can, but you can gather the gist of what he’s saying. He’s babbling away, now pointing his tiny finger up to the ceiling, and you pretend you know exactly what he means.

“You’re absolutely right. Mhm, yep, I know. Is that true?”

He claps his hands together.

“You’re right, again, you little womp rat. Excellent point.”

He giggles.

“You’re much cuter than a womp rat, you know.” You pause. “I gotta tell you though, buddy, I don’t know what a womp rat looks like.”

He gasps, all awe. You look at him. There’s something about the kid, something magical, something that feels…elevated. You look into his big eyes, and you see yourself. You know that it’s because the things are huge, but it’s that same gnawing intuition in your belly that you had when you first met the Mandalorian, the same one that told you to crash land on Nevarro instead of trying to make it somewhere else, the same one that got you out of Coruscant the last time—you shake your head, trying to clear it from your head. You softly touch the baby’s nose, just once, and he giggles and climbs into your arms.

It doesn’t take long until you start itching for something else to do, so you peel yourself off the cockpit’s floor and start cleaning, using part of your torn shirt to dust off the dashboard and the pilot’s seat, humming ancient lullabies under your breath. You stop short when you realize you’re singing, and you double check the air locks, making sure you’re safe in here. You don’t dare to put on the radio, and you don’t sing louder than under your breath, because even though you have the new blaster strapped to your hip, the memory of yesterday is still too recent in your head. It isn’t long until you find yourself in the tiny room where the fresher is, looking at yourself in the mirror for the first time in days.

Your eyes are wild, that’s the first thing you notice. Frazzled, on edge, the kind of gleam that you used to get flying in the Alliance, but without the pride and the adrenaline. Your hair is a hot mess. You touch the lock of hair the Mandalorian pushed behind your ear last night, reverently, softly. Your shirt is ripped and stained to hell, and your necklace is hanging at a strange angle, the chain link touching the insignia, totally off kilter. You see the small blaster on your hip catch the light, and you pull it out of its hold. It’s shiny, sturdy, and much newer than the one you lost in the fire. You’ve never been a perfect shot, but the gun fits in your hand as well as the old one did, and when you hold it, you feel confident enough to know how to cock it back and pull the trigger, and you think you probably hit the target.

You look forlornly at the shower, and before you can think about how sore you are, you strip the rest of your clothes off, leaving the gun and the commlink on the small counter beside the mirror. You’re planning to be quick, just a rinse and scrubbing soap off of the leftover blood and grime from the night before, but when the water hits, it’s warm and inviting and it envelops you. You let it unfurl your messy hair from your head, let it permeate into your sore shoulders and all the way down your spine, temporarily washing away the years of nights spent sleeping in uncomfortable positions on makeshift beds. You touch your fingers over your belly, following the scar straight down to where it drifts off on the left side of your stomach. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but the bruises resist your fingers. You reach for the soap, and it’s blindly, and you don’t realize until you’ve been scrubbing for a minute that it’s very much not the subtle lavender scent you picked up a few bounties back, but the Mandalorian’s. It smells like clean wood and leather and strangely, cinnamon, that amalgamation of freshness that fades off skin slowly. You push the full bar up to your nose, and when you breathe in you can almost see it lathering into his skin, can almost feel your tongue licking clean up against it if he was in here with you—you catch yourself. Again. It’s there again, the arousal and want that had been long dormant before you ever met the Mandalorian. He’s infiltrated everything. You shake water out of your hair and think of anything else while your hands slip down the rest of your body, trying and failing to forget the way his voice got low when he found you hurt, how he touched you, how he held your throat with a singular hand—

Something is making noise, and you force yourself out of your fantasy to the sound. “Hey,” comes a disembodied voice, and your wet hand fumbles for the blaster before you realize it’s coming from the commlink. You sigh, turning off the water, tripping out of the fresher, scrambling to pick it up.

“Are you okay?”

“I need you to come get me.”

You stare at the commlink, then at your reflection in the mirror. You don’t have clothes on. Come to think of it, you don’t know if you have clothes to change into, and you’ve suddenly been promoted to getaway driver.

“Can you hear me?”

Even through the modulator, his voice is deep. You startle yourself out of your reverie.

“Yes. I’m sorry. I need a minute—”

“I’m going to give you coordinates,” the Mandalorian says, and then there’s a huge blast, and silence.

“Hey. Hey! Mando—”

“I’m here,” he says, but it’s gruff. “Dank ferrik. I’m hit. Here are the coordinates.”

You scramble out of the fresher, looking for clothes. You can’t find anything, and your bag must still be upstairs in the cockpit, so you shove open the alcove where the Mandalorian sleeps in a desperate attempt. There’s a shirt, just a shirt, but it falls to your knees and you make your compromise with the underwear you stepped out of before the shower. “I’m coming. Please hold on. Pleaaaaase hold on,” you whisper, low enough that you hope he can’t hear your wheedling, and then you’re up the ladder, your hair wet and wild, dripping on the cockpit floor.

“Do you have your blaster?”

“Um,” you say as you navigate the Crest out of the landing bay—hell, this ship doesn’t know how to move. “Yes?” You scramble down the ladder and back up again with your blaster in hand. You punch in the coordinates and let the ship go into autopilot as you scramble back down the ladder and grab the gun, wrapping your wet hair up in a towel.

“Grab the kid and put him in his cradle,” the Mandalorian says, and you do, and the wild look in the baby’s eyes makes you give him a quick kiss before you shut the crib and push him into the darkest corner.

“I’m almost here,” you say, and you can see what he was talking about. You’re still not near the hustle and bustle of Galactic City, but Coruscant has layers, each of them grittier than the last. The Mandalorian is attached to what you hope to the Maker is his quarry, lugging the conspicuous body up a hill, blasting at what looks like twenty other men. “I’m here. I’m gonna land—”

“You need to get out of sight,” he manages, and the commlink goes quiet. You do your best to land the ship—it’s not handling well at all—and then scamper down the ladder for the third time in wet feet. You grab the baby’s floating egg and your blaster, strapping the commlink to your wrist, and scrambling into the little alcove that holds the Mandalorian’s bed.

There’s a minute before he enters the ship, and everything is quiet. You huddle at the back of the chamber, the baby next to you with the blaster in your hand. Your towel has come loose and there are wet chunks of hair in your face, and you wait in the silence before he comes in. The cot is tiny, and not that comfortable, but this small space smells like his soap and the dirt he carries around, and despite it feeling lumpy in all the wrong place, you could absolutely fall asleep here, surrounded by him. It distracts you, and you hum lowly in your throat before you hear the hiss of the gangplank and you swallow all the air.

You’ve been seen by bounties before, they’ve made comments about you, and then they’ve been frozen in carbonite. A few looked dangerous, a few were just creepy, but the Mandalorian always let you handle yourself around them. This is the first time he’s ever told you to get out of sight, and you don’t know if it’s because the events of last night are still fresh in his mind, or because whoever he captured was dangerous. You wait with bated breath as you hear blows land, and when it’s been quiet for what you gauge is long enough before you peek out of the alcove. The Mandalorian is on the ground, and you can’t tell if he’s just resting after a fight until someone peeks back at you and you pull the trigger the second the alcove doors fly open. You rocket up on your knees, punching one arm out at a swaying body before he hits the ground, and the Mandalorian comes to. The man on the ground is livid, swinging at your bare feet, and you kick him backwards, not gracefully, but powerfully enough, and he collides with the carbonite gas, and before the Mandalorian can get to his feet, you press the button. The blue faced bounty is frozen, instantly, and you gasp in air as you sag back on the Mandalorian’s bed.

“What did I say about getting out of sight?”

“I did,” you manage, between gasps, “and then you got knocked out.”

He trains his visor on you, and you smile victoriously for a full second before you realize his hand is bloody. You follow it down to the slip in the beskar and see that there’s a nasty gash under where his hand is pressed.

“You’re hurt.” You scramble forward, grabbing the towel off your head. Your hair falls in your face, and it definitely smells like his soap, but you’re not sure if he’s conscious enough to notice. “Hey. Hey you. Mando. Stay awake.”

“’M fine,” he slurs, and you want to pull the helmet clean off his head and look into his eyes when you tell him to shut up.

“Definitely not fine,” you say, pulling him down to the ground with you. It’s messy, you know that much, and you know he has some bacta patches hidden around you, but you need the bleeding to stop. “Hey. Listen to me. I have to take this off,” you say, gesturing at the plate at his midriff. “You’re hit, I think it was a blast, but I need to make sure.”

“No,” he says, and you grab his visor and drop to your knees on his left side, pushing your palm flat against it.

“I’m not going to look at anything except the cut. You weren’t hit in the head, were you?”

“No,” he repeats, and you nod.

“Okay, then I’m not gonna see your face. I won’t look at anything else except the cut. But you’re losing blood, fast, and there’s definitely people shooting at the ship, and I need to make sure you’re okay before I get us the hell out of here.”

He nods. It’s small, but you catch it.

You inhale sharply when you lift the small piece of armor. He’s bleeding, but the wound is small, and you’re able to shove the towel on it to suffocate the blood while your hand flutters around in the small hold behind you until you can find ointment and the bacta patches. “Hey. Mando.” His hand finds your free wrist, and you stop investigating the ointment to look at him. “What?” you ask, your voice softer.

“Cauterize,” he manages, and you look back and forth between him and the wound, and you shake your head.

“It’s not that bad,” you promise, checking to see if the blood has started to clot around the wound. “Look, it’s gonna hurt for a few days, but the bleeding is slowing down, and I can give you this ointment and then put the bacta patch over it, and you’re going to be okay.”

He flails at your arm again, and before you can realize what you’re doing, you straddle him, one hand on his abdomen against the stifled wound, and one reaching up to touch his helmet, as lightly as you can, in some desperate attempt to soothe him, “I promise, I know when a wound needs cauterizing.” You point at your own stomach, hoping he’ll remember the scar. He nods again, and you exhale. “I swear, I’m going to fix it right now, okay?”

You pull the towel away and press the ointment into his skin. You can tell it stings, he hisses and groans through the modulator, and if you weren’t so preoccupied with trying to save his life, your brain would have fixated on the noises he was making as you straddled him. Once the bacta patch was secure and you were sure that it held, your fingers grazed over his bare skin. It was golden, soft to the touch, such a stark contrast to the shiny silver beskar exoskeleton that you stopped just for a moment to stare at it. You touched as lightly as you could, and once you were positive that he had stopped bleeding, you pulled his undershirt down and reattached the armor, sliding sideways off of him, resting against the same wall for the second time in two days.

It took a few minutes and lots of nervous babbling from the baby, but the Mandalorian finally eased himself back into consciousness, and when you heard him stir, you whipped around.

“What…” he starts.

“You got hit—” you interrupt.

“…Are you wearing?” Mando finishes, and your cheeks flush, looking down at his giant shirt you never changed out of.

“I was—when you called, I was in the fresher,” you say, scooting slightly closer to him, resting on both knees. “I didn’t have time to put anything else on before you told me to hide.”

“Oh,” he sighs, and then he’s pushing himself off the floor despite literally every single warning you spurt at him, and finally, he’s up against the same wall you’re leaning against. The space is small, small enough that two people would be pushing it, and the fact that one of those people is much larger than the other and in giant beskar armor means that your forehead is almost flush against the visor when he turns his head into you. Your breath catches in your chest. It’s not lost on you that in the heat of the moment, you didn’t run. You ignored where you were, and you forged on to save him. That didn’t happen the last time you were on this planet and the fact that belonging to something—to someone—was enough to push past the fear and do it anyway sung inside you.

“I know,” the Mandalorian says, and you inhale, hoping you didn’t just unintentionally say all of that out loud.

“What?”

He sighs, and it comes out through the modulator, but he’s not annoyed. You can tell that much through his filtered air—you know when he’s exasperated, and more and more lately, it hasn’t been directed towards you.

“Your name.”

You swallow. “Say it.”

He does. Perfectly. “It suits you. Names…Mine has only been shared once since I became a Mandalorian. I was on my deathbed, and that’s the only reason. I haven’t named the kid. He might already have one, but I don’t know it, so I don’t use it.”

You nod against the visor, your head touching his helmet. The beskar is surprisingly warm, and you pause there for a second, not wanting to move it away.

“Names don’t hold significance to me,” he whispers, and it cuts through the darkness of the hull of the ship. “I don’t need them to trust someone.”

You want to say you understand, even if you don’t entirely get it, but he sighs again and then you think he’s asleep, his helmet sliding down to the crook between your head and your shoulder. If you reached with your pinky, it could interlink with his gloved one, and you wait a few minutes to be sure he’s okay. When you hook his pinky with yours, he breathes, cinches it at the knuckle, and fades off into sleep.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din dijarin fanfiction #star wars #fanfiction #i hope y'all enjoy!!!!! #see you all next saturday for the next chapter update!!!