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slamminslamminmcgill · 2 months

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joel getting off of a carpenter job all sweaty and smelling like lumber and probably a little beer and uhhhhhhhhh stealing his sweaty shirts and huffing them when he goes to shower. what who said that 🧍‍♂️

rl quick shoutout to my dilf friend who hosts the orgy he smells rly good and i huffed his pits last night so this one’s your fault babes mwah

anatomical terms: cunt, dick

Is this how drug dogs feel?

When some idiot’s trying to sneak weed through customs, is this how excited they get when they catch a whiff?

Well, probably not this excited, and either way, it’s not the smell that hypes them up, but the promise of a treat afterwards.

You, on the other hand, were attracted to the smell itself, or at least the idea of it. Specifically, Joel’s scent as soon as he walked into the apartment, face flushed, brow dotted with sweat, wet patches pooling under his armpits, sawdust sprinkling him from head to toe, ripped jeans with paint splatters on them. He looked gorgeous, so masculine and powerful. Jesus was a carpenter too, wasn’t he? Yeah, that tracks. No wonder he had twelve dudes following him all the time. Joel’s smell was as conspicuous as lighting a blunt in the airport, something that’d surely attract the dogs.

He wiped his Timberland boots on the mat, then knelt down to untie them. You watched, entranced, as he kicked them off and unbuckled his tool belt. You wanted nothing more than to rush him and face-plant into his armpits, but you figured you should show at least some restraint.

“I’m’onna take a shower,” Joel said matter-of-factly, dropping his tool belt on the counter. “Scream if ya need me.”

Shit, if that’s all it took, you’d scream for him to suffocate you in his pits and let you huff that glorious Man Smell™️ until you pass out, but that wasn’t what he meant. He meant “Unless you’re being murdered, don’t bother me for the next 20 minutes”.

No matter. You could easily keep yourself busy in that time.

Once the shower was on, you cloaked your footsteps under the sound of running water. Slowly, ever so slowly, you tiptoed to the bathroom and cracked the door open. Joel wouldn’t have been able to see you through the shower curtain, anyway, but you didn’t want him catching on. You slid your arm through the gap and blindly felt around for the first piece of clothing you could grab. At the first touch of cotton, you hooked your fingers into it, yanked it through the door, and inspected your prize: his t-shirt. Jackpot.

Having snagged your precious treasure, you shut the bathroom door and practically skipped off to your room. You flopped onto your bed, held the balled-up shirt to your face, and took a big whiff. Sweat, lumber, testosterone, and what you guessed to be either Modelo or Corona. Whatever it was, it was just one ingredient, one splash in this hedonistic cocktail that made it all the more intoxicating. Your cunt was already crying for attention, so you slipped your fingers in your underwear to soothe it. Rubbing along your own slit, spreading the wetness around, pinching your dick and stroking it, you tended to your needs as best you could, the musky shirt muffling your moans. You’d gotten so invested, so focused on your task, that you forgot to listen for the shower turning off. You only realized your mistake when it came barging through your bedroom door.

“Hey, have you seen my-?” Joel started, and then stopped mid-question when you answered it for him. Yes. Yes, you had seen his shirt. And now he had seen it, balled up in your desperate fist, while your other hand rubbed your even more desperate cunt.

No fucking shot of explaining your way out of this one. He knew immediately.

Joel snorted at the pathetic sight before him, “Oh my god, that’s… What is wrong with you, kid?”

You laid frozen on the bed as he approached, surely taking his sweet time to let your embarrassment fester. Once he was within range, he snatched the shirt out of your hand, and said,

“Don’t go stealin’ my shit, boy. Next time you want somethin’ from me, use your words and just fuckin’ ask.”

#anon #ask #tlou #tlou x reader #tlou smut #joel miller #joel miller headcanon #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut

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pappydaddy · 1 year

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i'm yours (j.m.)

tv show/movie: outer banks | pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader *cis!female anatomical parts mentioned

requested by another lovely anon as part of my 800 follower celebration

synopsis: not having labels muddles things up. luckily, they don't need labels to know they are mad about each other. though, labels might not hurt - might even save some noses.

warnings: spicy, spicy, spicy. dry humping. dirty. reader is horny. blood. broken nose. punching. fluff (if you squint) 18+ please and thank you. characters are aged up as per usual!

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- not my gif -

It was as if the stars aligned just the right way, because there she stood, the girl that had been consuming JJ’s mind twenty-four-seven lately. The moonlight rained down on her like a glowing spotlight, pointing her out to him as if he needed any help finding her in a crowd. And then, the stars must have shifted because as the dancing crowd moved just right, it revealed someone unpleasant standing beside her - talking her ear off, Topper. With his stupid shorts and polo top matched with his stupid boat shoes.

Bitterness swirled in JJ’s stomach as his face twisted into a scowl, his heart lurched, almost as if it wanted to jump out of his chest and strangle Topper. He knew what her opinion on Topper and other Kooks were - she hated him, but she doesn’t like making scenes so she suffers through conversations. She was too nice (or shy, he wasn’t too sure which yet) to tell him to piss off, but JJ wasn’t. However, something did hold him back. They weren’t official yet. And that was completely on him. He was the one dragging his feet on this one, but now he realized his mistake.

He’s taken it slow with her. She was too perfect and too innocent for him, so he was scared of either ruining her and her life or scaring her off with all of his baggage. Her friend’s opinions of him didn’t help his self-doubt. He knew they hated him. He knew they were telling her to move on, to forget him. But she didn’t listen. Even if there wasn’t a label, it was clear to both of them that this thing was more than just fooling around. They had feelings for each other. It was obvious when he kissed her and her first reaction is always to blush or do that cute little panicked hand flap as if she was surprised he would kiss her before her body melted into him.

“Screw it.” JJ’s eyes zeroed in on Topper as he inched closer to Y/N, obviously flirting despite Y/N clearly wanting out of the situation. He was a large guy, standing at six feet and having a decent amount of muscle, so it didn’t surprise him when he reached the pair quickly, but it did surprise him that he reached them in what felt like five seconds - he stumbled a bit, feeling like he was transported there instead of walking.

Y/N spotted him first, those beautiful eyes JJ loved looking into so much, catching his and widening as if asking him for help, which was exactly what he planned to do. “What do you want, Pogue?” Topper’s snarl made JJ look over at him, blue eyes cold and hard, as if he was aiming to kill him.

“I was coming over here to ask what the hell you’re doing flirting with someone who is clearly not yours to flirt with.” JJ squared his shoulders, stepping up to Topper, showing the slight but noticeable height difference between them when JJ pulls to his full height. Y/N’s mouth fell open, eyes watching JJ as he puffed his chest out slightly. ‘Hot damn!’ She thought, eyes flicking all over his body before looking back at the tense stare off.

“Last I checked, she was single.” Topper gestured toward Y/N, shooting her a wink, but JJ shifted to hide her from him, scoffing at this.

“Oh, news to me, because I don’t think what we’ve been doing screams ‘just friends’,” JJ put air quotes around the phrase, looking back at her with his jaw set in a way that made her want to drop to her knees right there. “What do you think, Sweets?” He asked her, his voice deep and dark, almost as if it was strained. The nickname. The voice. The look. The protectiveness. It all went right between her legs.

“Definitely not.” She confirmed, bottom lip being sucked between her teeth as she crossed her legs as discreetly as she could while standing, squeezing. She had to admit, she was already hot and bothered from watching from across the party all night, and now it was like someone opened the floodgates. She could jump him right then and there, but Topper just won’t let go.

“Still single, man,” Topper shook his head with his stupid smirk, making JJ whirl his head back around at such a rate it startled both Y/N and Topper. For a moment, Y/N was concerned that he had hurt his neck, but didn’t realize since he was hyped up on a mix of one beer, testosterone, and adrenaline. “She’s fair game for the rest of us-”

Topper didn’t get to finish his sentence before JJ’s fist met his nose, a sickening crack sounding as a loudly hissed ‘Fuck!’ left Topper’s mouth, his hands flying up to his nose which must have been broken from the amount of pain, blood, and the sound. “Hey, you saw he was disrespecting her, right?” JJ looked over to the group of people who were standing around, trying not to look like they were listening from the jump.

They all nodded furiously. “One of you put your information in my phone.” Y/N pulled her phone out, unlocking it and opening contacts, handing it to the group. After graduating, JJ learned his lesson - always have a witness or two to confirm his story (true or not). Y/N usually was the one who got a witness' contact information to keep in case they needed it. With Topper, they would definitely need it, he’s pressed charges before.

Glancing over at Topper, she saw a mass of people around him, someone holding their discarded shirt to his nose to stem the bleeding. Over the balled up fabric, he was glaring at the two of them, saying something but they couldn’t hear through the shirt and over the loud nose. Eyes flicking over to JJ, she looked up at him, his back still turned towards her, heaving. His fists were still clenched, almost as if he was ready for someone to come try to avenge Topper or Topper to come flying at them.

“Here you go, we put her number in.” A shaky voice pulled her eyes away from JJ. A boy held her phone out to her, his hand and whole body shaking slightly, eyes pleading with her to take the phone before JJ turned around. He was scared of JJ. He was intimidating, probably, she assumed since all she saw was a guy with such a large heart and an urge to protect anything he cares about with all his might.

“Thank you,” She took the phone, locking and pocketing it. “JJ, we should leave.” She shuffled the rest of the way over to JJ, her toes getting buried in the sand despite her sandals. For the first time since the punch, JJ looked over at her as she gripped his arm. As soon as his eyes met hers, they softened, but seemed to get darker. His chest rested, no longer heaving, and his fists relaxed, one arm snaking around her waist to pull her against him.

____

When she suggested they leave, she was more concerned about the possibility of cops showing up to bust the party since there was a strong possibility of someone snitching after that punch was thrown. She didn’t even think this could happen. She didn’t think he would want to. Part of her even thought he would be mad that she let Topper flirt with her, but as he muttered into her neck not long ago, he knew she didn’t want him. Didn’t want him the way she wanted JJ. Didn’t want him talking to her. Didn’t want him anywhere near her. He knew that.

Really, they barely even left the party since they managed to make it to the Twinkie and that was as far as they went. In all fairness, JJ was the one who brought it since everyone else had drives already. So the van was all theirs according to him. Imagine her shock when JJ’s lips landed on hers, lips moving against hers with such passion she kind of thought it was a dream. She had expected a fight. Maybe that was her own messed up trauma coming forth, but she least expected to have his tongue in her mouth and his hands roaming around her body.

She hummed into his mouth as he gently started to guide her down on her back. ‘God bless the Twinkie’s lack of seats.’ She thought once her back met the floor of the van, JJ’s weight shifting as he settled between her legs, his body pressing against her in just the right way. She could feel everything. From the heat radiating off of him to every single dip and ridge of his muscled abdomen.

Her eyes opened when JJ pulled his mouth away, catching a glimpse of the dark interior. JJ had parked in a rather secluded spot. With trees hanging over the van, all planted in a row behind the van, they were perfectly hidden. A bit of moonlight slipped through the leaves, illuminated the inside so softly. Her eyes shifted, looking at JJ’s body pressed against her. The way the soft lighting surrounded him, it made him look pure and soft - just like she always pictured him. “You got quiet,” JJ muttered against her skin as he kissed along her neck and shoulders. “What’s going on in there?” He asked, pulling away to look at her for a moment.

A ray of moonlight hit his eyes, making them sparkle like two ocean blue gems. “Just thinking about how beautiful you are.” She uttered, her hands sliding up from where they rested on his sides to cup his face. Pulling his lips back to hers, he let her lead the kiss. Soft. Loving. Tender. JJ felt like they were in one of those romance movies she loves to watch. She took a deep breath in, lips pulling back only enough to do so as if she was trying to breath him in.

Eyes fluttering open again, her eyes stared up at him - big and darkened with want and need. Looking into those eyes was all it took for JJ to snap. Instantly, his lips were on hers again, but only for a moment until they trailed down to the spot he knew so well - sucking. Harshly.

Y/N’s eyes nearly rolled back into her head, mouth opening and head falling back as she moaned. She always responded like that and JJ knew it. She also knew he knew by the feeling of his smirk against her now widely exposed neck. “JJ, careful-“ She panted, back arching off the floor as he slid his hands under her, dragging against the smooth skin of her back. “What if-“ As his hands hit the thin strap resting on her back that was holding her bikini closed, it was like she couldn’t speak in full sentences. “Someone sees the mark.”

She warned, but she knew it was futile since his attack seemed to have shifted from that spot and was now inching down to her collarbones as he pulled on the string of her bathing suit. “So what,” He muttered against her skin, the vibrations tickling her slightly but she was too turned on to pay anything but the need for friction any mind. “That way everyone will know you’re mine and I’m yours.”

His words went right to two places. Her heart, but mostly her vagina. Maybe like one percent to the heart. More will go later, after he rails her in the back of his best friend's van. “I’m yours, JJ. In every way.”

Too overcome with the need for some sort of relief, her hips rolled against JJ’s. A synchronous moan filled the air. She didn’t stop the movement, making JJ still his merciless teasing. She wanted to open her eyes to look at him, to see why he was frozen as she continued to rub herself against his still body. Thankfully, he was a strong guy with good endurance so even with her trapped under him, she could rub against him and get herself off. She was well on her merry way to doing just that.

Moans spilling out from both of them, her movements quickened and became sloppier. She was squirming now, face screwed up. Before she met JJ, she was sure this was an orgasm. She couldn’t understand how it could get any better than this, but then JJ showed her just what she was missing and she was proven wrong.

That’s why she sobbed when one of JJ’s hands freed themselves from where they had a death grip on her bathing suit and gripped her hip, stopping her movements. “JJ!” She cried desperately, panting as she tried to roll her hips again.

“Gorgeous, if you keep doing that, this is gonna be over way too quick, and neither of us want that.” He practically growled and she gasped. Partially from the shock that ran through her, feeding her beating heart and also feeding her pooling wetness. Also from the fact that with a yank of his hand her top was untied and with another, her top was off and thrown elsewhere. “Now, let me savor everything my girlfriend has to offer.” His voice was deep, in a dark and an arousing way.

But what really got her was how his blue eyes remained locked with hers as he dragged his lips down her body. A trail of goosebumps and tingles were left, marking the path he took. From the base of her throat, down the valley of her breasts (where there was a brief pit stop to nip and suck - knowing she loved it), down her stomach, and stopping at the top of her jean shorts. Their eye contact was unbreakable and somehow he managed to make it a form of sexual teasing. He didn’t even look as he unbuttoned her shorts, pulling them and her bathing suit bottoms down together. Those too were thrown carelessly. He only broke their eye contact for a second, if you could even count it as a full second, to look down at her bare core. “My girlfriend is all sprawled out here looking like a whole-ass buffet. All you can eat, I hope.” He winked before dipping down, hands pushing her legs apart. The last thing she saw was that damn smirk before his lips disappeared and she gasped out a sudden moan. Eyes closing, legs widening before trying to snap shut around his head (his hands already placed to stop her), and her back arching off the floor with her head flying back.

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helpfandom · 4 months

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Can I request BTAS Riddler with a platonic darling who’s an artist? They can’t leave anywhere without their sketchpad and sometimes draws anatomical art. Perhaps Riddler saw them make a sketch of him and took interest in them

@yanderefangirl

Ah yes, an artist.

He notices you first as you have yet to move from your spot even in the midst of all the chaos of his newest scheme to rid Gotham of this winged 'savior', and yet he pays no mind to you. [He's lying, he's actually looking at you the whole time Batman beats his new scheme, for he can't help but wonder what you may be drawing.]

And once you put the sketchbook away, he catches a glimpse of what you had been drawing, and it was... HIM?

Of course, once you have a moment and step away from your sketchbook for just once whilst leaving it open, well, I simply must critique them, I don't want anyone getting anything incorrect now would we I?

So when you proceed to look at your sketchbook again, it has tiny notes in it in Riddler's handwriting [not like you know what that may look like], with notes of how to make it more anatomically correct, although some of the tips may not be legal. Glossing over it, the only thing left on the next page where the next sketch ideas had been placed was a simple green question mark.

As the days pass by, Riddler finds himself magnetically attached to you, managing to find you in the security cameras around Gotham and staring, watching you work. As he watches you sketch the drawings, he cannot help but wish to correct you, but he does take pride and notice in the fact that you changed what he had written down as a mistake, improving yourself. Better than most of the citizens in Gotham, he must say.

Slowly he begins to stalk you, and starts adding puzzles nearby you, and where you frequent. Usually, it has to do with anatomy, but sometimes it is simply questions such as how many bones are in the human body? [He was surprised that you had multiple answers and that you had gotten it right, for there are 4 possible correct answers.]

Once he realizes this, then he makes those puzzles deliberate, making questions that only you would know the answer to, which stumps that insufferable Bat, but only for a while as Batman connects the dots to the same person who frequently draws anatomically correct.

So Riddler finds himself coming to the conclusion that the only way to properly teach the one person in Gotham who can learn from him properly when the Batman keeps interrupting the learning process, is to kidnap you!

Perhaps you shouldn't have fueled his ego.

#yandere x reader #platonic x reader #platonic yandere #tw yandere #x reader #platonic #yandere #headcanon #yandere batman #yandere riddler #yandere batman the animated series #batman the animated series #batman villains #the riddler #yandere batman villains #Helpfandom's writing

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eruditetyro · 3 months

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sweetmetals.//art, artist, process//created, creator, creation.

RAINER MARIA RILKE/MAGGIE STIEFVATER/BREAD & PUPPET/STIEFVATER/JOHN SINGER SARGENT/STIEFVATER/B&P/STIEFVATER/B&P/STIEFVATER/EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY/STIEFVATER/RILKE. further description under the cut.

text reads:

"we cannot know his legendary head/with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso/is still suffused with brilliance from inside,/like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,/gleams in all its power. Otherwise/the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could-" - Archaic Torso of Apollo, Rainer Maria Rilke trans. Stephen Mitchell

"-them. If one didn't know any better, one might mistake this for an eccentric art sale for discerning buyers.

But the pieces themselves soon corrected that impression. Jordan could feel their collective power radiating toward her. Her body felt awake, alert, ready for action. It was like caffeine. Speed.

No, it was like being real." - Mister Impossible, Maggie Stiefvater

[letterpress print] "art soothes pain! Art wakes up sleepers! Art fights against war & stupidity!" - Cheap Art Manifesto, Bread & Puppet Press

"-White only drove this home. They weren't great because they were technically perfect. There was something else. Something more. Whether that something could be named--sweetmetal?--she wasn't sure. What she was sure of was that pieces like that all had a way of seeing the world that no one else had noticed before." - Mister Impossible, Maggie Stiefvater

[picture of El Jaleo by John Singer Sargent]

"-would last his entire life. Was this what it had in common with Madame X? Was it it that the painting changed his life, or was it that he knew that it was going to change his life? What was soul? Declan didn't know, but he liked trying to find out." - Mister Impossible, Maggie Stiefvater

"Art sings halleluja! Art is for kitchens! Art is like good bread! Art is like green trees! Art is like white clouds in blue sky!" Cheap Art Manifesto, Bread & Puppet Press

"As her eyes burned, Hennessy swiped a thin, bleeding splash of red on one of the index cards, and then, with the marker, suggested the lines needed to show that it was an anatomical heart, bleeding paint. Beneath it, she just had time to jot angrily: OF FUCKING COURSE.

Her heart was broken, that was why she was really upset, her heart was broken, broken, broken because Hennessy wanted so badly to be as good at living as Jordan was and she never even got close. She flicked the index card across the table at Farooq-Lane.

The mouse woke up." Greywaren, Maggie Stievater

"ART IS FOOD. You cant EAT it BUT it FEEDS you. ART has to be CHEAP & available to EVERYBODY. It needs to be EVERYWHERE because it is the INSIDE of the WORLD." Cheap Art Manifesto, Bread & Puppet Press

"Jordan was beginning to understand how it might be possible for ley energy to be tangled into the art-marking process, too." Mister Impossible, Maggie Stiefvater

"And she could see in her mind's vision plain/The magic World, where cities stood on end.../Remote from where she lay--and yet-- between" - Collected Sonnets, Edna St. Vincent Millay

"-when they make the art. I thought when I first saw one that it was because the art was special to the world in some way. A real original, you know? But it was explained to me later and this makes more sense. They are special to the artist in some way. They are an original for the artist, something new for them, something personal for them. The subject matter, sometimes, how they felt when they were painting it, others. That is what seems to make some of them into sweetmetals. I do not thing it is the artist who does it. It is, like, the spirit of the time. There is a French term-" Mister Impossible, Maggie Stiefvater

"Otherwise this stone would seem defaced/beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders/and would not glisten like a wild beast's fur:/would not, from all the borders of itself,/burst like a star: for here there is no place/that does not see you. You must change your life." Archaic Torso of Apollo, Rainer Maria Rilke trans. Stephen Mitchell

#come play in this space with me.#trc #tdt #web weaving #the dreamer trilogy

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corvuscorona · 5 months

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SHADOW MONSTER - an Astos playlist

...for when you need to spend about an hour rotating that guy in your mind at top speed, or at least a little faster than chillout speed.

(YouTube playlist here) • (tracklist etc. below the cut)

Needed a playlist I could Think About Astos To while doing chores or whatever & it turned out I had the ammunition I needed to be kinda picky, so I'm sharing it here with all my comrades-in-Astos-scholarship, too! You know, in case you also need some music to Think About Astos To. Which seems possible-to-likely, I think.

I have only included tracks that are reasonably well balanced for Normal Listening (just please forgive me for the PS2 synth horns in "finish the promise" if you can find it in your heart). Also, if you use the YT playlist, Man Human is shorter than it should be, so listen to it twice if you want.

ACT I: IMPETUS

Creep City • Jake Shears I said I'd hang on for the ride / now I'm hanging on for dear life / …is that a real knife? バケモノ信者 (Bakemono Shinja / Monster Believer) • MAIKI-P 人の顔した　バケモノさ / 気づけば僕も　バケモノさ • hito no kao shita bakemono sa / kizukeba boku mo bakemono sa it's a monster with a human face / and now that I think about it, I'm a monster, too 心臓 (Shinzō / Heart[1]) • TOOBOE 蘇ってしまうよ　貴方の為なら幾らでも / 間違いも愛せるよ　馬鹿なもんでさ / 生き返ってしまうよ　貴方がくれた命だから • yomigaette shimau yo anata no tame nara ikura demo / machigai mo aiseru yo baka na monde sa / ikikaette shimau yo anata ga kureta inochidakara for you, I'd revive again and again / loving even the mistakes, fool that I am / I'll come back to life because it's the life you gave me

ACT II: THE PROCESS

Bleed it Out • Linkin Park half the words don't mean a thing / and I know that I won't be satisfied Man Human • Denki Groove for Devilman Crybaby Just One Yesterday • Fall Out Boy I want to teach you a lesson in the worst kind of way / still, I'd trade all my tomorrows…

ACT III: MADNESS

Décolleté • Kenshi Yonezu 兎角疲れました / 数えるから直ぐに消えて • tokaku tsukaremashita / kazoeru kara sugu ni kiete at any rate, I'm exhausted / I'll count, so hurry up and disappear [2] うみなおし (Uminaoshi / Rebirth[3]) • Maretu 君は何も悪くないぜ / (多分) • kimi wa nani mo warukunai ze / (tabun) you've done nothing wrong / (probably) 空想メソロギヰ (Kuusou Mesorogiwi / Fantastical Mesology) • Yousei Teikoku for Future Diary (See [4] below.)

ACT IV: FOR WHAT

A Good Song Never Dies • Saint Motel it just reminds you of where you were / the first time it made you cry / the first time you felt alive… SHADOW MONSTER • Toki Asako 探しものは踊らなきゃ見つからない • sagashimono wa odoranakya mitsukaranai if we don't dance, we won't find what we're looking for.

ACT V: RESOLVE

JUMPER • CAPSULE anger stress and secrets they won't break you wake up put aside you(')r(e) feeling nothing freely speed up landing stepping jumping jump Leave The Light On • Overcoats what if I don't make it home / you're not there, and the light's not on

ACT VI: THE END

still feel. • half•alive when it's hopeless, I start to notice / that I still feel alive finish the promise • MOTOO FUJIWARA for Tales of the Abyss White Light • Superfly for Tales of Zestiria 正解なんてない間違いなんてない / 塗り替えてゆけ在るべき世界へ • seikai nante nai machigai nante nai / nurikaete yuke arubeki sekai e there's no such thing as right; there's no such thing as wrong / remake this world into what it should have been

( NOTES )

[1] - Specifically the anatomical term. Metaphorical uses of this word do seem to be a thing, but skew more towards meaning something like "courage" (think "guts" or "spine") as opposed to 心 (kokoro) on its own, which is used for something more like "essence", "spirit", "soul". Incidentally, I highly… HIGHLY recommend watching the MV for this one (Check the YT link before the readmore)! [2] - Eternal plug for vgperson, who has been my source for Kenshi Yonezu lyrics since something like 2010, and is the backbone of society. Check out the full translation there (ctrl+F the title!) to get a feel for this song's whole... vibe (which I'd describe as a very specific flavor of "fuck. god damn it. whatever; leave me alone," which of course is why it's here). [3] - There's a footnote on the Vocaloid Lyrics Wiki page for this song that conveys something interesting about the title; it says: "'Uminaoshi' isn’t a word that’s typically used to mean 'rebirth'; rather, it is a compound made up of a word meaning 'to give birth' and a word that carries the sense of doing something over to fix mistakes, because you messed it up the last time," which is fun, I think. [4] - This song's lyrics are poetic in a way that makes them difficult to interpret as-written, let alone translate in a way that makes literally any sense at all. The official MV does have English subtitles that are NOT auto-translated, though. Those are the most coherent piece of information I can give you (check the YT link before the readmore!) re: why the Future Diary OP is even in this playlist, except for this statement: it's about breaking free of a time loop that's being treated like a game in some way by The Entity In Charge Of It. (And also, it sounds like... you know, like the way that it sounds.)

#stranger of paradise #stranger of paradise final fantasy origin #sopffo #hi everybody I'm going to go write fic now I just had to get this OUT of my drafts and into your ears first. thank you I love you bye #EDIT: my wife (immediately): 'what kind of play has six acts' listen is there a better way to separate a chunk into smaller chunks #which I think u should eat in order? NO? didn't think so.

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inklore · 7 months

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hi my love! do you have any writing tips? and words of encouragement when fics flop :(

hi darling <3 i feel like i always suck at giving writing tips but i'll try my very best for you ok. i hope some of these help! also very honored you'd even ask me 🤎

first and foremost: don't compare your writing to anyone else. everyone writes different, everyone has a certain style, a niche. if you're worried you don't have a 'style' don't, because you do. everyone does. it's not something you can make yourself have or take from others, it comes naturally with how your brain works and how it curates words and prose and scenes. that's why no book, no writing, is ever the same even if it's the same source material. it's a beautiful thing so don't stress about trying to make your writing sound or 'read' like other writers. it'll only ruin the enjoyment of how you write!

if you want to write more detailed just remember that not everything in a scene needs to be put down. the more you give the reader room to fill in the blanks and set the scene themselves the better experience for them (at least that's the case for my brain, others may feel different, but doing it this way makes me feel like i'm not adding too much detail or being repetitive). but visualizing, setting the scene for yourself through music or daydreaming is another great tip to write more detailed.

when it comes to smut i am a huge stan of you don't have to say the anatomically correct part they're using (like the p words or c word), and describing what it feels like to have that part touched, grazed, etc is really great. i struggle with fear of repeating myself so i try to find creative ways to describe body parts without actually calling them like flowery/nouns/different synonyms. i hope that made sense lmao.

don't worry about edits or making everything flow completely well in the first take. i highly rec everyone editing their own work and reading it back to themselves, yes it's tiring but it helps you find flow mistakes, add more detail, take something out that you thought fit in the moment but doesn't really. that's why i get everything out the first get go in a kind of fever dream manner and then when i go back to edit it then i buff out everything, add more, take away something, add more details that will make a scene pop off more.

now for the encouragement when it comes to flops: it's going to happen. there's no secret to making something do amazing or something failing. there really isn't and someone who says there is has just had a few lucky posts. because having a big following means nothing, writing a long fic, a short one, only using small font, being super aesthetic, really means nothing. i've seen writers with the most amazing aesthetic and beautiful prose with 100 followers write something and get 2k notes and then get 90 notes on their next post. same with someone who doesn't have a big aesthetic but a big following and writes short fics get 100 notes on their last ten posts but then that eleventh post randomly gets 1k. like it's really just up in the air on here if something is going to do good or not, unfortunately. so that's why i don't let it get to me when something i post gets 100 notes or 1k because i'm happy with both, less, or more. i don't expect anything anymore because that only leads to disappointment and i'm here to write and to have fun.

that's not to say i don't rec curating your own little community on here. make friends, block ppl with bad vibes, join discords of supportive friends. talk to writers who encourage and understand your feelings and discourse and who keep you going, give you inspo, etc etc. if only my friends ever rbed and read my stuff and there was only 10 of them? i'd say hell yeah and that'd encourage me to write more. having a good space of friends and community is amazing and can do a lot to fight off the writer scaries and the feelings of obsessing over numbers and success.

now this is just something i do but it always works for me; i post something and then force myself not to look at it for a day or two. i post it and move on to the next thing i want to work on. i do not dwell on how it's doing. i may q up some rbs for it but i don't even look at the notes when i do that. i deliberately never look at it because yes while it matters in the sense that we love encouragement, we love seeing people love something we spent hours on, we wrote this for ourselves but hello we want that validation too and that's okay, but like i said above and i'm going to say again notes mean nothing in regards to talent. these notes are not simon cowell judging you on your performance. so when i finally do go back to rb comments and reply to things, or if i just want to look at how it did, and the number is low i'm just like ok shrug at least those 20 people enjoyed it and that's better than 0. and if no one commented or rbed yeah that sucks and is disheartening but i can either dwell and be sad on it or i can continue to do what i love and write more. why let the annoying little brats on here who refuse to show their love on a work they read get you down? because there's a dozen of them out there and they're not going away. and you may have made someone's day for this little fic even if they didn't say something about it. it does suck that content creators on here don't get the rbs and comments and credit they deserve, and unfortunately if you want to keep doing what you love you gotta work around it and remind yourself why you're creating, continue to feel that joy. it's hard, believe me. but don't let your creativity be repressed because of it, because you'd be doing a disservice to yourself!

i'll say it again though: a high note count / following doesn't mean the fic is good or bad, neither does low notes / no following. no one's talent is ever in question here. we are here to write, have fun, fill the void of the rl scaries.

#i feel like this was just me rambling lmao #but hopefully something helps #▸ laur answers #writing tips #tips and tricks #writing encouragement

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blueskittlesart · 2 years

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Any advice on how to sketch faster? Feels like it takes HOURS for me to make a sketch for just one drawing...

ok this is a hard one for me because it genuinely just. kinda comes naturally to me actually. like i remember my art teachers in elementary school getting annoyed with me because i could draw so fast and i would finish before everyone else. BUT there are some things that i think have helped me get even faster over the years!

the first one is quick figure drawing. I like to do 1 or 2-minute gesture drawings because they really force you to move fast and think more about the form itself than get bogged down in the details. (in art school they make you take a ton of classes that are JUST figure drawing if you're majoring in illustration. i love it.) The absolute best way to do this is a live model session, but i understand that not everyone is in art school lmao so the website quickposes is a good resource! go to timed practice and set the interval to 60 or 90 seconds, and then just focus on getting the IDEA of the form down instead of all the details. This can be scary at first but eventually you'll become much more confident and your hand will naturally start to move faster when you sketch! figure drawing this quickly will also help you loosen up and get a better idea of the forms of the human body instinctually, which will in turn make it easier for you to sketch faster even without a reference!

The second thing that i think really helps me go fast is kinda a natural progression from the figure drawing tbh, and it's not worrying TOO too much about 100% anatomical accuracy. What my professors have told me in my drawing classes is basically that as long as it LOOKS believable, it doesn't matter if it's actually perfect. don't worry too much about realism or accuracy when you're laying down a preliminary sketch. focus on the energy you want your pose to convey, and let your sketch reflect that. if anything is HORRIBLY wrong anatomy-wise you can fix it later, but a little bit of limb-lengthening or otherwise unrealistic proportioning isn't the end of the world, especially in very stylized art. When you aren't super worried about 100% accuracy you have a lot more freedom to move quickly and ignore little mistakes!

thirdly, lose all the steps in your artmaking process that you don't like. when i first started digital art, I thought that i HAD to do a stick -figure pose sketch, block in the body on top of that, then clothes, then lineart, coloring, shading, etc. there were SO many steps in that process that took me a really long time to do and that i just... did not enjoy doing. nowadays I've almost completely cut lineart from my process because i like the sketchy look, and i often don't even draw the full body before i begin blocking in the clothes, hair, or face. Obviously you need some preliminary knowledge of how these aspects of your character are going to interact before you can do this, but once you're able to it really shaves off a lot of time. I found that when i was trying to do things what i thought was the "right" way, even steps that i hated, my art looked worse and took longer because I wasn't having as much fun.

#I do just naturally sketch fast but i think a LOT of it is that i dont worry too much about little imperfections yknow?#anyways. hope this helps lol #asks

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blackyote · 2 years

Text

Planting a Seed

@rqmdae Here’s my submission for Trans Hunter Week, Prompt 1: Childhood. Or, in this case, “childhood.” lol

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Belos had been waiting long into the night, but one couldn't rush these things.

Much like a child in the womb, it was up to his creation when to greet the world and take that first lungful of air. The gestation wasn't nine months, thankfully, but the parallels still intrigued him. Most of the grimwalkers were "on time," emerging within a twelve hour window. Some had been early. Some late. This one was past due, letting midnight creep towards dawn.

Lights were set up to help both of them see, their soft glow darkening the shadows of the cave in contrast, lending everything a fuzzy, dreamlike quality. Eventually, something in the still life shifted. Belos couldn't be certain at first. He had to step closer, peer through narrowed eyes. Something was pushing from underneath the soil, making a little mound that receded, then came back twofold. Clots of dirt tumbled away, revealing pale skin that turned into fingers, knuckles, a hand.

He stepped back. It was important that they emerge under their own power, like a baby griffin pecking through its eggshell. He heard sounds of effort as the hand groped blindly, pressed its palm to the dirt, and gave leverage for the head to rise. They blinked, squinted, and shrank back as if the cave near blinded them. It probably did, after weeks in the ground.

He could barely breathe for the sight of them. The sandy shade of their hair, the jawline, those eyebrows... He had finally gotten it right. There he was, naked and reborn. After all these years.

The child shivered. "Cold," they said, the word squeaked from fresh vocal chords. Belos nodded, stamping down his excitement.

"Come, child. Let's get you up." He extended a hand, and the grimwalker paused, taking a moment to assess the first person they would ever see. Their mouth hanging open like that revealed a gap in their front teeth. A deviation from the blueprint, but it somehow made this face feel all the more familiar. Belos smiled.

Encouraged by this, the child reached out, accepted the hand tentatively. Theirs was small, skin soft and cool to the touch. Dirt remained wedged under perfect fingernails.

As they let themself be lifted up and out, skinny shoulders gave way to a slender torso, narrow hips, and it was here Belos' grip tightened, making the child gasp, the stirrings of alarm on their face.

"But how..." So many had been born right here, all anatomically correct. He replayed the process in his head, wondering at the ingredients, the amount, their quality, the temperature... What could account for this?

But as he stared, the child began to shrink away, sensing something was wrong. It snapped him out of his bemusement long enough to gently release her, saying, "Shh. It's alright, it's alright. Here-" A well-worn blanket lay folded on the table for this very purpose. He spread it out, draping it carefully over the child's shoulders, covering his mistake. She gripped it tightly, looking around now, a million questions in those magenta eyes.

"You've been through a lot, haven't you? But you're safe here," he lied. She looked up at her savior, already capable of understanding as a child her size ought to. Her own mastery of language would take a few days, but it was easy to keep her concealed until then.

"Where?" she asked with a wince, clearly unnerved by her sudden self-awareness. Most of them were.

"I'm your uncle, the emperor, and you're in my castle. You will live with me now, understand?"

Her eyes widened, awestruck. "Prince?"

Belos chuckled. Interesting, that she would use that word. "In a sense, yes." He knelt down, placing hands on her shoulders. "The Titan has big plans for you, little one." Did she know on whose bones she stood? Either way, the wonder on that face was unmistakable. So easy to plant a seed.

"Big," she whispered, and held the blanket tighter around her small frame, comforted by this promise. Belos brushed a smudge of dirt from her cheek, and smiled.

#the owl house #hunter toh #toh hunter #philip wittebane #trans hunter week #trans hunter #my writing

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bansept · 1 year

Text

The Child of God (AU)

Part 3

Welp, I got more ideas for this, and the last parts did a little number so yay

Also little fixing a mistake : Dio is angry his body is not his, that Jonathan is still bothering him even after a century, but since Jonathan was the only man he respected, he's not angry at him directly. If that makes sense?

Italy was, for lack of a better word, extraordinary different from England. Of course, Dio's birth place was a place of rain, cold weather and distinguished people who didn't want to go hiking up a mountain under the scorching July sun, with their overwhelming loud and jovial attitude.

Giorno was, per say, not an Italian child. Dio remembered the mother to be japanese, and he was thankful to have had enough insight to not choose an Italian woman, sparing his son the joyful and dramatic personality. But as things turned out, he was renamed Giorno, "day" - truly, a sigh escaped him - and he was Dio.

Irony of fate.

The boy was not talkative. He was a great listener, that was quite the evidence when his eyes were wide with attention and his concentration reached Olympic heights when explaining mondaine things, but he was silent. Dio didn't mind on the first day. He would have been in the obligation of leaving the child behind if the offspring were to be loud and boisterous as he heard they could be.

No, Giorno was afraid.

He carefully busied himself to not bother anyone, even the servants, played with his own fingers, watched the world from inside the villa. The child rarely asked for help, and immediately tended to the duties he had to do, or human resources times, like eating times or going to bed. It made Dio think.

"Giorno. Come here." He asked, calm and collected. The vampire was not in any way fit to talk or befriend a child. But he was his father. Trying was better than acting as if he wasn't here.

Giorno raised his head from the simple sheet of paper he was writing on. His expression was one of surprise, if not worry, and he quickly jumped from his seat to walk to his father's side.

The room, dark from the heavy curtains placed on each windows, was only lit by a few candles and electric lights. A fire was always maintained in the fireplace.

"Yes, Father ?"

"Do you like to read?" Dio asked, not allowing the pride he felt when hearing his son recognize him.

The black haired boy thought for a second, hands going to his front to twist his woolen sweater.

"I... Like to read about nature... Animals and bugs..." He mumbled quietly, surely expecting this huge mass of an immortal being his father was to reprimand him of enjoying those books.

Dio felt a smile grow on his lips as he closed his grimoire, spreading his back in his seat, elbow on the armrest.

"Hoh, I see. It is good to learn about those things. They show your interest for your surroundings."

He stood up, Giorno looking at him with attention, as the vampire walked up to the huge book covered wall. There, knowledge from around the world, be it ancient or new. Some books were philosophical, others social, historical, geographical, anatomical... One could truly build quite a mind with just this collection.

Dio's big hand picked a rather thick work, and he offered it to the waiting boy at his feet.

"This encyclopedia should teach you anything you want about the animals that exist to this day. If you are interested by the ones from previous times, there surely will be a volume for you in here."

Giorno huffed when he carried the heavy book, but his eyes, who usually looked so wary and afraid immediately had brighten up to be filled with wonder. He smiled widely, although the book surely was too heavy.

"Thank you, Father!"

Dio didn't answer first. A genuine happy reaction, filled with happiness, innocent happiness. Not fueled by the desire to gain attention. He had not seen, felt that since... A long time.

Giorno walked carefully until he felt hands reach for his armpits, and suddenly he was lifted in strong arms, covered by a simple shirt. He gasped in surprise, unmoving, and Dio sat them both on the seat he had occupied before, Giorno on his leg, the book still in his hands.

"While I know you are a very clever little boy, I do believe you might need some help with some words." Dio smiled, somewhat a mix of cockiness and shyness.

The boy smiled in return, feeling himself hug the book close to him.

"You said you liked bugs. Do you have one in particular you want to learn about?" His father wondered, resting a hand under his chin while observing the child glow in visible thrill.

"I want to learn about ladybugs. And fireflies. And lots of others."

"Then" He waved his hand at the book, nodding "Let us start."

After an hour spent in front of the fireplace learning about many animals and their function, which ended up being interesting to some level even to Dio, Giorno felt his stomach growl. His father chuckled.

"I'm afraid no amount of words will be able to fill your stomach. We will continue the reading before you go sleep tonight. Go fetch your dinner with Gloria."

"But, can't you stay with me?"

Giorno didn't ask for much. The only few demands he had were simple and easily accepted, and consisted of human devices, or such. Ever since the night of his arrival, he didn't request anything from his father. But now that they had spent some time together, that they had learned together, chuckled together, that Dio himself allowed his son to hug himself closer while he read about whatever animal he was interested in, the boy needed more.

More time with his only family.

The blonde man remained in his seat, silent. Could he be a father to this boy? He had plans. He had needs. Neither could ever be a good education to Giorno. The more he linked himself to the small and lively boy by his side, the more his weakness for him grew.

A part of him couldn't allow weakness. Wouldn't. He had a world to rule. Revenge to take.

The other part remembered the warmth of his mother's embrace. The hatred for this fat pig of a father he buried.

The decision was made. He wouldn't go back on it.

"Yes, son. I'll dine with you tonight."

Giorno once again smiled brightly, the sheer joy from his heart warming Dio's own weathering heart.

Part 2 // Part 4

#jojo's bizarre adventure #dio #dio brando #giorno giovanna #dad dio #mudad

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marvelmaniac715 · 1 year

Text

This is my third fic in two days. I usually don’t write this often, but inspiration has really been hitting me lately. This fic is more of a sad one, it’s based on a fic idea that I’ve seen on Tumblr but I can’t quite remember which blogs posted about it, so apologies if those people find this fic, if you posted about it I’ll edit this post and credit you :). Basically, it’s another ‘what if’ scenario, specifically ‘what if Chucky had been there when Glen was shot?’ For the purposes of this fic, Chucky is there outside the Tilly house in doll form, the fic picks up just after the gun shot and is entirely from Chucky’s pov. Even I’ll get sad writing this, so be warned :(.

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Everything was moving in slow motion, that’s how it felt at least. A gunshot went off, a bullet fired. Then the world went silent. Chucky was vaguely aware of someone screaming, but he didn’t know where the sound was coming from.

Could it be Tiffany? No, she didn’t scream like that. Maybe it was Glenda? Poor kid, they’d put up with so much in such a short amount of time, and now their twin was- no, Glen was fine, they were fine. It took longer than he’d like to admit for Chucky to realise that the person screaming was him, and all at once his lungs burned.

He screamed louder than he ever had before, louder than when he had been set on fire. He didn’t even stop for breath, just wailed until he no longer could. All of his heartbreak and fear and panic merged to create that one agonising scream. Something in Chucky’s mind had irreversibly snapped, and (barely thinking through his actions) he leapt forward and pressed his hands to Glen’s chest to staunch the flow.

“C’mon kid, you’re fine, you’re gonna be alright. It’s just a gunshot, I’ve had them before, I’ve lived, I never died. You’re gonna wake up, you have to wake up…”

His voice tailed off. There was nothing else he could say. Regret and grief coursed through his mind. This was his fault. All of it. twenty four years ago he had made the mistake of not using a rubber. He’d insisted that because he was ‘made of rubber’ he’d be fine, completely forgetting that a few minutes earlier he’d boasted the fact that he was ‘anatomically correct’.

He didn’t regret the fact that his children had been born, but he regretted the fact that he was their father, they’d never have a normal life. He’d put his children in harm’s way because of his bloodlust, and now they were paying the price. He’d wanted a child ever since he was one, but look how he’d destroyed one of the best things that had ever happened to him.

He turned his head to fix Nica with a hateful glare. For a brief moment, he considered tearing her throat out. But it wasn’t worth it. Why would it be? Nica hadn’t intended to shoot his child, she’d been trying to shoot Tiffany, who had been torturing her for over a year. At least when he hurt people he made it relatively brief, he didn’t drag it out for a year, he did have some humanity for god’s sake. One could argue that Sarah Pierce had been captured for almost a year, but he’d genuinely believed that it was out of love. He was so foolish back then.

He couldn’t blame Nica. He did blame Tiffany though, she hadn’t been quick enough to push Glen out of the way, and she was the one who’d driven Nica to this point in the first place. In a way, this all led back to him, and when Chucky realised this, his grief increased tenfold. He’d inadvertently let Glen get shot. He’d never forgive himself- Wait, what was he doing? His child was bleeding out and he was thinking of himself.

Chucky looked back down at Glen and suppressed a sob. Then his mind went numb. He was distantly aware of screaming at Tiffany to ‘fucking do something, call an ambulance!’ But time seemed to float rather than steadily tick by. He gripped tightly to Glen, as if the kid would slip away if he loosened his grip. He was trying desperately to stop the bleeding, but his tiny doll’s hands were useless, they probably had no effect on the wound.

Chucky returned to his incoherent rambling, trying to reassure Glen that they were fine, doing anything he could to keep his child awake. He didn’t even know what he was saying, but he knew that if he stopped talking, stopped trying to interact with his child, Glen could fall unconscious and potentially not wake up again.

He didn’t let go until the ambulance arrived, and that was only because he didn’t want to freak out the paramedics, allowing his child to receive proper medical treatment. And when the ambulance rolled away with Tiffany, Glenda and Glen in it, he sunk to his knees and howled.

#chucky #childs play #seed of chucky #chucky series #bride of chucky #charles lee ray #tiffany valentine #nica pierce #glen ray #glenda ray #chiffany #light angst #horror #fanfiction

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hotchocolatelovesyou · 1 year

Text

A monster made of clay

Um hi, this sucks and I’m losing my mind over it, so I’m gonna post whatever the fuck this is anyway because I’m not a coward. English is not my first language and you can tell. Open to criticism, but please don't be mean lol

Robert x Dadsona

Dadsona: Hector Amanti.

enjoy (or don’t idk)

pss pss every dumb mistake you can find, take it on grammarly. that bitch is so useful so useless I hate it

It was weird. Really weird. Why did it have that shape? Why was it so long? Why was it so big?

"Robert, my very dear friend, I hope you'll pardon me for asking in such manners, but what the fuck are you doing?"

"Language, Hector. Language. You'd not want to scandalize a poor little innocent boy like me, would you?" Hector raised an eyebrow, still eyeing the weird statue.

"I would never. It's not like said poor little innocent boy is creating a giant di-"

"You lack artistic vision", he replied, interrupting the younger man. Hector clutched his chest dramatically, pretending to be mortally wounded.

The memory of him, Damien, Joseph and Hugo at the museum was still very present. He was a changed man after that: he finally understood art after many years of his relatively long but actually short life. Everything, everything, in art - and it didn't matter from where and when a piece was - revolved around butts. That's how it was. That's how it should have been. Amen to butts, one of Mother Nature's most lovely creations.

"Lacking artistic vision? Moi? That's it, cruel world. I'm ready to go." Hector hurriedly touched his throat as if he was suffocating, one hand still on his chest to stop the imaginary bleeding. Robert went back to smooth the surface of his, ehm, anatomically bizarre work.

"There has to be someone funnier than the other between us, and I happen to know who is who." Robert didn't bat an eye, apparently focused on his project.

"Hghkk... Robert, I'm dying." The other man exhaled hard through his nose, annoyed by the distraction from his masterpiece. He was trying to create a vein with a stick for the fourth time in ten minutes. Hector stopped his theatrics then and rolled his eyes, bored by the minimal reaction. He blew a lock of curly hair away from his face, his own hands covered in green clay.

They both had stains here and there because they kept trying to make the other fuck up. Hector had to completely start again whatever he was trying to do at least three times, Robert just two. That vein not coming out right had absolutely nothing to do with Hector.

"I don't find clowns funny" was his calm reply, a second later. Hector gasped, pretending to be hurt.

"You bitch!" he whispered, getting closer to Robert with an exaggerated angry face.

When Robert eventually appeared to give him attention, he stuck his tongue out at him and went back to his work with a raised chin.

"You don't deserve me. I'm gonna stop talking to you."

"Thank God, finally. Another word and I was going to toss this at you", joked Robert, showing the enormous dick of clay he had been working on the whole time. Hector laughed at the vision, though when the handsome older man went to fake-throw the thing, Hector almost fell out of his chair, attempting to dodge it. At that vision, it was Robert's turn to laugh, trying to hit a giggling Hector with his clay dick.

He, Mary and Robert had become a good trio with time, they always met for drinks essentially every weekend. Sometimes one of the other dads was invited too, but it was mostly the three of them. Mind you, Hector had some veeeery embarrassing moments he’d like to bury in the back of his mind, but with the two he also created some of the best memories in his life.

Yet, this week Mary and Joseph were out of town visiting her parents with their children.

For the first time in a while, it would have been just Hector and Robert.

When Hector heard the news, his heart skipped a few beats. It felt nice, knowing it was just the two of them for once. Really nice. And also extremely fucking stressful.

There was no need to make things weird, right? It wasn’t even the first time they hung out alone. Deep breaths, no touching, and acting like an adult would have done the trick. He was awkard already on his own, no need to overthink it and make things worse for the both of them.

So, Hector tried his best to search for something relaxing or at least, um, not too weird?

Hector had found the course by accident, wasting precious time of his life that would've never come back - basically, he was scrolling on the internet - when puff! There was this small announcement on the online news of their town: it was a sculpting class that, coincidently, started on their usual 'drinking' night. It could have been fun, different from their typical nights at the bar, especially considering that Robert had stopped drinking months ago anyways.

He proposed the idea, already waiting for a no, when Robert pleasantly surprised him. Hector half suspected it was because they had more than enough time to hunt cryptids later since the class wouldn't have ended too late.

And there they were now, fighting like kids who happened to be waaayyy too old.

When Robert shoved the gigantic clay dick near his face again, Hector, laughing hysterically, grabbed the upper half and attempted to move it away. Robert, grinning like an idiot, tried to make him lose his grip by pulling that monstrosity towards him holding the lower half. With the poor thing being pushed hard in two different directions, the dick tore in the middle, and both the men fell out of their seats. Two very explosive laughs echoed around the big room, capturing everyone's attention.

Hector was the first to be back on his feet, while Robert sat up, still holding the rest of his creation. The curly-haired man fixed the glasses on his nose and went to help the bearded man with a smile.

Hector was pretty sure he had a dick-shaped spot of clay on the back of his t-shirt. He held his hand out to help Robert get up, but a mischievous grin suspiciously appeared on the older man's face. He suddenly pulled his wrist, testing his balance, trying to make him tumble. Hector miraculously resisted.

"Hah!" exulted Hector, actually helping a chuckling Robert to stand on his feet now.

He had already fallen for Robert, it was unnecessary to fall on him too.

When Robert's deep brown eyes were finally on his same level, if not a bit higher, they met Hector's gaze with an amused warmth. Robert was still smiling and the younger man couldn't help but reciprocate with enthusiasm.

Everything was warmer with Robert. From the rays of the sun to the heat in his cheekbones when he looked at him a second too much, or even to whatever charge of electricity he could feel buzzing in his fingertips when they happened to be so close that their hands could touch; not to mention the boiling liquid in his chest when Robert allowed himself to show how tired he was, and how vulnerable, delicate and hard his new approach to his mental health and addiction was to maintain.

Those were times when he told Hector stories about his life, his daughter, and (very rarely) even his wife. Hector, in exchange, confessed his own struggles, his fight against depression, and his social anxiety. He offered comfort in grieving those who they had both lost and reassurance about how good he was doing.

They also shared the good parts, the happy memories. They revealed themselves to the other, piece by piece.

Hector was simply honoured that Robert had learned to trust him so much. Sure, he still tried to sneak in some bullshit one way or another, but by now he had learned to call his bluffs.

They had learnt to know each other and, at this point, they seemed to be joined at the hips. There was a special bond between them, one Hector would have treasured with his whole being.

It didn't matter that he had to fight the urge, always more often, to kiss him senselessly. Hector made a promise that day, and he intended to respect it, even 'til his last dying breath.

Okay, maybe that was a bit dramatic, but yeah, he had a lot of patience and didn't make promises lightly, so...

Besides, things were great. Hector was genuinely proud of how far Robert had come. He'd been there on some of Robert's most difficult nights, and seeing him like that made him even prouder of how he was now.

Still looking at him, Hector noticed how much more relaxed he appeared. There weren't those deep, dark circles anymore, his eyes shined a bit more of their own light, and he was taking care of his hair and beard more. He seemed happier, too. He had a better relationship with his daughter, their monthly calls slowly turned weekly, and by now they called or texted each other almost daily.

He dared to glance down, where he met Robert's soft smile again. Hector was very satisfied with himself: he was the one who put that smile on those very, very kissable lips. Robert was happy because of him. They were a bit chapped, but Hector never gave a flying fuck about those things. As if such small detail could have stopped him from totally devouring him, body and soul, never letting him go and-- ah, for fuck's sake. Hector, stop right now.

"Hey, you two! Are you done acting like middle schoolers? I'm talking here!" Hector jumped out of his skin, having honestly forgotten where they were. A man with a red sweatshirt and sunglasses was clearly scowling at them, even if Hector couldn't see his eyes.

"Who the fuck wears sunglasses inside?"

"The moon probably hits too hard for him." Robert snickered at that and Hector felt like he won a prize.

"Since you're being so active, why don't you show the class what you made?" the tutor continued, heading to their table. The problem was that after a few steps closer, he recognised the duo. Hector also had the same realization, freezing in horror.

Robert, instead, was more than ready.

"Hey, I know you! You were-"

"Listen here, dude", started Robert in a low voice, to be heard just by the two of them, "we are doing a very important job here, we are undercover. Tell people to turn their attention elsewhere immediately." The tour guide-art teacher looked around angsty at the worried tone, noticing how everyone was watching them. He gulped and cleared his voice.

"Just get back to your work y'all." Robert gave him a grateful look while Hector let out a sigh of relief, immediately on with the plan. When someone had a best friend like Robert, one had to learn how to improvise quickly.

"Good. But now our positions might be compromised", said the older man, his face turned towards Hector, seeming tense. Hector sighed again.

"It's not said the last word. We could still be able to continue with our plans." Robert didn't look too convinced. Hector tried to reassure him by placing a hand on his arm - and felt the muscles bulge under the leather jacket - but before he could speak, the third man lowered his head, whispering his worries so fast that he almost resulted uncomprehensible.

"Is everything alright? Am I in danger? Should I end the class now? I don't want to die this way! Wait, no, maybe I do. Do I? Am I s-" Robert quietly shushed him, stopping his bumbling. The tour guide, poor soul, practically smelled of anxiety. He squeezed himself into his old sweatshirt with a shiver.

"First, you need to stay calm. You are the one in charge here. If you are nervous, people will detect it, and you might create more trouble." The other man nodded, his shoulders still too tense

“Yeah dude, be the alpha we know you are” added Hector, feeling bad for the guy. At the words, the man in sunglasses straightened his back, with a bit more confidence. Robert kicked him under the table, Hector hit him back with a moan of pain.

"It would be better if you stayed away from us", Hector said again, without getting hit in the process.

"Second, we just need you to keep doing what you are doing. Watch the others, tell people what they should be doing and how to do it, stuff like that." The art teacher-tour guide... didn't he also work as a quiz host? seemed a bit unsure of himself, though he nodded again.

"We are trying to monitor the whole room, it's not as easy as it looks. It would be a huge help if no one disturbs either of us. Subtly. We don't need to get attention." What was his name? Quinn? He listened attentively to his words before hugging himself.

“But, uh, why are you here? What is your mission?” Robert clicked his tongue at that. Hector rested his forearms on the workbench, in a conspiratory tone.

“We can’t reveal anything, it’s for your own good” murmured the curly-haired man, tucking a curl behind his ear and staining his cheekbone green.

“B-but I’m the alpha, I need to know if-”

“All you need to know”, interrupted Robert, rolling his eyes, “is that you shouldn’t play too much with this material.” A flash of pure panic crossed the teacher’s face.

“We have been testing it the whole time, it’s very bizarre” revealed his partner in crime.

“I-I have no idea where this is from, it was already here! I-” Hector gently gestured for him to lower his voice.

“Just pretend nothing is happening, we’ll take care of the rest” ordered Robert, with a spooky look in his eyes, one of a man who was ready to go on a battle. Hector loved this type of theatrics.

"I'll do my best to let you go under the radar." He was going to say something else, probably wondering if to give them an earful since they probably were the loudest angle in the room. Hector was aware of that, at least. He couldn't see his eyes, he was still wearing sunglasses (why? Just why?), but the frown he was reading on his face didn't please either of the fake-ass-ghost-hunters.

"If you see us behaving like idiots..." began the younger idiot in question, "... just know that it's part of the plan. We can't act like we are constantly studying people, it'd be too suspicious", ended Robert, throwing a glance at the man on his side. Hector immediately caught it.

"Obviously. Duh." Their tutor for the night smacked his hand on his forehead at their words. He bit his lip, unsure, and lowered his head.

"I, uh, would thank you but... ehm, I forgot your names..." he admitted shyly, shoving his hands in his pocket, his black lens shining under the white lights.

"You have forgotten them?" Hector asked, sounding truly hurt.

"You know what? Maybe it's better this way" intervened Robert, apparently trying to console Hector.

"Tell people you don't know us and we've never met", commanded Robert gravely, a serious look on his face. The teacher threw them a glance from over his glasses. He opened his mouth, thought better of it, then simply turned around and left, going back to his station.

Hector bit his lip, trying not to laugh. He elbowed Robert gently.

"What even was my name that night?"

"Fuck me if I could remember", Robert simply stated, immediately working to create a new dick, even bigger than the one he previously made. Hector looked sympathetically at the cute, little panda he had shaped.

I'm gonna call it Po.

It didn't take much more time for the class to end. Hector gave Po to Robert as gift a few minutes later, already knowing the poor guy would get lost in the woods. He liked it though, and that was enough.

Surprisingly, it wasn't Po the one they had to let go, but Greenzilla (the name Robert chose for his mastodontic work), when Hector, a proud coward, took it to protect them from God knows what.

He had to make the rational choice of throwing it at something hiding in the trees. Because there was something in the trees, right? Right, Robert?

They both started running back to the car, scared shitless, and cracked up from the adrenaline rush once on the road.

Sure, Hector had to listen to Robert scolding him when things calmed down - he had spent so much time on Greenzilla, and now he was just gone. They had a moment of silence, to commemorate the friend they failed so soon - but it was worth it. The whole night had been worth it.

And for Robert? He'd have thrown as many gigantic dicks as needed, if not more.

Hector went to sleep with a warm laugh still in his mind.

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my2dway · 1 year

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Week1

Hello. It's Sunday and I'm here to review the first week. This week I handled the Storyboard part of my Project. It didn't turn out exactly the way I wanted. I took a break from drawing, my hand is still not warm. But I know I will gradually warm my hand. So it will be a good exercise to make figure drawings every morning before I start working on the Project. I do this with Ethan Becker's breakdown method. This way I can see my mistakes. Anyway, back to what I did this week.

First I had to think about the most important part for Storyboard. Shots… It's hard to decide which angles the scenes will be more epic, because my cinematography knowledge isn't as large as I'd like. For this subject; I watch more anime, read manga and try to examine the frames that I like about framing. Another difficulty for me in choosing the scene is this; Economy in frames… if I choose very difficult angles, it is very difficult to draw them, this is the biggest sin for 2d animation. Proven by experience.😊 But the dilemma here is that simple camera angles can kill the epicness of the scene. I had to do some frame research for this, and the result was the first version of my Storyboard.

I'm not going to explain the scenes one by one. I hope an outside eye can roughly understand what I mean. (My wife got it heheh she's great).

The second version was actually a slightly cleaner of the first version. I made anatomical adjustments as much as I could. I threw out some frames and worked on the expressions. And it turned out something like this. Not bad, I guess I can move on to the next level, what do you think?

See you next Sunday. I have two characters that I need to design. I wish you a good week.

#gentelmen bastards #scott lynch #jean tannen #locke lamora #2d animation #storyboard #art #fiction

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biblioflyer · 1 year

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Did the Federation (accidentally) reinvent racism? Picard s1e2 Rewatch.

"Good morning plastic people."

The relationship between the Utopia Planitia workers and Synths is troubling but is it an overreach to see more than just playful hazing in their interactions? This is part of a series of essays reevaluating Star Trek Picard and interrogating the widely held fandom criticism that Picard made the Federation into a Dystopia.

For a long-time Trek fan, the interactions between the Utopia Planitia workers and the Synths are in some ways playful and in other ways troubling.

I vaguely recall the first time I watched this scene, I thought that the workers were universally bullying F-8, the Synth worker. With this rewatch I have nuanced that opinion. It’s now clear to me that some of the workers present had developed an affection for the Synths. I think this is quite human really. We like to personify things. That also almost certainly seems to be the intent behind making the Synths appear more human: giving them skin, the semblance of facial expressions. It makes it easier for humans to relate to the Synths.

However, there is a dark side. Because the relationship between the Synths and the humans is clearly one of superior and distant inferior, an edge has crept into the discourse between some of the workers present and the Synths. Some of the workers clearly seem to feel uncomfortable around them and others feel comfortable insulting the Synths.

By The Next Generation, the Federation was generally presented as something more akin to what a true meritocracy would likely resemble, as opposed to self described meritocracies of the real world where merit is amplified by the advantages parents are able to confer upon their children whether they are enormous advantages like being able to introduce them to wealthy investors or smaller advantages that are often hidden like parents having more free time and the educational attainment to help their children with their homework.

At the end of the day, the creation of the Synths, anatomically humanoid appliances, seems to have accidentally reopened the door to the creation of pecking orders and the permission to indulge in a little hazing, if not bullying against a thing that theoretically is not actually a person, has no feelings, and is apparently less fully capable of understanding what it is experiencing than Data. Theoretically. Again, things that shouldn’t become conscious often do in Star Trek.

I don’t care for how F-8 is being treated, however as a storytelling device, this would be far from the first time the Federation fell short of its self proclaimed values and in a way, it helps set up the premise that the Federation is in one of those episodes where it needs to be saved from itself. Rescued from complacency, if not moral decay. Not unlike Picard’s own self diagnosis following his snapping out of his apparently fourteen year long brood.

How does this factor in my ruminations about dystopia? If my darker interpretations of this scene are accurate rather than hysterical, then it's not a great look for the Federation. I can understand why this has a pretty foul brain feel to many longtime Trek fans, particularly those who are very big into the ideals of the Federation and the idea that Star Trek is a “history of the future.” It leaves a pretty bad brain feel to me as well.

However! That the Federation is capable of recognizing its error and pivoting very quickly after the error is exposed, suggests to me that we are still in fact not dealing with a dystopia. If it were dystopian, we might expect the Federation at the end of season one, when faced with the recognition that it had been bamboozled and also a colony of fully self aware Synths, would instead seek to double down.

Perhaps I’m being too much an apologist, but I would define a dystopia as a society that is incapable of admitting its mistakes when faced with incontrovertible proof of them, makes up silly stories to poke holes in reality, or lies about its history in order to pretend that it never made any mistakes and thus has no moral obligations to anyone in the present seeking justice.

The Federation is not that. It has never been error free in Star Trek, but when it is faced with a grievous injustice it has a hand in, the Federation changes for the better.

#synths #star trek #star trek picard #Picard Maps and Legends #Picard s1e2 #dystopia #prejudice #class #ai ethics #synthetic life #androids

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rain-fluff · 26 days

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The crash after loving too much

For as long as I could remember, there were always cats in my home. If there was nobody around in the house, there would at least be a few felines inhabiting our house. They nest and nap in hidden corners or dark spaces, bask underneath the warm sunlight an browning their coats, or they may even break precious souvenirs and furniture while you’re not looking. Although to be fair, they’d harm anything they can get their paws on so long as they get to sharpen their tiny claws whether you see them or not; what do they know about human etiquette? Some may find it stressful to deal with, some may feel bittersweet as they reminisce the previous signs of life. I have felt many emotions through the years and unfortunately, for me, it led my love for these furry creatures into a steady decline over time.

My love for cats sparked when we had our first cat Nini. She was a precious Siamese stray cat that had a patient and affectionate character. Well in all honesty, I don’t think she was our first cat but she was the first I could remember that left a memorable imprint in the recesses of my hippo campus. Her coat was off-white with the tips of her paws and tail dipped in chocolate with eyes so blue you would mistake them for precious jewels. Maybe it’s because I grew up in an Asian home and was used to being surrounded by brown-eyed anatomical features but I was so mesmerized by cats with vibrant coloured eyes; making you feel like you could grasp the sky so closely in your hands.

I spent a good deal of my childhood playing with barbies and polly pockets right in the living room, dressing my dolls whenever there was a commercial break between episodes of my favourite cartoons. I especially remember on Saturdays at ten a.m. where they would play Sagwa the Chinese Siamese Cat on Playhouse Disney, in which case I would always make sure to get Nini to sit with me as I watch fictional story-telling of Chinese royalty living with mischievous and playful Siamese cats. I remember being fairly upset when Nini couldn’t paint or do calligraphy with her tail much like the royal cats in the show but she was beloved by my family and I nonetheless, even getting the chance to create her own kin. Maybe I was too small to recollect the particular following memory but my mother had explained that she had disappeared one day while we were out of town. At least we still had two of her children at the time; Bandit and Smokey. By the time she disappeared, I had already outgrown from watching Sagwa and moved on with other. As children, its kind of sad to see how fleeting your interests can change.

The two cats had relatively long lives, staying apart from my early childhood up until my preteen years. However, their lives couldn’t last too long. Used to having our cats come and go from our home, Bandit one day arrived home swollen, bruised and fatigued. I didn’t think it was even possible to see an animal look so sickly and ill. Sitting in the back with him nestled in the carrier, he died while I was slumbering; my older brother and mother chastising me for my lack of attentiveness after our arrival at the vet. It was the first death I had experienced witnessing but I couldn’t really feel any sense of sadness. I’d imagine I was still too young trying to grasp the concept of death being only somewhere around the age of eleven.

Smokey was a death that was a little bit harder to accept, being run over by my dad as he was driving his way to work one morning. She quickly went away to hide and mask her injury from the rest of everyone else. It was the first death that had somewhat moved my emotions, being one of the few pets to excitedly come your way when beckoned and grazing her whole being against you. I couldn’t help but hold resentment towards my dad when her corpse was discovered just outside our house before I left for school. I had to walk away without seeing her burial, having my thoughts filled with nothing but unproductive negativity throughout the day. This was just a mere scratch on the surface but I didn’t think that it could possibly worsen as days, months or even years would go by.

There was a small period of time when the house felt too empty, the stillness from the lack of small domesticated creatures roaming in the halls created a cold environment despite living in a tropical country. A year or so later, we suddenly accumulated many in a short span of time due to friends needing assistance with rehoming some animals. Shiloh, a stray female tabby, was the first of many that we had adopted after our past losses. Later there would be additions of pairs such as Knightly and Blucie or Bob and Marley. Despite my family welcoming many, I realized too late that I would be the primary caregiver later on as the rest of my family kept very low engagement with these pets; from cleaning their litter boxes to handling their medication anytime should their health weaken or wane. Despite the tiresome tasks, I had a sense of fulfilment nursing them where I was able. However, the difficulty had risen when more kittens, ones much younger than what I was used to handling, started to sprout like buds at the start of spring.

In between taking care of our older cats, kittens as young as ten days to three weeks old would appear in litters or alone and neglected without their mothers to nurture their growth. This proved to be tedious and stressful due to them needing to be fed every few hours around-the-clock. Having to be hours away just to attend art school while maintaining care often times would prove fruitless, leading them to their deaths. I was ridden with guilt whenever such small creatures would be found lifeless when I reach home but it was the unfortunate reality when tending to kittens so young; even professionals we sought after had trouble themselves. It felt unnerving knowing that vets had to force themselves to be accustomed to these tragedies.

Sometimes, even present mothers can’t be of much help either. Despite giving birth to two tuxedo kittens, Mimi was a good mother only to an extent. While she helped to provide nutrients and grooming, her efforts were very little and had led them to their deaths some time after. It felt like she forced them to be independent too early and it could partly be a result of her natural childish nature wanting to focus more on play than to be a parent. On the other hand, Shiloh had been a good mother to her four kits but I can barely remember what happened to them after except for Indigo. Both Indigo and Knightly were gifts I didn’t think that could crush and shatter me to so many pieces. I first experience with heartbreak was when I first had to break up with my ex at fifteen but it doesn’t compare to the soul crushing pain of losing someone who has been present in your life in the smallest yet influential way possible.

Knightly often spent his life roaming in the outdoors of our suburban neighbourhood but he would always come home to you with open affection, like a child clinging to the comforts of their parents after a long day of school. That comfort was shortened by his internals rupturing his health, rendering him lifeless to even hold despite his consciousness still present. It was a result of his unmonitored excursions; contracting diseases from open wounds that resulted from cat fights and fleas festering and leaching into his organs. He had run away to have a quiet death before we could further tend to injuries with the medication he needed.

Out of everyone, I felt that Indigo had the most traumatizing impact to me. His illness would come back and forth, from catching flus every other month to suddenly having his system shutting down brought from his kidney’s failing support. It took many visits to varying veterinary clinics just to find reasons for his condition but it would never be answered until his near-death. It hurt to see him struggle taking even the slightest step, his body would tremble recklessly even trying to stand up in place. I will never forget the day I saw him drew his last breath, his eyes dulled and snuffed of light in an instant. I don’t think I’ve mourned for a pet as strongly as I did with Indigo. It didn’t help that both him and Knightly we’re the ones who knew to comfort me when I felt alone and in my darkest moments. I couldn’t help but feel desperate; why did you have to leave me alone?

When Bob had passed just this January, I was already drained. I couldn’t really care for her like I would with other cats in the past even though she was one of the oldest we had. I’ve grown tired after accumulating so much grief over the years, wanting an out if I was able. She didn’t deserve my neglect but there was only so much energy I had left to try. I’ve learnt the hardships of grief and it chips your soul enough that it forces you to collapse the more you try to endure. What could I have done different for all these lives that have whisked away so abruptly? What more can I do for these seemingly endless amounts of strays ensuring that they even had a chance of having a life of comfort? Their lives are left in my hands because many aren’t too keen on keeping for themselves but with the current pace, there’s already so much blood spilt all over.

If given a chance, I wish I could do it all over by making stronger efforts of putting them under better care and finding better forever-homes instead of having to stay with me. I wish I could see the signs and get some of them hospitalized faster instead of letting slip away from my fingers so quickly. Sometimes I wonder if I even maintain human relationships when I barely have the strength to maintain my companionship with these creatures. I can’t help but wonder of what-ifs and think if there ever was such a thing as growth for someone like me. They look at you with so much trust that you can’t help but why. What was so significant about me that made you want to stay and put your trust in me? If there was anything I’ve significantly learned from loving these animals after all these years it’s that I really don’t think I can give a supportive love that would last. I rather keep myself distant before I could fracture anything else I hold dear.

#Spotify

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