#Graphic Design Case Study

[cue-ball-creatives]

My Balto Case Study | Custom Graphic Design & Branding Projects | Cueball Creatives

Discover My Balto case study showcasing custom graphic design, professional branding, and brand identity work. Explore graphic design projects and our creative portfolio.

[theartofpixar]

Disney released a new version for the logo of Pixar's Elio, featuring a new font type - very similar to Wall-E by the way - and a less irregular logomark. They'll likely keep the color scheme.

[rydondigitalmarketing]

CGI Ads Production and Motion Graphics, including website development

CGI Ads Production and Motion Graphics

In today's rapidly evolving digital landscape, businesses in Udaipur face unique challenges such as capturing audience attention and conveying their messages effectively. Computer-Generated Imagery (CGI) has emerged as a powerful tool in this endeavor, revolutionizing advertising and motion graphics. For businesses in Udaipur looking to leverage CGI Ads Production and CGI Motion Graphics services, partnering with a proficient agency like Rydon Digital, which specializes in these local challenges, can be a game-changer.

Understanding CGI in Modern Advertising

Computer-Generated Imagery (CGI) refers to the creation of still or animated visual content with computer software. In advertising, CGI enables the production of hyper-realistic visuals that might be challenging or impossible to capture through traditional photography or videography. This technology allows brands to craft compelling narratives, showcase products in dynamic ways, and create immersive experiences that resonate with audiences.

The Rise of CGI Ads Production

The demand for CGI Ads Production has surged as brands recognize the myriad benefits it offers. For instance, a case study by XYZ Research showed a 25% increase in engagement, while an industry report by ABC Analytics highlighted a 15% reduction in costs.

• Unparalleled Creativity: CGI allows for the visualization of concepts without the constraints of reality, enabling brands to present their products or services in imaginative settings.

• Cost-effectiveness: Eliminating the need for elaborate sets, props, or on-location shoots, CGI can reduce production costs while maintaining high-quality outputs.

• Consistency and Control: Every element in a CGI ad is controllable, ensuring consistency across campaigns and the ability to make adjustments without reshooting.

• Engagement: High-quality CGI ads captivate viewers, leading to increased engagement and brand recall.

The Impact of CGI Motion Graphics Services

Motion graphics combine graphic design and animation to create engaging visual content. When enhanced with CGI, motion graphics become even more dynamic, offering:

• Enhanced Storytelling: CGI motion graphics can simplify complex ideas, making them more accessible and engaging for viewers.

• Versatility: They are adaptable across various platforms, from social media to television, ensuring a cohesive brand presence.

• Modern aesthetics: The sleek and polished look of CGI motion graphics aligns with contemporary design trends, appealing to modern audiences.

After understanding the benefits of CGI, businesses in Udaipur can look towards Rydon Digital, a pioneering agency in CGI services, as a premier choice for leveraging CGI Ads Production and CGI Motion Graphics services. As a leading digital marketing agency, Rydon Digital offers a comprehensive suite of services tailored to meet the unique needs of each client.

Comprehensive Digital Solutions

Rydon Digital offers a range of services that complement CGI Ads Production and Motion Graphics, including website development, social media management, and video editing, to create a cohesive digital strategy.

Website Development: 

Social Media Management: Harnessing the power of social platforms to grow brands and engage audiences.

Video Editing: Transforming raw footage into captivating visual stories that leave lasting impressions.

Graphic Design: Providing innovative designs that help brands make memorable impressions.

Search Engine Optimization (SEO): Boosting online visibility through expert SEO strategies.

Innovative NFC Products

In addition to CGI services, Rydon Digital offers advanced Near Field Communication (NFC) products, such as digital business cards and social media stands, which are revolutionizing the way businesses connect and engage.

Rydon Digital employs unique methodologies and innovations in CGI Ads Production, such as advanced 3D modeling techniques and real-time rendering, ensuring high-quality and efficient production.

Rydon Digital focuses its approach to CGI Ads Production on client needs:

Conceptualization: Collaborating with clients to understand their vision and objectives.

Storyboarding: Developing detailed storyboards to visualize the ad's flow and key elements.

3D Modeling and Animation: Creating lifelike 3D models and animating them to align with the storyboard.

Texturing and Lighting: Applying textures and lighting to enhance realism and visual appeal.

Rendering and Post-Production: Finalizing the visuals and incorporating any additional effects or adjustments.

Benefits of Partnering with Rydon Digital include proven expertise, as demonstrated by successful campaigns for clients like XYZ Corporation, which resulted in a 30% increase in engagement and a 20% reduction in production costs. Additionally, numerous other clients have reported similar successes, reinforcing Rydon Digital's reputation for delivering impactful results.

The Future of Advertising in Udaipur

As Udaipur continues to grow as a business hub, the adoption of advanced advertising techniques like CGI Ads Production and CGI Motion Graphics services will be pivotal. Businesses that embrace these technologies will not only stand out in a competitive market but also connect more effectively with their audiences.

Conclusion

Incorporating CGI into advertising strategies offers unparalleled opportunities for creativity, engagement, and brand differentiation.

[multitaskingco]

The Importance of Graphic Design in Branding and Marketing

The Foundation of Brand Identity

Graphic design is the visual language that shapes how your brand is perceived. It's the first impression a customer has, and it can make or break a business. A well-designed logo, website, and marketing materials can help you establish a strong brand identity that resonates with your target audience. Explore the wide range of Graphic Designing Services in Punjab to find the perfect fit for your business.

Effective Communication

Visuals are powerful tools for communication. Through strategic use of color, typography, and imagery, graphic designers can convey complex messages quickly and effectively. Whether you're trying to highlight a product feature, convey a brand's values, or inspire action, graphic design plays a crucial role.

Building Trust and Credibility

A visually appealing and professional brand can instill confidence in potential customers. High-quality graphic design signals that you've invested in your business and that you care about the experience you provide. When customers trust your brand, they're more likely to become loyal customers and advocate for your products or services.

Engaging Your Audience

In today's competitive market, it's essential to stand out from the crowd. Graphic design can help you create visually engaging content that captures attention and drives engagement. Whether it's social media posts, email campaigns, or print advertisements, well-designed visuals can make your brand more memorable and shareable.

Case Studies from Sangrur

To illustrate the power of graphic design, consider the success stories of local businesses in Sangrur. Highlight examples of brands that have used graphic design to transform their business and achieve their marketing goals.

[craft-motors-zambia]

The ROI of Great Web Design: How a Smart Website Boosts Your Business

There's a secret weapon for boosting your online success... and it's not what you think! Discover the power of exceptional web design in our new eBook.

In today’s digital age, your website is your storefront to the world. But is it a thriving marketplace or a dusty forgotten corner? This ebook, written by Mwenya Chongo, CEO of Mukwood Digital Web Design Studio (registered in Zambia), dives deep into the power of well-crafted web design and how it directly impacts your business’s bottom line. Uncover the hidden potential of your website and…

[celiabranddesign]

Packaging Design Studio - Activity 1, part 2.

This week we focused on printing a (very) rough draft of our digitized mockups. This process was a bit of a learning curve for me in regards to making accurate measurements and transferring it to digital. Though a bit challenging, I found this stage very fun and puzzle-like.

As I work throughout this next week on the digital mockup, my design should look almost similar to the actual product box by the next time I print!

[taigarrryen]

Jimmy Solidarity is a man of mystery to me. The more I learn about him the more it's the case. He's not a nerd, he's very much into sports, yet he studied graphic design and plays games for a living. He could've been a football player if not for youtube. He had worked with kids. It kinda shows. He's musical and artistic, has a nice singing voice. He's both the cool kid and the butt of every joke. He is the personification of an energizer battery but, like, so chill. Wha.. Wh.. Huh??

[sunsets-and-crows]

I Wanna Be Yours - Chapter 6

Pairing: Sylus X Reader

Words: 7.1K

- - -

Tasked with infiltrating the life of Sylus, the most wanted man in the N109 zone, you're torn between what is right and feels right, blurring the line between duty and desire. As danger escalates, you must decide whether to carry out your mission or succumb to the magnetic pull of the man you're meant to destroy. In this game of power and obsession, betrayal could cost you everything.

Content warnings ⚠️

Dark Themes, Yandere! Reader and Yandere! Sylus! Power play. Violence and Gore. Smut: mutual masturbation. Stalking/surveillance. Reader slowly losing her mind. Sylus being hot and a menace. TRIGGER WARNING: stalking and dubious consent. Graphic deptictions of violence.

If you feel there’s any other warnings I need to add then please reach out and let me know!

Autumn had come, left its mark on the world, and was swiftly disappearing in Linkon. The trees stood bare, their leaves scattered and decaying on the rapidly freezing ground and the air carried the crisp threat of icy breaths and frozen nights. Tonight marked your first mission using the Hunter’s Association alias - bartending at an underground auction. How you’d managed to land the job was a mystery to you. Sure, you had some experience with mixing drinks, but not nearly enough to justify working the bar at such an exclusive event. During your “interview,” when the organisers had requested a practical demonstration, you’d clammed up and produced the most over-stirred Negroni you’d ever made. You’d apologized and hastily remade it, but even that wasn’t great. Yet somehow, you - or rather, Natalie Moore - had been hired. Natalie, a runaway, desperate and resourceful, blending in among the staff - a role designed to keep you hidden, unnoticed, and, most importantly, far from the action.

You parked the beat-up car, provided by the Hunter’s Association, and hurried to your destination. The building was as gloomy as the weather had been over the past few days, an old building that had once been quite beautiful but years of neglect had turned it into a sad husk of its former glory, but you knew better than to take its appearance at face value. You entered the building and walked down to the bar area. 

The underground auction hummed with activity from the elite patrons scattered around the main hall. The atmosphere thick with the weight of unspoken deals and veiled power. The gathered people toured each display case admiring the rare and even dangerous items. The room itself was a study in contrasts: ornate carvings and velvet drapes disguised the building's grim origins, while the scent of aged whiskey mingled with a faint metallic tang that hinted at hidden weaponry and the musk of the centuries old building. 

You stood behind the bar at the far end of the room, polishing glasses in methodical circles as your eyes scanned the crowd. It was all you had been entrusted to do so far, which was probably for the best as your focus was far away from the menial task in your hand.

Instead, you were watching Sylus Qin take his place among the elite, as effortlessly commanding as ever. His presence filled the space as he entered, capturing everyone’s attention. They couldn’t help their stares, yet no one dared to approach him without an invitation. His tailored black suit hugged his broad shoulders and tapered perfectly down his lean frame. His silver hair framed his sharp features, catching the warm light of the chandeliers and making him look like he’d stepped out of a painting, if paintings could exude danger and power. 

Sylus moved with a predator’s grace, flanked by two men in crow masks, Luke and Kieran you’d discovered from your research. Every step was deliberate and unhurried, as he took note of his surroundings. The unspoken king of the N109 zone. The sight of him was always enough to start your pulse racing, a mix of respect and that simmering desire that haunted you when you were around him. 

You tried to refocus on the bar, on the repetitive motions of your hands as you arranged the bottles and tools, trying to ground yourself. Yet, every few moments, your gaze flickered back to him, taking note of the items he seemed interested in, or who he deemed important enough to give a cursory nod to. He only spoke to his men, their conversation quiet and completely theirs, a faint smirk playing on his lips as the three of them chuckled about something one of them had said. The glint in his crimson eyes was as sharp and calculating as ever - a man who already knew the outcome of the night’s dealings. You felt a twinge of envy for the effortless way he commanded attention, for how he belonged so completely in a world you were only pretending to inhabit.

He was headed right for you, you realised. Well, for the bar that was. His approach left you no room to be caught off guard. You busied yourself arranging glasses, trying to look preoccupied as he closed the distance between you. You looked between the bottles you were fussing with and the other bartender working alongside you as his footsteps came to a halt. He cleared his throat, signalling for attention, completely unnecessarily when he already commanded it so effortlessly. 

His voice, smooth as velvet, broke through the hum of the room. "An old-fashioned," he said. This voice made your stomach turn in somersaults.

“Right away sir,” The other bartender replied, but Sylus cut him off before he could start making his drink. 

“I’d prefer that she be the one to make my drink,” He stated. 

You spun around in shock to find his eyes already firmly locked on you. He was even more handsome up close, if that was even possible. 

“Me?” You said, your words coming out a little more alarmed than you’d intended. 

“Her?” Your colleague exclaimed at the same time, with the same tone of alarm. He must have remembered the negroni you’d made at your interview. “Sir, s-she’s just in training I think it’s b-”

“I don't care what you think,” Sylus snapped, his eyes never leaving your face. “I find my drink always tastes better when it’s been made by someone beautiful.”

You could feel the heat rise in your face. Beautiful. He called you beautiful. Your heart rate raced in your chest, if he was any closer, you were sure he would’ve been able to hear its frantic pumping. Was it too dramatic to pass out?

His smirk deepened further at your reaction, satisfied at having had the chance to throw you off your guard, for being the reason the blood rushed to your face. 

The other bartender sighed before gesturing for you to begin. You nodded at him, then focussed on, keeping your hands steady as you prepared the drink. Each motion felt heightened - the clink of ice against glass, the subtle aroma of bitters and orange peel. You forced yourself to ignore Sylus as you concentrated on your work, pouring your attention into every detail, desperate to make this moment flawless, to impress him. When you slid the finished drink across the counter, your fingers brushed each other on the cool glass as he picked it up. Your hand flexed as you rested it behind you and watched him.

Sylus took a slow sip, his carmine eyes fixed on you. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed the drink you had made for him, the movement drawing your eyes in. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken tension, before he finally spoke. "Impressive," he said, his voice laced with approval. "That’s the best old-fashioned I’ve had in years.” You could’ve passed out right then and there from the praise that fell from his lips. “Such… talent for someone still training, you’re surely wasted with your current employer miss…"

The comment hit you like a lightning strike, leaving your heart pounding the way he said it felt pointed, almost teasing. You managed a polite smile, when you’d finally encouraged your brain to resume its normal functioning. "Natalie," you said softly.

His eyebrow twitched a little as you said your alias’ name, but it was gone as soon as it happened. Instead, a slight smile graced the corners of his lips as he repeated the name. "Natalie," he said, as though tasting it, testing it. The name on his tongue was disarming, yet undeniably frustrating, you wanted to hear him say your real name, for it to be you he was addressing, not some fabricated identity. He placed a hefty tip on the bar in front of you, nodding as a gesture for you to take it. 

“Enjoy your evening, sir” you said, desperately trying to remain as calm as possible as you took the tip. Was that too much eye contact? You should look away. Are you sweating? 

One of his henchmen let out a slight giggle, only to be swiftly kicked by the other masked man. Sylus tipped his drink at you in a salute and walked away to his table, front and centre. 

The lights dimmed in the room as the auctioneer stepped up to the podium and people hurried to take their seats. Your palms were sweaty and shaking as you watched the beginnings of the proceedings. You turned to the bartender and told him you were going to head to the restroom, desperate to find a quiet place to calm your racing heart and mind. He simply glared at you and nodded, still butthurt by the interaction with Sylus. 

You found solace on the upper balcony, where the noise of the auction floor became a distant murmur. The air was cooler here. Its freshness kissing your skin as you leaned against the railing, trying to collect yourself. Your heart raced, not just from the interaction but from the overwhelming mix of emotions swirling inside you. Desire, frustration, and a gnawing sense of inadequacy warred for dominance. The tip burned from its place in your pocket.

What were you even doing here? Captain Jenna had insisted you take this opportunity to meet him in person, but where had it gotten you? Making his drinks and watching him. So, nowhere. You sighed, rubbing your face as you tried to collect yourself. Everything came back to the uselessness of the Hunters Association. 

Unbeknownst to you, Sylus had noticed your sudden departure and was in fact not pleased to have lost sight of his favourite source of entertainment. He remained seated, but his gaze scanned the room carefully. Where had you gone? His interest had been piqued, and now you’d disappeared. The realization left him unsettled, his chest tightening with an unfamiliar sensation he didn’t care to name.

Lucienne chose that exact moment to approach him, gliding across the room in her burgundy slip dress. The fabric clung to her figure, the sheen of the material catching the light with every step. To anyone else, she looked stunning, but to Sylus, it felt calculated and false. Her confidence faltered slightly under his sharp gaze, but she recovered quickly, smiling as she addressed him.

"Sylus," she said warmly, her voice dripping with familiarity. "I was hoping to run into you again tonight."

He stood out of politeness, offering her a cordial smile. "Lucienne," he said smoothly. "What a surprise." He knew he would regret leading her on like that.

She reached out, resting a hand on his arm as she leaned closer, her tone taking on a flirtatious edge. "I thought we might discuss a partnership," she began, clearly indicating something more than just business. 

His face fell into a look of disinterest and he almost rolled his eyes at her attempt to flirt with him. His eyes flickered briefly to the bar, where he’d last seen you, and a flicker of irritation creeping into his otherwise flawless facade.

Lucienne, noticing his distraction, faltered. Her words stumbling slightly . "I mean, if you’re… interested, of course."

Sylus couldn’t stand her touch for much longer. He gently removed her hand from his arm, stepping back just enough to establish a boundary. "Forgive me, Lucienne, but I’m preoccupied tonight." He replied, his tone polite but detached as he sat back down in his chair. 

The conversation was over, there was no question about it and Lucienne knew that. She had been dismissed. She lingered for a moment, her expression faltering before she excused herself. Sylus’ gaze returned to the room, scanning once more for any sign of you.

Your grip tightened on the balcony railing as you watched the scene below. Fucking Lucienne! Your chest tightened with jealousy. Of course, he was interested in her. She was elegant, poised, and clearly belonged in his world. And yet you couldn’t dismiss your own interaction with him. 

Did you imagine it? The way his eyes softened when he looked at you. The way he seemed… interested in you. No. There was no way you were that delusional. He must have taken a liking to you, that was the only explanation for it. At least, it was the one you were going to go with. The one that gave you some hope that he would be accepting of you once you made your move. 

No. He doesn’t belong to her. He doesn’t belong to anyone, yet.

The door clicked closed as you entered the stillness of your apartment, finally shutting out the chaos of the night. Equal parts of exhaustion and excitement thrumming through your system. Your feet ached from the long shift, but that was nothing compared to the way your emotions raged inside you. 

You took the cash Sylus had given you out of your back pocket, your fingers trembling slightly as you unfolded it. It felt heavier than it should, not because of its physical weight, but because of what it represented. He’d noticed you. The thought sent a dizzying rush through your veins. He hadn’t just noticed you - he’d spoken to you, given you his money, chosen you in that moment. A wild mix of elation and disbelief surged in your chest, leaving you breathless.

The crisp texture of the bills felt surreal under your fingertips, grounding you even as your thoughts spun. Your mind replayed the encounter on an endless loop, picking apart every detail like a cherished relic.

And yet, a thorn of unease pricked at the edges of your joy, the thought of Lucienne tied to him casting a faint shadow. It niggled at the back of your mind, unwelcome and persistent, but it wasn’t enough to pierce through the haze of reverence you felt. The money, his money, sat in your hands like a promise you didn’t fully understand yet.

You’d played the role of Natalie Moore perfectly tonight - dutiful, composed, unremarkable.You leaned back against it for a moment, the cool wood grounding you. His voice, low and deliberate, as he ordered the drink you’d prepared. The faint curve of his lips when he’d complimented your skill. The way his crimson eyes had softened, just for a heartbeat, when they met yours. Your breath hitched at the memory, heat creeping up into your cheeks.

You shrugged off your coat, tossing it onto the back of the couch. Your heels were the next to go, kicked off haphazardly, one landing near the door and the other skidding across the floor to rest beneath the coffee table. The act of discarding them felt almost cathartic, but it did nothing to clear your chaotic thoughts. 

Your apartment was a mess. 

Clothes strewn across furniture; takeout containers littered the room; an enormous pile of dirty dishes. Your eyes swept across the chaos, the clutter pressing down on your chest like a weight that couldn’t be lifted. Each out-of-place object seemed to gnaw at the edges of your mind, a cacophony of silent accusations. You'd let this get out of hand. Your desk - once meticulously organised with your notes and recordings - was now a disheveled mess of papers, empty coffee cups, and half-finished reports.

This wasn’t you. You were methodical, deliberate, and precise. You’d always taken pride in maintaining a perfectly kept space, your cleaning routine serving to clear your mind and set you up for the coming weeks of work, but the last few weeks had been a whirlwind of spiraling thoughts and poorly managed emotions. It showed.

The sheer mess of your life felt like an insult to your obsession with him. How could you imagine yourself by his side when your own space looked like this? Disgusting. 

“God,” you muttered under your breath, the word slicing through the oppressive silence.

Despite the ache in your feet and your exhaustion, you knew you couldn’t leave the mess any longer. Pulling your hair back into a ponytail, you dove in. The rhythmic act of cleaning took over as you scrubbed dishes, tidied up clutter, and vacuumed the floors. Each task felt like a small victory, the chaos slowly giving way to order. Trash bags piled up, requiring three trips to the bins, each one tossed with a satisfying finality. By the time you reached your desk, the rest of the apartment had transformed into the haven it was meant to be. Only a few loads of laundry, your desk and a change of bedding remained before you could finally call it a night.

You started organising your desk. Sorting into piles to be filed, “reports” to be finished and you silently tucked away a few more personal notes. It was there, amidst the organised disarray of your notes and tools, that you spotted something that had your mind pausing its focus. A tracker. Sleek, discreet, and entirely unassuming, it rested on the corner of the desk like a forgotten artifact. Its smooth surface felt cool in your hands as you turned it over to look at it more clearly. The Hunter’s Association had issued it to you as part of the mission - a tool to help you keep tabs on Sylus’ movements. But it had limitations, ones you could no longer afford.

Your mind whirred with the ideas bouncing around but with the state of your exhaustion, you couldn’t properly latch onto any of them. For now, you stored the tracker in one of the draws and decided to reward yourself.

Bath finally drawn, you allowed yourself to strip off the final layers of Natalie, relaxing into the warm, bubble water as just you. The water soothed your sore muscles, overworked from your combined shift and the borderline manic cleaning of your apartment. 

Sinking further down into the bubbles, you sighed as you considered your next moves. You wanted him, wanted him all to yourself, no distractions. How were you going to explain yourself to him? How could you make him understand without scaring him? Your thoughts once again turned to Noah and his rejection of you. Wincing, you tried to push it from your mind, subconsciously cupping the side of your face from the memory of the sting. 

Wait. 

Maybe the problem was that he finally confronted you in public! That’s why Noah was so upset right? He had been caught off guard in public and reacted like that because of how everyone else was staring, right?

So, all you would need to do is get Sylus to someplace private, away from the hustle and bustle of other people. Easy!

Turned out it was not so easy after all. Your first thought had been to bring him here. To your own apartment. The idea had sent a thrill through you until you thought about it for even a little second. Your apartment was out of the question. It was too small, too exposed, and far too close to the Association’s watchful eye. You needed somewhere secure, somewhere they wouldn’t think to look. I mean all of your neighbours were hunters. Having him in your space, would absolutely not work. 

You opened your laptop, setting it on your newly organised desk, and began your search. The listings in Linkon were plentiful, ranging from modest apartments to luxurious penthouses. But each one was vetoed pretty quickly. Too close to the Hunter’s Association. The area was too busy. Near a school? Absolutely not appropriate in your opinion! It all came down to the Association’s jurisdiction covering the entire city. Any property you acquired in Linkon would be far too easily found and traced. Bringing him here would place him in far too much danger. You were not willing to do that. 

Frustration gnawed at you like a relentless itch, leaving you restless in your chair. You sighed, leaning back with a soft thud and dragging your hand through your hair, the strands falling messily back into place. “How do you even find a safe house?” you muttered to the empty room, the edge in your voice sharper than you intended.

The N109 zone. It was your only option now, but finding a property there? That was another beast entirely. There were no real estate agents for the N109 zone - no polished offices with eager professionals offering brochures and coffee. There weren’t even official listings. Just a tangled mess of underground networks, anonymous forums, and shadowy contacts who vanished when pressed for details.

You spent hours scouring message boards and digital scraps of information, each post a breadcrumb promising something useful only to turn to dust when you followed it. Property A? Already occupied by squatters who didn’t just refuse to leave - they sent a heavily veiled warning not to come asking again. Property B? Owned by someone with clear ties to Sylus’ rivals. Even seeing the name had made your pulse quicken, the risk too great to ignore. And Property C? A literal death trap with rotted floors, exposed wiring that sparked in the listing video, and the unsettling promise that it might collapse on you mid-sleep.

You could not embarrass yourself by bringing him to any of those places. 

You closed yet another useless tab, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from screaming. Your patience was fraying like a taut rope, thread by thread. You weren’t naive - you knew the N109 zone wouldn’t just hand you an answer wrapped up in a neat bow. But with every dead end, every link that spiralled into nothing, the reality of it all loomed larger: you were running out of options.

“How does anyone survive in that place?” you muttered bitterly, slumping back in your chair.

The quiet of your apartment enveloped you. That awful kind of stillness that lets thoughts creep in uninvited, pressing against the edges of your already frayed mind.

Your jaw tensed as you fought against the rising doubt, dragging a hand through your hair. The ache in your temples pulsed as your thoughts spiraled, circling the same impossible problem over and over again. 

You wanted to see him. To know where he was right now, but the little menace had been almost going out of his way to lose you recently. There were days when you didn’t get to see him at all and that began to annoy you. What if he was doing it on purpose? 

It would be so much easier if you knew where he was, literally all the time. 

The idea sat there for a moment, harmless and innocent, before unfurling fully in your mind. You sat up straighter, your pulse quickening as it settled in place. Of course. Knowing where Sylus was at all times - his movements, his location - wouldn’t solve everything, but it would give you some form of highground. A sense of control you were sorely lacking right now.

Your fingers tapped against the desk as the thought burrowed deeper. You knew that tracker would come in handy.

It was tucked away in the drawer, exactly where you’d left it the day before, when you cleaned up your workspace. The drawer slid open, and you hesitated briefly before reaching for the sleek, unassuming device. The metal was cool against your fingers, heavier than you remembered.

Staring at the tracker, you placed it carefully on the desk. For a long moment, you just took in your situation, torn between reluctance and temptation. The tracker wasn’t yours - it was theirs, a tool given to you by the Hunter’s Association. Using it felt like crossing another line, breaking yet another rule.

But hadn’t you already done that?

You picked up the tracker, rolling it between your fingers as if testing its weight, its worth. It was a tool from the Association, but it didn’t feel like yours - not yet. That could change. You had the skills to corrupt its programming, to sever its link to their systems and bend it to your own needs. Of course, if they ever caught on, it would be over for you. But the thought of leaving it untouched, of not using it at all, left you feeling even more powerless.

Your chest tightened as you weighed the choice, a part of you thinking this might be too far, but the other part - the louder, hungrier part - had already made up its mind.

You returned your focus to the laptop. The glow of the screen painted your face in cool light as you sat back down, the room filling with the quiet hum of fans and faint clicks of your keyboard. You knew what you had to do. You had to make the tracker yours. 

No links to the Association. Just you, and him. Well, watching him.

You worked with carefully, precisely, your hands steady as you pried the tracker open with a bobby pin. The casing popped apart with a soft snap, revealing a delicate web of circuits inside. A faint hum emanated from its core, and you paused for only a moment before diving in, disconnecting the transmitter. You cut the link that fed its data back to the Association. It was a simple task, but that didn’t stop the thrum of nerves as you severed the tie to their ownership of the tracker.

The next part was trickier. You opened a new program on your laptop, lines of code scrolling and scrolling endlessly, the DNA of the motherboard. Code you, luckily, knew well enough to work with. The Association’s firewalls were formidable, of course they were, you’d helped set them up in your early days as a hunter, but you were better. Where the Association had allowed itself to sit stagnant on advancements in programming, you’d remained informed. Each line of code gave way under your knowledge, firewalls and protections fell as you navigated deeper into their system, ensuring the PCB’s connection was completely severed from the Association, down to the core.When the final line of code executed successfully, a small ping sounded from your laptop. You smiled, feeling very content with yourself. But you weren’t finished. 

You needed to attach your own GPS system, upgrade the transmitter’s coding and finally link all of it to your own personal devices. Each successful execution sent a thrill through you, a mix of relief and triumph. Finally, the tracker’s signal reappeared - this time, on your laptop monitor. A bright dot blinked steadily on the screen, marking its presence in real time. You moved through your apartment with the tracker, seeing the precise location on the screen moving with you. 

You exhaled slowly, a tension you didn’t realise you’d been holding dissipating from your shoulders. You picked up your phone, syncing the device so the dot appeared on the map interface. When you moved the tracker across the desk, the dot followed seamlessly, its connection flawless.

“Perfect,” you murmured, your voice soft, almost reverent.

Another thread of control had slipped neatly into your hands, leaving you with a small, sharp satisfaction curling in your chest.

You sat back, staring at the pulsing dot on your phone screen. Where are you now? The thought came unbidden, edged with curiosity and something darker, something you weren’t ready to name. Knowing you could see him whenever you wanted, that you could follow his movements with just a glance, sent an unexpected shiver down your spine.

But the tracker was just the first step. It gave you knowledge - his location, his movements - but that wasn’t enough. What good was knowing where he was when you couldn’t reach him? Couldn’t bring him to you? You needed more.

The words slithered through your mind, making your fingers twitch against the armrest. More control. More certainty. Sylus was untouchable, out of reach in every way that mattered, and the thought gnawed at the edges of your resolve. He wouldn’t come willingly. You’d have to bring him to you - close the distance yourself, force his gaze back to you, where it belonged.

The solution whispered itself to you like a secret: a sedative. That could work.

You pulled your laptop closer, once again motivated enough to solve your problems. Your fingers hesitated for only a moment before typing “effective sedatives” into the search bar. It felt almost ridiculous - wrong, even - and yet the click of the keys was so deliberate, so purposeful. You swallowed hard, watching the results flood the page in long, disjointed lists: blog articles, obscure medical forums, even links to dubious N109 black-market suppliers.

The first few results were absurd: "Ten Sleepy-Time Teas for Your Insomniac Lover!" A soft exhale of a laugh escaped you. As if the Sylus Qin would ever be taken down by a sleepy time tea. You scrolled further, past DIY sleep aids and over-the-counter nonsense, until the real answers started to surface. The research became clinical, factual, with medical terms you had to work hard to decipher. If you could talk to a medical professional, you could probably understand this a lot easier, buuuut you'd also almost certainly end up locked up. So the internet was your only source of information.

Chloroform was an early temptation, of course, you’d seen it used in TV shows and movies for the exact same outcome. Fast-acting, the promise of unconsciousness in only a few minutes - it had an appeal that made your pulse quicken. You clicked through case studies, reading about its use, imagining for just a moment pressing a cloth to his face and holding it there until…

No.

You grimaced, shoving the thought away as quickly as it came. The TV shows had clearly not done their own proper research. The drawbacks were too much: burns from exposure, unpredictable dosage based on weight and metabolism. Could you even reach his face? He was tall - so tall - you’d have to stand on your toes just to hold the rag in place. The mental image was absurd. Worse than that though, it was dangerous. And the thought of leaving a mark, even an unintentional one made you draw back from that line of thinking completely. You’d sooner fail than disfigure him in any way. Sylus was perfect, every sharp edge and flawless line.

With a sigh, you moved on, typing new terms into the search bar. Fast-acting sedatives. Safe sedatives. Substances for unconsciousness with minimal trace.

Pentobarbital caught your eye next. A potent barbiturate with a long and controversial history - it was strong enough to knock him out, yes, but its unpredictability made you hesitate. You skimmed the medical notes, lips pressed into a thin line as the words blurred together. Respiratory depression. Lethal at higher doses. Your pulse skipped at the word lethal. Immediately striking it off the list, that wasn’t an option. You would not hurt him.

The thought came back like a mantra, as if you needed to convince yourself. This isn’t to hurt him. This is to help him. To protect him.

Scrolling further, you found something promising: midazolam. A benzodiazepine with a clean, precise reputation. Fast-acting and reliable, it was commonly used in hospitals to calm patients before procedures. One moment they were awake, and the next… gone. Its effects were temporary, too - enough to ensure that you could get him where you needed to without causing harm. At higher doses, it could completely knock someone out, at lower doses, it could be used to make him easier to manoeuvre into a vehicle or something like that. 

Your eyes traced the screen as you absorbed the information. Minimal taste, odourless in liquid form. Perfect. Your hands trembled slightly as you bookmarked the page, your breathing steadying as the weight of the decision settled over you. You sat back and stared at the text on your screen, imagining it in action.

A drink - just one. He’d tip back the glass, never knowing what you’d slipped into it. It would be easy. He’d close his eyes, his tall frame relaxing as the drug took hold. Then you’d… what? Somehow get him to a safe house. Your thoughts stumbled, and you forced yourself to keep moving forward. The details didn’t matter yet. What mattered was the first step: securing the sedative.

Your search shifted as you began scouring suppliers, looking for underground networks and black-market pharmacies that wouldn’t ask questions. This was the N109 zone’s territory, you realised. There were no rules out there - no ethics, no oversight. Just people like you, willing to pay the price for what they needed. You glanced at your dwindling stack of cash, running numbers in your head. It would be worth it. Every penny, every risk - worth it to have him.

A few days had passed, and the dust had settled. Now in your possession was a small vial of midazolam, a tracker linked to your phone, and a fully formed plan simmering quietly in your mind. The pieces were finally starting to align, each one as dangerous as it was necessary. Yet, the issue of the safe house remained unresolved. 

Slumped at your desk, you opened your laptop with a sigh, half-expecting another fruitless search. Your inbox pinged, startling you slightly. A new message sat there, the subject line calling out to you: Exclusive Properties in the N109 Zone.

Your brow furrowed. Properties? You didn’t remember signing up for anything like this. You frowned, your mind racing. Had you registered your interest in properties accidentally? Maybe you had clicked something in your late-night searches and forgotten. Or maybe someone was tracking your internet history. The thought set you on edge, but you pushed the feeling aside. Your interest had been piqued, you clicked into the email, the sleek formatting and pristine images catching your attention immediately. There were three listings, each stunningly presented with immaculate photos and descriptions. They had flexible term contracts, furnished or unfurnished options; all boasting of being discrete and having excellent security as well.they were, for lack of a better word: perfect.

Number one was sleek and modern, all sharp angles and steel. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the sprawling city, though the interior felt cold - almost sterile. It was a fortress, but one without a soul. You could see its appeal to someone with no interest in comfort, just functionality. It would do but it wouldn’t be the most comfortable.

Number two was ostentatious. Crystal chandeliers, plush gold accents, and velvet everything. It reeked of new money trying too hard to be tasteful, every inch designed to be a showpiece rather than a home. It was beautiful, gaudy yes, but still beautiful. 

And then there was, number three. The moment the image loaded, your breath hitched. Dark wood floors, soft amber lighting, and furnishings that struck the perfect balance between luxury and livability. The space was grand yet intimate, the leather sofas arranged around a massive set of windows that let the city lights spill in like a painting. It was elegant without being overdone - rich but warm, like someone had considered every detail carefully.

Your gaze lingered on the images longer than you realized. Something about it felt right. Safe, even. Like a place where you could rest, regroup, and focus - without feeling watched.if you ever had unlimited funds, this is what you would’ve chosen for yourself but alas you did not.

And then you saw the price.

Your heart sank. The numbers glared back at you, cruel and unrelenting. The cheapest penthouse was far beyond your reach, and this one? Laughable. You leaned back, dragging a hand through your hair in frustration.

“What a joke,” you muttered, biting back the sting of disappointment. Closing the tab, you shook your head. It’s just bait. Probably a scam anyway. Still that last property stuck with you, you even went as far as to pin it to your “home inspiration” pinterest board. 

Across the city, Sylus stared at his screen, his crimson eyes narrowing as he watched the moment you dismissed the listing. Through Mephisto’s feed, he saw the flicker of disappointment on your face and something deep within him twisted. He was irritated.

You hadn’t chosen any of them. Hadn’t even looked long enough. His jaw clenched as he brought up your file, flicking through to try and understand why on earth you would dismiss the places he picked out for you. Finally a thought struck him. Finances. Specifically, your finances. He rifled through your baking history and what he saw made his lip curl. Your accounts were nearly empty, savings depleted, seemingly all withdrawn over the course of a single week.He scrolled back further, checking your transaction history and almost sneering at what he saw. The total amount that had been withdrawn was less than he made in a single deal, significantly less actually. Your monthly income, a pitiful amount.

This is what you were living on? A bitter laugh escaped him, though it was more disbelief than amusement. The numbers on the screen - meager remnants of paychecks from the Hunter’s Association - were laughable. You’d been scraping by, sacrificing comfort, and working for them.  Plus the job of a hunter was incredibly dangerous, not to mention completely essential to Linkon city. And this was your wage? Pennies?

“Unbelievable,” he murmured, a dangerous softness in his tone. She’s worth so much more.

Sylus’ fingers hovered over the keys, and with a few precise strokes, he adjusted the listings. He knocked down the prices to amounts you couldn’t ignore, nudging them closer to affordability. Even so, the thought of you paying at all rankled him. You didn’t owe him anything - he didn’t want your money, he just wanted you. He’d make them free but that would be far too suspicious.

“She’d better pick the one she actually wants,” he said to himself, unable to stop the faintest smirk from tugging at his lips.

The second ping of your inbox drew your attention. Frowning, you opened the message - the same one as before, but now with the subject line Updated Listings - Limited Time Offer.

Your brow furrowed, as you looked at the email suspiciously. “No way.”

But still you clicked back on the listings, your heart pounding. Each property was the same, same pictures, same descriptions, same everything. Except for one thing, the price. They were cheaper - dramatically cheaper. The numbers you’d seen initially were slashed down to something that could possibly be achievable. Still steep, but no longer completely impossible.

“What the fuck?” you whispered, your pulse quickening.

Had the system adjusted after picking up on your interest? Was this some kind of algorithm-driven discount? The whole thing screamed ‘too good to be true’, and every rational bone in your body told you to close the screen.

But what if it isn’t too good to be true?

Your gaze drifted back to the third penthouse -the one you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about. It was perfect. Too perfect. Your instincts still screamed caution, but something in your chest clenched at the thought of letting it slip away. Well you know what happens when you want something.

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” you muttered to yourself, the words firm. Rationality had, of course, gotten you nowhere. Maybe it was time to take yet another huge risk.

Your cursor hovered for a long moment before you clicked “confirm.” The screen flashed, and your inbox updated with a confirmation and instructions for sending payment. You exhaled sharply, the knot in your chest unraveling into something strange and electric. Relief. Satisfaction. Excitement.

“Finally,” you whispered, a small smile tugging at your lips. 

The seller told you to deposit the cash in a subway locker and they would exchange it for the key, deed and other papers registering the property as yours. It all felt very official for the N109 zone, you didn’t even know that houses had deeds over there. 

Sylus watched in real time as your smile bloomed - wide and radiant, lighting up your entire face. He froze, his fingers stilling mid-motion as he took you in. The way you bit your bottom lip as you checked the details, the small, victorious clap of your hands as you leaned back in your chair - it was intoxicating. His chest ached with something he didn’t want to name, something far more tender than he’d ever felt before.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice soft, reverent almost. Of course you had picked the one he’d decorated for you - not consciously, perhaps, but with you in mind. The warmth, the comfort, the faint sense of safety it exuded - it was all tailored to what he imagined you would want. And you’d chosen it.

A smirk curled his lips, though there was no malice in it - only pride. It felt like a victory, like you’d stepped closer to where you truly belonged. To him.

“Adorable,” he muttered, watching you scroll through the confirmation screen again, as if afraid it might disappear. He leaned forward, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly as if speaking directly to you through the screen.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice rich and dark, “you should know better than to think anyone else would hand you something so easily. I’m the only one you need.”

Mephisto gave a mechanical twitch, a subtle nod of agreement, and Sylus leaned back, his satisfaction curling through him like a slow-burning ember. The sight of you - humming softly to yourself, your fingers tapping the keys as you admired the penthouse - was intoxicating in ways he couldn’t quite name. You were his, even if you didn’t know it yet.

Thinking of you living in that space, beneath the roof of a building he owned, sent a thrum of delight coursing through his veins. Finally. You’d be safe there - so much more under his protection that nothing in this wretched city could touch you. Not the Hunter’s Association, not the chaos of the N109 zone, and certainly not anyone foolish enough to think they could come between you and him. He’d make sure of it.

But beyond the satisfaction of having you tethered so neatly to his world, there was a deeper pleasure - one he hadn’t anticipated. The joy on your face, the smile that lit up your expression when you thought you’d won, lingered in his mind like a warmth he couldn’t shake, no matter how tightly he buried it beneath his usual resolve. He had put that smile there. He’d made you happy, even if you didn’t yet understand why.

Soon enough, you would. You’d see how far he was willing to go - how much of the world he would bend and break to keep you close. Gods, you were perfect for him. Perfect. And now, you were right where you belonged - under his protection, and his control.

“Enjoy it, kitten,” Sylus murmured, his crimson eyes glinting as he stared at the screen. “I’ll enjoy it too.”

➽──────────────────────────────────❥

I feel Sylus is incredibly hot in this chapter to be honest, but let me know your thoughts haha! Thank you so much for reading!

Please let me know what you think  

❥ Like, reblog, comment, message me, ask me something, literally anything - I live for your feedback on this  ❥

[venomous-qwille]

Hey Qwille how do I get an art job?

Genuinely?

Build a portfolio of relevant work. This means graphic design if you want a graphic design job. Concept art if you want a concept art job. Illustration if you want to work as an illustrator. I recommend looking at the portfolios of artists who work at the studios/on the projects you'd like to work on and using them as a benchmark. Ideally, if you are looking for a concept role you should be showcasing iterative design and callouts that demonstrate that you understand how assets/characters/environments are actually designed and used by modellers/stakeholders. In general it is better to specialise than try and be a jack of all trades. Projects that show a set of characters rather than just one- or an environment plus prop callouts etc, are muuuch better at selling your ability as a concept artist than singular illustrations.

Once you have a portfolio of relevant work, reach out to art directors/companies that use freelancers and introduce yourself in case they need support.

Attend face to face industry events if possible- again, to introduce yourself, show your portfolio. (A lot of getting hired is being fresh in people's minds when they are looking for artists.)

Constantly try to improve your work/target your weaknesses when studying.

Apply to open roles.

Do cool art and the work will come to you.

[kaiserthread]

shopping spree pt.2

clothes/accessories the bllk boys buy you! characters: nagi, oliver, rin content: pro players, established relationship, f!reader, slight implied nsfw in olivers part (nothing graphic but just in case) part 1 here! tysmmmmmm for the love on part 1!!!!! this one was so much fun to write

NAGI SEISHIRO - couples pajama sets 

loves sitting around the house with you on his off days

values every minute he can get with you 

buys it with the express purpose of seeing you wearing one of his shirts

gives you the shirt from his set and lazes around shirtless

seishiro’s free time has always been very precious to him, even more so now that his schedule is jam-packed with matches, press appearances, traveling, so much practice, and most importantly, you. he’s perfectly content with spending all his off days with his lover. which is exactly why he couldn’t resist buying the cute couple pajamas when he was supposed to be buying groceries. you can’t even find it in yourself to scold him for forgetting the frozen blueberries when he pulls the pajamas out of their bag and presents them to you with a small smile on his face. “i’m letting you off easy this time, sei. only because you’ve been gone for a while.” you say, reaching up to pinch his cheek. “mkay, i’ll remember next time, promise. but only if you match with me tonight.” he says as he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “alright fine, since you asked so nicely.” you huff, grabbing the pajamas and making your way towards your bathroom to shower. seishiro is lounging around in his new pajama pants when you step out of the bathroom. “sei, what happened to matching?” he turns his attention away from his phone, passes you his pajama shirt and says, “you always look better in mine, sweetheart.”

OLIVER AIKU - bikini

he likes looking at women in swimsuits, trust he’s gonna know the latest and most flattering styles

he just wants you to look your best when y’all go on vacay together!

reminds him of how you two met

“oliver! come tie the strings on this for me.” your voice rings out and oliver comes running to help. he takes the strings and gently ties them into a neat knot. “you look so pretty, baby.” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck before wrapping his arms around your waist and admiring you in the mirror in front of him. “doesn’t this remind you of how we met?” you giggle, turning in his arms to rest your forehead against his. “how could i ever forget?” he questions, thinking back to that incredible summer several years ago. high off his first big win in the pro leagues he’d found himself on vacation at the beach. you were there for a friend's wedding, fresh off a disastrous breakup with your ex. he’d charmed you with compliments and the two of you stumbled into bed together on several occasions before parting ways, but not before swapping numbers and promises to keep in touch. the two of you made things official the following summer and ever since then going to the beach every summer has become a tradition. “meeting my summer fairy was the best thing to ever happen to me.” he says before pressing a searing kiss to your lips.

ITOSHI RIN - evening gown

you're his princess ofc he's gonna buy you a dress to fit that title

studies your wardrobe for a while to make sure he’s getting one with a good color and a fabric that doesn’t bother you 

he browses for so long that he just says fuck it and goes to a designer to have one custom made

rin honestly can’t believe this, isn’t paris supposed to be known as a fashion powerhouse? the fact that he can’t find something perfect for his princess is beyond ridiculous. he gives up after weeks of browsing and calls in a favor from a manager at the club who has connections to a renowned designer who’s willing to make him exactly what he’s looking for. a few weeks later he’s handing you an extravagantly wrapped box, “an early christmas present.” he explains. you open it and pull out a beautiful floor length gown. “rin it’s stunning!” you throw your arms around his neck before rushing away to try it on. “come zip me up?” you ask, and rin complies, walking over to you and zipping the dress up. “it fits perfect rin, did you get this tailored?” you question. “i had it made just for you, the stores didn’t have anything nice.” rin responds, sweeping you off your feet. “only the best for my princess.”

[nottsim]

— ɴᴇᴡ ᴅʀ ᴜɴʟᴏᴄᴋᴇᴅ: 𝐣𝐚𝐬’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫

══════════════

⊹ ࣪ ˖ welcome to my better cr. same me, but with rich people privileges and a roman postcode. the cobblestone streets? stunning. rome wasn’t built in a day but it will take my shoes out in one. thankfully, my bank account now pretends to support my expensive taste, so we suffer in style. independence is about to taste like espresso and fresh cornetti. am i going to thrive? we’ll see. will i commit to the bit with full enthusiasm? absolutely. ୨୧

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 - 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝟎𝟎𝟏𝟖𝟒

if you thought what was in my room was fun, wait til you see what’s in my apartment, mind you it overlooks the colosseum (yes, i’m geeking). in case i haven’t made it clear this is me, living abroad with money to burn...anyways. my apartment? where do i begin? one bedroom, one bath, a spacious living room, a classic kitchen, and views so breathtaking they almost make me forget how much i’m paying in rent. just kidding. i’m financially responsible (a lie). the ceilings, you ask? high. the windows? dramatic. the natural light? so good it practically demands i become a morning person..unfortunately, i remain immune. my living room is perfect for having people over, if i ever decide to be social. otherwise, it serves its true purpose (naps). now..the kitchen? charming, classic, and mostly untouched because let’s be real i’m keeping the local restaurants in business. but i did script a grocery store nearby because i simply cannot wait to spend an absurd amount of money on fruit, fruit, and more fruit. IMAGINE THE PRODUCE. peak main character behavior is romanticizing fresh figs like they’re a personality trait. also, there’s a pilates studio within walking distance because balance (i scripted it in). will i go regularly? maybe. will i feel superior just knowing it’s there? absolutely. all that’s left is for me to dramatically sip espresso on my balcony and pretend i have no responsibilities. sigh.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐝𝐢 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚 - 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠..

you might be wondering… jasmin, what exactly are you doing in rome? excellent question. just vibing. but i figured i needed at least one semi respectable reason to leave my apartment, so i enrolled at rome’s university for marketing and graphic design. am i passionately pursuing a career? partly. due to obvious reasons, mainly perfecting the fine art of editing aesthetic pictures. clearly, this is less about career ambitions and more about having a mildly intellectual hobby (and a student visa). though, it might come in handy…am i secretly plotting to take over vogue italia? i’ll update you on that. yes. i also made sure my schedule is laughably slow paced, because stress? in this reality? couldn’t be me. i’m shifting here to romanticize my life, spend an unreasonable amount of money, and get called bella on the daily.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 - 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞

playing social life architect for this dr? a first. casting my own friend group? elite decision. enter: bianca, alessia and giulia (aka the roma gals). all born and raised in rome and fluent in girltalk and italian, naturally. did i script myself to be fluent? obviously. we’re a unit. a force of nature. so synchronized we practically communicate through looks alone..but let’s be real. i’m still their little foreigner, their beloved study abroad kid who somehow infiltrated the group and is now simply part of the infrastructure. we’re basically a packaged deal. the group chat? a constant stream of chaos. the plans? always almost canceled because of my taurus tendencies. alas, they know where i live and trust me, will show up. it’s a “just an aperitivo” turning into alessia passionately debating politics with the cab driver at 2am. simply put? i may have scripted them, but they are absolutely unscripted.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐳𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐚 - 𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐩𝐬𝐞

some things remain constant across every reality, my love for theo is one. i needed my man. this time, theo is lorenzo. same essence, different name. the multiverse is vast but somehow he always ends up here, next to me. fate? destiny? an unshakable gravitational pull? or just me refusing to script a dr without him? interpret as you will. lorenzo is basically theo, just with a rebrand. scripted differently but make no mistake, it’s still him. and this time? no acting. i simply would’ve lost my mind knowing what goes down on set. instead, he’s the ceo of a film production company in rome. he spends his time producing and marketing independent films. emphasis on independent. because mainstream nonsense? not on his watch. he’s all about classic cinema, deep character development, and historical narratives. if the script lacks substance, he’s simply not answering the call (love that for him). but don’t let the job title fool you. this man, this highly respected ceo, still zips around rome on a vespa like he’s in a 1950s arthouse film. why? because he still hasn’t gotten his driver’s license. make that make sense. his work schedule? flexible. no soul crushing 9-to-5 here. he’s selective with his projects, only taking on what aligns with his vision..basically passion projects, handpicked with precision. some men choose their battles, lorenzo chooses his films. and, apparently, chooses to never set foot in a driving school. as for us? we’re private but not a secret. media speculation? not our problem. and financially? let’s just say, between his thriving career and my ability to script whatever i want, my romanticized roman lifestyle isn’t exactly suffering.

══════════════

the script is done and the vision? fully realized, already romanticized to perfection. all that’s left is for me to step into it. when i do? consider me italian (and probably running late).

gelato in hand, 𝐣𝐚𝐬 “𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐜𝐞” ୨୧

[moonferry]

*rubbing hands together like a gremlin* you guys want some stardew headcanons thst have been rotating in my mind like a gas station hotdog? no? well here they are anyway.

* leah has a sketchbook full of candids of people from town. if you choose to romance leah, she has a LOT of sketches of the farmer

* sebastian is trans masculine/nonbinary and uses he/they pronouns

* leah is actually robin's younger sister & moved to pelican town because robin had mentioned how peaceful it was

* sandy is trans feminine (she's also soo wife)

* abby would've absolutely loved among us

* maru secretly has a crush on penny

* jas makes shane play dress up. he acts annoyed but enjoys spending time with jas

* clint is an avid reddit user . do with that what you will.

* i think abby majored in political studies or graphic design

* harvey has a tooth gap and freckles

* elliott has DEFINITELY recreated the fork-hairbrush scene from the little mermaid

* harvey is allergic to cats but he powers through for the farmer

* abby DEFINITELY uses tumblr

* harvey has a little plane nightlight. not because he's scared of the dark but because he thinks it's cool. if you romance him, he puts it in the child(ren)'s bedroom.

* elliott wears hair curlers to bed.

* penny has a collection of drawings that jas and vince made for her. she puts them on her fridge.

* sam is an android user (and yes, it's purely because people kept calling him "samsung")

* wlw haley. that is all.

* haley takes pictures and sometimes lets leah borrow them/use them as a painting reference

* sebby with top scars. ooogh.

* maru has a cluster of freckles on her shoulder shaped like the little dipper.

* abby dyes her hair & once did all rainbow and cosplayed rainbow dash.

* the farmer and haley often call and have late night gossip sessions

* sam's phone wallpaper is a really zoomed in or a 0.5 photo of the farmer / whoever is his partner

* sebastian types in all lower case

* sam types in all caps.

* i think it would be really funny if seb just had sam in his phone as Samson (that grammar and everything) just because it's so unlike his usual typing and he does it to piss sam off

* it's no secret that sam is very forgetful, however i think this helped him become friends with penny. penny is very organized and has every important date (ie birthdays) memorized. --- she NEVER forgets a birthday. --- one day, penny heard sam repeating a phrase to himself so he wouldn't forget what he needed to do. penny encouraged him to write it down and even showed him how to write on a rubber band. sam adopted this and everytime he sees penny he'll smile widely and hold up his wrist (which will have anywhere from 6-10 rubber bands at the time. poor boy).

that's all for now. i may add more later idk. let me know if y'all want me to rack my brain for more of these

[undiscovered-horizon]

Return to sender - Kaz Brekker x Reader

[graphic descriptions of violence/injury]

SUMMARY: Someone from your past keeps sending you unambiguously romantic letters. While you think of them as nothing beyond an inconvenience, Kaz has a different opinion.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.9k

A/N: I'm going through the first editorial correction for my novel and as it turns out, I can't speak my own mother tongue lmao

Kaz has an eye for details. Whether it’s a pattern or an overlooked design, he always notices. That set of skills, either he learned them or was born with them, made it painfully obvious to him that your foul mood coincided with correspondence he never saw you actually read. The letter usually ends up in the nearest fireplace, its secrets never uncovered and you maunder around the club looking for a fight or a strong drink. A much bigger problem, however, was the fact that if you were in a sour mood, Kaz would become exceptionally chippy without an apparent cause. ‘Care for my investment’ he calls it, which makes a rather amusing euphemism.

In any event, he knows that the letter should arrive today. Exactly seven weeks had passed since the last time some mysterious correspondence pissed you off and the sender, as far as Kaz has noticed, is like clockwork. Strangely enough, he can’t recall a day when the letter should arrive that you’d come to the club already annoyed as though he has become privy to a rather obvious pattern that you remain oblivious to. If so, he has even more advantage - he can solve this inconvenience behind your back, in case you’d try to dismiss him. He wouldn’t listen anyway, of course. Not when it comes to you.

Knowing very well that you have a habit of arriving shortly after Inej, he’s quick to find the thief before you even get a chance of catching wind of his scheme. She’s fixing her clothes when she spots him hastily limping towards her with his face turned nearly into a snarl. A hand brushes through his hair. He’s agitated. But Inej knows better than to make the first move against the unmovable mountain. Kaz sought her out, after all, and if he means business, he won’t waste time.

And he does just as she thought. Speaking in a low tone, Kaz makes her part of his conspiracy: “Inej, I need you to do something but no one else can know. Someone will deliver a letter today. Follow them and find out as much as you can,” his voice is stern, not accepting refusal. The matter appears urgent, of utter importance.

Her keen gaze studies his face for a moment, looking for any way even the slightest tick of muscles could reveal a further piece of the mystery she isn’t yet privy to. “Is this about the new job we’re doing?” She elegantly manoeuvres around the subject.

Kaz knows what she’s trying to do. He clenches his jaw and gives her a blank, although somewhat impatient, look before slowly answering: “It’s rather loosely related.”

This is enough to put her curiosity on hold - for now, at least. The unmovable mountain remains, well, unmovable. Inej nods. “I’m on it.”

The moment she ends her sentence, the door to the club opens with a creek echoing through the otherwise empty venue, immediately earning the undivided attention of Kaz and Inej. The sound of heels against the wooden floor is unmistakable as is the fitting, rather short, coat. Inej smiles, stifling laughter as she notices Kaz immediately straightening his back when he sees you.

There’s a certain spring to your step, one that Kaz has learned to associate with complacency. Although this joyous aura is making his mind turn into quicksand swallowing anything coherent, he’s got enough grip on his thoughts to render his theory proved - you really do not have any idea that the letters come regularly. 

With a triumphant grin, you wave a scroll in his face. “I had a hunch and did some browsing at the city archives. You’re going to love it.”

Inej is gone and the only thing Kaz can do at the moment is wait along with trying his best not to think about this mail fiasco. But considering you’ll spend the entire day a mere inch or two away from him, he’s hardly going to do much thinking anyway. 

“Let’s see it then,” Kaz interposes before turning around and walking back to his office. 

Making his way to Brekker’s office, Jesper examined the expensive stationery from every side and angle. No matter the perspective, the cursive letters on the front still spell out your name. Truthfully, he does that every time you receive mail, mainly because of how little you talk about the possible sender. There’s always a huff, an eye-roll and the envelope ends up turned into ashes, without any further explanation. You become short-tempered for the rest of the day and go ballistic on anyone trying to inquire about the mysterious correspondence. As much entertainment as it usually brings Jesper, he’s smart enough to know when to stop poking the bear.

Jesper knocks on the door but opens them right after - announcing his arrival rather than asking for permission to enter. 

“...smuggling through the sewers.” He hears you finishing your sentence.

Both you and Kaz simultaneously tear away your gaze from the maps scattered on the table and bore your eyes into Jesper with anticipation. He lifts the letter, wriggling his wrist slightly, and immediately your expression falls. You clench your fist. A contemptuous grimace creeps onto your face.

“Letter for you,” he announces.

“By the Saints, not this again,” you whisper and roll your eyes.

“What do you mean again?” Jesper asks casually, half expecting you to break his hand and half hoping for an answer. Today, as it turns out, is his lucky day.

“A friend once convinced me to go to some socialite high tea with her. I met someone there, we wrote to each other a few times and then he started to be obnoxious, the whole ‘woe is me’ lark.” The memory must still be vivid to you as you let out an annoyed sigh. “He claimed he can’t live without me while never spelling my name correctly. But since I value myself a little too much to waste my time on pity parties, I simply stopped replying. The last letter I sent him, I don’t know, three years ago? And he just keeps coming back.” You clench your jaw, clearly stopping yourself from a string of profanities considered obscene even in this company.

Jesper puts on a playful grin. “You know, you never struck me as someone who’d have a secret admirer.”

Your irritated gaze makes him equally amused and nervous. “He’s not exactly secret, is he? More of a returning cockroach infestation. Worry not, boys, I’ll just burn this one like the rest and we can all forget about this little perplexity.”

“Come on, you’re not even a little bit curious about what’s inside?” Jesper coaxes as he hands you the letter.

“Believe me when I tell you that I don’t give a rat’s bald ass about this man and his pathetic wax poetic.” You snatch the envelope, all the while looking at your friend with squinted, piercing eyes. Considering who you are, a complete lack of curiosity whatsoever might as well be a symptom of a lethal disease.

In that short moment, when the stationery goes from Jesper’s hand into yours, Kaz watches the letter as closely as he can. Smooth paper, probably expensive. Careful lettering, written with patience and thoughtfulness. An aroma of mint and tobacco lingers on the parchment. The stamp has the current date on it and the postal code is only a few numbers away from the club’s - whoever sent it is in Ketterdam and quite close by.

Kaz makes those little observations just in time because you throw the letter into the fireplace behind him, without even glancing at the paper. The flames grow for a few seconds, devouring the dry stationery. Soon, there’s no evidence that any mail has been delivered to you on this day.

“Now, where were we?” You clap your hands. “Ah, sewers.” Jesper takes the change of subject as his cue to leave but you stop him right when he pushes down the door handle. “Oh, and Jesper? If you tell Inej, I’m ripping your arm off and beating you to death with it.”

He looks at you over his shoulder, a newfound sense of anxiety turning his vivid amusement into somewhat tame courtesy, leaving his smile unfaltering but tearing away the genuine joy behind it. “I will keep this enlightening piece of advice in mind, thank you.”

The door clicks as Jesper closes it behind himself. Returning to your previous engagement, you stumble upon Brekker’s stern gaze of disapproval. 

“Do not maim my investments.” Although it’s supposed to be a scolding or a threat, it comes out with a certain note of disinterest.

“Don’t try playing all nice, Kaz. You and I both know you’d watch for like ten minutes before stepping in.”

His gloved finger taps the map. “Sewers.” 

You mumble something along the lines of ‘yes, sir’ and pick up the single-handed divider again. Kaz examines your face out of the corner of his eye. Judging by your casual demeanour, the palm’s length between your heads is of no bother to you. Maybe you’re just too busy counting the segments with the divider. When you’re done, you reach for the other side of the desk, for a moment leaving broody Kaz to the, surprisingly cold, lukewarm air filling the room.

This day just can’t seem to end for Burr Lowther. First, he had to take his regular trip into the filth of the Barrel, he shudders at the memory, only to then spend another ten hours at the sewing workshop. Being a foreman pays exceptionally well and perhaps this is the only reason he’s still putting up with those lazy needlewomen. 

Putting his well-kept coat on the hanger by the front door, Burr lets out a sigh of relief - compared to the factory, his house is a quiet oasis. He remembers to take out a pouch and a box of expensive cigars from his coat. Without much thinking, he opens the small bag and puts another leaf of mint between his teeth. What started first as an addition to his personal hygiene, has quickly become a habit impossible to kill. Now used to the strong, chilly sensation on his tongue, he’s grown to like it. 

The house is drowning in darkness. Dim, yellow light from the streetlamps crawling in through the windows is barely enough to let him make his way around the furniture. Foreman Lowther is yet to start the fire in his living room but he needs to be quick - if he stalls too long his joints will begin to hurt. Even with laudanum, the ache is bound to keep him up for hours and that’s something he can’t afford. But first, he needs some light to be able to get the necessary things.

Chewing on the herb, Burr walks to the table across the room from the fireplace. He puts the new box of cigars down and begins looking for something to light the oil lamp. Once he blindly finds a box of matches, his muscle memory does most of the job - he’s lit up the lamp far too many times to think about the actions. In swift, mechanical motions, Burr takes off the chimney, lights the wick and puts the glass part back on. The fire brightens the rest of the table, reminding the foreman that he forgot to put away the made-to-order McKinnon & Co. stationery. He pushes the paper farther away from the lamp, just in case.

Burr’s knees make a cracking noise when he crouches in front of the fireplace. Carefully, he lights a match and puts it between logs and old newspapers. The fire smoulders for a moment, balancing between starting and being put out, before a bigger flame begins gnawing at the dry wood and paper. 

Foreman Lowther is about to stand up when something hits the side of his head, making his face clash with the seat of a nearby armchair. Scurrying and turning around, he sees an outline of a man, looking more like a feverish mare of the night than a real human. He’s thin and tall, dressed rather elegantly. The model crow on his cane glistens in the newly started fire.

“Who are you?” Burr’s voice cracks, giving away his panic.

“A scorned businessman, Burr Lowther,” Kaz explains slowly.

The foreman climbs backwards into the armchair. It’s difficult to look imposing while sitting beside a fireplace but his fear is far too severe to let the man stand on his own two feet.

“I’ve no business with you!” he yells. A few droplets of spit fly out of his mouth. “Get out!” Burr’s shaky hand points vaguely in the direction of the front door but Kaz, as it seems, is not going anywhere just yet.

In slow steps, Kaz gets closer to Burr, the difference in height painting him even more menacing. Lowther’s hand falls limp on a small table meant for trays with food.

“Perhaps you don’t. But I have plenty with you.”

Before foreman Lowther can ask another question, Brekker drives a sharp blade through the man’s palm, pinning it to the wooden counter. A howl of pain cuts through the night, scaring away the birds sitting outside the windows. Thick, crimson blood spills from the wound, falling to the floor in long drops. The fireplace’s flame glistens in the growing puddle, the reflection dances in morbid anticipation.

Kaz walks over to the table with the oil lamp. The first thing that catches his eye is the ivory paper. Somehow, he stifles the visceral reaction it elicits from him. Grabbing the wad of stationery, he folds it a few times and puts it in the inner pocket of his coat. Then his gaze trails towards the wooden box of cigars. The name of the company, Starling, is burned in cursive lettering on the front. In a swift movement, Kaz slides the package open, knowing exactly what he’s going to find inside - a cigar cutter. For people who can afford Starling tobacco products, it definitely doesn’t befit to chew off the end.

Firelight cascades off the metal cutter when Kaz turns back towards Burr. The man’s eyes widen in panic, recognizing the sharp device put against him.

“No, sir,” Burr begs with a frantic shake of his head. “Oh, Saints, please, no! Don’t! I’m begging you, sir! Please, please! No, please!”

Brekker’s face doesn’t change its indifferent expression. The pleading is not putting him off, never faltering his already-made decision. Perhaps, if it isn’t too morbid to consider, he’s enjoying having someone at his mercy. The cigar cutter clicks quietly as Kaz closes it a few times to check the state of the mechanism.

Kaz makes his way back to the foreman. Casually, he puts his cane against the table but away from the nailed palm, careful not to get it dirty. Then, he snatches Burr’s other hand, the swiftness diminishing all doubts that he’s inexperienced in bringing suffering.

“You have laid your hands on something that isn’t yours, Lowther,” Brekker explains as he forces one of the man’s fingers through the cutter’s opening. “Now you must pay for it.”

A muscle in his face ticks as he presses the cigar cutter. Burr howls in agony, tears streaming down his face. The finger falls to the floor with a wet slap as blood begins to pour. The white tip of the bone sticks out from the pulsating flesh, glistening in the warm, dim light of the burning fireplace.

In a feverish delirium, Lowther mumbles something under his nose, the string of incomprehensible words sometimes interrupted by sobs. Kaz can understand only two things from the ramblings of a madman: ‘wench’ and ‘reply’. Scarce information but he hardly needs more.

“Wench?” he repeats in a low voice.

With a snap of his wrist, Kaz twists the knife still residing in the man’s hand. A bone cracks. But there’s no scream this time - not an ounce of strength left in the victim. Lonely tears stream down his grey face, mixing with cold sweat as he blankly stares ahead. A gloved hand yanks his head back by the hair, forcing delirious Burr to look into Brekker’s eyes. They look darker than they should, clouded with something far too horrible to be considered human.

“Not only did you lay your filthy hands on something of mine,” Kaz’s voice is low enough to resemble a growl as though something carnal inside him has finally woken from its slumber, “but you also dare insult her.”

Burr makes a strange guttural noise, something between a gag reflex and a murmur, as another one of his fingers is cut off. Considering his vacant expression, it’s hard to say whether his consciousness even registered the loss.

Kaz tosses away the cigar cutter. It clutters and clicks falling in the largely unknown corner of the room. Reaching inside his coat, he pulls out the folded stationery. Pressing tightly on Burr’s cheeks, he forces the man’s mouth open.

“I don’t think you will be needing this anymore.”

Even if foreman Lowther was in his right mind at the moment, there wouldn’t be much he could do to prevent Kaz from shoving the dry paper down his throat. A match, a spark, a smoulder - the ivory stationery is burning inside Burr’s mouth.

Leaving Burr Lowther to his own devices, Kaz Brekker leaves the house, joining the otherwise grey and indifferent citizens of Ketterdam. The sunrise is just a few hours away. He’s making his way back to the club, uninterrupted and unbothered, to enjoy another day of your hardly divided attention.

[deathdetermineslife]

I really don't wanna say this and sound rude but why ship with Korekiyo? Like there's so many other characters in the franchise you could have picked and you picked... that one? Maybe I'm just being an asshole but you just had to pick him?

this has been sitting in my inbox since Christmas Eve but just to be That Guy here is a long, horribly comprehensive list of reasons why I am in love with this man

—————————————————————————

he's fucking pretty

look at him. he's beautiful. pretty long hair, first and foremost. I love a man with pretty long hair. he has pretty yellow eyes and also look at his (what I assume to be) eyeliner. this man is beautiful. don't even get me started when he takes his mask off. sheesh. someone get me a fan! maybe I'm just weird but I love a man who's feminine but also masculine at the same time. not androgynous but a secret other thing. I think he fits into that category.

he's also very tall (6'2") and I am short (5'6") so we have a nice height difference. also something about a man who's built like a stake olive garden bread stick I love. I could snap him in half. I won't get graphic here but he's gorgeous and that's obviously reason number one.

another thing too is I really love his design. military inspired clothing is very cunty (iirc I think his outfit was inspired by a music video? I dunno how true this is) but either way it just suits him very well. gives off this mysterious aura which fits his character. also he wears these bandages on his hands and you wonder why, because as you can see in his pregame sprite he doesn't have any scarring or anything. my personal headcanon is that he wears them to keep artifacts he handles from getting scuffed up.

I also just think that knee-high boots fuck hard. nothing to add to that. they fuck.

he has a brain

he's smart guys. why wouldn't I love a man in academia? anthropology is very interesting. he's a yapper, talks all the time about his interests, which he's very well versed in. I want a man who I can have intelligent conversations with !!!! he fits that perfectly cmon

I could talk to him for hours and never get bored... even if I don't entirely understand what the fuck he's yappin about i still love him nonetheless!!!!! I want a man who I can learn something from. and I love anthropology!!! so every conversation is something to remember.

I dunno I just like how he's the kind of individual you could talk to for forever. he always has something to say.

he's a fuckin freak

none of you are allowed to call him a freak. by the way let's get that straight but he's so fucking weird and that makes him lovable. I'm a weirdo. this is a sentence I would say. who says the shit he says. there's a scene where another character picks up a manhole cover and his response to that is "you could easily crush a child's skull with that strength". who says that. who says that. I love him.

I want a man with this sort of off-putting pazazz that none of you could begin to fathom /silly

he's just so cunty

tell me this line isn't funny. he has a sense of humor only few can understand (autistics) and I'm one of them. people think he's not funny but he's just funny in a dry way.

also yes he may have been serious in this scene but that doesn't make it any less funny. he just has such an attitude. there's this scene after u find out one of the characters is an assassin and he's like "uhm why are we including her in this activity she kills people" babe !!! babe !!! baby doll !!! guess what You Do !!! it's funny, laugh. he just has Such A Personality.

he's relatable

"Lachlan no the fuck he isn't" HE ISSS this is the line my username is based off of. it's stuck with me for like 5 years since I read it.

he's such an interesting character when it comes to the concepts of grief and loss and how one copes with the passing of someone close to you, especially when that someone hurt you. I could probably talk for hours about how he's such an interesting case study on how grief can effect ones healing from trauma, or how grief itself is a cycle that he's destined to repeat (killing over and over again to sate the desires of the dead), or how everything about his character relates to death, just generally. his favorite story in canon is Medusa, his dislikes air conditioners because they repel spirits, he's, you know, a serial killer, and so much more. I could write an essay on him.

he's relatable to me, anyways. #trauma LMAO

hes just interesting

rapid fun facts about my husband, go!!!

like I mentioned before he hates air-conditioning, he also hates holy water. you can guess why. iirc in one of his official arts it's says somewhere that a lot of women are jealous of him bc his hair is so pretty. which, yea, me too. he also wakes up at six in the morning everyday, mainly to get ready. what he spends hours doing i don't know. there's more fun facts I could share but you probably aren't very interested in hearing them

all in all though I don't think I picked him I think he just came to me at the right time. and for the last light five years I've been obsessed and he's all I think about every day and night. that's my husband!!! I love him. not much else to add there. no other fictional character I think ever at all in any way has ever been appealing to me in the way that he is. I can't explain it that well, he's just something special.

okay that's all if you read all of this ily

[marveltrumpshate]

Want to participate in Marvel Trumps Hate, but don't know what to offer? Think outside the box!

Stumped on what to offer because you don't write fic or draw? Marvel Trumps Hate welcomes a huge variety of fanworks and fan labor (see our sign-up post), so there are different ways you can contribute. You'll be amazed by the breadth of skills, talents, knowledge, and types of creative expression found in fandom!

Here's a smorgasbord of offers that we've either had before or seen people discuss as possibilities for MTH 2024 or future years to help inspire you. What you can offer is not restricted to the list below; these are just examples to get you brainstorming about what you can auction off because trust us, even if you think you might not have something to offer, you probably do!

ART (VISUAL/ILLUSTRATIVE)

Drawings/illustrations

Single-page and multi-page comics

Pixel art

Paintings (oil, acrylic, gouache, watercolor)

Mixed-media artwork on canvas

Ink-on-bristol art

Embroidery on canvas

Pour paint/spin art

Rotoscopes

Digital coloring books

AUDIOVISUAL WORKS

Fan music or filk inspired by characters, ships, or fics

Podfics

Videos (fic trailers, themed edits, vids set to songs)

Animations (making original art/animation or turning existing art into animation)

BETA SERVICES

Editing

Cheer reading

Soundboarding/planning/development work

Fact-checking

Culture-picking

Sensitivity reading

Knowledge about specific topics or experiences (e.g., identities, lifestyles, professions, interests, fields of study)

Research

CRAFTS & MERCH

Candles

Lip balms

Soaps

Stained glass/suncatcher

Scented beanbag-style sachets

Candy/chocolate/baked goods/jellies/sweets

Fic/character/ship/theme boxes (like book boxes)

Pins, magnets, patches, charms, standees, key chains, ring holders, calendars, stickers, bookmarks, temporary tattoos

Sculptures and clay figures

Ceramic mugs and other ceramic items

Apparel/wearable accessories (shirts, jackets, scarves, gloves/mittens, hats, face masks, regular masks, cowls, pajamas/onesies)

Backpacks, tote bags, itabags with custom window shapes, leather dice bags, wallets, pouches/pencil cases

Plushie animal or Tsum Tsum versions of Marvel characters

Dolls (crochet, needle felt, matte board, hand-sewn)

Embroidery hoops/wall art and cross stitch pieces

Jewelry (diamond painting, macrame, metal, crochet, wire, beads)

Woodwork/wood burning (cheese board, box/chest, USB stick, coasters, photo frame, alphabet blocks)

Glasswork

Custom Funko Pops

Paper cut light boxes

Pillow cases, quilted pillows, baby blankets, dishcloth/washcloths, potholders

Handmade leather journals

Linoleum stamps

Dog/cat/pet toys

Artbooks, paper doll books, and coloring books

Hand-dyed yarn skeins

Custom tea blends

DIGITAL (GRAPHIC DESIGN)

Gifsets

Graphics/edits

Mood boards

Photo manips

Fic covers/posters/banners

Icons and headers

Webweaving

Tumblr or website layouts

Digital calendars

Wallpapers

Custom Discord emojis

FAN LABOR & TRANSLATION

Typesetting

Bookbinding

Recipes based on characters, ships, or themes

Names, tags, and summaries for fics

Audio/sound editing and/or soundscaping for podfics

Book cover design and printing

Art/comic/fic translation

Website/game/AO3 skin coding

Fic rec lists

Fic playlists/fanmixes

Knitting/crochet patterns

Art coaching

Help with launching and organizing fan events

WRITING

Fic

Poetry

Meta posts

Social media AUs

Physical letters written by characters to the reader or between two characters

Remixes of your fic or an existing fic with the author's permission

Whether you can do something on this list or something else altogether (we're sure there are a lot of other things that you can do that we haven't thought about or seen before), we hope you'll consider signing up before the deadline: September 28, 11:59 PM ET.

[gojocumdumpster]

“Is it bad that, I never made love?”

ft- Baki

Type of story: 🎂

Pre-view: A nerdy virg!n and hoodish!baki…😏

Warnings: no nsfw in this one, flirting and touching

Heyy just got the urge to write yk🌚

You were known for being the “shy”quiet A+ girl, work always turned in on time never failed to impress your teacher you would always make 80-100’s without fail everytime. Whenever your teacher asked the class to take notes or study your always the only one who listens. You had friends but not like those big friend groups just like 5-6 people max.

It was your last period of the day, and boy were you booked. You did little tutorials throughout the day 2 before school, maybe like 2-4 people during your break mid day and 1-2 people after school. Did you charge for it…hell yeah shit ain’t free nowadays. You make about 50-100 on good days but mostly 40-60 on regular days.

“Are you ever gonna lose your virginity?” one of your friends said.

“Uhm…I don’t know yet, I still haven’t decided”you said quietly writing in your notebook. “Girl there’s this cute boy in your his name is like Baki Hanma something like that yall would look cute together and I see the glances he gives to you from across the classroom.” your other friend teasing you, “Shut up! He probably does that to every girl he sees you don’t know that he’s one of the bad kids” shuffling in your backpack for your pink Ipad, you had a online tutoring business so people would go to your instagram clicking the link in your bio (pause) to make bookings to be tutored and see your schedule. You went to your website seeing the requests you had for tomorrow evening you clicked to see who booked and guess who it was. Yeah that’s right the good ole Baki hanma. Your jaw dropped and your friends were concerned rushing to look at your ipad. “Oh hell yeah! Girl this is your chance get you a man’s maybe even lose your virginity!!”.

Embarrassment was covered all over your face as you quickly closed your ipad case and shoved it in your backpack, “The bell rings in 2 minutes i’m just gonna head to class early” rushing out the library little black shoes tapping on the tile. It was the next day you had your pink skirt on with a cute graphic tee and knu skool vans with your braids in 2 cute high ponytails and lipgloss with your bracelets on. It was 3rd period and you had a class with Baki and 1 of your friends. Baki was always into trouble that’s why you didn’t want to fool around with him or be by him but the smell of his dior perfume and his cute fresh outfits everyday with his curly hair (the outfit not the dude) but today you were partnered up with him sense your friend wasn’t there and his other friend was in trouble. You were gonna beat your friends ass when you saw them, baki sat in the back so of course your teacher asked for you to go in the back with him.

You sighed as your made your way back head down, “Don’t be like that Mamas i’m not gon bite” You looked at him with a dirty look sitting down and paying attention to the teacher. The strong smell of his perfume he wore everyday and this baggy designer pants oh boy he was finer than a mf. The teacher gave you guys free time before the bell rang which was in the next 25 minutes so everyone was talking so you packed your stuff up getting ready to move back to your original seat you got up before you got dragged down roughly by your skirt revealing a bit of your hot pink laced panties.

“Hey! What the fuck?!” pulling up your skirt sitting still.

“Where you think ya going?” baki said looking at your pulling up your skirt.

“I’m going back to my fucking seat damn.” getting up once again.

“Hey, sit down.” It was something about the way he said it that made your body automatically sit back down.

“Good.” he scooted your chair closer “why you always tryna run or avoid me everytime you see me?” hooded eyes looking at you “Because your a trouble maker and annoying.” he chuckled at your response “So you saw my request for tutoring after this period right ma?” “Yes I did.” rolling your eyes, “Good. I didn’t know a little nerd like you wore lace panties that’s cute.” “S-shut up baki your so weird”

You got up as the bell rang, “We’re both going to the both place so we might aswell walk together” he said wrapping his arm around your waist. “Get the hell off of me” walking faster as you made your way towards the library. It was empty so you made your way to the back where you normally had your sessions. “You have a fatass ya know that right?!” baki said behind you. You quickly pull your skirt down pulling out a chair to sit in. “Sit down and let’s get this over with.” “Damn ma calm down.” He said pulling a seat right next to you pulling you closer to him once again. “What do you need help with?” looking at him annoyed. “Math homework” Okay let me see. As you were explaining and helping him he would trail his hands on your thighs squeezing the thickness everytime you tried to pull him off you failed so you just dealt with it.

He would look at your plump glossy lips while caressing your thigh his hands would slowly go further right next to your inner thigh hands all up in your skirt if he kept going further he would end up touching your hot core (i forgot the other saying) “It so warm up here ma.” “S-shut up.” As you were almost done he picked you placing you on his lap, “Baki no! Not here and never” you said trying to get up. “If you keep squirming like that your gonna have a bigger problem to fix ma.” you quickly sat still sighing plump ass sitting directly on his groin.

As you were reviewing the stuff you taught him, he would play with your pantie straps (idk😭) twirling them around his finger squeezing your hips. “Well sessions up” You said hopping off. “Already??” he said concerned. “Yes baki already.” Your skirt was rised up revealing your panties and your plump ass you finished putting your stuff up before you left baki gave you a 100 dollar bill. “It was only 20?!” you said confused “Yeah I know but I what wanted to thank you for the tutoring and something else.” He reached behind your gripping the thickness of your ass and pulling your skirt down before walking away. After all of that you got home ate and took your shower your were laying in your bed scrolling on your phone until you got a random text

“Hey mamas”

“Who’s this?”

Who yall think it is?