#Oval!ler

[rainbowintheclouds]

I have tons of sketches but I just haven’t been posting on social media because I don’t have the energy to describe all my and my bf’s ocs because that’s mostly what I draw- but now I’m just gonna say fuck it and when I get the energy i’ll explain it in other posts

So here’s Oval again, same skele from the last post and plus my character named Rainbow how lovely

It’s teasing tword because Rainbow’s weak to that✨

Enjoy it now

[smiley-star]

Claws

(sfw tickling, tce$t and feti$h ppl DNI!!)

The boys all have claws, but it seems like they've let them grow a bit too much. So of course they have to torture Leo with them!

Lee: Leo💙

Lers: Mikey🧡 Donnie💜 Raph❤️

Leo groaned as his claw scratched across his screen, “Dang it! Guess it's time to cut them.”

He grabbed the clippers and file, neatly trimming his claws and filing them into neat ovals.

He painted them a shimmering blue and purple, and then grimaced. If his claws were long, so were the others. And they always complained and made it difficult.

Maybe if I offer to paint and shape them, they won't whine about it!

Leo thought, snapping his fingers with a grin. He gathered up his supplies in the nail kit and hurried out the room.

He went to Mikey's room first, he always fought the least.

“Oh my dear brother,” Leo called as he walked in, “It's time for claw trimming!”

“Noooo!” Mikey whined dramatically.

“Yeees,” Leo said back with a grin, “But cause you don't like it, I'll shape them and paint them.”

“. . .fine,” Mikey grumbled, holding his hand out.

Leo carefully trimmed and shaped Mikey's claws, smiling at the end result, “Color?”

“What do you think?”

“Muddy brown comin’ right up,” Leo teased, grabbing the orange and carefully painting his brother's nails.

“Thanks, Leo!” Mikey chirped, admiring the sparkly nails. And then a thought hit him, Leo had cut his nails to end in a bit of a round point. Typically he cut them square, but this was more claw-like.

I wonder. . .

Leo was putting everything back in the kit, and he jumped and squealed as he felt claws skitter down his side.

“MihiHIHIhikey!” Leo exclaimed, giggling, “That tihihickled way more than nohohormal!”

“Did it?” Mikey asked innocently, lunging forward and pinning Leo, immediately tracing at his sides.

“NOohohOHOHO!” Leo squealed, squirming and laughing, “That's sohOHOHOhohOHho bahahaHAHAD!”

Mikey laughed, ticking at Leo's ribs and making the slider shriek and cackle.

“MIHIHIHIKEY!”

“What!?” Mikey giggled, scribbling his fingers all over Leo's sides and hips, “What?”

“NAHAHA-! SNRK-! PLEHEHEHEASE!” Leo cackled, trying to push himself off the ground.

“I should've pushed you on your shell,” Mikey teased, “Then I could tickle your tummy! But I still got this!”

Leo shrieked as Mikey tickled at his underarms, immediately making him clamp his arms down and laugh hysterically.

He felt the pointed ends of the claws digging into the sensitive skin, poking and prodding and making it so much worse than usual.

“MIHIHIHIKEY PLEHEHEHEASE! NAHAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHEHRE!” Leo squealed, thrashing and laughing hysterically.

“What's wrong with it?” Mikey giggled, moving one hand to tickle at Leo's neck, making his older brother squeal and immediately scrunch his neck and hike his shoulders up.

“TOOHOHOHOO MUHUHUHHCH!” Leo cackled, laughing harder as Mikey tickled harder at his armpit and started tickling his side again.

Mikey finally drew back, giggling as Leo giggled from the phantom sensation.

“Thanks for painting my nails, bro!”

“Nohoho prohohoblem,” Leo giggled, shakily pushing himself up, “I'm gonna hehelp Raph now.”

“Alrighty,” Mikey said, fluttering his fingers at Leo to tease him and making a loud giggle burst forth, “Good luck!”

“I'll need it,” Leo huffed, finally calming down from his giggle-high.

He left, heading towards Raph's room and knocking on the door, “Oh Raph!”

“Come in!”

Leo waltzed in, brandish the nail kit, “I gotta cut back those daggers.”

Raph let out a low, displeased rumble.

“But!” Leo said hurriedly, before the inevitable running would begin, “If you sit still and be good, I'll shape and polish them, deal?”

“Raph gets to pick the color?”

“Yep,”

“Fine,” Raph grumbled, sitting back down on his bed and holding out a hand.

Leo carefully cut and shaped Raph's claws, “Round or square?”

“Try round, never seen ‘em like that before,” Raph said, “Can you paint ‘em red and black?”

“Yep,” Leo said, carefully filing and then grabbing the polish. He painted on swirling patterns and grinned as Raph beamed and admired his nails.

“These look great!” Raph exclaimed, “Thanks little bro!”

“No problem,” Leo said with a smile, putting everything back up, “They look nice like that!”

“Yeah,” Raph said, studying his nails, “Hmmm.”

“What? Is something wrong?” Leo asked, scooting closer to examine the nails.

“I think you missed a spot.”

“Really? Where?” Leo asked, confused.

“Here!” Raph exclaimed, scribbling at Leo's tummy and making the slider jump and shriek.

“RAHAHAHAHAHAPH!” Leo squealed, trying to escape but getting yanked into Raph's lap. His evil older brother started tickling at his ribs with one hand and his tummy with the other.

“Raph likes these new nails!” Raph laughed, tickling harder, “You're so much more squirmy!”

“RAHAHAHAPHIE!” Leo squealed, squirming and trying to pry Raph's hands away, “NOHOHOHOHO-! SNRT-!”

“Awww, do Raphie’s new nails tickle too much~?” Raph teased, tracing at Leo's tummy with his rounded claws.

“NAHHAHHAHAT THAHHHAHAHT!” Leo shrieked, it tickled so bad!

Leo squirmed and cackled as Raph's ruthless nails traced and tickled all over his tummy and side.

“I CAHAHHAHAHAAN'T!” Leo shrieked as Raph started tracing the lines in his plastron, kicking his legs and squirming relentlessly, “PLEHEHEHEASE!”

“Okay, okay!” Raph laughed, going back to tickling Leo's tummy and making him squeal, “Raph’ll just tickle you normally!”

“WAHAHAIT! NAHAHAHAHAT THAHAHAHAHAHT EHEHEHEITHER!” Leo squealed, one hand trying to cover his tummy, and the other smacking at Raph's plastron.

Raph laughed, finally pulling his hands back and letting Leo sit up and breathe.

“Yohohou're meheheean!” Leo giggled, pouting as he tried to rub away the phantom tickles.

“Yeah, yeah,” Raph said with a small snort, “Need some water?”

“I'll grab some before I go trim Dee's claws,” Leo sighed, getting up and leaving the room.

After getting water, Leo headed to Donnie's lab and knocked on the door.

“Open up, Dee!” Leo called, and the door slid open.

He waltzed in, “Donnie!”

“Yes?”

“I gotta cut your claws,” Leo said quickly, “But if you let me do it without biting me, I'll shape them and paint them to match mine!”

Donnie glared, glowering at Leo. He thought for a minute, then sighed, turning in his chair and holding out his hand.

“Oh thank goodness,” Leo sighed, pulling up a chair and getting to work. He had a scar from when Donnie had bit them when they were younger.

He smiled at the end result, holding his hands beside Donnie's to show the matching colors.

“I knew it would work!” Leo chuckled, “You can never resist the matching twin stuff!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Donnie huffed, admiring the matching nails, he grinned suddenly, “Hey ‘Nardo?”

“Yeah?”

“You know I record everything, right?”

“Yes?” Leo said slowly, where was this going?

Donnie smirked suddenly, and Leo's eyes widened.

“Dee- NO!” Leo screeched as Donnie yanked his rolling chair forward and yanked up his legs and immediately started scribbling at his knees.

“DOHOHOHONIE!” Leo squealed, cackling and kicking his legs as the claws tickled ruthlessly, “NOHOHOHOHO!”

Donnie laughed, tracing at Leo's calf and making him shriek, “I heard what happened with Mikey and Raph and wanted to try! Raph was right, you're way more squirmy.”

“NAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHEHRE!” Leo squealed, trying to kick his leg and yank it out of Donnie's hold, “TEHEHEHEHEHEHELLO! STAHAHAHAP!”

“Aww, do my claws tickle too much, Lee~?” Donnie cooed meanly, tickling at Leo's thigh and making him scream.

“NAHAHA- I CAHAHHAHAHAAN'T! DOHOHOHONIE PLEHEHEHEASE!” Leo shrieked, “NAHAHAHAHAT THAHAHAHAHAHT! SNRK-!”

Leo squealed as the claws traced all over his thigh, poking and prodding the sensitive skin and tickling lightly.

He squealed as Donnie started tracing at the sole of his foot, making him kick his leg out and throw his head back in laughter, cackling hysterically.

“NOHOHO!” Leo squealed as claws traced all over the bottom of his foot, it tickled so bad! And then Donnie was tracing at his calf with his other hand!

“DEEHEHEHE! NOHOHOHOHO MOHOHOHOHOHOHRE!” Leo screamed, making Donnie laugh and finally let go.

Leo giggled, scrunching his legs up on the chair and wrapping his arms around them protectively as he giggled.

“I think I'll have you shape my claws like this from now on,” Donnie teased, admiring the shiny nail polish, “I believe Raph and Mikey are thinking the same.”

“I hahahate you guhuhys!”

[blogarteeducacao]

06/03/2024 00:56 (já é dia 7)

Hoje eu acordei as 7h e amanhã também preciso acordar esse horário e ainda sim estou aqui as 01h da manhã escrevendo porque são só nesses momentos que sinto vontade, apesar de estar com os olhos ardendo de sono.

Tava maratonando “para todos os garotos que já amei” e me deixou mt pensativa sobre como a vida é doida, como a gente deixa momentos incríveis e representações e lembranças de momentos incríveis se perderem no caminho por besteiras. Quando eu era mais nova guardava tudo, desde cartas, a objetos, pulseiras, entradas de cinemas ou festas e eventos que fossem significativos pra mim, guarda algo de um lugar, pessoa ou dia especial, e escrevia sobre isso. Pensei que fazia isso desde os 12, mas eu me tornei uma acumuladora muito antes, aos 7 anos talvez. E é engraçado pensar. Isso agora porque em determinado momento da minha adolescência eu parei, e me desfiz de tudo o que tinha guardado dentro de uma caixa oval de madeira com laço de fita vermelha e azul. Queria poder ter essa caixa agora e queria poder ler todos os diários que tive dos 12 até os 18 anos. Eu me lembro vagamente quem eu era, parece um borrão, é como se eu estivesse lá mas não fosse eu, não sei das histórias nitidamente e nem da minha personalidade direito.

As vezes me sinto perdida de mim mesma, me sinto assim agora, tô no momento mais doido da minha vida. Casada e falida, acho que isso resume bem, o que eh bem doido considerando que eh tinha certeza absoluta que nunca daria certo no amor e a única certeza de progresso que eu teria era no meu trabalho com cílios. Bom, me parece que eu errei em todas as apostas kkkkkkk. Me sinto triste na maior parte do tempo por não encontrar respostas, e sinto que escrevo pouco por isso também, afinal o que eu vou escrever? Mais reclamações do dia a dia de merda que eu ando tendo? Do medo, ansiedade e sentimento de fracasso? Eu acho que já reclamo o suficiente na vida, não preciso escrever mais reclamações.

Isso eh tão confuso, crescer é tão confuso. Parece que mais nova eu tinha tantas respostas e hoje eu não sei nem como vai ser meu dia seguinte. Sinto que ganhei muito e depois perdi tudo no meu trabalho. E sinto que perdi tudo e depois ganhei na minha vida pessoal, è como se tivesse algo impedindo q eu pudesse ser feliz ou realizada 100% em tudo. Talvez isso seja pedir demais da vida e talvez eu me preocupe muito mais com o futuro do que com o hoje, e por viver tanto nele, esqueço de aproveitar o que eu sou e o que eu tenho agora. Eu tenho tempo. Tenho uma casa linda que eu amo morar, bem iluminada, fresquinha e espaçosa, tirando as escadas não tem nenhum defeito. Tenho um namorico incrível, que é meu par perfeito e meu príncipe encantado, e tenho meus amigos que tem os problemas deles, mas são incríveis, e claro a melhor parte de mim, meus irmãos. Que são meu coração fora do peito, e que apesar de nossas constantes diferenças, nos amamos muito, nos preocupamos uns com os outros e tentamos fazer o que podemos um pelo outro, apesar de errar e falhar bastante.

Eu só espero me conectar mais comigo mesma, ser quem eu sou, fazer o que eu gosto, me amar com mais carinho e parar de procurar as respostas pra viver, o melhor seria, viver enquanto descubro cada uma das respostas, no seu tempo certo. Por enquanto o que eu quero nesse momento é só abraçar meu amor e fechar os olhos pra uma ótima noite de sono.

Um beijo Marina do futuro.

[gamequeenanya]

Disco Roller Rink - (FNAF Security Guards)

Summary: Phone Guy is invited by his friends to a roller rink where they’ll all go in a crop top. Shenanigans ensue. (lee Phone Guy, ler Jeremy, switch Mike, ler Fritz)

...

"It's alright, Foxy. I'll soon have you good as new, promise!" He smiled up at the animatronic as he set down his toolbox. And couldn't resist giving him a hug.

To his surprise, Foxy hugged back. Gently patting his back with one paw.

"Hey, come look!" Jeremy said, bringing his friends over and pointing to the scene. The other guys smiled.

Then Scott seemed to tremble a bit. As Foxy patted his back, his paw pads brushed against his spine. Scott suddenly pulled away, stepping back.

"A-alright Foxy, h-hugging time's over! Let's g-get you fixed up now!"

The guys whispered to each other. They had a feeling what was going on. Now they just needed a good excuse to test it.

"Hey Scotty," Mike said. "Jeremy's taking us to the skating rink this afternoon. Wanna come...?"

Not expecting to be spoken to so soon, he stepped back a bit. "Uh, yeah! Sounds fun."

"Don't forget to wear a crop top - it's the fashion event of the day!"

Before Scott could stutter and stumble on his words, Jeremy cut him some slack.

"It's alright, we'll all be wearing one!" He said with a wink. "And if you don't have one, I could let you borrow one of mine!" He showed him a gift bag with a sparkly red crop top, and a green one.

"Oh wow! You really came prepared! Uhh... I guess so!" he said. "I'll take the red one!"

"Good choice," Fritz said, carefully yoinking the green one away.

"What about Jeremy?"

Jeremy chuckled. "I'm wearing one under my shirt. So is Mike."

"Wow, so it's really a fashion thing for you, huh?"

"You can't deny it looks spiffy!" Mike replied with a grin. The others wore equally goofy grins. Scott chuckled.

"I-I guess not! I've just never worn one before." He admitted. "Well, I'll meet you there!"

...

At the disco roller rink, it was almost deserted except for two couples and a family. They slowly skated around the rink.

"Huh," Fritz said. "I guess since we work irregular hours, most people are still at work! Or in school..."

"Yeah," Mike replied. "But that doesn't mean we can't have fun! C'mon!"

And he took off his button-down to reveal his light blue sleeveless crop top that covered most of him except a couple inches of his stomach. He was somewhat short and stout with a swirled innie navel. He wore beige shorts and long white socks. Taking off his work shoes, he started getting his skates ready.

Fritz did the same, revealing his green crop top that barely covered his nipples. He was tall and toned with visible abs, and had an outie navel. Hey, it still counted as a shirt! He put on his matching purple sunglasses. Below his cargo pants were regular black socks and work shoes, which he quickly tossed aside.

Jeremy wore an orange crop top that covered all of his chest but revealed his whole stomach, his circle innie dead centre, since he wore low-cut jeans. He had muscle, though it was covered by a layer of fat. At least he felt better about his body than he did a month ago, before he started working out with Fritz.

Scott came in, shyly covering his stomach.

"Heyyyy, you made it!" Mike said, coming over with the others. "And don't worry, you look great!"

Uncovering himself, one could see that Scotty had put on the red crop top that sparkled. He had a slim figure, and an oval innie belly button. The top covered all of his chest as well as an inch of his stomach. He still wore his black low-cut work pants and shoes. His skates were still in his bag.

He huffed. "It's not that... It's that I don't entirely trust you..."

Mike laughed. "Why not? Aren't we the best friends you've ever had?"

"Well, uh... of course!"

"And aren't we trustworthy enough to skate with...?"

He shuddered. "I swear Mike, if you make me fall-!"

"We'll catch you," Fritz promised.

Scott sighed. "Alright."

...

As they skated, it took about ten minutes but the rest of the people in the rink had left.

"Wow, they're gone. I-I guess disco roller rinks aren't as cool as they used to be?" Scott guessed.

"I still think they're radical!" Fritz said.

"Yeah, I love this music," Mike agreed.

Jeremy didn't mind, he just enjoyed the skating.

There was a spot where someone had spilled their Slushie. Jeremy slipped on it and fell backwards... into Scotty's arms.

"It's alright, I gotcha..." He muttered, pulling him up. It was more difficult considering their height difference.

Jeremy pulled him into a hug.

"Did you fall?" Mike said with a smirk.

"Almost!" Jeremy said. "Scotty saved me!"

"Aw, how cute! I think he deserves a reward for that."

"You're right..." Fritz said mischeivously.

Scott giggled nervously. "G-guys, come on!"

Fritz picked him up in a full nelson. Struggling, Scott squeaked and awaited his doom.

They decided to stop skating for a moment because it was dangerous to do this otherwise. Setting Scott on a bench, still with his arms held back, Fritz whispered teasingly in his ear.

"You know, we were always going to do this. Wear crop tops to the roller rink I mean. But when we saw you and Foxy, well, we just couldn't resist!"

Mike was getting impatient and swiped a finger across Scott's tummy. Scott shrieked and thrashed in his position.

"G-guys plehehease! I c-can't take it!!"

"Oh wow. I only touched you once dude!" Mike said in disbelief.

"This is gonna be fun!" Jeremy said, softly poking the side of his stomach. Fritz did the same.

"Eheeheheheeheeeee! Meheeheeean!" He giggled.

"Gosh, if Afton finds out, you're history!" Mike teased, booping his sides.

"Dohohohon't you dahahaahre!"

"We won't, don't worry!" Fritz said, teasing his belly button. "This is a secret all for ourselves!"

"EEHEEHEHEEHEEEEEE!! NAHAAHAAHAAAAHAAT THERE!!!"

"Aww! Looks like he's more ticklish than we thought!"

"HEEEHEEEHEEEE!! IHIHIHIHIHIII'M YOHOHOOUR MAHAHAANAGER!" He protested.

"Yeah, our terribly cute manager who deserves to laugh more!"

They switched positions; Fritz softly tickled his bare armpits, while Mike got his sides, and Jeremy swiped across his belly.

Scotty wasn't sure why he'd fallen for this obvious trap. Seriously, he'd known those mischievous looks as soon as he reacted to Foxy. Then why did he come?  

"EHEHEEHEHEHEEHEHEHEHEHEEHEEEEEHEEE!" Chortling, he wiggled and thrashed in his position as much as he could.

"Having fun?" Mike teased, going up and down his ribs. He could swear the man's blush deepened as he shook his head. "Awww!"

They switched positions again, this time Fritz teasing his mid-back and spine, Jeremy tracing his upper sides, and Mike swirling inside his belly button.

"EEEEAAAAHEEEHEEHEEHEHEEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEEEHEEEEEEEE!" All Scott could do was laugh, wild and unconstrained. He thrashed in their grip, instinct to escape taking over all other thoughts in his mind. "EEHEEEHEEEEEEEHEEEEE! PLEHEHEHEHEEASE!"

With all the chortling, screeching, and squealing, it was a wonder no one checked up on them. The rink was still empty, the security probably all on break.

“OHHOHOHOHOOHOHO GOHOHOHOHOOHHOSH PLEHEHEEHEHEEASE!”

Soon, Scott's laughter turned into hiccups. The others pulled away and let him breathe.

As he caught his breath, he giggled and hiccuped.

"Heheeheeheeee! *Hic*! *Gasp* Eheheeeehee!"

"Oh man, come on, don't die on us!" Fritz joked, ruffling his hair.

Mike glared at Fritz. "He'll be fine! Right, Scott?" He said a bit more softly.

Scott nodded, arms wrapped around his stomach, feeling loopy.

Smiling, Jeremy gave him a hug. "Sorry if we tricked you there, bud."

"Is okay..." Scott muttered, leaning into the touch.

Shrugging, Mike and Fritz joined the hug.

"Mmm..." Scott hummed.

After a while, Mike moved away. The others let go as well.

"Do you want to keep your skates on or-?" Mike wondered. Scott shifted away on the bench.

"Oh no, you're not getting me again!" He got up and went back in the rink. Now skating freely by himself.

Jeremy and Fritz grinned. "Is there something you'd like to tell us, Mike...?"

He jolted and scrambled back. "No, w-wait! I didn't mean it like that!"

The others jumped on him, removing his skates and putting his feet in a headlock.

"Yohohohoou guys are jeheeheeerks!!" Mike cried as they scratched and scribbled all over his feet. "EHEEHEEHHEEHEHEEEEEEE!"

His feet were tan, small, and thick, with short and stubby toes. Perfect for using both hands to get everywhere at once!

Mike's chortles and gasps evolved into shrieks and squeals as Fritz dug in the spaces between his toes.

"EHEHEEHEEHEHEEEEHEEEEEEHEHEEHEHEHEHEHEHEEEEE!!"

Finally, the security guards of the roller rink discovered the three. They cleared their throat and asked them to cut out the horseplay. Fritz and Jeremy whined, but complied, letting go of Mike.

Breathing heavily, Mike cursed the two for betraying him like that.

Scott had gone to the changing room to put on his regular grey baggy shirt, and now was skating around the rink again.

The others skated over to him.

"Hey bro, didn't you like the crop top?" Fritz said.

"Oh no no, I did!" He said with a blush. "It's in my bag. I just don't know what I'd do if a girl saw me in that!"

Mike chuckled. "He's got a point."

They skated around the rink for a few more minutes, trying different moves. No one daring to touch anyone lest more horseplay arise. Fritz and Jeremy watched their backs, knowing they had the shortest crop tops and had just tickle-provoked two of their friends.

Up ahead, Mike whispered something to Scott, who chuckled and nodded. Yeah, it would probably be best to steer clear of them for a while!

After they were done skating, they got changed into their regular clothes again. Scott tried to return the crop top, but Jeremy assured him he could keep it. Maybe they'd have another outing like this in the future!

"Yeah, and then Scott and I can get you back!" Mike teased, getting a giggle from Scott. They gulped.

Yep, going to the pizzeria the next day was sure going to be interesting!

[End.]

[thelastsaiyanprincess]

about me:

my friends call me [redacted], you can call me Oval. i'm 29, based in ATL, and my preferred BDSM roles are princess and switch.

if you enjoy my content, think i'm cute, want to support me as i reach my financial goals, or are just feeling generous, sub to my 0nlyfanz 💕

💖 faq 💖

is this blog nsfw?

yes. do not interact with me if you are under 18. nsfw posts are tagged as n/s/f/w.

what are your kinks?

i have a tickle fetish, but i also like bondage, gentle femdom (tagged as gfd), body worship, and praise.

what is a "princess" in BDSM?

princesses are a type of submissive that want to be pampered and spoiled in exchange for their submission. a princess differs slightly from other subs in that she is willing to serve and submit, but only if what she is going to get is what she really wants. there are also dominant “princesses,” who desire to be worshipped as a princess would be. as i switch consider myself to be both.

do you post content?

yes, but i post juicier content on OF. a girl's gotta make money, and also keep track of who has access to my content in case it is stolen or reposted without my permission.

do you rp?

no.

are you a domme/sub/ler/lee?

i am 100% switch. that means i like playing all roles and i do not want to be one thing all the time. there are no exceptions. however, i tend to lean more dominant and it comes more naturally to me. i'm not a submissive person & don't ever have the urge to submit to anyone.

are you single?

yep.

are you polyamorous/interested in poly?

no. i am monogamous & always will be. i am not interested in being in a "polycule", a harem, or a patriarchal relationship hierarchy.

why can't i DM you?

i have DMs turned off on tumblr. if you'd like to start a private message with me, sub to my 0nlyfanz 💕

why can't i send an anonymous ask?

i have anonymous asks turned off because too many people feel comfortable harassing others online.

why won't you answer my ask?

because i don't want to.

will you ever do a face reveal?

if i reach 100 consistent subs on OF, then yea.

can i be your lee/ler/dom/sub?

no. i am not currently seeking a casual play partner, especially someone who only doms or only subs.

💖 dni 💖

no minors, no porn blogs, no misogynistic sadists.

[kpop-locks]

eu entrei no fandom do dreamcatcher recentemente,podem me ajudar decorar as integrantes (caso n,apenas ignorem essa ask)

edit: eu fiz um carrd pra elas inspirada pela babi! aqui

É CLARO MEU AMOR, pois seja muito bem vinde ao reinozinho das dreamcatcher 😭💘 clica em ler mais que eu te ensino sobre as membros 🥺✨

jiu: líder, mais velha (fake maknae), lead dancer e visual!! vocal angelical pra abençoar seus ouvidos, podia fácil passar por main ou lead vocal em outro grupo 😔✊🏻

pra reconhecer: a jiu tem o rosto padrão coreano perfeito: queixo vline, nariz pequenininho, olhos grandes, boca em formato de coração, ela é uma deusa, netzen chora pq não tem o que criticar nela

sua: main dancer da nação!!!! (morro por uma collab dela com o hyunjin e o minho do skz). os vocaaaaaais, ela coreografa muitas da musicas e dos covers que o dc faz, a risada dela >>>>> ela é a energia do grupo, a que faz palhaçada só ora ver as outras rirem sabe? meu tudinho

pra reconhecer: (muita gente confunde ela com a siyeon) ela tem o nariz mais pontudinho, e a sombrancelha mais marcada que a jiu, o queixo dela tbm é bem pontudo mas ela tem mais espaço entre o queixo e a boca, ela tem as maças do rosto bem marcadas/proeminentes, mesmo dando o minimo sorrisinho ja destaca bem. e ela ta sempre fazendo palhaçada ou gritando no fundo dos vídeos

siyeon: uma das melhores main vocaaaaaawaaals da 3rd gen acorda coreiaaaaaaaaaaa, alma gotica, a famosa goofball, menciona minx se quiser levar um socão da fada

pra reconhecer: pra mim a siyeon é uma das mais faceis de reconhecer, ela tem o rosto bem unico na minha opinião. primeiro de tudo o rosto dela é literalmente oval, na forma exata de um ovo daqueles mais gordinhos. segundo, beiço, beiço pra dar e vender, vc quer kylie jenner. ela tbm tem uma tatto no ombro

handong: nossa unica membro internacional e ela é: chinesa <3 ela é uma vocalista do caralho (apesar da happyface só ter percebido isso nos comebacks recentes) e nossa icy sassy queen, mas só pq ela é quietinha no canto dela e sincera demais pra cima das membros kkkk

como reconhecer: ela tem o rosto bem alongado, a parte de baixo até o quixo é bem comprida visualmente. ela tem a bolsinha de baixo dos olhos bem marcadinha e os olhos bem redondinhos tbm

yoohyeon: lead vocal que vira main vocal facinho em qualquer outro grupooooooooooooo, lead dancer no coração do fandom, um cachorrinho perdido, saco de pancada das outras membros

como reconhecer: as bochechas bem grandinhas e marcadas e o nariz de batatinha (nessa era (because) ela a a handong tão sendo doppelgangers então kkkkk elas tão identicas loiras eu to tirando coisa do cu pra diferenciar elas)

dami: a patroa do fandom todo e de quem não é do fandom tbm eu não faço as regras. main rapper e lead dancer!!!! mas tbm é vocal pq aqui só temos aces. HOLD UP I’M A GEEK THE BIG PARADOX, ela é bem timida e aparenta ter uma personalidade meio fria no começo mas ela é um amor de pessoa coisa mais fofa do mundo minha princesa.

pra diferenciar: a dami é a dami kkkkk os olhos bem grandes, o rosto mais arredondado, o arco do cupido beeeem marcadinho

gahyeon: a maknae que acha que é a mais velha e esquece de usar a linguagem formal la na coreia direto com as outras membros, principalmente a jiu kkkk é vocal mas tbm arrisca o rap e é perfeita em ambos. os cabelos >>>>>>>>

pra diferenciar: ela é a mais facil de diferenciar pra mim, sério, é a bocona com o finalzinho puxado pra fora que parece que foi desenhado mas é natural coisa mais linda, a coisinha mais linda. ela também tem um olhão, e o gummy smile tbm

e aqui, nós temos um google docs com TODOS os videos das dreamcatcher lançados até o presente momento, desde a era de minx, feito pela perfeita @7nsomnia

[microcosme11]

Description of Napoleon by a Chamberlain (2/2)

Much has been said about Napoleon's passionate taste for women. Worthy appreciator of their merit and their beauty, it is necessary to believe that he was not exempt from these amiable weaknesses which make up the charm of life, and to which all men pay the same homage ... There is no doubt that a young man, who is just starting out in the world and who fears seeing his first secret betrayed at any moment, has less reserve on this point than Napoleon had. It was never through him, but rather through the women themselves, that his passing inclinations were known; and again I think that their number has been singularly exaggerated. 

We also talked about his taste for tobacco. I can assure you that he dropped more than he took. It was more of a fad, a sort of distraction, than a real need. His snuff-boxes were very simple, oval, in black tortoiseshell, lined with gold, all perfectly alike, and differing from each other only in the beautiful antique and silver medals embedded on the lids. 

Nature had established a complete harmony between his power and his habits, between his public and his private life. His demeanor and his representation were the same at all times, they were inherent and uncalculated. He's the only man in the world who you could say, without adulation, that he grew larger as you approached him. One observation, which will certainly not be forgotten by the still unknown historian who will have to draw the portrait of this eminently famous man, is that he knew how to preserve, without ever letting weaken, his character and his dignity, either when he was surrounded by the bayonets of Europe, or when he was delivered unarmed to the outrages of the jailers of Saint Helena.

Mémoires anecdotiques sur l'intérieur du palais et sur quelques événemens de l'empire, depuis 1805 jusqu'au ler mai 1814, pour servir à l'histoire de Napoléon, par L.-F.-J. de Bausset, v2

[nagitoshopejar]

Took me about two hours with lotsa distractions

And has 1561 words

Theres two prompts in here. In this timeline, everyone's alive. But also this is the second motive. Byakuyas secret surprises everyone(the longer part) and a game of truth or dare(not as long sorry) its 11:44 at night and I'm tired as all hecc

@fluffomatic here you go. Although I didn't exactly use inspiration based off the art you made. I'm really tired and barely know what I'm doing.

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"As your school principle, I am supposed to motivate you! So, for your second motivation, I'll be handing put secrets! Its your decision what you want to do with it." The build a bear reject says. "How am I supposed to get you guys to kill eachother?" Monokuma adds under his breath then disappears. Everyone looks at each other in confusion.

"Secrets?" Aoi had questioned the bear authority despite it already having left. Several thin papers were scattered like snow from what looked like it could only be the ceiling. They all scrambled to pick up the small pieces that had their secrets written upon them.

"Whatever man. Lets just forget about them." Mondo was about to walk out when a certain compass moral stopped him.

"Wait. Lets all share our secrets so that its no longer a motive!" Taka introduced the idea.

"Well, it cant hurt us if we do." Makoto states looking down at his own secret. They gather around in a circle like oval. Chihiro starts.

"... I uhm. I'm actually a boy dressed as a girl. Because people would bully me for being to "weak" or "feminine"." Chihiro looks down as if to be ashamed.

"Theres no need to be ashamed!" Taka gives the small boy a soft smile. Chihiro gives a small smile back, looking up.

"What about yours Taka?" He asks

"Oh! Right!" He lets out a small giggle and unfolds his, "...I uhm oh. I ran in the halls! I'm so sorry everyone! I know, this must be disappointing to hear the ultimate moral compass broke a rule." He acts as if it is shocking.

"No ones disappointed Taka! Its ok to break a rule if its a rare thing to happen." Makoto says.

"Well? Whats your secret?" Taka asks.

"Oh, I uhm. I-" Makoto looked away, a blushing mess. "I wet the bed 5th grade." Makoto said quietly but everyone heard him. A silence overcame them like a light in a dark room.

"I guess its my turn!" Byakuya says, wanting people to not bully or embarrass his boyfriend. "I've never... What?" Byakuya looks confused. "How is this a secret? I've never been tickled." He squints his eyes. Everyone looked shocked. Even Makoto looks shocked.

"Hold up. You've never been tickled?" Yasuhiro had asked.

"Well, for the ultimate progeny, his childhood would be not as "

'childish' as others." Kyoko had said, a hand placed on her chin.

"Agh-!" Byakuya had yelled after he was tackled. Leon had dug into his ribs getting sudden laughter pouring from his mouth. "WAHAHAIT!!" Byakuya was squirming.

"Hey!" Leon got tackled down by Toko. "What the? Why did you do that?" Leon yelled at the writer.

"You're being to rough with him!" Toko yelled at the baseball man. Byakuya started giggling and everyone looked over to see Makoto lightly tracing his abs and ribs.

"Nohohoho!" Byakuya squirmed, trying to get away from Makoto.

"Uh-uh. You're not getting away from me." Makoto teased. Kyoko walked up to Byakuyas squirming body and poked it earning a high squeak amongst the giggles.

"Noho! Dont dohoho that KyokO-" Byakuya started giggling harder when Kyoko started light scribbles on his ribs. He tries to grab her hands but ends up revealing his under arms and having Kyoko quickly shoot into them. "Hohold ohohohon!" He shot his arms down as soon as she did that.

"Oops. My hands are trapped. Guess I'll have to keep tickling you until you put up your arms." She shrugged with a sly smile on her face.

"Hehehehey stahp!" Byakuya reluctantly put up his arms above his head to make Kyoko stop. That only pushed her more. She sat on his hands but made sure not to hurt them and continued her relentless attack. Makoto was going ham on his sides and moved to his belly. Byakuya ended up squirming more than than ever, his laughter going up a few octaves. "HOHOLD ON! STOHAHAP IT PLEAHEEHE-"

"Nah. I'm hungry for a happy Byakuya!" Makoto said leaning down and nibbling ever so lightly on his belly. His eyes shut and a wide smile planted on his face emitting loud giggles like a speaker. Makoto also began dancing his hands hands along his sides, ribs and belly changing suddenly and with no pattern as well.

"Aw. You're so much fun!" Kyoko added some teases to the mix.

When it got to the point of Byakuya not being able to for words they stopped their attacks to give Byakuya a breathing break.

"Hmm. Should we try..?" He looked at Kyoko and she nodded. Makoto made his way down to his ankles. He sat on his calves. He cradled the progeny's ankles in an arm lock. He started snickering and giggling again cutely when Kyoko ran finger down and around his neck. He scrunched up his neck and made a little whining sound which turned into a ridiculously cute sight. Makoto laughed and smiles at this and turned back to his 'assignment'. Makoto traced a finger down the middle of the boys sole. And instantly his giggles went up a little. He messed around and drew shapes with the tip of his fingernail. Byakuya squirmed. Under the weight of his two lers. Makoto used his entire hand to scribble along both of Byakuyas feet. He thrashes, giggling violently.

"Ohohok did I do sohohomethihing?" Byakuyas head was tilted into his arm to try and stifle his giggles. Kyoko and Makoto took this as an opportunity to stop. Makoto walks up towards his head.

"You're so cute Byakuya." He kissed his boyfriends nose making Byakuya more rose coloured. His smile was still widely spread across his face and tears were both streaming and had stained his face. Makoto helped Byakuya up. "You ok?" The small boy said.

"Yea.. I'm fine. Just a little worn out." Byakuya said straightening his glasses ans fixing his hair. They heard a loud obnoxious laugh.

"OK OK IHIHI WOHONT BE SO CAHARLEHESS!" Leon yelled as Toko was going nuts on him.

"Promise?" She asks slyly.

"IHIHIHI PROMIHISE!!" He yelled, squirming under her. Toko relented and let him catch his breath.

"This is a school environment! You cant just do that!" Taka pouts angrily.

"Whatever Taka." Kyoko giggles. "We should hang out tonight. After 10. Truth or dare. Get closer yknow?"

" like a date then." Hifumi says.

"Not you. You're not allowed to come." Kyoko states glaring at Hifumi.

"I guess we should wait until then. I'm off." Makoto said dragging Byakuya to his room. Byakuya and Makoto were cuddling until something actually happened Makoto was being the little spoon. "Mmm Byakuya-" he tried to stifle his giggles as his boyfriend traced shapes on his belly.

"Wow Makoto. Your skin is so soft." He smiled, tracing the skin around hus navel.

"Byahakuyaaaa stoooop!" Makoto squirmed in the progeny's thouch.

"Aw. But such soft skin deserves to be caressed and needs attention." Byakuya cooed at the smaller boy.

"Heheheheh!" Makoto was giggling so hard he could barely make out any words. Togami smiled mischievously. He dug his fingers into Makoto belly on both sides of his navel. "BYAKUYAHAHAHAH! NOOOOO STAHP!" Makoto laughed out loud and threw his head out.

"Aw. Your face is sooo cute Makoto." Byakuya teasy complimented him and stopped his attack. They slept until 10 pm. It was the Monokuma night announcement that woke them up. They headed to the gym still a little groggy from their nap. As soon as they opened the gym doors, the light blinded them.

"You made it!" Aoi cheered happily.

"Yup!" Makoto smiled. They once again, sat in a circle wondering whos gonna go first.

"Taka! Truth or dare!" Aoi asked excitedly.

"Uh.. Truth." Taka answered a bit scared that if he said dare, Aoi would make him do something bad.

"Do you like anyone?" Taka was taken aback by such a common question coming from Aoi.

"Oh uhm. I like Mondo." Taka answered without hesitation. Mondo became a blushing mess and looked away.

"Makoto. Truth or dare?" Taka asked the small boy of hope.

"Uh dare."

"Hmm... I dare you to uhm.." Taka looked around a bit. "I dare you to throw that garbage away!" Makoto was surprised and not surprised but did it anyways.

"Hey Byakuya. Truth or dare."

"Dare. Truth seems to be to boring." He looked at Aoi. Aoi seemed to look through his soul.

"Let us tickle you." The small boy said.

"What?" Byakuya was taken aback, surprised.

"Let us tickle you." Makoto smiled at this thought.

"Well, the ultimate progeny doesn't count on giving up. Very well." He lifted up his arms leaving all his spots free to whoever wanted to join. Makoto slipped his hand under Byakuyas shirt and scribbled. Byakuya started laughing instantly. "Makohohoto!" He whined, knowing he couldn't beg for Makoto to stop.

"Whats wrong? Why are you laughing? Nothings going on? Whats so funny?" He asked and byakuya had never answered. Makoto lifted the taller boys shirt up leaned his head down. He blew the longest raspberry anyone has ever seen. He laughed louder and shot his hands down. Makoto stopped his attack. "You didn't last to long." Makoto says.

"Yea. You should lengthen that by training with Aoi and myself." Sakura said with a sly smirk. They continued the game for most of the night the headed off to bed.

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I hope you liked it!

[jefpoo421]

Character in Review: The Once-ler

The Once-ler from The Lorax movie, especially the young man of a Once-ler which you see in the past scenarios, is really cute and adorable. He wants to earn money, so he departs from his family farm to find materials for his so-called Thneed invention that could do a million uses. After he finds a valley rich of trees, bears, birds, and fish, he can't help but exploit the trees for their tufts, to make his Thneed, despite helpless ranting from the Lorax who speaks for the trees. But after five or so years, all the trees have disappeared and the animals go away, too. So then, up to the end of his days, the Once-ler feels shame in what he has done to the environment and lives as an introverted recluse in his "Lerkim" on top of his abandoned store.

Read on to learn more about this breakout character when the movie first came out in 2012, and even made a fandom of its own.

(repost from a mini-blog)

SHELTER AND TALENT

The Once-ler lives with his family in a white house on a farm, before departing. When he moves to the valley, he sets up a yellow tent that supposedly looks like a tiny cottage. The tent has a green roof, with an outhouse to the right. It has been implied that the Once-ler also likes to eat marshmallows, because you can see him packing in two large bags of marshmallow into his wagon cart. He also knows how to knit, and also to cook and flip pancakes way up high while singing, “Pancake, the pancake,” then manages to pull off many dozens of those pancakes to share to the animals and the Lorax.

PERSONALITY

He is somewhat clumsy, dorky, sympathetic, an average 20-year-old farmer boy. And that voice? It's so cute and dorky. I have quite made impressions of Ed Helms's voice. I even tried to belt out the Once-ler's songs in this voice.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

He has a thin body, babyface, a round button nose, long eyelashes (like Nermal, the annoying kitten from Garfield), some light freckles and black swept-up hair. His attractive, swept to the left hairstyle is perfectly topped with a fedora. But, if you want to draw the Once-ler as faithful as the movie, it's really going to be inconsistent because you can't decide which size and position his nose should be. To get matters straight, his innocent blue eyes make him cute and handsome.

ATTIRE

His three outfits that you see all in the movie are creative; the work outfit, the sleepwear, and his entrepreneur outfit.

Work outfit

When you first see the Once-ler in his past, you see him clad in a fedora, gray vest over a white shirt, striped gray pants and shoes. The white shirt has long sleeves which are rolled up to the middle of his forearm. He also wears green work gloves which the inner and bottom are colored beige. Enough said. But, how do they have striped gray denim pants in the 1970-somethings, you want to know? We know that vest and long-sleeved shirt combos have existed in the retro past and beyond. But look at his pair shoes. They are pretty much plain and dusty. They could have been hand-me-downs from his not-seen father. Why the same work outfit every time he gets out of his cottage? Is it because his family cannot afford clothes so they give him a limited wardrobe? You think about that. Next, when you see the Once-ler unloading his wagon, it is implied that he wears heart-print boxer shorts underneath his pants. Talk about throwing underwear to an unfortunate bear's head!

Sleepwear

When the Once-ler goes to bed, he wears blue pajamas with yellow bunny patterns on them. We have seen that color design before; in the film Despicable Me, on Agnes's pajamas! Although, Agnes's has teddy bear heads instead of rabbits. Talk about an unoriginal sleepwear design! Maybe the creators were lazy and decided to throw in Agnes's sleepwear pattern to the Once-ler. Now, let me get this thing straight. Does this mean that Agnes is distantly related to the Once-ler? Did the Once-ler buy his pajamas from the same clothing shop as Agnes's? By the way, the Once-ler's pajamas has five white button with a collar that is also white so that you can take them off easily. The only complaint about Once-ler's pajamas is that the pattern is copied from Agnes's. Everything else about it is fine.

Greed-ler outfit

The Once-ler's green business outfit is introduced right in the beginning of the musical number, "How Bad Can I Be." It's so shockingly flashy. What's impressing is that he wears green gloves that go up to his shoulders. Creative for a character adapted from a 1971 rhymed picture book. The green striped coat over the white shirt with the large collar, has long coattails, along with a red Truffula tuft stuck on to his right lapel. There are two gold buttons that hold the coat together, and a gold chain under it. The black necktie with the green stripes means business. The coat is paired with a pair of black pants and shoes, along with a tall black top hat that has a green trim along it. The Once-ler continues to wear this flashy outfit after the last Truffula tree has been felled.

Guitar

He also carries along a gray electric guitar with him, which is smashed by some little girl after a failed attempt to advertise the Thneed. Later, the guitar is repaired with duct tape that disappears at the very beginning of the Once-ler’s villainous musical number which I mentioned before on the last paragraph that I wrote and composed (It was an animation blunder, mind you). That guitar was soon replaced by a better and cooler red electric guitar, which with a strum of it, can literally topple down a hundred trees.

MULE AND FAMILY

His gray mule, Melvin, pulls his wagon vehicle across many places, but also moves it slowly, taking days, until Melvin alerts the Once-ler to show him something that he would like. Melvin also likes to eat Truffula Fruit, as shown when the Lorax feeds him that fruit. When the Once-ler’s company falls apart and the environment is polluted and dirtied, Melvin goes along with the animals on their way out in order to find a better and safer habitat to live in.

His mother, Isabella Once-ler (That is what the Lorax fans call her), is blonde and has a red hairclip on top of her poufy curled up hair. She wears a lavender polka-dot long-sleeved shirt and a boa which looks like a red dog. I think the dog has been slaughtered to make the boa. Isabella also wears glasses which frames are colored blue, and are oval. A long skirt and gray boots complete the look. Now then, the Once-ler’s uncle, Ubb is as short as Aloysius O’Hare and wears all black even donning a bowler hat, while his aunt, Grizelda is very fat, has ginger hair shaped like two crescents, and wears a purple dress with a beret decorated with a white feather. The Once-ler’s twin brothers, Brett and Chet Once-ler, both wear red shirts and blue overalls that have one strap loose. They are also mischievous and tease the Once-ler himself. They think that a bear is a football and throw it way far. They are bald, just like their uncle. The Once-ler family, overall, like to be quick and lazy and does not like his way of just harvesting the Truffula tufts, because it is very inconvenient and also very slow.

[august-anon]

Beauty in Strength

Hey hey, here’s that Witcher fic, the scar-tracing idea came from @inconveniently-placed-cactus​. I hope y’all enjoy

(Also, I know Foltest's sister that had the striga child was named Adda and I don't think they ever said so in show/book (but who knows I have a bad memory lol), BUT if you play Witcher 1 you meet that striga girl again, a young woman now, and Foltest had creepily chosen to name her Adda as well. So that's why it's "Adda's scar" in the fic, instead of just "the scar from the striga girl." Also, she's nuts, lol. Tried to have me killed lol)

Fandom: The Witcher

Ship(s): Geraskier (Geralt/Jaskier)

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Geralt/Ler!Jaskier

Word Count: 2271 words

Summary: Jaskier's found a new game: brushing against scars and asking after them. If only it wasn't so ticklish when he did so.

[ao3 link]

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The first touch startled Geralt.

He had stepped out of the bath and into his small clothes and had sat on the bed to dig through his bag for something at least somewhat clean (or, at least, not currently soaked in harpy guts and goop) when he heard Jaskier shuffle up behind him. He assumed the bard was simply preparing for bed himself, so he paid little mind to the sounds and the shifting of the bed. He very nearly lunged for his sword at the first feather-light touch on his shoulder, against an old scar.

“What’s this one from?” Jaskier said gently.

Geralt settled his nerves and cleared his throat. “Don’t know if I recall.”

“Come, now,” Jaskier said, a playful lilt to his for-once quiet voice. “Surely you must remember.”

His fingers traced around the raised skin before gently dancing along it, and continued to repeat that pattern. Geralt found the room suddenly oddly warm and was grateful, not for the first time, for the fact that witchers were unable to blush. There was also an odd fluttering feeling in his stomach that he knew he must’ve felt once or twice, what felt like lifetimes ago, but no longer had the name to describe.

“Must I?” Geralt asked, finally pulling a shirt from his bag.

Jaskier huffed and Geralt knew he was discontent. His fingers vanished briefly from his shoulder, but reappeared at the back of his ribs, tracing three long, raised scars. Geralt had to hold his breath to keep in his gasp, but he couldn’t stop the involuntary twitch of his skin under Jaskier’s ministrations. He fumbled and dropped the shirt.

“What about this one?”

Geralt cleared his throat again, worried he’d be unable to speak if he didn’t. “Werewolf. Few years back.”

Jaskier hummed. He dragged a single finger around each claw mark before laying his fingers over them in the shape of a claw once more and dragging his hand back and forth, back and forth. Geralt’s breath was coming out in quiet puffs and if Jaskier continued in that spot, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could control himself. The urge to squirm, to give in and chuckle, was becoming overwhelming.

Luckily, Jaskier seemed satisfied with the information he got and his hand lifted from the scar. His hand then touched down low down on his back, just behind his hip, and Geralt couldn’t help the minute flinch at the unknowingly teasing touch. Jaskier traced the circular scar (mostly circular, at least. Nothing healed that perfectly) before spiralling into the center with a single finger, then spiralling back out.

“Kikimore,” Geralt said without being prompted, figuring the faster he spoke the faster Jaskier would move on and give him another brief moment to rebuild his defenses.

“There are different kinds, right?” Jaskier asked, not moving on.

Geralt tried to take a deep breath, but it kept puffing out. He locked his joints in place so as to not squirm and give himself away. “Yes. Workers, warriors, and the queen.”

Jaskier placed all his fingers in the center of the scar and slowly dragged them outwards to the edges, then repeated the motion going inwards. Geralt couldn’t help but gasp and jerk at that, one hand making an aborted movement to reach back and pull Jaskier away while the other went up to hover over his mouth in case he needed to muffle any more sounds.

“Which one did this?” Jaskier asked, a grin evident in his voice.

Geralt inwardly cursed. Jaskier knew exactly what he was doing.

“A-a warrior,” he managed, having to bring his hand away from his mouth to speak.

The hand granted him a brief moment of mercy, but not nearly long enough. It touched down again against his shoulder blade, a series of old puncture wounds. The fingers on the hand spread out so as to touch each of them and nails scratched gently at the centers.

“And here?”

Geralt took a shaky breath and resisted the urge to roll his shoulders. “Harpy. Like today.”

��How’d it do that?” Jaskier punctuated the question with a particularly sharp scratch that had Geralt gasping again, back arching.

“Got it’s talons into me and tried to fly off.”

Jaskier hummed sympathetically, taking a single finger to trace around each raised, uneven oval individually. “I assume it didn’t manage, or these would be much larger.”

Geralt hummed shakily, lungs spasming with repressed titters -- witchers didn’t titter.

Geralt tried not to jump as Jaskier’s head hooked over his shoulder, hands snaking around to hug him around his middle. Palms flat, they rubbed up and down his torso for a few moments and Geralt foolishly allowed himself to relax, even though he knew it wasn’t over.

Jaskier started out easy, a thin line on his pectoral. It wasn’t too terribly ticklish, but the tingles still spread out under his skin. He brushed a fingertip back and forth over it a few times before switching to lightly scraping his nail along it.

“Knife,” Geralt said softly.

Jaskier scritched briefly at his chest with four fingers, making Geralt twitch, before moving on. He decided on a knotted scar on Geralt’s side, right around his waistline. Geralt twitched and huffed, a smile sneaking onto his face. The already sensitive spot combined with the even-more-sensitive scar tissue made it very hard to keep his composure.

“What about here, darling?”

Geralt tried to remember, and then huffed out a quick breath of a laugh that had nothing to do with the ticklish touch. Jaskier must’ve sensed it too, because he stopped the teasing, just resting his fingers against the skin and looking at him curiously. Geralt couldn’t help the grin on his face.

“Eskel and I,” he said. “We were fucking around, and I tumbled out a window. Vesemir was pissed as all hell.”

Jaskier chuckled in the crook of his shoulder and neck. “Of course you were the Kaer Morhen troublemakers.”

Geralt opened his mouth to reply, but at that exact moment, Jaskier scribbled those calloused fingertipss against the scar and Geralt was too caught off-guard to keep himself composed. He barked out a laugh and jerked to the side, curving his waist in on one side and trying to twist away, but Jaskier followed him easily. 

The boys at Kaer Morhen played rough, even when doing something as silly and fun as tickling. It was all throwing each other to the ground and pinning each other into the floor and digging hands deep into weak points. They got away with playing by telling Vesemir it was teaching them where to defend themselves, since ticklish weak points were often directly correlated with places you did not want to get injured, like arteries and organs, but Geralt was sure he saw through that.

But experiencing it as such, Geralt wasn’t prepared for just how much such a gentle touch could tickle. It was unbearable, it was maddening. Geralt didn’t know how to handle it. And Jaskier never went deeper, never went harsher, just kept his touch feather-light tracing around and teasing his scars. It wasn’t a sensation he had any reference for to help his defense, so he was utterly helpless in the face of this caring bard with his gentle hands and soft smile.

Jaskier stayed in that spot for what felt like a while to Geralt, now that he finally found somewhere to make Geralt crack. He squeezed his hands into fists to avoid reaching for or swatting at Jaskier, not willing to ruin their little game. As embarrassing as it was, Geralt may have been having a little bit of fun, and he wasn’t quite willing to give it up so soon, even if he had lost at holding back his reactions.

After an eternity, Jaskier pulled his hand away. He gave Geralt almost no time before he moved to the next scar, meaning Geralt had no time to recover. He almost snorted as Jaskier’s fingers touched down and traced around a scar curving against his stomach. Then he traced his fingers in a line up and down the curve, leaving Geralt wiggling in place in a very embarrassing way, for someone who tried so hard to remain composed.

Geralt was so focused on trying to rebuild the dam to contain his snickers and being flustered over his squirming, that Jaskier played with the scar for over a minute before prompting Geralt with an evil grin against his neck.

“This one, dear heart?” He punctuated the question with a quick wiggle against the deepest part of the curve, and Geralt had to swallow a terrible squeal.

“D-devourer,” he struggled to get out.

“Oh, poor thing,” Jaskier cooed. “Ugly bastards, those ones. Nasty claws on them.”

At the word “claw” Jaskier formed a claw with his fingers and scratched up and down against various scars around Geralt’s stomach. Geralt’s choked snickers turned into full laughs as he squeezed his eyes shut. Doing that, however, only made things worse for him, because he couldn’t tell where Jaskier was moving next, so they immediately shot back open.

Then, Jaskier dropped one of the weaponized hands and dipped a finger into his bellybutton. This time, Geralt couldn’t quite successfully bite back the squeal that tried to escape, and it came out choked and giggly. He laughed and jerked, doubling over a little at the sensation.

“That’s not a scar!” He protested, but still didn’t pull Jaskier’s hand away.

Jaskier chuckled against his neck and vibrated the finger even deeper. “Sure it is! Remember where it came from?”

“My-- my birth!”

Jaskier pulled away, giving him a break. Geralt leaned over his legs, working to regain his breath through his leftover chuckles.

“Your giggles are so cute,” Jaskier said, nipping playfully at Geralt’s exposed shoulder and neck.

Geralt was so wound up that he even jerked away from that touch, feeling quite ticklish even though it didn’t usually bother him so much. “I don’t giggle.”

Jaskier fluttered his fingers against the knotted scar on his side once more, and Geralt burst into giggles. “I beg to differ, darling. They’re all deep and rumbling, nothing like my giggles, but giggles nonetheless. Your chuckles are quite a bit deeper, not quite so bouncy.”

“Quiet.”

Jaskier gasped, pulling his hands away. “As if I could ever!”

Before Geralt could retort with some sort of scathing or teasing remark, one of Jaskier’s hands made itself known on his thigh, tracing a long, deep scar. Geralt hadn’t had time to compose himself yet again, and immediately tumbled back into quiet laughter. His leg twitched, but Geralt refused to show enough weakness to let it squirm and bounce about like it wanted to, to escape the sensations.

“Cockatrice,” Geralt fought to get out through his laughter, knowing Jaskier was trying to draw out the playful torment before asking.

“Poor thing,” Jaskier murmured against the skin of his neck, lips and teeth tracing the scar that Adda had left there after he’d saved her from her striga curse, the bite marks having healed in quite the ugly fashion.

This time, Geralt did snort, trying to shrug up his shoulders and crane his neck so that Jaskier didn’t have access, but the man was stubborn. His hand also still fluttered away at Geralt’s thigh, finding other scars to trace briefly, but not asking after them.

“You’re beautiful,” Jaskier breathed.

Geralt didn’t reply, suddenly debating pulling away from Jaskier’s touch. Jaskier made the decision for him, pushing him down onto the bed and staring down at him, fingers tracing a few scars in a way that, for the first time since this little game started, weren’t meant to be ticklish. They still were, of course, but lightly enough that Geralt was able to actually focus.

“You are. Your scars don’t detract from that beauty.”

Geralt caught one of Jaskier’s wandering hands off his bicep and the other froze where it was on his chest. “I’m a mutant and a monster.”

Jaskier scowled at him. “Next time you say that, I’m going to tickle you until you have to gasp through your giggles about how good and wonderful a person you are, and how drop-dead handsome you are.”

“Jaskier.”

“Geralt.”

Left with no time to argue his point again, Jaskier’s hands touched down again, finding some of the more sensitive scars he had explored. One hand went to the knotted one on his side and scribbled away, the other slipped under him to the kikimore scar on his back and started up that maddening in-and-out dragging of fingers once more. Geralt tossed his head back in laughter, eyes squeezing shut.

“Or maybe,” Jaskier said, cheeky grin evident in his voice and mirth dancing around in his scent, “we’ll just do that now.”

Jaskier’s mouth attached to Adda’s scar once more and Geralt was lost. His hands danced between scar tissue, tormenting away, while his mouth pinpointed any scars in the vicinity of his neck, shoulders, and collarbones to nip and kiss at. Geralt wheezed and cackled and giggled, but he never made an effort to squirm away from the touch. He knew how to get out of it, after all, even if he believed saying it would be a lie. Besides, Witcher stamina was nothing to bat an eye at. So Geralt simply gripped Jaskier’s hips and let himself go, just this once, to have fun with his lover. Their laughter mingled together late into the night, causing them to have a much later start in the morning than they had originally planned. 

Geralt couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed.

[rainbowintheclouds]

First drawing posted after a couple of weeks!

I’m filled with tword moods lately so you’ll be seeing quite a bit of that now for my followers who do not know I’m in the sfw tickle community so if you are not comfortable with it you may unfollow anytime

Anyways these two are mine and my bf’s ocs of UnderTale, when he introduced to his character which is the black goo covered one named Oval, I immediately thought of one of my characters to ship him with and boom now there. They are actually meant to be no kidding, they’re soulmates✨ Plus Oval’s a massive ler and Spiral, the glitchy king, is a hidden lee so why not do this little drawing

[devlishsmile]

outfoxing the fox   ╱   task five

i looked back, bracing the wind; a thousand emotions beset me.  who knows if, with such thoughts,  i will not find my destiny further intertwined with yours?

Trigger warning: sufocamento, autodepreciação.

Nota OOC: eu coloquei o pov em um docs para os que preferirem ler por lá, já que a leitura em themes do tumblr pode ser chatinha. A inspiração para ele veio de lendas do Leste Asiático.

PARTE I: O ANEL.

O que você faz? Araminta queria perguntar ao anel, que cutucava com uma pinça, incerta demais para tocá-lo com os próprios dedos. Qi Liang havia conquistado-o para ela na barraca de tiro ao alvo como prêmio na Ilha dos Prazeres, mas a aprendiz não ousara colocá-lo em si mesma. Curiosa como fosse, não era idiota para tocar um objeto amaldiçoado sem antes saber quais seriam as consequências. 

O anel parecia ser feito de prata e, em seu centro, havia uma grande pedra vermelha de formato oval. Na parte de dentro do aro, figuras em uma língua ou código que ela desconhecia foram gravadas, enquanto na parte de fora era adornado de desenhos espirais. Pelo tamanho, Araminta soube que era destinado a uma mão masculina. Deduzira que a joia pertencera a alguém abastado; talvez fosse uma relíquia passada por gerações entre uma família, eventualmente perdida e encontrada por alguém do parque na Ilha. Talvez fosse usada por algum mago ou feiticeiro, o que explicaria a estranha e angustiante aura que o objeto emanava quando a imrense passava tempo demais com ele por perto. Ou, talvez, tenha simplesmente sido roubada de um nobre e vendida ao Cocheiro. Qualquer que fosse sua origem, ela queria descobri-la.

Durante aquelas semanas, Araminta ocupara-se com locar quaisquer livros da biblioteca que pudessem auxiliá-la na busca. Livros sobre maldições, registros de famílias nobres de Mítica, dicionários de línguas antigas, enciclopédias de arcanismo… Certamente, para os que observavam de fora, era impressionante como a jovem arranjava tempo para ler tudo aquilo e, ainda assim, lidar com suas disciplinas e extracurriculares, especialmente em uma época tão caótica quanto a que viviam. Bem, a resposta encontrava-se no próprio questionamento: se já estava curiosa sobre o anel antes, depois do que ouvira de Qi Liang na noite do Calanmai, de sua última conversa com Hugo e do desastre que a abertura dos jogos intercasas se tornou, viu-se desesperada por algo que a distraísse da própria cabeça.

Normalmente, esta responsabilidade era atribuída à costura e a dança. Mas enquanto estivera, de fato, passando mais tempo no ateliê de costura do que normalmente fazia, o estúdio de dança tornara-se uma área proibida pelos próximos trinta dias; o ataque dos ogros rendera-lhe uma costela quebrada e um tornozelo torcido, e a curandeira insistiu que ela recebesse dispensa de todas as atividades físicas até que estivesse inteiramente saudável. Todos os dias, desde o jogo, passava na enfermaria para pegar um frasco de poção para os ossos e outro para as dores. Já havia machucado o tornozelo antes, afinal, era uma dançarina, só não esperava que a costela fosse incomodá-la tanto (nem que levaria tanto tempo para voltar ao lugar). Assim, a energia que gastava ensaiando agora precisava ser canalizada em outra ocupação, e se não podia exercitar o corpo, que exercitasse a mente inquieta.

No entanto, mesmo depois de muita pesquisa, Araminta continuou no mesmo ponto em que começara. Não sabia quem era o dono do anel, nem o que ele fazia, nem o que os símbolos gravados nele significavam. Mistérios costumavam atraí-la — um bom desafio sempre significava diversão —, porém, com tantos problemas em suas costas para resolver, gostaria que pudesse solucionar ao menos aquele. Sem ter sequer uma pista, voltava a pensar no que acontecia ao seu redor e, pelo Narrador, se passasse mais um minuto sem se alienar, era capaz de explodir.

À porta do dormitório, ouviu uma chave girar na fechadura. Anette havia voltado. Rapidamente, Araminta fechou a caixinha do anel, levantou-se da cama e foi até o guarda-roupa. O fundo falso do móvel nunca fora de tanto auxílio, pois tornara-se o esconderijo da joia enquanto ela ainda não havia a decifrado. Levantou a madeira, colocou a caixa no compartimento escondido e o tampou. A quantidade de roupas no armário disfarçava com segurança a linha que denunciava seu segredo, uma vantagem para Araminta, que escutara alguns de seus colegas queixarem-se de pertences desaparecidos após o dia do ataque.

O maior mistério de todos, entretanto, continuava em aberto. Uma vez era um acontecimento: o desaparecimento de Jason Bee, em dezembro do ano anterior. Duas vezes era uma coincidência: a maldição do sono. Três vezes, ataque inimigo: o desaparecimento dos aprendizes no Trem Fantasma da Ilha dos Prazeres. Quatro, então… Estava certa de que o que acontecera no jogo de beisebol conectava-se aos outros eventos fora do comum que abateram Aether nos últimos meses, e o fato de que Merlin não encontrara um culpado para nenhum deles era o comprovante. Sob a redoma mágica, ela se perguntava quanto demoraria até que a quinta vez acontecesse. O que quer que estivesse preso com eles, certamente não estava feliz com isso — e como havia demonstrado anteriormente, possuía meios de desarmar o diretor. Quanto à sua identidade, Araminta não tinha teorias; somente sabia que portava poderes grandiosos o bastante para ir contra o maior mago de Mítica, e a percepção disso, por si só, era assustadora. O que outrora impressionaria De Vil era motivo para tirar-lhe o sono à noite, pensando nos aprendizes que foram levados, temendo que seus amigos fossem os próximos.

Que ela fosse a próxima. O pensamento de que poderia perder tudo estando tão perto de sua liberdade mantinha-a desperta mesmo depois das luzes se apagarem, quando o único brilho no quarto vinha da lua, refratado pela janela. Em toda sua confiança, Araminta não estava preparada para acreditar que havia a chance de acabar de mãos vazias, não depois de tanto tempo de espera.

PARTE II: VOZES.

Venha até mim…

As árvores farfalharam em uníssono, uma assombrosa melodia que gelava suas entranhas. De certa forma, era seduzente — como o frio na barriga logo antes de um salto. A brisa noturna tomou seus braços nus e a fez encolher-se na camisola, mas ela não se afastou. À sua frente, as árvores curvavam-se para moldar um caminho reto entre o bosque, convidando-a para que o adentrasse. Os pés de Araminta vacilaram, incertos se deveriam ou não dar o próximo passo, fincando-se na terra gelada.

Venha até mim resgatar seus amigos…

Marzia. Cheryl. Alizayd. De alguma maneira, sabia que era sobre eles — e os outros aprendizes desaparecidos — que as árvores sussurravam. Estiveram ali o tempo inteiro, bem debaixo de seus narizes? Queria crer que sim, que resgatá-los seria fácil. Na verdade, queria que qualquer coisa fosse fácil. Não recordava-se de alguma vez ter se sentido tão cansada, chegando ao ponto de não se importar em entregar-se a uma solução simples. Vivera uma vida trilhando o caminho difícil, pensando demais, se esforçando demais, fazendo tudo ao seu alcance para obter o melhor resultado possível. Não acreditava em intervenção divina, fosse do Narrador ou de qualquer outra entidade que os assistisse, mas o universo tinha que recompensá-la. Era o justo.

Venha até mim…

Subitamente, a ânsia para que entrasse na mata foi substituída por um medo paralisante. Sentiu o gelo espalhar-se por todo o corpo, prendendo-a no lugar, engolindo qualquer espaço que sobrasse para uma emoção que não fosse o completo pavor. A brisa soprou mais forte, balançando a copa das árvores, fazendo a grama dos jardins reverenciar o caminho na floresta. As árvores murmuraram outra vez:

Venha até mim ou os que ama serão os próximos…

Quando despertou, Araminta percebeu que lágrimas quentes escorriam por suas bochechas.

Ela olhou ao redor. Estava em sua cama novamente, nos dormitórios da Imre, com Anette a dormir na outra ponta do quarto. Foi um pesadelo. Sentada e de respiração ofegante, ela puxou ar para os pulmões e soltou-o lentamente, até que as batidas pesadas do coração voltassem a relaxar. Esfregou o dorso das mãos no rosto, enxugando as lágrimas. Não era a primeira vez que chorava enquanto dormia, mas era a primeira em certo tempo — e a primeira também a perturbá-la daquele jeito. Não quis ligar o abajur na mesa de cabeceira para não acordar a colega de quarto, então apanhou o transmissor e acendeu sua lanterna. Na tela do aparelho, viu que ainda era madrugada. Passou as pernas pela beira da cama e encaixou os pés em suas pantufas felpudas, da mesma cor lilás que a camisola. 

Ao levantar-se, Araminta já sabia aonde queria ir. A torre da Casa de Jafar tinha uma visão privilegiada da Floresta Assombrada, majestosa à distância. Porém, como o anel amaldiçoado, o arvoredo agora exalava uma energia quase proibida; Araminta sentiu que, se a olhasse por mais tempo, seria sugada de volta para o sonho.

Balançou a cabeça, afastando a ideia. Um pesadelo, nada mais. 

Quando enfim conseguira pegar no sono mais uma vez, o céu já tomava a cor alaranjada do início da manhã. Ela acordou com o barulho do despertador, sem um resquício sequer de descanso. Quando estava prestes a sair para o café da manhã, olhou para a janela uma última vez e, dela, voltou a avistar a floresta. Não havia maneira racional de explicar o incômodo em seu estômago ao lembrar-se daquela voz, e depois de desaparecimentos, maldições e ogros, Araminta finalmente o sentia: o pressentimento de que o que estava por vir era maior do que qualquer um deles.

●●●

Pelas noites que se seguiram, Araminta sonhou a mesma coisa. Certa madrugada acordara aos berros, para o espanto de Anette. Não era somente nos sonhos que os terrores a perseguiam, no entanto; pegara-se escutando a mesma voz durante o dia, nas aulas, no ateliê de costura, na biblioteca. Hospedara-se em sua consciência como um inquilino indesejado. Ainda assim, ela recusava-se a atender o chamado. Estava mesmo disposta a arriscar-se na Floresta Assombrada por um problema que não era seu? Ora, a responsabilidade de salvar os desaparecidos era de Merlin, não dela. Seus poderes eram ótimos para espionagem, mas não tanto para combate — como bem percebera no dia do jogo —, ao menos não enquanto não tivesse maior soberania sobre eles. Também duvidava que o que a aguardava na floresta fosse sequer derrotável, afinal, se sua teoria estivesse correta, era o mesmo indivíduo (ou indivíduos) que sabotavam o diretor do instituto desde o início do ano. Além disso, haviam as criaturas mágicas que habitavam a floresta, motivo para ser assombrada. Ninguém sabia exatamente o que morava ali, e era mais seguro dessa forma.

“Pensou sobre o que conversamos?” Ela escutou Hugo perguntá-la, retirando-a de seu devaneio. Estavam juntos no refeitório para o almoço e, apesar de estar ali há uns minutos, o prato em frente a Araminta continuava intacto. Ela ergueu o olhar e encontrou-o com o do amigo, que a encarava em antecipação.

“Ainda não.” Respondeu Araminta, frouxamente. Vozes e pesadelos à parte, aquele era um assunto que exigia mais que apenas uma semana para decidir-se sobre.

“Tudo bem, não precisa tomar uma decisão agora. Só quero que considere.”

Ela esteve considerando. A proposta ecoava em seus ouvidos como quando inicialmente a recebera, na semana anterior. Havia visitado o dormitório do amigo quando Qi Liang não estava presente, pois era ele o tópico em questão que desejava discutir, porém, a conversa tomou outro rumo quando Hugo mencionara o que se passava entre a realeza de Asablanca; Estrela havia retornado e estava em Aether. Apesar da realidade do outro ser distante da sua, Araminta sempre dispunha-se a dá-lo apoio e aconselhá-lo quanto às intrigas reais e familiares (destas, conhecia muito bem). Não era tão boa oferecendo suporte emocional como era bolando estratégias e resoluções objetivas, o que funcionava perfeitamente para Hugo, que, tal como ela, era melhor lidando com as situações de forma direta do que emotiva.

“Quando tudo isso acabar e eu tomar minha coroa de volta,” Disse ele, enquanto os dois estavam sentados à beira de sua cama. Araminta espectava-o com interesse; Hugo descansava as mãos sobre o próprio colo, entrelaçadas uma à outra. “precisarei de um conselheiro de confiança ao meu lado. Alguém que não esteja atrelado aos jogos políticos da realeza.” Araminta assentiu. Fazia sentido que o amigo ponderasse mudanças na corte, visto que, após seu próprio pai mostrar-se favorável a um golpe de estado contra ele, confiança não era mais uma garantia entre os moradores e funcionários do palácio. Contudo, ela falhara em compreender a verdadeira intenção que havia naquelas palavras. Hugo ergueu a cabeça e, neste momento, ela viu algo diferente em sua expressão. Os olhos acastanhados do príncipe miraram-na com um pedido não-dito. “Alguém que me conheça tão bem quanto eu o conheço.”

Precisara de alguns instantes para entender o que ele estava a oferecendo. A questão não era Araminta perceber-se inapta para o cargo: com a sincronia que ela e Hugo possuíam, trabalhar juntos fluiria naturalmente. Um rei havia de ser um exemplo para seu povo, mas o mesmo não precisava ser dito sobre seu conselheiro, que era, em seu melhor sentido, uma sombra. A mão direita que auxiliava, mas jamais usurpava-o de seu protagonismo. Era uma oportunidade de recomeço, sem os estigmas que a rodeavam em Aether ou em sua terra natal. Teria a carreira bem-sucedida que tanto almejava, daria à mãe a vida que sempre quis entregá-la, conquistaria seu conto ao lado do melhor amigo. Aquele pedido significava mais para Araminta do que Hugo provavelmente sabia, e, mesmo assim, também causava-lhe total indecisão. Porque a De Vil havia passado tantos anos convencendo-se de que seu destino era o de uma vilã, para obter vingança sobre as injustiças que os ditos heróis cometeram contra ela e a mãe, que o repentino pensamento de que poderia ir além era como um puxão de tapete.

Quando concorrera à presidência do Grêmio Estudantil, Araminta escolheu o lema de sua chapa por um motivo. Homo est architectus suae sorte. “O homem é o arquiteto de seu próprio destino”. Acreditava nele tanto quanto acreditava que o mundo não era feito apenas de heróis e vilões. Pretendia transformar Dillamond em um espaço igualitário, em que os descendentes fossem ouvidos e considerados independente das origens de seus pais; julgados por quem eram, e não por sua afiliação. Arquitetos de seus destinos. Por que, então, a vilania era o único destino que enxergava para si mesma?

Aquela conversa a orbitara mesmo após sair do dormitório do amigo, e orbitava-a também naquele momento, sentada de frente para ele, no refeitório. Continuou a fazê-lo até quando retirou-se para a própria Casa, e a quietude do quarto vazio recordou-a da voz dos pesadelos.

Venha até mim… 

O que você quer? Araminta perguntou a si mesma. Era fama? Glória? Poder? Novamente, caminhou até a janela ao lado de sua cama, de onde a vista para a Floresta Assombrada quase fazia-a esquecer dos males que ela abrigava. Era o retorno de seus colegas? A segurança de Aether?

Venha até mim…

Em um futuro não muito distante, Araminta olharia para si mesma e apontaria o quão estúpida havia sido. Não era nenhuma heroína, muito menos uma aventureira e, pior ainda, não havia nada em seu âmago que a impulsionasse ao altruísmo. Contudo, havia um formigamento dentro de si mesma que a fazia pensar que ir à floresta era uma boa ideia, como se ela pudesse dar-lhe as respostas que queria. E como fora burra de cair naquela armadilha.

“Tá bem. Eu vou até você.”

PARTE III: VERDADEIRA FORMA.

Ir para a floresta no meio da madrugada sem qualquer preparo era, obviamente, uma ideia estúpida. Por isso, Araminta decidira ir não como si mesma, mas como outra coisa. Podia dar uma olhada no local, descobrir de onde vinha a voz e obter as informações que precisava sobre os colegas desaparecidos sem sequer colocar-se em perigo. Caso algo inesperado acontecesse, bastava voltar ao próprio corpo dentro do dormitório. Quanto ao animal que receberia sua consciência, ela já havia o escolhido; o falcão em que entrara no ataque fora adotado por Draco e, desde então, tinha até ganhado um nome: Rapina. De pernas cruzadas, Araminta se acomodou por cima da cama, deixando a consciência fluir para onde ela deveria ir. Caso estivesse acordada, Anette veria os olhos da amiga tornarem-se completamente brancos enquanto sua mente escapava do corpo e vagava pelos terrenos de Dillamond. 

A presença de Rapina na Anilen foi sentida por Araminta, e a ave não hesitou em dar-lhe permissão. De repente, enxergava pelos olhos atentos do animal, empoleirado ao lado da cama de um Draco adormecido. Aproveitando-se da janela do quarto aberta, ela voou para fora da Casa da Árvore e seguiu floresta adentro. 

Venha até mim... 

Desta vez, a voz não mais parecia vir da floresta como um todo. Possuía uma origem, que estava mais e mais próxima, à medida que aprofundava-se na mata. Esquadrinhou os espaços entre as árvores, os galhos dos quais outras aves a observavam, clareiras que recebiam um pouco mais da luz da lua que o restante sombrio do bosque. Finalmente, a voz ecoou de novo, e Araminta conseguiu detectar de onde vinha. Mergulhou e pousou em um galho baixo, de onde via a entrada de uma pequena gruta, embora o que havia dentro estivesse completamente tomado pelas sombras. A rocha, ela percebera, estava cercada por uma névoa espessa, tal como boa parte daquele lado da floresta.

“Você se acha tão inteligente.” Algo — que não soava como a voz de seus pesadelos — dentro da gruta falou, fazendo as penas de Rapina se eriçarem. Araminta permaneceu imóvel e em silêncio. Estava falando com ela? Como se a respondesse, a voz afirmou: “Sim, estou falando com você. Não pode me enganar, mas se veio aqui no corpo de outro animal pensando que o faria, não merece minha atenção.” A aprendiz soube, então, que o discurso era diretamente dirigido a ela. As garras apertaram e soltaram o galho, inquietas. Sentia-se exposta, como se houvesse sido pega fazendo algo de errado. “Vá, e retorne apenas quando estiver em sua verdadeira forma. Assim, responderei suas perguntas.” Anunciou. Araminta demorou alguns instantes, mas enfim obedeceu à voz e alçou voo para longe da floresta.

Após deixar Rapina em segurança no dormitório de Draco, que continuava a dormir, ela encontrou-se de volta em seu corpo, sentado na cama. Anette, também adormecida, não notara sua saída. Inspirou fundo e deixou que o cansaço a tomasse — não estava acostumada a percorrer distâncias tão grandes no corpo de um animal e, agora que havia retornado, sentia-se exaurida. O cansaço, entretanto, não era o mesmo que sono, pois mesmo depois de deitar-se e enfiar-se por baixo das cobertas, o que a criatura na gruta a dissera não a permitia descansar. Havia um desafio ali. Araminta De Vil, que os adorava — e odiava ser subestimada —, o aceitaria.

Na noite seguinte, preparou-se para ir à floresta como si mesma. O transmissor estava completamente carregado, guardado no bolso da calça moletom que tinha esquecido possuir. Os usuais vestidos longos e glamurosos pouco combinavam com uma aventura no bosque, então foram substituídos por roupas mais práticas, assim como os saltos (que, graças ao tornozelo torcido, fora proibida de usar por uma semana) por tênis. Foi quando tirou as roupas do armário que encarou seu fundo falso, escondendo o que ela falhara em desvendar. Mesmo sob a madeira, a aura angustiante do anel perdurava, mas, naquele momento, havia algo distinto. Sua intuição pedia para que o levasse consigo. Araminta olhou por cima do ombro, para certificar-se que não despertara a colega de quarto, antes de cuidadosamente erguer o fundo de madeira e retirar a caixa do objeto. Pegou uma de suas bolsas transversais, jogou a caixinha dentro e saiu dos dormitórios das Imre.

Rapina guiou-a pela mata, pelo mesmo caminho que seguiram na noite anterior, enquanto a lanterna do transmissor da aprendiz o iluminava. A caminhada era muito mais longa do que o voo, mas, com o animal, sentia-se mais protegida ao atravessar o lado obscuro da floresta. Quando outra vez a gruta revelou-se para ela, Araminta hesitou em se aproximar. A névoa cobria-lhe até o meio da canela, mesmo a uma distância segura da entrada, e a escuridão não permitia-lhe ver nada do que havia além dela. Rapina empoleirou-se no galho de uma árvore próxima, assistindo à cena em vigilância. Apontando a luz do transmissor para a caverna, a jovem proclamou:

“Estou aqui. Em minha verdadeira forma, como você pediu.”

Por alguns segundos, o silêncio. Começava a arrepender-se de aparecer ali sem saber o que estava enfrentando, mas então, uma voz. A voz.

“Muito bem. Você tem coragem, isso preciso admitir, Srta. De Vil.”

A maneira como ela enunciara seu sobrenome deixou Araminta enojada. Soava debochado, ofensivo, assim como quando a chamara de inteligente na noite passada. A aprendiz engoliu em seco e perguntou:

“Não vai aparecer? Eu te mostrei minha verdadeira forma, devia me mostrar a sua também.”

Era ousado de sua parte, fazer exigências a uma criatura desconhecida da floresta, porém, a pergunta funcionara. Das sombras da gruta, uma figura semi-humanóide saiu, expondo-se à lanterna do transmissor. Pela aparência, parecia ser um pouco mais alta que ela; era coberta por pelos e tinha olhos fundos e amarelos, que brilhavam diante da luz artificial. Araminta reparou que, embora possuísse pernas longas, a criatura andava sobre quatro patas. As orelhas grandes e a mandíbula para a frente compunham um rosto que, apesar de apresentar traços humanos, era predominantemente animalesco.

“Você é um…”

“Macaco, sim, todos dizem isso.” A criatura a interrompeu. Ela sentou-se em uma rocha, um pouco mais próxima da aprendiz, que em retorno deu alguns passos para trás. “Mas esperava que alguém como você talvez pudesse me conhecer.”

“Alguém como eu?” Araminta questionou, confusa. Um aprendiz de Merlin? Ou alguém com uma conexão com os animais? Seus olhos se apertaram enquanto ela tentava entender o que aquilo significava. Foi assim que um lampejo de memória trouxe a lembrança de uma aula de Criaturas Mágicas, em seus primeiros anos em Aether. O professor havia requisitado que produzissem um trabalho escrito sobre uma criatura originária de suas culturas, mas Araminta, que não possuía tanto contato com a magia em sua terra natal como no instituto, não conhecia muitas criaturas de seu reino. Procurara, portanto, por criaturas do reino de origem de seus ancestrais, uma herança que perdera-se entre as gerações dos De Vil. Quando Cruella nascera, sua família já havia, há muito tempo, abandonado o lugar. A criatura que escolhera era um demônio das montanhas que tomava a forma de um homem-macaco, e cujas habilidades telepáticas eram usadas para atormentar suas vítimas. As lendas afirmavam que, antes de devorá-las, as perturbavam com seus próprios pensamentos, até que estivessem tão emocionalmente fragilizadas que sequer lutariam contra. “Você é um no-ang-seol.” Disse, por fim.

“No-ang-seol. Satori. Yamabiko. Já fui chamado de muitas coisas.” O homem-macaco retrucou. Parecia satisfeito por ter sido reconhecido.

“Pensei que sua espécie habitava montanhas, em reinos bem distantes daqui. O que faz nesta floresta?”

“Poderia perguntar-lhe o mesmo, não? Embora, para esta pergunta, eu já saiba a resposta. Pessoas vão a muitos lugares por muitos motivos, Srta. De Vil, não acho que preciso explicá-la isso.”

Aquilo confirmou o que Araminta temia: ele já estava em sua mente. Assim que este pensamento a ocorrera, o no-ang-seol exibiu um pequeno sorriso. Mesmo aquele pequeno raciocínio fora ouvido.

“Foi você quem…”

“Não, não fui eu quem raptei aquelas crianças, nem quem a chamou aqui, a propósito.” Ele a cortou outra vez, não permitindo que terminasse sua frase. Era o principal comportamento descrito nas lendas do no-ang-seol: falar em voz alta os pensamentos de suas vítimas antes que elas mesmas pudessem colocá-los para fora.

“Então quem foi?” O tom seco não passava de uma tentativa de parecer firme, que, considerando os poderes da criatura, não era de serventia alguma. Sabia que estava nervosa, que sentia-se insegura, que queria ir embora antes que ela achasse coisas em sua mente que deveriam continuar escondidas.

“Por que precisa saber?” A pergunta foi seguida de silêncio. O no-ang-seol pendeu a cabeça para o lado, como se a estudasse. Araminta entendeu o que estava acontecendo, e suas entranhas gelaram tal como fizeram em seu sonho. “Ah, entendo. Você veio para salvá-los. Não por vontade, é claro, por mais que... Marzia, sua amiga, sim? Está entre os desaparecidos. Mas esta não é sua preocupação...  Você está preocupada com os que ainda estão no castelo. Tem medo de perdê-los. Ora, sempre achou que os abandonaria primeiro, não podem fazer isso com você.”

A mandíbula de Araminta travou. Aquela era uma ideia que jamais havia compartilhado com outro alguém, pois custava-lhe admitir que receava a partida de seus amigos. Estando em seu último ano, sempre imaginara a si mesma deixando-os primeiro; aos mais novos, cederia seus conselhos de como sobreviver ao instituto pelos anos seguintes, e aos colegas de sua idade, prometeria mensagens e visitas que gradualmente viriam a ser mais espaçadas, até que deixassem de existir por completo. Uma separação lenta e indolor. Não poderiam continuar amigos, afinal, não quando De Vil era tomada por manias de grandeza, não quando sentia-se tão diminuta que precisava fingir ser grandiosa para abafar o sentimento. Contudo, se a deixassem primeiro, o coração já pequeno certamente murcharia com a perda fora de seus termos, tão frustrado ficaria com ser o que mais sentia. Sentir era um quesito problemático para alguém que tanto se esforçava para criar uma caricatura de si mesma.

“Pare.” Ela demandou. “Não vim aqui para uma sessão de terapia, vim para obter respostas. As que você me prometeu.”

O homem-macaco não parecia surpreso — não poderia estar, afinal —, mas os olhos amarelados ainda fitaram-na com curiosidade.

“Nós nem sempre conseguimos o que queremos, Srta. De Vil, você sabe disso. Mas por que a ideia de que leiam sua mente tanto a perturba? Sente-se invadida? Violada? Ou é porque não quer encarar o que há dentro dela?” Araminta não precisou verbalizar uma resposta para que o no-ang-seol a obtesse. “Ah, sim, eu os vejo. Todos eles. Seus fantasmas.” 

Em algumas histórias sobre o no-ang-seol, associavam-no também ao dom de emular vozes humanas. Araminta não recordava-se deste detalhe até, para o seu horror, escutar a voz da própria mãe sair da boca da criatura.

“Aquela que admira.” O sotaque britânico de Cruella ressoou, a imagem da criatura a usá-lo perturbadora demais para que a jovem impedisse o rosto de torcer-se em uma careta. “Aquelas que quer proteger.” Outra voz — duas, na realidade. Reconhecia os timbres doces de Delilah e Meili, juntos aos sotaques facilmente distinguíveis um do outro. “Aqueles em quem confia.” Desta vez, vozes masculinas. O no-ang-seol imitou Draco e Hugo. “Aquela que inveja.” Autumn. A percepção de quem era a dona daquela voz feriu-lhe o orgulho, mas não mais do que o que veio em seguida: “Aquele que ama.” Disse a criatura, na voz de Qi Liang. “Aquela que teme mais que qualquer outro.” Algo dentro de Araminta pesou quando ela percebeu que a última voz pertencia a si mesma. “Sim, no fim tudo se resume a isso, não é? Medo. Você prefere tornar-se a vilã de sua própria história do que aventurar-se no desconhecido, de tentar e falhar. Falha. Insuficiência. Indigna de atenção, indigna de felicidade, indigna de amor. As coisas sempre ficam pela metade com você, não ficam, Srta. De Vil? Você se convence do que deseja, de que só precisa de si mesma, mas, no fim, conhece a verdade. Você teme a solidão.” 

A palavra prolongou-se mesmo após partir da boca do demônio. Sim, no fim, tudo resumia-se àquilo. Solidão, o medo de terminar sozinha. A certeza de que não era o suficiente para que alguém ficasse. Era melhor que abandonasse primeiro, assim não teria de lidar com a eventual ida — porque ela viria, sim, ela sempre vinha, todos os seus relacionamentos tinham um prazo de validade. Os que criam em suas qualidades se desencantariam quando os defeitos as abocanhassem, tal como o mundo fazia com os ingênuos, enquanto os que permaneciam ao seu lado pelo alinhamento em comum se afastariam, ambos absortos demais no próprio egoísmo para zelar por uma amizade que não ofereceria uma moeda de troca.

O no-ang-seol levantou-se da rocha e aproximou-se da aprendiz, mas ela não recuou. Como no sonho, estava paralisada. Pensar aquelas coisas e ouvi-las em voz alta causavam sensações distintas. Tornavam-nas reais. Tudo do qual havia fugido nos últimos dias, ocupando-se com tarefas sem fim, procurando pelo que a distraísse de si mesma, agora era jogado em sua face num só sopro.

“Sua mãe a ama, claro que sim, mas não é o bastante. Ainda que também a ame, há um peso. Você sente que cuida dela mais do que ela o faz por você. Seus amigos a amam, mas até quando? Uma vez que pisar seus pés no mundo afora, não haverá escapatória. Para sobreviver, precisará de um conto, e você sempre acreditou na sobrevivência do mais apto, não é?” Araminta permaneceu silenciosa. Lembrou-se da conversa que tivera com Delilah na noite do Calanmai. Do quão dura fora com a amiga, dizendo-a para criar coragem e aprender a lidar com confrontos, como se fosse simples daquele jeito. Era a criação que Cruella havia dado: amor bruto, o único que conhecera antes de Aether e também o único que sabia dar. “Não há amor para vilões que não venha de seus próprios filhos, Srta. De Vil, pois eles são ensinados a isso. E assim você se tornará como sua mãe, sozinha, amarga, assistindo ao mundo lá fora pela janela. Eternidade, mas a que custo?”

Um custo alto demais.

“Você não sabe nada sobre mim.” Havia um resquício de firmeza nos olhos de Araminta, que, apesar de marejados, miravam a criatura fulminantemente. Ela, por outro lado, pouco aparentava se importar com as promessas vazias de valentia. Assim, deu mais um passo.

“Pelo contrário, logo eu saberei tudo. As coisas boas, as ruins, seu passado, seu presente e até mesmo seu futuro. E você desejará que eu as tome, sim, porque assim não precisará lidar com a possibilidade de um erro.”

Erro. Ali estava a palavra que andara procurando. Ultimamente, Araminta sentia estar andando em direção ao erro. Deixara-se amolecer, importar com o bem estar além do próprio. Tornara-se uma confidente, uma conselheira, alguém a quem os amigos recorriam quando estavam com problemas, e embora não soubesse demonstrá-los sua preocupação da forma correta, ela estava lá: na grosseria de seus conselhos, nos abraços pouco dados, nos pequenos gestos de carinho, no amor bruto. 

Porém, mais que isso, Araminta tornara-se uma protetora. As adversidades dos últimos meses revelaram seu lado defensor, aquele que faria o possível e impossível pelos amigos, até colocar a própria segurança em risco. Seu senso de autopreservação dera lugar à empatia e o cuidado, dois elementos tremendamente inconstantes e, por isso, perigosos, pois inconstâncias eram a chave para o erro. Por catorze anos, Cruella a alertara sobre deixar que outros se aproximassem, para não confiar em qualquer pessoa além de si mesma; se não fossem obstáculos, seriam traidores, que lhe passariam a perna na primeira oportunidade. Fora ensinada a viver a vida como jogava uma partida de xadrez, manipulando os outros como peças, estudando que jogada seria a mais vantajosa e pondo seus peões para conquistá-la a vitória. Meios para um fim que beneficiaria somente a ela. No entanto, desde o desaparecimento de Jason Bee, ela não mais sentia-se como uma jogadora. A partida continuava a acontecer à sua frente, mas as peças moviam-se sem sua permissão, caminhando para um xeque-mate cada vez mais próximo. Estava perdendo o controle, de si mesma e dos outros. Desde quando arriscava-se para salvar a vida alheia? E desde quando arriscavam as suas por ela? Quando dera a permissão para que a enxergassem como algo além da mulher vil, traiçoeira e individualista que era?

Mas, quanto mais pensava sobre ela, menos certeza tinha de que queria sê-la. Certa vez dissera a Melena que não nascera má, mas se era tratada como um desastre prestes a acontecer, tornava-se questão de tempo até que ela mesma acreditasse nisso. Enquanto Araminta jamais deixaria seus impulsos de lado, fazer o mal por puro prazer não era um objetivo. Podia debochar, fazer comentários sarcásticos, espionar e chantagear, mas, em seu cerne, a verdade era que ansiava pela tranquilidade. Pelo direito da própria escolha, fosse esta ser uma vilã, uma heroína ou nenhum dos dois. Pela felicidade da mãe, pelas atividades que gostava, pelas pessoas que prezava. Simples, como tanto queria que aquela situação fosse. Simples, como nada nunca fora para ela.

O no-ang-seol deu mais um passo à frente, atento à expressão alheia.

Este fora o verdadeiro erro de Araminta De Vil. Não abrir-se para os próprios sentimentos, mas sim acreditar que tinha algum controle sobre os outros — sobre si mesma —, porque, por mais que desejasse, sua vida não era um tabuleiro de xadrez. Não haviam peças pretas ou brancas, nem poderia ela movimentá-las como e quando quisesse sem que as mesmas protestassem. Eram arquitetas do próprio destino, tal como ela. E a falha aconteceria, ela sempre aconteceria, mas não era sinônimo de tudo perdido. Com as falhas, aprenderia como seguir adiante, e ao lado dos que pela aprendiz velavam, jamais estaria desamparada. Não precisava colocar-se em uma caixa, tinha a eternidade inteira para compreender o que era. Se quisesse sentir, que sentisse. Se fosse egoísta, que fosse. Tons de cinza eram muito mais interessantes do que duas só cores.

O erro do no-ang-seol, entretanto, fora pensar que a domaria tão fácil.

Outro detalhe sobre as lendas do demônio era que, para derrotá-lo, sua vítima teria que esvaziar a mente por completo. Se ele não pudesse lê-la, não havia como atormentá-la, e assim tornava-se tão aborrecido pela astúcia alheia que perdia suas forças. Ao gradualmente recobrar suas emoções, Araminta lembrou desse detalhe; porém, esvaziar a mente parecia, para ela, inconcebível. Como poderia esvaziar o que nunca estava vazio? Sua cabeça era uma confusão de ideias e possibilidades, vontades que não cessavam, frases embaralhadas e uma sobre a outra. Se mente vazia fosse mesmo oficina do diabo, seu sobrenome não seria De Vil.

Cogitara clamar pelo auxílio de Rapina, ou qualquer outro animal que a ouvisse naquela floresta, todavia, o plano não funcionaria; a criatura leria seus pensamentos assim que os tivesse e desviaria do ataque. Investir contra ele também não adiantaria — além de ele prever seus movimentos, Araminta não era dotada de muita força física. Se ao menos conseguisse distraí-lo por tempo o suficiente... 

A mesma sensação desconfortante que sentira no dormitório se fez presente. Não, não a de quando olhara pela janela — a de quando abrira o armário para pegar suas roupas, antes de ir à floresta. A que sentia desde a Ilha dos Prazeres, quando tomou posse do anel da barraca de tiro ao alvo. O anel. Em sua bolsa, ele emanava uma energia magnética, ordenando que o pegasse, e, neste momento, Araminta percebeu que havia mais de uma maneira de derrotar o demônio.

Ora, se não podia esvaziar a mente, que a inundasse.

O anel. O anel. O anel. O anel. Repetia de novo e de novo, afogando seus pensamentos, acobertando-os para que a criatura não conseguisse lê-los. Com o barulho em sua cabeça, não haveria como concentrar-se em qualquer coisa que não o objeto amaldiçoado.

“Anel?” O homem-macaco indagou, mais para si mesmo do que para a aprendiz. Araminta olhou de relance para a bolsa transversal. A isca estava plantada. 

Bem, se curiosidade havia matado o gato, talvez também matasse um macaco. 

“O que é esse anel?”

“Nada. É da minha conta, não sua.” O no-ang-seol soltou uma risada de escárnio.

“Você ainda tem coragem. Não desiste fácil. É admirável. Gosto quando minhas presas tentam revidar.”

Ela não teve tempo para reagir: num piscar de olhos, a criatura atirou-se nela e arrancou-lhe a bolsa, com uma violência surpreendente em comparação ao quão retida estivera até então. Araminta tinha uma janela de meros segundos para enganá-la. Rapina estava a postos e, quando ela pediu por sua ajuda, desceu diretamente no no-ang-seol, enfiando-lhe as garras nos olhos e rasgando-lhe o rosto. A criatura urrou de dor, e a bolsa com a caixa do anel caiu ao seu lado. Araminta apanhou um galho solto, correu até o demônio e, assim que a ave dera-lhe espaço, empurrou o pedaço de madeira contra o pescoço dele, imobilizando-o no chão.

“Me diga o que sabe sobre os aprendizes desaparecidos. Agora!” Exigiu entre os dentes. O no-ang-seol, com a visão prejudicada pelo falcão, inicialmente pareceu perdido. Então, entre a tosse e a falta de ar, um sorriso presunçoso ergueu-se nas pontas de seus lábios, enquanto ele esforçava-se para soltar uma risada.

“Tão corajosa. Tão altruísta. Para uma futura vilã, me parece que você foi contaminada pela bondade de seus colegas. Tem certeza que é este seu destino, Araminta?”

Pela primeira vez a criatura tratou-lhe por seu primeiro nome, como se fossem iguais. A segunda risada, todavia, veio de Araminta.

“Não sei. Nunca gostei de rótulos mesmo.” 

PARTE IV: RUMO.

Araminta fitou a si mesma no espelho do banheiro. Havia sobrevivido à Floresta Assombrada sem um arranhão sequer, mas, mesmo assim, estava exausta. O transe do no-ang-seol esgotara grande parte de suas energias e o uso dos poderes para ir e voltar com Rapina terminara o trabalho, além do esforço demasiado para quem não havia recuperado-se completamente do ataque dos ogros. A figura no reflexo, geralmente bem tratada e elegante, agora só mostrava sua necessidade gritante de cair na própria cama: as olheiras, roxas e fundas, destacavam-se na pele clara; os olhos, pequenos e redondinhos, estavam tingidos do vermelho de noites mal dormidas. Desviou o olhar de si mesma para baixo, para a caixinha que segurava em sua mão, emanando sua aura inusual, porém, que não mais a incomodava.

“Ainda não sei o que você faz, mas me salvou de ser engolida por um macaco hoje.” Murmurou para a caixa, que guardou no bolso da calça. O objeto pareceu querer ajudá-la naquela noite, o que não fazia sentido algum, afinal, objetos não queriam nada. Contudo, deixara de vê-lo como um mau agouro para considerá-lo uma espécie de amuleto da sorte. Talvez, quando descobrisse suas origens, também entendesse o que havia acontecido.

Traumas emocionais, macacos demoníacos das montanhas e anéis amaldiçoados de lado, Araminta havia, enfim, encontrado algo novo para ocupá-la: primeiro, tinha uma pista a decifrar. Depois, um mistério a resolver. E, por último, uma conversa com Hugo sobre as condições de sua proposta.

[mattetuss]

Ansiktskroki

Syfte: Vi skulle göra ansiktskroki. Måla av den personen som satt mittemot i lite olika poser på bestämd tid. 

Metod: Vi fick ett stort papper att måla alla ansiktena på och även två pennor i olika hårdhet. Vi skulle inte sudda, utan bara teckna ner ansiktets olika proportioner snabbt/på tid för att öva oss. Vi hade sidoljus/släpljus i klassrummet.

Resultat: Jag tyckte det var ganska svårt och tycker inte riktigt att jag fick till ansiktsformen, den blev lite lång. Tiden sprang även iväg när man tecknade så första blev inte mer än en oval. Men det blev väl lite bättre, vi fick även lite mer tid på den sista. Men det var väl ändå bra att testa och öva. Det svåra var att få till ansiktsuttryck, sista skulle vi ju teckna ett leende. Det tyckte jag var svårt, ansiktet ser liksom inte riktigt ut att hänga ihop. Jag tycker inte ögonen ger en känsla av att personen som ler. (Det var även ganska jobbigt att sitta och le i tre minuter mot personen som tecknade). Tror nog även att jag gör ögonen lite stora, är mer van vid tecknade gubbar och inte så verklighetstroget. Sedan hade jag nog även behövt göra själva ansiktena lite större, men envisades med att göra dom små, trots att jag hade hela papperet rita på. Ändå en början. 

[duckymcdoorknob]

Fishtail

Warning! This is a tickle fic!

Ships: None

Warnings: tickles

The Breakdown: Lee Kaminari and Ler Kirishima

Prompt: Denki learned how to make fishtail bracelets. Kirishima finds this to be cool as hell. So, he finds Kami some other things to work with. After making one out of Kirishima’s workout jump ropes, the spiky haired hero can’t help but get his revenge

Denki Kaminari squealed to himself as he pulled a completed fishtail bracelet off of his rubber band loom. He put a plastic clip on it and practically shoved it on his wrist. He was proud.

The electric hero strode into the common room, displaying his yellow and black bracelet proudly.

“Dude! That’s so cool! The colors are awesome!” Kirishima cooed, lifting Kaminari’s wrist to examine it.

“Thanks! It is pretty useful though.” Denki chimed, “Because now I can make fishtails out of anything stretchy and oval shaped.”

Kirishima gasped in amusement, rushing to the kitchen to grab six large rubber bands. He returned and shoved them into Kami’s hands, the spiky haired boy’s eyes sparkling.

Denki chuckled and created a large fishtail bracelet on his fingers. He held it up with a goofy grin, “see?”

“Anything?”

“Anything!”

Kirishima made it a personal mission to sprint around the dorms, grabbing six of each item he found. He so far had collected six scrunches, six standard hair ties, six old socks he cut holes into, six rubber bracelets and six of his bandanas. He bounded back into the common area, expecting to find the blonde happily waiting for him.

Denki however made his way to Kirishima’s dorm, expecting to find the redhead there. Before returning to the common room, he eyed multiple jump ropes. Their ends were clicked together and hanging on the wall. Denki’s smirk grew devilish, he knew what he had to do.

Kirishima finally saw Kami, sitting on the floor of his dorm room, making a fishtail out of the jump ropes.

“Denkiiiii!” Kirishima whined, “I gotta use those laterrrrr.”

The blonde jumped with a gasp.

Busted.

“W-W-Uh I-Uh-“ he stammered, shoving the bundle behind his back.

“How dare you!” Kirishima said with fake offense, “I should weave you into one of those damn things!”

“Wait that would be kind of fun. See if you can do it.” Denki chimed with a goofy grin.

Kirishima laughed as Denki held his arms in a hoop shape, pulling the two ropes over them.

“Cooooooool!” Both boys cooed.

“Are you idiots serious? How’s he supposed to get out of that?” Bakugo’s monotoned voice sounded from the open door.

“Easy. I just un-“ Denki attempted to move his arms apart. He could not, “son of a bitch.”

Bakugo scoffed, “fucking idiot.” he couldn’t help to cover his mouth and muffle his laughter as Denki sat down on Kirishima’s bed, still fighting the ropes around his arms.

“Shut up Bakugo! I’ll rgh- give you something ngh- to laugh about!” Denki spat as he fought to release his arms.

A devilish glint lit up Kirishima’s eye. In a quick movement, he pulled Denki’s arms under his legs and behind his back.

“H-hey! What gives, asshole?!” Denki barked as he wriggled his shoulders.

“This is punishment for turning my jump ropes into a knot!” Kirishima barked as he pushed the boy over and straddled his hips.

“NO! NO WAY!” Kami was begging in vain. He wriggled and writhed but no avail.

The blonde’s breath hitched as he felt two fingers jab both of his sides. The jabs continued, slow paced and agonizing. Denki vibrated under the touches and grunted strainingly.

“Hold it in all you want. I’m happy to keep you here for hours.” Kirishima cooed in a soft voice.

Denki squeezed his eyes shut, his lips curling into a teeth-gritted smile. Kirishima had just switched his light prods to full hand squeezes. They were slow, but frequent enough to be effective.

“Christ Kirishima. You’d think you’re torturing him.” Bakugo voice sounded again. The latter could hear the pleasure in his voice. Denki was too busy focusing on keeping his composure to know he was there.

Bakugo was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, wearing a long sleeved shirt, sweatpants and a look of amusement.

“Oh right you’re still here.” Kirishima said softly. His torturous movements still didn’t break the boy beneath him, so he moved to ever so slowly squeeze a hand on the boy’s stomach. “C’mon Denks! Let it out!”

Denki bit his lip as soft snickers bubbled up in his throat.

“Yes there it is! Let me hear it.” Kirishima demanded.

The boy beneath him shook his head and hid his face. He could do this! If he didn’t laugh, Kirishima would stop! Right? He just had to hold out a little lon-

“Kihihihihirihihi! Stahahahappihihihit!” Denki erupted into giggles as the spiky haired hero squeezed much faster.

So much for that plan.

“FINALLY.” Kirishima said in exasperation.

Denki wiggled as he giggled uncontrollably. The ropes showed no sign of- WAIT! They’re coming loose! He carefully maneuvered his arms in fear of snapping the ropes. YES! He was free now!

Kirishima noticed the boy had wriggled free as two palms pushed against his face.

“Hey you’re free! Don’t worry buddy, I’ll hold your hands for you. I know the girls have been giving you a hard time.” Kirishima cooed with a playful tone, pinning Kaminari’s wrists above him.

A huge red blush crept to the blonde’s cheeks, “Kihihihihirihihihi! Sohohohoho embahahahrahahassihihihinghehe!”

Kirishima smiled brightly and moved a torturous hand up to spider under the blonde’s right arm.

Well shit.

“WAAA-HAHAHAHAHIHIHIHIT!! KIHIHIHIHIRIHIHIHI!” Denki bucked his hips in an attempt to free himself.

“Yes?” Kirishima purred. He was enjoying every minute of this.

“QUIHIHIHIT IHIHIHIHIT!” Poor Kaminari gave up on trying to fight, instead he simply gave up and let his laughter loose.

“Awww you’re not gonna fight me anymore? No fun! What if I moved spots? Would you like that? Or do you want to just sit here and take it? Because God knows you aren’t going to push me off.” Kirishima teased.

“Jesus, Kirishima.” Bakugo had a slight grin with furrowed brows, “you’re gonna kill him dude.”

“Nah, I’ll just bring him an inch away from death.”

Lazy laughter, miscellaneous pleads and multiple “sorry”s, leaked out of Denki’s lips as Kirishima switched between both of his underarms. The boy kicked his legs in response to the absolute agony.

Kirishima ceased his attack. “You gonna help me untie my ropes buddy?”

“YES! I WILL!” Denki screeched, trying to push his arms up.

“Hmm. I don’t believe you. Well since you gave me these, I’ll give them some attention. That’s what you want right?” Kirishima said as he let a hand down to squeeze the boy’s knee.

“HRGNH- NONONONONONONO! IM TELLIN THE TRUTH!”

“Nope. Don’t believe you.” Kirishima said as he turned himself around.

“KIRISHIMA NO!” Denki cried with a fearful grin, sitting up to shake Kirishima’s shoulders.

“KIRISHIMA YES!” The redhead yelled at the same volume. He began to squeeze and knead at the helpless boy’s left knee.

Denki threw his head back and screamed. His laughter was deep and free. It dumped from his chest uncontrollably.

“KIHIHIHIRIHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHOHOHO!” Poor Kaminari writhed back and forth, but the weight on his hips kept him from moving. “NAHAHAHAHAT KNEEHEHEHEHEHES! NOOHOHOHOHOHO!”

“Yes knees! Yes!” Kirishima teased in response as he added another hand, now kneading both knees.

Denki fell backwards yet again, screaming as he covered his face.

As Kirishima moved his fingers to spider underneath one of his knees, Denki jolted upward. The blonde pounded his fists against Kirishima’s back.

“PLEAHEHEHEHESE! IHIHIHIHILL DOHOHOHOHO ANYHEHEHETHIHIHIHIHING!” Tears leaked down the boy’s red face. He couldn’t take anymore before he would short circuit, “IHIHIHIHIM GOHOHOHNAHAHAHA BLOHOHOHOHOHOW! STAHAHAHAHAPPIHIHIHIHIT!”

Against his will, and proper judgement, Bakugo found himself tearing himself from the doorframe and in front of the duo. “Enough Eiji. Don’t you hear him begging?”

“Awww. Fine.” Kirishima hopped off of Denki, who curled into himself while hiccuping.

“You better help me untie my ropes, bro.” The redhead said with a playful tone.

Denki could only nod in agreement. Kirishima sighed and helped him sit up.

“You okay bro? Sorry about that...”

“Y-yeah... was fun.” Denki let the answer leak from his lips, far too tired to think of a lie.

“Oh it was fun huh? Great. Thanks for the new info, Dunce Face.” Bakugo said with a menacing grin.

“WAAAAAH! HE WAS STILL HERE? KIRIIIIII!” Denki whined and hid his head in his hands.

“Relax Pikachu, no one’s gonna know.” Bakugo said with lifted brows. He paused, looking at the duo, “as long as you make me one of those.“

Denki’s eyes lit up. A goofy grin spread across his face as he sprinted down the hallway to start the bracelet.

Kirishima and Bakugo looked at the blur of their friend, then each other. They paused to take in what just happened, then both scoffed with matching grins and furrowed brows.

“Do you really even want one?” Kirishima inquired, breaking the silence.

“Nah.” Bakugo said with a sigh as he laid on the bed, arms behind his head, “But he seems proud of the damn thing. ‘Sthe least I can do.”

“You’re a good guy, Bakubro.”

“Yeah yeah. Keep yapping and I won’t be.”

About ten minutes later, Denki came back bounding down the hallway. He carried two more bracelets in his hands. One red and black, and one orange and black. He handed them to his friends.

“Now we match.” He said with a happy smile.

Bakugo examined his bracelet with fondness, “hell yeah we do.”

[kingdomofgufalla]

Jack - Virgil’s Plant

Physical Characteristics

Gender: Male

Type: Hanging Vine

Species: Creeping Cackle

Height: 10 ft long

Weight: 15 lbs

Feeding Cycle: Does not feed off of laughter

Water intake: Wet soil, water twice a day

Range of Motion: Vines: 50 Ft.

Tickle Tools: Vines

Personality

Observational

Inquisitive

Reserved

Calm

Mysterious

Physical Appearance

Leaves: Tiny ones all over his vines, shaped like ovals and a very dark purple.

Trunk/Stalk: Non-existent

Flowers: Violet colored snapdragons grow at the base of his vines.

Vines: A black color with a green underside.

Fruit: None

Flower Pot: Hanging pot that depicts a mountain range at night that Virgil painted himself

Miscellaneous

Intune with: Physical Responses

Literacy Level: College Professor

Favorite Tickle spots: Sides and Ribs

Alignment: Ler

Experience Inside Mindscape

-While talking one day, Roman asks Virgil if he wants his own plant. He thinks about it for a couple days before coming back to Roman and decides he wants one.

-Roman had already thought about the perfect plant to get for Virgil, and takes him directly to the Creeping Cackle.

-Virgil was definitely nervous about accepting it, but then related the experience to when he was first accepted and found the kindred spirit in him to take it home. The edgy colors were also a plus.

-The plant overheard Roman and Virgil talking about Virgil’s anxiety and decides not to do anything for a couple days to study Virgil.

-Virgil is unnerved that the plant hasn’t tried anything and talks to Roman. He tells him he can just talk to the plant because it’s smarter than most plants.

-Virgil finally asks the plant why it’s not doing anything, then the plant responds back with pen and paper that he knows about his anxiety and wishes to take it slowly.

-After some more talking they reach an agreement for no tickles until Virgil is comfortable. “That’s fair.” The plant responds back, and begins to do little things for Virgil to show that he’s a safe plant. To show that he cares.

-Examples of these are searching for things he needs, doing small chores, or grabbing his headphones if they are out of reach.

-It takes a couple more weeks but Virgil finally asks for tickles. The plant agrees and tickles him very carefully, lovingly, and slowly. It’s B L I S S to him.

-Afterwards, Virgil asks if he can name him and the plants response is “Only if it means something.” (By this time, Virgil had gotten Jack a white board to write on.

-So Virgil decides on the name “Jack.” His reasoning was it was the name of a character that first started out frightening and scary, but over time through his actions developed character and integrity of doing good as opposed to evil.

-Jack decidedly like the name and now they’re pals!!

Angst

-After Jack and Virgil had been friends for a little while, Virgil comes back to the room after a bad day. Little thing after little thing goes wrong and his emotions have just been piling up.

-Jack writes on his whiteboard “Bad day?” and Virgil utters a “Yeah.”

-Jack reaches a vine out to touch him, but Jack misjudged his on-edginess and Virgil registered a vine coming to rest on his shoulder as an attempted tickle attack.

-His reflexes kicked in and he accidently rips the vine off, only starting to shake after seeing what he had done.

-Jack tried to assure him it was ok, but Virgil ran out of the room, crying still gripping the vine in one hand.

-He runs into Roman who sees his state and takes him to his room to try to sort things out.

-”it was a really bad day, wasnt it?” Virgil nods “Did you accidentally tear the vine because it tried to touch you?” Another nod.

-Virgil spends the night in Roman’s room, and Roman visits Jack to assure him that he’s ok.

-The next day Virgil walks back into his room, visibly a little nervous. Jack greets him with a ‘Hello’ already prewritten on his whiteboard.

-Jack apologizes and said he should’ve asked about physical contact first, but Virgil shakes his head, eyes quite misty.

-”You were only trying to help and I...I hurt you. God, I’m so sorry, jack I didn’t- I didn’t mean to but that doesn’t change that I did and I-” Virgil is cut off by a single vine offering to hold his hand, which Virgil accepts.

-Jack writes “You can’t always control your own anxiety. We can try to contain it but full control is nearly impossible. But, forgiveness is completely available to you. I forgive you, Virgil. I’m just glad you're okay.'

-Virgil wipes the tears leaking out of his eyes with his sleeves after letting out a chuckle.

-”Thank you Jack. It means a lot to hear that.”

Logan

-Jack genuinely respects Logan’s serious status so they have shorter sessions.

-He mainly goes after his sides and hips.

-Logan often enjoys talking to him because of his superior intellect.

-Tells puns to Logan sometimes, but they are all science related so Logan has to be okay with them.

Roman

-Has a vendetta against Roman, but now less of a vendetta after seeing how good of friends Virgil and Roman are.

-If Roman’s too cocky in his vicinity, Jack will go after his underarms. Not that Roman complains too much...inwardly at least.

-Jack also loves sneak tickles into Roman’s neck if he’s in the room, just because he can.

Patton

-Jack loves Patton’s little squeaks, so he’ll go after his thighs with gentle pokes.

-Patton questions Virgil one day about Jack and he shows him his hanging plant.

-Jack tries to be all formal, but Patton was just all chipper and the plant just stans him wholeheartedly. “Precious human. May I hear your laughter?” Patton’s just like “Yess.”

Virgil

-If Virgil is ever bored he asks Jack if he’s willing to ler and Jack always says yes, Then he asks where he’d like to be tickled. This causes Virgil to Blush...horribly.

-He loves sneaking under Virgil’s clothing once he knows what he’s about to do. And Virgil trusts Jack to know his limits.

-One of Jack’s favorite things is having four vines under Virgil’s hoodie and shirt. Leaving really random pokes and wiggling into ten different spots on his ribs at once.

-Jack loves Virgil’s snort when he drills into the dips of his sides.

Deceit

-Jack doesn’t trust deceit at all for the first couple weeks, but once he does, he teases him with nonchalant pokes, attempting to fluster him to no end.

-Eventually he asks Jack why he keeps poking him, and Jack writes “Virgil told me that you acted in Patton’s place to convince Thomas to lie.”

-”Ah well you know what, I did do that.” He decides to not speak in lies.

-”So you admit to it? Give me a reason to trust you and I will.” Deceit gives some thought, then walks back in his room the next day with a little box.

-”What’s that?” Jack asks but stays cautious. Deceit says “It’s a gift,” and sets the box on the desk so Jack can reach it.

-He uses a vine to open it and inside lies a small glass ornament meant for garden decoration.

-It’s shaped like Jack Skellington’s head and Jack is pleasantly surprised.

-”Virgil didn’t tell me how you got your name and I didn’t decide to get something commemorate that.” So Jack decides if Virgil trusts Dee enough to tell him his name story, then he is alright in Jack’s book too.

Remy

-Flustered Remy is Jack’s goal because his giggles are quite humorous to him.

-He loves getting at Remy’s sides and neck with a lot of little vines.

-Remy, with other plants, likes to talk to Jack about music and other random topics. In return, he think Remy’s chill.

Dr. Picani

-Jack respects Picani cuz he’s a smart boi, but he’s also very caring and Jack loves that.

-Picani is absolutely very okay with Jack tickling him, and the sessions happen more often than between Jack and Logan.

-Jack loves his ribs and underarms.

-Picani meets Jack after Deceit’s gift and smiles wide at the ornament and the plant.

-”You named him after the pumpkin king??” - Picani

-”Yeah we picked it out together.” - Virgil

-”Well, it’s nice to meet you Jack, I’m Dr. Picani but you can call me Emile too!” -Dr. Picani

-”A Pleasure doctor.” -Jack

-The two will often talk about the other plants together, as well as comparing and contrasting stuff between them all.

-Picani’s nickname for Jack is Dr. Jack or Dr. Skellington.

Taglist:  Taglist: @fluffymary​ @soft-blog-for-tickles​ @adoryblegiggles​ @violetmcl​ @novaticklee​ @chituri​ @shadowkittycat97​ @robbie-lee-zombie (Let me know if you want to be tagged.)

[psychicpostsalad-blog1]

Campinas.com.br Sobrancelhas Com Design Perfeito

Oiiii genteee, depois que comecei a postar meus trabalhos de micropigmentação de sobrancelhas surgiram muitas dúvidas de leitoras quanto a técnica usada, a diferença entre elas, quais os cuidados, quanto tempo dura etc… Por isso resolvi fazer um post explicando um pouco desse mundo tão grande da micro. Você

{ inicial| página web| Carregue aqui para ler| visite este site| navegar neste site| leitura recomendada| declaração oficial| veja este site| verificar| navegar aqui| conteudo| aparecer neste site| o seu sítio Web| carregue para obter mais informações| quanto vale?| relatorio| ir para este site| site| pagina| a partir desta fonte| navegar por aqui| oficial| recomendado que leia| clicar| no conhecimento| ver página web| concordar| sítio web| ouve este podcast| artigo| mais bónus| dê uma olhada neste web-site| fonte da imagem| Bonus|sobrancelha design|sobrancelha esfumada|como fazer sobrancelhas |como se faz sobrancelhas|Como fazer o design de sobrancelha perfeito|sobrancelha}

estará desenhando sobrancelhas perfeitas combinando coma a sua maquiagem. Antes de começar a aplicação da henna, é fundamental fazer design das sobrancelhas para deixá-las no formato desejado e bem limpa. Além de tirar excesso de pelos, também é importante aparar os pelos longos com uma tesourinha.|Quer aprender

{ inicial| página web| Carregue aqui para ler| visite este site| navegar neste site| leitura recomendada| declaração oficial| veja este site| verificar| navegar aqui| conteudo| aparecer neste site| o seu sítio Web| carregue para obter mais informações| quanto vale?| relatorio| ir para este site| site| pagina| a partir desta fonte| navegar por aqui| oficial| recomendado que leia| clicar| no conhecimento| ver página web| concordar| sítio web| ouve este podcast| artigo| mais bónus| dê uma olhada neste web-site| fonte da imagem| Bonus|sobrancelha design|sobrancelha esfumada|como fazer sobrancelhas |como se faz sobrancelhas|Como fazer o design de sobrancelha perfeito|sobrancelha}

? Além disso, valor do curso de design de sobrancelha online é muito mais em conta. Partindo de 129 mil reais, investimento em uma franquia Sobrancelhas Design vai variar, principalmente, de acordo com modelo e os custos de instalação da nova unidade. Os dados a seguir foram informados pela própria marca.} {Lembrando: que você deve girar sempre contra seu corpo, para conseguir fazer design de sobrancelhas. Saiba como ficaria suas sobrancelhas com a micropigmentação em nossa Consultoria de Visagismo e Simulação a Lápis. 1 - Comece fazendo um belíssimo design de sobrancelha com a pinça, removendo pelos desnecessários e excessivos e com uma tesourinha você corta os mais compridos.|próprio CEO Sobrancelhas Design aprovou nosso serviço. excesso de pelos nas sobrancelhas pode deixar um olhar carregado e até esconder os olhos, tornando-se um incômodo aos homens. Tirar alguns fios pode fazer toda a diferença na harmonização do rosto. visagismo de sobrancelhas é uma técnica para harmonizar design do rosto.} {Existem alguns formatos que ficam melhor para cada tipo de rosto, por exemplo, se você tem um rosto quadrado, a sobrancelha ideal é diferente daquela para quem tem um rosto oval (mais abaixo você pode conferir mais sobre isso). Na parte superior da sobrancelhas do design, também proceda da mesma forma retirando os pelos que ficaram.|A designer de sobrancelhas, Nany Mota, do salão MG Hair em São Paulo, ensinou os truques certeiros para fazer a sobrancelha em casa. Acompanhe passo a passo. profissional em design de sobrancelhas deve realizar uma análise do rosto da cliente observando a largura simetria cor dos cabelos e até mesmo a sua a sua personalidade.

} {Na escolha das cores, a profissional usa colorimetria, garantindo assim tom ideal para cada pele. Ninguém merece ficar apenas uma

{sobrancelha design|sobrancelha esfumada|como fazer sobrancelhas |como se faz sobrancelhas|Como fazer o design de sobrancelha perfeito|sobrancelha}

no meio do rosto, né? É bem fácil se livrar disso! A sobrancelha deve começar numa linha que a gente imagina que esteja exatamente onde está canto interior do olho.|A

{sobrancelha design|sobrancelha esfumada|como fazer sobrancelhas |como se faz sobrancelhas|Como fazer o design de sobrancelha perfeito|sobrancelha}

de henna dura em média 15 dias, depois desse período a cor ficará bem desbotada, caso queira, repita processo de tingimento. As sobrancelhas longas quase se encontram um pouco acima dos olhos, que pode dar a impressão de que a pessoa está franzindo a testa - quando as sobrancelhas são retas - ou de um olhar ameaçador - quando as sobrancelhas são levantadas.} {Curso Sobrancelha Perfeita é 100% Online e você assistir ONDE, QUANDO e QUANTAS vezes quiser. Pode acessar no celular, tablet ou computador. Através de um processo de micropigmentação, novos fios são desenhados para preencher os pelos que faltam. No texto a seguir, descreveremos como funciona passo a passo desse procedimento.|É feita em um nível subepidérmico e não intraepidérmica (camadas mais profundas da pele), assim pigmento aplicado acaba saindo naturalmente, devido a renovação celular promovida pelo organismo. Depoimentos de pessoas que fizeram curso sobrancelha perfeita. procedimento da micropigmentação esfumada é uma técnica feita com dermógrafo, aparelhinho usado na micropigmentação fio a fio e em tatuagens, e como já é de se imaginar é um pouquinho dolorido sim.} {As sobrancelhas acompanham a moda, por esta razão diversos formatos já foram usados, e é importante que você os conheça para trabalhar corretamente. Esse cuidado com a higiene também vale para a região das sobrancelhas da cliente, para reduzir riscos de infecções.|Mas, para quem gosta de ideias que facilitam a vida, sim, existe uma aplicação técnica chamada Sobrancelha de Henna que elimina a necessidade de passar produtos todos os dias na sobrancelha. INSTRUTORA DE CURSOS DE MICROPIGMENTAÇÃO DE SOBRANCELHAS, OLHOS E BOCA.}{

Se você foi beneficiada com uma sobrancelha volumosa, bonita e sem falhas, com certeza é uma pessoa de sorte. A maioria das pessoas, principalmente as mulheres não tem essa genética. Depois desse passo, foque sua atenção nos fios que ficam abaixo do arco da sobrancelha. Veja se ainda existem falhas e retire os excessos.|Em alguns casos, em poucos minutos há surgimento de reações alérgicas, que impossibilita a realização da sobrancelha fio a fio, ao menos com pigmento testado. Os profissionais sempre dizem: a primeira etapa para dar profundidade e personalizar ao olhar consiste em desenhar as sobrancelhas com uma boa pinça. Não pense que é bobagem, mas existe uma diferença entre as pinças.} {A técnica de micropigmentação fio a fio realça os traços de sua sobrancelha, com formato do rosto e fios naturais. Mas é preciso atenção para não deixar corte muito reto, pois isso irá marcar bastante desenho das sobrancelhas. procedimento pigmenta (tonaliza) a epiderme, camada mais superficial da nossa pele. Para a realização da técnica, profissional deverá estar atento a tonalidade de pele da cliente, a espessura do fio e formato da sobrancelha.|Antes de realizar qualquer procedimento nas sobrancelhas da sua cliente faça uma pequena entrevista, para saber qual é desejo dela, assim você vai acertar no resultado final, ela vai ficar mais feliz e satisfeita com seu trabalho. Curso Sobrancelha Perfeita é um Treinamento Completo em Vídeos-Aulas no qual Guilherme Foes ensina em Passo a Passo TUDO QUE VOCÊ PRECISA SABER PARA SE DESTACAR NO MERCADO.}