#Will make my watermark less bright…

[gorebrain]

‧₊˚✩彡 “You’re going to be a great ꒰ mother ꒱” ೀ⋆｡˚

⊹˚୨୧ “Shut up, I’m not ᧔ ready ᧓ for that.”୧ ‧₊˚

ミ꒲ 💬 ꒱  ⫶ㅤ Arcane ᎓ Season 2┊⌨️ᝰ ꒱

🖇 : ̗̀➛┊͙ (please♥︎)⠀꒰ 💀 ꒱ ⠀Like or reblog!⠀⠀୨୧

[remxedmoon]

seeing eye to eye.

im going to be real i only made this for the sake of the caption. i was proud of it!! aaaa i’ve had the sketch for this done for like… 2 weeks now? i just didn’t really know how i actually wanted to execute it!! and i remembered seeing that one 3d glasses trend on twitter a while back! and i think it worked pretty well teehee :3

also as a sidenote, this is probably the fastest ive ever finished a drawing? this only took, like, an hour. which isn’t that surprising, this is a pretty simple drawing, it’s just interesting to me! and a little funny given it took me 2 weeks to get back to this. i really procrastinated for weeks over this??

anyways!!! here’s some alt versions with both sides! because i think they look cool!

[letomills]

Download skins: SFS / Mega

A set of 22 geneticized & townified skins, including defaults for S1-S2-S3-S4 and the alien skin. Credit for the original skins goes to @whysim, Nat / @theboldandthebeautifulsims, @pooklet and Tea Leaf, thank you so much to them!

I did however make substantial tweaks and additions to all skins: • everyone TU-EU has the appropriate fat, normal and fit states (for the alien textures to show up as they should, please use Argon's alien and zombie fitness fix) • all elders have wrinkles, except on the alien skin (I used @simnopke's subtle wrinkles) • all toddlers have the cute toddler teeth and babies have no teeth, • teeth from Nat's, Pooklet's and Tea Leaf's skins were replaced either with ones from the Whysim skins or the ones used on @serabiet's Those Darn Skins, just because they're less bright and I like that better • all skins are compatible with sexyfeet (I just had to cover up a watermark on one of them iirc) • lowered the color temperature on Whysim BuffyHP Tan Skinblend TG (S2).

Complete previews of AU-EU faces and uncensored bodies (fat, normal and fit) are included in the download, which is why it's such a large archive (the skins themselves aren't particularly heavy, don't worry). Teens get the same textures as adults; children, toddler and babies have their own.

More details below.

Skins and links to the originals:

Whysim Misc Skin Blend 32TG - Whysim Tifa 57 Edit TG

Default S1: Whysim Misc Skin Blend 30TG - Whysim Misc Skin Blend 40TG

Whysim Misc Skin Blend 37TG - Whysim Misc Skin Blend 31TG

Default S2: Whysim BuffyHP Tan Skinblend TG (my edit: more pink, less orange) - Whysim Ashleydoll Blend Edit TG

Nat Bambi Expanded 7 - Whysim Misc Skin Blend 19TG

Whysim BuffyHP Dark TG - Default S3: Whysim Misc Skin Blend 29TG

Whysim Misc Skin Blend 7TG - Nat Bambi Expanded 10

Nat Bambi Expanded 12 - Pooklet My Poor Lover 06

Nat Bambi Expanded 14 - Pooklet Mouseyblue Dusk Skin 03

Default S4: Pooklet My Poor Lover 07 - Nat Bambi Expanded 18

Pooklet My Poor Lover 08 - Default alien: Tea Leaf Stargazer MPL Zoen Blend

These skins are townified, meaning that new townies and NPCs that spawn can get them. They are also geneticized, meaning that they have genetic values that inform which skintones will be given to babies born in game. Basically babies will always get skintones that fall in between or on the skintones that their biological parents have, as is the case for the four default skintones.

You can see the genetic value that I assigned to a skin at the end its file name. Example: "1_Whysim_MiscSkinBlend32TG_0.05.package" → this skin has a genetic value of 0.05. The skins that are S1-S4 default replacements have respective genetic values of 0.1, 0.3, 0.6 and 0.9. For more info on that and to learn how to change a custom skin's genetic value, see Rikkulidea's tutorial.

If you don't want all 22 skins but just a selection, feel free to pick and choose and it won't disrupt anything when it comes to genetics (if you want to mix them with other skins however, you may want to make sure that all the genetic values really are in a sequence from lightest to darkest). If on the other hand you think 22 skins isn't enough, check you @esotheria-sims's 97 geneticized skins 💖

Please let me know if you encounter any issues or have any questions.

✨Future plans for body shapes: these here skins are regular skins linked to the standard Maxis body shapes. I will be working on showerproof skins for custom body shapes that will be repo'd to these skins, starting with Momma Lisa/Melodie9 fat male (edit: it's here!). It may take a while but in the end all 22 skins will come in showerproof versions for as many body shapes as I have the mental fortitude to do (making showerproof skins is an excruciating mix of requiring focus and discipline while being extremely tedious).

~

The F hair used on the titlecard is @fakebloood's SClub Haruki in dynamite - the M hair below the cut is AlmightyHat's Shorn in dynamite - the eyes in all previews are from this set by @serabiet - the eyebrows are defaults by Cavernosims.

[lovelovelovelovelove987654321]

Neighbors

Part 1 Part 2

Tw: female reader, mention of Y/N

Proofread by the lovely @crashtestbunny

Ghost sighed as he signed the paperwork to rent a shitty flat. He sighed as he unloaded the boxes from his car, and he sighed as he stepped into the apartment. It matched him, he thought. The cobwebs, the dust, the watermarks, the stains on the carpet and the walls. It all matched his rotting soul. He didn't love the situation, but since when did he deserve to love anything? It was a place to leave his things when he was deployed. It would keep him (mostly) dry and warm, hopefully.

He let the maggots that lived in his brain slither around for a moment before shoving them back. He needed to unpack, and then eat. Get things done. Have a plan of action. Thats how he functioned best. Take off the mask? He briefly considered it, then shook his head sharply. He hadnt cleared the space of cameras yet.

Just then, he heard a knock on the door. Immediately alert to danger, he mentally cataloged the guns and knives he had hidden on various parts of his body. Slowly he opened the door to see his savior. You. With a bright smile and a Tupperware of cookies in hand, you shoved a ray of sunshine and and life right into the endlessly deep pit of darkness that was his brain. He liked no one, absoluetly no one, but he liked you already.

"Hi!" You chirped, "I'm your neighbor! I brought cookies!"

He forgot how to speak for a moment. You were... everything. He gruffly cleared his throat, he wanted to make his voice a little gentler for you. He didn't want to be anything less than perfect for you.

"'Ello. Thanks." He grunted, then cursed himself inwardly. He'd scare you off and he'd never seen you again and he'd have to live with the poison inside of him all alone forever and-

"'Course!" Your smile hadn't faded at all. In fact, it might be bigger. Brighter. More beautiful.

There was a slight awkward pause where Ghost wracked his brains for something, anything to say.

"Weathers been-" "My name is-"

Your smile turned sheepish, a little amused, maybe.

"You can go first." You said, and he wanted to hold you close, tell you everything and nothing all at once because his past had no place here, in your vicinity, but maybe he could tell you a happy memory or two and make you laugh?

"No, you 'kin go." He would let you talk over him forever, if you wanted. He wished he could listen to your voice 24/7/365. Record it and play it on repeat.

With a grateful look, you started again. "My name is Y/N. What's yours?"

A name a name a name a name a name. He had a name for you. It fit. Beautiful, just like you.

"Gh- Simon. The names Simon Riley." He was Ghost. To everyone. Even Soap wasn't allowed to call him Simon, Soap didn't even know he was Simon. Simon was the gentle, innocent, helpless, young boy he used to be. Simon wasn't him anymore.

But for you, he could be. Maybe. He hoped he could be. He could try, anyway.

He didn't want to be Ghost around you. Ghost, who would infect you with his dirty soul. Ghost, who hurt everything he touched, Ghost, who didn't feel. Ghost, who didn't care. Ghost, who was everything that he wanted your life to be free of.

[bobbiedebruyn]

How to recognize stolen gifs

Reposting is a constant problem that all gifmakers deal with, both here and on other social media platforms. Whether you're new to Tumblr or just passing by, I'm going to provide an explanation on how to spot a repost and what to do with it. I'll cover both Tumblr and Twitter since, unfortunately, Twitter is the most common place for gifmakers to find their content.

Let me start by saying that most gifmakers have a unique style. We can recognize stolen gifs by their crop/dimension, sharpening, and coloring settings. After a couple of years, you're able to find the set of adjustment settings that you prefer the most. So even the most basic gifs (simple scene gifs) go through a lot before we post them on Tumblr.

If you're new here or don't know much about gifmaking you might be confused about what I meant by crop/dimension, sharpening, and coloring settings, so we're going to go through them one by one.

Crop/Dimension

On Tumblr, for your photosets to be displayed correctly, you need to follow the correct image dimensions. For example, if you post one gif, the width should be 540px (with a maximum height of up to 810px). If you post two gifs in a row, the width of both needs to be 268px (with a maximum height of 600px). And if you post three gifs in a row, two of them need to have a width of 177px, with an exemption for the middle one, which needs to be 178px (with a maximum height of 400px for all three).

Since the maximum height is not specified, all gifmakers have different specific dimensions that they prefer, and therefore they can recognize them easily. For example, if I were to post one gif, I'd make it 540x360 or 540x380, and if I saw it being reposted, I'd recognize it.

Sharpening

Sharpening refers to the Smart Sharpen Filter. This is a filter all of us use to make our gifs look crisp and less blurry. Similarly to dimensions, everyone has unique settings for their Smart Sharpen. Some people use it once, while others use it twice. There are also different values people input into the settings of that filter, therefore they can recognize it. I'm going to provide some visual examples of a gif with and without any sharpening.

As you can see, after applying the filter, the gif became more detailed and less blurry.

Coloring

Now, let's talk about what makes gifs special and unique. Coloring involves a set of adjustments applied to a gif to enhance brightness, and vibrancy, or to remove color tints and alter specific colors within the gif. Even the most basic gifs undergo this process. And as you might expect, everyone has their own coloring settings, ensuring that no two gifs are exactly alike.

One last visual example I'm going to provide is a comparison between a gif without sharpening and coloring and a gif with sharpening and coloring. This way, you can see the difference between what you witnessed on screen while watching a specific TV show and how someone edited that scene in a gif.

Personally, I'm always trying to give a gif more contrast, vibrancy, and brightness. One specific thing I do, which makes it easy for me to recognize my gifs, is changing the leaves in the background from green to yellow. I often aim for this little detail if I know that plot-wise TV show takes place in autumn but the filming took place in summer. Similarly, other gif makers have their own unique additions to their sets that are easily recognizable to them.

Now that we've figured out what makes a gif special and how gif makers recognize them, let's move on to the section about how you can recognize stolen gifs and what you should do about it.

Twitter

This one is extremely easy. Twitter is not exactly known for gifmaking. Sure, some gif-oriented accounts make gifs, but they're not as common as Tumblr gifmakers. However, when it comes to them, there are some ways to tell if a gif was made by them. Watermarks: Twitter accounts often watermark their gifs (Tumblr folks do that too, but it's less common, I'd say). Dimensions: Twitter uses different dimensions for gifs. On Twitter, the width of a gif needs to start from 1080px, in comparison to Tumblr's 540px. When people repost from Tumblr and post on Twitter, the quality of a gif is extremely terrible because of the different dimensions. So, if you don't see a watermark, there is a clear sign of coloring, and the quality is extremely low and pixelated - the gif is most likely from Tumblr.

You can try finding the gif's source by using Google reverse image search. Usually, it'll lead you to the original creator.

Tumblr

Spotting a repost on Tumblr is a bit more complicated but of course, there are ways to do it.

Different dimensions: On Twitter, people usually repost one gif, while on Tumblr, people repost whole sets. It just so happens that sometimes they repost different gifs from different sets. So, if you see a gifset and the dimensions of the gifs in it are not the same, then it's probably stolen from different sets.

Different coloring: Again, if the coloring of the gifs is drastically different, then it means it's probably stolen from different sets.

No creator's tag: Gifmakers often track their own creations using hashtags such as #mine, #mywork, #mine, and #gif. While sometimes gifmakers may forget to include their tag, if you notice a blog posting multiple sets without them and it looks suspicious, it's likely a repost.

No tags: To give gifsets more visibility, gifmakers often use tags such as #onedirectionedit #wtfockedit #filmtvedit or different source blog tags. Reposters don't know about it and don't use it.

Weird captions: Reposters often use gifs as reaction pics. So, instead of captioning a set with something like "Steve Harrington in 3x03", they're more likely to caption it with something like "he looks so hot here!" or "he's so pretty!!" Look out for sets with such captions that look like comments. Keep in mind that they often don't format those captions either.

If you saw the gif before: As mentioned previously, no two gifs are exactly the same. The chances of two gifmakers having the exact same settings down to a pixel are close to zero. So if you think you've seen that exact gif before, it's definitely a repost.

What can you do?

If you've been in the specific fandom for a while, chances are you might have seen that gif before and you might figure out who made it easily. You can also browse through your fandom's overall creations tag to try to find the original post and gifmaker. To do so, search for #yourfandom + #edit. For example, I currently gif the TV show called Wtfock, its creation's tag is #wtfockedit. Got it? Cool! After you figure out who the gifmaker is, you can send them the reposter's post and ask if that's their set.

If you can't find the original gifmaker on your own, you can try messaging other gifmakers from that fandom and asking whether or not they know who made the gifset.

You can also contact the reposter on your own and kindly ask them not to repost the gifs. Explain the Tumblr etiquette to them, there's a chance they're new to the website and simply didn't know about it. There's a chance they might listen to you and take down the post. If they choose not to listen and block you, you can once again message or send asks to different gifmakers from that fandom to inform them of the reposter so that they can block them.

You can also encourage the reposter to make their own gifs, especially if their excuse for reposting is "I don't know how to make my own gifs." While it may seem challenging, it's not impossible. This website is full of tutorials, and many gifmakers are open to helping out and explaining things if you're new to gifmaking. I'll leave a link to a comprehensive guide 101, just in case.

That's it! I hope this post has helped you understand what makes gifs unique, how to distinguish reposts from original posts, and what to do when you encounter a repost. If you have any more questions, feel free to leave messages in my askbox.

[starlingflight]

It was not the first time she’d opened her eyes to find herself laid out on one of the many beds in the recovery room. Following her debut with the Harpies, it hadn’t taken long for the opposing team’s beaters to recognise the threat Ginny posed and make her one of their preferred targets for their bludgers. The scratch of the sterile sheet against her skin was almost comforting at this point. 

She didn't attempt to sit up right away. There was a routine to be followed in circumstances such as this; right on cue, the team’s head healer, Zeta, appeared above her, blocking out Ginny’s less than riveting view of the room’s water stained ceiling tiles with her bright smile and even brighter purple hair. 

“What day is it?” 

The tip of Zeta’s illuminated wand shone in front of Ginny’s left eye. “Wednesday.” 

“Your full name?” The wand moved, passing from her left eye to her right.  

“Ginevra Molly Weas – I mean, Potter.” 

Zeta’s grin widened as her wand extinguished and she placed it back in her pocket. “That’s the first time I’ve managed to catch you out with that – maybe you did hit your head.” 

Absently, Ginny’s fingers stroked at her skull. No, she hadn’t hit her head – or, if she had, there was no bump – it was simply that the dream she’d just awoken from had been so vivid that she’d forgotten for a second that she was no longer a Weasley; that she was married, and that it was very strange indeed to wake up in a sick bed and not have Harry standing nervously over her. 

It came back to her now; the note that had been waiting in her locker and the strange watermark on it… The watermark had been in the dream she’d just awoken from as well. 

“Is she all right?” 

The anxious question came from the foot of Ginny’s bed. Ignoring the dull ache in her shoulder, she pushed herself up to find Ron leaning against the wall, staring at her with concern-filled eyes. 

“She’s fine,” Zeta said. 

“You’re not my emergency contact,” Ginny said at the same time, unable to help the hint of accusation that tinged her voice. 

“No,” Ron agreed. His shoulders tensed apprehensively; he cast a furtive glance to the opposite side of the room. Ginny turned to find Angelina staring at her from the desk chair that usually belonged to Owen. “Harry couldn’t come so Angelina called me.” 

Her head whipped back to face Ron. Ginny’s nerves stretched into tight bowstrings on the verge of snapping. “What do you mean ‘Harry couldn’t come’?” Harry would always come for her. 

“Don’t panic,” Ron said, in what Ginny supposed was meant to be a placating tone. It did nothing to abate the panic threatening to rise within her.  “I don’t really know what’s happened myself – I rushed here to you –” 

“Will you just tell me!” 

Read the rest of chapter four here.

Read from chapter one here.

[floristmatt]

how do you make your gifs?

hi!! I use photopea.com, which is a free version of photoshop. essentially my process is:

I have a mac, so I use screen record to get a shorter clip of the portion of the video I want to gif

then I trim the clip down to multiple clips that are about 3 seconds each. this is to deal with tumblr's size limit - if your clip is too long, the quality of the gif will be reduced when you upload it

I upload the .mov file to photopea; it'll ask for a frame rate, I typically put 20 FPS, but play around with what looks good to you. higher FPS means a smoother gif, but this does increase the size of the file

adjust brightness, contrast, vibrance, saturation, other coloring adjustments

crop the whole thing to fit tumblr's size requirements -- if I want it to fit the whole width of the post, it's 540 pixels width and 300 height if I want to keep the ratio of a youtube video. If I want it to fit half the width, it's 268 width 150 height, but obviously play around with it if I want a different shape/crop.

select all the layers and go to filter > sharpen > smart sharpen. this makes it look less blurry. I use 130% and 1.2 for the settings

then I add captions! I use open sans bold italic for the font, if it's a full size 540x300 gif, I use size 15 font. if it's a half-width gif, I use something like 11-13 size font. I move this to the center at the bottom and leave 15px of space at the bottom

I also add a little black border to the text so that it's easier to read. I do this by right clicking on the text layer and going to blending options. I select "stroke" and set size to 1 px, and I select "drop shadow" and set opacity to 100%, angle to 120, distance to 5px, spread to 13px, and size to 5px.

for watermarks I use 10px font size and reduce the opacity and fill of the layer to 50%

Then I go to file > export as gif. this will take about 30 seconds or so to load, and then you'll see a preview of your gif. I slow down the speed to about 70% so that it looks less choppy. and then depending on the final size of the gif, I go back and remove some frames from the beginning/end of the gif to make the gif size a little smaller. I try to stay within < 5MB so that the quality looks ok on tumblr. I think tumblr's limit is 3MB but if it's bigger than that they'll just compress it.

I've reblogged a few posts that helped me get started and I've pulled different steps from different posts that I use for my process. you can find all of those posts on my main blog here: floristjimin.tumblr.com/tagged/gifs

if you have specific questions about any of the steps or how to use photopea, feel free to ask, I am always happy to help!

[aajjks]

👀🤨

BC!JK

“when you said you were coming over i thought you were joking” you say to jungkook as pulls you into a hug and you happily reciprocate his embrace. you’re happy that you tidied up your apartment before jungkook’s arrival because you sometimes have a bad habit of throwing things around and leaving them there.

“here, i can take your coat” you tell jungkook. it’s his first time at your place and you’re glad he seems to like your small home. your living room is decorated with the bright colors of yellow and turquoise and on your walls are various paintings you’ve painted yourself, motivational words, and a wall dedicated to the letters/pictures your students make for you.

your kitchen is white with granite counters and at some points, mahogany walls. you’ve got the basic essentials like a fridge with a freezer, a pantry for your snacks, and cabinets for your tupperware. the decor for your kitchen is nice too and jungkook can’t help but smile when he sees that your fridge is covered with colorful magnets he’s sure you’ve collected.

it’s nice. all of this is nice until jungkook’s curiosity leads him to the half eaten bouquet of fruit with a card saying: ‘i hope this makes you smile.’

weird, when did you get one of these?

“what are you talking about?” you say as you finish hanging jungkook’s coat up in your closet and return to see him looking at the edible arrangement.

“oh, this? i’m sorry i didn’t thank you” you pout as you stand by jungkook’s side with a shy smile on your freckled face “this was so sweet, jungkook. i love it. it was delicious too”

but for some reason, you’re beginning to believe jungkook didn’t buy the arrangement for you. he looks too clueless about it.

“you-you didn’t buy this did you?” your smile slowly fades and you both are left wondering who bought you the bouquet.

“maybe it was someone else’s” you deflect “the card didn’t even come with a name on it, see?”

you show jungkook the card.

no initials. no name.

it simply says ‘i hope this makes you smile.’

you thought it came from jungkook because you weren’t in the best mood since that conversation. unless someone was watching you.

This is definitely not making him smile and Jungkook crinkles his eyes to read the text again, he notices something, something about the handwriting is awfully familiar

“I brought something for you actually, it’s on your couch I brought some sweet treats for us to enjoy together, and I know how much you love sweets.” You must be disappointed because he didn’t send this, so who was romantic enough to send you this fruit bouquet?

Was it your ex? But the handwriting is so similar and he has definitely seen it before it can’t be eunwoo’s, because you would’ve recognized it.

Even the paper is blank with no watermark.. jungkook is thinking hard, and then it all clicks. “Ahhh yn… I know who sent this… this handwriting belongs to my dear dad.”

The cursive letters, the black ink. It’s familiar. And the funny part is it’s written in English.

“Y-Yn my dad sent you this… fuck.. what does he want? I’m going to tell my mother about this.” it is so obvious that he has other intentions with you because he’s never sweet enough to send someone a gift without having something to take but what could he possibly want from you?

That is a scary thought and he’s already starting to get angry, don’t think that he hasn’t been noticing the way his dad is literally so interested in you and what you do and how you do everything.

He has even asked him about your relationship status, but obviously jungkook lied because you are not ready to let people know that you’re dating right now.

He invited you to the dinner, and before that he went to your Academy, where you are a teacher. Something is really wrong.

It couldn’t possibly be doing all of this because he wants you to date his son, frankly his father couldn’t care less about his dating life.

“Yn… haha I am starting to get really angry now.” Jungkook turns to look at you. His jaw is clenched and he’s biting his lower lip.

“ never mind I gotta go. I gotta go to my parents…. Enjoy your treats..” he says… his father… what does he want?

Jungkook will get to know tonight.

[namelessmewmew]

[Image ID: Shown is a rough pixel art drawing of an anthro zombie raccoon character. They have bright purple fur and high rainbow pigtails. They are wearing various accessories, including a rainbow spiked collar, a rainbow spiked tail band, rainbow sleeves, rainbow chains, a large pink bow, some pink and blue hairclips and a studded belt.  They are looking at the viewer. There a static/noise filter applied to the whole image. END ID]

Title: Z0MB1E RACC00N N0 CL1CKBA1T

Had alot alot of fun making this. :] The smiley's, stars and hearts are brushes I made X). Oh and I also made the static/noise texture! I wanted to create a old fuzzy image vibe but it’s also, like the watermark, meant to be obnoxious to nft fans/ai prompters! Two for the price of one!

Warning gigantic wall of text ahead.

Rambling: [about my irrational anxiety and ai prompted creations. I'm okay and please don't worry, k? I just wanted to mention alot of stuff that's been on my mind because lots of artists are probably also thinking stuff like this and might need encouragement. Their also may be typos and incoherentness, so if there is just let me know. probs will edit this later.]

Rambling [About anxiety] if you think that maybe some cheesy encouragement to make 'shit' art might do you some good.

Been going through the classic if I make bad art I am a bad person phase this year again and that combined with how busy I have been with studies and work I haven’t had time to work on improving my art so I have been telling myself that I just can’t make art so haven’t been making much this year honestly. [Again, I just have weird anxiety, please don’t worry k?] So, when making quick rough stuff like this, I feel alot more at peace with just creating stuff. I'll try to ride this 'you are allowed to make stuff that might be a bit or very shit' train for my sake for as long as I can. I feel alot more confident in making my rough paint 3d stuff, making a 'shit' voxel model, make something in 30 minutes in mspaint, draw something using highlighters and old lined exam pad.

Rambling [About 'ai 'art'] if you think that maybe some cheesy encouragement to keep going as an artist might do you some good.

I have been for awhile [and still am aiming for] my art skills getting to the point where I am able to make soft shaded anime paintings with amazing anatomy and super expressive faces and full detailed backgrounds, but with how AI Prompters have shown again how their are people [and big corps of course] that only care about the end product and could care less about human heart and soul, I have been thinking a lot about my relationship to the art I create and I think if you are self-conscious about your art not being good enough, or professional enough or reasonably feel mis-treated as an artist I think you should be kinder on yourself. That you should value the fact that you put whatever amount of skill and love for art you have into your art, whether you started a few seconds ago or decades ago. No matter if you think their are areas you really need to improve in or not. Wanting to improve or make grand things is wonderful and a good thing to strive for but like the whole point of art is just to connect with people, to express whats going on inside you, to analyze or interact with something you love like a video game, movie or book, to let your creativity fly and make your own thing, make a living off your passion by making paid art for people, or even just because you think it would be cool to make something! You, me and many other regular people that are artists and non-artists will continue to care about the soul behind art, about their being a person behind the art. We need to continue to care about human created art. If you are on fence about caring, I urge you to at least consider it. Not just but especially for the people that depend on it but also just for the sake about caring about such a base human thing that has been apart of our culture since basically since we started to exist!

I understand how it's hard lately to keep going as an artist and I am actively having to fight myself against discouraging 'I should just quit art' thoughts, because shit like Ai prompters getting hundreds of followers, selling ai 'art' commissions,  training models off specific artists works [including recently decreased ones, mind you!] is very disheartening [Especially with it seeming like they have support of many big corps and sites, including da!] No one should be trying to tell you as an artist or lover of art to not be upset! You have very right to be! Especially if art is your livelihood! Especially if art is very something personal to you! Especially if you rightfully think people should just give a shit about art!

AI Art does suck AND it is actively harming artists work. Especially artists that depend on surviving on their work. If I have a chance of convincing you, someone, anyone that is on the fence or is extremely pro ai prompted creations, I might as well ask you to listen to artists and let them have at least a change to explain why and how ai prompted creations are wrecking the world of art and why artists are rightfully upset.

Please if you can support artists, support them, especially those in need. Doesn't need to just be financially, sharing and engaging with art you think is cool is something that matters as well! We are all just regular people that all are just trying to survive!

Done Rambling:

All of that negativity and positivity leads me to a thing I made spontaneously in 3 days: A very silly very short [2-3 minutes] twine game about the above zombie raccoon trying to escape a rave forest. I really enjoyed making the art for it! It's ‘shit’ and I absolutely love it!

Character[s]:

xX Arc Doom Glitter Xx  [OC]

Have a good day/night further!

[MewMewMew~]

[spookiekewchie]

imagine being loved by me...(1)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Characters: vampire!Bucky Barnes x siren!reader

Summary: a first meeting, and a new obsession.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Word Count: 800

Warnings: general language warning, stalking, possessive behavior/thoughts, implied murder.

A/N:  Part 1 of my entry for for @syntheticavenger's 8k challenge. Anyways, all mistakes are mine so pardon any errors or typos I'm sure I missed a few. The divider is by @firefly-graphics the moodboard is by me, but the image of bucky is a manip made by 0-ves-0 hence the watermark being left in.

DO NOT repost or translate my work anywhere. If you like it don't forget to reblog and share with others who might enjoy it as well.

He watches the movers carry in boxes and furniture, keeping his distance and lingers around in curiosity. You’re moving into the apartment across the hall from him now that the old man that’s lived there for several years has passed on. James hopes his new neighbor is less cranky, and won’t mind his antisocial nature. Well, he hopes that right up until he finally catches your scent, it’s addicting and nearly knocks him off his feet. But when he finally sees you, that’s the moment that he knows that he needs you. It’s that damn smile of yours, bright like the sun he hasn’t been able to set eyes on in ages. You light up any space that you occupy, and you’re so warm and bright that he can’t help but be drawn to you like gravity itself is pulling him in. James wants to possess that light, to touch it, and taste it.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t register you speaking to him at first, it’s only when he notices the somewhat expectant look in your eyes that he realizes you’re waiting for him to say something. “I’m James, Bucky. Everyone calls me Bucky though.” He blurts, hand jutting out for you to shake. You take it, and your warmth makes him want to press you into the wall and see if all of you is so warm and welcoming.

“Well I’m not everyone, and I like the name James.” You tell him, hand lingering in his for a beat longer than it needs to. You offer him your name, and he repeats it slowly. The sound of it on his lips sends a pang of want shooting to your core, and you slip your hand from his then. “See you around, James. Hopefully soon.”

He watches you move away from him, his gaze drinking in the rest of you. He’s ready to praise whatever higher power there is for you choosing to wear the tank top and pair of shorts that you have on. All that buttery smooth, brown skin and he just wants to sink his fangs into you. Leave you covered in his marks, and have you overwhelming his every sense. The desire consumes his thoughts both waking and sleeping for days.

You’re his new obsession, he rises earlier in the evenings than he normally would just to meet you as you leave for work. Then he follows you, keeping to rooftops and shadows.

He tells himself that he’s just watching out for you, just in case you need him. You’re so beautiful, so soft...the need to make sure nothing happens to you is primal. He hasn’t claimed you in the physical sense yet, but to James you’re his, and he’ll rip apart anyone that thinks to even look at you wrong. He makes sure you get to the jazz club that you sing at every night safely, and then he lingers in the shadows at the back. He can never leave without hearing your song, something about it so sweet and so haunting. It worms its way into his head and heart refuses to let him go.

When your set is done he thinks to himself that he should leave, grab himself a blood bag from the nearby donation site. He should go, especially when he catches himself watching a patron’s jugular for a moment too long. He stands from his isolated table, ready to slip away to sate his hunger, but then he hears the dulcet tone of your laughter filling his ears. James whips around just in time to see you slipping out the back of the club with some muscle bound man that eyes you like nothing more than a piece of meat.

James grits his teeth hard enough that he can hear them creak under the pressure. He moves so fast that he’s a blur and no one notices beyond the gust of wind that blows in his wake.

He watches from the rooftop across from the dark alley that the man has pulled you into. Your laughter is gone now, and you’re struggling and telling him to stop. James’ eyes bleed red, and just as he’s about to swoop down tear the man’s head from his shoulders you let out an inhuman shriek and throw him deeper into the alley. He freezes, unsure of what he’s just seen. It’s nothing compared to how you turn and look up at the rooftop he’s on as if you can see him.

“You can come down, James. No one will miss him, and I know you’re hungry.”

That’s how it starts, that first scumbag in the alleyway marks the beginning of a bloody trail of vengeance and murder. It’s dreadful work, but for you he’ll do anything.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

My dearest bouncey! I have a prompt for you if you like: Witchers as a 90s/2000s boyband 😂🤷‍♀️💖💖💖

Ellie, darling, this started as 500 words and turned into like 3.2k words and also a piece of art so... thank you so much. also shout out to my amazing art pal @mawbwehownets for the little comic!!

this contains lots of 90′s/early 2000′s nostalgia so there is also that

tw: hornyish, smooching, perilous music video situations (corny)

---

“Do I have to?” Geralt groans, letting his forehead thud down against the linoleum surface of their tour bus’s shitty dining table.

“Yes,” Vesemir says. His tone leaves no room for argument or whining. “But what if I let you pick the winner personally?”

“There have to be like fifteen thousand letters to go through! How will I manage that in less than two days?”

“There were a few more than fifteen thousand applications, Geralt. There were probably closer to five hundred thousand.”

Lambert wolf whistles and Aiden claps.

Geralt grimaces and keeps his face hidden against the table, releasing a slightly muffled: “Fuck.”

“Language,” Vesemir frowns. He tugs gently at Geralt’s loose ponytail and the singer lifts his head up from the table again, looking at his manager with beseeching eyes. “Anyway, we’ve narrowed it down to about fifty. You can go through those and choose whichever person you’d like to play your love interest. But you have to give me an answer by Friday. The shoot is in three weeks and whoever wins this stupid competition will need time to make arrangements.”

“I thought we were footing the bill for their food and their hotel room,” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What would they need to arrange?”

“Not everyone can board their pets at the flick of a wrist, dude,” Lambert scoffs from his seat on the couch. Aiden lies draped across his lap, as usual, and the two of them are halfheartedly watching The Lion King. They can only watch movies when the bus is stationary, otherwise the VHS player might move too much while running and damage the film inside the cassette. Even taking advantage of such a rare opportunity, Lambert and Aiden still seem more interested in each other than Jonathan Taylor Thomas’s voice acting. 

“Lambert has a point,” Vesemir sighs. He scrubs his hand over his lightly whiskered face like a tired grandparent and sighs again, more heavily. “It’ll be good for you boys to have a normal person around for a few days. Maybe they’ll be able to put some things into perspective.”

Geralt can only roll his eyes a little bit and thank his manager regardless of his own feelings; he and the rest of TW5 owe the seasoned musical expert their entire careers. Without Vesemir’s help and mentorship they would never have made it past their first disastrous record deal. They certainly wouldn’t have reached the heights they’re at now, enjoying international fame and recognition. 

The begrudging frontman accepts a heavy plastic bin of file folders from Vesemir and sets them down next to his bunk. “Are these organized in any particular way?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

Geralt digs his hand into the pile and pulls out a piece of pale-pink stationary, eager to get started and, by extension, get finished. He can already tell that it’s going to be a long couple of days.

---

“I want this one, please, Ves.”

“Huh?” Vesemir looks up from his palm-pilot. Geralt is standing in front of him and trying to hand him something. 

“I want this guy to be in the music video with me.” Geralt holds out the letter again, fingers trapping the accompanying polaroid headshot with great care. A pair of bright blue eyes stares up from the photo, highlighting the subject’s bright smile and unruly mop of messy brown hair. Vesemir tries to hide his amusement; totally Geralt’s type, if the big oaf could admit to having one.

“Alright. I’ll get everything in order. We start shooting in two and a half weeks so get your asses to the gym, please.”

“Yes, Ves,” all five young men chorus. 

“Tomorrow,” Coen mutters a moment later than everyone else, not glancing up from his composition notebook. Vesemir nods in understanding. Coen is the best lyricist of the lot and it’s easier to let him work when inspiration strikes than beg him to focus when he can’t get a solitary idea to stick.

“So why’d you pick that one, Ger-bear?” Lambert drawls. Aiden nods and leans against Lambert’s side. Geralt can’t help the mild jealousy that overtakes him every time he sees his bandmates touch each other with such casual affection. He wants that intimacy, that softness behind the veneer of famous indifference. He wants someone to hold. 

“Yeah. What drew your attention to that poor unfortunate soul. Was it the floppy hair, the big blue eyes, or the dopey grin?” Aiden smirks.

“Hmm.”

“Fuck you,” Eskel sighs, looking between the two troublemakers with the tired gaze of an eldest sibling, “Fuck you for even asking in the first place and expecting a straight answer.”

“Straight is the furthest thing from his answer,” Lambert chuckles. He is promptly smacked in the head with one of the couch’s hideous throw pillows. The youngest member of the band rubs the side of his face and chuckles, “Alright, I deserved that one.”

---

“Holy shit!” Jaskier practically screams. “Holy motherfucking shit!”

“What!?” Yennefer comes flying around the corner. “What’s wrong!?”

“Nothing is wrong, Yenna! Everything is awesome! Everything absolutely fucking rocks!”

“Did you get hit on the head by a falling branch between here and the mailbox or what? You were whining about your finals work not five min-”

“Look at this!” Jaskier shoves an open envelope into her hands and cuts her off. Yennefer reads the watermarked documents once. Twice. Her eyes almost pop out of her head when the words and their meanings finally sink in. 

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“No, I am absolutely not!” her giddy roommate cheers, bouncing up and down in place. “I did it! I won!”

“Holy shit.”

“I know! I get to kiss Geralt deRiv!” he practically cackles. Then freezes. “Holy fuck I get to kiss Geralt deRiv.”

“You said that already,” Yen teases. She shoves the paperwork back into his hands and grabs a takeout menu from the junk drawer near her hip. “Since you won the makeout lottery, you get to buy lunch. Lucky bastard.”

---

“So this will be your dressing room,” someone’s underpaid PA says, ushering Jaskier into a small, bright room. “Priscilla will be here shortly to get you into hair and makeup.”

“Oh, uh- thanks!”

“Yup.”

And with that, the young man disappears back down the hallway toward the sound stage. Jaskier jogs his leg anxiously as he waits for Priscilla to arrive, nervous and otherwise totally alone in the huge grey building. As the minutes tick by and his heart rate rises, Jaskier’s intrusive thoughts make an unwanted appearance: What if they forget about me being here? What if there’s been a mistake and they accidentally hired two love interests and I just sit in here for hours all alone while-

“Hi!” a bright, peppy blonde woman flies through the door and startles him back to reality. “Nice to meet you, I’m Priscilla! You can call me Priss; I’ll be doing your hair and makeup for the video this week!”

“Oh… hi. I’m Julian, but I prefer Jaskier.”

“Lovely! Well, Jaskier, is your hair naturally this color?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Perfect! I don’t want to mess with such a lovely shade of natural brown, but do you mind if I give it a bit of a trim? I have a few ideas for styles right here in my book- How do you feel about some feathering back here? I think-” she fluffs a few of the hairs around the nape of Jaskier’s neck “-I could really bring out the curls if I adjusted the length a bit and used some product.”

“Just, uhm, go for it, then! Feel free to make me as pretty as possible!” Jaskier declares. He’s committing to this experience wholeheartedly, determined to allow himself every opportunity for positive change. He wants to really let himself enjoy it, and he needs a haircut anyway. Priscilla spends an hour washing, cutting, drying, and styling his hair into a lovely fringed sweep across his forehead. It ends just above his brows, giving his face a slightly softer shape than usual. He grins over his shoulder, “I love it! I’m going to miss you when I’m back at Oxenfurt. Good stylists are so hard to find.”

Priss blushes and nudges against his shoulder, “Oh, you little charmer.”

“I mean it,” he says, examining himself in the mirror. “I look like I could really be worthy of a heroic rescue! This is going to be such a fantastic memory, and I appreciate it. Thank you so much.”

Priss bites back a genuine tear and smiles, “Now that your natural prettiness has been mildly enhanced, let’s get you over to wardrobe, shall we?”

“Wardrobe? Do I have, like, a costume? What’s the music video even about?”

“They didn’t tell you any of this when you got here?”

“Not… not really.”

“Well, my darling, I think you’re really going to like it; they’ve got you in Versace for the first scene.”

“Versace!?” 

Then Jaskier is being ushered into a bright, colorful room full to bursting with grim-faced, middle-aged women and he loses track of his only braincell for the rest of the morning.

---

“You must be Julian!” Lambert declares, bounding up to him and grinning. It’s a feral, animalistic grin and Jaskier resists the sudden urge to take a step back.

“I prefer Jaskier, if you don’t mind too much,” Jaskier corrects him quietly. Lambert rolls his eyes in a long-suffering kind of way and throws a meaty arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, completely ignoring the wardrobe technician’s wincing as he wrinkles the expensive silk jacket. 

“No need to be quiet and polite around here, my dude. We’re just a bunch of rowdy idiots, aren’t we, guys?” 

“Hell yeah!” Aiden calls back. Eskel sighs like the put-upon nanny in a Victorian Redanian comedy. 

“Speak for yourself,” Coen barely lifts his frosted tips up from his book long enough to speak. Geralt is-

Holy motherfucking Britney Spears on toast.

Geralt is the hottest thing Jaskier has ever seen in his short, unfulfilled-until-right-now life. Forget Ralph Macchio. Forget Leonardo Dicaprio and Kate Winslet and Winona Ryder. This man is… Geralt deRiv is… he’s the picture of perfection. And he’s right there, standing in front of an elaborate party set with his thick, beautiful arms crossed over his chest and his eyes trained on the floor, as if willing it to swallow him whole. Jaskier realizes that he probably didn’t have any choice in the matter; maybe this was just as awkward and uncomfortable for Geralt as it was for Jaskier. 

“Ger-bear!” Lambert whoops, yanking Jaskier closer to the brooding frontman. If only he were brave enough to struggle for escape; alas. “This is your boy-toy for the week. Goes by Jaskier, apparently.”

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt manages to grunt. “How did you like the script?”

“I haven’t uh- I haven’t actually seen it?”

“Shit. Fuck. One second,” Geralt huffs, disappearing into the crowd of technicians and machinery operators and PAs. Jaskier loves him already, for real. Sure, he was pretty in the music videos and promo material, but the way he said fuck like it was the noblest word he could think of… Geralt interrupts his train of thought by coming back with a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. He shuffle-shoves them into Jaskier’s arms immediately. “There you go.”

“Thank you!” Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine and shy, more tenuous than his usual goofy grin. He flips through the pages, glancing between the script to his expensive suit, “So I’m guessing we’re at a party for this scene? Or something?”

“This is… where we meet. This is where… you and I uh…”

Jaskier’s eyes scan the page as Geralt’s ability to speak slowly leaves him. 

Lover ENTERS LEFT, dressed to the nines. Lover adjusts their tie/boa and takes a look around the room. S/He looks sad and a little hopeful. PULL BACK to Geralt, who approaches slowly. Their eyes meet. HOLD SHOT. PULL BACK as they move towards each other. Geralt pulls Lover into his arms and they begin to dance.

“Oh, wow.”

“I hope it’s okay! If you’re not comfortable with that kind of thing we can-”

“I’ll be alright, thank you. I came here to put my acting chops to the test. Well, that and meet my favorite band, of course. Thank you again, by the way. It’s been wonderful so far and I really appreciate you allowing me to be here.”

“Allowing? Psh. Geralt ha-” Lambert is cut off by Aiden, who elbows him sharply in the side. “Ow! What the fuck, babe?”

“I knew it!” Jaskier crows, distracted. “I knew you two were an item!”

“They’re not exactly subtle.”

“They never confirm anything either,” Jaskier retorts. Geralt shrugs his acknowledgement and moves back towards the set. Jaskier follows after the taller man like a lost puppy, eyes flicking from one thing to the next, hungry for detail even in his anxiety ridden state. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and he doesn’t want to waste a solitary second of it. “This is incredible, really just...wow. You guys do this all the time? You get to make tiny little movies for already great songs that you get to perform for millions of adoring fans? And you get paid!?”

Geralt hadn’t ever really thought about it like that. He’d been raised in the industry. He’d signed to Kaer Morhen Records as an early teen because his mother was a member of the Board of Directors and he’d been making music ever since; an outsider’s perspective to things was… new. A little strange. “Yeah, I guess that is pretty much what we do.”

“Wow.”

“It’s not that exciting, I promise.”

“Have you ever written a fifteen page paper about the history of lute-string design and manufacturing?” 

“No.”

“Then kindly shut the fuck up about what I should consider exciting,” Jaskier grins. Geralt is immediately and irrevocably smitten. Fuck. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes! “So, which door am I entering from?”

“Left,” Geralt points. Jaskier skips over and begins to introduce himself to the sound and lights crew. His smile seems to be as infectious as his cheer and soon the entire set crew is smiling at one another. There’s been a literal shift in the atmosphere; if he didn’t know any better, the TW5 frontman thinks Jaskier might be some kind of magical creature, because he can’t just be human. Geralt is well and truly fucked, and everyone in the band already knows.

---

“What do you think?” Jaskier asks, slipping anxiously from behind the changing screen. The Versace is gone and in its place are a pair of tight, high-waisted blue pleather pants and a billowing white shirt, which has been strategically ripped in several places to reveal slivers of the lightly tanned skin that lies beneath. He looks like he’s in desperate need of rescuing. He looks like every fantasy Geralt has ever had about the perfect guy. He looks like a fucking dream.

“Nice,” he says.

Lambert and Aiden wolf-whistle and cheer as they approach. Aiden claps twice, loudly, and shoots Jaskier a set of finger guns, “Hot damn, baby. You single? You lookin’ to mingle? Because I am bi and spoon like a Pringle.”

“First of all, babe, I love you but that was the most horrific combination of words yet known to man. Second of all, yeah, I’d dump Aiden for you for sure,” Lambert adds. Jaskier is at a total loss for words. His mouth hangs open and his breath comes in uneven little gasps for a moment.

“Uh… I- Thank you?”

“Oh god, Eskel! Eskel, he’s short circuiting, do something.”

“You absolute-” Eskel groans and makes his way over to the gathered group. He tugs Jaskier away and over to the other end of the set, where a comically huge rocket/bomb (Jaskier can’t tell) is standing at the center of a vaguely science-themed room. A laboratory, maybe? Or like, a really weird spacecraft? A hospital run by rocket scientists? It doesn’t matter, it’s the Evil Lair of the Villain and that’s where Jaskier is being held captive. “Here, Cameron and Elise will help you get set up for the next scene. I’m sorry about the boys they’re... gay?”

“I understand,” Jaskier nods sagely and Eskel relaxes. Then for comedy’s sake he adds an equally dramatic, “I too am... gay.”

The set dresser, an electrician, and a few specialists (likely a rope rigger among them) come over and tie Jaskier to the bomb/rocket/villainous mechanism, ending his conversation with Eskel, who is now in a much better mood than he was before. 

Jaskier is told to make sure his hands are crossed behind the small of his back and the director instructs him to wiggle back and forth “as convincingly as possible without actually getting loose or moving the ropes too much”. Which is manageable, he supposes. 

“Then, when the chorus comes up, we’ll get a few shots of the boys dancing in front of you,” the director continues to explain. That’s… kind weird, but okay. I’ve seen weirder. “Then we’ll do the action shots, with Geralt rescuing you. Are you okay to do the kiss, or would you rather not? We have dynamic shots with or without, so it’s totally up to you.”

“I’m fine with that,” Jaskier smiles shyly. “I consent to be smooched.”

“Adorable,” Lambert calls. Jaskier blushes and the director shoots Lambert a glare. 

“He’s already pink enough, don’t make me change my gels you little shithead!”

“Sorry, Pierre!”

“Fucking sorry my ass,” Pierre grumbles beneath his breath. Then he smiles at Jaskier. “Do something nasty to him for me, will you? Not too nasty but… just a little?”

“I’ve got your back,” Jaskier winks. 

“No plotting! Not fair!” Aiden whines.

“You have a team,” Pierre retorts. “Now I have a team.”

“Rules are rules,” Eskel sighs. “Now can we please shoot this damn video?”

“Right,” Pierre claps, getting everyone’s attention. “Places!”

---

Geralt races up the stairs, trying to keep the long sleeves of his black mesh shirt from catching on any of the set pieces. The solid black t-shirt he’s wearing underneath makes his arms and back look bulkier than normal; it’s a visual technique to make him look larger than Jaskier, whose billowing white shirt will hide how wide his shoulders actually are. Fuck, those are some nice shoulders. And the smattering of dark chest hair that peeks from the front of the college student’s shirt? Geralt wants to bury his face in it.

Okay, focus. 

He reaches the top of the set and rushes towards Jaskier, ripping the ropes from around his torso and pulling him close. He cups the back of Jaskier’s head with his upstage hand, framing the slightly smaller man for the camera and making him seem even shorter, another trick of angles and body posturing. Geralt plays Jaskier like an instrument, bending him back by placing his downstage arm around Jaskier’s waist, pressing their mouths together and holding them still for as long as it takes the director to yell, “Cut!” with a satisfied tone of voice. 

Geralt’s suspicions are confirmed when Pierre laughs and claps some more and cries, “Print it, lads! That was a one-take wonder!”

He tries to ignore the way Jaskier’s shoulders slump as if disappointed. “Good job,” he manages to say.

“You, too.” Geralt wishes he could keep a picture of Jaskier smiling in his back pocket forever. No other sight could light up the world so effortlessly. “Thanks for being gentle.”

“I’m trying to sweep you off your feet,” the singer shrugs. Jaskier wiggles his eyebrows and follows Geralt down the narrow set stairs.

“Are you, really?”

“Is it working?” Geralt asks, turning to look up at Jaskier. The student pauses to look at him and his foot catches on an uneven board. He topples forward with a short cry of surprise and seems surprised when Geralt reaches out to catch him. “Jaskier!”

“Oh my god!” Lambert races over, Aiden hot on his heels. “Are you okay, dude?”

“I’m fine,”  Jaskier laughs, a little breathless. “Just a little shocked.”

“You should take him to get a snack or something,” Eskel says, nudging his shoulder against Geralt’s. “He’s been busy all day and hasn’t even been to craft services.”

“You haven’t eaten?” Geralt asks, honestly baffled. Jaskier shakes his head, face heating once again. He wishes he could stop blushing, but Geralt’s presence seems to make it impossible. He wraps one arm around the younger man’s temptingly slender waist and leads him towards the food carts. He shoves a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of punch into Jaskier’s hands, not giving him a chance to argue. “Here, I’ll have something, too.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier smiles, understanding that he is, in turn, being understood. They sit comfortable folding chairs off to the side, food spread across their laps. Jaskier laughs and chats around his mouthfuls, pulling things from Geralt like his favorite color and his least favorite nicknames. Songs he liked and dances he disliked. 

“You made it fun again, today,” the singer smiles. “Thank you for that. I wish you could be here for every video shoot.”

“Looking for another member of the band?” Jaskier jokes, doing some half-hearted jazz hands. Geralt shakes his head and laughs. 

“I wish we were,” he sighs. “But I guess five is the magic number.”

“Makes the dances look cooler,” Jaskier nods. “I agree with whoever made that decision. I wouldn’t dare ruin the aesthetic.”

Geralt laughs again and Vesemir turns to look, honestly shocked at the volume of the sound. 

“Plus, you can’t be the frontman if there’s no front.”

“Shut up,” Geralt chuckles, still grinning broadly. 

Vesemir makes a phone call.

---

2 Weeks Later, Backstage in Kaedwen

---

“He’s been sulking like this ever since Jaskier went back to Oxenfurt,” Lambert whines. “C’mon Vesemir, do something.”

“What do you want me to do, make Geralt’s boyfriend appear out of thin air?”

“Not my boyfriend,” Geralt growls, stomping past his bandmates and manager. He can’t help but feel grumpy. Jaskier had been like the sun, bringing light and wonder to everything he touched, and without that joy around it doesn’t seem worth the extra effort to smile. So he’s been moping. 

“Fucking hell,” Vesemir sighs. “Thank goodness I thought ahead.”

“What do you mean?” Eskel asks, joining the little group in the hallway outside the dressing room. “What did you think of?”

“Three,” Vesemir smiles, glancing at his watch. “Two… One…”

“Boooooys,” echoes a high tenor. “Where’s my welcome wagon, Vesemir?”

“Jaskier!” Aiden practically screams, leaping out of the dressing room and flying down the hall. Lambert follows at a sprint and Vesemir hears the resounding oof oh fuck of both giddy musicians hitting their mark. 

Geralt comes back down the hall at a jog, eyes searching frantically. “I thought I heard-”

“Geralt!”

Vesemir’s heart clenches in his chest at the way Geralt’s face lights up. At the end of the hallway, surrounded by spilled luggage and apologetic boyband members, is Jaskier. Geralt floats to him, it seems, like he’s dreaming the whole thing. Jaskier takes his hands and then releases them and wraps his arms low around Geralt’s hips instead. 

“I missed you the most,” he whispers, just for Geralt to hear. “Couldn’t sleep without listening to your CD. I know it’s silly but I really like you.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers reverently into his shaggy brown hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to do my thesis on pop culture’s relation to music history,” he says. “And then the manager of TW5 called Oxenfurt and offered me the opportunity to do some… first hand research while I worked on finishing the paper.”

“R-Really? You’re going to be here… every day?”

“Do you… do you not want me he-”

Geralt kisses him before he can even finish the question. It’s a stupid question anyway, of course Geralt wants him here. Wants him right here, kissing him silly. The singer presses his lips desperately, crushingly against Jaskier’s; he never wants to part from this man again. He never wants to be without that glorious laughter and contagious liveliness. Who knew that life could be so full of delight and happiness if he only let it? 

He kisses Jaskier for all he’s worth and more, pouring his heart and soul into it. When they pull apart, both gasping for air, Geralt asks, “Stay with me, Jaskier? You don’t have to do anything I just-”

“I’d love to be the big spoon,” Jaskier winks, whispering again. “Thank you, Geralt, for the rescue.”

[soonhoonsol]

Welcome to soonhoonsol’s gif tutorial!

As a nice anon asked me how I make my gifs, I thought it’d be cool to create an in-depth tutorial :) Perhaps this can help some others enter the gif-ing world too!

What we’ll be using for this tutorial:

Software: Bandicam, Avisynth, Photoshop CC 2018, Topaz Labs

File Format: .mp4

Operating System: Windows

Disclaimer: This is just my method. Every gif maker works differently and has different preferences. What works for me may not work for you, and that’s completely okay!

Let’s get into it!

1. Find the best quality video you can find

This really depends on the content you want to gif. For variety shows, music videos or photoshoots, any video of [1080p] should be sufficient. Try not to use anything below 720p.

For stage performances, fancams tend to have higher resolutions [1440p, 4k]. Use these if your computer can handle it. If not, usually 1080p works fine. The best option would be to download .ts files, which provide clearer and less grainy videos.

For Seventeen, you can get .ts files from The Rosebay on Twitter :)

2. Screen recording

As a Windows user, I don’t have a built-in screen recorder on my laptop. So, I use Bandicam, which is a free screen recording software. The only con to it is that it has a watermark.

To combat the watermark, I always have the boundary box a little bigger than the video itself so that I can crop it out of the gif.

This is what the recording would look like:

Just record the scene(s) that you want to gif so your video file doesn’t end up too large! Your recording should be in .mp4 format.

(You may use pure .ts files in Avisynth but it never worked well for me so I usually screen record the .ts video and move on)

You can find your recorded videos in Documents > Bandicam.

3. Avisynth

I followed THIS tutorial to download Avisynth. This software is really helpful if you want sharp and clear gifs! I recommend to follow the steps in the tutorial as the below method stems from it.

- Once you have downloaded it, open up your recorded video from Step 2 and watch it. Take note of the duration you want to gif. (e.g. from 00:01 to 00:05)

- Drag your video file into normalwebrange.bat. On Windows, you can find this in File Explorer > Local Disk (C:) > video. For other .bat files, you may check out THIS tutorial.

- In the pop-up box, key in the start time for your gif (e.g. 00:00:01). It has to be in hh:mm:ss format. Press “enter”.

- Key in the end timing and press “enter” again. A resizer should pop up in an Internet Browser. I found that Firefox works best for me.

- In the resizer, you may indicate the size of the gif you’d like to make. You can also click and drag the video to resize and frame it to your liking. You may refer to THIS post for Tumblr dashboard sizing.

(These are some common gif sizes for stage performances):

1 gif - 540px by 540px (square)

2 gifs - 268px by 350px

3 gifs - 177/178px by 250px

- Under “Preprocessor”, select “debilinear” for the second box. For the first box, you may pick between qtgmc 30 (same frame rate as video) or qtgmc 60 (doubles the frame rate; smoother).

- You will also see “fast” or “slow” options. These are just how long the video will take to render. “Fast” will give you slightly lower quality as compared to “slow”, but usually is good enough.

(You can see that his features are sharper and more defined in the “slow” gif as compared to the “fast” one.)

- Copy the code in the white box. Navigate to the scripting window (it should have popped up with the resizer) and paste the code at line 17. Type a “#” before qtgmc on the same line. This will prevent the software from lagging.

- Click on the inverted triangle at the bottom of the screen. Your video will now appear in the scripting window. Drag the slider to the intended starting point of your gif and press the “home” key on your keyboard.

- Drag the slider again to the intended ending point of your gif and press the “end” key on your keyboard. This blue area you see is the duration of your gif.

- On an empty line (I usually go to line 8), place your cursor there and click “Apply” in the mini pop-up window. Afterwards, remove the “#” from line 17.

- Go to File > Save or press Ctrl + S to save the code. Close the scripting window. The video renderer will pop up. When it’s done, it will automatically close by itself.

4. Using Photoshop and Topaz

I’m using my school license for Photoshop 2018, but if you don’t have that, there are plenty of cracked versions for free. I don’t have any to recommend though so I’m sorry about that :(

I followed THIS video tutorial to download Topaz plug-ins for free. I use Topaz DeNoise (the most helpful) and Clean, but you may use others if you’d like :)

Alright, let’s dive in to the steps!

- Open up Photoshop and go to File > Import > Video Frames to Layers.

- A pop-up will appear. You can find your deinterlaced Avisynth video in File Explorer > Local Disk (C:) > video > temp > video.avi. Follow the settings in the picture and click “OK”.

- Go to Window > Timeline to open up the timeline. You should be able to see your gif spread out in frames. If you press the play button, it should play like a video.

- (Quick optional step I learned from THIS tutorial) Go to Image > Canvas and set the Resample option to “Bicubic (smooth gradients)”.)

- Select the first frame of your gif in the timeline. Shift select the last frame. Go to Window > Layers. Shift select these layers as well.

- With everything selected, click the 3 lines at the top right corner of the timeline. Select “Convert to Video Timeline”.

- At the top of the screen, select Filter > Convert for Smart Filters. Your layers will condense into one layer. Don’t worry, your gif is fine.

- Now it’s time to sharpen the gifs. Go to Filter > Sharpen > Smart Sharpen. Play around with the settings to your liking!

- If you’ve downloaded Topaz correctly, it should appear under Filter > Topaz Labs. If a pop-up asks you for an activation key, you may use THESE to activate it for free.

- Go to Filter > Topaz Labs > DeNoise and/or Clean and play with the settings until you’re satisfied.

5. Blurring

If your gifs have captions/logos that are distracting, you’d want to blur them out. Don’t be like 2018 me that blurred out the logo frame by frame; it’s very tiring. Instead, using this method from @scoupsy‘s tutorial, you’ll save lots of time.

- In the Layers tab (Windows > Layers), select the “New Layer” icon. It should be blank.

- Select the Brush tool. Make sure the “Hardness” setting is below 20%. This will blend the blurring nicely into the gif.

(For the sake of this tutorial, I will be blurring out the Bandicam logo to show you.)

- Paint over the captions/logos. Make sure this is on the blank layer!

- Duplicate (Right Click > Duplicate) the gif layer and drag it so that it’s on top of the blank layer.

- Right click on the duplicate layer and select “Create Clipping Mask”.

- Go to Filter > Blur > Gaussian Blur and play around with the settings until you’re satisfied with the level of blurring. Click “OK”.

6. Flattening & Colouring

- Once you’re done with sharpening and/or blurring, click on the 3 lines on at the right corner of the video timeline and go to Convert Frames > Flatten Frames Into Clips.

- Topaz layers and blurring will take some time to render so you can just chill for now~

- When it’s done rendering, click again on the 3 lines and go to Convert Frames > Make Frames From Clips.

- Convert it back to the gif timeline by clicking on the 3-box icon at the bottom left of the timeline.

- Select the first frame of your gif. It must be the FIRST.

- Scroll to the top of the layers and select the layer at the top. Any other layers you add should be on top of this layer. VERY IMPORTANT!!

- In the Adjustments Tab (Window > Adjustments), there are many different things to play with. There’s a high chance you won’t use everything, but here’s a few of my favourites.

Levels - Adjust the brightness and contrast of your gif in depth.

Hue/Saturation - Useful for changing colours, or switching it to black and white.

Color Balance - Tweak the colours to your liking.

Colour Lookup - Comes with built-in LUTs that you can use as a preset. Great starting point for colouring. Saves time too. You can even download plug-ins for this. 11/10 tool.

Selective Colour - Adjust the vibrancy of specific colours.

- Colouring is completely up to the gifmaker. Go crazy go stupid :D

7. Exporting

We’re almost to the end!

- Set the timing for your gif.

If you used qtgmc30, the best timing would be 0.04s / 0.05s / 0.06s.

If you used qtgmc60, the best timing would be 0.02s / 0.03s / 0.04s.

- Once you’re satisfied with everything, go to File > Export > Save for Web (Legacy).

- Follow the settings in the picture below:

- Tumblr’s gif limit is 10mb per gif. Check the gif size at the bottom left of the pop-up window. Make sure it’s below 10mb; the smaller the better.

- Click “Save”. Choose where you’d like to save the gif.

- Done!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And that’s it! You’ve successfully made a gif! Good job you :D

I hope this tutorial was helpful! Please leave some feedback if it helped, or if you have other methods you’d like to share :)

Lastly, if you have any questions, feel free to send in an ask or DM me!! :)

Good luck and happy gif-ing :’D

[zaxal]

Can I ask for azram/corvai, 96 “You look a bit tied up, want me to come back later?”

this got away from me,,, i’m fine, ao3 link soon.

cw for consensual but unhealthy power dynamics and bdsm

Every available surface of his front room is covered in sheaf upon sheaf of paper, stacked neatly and as organized as it can possibly be when his filing system involves the sofa cushions and some of the less-traveled parts of the floor. Crowley’s anger throbs behind his eyes, heat burning in his lungs. The only thing that keeps him from lighting the whole mess on fire is the faint glow emanating from the pages, some remnant of Heaven embedded into the texture and sealed in the ink. The lingering trace of divinity acts like a watermark, and Crowley could try for decades and never create a perfect counterfeit.

The most annoying part is that Heaven likely wouldn’t even notice, but Crowley’s not willing to hedge his bets so soon after having a decade’s worth of paperwork returned to him to ‘fix’ without telling him what’s wrong in the first place. It’s not worth indulging his temper. He’s almost worried that it’s the entire point. Gabriel’s never been subtle in his entire existence, and he really likes to hammer his points home with all the elegance of a jackhammer.

Obedience. Forgiveness. Crowley hasn’t forgotten. Smoke curls from between his lips, something tasting like stardust and ash on the back of his tongue. It’s not worth it. It’s really not, but the alternative is—

“Oh, dear. You look a bit tied up. Want me to come back later?”

Crowley’s fury shatters in an instant, something cold in its wake as he jerks his chin up to where Azram’s standing just inside the door to his flat. The corners of Azram’s eyes crinkle as a smile curves on his lips, smug and indulgent, like he knows how much Crowley would prefer to be left alone and seething. It’s probably the precise reason he’s here since they didn’t have plans for today. The bastard could probably tell how close Crowley was to swearing the whole thing off and popped over straight away.

Crowley has tried to swear off Heaven a dozen times in their extensive history, but Azram won’t let him. Crowley’s not waiting for permission, exactly, but Azram has this way of talking him down, both pragmatic and infuriatingly condescending. He reminds Crowley that Hell is hardly better to work for than Heaven, that Crowley would be miserable answering to the demons of the Court. On his less generous days, he reminds Crowley that he has been graciously given the option of turning his back on his Creator, while They discarded Azram entirely. The name Corvai is still his to take or leave which is more of a choice than Azram has been given in his entire existence.

Crowley has arguments for each and every one of Azram’s points, but there are things Azram doesn’t say, that Crowley processes in secrecy and silence because bringing them up will only make Azram close off. There’s something in Hell that terrifies him. It’s managed to crack through the careful mask Azram wears to hide his emotions, and it’s done it often enough that Crowley is keenly aware of it which is really saying something. Azram is trying, in his own morally superior and self-righteous way, to protect him; Crowley’s not cruel enough to throw it back in his face. He’ll let himself be maneuvered and manipulated, but he’s not going to be happy about it.

“Nah,” he drawls. “Not dealing with this right now, anyway. They wanna hand a decade of my work back to me, they can wait a bit to get it back.”

“These are yours?” Azram steps towards the end table near him. It’s sleek and sharp-cornered, chrome, black metal, and glass hidden beneath the blinding pages which light up as Azram nears, glowing as if to punish him for trying to read them. The light catches in his pale irises, making them seem as mercilessly bright and cold as frozen wastes under a midnight sun.

Here’s the part where any decent angel would step in, keeping the enemy from laying a hand on Heaven’s paperwork. It’s telling that Crowley doesn’t move until Azram tuts softly. “So careless. Why, anything could happen to these.”

It’s probably an idle threat, but there’s that tiny bit of Crowley that can never be quite sure. Azram’s provoking him, even reaching a finger out to brush lovingly across the gleaming ink of Crowley’s sigil.

Crowley had been leaning his hip against his desk, but he shoves himself off, crossing the room in a matter of two extraordinarily long strides. His fingers fasten around Azram’s wrist, pulling it away from the paper. Azram steps closer, eyes gleaming like the sharp edge of broken glass. Crowley’s hardly even moving him when he turns, pushing Azram against the wall, wrist pinned above his head.

Azram still has a hand free, but instead of trying to free himself or pull Crowley closer, he simply offers it, raising it on his own to rest naturally over his head next to its twin as if Crowley moved it there himself. Crowley loves him in such a mad and overwhelming rush that it would have knocked him off his feet if he hadn’t gotten used to carrying the weight thousands of years ago. Ridiculous, selfish things that they both are, he rests his other hand over Azram’s exposed pulse, thumb settling into the groove of his wrist as if it had been made to be there.

“So,” Crowley ventures. “Was ‘tied up’ an invitation or a request?”

Azram shrugs with a practiced affectation of nonchalance betrayed by the hunger burning in his eyes. “Does it matter? It seems you’ve made up your mind already.” The tip of Azram’s shoe moves, sliding just inside one of Crowley’s own, inviting.

Crowley angles their bodies almost together without touching Azram more than he already is. The heat is palpable between them, heavier than what had been building in Crowley alone. Azram slowly lifts his chin, exposing his pale throat, and Crowley’s teeth itch to mark him. But he’s being given a choice, and Crowley needs to weigh his options.

Would overpowering Azram make him feel powerful or monstrous? Would he feel grounded or distant after? Those are the roles they play most often; they know their lines and limits well. But so much of it depends on how Azram comes to life in his hands, how hard he pushes to be broken, how much energy Crowley needs to put him back together.

Crowley feels angry, still. Weak in the face of Gabriel throwing his weight around. The least-loved angel, Heaven’s special little fuck-up. But if Azram loves him — and he does, Crowley knows he does, but isn’t it nice to be shown? to be given to instead of expecting to give and give without taking anything for himself? — then maybe the rest is bearable.

Even knowing what he wants, it’s in his nature to let the final decision rest with Azram. For a moment, his traitorous tongue struggles under the weight of confessing his desires, with putting himself first. He doesn’t want to pressure Azram, but he offered. Crowley wants to give him a real answer. Finally, Crowley says, “I’d let you win, love.” It’s not half as seductive as he’d like it to be, too raw and real and truthful. Even using the pet name feels like exposing some tender part of himself for Azram’s perusal.

But Azram smiles, killingly soft and gentle, and Crowley’s heart almost stops in his chest at the sight of it. He has never collected words of love, but thousands rise to his perfect memory unbidden. Something, particularly, about seeing the face of God, though he knows saying it aloud would ruin the chances of anything more happening in this moment. “Oh, my clever darling,” Azram says, as near as he’ll get to speaking forbidden words of gratitude where some stray ear might hear. Crowley warms, easing up just a touch on Azram’s wrists. “Perhaps we should take this somewhere less… problematic?” He tilts his head towards the piles of paperwork, and Crowley nods hesitantly.

Bodily fluids might be easy to get rid of, but he’d rather spare himself the trouble of cleaning these pages with such a meticulous and steady hand that no one would notice the excessive tampering. He barely manages to think about how thoughtful it is before he steps back and Azram gives him one last look, something ravenous lurking just behind the kind smile and the warmth of his eyes.

“Your bedroom, I should think,” he says, and it doesn’t sound like a suggestion. Gooseflesh prickles along Crowley’s arms, a tingle crawling up from his spine and over his scalp. Something innate and visceral inside him bares its teeth in anticipation, but he swallows it down.

Heaven demands obedience and expects him to give it without thought or question. When Azram demands obedience, he expects Crowley to fight tooth and nail. Crowley needs it, not to be brought forcibly back into line, but to rail against the universe at large. Some days, it feels like the only way to stay sane.

“Right,” he says with an attempt at a careless shrug, turning his back on Azram to walk away despite every animal instinct ingrained in his frail human corporation telling him that he mustn’t, that he can’t.

Crowley’s flat is larger than it should be according to the laws of physics and the layout of the building, but it feels like no time at all that he slips into the door to his bedroom. His bed, predictably, dominates the space, though it’s little more than slab of a mattress wrapped up in the most expensive sheets Crowley could find and covers that are equally costly though the whole thing looks rather dark and plain. There’s a buzz in the back of his head, pressure settling in on his chest and constricting at his ribs, but Crowley ignores it, debating with himself about removing the bedding entirely or if that will make him seem eager.

The walls are definitely closing in around him, centimeter by centimeter of freedom vanishing against a swell of malicious intent. It draws him subconsciously closer to the bed. Crowley’s skin feels tight, dread and want coiling together in his stomach until they’re indistinguishable from one another. A single touch sets his nerves alight, a hand at his nape, and Crowley hisses, throwing his head back and wrenching himself away from where Azram had soundlessly slid in behind him.

Azram smiles with a pleasant sort of menace that chills Crowley to the bone. His eyes have abandoned all semblance of humanity: his pale irises take up the entirety of his eyes, and his pupils have slanted into rectangles, always parallel to the ground even when he tips his head and steps nearer. Two horns sprout and spiral from his white curls, coiling around his silky ears which are perked towards Crowley, twitching when he moves, making him feel watched and trapped.

Crowley takes another step back, and Azram laughs, the sound so soft and sweet and completely at odds with the intent behind it. “Oh, angel. Are you going to make this fun for me?”

It riles him up more. Azram could say ‘angel’ with all the tenderness and love in the universe, and Crowley would still hear something unspoken beneath it, a sour reminder that he’s always been too cowardly, too weak, too obedient. It seethes through him as his hands curl into fists at his sides.

Azram disappears in a flash, and Crowley’s gone before he reforms. Azram’s head turns, gaze pinning Crowley before his atoms have started to realign, and Crowley swears under his breath, falling back in a shower of loosely-connected particles as Azram closes the distance between them. One of Crowley’s feet slides up the wall while the other finds the ceiling, and he shoves forward, blinking through Azram to the far side of the room.

It’s all flash, this. Little more than playing with their corporations and the laws of physics. It hardly qualifies as magic, really, though they’ve long-since agreed on the story should anyone start asking: they encountered the enemy, they fought, victory was uncertain, they slunk off to their respective shadows to wile and thwart appropriately rather than creating a big fuss out in the open. This is the closest Crowley’s ever come to play fighting, but his heart races as if it’s real, wings itching to unleash themselves.

He doesn’t. It’s a selfish decision, but Azram would undoubtedly follow his lead. He can’t deal with what he feels when he sees Azram’s black feathers, the injury that clings to him reminding Crowley as ever that unlike every other Seraphim, he is not able to heal.

Azram’s eyes narrow the barest touch, and Crowley grinds his teeth, forcing his eyes to stay on Azram’s. Looking away will only make it worse, and if Azram thinks Crowley pities him, this is going to turn into something else altogether.

Even though the end of this fight is pre-written, Crowley doesn’t intend to get caught so quickly. There’s a sudden swell of demonic power, and by the time Crowley realizes how much force is about to barrel into him, it’s too late to mitigate to a glancing blow. It knocks him clean off his feet, slamming him into the wall as if he’d taken Azram’s horns head on. His head cracks against the wall behind him, bright, sharp pain hammering behind his eyes as he slumps to the floor.

It soothes quickly, and Crowley blinks the dancing stars out of his vision to find Azram kneeling above where he fell, his soft, manicured hand slipping through Crowley’s hair. His face is impassive, but he shows his care in other ways. This tender pause gives Crowley a chance to back out if he no longer wants to play. The way he’s touching Crowley is familiar and comforting without making him feel fragile.

Crowley tips his head into Azram’s touch, breath quickening when Azram reaches for his shades. He lifts them off Crowley’s face, leaving him more bare and exposed than if Azram had taken his clothes. Azram folds the glasses up and tucks them into the pocket of his own cardigan, smiling warmly even as he removes one of Crowley’s few defenses.

Crowley could fight again. He almost wants to. His snake-like fangs are near enough to Azram’s hand. A little of Crowley’s manufactured venom would bring them right back to it. But there is something so precious about this moment that he can’t stand to lose it to the game they were playing, to the pretenses and mechanisms they both use to make the eternal, immortal future ahead of them feel bearable.

Crowley has to move carefully. If he steps wrong, Azram will assume that Crowley simply wants to subsume control from him as if every sexual encounter is a power play that must have a winner and a loser. They’re working on it. They’ve been working on it. They’ll be working on it forever, probably, or as near to forever as they’re allowed. ‘It’s rotten work,’ comes to mind, though Crowley’s never been able to stomach much tragedy. But, as always, answered with: ‘Not to me. Not if it’s you.’

“Please,” he breathes. Azram’s head tilts the slightest bit, and Crowley feels like he’s shaking apart at a molecular level. He turns his head into Azram’s palm, breathing the words into his skin: “Please, love. I want you, I want—” His breath hitches in his chest, a small, fragile truth entrusted to those soft, familiar hands. “Wanna be good.”

Not capital-letter Good, not the way Heaven wants him to be, not the way Azram thinks he is, not obedient and unquestioning but good enough to be loved despite his endless number of flaws. Good enough to be cherished, taken apart, and put back together by someone — by the only person — who cares.

“Of course you do,” Azram says, fond without a hint of bitterness or condescension. He sweeps Crowley up in his arms with effortless strength, long limbs tamed and pinned as Crowley is cradled close to his chest. “My dear Corvai.”

A shudder runs through him, loving and hating the name itself, the way it clings to Azram’s lips as he presses a searing kiss against his temple. It was the first gift he was ever given and the first thing in the entirety of Creation ever weaponized against him. For almost two-thousand years, he’s called himself Crowley, and it’s yet another thing Azram strips from him like his shades and his dignity, leaving him weak and vulnerable, yearning for more of whatever Azram will give him, however barbed and double-edged it might be.

Azram flicks a hand, shoving the covers to the floor so that he can spread Corvai out on the sheets. Azram climbs on top of him, thick hands pressed to Corvai’s thin, fragile wrists. He bends his head, foregoing Corvai’s mouth — already open, already gasping for breath — to bite under his ear. It’s a slow but firm application of teeth, just on the wrong side of painful so that Corvai writhes, yanking feebly at his hands and arching underneath Azram’s immovable weight. Azram hums to himself as if this is any number of other everyday tasks, as if Corvai’s resistance is as mundane as waiting for the kettle to boil.

When Azram lets go, he presses a soft kiss to the forming bruise, sending a throbbing ache down Corvai’s body. “I thought you wanted to be good.” Then, with a wicked bastard smile dripping from every word: “Aren’t you a good angel?”

Everything from before slams into him: the endless frustration with pointless bureaucracy, Gabriel’s condescension hidden behind a friendly but professional smile, the knowledge that he could spend eternity sucking up and playing by the rules and he would still be the odd one out, the angel no one can really trust, forever unworthy of Their Grace. Instead of trying, he’s here, pinned under a demon’s weight, hurting and wanting to hurt more, wanting to succumb because being loved by Azram tastes like wine after millennia with blood in his mouth, because loving Azram feels more holy, more Good than anything Heaven’s ever asked him to do.

He’s not a good angel. Honestly, he doesn’t want to be. But right here, right now, it feels like there’s nothing else in the universe he could be, that without it, he is  less than nothing, less than nobody.

Shame and fury course through his body like electricity. He thrashes, feet kicking against the sheets as he twists his torso and bucks under Azram. Corvai was not built to be a soldier, but he’s far from weak. Azram comes off the bed, and it feels like a victory until he slams down again. Something warm and leaden wraps around Corvai’s ankles, pulling them apart until he’s lost all leverage, splayed out and panting. Azram leans back to look down at him, cold, annoyed even as he smiles.

He squeezes Corvai’s wrists, leaving that same heated, heavy feeling behind, the infernal miracle causing his skin to throb like a bruise. Azram brushes loose strands of hair off Corvai’s forehead while the other hand cups his neck, pressing deliberately against the bite mark he left behind until Corvai hisses. “I’m in quite a forgiving mood today, so I’ll let that go if you behave now.”

He moves on without waiting for a reply, simply expecting Corvai to obey. His soft hands slide over the sharp cut of Corvai’s ribs, down to the hem of his shirt where it’s ridden up in his flailing around. It would feel less invasive, somehow, if he simply shredded it with his claws or burned it away with a miracle. Instead, Azram takes his time as if he’s unwrapping a present, pressing the shirt up with wandering hands, stopping to thumb and tease Corvai’s pierced nipples until his face feels like it’s on fire with arousal and humiliation. He plucks and twists at Corvai’s piercings before rucking up his shirt the rest of the way and simply pulling it up over Corvai’s head. Corvai lays there, still pinned and splayed by the miracle Azram’s using to bind him.

“Oh, you are lovely.” His smile ticks wider, insufferable. “And quiet. So well-behaved.”

Always goading, always pushing. Corvai snarls, “You are such a bastard.”

Azram trails a hand down the thin barrel of his chest, nearly petting. “I’m only giving you what you want.”

He is. Corvai knows that, but at the moment, it rankles. Azram’s hands trail lower, across Corvai’s abdomen and fitting into the jut of his hips, soothing before raking over them with his nails, leaving trails of heat in their wake. Corvai arches, but there’s nowhere to go; he’s barely able to move at all. The fact that he’s not been fully immobilized feels like another way Azram’s rubbing his nose in his own helplessness.

Azram undoes Corvai’s belt and flies before sliding further down the bed to dispense of Corvai’s clothing. His legs shake with tension as Azram picks the first up, working open the laces of Corvai’s boot before letting it fall with a heavy thump to the floor. Corvai wants to kick him, but the weight on his ankle is too heavy. He can wiggle his knees, spread or close his thighs, struggling without the ability to turn the tides.

Azram is gentler with Corvai’s clothes than Corvai’s ever been. He unrolls the sock with deft hands, fingers lingering on his calf, his ankle, the soft pattern of scales there before he sets the foot down and moves on to the second. The second boot and sock are gingerly removed then tossed aside, and then Azram’s climbing back on top of Corvai, taking hold of the waist of his fashionably-ripped jeans and starting to pull down.

He can do nothing to stop it, but Corvai struggles anyway. He pulls against the miracle binding him. He wiggles his hips backwards and presses them down into the bed to make his jeans harder to remove. Azram gives him one irritated look then simply ignores him as if he’s undressing a doll. It’s torture in a different way, deprived of intimacy and care. Sometimes, Azram will kiss his knee and soothe his hands over Corvai’s thighs, teasing until Corvai lets them part of his own volition. He’ll pet and kiss and suck on whatever Effort Corvai gives him to play with, drawing him closer, making him pliant and easy in his arms.

Right now, he’s ignoring Corvai’s throbbing cock, rocking back to his feet and teasing the buttons of his cardigan open almost absentmindedly, as if he’s got all the time in the world. Corvai misses the weight of him immediately, and whatever lingering frustration he has melts away when Azram turns, looking for somewhere to hang his clothes. He can’t stand to be alone, not with his thoughts and feelings — with Heaven and paperwork and eternity — when Azram is so close.

“M’sorry,” he says around the tight squeeze of his throat, and Azram turns his head slightly, a frown tugging on his lips in profile. The words twist inside Corvai, unpleasant and sharp, painful, a lock being forced open with a knife. “Don’t leave. Don’t— Pleassse—” and the hiss is what does it, the way his treacherous tongue writhes behind his teeth, thin, forked, decidedly inhuman, and most certainly unangelic.

Azram notices the change immediately, shrugs off his cardigan in an instant, flinging it into the air. He snaps, and it disappears along with his woolen bow tie before it hits the ground. His warm weight is soon pressing Corvai back to the sheets, clothes a little rough against his bare skin, but Corvai can hardly pay attention to it. He presses his face to Azram’s shoulder, swallowing around the small hitches in his own breathing, muffling the start of a sob into the weave of his shirt. Corvai can see something shining in Azram’s frail and failing seams, love so blindingly bright that it would put every star in the universe to shame if it were allowed to escape.

Azram’s fingers tangle in his hair, soothing over his scalp. His lips press to Corvai’s hairline, gentle, and Corvai shivers closer, whimpering soft promises. “I’ll be good. I’ll be— I will, I— I can.”

“Shh,” Azram murmurs.

“Ram,” Corvai gasps.

“I know, dearest.” He plucks one of Corvai’s wrists up, pulling it over his shoulders before doing the same with the other, allowing Corvai to cling to him. His hands slide down to Corvai’s thighs, manipulating his miracle to move Corvai’s legs, and with a little adjusting on both of their parts, Corvai is soon sitting in his lap, wrapped around him. His fingers dig into the material of his shirt, breath shuddering against his neck. “You are so good to me.” A broad hand slides down the line of Corvai’s back, resting for a moment in the small of it, pulling him ever closer, as if their corporations are one more barrier to overcome together. “For me.” His fingers splay wide, teasing lower, and Corvai arches his hips back, offering.

“Now, now,” he chides softly, familiar smile pressed to Corvai’s skin. “Patience, darling. I’m not going anywhere. No need to rush things.” Azram kisses his jaw with markedly less teeth, open-mouthed, wet, hot, humming a pleased little laugh when Corvai tips his head to expose himself for the taking. His cock throbs, and Corvai ruts forward without thinking, whining when the fabric of Azram’s button-up feels too coarse on his sensitive, overheated skin.

“I wouldn’t want to hurt you,” Azram murmurs, utterly at odds with the way he sinks another painful bite into Corvai’s neck, centimeters below the last. Corvai throws his head back, baring his throat for Azram’s teeth, for the collar of bruises he gives him until Corvai’s entire body is thrumming, aching for more. Azram, satisfied, kisses the last one, sucks at it until the pain sweetly sharpens again, until Corvai can only moan where he’s melted against him, utterly unresistant.

“Lovely,” Azram murmurs, stroking down Corvai’s back, delicately counting the knobs of his spine. Two thick fingers push inside Corvai second later without preamble, slick and warm. There’s a sting to it, a bit too much, but Corvai’s arms only tighten as he tries to relax around them. Azram, for all his damned patience, can’t help himself. He’s more than capable of taking this slowly, opening Corvai with methodical intensity until Corvai is sopping with lube, loose enough to take Azram’s fist if he wanted it. But Azram’s a touch too greedy, too eager and selfish to deny himself Corvai writhing on his fingers, moaning his name, when the hurt is so temporary that Corvai hardly notices it anymore.

Corvai hitches his hips and grinds down, trying to take more but struggling with the angle. Azram chuckles, screwing his fingers deeper for just a moment before he removes them entirely, wiping them on the underside of Corvai’s thigh. Corvai twitches, tugging his arms only to find that he’s still held fast, unable to force Azram’s hands and certainly unable to touch himself.

Azram’s zip is loud. The metal is hot when it touches his skin, the folds of Azram’s flies bumping against Corvai’s cheeks. His cock is thick and hard, sliding against Corvai’s ass, nestled in the crack. He rolls his hips, a decadent, heavy sigh rushing over Corvai’s ear as his cock drags over Corvai’s skin. Corvai digs his nails into the fabric of Azram’s shirt, choking around a whine. He imagines being held close, sweet endearments trickling honey-sweet between the increasingly-frantic movement of Azram using him before painting his ass and back with his spend.

Corvai wants with such intensity that his head spins, the universe falling away around them until all that remains are their bodies, their burning souls, the omnipresence of their mutual Creator who must understand despite Their silence or Corvai would’ve Fallen with the Tower of Babel.

Azram reaches up to take Corvai’s hands in his as if unclasping a piece of jewelry. Corvai presses closer, but he is ultimately at Azram’s mercy, unable to stop him when Azram lays him back on the bed, Corvai’s wrists pinned to it again. There’s a pink flush to Azram’s round face, spreading down to the open collar of his shirt where wiry curls tease, promising more that Corvai is not allowed to see. It’s such a stark contrast that Corvai looks away, chewing his bottom lip and glaring at nothing. He feels so cheap and easy, denied the intimacy of their skin touching but unable to stop the way he’s about to be fucked. Azram’s thumbs part his cheeks, a nail grazing just so over his taint. Corvai’s legs are still forcibly held, spread open for the demon between them, situated nicely over his thick hips. Azram only has to adjust for a moment before he’s sliding his cock lewdly against Corvai’s hole, spreading lube that feels too much and too cold, as if this is a quick and dirty fumble.

One hand disappears to steady Azram’s dick, and then it’s pressing more solidly against the tightness of Corvai’s rim, testing the give with steady, unerring pressure. Corvai bears down, wanting to feel the aching stretch of Azram’s cock as it pushes inside him and fills him. “Corvai,” he rumbles like a storm, and Corvai closes his eyes. His heart thumps faster, knowing what Azram wants and purposefully denying him, making him use force to take it.

The love shining within Azram doesn’t falter or dim in the slightest. It’s comforting, that: knowing that he can be deliberately troublesome, and Azram will love him all the same. “My contrary darling,” Azram says, husky but firm. The miracle at Corvai’s ankles and wrists burns hotter, the collar of bruises at his neck aching as if the injuries are sinking deeper. Azram rolls his hips, pressing forward for just a moment before pulling away, all pressure and presence gone save for the grounding touch of his hand, fingers digging into the flesh of his ass, and the weight of his body between Corvai’s legs. “You can either open your eyes of your own volition, or I will remove your eyelids and hold your head in place.”

A shiver crawls down his body, curling heavy and warm in his gut. The texture of his skin starts to change in response, like a physical shimmer at his extremities and climbing inward as scales bloom.

“Or is that what you want?” Azram asks mildly. “For me to immobilize you entirely? I could control your body down to the heartbeat. You’d make such a lovely poppet for me to play with. And you’d hardly be responsible, would you, for whatever I made you do.” Azram squeezes the handful of Corvai’s ass until Corvai’s body is screaming for him to twist away.

He gasps. “Then what, eh? Open season for your mates down below?”

Azram’s free hand wrenches through Corvai’s hair, pulling him off the bed in a tight arch. His eyes fly open reflexively, pupils shaking to look around the room, to make sure he’s not in any actual danger, but there is something undeniably, terribly grave about the demon glaring down at him. His teeth are sharper than any sheep’s or any human’s. Between the ridges of his horns, embers smolder, burning blue-white with immense, unbearable heat. Azram’s fury presses in on him like like the pressure of the deep ocean or the inexorable pull of a black hole. “I’m afraid not, dear one.” His voice is discordant, shivering through the physical and immaterial makeup of Corvai’s flat. Several rooms over, he hears a rustling of leaves as every single plant in his nursery shrinks as much as it’s able, pulling their leaves in and closing their blooms before they can be noticed. “The only hands to touch you will be my own. The Kings may have their Kingdoms and do with them as they like. But I will have you.” He manages a smile, but the viciousness and possessive intent in his voice are very, very real. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Corvai says, his tongue thick and dry in his mouth. Distantly, something starts to slide tentatively into place, and Corvai ignores it as best he can though new questions start to sprout in the wake of it. The closer he comes to understanding the things Azram won’t tell him, the more he needs to ask. He doesn’t have the time to unpack it right now, to ask himself if Azram’s desire to protect him from other demons stems from the love he has for Corvai or the fear Azram has of Hell. “M’yours,” he says, intending to sound defeated or cowed, but it’s unfortunately earnest, as clear a declaration of love as the words themselves.

Azram’s rage seethes out of him, the fire disappearing, the demonic pressure easing to something more manageable, something more like the constructed space they’re meant to be playing in. “You are,” Azram says, releasing Corvai’s hair and coaxing with his other hand, arching Corvai’s hips further off the bed. The head of his cock nestles against Corvai’s hole again, warmer now. “I want to see you. One way or another, I will get what I want. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

Azram’s smile has inspired songs and wars. Corvai’s blood sings in his veins, thrumming with the prestissimo tattoo of his heart. “Yes what, Corvai?” He presses in, not quite breaching but promising as he rocks his hips. Anticipation coils through Corvai, taut and ready. His excitement is only somewhat tempered by the expected surrender, by the prospect of giving himself up wholly.

If he was ever going to Fall, this would be it. It hasn’t happened yet, and Corvai knows deep down that it won’t, that his purpose in life, if he has one, is to love God and Azram both. “Yes, Master.”

The lingering dread melts away in an instant now that he’s placed his body and heart in Azram’s capable hands. He doesn’t have to worry, doesn’t have to think, just has to give Azram what he wants with the faith that Azram will take care of him. Azram knows how to handle him with tender efficacy, no longer teasing or posturing, only leading until Corvai’s body finally opens for him.

Corvai’s eyes slide out of focus, lips parted as his breath stutters in his lungs. Azram had been hasty with prep which means Corvai’s body aches, unbearably full as Azram seats himself deep and comfortable, as if Corvai has been molded to hold him. He arches off the bed, shallow breaths shaking through his chest, his bony ribs rising and falling with each. Azram splays one hand on top of his diaphragm, gently but firmly leading Corvai back to the bed. The other strokes one of Corvai’s slim thighs as they tremble, caging Azram in and unable to move much farther apart. “You needed that,” Azram says like it’s the truth, and Corvai nods hazily before rolling his head back, exposing the lean length of him for Azram’s appraisal.

There’s a rush of warm air over his chest, an indulgent huff before Azram’s teeth — still sharper than they should be, nicking the surface of his skin and threatening to break it — close around one of his pierced nipples. He catches the ring there, tongue slipping into the metal, flicking across Corvai’s sensitive skin until he’s shaking, unsure whether to lean into it or away.

Corvai rolls his hips, biting his lip when Azram ruts lazily into him, bringing their hips together and pushing deeper inside him. His own cock twitches, drooling precum on his stomach, but the idea of getting off is so far from his mind that when the hand on his thigh slides higher, Corvai makes a distressed noise in his throat, twitching away.

“None of that,” Azram warns against his chest though his hand stalls on the crease of Corvai’s hip, teasing the soft skin there until he’s lax against the bed again.

“S’rry,” he slurs, and Azram rewards him with a dull-toothed bite, sucking a bruise around Corvai’s other nipple, leaving it sore and swollen, the imprint of his teeth purpling his skin. Corvai twitches against it, not to pull away but to feel Azram’s jaw tighten for just a moment, holding him fast. When he lets up, the noise Corvai makes is equal parts disappointed and relieved.

The hand on his chest slides up to cup his face, pulling it back down to look at Azram. With great effort, Corvai brings his vision back into focus as best he can, but the edges of Azram are still fuzzy, glowing with the light behind him, almost angelic though Corvai would never dare tell him that. His eyes flutter when Azram gives a hasty thrust, but he forces them open again, almost drunk when they land on Azram’s face.

Azram’s voice is thick with desire, heavy. “Oh, look at you, Corvai. Decadently debauched, and I’ve not even started fucking you properly.”

Azram likes the sound of his own voice; the fact that he’s not saying anything more is a clear indication that he’s waiting for something from Corvai. He manages a noise in the back of his throat, rolling his hips to take more. A thick swallow catches in his throat when the hand on his hip tightens, holding him still. “I am going to ruin you, darling, in my own good time,” Azram promises lowly. A pleasant twitch zips through Corvai’s body, his dick pulsing weakly against his abdomen. “But first, I think you should do something to make it worth my while. I have been so kind to you today.”

“Aa-ah,” Corvai cries out weakly, tugging at his arms and trying to buck as Azram finally takes his wet, throbbing dick in hand.

“Then,” Azram continues, sickeningly sweet, “I’ll give you everything you want. Until you can’t remember your name or mine. Until all we are is this.” He gently sweeps his thumb through Corvai’s slit with such steady patience that Corvai can almost feel the whorls of his fingerprint, could draw it from memory.

“Anything,” Corvai promises, thighs sprawling as far apart as he can manage, and the worst, most embarrassing part is that he means it. There’s a decade’s worth of paperwork in his flat, full of cross references to other Heavenly projects and Corvai’s own ongoing ‘lessons’ with Gabriel. If Azram ordered him to turn them over, Corvai would teleport them to his stupid bookshop without a second thought. If he ordered them destroyed, Corvai’s not sure he wouldn’t set the entire flat on fire in eager haste to give Azram anything he wants. He’s not sure he won’t beg to be bent over and fucked on top of his desk before the evening’s over as it is, regardless of the paperwork in the way.

Azram smiles, eyes gleaming. “I am going to mark you. Lay claim to you. And you are going to wear it until those papers of yours have been safely delivered back to Gabriel’s hands in Heaven.” The mention of Gabriel starts to bring Corvai up, and he whines, writhing, wanting to sink back down where none of this matters. Azram is unrelenting. “You’ll carry my sigil into Heaven.”

“S’it gonna hurt?” Of course it will. His body is innately divine; it would reject Azram’s sigil as best it could. It will hurt when he steps into Heaven — Azram’s sigil was stricken from the Heavenly record; it should not exist there at any point. If he says yes — oh God, oh fuck, he’s going to say yes if Azram doesn’t stop moving his hand, his thumb rubbing slow circles just under his cockhead until Corvai’s hips shake with the dual effort of holding still and not cumming — how long will it be there? How long is fixing his reports going to take?

“Of course it will,” Azram says, answering every question and none at once, and Corvai—

He’ll let himself be maneuvered and manipulated because he is as selfish and as self-destructive as Azram is. Just thinking about talking to Gabriel while carrying Azram’s mark makes him feel alive. “Yesssss.”

The hand not holding his cock lands heavily on Corvai’s hip and turns blazingly, searingly hot in an instant. It lays there for long moments, pressing deeper, the smell of something sweet and charred crowding Corvai’s senses along with the steady, almost-gentle pulls on his cock. Azram keeps him from going soft and from surfacing too suddenly, twining the immense pain with the inevitability of his reward. Corvai trembles, innately knowing that moving will mess up the sigil, that the punishment will be worse than this pain. “Massster,” he breathes, uncertain of when, exactly, the heat disappears because of the brand remains, splitting his skin open, an unhealed wound.

“Good, Corvai. You are so good.” Corvai rolls his head up, eyes hooded as he looks up at Azram. His fingers trace the edges of his sigil, greedily taking it in before he glances up to Corvai. The words are like honey, sweet and thick, cloying, “Let me give you what you want. Let me have you. You deserve it, dear one.” He strokes along one of Corvai’s thighs and squeezes Corvai’s cock gently before letting it loll out of his hand. Without the stimulation, it’s easier to think, to process.

Finally, he nods, and Azram surges forward. His hands wrap around Corvai’s hips as he fucks into him, thick cock angling across Corvai’s prostate with every thrust. Corvai’s jaw is slack, noises wrung from his chest as his body soars on an endless wave of pleasure. He thrashes against the bindings holding him, burning up inside them. His entire body has been reduced to a single throb, his heart rushing in his ears as he bucks into Azram’s thrusts. His zip bites into Corvai’s cheeks with every wet slap of skin meeting skin.

He’s babbling nonsense in several different languages before it all breaks on a shattered moan. Everything builds into an almost-painful crescendo, and Corvai thrusts up, cumming untouched. His cock twitches, aching for friction even as it pulses weakly a few times, leaving pale streaks on Corvai’s skin.

Stars dance in his vision, and Azram grabs his thighs, pulling them up over his shoulders so he can bend him practically in half as he fucks him into the bed. Corvai’s arousal burns bright, undeterred by his release. It hurts, but oh, oh the pain is nothing compared to Azram worshipping him, as covetous of Corvai’s pleasure as he is his beloved books, determined to take more and more until he’s run out of room for it. Corvai’s shoulders dig into the bed, his neck bent at a truly terrible angle, but his cock slaps wetly against his stomach in a perfect counterbalance to Azram’s thrusts, pushing him over the edge again. He throws his head back, coming almost off the bed as he digs his heel between Azram’s shoulders, his body bowstring tight.

He could live here with Azram inside him, Azram’s love surrounding him, Azram dedicated to his divine rapture.

He’s gasping for air, drowning as Azram bears down into him, thrusts growing shallow and erratic. There’s something bright in the depths of his eyes, something Corvai can’t look away from after he’s noticed it. Like a spark of first Light, like the entirety of Creation, the frantic spin of an endless number of galaxies, stars colliding in the vacuum of space — it is too much, too powerful, unfathomable, something simply ineffable—

“Now, Corvai,” Azram breathes, and the next orgasm rolls over him like the Flood, sweeping away everything in its path, baptism, destruction. Corvai is plummeting, falling but not Falling, leagues under the sea and lightyears from the planet Earth, from his flimsy corporal form that can’t possibly contain the endlessness of him, all wings and scales and flames. He can feel his body lingering on the edge of orgasm again, flirting with pain and pleasure, only stepping just over the line before being brought back, but it feels so small in comparison, like a flea trying to get the attention of the sun.

The weight on his wrists disappears. Corvai’s fingers are wrapped around the twisting length of Azram’s horns, pulling himself back into his body, pushing himself into Azram, overwrought, overcome. He buries his face in Azram’s neck, every breath a suffocating weight in his lungs. Azram fucks up into him, a hand twisted into Corvai’s hair as he snarls, cumming in spasms while Corvai tries to pull his shattered pieces together.

He is crying. The real world is out there, large and complicated. There are choices to be made and things that need to be done, and it’s so much easier to be here, to be Azram’s, where everything has boiled down to what he can do for the demon he loves. He’s not ready to go back. He’s not done. He wants to be here.

“Shh,” Azram soothes, his voice rough but gentle as he cuts through Corvai’s sobbing babbles. “I’m here, dearest. I’m not going anywhere.” He bucks a little to emphasize his point, where he’s going soft inside Corvai. “I’m here.” Corvai, trembling, grasps for him, clinging with all of his long, unwieldy limbs while Azram pulls him down into the bed, wrapping him in a soft but sturdy embrace.

Corvai is still so hard it hurts, and he almost wails when Azram takes him in hand again, his fist warm and slick and tight, pumping him with brutal efficiency until Corvai has one final, painful spill over his fingers. He shivers and shakes in Azram’s arms, more exposed nerves and bleeding heart than person.

“My sweet, splendid angel,” Azram murmurs, and Corvai falls apart as if a wrecking ball ripped through a house of cards.

[readyforit]

hellooo, so today I thought I’d document my editing process with you, and hopefully share some tips and ideas along the way! this was requested by the lovely @vintagedresses​ ♡ so let’s get started!

I first start out with a plain canvas, with just a solid colour over it. this canvas is 540 x 300 pixels, though the size doesn’t really matter in my opinion!

next, I always love adding textures. I’ve downloaded a lot of textures, but you can always just google the word ‘texture’ and open up your favourite photo!

now, in the blending modes panel, I always love blending the layers together so that they seem to almost bleed into each other. I think it gives the edit a smooth and nice effect that flows well!

lately I’ve been into layering a lot of textures together, so I’ll often gather several different textures and blend those together!

after this, I love playing around with the colouring! I’ll usually add a psd over the layers first, blending the layers further

I usually play around with the colouring through the selective colour, brightness/contrast and vibrance layers, sometimes even adding a layer of a solid colour and blending that in, in order to create the colour that I want (pink in this instance)

at this point, I usually add in the main subject of my edits! if it’s a taylor edit, I’ll usually go through her photos at taylorpictures, and just open the photos that I want to use! I almost always choose photos from photoshoots and gifs from music videos, as they’re always high quality and pretty

I usually use the quick selection tool to crop the subject out, it’s really simple as I first click on the quick selection button, then highlight the areas that I’d like to keep:

click on the select and mask button, and it’ll take me to a new window, allowing me to play around with the setting further:

now I press okay, and then the mask button on the bottom left, and the photo should be perfectly cropped out!

I usually sharpen the image (through filter > sharpen > sharpen) and then play around with the colouring (through selective colour, brightness/contrast and vibrance layers), remembering to add a clipping mask over these layers so that they affect the image and not the background layers

now, I usually add more elements to my edit, such as another photo.

first, I’ll sharpen the image and then crop it out. other than the quick selection tool, another way that I love cropping is through the polygonal lasso tool, to create a rougher, less precise look:

press the delete button to remove the highlighted area, and I’m now left with a rougher cropped out image, I think this creates a sense of style in a way, and so it means creating a style through less effort ldksjf.

again, I’ll play around with the colouring:

now, I usually love adding a gif. I usually have to find a way to incorporate it into my edit though, so the gif usually covers the entire background of the edit, or it’s just a small element of the piece. I’m going for the latter in this case, and since I don’t usually make my gifs a random rectangle in the middle of nowhere, it’s usually clipped onto a shape or an object to look like a part of something. in this case, I wanted the gif to be attached onto a tv, so that’s what I’ll open up first; a transparent tv image with a rectangle behind it!

after opening up the video/gif that I want to use, I copy those frames and paste them into this edit, making sure to clip the layers onto the rectangle. after this, I change the speed of the frames to either 0.1 seconds or 0.05 seconds, depending on the mood of the edit. next, and this is the boring part, I go through every single layer that I’ve made so far and turn the visibility on so that the layer appears through each frame.

more colouring...

and now I’ll add final touches; such as text, extra textures, sharpening, final colouring, a watermark!

I actually kind of like this yay, I’ll usually make about two or three more panels of this and post them as one main edit!

I hope this helped and that you found this process entertaining or useful, let me know if you have any comments or need any help! have a lovely day! ♡

[creative-type]

Tangled Mess

They could treat wounds. They could buy clothes. But there was no one in the Sun Pirates that knew how to fix a little girl’s hair. 

“You do it,” Macro told Arlong, trying to shove him forward without much success. “You have a baby sister, don’t you? I bet you had to fix her hair once or twice.”

Arlong pushed him away so hard he fell to the ground. “You leave Shyarly out of this,” he growled. “I won’t touch it. The disgusting little monster probably has lice.”

The Sun Pirates took a collective step backward. They knew of lice under the sea, where humans brought the bloodsucking little insects from the surface to spread among their terrorized victims down below. Fisher Tiger looked askance at Aladdin, and the doctor rubbed his chin. 

“It would probably be best to shave it,” he said regretfully. Bending down, he pinched a lock of matted hair between two fingers, tugging on it to try and separate it from the rest. The girl-child’s grin never faded, even as it tightened around the edges. Pain. The hair on her head was causing her pain. 

Hatchi shifted from foot to foot, six arms fidgeting at the thought of shaving Koala’s hair. It didn’t seem right after everything else to make the girl go around bald, even if it was only temporary. Hatchi was inordinately fond of his hair—he couldn’t imagine what it would mean for a little girl to not have any at all. 

“So we’re not even gonna try?” he asked.

“There’s nothing too try,” Jinbe said, his voice tight with impatience. “Arlong’s right, it’s a health hazard.”

“It would take a great deal of time to undo,” Aladdin murmured. 

Arlong sneered down at the girl. “I don’t see why you don’t just throw her overboard. We’re not even getting a ransom to send her back, what’s the point of keeping it around?”

A dozen voices roared with outrage. The girl (Koala. She had a name, Hatchi had to remember that) shrank back, making herself so small she threatened to disappear. Hatchi was the only one who noticed, because even if he thought Arlong was wrong that didn’t mean he was going to speak out against his best friend. 

Instead he knelt down and put on his biggest smile, hoping it distracted from the pitched argument behind him. “Hi!”

“Um, hello?” Koala said. 

“No one’s asked you yet,” Hatchi noted, wagging three of his hands at her. “Do you want us to shave your head?”

The smile wavered, her eyes unsure and afraid. Koala pressed her forefingers together in a nervous gesture, ducking her head to stare down at her ragged trousers. “I...”

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Hatchi said, hoping that was true. 

Koala’s head snapped back up, eyes glittering like the sapphires they’d pillaged from a merchant ship the week before. Hatchi felt his smile get a little big warmer, a little more genuine. Even with her hair all in tangles, he had to admit she was kinda cute, in a weird, human sort of way. 

“My mom likes my hair,” she said, each word hanging a a tiny puff of air so quiet it almost didn’t reach Hatchi’s ears. 

“I like your hair, too,” Hatchi said, more to himself than anyone else. “Let’s see if you can keep it.”

Xxx

“I hope this works.”

Aladdin set out a series of brushes and combs commandeered from the various members of the Sun Pirates. Koala sat still as a stone statue in the middle of the infirmary. For the last half hour her hair had been soaked in all the coconut oil that could be found aboard the ship in hopes of loosening the worst of the knots.

“It will work,” Hatchi said firmly. He’d never been to a proper barber shop, but he’d seen pictures, and knew how to wrap towels around her neck to catch the hair that came loose. He caught Koala’s eye and flashed the okay sign, and her smile softened, the tension leaving her shoulders. “Ready?” he asked.

Koala nodded solemnly. “Ready.”

Three hands began working her scalp, Hatchi picking through the worst of the tangles as best he could without hurting her. The oil greased his hands, already clumsy with inexperience. The girl bore the treatment stoically, but he couldn’t help but pull and tug at mats of hair so thick they were almost felt. 

“Gentle, Hatchi...” Aladdin murmured. 

“I’m trying!”

And while Hatchi worked, Aladdin talked about everything and nothing, keeping Koala engaged on anything else but the tortures Hatchi was putting upon her scalp. It took almost an hour before Aladdin gave him permission to even think about using a wide-tooth comb, the process no less laborious than using his fingers. Slowly Hatchi fell into rhythm, alternating combs and hands with brisk efficiency. It was kind of like wielding his swords in a way, except the only thing he was attacking was the evidence of a small child’s mistreatment. 

There were lice, or fleas, or some other kind of infestation crawling all over her scalp. Breaking open the matted sheets released a horrendous stench made Hatchi want to gag. But still he persisted on. 

He made her bleed. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive himself for making her bleed. 

After awhile he switched places with Aladdin, who swapped the wide-tooth comb and heavy brushes with one with tiny teeth. Inch by inch he cleared her head of nits and their eggs, while Hatchi entertained Koala with slight of hand and stories of Fishman Island. 

It distracted him, too, from the clumps of dead hair that fell to the ground as the doctor worked. So much that he was afraid that they wouldn’t have to use a razor to make her go bald. 

It took hours, but when they finally washed out the last of the oil and the blood, her hair laid flat and straight down her back, longer than Hatchi ever would have thought possible.

“She’ll need a proper haircut,” Aladdin said ruefully, examining the ragged ends. 

“And new clothes?” Hatchi said hopefully. 

“And new clothes,” Aladdin agreed. “Would you like that?” he asked, looking down at Koala.

The girl didn’t seem to hear. She was staring wondrously into the mirror Hatchi was holding, running her hands over the top of her head over and over again, the biggest smile Hatchi had ever seen stretching across her face. 

Xxx

It was late when Hatchi scrounged the courage to face her. Arlong had forbidden anyone from entering the cartography room, but he was off dealing with some rioting village or other, and Hatchi couldn’t bear the thought of Nami going hungry. 

There were no guards outside her door, because no one except for him was stupid enough to try to help her. Hatchi raised two hands to knock, then paused. Why would he knock at a prisoner’s door?

Nami was working by candlelight, the light of a full moon washing over her, dulling the bright copper of her hair to match the unhappiness in her eyes. She flinched as he entered, instinctively guarding her injured arm. It was her left. Even in a rage, Arlong wouldn’t do anything that might hinder his prized map-maker’s productivity. 

“I brought food,” Hatchi said. 

“Don’t want it,” Nami replied, although it was clear that she wanted it very much. “Stupid tricks won’t work on me. I know what Arlong said: No supper until I finish.”

She brushed her hair out of her eyes, and Hatchi saw that her fingers were bandaged and bleeding. The fingers on her right hand, which must have meant she’d gotten blisters again from overwork. The rest of her was a mess: clothes rumpled, hair tangled, dark circles under her eyes. 

Even if Arlong allowed, it Hatchi thought she probably hurt too much to sleep.

“Arlong didn’t say anything about drink.” Hatchi said. He crossed through the cramped room in three long strides and set a jug on her desk. Nami shrieked in alarm, pulling her precious maps out of reach. 

“Put it on the floor, idiot! You’ll get watermarks on my paper!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Hatchi said, scrambling to do as he was told. “I was just trying to help!”

“I don’t need your help,” Nami snapped. “Now go away, and let me work!”

She was so close Hatchi could touch her. He longed to brush his fingers through her hair, to help rid of the knots like he had all those years ago. 

But he couldn’t. 

So he didn’t.

And he wasn’t sure he could ever forgive himself for making her bleed.