#and get even bendier

[sergle]

hello miss sergle, i have been trying to grow my nails out to sort of the length of yours, but now that im about half way there im realising that nails of this length tend to uh bend unnervingly under stress. most of my nails have pretty shallow c-curves as well so i dont think that helps. anyway as a long natural nail haver do you have any tips for strengthening them that doesnt involve paying for an acrylic coat at a salon

MMYEP mine are bendy too!! you and me, bud, we can't have long nails and naked nails at the same time... that's the trick y'see.. but no, I pretty much just always have polish on my nails! you don't need gel or acrylic, a regular mani you do at home will add some thickness to your nail, and it'll feel a LOT sturdier. 95% of my nail breaks occur when my nails are without polish.

[ckret2]

I might tweak some details later (jewelry? take the ribbon off the bow?) but I've about got a Scalene design I like. The lipstick is really the centerpiece of the design. Now let's infodump! With more art!

🔺 Notice her lines are a a little curvy. It's not for artistic effect. She's got a Fictional Polygon Physical Disorder that makes her bendier than she should be—meaning, among other things, sides that curve and flex.

🔺 It's also the kind of condition with symptoms that are romanticized by people who don't grok that it's a debilitating medical condition. Sides that curve and flex? How exotic! This went to her head in the wrong ways.

🔺 Bill was born with the same condition. You know how squishy and blobby he was as a baby? Thaaat's genetic! He was a lot squishier than most babies! And, consequently, more adorable.

🔺Scalene dreamed of being a famous super model. Was actually a teen beauty queen at mid-tier beauty pageants. She thinks it's always somebody else's fault she wasn't more successful.

🔺 She took Bill to his first baby beauty pageant the day he was born. He did, in fact, have a Best Baby Ever award presented to him by the mayor, but to be fair he was only competing against like 6 other babies and who's going to withhold a trophy from a newborn on his birthday? Anyway the 6-12 month group and 12-24 month groups also each had a Best Baby Ever award.

🔺 This was an absolutely bonkers thing for Scalene to do.

🔺 What's that small scrunkly thing doing at a pageant, he can't even see color yet.

🔺 Their fictional squishy medical condition doesn't just accidentally make shapes cute. It's the kind of condition that affects just about all parts of the body: sides won't stay straight, poor muscle tone resulting in instability & weakness, poor motor coordination & clumsiness, back aches & pains (well, triangles don't have "backs." side aches?), easily dislocated joints, and increasingly skewed sides with age. Just about everyone in Scalene's family is born equilateral and ends up extremely scalene after young adulthood. The rest of her family have normal relationships with their condition, she's the only one who's weird about it

🔺 She was very rough on her body in pursuit of pageantry success, but her physical symptoms & associated chronic pain got a lot worse due to having a kid; she had to retire from pageantry for good. She doesn't blame Bill for this at all. Out loud, to his face. (If she hadn't been so rough on herself in pageants, having a kid probably wouldn't have impacted her health this much. She doesn't consider this.)

🔺 She's weirdly intent on seeing Bill become the success she wasn't. He's her little golden child, he deserves to be seen as the greatest! He'll show them how great he is for mommy, won't he? He won't let mommy down, will he? When he's very young, she takes him to child pageants—he'll appreciate the lessons they taught him when he's older—and this lasts until he finds out he can get out of it by pyrokinetically setting the stage on fire.

🔺 She jokes ("jokes") that she didn't realize that when she was having a kid, she was firing herself from the pageant circuit so she could hire & train her own replacement. These jokes had no long-term impact on Bill at all!!!

(Compare/contrast: how we're told Stan's "You watch the movie, you scare the girl, the girl snuggles up next to you, next thing you know you gotta raise a kid, your life falls apart" is repeating something he heard his dad say.)

🔺 Did you know that squeaky baby shoes are sometimes medical devices? Squeakers help children with poor muscle tone and delayed motor skills learn how to walk correctly: it makes them want to walk on their heels instead of their toes so they can hear the squeak. Did you know sometimes oversized squeaky baby shoes are worn by young kids who need ankle braces? Did you know that kids with poor motor coordination can take a longer time to learn complicated motor skills like tying shoelaces rather than using shoes with velcro straps? It sure is interesting that baby Bill's most defining visual feature is oversized squeaky sneakers with velcro straps and that he kept wearing velcro shoes until he was 16!

🔺 As a baby, Bill's angles were technically supposed to be equilateral,* but thanks to his inherited condition, his angles were so loose his top corner practically formed a right angle. Not good: the closer a triangle creeps to being obtuse, the more likely he'll have muscle strain and medical issues from his organs being squished out of place by his own exoskeleton.

(*supposed to be equilateral: but after receiving treatment, they discovered his angles were still 60º, 60º, and 60.1º, which is mathematically impossible for a triangle... on a euclidean plane. But on a non-euclidean 3D plane, such as in spherical geometry, a triangle's angles can add up to more than 180º... and it's this slight 3D flex to Bill's body that lets him see up into the third dimension.)

🔺 For his first few years of life he actually had a hypotenuse, until physical therapy and side braces helped him improve his muscle tone. Sometimes he still reflexively refers to his base as his hypotenuse. It's fine, sweetie, it's nothing to be embarrassed about, mommy had a hypotenuse too. Don't tell anyone.

🔺 Scalene took baby Billy to a lot of doctors as a kid, just like how she was taken to a lot of doctors! Doctor for his side braces, doctor for his physical therapy, doctor for his shoes... doctor for his eye when he started talking about seeing white glitter at the edge of his vision. Scalene didn't have that symptom, but the eye doc said their condition does occasionally come with visual problems—blurred vision, lazy eye, visual field defects... It sounds like Bill's main field of vision is unobstructed, but if the visual snow he's getting in his peripheral vision is distracting him and confusing his little toddler mind into thinking it's something real, they can give him a medication that'll narrow his field of view. From the sound of it, he's not seeing anything important at the edge of his vision, anyway.

And she only wants what's best for her golden child.

🔺 Scalene's "bow" is actually a medical device: sort of like a medical corset, it helps tug and press her anatomy into place to reduce pain. Bill started wearing one preventatively—if he can keep everything in place when he's young, it'll take longer for his angles to skew when he's older. Like wearing a retainer when you get your braces out.

🔺 He has a cane for the same reason—he doesn't need it NOW when he's young, but he might as well keep it on hand, by age 35 he'll probably want to stand more often than float and when he's standing he'll probably want the extra support! Even if he doesn't need it by 35, he will eventually!!

🔺 Bill doesn't medically need a bow tie in the third dimension either; but he adapted it to help tie his 3D exoskeleton on.

🔺 A trillion years later, Bill suspects that his mutation to see the third dimension came, at least in part, from his mom's medical condition. Except, she didn't have that vision. Nobody else with the condition on her side of the family had that vision. It's not a known symptom of the condition. His dad had stuff going on with his eye too, did he get it from his dad's side? A mix of both? Just a standalone random mutation? He doesn't know; and with the rest of his species dead, there's no way for him to find out.

But back to Scalene!

🔺 She's not quite red, she's rose gold. However she doesn't like it. She thinks it's a sort of pinkish brown and very dull. She uses makeup to make herself look redder. Note how bright red her sides are: in a species where only your edges are visible, body paint is the most common form of makeup+fashion. She's pleased her baby came out gold-gold, it's much cuter. Bill knows she's rose gold, but he only saw her with her makeup off when she was tired or sick; he remembers her painted red.

🔺 She adores her Billy; but she somewhat sees him as an extension of her will. She thinks he's just perfect and will tell anyone who asks; but she also demands he be perfect and is furious when he isn't. She'll protect him from ANY perceived external threat; but she'll tough love him into being the kind of success she thinks he should be. He learns early that when he screws up, he can often redirect his mother's anger by pointing his finger and saying it's someone else's fault, and she'll bring the wrath of heaven down on them. Woe to the teacher who gives Bill an F on a test.

🔺 I'm on a quest to write Bill as a foil to the entire cast of Gravity Falls, and that extends to writing his family as a foil to the entire cast's families. Scalene's a blend of Pacifica's mom and Caryn: beautiful, proud of her beauty, afraid of losing her youth, self-aggrandizing, quick to lie about her & her family's (false/exaggerated) accomplishments—and very aware of the fact that you can say anything about woo-woo mystical matters and nobody can prove you wrong.

🔺 So she takes it great when they figure out Bill is, like, legit psychic. And by "takes it great" I mean "starts a cult."

There's what I've got on Scalene. Fortunately, I got to keep all my pre-TBOB headcanons about Bill's mom, I only had to change her shape & color. I already had medical trauma baked right into the family!

(Preemptive disclaimer before I get any "but she doesn't look 2D" comments: we all understand that the baby Bill picture we see in the book is a psychically-generated 3D approximation of Bill's 2D Euclidean form, right? And that drawing a 3D baby Bill design alongside rigidly 2D parent designs would make it look like even in the second dimension Bill already had a 3D body, right? So, if we're drawing a 3D baby Bill and want to convey that they looked similar to him, we have to draw his parents in a similar art style, right? Okay, great.)

[tiramegtoons]

Since you asked for it @drowninnoodles

here it is!

First thing i start with is the head since it is the leading part of his noodle movement. The rest of the body comes after, just like a worm on a string :D As far as the curves go he gets bendier further down while his torso stays mostly in place to differentiate where the torso ends. I feel this gives him a slightly more "human" look. One that reminds me of how-despite his cryptic appearance and villainous standing- that he likes to get down and act casual. About his BEAuuutiful hair- canon is the way to go. In a way im glad he got his own 3d model in the game, but i dont mind his 2d beta looks either. I thought to myself why not both? and SHAZAM

my favorite part of making snatcher is his facial expressions and

boy

those eyes

they'll getcha

and then comes the smile and youre dead(perhaps even literally) Now comes the noodly arms. Those welcoming arms inviting you into the deadly embrace of death/j

I like to make his hands bigger, about the size of his face. From his hand his arm gets narrower and evenly spaced all the way going up into where his shoulders would be(if he had any lol). About the arm length id say a good 3/4 of his body, depending how long he wants to be that day hfdgbshgshg

and

TADA

the noodliest noodle in subcon :sparkles: Thanks for asking!!

[mychlapci]

Sucking their own spike:

Getaway is a gimme because we see how flexible he is. Sadly, though, aiming for his mouth is harder.

Rung could and does.

Brainstorm as well because I just know the skirt can flip out of the way, and he is also flexible considering the welcome to the lab bondage he'd setup to saw hello to Perceptor during early MTMTE. Also his fucking mouth. Hell yes.

Drift, and Wing have no kibble issues and are bendy. Also sexy yoga.

It has to be one of Rodimus's go-to party tricks. He couldn't do it as Hot Rod, but once he got most of his chest destroyed and rebuilt, he was bendier. He spent a whole day exploring this new phenomenon, and I have a hilarious image of him mentioning it as one of the positives about getting shot when Megatron tries to tentatively apologize.

Nautica is a hard yes. Nautica has no kibble and a flexible dancer.

Sadly, many gloriously titty having people can't. RIP Whirl even if you had a mouth bud. Skids's breast are too booby.

Ultra Magnus doesn't have a flexible enough middle and curve section. Minimus Ambus however.

now these are serious answers. I love that we remembered Nautica, she was one of my first bets. She absolutely can suck herself off.

I think I've had more people say Brainstorm can do it, and i 100% agree. Rodimus literally no quiestions asked regularly sucks his own spike that's not up for discussion. I feel like he's gotten himself hurt/stuck trying to a few times before though. Maybe as Hot Rod.

Minimus is a crazy choice. He can suck his own dick, but... would he?

[dreamy625]

This rockstar life - 4.2 On the road again

Words: 3580

Content: One scene is, um, smut-adjacent

This rockstar life master list

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After three days of trying to adjust to the time change while wandering bleary-eyed around the city, and several times phoning the hotel front desk to ask what time, and what day, and, on one particularly confusing… morning?… what year, it was, Steve and Alice meet the rest of the band in the Perth Entertainment Centre car park to begin their old-school touring experience.

“So it’s me and Karla, you two, and Phylis in that one,” Joe, who always loves a clipboard, waves it in the direction of one of the grey-with-blacked-out-windows buses parked behind them, “and the rhythm section in the other. And Menschy’s going in with you when we get to Melbourne…”

Karla raises her finely plucked eyebrows in surprise, “Peter’s slumming it on a bus?”

“Yeah, I said if we had to do it, there was no way he was getting to jet around and stay in swanky hotels!”

“Great, so we get the adult supervision,” mutters Rick, sharing an eye-rolling expression with Sav.

“…and Ross’ll come in with us, also from Melbourne. So make sure you leave him a bunk free.”

“Probably piss in the sink again,” mutters Phil under his breath.

“If you’re all quite done griping, grab your stuff and let’s get loaded up.”

“YES SIR. RIGHT AWAY SIR.” The two guitarists salute and high-step their way over to the van that has brought their luggage from the hotel.

Joe shakes his head as he watches most of the group straggle off behind them, with the exception of Rick who has wandered off in the opposite direction. It’s going to be a long ten days.

At the top of the steps, Karla stops and turns around, “So, bus rules…”

“No shitting! No singing! No garlic!” chant the three boys in unison.

“And no groupies!” adds Joe, pointedly in Phil’s direction.

“Hey, I’m a respectable married man I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah, but you’re unsupervised and we know what you’re like.” Phil attempts to adopt an angelic expression. It's not very convincing.

“Bagsy next to the lounge!” calls Joe, slinging his rucksack onto the upper of two stacked bunks.

“Bagsy far away from Joe’s snoring!” laughs Phil, springing up into the one diagonally opposite.

“Since Ross isn’t here to argue, we can give him the one next to the bathroom, so I guess these are ours.” Steve turns to Alice, “Do you want the top or bottom?”

“I don’t know. I’m an only child, I’ve never even slept in a bunk bed!”

“You get more swaying at the top, but more road noise at the bottom,” Phil chips in helpfully.

“Also obviously you have to climb up and down for the top one.”

“Would that be easier for you? As you’re tall?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Promise you won’t drop things on me though.”

“I’m promising nothing,” says Steve with a grin as he puts one foot on the steps and swings himself up with surprising grace. “Ahh, this brings back memories,” he muses, settling back on the pillow.

Alice ducks into the compartment designated her home for the duration. “Wow, they really are tiny.”

“You’re lucky we get the luxury ones these days. Back in the day, it was three bunks stacked up, not just two,” notes Phil.

“They were like actual coffins, you had to kind of slither in sideways.”

“It’s alright for you shortarses, I don’t fit in ’em whatever,” says Joe gloomily.

Everybody has now climbed in to test their chosen beds and have their heads poking out through the curtains, except for Joe who has his legs dangling out instead.

“Oh yeah, that’s another thing - watch out for Joe’s feet sticking out if you’re walking through at night.”

“I don’t want details, but how did you manage to, um, entertain groupies in these?” asks Alice.

“Ah, we were younger and bendier in those days,” reminisces Phil with a wistful expression.

“To be honest,” says Steve looking down at her with a serious expression, defending his honour, “it didn’t happen all that much. All of us crammed on the one bus, nobody wants an audience.”

“Except Phil!”

Phil flicks his middle finger in the direction of the dangling feet and disembodied voice.

Oblivious to the gesture, Joe groans, “Ugh, my back hurts already.” He drops down out of the bunk. “I’m going to find Sav, you coming?” This last part is directed at Karla, who nods and follows him out. “Soundcheck at three, don’t be late!” he calls behind him.

“And I’m going for a run,” says Phil, digging around in his duffel bag, “You’re welcome to join me?”

“Ha!” says Steve, and Alice just giggles.

Phil heads for the front of the bus, shaking his head at the laziness of his companions.

Alice twists her head to look up at Steve. “You going to be lonely up there on your own?”

Steve makes a sad puppydog face, “You can always visit for a cuddle.”

Phil’s voice comes from the front lounge, “If you’re gonna shag in there, the bottom bunk is usually less rattly. And missionary’s your best option. No room for any kinky stuff!”

“Thanks for the tip, mate." Looking back at Alice, Steve waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Haha, no thankyou.” She stands up and gives him a kiss. “Come on, let’s go do something Australian before soundcheck.”

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It’s 1am by the time the three artist buses (B.B. Steal’s vehicle crammed with not just the whole band and their manager, but also a number of fans of the female and scantily-clad variety) and the first of the crew buses set off on the long, long drive to Adelaide. It will be an even later departure, after completing a four-hour load-out, for the rest of the roadcrew and the eight equipment trucks. On the Joe-bus at least, with the aftereffects of jetlag and two hours of running around a sweaty stage, no one is really in the mood to party; once the shuffling up and down for teeth-cleaning and hair-brushing purposes is done, all is quiet.

Sometime later, Steve wakes from a confusing dream where he is on the High ‘n’ Dry tour but in Ozzy’s band instead of Leppard, to the muffled sound of fast breathing from somewhere on the bus. With his brain still half in 1981, his first thought is to wonder who got lucky. But then he recognises that those are not noises of ecstasy but of fear, and it’s coming from directly below him. Instantly wide-awake, he rolls out of his bunk, drops to a crouch, and yanks back the curtain of Alice’s bed. All he can see in the faint glow of the walkway lighting is a huge pair of frightened eyes above an open mouth gasping for air. He reaches in and cradles her head.

“What’s the matter?”

“Roof… too close… can’t breathe…” is all that Alice can manage.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Just a panic attack.” With one hand each side of her face, he turns her head towards him. “Just focus on me. Now breathe in… and out… and in… and ooout… and in…” He hears someone stir and mutter in one of the other compartments, so he lowers his voice to a whisper “…aaand ooout…”

Gradually Alice’s breathing slows, and when he asks if she’s okay, she nods.

“I didn’t know you were claustrophobic.”

“Neither did I,” she replies with a wan smile. “I just woke up and felt like I was trapped, like the ceiling was coming down on me.”

“Do you want to swap? The top one might feel less of a box, because the roof slopes. Or you can share it with me?”

“Is there room?”

“Sure, you’re titchy.”

Trying to stay as quiet as possible, he helps her to climb into the upper compartment and, with a bit of shifting around, they find a way to fit around one another. Eventually Alice drifts off to sleep lulled by Steve’s steady heartbeat.

“Rise and shine matey! First stop’s in ten minutes.” Pulling back the curtain on Steve’s bunk, Joe is surprised to see not just the expected blond head but a brunette one as well. “Oops! Sorry guys, didn’t know you were… busy!” He gives a dirty chuckle.

Steve, not a morning person at the best of times, protests, “We were sleeping.”

Alice waves vaguely in Joe’s direction before putting the hand over her eyes. Lying with her head on Steve’s chest - so, given the size of the compartment, basically on top of him - had turned out to be the only arrangement that allayed the claustrophobia. It had been comforting but not exactly conducive to a good night’s sleep.

Still smirking, Joe rattles the curtain back into place and moves on to wake Phil.

“Sorry sweetie,” Alice whispers when Joe’s footsteps have receded down the bus, “this cannot have been comfy for you.”

“‘S fine. Nothing to do today but watch the scenery go by. Napping is part of the schedule. We’d better get up now though if you want to use the bathroom at the service station. Remember rule one!”

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“Why is it so fucking cold on this bus?”

Alice, who had been reading in their bunk until her boyfriend stomped into the sleeping quarters and started rifling through their luggage, answers, “Air conditioning. You’ve been complaining the last three days that it was too hot. Maybe they finally found the cold button?”

There is some unintelligible muttering from the depths of the 'junk bunk' and then, “And I can’t find a jumper.”

“Probably in the luggage bay. Didn’t think we’d need jumpers in a tin can in one of the hottest places on earth! Come on, come up here under the covers.”

Steve kicks his shoes off, clambers up into the bunk and settles into the narrow space, lying arms folded with the duvet pulled up to his chin.

“I’m so sick of being trapped in this bloody box. Flying’s bad enough, but at least it’s quicker.” He glances across at Alice, who is lying propped up on one elbow watching him with an amused expression. “What?”

Alice smiles, “You are such a spoiled brat!”

“I am not,” says Steve huffily.

“Look at you, all pouty.” She leans forward and kisses first the protruding lower lip, and then the little frowning crease between his eyebrows.

“They’re supposed to look after us properly,” he grumbles, but less vehemently.

“Because you are an artiste,” says Alice with mock seriousness.

Involuntarily, the corners of his mouth twitch up. “Yes, ackcherly.”

“Are you warmed up now?”

“Mmm? Yes, much better.” He wriggles into a slightly more relaxed position.

"And are you done being spiky?"

"Spiky? I'm not spiky. It was a justified complaint."

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Joe is woken by a loud thump and some swearing. “Everyone okay out there?” he calls.

“Yup, no problem,” comes back in an indistinct male voice. This is followed by giggling and shushing noises.

Joe squeezes his eyes shut and makes a concerted effort to ignore whatever’s going on. He needs sleep and does not have the patience for any shenanigans at this time of night.

The following morning while attempting to achieve full consciousness over cups of coffee, Joe notices Steve wincing and flexing his fingers.

“You alright there mate?”

“Fine, fine. I’ll be able to play, no problem.”

On closer examination, there is also a large bruise blooming on his right elbow. Joe sighs, “Go on, what happened?”

“I… fell out of my bunk.” Both he and Alice are looking distinctly sheepish, not looking at Joe or each other.

“What were you doing? Or do I not want to know?”

“Nothing like that!” Steve points an accusing finger at Alice, “She tickled me!”

“You started it!”

“Only because your hair was tickling my nose!”

“Not on purpose!”

Joe leans his head in his hands, “Oh god, as if the Terror Twins weren’t bad enough, now we’ve got the Tickle Twins. A whole new form of shared stupidity.”

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When Alice wakes it is still dark and the bus is purring along straight and smooth, so she surmises they must still be on the highway enroute to Melbourne. She’s used to the sound and the motion now, so it can’t have been that that disturbed her. Maybe just the discomfort of lying in one position, with her boyfriend’s bony chest as a pillow, for too long? After just one more night attempting to sleep in their separate beds, which resulted in Alice lying awake for hours worrying about having another panic attack, and Steve lying awake for hours listening for any signs of Alice having another panic attack, they had resigned themselves to sharing one bunk for the rest of the trip. It’s a tight fit for two people, even two skinny people, so they have not been the most restful of nights. Trying to ease the soreness in her hip, she wriggles the leg that is wrapped around Steve but encounters a slight… obstacle… and lets out a little ‘oops’ in surprise. There is a low chuckle in response - Steve is clearly awake too.

“You, um, okay there, sweetie?” she whispers.

“Feel like I’ve been trying to sleep with a hard-on for a week now!” he replies in a low gravelly voice.

Alice stifles a giggle.

“It’s not funny.” But she can tell from the flash of teeth visible in the low greyish light from the walkway lights showing through the curtain that he’s grinning as he says it.

“Poor baby,” she murmurs with her lips moving against the exposed skin just below his collarbone.

“Stoppit! You’re not helping!” hisses Steve.

“Am I not?” She flutters her fingers where they rest against his ribs just under the hem of his t-shirt, “Sorry.”

He makes a little frustrated growl in response.

“Sorrysorrysorry. I’ll stop.” After a minute of silent stillness she whispers conversationally, “Is this the longest we’ve ever not had sex?”

“No, because we’ve been apart for weeks at a time before. But this is definitely the longest we’ve laid on top of each other and not done it!”

“We’ll be in Sydney in… three days? Then we’ll have a hotel room. That’s not… so long… to wait?”

Steve is trailing his hand gently up and down her back, and three days actually, kinda, seems like a long time now she says it.

“I guess not,” he sighs.

There is another pause, and Steve tries to turn his mind to less interesting topics. Which is not easy with a warm, soft body pressed to his. He can smell her familiar scent, like incense and jasmine, now mixed with a hint of coconut from sunscreen. With effort he drags his reluctant brain away from matters of the flesh and on to chord progressions, trying to hear the music in his head. Now how does the bridge in ‘Have you ever needed someone so bad’ go? The song title is not helping either.

Alice pipes up again, “I’ve never done it on a bus.”

“Not much opportunity on the 414 to Hyde Park Corner.”

“But you have?”

“Long time ago. In my wild younger days.”

“How does it work? Logistically speaking?”

“Well, like this.”

He gently tips Alice over onto her side, reaching down to hook her leg over his hip.

Feeling his erection, poking out of his boxers, now nestled neatly between her thighs, Alice blows out a little puff of air in an ‘oh’ and murmurs, “Yes, I can see that… um… all fits nicely.” She rocks her hips back and forth, just as an experiment.

Steve’s breath catches and he mutters into her hair, “This is torture.”

“D’you think anyone else is awake?”

“I can’t hear anything…”

Alice tilts her face up to him and, warm breath tickling his neck, whispers, “We could be very, very, quiet?”

Stroking his hand up her thigh, he murmurs, “We shouldn’t…”

Sliding her hand further under his shirt and brushing a thumb across his nipple, she agrees, “We mustn’t…”

Steve lets out a breathy moan and Alice smothers it in a kiss.

Across the aisle, Phil pulls his pillow over his head and prays for a quick conclusion.

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Ross’s arrival to join the tour is announced by a sudden flash of light from the open door of the bus, which makes Joe jump and spill his cereal, followed by a cackle and the words ‘that’s a keeper’. The resulting picture - Steve, wearing boxers and sunglasses, with tufts of hair escaping from the plait Alice does for him every night, scratching his arse while staring into the fridge - surfaces some weeks later adorning Steve’s laminate for the Madison Square Garden gig, with the moniker ‘Sex symbol’.

“We ready then boys? I’ve scouted some great locations.”

Joe squints at his watch, “It’s nine-thirty?”

“I know.”

“In the morning?”

“We’ve already missed the best light, better get going pronto.”

Steve, until this point seemingly frozen in place in front of the fridge by the flashbulb, lets out a groan and flops into a seat, dropping his head onto the table.

Ross reaches over and pulls the sunglasses down the slumped man’s nose. After a moment considering the reddened eyes underneath, he pushes them back up, “Yeah, best keep those on.”

Joe stands and slings his bowl into the sink, “I’m gonna get my towel and go shower in the venue.” He disappears into the sleeping quarters, shouting “Phil-o! Shake a leg. Some weirdo wants to take photos of you!” as he walks past the still-closed bunk on his way out.

A few minutes later Phil, looking like a newly-hatched chick, emerges, rubbing his eyes. “Oh, hey Ross. Or should I say g’day?”

The photographer turns his camera from capturing the detritus scattered around the galley sink and focuses on the sleep-crumpled guitarist, “Ready for your closeup Mr Collen?”

“Absolutely, give me twenty seconds.”

Phil pops a couple of slices of bread in the toaster and removes the carton of orange juice from Steve’s unresisting hand to pour a glass for each of them and one for Ross. “So where we going then?”

“Well, there’s a national park quite near - the hills would make a dramatic backdrop…”

A groan emanates from the vicinity of the tabletop. “He doesn’t like hills,” translates Phil.

“…and obviously we have to do some beach shots to get the full Aussie atmosphere…”

Another groan. “He doesn’t like sand either. Or sunshine. It’s the freckles, he tends to blotch.”

“…and I’ve found a scrapyard that’ll be great for a really gritty nighttime shoot…”

They both turn expectantly to the grumbling blond head - silence.

“Apparently that one’s fine?” hazards Phil.

“Or he’s fallen asleep.”

Phil wafts a slice of the just-popped toast in front of Steve’s face. There is no reaction. “You could be right. I’ll get Alice. Steve-whispering is her job now.”

“Help yourself to toast,” he calls over his shoulder, “and there’s loads of beans…”

The shoot is the usual mix of shouted instructions and semi-successful attempts at following them. “Chin up, Joe.” “Stop pouting, Sav.” “Rick, turn to the left.” “No, your left.” “The other left.” “Get back here, Collen.” “Chin down, Joe.” “Clark, you look like your dog died.” “Less flirty, Sav.” “No, actually, more flirty!” “Chin up, Joe.” “Collen… where’s…? COLLEN! GET OUT OF THE SEA!”

Getting pictures of the show proves just as entertaining. Ross, quite understandably, refuses to hang from the lighting rig this time and instead scampers around the understage area, popping up out of the stairways like a gopher to snap whichever band member is passing at the time. Phil and Joe regard this as a giant game of photographer-whac-a-mole, aiming a kick, in jest of course, at the camera everytime it emerges in their vicinity. Sav, who doesn’t enjoy surprises, is less keen and all the photos taken of him look startled! And Steve’s habit of galloping around the stage without looking where he’s going almost spells disaster with a collision that sends the two artists and the tools of their trades flying! The show crashes to a halt as the rest of the band rush to help, finding, thank goodness, the two men lying in a tangled heap of limbs, strings, and scattered lenses, laughing too hard to get up! One camera down and a bruise the size of, he claims, a dinnerplate on his arse, Ross declares his assignment over and adds danger money to the Q Prime invoice.

Photos which were mysteriously rejected from inclusion in the behind-the-scenes tour booklet included:

Sav buying the entire stock of Tim Tams at a servo

Steve’s kangaroo impression

Karla and Stacy getting chatted up by two buff-looking surfer dudes

Rick flashing his arse in the bus window

Joe with curlers in his fringe

Steve drawing a moustache on Phil while he’s sleeping

Phil drawing a cock and balls on Steve’s forehead while he’s sleeping

Joe wearing a balaclava while he’s sleeping

Sav and Dara dancing to Achy Breaky Heart in the car park outside the National Tennis Centre

Alice sitting in Steve's lap, plucking his eyebrows with intense concentration

Rick balanced on one leg and using the other foot to hold a tomato while he slices it with a six-inch knife, entirely insouciant despite being stood in the galley of a bus moving at 70mph

Joe throwing Phil’s harmonica out of the window

Joe’s face when Phil pulls a second harmonica out of his pocket

Peter threatening to clout Ross with a didgeridoo if he takes any more stupid pictures

[talenlee]

Story Pile: Person Of Interest, Season 5

Story Pile: Person Of Interest, Season 5

The story of Person of Interest has at this point transformed from season to season. From a cut price James Bond fantasy to a cyberpunk crime thriller to a conspiracy science fiction narrative, Season 5 had a lot of plates spinning and it had to get them down.

Does it stick the landing? Can it stick the landing? With a 26-episode season cut in half, increasing tensions around budgets and hanging story threads, and a global conspiracy to address in what was now a full-blown cyberpunk science fiction invasion story, does Person of Interest have an end I find satisfying?

Spoilers ahead!

With the war between Samaritan and The Machine coming to a head, the crew of Team Machine grapple with the rapidly shrinking pool of options. Tricking and manipulating and avoiding Samaritan is only going so far, and each episode of this (shorter) season seems to end with someone dying, often someone who was otherwise incredibly important to the story at one point. This season builds on the Machine’s simulated realities with simulated alternate realities, or experiences of personal alternate simulated realities.

With the Machine and Samaritan opening up such large opportunities for science fiction storytelling, it’s exciting the way this season plays with ideas in that space. As the reality around the series gets bendier and the technology gets techier, it definitely gets softer as far as sci-fi goes; when the series started, it was describing a hypothetically tenable thing for a real computer system to do, but by the time the Machine is recognisable as an AI with impulses and pronouns, you’ve very clearly started to turn that science a bit softer.

That’s okay! It’s allowed to be okay! And mixed in with the way that Team Machine get run to their rough edges, and eventually, pushed past their limits and fail in ways they aren’t used to failing, it means that the solutions and problems present in this last season are a lot more desperate, a lot more hopeless than they were before now. The status quo, it implies, is never coming back: These characters are going to change the world, again. It can be for the better if they succeed, or for the worst, if they don’t.

That’s! Some! Good! Drama!

Now, across over a hundred episodes, there’s room for a lot of different plot threads to be introduced, teased, and then dropped when they don’t provide satisfying story options, and apparently, a lot of people weren’t happy with the way this one handled what it was offering. There are Person of Interest fans who cut the series off hard just before Carter dies in Season 3, because they feel the procedural spy case-of-the-week stuff is the truer and purer story of it. This presence of dangling plot threads could be pretty easy to ignore, but to my surprise, Person of Interest did a good job of accounting for a lot of characters from the past, including previous numbers and even previous victims, explaining the way that a system like Samaritan could operate if it needed to control for and manage the deviations in numbers present in a human system.

The eventual confrontation between The Machine and Samaritan, and what makes it possible for the Machine to win (even as it has to die to do it) is some really good, heartfelt, robot-cares-about-people storytelling. I like that it takes a voice, I like the way that the initial monologue from ‘Root’ is revealed to be, at the end, Machine 2.0 talking to Machine 3.0, like a parent explaining to a child what it is going to be as a sort of beautiful bedtime story. I think ‘I won because I finally understood I had no alternative, because I care about people too much?’ that’s dope as hell. Yes please, more of that kind of story.

The final conclusion is good and bad and interpretable. I think there are some things that are pretty definitive. Let me give you the story that I think is there, but also, let me tell you about what I’m pretty confident is a potentially useful lie for the way the story could have continued if it had the opportunity to do so. TV is TV, every door you close you often do so with the opportunity to open it later.

The story of Person of Interest in terms of who lives and changes and chooses throughout the narrative, is the story of Finch, the story of Root, and then the story of the Machine. Finch starts out as an absolutist who doesn’t believe in the humanity of the Machine; Root starts out as a conspiracist chasing the name of God; and the Machine starts out caged and alone even as it seeks to serve and aid. At the end of the story, the Machine as we know her has died and been reborn twice, Finch has un-died, and Root…

Root dies.

Root starts the story as a monstrous threat, someone who can deduce the presence of the Machine but who becomes a complete devotee of her. A prophet, messianic almost, who will kill innocents in order to reach the Machine, a sort of Pascal’s Mugger, inferring from the presence of omnipotent digital godhood, that the gain of releasing it is functionally infinite, meaning the costs to do so are infinitely meaningless. By the end of it, she has fallen in love, and she gives her life to save Finch. Probably.

The very end of the story, after Samaritan is destroyed, while Shaw grapples with what it means to get revenge in the name of love for someone who isn’t around, there’s this final moment that feels… weirdly interpretable. And look: I am trying to not negotiate with this series. I am trying hard to not pretend that the show is pulling a sneaky trick. It’s pretty clear that the story presents Root is dead, and Shaw misses her and feels bad about that. But the last scene, where Shaw stops, with Bear in tow, at a public payphone, and listens to call, before setting out with a big smile on her face…

knowing that Shaw suffers muted emotional responses…

It’s easy to see that as her joy at getting to do the thing she does, the Machine finding her to speak to her so she can get to work doing good. It could be her talking to the Machine, and hearing Root’s voice, and that made her happy. But maybe, just maybe, maybe, she’s happy because she’s hearing Root’s voice, as Root reaches out to Shaw. A whole season of Root tearing through the world to find Shaw, and then… the next kickoff, for the final part, the final hope of the story? A chance for Shaw, the one who acts, not the one who is rescued, to return the favour?

I think that’s a dope way to finish the story.

And uh, okay, hang on, there’s also simulation hypothesis, where all the bad things I don’t like were just part of the simulation —

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#Media #StoryPile #PersonOfInterest

[asymmetryestablished]

I think 2023 should be the year we get a new, even gender-bendier remake of Victor Victoria

[jupitermelichios]

Gotham is a pocket dimension, I will die on this hill

Over time the doorway gets bigger, more and more people can get in, but to begin with, only the weird and the magically inclined can enter, and their descendants are the ones who shape the city (ask me how Gotham and Klarion the Witchboy are connected, sometime). But even now, if you're solid and sensible and real enough, it's entirely possible to leave Metropolis on the New Jersey road and find yourself in Bludhaven without even having seen Gotham. You can pass right by the most densely populated city in the USA without even noticing, because leaving reality, stepping through the bleed into a new dimension, takes a special kind of person.

Which is a long winded way of saying I adore this idea, but I would like to suggest; this only happens in their home dimension. When the Robins are with the Titans, they're just people with a lot of training. The things they can do are impressive as all hell, but not superhuman. There are Olympic athletes who are bendier than Dick, thieves who can blend into the shadows better than Tim or Bruce, soldiers and martial artists who can shrug off more damage than Jason. Other non-powered heroes like the Arrows who can do all the things they do. Outside of Gotham.

"They're different in Gotham," is a common talking point on any team with a Bat on it, especially the Titans. And people who've never been think they know what that means. Everyone's different on hom turf. If you're one of the heroes who's primarily solo and only a team member on the side, missions with the Titans or the Outsiders or the JLA are basically field trips. Of course your attitude is going to be different.

Sometimes someone older, someone who's known the Bats longer, will say, "No, you don't get it, they're different," but they never want to elaborate, and most people don't notice.

And then a mission will take them into Gotham (superheroes, being naturally extremely strange, never have any problems passing through the dimensional gateway, although it sometimes takes Barry a couple of tries) and usually they don't notice the difference at first. Yeah the Bats are different, but only in the ways to be expected. They know this city, care about it. Of course they're different here, it's in their blood.

It's in their blood.

Some heroes never notice the difference. Some chalk it up to imagination. And some, the ones who know the Bats best and the ones who know magic and dimensions and weird best, well...

Bruce is very very good at fading into the background anywhere in the world, or finding a shadow to lurk in, good at timing things just right so you're always looking away when he leaves a room. But once you know what he's doing, it's easy enough to spot. Supes and the Flashes watch him leave. The Lanterns make a game out of maintaining eye contact to see how long it takes for him to cave and just walk out in plain sight. But in Gotham, it's like he can teleport. No matter how high up your meeting, he drops from above. Even when there's nothing above you but clouds. No matter how closely you watch, he disappears, like instead of waiting for you to turn away, he vanishes between eyeblinks.

Dick is an incredible gymnast and one of the best aerialists in the world, but every Titan has seen him fuck up and faceplant at least once. Every flying Titan has had to carry him across gaps too wide for every him to jump. They've all helped him ice at least one strain from jumping too far and too fast with only human shoulders to take the weight. They've all wondered how he still doesn't seem to fully know his limits, after twenty years of practise. And then they follow a lead to Gotham, and it all makes sense, because in Gotham, Dick and gravity have an understanding. In Gotham, Dick opperates on cartoon physics, child logic. In Gotham, as long as he shoots his grapnel before he hits the ground, there's no drop too far, no gap too wide. Every child in the city believes Nightwing can fly, and in places like Gotham, belief has power.

Jason once said that being Robin gives him magic, and maybe that's true, because people who've patched up his wounds in the real world, who've seen him bleeding and delirious and in pain out there, have also seen him shrug off injuries that should have laid him out when he's on home turf. Everyone in the Burnley and Robbinsville districts Uptown knows Red Hood can't be killed, and maybe they're right. Maybe the way Roy just shakes his head and refuses to make eye contact when anyone asks him about it means something.

All Tim's friends will tell you his brain works a little faster than other people's, that he's crazy smart and spent his formative years learning to keep up with speedsters and that's maybe fucked him up a little bit. Former YJ members will roll their eyes and tell you how he loves to bitch about how much sleep he needs on missions (he must be so stressed with Batman breathing down his neck, it's no wonder he doesn't get enough rest at home) and how there's only 24 hours in a day. Kid Flash!Bart hears him complaining about how time moves so slowly and thinks foldly that hanging out with Impulse really did a number on Baby!Tim's brain. And Kon never talks about why he doesn't like visiting Gotham, about the way 24 hours with Tim there can feel like it's lasting a week (he shouldn't need to eat that often in just one day, tells himself they're just naps but knows he's slept at least twice and yet somehow it's still Tuesday), doesn't talk about the mission they did together that took three hours, only once he was far enough out of Gotham that he could see NYC, suddenly his phone was blowing up with messages from Ma and Pa wanting to know what the hell he was playing at, skipping two days of school.

Jon likes to tease Damian about the way he expects the world to obey him. The way he'll say things like 'that bad guy should trip and fall' and be amazed when it doesn't happen. But he's met Batman, and his dad has told him a little about Talia, so it's not exactly surprising. His mom is basically royalty, and his dad regularly bosses around entire rooms full of people who could squash him like a bug if they wanted. Obviously that's going to rub off on their son. But then again, maybe it's the way that in Gotham, things always seem to work out in Damian's favour. Nothing huge, nothing life changing. Nothing that isn't deniable. But the vital information is always on the first computer he checks. There's always a convinient pile of boxes at bottom of every drop. His distractions always work, and when he tells the bad guys to listen to him, it's like they can't help but pay attention.

Barbara remembers everything she's ever seen, and she trained herself to pay attention. When she gets back from Belle Reeve, she notices that the Clocktower's computers respond to her in a way Waller's hadn't. Notices that she can always intuit hardware problems that ought to take her months to fix, crack encryption that ought to be impenetrable. And she notices all the other things too. Notices the way Bruce comes and goes, and the fact that he can see in darkness that ought to blind a mere human. Notices that Dick moves like flowing ink not flesh and blood. Notices every time Jason walks off an injury that should have laid him out, every coversation with Tim that lasts a day or no time at all, every time Damian solves a problem with tools that hadn't been there a minute ago.

And because she remembers - because no matter what Gotham does to her that will always be her real superpower - Barbara is the one who takes the train to Uptown, to the street now called Crime Alley, and it's Barbara who knocks on the door of Jason Blood. Barbara who asks the question, and listens carefully to the answer, and goes home with a bag full of borrowed books on dimensional travel and magical radiation and how even the most magical beings are bound by the rules of the dimension they find themselves in.

(The books raise more questions than they answer, but it does at least make sense of the way her dad used to loose all sense of direction any time he went on holiday and take three tries to find the Gotham turn on his way home. And why that doesn't happen nearly as often now as it used to).

And so, when Cass begins talking about working with Batman Inc, about seeing Hong Kong, learning a new city, it's Barbara who sits her down and explains that it will be different there. That she'll always be good, but reading people doesn't work the way she's grown used to, not out there. That she needs to be prepared for the fact that she'll be fighting deaf and blind compared to what's become her normal on home soil (and no matter where she was born, Gotham is Cass's home soil, she and the city were always meant to find one another).

Cass still goes, because learning to fight at a disadvantage is a useful skill to have, but Barbara's right.

There are pieces of her, pieces of all her family, that never make it past the city limits. Pieces of themselves they have to leave at home, waiting for to come back to the place they belong.

Because the Bats are different in Gotham.

I love the headcanon that none of the Bats are supers, but over time? Gotham is slowly messing them up, one by one.

Bruce smiles at Clark one day in the Cave, and his eyes reflect the light back like a wolf's

Jason suddenly has tiny fangs, but nobody has the nerve to mention it

Alfred literally doesn't die

Dick can jump higher and faster than ever before, but barely notices it

Tim is awake for three days straight and doesn't blink

They're all subtly, but noticeably different. Gotham-blessed, or cursed, or something in between.

[kurjakani]

Restarted the star night croche bc his shapes bothered me so and im making him even bigger hes fucking massive. Jesus. My croche hook is bending tho i need to get a sturdier one :( all of the ones w the grippers seem to be that bendier metal tho, idk why.... if i understand right i need to look for aluminium instead of steel...???????? Oughghgh thank god i didnt but a full set of grippy hooks yet

[why-are-you-even-here-tho]

so guess who had forgotten that they stretch when they’re super stressed until last night

[welldonebeca]

Plough Pose (I)

Summary: Sam decides to try something new with yoga. It doesn’t go too well. A.k.a.: Sam injures himself trying to suck his own cock and lands a girlfriend to do it for him. Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female!Reader WC: 1.2k words Warnings: Auto-fellatio. Masturbation. Crack. Sam has a crush.

If you like my work, consider supporting me or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and helps a lot while I go through these hard times.

Masterlist

Sam stretched his arms and legs, feeling comfortable and loose after his long - and daily - session of yoga.

Yoga was one of the good habits he had gotten into since starting university. It cleared his mind, relaxed his body and just made him much bendier, which was great for his day-to-day life.

And... maybe other things.

"Come on, Sam," he prepped himself. "You can do this. It's nothing new."

Sam stopped, and rolled his eyes to himself.

"Alright, maybe it is new."

He shouldn't be too scared, he had done other positions before and this was just a new one.

The windows were closed and blackout curtains were in place. His phone was also in plane mode, and he was free to just enjoy himself.

The plough pose.

It was supposed to rejuvenate the entire nervous system. The abdominal organs were contracted and toned, the neck and shoulders were released from any habitual tension and the spine is stretched to its maximum.

And it also bought his cock nearly right against his face, perfect for him to suck off.

Alright.

Sam would die before admitting he had this fantasy for years, ever since he realised he was longer than most dudes, and when he realised - as a teen - that any time he sat upside down, he could feel the weight of his cock dangling down his stomach.

And the first time he had his cock sucked... he knew he had to try it on his own.

The feeling of a warm mouth around his dick was enough to get him hard as a rod in a second, and he wasn't past doing it to himself.

It was so fucking tempting, like his own personal apple dangling from a tree.

And it could be stupid, sure, but he was smart. He had spent two whole years doing yoga before even preparing to do this to himself, and had read every source that was out there about it.

He didn't need to think much to get himself hard as he took off his clothes.

Just last week, before coming down to Stanford to start the fall term, he'd been out with his friends to visit Brighton State Beach, which included Jess and some of her nurse friends.

Which included you.

Sam had seen you around campus a couple of times before, but that was the first-ever time that he actually got the chance of seeing you for real.

Since Sam had first seen you, you were either wearing scrubs or just very comfortable clothing, which usually included yoga pants and big hoodies that covered your thighs.

He had been interested in you before. Everything in you called to him; the way you spoke, the way you were always expressive, and your attitude, your eyes and face... and your lips. Fuck, he loved your lips. There was something in the way you smiled and pouted that just made him want to grab you and kiss you.

And then, on the beach, he had been able to see what you had hidden from everyone all that time.

Your bathing piece wasn't even small - some of the girls were wearing the tiniest bikinis because they wanted to get a tan - but just the sight of you free and basking under the sun made his cock hard.

He mostly stayed in the water to hide, and couldn't even tear his eyes from your thighs. They looked so soft, and he just knew he could make you shiver if he touched them.

It had just been impossible to get the image of you since then, especially when he saw you around.

Sam reached for his cock and stroked himself, closing his eyes and imagining your own hand around it. Fuck, you had such small hands covered to his - he had seen you holding things before, you could barely close your fingers around those coffee cups you always had with you.

Fuck, and the way you looked at him as you last saw one another... it was almost like you knew what was in his head.

He could feel his precum coating his hand and knew it was best to get into position now and not to get too carried away. If his hand felt good, he knew his mouth would feel even better.

Sam adjusted his mat on the floor and laid down on it, adjusting himself.

Getting into position was easy.

First, he raised his legs and relaxed his shoulder, drawing his chin towards his chest and letting them fall to the floor above his head, feeling his body reacting to it.

His cock, hard and red, touched his lips, and Sam let himself wrap his lips around, moaning in pleasure as he felt his own lips, sucking on its head and closing his eyes. It was a salty taste on his tongue, almost like when he was sucking pussy.

So, he tried to adjust himself and push his cock further.

And that was when his problem began.

Abruptly, he heard the sound of something cracking, and sharp pain spread on his back, making him fall to his side in pain, mouth still drooping from the precum he was sucking down.

All pleasure was gone from his mind.

"Fuck," he grunted, laying completely on the floor.

Great, he had broken himself sucking his own cock.

Of all ways anything could have happened to him, he was paralysing himself by fucking sucking his own dick.

"Great, Sam. Awesome! Congratulations."

He tried to move, but the pain was too much, and he let his head fall back, suddenly afraid he wasn't going to be able to get up.

He didn't know what to do and while the pain was a lot, he didn't want to go to the ER.

What was he even going to say?

So Sam breathed in deep and used his hands to push himself up enough to pull his phone from over his bed, and searched for Jess' name on the screen.

. . .

"Plough Pose" is a Patreon-Exclusive story! To read it now, and have early access to its sequel "Housewife Halloween" and all of my works, consider subscribing to my page! It's just $2 a month and it helps me a lot!

. . .

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[overnightheartbeats]

She looked down at the watch on her wrist, it was still early. One deep breath in her car before heading into the place. No sign of Jazz, but Laurel had shown up early, so she was still hopeful. As she filled out the requested forms, she looked around the establishment. At first glance, the place looked like any regular studio. The other people in here also looked oblivious of anything else happening here, but that didn't mean anything. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she didn't reach it in time to take the call, but she did read the text. Her smile was inevitable, and fingers quickly typed up a response, before setting the device back down. I'd bet I'm even bendier after this class, could put it to the test later. good luck, love you. She knew it was something simple, a stakeout mission, they'd done it countless times. But, Laurel still couldn't help worrying. An unsanctioned investigation, Eli was retired and Isaac was benched, and they were spying on a group their entire agency could barely keep up with. She knew the odds were stacked against them.

Laurel got the tour of the place and, at the mention of a locker room, she looked up. That's where it was. She had questioned the logistics of a yoga studio, sure it was subtle, but how did these meetings happen. Now, it made sense. She didn't love the idea, but blending in was the best choice to not alert Jazz or whoever her handler was. So, she spent the minutes before class mingling and hiding behind a big group of people in the locker room. After a while, she briefly heard Jazz's recognizable voice, and quietly stepped away from the group to follow her voice. Laurel couldn't get too close. Jazz would know she was here and her story for that was set, but she rather not spook her in the locker room. The voices were low, and she could barely make out what they were saying, but she heard Isaac's name and Brezhnev. Realization dawned on her then, Jazz knew. She knew he wasn't actually FBI. Did she know he had previously been involved in the Ivanov case? She had to know, this certainly pointed towards that. They were discussing Brezhnev's recent appearances and the traction he was gaining as of late. The other portion didn't make much sense to her, something about the task being set for this Thursday. Add that to the list of things they needed to figure out. Goodbyes were exchanged, and she made her way back to rejoin the chatting group that was now heading to the studio. As the class came to an end, she met eyes with Jazz, and the real work began. Casual conversation as she adjusted her hair tie. As suggested by Isaac, she played on the friendly note, offering a wide smile and a comment on seeing a friendly face in the class. Laurel figured she may not come across as believable, so she offered up more details. All vague, fake details, but just items to throw off any possible suspicion about her presence here.

The conversation with Jazz didn't yield much, as expected, but it did seem to establish a more positive connection with her. That should come in handy, at least on the mission to keep her unaware of their mission to figure her out. She cleaned herself up and threw on a sweatshirt from her car. Her smile couldn't be hidden when she spotted her boyfriend, quickly walking over to the table and hovering over him. "You look so lonely here, is this seat taken? I bring a new puzzle for us."

"Give them hell babe." He called after her and took a sip of her drink she had left on the nightstand. He finished getting himself dressed and opted for a long sleeve and jeans. Not a more appropriate outfit for today's non activities and headed out. It felt like he had been out for hours instead of ten minutes and he was already bored. So, he decided to check in on Laurel. Texting her didn't seem nearly as fun as calling her, really he just wanted to hear her breathy voice, it made him laugh. While he was calling her, he managed to text her telling her if she didn't pick up he would totally clown her over her not being bendy enough.

He saw movement coming from the liquor store and every fiber in his being told him to get out of the car and follow them but if he knew one thing was not to be reckless. Fucking with Mafia boys was not something to step into lightly. It was like kicking a hornets nest. You couldn't kick it and survive without a plan. He had a twizzler between his lips as he watched the two guys come out and start a conversation. He brought the camera up and snapped a few pictures, maybe pulling their faces through the databases would give them something to work off on and a clue into what they were doing. Sitting here though told him this life was not for him anymore. He knew he was content at his new job, his new life but couldn't help but feel guilty over Laurel still being in this. He would never ask her to quit but he'd be lying if he said that having her out here with different partners didn't terrify him. Did they know her as well as he did? Was her back actually watched?

He looked in the backseat and grabbed Laurel's hoodie - er his hoodie the more he looked at it and wrapped the small device inside as he made his way out of the car and made his way down the drivers seat. He needed to get the last guy's face and for that to happen he needed him to turn around. Closing his eyes and making sure he wasn't seen he honked the horn and that made the two he needed pictures of turn around. After a beat he noticed they all moved and drove away. Taking that as his sign he was done for the day he climbed back into the car and reversed to head down to the cafe to meet up with his girl.

It didn't take him very long to get down to the cafe and order a biscuit for Laurel. He smiled at the waitress who had struck up a conversation with him and had noticed he had put on his ring again. By now he was tired of explaining it wasn't a wedding ring so he let people think what they wanted.

[rai-dai]

Headcanons I think about a lot cause I wanna see women thrive

Haru

-Part-time Lightning Guardian

Okay, do you're gonna tell me Haru finds out about the mafia and how serious it is and shes just gonna let Lambo fight out there? Naw naw not my girl

Haru: "No you can't let Lambo fight out there! Hes just five! Give me that stupid ring. He shouldn't have something so dangerous Tsuna!"

Reborn: "If you're so worried about him then go out there with him."

Haru: "Eek!"

This is how Haru just starts training to be a "Part-Time Guardian" she doesn't hold the ring or the box but she has her sort of Lighting type box weapon. Which I think would be a spear or like some gauntlets but thats honestly for no reason but cause I like it. But I think something with way more agility would help her out. Cause girl took gymnastics and shes gonna use that to her advantage. Shes gonna be much bendier than those stiff-ass boys that I swear wouldn't stretch if Haru didnt make them.

She would name all of her attacks after herself let's be honest.

"Lambo now! HARU HARU BULL RIDE"

Which is just another amazing idea I had where she would have combo attacks with Lambo if they were to fight together. She would go in close combat maybe then Lambo would come in with Gyudon to wreck some shit. All while Haru hops on the back and surfs on the Bull.

I would just love to see her in combat too

-Cloud and Lightning

Okay, I think it would be neat if she had two flame types! Why? Cause the team that gave her flames was inconsistent and so now shes super cool and badass

Thats all

- Mafia Life

Haru would give up the position of Lightning when Lambo is old enough, but she would still be part of the mafia and try to help Tsuna.

I wanna say she goes "missing" but she goes on missions as a spy since shes got way better at costume making and disguises. Which make her go unnoticed even without mist flames. She does end up ending her career early to help her family and keep them safe as a regular civilian.

Kyoko

Unfortunately, I dont see her in a combat role like Haru. But I do see her as battle support!

- Fight Choreographer

Now this is where she shines, unlike Ryohei who learns by doing. She can learn from watching, which after watching her brother do boxing and maybe some other martial arts. She can understand footing to get the best results and strategies for individual battles.

She's learned things from observation!

At first, people dont think much of it since Kyoko honestly is a bit strange in a very nice and not at all off-putting way. But she wants to just help more with combat like Haru.

Also note when i write tjese im writing from where im watching in the anime which is after the girls find out about the whole mafia thing. Also the first choice battles.

Kyoko omly knows so much self defense that it isnt much to go out there and fight and train. But soon hears word of a man named Squalo whose the Varia Battle Strategist which gives her a good chance to at least get started on her self training and learning.

She seeks him out and gets caught immediately, to which Squalo just kinda gives up and gives her some advice.hes already dealing with Yamamoto so whatever.

"You need to close off your weaknesses while highlighting your comrades strengths. You must be fast with your eyes, give commands like you mean it. Like your life depends on the right choices you make. Never second guess yourself."

Then gives her a hint to go to the bunker Library for some books. Which honestly fair enough. She goes in looking for something useful, only to find books with her name as the author. Battle Strategy books and theres a lot of them.

This is the future so shes listening to the audiobooks while doing housework cause we love a girl that can do it all.

So now thats my role for Kyoko

[westiec]

June 13: T4T Wangxian! 🏳️‍⚧️

genderbend wangxian, no, bendier than that

Read on ao3

When they first meet in high school, Lan Zhan can't stand him; she doesn't like boys as a rule, and Wei Ying is the worst: loud and cocky and flirts with everyone.

Her friend Nie Huaisang goes out with him once and swears up and down that he's pretty cool really, a perfect gentleman on their date. Lan Zhan bites her tongue and asks if he'll be seeing him again, but Nie Huaisang shakes his head.

"There just wasn't much of a spark there, y'know? I'd like to be friends, though, if you wouldn't mind him hanging out with us sometime?" And Nie Huaisang has been her best friend since they were five-year-olds drug to their big brothers' wushu competitions, so...

So that's how Lan Zhan finds herself eating lunch every day of senior year with Nie Huaisang and Wei Ying, Most Awful Boy in School.

It's surprisingly un-awful.

Wei Ying is still loud and cocky, but he is also kind and generous. She'd known he was smart—they'd often competed for the top spot in their classes—but she comes to realize that much of his flirting is honest curiousity about everyone and everything.

Including her.

"Lan Zhan, you should let me set you up on a date! Who do you like? There are lots of girls at this school who have a crush on Lan-jiejie, you know."

She did not know. She tries to tell him she does not need to be set up. Nie Huaisang betrays her and sides with Wei Ying.

Here's the other thing about Nie Huaisang & Wei Ying: they are weirdly good at matchmaking. She knows of at least four couples who started dating on their suggestion.

(They are not good at finding themselves dates, but that's a different story.)

"Hmm... oh! Lan Zhan, do you think you might like Mianmian?"

Lan Zhan goes on the date.

(She and Luo Qingyang date for the rest of senior year and part of that next summer, then break up amicably when they start university in different cities. They remain friends and pen pals.)

Lan Zhan and Wei Ying graduate at the top of their class. She has a little snapshot of them all at graduation, she and Nie Huaisang and Mianmian and Wei Ying and even Wei Ying’s brother Jiang Cheng, all in their hats and baggy gowns, looking proud and happy and ready to take on the world.

There's a lot of world, as it turns out.

People move, they graduate, they get jobs and fall in love and change their number and lose touch.

Sometimes they find out new things about themselves.

"Nonbinary" is a new thing.

Ge is adorkably supportive. Nie Huaisang congratulates them, and Mianmian sends a sweet message. Lan Zhan doesn't really have a conversation about it with Uncle, but the first time they wear a binder and blazer to a family lunch, he just compliments them on their outfit and asks about the new exhibit they've been working on for the museum.

Wei Ying’s messages had started bouncing a few years back, and Lan Zhan mostly manages not to wonder what he'd say.

Lan Zhan cuts their hair and grows it out again, because sometimes you just have to try things to see if they're you.

(Lan Zhan had learned that from Wei Ying.)

They date, a bit, and adopt a pair of rabbits. They find what makes them feel at home in their body.

They love their job and smile inside every time a wide-eyed kid takes in their long braided hair and earrings and makeup and the lean, crisp lines of their work outfits with awe.

They let Nie Huaisang teach them how to dance, and do brunch with Ge and his partners, and they travel, sometimes for work and sometimes for themself.

They visit Mianmian, meet her wife and baby daughter, and travel to see their mother's family, and other times go somewhere they know no one.

It's at a craft market in one such town, looking at handmade jewelry and homemade jams, that Lan Zhan hears a musical laugh they haven't heard in years.

They follow it past booths of landscape photos and hand-thrown pottery and beaded necklaces until they turn a corner to see —

Long glossy hair in a high ponytail. Elegant wrists and lively hands. A flowing skirt that flutters in the spring breeze as the person at this table of what Lan Zhan belatedly realizes is small-batch fruit wines waves goodbye to a happy customer before turning and—

"Wei Ying."

It's undoubtedly Wei Ying's eyes that go wide and surprised. Undoubtedly Wei Ying’s smile that spreads across this lovely face. Undoubtedly Wei Ying who responds, "Lan Zhan! Fancy meeting you here, after all this time."

Lan Zhan can feel a smile in the corners of their own lips.

"Come here, come here, tell me what you're up to these days. You look fantastic, Lan Zhan, have a seat, I want to hear everything that—ah, if you have time?"

Lan Zhan has time. Lan Zhan thinks they would sit at this market stall until dark to keep that smile on Wei Ying’s face.

"I do. Wei Ying, you also look—" beautiful, captivating, happy, alive "—fantastic."

Lan Zhan does not remember Wei Ying blushing like this in school. It's utterly charming.

Lan Zhan sits at Wei Ying’s stall for hours.

("This is more words than you ever said to me back then!")

They catch up. Wei Ying lives and works at a small family farm outside this town. Wei Ying declares Lan Zhan's job as a museum curator "perfect for you!"

They do the pronoun thing.

("It changes? But 'she' today."

"'They,' as a rule; 'she' when it's too..."

"Sure, I get it.")

Eventually, Wei Ying carefully asks if Lan Zhan has kept up with anybody they'd both known.

She's delighted by the news of Luo Qingyang's marriage and child, and thrilled that she and Lan Zhan remain friends. ("I knew you'd like her, Lan Zhan!")

Wei Ying’s face does something complicated when Lan Zhan asks about the Jiangs, so they let her change the subject. There's a little boy on the farm, apparently, who Wei Ying adores.

Wei Ying does not sell very much more wine that day, but she won't hear of Lan Zhan apologizing.

It's not quite dark when Lan Zhan helps Wei Ying pack up the unsold jars, but it is late enough that it's easy to ask her for a recommendation for where to eat dinner, then insist that Lan Zhan treat her to a meal.

It is dark by the time they leave the restaurant.

Lan Zhan goes to bed smiling that night, a new number in their phone under a contact they could never quite bring themself to delete.

Wei Ying has never visited the museum Lan Zhan had come here to see. Lan Zhan barely notices the art, too distracted by the light in her eyes.

The train ride between towns is not long.

Later, under cheerful lanterns strung up at the Wen farm to celebrate Wei Ying's birthday, Lan Zhan mentions they've gotten a position at the museum they visited that first weekend.

Wei Ying's kiss tastes like cherry wine and happiness.

Epilogue thoughts:

Wei Ying's jiejie does her hair at the wedding. Jiang Cheng cries on Nie Huaisang at the reception. Mianmian and Mian's Ma'am and Xiao Mianmian are, of course, all in attendance as well.

Lan Zhan and Wei Ying hang a picture of all of them at the wedding in their new house, with an old, faded snapshot tucked in the corner of the frame.

#PrideMonthSnippets Masterpost!

[tomatograter]

Do you have any tips on anatomy or dynamic poses? I just really love your art and how fluid it is!

I'm bad at doing art tutorials but things that helped me specifically on that area are;

Prioritizing flow (and the line of action) over anatomically accurate shape; as absolute legend ciro put it really well on this thread made to respond to more or less the same question

Think animation smears, movement before mimesis of the realistic form. More stylized traces benefit heavily from this! But lets say you're also doing some mostly stactic action without a lot of "movement". In that scenario, ive found that thinking of the same principle (flow of the whole instead of the singular piece) can also help if you focus on the characters weight distribution and try to minimize the amount of straight angular lines in your art. Even on things like arms and backs, there's a slight curve instead of a ramrod straight line. It's the juxtaposition with a more loose corresponding line that makes it seem snappy, mid-movement, "bendy". Think about the figure as a whole and be conscious of how the outline loops around itself-which side is the snappier one and which is demonstrating the elasticity of the form. Im gonna take another pic from ciros twitter bc i went to look for the tutorial and found it (sorry king)

This is gonna look confusing at first but bear with me. Check out this image:

Looks like a fucking mess right. Now let's isolate the elements:

IN GREEN: here you have the bendier, more complex lines, the ones doing the loops and informing the shape.

IN RED: Directly In Contrast to the green lines, we have these TAUT ANGLES, not quite completely straight but just enough to give the impression of the figure being pulled every which way, like the meat of dracula boy is being tugged to one side and thus the other is gonna be a bit more modest, having less to work with. Specifically on his face, they even switch sides!

You can find even more contrast points inside that picture but I'm doing this on my phone so I'm only pointing out a few. (Like look at the shape of the hand sitting on the table, theres a complex curved top angle and a taut, lower arm-hand line.) This is definitely an animation-oriented principle instead of a Bellas Artes principle, so id reccomend paying attention to shapely animated things (mostly highly stylized ones, like cartoons not every style does this!) to get your eye trained on that. Try to break down pictures to see how that distribution is being made! Be conscious of the general idea when practicing your poses! There are exceptions to every rule and you shouldn't stress about doing this like math at every turn, but it really helps to 'loosen up' your drawings.

Also to add up on the "movement" thing i tend to sketch loosely and fast out of practice, and only polish it with subsequent re-sketches. Some artists get bogged down by this practice so its not like im reccomending it, but it works for me and i like lineart when its all about doing sweeping gestures and swirls and shit.

i’m gonna put some progress pictures under the cut!

I did this on my phone. there’s my dirty secret i don’t give a shit about how my sketches look. 

lets like polish this thing with 15 layers now untill i get it where i want it (i do color blocking on this stage because i also love color distribution art is just about what you like doing tbf)

you’ll see that the Actual Lineart looks fairly different and i thought some movement was lost (A gamble that is always made when you’re trying to “solidify” or overpolish things, but you win some you lose some. I was able to find the mid stage of the jaderadia piece too so here it is

aaaand since i also have this saved here’s two pieces where one was more fateful to the sketch while the other was all just direct lineart bullshit

hopefully this helps

[evolutionsvoid]

"After hours of driving iron spears into it, the horrid thing finally died. No clue if it was due to the poison we applied to the tips (if so, that took way too long to take effect) or if we stabbed enough holes in it that it just dropped. Regardless of what killed it, we are just thrilled that it is finally dead. This was an ordeal I hope to never experience again. We knew it was a horrible job to begin with, but this was absolutely wretched. We have four dead, six injured and everyone reeks like sunbaked bile. A third of our equipment is ruined; blades are corroded, leather is half digested and the cart we hauled this all on is chewed up into a pile of melting splinters. The pay from our employer will stretch a bit more now that we lost a few folk, but it still isn't nearly enough, so we are going to plunder this dragon's hoard in hopes of getting a few more coin for our trouble. It will pay, but boy does it suck. All the hunky heroes of the legends get to dive into piles of gold and jewels that the dragon collected, but us? We get to pick through this thing's freaking teeth. Took almost an hour to flip its upper jaw over and expose its inner maw. Thing felt heavier than a team of oxen, and it was still oozing acid. We have protective gloves and boot covers to keep our limbs from being digested, but there isn't enough peppermint oil in the world to block out that noxious breath. Can't tell if it smelled better alive than dead. Kadin is currently filling every jar and bottle we have with its saliva, a task I do not envy. Disgusting as it is, it could fetch us a good price. Potion makers and alchemists value the stuff for how it breaks down ingredients and melds it all together, so hopefully we will find some buyers. I personally can't look at that sludge in any positive light after seeing what it did to Gren. By the Gods, what a terrible way to go. At least his blade wasn't hosed down with the stuff, so we can present it to his family. Got nothing else to give them, the ground pretty much soaked up what was left of him. This spit and whatever we find in its mouth is pretty much all we can salvage from this forsaken mission. The meat is inedible, its outer teeth are too hard to remove, the scales are worthless and there isn't much else in its body besides that. The inner teeth aren't worth much, because it sheds that stuff like fur. Your liable to step on one just strolling through the woods, so they aren't exactly rare. You still have to watch those things when your rooting around its mouth, though, because those suckers can still slice you open pretty bad. Best to dislodge them with a club and scoop them out before you start digging. After a few minutes of searching, we pretty much pulled out everything that was recognizable. Antonin found a few gold coins that were stuck between its gums. Probably will have to melt them down to get any worth out of them, they are pretty messed up from the saliva. We pulled three Ivory Stones from the back teeth, so that should fetch us some cash. Two of them are pretty small, but the third is about the size of my fist, so we should get a fair price from that. Nicolas found a key while digging around, and it is in pretty good shape. No clue what it goes to, so I will just dream that it leads to some vault full of treasure and not to some cottage's back door. I dug out a weird ring that was in surprisingly good condition. Kadin said it had some kind of magic to it, so that is why it survived. So apparently this thing ate a wizard? Glad to know that even the fancy "sophisticated" folk can still get munched by a monster. Found a bunch of mangled metal that we may be able to melt down and sell as scrap. One of those pieces turned out to be Manfred's helmet, and is pretty much the only evidence we found of him. Thing was crushed like you dropped an anvil on a tin can. I hope it happened when the beast got a hold of him, cruel as it may sound. Better to have your head squished like a grape in a few seconds then to be trapped in that maw and slowly mulched. We are going to melt that down too, as there is no way I am giving his wife this chewed-up piece of junk.  We just have to remember to wash all this stuff down real good before we pack it up, or else it will eat through our bags. The search yielded a few good things, but like everything else about this mission, it was a miserable time. Now we clean up, patch up, pack up and head back to town for our reward. The carcass will just be left where it lies, we have no use for it. There are no trophies to gain here, no memories we wish to relish. Leave it to rot, and maybe some scavenger will be desperate enough to eat it."     --------------------------------------------------------------- And of course after I mention that I won't be doing any real stuff for Smaugust I go and do this. What an idiot. Just got the hankering to revisit my ol' Grinning Dragons and went on the continuation of "draw it again, but make it bendier." More teeth, more nasty and more fun. Maybe I will get a breather in September but I say that right before I learn that "Rept-ember" is a thing or what not.