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luveline · 2 years ago

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𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝? | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Your best friend Eddie tries to explain what a hickey feels like and finds he doesn't have the words. He could show you, though, if you want? [3k]

fem!reader, shy!reader, implied inexpereinced!reader, friends-to-lovers, pining, mdni heavy petting, hickeys, lots of hickeys, marking up, neck kissing, shoulder kissing, heat of the moment confessions, eddie being flirty but also a good friend, requested here

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie strokes down the length of his guitar neck almost tenderly. You're focused on his hands rather than his mouth as he recounts last night's date to you, distracted by the deft movement of his fingers, which aren't exactly small. It's an oxymoron —paradoxical, even— that his thick fingers would move with such gentle precision.

You shift around where you're sitting on his bedroom floor, criss-cross applesauce with an uncomfortable heat rising from the bottomless pit of your stomach to your tight collar. The white button up you'd worn under your sweater vest is a size too small. You're really starting to notice.

You peel out of the vest and hope it'll help you calm down.

"She wasn't exactly sweet," Eddie says, plucking a string, listening to the sound, and tuning it this way or that depending on how he liked it. "I think she wanted to get it over with, which isn't really my thing. She was in my lap before I could make it clear I wasn't interested in anything quick."

You lift your gaze from his hands. He must feel you watching his face. He looks up in tandem and smiles reassuringly. "It's fine. I kind of thought she was getting into it, she was like a vampire on me at one point, but I wasn't feeling it and it's clear she wasn't either. Drove her home. How was your night, d'you watch that tape?"

You trace the coil of a black curl down to his shoulder, and can't force yourself to meet his eyes as you ask, "A vampire?"

"What?"

"She was like a vampire at one point, you said." Eddie's arm goes still. "What did you mean by that?" you ask.

He puts his guitar down on the floor. You worry you've said something truly dull for him to place his sweetheart in such a rush, but Eddie's like that. He can tell you're embarrassed no doubt, and he's giving you the answer to your question as swiftly as he can to soothe the wound.

"Here, look," he says. He pushes his hair away from his neck on one side and tilts his head, bearing a wine-stained curve of skin to you unabashedly. "She kissed me. She gave me a hickey, used a lot of teeth. That's why it's bruised so much on the edges."

Warmth you've never felt rushes in, like your blood has superheated, and it's written on your face. Eddie's room feels suddenly a thousand times smaller than before and more intimate, his poster wallpaper curving in, the space between you inching closer.

"Sorry," he says, "I know it's kind of weird to show you."

"No, I'm sorry," you say, mortified. "I shouldn't have asked you."

"Yeah, you should. You didn't get it and now you do. I don't mind telling you."

Eddie lets his hair fall back against his neck, a kinky curtain that looks ridiculously soft in the orangey light of his lamp. There's a butter smoothness to it, and the way he moves as he does is worse, his hand open and reaching for you. He doesn't hold your hand, doesn't even try, just lets his upturned palm hang off the edge of his knee as if to say, Ask me whatever it is you want to ask me. It's cool.

"Why would she do that?" you ask, gesturing to your neck.

"It's not her fault, I was flirting with her a ton trying to make it work."

"Not like that."

Eddie's hand turns toward his knee. "Like what?"

Your hand drifts to your own neck absentmindedly. You get kissing, wanting to be kissed and wanting to give them. You understand why she kissed his neck; if you'd been in her position, alone in the car with Eddie laying his charm on thick, you might climb the console and push aside his hair too.

"I know why she kissed you. I don't see why she…" You rub your lips together, your embarrassment turning sharp. You hate how humiliating this feels. "I know what a hickey is, Eds, but why would you want one?"

His turn to fluster. The tiniest tinge of pink paints his cheeks. "Are you asking me why I enjoyed it?"

"Did you?"

You despise yourself, truly. Worse when Eddie laughs, his chest forward, hair falling in his face as he chuckles sincerely.

"Yeah," he says, smiling at you "I liked it. Before she started trying to kill me I was having a good time."

He doesn't put you through the agony of asking what you both know he wants to.

You've never had one?

"It feels warm, and it's– you know how being kissed gives you butterflies, right? It's better than that. It's hot, and all her weight is on you and you have your hand on her back trying to pull her in, and she's as close as she can be without, you know." Something flickers across Eddie's face. Not longing, but a remembered pleasure. It makes you squirm.

"I don't see how it doesn't just hurt."

The hand that hadn't been reaching for you holds a pick. He flashes it between his fingers, a party trick, a nervous tic, his eyelashes tangling together as his eyelids inch closed. He scrunches his face up for a second.

"Don't hate me if I ask you something weird," Eddie says, eyes shut tight.

You don't think you could. You watch Eddie's face, knowing he can't see your analysis, and feel a shock of pins and needles in your hands when his eyes open and immediately lock on to yours.

"Do you want me to give you one?" he asks.

Your lips feel like they've been glued shut. You're aware of your breathing, how shallow each inhale has become, but you can't do anything about it.

He has the decency to acknowledge what position his question puts you in, "I know it might be weird but I can't describe it to you if you don't know what it feels like."

You surprise him. You surprise yourself. "Uh, yeah. Okay."

"Yeah?"

"It doesn't hurt?"

"Not unless you want it to." A hint of a smirk plays on his lips, though it fades quickly. "It doesn't hurt. That's not the point. But it can feel… foreign."

You nod jerkily, wishing you knew what to do.

The atmosphere is thick enough to cut through. Neither of you like it. Eddie gives you another type of smile, a familiar one that says, I'm your best friend, I always will be, so please chill out.

"You're gonna have to sit in my lap."

You actually laugh. "Eddie," you chastise, thinking it's a bad joke.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but it's that or the bed." His teasing tone is light, but he still adds, "I mean, we can do it sitting next to each other but it's difficult. Whatever you want, though."

You climb up on your knees. You're shy, absolutely, you always will be and especially when Eddie's teasing, but he really is your best friend, and the bed isn't happening.

He doesn't scare you.

He grins and ushers you toward him. "Alright, come here." He tugs one of your thighs over his lap and your breath catches. He grabs the other and any laughter between you abruptly dies.

You settle over his lap with an expression not far from pained. Eddie's hands rest against your thigh and your hip. He has to look up at you now, and he does as he encourages your weight firmly downward. You're more than conscious of where you're positioned.

"Do me a favour?" he asks.

"Yeah." You put your hand on his chest tentatively.

"Don't suffer through it if you hate it, okay? All you have to do is say something and I'll stop, but if you feel like you can't, a good right hook would work too."

"I'm not gonna hurt you," you protest.

"Me neither," he says. His hand lifts from your thigh to your neck, and he brushes his fingertips down the curve of it ineffectually. It would feel good if you weren't choking on air. "Relax, sweetheart. Please."

"I'm really warm."

"Your shirt's too tight anyway," he says, hand at your collar. He thumbs open your top button, a second, and exposes the flat of your chest. His fingers slide across your neck as he folds back your starched collar. They're cool compared to the raging heat he finds there.

You take a deep breath.

"You could put your hands in my hair," he says. Wishful thinking has hope colouring his tone.

You put your hands on his shoulders. The very tips of your fingers partition his curls.

He raises an arm above your mess of limbs to weave a hand behind your ear. It's then that you feel his callouses, so rough against the delicate skin of your scalp. Despite their texture, you find it feels good. He tucks his hand in tight, and slowly, slowly turns your head to the side.

"Look up," he murmurs.

You lift your head and stare at the ceiling with widened eyes.

He can't know but he does, and he says, "Close your eyes." The heat of his breath kisses your neck.

You shiver at the suggestion of his lips, and again when they press to your skin. Close-lipped, Eddie kisses the skin just under your ear where on the opposite side of your head his thumb strokes quarter circles. You're quickly overwhelmed by the duelling sensations. You don't notice his lips have parted until he's kissing a sloven path downward, his spit cooling in wake.

This isn't a hickey, this is straight up kissing, and you don't know what to do with how you feel. You hide your hands in his hair.

It tugs him forward. He reads your hands for enthusiasm, and if it is or isn't he pulls you closer still and opens his mouth against your skin. His teeth are impossible to ignore.

Your hand works further into his hair, getting caught in a tangle as he sucks your skin between his lips. His lazy mouthing turns insistent but still gentle, his teeth scratching ever so slightly at your pulse as it capers beneath his ministrations. You gasp at the warmth blossoming under your ribs. You cup the back of his neck a touch too tight.

He doesn't stop kissing you, only grabs your wrist to stop you from choking him out. You make a sound you've never made with him before, a mewl, all breathless and teary as the sensation worsens. Which is to say, betters.

He breaks a particularly rough kiss to suck in breath, his nose sliding up the curve of your neck as he leans back. "You okay?" he murmurs, half-lidded eyes locking onto your flushed face.

"Why does it feel like that?" you ask.

He drops his head, his nose level with your chin. "I don't know," he says, punctuating with a kiss right there, the closest bit of skin he can find. "Want me to do it again?"

You swallow and he must see it. He says nothing, wrapping his arms around your waist as he waits for you to respond. Your stomach pushes into his, your arms braced on his shoulder so you don't collapse into his front, limp with touch.

"Sweetheart, can I do it again?" he asks.

"Yeah," you say, quiet but enthusiastic. "Please."

He's slower this time. Eddie leans into your neck and doesn't kiss you at first, his lips so close to your skin that you can feel their phantom. You skin tingles from his previous scandalising, and it doesn't beg, skin can't beg, but you can, you curl your arm behind his neck and hook his head there, crushing his hair to the crook of your arm. He doesn't take much convincing beyond that. His lips smush against your neck and you feel every millimetre as they part, heat and warmth and wet spreading like budding flowers come to bloom. You melt into him soon after, and Eddie takes your weight in stride, hand at the small of your back and pulling you in so hard you can feel his ribs.

When you think you're used to it —not used to it, but expecting what can be expected— Eddie nips you. Tiny dainty kisses broken up with a nibbling you'd couldn't describe as anything but playful. He laughs at your gasping and does it again, again, giddy hot laughter mixed with one of the strangest feelings you've ever been subjected to. You're molten. You're dizzy with it.

Eddie pulls back enough to ask, "I'm gonna undo another button, okay? Just one. Is that alright?"

"What for?"

"So I can kiss your shoulder. Just your shoulder." He sounds pleading, desperately excited in a way you've never heard him and you want to know what it'll feel like, so you let him.

This next button unveils the top of your bra and the soft hills of your breasts. He doesn't look, barely glances at his hand as he tugs your shirts down your arm, diving into the juncture of your neck like he needs it to breathe. His kisses are proper compared to some of the stuff he's been doing, but then he opens his mouth and the flat of his tongue wets your skin as he kisses kisses kisses down your shoulder. His hand is somewhere under your shirt, fingers slipped under your bra strap and pulling teasingly at the elastic as he eases you down in his arms. You're shorter than him where you'd started taller, totally compressed in his arms and at his mercy.

When he pulls back, the slimmest ribbon of spit shines between your shoulder and his lips. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, his eyes glassy, and that hand cups your face. He pretty much grabs you, but there's not a lick of cruelty in his touch. Eddie's rough. Never cruel.

"You're on fire," he says. It's objective rather than joking. "You're so hot. Do you want to stop?"

"Not– not unless you want to," you say, trying to quieten your breathing. You sound like you've run a marathon. It feels like it.

"I'm gonna give you a real one, cool?"

"I didn't know they weren't real."

"Oh, sweetheart," he says, and his eyes are damning, a loving pity in the black of his blown pupils, "I was just warming you up."

Your mind blanks.

"Make sure I can hide it," you say.

You aren't thinking straight, concerned about hiding his hickeys but not what this means for the two of you. His unexpected hunger, and your willingness to let him eat you whole.

"I don't think you can hide it anymore," he says, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

You look down at his lips. They're rosy, swollen from the pressure.

He sees you looking.

He yanks you in by the waist and sizes you up, almost, like he's calling your bluff, not spiteful but something mean about him as he stares at your mouth in return.

Like he doesn't want you to make the mistake. Like he knows you won't.

His hand tips your chin up high and he ducks his own down. An inch and you'd be kissing. That's all it would take.

"Is that really what you want?" he asks.

"I don't know," you say. Is it what he wants?

It has to be.

"Have you wanted to, before?" He draws a line down your cheek with his marriage finger. Fast as a heavy tear. "You want me to kiss you?"

"Yeah," you whisper, trying to make sense of this, your sudden confession, a secret want pushed into the light.

Eddie turns his hand and strokes down your cheek with the back of it, pushing any dampened baby hairs away from your skin. His gaze softens.

"Was that so hard?" he asks.

"You knew?"

He kisses you. He's smiling, and he doesn't take just one. He must kiss you four or five times, your lips parted enough to know he could push it further if he wanted, but he doesn't. These kisses are unhurried, missing the ravenous passion of his hickeying but not the fondness.

"You don't know how hard it is," he says after he's broken away, his forehead tipped against yours, "how hard it is to have someone look at you like you look at me everyday, like I'm something you can't have."

"I didn't know–" you knew. You felt the same. His kissing is evidence alone. it's confessional.

"I know. Guess I thought nothing good would come of it, but– but I don't want good. I want you."

He pulls back quickly, like you've said something confessional rather than him. He surprised himself.

"I'm not good?" you ask.

"You're good. You'll ruin me, that's all."

You don't have time to ask him what he means by that. He kisses you again, kisses your cheek, draws a line of crescent moons down along your neck to the mess he's made of you. He kisses– he sucks your neck so hard, so sudden, that goosebumps erupt and you can't stop yourself from saying, "Ohh," as you cling to his shoulders.

This is the vampire thing he'd talked about, the points of his teeth stark against your skin even now. There's another layer of vulnerability unveiled here, knowing that he could really hurt you and knowing he never would. He kisses you until you're overwhelmed by him. Heat everywhere. Sweat shining on your skin. You don't want anything else but this.

You squeak as the pressure turns from pleasurable to too much. Eddie hears the pain in it and pulls away, instantly sorry and willing to prove it, his hands cradling your face.

You pant. He shushes you gently.

"Sorry, baby." He pets your cheeks.

Your head falls back, too heavy on your sore neck. You feel wiped.

Wiped, but good. Lax.

"That was nice," you say breathlessly.

Eddie sits up and drags you with him, hand behind your neck to prop you up. He's laughing again, his awful sweet laugh that you've heard a thousand times before. It never fails to make you smile.

"You're like a dead fish."

You cover an eye with your hand. "I take it the romance is over."

"You thought that was romantic? Babe, I'm only getting started."

Eddie gives you a quick peck. Where his hickey had felt like the heart of a star growing hotter with each passing second, his smaller kiss feels like the sun through blinds, a dappling of warmth.

"Are you messing with me?" you ask.

He pushes his arms over your shoulders for a hug.

"No. Not messing with you." His nose rubs against the shell of your ear. "It's about time we talked."

You let your hand drift down the dip of his back.

"Okay," you mumble. Talking. You need to talk about whatever it is that just happened.

"...Maybe I'll get you a glass of water first," he adds.

"That's a good idea."

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and if you did, please consider letting me know/reblogging, it means the world to me and makes a big difference!! ♡ NOTE: Eddie def pines back if that isn't fully clear, I tried to imply it with his date where he could've hooked up with someone but didn't go through with it, it was cos he's too in lurve

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #ish #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things

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hattiestgal · 1 year ago

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If you don't mind my asking, how do you go about drawing fat? :3

JUST THE EXCUSE I WAS LOOKING FOR

So, for me personally, a lot of the time when I draw fat characters, I'm not looking to specifically capture the specifics of fat as much as the feel of fat. Bulkier, rounder shapes in the right places that has a feeling of weight to em! A lot of that is intuition and simplification at this point, but it all works on the same frame as just any ol' person. Like take this-

For example. This is the basis for any body shape, not just the more average one that it may imply. Sure- it can be that average body shape:

But also a fat one too!

And a big part of that is knowing where fat usually tends to bunch up on the body, so lets take a look piece by piece! (Please keep in mind this is very simplified, and not completely precise in some parts)

THE FACE: Cheeks (in purple) and especially the chin (in light blue) are the places where a lot of the fat is gonna wanna gather and round out on your face! Additionally, theres a small pocket of fat beneath the cranium on the backside of your head. It's small, but it is there. I believe fat can build up elsewhere like the bridge of your nose and forehead, but generally speaking, you're gonna have a whole lot more buildup in other places first.

THE TORSO: A lot of the fat built up on the torso is gonna be sent to your tummy. More cushioning for vital organs, mostly out of the way, it just makes sense. Additionally, the lower backs fat builds up and joins with a patch of fat on your sides that forms what is typically referred to as the love handles to make that double belly look. Along with this, the immediate next target for the torso is the breasts, followed by the upper back!

THE ARMS: For this limb, a VERY notable amount of the fat present builds up on the tricep and bicep areas, lessening once you get towards the flexor and extensor areas. You can almost think of the arm as a sort of triangular shape, wide side starting from the shoulder and tapering towards the hand, which itself mostly builds up fat around the back of the hand and the fingers. The shoulders themselves don't build up too much fat unless you got a lot

THE LEGS: And finally, you can think of the legs having pretty similar curves to what you're probably already used to thinking. The front of the thighs getting a big buildup, along with the back of the calves, the other parts being flatter in turn. As far as the feet go- similarly to the hands, the top of the feet, along with the heels get most of the buildup, as fat on your soles would impede mobility. The glute, hip and crotch area will also especially build up fat, lending to the same triangular shape that you can see in the arm!

A big thing to note with fat is that it tends to taper off towards joints. Your knees, elbows, shoulders, hips, and all the other places are gonna have significantly less fat so that you remain mobile and flexible, as that's important!

Now that we have an idea of where fat builds up on the body, you might have something that looks kinda like this

Which yes, does demonstrate a solid understanding of the places fat builds up, lacks the weight you're probably trying to convey, which brings us to out next point! Fat is well... heavy! Gravity is what gives fat much of it's shape, especially as you tread towards larger and larger bodies.

This is demonstrated really well on the arms especially-

Those big ol' bits of fat'll really start to sag when left hanging, and they will squish like hell if they run into something. I like to think of these bits of fat as big ol' ovals that squash and stretch depending on if there's an obstacle in their way or not

These are the important shapes to remember when it comes to the weightiness of fat! If you take all of this into mind, you should be getting something a lot closer to that shape you've been after!

Oh, and always remember that fat bodies come in all variety of shapes and sizes! Play around with a whole lot, and seek out all the resources you can! it'll really lend to your knowledge when it comes to this kinda stuff!

And as I always recommend when it comes to learning art- look at what your favorite artists do with fat bodies. See what you really like about the fat bodies they draw and try to replicate it in your own work, I promise you it's one of the most helpful things ever.

This is like the most basic of basics when it comes to drawing fat bodies though. If there's any additional thing about fat bodies, or maybe you want clarification on something, don't be afraid to ask! If there's enough to cover, I'll make an addition to this post!

#hat answers #my art #design talk #tutorials #yeah im unfortunately pretty tired so this gets a liiiitle rambly at the end but i think this covers like the basic basics #i hope this was helpful at all #and again dont be afraid to ask questions and stuff #if theres enough traction/questions on this i will most definitely try to clear up as much as i can in an addition to the post #whoops this took a bit!

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seneon · 6 months ago

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where they like to kiss you ──── blue lock various.

featuring. isagi, bachira, chigiri, nagi, itoshi brothers.

notes. i might write a part two with others characters but idk 😭 all fluffy headcanons. gn! reader.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ ISAGI YOICHI

yoichi loves to kiss your forehead. it also really depends if you have bangs or not. if you have bangs, he'll shift them up or pull them away to peck a quick kiss on your forehead. he's very sweet with kissing your forehead too... you can tell that he's intimate and he's showing his least (which is really a lot) amount of love through kisses on your forehead. the way you'd lean forward to let him kiss is also very cute to him!

𖥔 ݁ ˖ BACHIRA MEGURU

all over your face. i don't make the rules. you know this guy will not stop kissing until he kisses every part of your face. especially the part where you're most insecure about. your nose? he'll kiss it a hundred times. the acne scars? he'll kiss it a thousand times. meguru wants you to feel loved and appreciated ALWAYS. so he never leaves a single spot out. i feel he kisses your belly a lot too... idk 💯💯

𖥔 ݁ ˖ CHIGIRI HYOMA

hyoma adores your hands. super gentle with your hands. he's like those pretty prince charming that steals a hand kiss. this boy probably does hand care so don't be surprise is his hands are like prettier or better looking than yours. that doesn't stop him from also doing hand care on you though. he's so gentle and sweet, he kisses so intimately between your fingers and brings your palm next to his face so he can kiss it even more while smiling sweetly at you. wskjahsjs he's so...

𖥔 ݁ ˖ NAGI SEISHIRO

definitely kisses your jaw a lot. seishiro's super lazy, he leans or cuddles you ALL THE TIME .in result to that, expect a loooootttt of jaw or neck kisses. he doesn't even make it sexual, it's so natural and innocent as if he's appreciating you through his kisses. he's so koala core, very huggable. he's twice your size (probably) and a big baby. bro clings onto you and gives you hugs from the back too. and from those back hugs, he'll just... smooch your jaw. probably thinks your jaw/neck is so kissable...

𖥔 ݁ ˖ ITOSHI RIN

cheeks. rin doesn't really know how to be intimate with you. so when he saw his dad kissing his mom on her cheeks, he took that and does it to you. because his mom giggles, and you giggle, he believes that it works. to see your cheek flushed red is also an enjoyable sight for him. rin feels completed every single time he leans in to peck your cheeks. definitely would trick you into kissing your lips then pecking your cheeks because that's just who rin is.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ ITOSHI SAE

classically enough, sae loves to kiss your lips the most. of course he kisses elsewhere, but he finds lips to be the most affectionate. the older itoshi probably won't kiss elsewhere other than your lips, mainly because he finds kissing elsewhere pretty nonsensical. and he just loves the way your lips feel. he makes out with you a lot. just saying!!! the kissing session will be so romantic too like wow wdym wine candles soft music dim lighting warm atmosphere perfect scenery below... sae the man you are..

TAGS 𖥔 ݁ ˖ @hyoismbbg @saewako @kaiser1ns @noirflms @cheqorb @sakireiz

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lovemomhatepolice · 8 months ago

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jude bellingham nswf alphabet (part 1) (minors DNI!)

navigation taglist requests

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Oh, Jude is very adhesive after sex. He likes to cuddle with you until you both fall asleep. He places gentle kisses on your head, shoulders and arms, in fact wherever he can. He always talks to you for a long time, whether everything was okay, how you feel, if you need anything…. Well, Jude is a great guy

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) Jude is well aware that he is damn handsome. And not since he started being famous, oh no, Jude was already aware of that before. However, what he likes most about himself is his face, I think. He really likes the fact that he is similar with his family, which is so important to him, and he likes his looks. He is very fond of his dark brown eyes and his lips, which, according to him, have the perfect shape (to kiss you!!). As far as you are concerned, I think Jude is definitely an ass man. Of course, he loves your breasts, but your ass is definitely something Jude always looks past when he sees you. He loves to squeeze it, kiss it, everything, really. He always has his hands on her when you're somewhere together, and he's not ashamed to show it. Unfortunately, on the contrary, sometimes you have to correct him so he doesn't get caught up. And besides, he loves your whole face. He thinks everything matches perfectly - your nose size, eye color and lip shape, ay, this boy is drowning.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) Jude Bellingham looks like a total creampie fan. I think he repeatedly stopped his seed at your entrance to watch it mix with your juices and slowly leave your body. But I also think he's too delicate to let his cum linger on your face, which is why he's not a fan of it. Even if you asked, there's no chance he'll let himself cum in your face

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) I think he likes it when you take the initiative. He often does a lot on his own, but the sight of you having fun with him in a way that no one else has ever done before, god. Jude is already on his knees and begging for more

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) Nah, Jude is not very experienced. Well, after all, he's only 21 years old and hasn't scored any major ones on his relationship record. Therefore, everything you experience together is quite new to him. It was with you that he lost his virginity and began to discover what he likes and what he doesn't quite like But nevertheless he is a fast learner, he has become so skilled that if you met him for the first time, you would not be able to say that he is a fresher in these matters

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) Jude likes to have you on top. Really, that's why the cowgirl position is just right for him. He likes you to take the initiative, however, alone from below he can also do a lot, especially since compared to him, you are in his hands like a feather. Another option is standing up - as I mentioned before, Jude is a fan of sex in the shower, so the standing option had to be practiced to perfection to make both of you comfortable and perfect

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) It depends on the moment. Jude is hardly a person who is against any jokes in bed or giggles, on the contrary, it even happens to him often. However, when your sex is heavily geared towards romance and the heat rising around your bodies, he rather tries to be serious and committed to the situation

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) I think Jude is not completely shaved, but it is trimmed so that it is neat and not too much. He has dark curly hair, so I'm betting he has that all over his body too, so it might be hard to eliminate it. As for you, I think similarly. Either completely shaved or trimmed so that everything is neat and not too much.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Bellingham can be truly romantic. He may not look like it, but he loves to plan your entire evening. First take you out for an expensive dinner with wine, then prepare you a joint bath with petals of your favorite flowers, followed by the intense sex you've both been waiting for all day. And then long conversations in bed and gentle touches...

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) This often happens to him - mainly due to the fact that you often don't see each other through his constant trips to matches and life in other countries. He's not averse to pornographic movies, but since you've been together, he tends not to watch them. You prefer to connect together on the webcam and experience it from a distance, or he copes by simply thinking about the fact that you could be you next to him…

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Honestly, I can't find any sensible kink to match Jude. He does not seem to be a person who is drawn in any particular direction. Maybe a creampie? Hm, I think he could watch with fascination as your shared juices of fulfillment come out of you…. Oh, and combined it with breeding kink? Well, what? He's young, but he can definitely see you with a pregnant belly in your future home together in Madrid

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) Shower. Jude Bellingham shouts shower. Or possibly a bathtub, but definitely something on the toilet. I honestly don't know why, but it's what I associate with so damn much. Sex after the game? In the toilet. Sex with romantic candles and rose petals? In the bathtub. Sex without any occasion? In the shower. Well, don't say no. Jude definitely looks like a man who loves to take a bath together with you, and the opportunity to get close is even better

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) After the match. I don't know why. It's just that after a match, Jude is always, and I mean always, somehow more horny, and that's when you turn him on the most. Whether it's won or lost, Jude just needs to have his girlfriend in his arms after it Or the other option that turns him on is you in mini dresses. Well begging, the boy is already on his knees in front of you (or rather, behind you too)

A/N: next part will be here soon! i will be very pleased if you leave something behind - orders are open!

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

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cheriden · 4 months ago

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˙ . ˚ ₊ 「 txt most to least likely to have a corruption kink 」 ꜝꜝ

based off of this poll i did a while back, i got curious and could not stay silent any longer !!

these are according to my delusions please don't take them seriously

most

☆ SOOBIN

• the FREAKIEST member let's think a little guys • has canonically said a lot of questionable things, ik confirming his size kink doesn't equal corruption but look at that track record. moablr agrees with his top kinks right?? who else deserves number one but him • the type to place you on his lap and stroke your hair and caress your face to manipulate you into doing what he wants. • your sounds are his fuel, as he is to you. his hands are everywhere and his lops latch onto every surface of your body, trying to elicit as many noises from you as he can. • he's nearly euphoric when you grip so hard on his skin like you can't take it, babbling on about how it's too much for you • the idea of tainting you, your body and your innocence is the most appealing to him. how he'd make sure you wouldn't run to anyone else but him • the picture of his cum leaking out of you is forever etched in his mind; it's art to him

☆ TAEHYUN

• always talking abt how cute members are when they cry... a lowkey freak but i see you • loves every facial detail you make when he eats you out: the furrow of your eyebrows, the parting of your lips, your back arching into the air when his nose presses against your pussy. • snarky and manipulative, more forceful in his methods and takes a meaner approach than the rest • will degrade you so so much and then love bomb you afterwards, sometimes both at the same time and he loves watching you cry over it. • will shove you around on every surface, dragging you around almost as if you were pliant in his hands. • calls you angel, would love o knock you down to his level • he smirks when your moans get pitchier, hips losing rhythm before he ruins your orgasm by pulling out, entering immediately afterwards. he loves the way you ball up and writhe against him, clinging onto him.

☆ BEOMGYU

• he's not aware of the fact that it's actually a kink, moves based on his gut feeling • i don't think he would think abt it as often but like it would be activated with a catalyst event of some sorts. it's the small things, you look up at them sparkly-eyed, unconsciously pushing his buttons all at once. • i don't think he would think abt it as often but like it would be activated with a catalyst event of some sorts. it's the small things, you look up at them sparkly-eyed, unconsciously pushing his buttons all at once. • like it's almost primal for him, for his body to act on his own • wet and sloppy kisses all over your face, loves when you're covered in his bodily fluids, smearing his spit/cum all over the skin it stained.

☆ YEONJUN

• calls you every petname and obscenity in the book, alternating depending on how desperate or eager you are for him. You can never tell which way he's gonna call you, sometimes the lines get blurred om whether it's mean or a praise. • he laughs when you grind into his hips with your clothing still on, refusing to verbally admit any form of want for him. he's too much of a tease since you won't tell him what he needs • he wants you to know what you want, to expose you to as many things as he can, especially in regards to your sexuality. • he also thinks your a flower, but in a sense that with his help you'd bloom. he'll care for you and nurture you, mold you into what he believes is your most happy and satisfied you. lust is normal, and he wants you to open your eyes to it.

☆ KAI

• thinking abt it is hot,,,, so hot,,,,, but they're all freaks and on a scale i wish he was higher but alas 😔 • he makes it look like your exploring unexplored territory together. secretly, and maybe he'd even have a hard time admitting it to himself, he knows exactly what he wants out of you • it will take him a while before he can be sure about corrupting you, but when you do things so cutely, unknowing of how he's looking at you or thinking about you, it builds up until one day he just stops restraining himself and does whatever he wants. • what he wants, is dollification! he will dress you up and praise you, making a mess out of you with all of his hand-picked clothing on, only to tear it all down. • he loves to see you work for his satisfaction, watching you try your hardest not to gag around him or lose rhythm when you're on top of him.

least

back to navi!

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bonefall · 1 month ago

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"How big should a Clan territory be?"

For the dozens of people who have asked this over the last couple of years!

This question comes in a lot of forms; "How big are the Clan territories?" "How much space does one Clan need?" "How much land should I give my Clans to exist in?" The answer is a bit complicated, and depends on the type of land, what you're going for exactly, the setting, so on.

But, broadly, there's TWO particular factors at play here; How anthropomorphic you're portraying your warriors, and how productive the land is.

Factor 1: The Anthro Scale

I'm starting with this one because it could you the simpler answer. The Erins write Clan cats like humans in cat bodies, with massive social units and communal living. Realistic feral cats don't act like Clan cats. They are only semi-social, due to domestication.

See, a Clan cat will "share" territory between all of its members, and some Clans have canonically hit populations of over 50 individuals. Real feral colonies consist of "overlapping circles" of somewhere between 2 - 15 cats, most of them related females.

This is relevant because, even in densely populated areas with as much food as they can eat, truly feral colonies will have about 2 cats per 5 acres, capping out at about 15 members. Queens will hang out together and raise their kittens communally, but they will hunt and patrol in their own "circle." These boundaries are violently enforced against outside cats, especially if it's too crowded.

(Toms have circles 5x as big as a queen's, overlapping several territories. They're also considerably less social.)

So, if you wanted to incorporate some cat behavior into your Clan's mindset about how big their territory should be, while still being willing to sacrifice a bit of "realism" for groups over 15-ish members, simply take Clan population and multiply it by 2.5 acres.

30 cats = 75 acres. That's a little under 57 football fields, if you're American, or 50 football fields, if you're European.

Extra reading: How realistic cat territories work. Contains the numbers I'm referencing.

It's also very important to know; feral cat density is completely tied to food availability, the big numbers numbers are for cats whose needs are met. Cats are solitary hunters, and when they feel like they have to work for their food, they become VERY territorial. The density of cats in rural areas can be as low as 1 molly per 15 acres, even lower for toms, and they will leave if hunting is not easy.

THIS IS WHY YOU SHOULD NOT FEED FERAL CATS. Please GOD they are SO invasive, please do not give colonies food, they still hunt when they're full so you just end up concentrating a ton of predators in one place. They are not warriors with a law against disrespecting food, they are just kitty cats with silly kitty instincts

I have a suspicion that most of the people who are asking the question aren't really looking for a "realistic cat" answer, though. We LOVE our big cat Clans with their complicated politics around here. You're probably wondering how much land you need to feed your population!

Factor 2: Land Productivity

The exact amount of space is going to vary a lot, because it's more about productivity of the land to sustain a prey population than it is raw size. Remember what we learned back in Warrior Bites: Dietary Needs; a 30-cat Clan will need approximately 3 pounds of meat (10,500 calories) per day, which is about 2 rabbits, or 105 mice.

Here's some visual examples of what I mean. This one (1) acre homestead...

Has 20 patches of high-value crops, plus an orchard, AND livestock pens. This territory alone could attract enough crows, mice, rats, rabbits, and sparrows to feed all those cats daily. That's not even counting the humans themselves, who may be friendly enough to the colony to toss them kibble occasionally.

(this is why cats domesticated themselves. Even without the free food from the humans, farms are extremely productive hunting grounds.)

Meanwhile, the Edmonton Mall, which is a whopping five (5) acres...

Would be utterly barren. Best food you're going to get out of this wasteland is the leftovers humans toss out, and maybe the rats and pigeons that scavenge as well. It's 5x the space, and yet, infinitely harder to feed the same amount of cats.

So, the most helpful bit of advice I'm gonna give you is this; DON'T ask yourself "how big should this territory be?" You're starting with the wrong question. Start with a real location, and think about how you'd find 3 pounds of meat a day in that area.

It will be a LOT easier to think about the logistics in those terms, and this will lead you to the waaay more productive (and fun) worldbuilding questions. Such as;

"Where would the good hunting spots be?"

"What kinds of animals would they be eating? What sorts of beasts can threaten them, here?"

"How many of these animals would my 30 cat Clan need to hunt a day to equal about 3 pounds?"

"Where would these animals be getting THEIR food?"

"Is there enough habitat in the area for the prey to breed and nest? If not, is there more land beyond the territory that the prey is coming from?"

"Where would infrastructure like dens, walls, and dirtplaces go? What would these be made of?"

"Are there any neat spots for the cats to casually hang out on?"

"What would make for a super cool arena for my climactic narrative boss fights?"

"Does this area have unique stage hazards that my cats would have to learn to deal with?"

"Which sorts of plants and herbs would they encounter?"

If your Clan is tool-using, like BB!Clans are, then you can ask even more advanced questions. Like, where you'd find kindle for fire, what objects you can use as crafting materials, and what might make for unique trade goods.

Think about other things related to your Clan's biome-- in a tundra or desert, there will be less for prey to eat, so the territory will be large to cope with the low density. If there's a major body of water, they might have a constant supply of aquatic prey from upstream. Hunting grounds might change based on the seasons.

Also remember not to underestimate how fast small animals breed, and how many of them there can be in one area. Even using low estimates, 1 female mouse has 6 pups, 7 x 6 = 42, 42 x 6 = 252, 252 x 6 = 1,452. It takes only 4 months for mouse population growth to get exponentially ridiculous.

Finally, remember that prey can vary. A well run Clan would be able to generally understand when they've been overhunting one particular species, and start shifting gears to lift the "pressure" off that population.

(In my cultural expansions series, this management task is assigned to one of the new roles-- the Head of Hunting.)

#Bones gives advice #Clan Culture #How much territory does a clan need?#warrior cats #How big should a Clan territory be?#This is an answer to like 8 people who have asked this question #It's a MEGA popular one and I totally understand why #It's just difficult to answer in a straightforward way because of everything discussed!#So it took me a long time to be able to figure out how to answer it.#clan territory

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ckret2 · 5 months ago

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Chapter 59 of human Bill Cipher possibly not being the Mystery Shack's prisoner because he got executed two chapters ago:

Everything you haven't wondered about how Bill survived his execution.

7:27 a.m.

Mabel didn't know why, but figuring out when to ask Mrs. Grendinator to pull over had felt as stressful as trying to throw a ping pong ball into a passing car's open fuel door to land in the little fuel pipe. All she had to do was ask to pull over after they'd passed everything but the last truck stop, but before it was too late for Mrs. Grendinator to make the turn into the Triple Digit parking lot. That was a large window. It wasn't easy to miss. Somehow Mabel still dreaded that she'd speak up too late and Mrs. Grendinator would say she'd have to wait for the next rest stop—by which point Bill would have splatted like a bug against the weirdness barrier while everyone else passed safely through.

But she'd managed to blurt out "I forgot to use the bathroom at home. Can we pull over?"; they'd stopped at the Triple Digit Truck Stop; and Mabel made it inside before her friends could catch her.

She locked the unisex restroom door, set her backpack on the ground, opened it up, and sighed with relief when she saw Bill sitting on her sweater. She carefully pulled him out, set him on the floor, and pointed the height-altering flashlight at him.

For a moment after returning to his true size, he remained seated on the floor, legs bent, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Worriedly, Mabel asked, "You okay?"

"Think I learned what motion sickness is," Bill groaned. "Just—gimme a sec."

"Aww, I'm sorry." Mabel surreptitiously checked in her backpack to make sure Bill hadn't been sick on her sweater. (It was a cool one. It had kissing parrots.)

After a few deep breaths, Bill lifted his head enough to look at Mabel. The first thing he said was, "'Cool big brother-slash-sister,' huh?" He gave her a queasy, but cheeky, grin.

"Shut uuup you weren't supposed to hear that!" She'd just about died with embarrassment when Candy had repeated that where she knew Bill could hear.

"I'm flattered." Bill uncurled himself from his nauseous half-fetal position; and then, gripping onto the sink for support, got back to his feet. "Being smaller again was nice, but I'm never traveling like that again."

"You're such a whiner."

"Yeah, yeah. I have a lot to whine about. I'm dead and about to be executed. Talk about... lose your cake and... not-eat it, too."

Mabel laughed. Bill mussed her hair, grinning, and said, "Hey, you've got no room to laugh, you're the one with the not-setting-houses-on-fire bit."

"Arrrgh, don't remind me!" She pushed Bill to the side so she could use the mirror to straighten out her hair again.

"You did pretty well, though! I'd say that was some of the best acting I've ever seen out of you."

"You too! They definitely bought it," Mabel said. "Even Grunkle Stan was getting worried."

"Especially back in the kitchen, wow! That was really convincing." He paused. "Really, really convincing."

Something heavy hung in the air. Mabel focused on her hair in the mirror.

Bill said, "That bit in the kitchen about me 'depending' on you." He exaggerated the air quotes around the word, distancing himself from the concept. "It wasn't on our list."

"Yeah. It just kinda... seemed right. Improv." Mabel waved unenthusiastic jazz hands.

"It bothers you."

Mabel winced. "I mean... I'm not actually mad at you. But. I want to help, but I don't know what to do for..." She gestured at Bill. "The whole being dead on an alien planet issue."

"Believe it or not, the hoodie helps," Bill said. "Listening helps." But he couldn't meet her gaze; he was fiddling with his friendship bracelet instead. He had to know how heavy even just listening to him could be.

"I'm glad, but... I just... wish you had more friends you could talk to."

Bill nodded morosely. "So do I." It wasn't like he'd chosen to only have one friend, was it? Prisoners didn't get to make those kinds of decisions.

Mabel asked, "Do you really think I think you're just a summer fix-it project?"

"I... pfff... come on, I watched you spend all last summer handing out makeovers and dating advice. You've already done my makeup, taken me clothes shopping, and tried to pump me for info on what kinds of freaks I'm into."

(Mabel quietly filed away the fact that Bill referred to "freaks" as his preferred romantic targets.)

"That's how your summer was going to end," Bill said. "You tame the monster, go home triumphant, and don't worry about it anymore. Like how you patched up Broken Heart's love life and left him to sort out the consequences."

"No!" Mabel huffed, "I mean—maybe a little at the beginning, but... you're really my friend now, I'd hate it if I never saw you again. I don't give friendship bracelets to just anybody!"

Bill kind of thought she did; but he wasn't about to argue. "Well, I've only given one person a bracelet, and I meant it." (Even more now than when he'd originally made it.) "You're never getting rid of me now, star girl. You're stuck with me forever!"

Coming out of Bill Cipher, the promise should have filled her with dread. A month ago it would have filled her with dread. But Mabel just found it comforting. "Good."

(And Ford hadn't felt any dread when he'd sworn "until the end of time," either.)

Bill took off his backpack and rummaged through it. "Now let me make sure I can keep that promise."

He took out a map of the mountains and forest around Gravity Falls and spread it out on the floor for them to kneel in front of. "You know about the spaceship buried under town? When its ring cut through the mountain, a few chunks of the ship dislodged and were buried in one of the mountains. No human has ever found them before, not even your great uncle. That's where I'll hide."

"Are the chunks big enough to hide in?"

"Sure! There's one that'd serve as a decent studio apartment. Well—the cheapest studio apartment in Manhattan, maybe. But, hey, I don't have much furniture."

On the map, he showed Mabel a route to reach the base of the cliff, tracing it with his finger. She couldn't afford to take a map with the route marked; if the adults discovered Bill's escape and confiscated Mabel's possessions, a marked map would lead them straight to him. She'd just have to do her best to memorize the route he described. "When and if the coast is clear, you can come find me there."

"How do I get up the cliff?"

"Don't worry about that. You make it that far, I'll take care of the rest."

And that was all they could afford to discuss. Mabel couldn't hide in here for long. As Bill refolded the map (and Mabel was awed to learn he was the kind of person who could refold maps correctly on the first try), and he packed the map and the height-altering flashlight in his backpack, they each tried separately to figure out how to get around to saying goodbye.

"I uh... I know you're sticking your neck out for me, kid." (Bill wasn't used to this, wasn't used to people who didn't help him due to fear or duty or lies, wasn't used to people who still wanted to help him after they knew what he was really like.) "So, thanks—"

Mabel flung her arms around him. Her voice thick, she said, "I think your manners are getting better."

"Shut up, I've always known how to say thanks." It was gratitude that was new.

"Be safe out there," Mabel said. "Don't die, or else. Remember to eat. And drink water! And do laundry sometimes."

"All right, all right. You'll find me in better health than you left me. All the sunshine and fresh air this body can take."

"I'll miss you."

Keep it together, Cipher. He swallowed hard. "Have you ever heard the song 'We'll Meet Again'?"

"Uh-uh?"

"Old war song. Look it up once you're in Portland, when you aren't busy having synthesizers pumped in your ears."

"Is it about... how we'll meet again?"

"Yes, smartypants. Look it up anyway," Bill said. "I'll miss you too."

Mabel washed her face, left the restroom, and shut the door behind her; and Bill waited in the dark while everyone left.

####

7:45 a.m.

A woman with two children opened the unisex restroom door, and gasped in shock when she saw a human silhouette lurking in the dark, one eye shining.

"Hey, thanks, lady! Couldn't get the door for some reason." He breezed past her. "Careful, it sticks from the inside."

He grabbed an empty backpack for sale, and loaded it up with supplies, food, and drinks. (The good stuff, not the weak cider he got in the Mystery Shack. He was making margaritas tonight.) He headed up to the cash register... veered to a currently-unmanned register, stole a handful of loose change out of a tip jar, and timed his exit so he walked out just as a man walked in and kindly held the door for him.

####

7:55 a.m.

It was a fair walk from Triple Digit back to the cliffs around Gravity Falls. When Bill was a safe distance into the woods, he unzipped his first backpack, retrieved his flattened top hat, and popped it out; and then continued on, behatted and using his umbrella like a cane.

Even with no sleep, even just a couple of days after the worst hiking trip in history, even tired and sore from an hour of frenzied dancing, even carrying two full backpacks with one strap slung over each shoulder, even with the sky gloomy and overcast—this was the best he'd felt since Weirdmageddon.

His steps were sure, his body was unchained, and the future had opened up for him again.

####

8:00 a.m.

Mabel kept glancing out the window, back in the direction of Gravity Falls, waiting and waiting to see the light of some kind of killer laser cut through the sky.

Maybe the Quantum Destabilizer's beam just wasn't visible from this far. Maybe they'd decided to wait to execute Bill. Maybe they hadn't wasted their shot because they'd already discovered Bill and Mabel's ruse. Maybe the "enchantment" Bill had written hadn't done its job.

But if they had discovered Bill was missing, they would've called Mabel immediately, trying to find out what she'd done and where he'd gone.

Her phone sat hard and heavy and silent in her pocket.

The butterflies in her stomach didn't stop fluttering until long after they reached Portland.

####

10:30 a.m.

Plus or minus a few trees, the rendezvous point at the base of the cliff was just how Bill had remembered last seeing it millennia ago. The Trilazzx Betan proximity sensor that had been embedded in the cliff face since the ship crash was still there and still sensing, even after millions of years and a layer of stone had closed around it. He could see it behind the face of the cliff; and it could see him.

He took out the multi-tool pocket knife Dipper had "donated" to Bill's supplies, flipped out the blade, and carved his face in a tree far enough from the rendezvous point to avoid notice by anyone who found this spot, but near enough it could see anyone who showed up. He made it as accurate as he could—hat, bow, limbs, eyelashes. That would unfortunately make it easier for humans to identify the face if anyone happened to walk by, but his ability to connect to his other eyes was still weak, he needed as much of a boost as he could get. He licked the bark, leaving his saliva to connect the eye on the tree to him.

And then he returned to the rendezvous point at the base of the cliff, and, beneath the watchful eye of the proximity sensor, began digging in the dirt with his hands.

Beneath the soil, fortunately not buried too deep, was a stone shaped like a small tombstone with several symbols carved into its surface that superficially resembled common runes. Bill brushed the dirt off of his leggings and rubbed it out of the carved lines in the stone. It was lucky that today was overcast; it would make this thing a lot easier to control.

Bill took out the flashlight, removed the height-altering crystal, turned it on, and aimed the beam at the topmost rune.

The runes began glowing an eerie green.

The ground shuddered; and then a patch of ground five feet in diameter lifted up into the air, carrying Bill with it, tearing the grass at the edge of the circle, propelled by a long-forgotten enchanted stone platform concealed in the clump of dirt.

He rose to the gouge that the spaceship had carved into the mountain; and then he moved his flashlight's beam to another rune. The platform smoothly shifted to moving sideways, gliding beneath the ancient overhang. When he turned off the flashlight, the stone stopped glowing and gently settled to the ground. Bill stepped off, fished a spare shirt out of his backpack, and pulled it over the rune-covered stone so it couldn't take off if the sun came out. There was a reason this buried stone was the only platform of its kind left in the area outside of the deep mountain caverns: leave one outside on a sunny day where the light can hit its runes, and next thing you know it's zoomed out over the Pacific and is quickly rising toward space.

He surveyed the area. Every once in a while humans climbed up here just for the challenge of it, delightful little explorers they were; but he doubted anyone had been up here in decades. He stood in front of what was, to all appearances, a completely nondescript patch of stony ground; and he said, in heavily accented but intelligible Trilazzx Betan, "Let me in, you hunk of junk. Activate emergency crash protocols."

A fragment of ship deep beneath the ground stirred awake, registered the command, analyzed itself and concluded from the fact that it wasn't in space and was separated from 99% of the rest of itself that it had indeed crashed, and activated emergency crash protocols. In acknowledgment of the dire situation, it deactivated its usual authorized personnel list—there was no sense in waiting for the captain to approve new orders if the captain might be dead—accepted the command given by the unknown being above it, and opened its hatch.

Millions of years of solid stone groaned and buckled in protest at being moved; but Trilazzx Betan engineering was strong enough for the framework of a portal capable of ripping a hole between dimensions without being ripped apart itself. The stone yielded first. A hatch swung up, revealing a tilted chamber descending into the cliff.

Bill strolled confidently down the walkway. "Cancel distress signal. Disable life support's air filtering." The fragment of a ship beeped a warning, and Bill responded, "I'm aware of this planet's high oxygen content. You worry about your health, I'll worry about mine. Disable air filtering." The ship beeped a confirmation. "Reconnect to all external proximity sensors in range and display on screens one, two, and three." This broken part of the ship had once handled communications. It had a whole wall of screens. He wondered whether he could jury rig this thing to pick up human satellite TV. Nah, probably not worth the effort.

He slung off his backpacks and started unpacking.

####

12:04 p.m.

It was time.

Dipper sat on the floor and put his head in his hands. He felt sick.

He was dead. In just a few seconds Ford would discover that Bill was gone—Dipper was sure he was gone, they hadn't heard a peep from the room, Mabel must've snuck him out or left him some escape route—and then Ford would know that someone had warned Bill and Mabel, and then Dipper was dead—

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah." Dipper waved Ford off. "Just... didn't get much sleep. Little dizzy." Ford would never trust him again. Stan would be furious. They'd both be furious.

"You can go downstairs if you..."

"No no, I'm fine, I..." Dipper took a deep breath and lifted his head. "I'll face it." Better to get it over with now than to hide downstairs and wait for it.

Stan nodded. "Good man." He wouldn't be so proud of Dipper in a moment.

Ford nodded, stood, opened the door—and Dipper buried his face in his hands again.

####

12:06 p.m.

Ford could see Bill up in the loft, hood up and shoulders hunched, back to the room. Ford could shoot Bill in the back without him ever waking up.

He climbed into the loft. Bill lay curled up in a ball, a small as Ford had ever seen him.

But it only took a moment for Ford's eyes to adjust to the dark; and even in the dim light through the stained glass window, he could tell:

The shape in front of him wasn't human. Just lumpy clothes.

Ford whipped around, heart pounding, clutching the Quantum Destabilizer's carrying case against his chest, searching for the real Bill lurking somewhere in the shadows. No sign of him. Ford had already looked on the floor level. Was he gone? How?

He was too dumbfounded to be outraged. He walked up to the dummy to pull it apart—

And saw the paper, folded in quarters, floating in the air above it. Four symbols in a cipher were written atop the paper. Ford recognized them: it was the alien alphabet of an interdimensional pidgin used as a written lingua franca throughout the Nightmare Realm and its bordering regions; it was so widespread that Ford had learned the alphabet before he ever left Earth.

The four letters read, "F O R D".

Ford plucked the paper out of the air and unfolded it.

Stanford–

I'll cut to the chase. I need your help. I don't want to die.

I'm banking on the hope that, in spite of everything you've said and done, part of you also doesn't want me to die.

You have a choice. You can walk out there, tell them I escaped, rally an angry mob, and comb everything under the weirdness barrier for me. This town's not that big and I'll need to eat eventually. We both know I can't hide forever.

Or you can tell them you finished the job. No one looks for me. No one knows but you and me.

I don't have rewards or deals to offer. You already know what I bring to the table. If that hasn't persuaded you to side with me by now, it never will. I'm not bargaining. I'm begging.

I'm asking you, as my friend, to help me survive.

Please.

· –·-– -–

Of course.

How dare he.

Had Bill planned this all along? Was this why he'd insisted he wanted to be Ford's friend? Was this why he'd saved his life? Maybe the entire rescue had been staged—the rescue, the performance of fear over a harmless phenomenon, the mental breakdown, all of it. For all Ford knew, maybe the accursed Axolotl was in on the scheme! How clairvoyant was Bill? Had he seen this moment coming?

But if he'd seen this moment coming, wouldn't it have been easier to just let Ford, his executioner-to-be, die? Ford and Dipper both, so Dipper wouldn't figure out how to synthesize NowUSeeitNowUDontium? If he'd saved them in spite of that, didn't that make it a sincere gesture?

But implication was clear: I've been a friend to you, now be one to me. A life for a life. There was nothing sincere in that. It was pure self interest.

(For just a couple of days, Ford really had thought it was sincere.)

But if the only reason Bill had saved Ford was to save himself—then why had Bill endangered his own life in the process?

With every thought Ford's paranoia pendulumed.

He should get Stan. Call the cops, confess who they'd been harboring for the past month, tell them everything, get a manhunt going before Bill could make it any further away. Even if he couldn't leave the weirdness barrier, there were probably hundreds of hidden hidey-holes Bill could dig himself into that humans had never seen—unexplored hallways in Crash Site Omega, uncharted caverns behind Trembley Falls where Bill didn't even need light to see. They could drag him back into the light, tie him up, aim the Quantum Destabilizer straight at him...

But. In spite of himself, he could still see Mabel's drawing hopefully reassigning Bill the role of a superhero. He could still see the crumpled drawing in his pocket—"I BELIEVE IN YOU. YOU CAN CHANGE!" He could still see Dipper tentatively asking whether they might need Bill someday. He could still see Bill playing teacher in the living room. And for a moment, for just a moment, Bill had been so good. He could be so good.

Why couldn't you have been this person?

Why can't you be this person?

What if he could be better? What if he could be decent? What if he could be a friend?

Ford didn't believe Bill was any better today than he had been the day he died. But—at some point, something had slowly turned over in Ford's mind. He believed that Bill could change. Not would change, not is changing, but could. And if Ford started a manhunt, Bill would never be a threat again—but he'd also never be better.

There was a point where the doubt and hope built up to a critical mass—when they became enough, just enough, to stay the trigger finger. Because once Ford fired on Bill, that was it. All chances were gone forever. It was over. If Bill was alive they could always try again to kill him later; but if Bill was dead, they could never try again to better him.

And for the first time in thirty years, Ford wanted Bill to be better more than he wanted Bill to be dead.

Ford looked at the dummy. Looked at the note.

And then he lay the note on the dummy, knelt by the edge of the loft, opened his case, and removed the Quantum Destabilizer.

####

12:09 p.m.

Ten minutes ago, Bill had been in the process of emptying out his backpacks and finding nooks and cubbies amongst the alien communication workstations where he could tuck his supplies, when he'd glanced out the open hatch and noticed the beforeimage of the shot lighting up the sky.

He'd come out of his shelter to watch the moment approach; but he hadn't quite believed it until it was in the present and actually happening. The blue-white beam of the Quantum Destabilizer—its one and only shot—screamed off into the sky.

"Well, what do you know," he murmured, standing at the edge of the cliff, hands on his hips, staring out in wonder over the town. "I really didn't think you'd do it."

Ford had saved his life.

Bill crossed his arms tight and tried to convince himself he didn't wonder why.

####

12:10 p.m.

Ford heard Dipper and Stan come into the bedroom and climb the ladder. He was seized by an urge to sweep away the ashes and the evidence of his trick before they could realize what he'd done.

"Grunkle Ford...?"

He forced himself to speak. "It's done."

"So... Bill is...?"

Ford suddenly realized: Dipper knew Bill wasn't in here. He must have warned Mabel, and Mabel had arranged for Bill to be alone in their room long enough to escape.

Which meant Dipper knew Bill was alive.

(Bill had written, "No one knows but you and me." Bill was covering for the kids.)

Ford turned to look him in the eyes. "Yes, he's dead."

Which meant Dipper knew what Ford had done—and knew Ford knew what he had done.

Neither one of them needed to say anything else to know what the other was thinking. They just shared a look—the two most miserable co-conspirators in Gravity Falls.

####

12:25 p.m.

Bill sat cross-legged at the edge of the cliff and watched until the afterimage of the Quantum Destabilizer's shot had faded from the sky; and then he went inside his shelter, mixed the world's lamest margarita in a coffee mug, took it outside, sat again, and toasted toward the town and the Mystery Shack.

Here's to survival.

He sat outside until the gash the Quantum Destabilizer had cut in the clouds closed and it began to rain.

####

1:10 p.m.

Stan had come and gone a few minutes ago, and already Ford had forgotten everything he'd said, if he'd even registered it in the first place.

His fingers had itched until he'd finally had a moment to steal down to his study, retrieve Journal 5, and bring it up to the guest room; and now for over half an hour he'd been feverishly writing down every single thing he could remember learning about Bill over the last two days. The drawing of his homeworld. His lecture on biangles and psychic powers. How polygons inherited their sides. (Their royalty sounded nigh on Habsburgian; had their political system ever changed?) What little details Bill had let slip about where Edward Bishop Bishop's book was wrong. (Had he told Mabel more about their relationship? He'd have to ask when she was home.) How Bill signed his letter: "· -·-- --", Morse code for "EYM," was it an acronym, was it a code, what did it mean, why did he write it in two colors? How Bill spelled Mabel's name in alien alphabets: Mabelle, Maybell, the varying extra letters. How Bill danced: how he struggled to cross his ankles, how he turned out his feet, how his spine and shoulders never bent, how the complex ways he tilted his legs and pelvis compensated for his stiff spine.

If Bill was sticking around a while longer, then these details still mattered.

He refused to forget a thing.

####

Sunday, 12:02 a.m.

As "We'll Meet Again" finished playing, Mabel turned off her phone, put it back on her nightstand, and wiped her eyes again. Big stupid dork couldn't even say this himself, he had to hide it behind a song.

Yes. They would meet again. Law of attraction. Believing it was the first step to making it come true.

####

10:20 a.m.

The fearful butterflies in Mabel's stomach had slowly returned during the drive home from Portland. No one had texted her—was that a good sign?—but she was afraid it just meant they'd decided to let her enjoy the rest of her trip before letting her know she was grounded forever for helping Bill escape. When they'd all greeted her at the door, looking so somber, and she was sure she was about to get the bad news, she'd just had to keep acting normal and hope she wasn't gonna get in more trouble for playing dumb.

The last thing she expected Stan to say was, "Weshotim."

"Say wha?"

"We got that—space gun of Ford's working. We shot him. He's... I'm sorry, sweetie."

Mabel stared at Stan. That was impossible—there was no way they'd found Bill. But—if Stan believed he was dead...

She dragged her gaze from his face to Dipper's. Dipper bit his lips, staring at his feet. He wouldn't meet her eyes—too afraid that even looking at her would give something away.

She looked from Dipper to Ford. "Grunkle Ford?" She tried not to hope. "Is it true?"

There was no way he'd believed the dummy was real. The moment she'd read Bill's so-called "enchantment," she'd known making it believable was never the point. Bill's only real plan had always been to get Ford on their side.

For a long moment, Ford said nothing. He dragged his eyes up to meet her stare, took a deep breath, and nodded. "He's dead."

Mabel's eyes widened. Two days ago, Ford had been the one arguing that killing Bill was their only choice. If he'd changed his mind...

If anyone said anything else, she didn't register it in her excitement. She backed out of the doorway, leaped off the porch, and ran around the shack, looking for her bike.

She had to see Bill immediately.

####

10:21 a.m.

Quietly, Dipper asked, "Did we do the right thing?"

Ford didn't know. His stomach had been twisting with guilt and doubt since yesterday. His conscience had kept him up half the night. "I hope so."

He feared they'd have second-guessed themselves no matter what.

####

2:30 p.m.

Bill was asleep. He'd been sleeping off and on for most of the past day. This was the first time since he'd died that he had somewhere safe to sleep—somewhere nobody could touch his vulnerable body, nobody could move him, drown him, kill him.

And this was the first time he hadn't been helpless and sightless.

In his sleep, he saw his own body, curled up on the tilted floor against a wall, on top of the sleeping bag and under the Pony Heist bedsheet, from an eye he'd drawn on the ceiling.

From another eye he'd drawn on the wall, he saw the ship's open hatch, the overhang above, a small sliver of the gray drizzly sky over Gravity Falls.

And from his eye on the tree, blurry and fading as the rain washed away his saliva, he saw a human-shaped mass of raucous colors exploring the pit in the ground left behind by his hovering platform.

A human? He sat up with a gasp and looked at the screen displaying the proximity sensors. Sure enough, the sensor at the base of the cliff was displaying a Mabel-shaped silhouette.

He grabbed his flashlight and climbed out of his shelter.

####

"Kid, what are you doing out out here?!"

Mabel looked up. Bill was some twenty feet above her and quickly descending on what looked like a chunk of flying dirt the same size as the pit in the ground she'd been inspecting. "Bill!" She leaned her bike against the cliff face. Finally—she'd been wandering around in the trees forever trying to figure out where Bill's rendezvous point was hidden.

"It's pouring rain," Bill scolded. "You could lose your immune system or—or slip in the mud or something."

"Wow, nice to see you too, mom." Mabel ran up as Bill landed his floating chunk of ground.

"Hey, I don't want anything happening to my favorite human!" He scooted over to make room for her on the platform. "Just couldn't wait for a sunny day to meet again, huh?"

"Psh, come on! Like you meant that literally." Near Bill, the rain had mysteriously stopped landing on Mabel. She looked up and saw the rain simply parting in the air over Bill's head.

He noticed her glance and said, "Did I ever teach you the spell to repel rain? Remind me to do that before you go." He pointed his flashlight's beam at a rune on a stone rising from the platform, and it lifted off again. "Nice sweater today." He poked one parrot-winged sleeve, its bright colors darkened by the soaking rain. "It probably looked better dry."

Mabel smacked away his hand. "Bill, guess what! Grunkle Ford decided to protect you!"

"I know, I saw the wasted shot from here." He steered the platform onto the cliff. He landed it next to a hatch that opened into a subterranean tunnel. "Of course, I always knew he would. Didn't I say we'd pull this off?"

Sure he'd known. That was why he'd lied about what the "enchanted" paper really was so Mabel wouldn't worry.

Mabel followed him down into the metal tunnel. "Do you know what this means? You can come back to the shack!"

Bill turned to stare at her in bewilderment. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Because... it's safe now? They're not gonna kill you?" Mabel squinted. "Why's it so dark in here?"

"Oh, right. You need this." Bill offered the flashlight.

Mabel turned it on. They were in a metal chamber, about half the size of the Mystery Shack's floor room and nowhere near as tall. One end of it had been torn off and dirt and stone served as the new wall. Most of the walls were dominated by heavy metal consoles, curved metal chairs, and screens, a few of which were on but flickered irritatingly. One chair still had a fossilized alien skeleton in it. Bill had put his top hat on it.

His supplies were piled haphazardly on consoles and the floor; all Mabel saw in his food pile was shelf-stable junk food and drinks. The air somehow felt more damp in here than it did outside with the rain. The chairs didn't have cushions, the floor didn't have carpet; everything was hard and cold and dark. She didn't even see a door for a bathroom in here. This was where Bill was staying?

"The Mystery Shack is safe for now," Bill said. "Just wait until Stanley decides to take another swing at me, or Dolores poisons my dinner again—or Ford changes his mind, dunks me in the bathtub, and doesn't let me back out."

"They wouldn't..." Mabel trailed off. She tried to imagine how mad Stan would be when he found out Bill was alive, and had to concede he might.

"Even if it was safe—why would I go back to that sorry makeshift prison?" Bill hopped up into one of the tilted alien chairs. There was a weird extended bit designed for alien anatomy that curved up at the end of the seat and forced Bill to straddle the chair rather than sit in it normally; it didn't look comfortable. "After almost a month and a half, I'm finally free!"

"Free inside a tiny bubble around the town," Mabel protested. "To live in a... weird little metal dirt room."

"Freely moving inside the entire barrier is a lot better than freely moving through half a shack! Surrounded by people who want me dead! I don't even get full privacy when I'm using the toilet—that's the bare minimum humans offer as basic respect! You don't know how many times I've been walked in on!"

"Do you even have a toilet here?"

Bill hesitated. "There's a—there are gas stations within walking distance."

"How are you gonna get into the restroom?"

"Fine, I'll dig a pit or something, all right? The point is, whatever I do, at least I can do it in freedom!"

He hadn't planned this through at all, Mabel realized. He'd only thought as far ahead as finding food and shelter that would last him the next couple of days. "But..." She gestured at the pathetic room around them. "The shack's got a proper roof and a shower and real food—wouldn't that be better than this?"

Bill scoffed "Only humans care about roofs and showers, and the idea of 'real' food is a social construct I reject!"

He'd be miserable here. Mabel couldn't let Bill do this to himself. "Then don't you wanna be in the shack with your only friend on Earth?" She gave him a pleading look. "Would you really rather spend the rest of summer in some dumb old busted alien ship?"

There was a flash of light reflected in the dark as Bill's eyes turned away from Mabel.

"Bill?"

He didn't respond. He trudged past her, halfway up the walkway out of the ship, and stopped there, his back to Mabel, hands on his hips, staring out into the rain. He sighed. "Kid, you're trying to give me Stockholm syndrome."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means I'll think about it," Bill said, voice flat. "Go back to the shack."

Before Mabel could move, Bill said, "Hold on. Let me teach you that umbrella spell first." He turned and descended back into the ship. "And when's the last time you ate? Human bodies act pathetic if they don't get glucose every three hours. Get some lunch, it's a long bike back to the shack." He gestured at his meager food supplies.

She rummaged through the foil bags and colorful boxes and grabbed some Chipackers and sour gummy dolphins.

Bill sat near her, grabbed a bag of jerky for himself, and said, "And tell me about that concert you abandoned me to my doom for."

####

4:00 p.m.

Bill escorted Mabel down off the cliff—and, at her request, let her borrow the flashlight and wiggle the floating platform back and forth a little as they descended. He took back the flashlight when she nearly crashed the platform and killed them both.

"Where'd this come from?" Mabel asked, poking the stone. "Did the aliens make this, too?"

"Nope! This is good old local Earth magic. Ever hear of Caterpillar Man?"

"Is that some kind of superhero?"

"Afraid not. Well—ever hear of Grendel?"

"Uh-uh."

They were nearly at the ground now. "I think I'll tell you next time."

As the platform lifted him back up, Bill watched Mabel wheel her bike through the trees, slowly heading toward the main road back into town.

For a midsummer day, it was chilly in the rain.

####

Monday, 1:03 a.m.

And it was even chillier in the post-midnight dark when he knocked on the Mystery Shack's door.

####

(Eager to hear what y'all think now that you've seen the full story of how Bill survived—last week once Dipper and Mabel's roles were revealed, I think most folks thought that fully explained how Bill faked his death. ;) Next week is probably a double length chapter, because there's no graceful way to break it in half and also it'd be nice to get this plot arc wrapped up before The Book of Bill comes out lmao.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle ford #stanford pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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lightyaoigami · 7 months ago

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☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ how to resume ⋆｡ﾟ☾｡⋆｡ﾟ☁︎ ﾟ

after 10 years & 6 jobs in corporate america, i would like to share how to game the system. we all want the biggest payoff for the least amount of work, right?

know thine enemy: beating the robots

i see a lot of misinformation about how AI is used to scrape resumes. i can't speak for every company but most corporations use what is called applicant tracking software (ATS).

no respectable company is using chatgpt to sort applications. i don't know how you'd even write the prompt to get a consumer-facing product to do this. i guarantee that target, walmart, bank of america, whatever, they are all using B2B SaaS enterprise solutions. there is not one hiring manager plinking away at at a large language model.

ATS scans your resume in comparison to the job posting, parses which resumes contain key words, and presents the recruiter and/or hiring manager with resumes with a high "score." the goal of writing your resume is to get your "score" as high as possible.

but tumblr user lightyaoigami, how do i beat the robots?

great question, y/n. you will want to seek out an ATS resume checker. i have personally found success with jobscan, which is not free, but works extremely well. there is a free trial period, and other ATS scanners are in fact free. some of these tools are so sophisticated that they can actually help build your resume from scratch with your input. i wrote my own resume and used jobscan to compare it to the applications i was finishing.

do not use chatgpt to write your resume or cover letter. it is painfully obvious. here is a tutorial on how to use jobscan. for the zillionth time i do not work for jobscan nor am i a #jobscanpartner i am just a person who used this tool to land a job at a challenging time.

the resume checkers will tell you what words and/or phrases you need to shoehorn into your bullet points - i.e., if you are applying for a job that requires you to be a strong collaborator, the resume checker might suggest you include the phrase "cross-functional teams." you can easily re-word your bullets to include this with a little noodling.

don't i need a cover letter?

it depends on the job. after you have about 5 years of experience, i would say that they are largely unnecessary. while i was laid off, i applied to about 100 jobs in a three-month period (#blessed to have been hired quickly). i did not submit a cover letter for any of them, and i had a solid rate of phone screens/interviews after submission despite not having a cover letter. if you are absolutely required to write one, do not have chatgpt do it for you. use a guide from a human being who knows what they are talking about, like ask a manager or betterup.

but i don't even know where to start!

i know it's hard, but you have to have a bit of entrepreneurial spirit here. google duckduckgo is your friend. don't pull any bean soup what-about-me-isms. if you truly don't know where to start, look for an ATS-optimized resume template.

a word about neurodivergence and job applications

i, like many of you, am autistic. i am intimately familiar with how painful it is to expend limited energy on this demoralizing task only to have your "reward" be an equally, if not more so, demoralizing work experience. i don't have a lot of advice for this beyond craft your worksona like you're making a d&d character (or a fursona or a sim or an OC or whatever made up blorbo generator you personally enjoy).

and, remember, while a lot of office work is really uncomfortable and involves stuff like "talking in meetings" and "answering the phone," these things are not an inherent risk. discomfort is not tantamount to danger, and we all have to do uncomfortable things in order to thrive. there are a lot of ways to do this and there is no one-size-fits-all answer. not everyone can mask for extended periods, so be your own judge of what you can or can't do.

i like to think of work as a drag show where i perform this other personality in exchange for money. it is much easier to do this than to fight tooth and nail to be unmasked at work, which can be a risk to your livelihood and peace of mind. i don't think it's a good thing that we have to mask at work, but it's an important survival skill.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ good luck ⋆｡ﾟ☾｡⋆｡ﾟ☁︎ ﾟ｡⋆

#i don't know what to tag this lmao #job hunting #resume writing tips

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saint-ambrosef · 8 months ago

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newbie's guide to produce

for all my peers who were not taught how to shop for veggies and fruit on a budget and struggle to use them before they go bad:

(disclaimer: prices are approximate based on where i live in the Southern US. costs may be higher in your area, but the comparison of cost should still be valuable.)

cheap produce year-round:

roma tomatoes. if they look under-ripe you can leave them on the counter for a few days. keeps in fridge for about 2 weeks. $1/lb.

cucumbers. around here they're 50-60 cents each. go bad quickly though, about 1 week in fridge.

celery. two bucks for a head. starts to get sad after two weeks in fridge. only makes sense if you like to snack on celery or make soups often.

corn. whole ears are like 20cents each mid-summer, otherwise just get frozen. $1.50 for a lb.

peas. get these puppies frozen for $1.50/lb. good protein, too.

romaine lettuce. one head is good for several small salads, about $2 and lasts a week in fridge. the big boxes/multi-packs may seem like a better deal but not if it all goes bad before you can eat it.

onions. kind of a given but you can get regular yellow varietals for less than a buck per pound. will last for 1-2 months in pantry.

potatoes. you can get 5lb bags of russets for three bucks. sweet potatoes are a lil over $1/lb. last 2-3 months in pantry; if they grow sprouts, you can cut those off and still eat it.

bananas. dirt cheap. a small bunch (4-5) costs like a dollar. if they go over-ripe before you eat them all just get less or get a few green ones (p.s: you're allowed to break them off larger clumps).

radishes. $1.50 for a little bundle. greens get wilty after a week, roots will last 2 weeks (you can use both parts).

hot peppers. poblano, jalapeno, etc., are often quite cheap and you usually don't need very many anyways. few weeks fridge or counter.

cheap produce when in season:

summer squash. in summertime (duh), zucchini and yellow squash are like $1.25/lb. only last a week or so though in fridge.

winter squash. actually in season in fall, these are your butternuts and acorn squash. less than $1/lb then. lasts in pantry for months.

green beans. in warm months they can be on sale for $1.50/lb! last 1.5-2 weeks in fridge? (kinda depends on the shape they're in)

kale. it's a cool-season green that commonly is on sale in colder months. $1.60 for a big bunch, about 1.5 weeks in fridge before it gets seriously wilty. (can be eaten cooked or raw!)

apples. fall/winter, usually at least one variety on sale for $1.25/lb. last forever.

oranges. most citrus are winter fruits. $1/lb. will last forever in your fridge.

strawberries. spring. at their peak, i can find them for $2/lb. otherwise they are too expensive.

watermelon. $8 for big 10lb melons. they can take up a ton of space though and need to be refrigerated once cut/ripe.

cantaloupe. another summer star! $1.50 each on sale. they will slow ripen in the fridge but you do have to keep an eye on it.

pineapple. $1.50 in summer time. might be ripe even when still a bit green, ready when they smell noticeably ripe.

pears. fall season, sometimes into winter. $1.20/lb. last 1-2 weeks on the counter or forever in the fridge.

pomegranate. in winter time they can be found for $2 each. tricky to peel though.

peaches. and nectarines (which are just fuzzless peaches). $1.25/lb in summer and will last for weeks in your fridge.

eggplants. summertime veggie, you can get for $1.50 when they're on sale. otherwise a bit pricey. keep in fridge for 2 weeks.

mid-range produce:

cabbage. three bucks for a 2-lb head but you can get a lot out of it. will keep 3-4 weeks in the fridge but any exposed cut sides will start moldering after a week.

mushrooms. white button or baby bella. $1.50 for 8oz. keep in mind, mushrooms halve in size after cooking. ~2 weeks though.

avocados. if you live in the South like me, small hass varietals are 60-80 cents apiece in winter. ripe when it gives just a little to squeezing (you can't go off color alone).

broccoli. fresh is $1.70ish per head and lasts a week in fridge. frozen is $1.50/lb but might be kind of mushy.

most greens. spring mixes, spinach, arugula, etc can really vary in price but often fall into a few bucks at least per bundle/package. in a fridge's humidity drawer they last 1-2 weeks.

kiwis. i love them but they're a bit pricey for their size. 50 cents each. their keep depends on how ripe they are at purchase.

expensive produce:

asparagus. one of the most expensive veggies. sometimes in spring you can get it for $2/lb (a steal but still a bit much). lasts 1.5 weeks.

brussel sprouts. same as above.

red or yellow bell peppers. they are used sooo often in recipes and it annoys me. often $1.50-2.00 each. last a long time in fridge.

caluiflower. three bucks for a head. yikes!

green beans. when they're not in season, they are like $3/lb.

snap peas. same as above, except they never seem to be on sale.

raspberries. go bad in 3 days and cost an arm and a leg. sometimes when they're in season you can get them for like $2 per half-pint as a treat.

blueberries and blackberries. even when they're in season, they're still $2 per pint.

grapes. they can sorta be affordable in the fall season for $2/lb, but otherwise they're double that. and usually you have to commit to buying several pounds. last 2 weeks in fridge.

plums. i love them so so much but they're only in season for like 2 weeks of the year it seems and they're like $3/lb.

inexpensive accoutrements: (for garnishes, seasoning, etc)

limes. 25cents apiece. they'll start to dry out after 1 week on the counter so keep them in the fridge unless you will use it soon.

lemons. usually 50cents each for the small varietals. keep same as above.

green onions. less than a dollar for a bunch, and you can easily regrow a few times at home if you stick the white rooted end in water by a window.

cilantro. 50cents. will last WAY longer (1-2 weeks) if you keep it in a mug of water in the fridge.

parsley. 85cents. same as above.

obviously sticking just with popularly available produce across the country. it's not an exhaustive list but can give you a bit more perspective on what produce you should be focusing on if you're trying to work with a tight grocery budget. good luck!

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bacchicly · 11 months ago

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A few imperfect thoughts about writing fat characters respectfully

By me :

A short (5'2"), fat (approx 300 pounds), middle aged (turning 42 thank god), married to not a fat man, mother of a pre-teen, white, CIS, Anglo, Canadian, upper-middle class woman who writes fic (including smut) about a character who is fat by TV and Hollywood standards (Penelope Garcia)

Note: fat hate or debates about whether being fat is healthy or not will not be tolerated on this post. That is not what this post is about. This is about giving some insight into what writers may want to consider when trying to respectfully include more fat characters in their work and generally moving towards writing doing less harm to fat people.

This post started with me wanting to respond to someone honnestly asking "how do I write good descriptions of fat people" because they wanted to write more fat characters and write them authentically (and I assume in a way that would be respectful to fat people) which is an awesome! ...Or maybe it started a few months ago when a writer friend asked about whether a fat character in a fic borrowing a shirt or hoody from her fit boyfriend made sense. ...Or maybe it started way back when I started writing my first fan fic featuring Penelope Garcia partly in response to being irritated about how so many writers wrote her as a young woman and were often silent on her size or spent a lot of time on her insecurities about her body... anyhoo that's where I come from... doesn't make me an expert except maybe on my own unique experience with a fat body...rather more a fellow muddler / fat character writer enthusiast.

THE BASICS

This first part is a quick list of basics you'll read in other posts about writing characters in general - but we'd better get them out of the way because they apply:

Every character is unique and they way they act and think and feel tends to be a product of some mix of what they look like, how their body works or doesn't, how their brain works and doesn't, their "personality", what they were taught, their unique experiences, and the situation/society they are currently in. There are patterns (which is why we get tropes) but the fun thing is that small things can make big differences. So to write an authentic character, it helps to have a fairly clear sense of at least some of those elements and do some imagining about how all of that would funnel into the moment your writing.

The amount to which you describe character bodies and the style which you use to describe them tends to depend on genre, what the heck is going on in your story, the pov you're writing from, the reason you're writing etc. So their are no hard or fast rules. There may be norms for certain styles of fiction, but then it's up to you to decide if it's stronger for you to lean into those norms or to write "against" them at a particular moment.

In order to be more respectful and less harmful to fat people (especially if you see value in actively challenging the anti-fat status quo), you may have to change how you describe all bodies in your work, as well the attitudes both fat people and non fat people have about bodies in general.

Now that that's out of the way... let's get specifically to my thoughts on writing fat characters. I'm going to divide this part into tips for DESCRIBING FAT BODIES, FAT BODIES IN SPACE, and THINKING AND FEELING IN A FAT BODY.

TIPS FOR DESCRIBING FAT (OR OTHER) BODIES

I would say that both consistency and diversity across the work is important, by this I mean :

Consistently describe bodies in about the same amount of detail across your work for the same type of character regardless of body type. So protagonists should get about the same depth and breath of body descriptions as each other regardless of body type. Same goes for vilalns, supporting characters etc. Sometimes people are mute about the look and shape of "strait sized" character bodies (because what's to describe - they are just "normal") but then spend a bunch of time on "other sized" bodies or vice versa (in this case, the fat body is erased usually because of some form of internalised fat hate or phobia paired with "if you can't say anything nice" don't say anything at all.) If you're doing either of these things, I'm not saying it's wrong and has to be fixed- I'm just saying it's a flag that you may want to think about why you are writing differently about different body types and what your work is saying about what bodies have value and which don't.

Diversity Bodies in the real world come in a lot of different shapes and sizes (I know I know obvious woman strikes again) but if you are writing stories with fairly large casts and everyone has the same body type - there better be a good reason for it within the narrative. Truthfully there are cases where this does make sense to some degree... if you're writing about a group where there are physical requirements and standards for the folks in that world (ballet dancers, fire fighters, cops, soldiers, fbi agents) there may or may not be less diversity in body type and more homogeneous attitudes to body norms within the group - and certainly those who are outside of the norm may be commented on or feel like they are "other". But if you are in a more free setting - if you write without a diversity of body types - especially in settings where there is diversity - that is probably a clue that you're not thinking enough about what your various characters look like and may be "normalizing" one type of body over others. Similarly, if you are writing about a real time and place where there is evidence that there were fat bodies and you have none...that's another flag to ask yourself why.

The magical tools in your toolkit for describing fat and other bodies: Body neutrality and POV

Body neutrality is about not loving bodies and not hating bodies just accepting bodies as they are....or in this case describing them as they are. No poetic language. No judgement. Just this is what this character looks like. If you're struggling to do this, I suggest doing a body map for at least two characters with different body types - possibly one that you find easy to think of positively (in this case likely someone thin or at least fit) and one that you find more difficult to describe positively (in this case someone fat).

Describe them head to toe, naked and then clothed, in detail - acurately but not poetically. Start with their feet and then work up bit by bit. Pay attention to things like hair, scars, shape of joints, acne, tightness or looseness of skin, colour of skin, nails, fat, lack of fat, muscle tone, where do they hold their stress, what's in the bowels, how well they do or don't work, do they have their appendix, what they ate last, proportions (is their torso long or short compared to their legs), lungs - how much do they hold, are they healthy? - now describe their throat, shoulders, hands, hair, then end with face.

The only rule is no positive or negative connotations to anything. it's neither good nor bad that they have stretch marks - they just do and they have faded to silver. Now that you "see them' clearly - now look at them through the eyes of someone who loves them in a familial way...what do they see most? what words do they use? now through someone who is attracted to them sexually and love them and aren't ashamed...what do they see most? what words do they use? Now through the eyes of someone who hates them or wants to change them? or a child? or a dog? Now... how does your character feel about these descriptions? Now you have a variety of words you can draw on to describe the body and you also should have a fairly good idea of what is a more skewed view of the body and a more realistic view.

Also...it can be helpful to remember there are no consistently good or bad words to describe bodies - it depends on context and who is using the words. It's a lot like how sick can be used to describe something negatively or positively depending on the agreed upon meaning of the word by a group.

DESCRIBING BODIES IN SPACE/MOTION

Ok here's the thing - for every activity you can think of - there is a fat body that does it well and a fat body that can't do it easily or at all and there are a lot of reasons for both. Often it has to do with the fact that a lot of equipment is built for people who are 250lbs or less; and anything for bigger people tends to cost a premium. Also, if it's not an easy new skill to acquire with the body you've got...it may take longer and more bravery to keep pushing through to achieve mastery. People may try to discourage you from pursuing things. Sometimes out of prejudice, sometimes out of impatience, sometimes out of caring.

So deciding what your character's body can do easily and what it can't and why is more important than me giving you a list of words for how to describe fat movements.

My suggestion is: do your research. What sorts of body types have done the activity in the real world? What are the exceptions? What changes? So for example if a fat person is climbing a mountain - do they need more help? Different equipment? A different route?

Things to consider:

- equipment / things that can have weight limits: bunk beds, roller coasters, scooters, waterslides, camping chairs, elevators, trampolines, some bikes, life jackets (finding one that fit was a nightmare), exercise balls, airline seats (learning to ask for the seatbelt extender without second thought or shame was a lifesaver)

- not all fat people have pain, those who do will move taking into account the specifics of the pain - same as a lean person

- when I was pregnant I just got more cylindrical and did not get a classic belly. I moved well and easily all the way through my pregnancy, I had none of the back pain or ankle pain some people get. I stood for a lot of my labour. I gave birth on my hands and knees. Other fat people will have had different experiences of pregnancy...but that was mine.

- clothing can have a huge impact on what bounces or jiggles and what doesn't

- most (but not all) fat people I know are particularly sensitive to appearing sweaty or smelling bad

- how winded someone gets is not directly correlated to body size, neither is heart rate or breathing style; I have theatre training and grew up swimming - I breath very slowly and very deeply normally - so when I talk a slow deep breath...it is very slow and deep indeed. I have always been fat but can swim forever - I have always gotten winded and kind of dizzy running... Other fat people may be opposite.

- people do not "see fat" consistently. People regularly underestimate how fat I am (by 100+ pounds or many clothing sizes) because I am short, well spoken, proportioned in a way that is seen as fairly typical, and very mobile and very light on my feet. Someone who weighs less than me but is slower moving, dull witted, in a sour mood, is illl, or poorly dressed may be perceived as much heavier than than someone the same weight or heavier who is behaving/clothed differently (which can change how much fat hate someone experiences) and definately heavier than they are. Height also changes how people perceive weight.

- many stores still don't carry plus sized clothing, but eventually i sort of got used to it - although some days it makes me angry and other days sad

- chairs with arms or the occasional booth can be uncomfortable or just plain impossible to sit in, it's probably partly my ADHD but I often forget this until it happens; for taller and fatter people than me this can be a much more regular occurrence.

- once (if) a character figures out how to dress/move their body in a way that feels comfortable and meets general standards (or at least theirs) of respectability - they may not think that much about their body...or at least until something external draws attention to it

- I don't like feeling like I'm squishing people, so I will make myself small and still on buses or at the theatre, I also don't like sitting on laps or being lifted or carried.

- I often feel much taller than I actually am - except when I am standing right beside someone taller or am trying to reach something on a high shelf. The same principle applies - I feel larger next to smaller people and smaller next to larger ones.

- clothing and what I'm carrying also changes how I move (just like my lean counterparts)

- I don't lounge, my car seat is set almost straight but I sit further back than my brother in law who has a similar height and weight - he leans the seat back but pulls closer. I don't nap. My leaner husband both lounges and naps.

- some fat folks eat, walk, and move quickly - some slowly; figuring out which your character does, when they behave "out of character", and why these are their preferences will go a long way to creating an authentic feeling fat character

- acne is a thing and learning to accept ones rolls and tummy aprons (and thus take care of them properly) is a common challenge; although many do it naturally without thinking much of it. You lift your breasts and wash underneath - you lift you belly and wash underneath.

- fat bodies have the same reactions as everyone else: they tingle, burn, get numb, get goose bumps, like to be touched in certain places and in certain ways, feel the breeze, get hot, get cold, shiver, stretch, relax, get aroused, feel release, hold tension, feel capable and strong, feel weak...no matter who you are sitting in a chair that's too small for you will put pressure on your body and feel uncomfortable or safe ..you can explore what that is like. Sometimes it is a reassuring sensation. Sometimes it is uncomfortable. This is the same for fat bodies. It just may happen more frequently and depending on your character's context and experience the emotional reaction / thoughts that are generated may be a bit different.

THINKING AND FEELING IN A FAT BODY.

I think I touched on some of this in some of the earlier sections...but here I want to talk a bit about my experience of being fat and my thoughts about it - your fat characters may or may not feel similarly...but my hope is that you at least think about options as opposed to only writing one or two types of fat character.

I mainly "feel" fat in moments when it is pointed out to me or I am limited in what I can do because of it

I quite like my body, it is my home and I feel very connected to it's features. In my experience this is unusual for many people in North American society regardless of actual body shape or weight. Sometimes I feel guilty for not hating my body the way "I am supposed to" and wonder vaguely if my body would be different if I could hate it more (although as I get older I doubt it).

I do feel some pressure to be a cheerful "good" fat person as a way to stay safe and survive.

Nothing makes people more uncomfortable than me calling myself fat without judgement or asking for accomodation matter of factly. It took me a long time to feel comfortable doing so, but I do it now all the time and it makes my life better.

I felt some pressure to be the fun friend who people feel comfortable eating whatever they wanted with and I often felt like I was depended on to order dessert so they could too. This may have been all in my mind though.

Fat bellies can be very intimate places.

Not all fat people have dieted, but many have. I was lucky enough to never be forced into a diet. I did try keto once but it was a bit intense and nuts so I stopped. I learned a bunch doing it though.

Medical people not treating you appropriately when your fat is 100% a thing.

Internalised fat hate and fat phobia is a thing for many fat people and it pops up at weird moments.

I don 't.give a damn about being in a bathing suit. As long as it fits and my boobs and butt.aren't.falling out - I am happy and feel very attractive. In fact I am probably at my most comfortable in a bathing suit or naked. My body is mine in both those instances.

To reach the "healthy weight" for my height - I would have to lose half of my body mass. That is a lot of me to loose. Embarking on something like that would be totally different than loosing 5 or 10 pounds. Trying to navigate the various medical opinions about whether being fat is bad or not is exhausting.

For me, being fat and older is easier than being fat and younger. This could easily be the opposite for someone else.

Some fat people are into sex, some are not . Some folks are into sex with fat people and some are not. Some are nice about it. Some are not. Some want nice. Some do not.

Fat people are all around you living their best life or their worst life or somewhere in between. We know we are fat. We sometimes care and sometimes don't.

Ok that's it. I don't know if it will help anyone or if it's just a collection of rambles - but at the end of the day...fat people are just people. We are not going to go away. We are all sorts. We are the heroes of our own stories. We are people who are loved, depended on, hated, ignored, and/or spotlighted.

Some fat people think about being fat all the time. Some rarely. Just please don't erase us or other us.

Just by taking the step to interrogate your own biases and any feelings / assumptions you have about fatness/thinness is a huge step and will help limit the harm you could unintentionally do to fat people...actually to all people. Like all forms of hate and intelorance - Fat hate hurts EVERYONE. I would argue it privileges a few...but even that can be excruciating for the individuals who strive to retain that priviledge. We need to dismantle it.

#writing #writing fat characters #fat phobia #fat hate #long post #personal #body neutrality #body posititivity #writing about bodies

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