#basic hair styling tutorial

[soniandstylseacademy]

😊😍 Want to learn the skill of Makeup And Hairstyles Than join | Soni & Styles Academy | Javed Ali Hairstyles.

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[pedroassmanpascal]

How do y’all find your own art style? Everything I draw without a reference i think is awful, and I’m second guessing everything lol

[mesikeh05]

I can't do any more tags so:

I have a Marvel one, an Emcanto one, a Sherlock one (BBC), a Vans one about shoes lmao, a Violetta one, a Queen one about the band, a bunny and a hamster one.

Reblog and put in the tags how many boards you have on pinterest and what they're about (if you're comfortable with sharing, of course)

[angel5ofp0rn]

thinking about the 141 as daddies of babies with afro hair 🙂‍↕️

Gaz would know the basics, naturally, and would take the extra time to make sure his babies always have their hair right. he reminds them how beautiful their hair is and how important it is to take the extra time and care to keep it healthy. if you’re not used to caring for their hair type, he’s very patient in teaching you the basics and hypes you up every time you do their hair on your own.

Price would shyly stumble into a black salon and ask for tips and tutorials on how to care for his children’s hair. he’d make sure he had all the right tools, products, accessories, etc. and make sure he knows how to use them. he does a piss poor job at styling it, and you always end up having to fix it anyway, but at least he tries.

Soap goes all in. he has his babies sat in front of him, and a youtube tutorial in front of them both, and he’s putting in the work. tongue sticking out as he braids and twists and, surprisingly, it turns out better than anyone expected— except him. he was confident from the get go. now it’s your turn, bonnie; boho braids or knotless box braids? i saw a lass earlier with her hair like this—

Ghost is standing by the shampoo bowl, arms crossed, at his children’s biweekly hair appointment telling the hairdresser that money is no object, just make his babies happy. he’s stocking up on bonnets, silk pillow cases, whateverthefuck that is that makes their hair smell so good and makes his li’l girl’s curls look shiny, the way she likes. he has their ipads charged up for their long appointments and is going in and out of the salon to fetch various snacks and drinks for the kids and the hairstylists taking care of them.

[1800titz]

HI. HELLO. Here is my Valentine’s Day contribution. POTTERYINSTRUCTOR!HARRY!! POTTERY MAN! WOOO. Basically almost 7K of clay sexualization and sexually charged fluff (ish). Enjoy! :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: ridiculous sexualization of clay (I think I’ve managed to fetishize clay in this one??? OOPS), overly suggestive usage of pottery terms, a red-hot, hands-on tutorial for wheel throwing, and embarassingly long descriptions of Harry’s fingers coated in wet clay.

WC: 6.6K

slip: small bits of dry clay mixed with water to create a thick, creamy consistency

Clay is innately erotic. 

Wheel throwing is, arguably, the most pornographic art form, its only competing opponent being, maybe, literal body-painting. And that latter one still falls as a close second. Close, but second. 

Y/N decides that when she wanders into a little ceramics shop tucked away in a busy plaza downtown. There’s no method to her exploration, but the broad glass windows are adorned with dripping, colorful graffiti and its innards call to her. GLAZED, reads the large sign over the awning in blocky, white lettering, stippled with un-glowing light bulbs that she’s sure light alive in the night. 

It’s a cute shop. 

Upon entrance, the young woman discovers tables, as if set up for arts and crafts, crackling, clay covered wheels with shorter stools, and long, tall rows of shelving brimmed with colorless sculptures lining the walls. Despite its packed interior, the studio seems empty of people and quiet besides the soft notes of RÜFÜS DU SOL leaking from the overhead speakers. She roams beside the line of wheels over to a shelf by the door, admiring the myriad of statues there, some obviously crafted with expertise and elegant artistry, and others lopsided efforts that probably deserve a pitied gold star for effort. 

Her eyes are caught on an unpainted little ashtray that’s got a crooked sort of bee in the center when her gaze breaks away to the sound of footsteps. Maybe the shop isn’t as abandoned as she’d previously believed — a man appears from behind a row of white shelving stacked with more unfinished pottery. 

He’s a pretty man, that much she can decide from the downturned slope of his nose and his distracted lash line, focused on twisting the navy rag in his left hand over the tip of his right index finger. A dark baseball cap shrouds his hair, but little brunette tufts sneak out in curled bunches around his ears. That’s where Y/N finds a fun, little red-tinted pearl dangling from one lobe. He’s tatted in patchwork art — a mermaid with its tits out peeks at her from his forearm, soaked over and shining. She assumes he must have just been rinsing clay from that forearm, from his hands, no longer visible over his skin. However, streaks of dried gray stain over his white tee in crackling lines, like an old lamination on a well-loved t-shirt that’s been cycled through the washer one too many times. When he pulls the rag away, she discovers a shade of bright red that’s been painted over his nails.

Almost as if he can sense her presence without looking, his sneakers pause on the tile and he steals a peer up. Yes, he’s quite a pretty man, even when his features shape something caught off guard.

“Hello.”

His voice is rich — this smooth, bass-deep sort of sound driving a foreign lilt, and Y/N thinks that if it weren’t for his lengthy fingers and his cherry polished nails, if it weren’t for his handsomely sculpted face, if it weren’t for his seemingly innate effortless demeanor and style, that voice alone could make her fold.  

“Hello,” she returns, aware that a nervous note plucks at her cadence, unlike his own casual greeting. I promise I’m not shoplifting clay pots in silence, she nearly tells him. 

Thank fuck for the ability to physically bite your tongue. 

“What can I help you with?�� the man asks, sauntering forward a bit. It’s probably sort of a polite manner to say what the fuck are you doing here, and the longer the young woman stands in the middle of the empty shop the more out of place she feels, almost like this a private, little haven and she shouldn’t be in here right now.

The song shifts into its choral bass drop of electric keys. That fills the void of the silence as she swallows and fixes a little smile onto her face, fingers tightening over the strap of her tote. 

“Oh, I’m just looking.” 

The man purses his mouth and walks over to the counter, where the register is littered with paperwork and an eclectic collection of faux plants. He sets the rag down beside a floppy one with its green tendrils dangling over the edge. 

“See anything you like?” his hand pinches over his nose, like he’s scratching an itch, before he sniffs and pivots to apparently decrease their proximity, “We’ve got loads — you can make something yourself, or,” another step, and Y/N’s eye bounce from his shorts to his tattooed knees to the hems of his white socks. “…If you know sculpting isn’t your craft, we’ve got ready-to-paint-one's on that shelf there.”

Her gaze follows the direction of his finger, where pasty ceramic bunnies, and angels, and cars line the shelving in multiples. 

“I think—“ the young woman’s tongue peeks out to swipe over her mouth, words growing drier the longer she captures his stare. She focuses back on a lopsided rendition of strawberry, its leaves cradling over as a disconnected lid and its stem a crooked handle. “I like these. They’ve got so much character.” 

She blinks back over to him and watches a soft smile shape over the cushiony pink of his mouth.

It only takes a moment — one where her sight draws back to the strawberry jar for a smidge of a second, before he’s so close that she can smell his cologne, spiced and clean. She ogles his arm, his hand, the way he reaches out between them to cull the piece, mildly appalled by the way he palms the sculpture and dwarfs it in his easy grasp. It’s such a casual maneuver, made almost as if he’s not fondling over something it’d take anyone else two hands to hold. Y/N imagines the dimpled form of clay coated over to match the color of his nails.

“They do, don’t they? I like this one, too. S’a little …ugly, but, s’in, like, a…” the man’s features twist into something silly and pinched, and the young woman rolls her lips into her mouth to avoid exposing her amusement at the brutal candor. His words catch in his throat and bubble as a short laugh, “I dunno. It’s art.” 

He sets it back onto the shelf with a light clink, and turns to face her, posturing against a post in the shelving where the tiers have a break. An exhale becomes paired with his nonchalant lean, arms crossing over his pecs, and Y/N tries intensely not to stare like a hawk at the muscle there. 

“I’m afraid people are coming back for these, though. This row came out of the kiln…” forest green skids to the assortment and then bounds up to the ceiling like he’s in thought, before he casts his gaze back onto her, “…yesterday. And there’s a month-and-a-half window for someone to come back and glaze before we toss or sell them to be painted.” 

He’s chewing gum. Y/N realizes it when she admires the soft stubble coating his jaw, his cheeks — that’s when she notices the work of his jawline over the minty piece. He tips his head. “Did you want to try sculpting something?” 

The edges of her lips break bashfully. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.” 

One corner of the man’s mouth curls up lopsidedly, and the beginnings of a dimple nudge into place. He blinks and chews a little slower, “Have you ever worked with clay before?” 

Her delayed, little no is met with the lopsided beam growing even. He nudges with his chin, deliciously bulging arms still tucked over his chest, his playfully raised eyebrows like a wordless notion of have more faith in yourself, “Then you may just be the next Magdalene Odundo. We’ll make a pro sculptor out of you, yet.” 

Magdalene Odundo. Somehow, the name isn’t familiar, but simultaneously, somehow, it feels like a compliment. 

Y/N inhales as his digits shift over his tri’s. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” plush pink shapes a handsome smile, bordering bright white teeth in straight lines. The man tips his head towards the curved berry vase, and then looks back at her, “Did you want to do something like this? All these over here were made on the wheel.” 

Y/N muzzles telling him that she’s no inkling of an idea how someone can morph a lump of clay into a vase, nevermind on a big, spinning platform that moves faster than her eyes can keep up with. The man seems to pick up on the hesitation in her silence. 

“S’easy, I promise. I’ll show you how to throw.” 

Show her. Okay. At least she’s not going to head into vase-sculpting or wheel-throwing or …whatever he’d called it blindly, fumbling over a block of clay on a twirling tray like a slapstick skit personified. At least it means she’s going to stay in his presence. After a moment of thought, though, (and the way she notes that his eyes make unwavering, relaxed contact with her face the entirety of the silent pause), Y/N decides she’s not sure whether that last bit is actually a good thing, considering she’s probably milliseconds away from, like, bracing a hand onto a the shelf to match his level of coolness, or something. And then subsequently sending ceramic pots spilling and shattering over the tile.

She blinks. Her shoulders rise on her nervous inhale, and he makes one of those playful faces, like he’s waiting for her to agree. The young woman’s eyes wander to the line of chairs pressed to its counterparts of wheels. 

“I don’t wanna, like, trouble you—“ 

“You’re not. S’my job,” he tells her, crimson fingertips drumming. She catches sight of his fabric-clad pectorals flexing when he leans forward a little to tack on, “…And to be honest, it’d give me something to do besides fucking around with clay, which is what I’ve been doing for the last hour.” 

Her mouth purses and then settles. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” he says again, and then winds around through a row of little tables that resemble the set up of an art classroom, like the kind she’d have in school. She’s ashamed that her gaze wanders down the back of his arm to ogle the rest of his ink. 

“You can have a seat at one of those wheels,” he tosses over his shoulder as he heads, she assumes, to wind back around the same shelf he’d surfaced from behind, “Just give me a mo’, and I’ll be right back with some clay.” 

It takes Y/N a moment — mostly because she admires the view of his stature from behind as he migrates to a back hallway, irises roaming down the projection of muscles in his back showcased through his tee. They skim down his legs, down the backs of his knees, rest on toned calves. He’s gone far too quickly for her viewing pleasure. The young woman takes another glance at the uneven strawberry-esque vase, and then she pivots to step around the crowded assortment of wheels to crouch into one of those little roll-y stools, feet crossing and uncrossing in the cramped space. 

He’s a sexy man, Y/N decides. That’s the word she’d been looking for all along, although pretty would match the descriptors of his long lashes and his pouty pink mouth. He’s sexy, though, in his baseball cap and his little six-inch-inseam shorts (which show off the sculpt of his tanned thighs and the ink over his kneecaps). He’s sexy when he comes out from the back over to her wheel, a gunmetal gray ball of clay cradled in his palm like it’s not the size of two of her own. He’s sexy in the green eye contact he makes when he settles into a stool similar to her own, right across, when his thighs splay because he doesn’t have enough room to sit otherwise, when he rests his elbows over his knees and stretches one arm out to pass off the clay. That’s when their digits brush, because it’s sort of unavoidable. He manages to make eye contact through that, too. Sexy. 

“Okay. Clay,” the chilled ball the man hands off weighs her hand down, and Y/N’s gaze flickers up to meet his own when he instructs, “Toss it onto the wheel. Aim for the center.” 

The young woman pauses like she’s calculating her aim, gearing up without visibly gearing up, and a little smile tugs at the instructor’s mouth as he waits. The clay lands with a thud onto the plate. 

“Great,” he tells her, monitoring the centering, and then jade bounces back up to her face as he coaxes, “Smack for good luck.” 

Y/N curbs the corners of her mouth out of mirth, hesitating for a moment before her palm lands over the smooth, gray lump in a halfhearted pat. She blinks up, hoping for assurance. The handsome man’s mouth purses like he’s restraining a grin. 

“Harder,” he encourages after a second, the corners of his muted raspberry mouth seeping up a smidge, more openly, “S’not gonna cry. You can go a little harder than that.” 

The young woman rolls her lips into her mouth, raises her hand, and follows his request, molding it flatter under the solid thud of her palm. Evidently, it’s a better attempt, because she earns a, “Very good,” in response from him.

She casts her gaze up to find him dipping his hands into the pot of murky water beside the wheel before a fist knocks lightly at the pedal-resembling lever on the opposite side, sending the wheel into a speeding twirl. And to add to her list of shame, the liquid that coats his fingers — that’s. 

Yeah. 

Y/N swallows and watches those wet hands cup over the clay, partly mesmerized by the way he coaxes the priorly deformed lump into a symmetrical cylinder, stroking up from the base up and back down, and partly mesmerized by the way the cherry polish becomes daubed with slicked clay. 

“I’m just gonna get it nice and easy for you, and then you can get to the fun bits,” the man tells her as if he isn’t currently awakening some deep, deviously sexual desires in her by fondling clay. Jade flickers up. “M’Harry, by the way.” 

“Y/N,” the young woman tells him in response, unsure whether to focus on his searing eye contact or the gentle press of his hands over … oddly erotic artistry in motion.

Harry unwittingly makes the decision for her by breaking the eye contact and glancing down at his work. 

“Y/N,” he says, as if testing the taste of her name on his tongue. 

Y/N takes a breath, smoothing her hands down her thighs. 

“Y/N,” his strawberry mouth parts a tad for a soft breath in, honey smooth cadence glazed in concentration as he presses a flat palm over the top of the clay, keeping his other hand cupped over the length. 

She watches the cylinder mold under his grip into something shorter, and then back up. She watches the way his arms flex, anchored to his body as he presses with the heels of his palms to sculpt. 

“This is called coning. Makes the clay centered so your grip stays nice and even when it spins. Otherwise, s’gonna wobble, and you’ll feel it when you’re trying to work with it.”

Sure enough, after a few moments, when the man takes his clay-sullied palms away, what’d priorly been a lopsided hunk twirling over the platform stands symmetrically, shining post his wet grip. When he balls his hand into a fist and punches over the lever a handful of times, the plate slows to a stop. He blows out a breath and the music shifts to the next track in the background.

“Take your bracelet off for me.” 

The comment is made totally innocuously. Its purpose is solely to preserve the condition of her jewelry — she knows that when his eyes go to meet hers again and he mentions, “Otherwise, it could get covered with clay, or break. Wouldn’t wanna ruin such a pretty piece.”

But it’s the way he says it, right? Two little words, so easy off his tongue. So nonchalant, so purely intended with no ulterior motive. For me. For me, for me, for me. 

It’s shameful — she’s ashamed. She’s no better than a man, Y/N decides, as she peers to the silver bangle with the sliver of warmth slithering through her chest and snaking to her tummy. She’s no better than a man, objectifying this poor, effortlessly sexy ceramics instructor and his casual commentary on a Wednesday. She swallows. 

“Right. Thanks— thank you,” the young woman tells him, her tone garbled with nervous enthusiasm as the fingers of her opposite hand wriggle under the clasp to pop the piece off. 

She’s still feeling dubious about the morality of her thoughts once she’s slipped the bracelet into her tote by her feet and sat back up. 

“Alright,” Harry starts again, elbows braced to his sturdy thighs, “We’re gonna go over what this little thing over here does, because it’s good to know. It sets your speed. We’ve got options—“

Y/N watches the way his arm stretches, she eyes the tail of the mermaid, the lines of scales etched into his skin. His eyes meet her own again. 

“…Fast,” Harry knocks over the lever again with the butt of a vertical fist, a couple more nudges rocketing the wheel into a motion that dissolves priorly visible remnants of clay rings into fast-moving swirls with no decipherable borders. 

Another few nudges has the wheel skidding to a full-stop, and then stuttering back up into a spin when he taps over the pad once more. 

“…Slow,” Harry fixes his gaze back onto her face and watches the curious concentration there. The man sits back up a tad, elbows bracing over his splayed thighs and fingers crooked and lax, coated with slippery wetness and clay. “Find what feels good for you. S’different for everyone.”

Despite the way the directions are made so innocently, so obviously stated as a tutorial that’s not intended to be taken as something suggestive, Y/N finds a heat teeming over her cheekbones. 

“But, I recommend—“ her teeth lodge into the inside of her cheek with subtlety as the instructor hunches a little again, just a tad, to rap over the lever in a pair. The wheel speeds. “—Sticking to something around this.”

The pace of the wheel settles into an easy spin — something that’s still too quick for her eyes to keep up with, but apparently not the fastest setting, judging by the higher speeds he’d displayed moments prior. 

“Alright. Here’s where you come in with your undiscovered ceramic talents,” the instructor tells her, the edges of his mouth so obviously restrained, like he’s amused with his own playful banter. His eyes glinting softly under the buttery light cast by the overhanging lanterns,”M’gonna show you how to drill, but you’ll need to get your hands wet first.”

Harry sits back, elbows still braced to his thighs, hands now coated with slippery clay as he waits for the young woman to douse her own into the bucket. The liquid greets her palms with a welcome chill, and when she lightly cups over the cylinder, it slips under her hands with ease. The man clears his throat, and their digits graze again when he touches over her fingers to guide her grasp. Y/N tries not to focus on the way his hands make her own look as if they belong to a child. 

“You’re gonna take your thumbs—” Harry coaxes, all concentrated seriousness now, and the pad of his own brushes against the knuckle of her left, “—and press over the top, here. Right in the middle, just like that.” 

He takes his hands away and the clay rolls under her fingertips, a divot forming from the pressure of her thumbs. 

“Good. Now what you’ve done is you’ve indicated where you’re going to make the opening. And to do that—“ his hands return, unintentionally persuading her own to fall away and sort of hover stagnantly mid-air, in sullied awe, as he dips the tip of his index into the cleft they’d created together. 

As if hungry for the finger, the clay parts to swallow the pad of the digit. It broadens its starving mouth, and Harry steadies the spread with his thumb, his pointer delving against the inside of the deepening wall. His opposite hand cups over the body as he molds the opening wider. 

Anyways, what Y/N manages to learn from the impressive showcase, before Harry steals a glance to make sure she’s been observing (which she has, very focused, actually), is that clay-working is a dirty, dirty, lustrous art form. Especially under his fingertips. This is all very educational stuff. Perhaps the most impressive step of his tutorial, thus far, is the way that, in mere moments, he cups and strokes and caresses over the clay, drawing the opening tighter. It shrinks until it disappears, and when he smooths his hands over the rounded edges a few more times, the vessel that’s left is an entirely clean slate. Almost as if she hadn’t just spent the last few seconds ogling a weirdly pornographic display of a clay cavern opening in response to the touch of his long finger. This was a horrible mistake, Y/N thinks pitifully — she’s getting aroused by clay working. If there was ever a blaring red indicator that she needed to get laid, this is it. 

“I want you to try now,” Harry directs, totally nonchalant. This is just a casual Wednesday for him, Y/N realizes. He casually fingers clay with his sexy, long fingers, and thinks nothing of it. Maybe she’s just a horribly wound-up pervert. 

Still sort of stunned, she reaches out and cups over the cylinder, clumsily positioning her thumbs in a replication of the manner he’d shown her, aiming for the center and driving a divot into the top. 

“Mm. That’s good. Keep your elbows closer to your body,” he prompts, eyes flickering from her posture to her hands. “Like this.” 

Following his body language, Y/N mimics, ducking a tad and tucking her arms to her torso. After a few moments, she lifts her thumbs to find a centered indent, one that’s similar to the one they’d created together. 

“Lovely. Now,” the chair makes a little rolling sound over the tile as Harry shifts forward, clay-slicked hands (warm, despite their cool coating) cradling over her own to position, “You’re gonna cup here, and then take this finger and push here. Yep. Jus’ like that.” 

The instructor takes his grip away and encourages, “If you need more water, get your hands wet. You can tell you need it if there’s friction — you want it a little wet.” 

She wants it a little wet. Y/N decides, as she dunks her hands into the bucket and returns to the clay, she in fact does not want anything wet right now. This is the last place she wants something wet. Her thoughts are disturbed by the way he grasps her at her hands again and repositions — twisted by the slippery feel of his own wet fingers. The clay over his palms has begun to dry now, morphing lighter and crackling, but the tips of his digits are still soaked and darker in shade. She’s awed when the cylinder gives under her touch, the same way it had for him to encompass her finger. It’s like magic, sort of. Very slippery, wet, weirdly erotically undertone-d magic. 

“There you go,” Harry tells her, baritone soft, “You’re a pro.” Then, after a moment, “You can go a little harder. Don’t be shy. Open it up.” 

She’s not blushing. She’s not blushing, because that would be silly. She presses harder, and the opening widens until it gapes. 

“How long have you worked here?” the young woman asks, naturally trying to change the subject from wet and hard things. Hopefully in an organic enough manner that doesn’t imply how affected she is by said wet and hard things. 

“I bought this place a few years ago,” Harry responds after a second, tone concentrating as he reaffixes the firmness of her grasp (she tries not to verbally apologize, glancing up), “…Both units. It was a smoke shop before, I think.” 

“Oh!” her hands stutter again in surprise, “Are you the owner?” 

He fixes them again, brows pinched, and when he glances up, his brow bone is smooth and there’s a soft smile playing over his mouth. “Indeed I am.” 

“It’s …beautiful in here,” Y/N tells him, gaze walloping from shelf to shelf for a moment, lantern lined ceilings to vine-coated crown molding, trusting that his hands will keep her own grounded to the piece. 

“Thanks. It’s a little crowded, but if you manage to get lost among the …phallic statues and the clay bongs,” he cocks his head, blatantly bridling a simper as he shrugs. At the response of her snort, jade flickers up and the plush of his mouth curls more obviously, “…You’ll find your way out of the maze soon enough.” 

As the walls of the clay grow thinner, the instructor takes his grip away, swiping at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Alright. What are we going for here? A mug? A vase? A bong masquerading as a vase?” 

Y/N takes the lack of his touch as an indication to lighten her own. She purses her lips thoughtfully. “A vase.” 

“A vase,” the instructor parrots, voice low, and then he hunches back over and cups the clay. The young woman returns her hands to meet his own. “I can work with that. We’re gonna build it up. You’re gonna squeeze and lift. Right—“

If his fingers keep brushing hers for the duration of the next …half hour? Hour? (How long does throwing take?), Y/N decides she’ll simply combust. His hands cup lightly over her own, two digits pressed to hers, and hers pinned to the inner wall of the clay in sin. 

“—Here. That’s it. You can be a little aggressive. We’ve gotta get it tall.”

Y/N swallows.

“You said you own both units?” she ponders aloud, “Is there …more?” 

“My place,” Harry tells her nonchalantly, as if it’s the most casual, normal, every day thing to live over a ceramics studio, “S’just over on the next floor.” 

“That’s—“ she realizes her grasp has lightened again, the integrity of the structure mostly only crawling up under the pressure of his own (steady, firm) grip over hers, “…so cool. To have, like, a whole studio right under you.” 

“Mm. I think right now…” Harry cranes his neck to peer up at the ceiling, “We’re under my kitchen.” 

A little breath of mirth tumbles from her when he grins and tacks on, “I think this is way cooler, though.” 

This is The Turning Point. 

And if it was a scene title in a play, Y/N thinks it would be capitalized to denote the importance. It’s important, because somewhere along the trail of her perversions, as Harry had guided her hands into the innards of the clay — fittingly describing it as the body — when he’d pressed his hands against her own to widen its base, when he’d shown her the sponge, things had clicked. It had clicked because she realized she wasn’t fucking crazy. Because Harry then said this thing — this one little thing that would have launched her into a frenzied, internal mess of dubious morality on the basis of her perversions—

But then it clicked. 

“Careful with the amount of water you’re using now, yeah?” he’d told her, maneuvering her grip over the sponge as they’d smoothed over the lip together, “S’all about balance. …If you go too hard, you’ll make a wet mess.” 

Y/N had glanced up. That’s when she’d noticed the way the instructor gnawed into his cheek, almost immediately, almost as if he was amused by some sort of devious inside joke. And then his blocky front teeth had dug lightly into the plush of his pink bottom lip. It was nearly unnoticeable — but she had noticed. Clay was innately erotic, and he was doing it on purpose. It was one, or the other, or both. 

For a little while from there, they work in blatantly charged silence. It’s a very short while, all things considered, and she’s willing to clam up altogether and daydream about his digits for the duration of the lesson, but the tone of his next words nearly gives her whiplash. 

“So what are you doing on this lovely Valentine’s day?” Harry breaks the silence, once again, his tone so even and nonchalant that Y/N can’t begin to fathom where his composure comes from. 

The young woman clears her throat, “Oh. Y’know. Trying my hand at ceramics. The yuzh.” 

Jade doesn’t immediately jolt up when he ponders aloud, “Dinner plans?” 

“Not any on the calendar …that I’m aware of.”

His touch doesn’t lighten, but he does glance up, mouth all (apparently) disbelieving mirth, “You’re telling me you’re not being wined and dined tonight?” 

Feigning offense, the young woman sets her mouth into a line and nudges with her chin in a nod, joking, “Thank you for the reminder.” 

Harry laughs softly, one of those little breaths expelled through his nostrils, and he looks back down to the vase-in-progress, gentle grin undeniable. Y/N matches his amusement, faux indignation crackling. 

“You’re too pretty not to have a Valentine,” the instructor tells her, then, decibel low, almost like it was meant to be under his breath but also entirely not, and all Y/N can do is sit there with instant heat seeping to her face. Because that’s flirting. That’s definitely flirting. Her sexy ceramics instructor is helping her craft a vase out of clay on a wheel with his sexy hands, and he’s openly flirting. 

Y/N stuffs down how initially stunned she is to chew into her bottom lip and volley, “I bet you say that to every girl that comes in here.” 

Harry shrugs. It’s still almost an enraging level of cucumber-cool and composed. 

“Just the pretty ones.” He tacks on, after a moment, “And only on Valentine’s day. Don’t think that line would fit well on a random Wednesday.” 

Y/N snorts. She’s still basking in the pleasant warmth of the flattery when the man peers up and tells her, “I do accept tips, by the way, so. Feel free to leave a tip for the friendly service.” 

“I will—“ she snorts, restraining her open amusement at the way his brows crinkle in concentration as he helps her grip, “—definitely do that.” 

“Sick,” his tongue peeks out to swipe over his lips, disappearing back into his mouth as quick as the pink had showcased. Jade flits up, the corners of his mouth curled up in a little pause of silence, almost he wants to make it crystal clear he does not actually want a tip for hitting on her. 

Anyways, this is all a flustered mess. All of it. Y/N, the pot she’s sure will grow off-center and wobble under her shaky grip, all of it. 

“What about you?” the young woman takes a deep breath, hoping some sort of breathing exercise will help slow the buzzy flutter of her heartbeat, “Any wining and dining? For Valentine’s day?” 

“Not on the calendar,” Harry responds, sliding her own words back to her, his gaze still honed on the work ahead of them, now impressively morphed from a lumpy, shapeless ball into the beginnings of a vase, “As for how I’m spending my Valentine’s day, I did just show this one pretty girl how to shape and smooth. And now, …m’gonna show her how to shape some more.”

Y/N bats her lashes, and then she observes the work of his clay caked fingers, the way they curl and press over the vase in different points of the body, some motions widening the rim and some drawing it more narrow. He bids their tutorial a pause shortly after, explaining, “I’m gonna give you some creative freedom now. Figure out what shape you like.” 

Despite the slight disappointment budding at the close of their conversation, for now, the daunting task of unsupervised throwing is what probably surfaces on her face, more. The instructor catches it when he rolls back in the stool and stands, ogling her for a moment, mirthy mouth caving up in a way that suggests she must look like a deer in headlights. 

“It’s intimidating, but I believe in you. I’ll just be in the back for a sec, give me a shout if you need me.”

Y/N shifts her legs, pressing her thighs together when he adds, “Play around with it.” 

All in all, they manage to end the wheel session with (Y/N thinks, impressively) only a couple of hiccups, both being opportunities presented with unsupervised sculpting. When she’d played around with it (his words) a little too much and had coaxed a priorly even shape into something lopsided and petrifying, it’d swung around on the wheel, each turn quickening its slow but sure collapse. She’d called out for the instructor with a frantic note to his name. Of course, both times, Harry had come out from the back and patiently squeezed over the clay, hands and forearms jolting and flexing deliciously as he’d encouraged it back into something centered (yet another opportunity to stare at slick clay glazing over his fingers all over again), reassuring her that it was normal to struggle, especially with her first time. 

Y/N wonders if he’s constantly full of innuendos, or whether a ceramics studio is just innately an opportunity for double entendres. 

She tries not to make it too obvious when she stands on wobbling legs, when she brushes past him and catches soft notes of his cologne, clean and musky. When he directs her to the bathroom where she rinses clay from her hands into one of those artsy, utility sinks. When she sits at one of the tables, waiting for him to bring the vase over to her, torched and ready for additions, when he gives her another colorless lump. She tries not to make it obvious when she ogles more of his arms, the peek of his nipples through the white, clay-stained fabric of his tee shamelessly. She fears it’s utterly obvious how affected he’s made her, though, when she blinks up at his face, when he shows her what the different little tools in the cup do for sculpting. Y/N doesn’t even look away from him at the introduction of the first tool. She thinks that’s the one that must cross-hatch, driving little lines into the clay. 

“This is called slip,” Harry explains, dipping the tips of his index and middle fingers into the cup near the brushes with no hesitation. The consistency over his fingers, when he pulls them out, is like a wetter, creamier, sloppier variation of the same clay she’d worked with. 

Christ. 

“You put it over the lines you’ve carved to make more clay stick,” the instructor expands. 

Y/N swallows when he smears the consistency coating his fingers onto the lines he’d drawn, his gaze bouncing from his touch to her face. 

“Like, if you wanted to add a handle to a mug, you’d use this method. Or, alternatively,” the young woman focuses on the way the pads of the digits rub over the lines. They fade away. “It’s like an eraser. Careful with erasing, though. …Wet mess.” 

The latter is tacked on as a reminder, and it wonderfully reminds her of the heat coiling in the pit of her tummy. Wonderfully. She swallows again. 

“You can probably use that brush to apply the slip, though, if you don’t want to get your hands dirty again.” 

Flowers. She sculpts flowers with a searing heat between her thighs, because his added little comment of, “I don’t mind,” as he glances to the slip still glazing his fingers, implying that he doesn’t mind to get his hands dirty, does that to her. Y/N sculpts flowers and they settle into a comfortable sort of silence. It’s one where the only sounds are the soft music playing over the speakers and the occasional noise of pages turning from behind the counter as he leans over it and works through some kind of paperwork. She draws lines into the vase, and brushes on the slip, and presses creased flowers to decorate the bulbous body, concentration etching her features. 

She doesn’t notice when she goes over the hours of operation, and Harry doesn’t disturb her, doesn’t tell her that the shop’s been closed for nearly half an hour by the time she peers up and declares, “I’m done.” 

“You’re done,” the man repeats and sets the paperwork down, making his way over to the table where she’d set up, “Let’s have a look.” 

Y/N sits back admiring her artistry. All things considered, it’s sort of an ugly vase. Despite this, a sense of accomplishment buds in her chest as she stares at her creation. 

“I like it,” Harry tells her, nodding like he’s proud of a promising protégé, “It’s quite sweet.” 

“Thank you. What now?” 

“Now—“ the instructor props one hand onto the countertop and the other against his hip, “You wash your hands, you take a picture, and you come back in three weeks to sand it and glaze it.” 

Simple. It’s a simple set of instructions. Y/N brushes crackling, dried clay off of her fingertips against the cloth laid over the table, instinctively reaching for her purse. 

She blinks up at him expectantly, “How much?” 

Dimples wink awake with his soft simper, and he shifts his stance before he asserts, “Don’t worry about it.” 

The young woman’s features shape into something crinkled, something bemused and unwilling of a discount. She shakes her head and glances back down to the tote, “No, I have to pay you. What about your tip?” 

Harry crosses his arms over his chest, pecs flexing with the motion. Flexing, flexing, flexing, when will his muscles stop rippling? He sighs, cushiony mouth still smiling, “I think I’ll live. My tip was that I’ve helped you discover a hidden talent—“

Y/N snorts, eyeing the sloppy attachments to the shapely base, fingers still tucked over her wallet. 

“—It’d defeat the satisfaction and all the pride I’ve got now,” the man declares, shrugging. 

The unconvinced look she gives him coaxes him into a good-natured roll of his eyes, and Harry tuts before he compromises, raising his eyebrows, “But if you must tip me, you can tip me when you come back in three weeks, yeah?” 

Begrudged, the young woman takes her hand from the edges of her wallet. “Fine. Okay.” 

“Okay. Three weeks,” the man reminds her, a little smile playing over the plush of his mouth.

The world of ceramics is oddly pornographic, Y/N decides. But maybe clay isn’t innately erotic. Maybe it’s the way the man’s fingertips mold its shape, the way his digits look soaked in slip, the way his hands cradle over it as a wheel spins under his ducked stature. Maybe it’s the way his jade irises flit to her face when he makes an educational comment that’s obviously suggestive, Maybe it doesn’t have to do with clay, at all. Maybe it’s Harry.  

Maybe it’s the way he tells her, “If I were you, I wouldn’t miss it. Glazing is my favorite part.”

[enden-k]

would you ever be interested in making a tutorial on how to draw lycaon? i've admittedly never drawn anything furry or anime style before and i really want to learn how to draw lycaon

your art style is very beautiful btw and i absolutely adore all of your lycawise art as well <3

im not rlly good at these but i can try ......

for how to draw anthro/furry i suggest looking for actual furry artists, they would be more of a help! i can only show how i draw lycaon specifically + some observations/tips

i basically just draw the same like when i draw human characters but just add the tube like shape for his snout, its like pushing nose chin area a bit forward etc. (again, for that look for furry artist to help w that, they prob have useful tips since this is more of their specialty than mine)

lycaons snout is short and nicely shapey with a strong chin. his neutral expression is a bit frowney. what helps is to look at him closely and draw these simple shapes exaggerated and then smooth them out to look more natural. also add all his floof!!! it goes over smoothly into his hair n ears, lycaon takes great care of himself and grooms himself nicely so we gotta find a good middle thing between his immaculate appearance and floofy wolf nature

idk if this was of any help but good luck!!!

[kkelsey--spring]

super quick tutorial on how i draw hair (I'm following a reference, bottom right)

establish the silhouette and hairline

2. separate it into chunks, its best to put the separating lines where the hair flow changes (ex. the top hair vs the side section)

3. draw the hair following the guidelines made, strands (details) are drawn mostly where the separating lines are

final: drawing more details + hair strands -- important to not overdo it as for my style, LESS is MORE (bcs i paint over it anyway) so i do the details in clusters (rather than filling every empty space). i tend to do two/three lines to signify hair strands

this is an extremely basic approach on how i draw hair, as mentioned, i paint over my sketches so there's no need for me to be drawing every detail, my best advice for drawing hair is to keep the basic shapes of the sections and to not draw every single hair strand there is-- this is how *i* draw hair, it's according to *my* style so i encourage you to study other artists' work that aligns with how you want to draw :D

[444you]

MADDY PEREZ UNIVERSITY 🐆

BACK TO SCHOOL SERIES PT 1

SHOWS TO BINGE

girlfriends

sex and the city

gossip girl

bratz

keeping up with the kardashians

bad girls club

CLOTHES

animal print

bodycon dresses

miss me jeans

basics

hoops

2010 styled chunky french tips

flared leggings

baby tees

platform flip flops

flower kitten heels

TWO BEAUTY SMOOTHIES RECIPES

bananas

vanilla extract

cinnamon

yogurt

OR

grapefruit

cherries

milk

vanilla extract

MAKEUP TUTORIALS

highlight, gloss, mascara, lip tint for a simpler look

RANDOM BEAUTY TIPS

vanilla extract behind your ears and neck

hair glitter

eos lotions

get perfume oils at beauty supply stores

(cheaper, last longer, smell better)

highlights to spice your hair up

or dye it jet black so it looks shiner

[ch6sos]

a/n: this is mainly for black gender neutral readers or those with coily/curly hair but anyone can read :)

Whenever Kento wants to learn something new, he devotes his entire time to it. No, seriously. People around him often ask how he manages to master so many skills, or they gape in awe when they see him in action, because it always looks like he’s a natural. But the truth is, Kento practices—endlessly.

Take cooking, for example. He wasn’t always good at it. His parents were the first to teach him about the importance of basic household skills—especially cooking. They told him, "If you want to survive in the real world, you need to know how to take care of yourself, and cooking is essential."

But his first attempts weren’t smooth at all. He didn’t master stegt flæsk on the first try, nor could he bake the perfect rye bread, or make udon from scratch. In fact, when he first attempted cooking, even the boxed mac and cheese stuck to the pan.

Frustrated but determined, Kento began watching his family closely. He'd observe his mother in the kitchen, occasionally passing her ingredients or awkwardly chopping vegetables. He read cookbooks, borrowed recipes from his grandmother—learning both Japanese and Danish dishes, and followed each step carefully—getting the right ingredients, measurements, and temperatures just right.

That’s how Kento approached every skill he became interested in—whether it was fencing, archery, learning to play the violin, or pottery. He would buy all the necessary equipment, immerse himself in content about it, and fixate on it until he was satisfied with his skill level—like a Sim locked into a single task.

So, when Kento started dating someone with coily hair, he applied the same method.

He noticed how much time they spent on their hair—the hours dedicated to braiding, curling, and washing. He wasn’t the type of partner to just sit back and watch, especially when they were feeling tired.

He went into research mode: watching videos, reading articles, and practicing. Whenever he had time off from work, he’d be on his couch, blue light glasses perched on his nose, eyes glued to YouTube tutorials explaining how to care for coily hair—the products to use, the best protective hairstyles, and the time required for proper maintenance.

He’d search on his Samsung, scrolling through article after article written by people with coily hair, trying to understand how he could help make their routine a bit easier.

One day, his partner caught him with a mannequin head in his lap, his legs crossed on the couch, glasses slipping down his nose, fingers moving as he tried to braid from the scalp down. His brows were furrowed in concentration, teeth gnawing on his bottom lip.

“Kento, what are you doing?” they chuckled, glancing at the mannequin on his lap.

He let out a small huff, not annoyed but a little sheepish. “I’m trying to learn how to braid, or at least take care of hair.”

They laughed softly, seeing his frustration as he undid yet another braid that wasn’t quite right. “Why don’t you practice on me?”

“I don’t want to ruin your hair,” he replied, frowning as he started over again, still a bit clumsy but improving.

“I’ll teach you,” they offered, amusement in their voice, touched by how much he wanted to get it right.

Kento’s eyes lit up in excitement, as if he’d forgotten that watching them take care of their own hair was the best lesson he could get. "That’d be great," he said with a lazy grin, pushing his glasses up.

For the next few weeks, they taught him everything—how they followed their daily hair routine, how they carefully braided and styled their hair, and how long it took to recreate certain looks. Kento watched intently, always hesitating before touching their hair, afraid he might mess something up. But with gentle encouragement, he grew more confident.

Eventually, he learned enough to help out. On days when they were tired, Kento would sit them down, placing pillows beneath them, and take over. He’d part their hair with a comb, splitting it into neat sections, his hands gentle as he worked, always mindful not to tug too hard. They’d both watch a silly reality show on TV while he braided or styled their hair.

He even learned how to wash it delicately, stepping into the shower with them to help massage their scalp and rinse out the conditioner. He bought the right products, ensuring they always had what they needed. Sometimes, he’d try new hairstyles on them—ones even they hadn’t thought of—just to keep things interesting.

For Kento, it wasn’t just about learning a new skill. He loved spending that quality time together, knowing that every effort he made to help them made a difference. And in those quiet, intimate moments, he felt truly happy.

[tesseractrave]

Any tips/tricks for people who are starting to draw Egon or any of the ghostbusters?

The key to capturing the likeness of an individual character in your art is identifying features and proportions. Just like how general stylization or exaggeration of art can't be achieved without knowing the basic fundamentals of it (the "you've got to know the rules to break them" deal), you can also study the fundamentals in specific character's appearances to capture likeness and differentiate between them!

It really just comes down to studying them and their individual features and figuring out how to translate them into your style. I'll use Egon as an example in a little tutorial/rundown on that below the cut:

I've made this mostly unstylized study of his (Harold Ramis's) real proportions and features so we can learn the rules before we break them.

(If you guys want me to make a study like this for the other three, I can! :])

First, I identify the character's foundational shape to assist in stylization. Egon has very rectangular shapes in his appearance.

(For the other Ghostbusters, I'd say Winston is diamonds, Ray is circles, and Peter is squares.)

Then, we spot the most defining facial traits to help us out. For Egon:

Tall face

High-angled jaw

Squared forehead

Long, hooked nose with high nostrils

Flat, thin lips

Small, dark, deep-set and downturned eyes

High-arched eyebrows with low ends

Things like moles, freckles, dimples, and wrinkles can also help a lot as either just features or to convey age. Egon, for instance, has dimples when he smiles! :)

You can add whatever other creases and scrunches you deem necessary. I personally also enjoy the undereye crease for that "mature" flare.

Things like hair and accessories can be included as "identifying features," but they're two of the very few things we can easily change about our face, so unless it's essential for identifying the character (like it is for a lot of anime styles) or you're planning on never drawing them in situations where they don't have them, try not to use them as a crutch!

(I say this because I tend to draw Egon with his hair messed up or without his glasses, and I like him to still be recognizable.)

My style tends to simplify curves and angles to create a more interesting silhouette, and I emphasize and exaggerate features and apply a lot of shape language, but I do my best not to lose the identifying traits that make the character look like themselves.

It's sort of a balancing act, and it's never perfect (people's faces are squishy and can look slightly different from angle to angle and depending on what facial muscles are being used) but I hope this at least helped a little bit!

[redslug]

Coloring tutorial I guess

That's my most default shading style, a hybrid of line drawing and painted shadows, and I'll tell you exactly how to get this look. But before we start, you need a weapon This is my main brush for basically anything, including line art on days when I don't feel like switching to something actually intended for inking. It's a lightly textured square brush with color variation on every stamp. Intended for Procreate but you can always just rip the alpha texture out of the file and use it for a brush in any drawing program. That out of the way, let's go. I'll use the same line art as the one in fluff tutorial. Set the line layer to ~60 or so opacity and get to blocking in the base colors of your character. The jitter brush will introduce some color variation on it's own, but changing the color occasionally will add more visual interest.

After this I add a multiply layer on top and dab orange or red in places where we might be able to see the base of the hairs or peek at the carapace underneath.

It's places where hair parts and where it's shorter. This accent color works great on joints as well. Example of the thing I'm going for in real life:

Especially visible behind the head. It's not present on every moth to be fair, but I like to add these accents even where it wouldn't make sense, just because it looks nice. Even on insects without hair. Block in the eyes and mandibles now, best if it's on separate layer.

Now, the actual funny tricks begin. If you're one of the people who only use multiply or add blend modes, stop it, get some help Understanding the math behind blend modes is gonna get you a long way. My lineart is set to subtract more often than not. I find it produces juicier and more colorful results than multiply. I want to give this picture a warm orange feeling, so the color of my lines should be the opposite - blue.

And, subtract.

Perfect, but not quite. We can push the lines to an even softer feeling. Take the line layer, copy it, invert the color and set to multiply. I then throw gaussian blur on the resulting copy and reduce opacity until the lines bleed into the surroundings just a little bit.

On to actual shading. People who shade without getting in some background first scare me, so let me throw something together real quick.

A simple gradient will also suffice for this use. We just need some information on which colors are present in the surroundings. Copy your background, bring it on top of your character layers and gaussian blur it real hard. Set it to multiply, remove all parts of the layer that go beyond the pixels of the base color layer. Adjust opacity until the character fits in the background.

Let's identify the light sources. In this case it's only the sky, but it produces two distinct colors - soft blue lighting comes from the top, slightly stronger red comes from behind. The blue light I set to exclusion blend mode because it felt most appropriate in this case. Both add and screen looked too strong to be the light coming from such dark sky.

In this lighting context the lower part of the body will receive less light that the upper part. I use the green of the bushes set to multiply to darken the bottom.

The character is surrounded by all kinds of soft light, but it can't get everywhere. It's time to add ambient occlusion, or contact shadows, for those without a 3d background. Anywhere where there is a crevice or surfaces almost touch, a soft shadow will form.

I do it on a multiply layer with a neutral gray-green color. Gray because any color light isn't really getting in there and green because the fluff is somewhat transparent and whatever light does pass through it gains a greenish hue.

Last step, red rim light from the fading sunset behind the character.

Since it's rim light I just work with normal blending mode. Setting it to add or something of the sort would make the rim light brighter than the source of the light. And it'd be odd.

And that's it. I usually throw on some post processing in Snapseed. Pull some curves, throw on a bit of grain, etc. But it's a topic for another time.

In conclusion, try to think about the environment more when shading. What route does light go through to reach where you're coloring? Did it reflect off of any colored surface? Did it pass through something transparent to gain a different hue? What color shadow would this ambient lighting produce? Go have fun with your colors now.

[seven-re]

Day 12 | Day 13 | Day 14

So I don't really wanna focus on coloring yet. I watched one tutorial on the back (specifically, the scapula itself) but I'll need to watch a couple more, this drawing is very similar to a sketch I did back in 2020, which is nice for comparison.

I struggled the most with the side and visible part of the pecs that were in the reference. Mainly because I think Leon's shoulders are broader? So it made things difficult. I also could have just opened RE6 and check his shoulders from this angle lmao. Too late now.

Also, something I really have fun with doing is the hair in my style. I first throw the basic placement of the lights and shadows under the linework, and then, make a layer on top of the lines and add the details more carefully. I wasn't too focused on coloring today but it makes a big difference still!

[dolly-gutzz]

Hunter Sylvester x fem!reader

what it’s like dating Hunter Sylvester

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

Will drill you on metal knowledge cuz it’s his hyperfixation

like you will know just as much as he does by like the second week of dating

height difference go brrrrr

fore head kisses go crazy

is a softie but doesn’t want to be

like will beg for cuddles, cuddle you and then halfway through cuddling, will gain conciseness and push you away

(then he’ll feel rlly bad and cuddle you ten times harder)

sleepovers 🔛🔝‼️

he has such a huge and beautiful house that you insist on staying there 24/7

I mean he has all the good snacks and such a comfy bed, why wouldn’t you want to stay over for eternity??

night long car rides!!

Omg I can just imagine driving at night in like a downtown area and just talking about life and your future together

then you guys make out in his car

speaking of make outs, he does not know how to do that when you guys first start dating

like pretty boys clueless

you teach him the littlest amount of basic info

omg I can just see him like being a nerd a writing down all of the stuff your saying 😭😭

He’s literally like 🤓✍️

Sitting in at band seshes

you and Emily are besties

helping him write his songs

(there are like fifteen songs he’s written about you)

sitting on his lap whilst he writes songs

or sitting on his lap while watching movies

or sitting on his lap while in band practice

just sitting on his lap‼️‼️

braiding his hair !!

you search up YouTube tutorials in how to do different types of braids and hair styles

and if you have long hair then he can braid yours

also!! As a black curly hair girly I have this thing where I think that he doesn’t like people touching his hair, just like us curly haired people don’t like people touching our hair

so I think that if the reader has curly hair, then you guys both have mutual understanding on people violating your personal space and touching you hair, which not only brings you together but also helps you guys feel safe with one another

omg sorry for the rant lmao

Anyways

romcoms

I think he totally digs them but acts like he doesn’t

his fav romcom is ten things I hate about you

do you guys see the vision cuz I see the vision

he wants to be your Patrick and you are this kat

omg i just had a thought

what if he made a metal cover of can't take my eyes off of you 😭😭😭

DO YIU GUYS SEE THE VISION PLS TELL ME YOU SEE THE VISION

Halloween!!

you are nina the killer and he’s either Jeff the killer or Nina’s canon bf eyeless Jack ( creepypasta fandom unite!!!)

he want to stay in a watch horror movie but you want to go trick or treating

he gives and you both go trick or treating

he hates Christmas I cna feel it in my bones

bur if you love Christmas he will do a complete 180 and act like he enjoys it just a little bit

will loathe your celebrity crush with his entire soul heart and bones

like he will wish death upon them

and your all like “hunter it’s not like I’m gonna date Louis partridge he’s dating Olivia Rodrigo” and he’s all like “good cuz he can’t have you 😠😠”

has a crush on Elvira

I think that’s all the headcanonna I have in me 💀💀

[jovial-thunder]

Downtimes, module editor, water temple

Happy summer! There's smoke in Portland but it's not too bad. Bless firefighters. Work on Lancer Tactics continues apace.

This month has been mostly focused on the largest heretofore-untouched section of the game: downtimes and the module editor for designing the sequences between combats. We're not planning on doing anything particularly innovative or new in its design — if you've played Banner Saga, Fire Emblem (gameboy versions), or Rogue Squadron you'll recognize what's going on here.

Repair, level up, have visual-novel-style conversations with companions, do some light choose-your-own-adventuring, and pick & launch the next combat. All pretty standard downtime fare — games have pretty thoroughly explored these patterns as vehicles for narrative at this point.

The unique thing that Lancer Tactics is offering on this front is an editor to make your own entire campaigns. Classic games like Warcraft or Age of Empires had incredible scenario editors, but making anything more than a one-mission map was solely the domain of modders. Over the last few weeks, we've gotten a full basically-visual-novel-editor working ingame where you can orchestrate NPC story arcs, clocks ticking, branching paths, and triggered events for all the stuff that happens between combats.

All of the campaigns we ship with the game are going to be made with these same editors, which'll force us to really make sure that they're solid tools. I think it'd be very funny to someday see someone like completely ignore all the mech stuff and just make a visual novel in this engine.

There's no new preview game build this month because adding this big section of the game means too many things are under construction. I'm happy with how fast we've been able to get this going, but making ingame editors is a lot of unglamorous UI piping and data refactoring work. Fingers crossed that it'll come together enough that we'll be able to get the first version of this editor in your hands in time for the next update

Other Changelogs

Carpenter has started re-making the tutorial level from the demo in this new engine, which is pushing us to add a bunch of stuff to the combat editor. I added triggers for playing arbitrary effects on the map, moving the camera, storing arbitrary data to the battle/module states, enabling/disabling/triggering other triggers, AND/OR conditions, and putting execution limits on triggers.

Triggers can highlight UI or actions (so it can be like "use the boost to get through!" and the boost button becomes all shiny)

New "camera start" zone type

Added a "hotspot" zone type that has a little floating title, and plastered the names of other zones on the map (visual style stolen from some Foundry VTT modules)

Added water, whose level can be set via the editor or triggers.

Added unmounted pilots who can mount up into Shut Down mechs. We continue to plan to not have pilot combat be a part of the core game, but it'll be useful for scenario or scripted sequences.

Added activation pips and template icons to the mini healthbar on units.

A bunch more portrait editor assets from Martina, including facial hair. Here's a check Carpenter did where he tried to recreate some official Lancer art ingame. ✨

Schedule update

Taking a look at our original date for the "bones" of the game ("finishing the battle engine, basic character creation, 2 mechs per manufacturer, and an a 'instant action' mode"), we estimated being able to get it done by the end of November. The emotional milestone for me on this front is getting the game to a complete enough state that I feel OK about swapping it in on the itch.io page.

I've been saying that the 3D cataclysm has pushed us back back about 3 months, and I think that's still holding true. Carpenter and I haven't officially made the call yet, but I think it's likely we'll need that time to port more mech content; here's a graph they made that shows about where we're sitting on the PC and NPC mechs for the "bones" target in terms of mechanics and action icon/sprite. 

(This data is pulled from a big table they made that includes ALL talents/gear/traits where we've been marking things off as we've implemented them. Very handy for tracking where we are.)

That's all for now. Tata!

[nogenderbee]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕕𝕒𝕥𝕖? 𝕆𝕦𝕣 𝕕𝕒𝕥𝕖?! ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩��₊˚ anon request: hiii!!!! hru? i have a little bit specific request, hope thats ok!!!

idk if u know the translation from the song “karakuri pierrot” by miku, but basically shes gettin dumped cuz her crush left her waiting on the date and never came 😭

id like to request smth based on this song with fantasista squad, like, they forgot abt the date and then theyre like😨😨😨😨((a happy ending would be appreciated <3

sorry if its too much, if it bothers you just ignore this LMAOAAOAO😭😭😭

anyways ty and bye!🤍

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Hii! I'm sorry but u don't do songfics but it still sounded interesting so I just based it on your description! Hope it's alright!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fluff

Affiliation with @virtualbookstore

"What the hell is wrong with this strand..."

Akito muttered to himself as he tried styling his hair a bit more elegantly. He had a date at a restaurant with you today and he prefered to look properly on it.

He was fully focused on his hair, getting a bit annoyed... he let our so many curses, even Ena came to his room and gave him instecutions just so he could shut up! But despite her tips... he had that one annoying hair strand that he couldn't get a hang of...

He finally decided to just look up some tutorials on internet, when he noticed the time... it was half an hour after the time you agreed to meet! And the amount of messages he got from you only told him how pissed you could be now...

He decided to drop his tries at calming the strand and just get to you as soon as he could, hoping that you were still there... you didn't leave this place yet, right? At least you haven't texted him about it...

He tried not to run to not sweat in his suit, so he settled on quick walk. When he arrived he noticed you getting up from a bench, clearly disappointed and about to leave, and he couldn't blame you for it...

"I'm sorry... I... I had a little problem."

He points at his hair strand as soon as he walked up to you, and you couldn't help but chuckle. He was dressed formally but that strand was ruining everything about this style!

"Hehe~ You really did. You could've asked me, I would've helped you..."

"I guess I will next time... you look beautiful, thank you for waiting for me... let's catch up, alright? My treat. And we can go to mall after it..."

You knew how much he hated going to mall, and now he didn't even said anything about not caring your bags so maybe he will? He really looked like he wasn't lying so... might as well forgive him for this one time situation, right?

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@bleachtheidiot @akitosheart @yulikesminori @toyaswif3y @miya-akane @hayillaaaaaaa - come get your pancakes lover!

Toya actually wasn't late, he'd be even 5 or 10 minutes early in this tempo so he walked calmly. It was when he was walking past some granny who was clearly struggling and he couldn't just walk past without caring...

"Excuse me, are you alright?"

And that's how it started... it turned out the older lady had a problem with getting 2 bags up to 4th floor, so of course he helped. And after he did that? She offered him some cookies, cup of coffee and even a small chat... she was so nice and chatty he couldn't just say he needs to go...

So thinking he has the time, he accepted it and didn't even realize it was half an hour that passed untill he looked at his phone, and finally excused himself.

"<I'm aware I'm running late, please wait just 10 more minutes for me, I'll be there soon and explain everything to you.>"

He texted you in a hurry as he picked up his peace and quickly walked towards location of your date.

When he finally arrived, he was just a little bit out of breath but quickly sat down next to you and as soon as he catched his breath, he explained everything to you.

And honestly, how can you even be mad at someone as pure as him? He just wanted to help person in need after all... sure, it's still 30 minutes delay but just this time, maybe he can be forgiven for that...

"And when I thought she finished telling me about her cat's story for past 15 minutes, it turned out she had 3 more cats..."

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@bleachtheidiot @akitosheart @yulikesminori @toyaswif3y @miya-akane @toyaslove @bl4cktourmaline @infernoram - come get your cookie lover!

It may be a simple date, but for Tsukasa? It was big event and he had to look dazzling! He didn't care if he was rejecting 5th outfit by now nor did he about passing time... he thought he still had time and continued looking for perfect outfit for your date!

And when he finally found it... the perfect outfit! He finally reached for his phone but froze upon seeing the time... he was 1,5 hours late already and had around 17 unread messages from you!!

"<Y'know what? Fine. I'm going home. Thanks for nothing.>"

"<I'M SORRY PLEASE DON'T LEAVE YET>"

"<Too bad, I'm already home since HALF AN HOUR>"

He could feel his heart sinking and he knew all of that is his fault alone. So he got up quickly and ran straight towards your house.

After around 10 minutes since Tsukasa's text, you heard a knock on your door, so you of course went to open, just for flowers and chocolates to be showed into your face when you did.

"Please forgive me... I wanted to look my best and... I had hard time deciding..."

"You're always looking your best... you could've just came..."

"I know, I should. And I'm really sorry that I didn't! Please let me take you out on a date... this time I'll be an hour early."

He had desperate look in his eyes as he tried to convince you to give him just one last chance... but whether you give him this chance or not, is only up to you! I mean... he does assure you plenty of times to set multiple alarms next time just in case... maybe he'll indeed do better from now on?

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@bleachtheidiot @akitosheart @bad-the-an-enjoyer @yulikesminori @alicewinterway18 @nenes-numberonefan - come get your future star~

Rui hummed gentle tune to himself while he was working on a robot. He was fully focused but he forgot to mute his phone... so he kept hearing notifications in the background but ignored it, thinking it's Tsukasa having spider under his bed again... and that could wait a little bit~

But when notifications became too much, he finally checked it and his face immidietly turned to pure shock and nervousness when he noticed it's his partner... and it hit him, he forgot about the date! He quickly opened your texts and rushes to respond while he got dressed.

"<We can cancel it I guess...>"

"<Nononono!! I'm coming now, I'm so sorry for making you wait! Please give me 5 more minutes, I promise to run!>"

At this point, he was panicking, he just grabbed essential things and of course little gift he prepared for you, and ran out of his house.

When he arrives, you were just sitting on a bench with head in your hands, obviously disappointed and it was obvious he hurt your feelings. Seeing that, he immidietly rushed to you and wrapped his arms around you and caressing your back.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... It won't happen again, I promise..."

He could only wrap his arms around you tighter and he tried fighting the tears himself, realization of him driving you to this point finally hitting him. But now, he'll do his best to catch up for his mistake and make this date one to remember.

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@bleachtheidiot @akitosheart @yulikesminori @toyaswif3y @bl4cktourmaline @infernoram @superstar-ethereal - come get your crazy inventor~

[strayflowersstarsandlove]

Cherry blossom (hwanghyunjin)

You were so so excited for the festival you had started planning your outfit and your hair and makeup weeks prior, basically the moment that sweetheart of your boyfriend Hyunjin surprised you with tickets.

Some of your favorite artists where headlining and the weather forecast promised sunshine and mild, breezy temperatures which was just ideal considering you were going to be dancing and jumping and walking around all day and well into nightime, everything was just so great and promising.

Except you had woken up with an extensive breakout right across your cheeks. Hormonal acne was nothing new to you, you had been struggling with it on and off ever since you were a teenager and though a good skin care regime and being on the pill had over all helped improving the condition, sometimes your hormones just decided to be annoying and cause your skin to break out at the most random and most inappropriate times, today, the very early morning of the festival being one of those more inconvenient times.

You had taken your time waking up extra early and busying yourself with doing your hair and putting on your outfit first, trying to remain positive and looking up makeup tutorials on how to minimize skin texture and redness while you were spritzing leave in conditioner on the ends of your beachy waves. But eventually you had to start putting on your makeup and that's when all the positivity and good spirits flew out the window.

No matter how many layers of powder you had put underneath your foundation or how carefully you had tried to spot conceal, those pesky little zits were still very visible and very obvious on your face, and you just hated how they disrupted the appearance of your blush and highlighter, you looked rough and cakey and looking at your face  in the mirror so up close for a prolonged amount of time had started making you feel miserable.

You frown at the your very last attempt at covering up the irritated skin with green concealer layered underneath a peachy colored one and sigh frustratedly when it results in just a muddy smudgy mess that only enhances the texture of your pores, "I can't. I give up, I freaking can't", you bark, throwing your brush accross your vanity table only to watch it roll down the surface and fall to the floor.

"Darling have you seen my Versace black and gold cap?", Hyunjin pads quietly into your shared room, looking around rather confusedly, searching for his cap all around the place and stopping abruptly when he sees you crumpled on your chair with a sad look in your eyes and your mascara tears stained cheeks glowing with shimmering highlighter, "what happened?", he asks calmly, bending down on his knees so he's eye level with you.

"I can't go out looking like this, Jinnie", you mumble and he tilts his head to the side, his signature sweet smile gracing his lips when he hears your cute disgruntled voice, "you can't? I thought Euphoria style make up looks were all the rage! Aren't grungy glittery tears trendy these days?", you force yourself to smile just because he's clearly trying his best to make you feel better in the first place but still gently shake your head no," I meant that I can't show my face all covered in acne like this. I feel hienous", you confess, already feeling your eyes swelling up with big, watery teardrops as you cover your mouth with your hand, a loud sob managing to escape the barrier anyway.

Hyunjin sits on the bed before you, he pats your head repeatedly, letting you cry it all out while he subtly, silently tries to comfort you, his heart feeling increasingly heavy with your every sob.

In a split second he just scrambles from the bed and decides he can't take it anymore so he just envelopes you in his arms, "it's okay y/n, it's okay",he mumbles again and again and you can tell his sensitive soul is breaking for you, you can hear it in his shaky voice and the way his palms open wide and flat on your back, the way he holds you and rests his chin above your head, sniffling ever so lightly so you don't notice too much.

You two stay like that until you fully calm down, your face now a reddened blotchy mess, your eyes intensely shiny and a little swollen, Hyunjin carefully brushes your hair back and then uses his fingertips to dab away the fresh tears pooling at the corners of your eyes, his thumbs and pointer fingers tapping your cheeks until they're dry and mostly make up free, "I'm sorry you can't see what I see, but I think you're beautiful, I don't care about your little spots, I don't see them as a problem, honestly", he says earnestly, squinting his pretty eyes at you in that soft, endearing way you absolutely adore him for.

You quietly thank him and squeeze his hand, still sniffling a little bit, "I'm not... I'm not usually too bothered. This is all so silly, It's just - it's just that I wanted everything to be perfect, I wanted to feel free and happy and just enjoy our time at the festival without worrying about a thing but now I'm afraid everyone will look at me and make fun of my face".

"Screw them. Screw them, jagi. If they make fun of you for the way you look it only means they have very empty, miserable lives", Hyunjin grabs a few tissues and make up wipes and gently swipes them accross your face, not even flinching when he sees the angry skin finally poking through the layers upon layers of makeup, "we are going to the festival and you're going to feel so good, so so good I promise, acne is going to be the last thing on your mind. I'm not letting you miss out on all the fun just because you got a few spots overnight",he adds then.

He then pulls your chair forward and inserts your legs in between his so he can keep you still while he gently reapplies foundation on your cheeks and then dabs it with a make up sponge. You relax underneath his touch, him being a skilled artist makes you instantly trust his eye as his excitedly swatches a few of your blushes on the back of your hand so he can choose the best one.

You quietly sit there, smiling every once in a while when you see his concentrated expression up close while he patiently reapplies your make up for you. "Do you have any glitter? Any color, but I'd prefer if it was silvery or golden", he asks after a little while, rummaging through your vanity drawers, "I think I might have something in my beauty bag. Here", you hand him a little purse with a limited collection of colorful makeup and he takes out a little tub of silver loose chunky glitter.

"I have to put on so much makeup for work, cause I have to cover up all the signs of tiredness and exhaustion but sometimes it really does make me feel pretty, I think it helps me feel free", Hyunjin comments in a low, whspery voice, "my makeup artist once told me that makeup can't make miracles happen but it can be wonderful, and sometimes where it cannot conceal, it can make soemthing unwanted ... into something purposeful",he finishes, and with that he also puts down the brush he's been tapping on your cheeks, you see little speckles of silver floating in the air for a second.

And then Hyunjin turns your chair around so you're now facing the mirror: your reflection staring back at you barely looks real. Your cheeks are painted with vibrant cherry blossom pink that fades into a paler, toned down baby pink and white, highlited in white iridescent shimmer and dotted in a bunch of silver glitter that either covers your spots or sits right above them, the colorful sparkly blush and highlighter mix climbing up your cheekbones and fading into the crease of your eyelids sprinkled with the same glitter as well so that it looks cohesive.

You look stunning. You look like the art he paints.

Your first instinct is to physically throw yourself at him, engulfing him in the biggest hug as he giggles loudly and helps you settle onto his lap, "you like it?", he asks, smiling shyly, "like it!? JINNIE I LOVE It", you  scream excitedly, "you made me look like art, like one of your beautiful paintings", you whisper, and he smiles adorably, a little dimple creasing his cheek as he cups your face, "yeah that was the point! Now you see yourself like I see you!", he says softly and the look in his eyes his so tender you feel your insides quickly turning to putty,.

"Hyunjin you are an all rounder artist. You dance, you sing, you rap, you write songs, you paint, you draw, you take pictures, you play the piano, you even do makeup! Beautifully at that too! Is there anything you can't do?", you tease, lacing your arm around his neck, your fingers immediately tangling in his luscious dark locks as he pouts," I could improve at teaching you how to feel more confident", he replies nonchalantly, playing with one of the framing pieces of hair around your face, "but that's okay, we've got time. We've got all the time", he adds in a even gentler, tone, almost speaking under his breath as his eyes go dreamy just picturing you as his forever person.