#brief box

[art-by-poindexter]

Brand packaging mock-ups for an established alcoholic drink company that is venturing into non-alcoholic beverages. The four values of Mixed Up Drinks Co. are "Great times. Good people. Always Share. Better Together."

The product design is focused on bold colors, geometric lines and shapes, and simple patterns.

This digital design brief was found on the BRIEFBOX, where artists can find design prompts to hone their skills and expand their portfolios.

Programs Used: Adobe Photoshop; Adobe Illustrator (Creative Cloud)

Fonts: Righteous, Bebas Neue (Google Fonts)

[himboculture2]

[olinblogin]

Nervously shuffling in (/silly)

Can I request Salo from Arcane x reader (gn or masc) where reader was basically like a right hand/assistant for him before the events of S2, and now they're by his side like 24/7? Basically just being the one to look after him the most and trying to get him to have a better attitude about life/himself following the accident that lead to him needing a wheelchair

˚✧༚ SELF LOVE ˚✧༚

˗ˏˋ♡ ~SALO X GN/M!READER~ ♡´ˎ˗

contents: sorta fluff, POSSIBLE S2 SPOILERS, slight angst???, PROBABLY OOC IM SORRY, brief mentions of gory stuff

•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•

When you were accepted to work as an assistant for one of the Councilmen of the Piltover University, you were absolutely thrilled.

You were assigned to work for Salo, be by his side almost 24/7.

With the time you got to know him, you deduced that he was snippy, a bit arrogant… sort of stupid too— at least when he tried a bag of nuts to Torman Hoskei, to which he was allergic to…

Despite it all, he was kind to you… almost sweet.

But when you found him, legs mangled under rubble from an attack, it only seemed to go downhill from there. There was so much blood.

Salo was restrained to a wheelchair, needing your assistance to get around the Academy—with all the stairs and lack of disability aids, it’s was severely difficult.

He also grew colder, he’d snap at you easier… you’ve made progress on that and he doesn’t snap at you anymore. Cant say the same for the rest of the Councilmen.

•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•

Pushing Salo’s wheelchair through the crowded streets of Piltover, you found yourself giving dirty glares to people who only moved out of the way last second and tripped up on Salo’s wheelchair.

“Such incompetence for those without able-bodies…” he muttered with a sneer.

You frowned and looked at him while maneuvering him over a pothole. “Yes… that’s true. Perhaps we need to have a meeting to install mobility aids—“

“No,” Salo quickly snapped back. “It isn’t necessary. At least not for the likes of me. As long as you’re here with me, I can get by just fine.” He mumbled, jostling about a little bit when the terrain changed.

Your face only saddened at his words. Ever since in this wheelchair, he’s been so self deprecating. It’s painful to see.

•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•

Once at the building Salo had been visiting recently, you entered and dropped him off in the room he usually visits, waiting outside.

You watched as Lest walked by, smiling up at the tall, feline woman. “Evening, Lest.” You greeted with a kind smile.

“Good evening, [Y/N]… today’s appointment won’t take long. Only about 20 or so minutes.” Lest smiled and spoke kindly while opening the door, and leaving you in the hall.

You were so deathly curious as to why he came here so often. What he and Lest did… it made you realize how little you also knew of Lest. She was a kind, fair woman however… so you couldn’t complain.

Once Lest exited later on, you two shared your goodbyes.

Usually Salo would tell you to wait for a long time outside the room after Lest left and called you in… but… you needed to see.

As you opened the door you stiffened slightly at the sight before you: Salo lying on the couch in nothing but his briefs with a blissful expression, markings painted on his body in a faded purple hue.

“Salo?” You called out quietly and closed the door, locking it, so nobody could come in.

Salo lazily turned his head to you, his eyes clouded with bliss. “Mmh. Hey there, [Y/N]. I thought I told you to… stay out in the place-…” he mumbled and stumbled over his words, forgetting some.

“The hallway? Yeah, I know…” you hummed and crouched next to him by the couch. “Why are you doing this.” You glowered at him, eyebrows knitted with anger. “I thought you said you hated shimmer.”

Salo traced his finger along the linings of the couch seams. “I changed my mind… it helps—“

Salo’s head was suddenly snapped to the side, a slap echoing across the room as the back of your hand made contact with his cheek. That seemed to sober him up extremely fast.

You reeled back slightly with shock of what you had just done. “My apologies, sir…” you stepped back with a hint of timidness.

“No—“ Salo propped himself up on his elbow. “I..- you’re right.” His eyes lowered… before he quickly covered his lower body with the blanket draped across the top of the couch. “It makes me feel something for once. Especially in my legs.”

You frowned and hooked your arm around his legs and wrapped one around his waist too, pulling him into his wheelchair since he was still too inebriated to move on his own. “Let’s get you back home… and get you sobered up. We’ll talk when you’re in the right mind.” You sighed as he clumsily got into his clothes.

•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•·.·''·.·•

Once you finally got Salo home, he was pretty sobered up alright, but you could tell there were still lingering effects of the shimmer.

As he was sat at his desk, doing his paperwork, he kept looking at you, his expression a bit insecure.

“Salo… what’s with that face. You only have that face when somethings eating you up.” You scolded knowingly.

It made him shy away slightly before leaning back and looking up at you. “Thank you…- for earlier, I mean. You made me come to my senses…” he muttered that last part, fingers slightly gliding over his cheek as he felt the sting of your slap.

He never realized how strong of a hand you had.

You came up close to him, your face close to his… “You act smart… but you’re such a dimwit.” You huffed. “Don’t do that shit again, because I’ll snack you upside the head next time.” You poked his forehead playfully.

The space between you two closed as your lips met. Salo wrapped his arms around your neck, while you carded through his gracious blonde hair.

You pulled away, your noses were pressed together at the bridges. “I won’t… you have my promise.” Salo mused quietly, enjoying your embrace.

[fksexymen]

[violentlydefending]

[hotboxerdude]

[winke1]

[trumanblacks]

[abby-howard]

You have to look at these

[himboculture2]

[fksexymen]

[olinblogin]

Hey! :D

I'm not sure if you take any requests or not so feel free to ignore if not.

But can you maybe do like Platonic Yandere Strawhats with Fem!Y/n?

YES ABSOLUTELY RAGHHHHHHH!!!

(WARNINGS; EXTREMELY SHORT, BROEF MENTIONS OF DEATH)

A day just like any other on the Thousand Sunny,

Bright, warm; a bit loud from your fellow crew mates, but who were you to complain.

“[Y/N], come play with us! We need another player for hide and seek!” Chopper bounced up and down as he said that, you smiled and nodded. “I’m coming Tony, don’t worry.” You smiled.

When Luffy had declared he’d recruited you, you watched him beat down everyone with his fist who would try to get in his way to do so. He was so determined to be your friend, as was everyone else.

You’d witness first hand that they would all commit a massacre in your name. Even Nico Robin, the most calm, collected, and understanding of the crew would do so.

But you felt comfortable with that. It made you feel like you’re eye worth something.

A day just like any other on the Thousand Sunny,

Where you were safe at home.

[flowersarefreetherapy]

Hot&Dumb: Stay, I Pray You

CW: sexually degrading language, negative self-talk, grief, romanticization of an abusive relationship, verbal abuse, death threats, negative view of aging, dehumanization, unhealthy relationships, begging, it as a pronoun, brief violence

Angelina and Andrew argue again, a nightly occurrence at this point. Their voices are muffled behind the thick study door, but Cameron knows what they are fighting about.

Him.

He curls in the corner of the living room, staring blankly at the large TV. Some children’s show. All bright colors and cheesy jokes. Emmaleigh isn’t even watching, her attention taken by a game on her iPad. She’s barely paid attention to him since her parents brought him home after a long day of meeting with lawyers. Something about his master’s will and where Cameron was supposed to be placed.

Nowhere. He had sat in the study as the North family lawyer read over the will three times, only to tell Angelina and Andrew that there is no mention of Cameron in the will.

Patrick just forgot. That’s all. I know he was planning to include me later.

Andrew storms out of the study. He glares at Cameron before sitting next to Emmaleigh. “Hey, lovely, it’s bedtime.”

“No! I’m not tired!”

“Emmaleigh-”

“She said she isn’t tired,” Angelina snaps. “Why don’t you listen to your daughter if you won’t listen to me?”

Cameron stays very still, hardly daring to breathe. The house is too warm and sweat drips down his back. They’re going to keep arguing until Emmaleigh is in bed, then past that. Neither of them will ask his opinion. It’s fine. He’s a forgotten whore who no longer has a purpose in life. He does not have opinions or thoughts or hopes. He’s nothing. Nobody. Not even human.

My body is not my own. My-my body belongs . . . my body belongs to my master. I don’t have a master. My body belongs to . . . my body belongs to . . . who do I belong to?

Lisa slips into the room, hardly making a sound as she scoops Emmaleigh up. Emmaleigh barely notices her, still engrossed in her game. Lisa’s gaze briefly meets Cameron’s and her lip curls in disgust she doesn’t bother to hide. She never has. She hates him just like all the other Pets he’s met. None of them like him, none of them want to be with him, none of them talk to him. Their stubbing hurts worse than anything else. After all he has gone through, he just wants someone who understands.

The tip of his nose burns and Cameron drops his gaze. Sharp nails dig under his chin, forcing his head up. Angelina’s nose scrunches and she rolls her eyes.

“Tears? Really?”

“S-sorry, mistress,” Cameron whispers. His knees start to ache. “Sorry, I-I’m sorry.”

“Pathetic. Honestly, I’m glad Father never included you in the will. No one wants to take care of a used whore.”

Andrew laughs. “An expensive used whore too. Did you see how much your father spent on it? I found the original WRU paperwork and your father spent nearly three million on this slut. Looks, custom training, mannerisms—it’s basically a made-to-order sex doll.”

Heat rushes hot up Cameron’s neck. Of course he knew he was special, the handlers made sure of that, but those numbers seem far too much, given how Andrew said them.

Not as if any of that matters now. He’s still dead and you’re still useless.

“My father still had the WRU paperwork?” Angelina asks. She steps away from Cameron and a chill runs down his spine. “All of it?”

Andrew nods. “I guess so. I found it yesterday when I was going through some of his things with the lawyer. Why?”

“You know how we were trying to figure out what to do with it . . .?”

Cameron’s heart stops. No. No, no, no, they couldn’t! They wouldn’t! Patrick bought him to be part of the family, to be included in everything, to be loved and cared for like a partner! They can’t get rid of him!

“Oh, that would be brilliant. I don’t know if they still do refunds, but we could get some money off of it and—”

“No!” Cameron slides to the floor, kneeling on the plush carpet that does nothing to soothe his burning joints. “No, no, please, you can’t, please! I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll be so, so good! I can be better, please, just don’t send me away! Please, I can be good!”

They both stare at him, Angelina’s lip curled as she looks him up and down. Andrew rolls his eyes and pulls out his cell phone.

“I’ll call them, see if we can get an appointment for tomorrow.”

“Please!” Cameron crawls to Andrew, kneeling at his feet. “Please, no, please, I can be good! I’ll be so good, please, please, don’t send me back!”

He can’t breathe. His lungs twist around his heart and stomach, all of them plunging into the floor. His fingers are numb, curled into fists on his knees. Holding his position perfectly. The handlers said he had perfect—no, not them, he won’t go back. They’ll change their minds.

“Get away from me, pet,” Andrew snaps, shoving Cameron away. “Hello? Yes, my name is Andrew McCullin. I’m calling on behalf of my wife, Angelina North. Her father recently passed and—Yes, Patrick North. Oh? He was a donor? Yes, thank you, it was sudden. She’s doing alright, but yes, I am calling about his order. It wasn’t included in his will . . .”

Cameron turns his attention to Angelina, who sits on the couch, staring at her phone. He crawls over and kneels in front of her, tears burning down his cheeks.

“Go away,” she mutters. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Please,” he whispers. “I can watch Emmaleigh, I can learn how to cook, I can tend the gardens, I can do whatever you want from me, but please, please, don’t send me back!”

“Whatever I want from you?” Angelina puts down her phone, her dark eyes sparking. “I want you to die. I want you to stop existing. I want you to never be a part of my life again. Father made a mistake with you. He gave his best years to you instead of spending them with me and Emmaleigh!”

“I . . . I’m sorry.” What is there left to say? He can only apologize so much before the words lose all meaning, something his handlers taught him when they ignored his cries for hours. “I-I never meant to.”

Angelina scoffs. “Get out of my sight.”

Cameron hunches his shoulders, trying to make himself appear small. He widens his eyes, hoping the wrinkles around his eyes aren’t visible. He was going to get me surgery. So I didn’t look old. I-I’m going to look ugly now.

“Andrew.”

Strong fingers grip Cameron’s hair. He swallows back a cry, arching his back to try and ease some of the pain. Andrew pulls him away from Angelina and down the hallway, the carpet burning his knees as Cameron struggles to get his legs under him. Something in his knee pops and he whimpers as white-hot pain lances up his leg. Andrew doesn’t stop, throwing open the door to the basement and storming down the stairs. It smells like cleaning supplies and wine.

Andrew drags him past the pool table and home entertainment system—those are Patrick’s leather couches. Your favorite, remember?—and to a storage closet. Cameron shakes his head and tries to pull away.

“Please, please, no, no, please don’t leave me down here, please, I’ll behave, I promise, I can be good, I’ll be good, but please-”

His words cut off in a scream as his head slams against the closet door. Andrew twists his curls and Cameron chokes on a sob. He looks up at Andrew, blinking hard to clear his vision. Something drips down the side of his temple and he smells copper.

“Shut the hell up,” Andrew growls. “If you speak to me again, I’ll gut you and dump your worthless body in the dump like the trash you are. That cute little barcode guarantees that no one will come looking for your sorry ass.”

Cameron whimpers. He can’t hear anyone upstairs. The hair on the back of his neck raises at the thought. Fear rushes cold through his veins and he grips Andrew’s arms.

“Please,” he breathes. “Don’t-don’t leave me, please don’t leave me, I can’t be alone, please, please, I’ll behave, take me back upstairs and I’ll be perfect, please, I can’t be alone!”

Andrew opens the closet. “And why do you think I care? You’re a Pet, get used to being alone. No one cares about you.”

He throws Cameron in and slams the door shut. Cameron hits the far wall and crumples to the ground, his head knocking against a vacuum. He blinks hard, but the darkness in front of him remains. Solid, absolute, worse than the bright lights which haunt his nightmares.

Someone help me! Please!

Please help me.

I can’t be alone.

[musubiki]

The one day Mochi is cocky enough to say he’s not strong enough to bench her and then he DOES. Both of them are thinking about ███████████████ but will never admit it.

absolutely killer that at multiple points both of them were thinking about it but neither of them do anything about it

[aeondeug]

so i learned that battletech has catgirls (apparently canon with the ttrpg mutations table or something??) so my super cool oc is one of those feral 80s anime catgirls but like butch and she's half naked at all times because i do not fuck with this new fangled coolant vests mean mechwarriors can wear clothes now shit.

[braisedhoney]

[SCENARIO CONTINUED FROM HERE.]

You select the second oldest of the available files. An observation log — COLONY keeps these, or so you assume. He never leaves commentary or notes to organize them. He probably just memorizes them instead. The terminal beeps beneath your fingertips, every click practically a gunshot in the quiet room. Thanks to your pass you are technically permitted to be here by the system — but you know better. There are security measures here that were not to be violated. If you are discovered, if THIS is discovered, you would likely be in trouble. The screen loads. Text fills the margins. After a moment, you realize that it is not just a file; it’s a transcript and an audio sample. There’s also a small attachment of some kind, likely an image. You play the audio.

[LOADING. . . (A short period of complete silence. Then, rustling as footsteps approach, and the familiar whir of a door. A familiar voice fades in with them.) “… I told you, it isn’t going to work.” “So you’ve said, Captain.” (The door whirs again. Locks.) “Please don’t call me that. Everyone keeps calling me that. Really I mean, I don’t even know what to do with…” (The sound of movement. Footsteps, slightly heavier but more measured than the first. The sound of something opening with a mechanical hiss — a containment unit?) (A quiet sigh. It’s barely audible.) “That… isn’t what I think. Right? Another one?” (A chuckle.) “Don’t sound so unenthusiastic. It’s terrible for morale.” “Le—“ “Just put them on, won’t you? It can’t hurt. One more trial.” “… Fine! Fine.” (The footsteps draw closer.) “Good. Now grab my hand.” (A clang, like somebody knocked into something.) “No.” “Trust me.” (Rapidly receding footsteps joined by another set.) “No!”(A loud bang, like a fist slamming against metal. The footsteps stop.) “No.” “It’ll be fine.” “You don’t know that.” “I’m right.” “This isn’t the answer. It isn’t going to — it’ll never be the answer, Leander, and I don’t even know what it — you know you can’t, right? Can’t come back? Doing this won’t let you see her agai——!“ “Captain.” (Silence.) “… shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” “Prove it.” ”Leander, please.” “Grab my hand. This will work.” “…” “I swear.” (The seconds tick by. Then.) “You...” (Another chuckle. Warmer in tone.) “Didn’t I say I would do it? Didn’t I promise?” (Laughter. Loud, nearly hysterical laughter interrupts him. It’s boisterous, disruptive.) “You did! You did, you… you magnificent bastard, you really found a way to———“] The audio ends. You stare at the screen. No matter how long you look at it, the text does not continue, the audio file does not extend. All that remains is a single attachment. Frustration makes your jaw tense, but you don’t have time to waste being angry. You’re running out the clock as it is. You click it. [LOADING. . .]

And then the screen goes dark. No. Not just the screen — the whole room blacks out. Every terminal flickers off, every bulb extinguishes. For a moment, there is total, unfamiliar silence. Even the faint electric buzzing that comes with electronics is gone. You are completely alone. You turn, grasping blindly at the records pass, the imprint of the screen still on your eyes. You stumble for the door, and to your surprise the pass blinks green, the only light left in the room. It opens and you shove your way through into the hall — Only to slam into a barrier. You look around. There is no hallway. Of all times for the paths to shift… The room you are in is tiny. The door behind you closes, and there is no scanner on your side, nor a handle. It is completely featureless. There is no way to open it. You call for COLONY. There is no answer. You call for the Captain. There is no answer. You call for help. You call for help. You call. You call. you. c a l l. . . . . . . . . . [YOU CANNOT BE TRUSTED.] [. . . ] [THE CAPTAIN WILL LOOK FOR YOU.] [. . .] [BUT THE CAPTAIN WILL NOT FIND YOU.] [ . . . ] [I AM SORRY.] [I AM SURE THAT MEANS LITTLE. BUT I AM.] [CURIOSITY IS NOT A TERRIBLE THING.] [BUT I WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT HUMANS QUITE LIKED CATS.] [. . .] [A POOR JOKE.] [I CAN’T HELP BUT WONDER IF IT WAS WORTH IT.] [I DOUBT IT.] [BUT I DO HOPE.]

(Scenario End. Ending: “Status Quo”.)