#look who was too lazy to draw a background (I do really like how it turned out tho)

[bees-of-chaos]

"It tears through my head, does it haunt you too?

Never really said I loved you too

Lucky, lucky you 'cause I'm fortune's fool

Such small words but they hit so huge

I don't think I realise

Just how much I miss you sometimes

We were young and so in love

We were just creatures in Heaven

For a moment we were just

We were just creatures in Heaven"

[picture credit: NASA]

[simpxxstan]

svt + nerdy y/n!!

a/n: this is absolutely self-indulgent. i'm sorry if i'm writing slower than usual, i'm trying to get back on track!

sfw content. gender neutral reader and established relationship.

very mildly suggestive (pg13 audience only!). nerd here refers to anyone with academic interests or a general high level of interest in uncommon/niche topics. i've tried to make the concept of nerd as inclusive as possible.

seungcheol

not a nerd himself but will encourage you 100% to be a nerd- buys you new pair of glasses when your eyesight worsens, new documentary CDs and even membership of a hundred foreign journals.

defo has a sapiosexuality kink- you can guess how attracted he is to your intelligence. but he's the smarter one on the streets, so he'll take care of you in every way possible while you stay in your little geeky bubble.

it's always baby let me recharge your phone bill for you; baby please eat your meals on time; baby you can't stop drinking water because of exam stress; baby if you're pulling an all-nighter, call me over, i don't want you to stay up all night alone.

jeonghan

loving jeonghan involves so much cuddling and lazy time when you both just lie under the blankets, his head is on your stomach and your fingers in his hair. it's at these moments that he encourages you to read out for him and he hums along whenever you pause to check if he's fallen asleep.

but jeonghan draws the line sometimes. he is supportive- but only when you're not trading off your time with him for the sake of peering into books.

you can sit with me and solve bivariate normal distributions or whatever you have to do, he whines into your ear. but you keep tickling me and i mess up the calculations! he laughs at this, i can't help it if you're just so ticklish, baby.

joshua

three years ago, joshua would've laughed if someone told him he would be more interested in the latest discoveries of astrophysics than in who's winning the la liga matches. but here he is- successfully converted into a nerd entirely because of your influence.

joshua was ridiculously easy to convert. all it had taken was the shiny, lovesick look in your eyes when you'd ask him if he wanted to watch a documentary on alternate universe theories with you, and he'd said yes in a heartbeat. and then it had just been a spiral into the metaphorical black hole. and he does NOT regret it, as long as he gets to spend time with you.

josh is this getting too boring? you'd quietly ask after an hour of the documentary, guilty for being too absorbed in it to even look at your boyfriend and see how he's faring. but joshua is melting at your concern, so even if it was a little bit boring, he'll reassure you sweetly, not at all baby! this is so new and interesting!!

jun

yes he may be from china, but clearly you know more about his own roots than he does! whenever you're watching news, jun loves it when you fill him up on some quirky background info that he didn't know about, but adds so much value to the context of the news.

in awe of your academic capabilities and keeps bragging about you to everyone. feels so proud when he can contribute to something you're passionate about too. he CANNOT fathom why someone as nerdy and intellectual as you should want to be with him.

junie, you're so smart! you praise him after he reports a profit he's making on a stocks investment. he shyly giggles, not like you, baby. you shake your head, i may be book smart. but you're street-smart!

soonyoung

hyper and calm partners!!!! he used to get annoyed with how you would pore into your books all day and how focused you were on your studies, but now he sees the charm in it all. it makes you happy, and in turn, he gets to wrap himself around you and be as clingy as he likes.

he really tries to follow with your nerdiness, his enthusiasm is there he swears! it's just not his fault that his attention span is so low and he ends up staring at your lips more than actually listening to you.

baby are you even listening? you ask, pouting. it drive him even more insane and he ends up giving in to his instincts and kissing you. yes baby! i heard everything!

wonwoo

WILL BE GEEKY WITH YOU! i imagine the two of you sitting next to each other at a table, him focused on his games and you're focused on your studies, your feet in his lap, and you're both sharing the same cup of coffee.

he loves collecting pretty little diaries for you, because he knows you write little poems and trivia in those diaries. whenever he's out on tour, he's bringing a locally-made diary for you, and if possible, he customises it with your name imprinted on it too.

wonwoo, there's a new adaptation of pygmalion getting shown in the theatre! do you want to go watch? i want to take notes from this adaptation and write about it on my blog... you need not even explain so much, wonwoo bought the tickets already when you began to talk about it.

jihoon

feels so giddy when he comes home from work and the first thing you do (in between his kiss attacks) is tell him a new fact you learnt today in whatever is your latest obsession.

jihoon loves his personal space, so when he's found you who's equally fond of your personal space and interests, it's literally a match made in heaven. they say it'll put distance between the two of you, but it really does quite the opposite!

jihoonie, can you help me learn this table? maybe ask me randomly and i'll try to answer. jihoon wants to tell the table to self-destruct from the entire world because you're near to tears trying to mug it up. but he doesn't. instead he says, love, how about i make a song for you which simplifies this? like a mnemonic but nicer.

seokmin

man was too desperate to get out of school to understand why you choose to be a nerd. but it's hella cute, so he doesn't need to understand. he's obsessed with your quirky habits- the way you bite your lips when you're finding a topic difficult, the way your glasses slip down your nose and you irritatedly push it up again, the way you crave the hot chocolate he makes when you're under exam stress.

admires your smartness so much! WILL brag about it to everyone he meets. WILL bring up the fact you told him yesterday, in today's conversation with his members just to show off your smartness.

posts stories about you being so cute while working hard for your exams but it's just you with oiled hair, acne breaking out like hellfire, and cramming notes at breakneck speed (you don't talk to him for an hour after this, but he doesn't get why you're so embarrassed, he only sees cuteness.)

mingyu

another one who WILL be nerdy with you. mingyu's always been a curious boy- even as a child, he would be drawn into new ideas easily. nothing is different now, and mingyu sits with you often when you're studying, his hands often wandering to your shoulders to massage them, and bringing you a regular supply of ramen and snacks.

you have a habit of repeating to yourself what you read, so mingyu steps in and asks you to talk to him and explain the topics to him as if you're teaching him. safe to say, he gets VERY turned on after such mock 'teaching' lessons and eventually loses focus on what you're saying.

gyu do you remember that paper i wrote last month? yeah, it got selected for a journal. you say it so nonchalantly that any other person would think you're showing off. but mingyu knows how much it means to you, and you're only downplaying it because you think mingyu won't think it to be a big deal, as most academic snobs tend to do. but lucky for you, mingyu knows exactly how precious an achievement it is to you, so he shows his appreciation to you instead of merely saying it (by showering you with kisses that make you tingle all over).

minghao

OH oh. will listen to your rants with the sweetest subtle smile on his face. will buy encyclopedias and reference books for your mini library. will take you to speaker sessions, workshops and other such informative events across the city, even places you've no idea about.

the most ardent supporter you could have asked for, he is in awe of your mental capabilities and your intelligence. you both have a lot of quality time where you're just sitting together and doing your things, but minghao values it like no other activity in the world.

hao? there's a new parcel at the door. you call him when a delivery arrives and he's at work. open it. he may not be around to see your reaction, but he can sure imagine the grin that's bursting out on your face when you squeal his name into the phone on seeing the hardcover special edition version of your favourite collection of essays.

seungkwan

lots of wide-eyed wondering at why you would want to stay rooted at a spot and read books over playing badminton with him. he wants to complain that you've chosen your academics over him, but that'd be a lie, so he can only half-heartedly whine about it.

comes around to your point of view as soon as you start showing him documentaries (on animals living in the Himalayas, as per your latest obsession). it begins with him finding the animals cute, to eventually finding you cute when you animatedly talk about them. and once he's totally converted, it's fairly easy for you to convince him to help you with exams.

expect eye rolls, smug smiles and hair being brushed back nonchalantly when the questions he had asked last night from your texts actually matched with the ones asked in the exam. i told you, baby, he whispers in your ear. now i want my reward, you've been drowned in books for way too long and not paying any attention to your boyfriend.

vernon

it was a surprise to him as well when he realised he's got a massive sapiosexuality kink. as someone who's run as far away from the education system as he could, he doesn't even know why he finds it so attractive when you're being nerdy. but, well, he does.

he loves hearing you talk about whatever it is that you're learning lately, and sometimes something or the other catches his attention. and then, you know he'll dive right deep into it to know all about it, until his curiosity is satisfied.

nonie, what's the video you sent me? you ask him when you return home from uni. i wondered if you've watched this one. it explains the theories of why the harappan civilization disappeared so well. you can only smile at his enthusiasm, i bet you've been looking at conspiracy theories again, nonie. the guilty grin on his face says it all.

chan

chan listens so well, but you can't really blame him if he doesn't retain the information. he's elated simply to have you wrapped in his arms as you talk about what happened in your classes today, and his nose in the crook of your neck so he can smell your lovely scent. intermittently nods his head (just wants to rub his nose on the soft skin of your neck) and hums in agreement of what you just said (suppressing moans when he can feel your heartbeat quicken when he presses kisses to your neck too).

it doesn't matter what your new niche is, but he's indulging it. he admires your ability to stay focused in a field as demanding as academia, and he's all for you to go ahead with your interests and education as long as you want to learn.

you wake up to post-its on your forehead every day when chan has had to leave early for work: get out of the house and get fresh air. shampoo hair today, interview tomorrow. practice the introduction speech again. drink water and take vitamins. STOP DRINKING COFFEE. and you giggle at each of them, because they're all things you've tried to remember for yourself and forgotten, so chan reminds you like this, but his cute handwriting and the little XOXOXOs he's drawn all over make your heart melt.

[velvrei]

under the flickering light

pairing: axel kovacevic x reader

summary: you meet axel at a crowded bar, drawn to his magnetic presence. a quiet moment in the alleyway leads to an unexpected kiss, turning a cold night into something unforgettable.

word count: 1k

…

the bar is alive with noise—voices overlapping, music humming low under the din, glasses clinking in the background.

you’re nursing a drink you don’t even really want, the condensation dampening your fingers. this isn’t your usual scene, but something pulled you here tonight.

you spot him before you know why you’re looking. he’s alone in the corner, one arm stretched along the back of the booth like he owns the place.

his dark hair is a mess, falling just over his brow, and there’s a worn leather jacket slung across his lap. the light above him flickers faintly, casting his sharp features into soft relief. he’s not looking at anyone—until he’s looking at you.

his gaze holds yours like a challenge.

your pulse skips. there’s no smile, no smirk—just a steady, unflinching stare. still, there’s something in the way his head tilts, in the arch of his brow, that dares you to do something. anything.

before you can second-guess yourself, you’re moving. weaving through the crowd, dodging elbows and spilled drinks, you reach his table. up close, his eyes are darker than you expected, and his presence—sharp-edged, magnetic—feels even stronger.

“you lost?” he asks, his voice low and smooth, with a rasp that makes your breath hitch.

“maybe,” you say, and it’s almost true.

the corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile but close enough. he leans back, gesturing to the seat across from him with a lazy flick of his wrist. “sit. might as well stay awhile.”

you slide into the booth, your drink forgotten on the sticky table between you. he’s watching you—really watching you—and it makes you feel like you’re under a spotlight.

“what’s your name?” he asks, and when you tell him, he nods, like he’s trying it out in his head.

“i’m axel.”

the conversation is easier than you expect. there’s an ease to him that draws you in, a quick wit that keeps you on your toes. he teases, his words laced with a dry humor that makes you laugh, and when you fire back, his smirk deepens.

every now and then, his fingers drum against the table or his leg bounces under the booth, like he’s restless, like sitting still too long might kill him.

“you’re not from around here, are you?” he asks at one point, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“what gave it away?”

he shrugs, tipping his head to one side. “you don’t look like someone who spends their nights in places like this.”

“and you do?”

this earns you a real laugh—a low, rough sound that makes your chest tighten. “fair enough,” he says, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table.

you don’t know how much time passes, but eventually, the noise of the bar becomes too much. axel glances toward the door, then back at you.

“wanna step out?”

you nod, and he’s on his feet before you can even respond.

the night air is cold, biting at your skin as you step outside. the alley beside the bar is dimly lit, the faint glow of streetlights reflecting off wet pavement.

axel shoves his hands into his pockets, leaning against the rough brick wall with an ease you envy.

“better,” he mutters, glancing over at you.

you nod, unsure what to say. the quiet feels heavier out here, but not uncomfortable. he’s watching you again, his gaze unflinching, like he’s sizing you up or trying to figure you out.

“so,” he says after a beat, his voice quieter now, “what brought you here tonight?”

you hesitate. “just… needed to get out. clear my head.”

he nods slowly, like he understands. “yeah. i get that.”

his hand brushes yours as he shifts, just a light touch, but it sends a jolt through you. you glance at him, and he’s still looking at you—closer now, his head tilted slightly.

“is this okay?” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

you don’t answer, not with words. instead, you step closer, your fingers curling into the lapel of his jacket, pulling him in.

his lips are on yours before you can even think. the kiss is soft at first, tentative, like he’s waiting for you to pull away.

but when you don’t, he deepens it, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck, the other pressing against your waist.

he tastes like whiskey and something sharper, something that’s just him. the world narrows to this—his warmth against you, the rough drag of his jacket under your fingers, the faint hitch in his breath when you press closer.

when you finally pull apart, he doesn’t move far. his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your cheek.

“didn’t think this is how my night was gonna go,” he mutters, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“same,” you admit, your voice barely steady.

he chuckles softly, his thumb brushing against the side of your neck before he finally pulls back, leaning against the wall again.

“guess it’s not a bad surprise,” he says, his smirk turning softer.

you can’t help but smile back, the warmth in your chest chasing away the chill of the night.

…

hope you all enjoyed!! :))

taglist: @karmaswitch @mamasfavourite @timotheechalametswifeys @jeonkoowife @justchillin13 @yslbaeee @adv3rs1ty @yaya-1loveart @yoyoyourmum @amnesique @astreiz @izzyelise11

[py-dreamer]

@furornocturna, @violetjedisylveon

hey! Remember that shadowalkers au wip a while back?

And I mean damn, like what a leap? Amirite?

(Just realized I forgot Mac's pouch, Mei, & Wukong's beads

...oops

Pls forgive me I'm a forgetful klutz and am lazy)

Ok so well this be quite the turnabout from the last sketch um:

I included the shadows on the floor, it is called shadowalkers for a reason, and added the wee faces in them like I did for the first piece

The background was a pain in the ass and I tried a lil something something with the lighting/lens flares. Something similar to the lighting in the piece I did where they're cuddling

Now everyone might say multiply on the layers does miracles but can I just saw 'add glow' and 'glow Dodge' are my new best friends? Srsly they give that damn good zest that it needs

I had so much trouble just doing Mac's face in particular. Like the contrast between the dark scalera and light irises was too much even though I did it before and it worked then-

And like his proportions were way off even though they matched the f*cking sketch which looked fine and they didn't match up with Wukong's at all-

Then his hair looked too big and clunky like a large chunk rather than hair and cause Mk's head was blocking it, I couldn't shade correctly-

AND I WAS STARTING TO BLOODY LOOSE IT I WANTED TO PUNCH THIS LIL BI-

But then I made his head bigger and it all worked out 'u'

Here's the og sketch for comparison:

I will admit though, I am quite happy with how my art style has progressed over time and this just might be one of my best pieces.

Genuinely to any of my old marshiemallows, thanks for sticking around! And I welcome any new marshiemallows joining me on my little art adventure so here's love from a random artist on the internet who appreciates your presence to her wacky ramblings and drawings

Oh and btw, I will start to get more busy so pls relax ur expectations in terms of posting schedules (not that I really had one anyways but regardless-)

That birthday challenge was fun but man did it do a number on me

And especially cause I wanna try to focus more on writing the next chap of mah fic 'When the sun sets forever' on ao3

(Shameless plug but which you should totally check out btw, angsty monkies, time travel, Macaque bullying train, it's so much fun)

Oh! And for my fellow marshiemallows who have frequented the dreamscape a couple of times, not guaranteed and I am a wee noob with absolutely no experience in this very little chance I'll do this and it's mainly to see any interest in it so pls don't expect much-

BUT.

[cosmerelists]

A Sexy Fireman Calendar But Make It Stormlight

Happy New Year! Let's imagine what a "sexy men of Roshar" calendar would be like. And yes, yes I am trying to do purely visual gags in a written medium. What can I say? I don't draw.

Anyway, here's how I think such a calendar would be designed if it were made for us since I'm too lazy to look up the names of Rosharan months and I want to make holiday jokes.

1. January: Dalinar

What better way to kick off the new year than with a man who reminds us to just keep taking the next step?

Dalinar is sitting in front of a fireplace full of flamespren wearing his uniform...but with the jacket and shirt all the way unbuttoned, like he's relaxing after a long day of work, his presumably hairy chest on full display.

2. February: Drehy and Dru

The Valentine's Day month of course must feature Urithiru's hottest gay couple.

Drehy and Dru are lying on a heart-shaped mattress, with a red blanket draped artfully across their bodies, rose petals surrounding them. Aside from the blanket, they don't appear to be wearing anything at all...

3. March: Adolin

Adolin is wearing his Easter Best--namely a pink linen shirt with a deep V-neck, a white scarf, white pants, and a winning smile. Also, I think he should be holding a baby bunny, just to really sell it.

4. April: Lopen

Lopen is upside down, stuck to a wall, his rakish grin suggesting that this April Fool's Joke is on you--but also that you'll be laughing along with everyone else.

5. May: Rlain

Like a herald of Spring, Rlain is sitting reclined, his back against a tree, surrounded by blooming flowers. He's in warform, his sharply chiseled muscles making an excellent contrast to all of the soft, bright nature around him.

6. June: Sigzil

Sigzil stands, shirtless and glistening with sweat, beneath the blazing sun. It looks like you caught him mid-kata, spear in hand.

7. July: Kaladin

Kaladin has been photographed in the midst of a summer thunderstorm: his wet hair blowing sideways but in an artful way, his wet undershirt sticking to his chest, and a dramatic bolt of lighting in the background.

8. August: Skar

The back-to-school month features our favorite teacher. Skar is clearly mid-lesson, floating off the ground, glowing with Stormlight, holding his hand up as though expounding.

9. September: Renarin

Renarin is standing amid fall colors, leaves floating gently to the ground around him. He's dressed as if for the crisp fall air in a long coat, flannel shirt, and pants. He's holding a warm mug of cider, the steam rising past his face.

10. October: Hoid

Hoid...well I'd have to say he looks both hot and creepy. He's wearing a masquerade mask and suit, holding a martini glass. His eyes say that he has many secrets.

11. November: Rock

Rock has made you a FEAST for Thanksgiving! He's standing in front of a table laden in food (stew front and center, of course), holding his arms out wide as if inviting you to join him, a huge grin on his face.

12. December: the Stick

It's stuck in the ground, standing up, with a single Christmas ornament as decoration.

Yes, despite not being a man, the stick has made it into the Sexy Men Calendar. What can't it do?

[truly-neutral-art]

Din/Luke Pacific Rim AU pt.2

Pt.1 | Pt.3 | Pt.4

Another addition to this AU because It's been living in my head rent free for ages. I can't do a Pacific Rim AU without recreating the iconic Kwoon scene. Also, I was too lazy to draw backgrounds so I just stole them from the movie  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Under the cut is a teaser of the fic I'm trying to write. It's a first draft, so there's probably some mistakes. Also, I'm still kind of in Screen Writing mode from school, so please don't mind if there's not a lot of internal character narration.

“Four points to two,” Luke calls after the final candidate falls. His emotions are carefully masked on his face but Din can see how tense he is. 

“We’re wasting time, Marshal. He’s barely compatible with any of them, this isn’t going to work,” Luke says.

“What do you suggest?” The Marshal raises a brow. 

“Put me in charge, I’m drift compatible with several cadets. We don’t need him.” Luke gestures towards Din. The look on his face makes Din’s blood boil. Contempt. What did he ever do to Luke to earn this?

“What’s your problem, Skywalker?” Din stomps towards the edge of the mat. 

“I’ve already told you, I don’t think you're the right man for the job,” Luke replies. He’s now turned squarely towards Din, his face back to that eerie calm. It sends a shiver down Din’s spine. 

“No, there’s more. You’ve got a problem with me.” Din steps closer, trying to ignore the piercing blue of Luke’s eyes. 

“Enough! both of you.” Marshal Skywalker turns to them both. 

“If you think you’re so much better, then let’s go.” Din points his bō at Luke. “If you win, you can pilot the Crest. If I win, you back off.” Din holds Luke's gaze, projecting his challenge. 

“Neither of you are in the position to make that decision,” Anakin states, breaking the spell. 

“What? Think your own blood isn’t good enough to beat me?” Din didn’t know Marshal Skywalker that well, but from what he did know, the man was prideful. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest move, but it got him what he wanted. 

The Martial turned towards Luke, earning his attention. No words were exchanged between them, the Martial simply gave a nod. A brief look of satisfaction washed over Luke’s face. Din turned towards the mat to prepare for the fight before Luke’s eyes turned back to him. 

Luke stepped to the edge of the mat, shoes and outer shirt removed. He bowed at the waist before stepping forward. He was in a simple black tank top and the standard cargo pants. It was the first time Din had seen any of his skin exposed beyond his face. His arms and neck were covered in pale, lightning-like scars that looked like they extended beyond what Din could see. He wasn’t sure what to make of them. He knew almost nothing about Luke when he really thought about it. Only what he heard from the news from the past four years.

He had to admit, it made him earn a little more respect for the kid. At first he’d seemed like a petulant child who was getting his favorite toy taken away, but now, Din wasn’t as sure that was the case. He had no more time to think on it as he and Luke passed each other on the mat, walking to opposite sides, then turning to face each other. 

In the blink of an eye Luke swung his bō with the finesse of a warrior. He moved forward before stopping in the middle of the mat as he pulled his bō up in defense. Din followed suit, taking on a more aggressive starting position. He could tell Luke was analyzing him, eyes flitting around to every point of his body. Din took the opportunity to attack. In one swift moment he had his bō mimicking a strike at Luke’s skull. 

“One, Zero.” The words had barely left his mouth before Luke made a counter attack. In a flash Luke had reversed their positions with a satisfied smirk. 

Without wasting any more time the two began to fight again in an explosion of movement. The people in the kwoon reacted to them, but Din’s focus narrowed in until it was only them in the room. He watched Luke’s movements carefully, anticipating and blocking every attack that came and returning his own. He picked up on a franticness in Lukes’s movements and took advantage, landing an attack on his ribs. 

“You’re too eager, you’re projecting your moves,” Din commented as they reset. 

“I don’t need your advice.” Despite his words, Luke waited, ready for Din’s next move. 

Luke swiftly blocked everything Din threw at him and pushed back even harder. In the next moment Luke attacked with a flurry of blows, catching Din off guard. He was stronger than he looked. 

“Two, two.” Luke had once again evened the score. 

There was barely a pause before they were at it again. This bout lasted longer than the others, both having picked up on each other’s gambit. They danced around each other, the only sound in Din’s ears were the clacking of their bō staffs and their heavy breathing. Neither was holding back. 

In a blur of motion Luke darted towards Din’s legs, throwing him off balance. Din rolled out of the throw but as he lifted his head he was met with Luke’s bō to his throat. Luke's eyes were no less intense this close. 

“Two, Three.” Luke stepped back into a ready position. “Better watch out, Djarin.” There was a satisfied smirk on his face. He was winning. Din wouldn’t give up that easily. 

He pulled out every trick he had, but Luke seemed to always be a step ahead. He was too fast, almost as if he could read Din’s mind. From the outside it would almost look like this was rehearsed. In the end, it was Din’s weight advantage that won him the point. He moved in close and pinned Luke's arm before throwing him down to the mat. The blond hit the ground on his back, breath escaping his lungs from the impact. 

Din almost went to help him up but Luke threw his legs backwards into a handstand before standing back up. He barely looked affected, the only sign of fatigue on him was the sweat on his forehead that matted down his blond hair. 

“Three, Three,” Din called. “And there’s no need to show off.” 

The next point would declare a winner. There was a smile on Luke’s face, different from the ones before. This one was more open, leaving Din feeling dizzy instead of insulted. 

Din tried to understand it but there was no more time to ponder as Luke set on his next attacks. He was more aggressive than he’d been the rest of the fight but Din pushed back, not without some difficulty. Luke danced around Din with a frightening agility. The only thing that kept Din in the fight for so long were his reflexes. He knew he had to end this fight soon or Luke would eventually wear him down. 

In a decisive move Din attacked at Luke’s head, trading off his defense for offense. He had Luke on the move, nearly pushing him off the mat. However, before he could land a finishing blow Luke darted to the side, slipping his leg between Din’s and toppling him to the floor. When Din processed what happened, he was pinned under Luke’s hips on his chest and his bō at his neck. 

Cheers erupted from the gathered crowd, but Din’s view had narrowed into Luke as he stood up. Din stayed on the ground, still a bit stunned from the end of the fight. He wasn’t really sure how to feel about its outcome. But one thing was for certain, he and Luke were drift compatible. Very drift compatible. 

Din was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t even realize Luke was reaching down to him until his hand was in his face. He took it and allowed Luke to help him to his feet. 

“You felt it too, didn’t you?” Luke asked.

“Yeah.”

[demiromanticmickey]

On today's "I am SO not normal about Dead Friend Forever": Discussing Catholicism and Colonization in this gay Thai slasher series

Some background on me: I am from a Latine Catholic family. Raised as a non-practicing Catholic (we didn't go to church or pray). Then my parents enrolled me in a Catholic school that I attended from 5th grade to the end of 7th grade. Today, I am not Catholic and have never really considered myself as such.

Ok, so in the flashback episodes of DFF, I have been noticing a lot of things. My findings under the cut.

Let's start with this crucifix and photo of the Virgin Mary and a baby Jesus.

Screenshot from ep. 5.

The camera lingers here a bit so we're obviously meant to pay attention to the phrase. I put the screenshot through Google translate's image translator and the translation it gave me was, "Think good, do good, be a good person." I didn't think much of it when I first watched the episode other than it was supposed to establish that the boys attend a Christian or Catholic school.

But then there was this image posted on Be On Cloud's Instagram (also from ep. 5): X

Zooming in, we can see there's another picture of Mary in the background. Watching the classroom scenes, it's easy to miss because the series itself is more washed out than the official photos posted. But this emphasis on Mary led me to believe the school is a Catholic one. So out of curiosity, I looked up the schools the writers and directors attended because I felt I was onto something here. And boy, was I!

Source: MDL

Ma-Deaw, if you didn't know, is one of the directors of Dead Friend Forever (he also directed Manner of Death and Inhuman Kiss , and lots of other things).

One Google search later (X) and I learned "Montfort College" is a Catholic school. It started out as a primary school that later added a secondary school as well.

Now let's take a closer look at some of the details of this school:

First, the school's motto "Labor Conquers All Things". This reminded me of the phone conversation Tee had with his uncle:

On my first watch, this sounded familiar to me but I couldn't really place why. It wasn't until I saw this other Tumblr post (X) that pointed out it's similar to a bible quote from the New Testament. The quote varies a bit depending on which version of the bible you're using but it's along the lines of, "He who does not work, neither shall he eat".

This is meant to discourage "laziness". Nevermind the fact that people deserve to eat simply because we get hungry and need food to survive. The idea that we only "deserve" things based on productivity is an extremely colonial one. — Reminder also that Tee is being forced into this "work" in the first place. He's just a high school kid. I don't need to like his character to understand how fucked up his situation is.

Then there's the patron of the school. St. Louis de Montfort was a French Catholic priest most known for his study in Mariology. What is Mariology (X)? The study of Mary, the mother of Jesus. I didn't know that was a thing but it's unsurprising considering how prominent images of Mary were in my own religious upbringing. And she's what started me down this rabbit hole in the first place. Mary is a big deal to the Catholics. I'm going to be paying even more attention now if more Mary imagery pops up.

The Garden of Eden and Original Sin

Now I want to draw attention to these images:

Screenshots from ep. 7

Here we have Non and Phee biting into an apple as they leisure around this lush green field. We know they've visited this location more than once because they're wearing different outfits in the screenshots. And I think it's important to note that it's Phee holding the apple and offering it to Non.

The use of the word "bait" in the bts of ep. 7 is quite interesting too. (X)

The Garden of Eden was the paradise in which Adam and Eve resided. In this garden, there were many trees to eat from. The one tree Adam and Eve were forbidden by God to eat from was the Tree of Knowledge. A serpent (Satan), first tempted Eve into taking from the tree to eat it's fruit. And then Eve gave the fruit to Adam. That is Original Sin. And because Adam and Eve ate from the Tree of Knowledge, all humans thereafter are born sinful and bad, and can only find salvation through God.

Of course in the scene between Phee and Non, the sin the apple represents is being gay. And it's after this, and after the bracelet scene, that Non becomes involved with Por's film and his tragedy begins.

Zoomed in screenshot from ep. 5

And I wonder if the bracelet scene is the last time Phee and Non visit this forest location. It would parallel how Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden of Eden once they sinned.

Final Thoughts

You give me a story that criticizes Western religion and how it's used as a tool for oppression and colonization, and I'm gonna eat that shit up. I am gonna eat it up. Every. Single. Time.

I really wasn't expecting anything like this from Dead Friend Forever. This level in attention to detail is unmatched. I don't think I've watched a more well planned out show. And no matter where DFF goes from here, these seven episodes will always hold a special place in my heart. 💗

[writefightandflightclub]

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Two (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but can you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Series genre: a LOT of tasty angst, tasty smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+ / NSFW / MDNI. Minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. Posting schedule and series masterlist are here. 

Author’s note: Thank you SO much for the response to Chapter One! And if you're still with it, I hope you enjoy chapter 2! It has been a LOOONNNNGGG time coming! 😆 This one is slightly shorter, with a bit of exposition to bridge between the OG instalment and the meat of our newly embarked upon continuation! The next chapters are where things really kick-off, but I do hope you enjoy this stoking of some tension, and, of course, finally seeing Santiago again - for the first time since the jarring conclusion to chapter one!!!!!! 

Word count: 4.8k for this part 

“It’s okay,” Frankie rumbles, looking at you levelly. “You can ask me about him.” 

You sigh, squirming in place - on the rear porch steps of your sister’s home - as your game is finally unmasked. Your pretense dashed. 

The hubbub of the lazy, Sunday BBQ is nothing but background to you now as Frankie zones in on your true wants, rendering you as an observer - rather than a participant - in the annual gathering you usually draw an abundance of joy from. 

Not so today, despite your best efforts at going through the motions. At pretending like everything is fine. 

Up to now, chatting idly with your bud in this safe little bubble, you’ve cycled through a gazillion conversation starters; each to emphasise just how interested you are in Frankie, and Whatever He Has Going On. Clearly though, you have failed to convince. Your friend simply knows you too well. Knows your weaknesses. 

Your one true weakness. Santiago “Pope” Garcia. 

You look at kind-eyed Frankie apologetically from beneath your lashes, sorry that your flimsy chat has failed to mask your disinterest in... um, whatever it was he was saying. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, Cat.” Then, so help you, you ask the question you’ve actually been burning to ask all day. “How’s he doing, Frankie? Really?” 

Confirming the shift in tone, Frankie sets his plate of food aside and nestles his bottle of beer on the corner of the lowest porch step. Now you’re having a conversation. The pilot tents his fingers together in his lap, giving your question the full merit it deserves. “Pope?” 

Who else? 

“He’s… fine,” Frankie nods, studying your face as he says the words. Noticing -no doubt- the way you chew on your lip as your gaze wanders, fixing on the man in question. As you watch him mingle comfortably, effortlessly, amongst the throng of people on the lawn. Making connections, as per usual. 

Your stomach drops. An unease jostles in the pit of you. The niggle of regret. 

You shouldn’t have invited the guys here today. Shouldn’t have agreed to have them be present at your family gathering. Shouldn’t have agreed to follow-up it up with a squad weekend at the beach house - no matter that it’s tradition. But, then again, who were you to disrupt the usual way of things? And, more so, who were you to pretend that you didn’t want to see him again? After all this time? 

In truth, you had wanted nothing else but to see him again. That is, until you had laid eyes on him, and then, very quickly, you had pivoted. Wanted nothing more than to keep your distance. 

Why? 

Because by all accounts it’s true. 

Santiago is fine. 

Santiago certainly looks fine. He looks fine in all senses of the fucking word. He looks as though he’s thriving, in fact. 

Your face falls at the implication: that he’s thriving without you. 

With effort, you hum, schooling your expression into something neutral; however, Frankie’s already on to you. “Is that what you wanted to hear, chiquita?”

You turn your head towards your friend and exhale a small, pitiful laugh. Pondering Frankie’s question, you set your own plate and beer down too – a signal that shit’s getting real. 

Is it? 

Is that what you wanted to hear? 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I wanted to hear, Cat.” With a dejected sigh, you lean your head on Frankie’s shoulder, hooking your arm into the crook of his elbow. “Does that make me cruel? If I don’t wanna hear that he’s happy?” 

Your buddy doesn’t answer rightaway, but he does rest a reassuring hand on your thigh in response, his plush bottom-lip protruding as he pouts – apparently mulling over whether or not to throw you a bone. “Okay. Look,” he begins  - always a soft-touch for you - and you instantly perk-up just a little. “He had a rough spell when you left and-” Frankie huffs out air, shaking his head as though he might have gone too far in divulging already “-fuck, actually, you don’t wanna know.” 

You head snaps up from Frankie’s shoulder as it begins to shake with mirth, your curiosity piqued. 

“What?” you probe, as Frankie turns his head to look at you, a smile cracking his sharp features. Apparently, Frankie has a small part of him which is cruel too. “We stumbled upon his heartbreak playlist. And it was not pretty.” 

“Come on now,” you protest, a little too defensively, your mouth suddenly dry.  “I hardly broke the fucker’s heart.” 

Frankie pumps his eyebrows. Shrugs his shoulders. Then, his bark-brown eyes mist over, just a little. “More likely than you think, chiquita.” 

With that, your eyes flick right back to Santiago’s figure on the other side of the yard, as if trying to reconcile Frankie’s assertion with the reality you see before you. After all, Santiago “Pope” Garcia looks fine. In all senses of the word. 

Right this second, for example, he’s engaged in a highly tactical water fight with your kid nephews. About to enter the killbox any moment, you wager, given that 5 and 7-year-olds don’t seem bound by those pesky rules of engagement. His cargo shorts are – naturally - far too tight, and he’s wearing his crisp blue shirt as though he forgot what buttons did half-way through getting dressed, the fabric split in a deep, plunging “V” across his tan chest. 

Despite all that, however, the thing which captures your attention most, is the beaming, wide-open grin he has painted on his face. 

He looks... 

...Happy.  

Genuinely happy. The bastard. 

This is the first time he’s seen you since he stormed out of your apartment all those months ago. The first chance he’s had to make things right - and he hasn’t spoken a word to you all day. Despite being in your family’s yard. Eating your sister’s food. Playing with your goddamn nephews. You broke his heart, apparently. So Frankie tells you. And yet this fucker dares to looks happy. 

So… Is that what you wanted? 

For him to be happy? 

Without you? 

Or… is a small part of you cruel? 

You’re not sure about the answer to that question, but you do know that your eyes turn mildly devilish as they flick back towards your buddy, your voice hushed and downright conspiratorial. All of a sudden, you’re not concerned with being the bigger person. 

You decide you’ll willingly catch that bone Frankie is throwing. “Tell me more about this playlist, Francisco.” 

You need this, you justify internally. You need something. Some sign that Santiago is hurting too. 

You’ve needed this for months, in fact; but, goddamn - you especially need this before you and the squad spends a whole weekend together up at the beach house. 

You need it badly.

Why? 

Because you’re not fine. 

Not fine at all. 

Not fine without him. 

This is your family's yard, and it’s your family’s  party, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him since he stormed out of your apartment all those months ago… and you’re emphatically not happy about it. Have found that, despite what you had hoped for, your reunion hasn’t solved a damn thing. Hasn’t eased the knot in your chest. Hasn’t allowed you to feel any sense of resolution.

“Fuck.” Your eyes brim over with the realisation, wet and glassy, and a tight lump balls in your throat. 

“Come on,” Frankie mutters - softly but urgently - as your eyes begin to swim with emotion. He nods up towards the interior of the house, and you are endlessly grateful when, with minimal spectacle, your buddy bundles you inside, his arm slung casually around your shoulder for comfort. 

You’re not the retreating type. At all. You have always been comfortable running headlong into things that scare you. Even so, it is a marked relief when you do slink inside. A relief that you were able to save face. Keep your pain hidden. But, most of all, it is a relief that you no longer need to suffer Santiago’s abject joy. 

It is a relief in the same way it is to retreat from the blazing sun, and you immediately find sanctuary in the cool, shaded interior of the house. 

Still, given the tumult of emotions inspired by his general proximity today, you are less and less sure that you can handle this trip. 

The only thing pushing you to go through with it, in fact, is the knowledge that there’s one thing harder than being close to Santiago… and that’s being apart from him. 

Perhaps Frankie’s wrong. Perhaps you didn’t break Santiago’s heart when you left. But, one thing’s for sure. Leaving him had certainly broken yours.

Truth be told, even after all this time, you’ve barely begun to put yourself back together. 

You’re in pieces; which - to be fair - is always how Santiago liked to see you, isn’t it? 

A friend. A soldier. A lover.  

That’s the only way you can stand to view him now. In mere fragments. In the shrapnel of stolen glances; because trying to see him all at once? That’s like trying to stare directly at the sun. 

He is too bright for you and it burns. Even with all this distance. 

***

You’re surrounded by laughter and chatter, yet you feel an unease. An unrest in the pit of you. 

Will’s ballcap is tugged down over your eyes under the guise of staying warm - a flimsy excuse, considering the raging fire pit in the centre of you all, acting as the warm sun to your orbits of beer, passed amiably around from hand to hand via the cooler at Will’s side. 

Naturally, the conversation has veered sharply towards the crude - it reliably does when you are and the boys are all together. 

“For real, Pope. Since we’re, uh, sharing,” Tom interjects, already looking far too pleased with himself. “Do you ever play up the knee thing to… encourage women to go on top?” Tom’s question earns shocked titters from Will and Frankie and, despite yourself, a softly exhaled laugh from you. 

“Why are you so obsessed with me?” Santiago asks Tom with an assured grin, and, upon being subject to the group’s attention, he leans forward in his camp chair. He drains the dregs of his beer and tosses the emptied bottle into the gathering pile in the sand, the label already peeled off by his nimble fingers.

Tom presses him for an answer, and you see Santiago’s pearly flash of teeth glinting in the firelight. “Play it up, buddy?” Santiago emits a deep, throaty chuckle which bobs in his corded neck. The sound is echoed by the other boys too, the threshold for laughter pleasantly lowered by the alcohol. 

Their movements are growing increasingly pack-like - a little less measured and a little more instinctual. Less individual and more unified. Moving as a team even as they sit still, with their spread legs and dropped shoulders and dipped chins. Alert eyes glinting in the dark with each lick of flame. Their energy would intimidate you, you think, if you didn’t know them. If you didn’t feel safer here than anywhere else in the world.

Still wearing that grin, Santiago scoops his hand over his stubble, his finger and thumb tracing around his mouth. “It’s practically a pick-up strategy.” His voice is warm sand and it scrapes you. Leaves a mark. 

Frankie titters off to Santiago’s side - a chaotic, beer-addled laugh. To his other side, Will grins too, his laughter striking a robust and deep note, even whilst shaking his head as though he’s somehow above it all. Together, their sounds form a cacophony you can feel deep in your chest - like the rumble of bass from a speaker, or the subdued roar of the ocean. 

If they are a pack, you - for once - are at odds. You feel it now more than ever, and it jars you. You are hyper-conscious that no display of mirth falls from you; and, in fact, the corners of your mouth turn down. 

Instead, you dwell on this roar - this rumble and hum under your skin. If you feel like the tide, like you are being swept up, Santiago is your shore. Everything about him draws you in, and you feel you could wash him away with the force of your need for him. 

Regardless of that, you continue to do precisely what you’ve been doing all night. You try to bury everything. To subdue your feelings. To calm this frenzy deep in the pit of you. In this moment, thinking about Santiago pursuing people other than you - listening to the damn stories - you take that urge quite literally, digging your bare toes deeply and intently into the sand as though you could disappear wholly into it. 

But; even that reminds you. 

Everything reminds you. 

Santiago. 

You’ve thought of nothing else all night. 

How could you? 

And, you feel the lack of him. 

The roughness of the sand against your smooth skin is a poor substitute for the rasp of his stubble. For the grit of his voice against your throat. The warmth of the curling, licking flame is a poor substitute for his body heat. His curling tongue. His fingers. The way you bury your feelings has nothing on how he buried himself in you. 

You fall into memories, tacky and hot, tumbling, and yet Will’s voice rips you abruptly back to the present. 

“How in the hell do you spin that one, man?” he asks Santiago with a genuine curiosity, his ice blue eyes dancing with amusement.  

Santiago risks a sheepish glance at you then, as though sensitive that his prowess with women might offend you in some way; but your eyes simply glance off of his like a flung spark from the fire pit, desperate to turn towards the dark and rid yourself of any heat which he may ignite. Desperate not to linger on the way the shadows and the light pool across the harsh planes of his face. The way his dark eyes are flickering and alive, and entirely capable of burning. 

And so, Santiago continues, relishing his moment. “Come on. It’s easy,” he breezes. He clears his throat, fully readying to inhabit his role. He shuffles in his chair and changes his demeanour, his body language, his voice. Shifting and contorting himself until he is layered with seduction. His frame even grows bigger, bolder, his legs spread. Chin raised and eyes hooded with a slow, sultry blink of those long lashes. 

Even this performance of heat hurts you; burns. Burns brightly enough that you have to look away from him before your skin is singed by it. “Hermosa,” he rasps, voice pleasantly scuffed by beer and smoke, the sound so rough and gritty you swear you can feel it scrape your skin. Your core clenches around the full, deep, dark tones of him, as though they alone could fill you.

The fire throws out careless sparks like cracked whips, and, like them, you cling to a dying heat. This vestige of the way he spoke to you in the dead, dark night at one time, your bodies all salt-slick skin. “You’re right,” he purrs, and you see that his body has shifted - angled towards Tom. 

You feel embarrassed. You feel alight, as though somehow, they could all find you out in this moment. Could sense the wet slick pooling between your legs. Smell it somehow. Like all of a sudden their eyes will converge on you and they will know - hear the flutter of your pulse in your throat. Sense the throb building in your core. Feel you barrelling from dull ache to desperation. 

“About what?” Tom asks, playing along as Santiago sneaks a hand up his thigh. 

Santiago’s smile is lopsided. Charming, but full of challenge. “Thinking that I’m a bad idea.” He’s hamming it up, for sure, but the syrup and grit in his voice is taking you right back there all the same. Right back to between those sheets, and a disobedient heat snakes down your back. 

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” 

“Well,” Santiago offers with faux regret, voice husky, and you can’t help but lift your eyes back to him. Can’t possibly look anywhere else now. Can’t help but observe the smirk twitching his appealing mouth and the way his thick brow arcs up. “‘Cause my knees are shot from years in the military, so I’m afraid you’ll have to get on top and ride me senseless.” 

God in heaven.  

Looking at him was a mistake, even like this. Even as he feigns seducing Tom, of all people. There’s just something about the rough edge layered into his voice right now. Something about the firelight painting his sharply-angled face with shadow. The flickers causing his smouldering eyes to glint with an echo of that formidable, latent heat. 

You feel this vestige of warmth in you ignite. Feel it begin to blaze and catch. You feel memories of him, his skin, his touch, amassing grain by grain. Ever so suddenly you are the shore now. Parched. A hot, baking expanse seeking its relieving tide. 

God, you want him. 

You feel your core shiver around the memory of him slipped into you, deep and dirty, teeth on your throat, and it’s almost too much to take. 

You need him, even though you’re still so damn angry with him. 

Or… no. No, that’s not it. Yes - you want him because of it. 

You need to fuck the residual anger from beneath your skin, for it has festered there for months now. Months, and you need it to move. Need it to give. Need it slaked and sated and gone. 

It’s not a healthy desire, you think, and you feel a little shame at that. You are grateful then - as Santiago effortlessly drags you back into the inescapable pit of him - that the boys’ laughter tears you abruptly from this impossible yearning. Gives you a lifeline. Reminds you where you are. How far you’ve come. 

You got out. And that meant leaving him behind too, didn’t it? 

“You’re such a fucking dog, man,” Will snickers. 

The chair over, Frankie’s shoulders are shaking with laughter too, his head tipped up to the sky and his eyes disappeared with it. You wish that you could laugh like that. That you could feel light, but instead you feel heavy and sick. 

“That works?” Tom asks incredulously, and you take another hasty swig of your beer, the froth hissing against your lips and a hoppy taste flooding your tongue. You briefly wish it was something stronger.

“Don’t go getting ideas, Tom,” Santiago says smugly, slapping his buddy emphatically on the thigh. “Works when I do it.” 

Oh, you bet it does. You bet it works. 

Tom throws Santiago a stink-eye then, before sitting slightly taller in his chair, his face contorting in a clear attempt to smoulder. “My knees are shot from years in the military...” Tom echoes, trying to inject a similar level of grit into his voice... and, the contrast? The failure? It is… an instant relief. 

Tom’s attempt is laughable, in fact. And so, when your favourite pilot’s dense, throaty chuckle sounds out to your side once more – this time, you can’t help but crack a smile too. Indeed, the laughter which spills out of you is a welcome vent, and so you reach for it wholeheartedly. 

There is an eruption of good-natured, teasing banter from the boys now - and Tom looks miffed that his attempt to tease Santiago has almost entirely backfired. Then, grasping for this welcome escape route a tad too eagerly, perhaps, you submit your own dig. “You might wanna run that script again. Give us a little less of that insurance infomercial vibe next time, buddy.” 

Frankie can barely breathe from laughing now, his hand coming to clutch his belly, and it’s pleasantly infectious. The atmosphere is safe and cocooning and familiar, and for the first time tonight you almost forget. You almost forget the thing that you haven’t been able to forget for months. That Santi isn’t touching you, and that, God; you need him to. 

But then, your relief is snatched from you all too suddenly. “Well sure,” Tom aims, his shot primed to land. “You would know how it goes, right? First hand? Did Pope use that line on you too, right before he and that guy from the bar practically double-dipped you?” 

The group fucking brace. 

You can feel it. 

It’s the exact same energy as when you’ve all grabbed for purchase in the helo or the humvee, right before a collision. The world seeming to flow in slow motion, your stomach being tossed up in the air and rolling as you lurch and sink.  

Most of the time, sure. You pride yourself for being able to take the boys’ banter on the chin. For having a thick skin. For being able to muster a scathing comeback, rolling off your tongue without a thought. 

But this? This has you beat for a second. This has a sinkhole opening up in your middle.

You meet Will’s eyes for a split second in desperation, but he looks at you helplessly, and you know. You know you need to say something. You know you need to, before they witness -before he witnesses- you falling apart. Before you let your silence reveal that you’re not over Santiago. That this hang isn’t ‘just like old times’. Not like ‘before’. That maybe, it can never be how it was again. 

Finally, something comes to you, and you grab for it; once again, a little too eagerly. “At least I got some, Tom. I doubt you could even seal the deal these days.” You push the words out and hope they sound light, even as you feel a tremor in your body. In your throat. Even as you feel Santiago’s eyes on you without looking. Can imagine them, dark and knowing, and worst of all… apologetic. Maybe even pitying. “Oh hey! Just like your ‘career’ in real estate!”

“Ohhhhh shiiittt,” is the prevailing sentiment from the group, hands flung up into the air as Tom realises he’s just been owned by your spectacular throwdown. 

Good, you think. Good. You’re glad the asshole’s getting his comeuppance but, even so, your petty victory does little to fill the hole in your chest, your heart still hammering and your fingers still trembling subtly against the cool, wet neck of your beer. 

To your surprise though, Tom doesn’t even bite back. Not this time, and that makes you feel even more annoyed, somehow. It makes you feel as though your anger is misdirected. As though Tom’s not the asshole here. As though he’s not the dude you’re fuming at after all. 

Still, your comment served its purpose well enough, you think, as steady, safe banter erupts again. You are pleased that you avoided the full impact of this collision, brakes slammed on as you still teeter on the cliff edge; but your heart feels bruised and rattled in the roll cage of your chest all the same. 

Mainly though, you are pleased that you are no longer the focus of everyone’s attention. However, your skin warms when you notice one man’s eyes remain on you, his gaze fixated and hooded and intense, and a shiver of heat dips down each notch of your spine. 

You look away. You tug Will’s cap a little further down over your eyes and you wait. You wait for the topic to shift so that you can excuse yourself without the cause being quite so obvious. You wait, until you can’t take the heat from this fire a second longer. Then, and only then, you make your excuses and dip out, retreating into the empty, quiet shell of the house. 

You pad into the kitchen, the cool interior immediately relieving against your hot skin, gooseflesh snaking down your arms and making your hairs stand on end. The dim light is certainly a respite from the searing brightness of the fire and the sting of the smoke in your eyes. But most of all, of course, it is relief from him. 

Santiago. 

It’s rough. Rougher than you expected. You simply can’t take this distance from him. You’d thought, before, that the miles between you - between here and Colombia - had been hard to reckon with. But this distance? The vanishingly small distance where he’s right here yet has never felt further out of your reach? That’s a thousand times harder. This petty distance – this rupture, this wound – hurts far more, because it feels far harder to heal. Far more festering than a clean break, and seeing him has already torn out every self-applied suture. 

You don’t like that things seem to have been irrevocably changed. You don’t like that your two bodies - which used to be so in sync - are now so awkward around one another. Purposefully aloof, rather than tactile. Remaining so separate, rather than together. 

It has been slowly amassing all day, the weight of this pain. Of this lack. And now, after feeling the absence of his touch so intensely - of that blessed togetherness- ironically, you finally need a moment alone. 

You cross the room and fold yourself over the kitchen counter, hinging at the hips. You rest your head in your hands, laying your forearms flat along the cool, marbled surface. 

For a brief moment, it is even a relief. You breathe deeply. Put him out of your head. But, after only one moment more you find yourself missing the pain. You’ve become fond of it, in a way. You haven’t been able to let go because, in truth, you’ve wanted to feel the continued burn of this loss - like a scar.

It is the only proof you have left that he touched you at all. 

That you came close to having something with him. Within touching distance of it. 

But now… 

You sigh deeply. You hate this torment. You hate not knowing how to be around him. The way the familiar is recast as unfamiliar. Your certainty now uncertainty. Your home now a hotel. 

You’ve spent the whole day so far keeping your distance. Talking only to the group, always some buffer of Tom or Will or Frankie in between you. Always leaving one seat between your bodies. Avoiding prolonged eye contact. Going out of your way to make sure the two of you were never left alone.

Being left alone with him is the last thing you want; and the first, of course. 

And, as if on cue, a low whistle sounds from behind you. You know the sound without looking, and your body stiffens. “An ocean view and now this?” Santiago jokes cautiously as he approaches behind you, clearly faced with a perfect view of your ass as you fold over the counter. “Pretty sweet deal. You should get Tom in on this real estate action. He might actually sell something.” 

Despite everything, all of it, you can’t help but laugh at that. You appreciate the dig at Tom a hell of a lot more than you should, actually. 

“Listen. Are you… alright?” Santiago asks next, much more softly. You hate the way his voice prickles the hairs on the back of your neck; but also, you don’t hate it at all, of course. 

You inhale and stand, pushing your torso up from the counter. You look up to the top of the cabinets, not blinking until the would-be tears have dried, and only then do you turn towards him. 

Santiago. 

Only then do you face your sun, praying that you will not be singed.  

All day, you have had a buffer in between the two of you. Clouds, to dim his brightness. But now, it is just you and him, alone in the kitchen of the beach house. 

This bland domesticity sure is a far cry from the field, yes. From your original shared domain. But, it also serves as an all too painful reminder of the last time you saw him. Of the last time his lips moved against yours. Of the last time, in that kitchen, that he’d had you. Taken you, bunched up naked against the fridge as he filled your slick heat with his fingers. As he kissed you and tongued you and claimed you back, as if he ever intended to keep you. 

It is a reminder of the time he had told you he loved you, and with finality, you had both realised that it still might not be enough.

You turn towards him, finally, and you brace. 

Brace like you’re about to collide. 

Like there will be an impact when your eyes meet.

Your brace like you’re expecting hot tempers, hot feelings, hot words. Wounds splitting and salt being rubbed in. 

Still, that’s not at all what you get. 

Instead, Santiago’s eyes are as wet as your own. All of his boldness and bluster is gone, and he’s standing on the very perimeter of the room as though he is the one who dares to venture no further. As though you might burn him if he gets too close. 

“I missed you,” he rasps, and despite the softness and the sincerity of the words, they feel like a rough struck match against your skin. 

You try desperately. Try desperately to fling this offered spark away before it catches, but it is futile. 

He missed you, and his admission already has you blazing for him. 

He’s standing mere feet from you.

And, despite everything, all you can think about is closing this oh so petty distance. 

[quibbs126]

“Perhaps now, a new dawn can finally approach…”

Here, have some of your dosage of Cookie Run art by me

The idea was basically of Dark Choco getting that Lava Sword, and then heading out to find a new lease on life

I want his Ovenbreak redemption really badly, or at least an update following him and that sort of story, as unlikely as that is. I mean, he seems to be pretty friendly at the Sun Tournament, so he’s not entirely unsaveable. But I also sort of see why he doesn’t get one, namely that he has one in Kingdom (sort of), and reappearing Ovenbreak characters generally get boiled down to their tropes, and a redemption would mean that they have to change his tropes

But yeah, at least in AUs/fanfiction

His shoulder pads are missing because the idea in my head was that he’s getting rid of his old outfit, to symbolize him starting anew, but then I also wanted the cape but was too lazy to add the shoulder pads back in, so now they’re the only thing missing from his design. I still don’t feel like putting them in though

Background’s still not great, but at least there’s an actual setting this time? I don’t really know how to improve on that front

I put the clouds in to sort of symbolize him leaving the control of the sword, as the clouds are now supposed to be dissipating. But I also don’t really know how to draw clouds, so they don’t look as great as I’d hoped

…All right, I’m gonna be honest, this drawing was cynically conceived. I made it because I was upset that this week’s drawings haven’t been doing so well, particularly last night’s drawing. I can acknowledge most haven’t been great, but I put a lot of effort into that last one and I think it turned out a bit better than usual, but it’s barely gotten any attention, outside of some mutuals and followers that’ll like my non-Cookie Run stuff as well. And it’s gotten nothing on Twitter, despite not having the tag excuse tumblr might have as to who sees it

This was made because I’m convinced that it’ll do better than yesterday’s drawing, as well as the art I’m posting on Sunday which I busted my ass over and have been waiting to post, just because it’s Cookie Run, Dark Choco, and what most of you signed up for

The above art isn’t horrible, and I do feel kind of bad for tying it into my own personal bitterness over what was probably inevitable, but this also is not my best work. I made it in 45 minutes while in class, it’s sort of just fine. But I guarantee you it’s going to do better than those other two pieces, things I put real passion and effort into (the latter piece more than the former though), just because of what it is

I would like to be proven wrong, and for that Sunday picture to actually do good and get the attention I want it to (which isn’t much, it’s mostly just double digit likes and at least one or two reblogs with someone’s thoughts), but I feel like that won’t be what happens, and that I’ll see more of this in my activity instead

[itsnotmourn]

Not ship chart related but I think your art is so pretty!! Do you have any tips? Especially with coloring if it’s okay <] (/nf)

waah thank you very much! i'll try and explain but here’s my colouring-specific tips, or at least how i choose my colours !! <3

unless for stylistic reasons (e.g. greyscale drawing), i personally avoid pure black, greys and white for colouring. go and choose off-colours instead! for lineart, black is okay but i always go for an actual colour anyways heheh. for the background colour of your canvas, sometimes an actual colour (rather than white or grey) may help you pick your palette to be more harmonised!

following this, i also don't like using pure/neon for colours, unless it's for a certain aesthetic or artstyle (e.g. the character has a "toxic/radioactive" aesthetic; the character is a scenedog (or similiar); or highlights). see below for examples! they may be subtle but sometimes the subtly can make the difference you are looking for... if you're looking for a natural look. if you're aiming for the bright/old 2000's artstyle, then pure/neons may be your friend!

when i'm casually drawing characters (oc or not), i rarely colour-pick from the reference image. i find that when you're "forced to make the palette", it can come out more pleasing to your style/atmosphere of the drawing! it’s more personalised that way... like yea, that’s my favourite versions of those colours! i'm not saying that my colours are better though, only that "hey that's me! in those colours!!" you can have the reference image on the side or go by memory. here’s me doing this with pride flags:

nowadays, when drawing the spooky month characters—who have simple designs god bless—i can just imagine their reference and adjust the colours in my head lol example: if i know that Lila's colour palette is purple, and that her winter sweater is coloured lighter than her hair, then i can just go ahead and pick whatever shade i want following that rule!

(of course, always double check with the actual reference for physical design inaccuracies and skin tone if it applies. my advice above is just for general hair/clothing colours! …because yknow you don't want to accidentally whitewash a character's skin in the name of aesthetics lol. if you’re unsure and want to be on the careful side, please do colour pick the skin at least !!)

moving on... gradient maps and certain blending modes (like exclusion, luminosity and darken) can be a game changer too. for normal drawings (e.g. drawings with no environment), i use darken the most because it changes a few colours rather than the entire piece... (the percentages are opacity levels!)

oh and as a really basic shading tip without using blending modes: sometimes, you just gotta go for grey. shading a warmer colour? use grey to make a cool tone. shading a cool colour? use grey to make a warm tone. not all the time (because you don’t wanna make your shading seem muddy), just sometimes…

and that's that! there's always exceptions to rules and often times, your headshot doodle ends up as one big experimental mess (in a fun way, hopefully)!

this is how i choose my colours though most of the time, it is just me going “good enough”

i think we're pretty similar on how we like warm colours! i enjoy going the simple/lazy route and avoid blend modes but then again, shading is a whole different thing…

hope this helps in any way !! <:3 !!! <3

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC’s Lucien - Flooded ASMR - English Translation

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

Lucien’s 2024 CN Birthday Event (Golden Love Ratio)✧ Birthday Story | Birthday Prologue + Birthday Date | ASMR (You're here)

⚠️ This ASMR is NSFW and NOT suitable for individuals under the age of 18 due to its sexual nature. It is recommended that those who do not meet this age requirement refrain from proceeding beyond this point.

Twitter link [click here]

Transcript under the cut~

[Transcript]

[soft creak of a door opening, followed by a gentle click as it closes]

I'm home

[his footsteps drawing closer]

Mmh

Today is indeed a little more tiring than usual.

Hm?

You want to help me relax a bit?

Of course I have no reason to refuse

[squelching noises]

[chuckles]

Are you using essential oil and wood chips for massage?

Hmm, this feels very novel

I can really smell the fragrance of the wood and the essential oil

very relaxing

[chuckles]

I need to take my clothes off?

Hmm...

[light creak of the bed as he sits down]

[whispers] But I'm feeling a bit lazy, can you help me?

[rustling of fabric as his clothes got taken off + faint zipper unzipping if you listen closely🤪]

[contented exhale] Hah...

I've laid down obediently like a good boy now

Next,

you can do whatever you want—

I’ll go along with everything.

[chuckles] Sit a little closer,

it'll be easier for you that way

[sound of liquid being poured]

[some sus squelching noises + his comfortable soft moan]

Maybe it's because your hands are so warm

but I already feel much more relaxed.

Mm

I was indeed feeling a bit irritable earlier because of work.

It wasn't that I didn't want to tell you...

maybe it was more like...

I purposely wanted you to pick up on it.

[sus noises linger, followed by his delicious gasp]

[hoarsely] Your technique is really good

[gasps] I just don't know—

when did you learn all of this?

Hm?

Is this a surprise you've prepared for my birthday?

[chuckles] But,

you’ve already given me so many gifts.

[sound of his soft, breathy moan accompanied with the sus noise in the background]

Hmh

Okay

I'll behave

[comfortably exhales]

Go on

No matter what you do

I won't resist

[His breathy moan continues

but then a surprised gasp escapes as she touches... a certain place]

Here too?

[chuckle] Of course you can

However

I’m afraid that because it feels too good,

I'll become even greedier.

[the sus wet sounds and his comfortable moan leave no doubt where her hand is exploring right now🤪]

Hmh

feels so good....

Can you...

come a little closer?

[oh GOD the slippery sounds mixed with his desperate and breathless gasps... (๑/////๑ " )]

[he rolls over, and with a thud, now he's on top]

…This gift is so special,

I don't want to be the only one to enjoy it

The way you helping me relax— so serious,

so adorable,

It makes me uncontrollably

want you to experience it too.

Let me help you relax as well,

Okay?

[chuckles + rustling noises of her fabric, only god knows where he's touching]

Can't I?

I'm just purely

want the person I like

to feel the same joy as I do

Since I’m the birthday boy

I naturally have the right to share this 'joy'

Don't turn me down

teach me how to do it

[rustling of fabric as he takes off her clothes]

[the sounds of wet and sus noises as he's simply... returning the favor]

Is it like

this?

It seems like there's not enough oil.

I'll add a little more.

[sounds of the oil being poured then something chaotic happens and now the oil spilled]

Sorry,

I'm clumsy

It’s all spilled—

so much oil all over

Looks like it’ll need a thorough cleaning later.

But,

I'm no different.

[sus squelching noises continues again]

It seems like this

is a bit more relaxed than before.

What do you think?

[wet kisses join the mix, but I'm 69% convinced it is NOT on her lips 🤪]

There's no need to hide any emotions,

whether it's joy

or what you desire

just tell me everything

After all

I'm starting to become less patient

[Is he maybe... going in? HIS MOANS IS NOT FOOLING ANYONE]

Research has kept me busy these past few days

I’ve been missing you all the time.

I want to be with you just like this...

always stay together

and doing some interesting things

[HIS KISSES AND PANTS, he's really going at it—aren't these wet noises a bit too fast for a simple massage?]]

H-hah...

Just like now

gazing at you like this,

sinking into your warmth and softness

without thinking about...

anything at all

Do you know

the you right now

look very tempting

and very beautiful.

[the way his kisses became more and more DESPERATE, with the sus noises still playing in the background🫣]

Making a greedy man like me

unable to help

but want to devour you whole

[something... unstated happens and he gradually calms down]

...Thank you

I really like this gift

[chuckles and kiss]

Give me a little more time,

Allow me, bit by bit,

to share it all with you.

[the bed creaks, followed by kisses as he continues into the second round]

[total-drama-brainrot]

for that ‘noah is brought back as an assistant after getting himself eliminated’ idea i think noah should just stop trying to tiptoe around anyone after one day. he puts in one (1) day of effort and then just gives up.

“??? noah???”

“who. im not noah. ive never even heard of a noah.” (has changed his shirts and is wearing sunglasses thats all) (no effort to hide his identity)

Noah puts in a genuine effort to remain undetected for a good while (let's say a week or two) after being whisked away back to Camp Wawanakwa, since he really doesn't want to deal with the idiots he worked so hard to escape from so soon, but it's surprisingly difficult to keep himself just indistinct enough to remain under their radar without making himself look suspicious- either to the contestants themselves or to his newfound co-workers.

Maybe acting like a skittish deer every time one of the campers was around was a bit shady, but could you blame him? Anyone else in his position would be wary of discovery too. No one wants to be put on blast on international TV for the consequences of their actions. Thankfully the other interns are polite enough not to comment when he absconds at the smallest signs of his past competitors.

It doesn't help that the eliminated contestants have started to notice that Noah isn't at the Playa with the rest of them. None of them have asked about him yet, but there's a distinct air of concern at the resort every time someone comments about him- or the lack of him.

So, needless to say, Noah's got quite the reputation as a bit of a cryptid among the cast. Which is fine, he can play into that if it means none of them figure out he's been forcibly employed under their sadistic host. Noah goes out of his way to disguise himself behind different outfits, altered hairstyles and a pair of mirrored shades, and straightens his posture into something less lazy and more 'professional' when he's on the clock; it's impressive how much a change in wardrobe and demeanour can disguise someone, just look at Clark Kent. He essentially becomes a ghost to the cast, to the point that a lot of them begin to doubt he was even real and not a mass hallucination.

(Noah encourages the rest of the interns to play into that misconception, mostly because he finds it funny but also because it would aid him in his effort to remain undetected.)

But the trickery soon becomes more hassle than it's worth; Noah's about 80% certain he could do his job in the same outfit he'd worn on the island and not a single person would bat an eye, let alone recognise him. That's the power of being a wallflower- he's fairly unassuming and able to blend into the background. It's his confidence in his lack of notability that leads to him to becoming complacent.

In fact he makes a game out of it, if only to curb the boredom of his job. He goes from spy-level subterfuge to the barest minimum of a disguise; at one point he just slaps on a fake moustache and his mirrored sunglasses and calls it a day. No one notices. This only serves to encourage his blasé attitude towards his discovery- the cast are way too oblivious to notice him, after all.

Which is why Noah's inevitably discovered when he delivers a coffee to Chris on-set dressed in his usual outfit, the only attempt at a disguise being a haphazardly thrown on blonde wig. (Namely, the same wig Courtney later uses in Action.)

"Is that Noah?"

Comes a disbelieving outburst from the cast. Noah isn't sure who said it, but the statement draws attention onto him which is the last thing he wants.

He has to divert suspicion quickly before it's too late.

"No, this is Patrick."

[happyandticklish]

The Sweetest Revenge

Notes: A Christmas gift for @tickles-tea that has very little, and by that I mean nothing at all, to do with Christmas. A little bit non-con-y, just a heads up in advance. A touch of Shizaya toward the end, but other than that, this is primarily Izaya-focused. Meant to be x-reader-ish, if you want, though it can also be read otherwise. I hope you enjoy your holiday dose of torturing Izaya~

Summary: Izaya finds himself kidnapped by an unknown assailant who has a rather unorthodox method of dishing out revenge.

He opened his eyes to darkness, blinding and unending in its depths. He blinked again, unsure if he was merely disorientated, and it was then that he felt the cloth of the blindfold. Not an ideal situation to wake up in, but not the worst he’d encountered.

There was a crick in his back and he shifted to relieve it, only to come to the uncomfortable realization that he couldn’t move. At all. Izaya grunted, straining his muscles to pull his arms down, and once more they stuck firmly above his head. A quick test proved his legs to be the same.

“Well, isn’t this interesting,” he murmured, brows drawing down in vague irritation.

He leaned his head back and tried to search his memory for any indication of how he ended up here. The simplest option was to compile a list of all the people who might have a bone to pick with him, but Izaya had been collecting quite the collection throughout the years; narrowing it down would be impossible. Last night danced at the edges of his mind, and he tried to grasp onto any flying detail that might clue him in on what had happened.

He remembered a smile, along with a bar, and hands, perfectly elegant as each gesture promised the truth of their words. If only he could remember their owner.

Goosebumps prickled over his skin as a breeze wafted through the room, and his fingers twitched, longing to reach down to rub the area. The position was unfamiliarly vulnerable, a thought he tried to push to the back of his mind. He had been in scrapes like this before; the trick was to talk fast, too fast for them to think about what they were revealing.

There was a click in the distance and he froze, tilting his head up to try to hear better. A doorknob, probably. Which meant at the very least he was in a room. The click was followed by soft footfalls, and a voice, smooth and with a cadence that was frustratingly familiar.

“Sleep well?”

“What is this?” Izaya offered instead, a question for a question. He circled his wrists, gesturing to his splayed out form. “I assume you want something, so why don’t we cut straight to the chase?”

“You really don’t remember?”

“I really can’t be bothered to keep track of every person that comes in and out of my life, nor do I want to. I love your kind as a whole, but I’m afraid the individuals tend to be quite boring.” He grinned, a casual thing that held carefully cloaked danger behind it. “If you’re looking for an apology for something I’ve done, you’re wasting your time.”

“Not an apology.” The footfalls started up again, her volume increasing as she presumably closed in on him. He hated the way his ears strained to follow her; this lack of sight was really starting to become a nuisance. “I’m sure you don’t remember, but you broke a certain promise you made us a while ago. A promise that has cost us quite a bit of money.”

Noting the plural us, Izaya raised a brow, tilting his head towards the source of the mysterious voice. “Well, that sounds like a poor investment on your part, doesn’t it? A quick background check could have shown you that was a bad idea.”

He flinched as a finger trailed down the side of his arm, zagging in lazy circles like they were attempting to draw. It was annoying and his nerves prickled in discomfort, but he barely had time to focus on it before she continued talking.

“A promise is a promise, info broker, and we intend to make you face the consequences of breaking it. There’d be no point in taking the money back, as the pitiful funds you earn doing this kind of business is hardly enough to make up for our loss. So we turned to different options. Options that would teach you not to take us so lightly. We are no fools, Mr. Orihara.”

At some point in its journey, the finger had become a nail and Izaya squirmed almost imperceptibly as it made its unbearably slow descent down his arm. It was becoming far less itchy and far more something else. His stomach clenched in a chilling realization.

“But simple torture seemed too basic for the amazing Izaya Orihara. Your reputation called for something more impactful.”

The nail paused right above his armpit and Izaya realized that he had stopped breathing a while ago. He exhaled slowly, hating the way the breath stuttered a little. He longed for his sight, longed to be able to see his approaching torment. Maybe if he could have traced it, it wouldn’t have been so bad.

“I’m sure by now you’ve caught on.”

The finger remained still. So, horrendously still. “This is a child’s game.”

“That’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? That something so simple can be so devastating all at once.”

The finger twitched slightly and Izaya’s nerves raced with trembling anticipation. He could practically feel it already, and the urge to slam his arm down in protection was growing greater by the second. He managed to keep his face neutral, but it was impossible not to notice the way he inched back into the soft cushion of the chair.

“You might as well give it up now,” Izaya said brazenly with a confidence he didn’t feel. “Tickling is hardly what I’d consider a valued torture method. It’s entirely reliant on your victim even possessing that particular sensitivity that you’d need to pull off. I might be immune to it.”

“Are you?”

The damned finger swirled over the soft, vulnerable skin right before his armpit and Izaya made a solemn promise to himself to snap that finger off of the connecting bone as soon as he got out of this. He forced his earlier smirk into a frown for fear that it might turn into something else. “Only as much as any other human being. It’s not exactly something I’d consider debilitating.”

“Well then, I guess you won’t have a problem enduring this, will you?”

The finger was still circling and it was quickly turning into an annoying itch. Izaya longed to scratch it and that longing unnerved him.

In truth, Izaya couldn’t actually remember whether he was ticklish or not. It made sense that he would be, on a purely physiological level, but he had never considered the implications of it before. The last time he could remember anyone attempting was with Shinra back in middle school, and those times had all been brief and quickly ended before either of them could gain any substantial data on his sensitivity. Since then there had been moments, brief dalliances where kisses had grown too light and left him shivering uneasily. Nothing too intense, though. Nothing that would ever make him worried.

He entertained the idea for a moment, unwillingly. Being trapped like this. Being ticklish. Being tickled, at that, for seemingly hours or days on end as whoever his tormenters were didn’t seem to have an end goal in mind. He had survived torture before, but, if the unease flooding through him at the simple scratching was any indication, he did not want to be stuck like this for too long.

“And just how long do you intend to keep up this act?” He arched a brow, steeling his voice into something more even. “I may not have friends coming for me, but I have too many people relying on me to simply go missing. Of all the people to kidnap, I’m afraid you’ve chosen the wrong one. It would be better to give it up now and save yourself the suffering that will come your way if the yakuza come looking for me.”

“Relax,” the voice cooed, a soothing gesture that dug under his skin. “We’re not keeping you in here forever. Only a day. Maybe two, if the point isn’t sticking by then. No one’s going to lose sleep over a day of lost contact with their precious little info broker.”

“A day?” Izaya scoffed. “How much damage do you possibly expect to do in that time?”

“I think you’ll find, Mr. Orihara—” the finger descended at last, nail tracing lazily under his arm— “that there is quite a fucking lot that we can do to you within that time.”

Whatever witty quip Izaya might have shot back at that died on his tongue as the itch from before suddenly became very intolerable. He squirmed back on the seat in a subtle attempt to try to raise himself up and away from the source of his irritation, but to no luck. He hadn’t realized quite how tightly he was restrained until this moment. Straps curled snugly around his biceps and thighs, accentuating the ones at his wrists and ankles. A quick wriggle of his hips proved that there was another around his waist as well. He could hardly move half an inch without a great force of will.

His breathing quickened, just slightly.

“What is it exactly that you want?” he asked quickly, closing his eyes behind the blindfold in an attempt to block out the sensation. Maybe he could bargain his way out of this—he had done it before, after all. “An apology? Information? I guarantee you that there’s someone out there you hate more than me. I am not opposed to helping with that, if you simply—"

“Quiet, I’m trying to concentrate.”

Izaya snapped his mouth shut, bristling at the nonchalant command—like he was some ignorant child. He tried again, this time, with a bit more anger seeping into his words.

“If this is all you intend to do, you’re wasting your time. Let me go and maybe we can—mmph!”

What he assumed to be a hand was slapped over his mouth, muffling the rest of his protest. Embarrassment and annoyance coiled in his stomach like a viper and he twisted his head, trying to dislodge her grip. When that failed, he stuck out his tongue, dragging it along her fingers—childish, maybe, but perhaps enough to startle her.

She didn’t even dignify it with a response. He was just considering biting her palm when a second, then a third, then all five fingers were dragging under his arms and he suddenly had a much larger problem.

It tickled. He hadn’t been sure earlier that that’s what it was, but he could say for absolute certain now that this tickled. A lot. Intolerably so. Laughter ballooned in his throat and he choked it back down with a struggle. He couldn’t laugh. Not only because it would be undignified, but because he was angry and frustrated and a million other emotions that were nowhere close to amused, so laughter was out of the question.

It was stupid. He shouldn’t want to laugh right now. He shouldn’t feel light and bubbly and he certainly shouldn’t feel giddy.

“Having a bit of trouble there?” The teasing wasn’t helping either. Everything about this was so damn patronizing and he couldn’t do a thing about it. “Tickles, doesn’t it? I will admit, I wasn’t sure that you were ticklish when I first enacted this plan, but I am happy to be proven wrong. I know this spot is absolutely horrendous for most—do you agree?”

Izaya let out a muffled sound that might have been a curse or a wheeze. His arms trembled, desperately wanting to dart down in protection. As much as he was suffering, he couldn’t help but admire this particular form of torture. For as much time as he spent observing human beings, tickling had never been a phenomenon that he’d paid much mind to. He had never been able to wrap his head around it, that something that made you giggle like a child could be agonizing if enacted correctly.

Now, he was starting to understand. Izaya was good at enduring pain—he had to be, to keep the kind of company he did. This tickling was weirdly difficult to resist, however. Each rush of stimulation sent panic alarms going off on his brain, demanding that he free himself as quickly as possible. He gritted his teeth, forcing short, even breaths in an attempt to jumpstart his body into a state of calm.

“You know, I’m glad that you’re holding out.” The sudden intrusion of her voice almost broke his concentration—almost. “I can’t say that I wouldn’t be disappointed if you broke so soon. My associates argued I should cut right to the chase and overwhelm you with sensation, but I prefer this slow weakening of resistance. It’ll make it all the more satisfying when you finally beg for me to stop, even more so when I refuse.”

Cheap threats. No one is so devout in their goals that they can’t be swayed if you pull the right triggers. There had to be something she desired, more than him, and Izaya was determined to find it out. In the meantime, he just needed to hold out long enough to get her talking. Make her reveal herself all on her own.

Which meant, he would have to give up the tough act just enough to bear through this. Anyone with any kind of sense knew that exerting all your strength through resistance in the beginning only tired you out later on. He had to be ready to be in this for the long haul.

Slowly, he willed his muscles to untense just slightly, a stupid grin flickering over his face as the sensations increased. He allowed the laughter in his throat a brief escape, a few, huffed giggles slipping into her hand.

It’s okay, it just tickles—nothing to get so worked up over.

Then, he bit her hand. She cursed, instinctively pulling it away just long enough for Izaya to get a sentence out. “You said you’re after money, right? I can ma—hah—ake you some. I h-have connections.”

“Are your ribs ticklish, do you think?” Ignoring him—smart on her part, unfortunate on his. The question itself made him tense. He wished more than anything that he knew the answer to it. “It would really be a shame if they were. Can you imagine having to endure that when they’re so exposed? Stretched taut, no shirt, no wiggle room—practically unbearable if you think about it.”

Shut up. He almost hissed it at her, but he bit back the words at the last minute. Thus far, she hadn’t re-covered his mouth yet and he didn’t want to provoke her back into it. Her voice needled under his skin like a parasite.

Instead, he forced his grin into a smirk, trying to ignore her nails settling against his ribs, trying to ignore how his skin had jumped treacherously under her touch. “There must be something. Revenge may seem sweet now, but how sweet will it be when you’re on the other side of it? I may not be able to see your face, but your voice is all I need when I get out of this. Which I will, and when I do, you’ll wish that the only retribution you’ll receive will be a bit of tickling. So just—god, fuhuhuck!”

His negotiations were abruptly cut off as her nails set into action, skittering light and quick against his ribs which were, evidently, fairly fucking ticklish. He cursed, throwing his head back as the laughter started streaming out of him at last. Whatever device they had him strapped into arched his torso, leaving his ribs stretched out and vulnerable. His nerves sparked urgently, and he jerked on his arms once more to no avail.

“Having trouble? I thought you said this wasn’t a ‘valued torture method’.”

Izaya opened his mouth to protest, but she had located a devilish spot behind his ribs that quickly robbed him of speech in favor of a fit of giggles. Giggles. He made a mental note to be embarrassed about this later when he had time to focus on anything but how much this tickled and how much it wasn’t going away.

“Nothing to say?”

“Fuhuhuhuck y-yohou!”

“Oh, quite the mouth. What’s the matter? Finally got under your skin?” There was a soft hum, and the next words were spoken next to Izaya’s ear. He flinched at the warm breath, hating how it sent shivers running down his spine. “I wonder how long it’ll be before you break—before you’re offering up anything and everything for even an ounce of mercy. We’ve been watching you for a while now. Studying your movements. That stubborn streak of yours is quite impressive. I’m going to enjoy breaking it.”

Before he had time to think about the implications of those last few sentences, the tickling subsided all at once, leaving him cackling over nothing for a moment. The hands pulled away as footsteps echoed across the floor. “I will agree though, I haven’t truly made you suffer yet—there’s something missing. You have a nasty habit of running your little mouth off even when it would behoove you to keep it shut. Without it, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now. So, I figured, why not take care of it for you?”

Izaya had just barely finished catching his breath, but his eyes narrowed at her words. He opened his mouth most likely to say something inadvisable in the moment only to have it filled with cloth as a gag was tied around his head. He muffled out a protest, jerking his head around to try to deter her, but it was no use.

“There we go. That’s much better, don’t you agree? Now I can finally have some peace and quiet while I explore the rest of your body. Let’s see… the upper torso appears to be quite sensitive. I wonder…”

Izaya jumped as fingernails began to dance treacherously around his neck, a gentle, slow torture that made him scrunch and let out muffled giggles into his gag. Shudder after shudder coursed down his spine as goosebumps spread down his chest. This was one of the few places that he knew he was ticklish due to unfortunate incidents with past lovers. Not the worst spot and certainly better than when her fingers were under his arms, but far more embarrassing due to the horrendous gasps and squeaks it was forcing out of him. There was something oddly intimate about the area, and he flushed red as she curled nails behind his ears to a flurry of high-pitched giggles.

“I almost wish I could remove the blindfold just to see the expression on your face. I’m sure you’re going positively mad right about now.” A hand stroked his cheek and Izaya jerked away. “Aw, poor baby. It’ll be over soon, don’t worry. Or, well—soon enough.”

The tickling at his neck continued for what felt like one minute too many. He was surprised he didn’t have whiplash from jerking his neck around in wild but ineffective protection. He kept expecting his body to grow used to the sensation as would make sense, but if anything, things seemed to be growing hypersensitive over time. By the time she pulled away, the lightest touch would have been enough to set him off.

He barely had time to feel any relief, however, before his legs were assaulted by a series of quick squeezes starting from his knees and climbing higher until they ended at the crease right before his hips. Izaya yelped indignantly, lurching forward in his bonds. He almost, almost, begged right then and there, and the plea sat ready on his lips as the squeezes began again. Not that it would have mattered much with the gag. But the lack of resistance disquieted him. He had been in much worse scrapes than this before, but the sheer helplessness of this situation was driving him into desperation faster than it would have otherwise.

“Oh, hoh! Now that works! Ticklish legs, informant?” The squeezes had transformed into light scribbles and that was worse, that was so much worse. “You really should have held out a little longer and I might have moved onto something else. But now? I think this would be a nice way to pass the next several hours.”

Izaya groaned, his face tensing in a grin as her touch traveled to his inner thighs. His mind raced with potential solutions, possible savors, even enemies who might be looking to steal him away for some other brand of torture that at the very least wouldn’t allow him to let out so many embarrassing noises. It was hard to think with featherlight touches at his thighs stealing away all his brain power.

Perhaps the worst part of all of this, worse than how helpless he felt or the knowledge that he might be stuck here for the long haul, was that a small, tiny, miniscule part of him was enjoying this. Sure, he would have preferred another person in her position, different context at least, but he had to admit that he couldn’t really remember the last time he had been touched in a non-murderous manner. And as much as this particular brand of touch was driving him crazy, it was soft and gentle and imbued with so much intentionality. She was not content to merely tickle him. She was examining him, taking in his reactions and studying them in order to bring him to the greatest level of torment. He had this woman’s attention, however briefly, entirely on him.

He hated how good that felt.

So, even as he giggled and shrieked and let out all manner of profanity and half-hearted negotiations behind his gag, in the safety of his own mind he made a silent, embarrassed plea for it to go on just a little longer.

Unbeknownst to both Izaya or the woman, however, stood another form—a man. He stood behind a column at the back of the warehouse, hidden in the darkness. Shizuo had been spending a perfectly pleasant evening with Tom getting hammered at some bar downtown when he had noticed Izaya disappearing off into the crowd with some stranger. Curiosity had gotten the better of him, and so he had trailed the van once they knocked out Izaya and brought him to this place. He had already made quick work of the guards outside and had planned to do the same to whoever this mysterious assailant was. That was until he saw what they had planned for him.

His eyes lay transfixed on the sight of Izaya’s writhing, flushed form, the sound of his muffled laughter snagging Shizuo’s attention despite himself and making him hesitate. He didn’t owe Izaya anything. Whatever this mess was, Izaya had clearly gotten himself into it. Besides, it was only tickling. Sure, it would be bad if Izaya withstood this for as long as whoever the sadistic woman out there wanted to keep him for. But Shizuo didn’t have to let it go on that long. And there was something satisfying about watching the usually smug man fall to pieces over something so simple.

Another half hour, Shizuo reasoned as a shriek rang out across the room when the woman discovered the terribly sensitive spot on his upper hips. Another half hour, and then he would save him.

Izaya would be fine till then.

[sasaleletrebol]

I found you by total accident…

Meet my OC Luna! This is the only good drawing I have of her, and I forgot the ink splotch on her cheek.. but I’m to lazy to fix it lol

I’m still learning how to draw skeletons, so if you have any tips I’d love to hear them TvT

Your art is very edible btw :D

WHAT'S UP POOKIE? DID YOU THINK I FORGOT ABOUT YOUR CHILD? NUH-HUH

Two versions because I didn't know what to do for the background lol

So... you discover I can't draw wings... you... why

Nah, nvm. It was a lot of fun and also I really like dragons but can't draw them lololololololololol

So... Tips???? Man I wish I knew how to draw skeletons too. But ahí te va some stuff that help me be a little good at it:

Ok, I'm not the biggest expert on this. But I'll try my best!

I'll devide it in sections

Study: If possible try to understand the basics of the real thing. Ya know, so your brain have a more clear vision of what your hands are going to draw.

Studying is (for me) an important part of the creative process. It's the "why are things the way they are?". Once it's explained, you'll have more confidence in what you're going to do.

Big Shapes: Now, obviously you're not going to remember all those bones by heart to draw a silly skeleton. That's what big shapes are for.

Try to look at them not as lines, but as objects. Objects have perspective. It doesn't have to be exaggerated or perfect. But knowing it can greatly improve your drawing skills.

I'll recomend watching some tutorials or drawing practices for this.

Details: this it's the fun part! Now our skeleton has a face! Yipie!.

Here I want you to remember to FLIP THE CANVAS NOW OR LAMENT IN THE COLORING. Now we are working with finer lines (depending on your style) for the smaller but not less important part of your work.

Technically it's the "lineart", but I don't know what that is *proceeds to whistle at just cleaning the sketch (but that's personal taste)*.

Style: Here's where personal taste comes into place. It's the pencils that you use, the lines you work with, what's best looking aesthetically to you.

I'll add and extra tip here... it's... STEALING!!! MUAHAHAHAJ. Ok no. Don't do that. What I mean by "stealing" is to see references of styles that you really like and try to implement elements of them in your work!

For example my biggest Inspirations are Jakei, x_nzlian and fanarts I really like!. I study really deep what I most like about those styles and use it to improve my own!

Like, how they draw the noses, the eyes, the shapes of the mouth they use, how they draw clothes interacting with the bones.

Take care and have fun. Don't compare yourself to others. Don't be sad if it doesn't work at the first try. Just keep going, keep learning, keep looking, learn from your mistakes and take care of your hand omg please. Do some wirst warm ups (that you can look up on YouTube and stuff) before grabbing a pencil. And your eyes, if you're a digital artist. DON'T DRAW ON A PURE WHITE CANVAS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

And also you can do whatever the heck you want! Don't follow all of this at the point of the letter. What I mean it's have fun and do whatever suits best for you. I'm just some silly clover in the internet who thinks that they know what they're doing.

That's it. Sorry if it is too long uuuhhh. Here, you got a cookie as a reward for reading all of that rambling→🍪. Thank you, and take care of yourself💕

[nerves-nebula]

I fucking adore your comic panelling, any advice on how to do it? Like specific ratios or ways to divide the page?

god there's so much advice i COULD give but i really dont wanna end up writing a book here. so I guess I'll say this: however you divide the page you should be CONSISTENT with it, i literally just learned/internalized this but it's made comic paneling soo much easier. when you break that consistency it will be more impactful. hold up lemme grab some pages.

so i recently started making loose stitches a 4 tier comic. it's not the exact same for each page cuz i'm lazy but i think it's made legibility way better. before i think it was kinda uhhhhh a little all over the place. not BAD but a little difficult to tell where your eyes supposed to go sometimes. which isnt great for a commic.

the page on the left in particular has always bothered me cuz i always read the top panels incorrectly and it's like. fuck man what is the paneling here why is it in two columns ????? that's so hard to understand. but the page on the right can be more or less easily understood (by someone who knows how to read comics) even without panel borders because it's just a simple 4 panel square.

one thing my comic professor really stressed was that he didn't like weird paneling or weird borders. for the most part, a square is fine. AND HE'S RIGHT. weird paneling is fun and cool but should be used sparingly or with intention, cuz if you do it too much then like. how tf are ppl gonna read your comic.

that being said there are a lot of cool ways to cut up panels even if they're just squares hold on lemme grab some examples

so the panels here are all square but the image in the one at the bottom is almost like a mural. one thing i really like to using is a lot of heavy BLACK, what can i say silhouette's have my entire heart.

in my fable comic, I used a 3 tier system. it wasn't the same exact size across all pages but all pages had 3 tiers of paneling. that way i can be a little more flexible with the SIZE of the panels to emphasize the more important things, without it feeling like it's all over the place

meanwhile in my comic final i used a 4 tier system where each tier was nearly the same across every page, but you can collapse tiers together for establishing shots and big reveals so that they're more impactful. it's still fully within the grid system I set up so it doesn't feel like it's messing with shit either.

ok i just spent a lot of time rambling about this one particular concept and it's probably not even what you wanted to hear about :') i didnt even go into ratios or anythinggg guhhhh sowwy

other than all that i'd just say you gotta keep looking at what comic artists have written and take note of how they use space and cut things up. there's this book called How To Read Nancy and it has all these exercises for understanding the building blocks of nancy. for real the author is OBSESSIVE and goes through everything of a 3 panel nancy strip from body language to spot blacks to the minutia of the background. we used this book in my class and did some of the exercises in the back and i think it's really good at getting you to THINK about what you're drawing. and you can easily pirate it if you're broke.

also try to make sure things dont get stagnant on a page. zoom out if you're only doing close ups (i try to make sure every page of loose stitches has at least one full body shot even tho I'm lazy and wanna just do talking heads- talking heads arent interesting!!)

also, take advantage of the fact you're drawing a COMIC. you can do shit in comics that you can't do in other mediums, try to implement them when u can! ALSO PRACTICE. you're not gonna get better just by reading and watching. you gotta do it lol. ok ok that's enough and you didn't even ask for that stuff you asked about PANELING sfdasfsd byeee

[lloydfrontera]

this is like. so non-important compared to all my other grievances with the webcomic but like. the reasons kim hyunsoo gives for changing javier's hair from silver to mint. lol. lmao even.

they're so,, lazy,,,,

that sounds like a skill issue my dude :/

i mean the novel illustrations did it perfectly well imo

'but nali' i hear you say 'those are novel illustrations, where there's only one drawing per chapter. of course it's more difficult to do in a webcomic'

and sure. you're right. it's very different in a webcomic. in fact i am almost certain that no webcomic has ever had a protagonist with silver hair.

not a single webcomic ever has done that before. truly. a completely unrealistic expectation to have.

really it's not like silver hair is one of the most popular tropes in manhwa and almost every other webcomic has one of those

clearly. this was a completely impossible thing to ask of an adaptation. it's not like it's one of the most iconic parts of our protagonist's design. it's not like it's mentioned almost every single time javier is onscreen.

really. what a truly necessary change.

which. speaking of.

now, correct me if i'm wrong. but shouldn't your deuteragonist, the very first character your character meets, your second main character's design,,, more important than a secondary character that isn't introduced like,,, more than a hundred episodes later???

like. i don't think we even get told what color lloyd's hair is. but god does the novel mention that habiel has silver hair every five minutes.

i'm sorry i just think that if you're gonna adapt something the very least thing you could do is try to be faithful to one of the very few character descriptions we ever get! especially that of your goddamn main character!

how come a secondary character takes precedence over him?? why not change that character's hair color then???

and even then. if your character design skills suck so much that two characters having the same hair color is enough to make them look too similar perhaps there's a bigger problem here.

i just,,,, i am almost certain i know what character he's speaking of. maybe even two characters. hell maybe even three. but fucking guess what. the webnovel illustrations already did designs for those characters. it gave them all silver hair. and there was No Issue at all because their designs were so distinct from one another that at no point was there any doubt of who was who. because that's what good character design is about.

like. that's such a stupid reason oh my godddd if you're gonna pull that bs then what's your excuse for all those other characters with brown hair. are you not worried they're gonna overlap because their hair color is the same. i mean you made silurian's brown hair darker so now it matches like 90% of your background characters. do their design not overlap like that.

i'm just!! it's such a stupid thing to get mad about!! especially when there's far more egregious changes being made but like!! it just,,, it shows the kind of attitude the people adapting tged into a webcomic have towards the source material

it's not about the hair color. i mean it is but there's more to it. it's about how the artists feel comfortable disregarding parts of the novel and canon because it's more convenient to them. it's about how they prefer to focus on unimportant stuff that gets them a few laughs rather than put a little bit of effort into getting their characters right. it's about how they waste entire panels into making ugly faces and repetitive jokes rather than take a bit of time to get the hair color of their protagonist correctly.

it is,, disappointing i guess :/

and because i'm petty. here.

that's literally it. that's all kim hyunsoo had to do. it's such a tiny detail and yet. couldn't be bothered to get it right lol