#the red even has the gradient to black like come on

[skrunksthatwunk]

"i have a midterm tomorrow", a diagram for idiot dumb stupid idiots. seeking peer review

[chucklingmaniacally]

POV: You're playing Hades 2 and spot an unfamiliar god boon symbol.

I'm so happy I got this done in time for Janmashtami lmao. My friend's (*cough* @randomfandomtraveller)headcanon is that Krishna would have a sweet spot for Melinoe because she almost has the same mission as teen Krishna.

I'm putting my hat in the ring to fight all the people that post AI generated images of the gods lmao. I'm not even religious but I think there's something so depressing that you want a plagiarism machine's version of your gods' iconography instead of an artist's version???

Bonus: Alt Version and WIP screenshot for all the freaks out there.

[Image Description:

Image 1: "The image is the artist's rendition of the Hindu God Krishna in the style of the videogame Hades 2. He is a dark skinned god with a slight build, and is wearing a red upper body cloth and a golden yellow _dhoti_. He is bedecked in gold ornaments on his shoulder, his upper arm, his hands and his feet.

He has long black curly hair, which leads into a cosmic gradient of dark blue and purple, dotted with stars. He is sitting casually, with his left hand on his knee and his right holding him up. In his hair, he wears a gold circlet which is dotted with a magical looking peacock feather. He's wearing a garland of red, white, and yellow flowers, and the garland seems to be flying in a breeze.

Encircling his head is a golden aura, which is lit up by divine looking light coming from the right side of the image.

The background of the image is that of the Hades 2 game, at the Erebus level. It is filled with greenery and leafless tree framinge the shot. Krishna's symbol is at the center of the image, which is a peacock feather that looks like an eye.

To the right of Krishna, there is a text box which states his name and his title, and a dialogue. The text box title says "KRISHNA, THE PROTECTOR INCARNATE"

The dialogue he says to the main character of Hades 2, Melinoë is "Something troubling you there on this fine night, Daughter of Persephone? Ah, perhaps a spot of trouble while fighting the Old Man? Well, the advice I have would take too long and I have little time, so here! Have a blessing, instead."

Image 2: The same picture as image 1 but this background is plain white with the artist signature.

Image 3: A desktop screenshot of the lineart of the artwork in Clip Studio Paint.

End Description]

[gwenpendragns]

i was asked by @matthew-macfadyens for a colouring tutorial, so here we go ! i've been making gifs for almost 4 years now and finally feel comfortable and confident in my skills to make a full tutorial on my colouring process. there are so many different ways people colour gifs, and there's no wrong way, this is just how i do it ! i learned to gif by reading so many tutorials and picking and choosing what works for me, so hopefully this can help someone out !

if this tutorial helps you, please considering supporting me ! buy me coffee ♡

TUTORIAL UNDER THE CUT

what you'll need: - photoshop ( i use ps cc 2023 & frame timeline ) - basic ps knowledge ( how to make gifs, how to sharpen gifs, general understanding of adjustment layers, layer masks and blending modes ) - a whole lot of patience

helpful resources:

the beginner's guide to channel mixer by @aubrey-plaza

giffing 101 by @cillianmurphy

gif making for beginners by @hayaosmiyazaki

colouring yellow-tinted shots by @ajusnice

becca's mega colouring tutorial by @nataliescatorccio

@usergif

PART ONE: BASE COLOURING

- step 1: curves - step 2: exposure - step 3: colour balance - step 4: selective colour - step 5: levels - step 6: brightness / contrast - step 7: gradient map

okay so, before we get started, this tutorial is for colouring only. at this point, i've already gotten my screencaps, imported them into photoshop, made the actual gif & sharpened the gif. the above image includes what my typical adjustment layer stack looks like !

STEP ONE: CURVES

a lot of people do the majority of their heavy lifting in curves...i'm not one of those people. i've never gotten the hang of curves and haven't been able to fully taken advantage of everything it can offer. i use curves to mainly brighten up my gif and to start my process.

i use the "auto" button in the curves function - this automatically corrects the curves for your gif ( mainly the brightness / contrast )

you can see that the auto curves has brightened up the gif and evened out the brightness/contrast. i just find this gives a better starting point for the colouring process.

STEP TWO: EXPOSURE

this step is for, you guessed it, brightening the gif more and evening out the contrast and blacks. i don't have any real rules for doing this, the amount i highten the exposure and contrast is different based on the scene and the show, however, i tend to stay around +1 on both exposure and gamma correction.

exposure effects the brightness of the gif and gamma correction effects the blacks and contrast. this step also effects the saturation of the gif, so it's important not to go too crazy. i often end up coming back to this step every now and again to adjust and fiddle with it.

for this gif, i put the exposure at +1.18 and the gamma correction at 0.85

you can see this step serves to add some more brightness and contrast - it also adds some more saturation, that we don't always want, but don't worry, that's what the next steps are for !

STEP THREE: COLOUR BALANCE

i use this step to do a lot of my heavy lifting - i'm a whore for colour balance. this serves to even out the colours and help neutralize the colours for an easier canvas. it's important to understand the basics of colour theory for this, i recommend checking out the channel mixer tutorial i listed above, because a lot of those steps applies to colour balance.

essentially, there's three separate profiles to edit on - highlights, midtones and shadows. in each profile, you have 3 colour sliders. the top one is your cyan to red, middle is magenta to green, and bottom is yellow to blue. the colouring of the scene will decide where to move your sliders.

for example: if your original scene has a cyan tint to it, you'll want to pull your slider to the right, towards the red to help neutralize the cyan. if your scene has a green tint, you'll want to pull it left towards the magenta. as you move the sliders, you'll notice that sometimes it brings out other colours you don't necessarily need, you can adjust the other sliders to help neutralize further.

i always do my main correction in the midtones profile.

since this scene has a heavy yellow tint, my first step was to adjust the bottom slider. i pulled the slider to the right towards blue at +22. you can see this helped get rid of a lot of the yellow, but adding in the blue warmed up the reds and made it more saturated.

to help with this, i pulled the top slider left towards cyan to help neutralize that red.

i pulled the top slider to -28 and you can see this cut out that heavy saturation and redness. it's looking a lot better, but now it's a little too green for my liking. this is where that middle slider comes in!

i pulled the middle slider to -6 towards the magenta to help counteract the green that came in. ( i ended up going back in and adjusting the bottom slider to +10 instead, as it was a little to blue )

you can see this step really did the heavy lifting, helping to neutralize the canvas so that it's easier to work with...but it's not quite perfect yet!

STEP FOUR: SELECTIVE COLOUR

a lot of the same principles around colour theory apply to selective colour! this is where i go to adjust the colours according to what my colour palette is. for this gif, the overall colour is going to be purple, so i'll adjust the individual colours with that in mind.

i only ever adjust my red, yellow, white and black profiles! sometimes i'll do the other colours, but that's only for tweaking the final colour. i normally don't touch them at all.

ps: you'll notice i prefer a cooler toned gif, and almost always go for a more magenta looking red/yellow.

i always start with my yellows:

in the yellow profile, i pull my cyan towards the left to -38 (this helps eliminate the green in the yellows) and my yellow slider to the left to -27 (this cools down the yellows. i top it off by adjusting my magenta slider to -10, to help lower the saturation of the yellows.

you'll notice this step got rid of most of the green undertones - that's because the green was nested inside the yellows, so by taking out a lot of the cyan and yellow, you're left with a warmer yellow as opposed to a cooler yellow.

next i go on to my reds. this step will mainly effect the alys's skin tone, but i'm going to do pretty much the same as above but with much less dramatic of a change. lowering your colours in your red profile too much can lead to a very saturated gif, which is not what i'm going for.

i pulled my cyan slider to -19, magenta to -9 and yellow to -15. you can see this helped add some more cooler tones to the reds.

the next profiles are your white and black profiles. i use white to brighten the lightest parts of the gif. no rhyme or reason here, i just pull the black slider towards the left...usually around -25. for the black profile, i always move the black slider towards the right. anywhere from +3 to +8, depending on the gif. for this gif, i did +8. this darkens the blacks and, in my opinion, helps the gif pop!

you can see this step got rid of the yellow tint, gave the gif a more neutral look and adjusted the reds to better compliment a purple colour scheme !

STEP FIVE: LEVELS

this adjustment has three toggles - i'm not 100% sure what each toggle really does, i just know that by pulling the leftmost toggle to the right, it darkens your gif, and pulling the rightmost toggle to the left brightens your gif.

this step is so hard to explain, but really i just pull the toggles around until it looks good...sorry !

STEP SIX: BRIGHTNESS / CONTRAST

this step is exactly what it says on the tin...it brightens your gif. this step is based on your scene and personal preference, there's no real guide to it.

i always pull my brightness slider to the right ( brighter ) and my contrast slider to the left ( less contrast ).

STEP SEVEN: GRADIENT MAP

this last step is something i learned from @nataliescatorccio ! i add a gradient map to the top of my stack, and choose a lighter colour of what i want my overall gif to be. in this case, i used a very light purple!

i then set the blending mode to "soft light" and lower the opacity to anywhere from 20-30%. for this gif, i did 30%

this step will help make your colour pop once you do your main colouring!

PART TWO: PAINTING & COLOURING

- step 1: layer 1 - step 2: layer 2 - step 3: layer 3 - step 4: final touches

okay, so my actual colouring process is based in 3 layers. for this gif, i'm using a deep purple/mauve colour !

STEP ONE: LAYER ONE

between your brightness/contrast and gradient map layers, add another blank layer. change the blending mode of this layer to "colour" and set the opacity to 40%.

then, using a soft round brush with an opacity of 100% ( size of the brush is your preference, i typically use around 108 ), colour the parts of the gif you want coloured !

you can see this helps us get the canvas to a more uniform purple colour!

STEP TWO: LAYER TWO

for layer two we're going to do the exact same thing. add a layer above your previous, set to "colour" at 40%. we're going to go over the same areas!

you can see this helped get the purple so much more vibrant and closer to what our final colour is going to be!

STEP THREE: LAYER THREE

for our final layer, add another layer above the previous 2, set your blending mode to "multiply" and your opacity to anything from 60%-100%. for this gif, i did 60% !

now, our colouring is pretty much done but you can see that, now that our colour is down, alys's face is still a little too blue/green/yellow for the background purple. the next step, we're going to adjust and add final touches!

STEP FOUR: FINAL TOUCHES

at this point, i went back into my selective colour layer and adjusted my yellows & reds and went back into my colour balance layer to adjust everything overall.

at this point, i'm going to go in and add some adjustments layers above everything - i usually add some brightness/contrast, and a selective colour layer to darken the blacks.

which brings us to our final result:

[peterspinkrobe]

Temptation | Priest!Miguel O’Hara x femreader [part 4]

W/C: 7,1k+ Go read the other chapters

Warnings/Rating: 18+. Religious content. Some Spanish. [smut spoilers ahead lol] ~~~~~~~~~~~ Reader has a vagina. Oral (f receiving). Some overstimulation. That’s all, babe.

A/N: so so so sorry it took so long. Thank you for your patience. I got real wrapped up in the chapter and work has been working me. Looking up flower symbolism and shit. Also, turns out the Bible has smut too. The scripture quoted throughout is from Song of Songs 4-7. Let me know what you think. Pic is something I found on Google (shame)

The chill of the evening air reminded the two who stepped into it that August was bleeding into September. Change was in the wind that carried hues of summer - fluttering down from trees that were shedding their warm colors for leaves of yellow, red, and orange gradients. The sun set earlier day by day as autumn approached the little town hidden in the Catskills mountain belt.

As the sun buried itself deeper into the horizon, it cast an expanse of purples and blues on the clouds above the two making their way into the courtyard behind the church. The pair stole away, silently sneaking out a side door, while the others enjoyed their supper inside. They were accompanied only by the statues of winged angels frozen in time - pouring bowls of abundance into the garden.

Wildflowers burst from patches along the walkways as the tall man guides the follower to a bench situated beside a maple tree. He ducked to avoid the overhead branches as he sat down and invited the other to join him there.

Wild Asters sprouted on either side of the bench in large clusters, long stems shooting up petals of white and red. The one still standing admires the stark contrast between the backdrop of the natural world and the seated one’s black clothes and collared neck. No words have been exchanged since they stepped into the open air but the silent invitation of the large hand patting the open space made the other feel tingles, nonetheless.

The black clad man kept his hands in his lap and shot sideways glances at the one beside him. Their nerves caused them to bounce their knees rapidly. The silence and their nervousness was too much for the man to bear. He wanted to calm them down and reassure them that all was well. He placed his large hand on the other’s knee, halting the bobbing leg. The sudden touch caused them to look up at him into the stormy dark eyes that showed nothing but concern and curiosity. He spoke their name and the song brought them back to Earth.

__________________________________________

“Your confession last-” the deacon began, but was interrupted by your nervous apology.

“I’m so sorry that you had to hear all that. I am so embarrassed and I understand if you think I shouldn’t come here anymore. The last thing I want to do is get you in trouble or-.” This time you are interrupted by that large hand squeezing your leg gently. You look down and see the long-sleeved black dress shirt rolled up to his forearm, the muscle there too tight for it to roll up any further. The veins in his arms protrude and you trace one with your eyes that trails up his arm to the back on his hand. His palm envelopes your kneecap and the long fingers create a cage around the joint. You swallow your words and silently curse the clothes separating skin.

“Please… let me finish.” He brought his other hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. He sounded strained, as if he had to get the words out or he would burst. Like the things he had to say were compacted in his skull and caused pressure to build between his eyes. You fell silent again and your eyes darted between the scrunched lids of his eyes.

“Ever since your confession I have been wanting to speak with you. I tried calling after you that day but I know I must have scared you.” Fear wasn’t the primary motive for hauling ass out that church as much as it was shame, but you didn’t want to interrupt him. “And then you weren’t here on Sunday… I realize after your confession that you’re only really here for your mother, but I so wished you were here that day so we could talk face to face.” He continued slightly solemnly.

“I hated that we didn’t get to speak on your struggles further and we weren’t able to close the confession as you deserved. You need to know that I hold no judgment towards you - that session was between you and Him. Everyone's path is different and faith isn’t cookie cutter.” He was so impassioned that when his eyes finally met yours again they lit up with excitement in his explanation.

“I owed a fellow man of the church a favor and I took over his confession shift that day last week. The fact that you came to confession that day… on that day of all days. To you all that may seem serendipitous or coincidental, that you felt that strange urge to release those doubts on the day that I was in the booth, but we in the business like to call that ‘God’s Timing’.” The worry and stress seem to melt away as he talks about your interaction in the booth, very different from the reaction you were expecting. His eyes brighten when you, him, and God are being mentioned in the same breath. He becomes more animated and gestures to the expanse of nature around the two of you.”You were meant to go there that day and say those words, I was meant to be there to hear them, as we are meant to be here now in this garden.”

His chest rises and falls from the excitement he feels. He was certain that this is what is felt to be overcome with the Spirit as he had seen in other churches. For the words to fall out without filters and not hold back the faith. When he lowers his eyes to yours again there is a soft smile in them that matches the one slightly stretching his lips.

“I don’t care if you don’t believe in what I preach,” He says this suddenly and his smile slowly fades into something more serious. “It doesn’t bother me that we don’t share the same faith in Christ.”

Heavy pause follows the revelation and you dare not interrupt him, giving him the time to express himself as he did for you in the booth. The setting sun shines rays into his eyes and they reflect back deep amber irises. Their brilliance bounces across your face like he is studying every inch of it - as if your countenance were a difficult passage in Numbers to interpret.

When he speaks again, you find that you aren't as drunk in the music of his voice. The notes are grounding and almost meditative.

“But what worries me is that you don’t share the same faith in yourself that I do. That you don’t see yourself as worthy of blessings when you are a blessing yourself.” The light chill in the air can’t keep the heat from creeping up your chest and neck. His tone became lighter as he went on.

“You are more than deserving of good things. I know our internal thoughts make us feel otherwise, but I need you to know that what they say to you isn't the truth. We all have personal demons that make us question ourselves.” He tilts his upper half more towards you and his large shoulders jut against the backdrop of maple branches and stirring leaves.

Slowly, so slowly, he slides his hand centimeters up your leg so it’s resting more on your thigh.

“I must also confess that I…” He inhales sharply and releases the words with his exhale, “I’m fighting against every urge in my body to maintain myself when I’m around you.” His brows furrow lightly as his other hand comes to cup your chin again, like he had that first time you’d met. The voice is now the smoky room of a jazz club reverberating lowly in the small distance between the two of you.

“Trying to uphold the principles that have nearly been beaten into me when you are in the same room,” he starts to lean in, “you don’t even have to be in the room, mí vicio, for temptation to threaten the sanctity of my profession.”

He tenses ever so slightly, you feel and hear the hesitation in his touch and voice.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or abuse my position..” he starts to pull his hands away, but you quickly grab his hand on your leg and grip his wrist to hold him there. His eyes widen at your response and his mouth hangs open slightly. A pointed canine dipping into his plump bottom lip as you move his hand to cup your cheek.

He brings his face to yours and looks into your eyes again before his stubborn raising escapes his lips, attempting to put his faith before pleasure, “Tell me to stop… tell me we can’t do this.” He presses his lips together and turns his head away a little. The anguish in the words makes you think he might crumble from the war in his mind.

You respond by closing the rest of the gap and pressing your lips onto his cheek. There is an evening shadow of hairs that poke into the soft kiss. He brings his eyes forward to lock back with yours and your noses bump together. Your breathing mixes and his shoulders rise and fall heavily and it seems as if he’s bracing himself with the grip on your leg. The temptation of just being close to you causes his lips to tremble.

“I don’t think you’ll burn in hell if we kiss,” you try to lighten his tension some and he does chuckle as you feel the shaky breathing on your cheeks.

“Funny.” He quips, but he doesn’t say aloud that he’s already burning. His insides are on fire at the feeling of you in his hands. He knows his soul is doomed if fantasy is enough to condemn. He’d burn for the images he’s pictured of you, the positions his imagination puts you in, and for the way his body is reacting to your permissive responses now. The fact that you want this as much as him makes holding back more difficult.

The anticipation that hung from your pout was too much for him and he whispered to himself before pulling your chin up and kissing you.

Just a press of lips against lips. They brushed against each other as your noses moved to accommodate for the space removed. That first kiss was brief, an innocent expression of the brewing affection between you. Yet, it was laden with complex emotions. A small jolt of electricity sparks from Miguel's chest at the kiss and his heartbeat echoed like a drum in his chest.

He was taken aback at how the simple, sweet kiss had made his head spin and when your lips parted he saw your eyes reflecting desire in their haze. Your eyes closed again and allowed your lips to guide the way.

The two of you traded little pecks and pleasure courses through his body. His hand from your knee now held your right hip and the cupped palm now snaked behind your neck and held your head to his as he deepened the kiss. It was harder to hold back as the deacon’s lust, his want, his desire, was too strong. He peaked down through slitted lids at your hands holding the chest of his shirt in fists and grunted against your closed mouths.

Unadulterated passion overwhelmed him and he poked the tip of his tongue to your lips in request. In those cold showers he had taken to try and control his thoughts, he had instead sinfully prayed to feel the inside of your mouth with his tongue, his fingers, and his currently tented dick. Your receptiveness made him nearly whine when you opened your lips in invitation. The buzz in his brain made him lose his inhibitions as he greedily licked into your mouth. He explored your slick cheeks and your tongues clashed together in their first meeting.

As your tongues danced between your mouths, you found that you were the one having to pull away for breath. Father Miguel’s face had reddened from lack of oxygen since he was prioritizing kissing you inside of breathing. His eyes would open halfway, his eyebrows would knit together in a pleading manner, and his pursed lips were swollen when you pulled away. Strands of his dark hair dangled into his forehead. The desperation on his face and in his grip on you was certainly a sight to behold. It was alluring that he was so affected just by kissing, you imagined just how sensitive he must be. It would be a lie to say you weren’t also feeling warmth pool in your belly at the exchange of kisses. You held his face in your hands and your bodies pressed against each other when he wrapped his arms around you. His voice dripped with yearning as he spoke:

“Let me show you how worthy you are…”

The words were a whisper in the wind, a secret kept by the rustling leaves, but they held a vow he intended to uphold.

_______________________________________

Getting away from your mother was surprisingly easy. She was wiped from cooking and everyone was shooing her home, telling her they would handle the clean up. The only real clean up was from the dishes they had dirtied as she had done most of the kitchen keep up as she cooked.

You should’ve been tired too but your mind still whirred from the excitement earlier. The promise of another rendezvous had you eager to volunteer in the clean up. Your mother looked at you again with pride when you told her to go on ahead and that you’d meet her home later after finishing here. If only she knew your true intentions.

Getting Father Miguel away from his parish was another story. You were washing your hands in the kitchen sink as the last of the trash was being taken out. Discretion was attempted as you stole glances at him helping others with their things and wishing them a blessed evening. At one point he catches your eye and his conviction nearly crumbles, but to you he maintains his composure. He gives you the aforementioned signal of a nod and shaky smile and you dry your hands before excusing yourself from one of the church members on your street. You make it seem as though you’re leaving for the night, but head towards the opposite end of the hall when the dining room door closes behind you.

You try to keep your nerves together as you enter the room on the far left end. You try not to think about Father Steen’s name on the door. You try not to hear the innocent farewells and blessings from the other side of the church. You try to look away from the surrounding symbols of sacrifice for sins you were actively committing. You try to calm yourself and your racing mind as you settle in the chair opposite to the one at the desk.

Curiosity temporarily overtakes your other worries when you crane your neck to see the pages that are open on the desk in front of you. It’s obvious what book it is but it’s hard to tell what chapter given it’s upside down, eleven size font, and single-spaced.

You don’t notice the noise completely dying down in the other room as you scan the office. You’ve never actually been in this office so you don’t know what belongs to Father Steen or the deacon. You do recognize the Catholic vestments that were worn by the elder but there was one you hadn’t seen that was separated from the others.

You could tell as you approached that it was much more fancy than the humble ones worn by either of the church heads. Its red satin underside was soft and silky against your inquisitive, yet careful, fingertips. The emerald green top portion was trimmed and detailed in intricate golden lacework. Embroidered red and white flowers weaved with golden stems and darker woven patterns accentuated the colors even further. It was sturdy and seemed handmade as you held the matching stole that hung from the hook beside it.

A knock on the door brought you back to reality and you murmured a ‘come in’. Funny how he was knocking to come into his own office.

He opened the door and walked through the threshold - the top of his head not even an inch away from the frame of the door. He saw you standing by the robes and smiled. He approached you and looked at the robe with you, feeling the fabric himself.

“This chasuble is a Spanish cut. It came from the priest that ran an orphanage in the city and it was a gift to me when he passed.” There’s reverence in his voice as he explains the importance of the robe, and the true weight of the words doesn’t go unnoticed to you. There’s still so much you didn’t know about him.

“Obviously it’s way too fancy for regular service but I always carry it with me. Bring it out for weddings and Easter. Best part? It’s got pockets.” You share a laugh as he wiggles his fingers in a hidden pouch along the inner lining on the front of the robe. He wiggles his eyebrows as well making you laugh more. The sound of it makes him beam at you and you can’t help but feel whiplash from the range of expression he’s given in such a short time.

From a near blubbering mess just from your lips, to this coy attitude now after congregating with his congregation. That tingle returns to your gut at his confident smile and you think of what was going through his mind when you left to come into the office. Did he watch you leave as he shook hands and embraced his newfound flock? Did he feel any impatience with the others who hung on his words? Did he have a change of heart and is attempting to let you down gently? You understood that this was a big No-No in his vocation… maybe post-kiss clarity and being surrounded by the ones trusting his judgment was making him have second thoughts.

Your doubts cause you to speak up, unfortunately spoiling the upbeat mode but you had to make your concerns known.

“I don’t want to make you do something you’ll regret.” His smile fades at the comment as you continue, “you could lose your job.”

He turns towards you from the garments you were admiring.

“Think of the consequences…” you stamper as listens to you, “you could lose the influence and respect you have amongst your fellow brothers in preisthood.” You brace yourself on the chair behind you as you slowly back up past it. He follows you closely.

“Breaking your vows would be a sacrilege.” Your back hits the desk but the deacon still approaches you. “You could be cast out.”

His hands are on your hips and face and your breathing quickens as he leans in, his voice a husky whisper, “For a nonbeliever, you’ve really done your research.”

You know his cocky demeanor is only temporary; when you start kissing again he’ll be back to incoherence. It doesn’t stop you from blushing up at his towering frame.

“Are you sure you want this? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable…” he says and starts to pull away as he had before, so careful not to overstep. Again you put your hands on his chest and it takes everything in you not to squeeze the muscular pecs stretching the front of his shirt.

“I want this. So badly. What I don’t want is you feeling guilty. I know what I want but I also know what is right. I don’t want to be the cause of any turmoil or strain in your spirituality. I’ve caused too much wrong to be the reason you break sacred vows important to you.” You both cling to each other against the desk.

“How could I regret this?” He asks so quietly it’s like he’s asking himself, or silently asking God. “Are matters of the heart to be ashamed of?” The storm in his eyes brewed at the idea of even having to explain himself and his feelings to someone above him in the church. For a man who has never been married, never seen God in the loving embrace of another, to try and tell him what love couldn’t be. How could he be expected to turn away from the act of God placed before him now? How do those in the church not see that to love Him, to truly flourish in His image, is to cherish and admire His other creatures? He scans your face and the hand there moves to gently hold your hands on his chest. How badly he wished to banish any doubt clouding your mind.

“I don’t know how else to explain it other than I have developed a deep connection and affection with you and I wish to learn more, so much more.” His breathing is slightly ragged and you feel the rise and fall under your hands. “Your confession, if you still feel the same, makes it nearly impossible for me to deny this anymore.”

“I cannot deny my feelings and continue to serve the church in a capacity that forbids me from you.” You’re speechless at the words and the abrupt honesty. “I’m making these decisions with my eyes wide open.”

“Deacon, I-“ you begin, but he cuts in to say,

“Please, call me Miguel. Not sure how much longer I’ll be a Deacon after this gets out…” He can’t hold back now that you’re alone so he kisses you because he can. Because there is nothing to hold him back from doing so, and your lips feel so good pressed to his. Hearing you say his name causes a low groan to come from his throat and he parts when you frantically protest against his lips.

“What do you mean? No, no one can know! Not yet… oh my god what would my mom think?! She’d believe I corrupted you, and I have, haven’t I?” Your nervousness and the fact that you were more afraid of the judgment from your mother than that of God Almighty made him chuckle again as he nuzzled into your neck and laid kisses up to your ear.

“Corruption and change are not the same. You have brought about a change in me. While I no longer feel I am the same man I once was before meeting you, I am happy for it.” He moves a hand slowly up your back to cradle your head and he feels like King Solomon taking his Queen to bed in Song of Songs as he kisses your neck.

Your neck is like the tower of David,

built with courses of stone;

on it hang a thousand shields,

all of them shields of warriors.

“Please,” He whispers into your ear and takes the lobe between his lips in a tease, “let me reveal my devotion to you.”

Your only response is your fingers entwining in his hair and a gasp, but it’s enough for him to capture your lips again. This time he wastes no time easing your mouth open with his tongue.

Your lips drop sweetness

as the honeycomb,

milk and honey are under your tongue.

He hasn’t had a woman in his arms like this is such a long time. Excitement overcomes him and his hands aren’t sure where to rest on your body. He wants to learn you only by touch. Allowing himself to be led blindly by faith in your embrace. He cups your breasts over your shirt and moans open mouthed into the kiss. You mewl at the abandonment of restraints you both had been holding yourselves back with. You’re not too lost to the feeling of his hands sliding back down and under your shirt. He traces your spine up and down and grabs at newfound flesh.

“You’re skin… tan suave.” He’s breathless again from the frenzy of kisses and touches he’s covering you in. He nearly loses it wondering how soft the rest of you was. The thought brings his fingers to your bra and he undoes the clasp there. He pulls away to see them fall slightly and his teeth dig into his bottom lip and he nearly growls before pulling your shirt up to reveal the loosened bra still veiling your breasts. His eyes are hungry, but he still asks, “May I?”

You’re frustrated at how long this is taking. Usually this sort of thing is a quick ordeal without all this checking in. You take a deep breath and remind yourself who you’re dealing with. You reassure him with a curt, “No more asking.”

Something snaps in his brain and he’s pulling your bra off and quickly replacing the cups with his own hands. He massages them both, lifting them lightly to feel their weight and admiring how your nipples react to the exposure to air and his fingers. The theories of intelligent, immaculate design are confirmed to him as he gazes at them and appreciates them.

At first, you’re on edge about the intensity in his eyes as he looks over you. Then you realize that you don’t know the last time he’s been with someone and that you just aren’t used to time being taken on you. You attempt to regulate your breathing and relax but when he gently tweaks the buds of your breasts between his large fingers your back arches.

He nearly drools at the sight of your body’s reaction and brings the hardened nipple into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the tip and caught it in a suckle. You moan and the last thing he sees before your shirt drops over his head is you tossing your head back. He grins devilishly and grazes his teeth over the sensitive nub before moving to give the other some attention. He doesn’t leave it unattended for long when his fingers run his remaining spit over the delicate pucker.

You pull your shirt up and off, discard it somewhere in the room. You couldn’t go any longer without the enticing image of his face in your chest. His lips parted briefly from your right tit so he could mumble, “Dios, me encantan tus tetas…”

The praise and slightly blasphemy of the Lord’s name used in marvel of your body made your head spin. His free hand gripped your hip, then the flesh of your back, ghosting over your soft belly. His fingertips then slip into the hem of your pants and trail fire in their wake. You buck your hips involuntarily and ignore the dig of the desk in your back side.

He pulls away to see your face and the feedback your body gives him. He accepts it eagerly and continues to tease and pull at your pantyline while pinching and pulling at your nipples.

“Please, Miguel-,” The breathlessness in your voice and the flush of your face makes his already hard dick twitch in the restriction of his pants. His name in that sweet, needy tone made him moan out a ‘yeah?’

“I need you.” Your eyes are glazed from the pleasures he’s bestowing upon you. A sheen of sweat shines on your bare chest from the heat of the moment. Your body is on fire and this is only second base. The sensitivity levels of you both were turned up high, but maybe the taboo of it all was causing such an intense reaction. Or maybe you were feeling the same fervent connection he revealed to feel for you. The same string pulling you to one another.

Any resemblance of control fell away from him completely at your pleading pout. His lips crashed down onto yours again and an image of you he’d had in his mind many times flashed and he knew what you needed.

His hand swiftly unbuttons your jeans and the sound of the zipper is in slow motion as he inhales your breathy moans and pleas. His hands move to either side of you and he peels the denim off your burning skin.

He pulls away from you and looks in your eyes as he begins to lower himself. He kisses every inch of newly revealed skin. You’re suddenly feeling slightly self-conscious because you haven’t had a need to do any sort of landscaping for a while. This hadn’t exactly been planned. You look down at your nearly naked body and blush at how he is still completely clothed. You see the dance of his curls as he pulls the jeans off your feet. Then he’s on his knees.

This man of God, in his uniform of black with the white collar slightly askew, knelt before you as if you were an altar to pray to. His hands roamed from your ankles up to your thighs and then down your backside. He squeezes the flesh all over and they never truly settle in one place. He’s intent on learning each curve and dedicating every mole to memory. He catches your eyes and is emboldened by the lust in them so he leans up to press kisses along your abdomen. He murmurs against your tummy at how beautiful you are and how you can stop him at any time. Then, his fingers are hooked around the sides of your panties and he begins to slide them down.

He can’t help but take his time. There were a couple reasons. The first was this was simply too amazing to rush. He’d been in situations like this, and knowing what was coming next excited him. Pulling you out your jeans and spreading your legs brought wafts of your scent into his nose. The aroma was robust and earthy and it drew him in as your panties came down. It had been so long… the smell of your heat made him nearly light-headed but he inhaled deeply. He couldn’t get enough. He had to taste you.

Your panties were still around your knees when he buried his face into your pubic hair and took a deep breath in. You nearly buckled in embarrassment but his arms wrapped around your legs to bring you to his face even more so. He hugged your crotch for a moment and the smells went straight to his cock. It’d been so long since he’d been presented with such a pretty pussy and he had to appreciate the moment.

He pulls you out your panties the rest of the way and pushes you back against the desk. The back of his hand presses to your inner leg and you oblige him by spreading them both for him to get a better look. He sighs as he sits back on his heels and admires the image that has been in his mind for the last couple weeks. The offering of your own communion already glistening from the heavy petting and kissing is more captivating than his imagination could ever be. He paws at the hardness in his jeans and takes a mental image for later.

Motivated by the hunger in his eyes and the way his eyes move in the need to see it all, you start to lose the voice in your head that makes you worry about your body. You bring your hand down and spread your lips a little for him, a little moan escaping you. He nods as if being given instruction and wordlessly brings his mouth to you.

You cry out his name from the touch of his lips to your sensitive flesh. He’s simply kissing the parts you presented to him so graciously. You lean back and brace yourself more on the desk as his hands come up to massage your inner thighs. He moves lower and looks up at you before dragging his tongue slowly up from your seeping pussy to your clit. Your hips buck again and he grins deviously.

The grin and his lewd teasing showed a transformation in the man, as if this part of him laid dormant just beneath the surface of sacredness. His eyes seemed to shift to an alarming red in the lighting. His fingers dug into you like claws. His teeth seemed more pointed when he flashed those wicked grins up at you. He was the one on his knees, but he was the dominant force.

He brought his hands to his new heaven and spread the pearly gates with his thumbs. He blew gently on the exposed, heated skin and you whined from the lack of friction.

Blow on my garden,

that its fragrance may spread everywhere.

Let my beloved come into his garden

and taste its choice fruits.

The stretch of your legs and the wetness that shone between them looked so inviting. He massaged his thumbs up and down, rubbing your lips together and then apart again. His mouth watered at the sight and he licked his lips.

“You’re so wet for me…” he breathed the words before plunging into your waters. The tension, teasing, and time carefully taken on you had driven you crazy but the satisfaction of his tongue on your clit drove you mad. You arched your back and placed your hands on his broad shoulders, the pleasure bringing you to smile and moan in delirium. No longer were you worried about his job, the way you looked, or if he was interested in you as much as you were into him. He was definitely proving that now as he at you out like his last supper.

You surmised that he had to have had some kind of experience with this as you gawk at the expert movements of his tongue. At first, he prodded with the relaxed muscle to test the waters. Now, he was buried into you up to his nose. His tongue would flatten when he wanted a wider range of flavor and you’d feel the large pad lapping you up. Then he would tighten it and drag circles around your clit, sometimes licking into your tightness as if he were starved. He took note of how your body twitched when he pushed his tongue inside you to taste the velvety smoothness of your tight walls. He saw how you jerked with too much stimulation on your delicate bud. He groaned at the sight of your body moving above him, the way your hair hung in your face. The vibration of his convulsing tongue inside you as he groans makes you toss your head back and chant Miguel, Miguel,…

Fueled by the mantra of his name, Miguel goes back to swirling around your clit. He decided his tongue isn’t long enough to feel as deep inside you as he’d like and pushes his middle finger into you halfway. The promise of penetration causes you to grind on the finger and consequently onto his face as well.

He’s sometimes closing his eyes as if he’s in prayer while consuming communion. But the buck of your hips and your weight shifting down on him made his eyes snap open so he could watch your immodesty through lustful eyes. He pulled as you pushed, maintaining the single digit only halfway. He wanted to take his time feeling you and becoming acquainted with what you had so graciously offered to him. When he pulls away from you to speak, the sight of his puffy lips and chin shining with your wetness nearly makes you fall forward.

“Be patient, please,” his voice drips with desperation, “it’s been so long.”

You let out a low whimper but complain no further when he wraps his lips around your clit again and starts moving his finger inside you deeper, finally. You arch your back and your fingers entangle in his hair.

Your light pulling on his hair pulls another moan out of him and he can’t help but rub the underside of himself as he pleasures you. Your wet noises make him want to bathe in your scent and sleek walls. Your moans make his cock twitch in his tightening pants. He flattens his tongue on your swollen clit and languidly licks around and at it directly. He greedily adds another finger so he can gauge just how tight your opening is, but has to ease it in slowly as you cry out.

“Ooh, so tight.. so wet..” He murmurs against your slick as he wiggles the two fingers inside you. “Todo para mí?” This could easily be interpreted as coy, but the tone is earnest. He truly feels blessed with the gifts you’ve so graciously given. He flicks the tip of his cock over the pants as he sweeps his fingers to graze a particularly delicate spot inside you. As soon as his fingers touch that bumpy groove you see stars in your vision. The direct stimulation to your most sensitive space and this new sensation was nearly overwhelming.

“Miguel, ��s too much.” You pant and attempt to push him off for some reprieve.

He lifts his head with worry in his eyes. His fingers straighten and pump inside you at a grudgingly slow pace. The slightly sweaty strands of hair stick to your thighs as he gently rests his head on it. Leaning on his devotion.

“I just want to make you feel good.” His eyes trail back to watch the way your pussy clings to his fingers when he pulls them out slowly. He seems entranced with the way you stick to his fingers even when they aren’t inside you. You look down to watch the lewd scene and see just how hard his cock is and how he’s got a grip on it through the clothes he’s still fucking wearing. “As good as you make me feel.”

You melt at the words and when his thumb comes up to press around your glistening pearl. He slid it across the top, just above the screaming bud, as if flipping through the thin pages of the Good Book. He ghosted over the area you found tried and true when you were doing this alone and your body, your voice let him know.

He slides his fingers back inside, unable to hold back any longer. His pace is shaky at first, but becomes stable again.

“Mmm, is that good for you?” He begins rubbing small circles in the spot you so beautifully inclined him towards. You nod and moan in response and then he asks you something that nearly knocks you off the table:

“Will you please cum for me?” He asks between heavy breaths that feel warm on your slit. He wondered how you looked, felt, smelled, sounded, and moved when you orgasmed. When he first placed that wafer in your mouth he wanted to be the reason that it happened. He wanted his name to be the one you called out. “Fuck, I need you to…” the curse and the words from the holy man made your insides twist and burn. The steady driving into your core and thumb on that sweet spot causes you to close your eyes and roll your hips with the rhythm.

He says your name and your eyes snap open again.

“Look at me.”

The way his large body slumps between your legs and the background of Catholicism surrounding the two of you hits a dirty switch in your brain and you’re nearing the edge. He can tell by the tightening of the muscles in your thighs and the way they nearly straighten out to give yourself more purchase.

“Just like that. You’re so close aren’t you, tell me.” You cry out a yes!! through your gaped mouth.

“Cum f’me, please. Cum for me just like this. Just for me.”

The words, the perfect pace of his fingers, the way he’s looking up at you… you reach your climax and fight to keep your eyes open as he asked.

Through your lashes you see that he’s grinning up at you. Your slick still on his mouth and stringing between his lips. The type of grin that shouldn’t be on a priest’s face. That’s two things that shouldn’t be on his face now as he licks around his pumping fingers to devour the flow of juices he’s poured out of you.

Your thighs clench around his head and your body spasms, he pulls his mouth away to look up at you between the trap of your thighs.

“Yesss, just like that you look so good. Such a good girl.” He mumbles with a mouth full of your slickness.

He moves his thumb off the hood of your pulsing nub to not overstimulate you, but his fingers remain inside you. The way you pulsed and squeezed around him mesmerized him. He matched the pulses to the grip on his length in a futile attempt to simulate the intoxicating spasms brought onto you by just his hands.

He tries to memorize the heartbeat of your warm burrow as it begins to ease on your come down. He’ll try to emulate the sensation later - on himself - but he knows and dreads the fact that it would not compare to the readied womanhood presented to him. He bites his bottom lip and groans.

You notice how he holds himself and you can’t pull your eyes away from the tent he’s holding back in his pants. Your arms, still a little shaky, move down and you grab his face. You pull a little and he obliges and stands again. He snakes his large arms around your naked body and doesn’t seem to care about any mess you might leave on him. You pull his face to yours and kiss him. His puffy lips are warm against yours and when your tongues touch you taste yourself and feel another coil form in your gut. You pull away and tell him, in a raspy voice,

“I need you. All of you. Please?” Encouraged by your orgasm, you reach your hand down to grab the erection that’s been begging for you.

He hissed your name through his teeth at the sensation and grabs your wrist. He was already embarrassingly close to his own orgasm after having watched you and toyed with himself. Your grip on him made his knees nearly buckle.

His protest made you worry and your arm seized in its place. You let go of him and stare up into his eyes to see where you went wrong with him.

“What’s wrong, Miguel?” The concern in your voice makes him bore his eyes into yours.

“Nothing, no, nothings wrong. You did nothing wrong. I do want this, oh God, you don’t know how badly…” It’s almost as if he’s gasping the words. Your touch, it set him on fire. But, he didn’t think he should, or could, have you the way he really wanted. Not now. Not here. “There’s something you should know. It’s not embarrassing for me, but it’s important you know.”

The seriousness in his tone has you scanning his face for any more information. He says your name and then reveals the truth and you’re left speechless. His tone is matter of fact, the words shocking.

**

**

**

“I’m a virgin.”

You are a garden locked up;

you are a spring enclosed,

a sealed fountain.

Taglist: IT WONT LET ME TAG MORE THAN 50 I’m crying I’m so sorry I’ll try commenting tagging the rest

@soniajustneedssimping @venusisajpeg @cassidysbbg @haveclayeveryday @fishtail111 @sirbird @thecrowstears @elizzybeth-2005 @tayleighuh @crispypugfs @trashcansally @cheezit-luv3rr @marsout @eliiilamar @hamuuko @jagawriterr @oharaswifexx @limenysnocket @xthejazzdalorianx @y0mill @livingmeat @stranded-dream @its-oevy @be-be-la-la @jxylxx @usagijoestar @queenofroses22 @zaunsin @ceoofmiguel @otomebois @fairycwhores @killakungfu-wolfbitch @buffalolover10177 @jaywalksalloverme @jalxnnie @deepinballs @vomitsama @aurora-burrow @wlalspj @tieonatrenchcoat @cicato @firstghostempathtaco @yallhearsm @mumbi-222 @carmenxhuuuu @dv-ocean-blog @multi-fandom-chick-blog1 @jellybeansupmyass @cheyjellyfish @elyissly @laikve @coffeejellypng @staycgoindown @variouslyalloya @redflame5975 @botchedlove @thatoneenchilada @buck-uwu @donnie-spectacular

Chapter 5? It might take some time tho…

[milkweedman]

Fiber Sale (need money for moving; also trying to destash) !! Only shipping to the US. All prices include shipping.

Would also really appreciate donations if you want to help support me but can't buy something for whatever reason.

Check the original post to see what's been sold and what hasn't (I will cross out sold items). First come first serve.

https://ko-fi.com/kolyenka

Prepared Fiber--all of this is prepared by me :) the following 4 are cheaper as I can ship them in normal envelopes

A: 0.14 oz, combed top. Blend of bfl, tencel, tussah silk, corriedale, merino. Very soft and shiny. $8.

B: 0.11 oz, combed top. Blend of tussah silk (black) and mohair locks (green). $8

C: 0.22 oz, combed top. Same blend as A, just a lot more of it and in different combos. Distinct gradient from one end to the other. $10

D: 0.4 oz, rolag (made on blending board). Tussah silk, mohair, and bfl. Very squishy and fine. $13

E: 0.29 oz. Rolag, wool and cotton blend. Even more stripes of color under the surface. $13

F: 0.51 oz. Rolag, wool blend with some Angelina. Purple underneath. $15

G: 4.75 ounces. Rolags (many many rolags). Blend of various wools; some fibers are not quite next to skin soft, but overall it's a soft blend. Mix of red, orange, white, purple, and black. $45

H: 1 ounce. Washed longwool fleece (breed unknown). Dyed by myself with onion skin. $10

I: 1.2 ounces. Southdown flax blend, predrafted from rolags. Could potentially make up to 6 ounces total of this. $18

FLEECE

J: 6 ounces. Washed jacob lambsfleece. Very soft for a jacob, large bits of vm (was able to get it out with hand cards). $20

K: 5.5 ounces. Hampshire with 2+ years growth, washed fleece. Definitely an odd fleece, not like your usual down breed. Has vm; washed it multiple times but still looks gross--I've found its almost impossible to get totally clean before it's yarn. Recommend combing, spinning, then washing. Nice and soft. $25

L: 7.5 ounces BFL cross. Very soft and with good luster. Some vm, was able to remove with hand cards. $25

M: 4.75 oz. Jacob x Border Leicester. Good luster, warm brown tips. Nicely soft. $20

SPINDLES:

1: thin spindle (7 inches long). Good for cobweb weight but can achieve thinner and thicker. Birch wood with woodburning. $80

2: thick spindle (7 inches long). Good for laceweight but can achieve thinner and thicker. Wood type unknown (some sort of fruit tree iirc). No woodburning due to lots of wormholes and spalting which provide their own visual interest (they don't cause problems spinning don't worry). $60

3: thick spindle (6.5 in long). Good for laceweight, can spin thicker and thinner. No clue on wood type. Woodburned on most of the surface, the rest has wormholes again. $90

BAGS

4: handblended handspun handknit drawstring project bag, 20 inch circumference. Cord is handspun flax. It's folded in half in the bigger picture. $90

5: handblended handspun handknit pouch. Don't remember the circumference but you can compare to the other bag. Body is entirely southdown babydoll wool. Handle is handspun icord. $75

HANDSPUN YARN

6: 4 oz, 325 yards. Hand blended and handspun. Alpaca, wool, silk, silk noil, angelina. 2 ply fingering weight. Very textured. $65

7: 5.75 oz, 572 yds. Merino and silk blend, 2 ply, dk weight. Blended for a triangle shawl, stripes get longer as you go. Very soft, shines very beautiful in the light. $115

Please DM if you're interested--first come first serve. I take payment via ko-fi.

[ckret2]

About the suits. Looking at them standing together it seems to me that the suits are the same colour, but a flat gradient from black to grey has been applied to both of them to suggest lighting behind them in the room.

Stan's suit is definitely a different colour though.

Nope! Check out Agent Powers's gallery and look at every screenshot with normal lighting where he and Agent Trigger are in the same shot and wearing suits. Powers's is always a little lighter than Trigger's (8%~9% brightness vs 5%~6% brightness). It's extra obvious when their shoulders overlap each other, like in the bottom right screenshot.

Also, in the original screenshot, if you grab colors from their left/right shoulders, they don't vary, so there's no gradient. Never eyeball it when you can measure it!

EDIT: Anon, I double-checked the image, because it was weird to me that somehow the first time I measured his suit was 16% brightness and then it was 9% brightness, and you're right, there IS a slight gradient on that image......... because it's been altered. That image comes from inside one of my art canvases (I was using it as a drawing reference), so at some point I must've accidentally hit it very lightly with a shading brush when I didn't mean to. So you're absolutely right about the image I posted. I didn't notice it while answering this question because when I went back to double check, I grabbed the original screenshot again and sampled that instead of the one I'd been working off of last night.

Never measure it when you can DOUBLE measure it.

Shading characters in Gravity Falls is typically very simple—cell shading in closeups, flat colors (blue, red, green, etc) applied in unusual lighting (night, sunset, Ford's underground study, etc), and even when there SHOULD be unusual lighting it isn't always used. In normal daylight scenes it's extremely rare to add any kind of shading—look at the above images, the bottom left is clearly at sunset but their colors haven't been adjusted for that. Applying a gradient to a casual gift shop scene ain't their art style.

[genericpuff]

What kind of color palettes you normally use?

I'm gonna sound like a total noob when I say this but I kinda. don't LOL

Like I don't work from any specific set of color palettes, more so I pick colors that work for a specific character design or an environment's tone and go from there! I like consistency in my colors, especially with recurring characters, it feels weird to use colors that aren't dedicated solely to that character. It's probably the 'tism LOL but like... even when I was doing black and grey pages, I had it down to a SCIENCE to ensure every tone of grey was consistent - I wasn't using flat colors, I was using a milli pen set to a lower transparency and then would cover the area a certain number of times to get the correct RGB number LOL (I still have so many of them memorized even though I haven't drawn a black and grey page in like 3 years LOL Uzuki's hair is 163, Mitsuhiro's hair is 42 huehuehue)

So when it comes to Rekindled which actually has color, I have dedicated color palettes that are saved in Clip Studio for me to use, many of which are based on colors that were used in either S1 or the pilot episodes of LO.

As you can see, some characters were pretty straightforward and thus have small palettes, others wound up going through a bit of a trial and error process so they have a lot more colors to pick from (though I will say a majority of the colors that Hades and Persephone have listed here go unused, some of them I've managed to retool into other characters / uses; ofc the characters who changed shades the most throughout the original comic would be the hardest to pin down colors for in Rekindled LMAO)

Any color changes from there are usually rendered in post, so for lighting/environment mood coloring/etc. Banshriek and I will mess around with gradient maps, clipped color layers, glow layers, etc. to get the desired result! This means even if the base colors are the same as usual, they can still be manipulated to match whatever tone we're going for with correction layers, it keeps the workflow consistent and easy so then we're not eyedropping colors or anything.

Speaking personally, black and red tones were my favorite vibes for years while working on Time Gate, but working on Rekindled has definitely broken me out of that pattern and helped me grow new appreciation for softer color schemes haha

[wutheringheightsfilm]

from @/theindigenousanarchist on instagram. Image description under the cut.

[Image ID]: 14 instagram slides with a pink and yellow gradient background, with white text boxes. All text is in black unless otherwise stated.

Slide 1: (in red text) "La Migra: On How to Take Radical Action to Disrupt Immigration Raids"

Slide 2, titled "Why Radical Action?": "When I log in to social media all the tips I am seeing to protect vulnerable migrant communities are primarily focused within the 'know your rights' realm. However, that is highly problematic, right? Because the authorities who are conducting immigration raids have general immunity from wrongdoing. They do not always, or often, care if they violate someone's legal rights. And...even beyond that we have a President who is seeking to eliminate those legal rights entirely, making such advice somewhat moot. In short, telling migrant/immigrant communities to 'know their rights' isn't really that protective. And it definitely isn't activism."

Slide 3, titled "Show Up, Show Up, Show Up": "Of course the best way to know how to help targeted communities is to...be in-community with affected people. When folks invite you into their spaces or host cultural events: show up. Let people from those communities see your face and know you are a safe person. And when someone in your community says ICE vehicles have been spotted: show up. Go see what they look like. Teach yourself how to spot these folks so you can be someone who reports sightings with integrity. You cannot only support anti-racism in theory. Show up as often as possible."

Slide 4, titled "Report Sightings and Be Loud": "Find out if your local area has a phone line to report sightings of ICE officials. Many larger metro areas do. There are also websites, like juntosseguros.com where you can make reports that go beyond your own social media reach. If you spot ICE vehicles or personnel your responsibility is to LOUDLY shout "La Migra," on repeat, if it's safe-ish for you to do so. You should also take pictures of what their vehicles and uniforms look like. Then, your responsibility is to report your sighting with as many details as possible. However, what you do *not* want to do is report sightings without first verifying they are true. Or, if you are reasonably sure it is true, then be clear in your report that it is second-hand information."

Slide 5, titled "Start a Phone Tree and Communicate": "It doesn't have to be a phone tree. It can be an e-mail list on Protonmail for added security or a Signal group. But be careful not to start a list of people that La Migra can come after. Your "phone tree" should be a mix of people so that Undocumented folks, should they choose to be included, can't be immediately targeted as such should an authority get access to your phone. The goal of your "phone tree" is exponential. It can be used to report sightings, to gather folks to disrupt immigration raids, or to offer rides and other forms of support to targeted people. It would not be going too far to establish codes within the group that have secret subtext only y'all know."

Slide 6, titled "Distract and Deflect": When ICE agents come to your neighborhood shouting "La Migra" is useful. But! If targeted communities do not have a chance to leave the area or get inside their homes...then its usefulness is limited. Targeted people need a chance to get out of sight of those agents. So...Distract. Use your phone tree to Flash Mob. Pull a fire alarm. Fall and pretend to hurt yourself. Turn on your emergency flashers and stall your car, maybe a spider was trying to get at you. Or, if you have privilege approach the officers and ask questions until they demand you leave. Do whatever you can to give folks time to flee. This is a time where your protest tactics might be useful."

Slide 7, titled "Hide and Keep Secrets": "One thing we do not want to do is advertise what we are doing to help targeted communities. Nobody needs to know. Share only general information relevant to the issue and keep the details of what you are doing strictly secret. Police will harass you for helping and you become unsafe if they know what you are doing. And...if you are able to be a safe person you can then offer direct support to targeted populations. For example, if La Migra is in your area then neighbors might need rides to work so they don't have to use public transport, they might need you to go grocery shopping for them or watch their children instead of send them to school. Also, this allows a greater chance for you (or someone) to be present if they are stopped by Immigration authorities. In any case, be sure to ask if they have someone they want you to contact should that happen."

Slide 8, titled "Locate and Stay in Contact": "Unfortunately we will not be able to protect all people from being detained, not until we do better as a society. A critical skill to learn is how to locate people who have been detained. Figure out what websites you can use, what agencies you can call, what authority you can enact to maintain tabs on those who are detained. ESPECIALLY if it is someone from your neighborhood or friendship circle. Then, find out if you can make contact with them or visit them. Find out how they are being treated, if you can share their information, and if they need anything you can provide. Knowing that someone with more privilege than you is watching out for you, is keeping tabs on you, provides hope."

Slide 9, titled "Raise Funds and Pressure Legal Aid": "Another way we can provide assistance is to raise funds for targeted folks to have legal representation. The extent to which legal representation can help them is always in flux but it is FAR better to have it than not. And if we can take it a step further...even better. We can contact local immigrant attorneys and ask, even pressure, them to take cases for free or at reduced cost. Many people have been successful at this because ultimately that is why these people get into this field in the first place...to help people in need.

Slide 10, titled "Attend City Council and Demand Sanctuary": While immigration raids are generally started by the federal government, and as such are not limited by city laws, we can still demand that our towns and cities be places of sanctuary. In fact, many places that were previously established as 'sanctuary cities' are the ones doing their most not to cooperate with immigration authorities. It may not be enough to stop the raids but it sure does help to have your city officials defending you. How do you make a Sanctuary City? With your city council. And, if they haven't gone this course already, they are going to need some pressure. And that is something we can work on."

Slide 11, titled "Find and Object": "Immigration authorities have names and addresses. So do store managers, CEOs, school superintendents and all people who allow ICE raids to happen in their facilities without a plan to keep folks safe. What we can do is learn those names and find out how to locate these people and object to what they are doing, then disrupt their lives until they are as miserable as we are. We already know, historically speaking, what happens when good people do nothing when authority figures state they are 'just following orders.' And we no longer accept that as an excuse for enacting tyranny. If we make it too uncomfortable for people to hold these positions then we have less people working against our interests."

Slide 12, titled "Get Risky and Stay Safe": There are some actions that cannot be recommended online. So, some things I cannot recommend you do are:

Markup ICE vehicles so that they are clearly visible to passerbys

Learn De-Arrest techniques from Youtube vids and practice them with your friends

Form community defense teams that train together in the same way homegrown militias do

Use concrete mixer freely, perhaps in front of detention facilities

Block roadways with heavy farming equipment

Things like this may not be legal in the United States but they do live on in our imaginations...even though we would NEVER choose to practice them in current times."

Slide 13, titled "Take Feedback and Change Accordingly": "One of the critical components about helping vulnerable communities that we do not belong to ourselves is...they don't always like the way we help. If you start to engage in action to aid someone and they ask you to stop, or tell you that you are endangering them in any way, you MUST be willing to change the way you are doing things. This doesn't mean you have to listen to ALL criticism. There are a whole lot of people who do not want radical action to be centered and have these wild imaginations where law will suddenly work for justice. The people we DO want to listen to are targeted people who are immediately affected by our actions."

Slide 14: (in red text) "¡Viva La Raza!" [/ End Image ID]

[runningupthatvecna]

i saw this post of eddie recently and it gave me so many (majorly self-indulgent) ideas which is why i couldn't stop myself with this and– nghhh rrrrr

eddie x plussize!fem!reader

warnings/tags: 18+ only! smut, oral (m receiving), plus size!reader and the issues that might come with growing up without male validation, established but relatively new relationship, softdom!eddie, unprotected piv (reader takes birth control but it's not mentioned), pet names (baby, sweetheart, darling), heavy dirty talk, eddie is down baaaad for reader, fluff at the end, inexperienced!reader if you squint, no mentions of y/n, no plot, just loads of filth basically oops don't look at me i got slightly carried away

Greedy and needy hands run down his torso, over the denim of his vest, they sneak underneath his worn out hellfire shirt, soft fingertips dancing over the heated skin of his waist, soft expanse of his belly, the back of an index slowly feeling its way south.

You don't know where your confidence is coming from, maybe it's transpiring into your own skin from the way your man's breath is a burning hot sensation on your neck, unmistakable consequence of your actions, the feeling of his heaving chest against your own.

A promise that he's right here because he wants to be. He really, really does.

His eyes are closed, brows furrowed and his lips are parted, making way for a symphony of sweet sounds he's about to make for your ears to hear, entirely focusing on you and you and you only, and whatever it is that you're about to do to him.

You, who's got his head spinning every time you're around. You, who's the only thing Eddie can think about ever since he worked up the courage to approach you at Steve Harrington's last party. You're the epitome of his wildest dreams, someone he still couldn't believe he deserved.

But god, you think, does he deserve you.

He lets out the sweetest moan-ish sigh when your index curls into the waistband of his boxers, both of your hearts blooming with anticipation, and your plush hip presses against the hardness that has started forming ever since you – totally on accident – brushed the back of your hand against his thigh as you had walked past him in the hallway of his uncle's trailer.

He's been half hard since then, eyeing your every move from the couch in the living room, darkened doe scanning over every curve and dip and valley and hill of your landscape as you were getting yourselves drinks.

Lips attached to his neck now, you're reveling in how reactive, vocal and pliant he's becoming under your touch as a desperate grunt escapes him at the feeling of you doing things.

"Shit, baby, need you so bad", he pants as you finally cup the evident excitement through the denim of his black jeans.

With a smile you look up from sucking a bruise into his the side of his neck, just to find his half-lidded dark brown eyes, incredibly lustful gaze set on you.

It flusters you to no end, having this effect on him. It's not something you're used to at all, it's a foreign concept, even strange if you're honest, but you're letting it happen. Accept it, slowly, because deep down, you really want to have that effect on him.

You're starved after all.

-----

Your pink lips finally close around his even pinker tip, the mix of your saliva and his precum running down your chin in tears.

All Eddie can see, can focus on, is you on your knees in front of him, with the sincerest intention to make him feel good. Yeah, he's been dreaming of this, of seeing you like this, of feeling you like this for a generous amount of time.

You've already taken your time transforming the skin over his hips into a field of gradients from light red to deep purple, and with every pop of your lips leaving him, he'd whimpered your name under his breath, eyes fluttered close, lips parted, his beautiful face pulled into an expression for the books.

You suck on the tip for a few moments, causing his hand to fly into your hair trying to keep you where he needs you most. One of yours is resting on his thigh, while the other comes up to cup his balls.

"Fuck, baby, s-so good", he murmurs as he quickly opens his eyes and his other hand comes down to cup yours over his heavy hang.

He wants to teach you, let you know, show you exactly how he likes it, since it's your first time sucking him off. It's endearing you think, and incredibly sweet. He wants you to learn him, and not in a demanding way, but more with a desperate and gentle undertone. Eddie's palm on the back of your hand is a welcome burning sensation to you, his kind understanding for your inexperience blooms between your two body parts, causing the same heat to rush all the way into your cheeks at his sweetness.

He wants to feel the wetness of your mouth around his length, taking him in as far as physics allow you, he wants to feel your throat constricting around him as he makes you swallow everything he has to offer.

You're lost for words, and not only because you're physically unable to form any sentence with how his cock is stuffing your eager mouth, but also because seeing him experience so much pleasure from doing this with you is something you'd never expected.

And suddenly, he grabs your chin and pulls you up to your feet.

"Gonna cum if you keep doing that, baby", he clarifies with a chuckle, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips as he cups your ass, "gonna let me take care of you too?"

Eddie's leaning down to look at you from under his bangs, hopeful doe eyes and this fucking dimpled smile making you melt to your core.

It sends a shiver through your system, hearing someone prioritize you, hearing someone care about you and your needs enough to go this far with you.

Your mouth cracks into a smile.

"Make me feel good, then."

-----

Eddie trails the softness of his plushy lips over your shoulder up up up, brushes a strand of hair away with his nose rubbing along the skin. He needs to make room, room because he knows that he is going to need to sink his teeth into the nape of your neck soon, the junction that's already bruised, marked in soft shades of red from earlier.

You hear the deep groan from behind you as you feel his tip softly touch your outer labia, carefully breaching its way between as he grabs his hard cock and slowly rubs down and then up again, catching your preciously hidden clit deliciously on its way, forcing a whimper out of your lungs.

You're burning for this man – it must be that you think, because you're indeed letting him feel you – hell, even see you like this, a vulnerable state you thought you would never let anyone see you in. Until Eddie came along, proving to you over and over again that he was worth letting your guard down. That he was going to be just what you needed. His gentlest, warmest, softest – for you.

The sound of him slowly pushing into your sopping warmth is so sinful, stretching you open on his pulsing cock and causing you to gasp at the feeling of getting filled.

Eddie himself is furrowing his brows, parting his lips and closing his eyes, his warm breath tickling down your neck from behind. The feeling of having your thick cunt wrapped around him entirely again is driving him mad to no end.

It only takes a few slow thrusts for a creamy ring to form at his base already, the schlicky sound and Eddie's low groans and your own moans the only thing your ears are able to take in.

"Oh god, babybabybaby, s-so fucking tight, mhhhhh", he babbles out under whimpers of his own, fingers gripping and digging into the supple flesh of your hips to pull you back onto his soaked cock repeatedly.

"Only for you Eddie", you manage to get out, shortly followed by more whimpers and louder squelching as he gently picks up speed. Your back arches as Eddie presses his plump rosy lips to your neck,

"Yeah baby? You're this wet– fuck, just– fuuuuck .. –just for me?"

"Mhh-hm", you hum in agreement over the slapping sounds of his hips against your ass before your jaw falls open and your back arches even further as Eddie wraps his arms around you just for one hand of his to find your tits, pinching and rolling one of your nipples between his ringed fingers, while the other wanders south to help you along.

It's all so much, almost too much, and it's sending you straight towards your desired destination.

"S'good, feels s-so good baby, mhh yes", slips past your lips, one of your hands goes up to tangle itself in Eddie's mess of a curly mane, the other has already found his sticky palm that he eagerly buried between your thighs, repeating his own gesture of showing you.

"Yeah? Been dreaming of this pretty cunt for the whole week darling", Eddie paused as you let out another whimper at his admission, "god, you're so f-fucking hot", he mouthes at your shoulder, admiring how truly fucked out and needy you are for him.

Goosebumps spread over your arms, your legs, even your back at his words, his sultry praise laying bare on every inch of your sweaty skin.

He'd probably been fisting his hardness to the thought of your sopping heat every morning and every night of the last days in which you didn't have the chance of seeing each other, and the thought of him thinking of you, especially in this context, is more than enough to help bringing you closer.

His thrusts become sloppier, a sign he's nearing his own sticky-sweet release, amplified and sped up by the flow of his name coming over your lips.

"Mhh, wanna cum Eddie, please– oh fuck, please."

"Oh shit, yeah baby, yes – god yes, soak this cock for me like the good girl that you are."

He bites into your shoulder to hold back, he's so damn close but he wouldn't dare to come before you, his own desire and the determination to make you feel good making his fingers that are still rubbing your sensitive bud continue at the same exact speed all while his cock is being buried deep inside you over and over again, hitting every place you need him to touch.

And there you are, flashes of white appear beneath your eyelids as he continues to pound into your creamy hole, the grunts and groans escaping him enough to push you over the edge. You're surprised at yourself – though you had plenty of experience doing it solo – about your own capabilities of cumming this hard.

Your head falls back on Eddie's shoulder, you feel your pussy clench and flutter around him as he finally lets go with a grunt of your name surrounded by "fuck, baby"'s and soft whimpers, stuffing you full of his cum.

A laugh rumbles through his chest as you're both coming down, his hand on your clit finds your own, guiding it upwards and placing it on your belly along with his other arm that had been a great help in holding you steady against him just moments ago.

Wrapped up in him, you're fighting the familiar urge to leave his grasp and hide back underneath your clothes, which at the same time sounds absurd to you since you'd just let him rail you silly, it's real nonetheless.

Stirring you out of it, Eddie's hot tongue comes out to lick a broad stripe up the side of your neck, relishing in the taste of you, "now that was something else baby, holy shit", he then nuzzles against your cheek as he presses you closer into his body.

Still panting from your blissful high, you swallow and nod against his face, breath hot on your cheek.

The next thing he says melts you.

"You're so soft, I fucking love you, sweetheart", a warm hand comes up to your other cheek, turning your face towards his gently, the dark brown ocean in his eyes finding yours and you're mere milliseconds away from getting lost in it.

He bumps his nose against yours, a gesture so sickeningly sweet it makes your heart nearly burst, showing him with a wide smile and a soft "I love you too", before his lips land back on yours, and you welcome his tongue with pleasure.

You feel his thumb brush back and forth over the heated skin of your plush cheek, a low moan transpiring from his lungs into your own.

Without breaking away, Eddie draws his hips back just to slowly give you one more gentle thrust. Your fucked raw cunt clenches around him yet again, still sensitive, and you start to realise he's already hard again just from kissing you. And, maybe also, feeling your mixed cum drip down both of your thighs.

Eddie bottoms out once more, mumbling one more thing against your lips, as his grip on your cheek and belly tightens, not intending to let you go any time soon,

"the lonely days are over, sweetness."

-----

[bogleech]

REVIEWING THIS WHOLE BAG OF RUBBER BUGS:

I mentioned recently that bags of cheap rubber bugs are harder to come by in real stores, but that there are a few options for them online. I just received this set from Aliexpress that’s currently only $4 with free shipping, you might even find the same set cheaper since there’s multiple listings for it, but I can verify this source is using an accurate photo and I am now going to REVIEW THEM:

SPIDER: obligatory, all-purpose spider, ambiguous species, noodly legs, minimal paint application, 3/5

COCKROACH: nice silky black coloration on the back, tan on the underside, rather haphazard leg pose, I like it but in terms of objective quality it’s unfortunately a 2/5 compared to other fake roaches and even to other bugs in this set.

DRAGONFLIES: so this set is definitely pieced together from what were once multiple different rubber bug sets, but I can also confirm that you always get the same selection I’m reviewing, which includes several redundancies. You get both a large and small dragonfly with entirely different sculpts, the smaller one more accurately sculpted but not as dynamically painted! Both I’d give a 3/5, adequate dragonflies

ORTHOPTERA: you get a cricket AND two different styles of grasshopper! The big, detailed black and red cricket is crudely painted but very unique, 3.5/5. The small grasshopper is cute and inoffensive, barely painted, 3/5. The large grasshopper is a 4/5 for me because while I’ve seen plenty like it, it has a really nice gradient from lime green to a darker grassier green that I just find very pleasant.

BEES: two very differently sculpted bees, and they both use a sparkly metallic gold with black stripes. Both deserve a 4/5.

ANTS: collectively I’m gonna say these are a 3.5/5, on their own very plain but I like that together you have a dull yellow-tan ant with comical googly eyes and a bigger, more ominous shiny black ant with spooky red eyes. I like that the black ant is also tied with a couple others as the largest bug in the set. It’s actually only slightly larger than the real life Giant Amazonian ant, Dinoponera, which is also entirely black.

MANTIDS: excellent choice for another double bug, I like the simple cheapness of the little one with its awkwardly sculpted forelegs but to fair it’s a 2/5 compared to the 4/5 of the larger, red-eyed mantis which has more of that “sparkly” paint style!

SCORPIONS: the only other arachnids in the set, and it’s amazing they included two different scorpions but only one spider. Trust me when I say that’s the most radical maverick decision a rubber bug set has ever made in the history of mankind. The small red scorpion is alright, a 3 I guess. The larger one has only six legs which is not accurate (the claws of a scorpion are modified mouthparts, not legs!) but I can’t look at its little black eyes and not want to cry so 5/5 actually.

CICADA: not terribly common in these! Charming, chunky brown cicada, though the thorax piece is so transparent you can always see the hole it plugs into. At one time, this sculpt may have been part of a higher quality set that actually painted over this design flaw. 4/5 regardless.

FLY: there’s a pattern here in which almost every flying insect in the set has a gold-brown base, which I’m not a big fan of. Sadly I’m overall neutral on this fly, normally my favorite of all the basic insects, perhaps because it looks just as much like some sort of wasp. It’s definitely a fly due to having only one pair of wings, and plenty of flies look exactly like this, but I’d just be a bigger fan if it was a chunkier, larger-eyed blowfly or horsefly. 2.5/5

UNKNOWN: there are actually several insects this could possibly represent including a few Lepidoptera and Hymenoptera, but the one insect it most closely resembles is an adult caddisfly. I like it, but it’s difficult to fairly judge it with no certain identification so 3/5 has to do.

HAWKMOTH: stellar choice! I’ve seen only one cheap-grade plastic hawkmoth in my whole life, actually! Several hawkmoths are even clear-winged, though those usually still have dark markings around the wing edges. Would’ve been more accurate to some real species if they just cast the wings in a solid color, but that’s a trivial criticism. 5/5

WASP: the wasp is SO good. The paint on this one is skewed funny but that’s fine, the green of the abdomen pops really well and I love the grouchy red eyes. 5/5

CATERPILLAR: larvae are so rarely included in these, and when they are, they’re often an incredibly plain segmented tube that doesn’t look like anything in particular, or a recolor of a generic caterpillar I’ve seen several times before. This caterpillar sculpt is actually new to me and nicely shaped, with a tapering body and accurate limbs. It is however a rather stiff hunk of plastic, not as rubbery as the others, and honestly this is the one you would want rubberiest! Still a 5/5 for its inclusion at all.

BEETLE: beetles are the most abundant, diverse insect group and the most common rubber bug toy after spiders, so it’s another bold move that they include only one in this whole set and it isn’t even one of the more recognizable, more famous beetles. On its own merits as just a rubber beetle it’s a 3/5, but its metallic blue stands out so nicely in this set, and the sculpt appears to be some sort of blister beetle, a rare choice and a very cool (but dangerous! Don’t touch them!!!) insect group so 5/5

MOSQUITO: mosquitoes are another of my favorite animal groups, and as one of the world’s most abundant, most recognized, most controversial insects you’d think they’d be a standard bug toy already, but this is only the third plastic mosquito design I’ve ever seen in my entire long life! It’s brown, unpainted, dinky and bent funny. 10/5

[diamondchili]

despite not being very far into ooo i've seen ankh's full greeed form, and tbh i kinda hate it,, so i redesigned him!! feat. some doodles of him not clinically posed and symmetrical :p

character design is a true passion of mine, so i infodumped broke down my process below the cut!! do note i'm not approaching this as someone who would have to consider fight choreo and stunts and whatnot. just a disclaimer lol

id in alt text as always! <3

The thing i immediately hated was how human-like his face looked?? or at least his mouth. yuck. while i get wanting to set Ankh apart from the other greeeds, there's a difference between uniqueness and breaking the rules of design you've put in place for a set of characters. Uva, for instance, has a very bug-like face, whereas Mezool has almost no face thanks to the orca's mouth framing it. That means there's two major ways for a greeed's face to look, and i think where they went wrong was trying to do something entirely different for ankh.

i kindof get what they were going for by making the bird face frame Ankh's *real* face, but imo they added too much detail to both. if youre making the big face's mouth frame the actual face, don't give the actual face a mouth lol, it crowds the design too much and looks confusing. Plus, he's a suit character, he doesn't exactly need a mouth to talk from!! So for this redesign, i made both faces much more simple and gave the primary face a sortof stand-in mouth.

Next thing was the hair. why, why, WHY on EARTH does the hair on Ankh's full form not match the hair he gives the people he possesses?!?!?!? that was the first visual hint we get as to Ankh's full appearance when he changes Shingo's physical attributes upon possessing him, and when he possesses Eiji it does the same swoopy thing. so. i made my design have hair that does that. this is basic shit yall come on 😭

Then i saw the dinky lil drab half-cape they gave him and i said oh no. oh honey. this is a BIRD. you've Gotta give him more drama than that. i kept the black to break up the ocean of red in the design (and i'll admit it is still a little red-heavy up top), but since he is a bird-based character with a triad color scheme, i made the back of it have that gradient. the tatoba/traffic-light/analogous color pattern is repeated all over the suit in Ankh's canon design, and i did want to stick to that so he's still recognizable as the same character.

Speaking of sticking to canon, i actually think the chest piece and waist armor is the only thing i didn't majorly change. i simplified the color placement, but tbh that can be chocked up to the quick-and-dirty art style i did for this, i was mostly just feeling the design out. But i did include the gradients down the chest, again to break up the red. not sure if i like it if i'm 100% honest-- it doesn't quite line up the way i want. The only other thing i added here were the bird claw pauldrons, mostly to make him match Uva bc i LOVE Uva's weird bug leg pauldrons, and I love when design elements are repeated across different characters in unique ways. not sure if you can really see them under his fluffy feather cape, but oh well

I kept the thigh pieces fairly simple, omitting the green from the gradient as it's present on the loincloth-like piece just between them. For the kneepads, i repeated the flying bird motif on the iconic forearm armor, because it's such a fun element and is the first thing we see of Ankh, so i knew repeating it somewhere on the design was essential, even if it didnt match exactly. i see they did this on the canon design, but the shape was just too different to solidify it. it weirdly looks like a face? and again this isn't practical suit design-- i'm sure having kneepads in this shape would Not Work from a stunts standpoint.

Lastly, i don't have much to say about the shoepieces honestly? Aside from the fact that in Ankh's canon greeed form his bird claws more resemble owl feet. which. i guess isn't incorrect? they're still bird themed. just looks odd with the tropical bird everything else. So i just made them a bit daintier lol. kinda wish i'd kept the green painted nails tho, thats cute.

ANYWAYS if you read this far, thank you!! i love getting to analyze character design-- what works, what doesn't, all that!! so this was a lot of fun. whether you agree or disagree with my decisions, i hope you enjoyed seeing my art and reading my ramblings!! <3

[call-sign-shark]

The King and The Hand || Arthur & Tommy as Targaryen

♠ Aerthurys Targaryen the Dragon Wrath, firstborn of the family and King of Westeros. Sitting on the throne with fire in his veins, he's both feared and respected -- even though his most strategic move comes from his Hand and clever adviser, Thomaryon.

♠ Very pale purple eyes, some discreet white streaks in his hair.

♠ His journey to the throne is scarred by brutal battles.

♠ Smitten with his cousin and future queen, Heavenerys Targaryen since childhood. Aerthurys lost his mind and destroyed everything that was standing on his way when Heavenerys had to marry Amos Bolton. He ended up destroying and maiming him, only leaving him alive to humiliate him.

♠ His Dragon, Nyraxor, is one of the hugest ever seen even though it doesn't hold a candle to Kairaxès. Mostly black, imposing, covered in spikes and horns, Nyraxor has red shaded/gradient scales which make him look like a destructive fire is burning under his skin when the sun hits him.

♠ Thomaryon Targaryen, secondborn of the family and misunderstood prince. Considered the family's black sheep, rumors say that Thomaryon is a bastard due to his lack of Targaryen features.

♠ The common people as well as some members of his own family wanted him out of the royal circle but Aerthurys insisted on keeping Thomaryon by his side both by deep fraternal love and by strategy considering how intelligent Thomaryon is.

♠ Thomaryon eventually became The Hand of the King.

♠ Thomaryon fell in love with Lucy Bolton ( @mischievouslittlecreature ), going by the name Tully. He met her during one of his visits to the north when his cousin, Heavenerys, had to meet Amos Bolton, her future husband.

♠ Syndor, his dragon, is entirely black. Besides Heavenerys, Thomaryon has the strongest bond with his dragon out of all his siblings.

@peakyswritings @mischievouslittlecreature @evita-shelby @justrainandcoffee

[feelingpure]

Fellow Travelers | The Orange Elephant in the Room

Alright, let's talk about it.

For those who've watched the available episodes of FT so far; I'm sure we've all noticed the citrus haze they all seem to be living in.

Especially if you've attempted to edit/GIF any portion of it. The struggle is real and I'm sure has inspired many colouring dilemmas.

And we're all asking "WHY?!".

Now, I'm writing this having not looked up anything about it. So I dunno if anyone responsible has made a formal confession.

One of my initial thoughts around it was; okay... so is this just a 1950s thing? But after watching (and rewatching) episode 2, I feel like it's part of the story in a different way; It's clearly a stylistic choice, yes (I should hope that doesn't just happen by accident). But it also seems to double as a narrative choice.

Putting the rest, with image examples, under a cut because it's kinda long.

Warm vs Cool

The conclusion I've come to is pretty simply, one that we've seen used across media in a lot of movies and shows. Warm tones used to colour scenes that are meant to literally be 'warm'; a loving environment or somewhere where the character(s) feel like they can be themselves. Cool tones used for scenes where it's quite the opposite; a cold hostile environment where the character(s) does not feel welcome. Gradients in between for all the neutral/'greyarea' spaces.

Consider

Cool/neutral outdoor bench scene (with park spies around):

Maybe it's an indoor/outdoor thing? No...

Indoors (even with the mandatory orange lamps nearby) they stay pretty neutral:

Night time/day time thing? No...

Night time vs day time in Tim's apartment:

Compare it to day time neutral alone Tim in the same room before. The difference is that he's with Hawk, out of sight of any would be naysayers.

So yeah, while I am mad about the colouring for giffing needs, I do think what they're doing is pretty neat, and the POC in the show look glorious in the warm tones.

The warm/cool motif is dialled up even more in episode 2, with the contrast of Mary's warm welcoming party and Hawk's cold af family gathering (even though they still have the orange lamps/sconces around, they add nothing to the warmth):

🥺 Ugh, Tim at Mary's party. Might be my favourite part of the episode, alongside the kissing n spooning. Anyway...

The transition of Mary from the same living room where she hosted that party, to the kitchen they were just questioned in:

That transition made me start paying more attention and go back to rewatch previous scenes just for colour themes.

Interestingly Hawk's apartment seems to live in this neutral/warmish space. It was more warm earlier in the episode, especially when they were in the bedroom the morning Tim left his glasses. But in general it's a lot less warm than Tim's apartment when compared; still their skin glows with a hint of tangerine:

Of course, not only the lighting/colouring but their outfit choices say a lot. Tim is usually in the warm browns with his dress, while Hawk pretty much sticks to black, white, grey (hints of a cool toned blues and reds in his ties). This coupled with the differences in their own living space probably reflects a lot about the character and how 'welcoming' they are to others. Idk... or I could just be thinking too much about it.

This is another really interesting transition in episode 2. As Hawk hangs up the phone in that cool toned side room, opens the door to the main room of a gay bar, the warm tones literally seem to absorb him in. Which makes sense, this is obviously a gay friendly place in San Francisco. He doesn't have to try to hide any part of himself, like he probably was still trying to do on that voicemail to Lucy just before.

Now, I could go through and screenshot a load more examples (some scenes with Lucy are interesting, and that lounge/club), but you probably get the gist, you see the pattern. If not before, on your next watch, you'll certainly see it.

This has got longer than intended; I'd be surprised if anyone got this far, I did NOT fully organise my thoughts before I started this, I just began rambling and I feel like it could've been more organised and laid out better. But if you have thoughts about the colouring, I'd really like to see those too. 🤗

[ghosttotheparty]

something to hold onto (14k) ao3 // pinboard // playlist tags: alternate universe - everyone lives/nobody dies; lucas sinclair loves maxine 'max' mayfield; comatose maxine 'max' mayfield; blind maxine 'max' mayfield; coming of age; love confessions; gentle kissing; emotions

March 1986

Lucas’s favourite colour has always been blue.

When he was younger, it was because of the sky. His favourite days were bright and sunny, when the sky was vibrant and clear, when the sun’s light made his skin hot to the touch and tacky with sweat. Days like that were always the best; he was allowed to go outside and play until the sun was tucking itself into the horizon, whispering good night as Lucas’s mother’s voice called his name.

Blue was the colour of the sea, which Lucas has never seen in person. It was the colour of fantasy, of daydreams. Lucas always got stuck in front of the television when whatever show his parents were watching had a beach in it, and whenever he saw a photo of the ocean in a book. His science textbook in fifth grade had a diagram of the ocean, and even after they’d finished that unit, he’d kept flipping back to that page, page 329. The blue of the ocean was a gradient, black at the bottom and pale just beneath the white sky. Lucas’s favourite animal was the jellyfish.

Blue was calm. His parents let him redecorate his room when he was twelve. He got blue curtains, a blue bedspread, a blue rug, all varying shades. They wouldn’t let him paint his walls, though, and they’re a warm shade of brown.

Blue was one of Hawkins Middle’s school colours, always paired with a nauseating shade of orange. On student-made posters hanging in the hallways, advertisements for dances and pep rallies, on basketball uniforms and the vibrant stripes painted in the hallways. And Lucas’s love for blue started to fade.

And then he met Max Mayfield.

And blue was different.

It was a curious colour then. He saw it when he closed his eyes. The sky seemed bluer, even when the sun went down.

But it’s different now.

Lucas hasn’t seen Max’s eyes in weeks. He looks at her eyelids, at the soft blues and purples and reds, traces the delicate veins just beneath her skin with his gaze. She’s so pale now. He supposes she’s always been pale, but the sun can’t see her in this room. She looks like she’s starting to camouflage into the bed she lays on, like she’s melting into the stiff, starchy fabric of the sheets and the blanket that covers her.

Except for her hair. It’s still as vibrant as it’s always been.

It’s longer now, and a little matted even though Lucas and Steve and the nurses all do their best to brush it out, to keep it smooth. Erica taught Lucas how to braid it. Lucas taught Steve.

The only blue Lucas has seen recently are Max’s veins. The plastic gloves the doctors wear, which aren’t even a nice shade of blue, light and powdery. The blue stripes on the hallway floor. The tiny flower-like shapes on Max’s hospital gown. The slivers of the sky between the curtains in her room.

And he wants to be angry, but he can’t even bring himself to feel anything but the small lump of pain in his chest, like there’s a tumor or something there, threatening to stop his heart with every pulse.

Max’s hands are cold.

Her bones have all healed. Lucas likes to trace her forearms, gazing at the subtle lines in her skin, at her freckles, which are lighter than they used to be. Fainter. Sometimes, when he’s particularly tired, it feels like he’s trying to stargaze in the middle of the day, searching desperately, longingly, for something he can’t see.

This is what he was doing when he met Max’s mom for the first time.

They’d both been visiting Max for the past week, but they’d managed to miss each other every day. Until she walked into the room as Lucas was doing this: laying on his forearm, drifting off as he’d traced Max’s arm, connecting her freckles like constellations he was working on memorising, his fingertips light like he was trying not to wake her up.

He looked up when the door opened, expecting Steve, who usually would come and sit next to him with a hand on his back, silent.

And a flash of red hair made him think he was hallucinating for a moment before he processed the woman’s face, the tired circles under her eyes, the soft lines pressed into her skin around her eyes and her mouth. The flowers in her hand. Her blue eyes.

He froze.

She froze.

They stared at each other.

Lucas sat up slowly, pulling his hand away from Max’s arm, and he held his breath, his heart pounding, waiting for her to scold him, to tell him to get away from her daughter, to say something with the voice of an angry young man.

But her voice was soft when she spoke. Tired.

“Lucas.”

She’d said it like it was a revelation, like she’d been looking for him, like she knew him. He blinked in confusion, nodding slowly.

And he watched as she crossed the room, pressed a kiss to Max’s forehead, placed the flowers in the vase alongside some others that were wilting.

“Max told me about you,” Ms Mayfield said as she pulled another chair up, sitting next to Lucas. He was sitting stiffly, still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her eyes to grow cold and angry.

“She did?” he asked, his voice small. Young.

She nodded, smiling, the lines in her skin deepening, and his chest ached as he wondered if Max might look like her when she’s older. If he’ll get the privilege of seeing the years make their way into her skin, mark her face.

“Good things, I hope,” he said quietly. Her smile grew.

She reached for Max’s hand and pulled it toward herself, tenderly tracing her fingers. Lucas’s hands twisted in his lap.

“She said you’re sweet.”

Lucas’s eyebrows jumped, and Ms Mayfield let out a soft laugh, nodding.

“That was my reaction too. Very odd to hear her talk about someone like that.” She looked at Lucas knowingly. “You must be something special, huh?”

His face was hot. This was never how he anticipated meeting the mother of the love of his life. Not that he’d told anyone that she was. (Except Erica, who’s been sworn to secrecy even though she insists it’s so obvious everyone already knows.)

“I’d like to think so.”

Ms Mayfield hummed, nodding, rubbing the back of Max’s hand like she was trying to rub warmth into it.

“She said you’re cute,” she said after a moment, leaning toward him and lowering her voice like Max was going to open her eyes and tell her to shut up.

“…Really?”

She nodded with a smile, and Lucas’s cheeks turned hotter as he looked at the ground bashfully, resisting the urge to scuff his feet on the ground like a fucking Charlie Brown character or something.

“Said you have pretty eyes. That your voice is nice. That you’re a good big brother, and you’re funny, and you’re handsome…” Every word made Lucas more embarrassed, but he was suppressing a smile now, because Max said all of that about him, and holy shit— “But she still refused to acknowledge that she has a crush on you.”

Lucas glanced at her. Wondered if she knew that they did actually date for a while. That they called each other boyfriend and girlfriend.

Somehow hearing that she had a crush on Lucas made his heart beat faster anyway. That she was shy about it but still apparently gushed about him to her mother.

They were quiet for a while. Lucas’s eyes burned, and his hands shook, but somehow it was fine. Like Ms Mayfield wouldn’t have minded if he burst into tears like a baby, if he sobbed into his hands or the side of Max’s bed.

“She’s really amazing,” he finally choked. “She’s so cool.”

He felt like a child, gushing about his crush, and it was stupid. But it made Ms Mayfield smile fondly.

“She’s so funny, and— and clever, and she’s crazy brave, I mean, it’s ridiculous.”

Ms Mayfield laughed. Lucas wondered when the last time she laughed was. And he wondered if Max could hear it.

“That’s my girl,” she said fondly.

Lucas wiped his tears as quickly as he could, but Ms Mayfield just leaned to reach the box of tissues and she held them out to him. He took one with a muttered thank you, and then they were quiet again.

He wonders sometimes if everything in the world could be fixed by some silence. If everyone on the planet just shut the fuck up for five minutes, everything could be righted.

He used to hate rooms that were too quiet. He hated the library even though that was where Will and Mike liked to stay after school or during lunch when they were allowed. He could hear everything, every breath, every page turning, every gurgle from someone’s stomach. Every scratch of a pencil or pen on paper, every scrape of a book being pulled from a shelf.

At home, he hated the silence too. He got a radio when he started middle school because he convinced his parents that he couldn’t focus in silence, that he needed some noise. Which is still true. He’s more productive when he works in the noisy cafeteria than he is when he’s in study hall.

But since the end of the world, he doesn’t mind it as much.

He likes being able to hear Max breathing. He wishes he could hear her heart beating.

He holds her wrist sometimes. Presses his fingertips into her pulse and closes his eyes to focus on it. Waits for his heart to catch up to it.

Steve noticed one day and he started laughing. It didn’t make any sense, but Lucas laughed too, until Steve sobered enough to tell him he does the same with Eddie. Eddie sleeps more heavily than Steve does, he’d explained, his hand still firm on Lucas’s back, and some nights Steve wakes up for seemingly no reason at all. And in the dark, Eddie looks paler than usual, almost lifeless. And Steve panics for a brief moment before his sleepy mind catches up, and he presses his fingers into the side of Eddie’s neck, or his wrist, or to his chest.

Lucas didn’t say anything about it. That Steve just… casually told him that he and Eddie sleep together often enough for Steve to have a routine when he wakes up. That Eddie’s heartbeat calms him down. But it made Lucas smile.

That was one of the first conversations he’s had with Steve since everything. Usually they just sit together quietly, watching the other do Max’s hair gently.

The quiet feels soothing. Like a blanket. Steve seems to feel it. Lucas wonders if Max does too.

May 1986

It’s seven and a half weeks that Max sleeps.

Lucas knows she isn’t really asleep. But it’s nicer to think that she is.

Just dozing peacefully. Resting.

Lucas whispers to her sometimes, even though he doesn’t know if she can hear him. He greets her with soft Good mornings and murmured How are you?s like she’s going to respond. She never does. It’s fine.

He calls her sleeping beauty, which would make her kick his shin if she could respond. (Maybe that’s why he does it. Tries to annoy her into waking up.)

He hates that her eyes don’t flutter open when he kisses her forehead. It’s bullshit that his whole life he’s heard fairy tales about princesses being kissed awake, but Max just sleeps.

It’s a Tuesday when she wakes up.

It’s bright and warm in the hospital room, the curtains open to let the sun in. Lucas is sitting next to the bed like he always is, holding Max’s hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles, looking down at their linked fingers. Listening to Max breathed , to the quiet noises from the hallway. Hushed voices, squeaky wheels on pushed carts, footsteps clicking on the ground.

Max’s knuckles are red. Lucas can see her veins under her skin, and he traces them lightly. They make him think of the Northern Lights.

And then her finger moves.

Lucas freezes, looking at her finger. The sounds from the hallway are muffled suddenly, muted, like his head is underwater, and then it looks like he’s underwater too as his eyes fill with tears when her finger moves again.

He looks up at her, at her face, his breath catching in his chest as her eyes squeeze shut for a moment.

“Max?” he says quietly.

Her eyes flutter open before they close again, and Lucas moves to the bed, sitting on the edge, holding her hand tightly.

His heart is beating too fast. He can’t see clearly until he blinks tears out of his eyes, and the tears are hot on his skin as they fall down his cheeks, but it doesn’t matter, because Max’s eyes are opening, and her eyebrows furrow for a moment, and her lips part, and her fingers tighten on Lucas’s.

Her eyes aren’t blue.

They’re milky white, blank, even as she blinks repeatedly, squeezing Lucas’s hand so tightly it hurts, and it’s fine. It’s all fine. It’s fine that her eyes aren’t blue and it’s fine that she’s hurting Lucas, it’s all fucking fine.

“Max?” he chokes, running his other hand up her forearm gently, firmly, squeezing, and she’s sitting up now, pushing herself up weakly, turning her head in Lucas’s direction, but she doesn’t see him. She blinks, and tears fall down her cheeks.

“Lucas?”

Her voice is rough. She doesn’t sound like herself. The sound sends a shard of glass though Lucas’s chest, but he barely notices.

“Yeah,” he says quickly, shifting closer, squeezing her hand. “I’m right here, I got you.”

“I can’t see,” she says breathlessly, panicking. Lucas’s whole body hurts.

“I know,” he says weakly, rubbing her arm. “I know, but I— I’m right here, it’s okay.”

“Lucas—”

She pulls at his hand, tugging him closer as she leans toward him, and her throat was already rough when she spoke, but he can hear every breath scraping its way through her throat, ragged and sharp, and his eyes burn with tears.

“I’m here,” he chokes. His voice is too high, almost cracking. “I’m right here, Max, it’s okay.”

“I can’t see,” she sobs in a panic as he touches her head, his fingers instinctively pushing into her hair. He brushed it yesterday, and it’s still smooth. “I can’t see.”

“I know,” he whispers.

She’s grappling for his shirt, her grip weak, hands trembling, and he touches one of her hands, holding it to himself as he lets his head fall to hers, their foreheads touching.

“You feel me?” he asks, his voice breaking, squeezing her hand, rubbing her knuckles. She nods, pressing closer, knocking their noses together clumsily. “You hear me?”

“I hear you,” she chokes, nodding again.

“I’m right here,” he whispers, sliding his hand up her arm, squeezing gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She says his name.

Maybe it’s stupid to say, but nobody says his name like she does.

He stifles a sob, nodding, squeezing his eyes shut.

“It hurts,” Max says roughly, her hands tightening on his shirt, but her grip is still weak.

“What hurts?”

“Everything,” she chokes. “Everything hurts, Lucas, I— I can’t see—”

He nods again, squeezing her arm before he slides his hand to the back of her head, cradling her gently, tenderly, and he knows she can probably feel the way his hands are shaking, but they’re both trembling now, quivering together like leaves in wind.

“I’m gonna call a nurse,” he says, letting go to reach for the button, but she pulls at his shirt, letting out a gasping sob.

“Don’t go,” she pleads roughly. “Don’t go, don’t leave me, Lucas, I—”

He falls apart. His chest splits open and his heart spills out, tumbling to the space between them and staining the stiff sheets deep red.

He wraps his arms around her, pulling her against himself, burying his face in her hair, and he sobs.

“I’m not,” he says weakly, holding her as her shoulders shake, as she gets his chest wet with her tears. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

As he holds her, he leans to press the button.

The nurse that comes puts a paper up in the window when she sees them holding each other, and she waits by the door, holding a clipboard to her chest, watching them carefully. Lucas can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed of his tears as she watches. He holds Max’s hand to his chest, whispers her name, tells her to breathe. Exaggerates his own breaths so she can feel his chest move up and down, so she can follow along. The nurse waits the whole time, quiet.

Until they both stop crying. Until Max just sits there, holding Lucas’s shirt, her face pressed to his shoulder, hidden from view. Until Lucas sits up straight, his back cracking, his vision still blurred from his tears, at which point the nurse comes closer and picks up the tissue box, holding it out to him with a soft smile.

“Thank you,” he says, almost whispering, as he takes one and wipes his face.

He takes another, tilting his head and whispering Max’s name. She shakes her head.

“Max,” he whispers again. “There’s a nurse here.”

She shakes her head again, but she lets him push her back a little bit, enough to see her face, red and tear-streaked and fucking beautiful.

Her eyes flutter open when he touches her cheek, gently wiping her skin dry with the tissue. They aren’t focussed, flickering across his face and around them, and her breath catches in her throat, her hand tightening on his shirt.

“‘S okay,” he whispers. “I’m right here.”

“Let the nurse check on you?” he asks softly after a little while, caressing her cheek, and she nods, her eyes still looking at him like she’s searching for him.

She clings to Lucas’s arm as the nurse checks her over, asking her questions quietly, gently. Tells her how long it’s been. Max hides her face in Lucas’s shoulder when she starts to cry again, and Lucas’s throat is tight as he kisses the top of her head.

“Can you tell me what you see, Maxine?” the nurse asks after a while, sitting next to Max on the bed, watching her carefully. Max lifts her head and looks around, her eyes jumping too quickly.

“It’s…” Her hands tighten on Lucas’s arm, squeezing, pulling him closer. He sets a hand on top of hers. Her fingers are cold. “It’s all blurry. Really blurry, I— I can’t see anything.” She pauses, turning toward the window, blinking, her eyelashes fluttering. “I can see… light. It’s bright over there,” she adds, gesturing toward the window with a nod, like she refuses to let go of Lucas even with one hand to point. “I can see, like…”

She stops, her voice cutting off, and Lucas squeezes her hands when she sniffles, squeezing her eyes shut before she looks around the room again.

“Color,” she says. “It just…” She looks down at herself, then at where she’s holding onto Lucas, at their hands, at his skin against hers. “It’s so blurry, I…”

“‘S okay,” Lucas whispers, squeezing again.

“Can you fix it?” Max asks, turning toward the nurse. Her voice is tight, tense.

The nurse pauses, looking down at her clipboard, and Lucas feels irrationally angry at her for her silence as Max waits. He presses his lips together and rubs his thumb over Max’s knuckles.

“It doesn’t look like it,” the nurse says gently. “I’m sorry, Maxine.”

Max is quiet.

She’s looking across the room blankly, her face void of any expression. Her grip on Lucas’s arm is loose. Her eyelashes flutter as she blinks, her gaze falling a little bit, and then she’s nodding so minutely she’s barely nodding at all.

“Okay,” she says softly, her voice barely even a whisper.

Lucas’s eyes meet the nurse’s, and she gives him a look that he can’t really read.

“You should get some rest,” she says to Max after a moment, lifting a hand like she wants to reach out and touch her arm before she thinks better of it, dropping her hand to the edge of the bed. “Somebody will come by with food in a little bit, alright?”

Max nods again.

“When will my mom come?” she asks as the nurse is standing, turning to face her, grip tightening anxiously.

“They’re contacting her right now,” the nurse says. “She should be here any minute.”

Another nod. And then she turns to Lucas, leaning toward him, and he takes her back into his arms. He closes his eyes and presses his cheek to the top of her head, and he hears the door open and then close a moment later.

They’re both quiet. Max clings to Lucas’s arm, trembling. He wonders if her eyes are closed.

She shivers after a few moments.

“Cold?” Lucas whispers. She nods.

Lucas pulls away carefully, slowly detaching them, and he keeps a hand on her back as he leans to reach for the hoodie he draped over the back of his chair earlier today. It’s a red zip-up hoodie.

“Here,” he says softly, lifting to drape around her shoulders. She lets him, her eyes closed as she lifts her arms to put it on. She pulls it around herself tightly, letting the sleeves cover her hands.

Lucas waits for her.

He looks at her. Her hair is down, covering her face because her head is downcast, like she’s hiding from him. She’s sitting cross-legged, the blanket tenting over her knees, and her shoulders look tense, tight like she’s anticipating something.

“Lucas?” she says softly.

“Yeah?”

“…Can I hold your hand?”

“‘Course,” he says, lifting a hand and holding it out to her. She looks for it, scanning her line of vision until she finds it, the contrast of his skin against the white sheets, and she reaches for it slowly, hesitantly. “‘S okay,” Lucas murmurs, waiting for her.

She takes it gently at first, her touch soft and scared, and then her grip tightens, squeezing. She shuts her eyes tightly.

“Is— Is everyone okay?” she asks after a moment, as Lucas is brushing his thumb back and forth over her fingers.

“Everyone’s okay,” he says. “They’re worried about you.”

She nods.

“The Byers are back in town,” Lucas says. “With Mike. And… some guy called Argyle.”

“Who’s Argyle?”

“A stoner dude. I think you’ll like him.”

She hums, nodding, taking a deep breath, and it doesn’t seem like she’s really listening to him. Just holding his hand. Keeping him there.

“You think Eddie will let me have some weed?” she asks after a moment, and a laugh bursts out of Lucas’s chest. She cracks a smile.

“Maybe,” Lucas says, rubbing her fingers. “Dunno if Steve would let him give it to you.”

“He doesn’t have to know.”

He laughs again.

She’s smiling, head tilting, eyes moving quickly, almost quivering. Lucas gazes at her. At the lines in her cheeks that appear when she smiles, at the warm wisps of hair hanging around her face.

“I missed you so much,” he says softly.

Her smile softens. She turns toward him a little more, her hand tightening on his.

“Did you come over often?”

“They could barely keep me away.”

Her eyebrows jump.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, tracing her knuckles lightly. “Lady at the front desk knows me by name.”

She laughs lightly, tugging his hand a little bit, absently. She looks at him.

She’s scanning his face, like she’s searching for him. Her smile fades.

“What is it?” Lucas whispers.

She’s quiet for a moment.

“…Wish I could see you.”

Lucas exhales.

His whole body hurts. His hand tightens on hers and he watches as she blinks, as she searches for him right in front of her.

“Wanna try something?” he asks softly.

“Sure.”

He hesitates before he lifts her hand to his face slowly, watching her carefully, nervously. Her fingertips are cold when they touch his cheek. Her eyes flutter and she shifts toward him, sliding her hand so her palm presses to his cheek.

Her head falls forward like she’s looking down, but her eyes are still unfocused, a little wide, and her hand moves. She’s gentle, her fingertips travelling lightly over his skin to feel the shape of his nose, the space between his eyebrows. He closes his eyes when her fingers run down his face, and his eyelashes catch on her fingertips briefly.

She turns toward him more, wincing, reaching up for his face with her other hand, touching him. Her expression changes, her eyebrows furrowing, and she’s blinking rapidly like she’s trying not to cry.

“Okay?” Lucas whispers. She nods.

He waits for her as she feels his face, gazing at her, at her freckles and the way her irises are trembling just the slightest bit. She’s smiling now, and it’s a tiny smile, almost absent, almost invisible.

She presses her fingers to his cheeks and squeezes, squishing his face up, and he lets out a scoff. She grins. It’s beautiful.

Her thumb brushes over his lips, and it seems accidental at first, but then she does it again, her grin faltering. And she’s just holding his face. Cradling it. And he wants to fucking sob, to fall into her arms and wail until his throat is raw.

He holds himself together. Looks at her and waits patiently.

The door opens behind Max as she holds him, and he looks up, past her, to see Ms Mayfield entering the room. Her hair is tied into a messy bun, and her eyes are rimmed with red, which makes the blue of her irises look even brighter than usual.

Her gaze meets Lucas’s, and he can see her fall apart. There are tears cascading down her cheeks in an instant even as she’s smiling at him. Lucas smiles again, and then Max is smiling as she feels his cheeks rise.

“Max,” he says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Your mom is here.”

She turns quickly, looking around the room helplessly as she lets out a weak, “Mommy?” that sounds like it’s from the mouth of a little girl, a girl much smaller than Max is.

Ms Mayfield sobs quietly, her hand covering her mouth for a moment as she takes Max in, and then she falls to the edge of the bed, reaching for Max, taking her into her arms.

“Hi, baby.”

Max cries.

Lucas watches Ms Mayfield’s hand run over the top of Max’s head, smoothing her hair gently, tenderly, and Max sobs, her voice muffled and weak. And Lucas’s eyes are burning again, his vision blurring as he watches them hold each other, reunited in a tearful, messy embrace.

Somehow it hits him all over again. That Max is alive. That her heart is beating. Her blood is flowing. He covers his mouth to muffle a weak sob, but Ms Mayfield hears it anyway, and she opens her eyes, looking at him over Max’s shoulder. Her eyes are bright, vibrant and shining, and then she’s reaching a hand out to Lucas, trembling.

Lucas takes it. Their fingers slide together, and she pulls, tugging him closer to herself and Max. Lucas moves closer, putting his other hand on Max’s back, rubbing gently, and Ms Mayfield touches his face, caressing his cheek and looking at him tearfully, her voice barely above a whisper as she says, “Thank you.”

He closes his eyes as tears spill down his cheeks, wrapping his arm around Max and exhaling shakily as her hand pulls away from her mother to hold his forearm. She’s trembling.

She cries until she falls asleep, trapped between her mother and Lucas, holding onto them both like she’s scared they’ll leave, even in sleep. And they stay, like they’re scared she’ll leave too.

July 1986

Max stays home usually.

Despite not really being able to see, she complains that her eyes are too sensitive now. Sunlight hurts more than anything, especially when the sky is clear. She keeps her windows at least partially drawn, her lights off. She plays music usually, her radio or walkman by her side, and she fidgets with whatever trinket Dustin left behind last time he visited.

Lucas always taps on her door lightly before he opens it. She always looks over at him blankly, curiously before he says, “Hi.”

The first time he visited her in her room, it was filled with boxes and shopping bags. Ms Mayfield had had to move after the ‘earthquakes,’ and Wayne Munson had apparently dropped everything to help her the second he saw her struggling to kick the door open while carrying a box.

They’re neighbors again, living side by side in a small duplex, and Lucas likes that they’re practically best friends now. Wayne brings Ms Mayfield coffee and tea and her favorite chewing gum, and Ms Mayfield makes the coffee and pours it into two mugs. They kind of make Lucas think of Steve and Robin: bickering and teasing and poking fun at each other, but always smiling, always gazing.

When Lucas had come over the first time, navigated through the hall to find Max’s room, found her sitting in bed fiddling with the dials of her radio, surrounded by bags and boxes and boxes and bags, he wanted to help her, and she didn't want to let him. They’d had to reach a compromise: Lucas would unbox five boxes, he would talk to her the whole time, and then he would sit with her.

That was the only expectation. To sit with her. They’d talked the whole time he unpacked for her, as he sorted clothes and set aside books and tapes and shoes and her skateboard. Max told him about when Will had come over earlier that day. He’d brought her a few tapes he thought she’d like. Lucas complained about Erica and Dustin, and how they’ve apparently become almost as inseparable as Steve and Robin, always ganging up on Lucas together to make fun of him for anything. And he heard Max laugh.

It’s a beautiful sound. Especially when she’s like this: tired and drained and sad-looking, sitting in a pile of blankets with her eyes closed because the room is so dim there’s kind of no point in having them open.

They didn’t talk when Lucas sat with her. He told her that he had finished five boxes. She nodded. And then paused before holding her hand out, and he took it tentatively. She pulled him closer in silence, and she played with his hand, feeling his fingers, the roughness of the calluses on his palm, the dips between his knuckles. He moved closer after a little bit, shifting to sit against the wall, and she let go of him to fluff out her blanket so it was over him as well. He lifted an arm to wrap around her carefully, and she exhaled, leaning against him.

She likes touching more than she used to. Even when they were dating she was never too touchy, occasionally smacking a kiss on his cheek when saying goodbye, hooking their fingers together while walking, letting their knees knock together while sitting next to each other. But now…

She tucked herself into his side, curling into a ball, as small as possible, her hand sliding across his chest and then gripping the fabric of his hoodie loosely. When he touched her hand, she spread her fingers so they could link together, and she sighed heavily. Lucas hesitantly pushed a hand into her hair, dragging his fingers through the tangles gently, and he whispered to her.

“You okay?”

She nodded with another sigh, and her voice was hushed when she spoke.

“I can hear your heartbeat.”

Which, of course, made Lucas overly aware of his heartbeat, and it promptly sped up, which made Max giggle again. And she fell asleep there, leaning against him, holding his hand, as he ran his fingers through her hair.

And this is their system now. Lucas offers to help tidy up, sort something out for her, cook something for her. Max argues half-heartedly before letting him. They sit together.

September 1986

Lucas isn’t supposed to be sitting on the counter, but his dad doesn’t mind as much as his mom, and she’s at brunch.

He’s kicking his feet in time with the music playing on the radio. He doesn’t recognize the band, but his dad is humming along, swaying as he flips pancakes at the stove. It’s a dreary day outside, grey and just rainy enough to be a little humid, but Lucas’s dad has never been one to let the weather dampen his mood. He would have a picnic in a hurricane if he had good sandwich bread. Isn’t this fun?

He’s even wearing an apron, one with ruffles and embroidered flowers over the pocket, and the apron is really Lucas’s mom’s, but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her wear it. But she always smiles fondly when she sees her husband wearing it.

“Hey, Dad?” Lucas asks around the pancake he’s nibbling. He’d stolen it earlier and his dad pretended not to see.

“Mhmm?”

“…How did you know that Mom was the one?”

Charles lets out a dramatic sigh, flipping a pancake.

“Ah, Susan…”

Lucas raises his eyebrow, suppressing a smile. His mom hates going by Susan.

“Well, we met in college,” Charles says, glancing up at Lucas, who nods, listening. “We had English Lit together, and she wasn’t in class one day so I took extra notes and gave them to her the next week. Turns out I didn’t have to, because she actually had a friend in that class that also took notes for her, but she said it was sweet.”

Lucas scoffs, taking another bite of the pancake.

“I asked her to get coffee. We started going out,” Charles continues, setting the pancake aside and pouring more batter in the pan. “All my friends loved her. Started pressuring me to propose before we even hit six months.

“I thought about it,” he continues. “But I wasn’t sure for a while. My folks hadn’t had the best marriage, you know, and it messed with my idea of what marriage really was, right? And love, I guess. I saw my parents always arguing and bickering and fighting, and that was what I thought love was supposed to be, and it just….”

He shrugs, and Lucas nods. He doesn’t spend a lot of time with his grandparents; they live in Nevada, but he thinks even if they lived closer he still wouldn’t even want to see them. They aren’t very nice to be around.

“But your mother was a darling,” Charles says fondly, looking down at the pan and flipping the pancake. “Always patient with me when I was having a hard time. When I was unsure about anything.”

“Yeah, she’s really nice,” Lucas says. Charles hums in agreement, nodding. “…Most of the time.”

“I’m gonna ignore that. Then one day we went to church together,” Charles says, ignoring the way Lucas chokes out a laugh. “We were sitting side by side in the pew. And I was having a time, wondering if she was the one and all that stuff. I asked God to send me a sign and everything. Some knocked over books, a thunderstorm. A literal sign would have been helpful.

And then— Our hands were on the pew in front of us, like this—” He sets the spatula down and holds his hands up, miming a platform in front of himself. “And she reached over and hooked her little finger with mine.”

There’s a shine in his eye, a fond gleam, and Lucas’s chest feels warm.

“And I decided maybe I didn’t need a sign from God,” Charles says. “All I needed was a sign from her.”

He shrugs lightly, and he looks back at the pan, flipping over the pancake. It’s a little overcooked, but Charles is undeterred, still smiling absently.

“So I knew I wanted to marry her,” he says. “Knew she was the woman for me.”

Lucas hums quietly, looking down at the remaining piece of pancake in his hand, ripped into a smaller piece. The heels of his socked feet bump into the cabinet he’s sitting above, knocking it shut rhythmically because it keeps swinging back open. (Erica likes to joke it’s haunted. Not the house, but this cabinet specifically.)

“Why do you ask?” Charles says when Lucas doesn’t say anything. “You in love?”

Lucas’s face flushes with heat.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles. “Maybe.”

“Oh, with that white girl,” Charles says brightly. Lucas rolls his eyes. suppressing a smile.

“She has a name.”

“…Martha—”

”Max.”

“Max,” Charles repeats lightly, nodding, flipping another pancake as he mutters her name under his breath like he’s committing it to memory. “So you’re in love with her.”

“I don’t know,” Lucas says again, swaying. “I like her.”

“You like her.”

Lucas bites his lip to suppress his smile, looking at the tiled ground.

“I think if she said she was cold I’d set myself on fire so she could warm her hands.”

A laugh bursts out of Charles, and Lucas giggles, looking up at him.

“I think giving her your jacket is a little more traditional.”

Lucas shrugs, shoving the rest of the pancake into his mouth.

“She’s not very traditional,” he mumbles around it. Charles shakes his head at him, his moustache curved around his smile. Lucas has always thought he would be a good cartoon character.

“So you love her.”

Lucas looks at the ground again, kicking the cabinet shut again.

“Isn’t it kinda stupid?” he says quietly. His dad is quiet.

”What makes you say that?”

Lucas glances up at him.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “Just… We’re kids, I guess. In shows and movies and stuff whenever teenagers fall in love, everyone says it’ll never last, y’know? You never hear anyone talking about their, like, spouse or whatever and saying they were childhood sweethearts.” He fidgets with the end of his sleeve, kicking the cabinet. “Mike’s parents met after his dad finished college. Will’s parents got married after high school, had two kids and then they got divorced.”

“Lonnie Byers is a jackass, son,” Charles interrupts, startling a laugh out of Lucas. “Don’t ever compare yourself to someone like him.”

Lucas nods at the ground.

“It’s also just…” He pauses, his voice softening. “She’s white. You should see the way people look at us when we go out together, like we’re both crazy, like we’re contagious, it’s so fucking stupid—”

He cuts himself off, glancing up at his dad. He’s looking at the pan, and he doesn’t react to Lucas’s language.

Charles is quiet for another moment, and Lucas waits. There’s still some batter left in the mixing bowl, but he’s just looking at the pan, staring at the tiny pieces of burnt batter. and Lucas doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look so… contemplative.

He takes a breath before he speaks, looking back at Lucas.

”You know your uncle Jack?”

”…I do,” Lucas says slowly.

“He and his wife met when they were in third grade. Nine years old, I think? Our families lived close by, but we didn’t go to the same school or anything. Obviously.”

Lucas blinks. He hasn’t seen his uncle Jack in a long time, and he hasn’t seen his wife or children in even longer, but he knows them. There are photos of them in the house, pictures from when Lucas was little. His aunt Lindsey is white.

“Right,” he says hesitantly, looking at his dad.

“You know I don’t believe in coincidences,” Charles says abruptly, standing up straight from where he’s leaning against the counter. “Or luck, or soulmates.”

”I know.”

”Jack and Lindsey didn’t get lucky because they fell in love young,” Charles says. “And their love wasn’t easy. Still isn’t.”

Lucas blinks. His eyes sting a little, but he doesn’t know why.

“They had to fight for their love,” Charles says softly. “Their love wasn’t something life just gave them, you know? I feel like thinking of them as soulmates and all that meant to be nonsense takes away everything they gave. They lost friends and family members, they had to move to a different state to get married.”

”This isn’t making me feel better,” Lucas says.

“And it was all worth it,” Charles says pointedly, leaning to meet Lucas’s eyes. “Because they love each other, and they’re happy together. Doesn’t matter what anyone else says or thinks.”

Lucas’s throat tightens.

“You love this white girl?”

He scoffs, nodding.

“Yeah.”

”And she loves you too?”

Lucas suppresses a smile, looking at the ground bashfully, rubbing his cheeks.

“I think so,” he says softly. “I hope so.”

He thinks so. He remembers how Max used to look at him, how her eyes used to shine. And he sees how she looks now. How, even though she can’t see him, she still smiles absently, turned in his direction while he talks. He notices how she reaches for him. She listens to his heartbeat the same way he used to feel her pulse.

“That’s the kind of love you fight for,” Charles says, his voice soft, but firmer than it usually is. He pauses for a moment before he turns toward Lucas again, meeting his eyes. “Lucas.”

“Dad.”

“My parents weren’t happy when Jack fell in love with Lindsey.” He’s looking at Lucas seriously, like he’s about to grab him by the shoulders and shake him to get his message through. “And Lindey’s parents stopped talking to her.”

Lucas nods, his fingers tightening in a knot, his throat tight again.

“You don’t have to worry about that with us,” Charles says firmly. “You understand me?”

Lucas nods again, blinking tears back.

“And if Max’s family has a problem with it, you tell her that she always has a home here, got it?”

Lucas smiles weakly, his lip quivering a little bit, and he nods, rubbing his cheek again.

“Her mom likes me,” he says quietly.

“Does she?”

Lucas nods once more.

“Well, we’ll have to have them over for dinner sometime.”

Lucas smiles at the ground as his dad pours the rest of the pancake batter in the pan, filling the kitchen with a quiet sizzling.

Lucas’s parents like Max. She’s sweet, and she’s clever, and she’s always got quick one-liners to effectively tease Lucas into making him hide his face and duck his head, pretending he isn’t filled with joy at the sound of his family’s laughter and Max’s giggling.

Dinner at the Sinclairs’ isn’t normally a quiet affair, and it’s no different when Max and her mother join. Susan and Sue bond over the shared names, laughing together about their preferred nicknames, Erica trips Lucas as he’s passing in the kitchen so he stumbles into Max, Charles calls Max the wrong name four times until she’s giggling in anticipation the next time he hums Mmm….

“I swear he’s doing it on purpose,” Lucas says as they’re finding their seats at the table after Charles calls her Maria. Max laughs lightly as she’s sliding into her seat, a hand extended to feel the edge of the table.

“It’s funny,” she says quietly, turning toward him, and he sits next to her, his body turned toward her absently.

“He likes you,” he whispers. He can hear his father laughing in the kitchen, saying something about how he’s more the wife than Sue, and Max’s mom’s laugh sounds a lot like Max’s. Light and joyful and a little childish.

“Do you think?” Max says, matching his volume, leaning toward her. Lucas nods, humming affirmatively, lifting a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. She smiles softly, her eyes flickering.

“Said you’re a real firecracker.”

“That’s a ginger joke.”

“I don’t think it was intended to be,” Lucas says seriously, and Max snorts, her eyes closing as she smiles broadly.

”I like your family,” she says after a moment, her voice soft.

“Yeah?”

”Mhmm. And my mom does too,” she adds, leaning toward him pointedly, nodding almost to herself.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I can tell,” she says, turning her head and searching for Lucas’s hands, her eyes flickering until she reaches tentatively for one, her fingers inching toward Lucas’s. He smiles, watching, turning his hand over so their fingers can lace together.

“I forgot you have heightened senses now,” he says, pretending they’re not holding hands. (It still throws him for a fucking loop, that Max Mayfield wants to hold hands with him.)

“I don’t think I do,” she says, smiling absently as she shakes her head, and Lucas gazes at her.

“I’m telling you, Max, you have spider senses.”

Max rolls her eyes, shaking her head, her fingers tightening on his.

“…She’s been lonely,” she says quietly. Lucas leans closer, listening to her voice that’s hiding under the gentle clamor in the kitchen. “Wayne helps, I mean, obviously, and— and Eddie and Steve come over a lot when Wayne’s working, but she… She had a lot of friends in California before she married Neil, and I think she just…”

She trails off, and Lucas nods even though she can’t see it, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.

“…It’s nice to hear her laughing,” Max says, and her mother laughs in the kitchen as if on cue. Max grins.

“I love how much you love your mom,” Lucas says.

“Lame.”

Lucas rolls his eyes.

Max eats more slowly than she used to. Feeling around her plate with her fork, kicking her feet at the ground, her socks scuffing the hardwood, fidgeting absently with Lucas’s fingers under the table. Lucas knows everyone can tell that they’re holding hands, but he can’t even be embarrassed about it, despite the way Erica kicks him teasingly, nudging him closer to Max.

She moves closer to Lucas during dessert, a pie that Susan made with Wayne’s “help.”

“The man can’t bake for the life of him,” she says intently as they sit around the table again. Erica is sitting cross-legged in her seat now, tucked into a comfortable ball, and she looks precious.

Sometimes Lucas is randomly hit with the realization that Erica is his little sister. She’s the same girl that Lucas met in a hospital room, so tiny and squishy and laying perfectly still in Lucas’s arms. The same girl that cried when she scraped her knees and refused to ride a bike unless Lucas was walking alongside her, holding the bike steady. The same girl that slept in Lucas’s room on Christmas Eve, trying to stay awake to catch Santa but falling asleep sprawled on top of Lucas’s comic books.

Erica sees him looking and lifts her middle finger to him. He returns the gesture.

Susan tells the Sinclairs about how she met Lucas. Lucas keeps his eyes down, pretending he doesn’t notice all their teasing stares, shifting away from Max’s elbow poking into his ribs until Susan shifts the teasing to focus on Max.

“Oh, she kept telling me how handsome Lucas is—”

”I told you that in confidence—”

“Nothing you ever tell me is in confidence.”

Lucas elbows Max. She punches his arm.

“Hi there, Madeline!”

”Max.”

“Max, dang it. Next time I’ll remember.”

Lucas rolls his eyes from where he’s standing in the kitchen, shaking his head and suppressing a smile. He said that last time.

“Erica is at her friend Beverly’s house tonight,” Charles is saying as he leads Max into the kitchen, his arm out for her to hold gently as she uses her white cane to tap across the ground, finding the console table and the shoes left by the doorway. The hallway overhead light is too dim for her to find her way, but nobody minds leading her through it. It had taken her some time to finally start asking people for help, but Lucas thinks that she’s found a big enough comfort in the Sinclairs’ house to accept help from any of them. “Sue and I are headed out in just a moment for the fancy dinner Lucas didn’t want to go to.”

“Can you blame me?” Lucas says, glancing over his shoulder at them and setting a plate on the drying rack.

“Honestly, no,” Charles says, leading Max over to the dining table. She’s smiling absently as she feels for a chair and sits, more comfortable in the brightness of the kitchen. “But Sue wants to go, so. Happy wife, happy life.”

Lucas finishes the dishes as his father goes to finish getting ready, and Max waits at the table, tapping her cane on the ground rhythmically, in time with the most recent song she’s begun learning on guitar. Eddie is teaching her. And Mike, sometimes at the same time at the Munsons’ new place, which has become the new hang out spot because Wayne doesn’t complain half as much as Ted. And Eddie can complain about Max’s and Mike’s bickering as much as he likes, but he doesn’t even bother trying to hide his grins when they’re particularly catty toward each other. And everyone, probably all of Hawkins, heard how loud he laughed when Mike told Max, “I’m making a face at you,” and Max responded, “Thank God I can’t see it.”

“Hi, pretty,” Lucas says as he dries his hands, and Max lifts her head, giving him an unimpressed look. “How’re you?”

”Fine,” she says, her voice light, her vacant gaze following him as he crosses the room and leans against the table next to her. “How hard was it to talk your parents into letting me spend the night?”

“Shockingly easy, actually,” Lucas says, gazing at her. Her hair is shorter than it used to be, cropped to just above her shoulders, wavy and feathery, and it looks so nice Lucas kind of wants to shake her by the shoulders. “They love you.”

Max beams, her cheeks flushing a pretty rosy pink, and Lucas tilts his head fondly, his arms crossing over his chest.

“I can feel you staring at me,” Max says after a moment.

“I’m gazing,” he says pointedly, and she sticks her tongue out at him. “Told you you have heightened senses.”

”How’s guitar going?” he asks after a moment, watching her cane tap back and forth steadily.

“I’m better than Mike.”

“Believable.”

”He has no hand-eye coordination,” she says, lips quirking into a smug grin. “I don’t even need it.”

“You’re so cool.”

Max grins.

”Alright, kiddies,” Sue calls as she meanders down the hallway, stumbling and holding Charles’s arm tightly as she adjusts the strap of her high-heel. “We’re headed out for the night.”

Lucas looks up at them as they linger in the kitchen on the way out, grabbing their jackets, and Max turns in their direction.

“We’ll be home late,” Charles calls, waving with his whole arm so Max can see the movement, and Max smiles, tilting her head. “Don’t do anything we wouldn't do!”

“Goodbye,” Lucas calls pointedly just as Max says, “I’ll keep him in line,” and Lucas grins at the sound of his parents’ harmonized laughter.

The door shuts behind them, and Lucas and Max are quiet for a few moments before Lucas looks at her, gazing again.

“…Ice cream?”

”Yup.”

They sit on the dining table together, cross-legged with their knees pressed. Max rocks back and forth as she tells Lucas about guitar lessons with Eddie and Mike, about how Eddie shifts her fingers into place gently, telling her which chords are which. She can play some songs by ear now, listening to Eddie or Mike play before repeating it herself, and Lucas thinks she’s the most amazing person he’s ever met in his life.

She has calluses on her fingertips. Lucas can feel them on his wrist when she tries to find his hand.

”So you like playing guitar,” Lucas says, watching her scrape the last bits of the ice cream out of her bowl.

“I do,” she says, nodding. “It’s nice to have something to do that I don’t need to see for. I’m getting better at tuning my guitar by myself.”

“Heightened senses,” Lucas whispers, and Max makes a face at him, shaking her head.

“I miss skating,” she says after a moment, falling still, and she pauses for a moment before she holds the bowl up toward Lucas. “Any more in here?”

”Nope.”

”So you’ve been watching me search an empty bowl?”

”…I thought you were having fun.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she says, her expression softening with amusement, and she sets the bowl aside, feeling the table before putting it down.

“So you miss skating,” Lucas says, watching Max’s hands fall to her lap, her fingers twisting together. His eyes linger on the faint lines in her skin, the quiet scars that have lingered in spite of the ointment the nurses gave her. Max can’t see them, but Lucas occasionally sees her running her fingertips across them, just slightly raised above her skin.

“Yeah,” she says quietly. Her shoulders hunch uncomfortably, her head tilting, and she looks forlorn, her expression falling. “It was… I don’t know. Free, I guess.”

Lucas hums, listening to her intently, and he draws his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs and setting his chin on his knee. Her eyes flicker with the movement, and his silence prompts her to continue.

“I’d just go skating whenever I felt like shit, y’know?” she says, her voice soft. “Just… take off down the road and not look back.”

“Yeah,” Lucas murmurs, looking at her hands. Her fingers are tangled, tightening and loosening, fidgeting like she’s anxious, but Lucas knows she’s not. She fidgets absently, the same way she rocks back and forth, taps her cane, shifts her fingers into guitar chords.

“I miss the wind,” she says, leaning toward Lucas with a smile. “In my hair and stuff. Blew all my worries away.”

She tilts her head, smiling brightly, and Lucas loves how her smile makes her eyes squint at him, loves how her shoulders raise to her ears, loves how she sways to the side. He suppresses the urge to reach out and cradle her face in his hands.

“…You wanna do something?” he asks softly. Her eyes flicker across him.

“Is it something your parents wouldn’t do?”

“Yeah.”

She grins.

Max’s hands are steady on Lucas’s shoulders, fingers holding tightly as they speed down the empty road. She’d laughed as they struggled their way onto the bike, clutching at Lucas’s shoulders and standing on the pegs behind the seat, her head ducked as he started pedalling.

The sun is setting, and it’s like the entire world is glowing golden. Lucas knows Max can’t see everything he can, but his skin feels warm in spite of the tender bite of the wind on the tips of his ears and nose, and he hopes she feels it too. Hopes she knows the sun is beaming down at her.

He hears her over the wind after a little while, when they’ve ridden out of Lucas’s neighborhood, and she’s laughing.

It’s his favorite fucking sound in the world.

She sounds breathless, gasping between giggles, and Lucas thinks she might be crying. He can see her in his head, glowing in the sun, cheeks shimmering with tears, her pale eyes fluttering. And when her hands disappear from his shoulders, he risks a glance back at her, just far enough to see her arm stretched out against the blue sky and silver lined clouds. Her hand is relaxed, fingers extended like she’s trying to catch the wind, and her scars stand out in the sunlight.

Lucas faces forward again, turning down a road he knows will be empty, a road that’s lined with wildflowers and overgrown grass and thistles. He bikes faster, and when Max sings to the sky, Lucas’s eyes sting. He blames the wind.

“How was that?” he asks as he helps her get down from the bike. They’re both still breathless, and the sky is darker now, a rich shade of blue that Lucas adores but only ever sees at this hour when the clouds have drifted apart. Max clings to his arm as she stumbles on the pavement, her eyes wide as she searches fruitlessly for shapes in the dark.

“How was that?” Max repeats, holding Lucas’s arm, her fingertips slipping under the hem of his sleeve. She’s smiling, her head tilted up to face him even though she can’t see him, and something about her remembering how tall he is makes his stomach flutter.

Lucas lets the bike fall to the ground, setting his hand over Max’s, and in the dim porch light, he can see that her cheeks are flushed pink from the cold of the evening air.

“That was amazing,” Max says as they start toward the front door. Lucas looks down to make sure she doesn’t stumble over his feet, smiling absently. “I love you.”

Lucas blinks, and his smile fades as he slows to a stop. He looks back up at her, and she’s looking away now, her cheeks darker, her eyes fluttering as her gaze searches the ground like she can sense Lucas looking at her.

Lucas’s throat tightens. Max looks at the ground some more before she finally lifts her head and quirks her eyebrows expectantly. Lucas scoffs, smiling weakly.

“I love you too,” he says softly.

The corner of Max’s mouth curves into a smile.

”…Lame.”

A laugh bursts from his chest, and Max grins.

“Asshole.”

He leads her inside.

She sits on the counter while he prepares dinner, the radio on and crackling. She’s kicking her feet in time with the music, swaying back and forth, and Lucas is humming, and it feels so insanely domestic, so fucking normal, that Lucas feels like he’s breaking some kind of rule. Like this isn’t allowed. Making dinner and listening to the radio.

He looks back at Max as he scoops the chopped broccoli into a bowl to clear the cutting board. She’s got her hands on the edge of the counter, fingers curled around it, her ankles crossed and swinging, the fabric of her sweatpants folding over her thighs. She’d changed before Lucas started cooking, and when she’d emerged from the bathroom wearing a t-shirt of his that went missing a few weeks ago, he thought he might die.

It’s a worn shirt from when he was on the basketball team. Faded dark green with yellow lettering reading HAWKINS HIGH BASKETBALL around a tiger’s face, a bold 08 on the back, oversized and hanging off of her body loosely. She fidgets with the end of it occasionally, twisting the fabric around her fingers.

Lucas kind of wants to ask how much of her wardrobe consists of stolen goods. He’s pretty sure the sweatpants she’s wearing were Steve’s, given the rolled cuffs around her ankles.

He doesn’t say anything.

Max is still quiet when Lucas slides the pan into the oven and twists the timer. The ticking is quiet under the music from the radio, almost inaudible. Lucas leans against the counter across from Max, gazing at her again. Her eyelashes are pale, fluttering as she blinks, and her irises are quivering like she’s searching the tile floor for something. She’s swaying back and forth with the music, and Lucas loves her.

She’s quiet for a few more moments before she tilts her head, sticking her tongue out at him, and Lucas scoffs.

“Spider senses.”

“Whatever.”

She kicks her feet in the air. She’s wearing striped socks that look hand-made, knit carefully from soft yarn, tucked under the fabric of her sweatpants clumsily.

“I like this song,” Max says softly.

“I don’t know it,” Lucas says, and Max clicks her tongue at him, shaking her head.

“Uncultured.”

Lucas snorts, laughing softly, and then he steps closer, touching Max’s knee so she knows he’s closer before he reaches for one of her hands. She lifts her head, turning her hand over to hold his fingers.

“Come here,” Lucas says softly.

“Where?”

“Right here.”

He pulls at her hand gently, tugging her so she slides off the counter, and she lets him, head tilted curiously as she stands in front of him, holding his hand. Lucas leads her hand to rest on his shoulder slowly, gazing at her face, at her absent smile, before he slides his hand over her arm gently. Her head tilts the other way, and Lucas smiles fondly, swaying with her as he slips his hand to her waist, holding her carefully.

Her other hand hovers in the air hesitantly, and Lucas gazes at the freckle on her wrist before he takes her hand gently. Their fingers twist naturally, turning to hold each other lightly, and Max’s fingertips are cold like they always are, but Lucas doesn’t mind. They sway together slowly, stepping to the side, and Lucas’s hand slides around her waist to press against the small of her back gently. Max’s smile widens, and she scoffs.

”What?” Lucas whispers, smiling. She shakes her head, and then lets it fall forward, her forehead pressing to Lucas’s chin. Lucas smiles, leaning to press a kiss just under her hairline, listening to her sigh.

“Nothing,” she whispers back, and her breath is warm where it finds itself on Lucas’s neck, and Lucas’s eyes sting again as they sway together. His breath shudders as he exhales, and Max’s hand slides over the top of his back to wrap around his neck, holding him close as she steps to the side, following his lead. They’re in a small space, trapped between the two counters, but when Lucas closes his eyes, their shared space feels limitless.

Max starts to hum along with the music before she’s murmuring the words under her breath, and Lucas thinks her voice could make any song sound beautiful, could make any song his favorite.

And the songbirds are singing Like they know the score And I love you, I love you, I love you Like never before

Lucas opens his eyes and steps back, gently pushing Max and lifting her hand to prompt her into a twirl, and she smiles brightly, her eyes squeezing shut as she spins, her hair flying around her head before she falls back into his arms with another sigh.

She giggles as he dances with her, spinning her in place and holding her by her waist as he dips her, her hands holding his shoulders.

“You’ve been working out,” she says when he lifts her up again, hugging her waist as they sway. His stomach flutters, and he grins.

“You can tell?”

”Yeah, don’t let it go to your head.”

Lucas laughs softly, lifting her into the air and spinning with her as she hugs his neck tightly.

They go to the living room after eating, and Max holds his arm to herself as they walk through the hall, her cane left leaning against the dining table. He puts on a baseball game.

Max likes baseball more than she used to. She listens to the commentary silently, tilting her head like she’s following the players in her mind, and Lucas loves baseball, but he loves her more. He’s mesmerized by her, gazing at how the glow of the television screen makes her eyes shine. Her fingers are pressing into his upper arm gently, squeezing absently, replacing her constant fidgeting with the end of her shirt.

“You’re supposed to be watching the game,” she says after a while, smiling and turning her head toward him. His face burns.

“You know you’re unsettling sometimes?”

”You’re the one staring, stalker.”

“I feel like you holding onto me at all times is the equivalent of me staring at you all the time.”

She blinks, her hands pausing on his bicep, and her mouth spreads into a begrudging smile.

”Shut up.”

He giggles, pulling his arm out of her grasp and reaching to put it around her shoulders. She lets him, hands hovering in the air before she leans into him, wrapping her arms around herself and tucking her hands away. Lucas lets his head fall to rest on hers, pressing a kiss to her temple. She exhales, and when Lucas glances at her face, her eyes are closed.

Her hand finds his after a while, fingers twisting to hold two of his in her hand, and he sighs, brushing his thumb over her skin gently. He feels Max’s breath steady during the sixth inning, and he smiles, letting his cheek squish against the top of her head. Her hand falls lax in his, and he holds it in place, lacing their fingers gently. The game turns to static in his ears, muffled and indistinct as his breath slows.

When he wakes up, the television has been turned off. The living room is lit up by the dim light in the stairwell, and Lucas squints around the room. The television remote is on the coffee table, out of his reach, and there’s a blanket over him and Max, gently placed so it’s not in their faces. Lucas sighs, letting his head fall to the back of the sofa and closing his eyes. The ceiling creaks where his parents’ bedroom is.

Max shifts closer. They’re tangled now, facing each other with their legs entwined, and Max’s hand is resting on Lucas’s chest, fingers spread like she’s trying to feel his heartbeat. Her face is tucked against his shoulder, and she nuzzles against him as she exhales slowly.

Lucas has butterflies. He suppresses a smile and lifts a hand to Max’s, setting it over hers as gently as possible.

November 1986

It’s been raining for the past few days. The streets are practically flooded, streams of rainwater cascading alongside the curbs and drenching lawns and gardens. The constant shower of it turns to white noise in the back of every conversation, and Lucas finds that he doesn’t mind it.

It’s a steady sound, comforting and warm even though it’s freezing out, especially in the wind and blocked out sunlight. It’s nearly dark out even though it’s barely even four PM, the clouds grey and angry. There might be lightning later, and as much as Lucas loves the rain, he doesn’t love thunder. Nobody in the Party does. Sometimes during thunderstorms they have slumber parties at Steve’s, all gathered into the excessively large living room just so they don’t have to flinch and shiver on their own.

He holds his jacket over his head as he runs across the parking lot after swinging the door shut, his feet splashing in the rain gathered on the pavement. His jeans are spotted with rain when he makes it to the front doors of the hospital, and he wipes his hands on his legs, shaking his jacket out. The receptionist looks up at him as he wipes his face clean of the rain that managed to get under his jacket, and he gives her a friendly smile as he passes by.

It’s warm in the lobby. He exhales, shivering as he adjusts to it, and he looks around. There aren’t many people here, and it’s quiet. Lucas can hear the distant beeping of machines, clicking of shoes on the vinyl flooring, the scratching of the receptionist’s pen. A woman whispering to her child, reading aloud a picture book from one of the tables in the waiting room. Lucas drapes his jacket over his arm as he searches the room until he spots a flash of red hair.

Her head is down, her headphones around her neck, and she’s holding her cane in her hands, fidgeting with the bandana that’s been tied around the handle, twisting the purple fabric around her fingers. Her knee is bouncing up and down, and even though her vacant gaze is downcast, Lucas can see that her eyebrows are drawn together anxiously.

Her head lifts when Lucas gets closer, her eyebrows furrowing confusedly, and she tilts her head, eyes narrowing.

“Hey, Spider-Girl,” Lucas says lightly, sitting in the chair next to her. She blinks, her expression softening with amusement.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, her knee slowing to a stop as she turns toward him.

“Seeing you,” he says, setting his jacket over the armrest of his chair and crossing a leg over his lap. “Knew you had an appointment today, so.”

“‘S just a check-up,” she says, mumbling a little bit, and she faces forward again, twisting the bandana around her finger.

“You hate check-ups.”

She’s quiet, tugging on a stray thread on the corner of the bandana, and Lucas waits.

“…I don’t need a babysitter.”

He looks at her, setting his elbow on the armrest between them, and their upper arms press against each other.

“I’m not babysitting you,” he says softly. “I care about you.” She doesn’t say anything, and he exhales, stifling a sigh. “Eddie goes with Robin and Steve to their appointments.”

“That’s different,” she mutters.

”Not really.” He watches as she twists the thread around her finger until her skin flushes red and then releases it, watches as the color fades. “I can go if you don’t want me here,” he says after a few quiet moments. “But I was thinking I could drive you home so you don’t have to wait for the bus in the rain.”

And it’ll be dark out by the time Max’s appointment is finished. He doesn’t say that.

“Do you want me to go?” he asks.

She’s quiet again, and then she shakes his head.

He smiles, leaning to let his head fall against her shoulder, and Max sighs, finally releasing the thread to reach up to Lucas’s arm, holding him tightly. Her fingertips are cold even through the fabric of Lucas’s shirt.

“Miss Mayfield?”

They both lift their heads at the sound of the nurse’s voice. Max’s hand tightens on Lucas’s arm, and she inhales slowly, calmly.

“We’re ready for you now.”

Max stands unsteadily as she exhales, and Lucas hesitates.

“Do you want me to wait here?”

She pauses, and the nurse waits patiently, hovering in the entrance to the waiting room, and the rain keeps falling. And then Max shakes her head and holds her hand out to Lucas, her fingers trembling a little bit. Lucas takes it, lacing their fingers and then standing as he pulls her hand to rest on his arm as they follow the nurse.

The rain lessens a little bit after Max’s appointment, drizzling as they cross the parking lot to Lucas’s car. It’s an old thing, the pain scuffed and uneven, bought from one of Charles’s friends, but Lucas loves it. It has character.

Max shivers as Lucas starts the car, and he takes off his jacket, passing it to her silently, draping it over her lap. She exhales shakily, setting her cane down at her feet before he holds Lucas’s jacket to herself, drawing it to her chest.

“You okay?” Lucas asks as he pulls out of the parking lot, the street lit up by his headlights. She sighs.

”I hate hospitals.”

“I know,” he says softly.

“I’m always tired after appointments,” she says, pulling the jacket to her chin and lowering her face to it even though the fabric is damp. “Like… exhausted.”

“You can rest when I get you home,” Lucas says, glancing at her and ignoring the urge to reach over and set his hand on her leg. “Dinner and a game.”

“Can I ask you a question?” she asks abruptly, turning in his direction, and he blinks.

“Yeah, ‘course.”

She’s quiet, and Lucas glances at her again. She’s looking up, out the window, watching the streetlights go by, flashing blurring in her vision.

“Why do you wait for me?” she asks finally.

He blinks, pausing before he glances at her.

“What do you mean?” he asks softly.

“Just…” She sniffles, and he glances at her again, his eyebrows drawing together in concern as he sees that her cheeks are shining.

“Wait, woah—”

He pulls over, turning on the hazards, and Max lets out a wet laugh, wiping her face.

”What’s going on?” Lucas asks as he stops the car, unbuckling his seatbelt to turn to face her, leaning over the center console. “What’s wrong?”

She takes a deep breath, forcing herself to stop crying, rubbing her face harshly, and Lucas wants to touch her, to hold her hand and wipe her cheeks.

“Just…” she tries again, exhaling sharply, and she turns toward him too, holding Lucas’s jacket to herself. “I’ve taken so long.”

“Taken so long,” Lucas repeats, trying to piece it together, looking at her face. Her cheeks shimmer in the light of the passing cars. “For what? What do you mean?”

She exhales sharply, letting out a frustrated huff, and she pauses, rubbing her cheeks again like she’s trying to ground herself. Her knees turn toward Lucas, and she’s quiet for another moment before she speaks.

“I did everything I could to push you out of my life,” she says softly, almost whispering. “And you— you bought me a ticket to your basketball game.”

”Max,” Lucas says quietly, leaning a little bit closer and gazing as she tilts her head.

“I ignored you, and I was rude to you, and I tried to pretend you didn’t fucking exist, Lucas,” she says shakily, her eyes glistening more than usual as tears flood them. “I tried to— to pretend we never even happened, and I—”

“Max,” Lucas interrupts, finally touching her.

He sets his hand on her forearm gently, and she doesn’t startle. Doesn’t pull away or jump. She leans into the touch, lifting her hand to catch his and hold it in place on her arm.

And Lucas’s chest aches. He holds her tenderly, tracing her knuckles with his other hand, gazing at her as she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Why would you wait for me?” she cries.

Lucas’s eyes burn. He blinks his tears away, leaning down to bring her hand to his face, pressing her knuckles against his forehead as he exhales.

“Why wouldn’t I wait for you?”

She shakes her head, sniffling, shifting her fingers so she’s holding onto his, and he reaches across the center console to touch her head, brushing her hair back and cradling her skull.

“I’m just…”

“You are not just anything, Max Mayfield.”

She lets out a laugh, her hand tightening on his, and she falls toward him, still giggling like she’s delirious.

“Lucas, I…”

”Listen to me,” he whispers, leaning forward, nudging his nose against her temple before he kisses it gently. She leans into it, pulling at his hand, and they’re both hovering over the center console, their faces close enough that Lucas can feel her breath on his neck. “You listening?”

She nods, turning her face into his neck. He feels her eyelashes flutter against his skin.

He squeezes his eyes shut when they sting again, and his voice shakes as he speaks, and he speaks anyway.

“Everything about you is worth waiting for.”

She presses her face into his neck with a soft soft. Her tears are wet on his skin, and he aches, and he aches, and he aches.

“Max.”

“Why me?”

“Why not you?” he asks frustratedly, pulling away to look at her, reaching to wipe her cheeks as gently as he can even as she clings to his hand. “Hm?”

”You’re you,” she says adamantly, her eyes shut as she lets Lucas touch her face. “You’re so cool.”

He lets out a sound that’s so confused that Max giggles again, shaking her head and leaning into Lucas’s hand.

“You’re cool,” she says again, adamant. “You’re— You’re a jock, and you’re smart and funny and you could have fucking anyone you want, Lucas, you deserve so much more than me—”

”Stop,” Lucas breathes, holding her face, caressing her. “Stop.”

She exhales shakily, shuddering, her eyes closed. The raindrops on the windows sparkle in the passing car lights, and they’re shining on her face. Her tears reflect the lights on her skin, and it makes him think of the stars in the sky, beautiful in a way nothing made by humans can ever replicate.

“I want you,” Lucas whispers. “You’re fucking cool, Max, and you’re funny and smart and beautiful and brave and kinda scary sometimes—”

She interrupts with a little laugh, ducking her head. Lucas smiles fondly, touching her chin and making her look up again.

“You’re so amazing,” he says softly. “And I would wait for you for the rest of my fucking life I had to.”

She exhales, her eyebrows furrowing like she wants to argue, and she lifts a hand to hold Lucas’s wrist.

“I love you,” Lucas murmurs, pressing his forehead to Max’s. “I’ll wait for you as long as you need, okay? I never got— I never got tired of waiting for you.” His voice wavers as his throat tightens, and his eyes burn. “I— I care about you, okay? And you deserve to be cared for, Max, okay?”

His voice breaks, cracking in a way that usually would embarrass him, but Max just nods, her fingers tightening around his wrist.

“Okay?” he says again, looking at her.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay, okay.”

“Okay,” he whispers back.

He brushes his thumb over her cheek gently, wiping away another tear, and he was never raised to believe in things like luck, but he somehow feels that the stars aligned for this. For him holding Max Mayfield so close while the world passes them by, while the rain falls around them even as they keep each other warm.

“Luc.”

Lucas smiles. Max is the only one that calls him that.

“Max.”

“Where’s your face?”

Lucas scoffs, letting go of her to take her hand and lead it to his face. Her fingertips are colder than her palms, and Lucas suppresses a shiver as she holds him, lifting her other hand to cradle his face between them. She stays there for a moment, breathing his air, and he lets her.

And then she’s feeling him, her fingertips dancing over his skin, tracing lines so light they tickle a little bit. Her head is tilted curiously even though her eyes are almost closed, just slivers of her pale irises visible under her lashes.

She traces his cheeks, his jaw, caresses his chin like it’s something beautiful, something marvellous. She runs a fingertip down the bridge of his nose, her lips twitching into the smallest smile Lucas has ever seen, and then she’s smoothing her thumbs over his eyebrows, her eyes fluttering, her irises quivering.

She tilts her head the other way, her fingers brushing over his forehead and temples before she traces the bridge of his nose again, her smile widening. Her fingertips round the end of his nose, dragging the gentle line down over his lips, and he gazes at her.

She blinks a few times, biting her lip like she’s shy as she traces Lucas’s mouth, and then she’s drawing him in, pressing her fingertips under his chin to make him lift it, and Lucas has butterflies. They’re fucking swarming, fluttering so much he feels a little dizzy.

Max’s lips don’t land square on Lucas’s, but he doesn’t care. He can feel her smile against his mouth, and he thinks it feels the way the stars look. Fucking cosmic.

It’s a tentative kiss. Hesitant and chaste, barely even there, but Lucas can die happy now. The earth could open up and swallow him whole and he would go smiling.

Max exhales softly, and Lucas forces his eyes open to look at her. Her eyelashes are fluttering, and her cheeks are flushed with color, and her hands are shaking where they’re holding Lucas’s face.

She smiles hesitantly.

“…I’m gonna need you to react out loud.”

Lucas lets out a wet laugh, his face lighting up with a smile, and he reaches up to hold her hands in place, leaning forward to nudge their noses together.

“Sorry,” he laughs weakly. “Woah.”

She laughs lightly, closing squeezing her eyes shut and nudging their noses again, her palms pressing to his cheeks.

She falls quiet, brushing the ends of their noses together, and Lucas closes his eyes as he exhales, brushing his thumb over the side of her hand.

“I don’t wanna make you wait anymore,” she whispers. Lucas shakes his head, his nose bumping into hers.

“You’re not making me do anything,” he murmurs, lifting his other hand to touch her face. Her cheek is warm. “Just… Max.”

”Luc.”

”…Take your time,” he whispers softly, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Okay?”

She laughs quietly, nodding again, and Lucas only knows she’s crying when he feels her tears on his fingers again. He murmurs to her, shifting to set his elbows on the center console as he holds her face. The sides of his hands rest on the sides of her neck, and he can feel her pulse.

And it’s just as miraculous as it is every time Lucas feels it. This tiny, beating proof that Max is alive. The steady drumming against his skin that feels like solid fucking proof that there’s something above the sky, that there’s good in the world that’s worth fighting for.

Max nods again, moving closer, pushing herself up in her seat as she draws him into another kiss. It’s clumsy, and it’s graceless, and Lucas’s chest feels tight. He cradles the back of Max’s head, squeezing his eyes shut and furrowing his eyebrows, and he kind of feels like he’s going to fucking explode, like he’s going to burst into a mess of guts and butterflies flying free. Max’s hand grabs the front of his shirt, pulling him in harder, and then she’s suddenly smiling against his mouth again, grinning brightly, and her teeth are smooth against Lucas’s lips. He laughs lightly, tilting his head. Their noses press into each other’s cheeks, and Max reaches down to fumble with her seatbelt before she throws it aside with Lucas’s jacket and leans toward Lucas, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He laughs, pulling her closer, and they’re both giggling childishly as she struggles over the center console, as he gathers her into his lap and hugs her waist tightly. She holds his face in her hands as she settles, melting against him, and he’s fucking breathless, like he’s drowning in it.

“God,” he exhales when they part, gasping. She smooths her fingers over his cheeks and lets her head fall forward, her forehead pressing to the bridge of his nose. Her breath shudders in her chest. She’s shaking. ”Okay?”

She nods, nudging their noses together, her fingers brushing over the shell of Lucas’s ear lightly.

“Will you take me home?” she whispers.

“Of course.”

“Will you stay tonight?”

Lucas runs his hands over her waist, nodding.

“Of course.”

She exhales.

“Will you kiss me goodnight?”

He smiles, his eyes stinging again, and he brushes his nose against hers, shivering as she trails her fingertips over the sides of his neck.

“As many times as you want.”

She’s smiling when she kisses him again, and he can feel her breath on the skin of his face. Their heartbeats synchronize, and her fingertips press into his pulse like she’s looking for it, for the proof that they’re here, hidden from the sky and still glowing like the sun. The proof that they’re more than everything they’ve been through, more than the scars on their skin and the whites of their eyes and their bad dreams. The proof that they’re worth fighting for.

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[adobe-outdesign]

omg can you review the mighty poogle 🥺

The Poogle is one of those really abstract Neopets wherein it's just a Creature(TM). What kind of creature? Who knows. I guess they're meant to be vaguely dog-like (seeing as Poogle racing is a thing, and it does sound vaguely like "poodle"), but they really don't lean towards any one specific animal, which is always something I enjoy.

What makes Poogles appealing is undeniably how chubby they are; it makes them look extra cuddly and is part of what gives them their distinctive noses (or lack thereof) and double chins. It also comes with a bit of lore about them living primarily in cold-weather regions, kind of like how seals have blubber to keep them warm.

Beyond that, I also like their stripes; they break up the design just enough without feeling too distracting, similar to their underbellies. The shape of the stripes is also mimicked by their distinctive ears.

I will fully admit though: Poogles got the raw end of the deal when it comes to customization. Not the absolute worst conversion job, mind you, as for the most part they look pretty dang similar—same pose, same proportions, same markings, etc.

However, what got completely messed up is their faces. Originally, Poogles had a soft, fleshy snoot that had two sets of lines to indicate that it was mostly fat and that it went back in space a bit. Removing this upper line makes their snouts look hard, and also has the side effect of making their snout and even their entire head look too wide.

Likewise, the chin got messed up. The Poogle originally had a pretty distinct double chin/fat neck that, once again, showed how chubby they were. More importantly, their chin lines weren't closed off, so their heads bled directly into their bodies. On converted Poogles, they now just look like they have one weird normal chin instead of a chin and neck. The end result is actually kind of uncanny if you stare at them for too long. It's a shame, because like I said, everything else about the conversion works, and there was no reason to change the elements they did. They're still cute, mind you, just slightly less so.

Favorite colours:

MSP: Species-specific colors always tend to be iconic and a delight, and MSP Poogles certainly are no exception. They're basically the same thing as a regular plushie Poogle, except Evil(TM), with red eyes and a nasty set of sharp teeth (side note: canonically, all Poogles actually have sharp teeth; you just rarely see them). The unconverted version also is bipedal, unlike the regular unconverted plushie, which was quadrupedal.

Both converted and unconverted MSPs have a super fun chaotic gremlin energy to them, and both designs are good depending on which stance you prefer (I kind of like the converted quadrupedal, though granted, the loss of some stitching and extra softness is a bit of a shame.)

Toy: This color literally just released last month, but a toy Poogle based off of the good old iDog is just delightful. Even if you don't know anything about iDogs, the design is still good, with the eyes serving to complete a multi-colored hexagon that draws attention to the head, and the rest of the body considering of just a smooth off-white and black.

Zombie: The mindless eyes on this one are just absolutely delightful and give it a ton of personality. I also like the details, such as a few stitches here and there, a scraggly mouth, scratch lines against the usual stripes, and liver spots. As a bonus, it looks good both with PB clothing and without.

BONUS: I don't normally mention "recolor" Neopets as much on these reviews just because they tend to be mostly by-the-numbers, but the pastle Poogle is honestly gorgeous, with subtle gradients and a low-contrast blue and pink color scheme, helped by colored lineart. It's nothing fancy, but it's definitely one of the all-time best pastels out there.

[arabellas]

hi :) i hope it's okay to ask, i love your colorings especially on your the bear gifs, would you consider making a tutorial for how you colour the kitchen scenes in the show, like the scenes that have a lot of white in the background and are quite bright? i find them really hard to color without making everyone's skin look muddy and i'd love to know how you make yours look so good. no worries if not though!

hellooo! sure, here's a quick tutorial on bright scenes :)

i would recommend checking out my general coloring tutorial here where i talk more in depth about my process as i'm just gonna go through it briefly here. here's my gif right after sharpening:

it's a pretty bright scene with lots of white and it can be tricky to color it properly and not make the skintones washed out. i like my gifs to be crispy and have a lot of contrast, so here's what works best for me:

i always start with layers and curves, they're the most helpful guide for me when it comes to working with literally any scene ever. i explained how i do it in my previous tutorial, so you can check it out, but i basically pick the brightest and darkest parts of the scene with the pipette tool which helps to neutralize the overpowering color if there is one and just makes the scene more natural (e.g. if it's too yellow, it will automatically tone down the yellow). in this case, the scene has a little bit of a blue tint, so it reduces the appearance of the overall blue tone (i really hope it makes sense lol). i usually set the opacity to around 50-30%. here's the result of just two layers: levels and curves:

it's a subtle change but it deepens the shadows and it's always so much easier for me to color after i do this step, so i never skip it lol.

next up, i use a gradient map to bring out the shadows even more just because i think it looks better (especially on the bear scenes, i noticed! or any 4k footage tbh). so i just add a gradient map layer, black to white, set it to soft light and set the fill to 10%:

and since this makes the gif just a little bit darker, sometimes i want to bring back the brightness a little bit because i looove contrast! here are my exposure layer settings:

and here's what we've got:

looking pretty good but sydney's skintone is looking a little bit too orange at this point and we don't want that! there are some wonderful tutorials how not to orange wash poc and i highly recommend checking a couple of them out to see which method works best for you, but i personally like using selective color and toning down the warmth of reds and yellows in the scene. for example, these are my settings for the red color, the opacity of this layer is set to 23%:

i do a similar thing with yellow, just messing around with the settings and seeing what looks best.

and then i add some additional layers like color balance and hue/saturation to bring it all together and that's it!

i put this together pretty quickly but hopefully i was able to help out! let me know if you have any questions, i'd be more than happy to help/ recommend something :)