it either looked too bright or too dark


I’ve learnt alot when painting the azir piece, but I’m still far from perfect with expressing realistic metal. The gifs up there could be self-explanatory for the more experienced artist, but if you want the full breakdown, more below.

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Laundry Mishap || M

►Character: Vixx’s Ravi || You

►Summary:  Guess what a laundry mishap can do; When a handsome, musician named Wonshik lives next door

►Genre: Smut;

►Word Count: 4 639

This was requested by anon long time ago

Your teeth dig into your lower lips, too tight that you might draw blood any second. Fidgeting in your seat, you set your glare on your spinning clothes in the washing machine in front of you. “Don’t be mad at the machine, it’s innocent.” You flinched when the throaty voice startled you, pulling you back to earth. Glancing to your right where a lean figure with hair dark as midnight sat with an amused smirk plastered on his face, it’s your neighbour, Wonshik. You live in the apartment complex with this hot neighbour of yours and currently, both of you were in the laundry room and the reason why you’re glaring daggers at the only washing machine that’s operating at the mean time is because in there is your clothes, along with Wonshiks. Earlier, you decided to do the laundry late at night since there’s no one usually doing the laundry at this hour so it’s gonna be empty. Being a klutz you are, you didn’t check the washer if it’s empty or not. Loading your laundry basket empty, you started the machine when Wonshik entered, a detergent bottle in the other hand, staring at you and the machine. You flinched once again when the machine produced a loud ding, signaling that it has finished its duty. Jumping to your feet, you quickly unload the tangled, wet clothes into a basket. Wonshik chuckled. You felt your cheek burnt, a blush spread to your ears. “I’m so sorry..” Wonshik clucked his tongue. “I said it’s okay, everybody makes mistakes.” You bite your lips again. He crouched down on the opposite side of the basket, starting to separate his clothes. Mimicking his action, you quickly detangle the wet fabrics. Wonshik stole a glance at you, his lips still twitched with a small smirk. You were cursing at yourself in your head, your heart was pounding hastily in your chest.

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This is just something I’ve noticed

The lighter your complexion is, the more contrast you’ll have between two natural hues; your skin, and color of your hair, but more so, if the hair is darker than the skin. When given a certain amount of lighting, it will outline the shape of their features giving off depth. That’s why when they contour their face with makeup, especially with darker colors, it makes their features pop out even more than it had originally.

The darker your skin is, the less contrast between the two hues you will have, because they almost blend together. When you combine, brighter backgrounds with darker lighting, and then add a hint of light coming from either above, or from one side of them, it creates more depth over their features. Too much lightning, or too much of a shadow will wash it out. Certain bright, and earth tone colors will bring out that depth even more, which as a result outlines the shape of their features. That’s why charcoal black, gold, silver, and white typically pop even greater on those with darker skin tones, because it’s a balance between light and dark. Deeper reds, and purples also look great on them as well.

How people perceive your features is totally based off shapes and sizes, and which one they appeal to.

So, I don’t believe that one is truly more beautiful than the other at the end of the day. It’s really about how our perception has been created. The fact that we have a system set in place to honor one spectrum of beauty over the other, creating a negative outlook around one, while limiting that beauty from being shown just as dominantly as other, is the primary reason why some of us have this idea that we’re not equal enough in admiration. It’s created a one sided perception of beauty in our minds, which also has created division, covetousness and competition between the two shades.

two times he cried and one time we kissed


Jared Kleinman couldn’t sleep. It was either too dark or too bright, too hot or too cold, and he was thirsty. Padding down the stairs to get a glass of water, he heard a hushed voice from the kitchen, and paused to make out the words.

“I just don’t know, Heidi. I know in the long run… Well, I’m sorry, but he wasn’t very good for Evan. But… This could make it worse…”

There was a pause. She must be on the phone.

“No, I know. I just- oh my goodness, that’s horrible! Are you sure he’ll be alright?”

Another pause.

“Look if Evan- … If you need anything, call me?”

“Ok, goodbye.”

And of course, Jared didn’t know what was happening. But his best friend was - well, he didn’t know exactly, but it must not be good. So, quiet as a mouse, he slipped back up the stairs and opened his window, grabbing a firm hold of the closest tree branch, and began climbing down. Dropping to the wet grass from a couple feet above the ground, he noticed a stuffed lamb lying on the sidewalk. Evan must’ve left it here when he stayed over last week, Jared thought, picking up the toy and beginning to run down the street. One, two, three houses down and one across, Jared was there. He had seen a truck outside today, but it was gone now. He put the chewed and worn lamb in his left hand and began scaling the tree to Evan’s window, pausing to see the stars at the very top before opening the window and climbing in. And what he saw scared him.

The room was, well, a mess. It wasn’t in the meticulous state of order Evan preferred, and Jared thought he could see why. Evan was lying in bed, curled around a pillow, and crying. Jared had seen something like this once before, when they had been in a restaurant that was really loud. Evan had to go outside, because his mom had said “He didn’t like the noises” in there. Jared hadn’t cared though, cause afterwards their moms had let them play on the swingset outside the restaurant, and they had felt the sun on their faces. But this seemed different. He wasn’t fidgeting like he had that one day, with his hands moving all around and everything, he was just sort of small and shaky. Like he was all out of energy and just wanted to cry.

“Evan?” Jared said quietly, noticing his friend start at the sound, and burrow deeper into

his blankets. However, he had stopped shaking as much, so Jared decided to continue.  

“I have your lamb,” he said, fingering the soft, chewed, ear and walking over to sit by Evan. “You left it in my yard, last time your mom had you come over for the night.” Jared slowly crawled into the covers next to Evan and handed him the toy. Suddenly, though, he decided to change tactics. He put his arms around Evan and did what his mom always did when he was sad. He started singing.

“Oh won’t you come with me

Where the moon is made of gold

And in the morning sun

We’ll be sailing

Oh won’t you come with me

Where the ocean meets the sky

And as the clouds roll by

We’ll sing the song of the sea”

Jared stopped singing when he felt Evan’s heartbeat slow and fall into a regular pattern. He smiled into Evan’s hair as he fell asleep.

And if his mom was worried when he wasn’t home, she must’ve called Heidi immediately. And if she did, Heidi obviously checked her son’s room, and didn’t think for a moment to wake the boys.


“Evan, I’m busy,” Jared muttered, hardly looking up from his phone. He was seven rounds into this tournament and wasn’t going to lose just to hear Evan talk about some girl for an hour. But, as he looked up to tell evan to beat it he noticed something. Evan was rocking back and forth on his toes and fidgeting, clear signs that things were getting overwhelming quickly. And Jared was nothing if not Evan’s friend - no matter how terrible he was at it. He quickly turned to his ‘friends’ and powered down his phone before speaking:

“I’m tapping out now, guys. You win.” He then immediately got up and put his hand on Evan’s arm, steering him towards the hallways as his tics got worse, contorting his face as he rapidly blinked his eyes.

“Hey, no, Evan?” Jared muttered, panic for his friend rising in his voice, “We’re almost here, ok?” He continued muttering words of encouragement as they hurried out of the cafeteria and tried to find a secluded area to sort this out.

Broom closet. Bingo.

God, this is so gay.

“Evan. Buddy?” Jared spoke up, trying to catch Evan in the eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry sorry sorry,” Evan murmured, falling against the barely closed door of the closet and closing his eyes.

Jared inwardly sighed. He thought this had been getting better. “No, shit, um, no. Evan? You don’t need to be sorry. Your d- he’s not here anymore. Ok?”

Silently cursing his inability to deal with the situation, Jared awkwardly stuttered around asking Evan if he needed anything, before looking down with a start. Soft, hiccupping gasps began resounding in the small closet as hot tears fell down the younger boy’s face, pooling on his chest.


“Shit, Evan?” Jared muttered, sitting cross-legged on the floor by his friend and moving his hand forward uncertainly. “Ok, no, I need you to breathe with me. Evan. Evan? I need you to breathe.”

And Jared did what he’d learned to do four years ago. Back when they’d been closer, in seventh grade. He pulled the younger boy’s head onto his chest, taking long deep breaths and stroking his friends hair.

“Shh, shh, it’ll be ok. Shh, I’m here, it’s only me. Shh.”

And you know what? It was ok.


It had been one week. One week since everything had gone to fucking hell and Jared had left Evan to pick up the pieces. One week since Evan had reportedly “remembered” what had happened that February. And on this one day, this one week, Jared was scrolling through his Tumblr when he heard a knock at the door. Shaking his head - someone else will get it - he settled back down to see who it was. Then he heard a voice.

“Jared, if you don’t answer that door and let him in, you’re losing your phone for a week!”

It was his mom.

Grumbling, Jared slowly made his way down his stairs and opened his front door. There were a lot of things he could have expected when he opened the door. Alana could be here. Pizza delivery. Mailman.

But there was one thing Jared most certainly didn’t expect as he pulled open the door and squinted into the sheets of rain falling.

And that thing was Evan Hansen.

Suddenly he understood what his mom meant.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, then sized Evan up and sighed, “I’m only letting you in so my mom won’t take away my phone.”

As the door opened further, Evan flinched away from the light and walked slowly into Jared’s living room, fiddling with his cast and darting his eyes about the room. Sitting down on the couch, Jared came to another realization about the shrunken figure currently standing in his living room.

Evan was crying. Silent tears were streaming down his face, making his breath catch and his face turn red and blotchy.

“What wrong, Ev, fall out of another tree?”

Suddenly, Evan was still. His eyes widened and the tears stopped - but only for a moment. It was like a shield had gone up. Ice had frozen him.

And then the shield shattered.

The ice fucking melted.

Evan fell to the floor, sobbing. Loud gasps filled the once silent room, building up in the air and exploding like a thousand water balloons.

Shit, Jared thought, looking helplessly at the shaking figure on his floor. But before he could move, Evan spoke.

“Jared, I didn’t- I… I didn’t fall,” another gasp broke the silence before Evan continued.

“It’s… I… I jumped.”

And then he looked up. Blue eyes wet with tears met blue eyes closer to tears than Jared would care to admit.

And then Jared made a decision. He slowly climbed down off of the couch, crawling toward his friend. Slowly, deliberately, Jared lifted Evan’s chin and leaned in.

And it was electrifying. Their lips met, the soft and quiet before the music crescendoed. Hot, salty tears fell and mixed on their shirts, matching the steady thunder of rain on the roof. Hands in hair, hands clutching shirts, pulling, needing what was happening.

But a perfect moment can’t last forever. Thunder pulled the boys into the real world, jolting them apart. They looked at each other a beat, wet eyes meeting, before Jared broke out into apologies.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Evan. Shit, that wasn’t-”

But for once, Evan was the interrupter instead of the interrupted.

“No, it was… good. It was good.”

And it was good for a long time after that.

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anonymous asked:

It's officially October, can we get some headcanons about what sorts of creepy or spoopy things could scare Todoroki, Tokoyami, or Jirou please?


  • He’s main fears are just his own nightmares. Situations gone wrong, times he was lonely and isolated and the fear that he’ll wake up being nothing but Endeavors son again.
  • He’s always been far too level headed and almost numb when it comes to fears and phobias. Boy can sit through any horror and sit the entire way through with a straight face.
  • However he does get creeped out by dolls. Anything that bares resemblance to human features. He avoids Tooru’s room because she has a rag dolly.


  • Fears nothing. He is darkness. He is the night. He is the inescapable doom that heralds a storm- oh shit is that a clown? Nope. No. Nope he’s out. He’ll jump out the window if needs be, those things can stay 10000 miles away from him at all times.
  • He doesn’t care for anything that could even be considered gore either. Zombies make him feel ill to look at just because of the rot.
  • Concept: Dark Shadows aversion to bright light is something he subconsciously feels too.

anonymous asked:

what lights do you use in your sims' houses? no matter which ones i use it's always either too bright, too dark or too yellow and yours looks pertect!

Thanks for reminding me, I actually wanted to put the light I use in my resources!

I use The Subtle Saucer light by Allisas! It’s a default replacement light and it’s probably one of the only CC items I absolutely couldn’t live without. Just place one or two in each room, and the lighting should be perfect!

Sometimes, you are too bright for people. Too human. Too alive. Full. A saturated sun. Too much for them. Just too much. Other times, you are too quiet. Too heavy. Too reserved. Unknown. A dark corner. Mindless. A whisper. Either way, your soul is for elsewhere.
You don’t belong here.
You are a stranger in this world among other strangers
—   Lina A, what the Prophet (peace be upon him) said

Summary | Belle has known these woods all her life, and roses have never grown in the middle of the path - neither have strange men appeared when you pluck their petals. 

Words | 2,945 of Enchanted Forest fun

Rating | T for kissin’, as the title implies

Also on AO3


There was a rose in the middle of the path.

Belle gripped her cloak, and sucked in a breath, long and deep, letting the forest in. She released the breath, low and steady, the forest leaving, and she eyed the rose in front of her.

It was terribly out of place. All things bright and lush were on the edges of the path, everything worn and trampled was in the middle. A road of dirt and pine needles, frequently walked, frequently traveled, and meant for nothing green that reached for the sun. The rose was fresh and new, and she gripped her cloak again.

She loved these woods, and walked them frequently. Her castle was grand and her bed was lovely and her library held its own quiet secrets but oh, she loved these woods. She knew them well and had spent years in them, growing from a child into the woman she was now, and never had she seen a rose in the middle of this path.

She knelt down. The rose was tall and straight, rich and thick with petals, like it’d be weighty if she cupped it between her palms. A beautiful rose, so red it was almost black. Its petals velvet and inviting. One fell, suddenly, and she caught it before it wafted to the ground, caressing it between her thumb and forefinger. Pretty thing it was, delectable and making her lips part. Something stirred in her belly, and before she really knew what she was doing, she brought the petal to her lips, letting its velvet caress her there.

“Lovely red, that is.”

Belle blinked.

There was a man in the middle of the path.

No one had been standing there before. Much like the rose, he looked terribly out of place, the wide berth of the road around him quiet with no disturbance in the dirt to indicate his entrance.

Belle rose, blinking several times more before speaking.

“Red?” she said.

Aside from a smirk, she couldn’t quite see the man’s face. It was either too bright in the sun that speckled down through the trees, or too dark when the wind swayed the light away into shadow. His hair, shoulder length and wavy, seemed to hide his face as well.

“You’ve pricked yourself, dearie.”

She looked down, and, yes, she had pricked herself, a small droplet of blood beading along her thumb. She hadn’t noticed, hadn’t felt the sting of pain, still didn’t. Had she touched the rose’s thorny stem? Somehow she couldn’t remember.

“May I?” the man asked, stepping forward.

But Belle pulled her hand away before he could grasp it, dropping the petal as she did so. The low hum in her belly melted away.

“Who are you?” she asked.

The man took a step back, retreating from her question. “Well, what do I look like to you?”

His shining armor mocked his own question.

“A knight,” she said slowly, and the man bowed grandly at her deduction, that shining armor clanking with the move.

Belle couldn’t see his face, but she could see that his armor was too clean. Not a speck of dust, not a smear or scrape. His cloak was worn strategically, his helmet tucked under his arm, his sword proud at his side. He didn’t look worn or weary from walking, and she could see no sign of a horse nearby. Even she, a supposed princess, traipsing about the woods for a brief walk, was ruffled and dirty. Her skirts alone were six inches deep in mud. But this creature, this man, had nary a mote on his boot.

“You’re no knight,” she concluded, quiet and simple, and he raised his eyebrows.

“Then what am I, pray tell?” he said, cocking his head to the side. He smiled with one half of his mouth, a menacing and silly thing, and yes, there, now she could see his face. And his teeth, and his strange eyes.

“A sorcerer,” she said, raising her chin.

The man’s strange smile deepened, and his knight’s armor disappeared. It happened in a flash, lightning and quick, like the sun briefly illuminating the world with a peek from behind a cloud. Before her now stood a man wrapped in leathers and a dragon hide coat, elaborate and ornate.

His face no longer obscured by light or shadow, she studied him openly. His wicked mouth, sharp nose, and large, reptilian eyes. His skin was an unnatural hue, his fingertips stained black. A strange creature, wiry and handsome, his movements confident and sly.

“Did the rose summon you?” Belle asked, chin still raised.

The man rose from his bow and clasped his hands behind his back. His grin curled deeper yet. Clever thing , the grin said. “No, dearie, the rose summoned you .”

Belle’s chest fluttered, and her throat felt tight. “You use flowers in the road to entice girls to you?”

“Not just mere girls, dearie, but you .”

That flutter, again. “ … me, specifically?”

“Oh, yes.”

A princess, she thought. “And what do you want from me?”

“A kiss,” he said simply, and he started to walk around her slowly, and she turned to follow his gaze so her back wouldn’t face him. “For a spell I’m casting. One that is freely, willingly given.”

Belle’s cheeks reddened against her will, and she tried to compensate by releasing her cloak.

“Who are you?” she asked again.

“You’ve already deduced what I am.”

“Yes, but a ‘what’ is not a ‘who’.”

Clever , his smile said again, his eyebrows nearly reprimanding her. A jump in his step as he sauntered around her in slow circles seemed to indicate that this was all a game for him, one he was enjoying immensely.

“I could tell you my name,” he said, another jump in his step, “but it’d be more fun for you to guess, don’t you think? Besides,” he said, suddenly sweeping in closer. “What know you of sorcerers?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but decided not to give in to the taunt. That flutter in her chest, she had to blink it away, had to focus. Guess, he had said.

“Maleficent?” she said.

He scoffed. “The Dragon Queen? Do I look like a woman to you?”

His slim frame and flamboyant style challenged his denial, and she nearly said as much, but that would have been too close to admitting she liked the way he looked, so she kept up with their game.


Oz? ” he laughed. “That’s a land, not a name!”

Belle bit her lip and scrunched her nose, trying to dig, trying to remember.

“The Yellow King?” she guessed.

He paused, giving her a funny look, then rolled his eyes. “Do I look yellow to you? Three guesses and you’re out!” he sang, hand in the air, gesture wild and grand. “Though I’ll give you … one last try! Seeing as I need that kiss.”

And he drew closer still, and her face reddened brighter. She looked down at her thumb, at that bead of blood that had gathered there, and smeared it with her finger.

“Merlin?” she said one last time, though she knew it was wrong.

The strange, wicked man shook his head, though his smile remained. It seemed unable to leave his face, unable to fade or grow smaller.

He set himself square in front of her, his dance having come to an end. His scent overwhelmed her, earthy and fine. “They know me in these parts as … are you ready now, clever thing? The Dark One .”

He stated the title like a prize, though she hardly felt like she’d won.

The Dark One. It was a name she knew, and it drew her closer to another name, one last name, one she would have stumbled upon eventually.

“Yes, I know you … the Dark One … you’re Rumplestiltskin!”

And oh , if he hadn’t heard his name on another’s tongue in such a long time! It pulled at him, a funny summons, as the one requesting him was right in front of him.

“You’ve heard of me?” he asked, his astonishment poorly masked, his game briefly interrupted with his own wonder.

Belle tried to hide the pleasant burn she felt at his awe, tried not to let her pride trip her up. “They say you’re a deal maker. What are you proposing in return for my kiss?” Saying it aloud made her chest flutter further, and she averted her gaze, needing the moment to recover.

“Can’t make a deal this time, I’m afraid,” he tutted, a finger wagging in her face, bringing her gaze back to him. He stepped forward, nearly brushing her shoulder, and his strange walk around her resumed. “Can’t exchange the kiss for anything other than your genuine desire to kiss me back.”

Belle’s brow wrinkled to her nose. Had he meant to tempt her by disguising himself as a knight, then? Did he really think every woman swooned so easily at the sight of armor and swords?

“Well,” Belle said, licking her lips. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Rumplestiltskin stopped his saunter, and returned to face her, quirking a brow.

“Of course I want to. For my spell.”

“But do you want to kiss me ? Was I simply the first maiden you stumbled across? Or does your spell call for someone specific? I’m not truly a princess, if that’s what you’re after.”

“I know what you are,” he said, and she wondered at his meaning. “Just a kiss, willingly given.”

“Willingly given,” she mused, that phrase he kept repeating. “Well, then, you have to be willing too, yes?”


“I think in order for the spell to work, you have to be willing, too,” she repeated. “And you ought not have disguised yourself. What if deceit in obtaining the kiss had tainted the spell?”

“What do you know of magic?” he asked, annoyed.

“Just what I’ve read in books.”

“You can read?” he sing-songed.

“Of course I can read,” she said, her turn to be annoyed.

“Then you know princesses don’t kiss sorcerers.”

“They kiss knights?”

He waved a hand in front of himself, indicating, yes , that’s usually the procedure.

“Princesses kiss knights,” she said, spelling out the meaning he’d offered her. “I’m not a princess.”

“Not by birth, you mean? I’m aware of your father’s conquest of the kingdom. Of the, shall we say, title , he bestowed upon you when he took the castle.”

She bristled at his simple description, his plain tale of her father’s ambitions. She’d grown up in these lands, but never thought her father foolish enough to try and make them his own. She worried about his thirst for power, and how that thirst was starting to turn an eye to the north where the ogres roamed. The whole thing smelled of trouble, had stank for quite some time.

“My father,” she started, but couldn’t get the words out. “I’m not a princess,” she repeated instead, to herself this time, but Rumplestiltskin and his dance noticed.

“You look like one. Skin as fair as snow, lips as red as blood.”

“You’ve already bloodied me,” she said, bringing her thumb to her mouth now, a gentle suck, and he watched the motion with interest. “And you’re thinking of Snow White, who lives in a different kingdom altogether.”

He tutted at her again, and reached for her hand again, for her bloody thumb, and she let him this time. He held it up, studied her small prick where his rose had bitten her.

“Was it my blood that summoned you?” Belle asked, quiet. “When your rose pricked me?”

“Your lips,” he said, and he took the liberty to touch her mouth with a black finger. “When you brought the petal up, just so.”

Belle trembled, and her face couldn’t possibly get any redder now. “You felt my lips when they touched the petals? They called to you?”

“As my rose called to you,” he smiled, that same wicked grin he’d been carrying this whole time.

“What spell will you use my kiss for?” she asked, and was he weaving one now? This strange, handsome man.

“What know you of spells?” he asked, and that was no answer.

“Will anyone come to harm?” she asked.

“My clever thing worried about a little death and bloodshed, is she?” he asked.

“Are you teasing me?”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and surely, surely, he was doing something to her with his gentle touch. She blinked, and blinked again.

“No one will come to harm. Kisses make for sweet spells, don’t you know?”

“Why me, if it matters not that I’m a princess?”

And he didn’t answer, and the way he looked at her, the way his eyes seemed to grow larger, the way she seemed to fall inside them, a pulsing and gentle swirl, and she saw something, something gold, something red, she saw -

“Have we met before?” she asked.

“We have not,” he said, and for a moment it seemed he had fallen as well. “But I believe we shall meet again.”

Now, when had his hands settled about her? A strange man she had retreated from just moments before, now she found herself warm and glowing in the circle of his arms, and a look to his face said that something was glowing in him too. He seemed hyperaware of the sensation, slightly uncomfortable with it. But his hands flexed where they rest on her back, her shoulders, and she let her own palm rest against his chest, against that ornate clothing of his.

“I’ll ask once, dearie, and take your answer in its finality. Are you willing to kiss me?”

Her palm burned where it lay. “I am … but you still haven’t really answered me,” she said. “Are you willing?”

“Is the dark and impish sorcerer willing to kiss the virginal flushing sprite in his arms? Are you really asking, sweetling?”

“No, no. Not the sorcerer and the  … sprite, but us, truly. Belle and Rumplestiltskin.”

Ah, she said his name again, and how it moved him!

“Stop teasing,” she continued. “And answer me honestly.”

“Lovely, clever creature,” he murmured. “Pretty face, pretty mind, pretty lips. Clever, clever. I’m willing, yes.”

She nodded, licked her lips, tried to hide her tremble. “This will be my first. My first kiss. Does that do anything for your spell, make it any better?”

“No,” he said. “But I feel honored, nevertheless.”

“Are you still teasing me?”

“Perhaps,” and he leaned in, grasping her gently about the waist before pulling her tighter into him. Surely bringing their chests together, or his hips in contact with hers, wasn’t required for the kiss.

He looked at her lips before touching them with his. A quick blink, a quick wet of his lips, and he was tilting his head. His nose nuzzled her cheek, and then his lips were on hers, gentle and pressing. She knew it was coming, they’d discussed it at length, but the feeling was still surprising, pleasant in its warmth.

She thought he’d merely peck her and withdraw, but when his lips started to pluck, she felt hers pluck in return. A quiet dance, smooth and easy, natural, and she felt that stir in her belly again, but this time it felt deeper and lower and like it truly came from herself rather than an enchanted rose.

His plucking slowed, and he concluded the kiss with a long and deep press before pulling away. He remained terribly close, so much so that when he licked his lips in a slow turn he effectively licked her in the process. It made her stomach flip. They were no longer kissing, but he didn’t move away, and she could feel the cool ghost of his breath along her mouth and face. Her nose accidentally dragged his lower lip when he lifted his head, and rest his cheek against her forehead.

“Thank you, dearie,” he whispered, and she only just noticed the small vial he held between them. However he collected their kiss, she wasn’t sure, but he was pressing a cork into the vial gently with his thumb, and smiling triumphantly. The tiny bottle glowed warm and quiet between them and yes, that was exactly how this feeling would look.

Thank you, she wanted to say, or You’re welcome , but words felt like silly, flimsy things right now.

He stepped away, his warmth gone and the feeling of its retreat was abrupt and unwelcome. The strange sorcerer Rumplestiltskin whom she’d just allowed to kiss her stood just a few paces back, hand raised like he was about to summon his own exit, and Belle needed something, needed to prolong this for just a moment more before it’s realness faded away into the feeling of being just another book she’d read, or another stroll she’d taken.

“Wait,” she started, and was that a smile tempting his lips? “You said … you said you believe we shall meet again?”

It was a smile, curling with something not quite wicked this time, but deep and just as affected as she.

“Undoubtedly, dearie.”

And he disappeared in a cloud of purple, his smile lingering for a second longer than the rest of him as the smoke dissipated, and hadn’t she read about a cat who could do the same thing? In her hand the rose suddenly appeared, no longer covered in thorns. The head of the rose rest in her palm, its size just as weighty as she first imagined it would be.

She brought the full thing to her mouth, the dark red soft and inviting, and with a wicked smile of her own, brushed the petals to her lips.

anonymous asked:

Hello! Can you do a tutorial on how you make psd, use them and save your own? I was also wondering what settings you use if you sharpen your gifs. Like if you use smart sharpen, opacity, or an action,and when you save for web what are your setting there? I'm new to photoshop gif making. I also get confused about fps like which numbers make it fast and slow?

Hey! thanks for asking haha my methods aren’t very special…

I’m gonna be giffing seungyoon’s first car scene from the empty mv

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yuura-mist Your wonderfully weird Saeki~   (・∀・)/

anonymous asked:

thanks for making a tutorial! i meant in like these sets post/145931829299 post/147607639734 how do you make the backgrounds so smooth and blue? do you have a technique?

alright so this isn’t the exact same coloring as from those gifsets but it’s the same technique

i’ll be showing you how to go from this:

to this:

also, this tutorial will only be covering the coloring part of making a gif, so you’ll need to know how to do everything else, like sharpening, cropping, etc.

please take a second to like/reblog if you find this useful. it makes me super happy and motivates me a lot! xx

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Cross Stitch 101 - A Backstitch Based Design

Here is a quick look at how a simple design evolves from a sketch on graph paper to a finished cross stitch design. This is going to be a backstitch outline design, because we can fit in more elegant detail in a smaller space. Lately I have been working on some Christmas patterns - eventually this Poinsettia will be part of a bigger Christmas Wreath cross stitch design.

Unless I’m doodling in my cross stitch software most designs start by sketching on graph paper. I use two different gauges of graph paper – the smaller squares for the bigger designs, just so it fits on the page. Then details are worked out on the bigger squares. Great for on the go or if the mood strikes.

In my head I’ll have an idea of colours I’d like to use. I want this flower to be red, but I noted some raspberry shades to try, in case I forget. I also want it to end up a couple of inches big on 14 or 16 count Aida. So I’ll bear in mind that every 15 squares on my graph paper will be an inch, and keep the design to 30-40 squares. Any design can be scaled up or down in program if need be.

Then I’ll get the outline down in my software as drawn. You can do this with any cross stitch software that has a draw tool and lets you select your palette. The outline is drawn with the backstitch draw tool and although it’s the first part to be made in program it’ll be the last bit to be stitched as it will be the backstitch detail. I’ve chosen to have it in colour DMC 310, black.

PC Stitch, KG-Chart, Win/Mac Stitch, Jane Greenoff’s Cross Stitch Designer and Hobbyware Pattern Maker are just some titles for various budgets you could try to find the perfect software for you. Nowadays there’s a lot of choice. PC Stitch is used my many Etsy sellers and has a free trial option.

Now I’ll soften up and reshape some edges. I don’t want any backstitches longer than 3 squares across and none occurring together for a better stitching experience and the best outcome for the stitcher. I also added some detail to the leaves, but not too much, we don’t want the design too crowded.

Now to put in the cross stitches. I’ll use either the fill area tool or draw tool for this part. I’ve used the classic DMC 666 Bright Red, and some 3705 Pale Red for the highlights.

I added highlights to define the petals and add interest as it’s stitched. I kept the highlights broken up to keep a natural look, and took care not to leave any single stitches on their own which are a pain to stitch.

Next some deep green for the leaves. The shade needs to be rich to hold up against the reds. Hmmm this is too dark…

That’s better! 700 Prairie Green it is. And some highlights in the same style as the petals in 912 Peppermint Green and the cross stitches are done.

I’ve added some Mill Hill beads to the centre of the flower to finish off the pattern. And there’s the complete design! Now to export it as a chart and save as an object to replicate and use with other designs to go into my wreath. I hope this has been useful :)

the-miraculous-pryoproy  asked:

I know I'm like 10,000 years late, but... FACE family Headcanons on these, please? ø - eyes ✉ - texting habits ✍ - writing style ✄ - nervous habits

(no worries, it’s fine!! in all honesty the majority of my time is now spent playing stardew valley so i know how you feel)

Rainier Bonnefoy:

Eyes: A dull, dark blue. None of the sparkle that his first player has. Texting habits: Short, often one or two word responses, all in lower case. - Writing style: As in how their writing looks, barely legible, and sometimes you can barely see it in the first place since he writes so lightly. - Nervous habits: Nothing really, but he smokes when he’s stressed.

Allen F. Jones:

Eyes: Copper colored, though they can seem darker in some lighting. - Texting habits: All lower case, very casual, and often uses reaction images instead of words. - Writing style: His handwriting is the midway point between legible and chicken scratch. His words slant a bit, and they look like they’re carved into the paper. Nervous habits: He usually either taps his knee or his foot, or drums his fingers.

James Williams:

Eyes: A dark blue-gray color, similar to Rainier’s. - Texting habits: Slightly more formal than his brother (capitalization, for example), but will still use reaction images. - Writing style: Neat handwriting, but it’s fairly light. His lines always seem to slant down, too. - Nervous habits: Usually just drums his fingers. Nothing too big.

Oliver Kirkland:

Eyes: A bright blue color, sparkles and all. Not really a pink color, though there are specks of copper if you look close enough. - Texting habits: Formal, correct grammar. He uses emojis constantly, unless he’s delivering serious news. - Writing style: Cursive, though sometimes it can get hard to read. His words always slant forward, and he’ll use things like hearts and flowers as the dots on i’s and j’s. - Nervous habits: Bites his nails, but he’s learning to stop. 


Villains backstories: Axel Mortmain, the Clockwork Prince;

The creatures were featureless. Though, oddly, they wore clothes —the rough workman’s coveralls of a Yorkshire farmer on some, and on others plain muslin dresses. The automatons joined hands and began to sway as if they were at a country dance. The child laughed and clapped his hands.

“Look well on this, my son,” said the green-skinned man, “for one day I shall rule a clockwork kingdom of such beings, and you shall be its prince.

“I know your adoptive parents were warlocks,” she said. “I know that they cared for you. I know that your father invented the clockwork creatures with which you are so enamored.”

And you know what happened to them.”

strycnosa  asked:

If you're still doing the FNP, I'll throw this out - Steve/Darcy/Bucky - "Tea, Earl Grey, Hot."

This….is not the Picard prompt you were probably looking for. I’m sorry. Also, I am not sure if this is strictly a prompt or the start of something. Shit like that happens sometimes. Pre-Bucky/Darcy/Steve.

Steve doesn’t know the woman that hands him a thermos of tea, and by the time he turns to ask what kind it is, the citrus against his tongue is soothing, she’s gone. He’d tried to find her, because his memory fills in some of the blanks: a kind, concerned smile, a voice that goes high but rough at the edges, and soft-looking hair, and he really should thank her. It’s nice to know that people still do that sort of thing.
For a moment, the heat made him forget that he’s waiting for Bucky to come back, to see what remained or what he has rebuilt of himself. There’s so many tests, and they threw him out of the room for hovering too loudly.
He doesn’t really want to think about it too much, the way he wants to just take his body and curl it around Bucky and protect him. Even if it’s the last thing Bucky would want. They didn’t think about it too much when they shared a bed, shared a tent or sleeping bag, or dark corner either. It just was what it was, felt good, and god willing, maybe it’s something Bucky remembers too.
He feels fabric rustling against his arm, and when he looks up he sees the girl from earlier checking his thermos. “Did you want more?” She asks in that same voice. He likes how it contradicts itself, bright, bubbly and edged, on the verge of a withheld remark.
“Yes, please,” He says without thinking too hard.
“Give me a couple of minutes, alright? I’ve got to grab the bags from my purse.”
“I don’t mean to put you out of your own stock, it’s okay, how about the company instead?”
She looks at him with a little surprise as she sits in the chair next to his, “Yeah, I can do that. It’s Steve right?”
The idea that someone that has the ability to be in the vicinity of Bucky doesn’t know who he is a little off-putting, if he’s honest. He’s so used to being so public and known that anonymity is strange.
“I mean, I know your name is Steve, but I can call you that, right?” She fumbles ahead, nervously and bumbling. “Thor calls you that. Well, when he’s not being all weird-formal.” She opens her mouth wide for a second, catching a wisp of breath, “I’m Darcy. I came with Jane, who came with Thor.”
“They thought Thor might know of some way to get –”
“Get Barnes a little less off the rocker?” Darcy finishes, and yes, that’s exactly what Steve’s afraid of. That whatever is left after decades of abuse and violence, isn’t going to be Bucky anymore. Steve will love the man, but it would be easier if there was some magic that could just restore him. “I think he’s still in there.” she curls her legs up into the chair, folding her legs under her body and shifting her weight to get comfortable.
“Thor or Bucky?” Steve laughs, short and desperate, desolate with grief and hope together.
“Both of them?” Her voice goes higher, “I got in there for a few minutes to get something to Thor since Jane got distracted by some shiny science things. They were talking and Barnes didn’t see as agitated as everyone told me to expect.” She wrinkles her nose, “Could use a haircut, though. Real cute, which now that I think through my last few sentences, makes me feel really shallow and without compassion.”
“Thor has that effect on people.” Steve replies, but hope flourishes there.
“You just want to talk to him.” Darcy agrees. They sit beside each other, and it’s comfortable, she doesn’t try to press the conversation where he doesn’t want to go, but then asks, “Did you want me to sneak in, check on him for you?”
“Yes, please.” His voice snaps a little, and Darcy gets a pleased look on her face, likes she’s figure it all out. What Bucky has been to him, what Steve wants him to be still, maybe even how Peggy filled his heart too.
“I think it’s stupid they won’t let you in, but I’m really good at butting in where I’m not wanted, I’ll keep you in the loop.” She starts untangling her legs and pulling her phone out from a pocket. “What’s your number, I’ll try to snag a picture if you want too.”
Darcy is perfect, he decides, and he can feel his heart starting to shift around again, wanting to make room.

Honestly “brownskins” don’t receive the same privileges as lightskins and aren’t as degraded as darkskins. Being a brownskin woman still means that I’m less likely to see girls like me in a music video but it’s not hard for me to find a black girl that looks like me on tv. I do sometimes find that bright lipsticks don’t compliment my skin tone and certain foundations and concealers are either too light or too dark for me. I also still get the “wow Im almost as dark as you” from nonblack women with tans. I don’t really know where us brownskin girls fit in this whole lightskin v darkskin thing.
I know separating black people by skin shade is horrible and should be put to an end. But I can’t help but think “damn what about me” whenever there’s a discussion on lightskin v darkskin or colourism.