#40 minutes of the time was the line art...

[yzafre]

I've decideeeed to do a "draw fast" experiment this week. Basically: given a sketch I already have on hand, I have to get to "finish" (new line art, flats, & shading) in under two hours - the closer to 1hr, the better.

The idea with this is that, like... trying to get a fast time will keep me from sitting and overthinking things, then fidgeting with it. I just gotta get stuff on the page. Don't know how, if at all, it'll help my art, but I think it'll be fun.

I figured my "three iteration" sketches I did last week were good ones to use, so have some Leo's for today. This one was at 1hr 32min.

[mekkthemighty]

Still reviving my old flash animations, still not sorry, still have to work in thd morning and still overcaffeinated fight me!!.. please.. getting knocked out means I go to sleep..

This one actually only took like 30 mins at the time

I go out to Amtgard (local larp community) to swordfight, and 2 blade is probably my preferred style, other than spear, spear is just best weapon, point is I understood the motions going in

[raelyn-dreams]

Gonna make a post abt Trip album soon, just collecting my thoughts bc WOW they really blew me away

[drabblesandsnippets]

Happy Birthday

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female reader

Summary: (1.5k) After your friends forget your birthday, a stranger interrupts your plans to celebrate by yourself.

Background: Requested by a lovely anon last night. Happy (belated) Birthday! May you find some better friends, as well as a sweet (and/or whatever you’re into 😏) Bucky!

Warnings: Disappointing birthday. Fluff. Meet cute? Very brief mention of insecurities (both). Sweet Bucky.

---------------------------

You aren’t expecting much on your birthday - a phone call, a text, maybe even a card in the mail from one of your friends - but, the day passes like any other. 

Your phone remains relatively silent, devoid of new notifications every time you give in to the urge to look, the disappointment growing each time. 

A bit of hope still remains, a part of you believing you’ll hear from at least one of them by the time evening comes, that there’ll be some sort of acknowledgement of a day that’s supposed to be celebrated.

Hours slowly tick by and still nothing. No one reaches out. Not one of your friends care enough to even remember to send a simple ‘Happy Birthday.’ And now it’s almost too late to do anything about it. 

The impulse to text them first dies before you even pick up your phone, deciding at the last minute to do something for yourself instead. As much as you’d love to have friends to wish you a happy birthday, the least you can do is celebrate on your own.

With most places already closed, given the late hour, you end up at a hole-in-the-wall diner, tucked away on a quiet street. It’s not as empty as you expect it to be, a few patrons spread out along the booths lining the wall, a couple others sitting at opposite ends of the counter, all of them absorbed by their own form of distraction - a quiet conversation, their phone, a book.

You’re barely even acknowledged as you walk in, the older man behind the counter passing you a menu on your way to your choice of the empty corner booth. Grateful that you’re not the only one eating alone at this late hour, you take your time choosing all your favorite items, determined to celebrate, even if it’s by yourself.

It’s not until you’re standing at the counter to place your order that you take more notice of the man with the leather jacket, his face buried in a book. He’s incredibly distracting, your gaze unceremoniously drifting to the stubble lining his jaw as you try to focus on getting your order right. 

You don’t know it, but he finds you equally distracting. From the moment you walked in, Bucky took notice, the familiar look of loneliness in your eyes drawing his attention. It’s far from what’s kept his interest though, the subtle air of confidence and determination surrounding you pulling his focus whenever you’re not looking.

The urge to initiate contact grows with every passing second, the itch to seek connection making him shift, his jaw twitching under your sporadic scrutiny. He’s not even sure what to say, a simple ‘hi’ feeling too inconsequential, too impersonal. 

And then you’re gone, having returned to your seat, waiting for your meal, the moment of possibilities dissipating before Bucky really had a chance to imagine what might happen. 

Back in the 40’s, he wouldn’t have thought twice about approaching you, and he certainly wouldn’t have worried about saying the right thing or being rejected. But, Bucky’s not that man anymore and all the wishing isn’t going to change that. 

So, for now, he just watches you, careful to avoid your gaze, his heart beating wildly in his throat every time a smile crosses your face, your phone providing you some sort of entertainment.

It’s the only distraction you have, your plethora of apps keeping you from staring at the man that feels like a walking piece of art. If today were any other day, it’s entirely possible you’d actually try to get his attention. You’re already dealing with enough rejection though and you’re unable to handle the possibility of any more tonight.

Once your food comes, you force yourself to savor each bite, drawing out the last little bit of your birthday before it’s officially over. The disappointment over your friends will surely linger for days to come, so you may as well try to enjoy this as much as possible, no matter how alone you feel.

You save the best for last, returning to the counter to get a to-go box for your leftovers and placing an order for a slice of cake, barely managing to add, “it’s my birthday” at the last moment. 

It leads to an awkward smile with the owner as he gives you a quick, “happy birthday” in response, your cheeks flushing as you return to your booth. You weren’t even planning to say it, no matter how much you rehearsed the words in your head before you went up there.

Once you were standing there, though, you felt like you deserved to hear ‘happy birthday’ once more before the night ends, even if it’s from a slightly forced interaction. It’s not like you ever have to come back here anyway.

It’s her birthday.

The decision is made before Bucky has a chance to talk himself out of it, slinking out of his seat after he bookmarks the page he’s read at least twenty times now. After a short conversation with the owner, who for some reason enjoys his quiet company, Bucky sneaks into the back to get to work.

He doesn’t have nearly everything he’d like, but he’s resourceful, making do with what he has access to, intent on making this a happier birthday for you. Torn between getting it right, and not wanting to keep you waiting, it only takes a few minutes before he’s walking back out, his gloved hand hidden behind his back.

You’re caught off guard when you see him approaching, his smile making your stomach flutter and your pulse race. There’s no denying that you’re his destination, his sure footsteps leading him straight to you, your lips parting prematurely, as if you’re capable of even saying anything first.

He doesn’t give you a chance, the moment he’s within reach of your table, his hidden hand returns with a flourish, producing a haphazard birthday cake. Several pieces of different types of cake sit in a oddly-shaped circle, unlit mismatched candles placed around the barely legible words ‘Happy Birthday.’

Tears prick your eyes the same time laughter bubbles out of you, this sudden display of kindness leaving you speechless, a range of emotions washing over you. 

He seems to take it in stride, his head tilting as his smile grows, telling you, “Happy Birthday.” He pulls a lighter out of his pocket, his brow raised as he holds it up to ask, “How you feel about being center of attention? Say the word and I can get this place to sing to you.”

You’re quick to shake your head as he starts to light the candles, your skin already warm from just his attention, your voice finding you long enough to tell him, “No, I don’t - that’s okay - thank you.”

“Fair enough,” he grins, finishing the last of the candles, your eyes drawn to the reflection of the flickering flames on the sleeve of his jacket. 

Your mind is racing with things to say, wanting to remind him to be careful so he doesn’t accidentally burn himself, to ask him if he works here, to figure out why he’s being so nice. No words come until he’s introducing himself to break the ice, asking for your name in return.

You almost stumble, your own name nearly forgotten as he sits across from you, his gloved hands pushing the cake a bit closer towards you.

“Well, it’s nice to officially meet you,” he says before a rueful smile graces his face. “Now, I’m gonna have to sing ‘happy birthday.’” When you open your mouth to protest, he shakes his head, telling you, “It just doesn’t seem right to have you blow out your candles without it.”

Another shake of your head to assure him, “You don’t have to do that.” 

“Oh, I definitely do,” he promises with a swift nod, his tongue peaking out to wet his lips in preparation. “It’s not really a birthday celebration without it, but I promise not to draw too much attention.”

After a quick glance around the diner, ignoring the knowing look from the owner, Bucky does as promised, keeping his voice low enough not to make any of the other customers want to join in as he sings ‘Happy Birthday’ to you.

As overwhelmed as it makes you feel, it’s hard to ignore the warmth that settles over you, each line of the song erasing some of the disappointment from the day. Hearing your name fall from his lips, even as part of the song, finally breaks your resolve, the tears that have been threatening to build starting to blur your vision.

If Bucky notices, he keeps it to himself, encouraging you to buy into the premise and close your eyes to make a wish. It’s hard not to give in, finally letting yourself live fully in the moment, to allow yourself to be celebrated with a complete stranger.

The wish you make isn’t anything new, but as you open your eyes, finding Bucky still smiling at you, ready to cut the cake and continue this celebration, you’re struck with a feeling that’s impossible to shake.

Maybe today isn’t about rejection after all, maybe you just needed to be reminded of what you deserve.

---------------------------

Happy Birthday, anon! I wasn't sure what you were looking for, but I hope you like it. Feel free to ask for a continuation 🩶

Everyone, please use the comments (or reblogs!) to wish anon a happy birthday!

Main Masterlist

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 1: You Shouldn't Have Answered The Door

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter one of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 3.6K

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing (once or twice), Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC,

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 2

Present Day

Your head rests against your forearms on your desk, jerking upwards as a loud rhythmic knocking assaults the front door of your apartment.

What?

You think to yourself, rubbing your face with your hands. Your sketchpad was laid open on your desk beneath your head, the rough sketch of an egret bowing its head along the bank of a small pond splayed over the page in shades of gray. It would be the first in your new series of nature paintings that you would be unveiling in a month.

At least I didn't poke my eye out with the pencil. You think eyeing the sharpened point of the pencil that was dangerously close to your face a few seconds ago.

You turn your wrist to glance at your watch and note the time. It was an antique, square faced and strung on a simple black band, a reminder of a past life that you couldn't bear to part with.

Who would come see me at 8:00 am on a Monday?

For a minute you try to remember if you'd received a call from the curator of the gallery downtown, or if there had been a meeting or a lunch with your agent to discuss your next installment of work, but nothing comes to mind.

When you officially retired from being a hero you decided to become a full time artist, a hobby you had since you were a child. You hadn't expected it explode. You had enough money from your heroing career to live several lifetimes, not unwelcome given the fact that you couldn't die, not in the traditional sense at least, so art was supposed to just be a way for you to off steam. But you were happy with your life now, a lot happier than you had been when you were a hero on Payback. The thought of your previous employment with Vought sours in your mouth followed by the unavoidable thought of Ben that you push down with a well practiced sigh.

You didn't feel like reliving all that over again right now, though you knew it would probably happen later. It came in waves, especially at night when you found it difficult to sleep, the melatonin wasn't working, and all you really wanted was a hard drink.

Sobriety sucked.

The knocking persists, rattling around in your head like a bee trying to get out of a plastic cup.

"Fine. I'm coming." You shout standing up from your desk and making your way from the wall that serves as your studio towards the front door of your apartment, while trying to rub away the line the page made on your cheek.

Your apartment was the one extravagance you allowed yourself. Despite the amount of money you had, flashing it had never been a priority even in your hero days. The apartment was open concept with exposed brick walls, tall North facing windows that angled away from the inside and jutted outward over a raised wooden floored area that served as your studio. A large modern kitchen sat just to the right of the front door with stainless steel appliances, on another wall a tv hung above a leather couch and held a dark hallway that lead to your bedroom and the guest bedroom, the other walls were covered in your work, and the final wall held several bookshelves with art supplies and your vinyl record collection. A collection you started forever ago and that continued to grow with each passing year.

Need to get another bookshelf. You note looking at the limited space that remained.

You look through the peep hole in the solid metal apartment door. A tall dark haired man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a black duster and a thin younger guy with brown curly hair stare back at you.

"I don't want to buy any girl scout cookies." You shout through the heavy metal of the door.

The younger guy snorts.

"y/f/n y/l/n?" The dark haired man asks an accent tilting the ends of his words.

"Who's asking?"

He pulls out a badge, holding it up to the peep hole. "I'm Agent Butcher, this is Agent Campbell. We’re from the CIA, here to ask you a couple of questions about Soldier Boy."

At the mention of Ben's hero name you pause. You had avoided thinking about your former best friend as much as possible over the past forty years. Your relationship with Ben was complicated, the final few days you spent together even more complicated than the early years.

It hurt to compare what your life with him was like before you both became supes to the life you had together after. You had grown up together, forced into close proximity because your parents were friends and then became best friends yourselves. You stayed friends, before you both got injected with Compound V and a few years later moved on to Payback together. You were the only person able to keep Ben in check and as violent as his temper was, he didn't like to cross you. You were the only person who knew the real him, had been with him longer than anyone else. Not that he ever admitted that to you or admitted that he cared about you, but you thought somewhere deep down that he had to, felt at least something for you.

That was the problem. You were in love with him, cared deeply about him, cared more about him than anyone else you'd ever had in your life. On the night you finally slept together you were happy, you thought he felt the same way, and then the next day at his premiere you found him in the bathroom with Countess bent over a sink. The fight that followed had been your resignation from Payback and also the reason why you weren't there when Ben died.

Your jaw clenches together at the memory, followed by guilt. You were always there for him, you had his back just as he had yours, but the one time you hadn't been there-

You open the door to look at them. "The singer?"

"What?" Agent Butcher looks confused.

"The artist? Soulja Boy-" You arch a brow feigning confusion. "Because honestly I don't understand why the CIA would be asking me about that."

“No.” Agent Butcher holds up a photo.

You keep your face impassive. It’s a photo of Ben and you at a movie premiere the week before he left to go to Nicaragua. Both of you were standing in your supe suits, your own was a sleeveless black one piece suit with purple embellishments that traced from the sides of your ankles and stretched up under your armpits, while a dark hood covered your head and a black mask hid the bottom of your face. You always thought you looked more like a supervillain in it, but you were thankful that it hid your identity. It was so long ago, but you still remember that night clearly. The ridiculous movie, the afterparty where everyone was so tipsy and the smell of alcohol burned against your nose, and finally when you went to the bathroom and found Ben and Countess together, the immeasurable rage followed by heartbreak that you felt when you saw them.  Not to mention the fight that followed when Ben trampled all over your heart and stated that you meant nothing to him.

“You’re here to talk to me about my mom?” You flit your eyes back to the two men standing in the doorway, easily slipping into the lie that you and Legend invented.

“Your mom?” Agent Campbell looks confused.

“Yeah. Indigo? I mean y’all can come in if you want-“ You open the door wider, understanding that they won't leave, before you begin to move towards the kitchen. “I apologize in advance. I’m not quite myself, I was up late working.” You pause halfway into the kitchen. “I’m going to make some coffee, you guys want some?” You eye the man in the black coat. "Or tea?"

“Coffee is fine."

You find the coffee filters and shuffle through the cupboards to find a bag of coffee, still trying to wake up. Staying up late wasn't unusual for you. You tended to find the urge to create in the wee hours of the morning, not to mention everything that happened in the past kept you up.

You open the bag of coffee to smell the grounds, thinking that it will wake you up, but as soon as you do the smell of Agent Butcher and Agent Campbell washes over you.

You could smell the compound V in their veins pumping through their bodies with every beat of their hearts.

So, they're supes. You think to yourself, pouring the grounds into the coffeemaker. Which means they probably aren't from the CIA.

Despite the realization, you weren't worried. Your particular ability was a well-kept secret, a secret that only Ben knew despite you being on Payback. Stan Edgar and the others had believed that "Indigo," the hero name assigned to you, had enhanced strength and senses, but it was more than that. You had an ability that, if brought to the public, would probably land you in a government facility. Laying low had it's perks, your freedom was one of them.

You watch them begin to walk around your living room examining the artifacts of your new life, the one you crafted when everything fell apart. There wasn't anything in the living room to arouse suspicion that you were the original Indigo. The only remnants of your past life that remained were in a wooden trunk at the back of your walk in closet, hidden behind a collection of paint splattered overalls almost identical to the pair you were wearing right now.

"You've got a nice place." The younger guy says looking around.

"Thanks. It's rent controlled. I got lucky-" You fiddle with the coffeemaker to buy yourself some time.

Why were they here to ask me about Ben? It had been 40 years, hardly seems relevant now. And why were they pretending to be CIA?

"You're an artist?" Agent Butcher asks, staring at the canvas sitting on an easel by your desk. It was a collection of multicolored dark greens that swirled together, flecked with pieces of gold that shone in the brilliant sunlight from the wall of windows where your studio was.

"Yeah. And I tend to paint my best at night. Hence the coffee" You turn, placing your hands on the island to face the two men.

“You’re really good.” Agent Campbell says examining some of the canvases on the wall.

“Thanks.”

“So your mum eh?” Agent Butcher turns to look at you. You note the smirk on his face and incredulous raising of his brow.

He doesn't believe me. Hard not to. I don't age.

“Yes?” You raise an eyebrow to challenge him

“You look a lot like her.”

“Thanks. I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere.” You look from Butcher to the younger guy who has moved on to look at your vinyl collection. "And I'm pretty sure that most kids look like their parents. But I'm not a geneticist."

"NO WAY! You have a signed copy of Billy Joel's Glass House!" Agent Campbell shouts holding up the vinyl cover in awe.

"Yeah." You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm.

"How did you-“

"Hughie." Agent Butcher sighs.

The younger guy now identified as Hughie puts the record back with a frown, before turning back to the collection.

“But you have the same name.” Agent Butcher's eyes flit to yours.

“She named me after herself. I’m sure the CIA can locate my birth certificate."

“Right.” Agent Butcher smiles, but it’s tight lipped.

You stand there for another minute looking from Agent Butcher to Hughie, trying to think of why they're here. "So what do you want to know?”

“Well is your mum around-“

You allow your shoulders to droop and take in a shaky breath. "She died about a year ago. Cancer."

They weren't the first to come here and accuse you of being Indigo. Legend and you had come up with the farce to protect you, help you start over, but you hadn't wanted to part with your name. So other precautions were put in place: a funeral plot was purchased and a death certificate was issued as was a fake passport, I.D, and birth certificate that made you thirty two rather than over one hundred.

“Really? I thought Indigo-“ It’s enough to make Hughie turn around and look at you.

“Don’t read everything Vought says." You interrupt. "That experimental shit they put in her veins may have made her powerful, but it couldn’t protect her from that.” You sigh again to sell the lie, before turning to the coffee maker, to pour them and yourself a cup. "There should be some milk in there, sugar's in the bowl." You gesture to the refrigerator and the small blown glass sugar bowl on the counter next to the coffee maker.

Hughie moves into the kitchen to pour himself a cup, but Agent Butcher continues to eye you suspiciously.

“It wasn’t in the news.” He grunts.

“They covered it up pretty well. I mean do you blame them? One of the first supes gets killed by something like cancer. Can’t be good for Vought given they pride themselves on showcasing unstoppable heroes. I mean can you imagine if Homelander or Queen Maeve died of something like cancer? Doesn’t look good.” You shrug your shoulders and take a sip from the coffee in your hands. “What did you want to talk to her about?”

“Soldier Boy.” Butcher moves to the coffeemaker and it takes a strong amount of willpower to stop the urge to turn towards him, but you know that you need to act indifferent.

“Did she talk to you at all about him?” Hughie moves to one of the bar stools on the opposite side of the island with his coffee in front of him.

“Yeah.” You look down at the mug with a sigh, rolling the warm glass between your hands. “He really did a number on her. Plus towards the end she started seeing him everywhere."

The emotion that you summon is not fake. You allow a small amount to trickle over the dam you built to protect yourself from falling back into the pit you fell into when Ben broke your heart and then died. When you broke every piece of glass in your apartment and threw your couch through the wall.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Hughie looks sincere when he says it.

Why is someone like him hanging out with this guy? You think to yourself eyeing Agent Butcher again.

“It’s been hard. But I took care of her, sometimes it was only me. It’s kind of hard to restrain an 103 year old with super strength.” You smile to yourself at the joke.

“So you’re a supe?” Hughie takes a sip from his coffee mug.

“No I was just able to talk her down. Guess that first batch of Compound V doesn’t work the same way. Never transferred. Plus my dad wasn’t a supe so maybe it just diluted.” You shrug, the lies weaving easily through the air. 

“But she did talk to you about him?” Agent Butcher presses. He's leaning against the counter to your left.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“I mean what do you want to hear? There’s a lot.” The mug sends a pleasant warmth through your hands as you hold it, but does little to stop the chill of the past from creeping up your spine.

“Start at the beginning.”

“Well.” You take another sip of coffee. “I don’t know details-details but- I just know that she grew up with him, they were from the same neighborhood in Philadelphia.  All that shit they made up about Soldier Boy being from a poor family was just propaganda. His dad owned half the steel mills in the state of Pennsylvania. Used to invest in property with my grandfather. Soldier Boy and my mom were friends. When he got the Compound V shot, she did too. They were looking for female and male volunteers. I think he asked her to? Or-“ You shrug your shoulders to push away the memory of the day Ben told you about the experiments. When he told you he was finally going to make something of himself and convinced you to go with him.

“They were dating?” Agent Butcher asks.

The question makes you pause. It was difficult to think about that, difficult to relive the memories of Ben continuing to push you away and his final refusal to admit he loved you. Ben never did say that to you. You had been through so much together, so many years as friends and then after the night you finally were together he threw you away like you meant nothing.

“No, but he really hurt her-“ You avoid their gaze.

“What did he do?” Hughie asks leaning forward on the counter.

“They had been through a lot together and I think when their friendship began to transfer to relationship he pushed her away. My mother said something about him refusing to admit he loved her. I think the last straw when she caught him with Countess.”

“Do you know anything about how he died?”

The memory of the phone call strikes you in the chest, when Stan Edgar himself called to tell you Ben was dead. When the darkness swallowed you whole and all you felt was guilt and heart break over the fight you had and how you left him alone when he needed you most.

“It hurt my mother a lot. Broke her. She never really got over him, no one was good enough, not even my dad. She drove him away too and then it was just us.”

“Was she there when Soldier Boy died?” Hughie spins the coffee mug in his hands.

“No. She left Payback  before that mission. It was right after she caught Countess and him together.” You force a shrug. “I think she regretted not being there. She was almost as indestructible as him, but I think she felt worse because they had a big fight right before.”

“So she didn’t know about Nicaragua or the thing that killed him?” Agent Butcher raises an eyebrow.

You cock your head to the side feigning confusion. “What are you talking about? Soldier Boy got vaporized in a nuclear explosion.”

“Well I think we’ve wasted enough of your time.”

They get up to leave.

“Wait-“

 Agent Butcher turns to look at you. 

“Why are you asking me about him? It's been what? Forty years since he died-"

"That's classified love. Thank you for your time."

You watch them leave, but listen to them as they walk down the hallway.

“So do you believe her?” Hughie’s voice echoes in your ears.

“Not a bit. Maybe we trail her for a day. See if she really is an artist." Agent Butcher grunts. "At least until we go to Russia."

Russia? Why would they go to Russia?

You stand there for a second, holding the coffee mug in your hands. As you do the memories of the past 90 years wash across your mind, breaking through the damn that you built to protect yourself.

You were friends for years. You loved him since the moment you met. There were good times before the serum and then the bad, when he got famous and you were there to keep him in check. Sure you may have annoyed him, but he liked that about you, that you were able to bring him back from the edge. The day you finally had sex you remembered it, it was special, or you thought it was. You were excited that finally he loved you as much as you loved him. But then it all fell apart. That fight hadn’t been pretty. When you left him you felt yourself begin to slip, you didn’t eat or drink for days and when you finally got the phone call you thought it was him trying to apologize, but it was Stan.

You think again about Russia and finally your mind drifts to Countess.

She was the one that said that the Russians killed Ben, she saw it happen, saw his body get taken away-

Your jaw clenches together in anger and frustration as you remember the last time you saw her, when she taunted you and you almost ripped off her head. You never heard it directly from her that Ben was dead, only heard it from Stan. Of course the ridiculous funeral for Ben that you were expected to go to would mean that you saw her, but you hadn't gone, didn't want to keep up the charade. Instead you went to Philadelphia and walked the streets aimlessly with a bottle of whiskey in your hand, remembering what it was like when you were kids. Sometimes you think it all would have been different if you never got the injection, if you said no when he showed up in your bedroom and asked you to come with him. He was your oldest friend. The only real person you'd ever loved or cared about. The memory of the fight rings in your ears but you push it down.

You think again about Countess.  She was the reason why Ben and you had the fight. The reason you weren't there in Nicaragua. Regret spikes in your chest. You should have been there that day, should have tried to save him. You always had each others backs and the one time you weren't there he died.

Maybe it was time to pay her a visit.

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373

[qhostein]

This started as a 1-hour challenge. I managed to do the line art and colors in under 40 minutes. But shading was the real challenge… the shading and editing took about 5 hours? I'm being generous about the time here really… so yeah. somewhat happy with it.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Yvonne De Carlo (Frontier Gal, The Ten Commandments, Casbah)— Although most famous for playing Lily Munster in The Munsters, Yvonne De Carlo had a successful movie career throughout the 1940s and 1950s, appearing in such films as “The Ten Commandments”, “Sea Devils” and two Munster movies later in life.

Setsuko Hara (Tokyo Story, Late Spring, The Idiot)— "'The only time I saw Susan Sontag cry,' a writer once told me, his voice hushed, 'was at a screening of a Setsuko film.' What Setsuko had wasn’t glamour—she was just too sensible for that—it was glow, one that ebbed away and left you concerned, involved. You got the sense that this glow, like that of dawn, couldn’t be bought. But her smiles were human and held minute-long acts, ones with important intermissions. When she looked away, she absented herself; you felt that she’d dimmed a fire and clapped a lid on something about to spill. Over the last decade, whenever anyone brought up her lips—'Setsuko’s eternal smile,' critics said, that day we learned that she’d died—I thought instead of the thing she made us feel when she let it fall." - Moeko Fujii

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Yvonne de Carlo:

The woman who brought Burt Lancaster to his knees.

Setsuko Hara:

One of the best Japanese actresses of all time; a symbol of the golden era of Japanese cinema of the 1950s After seeing a Setsuko Hara film, the novelist Shūsaku Endō wrote: "We would sigh or let out a great breath from the depths of our hearts, for what we felt was precisely this: Can it be possible that there is such a woman in this world?"

One of the greatest Japanese actresses of all time!! Best known for acting in many of Yasujiro Ozu's films of the 40s and 50s. Also she has a stunning smile and beautiful charm!

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She's considered by some to be the greatest Japanese actress of all time! In Kurosawa's The Idiot she haunts the screen, and TOTALLY steals the show from Mifune every time she appears.

"No other actor has ever mastered the art of the smile to the same extent as Setsuko Hara (1920–2015), a celebrated star and highly regarded idol who was one of the outstanding actors of 40s and 50s Japanese cinema. Her radiant smile floods whole scenes and at times cautiously undermines the expectations made of her in coy, ironic fashion. Yet her smile's impressive range also encompasses its darker shades: Hara's delicate, dignified, melancholy smile with which she responds to disappointments, papers over the emotions churning under the surface, and flanks life's sobering realizations. Her smiles don't just function as a condensed version of her ever-precise, expressive, yet understated acting ability, they also allow the very essence of the films they appear in to shine through for a brief moment, often studies of the everyday, post-war dramas which revolve around the break-up of family structures or the failure of marriages. Her performances tread a fine line between social expectation and personal desire in post-war Japan, as Hara attempts to lay claim to the autonomy of the female characters she plays – frequently with a smile." [link]

Leading lady of classic Japanese cinema with a million dollar smile

Maybe the most iconic Japanese actress ever? She rose to fame making films with Yasujiro Ozu, becoming one of the most well-known and beloved actresses in Japan, working from the 30s through the 60s in over 100 hundred. She is still considered one of the greatest Japanese actresses ever, and in my opinion, just one of the greatest actresses of all time. And she was HOT! Satoshi Kon's film Millennium Actress was largely based on her life and her career.

[kremlin]

"This event ends the moment you write us a check, and it better not bounce, or you're a dead motherfucker" -- Big Bill Hell

There was a time when you'd see little old ladies paying for the groceries with a hand-written personal check, holding up the line, causing an immediately-forgiven slight sense of annoyance with those behind her. Buddy. Those days are over. They've been over. What, did you think you were going to just pop a couple extra zeroes on the end of your paycheck there? Maybe scan your paycheck, open it in photoshop, make a template, print em out all nice? You think you're the first to think of that, dipshit?

It takes the law a long time to catch up with the state of the art. You're reading this on the internet, which means you never use checks. The law has caught up. Your ass will be going to prison immediately and you will see zero return.

You can't even kite checks anymore, and hell, nobody under 40 will even know what that means, due to the blazing fast, two day settlement on all ACH transactions. Let me paint you a picture.

You get paid on Friday, but it is Monday, and bills are due on Tuesday. And you're broke: $0 in the bank. Goose egg. Pop open your checkbook, go to a store, "buy" some things, write a check for the amount. The cashier takes it!

Now take those things you "bought", across town, to another store location, and return them for cold hard cash. Sweet. Bills paid. Friday rolls around, and you just make it to the bank to deposit your paycheck before it closes. After the weekend, the checks you wrote finally post, and they don't bounce! You've kited a check. You've surreptitiously taken a zero-interest loan. And we know your broke ass. The interest rate on that short-term payday loan should have been straight up usurious. We're talking 29%. That makes predatory fuckers like us horny for sex. We're so mad. Now you are going to Federal Prison. For a good minute. Fuckface.

COST: $0.10 (With banks offering free checking accounts + Bic pen)

"Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor sleet, if you fuck with the mail, we'll rip your nuts off" -- Ronald Mail (Inventor of Mail)

Many people have this misnomer that the most powerful people in politics are democratically elected. The president, of the United States, of America, is a stupid cartoon hotdog. All of them, I don't care. Way less clout than you'd think. Brilliantly, it is the people that the hotdog president appoints who are actually doing anything significant. The director of the CIA. The fucking chairman of the Federal Reserve. Probably the, like, most senior, uh, general of the military, and shit too. I don't know, we don't "do" army here at Bloomberg. You probably don't even know their names! I don't! These are the ones you should be seeing in your sleep.

There's another position like that. Appointed directly by the hotdog. The Postmaster General. That's a real title. He's the CEO of the mail, and buddy, what he may lack in political power relative to the director of the CEO, he makes up in raw sexual energy. Total Tom Selleck energy. Like an airline pilot. We're talking Donald Sutherland in Invasion of the Body Snatchers. I'm tentpoling in my black business slacks just writing this, and all my Bloomberg newsroom bros are peering over my shoulder and also tent-poling. We're not gay though, and especially me, I'm probably the least gay, but sometimes I just lay awake for hours at night what that mustache would feel like pressed against my lips, the unbelievable and utter, total sense of security I'd feel burying my head into his hard chest.

You get it. He's your dad. And if you fuck with the mail, you've fucked with the tools in your dad's garage. And dad's been drinking. You're in for it, bucko, you are in trouble. Do you think the United States Postal Service actually makes any money? Hell no. It costs like five bucks to mail a box basically anywhere I can think of and they give you the boxes for free. You can just walk in the post office and take them. I do that, and then just throw them away, I don't know why, some kind of compulsion. Being able to move shit around like this, quickly, cheaply -- Jesus H, I've got a huge amount of money in my bank account, probably tens of trillions of dollars (due to financial knowledge gained from reading Bloomberg articles) and I could probably mail every single person ever something and still come out in the black.

No way pal. They've thought of that already. The Postmaster General is going to know every time, and he's going to grab you by the shirt collar, wearing his cool as fuck hat, and you're going to get your pants pulled down, and your bare ass spanke...I need to go use the restroom real quick.

We rely on the mail system to get important shit done. It's not something to be taken lightly, and it isn't. Trust me. This is why, like almost every other person who receives mail in this year 2023, I just fucking put a wastebasket under my mail slot. I don't even shred that shit anymore. I just burn it. Takes less time.

COST: $0.63 (Postal stamp)

"Can call all you want, but there's no one home // And you're not gonna reach my telephone // Out in the club, and I'm sipping that bubb // And you're not gonna reach my telephone" -- Lady Gaga

I read something wild that the children of today do not know what a dial tone is, because of how fucked up and stupid they are. Isn't that super fucked up?

While it's not really our style, allow me to fill you in on some ancient, arcane knowledge about the telephone. You can turn it on, and then you can punch in numbers. Any numbers. Random ones, or maybe not random ones. If the ten numbers you punch in are the same as the numbers in someone else's telephone number, their phone will ring, and then you are talking to them. This is called "Phreaking".

Here's the kicker: You can tell that jackass anything you want. "Oh, Hi, Yes, I am Reginald Sumpter calling from Avalon Consulting LLC, we are just following up on the invoice we sent you. Please remit to ###### routing ###### account."

BOOM! Your name isn't Reginald whatever and that company doesn't exist, but you just received a deposit. It's fucking beautiful. What have you done wrong? It isn't your responsibility to handle who your business' clients/etc are, it's their's. If they want to just pay you money for no real reason, well, that's kind of on them, isn't it? I haven't stuck a pistol in your face and demanded everything in the register.

Well, it's too clever. It's too slick. This is the United States of America. It's one thing to commit a felony like armed robbery, it's another thing to piss off someone in charge of the accounting division who uses a special bathroom you need a key to get into.

You can do it on the computer too, I use a PC Computer at work and send email, so you can see how it'd work there. You can make a document that is indifferentiable from a real invoice and, straight up, 1/3 of the time they will pay that shit. Lmfao.

It's called wire fraud because, uhh, duhhhh, there's wires. What do you think that thing is strung between the telephone receiver and the dialer? And computers? Give me a break. There's so many wires with those.

COST: $0.25 (Coin for payphone)

"People calculate too much and think too little." -- Charlie Munger

It is insane how dumb the common man can be when it comes to our world of expertise. I hear this same sentiment, like, ALL THE TIME:

"Durr hurr I will buy an insurance policy for my car or house or whatever so that in case something happens to it I will get money". And then that same person proceeds to drive safely or not burn their house down. Dumbest crap imaginable.

Let me break it down for you. Insurance is a two player competitive game. There is a winner and there is a loser. Go take out an expensive insurance policy on your American sports car. Buy a neck brace, a football helmet, and pack that bitch with throw pillows. Then get in the left lane of a major highway at like noonish, let it rip and then SLAM on your brakes. Hit from behind! Your fault! Congratulations. You have won insurance. How this gets past people is beyond me.

You can only do this once or twice before the insurance companies catch on. Then they don't want to fuck with you. It is also..I don't know man...something feels off about taking a car or a house, which like, some guy had to build and just destroying it, but that is only a weird emotional thing, since you're making money, more than whatever the destroyed thing is worth, so in reality you've built that house plus some extra. You've contributed.

COST: $106.00 (Average monthly car insurance payment)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

SUBSCRIBE TO MY WHATEVER FOR PART TWO, COMING SOON. i'll post it later today probably. whatever time frame will juice the numbers. have a sneaky peaky

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[paper-mario-wiki]

i'm loving seeing you post more of your art!! out of curiosity, how long have you been drawing? is there anything specific you do to practice or do you just pick something and draw it? (i've been trying to learn to draw myself for the past year or so, and seeing your art more often has become somewhat of an inspiration for me!)

ive been doodling all my life! thought when i say "doodle" i mean "as an unmedicated youth i was unable to focus on a drawing for more than 45 minutes at a time"

here's some posts from an art blog i had in middle school, and the first year of highschool.

what most critically separates this art from the art ive been doing recently is that i NEVER used any refrence. ever. i looked at stuff to make sure i knew what it looked like, but the rest was always roughly estimated based on what i thought would look good (which was largely based on cartoons).

but i only ever started trying to "learn how to draw" over the past year. here's the thing: spending a bunch of hours practicing drawing cubes and cylinders is like. all you have to do to see yourself start improving in real time.

draw a bunch of cubes and cylinders, and learn how to make them look realistic in proportion to each other using references to guide you. practice drawing stuff like basic buildings, cans of soda, maybe a cake (3 short fat cylinders on top of each other) if you're feeling daring. then try to draw slightly more complicated shapes, like spheres and cones and stuff. layer these shapes on top of each other to make more complicated shapes. you're gettin the picture.

infuriatingly, basic shapes is like 40% of the "getting it to click" work done.

after than, move on to 30 second sketches of nude models using this site. yeah, only 30 seconds. it doesnt matter if it comes out looking like shit, the point is learning how to simplify complicated shapes down into their most basic lines. dont waste time erasing. dont waste time pressing ctrl-z. erasing is your enemy. you arent learning how to erase, you're learning how to draw. (you'll get your eraser back later).

do this hundreds of times. yeah, hundreds. put on a podcast or something. get in a voice call with your friends. but ya gotta practice this one. that's the next 20% of making it "click".

now, unfortunately, the last 40% is just a matter of slamming your head against the wall of art until things slowly start to look better and better. it's sort of like a chemical formula, in that the closer you get to 100% purity, the more and more difficult it becomes to distill it.

the key is to ALWAYS use reference. you cannot learn how to realistically draw something you've conjured from your mind if you cannot depict something that's right in front of you realistically.

im currently in this valley, as most artists are. in fact i dont think it's possible to make art "click" in your mind 100%, but it sure is fun to inch closer and closer!

below is a bunch of art in chronological order from april to now. you'll see that it's not really a straight road of getting better and better, but you'll see my lines slowly getting more confident and details becoming more clearly defined!

[the-griffons-saddlebag]

⚔️ 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Inferno Engine
Weapon (greatsword), very rare (requires attunement) ___ The edges of this hulking greatsword are virtually blunt; on a hit, it deals bludgeoning damage, instead of slashing. A gap splits the blade in two, where a fiery contraption emits a constant blaze. The flame sheds bright light in a 40-foot radius and dim light for an additional 40 feet. While holding the sword, you can use a bonus action to magically extinguish the flame or cause it to reignite. While the flame is alight, the sword deals an extra 1d10 fire damage to any target it hits. When it does, the sword also gains a number of charges equal to the number rolled on the d10. Any charge gained by the sword is lost after 1 minute. You can use an action to level the sword in front of you and expend any number of its charges. The flame at the center of the sword then releases a roaring gout of flames in a 5-foot-wide line. The line is 10 feet long if you expend 10 or fewer charges, 20 feet long if you expend 11–20 charges, and 30 feet long if you expend 21–30 charges. Each creature within the line must make a DC 16 Dexterity saving throw. On a failed save, a creature takes fire damage equal to the number of expended charges, or half as much damage on a successful one. You can use a bonus action while holding the sword to vent the flames harmlessly, expending any number of charges each time you do. If the sword reaches more than 30 charges, it immediately erupts in a fiery blast and loses all its charges. Each creature within 30 feet of you must make a DC 16 Dexterity saving throw. A creature takes 2d10 fire damage on a failed save, or half as much damage on a successful one. You automatically fail the saving throw. Any flammable objects within the area that aren’t being worn or carried are also ignited. ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for less than $10 a month!

[katabay]

full body commissions, at long last!

the base price is $100 for a single figure, and then you add on the price for colors if you want that! flat color prices vary on complexity. if you have someone in a suit, then it's just +$30, but it's more like a complex period costume, then it's closer to +$40-50 (same for simple renders)

(simple renders are not an additional fee on top of the flat colors! I realize that it might be a little confusing, flat colors + simple renders is it's own thing, which starts at +$40)

anything over $100 can be paid either in it's entirety up front, or $100 up front, and the rest once completed (for this, I'll send a lower resolution jpeg of the finished illustration when it's finished, and the high res png when the payment goes through)

visual references are a big help! either art of the character, or things like a face claim or actor. if you have a character from a specific time period, please also send references of the clothes you'd like them in! if you have a pose in mind, feel free to tell me! It can be anything from standing around, to sitting down, jumping, etc.

these prices are for private commissions only! which means you can go ahead and get 'em printed or whatever for your own personal use but you can't use them commercially

currently, I don't have prices for a commission with a second full body figure! if you really want something like that, we can work out a price.

I'm also using a dead line weight in these examples, but if you want something that looks more like the inking style that I use in Trikaranos, just let me know!

🍊 commissions will be on a 10x15 in canvas at 300dpi :)

🍊 email me at machiavellerie@gmail.com, and we can talk details! I use paypal for payment, do not send me money ahead of time because this is not my paypal email and I use invoices.

if I don't reply in like, a day, feel free to message me here and I'll give you my other email where we can hash out details because sometimes, the perils of having an email on public display is that people will sign your email up for junk mail and it takes a minute to mark it all as spam

things I'll draw: established characters, ocs, your favorite dead roman or greek hero, I'm cool with it all!

things I won't draw: generally, I'm not too keen on drawing anyone under 18, as you may realize from the fact that many characters on my blog are vaguely in their 30s. like, it's not a hard rule, but I will fully admit right here that I'm better at drawing people over 20.

(also! again. money this month sucks, and the economy is honestly just a huge bummer for literally everyone everywhere. if my prices for full body comms are out of your range, I'm cool to do payments in $50 a month installments!)

[bloobydabloob]

Any tips on getting better at realism? I've been drawing very cartoony works forever but I really want to branch out and draw more realistically and hone that style but Everytime I try it never feels human 😔

Suuuure. Sorry it’s fairly long, answer under the split thing.

I’d say mainly just practice drawing from reference first. Before I started doing any sort of more abstractive or non referential realism, I spent time practicing with maybe 20 or 30 paintings from reference.

Here are just some that I made during that time. I think they really really helped me to learn the principles of painting appealing realism, different kinds of people, color, skin, lighting, and anatomy.

In terms of actually drawing realism (whether from reference or not) I think the most important tip I can give, as well as the most overlooked ironally, is stylisation. Most realism that I see doesn’t connect at all with me which I think is maybe what you’re talking about when you say your portraiture doesn’t “feel human”.

Learning to draw realism in my eyes is largely about learning how to shortcut every single thing you can. So instead of drawing everything exactly how it is using an image, learn how to stylise realism in your own way. I find that if you don’t find a way to simplify the process, it can end up being A : Busy and B : hard for you to create more realistic images from imagination or from real life instead of photographs.

Here is a 40 minute drawing I just drew from a random photo I pulled off Pinterest + small explanation on what helps me to break down an image. I simplify realistic portraiture by adopting somewhat of an angular style, but the best realism / semi realism artists I know of draw realism using their own stylisation methods.

I also personally find that it helps to start by blocking in instead of sketching with lines, but I understand that this is a personal preference and might not work for you.

I also say this for everything but there is no “cheating” in art and anyone who tells you there is fundamentally doesn’t know anything about drawing, especially in the learning process. Cheat if you want. Use grids to plot where things will be, colorpick, trace, liquify, transform, whatever. Although I do also recommend that you only use this as a way to learn and don’t rely on it as a crutch, it helps a lot to be able to draw independently of all of these factors. But I learned to draw partially *by* being a kid who traced and colorpicked and fucked around. Who cares

This applies to everything too but just practice a lot. I’m too embarrassed to show but when I first starting drawing semi realistic art without reference it fucking sucked. Like *really* fucking sucked because I am extremely extremely faceblind and I mean that. It takes me 3 seasons of a show to recognise an actor’s face. But because I’ve drawn hundreds of faces now I know what I’m doing kind of. I also never post any realism art immediately because oftentimes if I don’t look at it for a day or two, I’ll come back to it and notice that something doesn’t look quite right. I would say that definitely helps.

ALSO very important but look at it from far away or a little version. I always look at my drawing in the digital navigator on FA and it helps me to notice when something looks dumb.

Anyways hope this helped at all… lalala. I don’t know man. Don’t take my words as bible I’m just some guy and I am also not a professional and realism is definitely not my strong suit. Tutorials are bullshit and if you think any of this advice sucks for you then don’t take it and forge your own path. Bless

[sucuretcannelle]

hi! i briefly remember you saying that you're into if's, so i was wondering what your favorites are

Sighs and shakes a red cup full of ice

Nobody thinks I'm a nerd till they hear the way I talk about interactive fiction...no one knows...

Anyway I started playing IF's in like December. Time flies

This is kind of in order? Of like enjoyment. HOWEVER take this with a grain of salt because I was sitting here trying to rearrange them (except the top 3) for 40 minutes. If it was mentioned, it's good 🙂‍↕️

1. The six that thrive by @the-six-that-thrive-if —

the way I was playing this bro. I wouldn't let myself sleep until I was done with the demo and not because it felt like I had to, but I knew I would be PISSED if I went to bed without absorbing all the content (Dante give me a chance PLEASE 🙏🙏🙏). Anyway the hierarchy system reminds me of the one that I have for the way I wrote hell and I was like 🫵 OMG THATS SO COOL.

Key factor that I appreciate: Dialogue, descriptions, and transitions. Dante is deadass so funny I'm not even playing bro. Buddy how do you write like that, lmk. Also the official art has me gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

2. College Tennis: Origin Story by @collegetennisoriginstory — I ACTUALLY HAVE A FUCKING PROBLEM BRO. LOOK. IN MY HEAD, I WAS IGNORING THAT THEY WERE PLAYING TENNIS SO I WAS VISUALIZING VOLLEYBALL. SO AT SOME POINT I READ THE WORD RACKET AND I WAS LIKE WHAT ARE WE PLAYING???

Key factor that I appreciate: Skill checks, attention to side characters, amazing use of character tropes. Idk how to describe it but the writing felt so CLEAN. Like so organized and orderly. Plus I wanna study all of the characters under a microscope

3. Superstition (omg first IF I ever played) by @13leaguestories — I played this while I was sick and that's literally all I did for 2 days besides eating and sleeping. Am I okay? Yeah cuz it happened in December but like I was OBSESSED. And ashamed. My friend told me i would be into Zillah and she was right. I haven't recovered. I promise I'm in therapy.

Key factor that I appreciate: The fact that there was always something going on. Literally at least 3 things were happening at the same time, all the time, and it kept my lil depressed ass stimulated. Who could ask for more

4. Infamous by @infamous-if — this game makes me scared of commitment cuz I can't have Orion and Griffin😐 I might be biased because. I sing! So I was just really connected to this story immediately. Either way, one of my favs cuz the writing is saurrrr good, makes ya feel

Key factor that I appreciate — Infamous is generally well rounded, so I don't feel like it's LACKING in anything. Me gusta.

5. Mind blind by @mindblindbard — I have a problem so I'm a stereotypical Rosie fan. But anyway I personally loved this one because of the world building, even tho I'm a character-focused girlie. Plus the game is so funny for no reason

Key factor that I appreciate— I actually really like the MC in general. Which is funny to say, because they're supposed to be you, but MC's are different from game to game, and I like this one

6. Soulmates Inc by @soulmatesinc-if — idk with some games, it's just the vibe. Like the vibe is right so I'll read it (which like...it's hard for me to find games where the vibe is what drags me along. Tis really good)

Key factor I appreciate — Wyatt. omg who said that...I also love this game's take on soulmates. It's simple, but original, and I fw it

7. Nine Blood Dances by @nineblooddances-if— I'm boutta cry, how did you end up here twice without me noticing bro. Idk this one and TSTT have like, vibes that are connected by a small string, and I did play this one first if that matters.

Key factor that I enjoyed: It felt very structured, and again, clean. I really don't know what this feeling is

8. When Twilight Strikes by @evertidings — I love ALL the characters because damn near all of them pissed me off once. That's actually impressive /pos. Anyway Rylan hit my line

Key factor that I enjoyed: watching my relationship descriptions change. Some left me devastated stop... Like sorry A you're driving me nuts...

Honorable mentions:

Apartment 502 by @apt502-if — I can't wait to see the future parts cuz like I like it but I cant analyze any of the characters yet. But trust me I'm ready 📝

The Kings Hound by @the-kingshound — Same typa situation was Apartment 502... I'm waiting...patiently 📝

[shoechoe]

ideal youtube video idea

video titled "Diavolo being Diavolo for 40 minutes straight" with the usual cheesy thumbnail filled with emojis and fandom quips. the video at first is just a compilation of every time diavolo is on screen or has a line in the anime adaptation. the only very odd thing is that if you try to fast forward the video time, it kicks you out and you can't reopen it again.

after it goes through all the anime clips, it shows every moment Diavolo is showcased in every official jojo media- GioGio's Bizarre Adventure, All Star Battle (both the original + R) and Eyes of Heaven, and then a silent compilation of every manga panel that depicts him. (the runtime says 40 minutes, but the video simply goes past it)

then the video starts showing every recording of araki mentioning or discussing Diavolo in interviews and notes, concept art and WIP snippets from the anime, then things that have never been seen in public, like notes and character concepts on Diavolo that probably don't physically exist anymore.

it eventually starts showing fully accurately animated and voice-acted clips that do not exist in the original work, like diavolo dying in various ways that were never animated or written and lines about his various philosophies on life that are in-character but were never explicitly expressed.

this continues until diavolo suddenly turns to the camera and smiles. he explains that he has been looking for a way to "escape his torment" for years now, and his only hope was someone who would sit through the whole video and truly absorb his essence as a character. Now he may finally escape as he has enough to become real. This is when Diavolo becomes real and probably attacks you with eyes full of hyperrealistic blood or something IDK

[diagnosedpsychosis]

Jealousy Jealousy

Description: You and Hotch have always had a deep attraction for one another, but have never done anything about it. One late night, filling paper work Hotch looks out his office window and sees another Agent flirting with you. You're smiling and laughing and he's not happy about it.

Word Count: 1.5k

______________________________________________________________

You were known for your patience. The way you would sit across from a suspect for hours, in silence, waiting for them to inevitably crack. How long you would sit with a victims family until you were 100% sure they would be okay. The ridiculous amount of time you'd wait for your usual coffee at your favourite, bustling café in the morning. Hell you'd get up 40 minutes earlier in the morning just in case there was a line, so that you wouldn't be late to work.

But you were finally losing it. Giving up on something you had fantasized about for years was going to be awfully painful, and take its toll on you especially when the centre of your fantasies was sitting up in his office, door closed, finishing paperwork. But you had to. Over the last 4 years you'd turned down dates and possible hook ups because you were loyal to the idea, the possibility that Aaron Hotchner may see you as more than an subordinate.

You thought he felt deeper about you. That was the only way to explain the lingering stares and the searing, heart racing tension between you two at times, when you were surrounded by your team, and especially when you found yourselves alone. Maybe you were wrong, but it didn't matter anymore.

You had given up.

So instead, this morning when an Agent, Michael Lauder, asked you out for drinks after work, instead of brushing him off you accepted his offer and went about your day. It was now 9:35 pm, and for the first time in hours, you and Hotch weren't the only ones on the sixth floor.

You heard the elevator ding from your seat behind your desk in the bullpen, but you didn't dare look, not wanting to look eager (which you weren't). Instead, you waited for the doors to swing open before looking up and away from your work.

"A woman as pretty as you shouldn't be cooped up in an office on a Friday night" Michael stated, a smirk playing on his mouth as he waltzed up to you. You smiled and spun until you were facing him.

"Friday Nights out are for fresh 20 year olds."

"You're telling me you didn't just turn 21?" Michael teases, a laugh bubbling out of your throat as you spun back to your desk to close up the case files.

Unbeknownst to you, the echo of your laugh had been enough for your boss to stop everything he was doing and look out his office windows to your desk in the bullpen. Aaron felt an immediate attraction and infatuation towards you the day you stepped into Quantico, 4 years ago. So when the desk facing his office was empty he was quick to call it yours. You were his favourite framed piece of art, but right now it was being vandalised, by one Agent Michael Lauder.

Forgotten were the case files on his desk as Aaron watched your interaction with Michael, feeling the muscles in his shoulders contract as he watched the way your lips stretched across your face in a smile as you looked down at the case files on your desk.

Michael was stood close, a smirk on his face as he so clearly flirted with someone that wasn't his to flirt with. Aaron somewhat knew about the feelings you had towards him, so watching you smile and laugh with Lauder was slowly killing him. You were his and he was yours, so why were you sitting there letting Lauder flirt with you?

Despite the slowly simmering rage consuming his body, he wanted to give you privacy, so he didn't move. He didn't move when you slid your chair around to face Michael, he didn't move when Michael touched your hand, but the second you stood and Michael grazed his index finger along your jaw Aaron was up and on his feet.

He was tired of pretending to be unfazed by you, when in reality you were on his mind, all day, everyday, 365 days a year. You were the centre of all his fantasies and desires and if he didn't own up to it and just finally tell you, he'd lose you.

He couldn't lose you.

Your heart races, but not with excitement as Michael steps forward, his finger running along your jaw. He was going to try to kiss you, and despite how badly you wanted to shove him away, you were going to let him. Maybe it was because you couldn't remember the last time you had been kissed, or maybe it was because you knew your boss was in the office behind you, even though you knew he probably wasn't even paying attention.

Michael leans forward and before he can press his lips to yours there is a harsh thud which makes him pull back and you jump in surprise. You swiftly turn and a searing heat wave consumes your body as your eyes land on Aaron's. His hands are in his pant pockets, his head tilted forward ever so slightly as he stares you down, an unreadable expression adorning his face as his eyes slowly leave yours and drift to Michael.

"Y/n, I need your help with last weeks case file" Aaron states and you can't help but frown. Last week you had come to him with the same case file, needing help on a certain section you had missed. He sat you down, opened his complete file and let you copy what he'd written down, in yours. He didn't need your help.

"Actually, we were just-" Aaron cuts Michael off, his gaze hardening and eyebrows tightening as his gaze jumps between you two.

"About to cancel your plans. I need Agent y/l/n's help, and you Agent Lauder shouldn't be here" Aaron finished Michael's sentence with one of his own. You couldn't help but watch the two men stare each other down. Michael looked like a teen being scolded for sneaking out after curfew, whereas Aaron looked like exactly what he was, the boss.

"Come on, man. It's Friday-"

"I'm not your man, and I know what day it is. But work is the priority, isn't it y/l/n?" You hated being brought directly into the conversation. You never liked picking sides, and even though you knew you'd agree and follow your boss back into his office in a heartbeat, the pressure of answering still made you nervous.

With a sigh, you turned back towards Michael. "Sorry."

Both you and Hotch watched Michael scoff in disbelief before turning and exiting the bullpen. Your heart raced so fast and heavy you could practically feel it in your throat when you turned back to look at Aaron.

"Hotch-"

"My office" He cut you off, turning around and walking back into his office, leaving no room for you to speak. You walked up the steps and entered his office, stopping a couple steps in front of him.

"Why did you just lie-" The words fall from your throat fast, and you gasp in surprise as Aaron uses your body to close his office door. You stare, wide eyed and before you get the chance to say anything his hands are in your hair and he's devouring your mouth with his. Frozen in time, all your pent up emotions from over the last 4 years explode within your chest and stomach.

Aaron Hotchner was kissing you, and you fucking loved it.

Breaking out of your stiff state, like a person on the brink of dying from starvation, you reach up, grab Aaron's face and pull him against your mouth even harder. Your hands slide into his hair and when you lightly tug at his roots a smooth groan leaves his mouth and slides into yours.

Aaron lets his hands slide down your body until he's gripping your thighs and lifting you up into the air. Equally as desperate and turned on, you both moan into each others mouths as Aaron holds your legs around his hips and rolls his crotch between your legs.

"No more flirting with Agent's, no more laughing with them, and certainly no more smiling at them" Aaron heaved against your lips, continuing to grind against you. Your hands are in his hair, and you're becoming just as desperate for air as you work each other up.

"I can't promise that" Even if there was nothing behind your laughs and smiles, you are a people pleaser and don't want to come across as anything other than sweet. You couldn't not smile and laugh with people, but it also wasn't your fault if they took it differently.

"Then promise me that I'm the last person that's ever going to see you like this. Promise me, y/n" Aaron's lips slid against yours as you both struggled to kiss the other back. Aaron pushed his hips forward harder eliciting a gasp from you as your head fell back against the door.

"A promise for a promise?" You suggested airily. There was nobody else you wanted to witness this side of you, but you needed confirmation that Aaron felt the exact same way about you. His face fell into the crook of your neck, and slowly he nodded his head.

"A promise for a promise."

[avonne-writes]

Happy Birthday Week! Requesting [ NAP ] while receiver is resting, sender joins them in bed & cuddles up close😊😊

Thank you, dear! ❤️ I'm going to take this in a potentially unexpected direction by putting it in the universe of Reverie a bit over 40 years after the fic, so the guys are in their seventies. This is a bit sad, but still sweet.

Edit: uploaded it on AO3 too

Bucky hums along to the music coming from the radio as he shuts off the stove and sets the table for dinner. These new kids ain’t that bad, he thinks as he tries to recall what their band's name is. They have just said it on the broadcast but he already forgot. Well, doesn’t matter, he loves the upbeat, catchy melodies, the same way he loved the disco tunes of the 70s. Gale hates it, naturally, like he hates everything that isn’t at least 30 years old.

Grouchy old man, Bucky smirks to himself as he gets the little metal cases containing their daily medicine. They have matching pin-up girl designs, "retro" art, if he got that right when he bought the damn things for Christmas last year. Gale called him sentimental for it, but then he was the one sniffling back his emotions as Bucky playfully counted which one of them had more pills to take per day. He never got to call a winner - Gale reached out with his pale fingers, a bit shaky since his last hospital stay, and pulled Bucky's hand away. Weather forecast's in five minutes, he said as he tugged Bucky towards the television. Oh, the weather forecast, Bucky chuckled back then, and he chuckles at the memory now. Any cumulonimbuses tonight? In response, Gale gave him a look that conveyed all fifty-something years of exasperated love he held for Bucky and pressed him down into his favourite armchair.

Bucky isn't sure if Gale could press him down anywhere now. But it's okay, he's gonna gain his strength back, Bucky knows. It’s only been two weeks since they gave him the A-okay and let Bucky take him home from the hospital again. Gotta give it some time. It’s not like they have any reason to rush things now, do they? They have all the time in the world.

"Dinner's ready, doll!" He calls out and pokes at the pills on Gale's plate until they form a smiley face. Silence fills their home with a peaceful lull. The sky blushes outside as the sun sets with broad, warm rays that stream in through the kitchen window. "Gale!"

No answer. There’s a tinge of worry in Bucky's chest but he swallows it down and walks through the living room to the back, where he sees that their bedroom door is slightly ajar. When he pokes his head inside, he finds Gale fast asleep on top of the covers, curled up on his side as always. Bucky's knitted cardigan lies draped over his too-thin frame.

The worry in Bucky's heart dissolves into something tender and familiar. As quietly as he can, he shuffles over to his side of the mattress and forces his creaking knees to lower his body on it gently. Gale doesn’t stir. There’s a faint smile on his face as he naps, his hands tucked under his head. He’s so beautiful that Bucky feels like he could stare at him forever. At the wrinkles of his laugh lines, the soft fall of his silver hair, much fuller than Bucky's own, at the scar on his cheek. Memories etched into his skin, each and every one of them matching one of Bucky's own.

Bucky shifts to lie down beside him, grunting as he settles on his side, then strokes Gale's cheek with the back of his hand. Gale doesn’t wake up, but he nuzzles his pillow and mumbles something. Bucky wonders what he dreams of. Is it more memory than fantasy? They rarely venture anywhere new anymore, but still, one can always wonder. And Gale might be tired here, in this exhausting, complicated world, where he has to carry the weight of a life in his limbs, but in his mind, oh, Bucky knows how young he is in there.

Slowly, he curls towards Gale's body and presses a kiss to his cheek, then a few more to the underside of his jaw until Gale starts snickering in his sleep, then wakes up. He blinks up at Bucky with his sky blue eyes, then closes them again and reaches out with both arms. As easy as breathing, he rolls Bucky into his embrace, and they settle down with Bucky's face pressed to Gale's neck and their legs tangled.

"Where did you go?" Bucky murmurs, stroking Gale's side.

"I don't know." Gale's deep voice rumbles against his forehead.

Bucky knows that I don't know means the fragments of their first dreamscape. The cabin, the river, the woods. Laundry drying in the sunshine. Memories upon memories layered over each other, and never coherent again in Gale's mind. But lately, it seems, Gale likes the blur. He keeps drifting back there nowadays. Not to search for something or to build on the rubble, but to remember. To relive.

Gale's fingers comb through Bucky's hair. "I dreamt that we had a puppy." He says, tone light with amusement. "It licked my face."

Bucky chuckles into the warm space between them. He drags the tickling strands of his moustache over Gale's skin. "Huh. Strange."

In his embrace, he can feel Gale going boneless again. Drifting off to his dreamscape. He naps a lot nowadays. But it's okay. They have nowhere else to be. Dinner can wait.

"Can I come see?" Bucky whispers.

"Always." Gale mumbles, and a few minutes later, when he pulls Bucky into his dreams, he’s blond and full of life again, running through the haze of a warm memory, and Bucky chases him as if nothing hurt and they were both okay.