#I just couldn't actually get myself to draw

[sleepymccoy]

Since this post is the only thing in my activity feed right now, I thought I'd draw a (slightly abstracted so I don't fully dox myself) little map of all the libraries I can get to without having to think about where to go!

The city has quite a few libraries, I expect if I walked around a bit I'd find three more lol.

The one near my home is like a ten min walk.The tram line is the line I grew up near, so I know it fairly well. The further library is my childhood one, and the one in the middle of the tram line I know I can see when we pass it, although I've never been in. So I'd be able to get off in time

The train line, I've lived in two other suburbs along and have worked along, so I know the areas well. The tram line going south off the train I went to uni there for a year and spent a lot of time poking around the streets so I can find the libraries. The other place I went to uni I don't know the libraries

The bus is just a fluke that I happen to know that suburb's library (it's by the beach) and that bus goes everywhere. If I caught it and paid attention I'm sure I'd see a dozen, but I'm not counting that for this poll. Only places I know!

And the city has so many. State library of course, and I went to the top one in the city just last week. The bottom one I've been in before but I only know it's location vaguely, so it'd take some walking around. However, it's a touristy area and it's signposted. The middle left one is the court library, which I happen to know is public access

So that's thirteen I'm extremely confident about. I'm new to driving lol so I wouldn't use my car for any of it, way easier to navigate by train and tram, they definitely go where they say theyre going to go

If I wanted to max out my library number tho, I know how to get onto the main highways out of town. Just hit the highway and pull off in every small town and find the main strip and then the library! But while I know that'd work, I don't actually know those libraries so I'm not counting it. Also didn't count uni libraries because I don't have a uni card right now, so I couldn't get in. These are all public libraries

Also to mutuals and followed and so on, if you're trying to get in touch for any reason my activity is buggered right now. I posted this last night and it's got thousands of reblogs all saying something in the tags, I can't update my feed fast enough. Please DM me if there's anything you'd usually tag or mention me in ❤️

You can use any travel method you like, walking, public transport, so on. You can get an uber but their map has failed so you'll have to give directions. You can travel to other countries and count those libraries but you have to be able to completely navigate from your home without assistance. So you can catch a plane but must be able to travel to and from the airport. No limit on how long it takes. If you know which block it's on or which tram line but aren't sure precisely, but you feel sure you'd find it once you got there, count that as a yes (if you're not sure maybe google it now and see if your plan would work). You cannot rely on asking for directions though, this must be all your knowledge

[scoutofmymind]

Momma I request a prompt inspired by a song of your choosing (: I L Y

Couldn’t Make It Any Harder — { Luigi x Reader }

Content: mental health issues, mentions of past trauma, TorturedArtist!Reader, Empath!Luigi, Luigi says “go birds” after flipping off a woman, confused feelings, situationship, reader is just Very Confused in general, angst, eventual romance.

Wc: 5,107

I couldn't make it

Any harder to love me

Oh, one day, believe me

You’ll want someone who makes it easy

This has been floating around in my asks for awhile, and I wasn’t feeling practically inspired by any songs lately until Sabrina released Couldn’t Make It Any Harder and I couldn’t stop thinking about writing it.

This work was done quickly between my other ongoing Luigi projects, so I apologize for any inconsistencies or skipped backstory (you know I’m a backstory bitch) but I simply needed to get this out of my system, and remembered that an anon had asked me to write something based off of a song quite awhile ago!

Also, how could I leave you hanging on Valentine’s Day? Even if I’m posting this at 2 AM….

It's 8:30 AM at your usual coffee spot — that tiny café two blocks from Luigi's apartment where the barista always draws terrible attempts at latte art, and you’re still wearing yesterday's mascara, not because you've been crying, but because you spent the night in your studio, channeling your frustration into a new piece that's all sharp edges and bold strokes.

"I mean, we had a great time!" You're gesturing with your coffee cup, nearly spilling it. "We went to that new gallery opening, and he actually understood my rant about contemporary minimalism. Then dinner, drinks, great conversation — and now? Radio silence. Three days of nothing."

Luigi, sitting across from you, is trying not to smile at how animated you are, his laptop open beside him — he's probably got a Slack channel blowing up with messages from his dev team, but he rushed to meet you for this emergency coffee session, anyway.

The startup's dress code might be casual, but he always manages to look put-together in that effortless way that makes other tech bros look like they're not trying hard enough.

"Maybe I'm just-“ you pause, stirring your coffee aggressively, "too much, you know? Too loud, too passionate, too-"

"Stop," Luigi cuts in, closing his laptop and fixing his gaze on you again, "You're not too anything. You're exactly enough. So don’t even go there with me.” He massages his temples, “Too early for it.”

"I know that," you say firmly, because you do. "That's the thing — I like who I am. I like that I can talk about art for hours. I like that I get excited about things. I like that I feel everything so intensely. I'm not going to make myself smaller just because some guy can't handle it."

"Then don't," Luigi says, and there's something in his voice that makes you look up from the foam disappearing from your cappuccino. "The right person won't want you to."

"Exactly! And you know what? If Jake can't handle a woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to say it-“ you trail off, reaching for your sketchbook. You start absent-mindedly drawing on a corner of the page.

“Ugh,” Luigi’s face screws in mock disgust, “His name was Jake?”

Putting down your pen, you lean back in your chair with a frustrated sigh. "But then again, if I'm so great, why does this keep happening? Three first dates in two months, Lu. Three. And they all end the same way."

"You mean with guys who can't handle someone who actually has opinions?" Luigi takes a sip of his coffee, his fingers tapping absently on his closed laptop. A notification buzzes on his phone — probably his team wondering where he is — but he doesn't even glance at it.

"No, see, that's just it," you lean forward, your hands moving expressively as you talk. "They love it at first. They think it's so fascinating and refreshing that I'm 'not like other girls', or whatever." You roll your eyes at the phrase, hating the taste of the words in your mouth. "But then it's like they realize I'm actually serious. That I'm not just putting on some manic pixie dream girl act for their entertainment."

Luigi's mouth quirks up at one corner. "Heaven forbid you be a real person with actual thoughts and feelings."

"Right? And I know — I know I'm not too much," you say, but your voice wavers slightly. You start fidgeting with your rings, a habit Luigi's seen a thousand times when you're wrestling with something in your head. "But sometimes I wonder if-"

"If what?"

"If maybe I should just- you know.. tone it down? Just a little? Just at first?" The words sound wrong coming out of your mouth, and you can see from Luigi's expression that he knows it, too. "No, you're right, forget I said that. That's stupid."

"It is stupid," he agrees, but gently. His eyes catch yours across the table again, his gaze steady and genuine. "Remember that installation you did last month? The one about authenticity?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you tell that bag of bones professor who said it was 'overwhelmingly honest'?"

A smile starts to spread across your face. "I told him that was the whole damn point."

"Exactly." Luigi checks his watch and starts gathering his things — he's definitely late now. "So maybe the problem isn't that you're too overwhelming,” he pats the top of your head, slinging his bag over his shoulder, “maybe they're just underwhelming."

•

You're standing in front of your last piece, forcing a smile that feels like it's splitting your face in half, as another guest explains to you what your own art means.

Behind you, you can hear snippets of conversations that make your skin crawl.

It's a bit... aggressive, isn't it?

Not quite gallery standard... these nepo kids..

Experimental, but perhaps too experimental..

Your hands are shaking, so you clasp them behind your back. You've been doing this grim waltz for two hours — nodding, smiling, explaining yourself over and over to people who look through you rather than at you, and the gallery owner keeps shooting you these looks, these little disappointed glances that make you feel about two inches tall.

You catch Luigi's eye across the room.

He's been watching, you realize, while pretending to be deeply invested in a conversation with some tech entrepreneur who probably thinks art is a good investment opportunity, and he tilts his head slightly — a question.

You shake yours — you’re not okay.

"The brushstrokes here," the current patron is saying, pointing at your most vulnerable piece, "they're rather — well, chaotic. Unorganized. Muddy. It’s strange to see. Was that intentional?"

Something inside you splinters.

"Excuse me," you manage, your voice surprisingly steady for how the room is tunneling, how your fingers begin to tingle, how your lungs have lost the ability to draw in a full breath. "I need some air."

You make it through the gallery, past the whispers and the stares, past the owner who starts to say something about maintaining appearances, past the front desk and around the corner to the back alley.

Then your legs give out.

You're gasping, trying to remember how breathing works, your back against the cold brick wall. The dress — that stupid yellow dress that Luigi said was his favorite — feels too tight. Everything feels too tight.

You tear at your collar, needing air, needing space, needing- "Hey." Luigi's voice, close but not too close. "I'm here."

"I can't-" you choke out. "I can't breathe, I can't-"

"Yes, you can." He moves slowly into your space, hands hovering but not touching. "Look at me. Just look at me. I’m right here. It’s all good.”

You shake your head violently, sliding down the wall. "They're right. They're all right. I'm not- this- This isn't-" Each word feels like it's being ripped from your throat, bloody and raw and dishonest and horrific. They aren’t right. You know they aren’t.

"Bullshit." The sharpness in his voice makes you look up. He's crouched in front of you now, his tie completely undone, his eyes fierce. "They're not right. They're not even close to right. They're looking at fireworks and complaining about the noise. Old fuckin’ bunch’a assholes.”

A sob catches in your throat, half laugh, half cry. "That's a terrible metaphor."

"Made you look at me, though." His voice softens, his hands resting on your clammy shoulders. "Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe."

You try to match his exaggerated breathing, your hands still shaking. "I put everything into this show," you whisper after your second deep breath. "Everything."

"I know."

"And they just- they- they just-“

"I know." He shifts, sitting beside you against the wall, careful to leave space, but still your shoulders bump together. "But. Want to know what I think?"

You turn your head to look at him, makeup probably ruined, dress definitely stained from the alley ground, but you’ve already abandoned ship, you’ve waved your white flag — there’s no use in pretending you haven’t crumbled in a New York alleyway now. "What?"

"I think they're terrified of you."

That startles a real laugh out of you, “What?"

"You heard me." He's looking straight ahead, but there's something fierce in his profile. "You walked in there with your soul on full display, unapologetic and raw and real, and they don't know what to do with that. People like that, they're comfortable with art they can hang in their dining rooms and forget about.” You watch him blink, gathering the words, “Your shit doesn't let them forget. It makes them feel things they don't want to feel."

You nudge him gently, a laugh flaring your nostrils. "That's a lot better than the fireworks metaphor."

Now he does look at you, a small smile playing at his lips, his cheeks blushed crimson from the wine he’d gulped down just to make himself a bit more sociable. "Yeah, well, I've had three glasses of their overpriced wine. I'm feeling poetic."

Another laugh bubbles up, watery but real. You let your head fall against his shoulder, just for a moment. "I don't want to go back in there."

"So we won’t." He doesn't move, letting you lean on him, his head leaning atop yours. "Let's go get real drinks instead. You can tell me all the things you wanted to say to that guy who tried to explain color theory to you."

"God, he was the worst." You straighten up slowly, wiping at your eyes. "Did you see his socks?"

"I was trying not to."

•

You're standing at the open bar, counting the minutes until it's socially acceptable to leave, when Madison — a college friend you haven't seen in years, who always seemed to help herself to open bars beyond her means — sways over.

Her champagne sloshes dangerously close to your dress, but for some reason, you don’t step back.

"Oh my god, it really is you!" Her voice carries just a bit too loud, and you can feel a few heads turning in your direction. "I almost didn't recognize you without, you know-“ she gestures vaguely at all of you, that sick smile still on her blush pink lips. "All the paint and shit all over you.”

You take a long sip of your drink, hoping it would wash away the rising tide of anxiety in your core. "Good to see you too, Mads.”

"So,” She leans in conspiratorially, her breath smelling of booze and mid-tier champagne. “I heard about your gallery show last month. The one at The Maxwell? God, that must have been-“ She trails off, eyes wide with what looks like concern but feels like something else entirely.

Your hand tightens around your glass. "Must have been what?" Your lips tighten into a line, “It was an- an honor to have the opportunity.”

Words your father had always said to you growing up echo in the far depths of your mind; Honor and Integrity.

There’s a humility in it, in accepting such a nightmare as privilege.

"Well, I mean — I saw that article that was going around Instagram. About how you just up and left? In the middle of opening night?" She takes another sip of champagne, watching you over the rim with her big, stupid brown eyes. "Is that true? That you didn't even come back to collect your pieces? God, that's crazy!"

The word crazy hits like a slap, and you can still feel the panic from that night, the walls closing in as people whispered, pointed, discussed your work like it was a car crash they couldn't look away from and did nothing to aid.

"It's not exactly-"

"And after everything with Matt, and then Jason- ugh,” She shakes her head. "I mean, I get it. Using art as therapy. But maybe actual therapy would be — I dunno — you know, beneficial?”

"Madison-"

"I'm just worried about you," she continues, reaching for your arm and her fingers feel like serpents, coiling around your skin, suffocating you. "We all are. First the whole thing with your poor father — god, remember how he used to say you were just too-"

"Don't." Your voice comes out sharper than intended, your brows furrowed at her like she’d backhanded you. “Don’t you fucking say another word.”

Madison almost gasps, clutching her necklace. “See? This is what I mean. All this reactionary stuff. The anger. The intensity. Have you thought about getting help? My therapist says sometimes when we've been through things-"

The garden somehow feels too small, the fairy lights too bright, the music too loud. Across the room, Luigi is trapped in conversation with the bride's uncle, but somehow he must sense something because his eyes find yours, his head tilted at you, his usual question.

Everything okay?

This time, you look away from him.

"I’m going to leave this conversation before-“

"No, wait, listen." Madison's grip on your arm tightens, slithering, sneering, hissing. Fangs, poison. “That show — people were talking about it for weeks. How raw it was. How fucking uncomfortable it made everyone. One of the pieces — the one with all the broken mirrors? Someone said it looked like a cry for help."

You can feel your pulse in your throat. "It wasn't a fucking-“

"And then you just disappeared! Like, who does that, girl? Just leaves their own show? The curator had to pack up your pieces himself. That's what the article said. Is that true?" She may as well have a microphone beneath your trembling lips, taking on the role of some cheap reporter for a local shittalking magazine.

Of course she read the article.

Everyone read the article.

The one that called your work a disturbing glimpse into a clearly troubled mind. The one that suggested your artistic breakdown was inevitable given your history of emotional instability.

It was laughable, truly, and anyone that knew you well enough had known so much to be so very far from the truth.

"I had my reasons," you manage, but your voice sounds distant even to yourself. “I had reason for leaving the way I did.”

"Obviously you did. That's what I'm saying. Maybe if you got some help, you know, dealt with all this and found ways to properly cope-“ She waves her hand vaguely again, like swatting away a pesky fly. "Then maybe you could make art that's more you know.. accessible. Enjoyable. Less-“

"Less me?" The words come out before you can stop them. “Bullshit. You wouldn’t know, Madison. You haven’t seen a single one of my shows, haven’t shown yourself at any of my gallery openings-“ your cheeks burn red hot, your glass of wine discarded and your hands balled into fists. “You’re lucky I don’t fucking pop that smirk right off your-“

"That's not what I-"

“It is exactly what you fucking-“

“No, it’s not! Look at yourself!”

"Hey!” Luigi's voice cuts through the rising panic. He's suddenly there, solid and real. "Sorry to interrupt, but we have that thing that we have to get to-“ he loops his arm around yours, and he swears he can feel the heat radiating off of you, hot and quivering like a volcano deciding if it’s time to erupt just yet or not.

Madison blinks at him, her nostrils flared at the sudden interruption. It seems as though this is exactly the reaction she wanted, and was pissed the show had called curtains so quickly. "What thing?"

"That very important thing," Luigi says firmly, already guiding you away. "Great catching up. Green is not your color. Go Birds.” As he turns you both, he raises his middle finger behind your back — not because you needed defending, but because that's who Luigi is; all sharp edges and fierce loyalty, a guard dog with his teeth bared in your honor, though, you catch the gesture in a reflection, and something warm unfurls in your chest.

Not because you needed saving, but because he'd always take your side, no matter the circumstances. He didn’t need to know why you were barking at this girl he’d never met before — he already knew you had good reason to do it.

You make it to the venue's back garden before your legs give out, and the fairy lights blur through tears you refuse to let fall. "Did you— fuck,” Your voice shakes as you reach to wipe away the tears before they even get the chance to glide down your cheeks. "Did you actually hear what she was saying or just see it?”

"Caught the greatest hits." His jaw is tight, his hand resting on your lower back as he hunches forward, clearly concerned but approaching all of it carefully.

You can’t help but wonder then how many times you’ll find yourselves like this — Luigi rescuing you from yet another mishap, and that alone could become a new reason to feel sorry for yourself.

And him.

"The article." You wrap your arms around yourself. "She read the fucking article."

Ironically, you had originally taken the article well.

Too well, in fact.

You'd invited them all over — Luigi, Anna, Theo — for what you called A Reading of My Professional Obituary. You'd spent all day in the kitchen, channeling your grandmother's stress-cooking legacy; bouillabaisse simmering for hours, Tarte Tatin caramelizing to golden perfection.

The good wine came out, the kind you'd been saving for a real occasion.

Perched in your chair like it was a throne, wine glass dangling from your fingers, you'd performed dramatic readings of the choicest quotes. "Sources close to the artist describe a history of emotional instability," you'd intoned, affecting a pompous art critic voice that had Luigi choking on his wine. "An unsettling collection that seemed less like art and more like a cry for help.”

The evening devolved into a tipsy game of "Guess the Snitch" — everyone taking turns suggesting increasingly ridiculous candidates for the mysterious source. "It was Gabby, in the gallery, with the emotional manipulation!" Theo had declared, wielding his bouillabaisse spoon like a gavel.

But Luigi had watched you through it all — the way your hand shook slightly when pouring wine, how your laugh got a little too loud to be genuine, and how you'd spent three hours making a perfect French dessert like your life depended on proving you weren't falling apart.

"We all did." Luigi reminds you, his voice gentle but firm. "Christ, we turned it into dinner theater. Remember how Anna did that dramatic interpretation of ' the unsettling collection'?" His hand finds your knee, squeezing. "And it was shit. Not only was it shit — it was cowardly. Didn't even have the spine to name you."

You tilt your head back, using the stars as gravity's help against the tears threatening to spill. The fairy lights from the wedding garden blur into little halos. "I know, but — these people, Lu." Your voice catches, and you hate how it betrays you. "They believe it. They're all walking around thinking I'm some unhinged artist who needs to be sedated and locked away from sharp objects." A laugh escapes, but it's wet and hollow. "God, I wish I'd understood what that article would do. I wish-"

But there's no point in wishing.

The damage was done with surgical precision.

They hadn't needed to use your name — everyone knew exactly whose exhibition had opened at Maxwell Gallery on August fifteenth.

Yours.

•

The hotel room feels smaller with each passing hour.

You've mastered a careful choreography — sliding past each other in the narrow spaces, maintaining precise distances on the king bed as you both pretend to watch some mindless cooking show. But sometimes, despite your best efforts, you slip. His hand brushes yours as you both reach for the room service menu, your feet touch under the shared blanket; each accidental contact sends you recoiling like a startled cat, though you used to fall asleep during movie nights without a second thought.

When your knee accidentally bumps his as you shift position, you jerk away so violently you nearly fall off the bed.

"Okay." Luigi mutes the TV, turning to face you. "We need to talk about this."

"About what?" But you know exactly what, can feel heat creeping up your neck and it makes you want to run.

"About how we used to share my twin bed during college when you crashed at my place, but now you act like my skin is fucking toxic." His voice is gentle, but there's an undercurrent of hurt that makes your core ache. "Remember that road trip to Detroit? You slept on my chest the whole way back because the car heater was broken.“ he looks desperate, grasping at the last straws of you. “I feel like we hardly look each other in the eyes now.”

You stare hard at the geometric pattern on the duvet, picking at a loose thread. "Things were different then."

"Were they?" He shifts closer, and you fight the urge to move away. "Or are you just scared they weren't?"

You get up abruptly, needing to put physical space between you and that question, the Chicago night spreading out beyond the window, a constellation of lights blurring through unshed tears; each one feels like a witness to this moment, to your cowardice.

"You know what changed," you say finally, arms crossed tight against your chest like armor. "After Maxwell, after the article, after everything became public consumption — I can't be that person anymore.”

"Why not?" His voice is closer now — he's moved to the edge of the bed, but he doesn't approach further. Giving you space while refusing to let you run.

Very classic Luigi.

A laugh escapes you, bitter and dry. "Because now everyone's watching. Waiting for the next shoe to drop. And you-“ You turn just enough to catch his reflection in the window, superimposed over the city lights. "You're too important to me, Lu.”

"So you'd rather just — what? Keep pretending?" There's frustration in his voice now, raw and real. "We both know that's not sustainable. Not when we used to-“ He trails off, and you recall the many countless nights on his cramped couch, your head on his chest, his heartbeat your lullaby to the most restful sleep you’d ever known.

"Maybe not," you admit quietly. "But it's safer than the alternative."

"Safer for who?"

The question almost knocks you off your feet.

Because he's right — this careful distance isn't protecting him. It's protecting you. From vulnerability. From the possibility of loss. From the terrifying reality that despite everything, despite all your jagged edges and dark corners, he's still here.

Still looking at you like you're something precious instead of precarious.

The silence stretches between you, heavy with all the things you're afraid to say, all the ways you're afraid to need him, and even more terrified of the way he needs you.

Eventually, you turn from the window, facing him. "It can't be simple. I won't let it be." Your voice catches. "I push and I pull and I keep everyone at arm's length until they prove me right by leaving."

Luigi stands slowly, like he's approaching a wild animal. "You've been trying so hard to make it impossible," he says softly. "Creating distance, convincing yourself I'll give up." He takes another step closer. "But loving you has always been the easiest thing I've ever done."

"Don't." The word comes out choked, your hand pressing against his chest in hopes that he’ll back away. "Don't say that when you know how complicated — how- how difficult-"

"Difficult?" He's close enough now that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, stood firm but not inching any closer. "You want to talk about difficult? Try watching you date other people. Try sitting across from you at coffee shops for years and watching you cry over them. Try fucking loving you quietly through every gallery opening, every crisis,“ his brows furrow, his nostrils flare, “you don’t get to tell me what loving you is like.”

Your breath catches as he reaches for you.

"You think you're pushing me away?" His voice is barely above a whisper, his hands finally cradling your face, tears dampening your cheeks that blaze with warmth. "I've been yours since that first night you fell asleep on my shoulder during finals week. Everything since then — it's just been waiting."

You clench your jaw, your heart a wild thing against your ribs. This tightrope you and Luigi have been walking for years — this delicate balance of almost-but-not-quite, of maybe-someday-but-not-now — has finally frayed beneath your feet. All those careful steps, those perfectly maintained distances, those nights of pretending your skin didn't burn where he almost touched you.

They’ve led you here, to this hotel room in Chicago, where the fantasy of staying safely suspended between friendship and something more has finally given way to gravity.

And what, you wonder, has Luigi seen in you to make him want to dive deeper into your chaos?

He's already witnessed the 3 AM phone calls when your mind won't quiet, the obsessive cleaning episodes that leave your hands raw and your apartment sterile. He's held you through the tears that come without warning, weathered the anger that burns hot and fast like summer lightning.

You're no manic pixie dream girl — you're the real thing, messy and unpredictable, with a heart that bleeds all over everything it touches.

He's either a storm chaser or a fool, you think.

Some hopeless beast tamer who hasn't realized that some creatures aren't meant to be gentled, that some storms leave nothing but wreckage in their wake.

But that's the thing — to Luigi, you've never been a storm to weather or a beast to tame. He doesn't look at you like you're broken machinery in need of repair, doesn't treat your edges like something to be smoothed away.

Instead, he's spent years matching your pace, stepping back when you needed space, stepping forward when you needed anchor. And now, finally, the weight of all that careful patience has brought him here — raw and honest in this dim hotel room, asking you to either meet him in this space between what you are and what you could be, or lay him to rest.

"Touch me," he says, the words falling soft but heavy in the space between you. His eyes hold yours, steady and sure, "Or let me go.”

The city lights paint his silhouette in gold and shadow, and you realize you've never seen him look so vulnerable, so stripped of the careful composure he always maintains. Your Luigi laid bare — not the patient friend, not the steady shoulder, but a man who's finally reached the end of his endurance.

"What if we break?" The question slips from your lips, small and honest, carrying all the weight of your fears that kept you at such a distance all these years — shattering to pieces, left broken by the man you’d loved the most.

Luigi's eyes soften, and something like a smile — sad and sweet and knowing — tugs at the corner of his lips. "Then we break," he says simply, his thumbs swiping away the tears that slide down your cheeks. "But I'd rather that than spend the rest of my life whole and wondering."

His hands haven’t moved. Patient, steady Luigi, who has never pushed but never fully retreated, either. Who has somehow found this perfect middle ground between staying and going, between asking and waiting.

And maybe that's what finally does it — the realization that he's offering you both beginning and end in the same breath. That he's standing here saying yes to all of it; the possibility of breaking, of shattering, of ending up with nothing but deadly carnage between you.

That he knows exactly what he's asking for, and he's asking anyway.

Your hand moves before you can think yourself out of it again, crossing the space between you like a prayer finally answered. When you cup his face, the scrape of stubble against your palm is both foreign and achingly familiar — like a song you used to know by heart, now half-remembered.

His eyes flutter closed at your touch, and you feel the slight tremor in his jaw, the way he leans into your hand like he's been starving for it.

His breath catches, shaky and soft, and when he speaks, his voice is rough with emotion. "There you are," he whispers against your palm, like he's greeting someone long lost, like you've finally come home after years away. "There you are."

His lips brush your palm once more before he lifts his gaze to yours, eyes dark with something between hope and heartache. "Tell me to pull away," he whispers, voice rough. "Tell me this isn't what you want, and I'll go. I'll understand."

But his body betrays him — the slight tremor still present in his jaw under your touch, the way he's still leaning into your hand like he can't help himself. He's offering you an exit, even now. Steady, selfless Luigi, always making sure you have a way out, even when it's killing him to do so.

And that's what breaks you finally — not his touch or his words, but this endless capacity of his to put your needs first.

To stand here offering everything he has left and the chance to walk away from it.

His hand finds your waist, fingers pressing into soft flesh with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. That small sound seems to undo something in him — his control fractures, and suddenly he's pulling you down to him with a urgency that matches your own, your hands bracing against his chest, feeling the thundering of his heart beneath your palms.

"I've thought about this," he confesses roughly, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes heat pool low in your stomach, his thumb tracing a burning path along your hip bone. "Having you like this.”

You can feel the tension coiled in him, the way he's still holding back despite everything. Even now, he's giving you the chance to set the pace, to decide how far this goes. But you're done with hesitation, done with the careful distance you've maintained for so long.

You lean down, letting your lips brush against his ear. "Show me," you whisper, and feel him shudder beneath you. "Show me how you wanted me."

He moves with a swiftness that steals your breath, flipping your positions in one fluid motion. Now he's the one hovering above you, his forearm braced beside your head, other hand still at your waist.

The weight of him, the heat of him so close — it makes your head spin.

"Like this," he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours. "Just like this." He holds you like you’ll run from him — just like he’s watched you run from everything before that doesn’t run from you first.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, feeling the tension there, the way he's trembling slightly despite his strength. "I'm here," you whisper back, one hand sliding up to cup his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere."

[neurospiczzzziee]

Day 5: Confessions/Secrets

Stolas: Can I tell you a secret?

Blitzø: Ya Stols? Is it spicy or something?

Stolas: I've been in love with you since the first time I laid my owlet eyes on you.

Blitzø: *sniffles*

Blitzø: When I made the horse joke cuz I couldn't get the fucking balloon to work?

Stolas: *hoot* *hoot* I thought it was actually quite clever of you.

Blitzø: The laminitis joke?! That's what got you?

Stolas: I've always enjoyed your adorable sense of humor Blitzy 💕

Blitzø: * sniffles* Thx Stols. You were pretty cute too 💕

Okay so I wound up staying past my bed time and actually doing a speed drawing. The idea came to me and I just couldn't help myself.

I imagined this convo would most likely take place during a more intimate moment. I don't usually draw the more spicy scenes, so it's a little new to me (guys I know this is still really tame lol 🤣).

Hope you all enjoy and Valentine's day!

[dustcrumbs]

I deleted all my asks

I'm really sorry for whoever sent in art requests

I was jsut NOT getting around to work on them or anything. There were many cool ideas you all shared with me, and I WANTED to create each one. I just couldn't bring myself to actually pick up my pencil. I tried digital but drawing on phone is irritating at times and I can't draw on my tablet since it has that stupid issue I can't get rid of.

so I'm really sorry about that. I just deleted them all so i wouldn't feel so pressured or guilty about it anymore.

Especially to socially anxious anon, you sent me multiple ideas. Each a paragraph long and I LOVED them. I wanted to make something for each one, each idea and each scenario you gave. But I really couldn't think of where to start or how to. aughh, I wanted to wait till motivation sprung up but it probably wouldn't.

[blackseakraft]

TY FOR THE TAG!! @leapingbadger

What's the origin of your blog title? I like to write phrases and nice sounding things in my sketchbook while I draw in case I want to use them for something later. Black Sea Foam was one of them. It doesn't mean anything, I just like the way it sounds.

OTP(s) + Shipname: I don't engage in shipping much, but I suppose it's TechPhee since I've actually drawn them being cute together multiple times.

Favorite color: BRIGHT Fuschia, a little on the purple side. It reminds me of the Dark Crystal.

Favorite game: Red Dead Redemption TWOOO will probably be my favorite game forever.

Song stuck in your head: Heat Waves by Glass Animals

Weirdest habit/trait? I HATE people touching my fingernails, I compulsively press down on them because they're just really sensitive I guess. I've never ever gotten a manicure for this reason. I've worn press on nails one time and it drove me INSANE I couldn't think about anything else. I tried to tough it out for two more days but it never got better. Weirdly though, when I lose chunks of my fingernails from sports and stuff I don't really care.

Hobbies: Drawing, painting, knitting, writing, skijoring, bikejoring, hiking, downhill skiing, mountain biking (planning on finally getting a real bike this summer), Model/Figure/Mini painting, Dungeons & Dragons (I'm a PC in one game and a DM in another and I couldn't be more pleased at the moment), Reading, Lego (when I want to treat myself), a little bit of fishing and crabbing but I suck at it.

If you work, what's your profession? I am a Fisheries Biologist! Well I'm technically a Science Technician, but biologist gets the point across easier. I'm working up to being a biologist. I mostly work in the field, walking or floating rivers looking for salmon and sending the data to my bosses who use it for managing fisheries. I keep getting hurt though so I'm looking for a new job with less physical labor at the moment.

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be? A homesteader/artisan. My dream is to have some property and be mostly self-sufficient, have a ton of animals, and use art and crafting for supplemental income. Might have to wait for retirement, but I still love my job now.

Something you're good at: I'm very good at learning by watching, or reverse engineering something to figure out how it works. I feel like my brain lends itself well to engineering-type thinking because it is easy for me to picture structures in 3d and move them around in my brain. It helps a lot with art, sculpting, and animation. I think drawing representatively since I was a young child really developed this part of my brain.

Something you're bad at: Understanding abstract concepts like physics or advanced finances (do not ask me what anything more complicated than a loan is, I will cry).

Something you love: I LOVE my new weighted blanket. I've never owned one before, but it really helped me relax while I was recovering from a concussion last week lol. My dog loves it too.

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: The connections between Spirituality, Nature, and Art. I have a few friends who I engage in this topic with and we will go on for HOURS. I always feel so thankful afterward.

Something you hate: When someone leaves their water bottle loose in my car and it rolls around while I'm driving >:0

Something you collect: I collect driftwood with holes in it! Usually comes from thick pieces of outer wood that grew around a branch and somehow came off the tree with the hole intact. I LOVE THAT SHIT.

Something you forget: Well if I could remember what it was I'd tell you.

What's your love language? QUALITY TIME!!! Sharing experiences especially when they involve movement, or body doubling. LOVE IT.

Favorite movie/show: My favorite movie is Jim Henson's The Dark Crystal.

Favorite food: AAA damn idk. Anything savory. I am so down bad for fishy stuff recently, like dried squid and clams. I suppose I'll just say seafood in general.

Favorite animal: Besides the obvious (dogs and horses) my favorite animal is a Reindeer/Caribou!

What were you like as a child? Feral. I used to pretend i was some kind of animal at all times, got in to a lot of trouble at stores for doing things like spitting on the windows and running around. Absolutely should have been tested for ADHD at a younger age.

Favorite subject at school? Art is the obvious one. I also loved science, which is also sort of obvious.

Least favorite subject: In college I really struggled with Physics and Economics.

What's your best character trait? I am very patient. I think because the rest of my family is extremely impatient, I went the other direction. It contributes hugely to my mental health and makes creating things extremely fun. On the other hand, I tend to not stand up for myself when I should. It's hard for me to recognize when it's appropriate to stop being patient.

What's your worst character trait? Emotional sensitivity. It's my greatest weakness and strength. Confrontation of any kind makes me freak out, it's hard to know what battles to pick, and I usually choose the wrong ones. It has a lot of benefits too though! I think intuition and sensitivity go hand and hand, it helps a lot with dog training. I think it makes animals intuitively drawn to you as well.

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be? I'd make my dog less anxious and reactive. He's doing great and is happy and fulfilled, but I will never be able to fully trust him outside of our comfort zone. It's a constant anxiety I have to live with, but working with trainers (and therapy for myself lol) has helped so much and I have so many tools to help both of us.

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet? Jim Henson!!

Tag as as many mutuals as you want!!

@eobe @spicy-tomato-sauce @disaster-by-chance @paperback-rascal @ghostymarni and YOU IF YOU BOTHERED TO READ THIS

I tagged every moot for THIS blog, there are too many on my main lol

Get to know your mutuals!

What's the origin of your blog title? When I was in middle school, someone told me "you dress so goth, but your personality is so happy. You're like a really cheerful grim reaper. A joyful soul collector." And that's been my username for most everything ever since!

OTP(s) + Shipname: Oooh, right now it's Jayvik, and tbh I can't think of another one, this is one of the first ships I've been really really into tbh. Other dynamics focused on my blog have actually been more platonic, like Irondad

Favorite color: Red!

Favorite game: Dungeons and Dragons! Both as a player, and DM!

Song stuck in your head: The Challenge - EPIC

Weirdest habit/trait? I download thousands of still frames of tv shows that I love so I can make memes out of them. But I have to sift through and delete all the pictures that are blurry or unnecessary, which takes hours. I think it's super fun because I'm autistic and really enjoy sorting stuff lol

Hobbies: Writing, playing DnD, making memes, and hanging out with my friends!

If you work, what's your profession? Not so much a profession lol, I work at a toy store. It's a part time job while I'm in college, studying to be a radiologist!

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be? Realistically? Radiologist. But ANY job I wish? Professional DM or Professional DnD player, like the people on Dropout or Critical Role haha

Something you're good at: I'm good at writing stories! I can write them well and write things that make people feel deep emotions, and I like that.

Something you're bad at: Recognizing when someone doesn't want help haha. I tend to try and fix things or help people when they just want to vent, and it ends up frustrating for both of us.

Something you love: I love stories. Any kind, I love so so many

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: My favorite shows and stories, my dnd campaigns and characters, my stories and ideas

Something you hate: Fascism. Bigotry. Willful ignorance. Fearmongering. Propaganda.

Something you collect: Dice!! I'm a dice goblin for sure haha

Something you forget: I often forget chores unfortunately

What's your love language? Physical touch and acts of service

Favorite movie/show: Ooh right now it's definitely Arcane haha

Favorite food: Sushi!

Favorite animal: Cats!

What were you like as a child? In a word? Unwell haha. I'm a good bit better now, still struggling with a lot, but better than I used to do

Favorite subject at school? English, I was always good at that class

Least favorite subject: Chemistry. I hate that shit so much lol

What's your best character trait? I think that I'm kind and willing to stand up for others

What's your worst character trait? I can be disrespectful to some types of spirituality unfortunately. It just doesn't make logical sense to me. I have two friends that are fully convinced that a cursed doll gave some youtuber testicular cancer. And I just can't see the logic or critical thought in that

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be? Mmm. All of fascism shit is definitely damaging my calm so I'd love to change that specifically

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet? Harry Allen. Google him he's a badass transgender cowboy

Tag as as many mutuals as you want!!

@sb-essebi @glitternightingale @blatterpussbunnyfromhell @captainhollowstories @kydrogendragon @misforvendetta @poetryinmotion-author @bocularteletheric @kai-ovillager @thatoneneuvichiliauthor @4amarcanethoughts @alexspearsxoxo @kotonni @buckybucananbarnes @kakesuwolf @martybaker @patheticjayce @sleepycrowhours @aixabi @up-the-bracket @snoopyviktor @emdashflower @humanshapedstress @hellsalore @juuzousmom @softandslow @fangirlshenanigans04 @batmans-attic @lvrstrsh @bluemoyai @tearexxwrites @bodyofvvater @lifeandeathepub @areesespiece @lancesblueazaleas @monaisme @milkywaysipper @carmendyy @tseecka @heazueken @tophat-69 @velocitychroma @prjctdiva @gremlinofchaos @ourvectorviktor @kenjinx @jxmimac @gh0stedvhampir @voxconcordia @arcaneheraldslawyer

ngl I tried to tag ALL my mutuals that I have, but this was how many it allowed me to do before it made me stop lol so here's as many as I could fit!

[cinderflower]

.

I hate that I can tell when my work stress starts to tank my mental state and I hate that it all overlapped with MalMiq week, but man this week has been the worst in a very long time. Pretty exclusively in regards to the communities on bluesky and twt (truly a cesspit) not so much tumblr, but man it has been so utterly and completely discouraging to put my all into a community event and put my best foot forward to support the other artists (I left a few comments but not as many as I planned to, I do want to circle back and leave more when my brain is less shit) but it just so rarely seems to be reciprocated. And I know that I'm not owed anything, I should support because I do genuinely support - and I do! - but it'd be a lie to say that it doesn't feel bad to not get that same support from the actual community in return.

Like, I get it, I'm a mediocre artist and writer on my best days because they're just my hobbies, and especially on twt the talent there is insane in comparison. But even with my expectations set so utterly low, it's just been a bit surprising how little people engaged with my work comparatively. I don't know. Am I worse than I think I am? Is my art that unpalatable? Especially the day 1 art, that's the one I was most proud of even if I couldn't execute it as well as I wanted, and it flopped harder than even the art/fic for Kintsugi.

As for fics, I know I personally am very proud of Kintsugi and I spent an obscene amount of time on it, but the only other fic of mine that flopped this hard this fast was Hypnagogia (ironically another fic I was super proud of). So at a point it's just like, is the fic fandom space truly so dead? Or is it me? I know I've really fucking struggled with writing up to my normal quality standards with how dreadful the brainfog has been, but I didn't think it had dropped that much in quality. Like I used to get at least some feedback.

I don't know what my point here is other than just to vent I guess. I know this is definitely worse because work has been utter hell this week and I am at an all time low. Well, that and the AI hellscape and US pol fascism nightmare. But art is supposed to be a conversation but it's so god damn hard to put myself out in the fandom space and earnestly try and community build only to be met with nothing.

If you made it this far, even if you don't like my fics or art, or they're not your speed - try to engage with artists and writers you do like. Especially the smaller ones, or the ones who draw or write "taboo" art. We're sitting at a table when we post our art/fics, inviting you to sit down with us and talk about this thing we both clearly like, but what's the point if everyone is too afraid to take a seat? If everyone just walks by, takes the art/fic from the table in silence, and scurries off to shove it under their bed and never speak about it?

(to the people here specifically on tumblr who I do interact with a bit more regularly, thank you, your support genuinely means the world to me and does truly motivate me to keep publicly sharing my works)

[lilacstars15]

I drew Len and Rin as Skid and Pump because it's spooky month :)

[taruruchi]

Idol!Azul except I just redraw different pictures of Stray Kids because I remembered I had the ability to draw whatever I want (Part 1 bc Hyunjin, Seungmin, and I.N couldn't fit here)

Also ngl this is just a product of my two obsessions

close-ups utc!

this is in the order of which i drew first

tbh this was lowkey therapeutic for me so i'll probably do more in the future dslkjflksd

[appystruda]

Small ramble about my art

[somewhereincairparavel]

Its canon that Jason and Leo sneak into Chiron 's rec room in the big house, to play Mario Party six on Nintendo switch. And Leo would also program to game to do stupid stuff so they both can win all the time. I have no idea what you will do with this information, but I'm letting you know anyway.

[chiropteracupola]

fresh haircut

[wundrousarts]

Going to do a Nevermoor series reread in June + July + August ? if anyone else also wants to do a reread around that time, could be fun to have more of the fandom prepping for Silverborn

Did initially make a roadmap plan to split the books up into weeks on top of already being months, so that people could focus on specific parts and discuss each week….. but between the fact that I messed it up the first time, Silverborn kept getting delayed as I planned it, and I’m actually really bad at keeping to stuff like that (looking at you, Silverborn Countdown Challenge…) I’m deciding to just go for it at whatever pace happens.

[demodoggonetired]

" I'm Batty 4 U "

For the @steddiemicrofic September Prompt: Charm || 548 Words || Rating: T || Warnings: implied verbally absuvie parent, implied period-typical homophobia

It sweeps through the group like wildfire after the whole Vecna ordeal. Something about everyone trying to go back to normal, re-engaging with non-world-ending topics.

Out window shopping, El happens upon a charm bracelet display and within the week convinces Hopper to buy one for her and Max. And who’s to deny the girl that's suffered through so much. 

El states it as her “momento of who she is, and those who helped her find that definition.” All while thumbing the rainbow and sunflower charms. 

So it’s no surprise when Robin, Nancy, and Erica are seen wearing their own charm bracelet designs after Girl’s Night. Then through a spidering chain of conversations and convincing, the rest of the party soon each have custom bracelets.

For Steve though, the issue is that he’s just not a bracelet sort of guy. The occasional pinching when it doesn’t sit right. Constant jangling and shifting every time you move. It’s not for him.

(Plus he knows his Dad would make him throw it out if he ever saw it. “Jewelry isn’t for men.” and all that. (Of course I don’t agree, Robin. But I still don’t want to risk it getting tossed.))

Until Robin solves the problem for him. Turning his bracelet into a keychain for his car keys. And he didn’t realize just how much he’d come to care for said keychain once it’d stop pinching his wrist. 

Exactly as El had painted it from the get-go; a constant reminder that he’s more than the harsh words his dad sneers as “encouragement”.

Of who he matters to and of who matters to him. His family. 

But it’s not for another few months that his keychain gains a companion.

“Hey, uh. Hey, Stevie.”

They’d danced around one another for weeks. From exchanged glances at the hospital, to touching under the guise of lending a hand, pulling excuses to spend time together.

“Yea?”

Finally culminating in Steve getting fed up and testing the waters with a kiss ‘hello’. 

“I know we’ve only been technically dating for a month now. But I’m pretty sure I remember you being a big relationship guy back in high school, and I figured well ‘Stevie probably never had someone buy him the cheesy anniversary gifts he bought for others’-”

“They weren't cheesy, they were well thought out-”

“And so, I got you something as a faux sort of ‘Happy One Month Anniversary’ gift.”

Eddie shoves the little trinket into Steve’s hands, forcing him to drop his book. 

“Small towns, especially Hawkins in particular, suck and so I figured this is as public as we’d be able to be. And I know the bat was maybe a bold choice considering the bites and all that shit but- Actually maybe this was a bad idea- Ya know what, give it back right now, Stevie. This was stupid- I’m gonna do something else.”

Deftly leaning away, Steve hooks his arm around his boyfriend so he can’t lunge for the keychain again.

“Oh hell no. My boyfriend gave this to me, it’s mine now. You can’t take Ozzy from me.”

“Ozzy? What?”

“Yeah, the little bat charm. His name’s Ozzy, he told me so himself.”

“What-?? Shit- Jesus Christ, you’re so lame. Come here so I can kiss your lame, adorable face.”

[changelingeyes]

Augustus: the Changeling's autism service puppygirl that is also autistic <3

[anothermonikan]

uhhh we got any. Macintosh Classic fans in the building? I watched a few repairy videos and was kinda captivated yeah aha...

I wasn't going to colour this but. I'm glad I got to messy around with the watercolours a bit they look really nice actually I should. use em more!

alts with a plain background because I'm not sold on the background I did and just the sketchy. hehe

[hyperfixated-homo]

When I tell you this took me so long. SO long to finish.

Donnie in a funky outfit I wish I owned because literally every item is a part of my dream closet <3 click for quality I know tumblr is going to butcher it

So many progress photos below. Because I like documenting the process if I'm doing things in an organised way :)