#I’ll get around to actually coloring and rendering it one day

[larcenywrites]

Told myself I was fr gonna draw Kurt this time but I still I made him a fursona anyway 🙂‍↔️

[bullet-prooflove]

Buck + ferry ⛴️ flowers 💐 firetruck 🚒

Tagging: @kmc1989 @mckinleysbones @sophiah2253 @qutequeersstuff @gatefleet

Buck meets you at Catalina Island during a call out. You’re dangling from a top rope halfway down a cliff face, rendering first aid to another climber, whose hanging 50 feet up in the air after knocking himself unconscious. It takes them a while to get down to you, they’ve come by air rescue because the fire truck can’t make the ferry trip to the island. They have to find the right anchor points to rappel down safely, bringing their kit and a backboard with them.

He can tell you’re on the job from the way you relay the information regarding the other Luis, the other climber’s condition. You use the same terminology, talk in a calm precise manner and you’re not squeamish, especially not about the bone that’s sticking out of the guy’s arm.

“They’ll get him down and then I’ll clip you in with me, the two of us we’ll go down together ok?” He says to you as Eddie and Chim begin to guide Luis’s form further down the cliff face.

“Honey,” You drawl, fixing him with a shrewd stare. “Trust me, I’m perfectly capable of finding my own way down.”

Honey…

For some reason the term makes Buck’s cheeks color.

As you start the descent it becomes clear to him that you’re a skilled climber, your movements are smooth, careful and in coordination with his own. The two of you set a quick pace as you abseil down the cliff. If it were any other circumstance he’d probably find it fun, but Luis has just woken up and he’s screaming blue murder because he’s just realised his forearm looks like something out of a gore movie.

“You’re one of us aren’t you.” He says when you both reach the bottom and you give him a quizzical look as you unclip the carabiner from your rope. “A firefighter?”

“Mountain rescue.” You tell him loosening the harness around your waist. “I usually work out of the national park. Today’s my day off, I thought I’d get some time in on a different rockface so I came out here to the island and then-” You gesture to Luis, shaking your head. “- your guy over there ends up bashing himself on a couple of boulders trying to get a picture with those flowers sticking out for the ‘gram.”

He's about to respond when Bobby calls out to him, he turns his head to acknowledge the words and by the time he turns back you’re already walking away to pack up your kit. He guesses you won’t be doing much more climbing today.

He can’t stop thinking about you on the way back, he takes out his phone and Googles the Los Angeles Mountain Rescue website, he finds your name on the Team Section. He spends the rest of the shift going through your Instagram feed, scrolling through your pictures, getting a sense of the person you are.

Fun, adventurous, a little wild, a little soft.

All traits that appeal to Buck in a partner.

“Are you gonna keep cyber stalking her?” Chimney asks as he drops down on the couch alongside him. “Or are you actually gonna do something about it?”

Sliding into your DMs reminds him of his dating app days and Buck, he’s not looking for something casual, he wants to settle down, experience something real.

It’s a few days later that you run into each other, literally. He’s grabbing a smoothie order for the firehouse when he collides with you in the doorway, he’s skimming through your feed again, whilst you have your eyes fixed firmly on your own screen. He apologises as he knocks the phone out of your hand, bending down to pick it up and that’s when he sees it. His profile live on your screen. It looks like he’s not the only one that’s been doing a little cyber stalking.

“I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself the other day.” He says as he hands the phone back to you. “I’m Buck.”

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[aspiringtrashpanda]

I love writing Belphie.

Find the prompt list HERE.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

DAY 6 Prompt: Autumn Leaves

“What are you doing?” 

You winced as your neck cracked, an immediate consequence of looking towards the entrance of the kitchen far too fast. The looming height of Beelzebub filled most of the doorframe, partially eclipsing Belphegor as his violet eyes peered around his twin’s bicep. 

You glanced down, surveying the mess of acrylic paints pooling in the veins of slimy, Devildom leaves. Old RAD newspapers blanketed the kitchen island, words smudged and rendered illegible by splashes of dirty water and rough outlines of the plants you had been trying to paint. Perhaps washing the leaves beforehand had been a mistake. 

Beel’s question had an obvious answer, of course, but you were never great at being succinct. No, you weren’t sure how to summarize what exactly you were doing in one sentence. 

Asmodeus, however, decided that one sentence was all he needed. He didn’t even bother turning his attention to his brothers, instead fixing a spot of sloppy coverage with a warm gold paint as he hummed, “Painting leaves.”

“No, we see that.” Belphie frowned, and see, that was why you had been trying to choose your words carefully. “Why?”

At this point, it seemed Beel was not keen on waiting any longer to forage through the fridge. It wasn’t like you and Asmo, quietly painting in a small area of the large room, were of any obstacle to the Avatar of Gluttony, so he pushed forward and ruffled your hair affectionately as he passed. The cool air of the fridge tickled the sliver of skin between your fluffy socks and the cuff of your sweatpants as Belphie slid onto the stool next to Asmo. 

“My followers have been asking for a seasonal photo shoot,” Asmo sang, a lovely twang to his voice that you had come to associate with a relaxed Asmodeus. He always lost himself in any sort of creative activity, his hums breaching recognizable songs and infiltrating his words. “But I’ve been in a bit of a creative rut. There are only so many hallowed pumpkins I can outshine with my beauty.”

The crinkle of a chip bag, the pop of the seal broken. Beel mumbled through a mouthful of food, “So… Gold leaves?”

This time, Asmo turned his sunset gaze your way. You understood. You had been sitting there, trying to summarize the chain of events in your head. Now was the time to speak up. 

You straightened your spine, making quick eye contact with both twins to ensure they knew you were speaking to them. “You’ve all been to the northern hemisphere of the human world during this time of year, right?”

The crunch of Beel’s teeth just demolishing those chips nearly overwhelmed Belphie’s resounding, “Yeah. The leaves there turn all red and yellow and brown.”

You nodded. “It’s a big photo op. Seeing the green fade into gold and crimson represents the changing of the seasons. But your leaves don’t change in the Devildom, do they?” 

Beel shook his head, a crumb flying from his mouth and landing on one of Asmo’s drying leaves. He scowled, whipping his hair as he glared over his shoulder. 

“The climate here is cool almost year round. It gets a little warmer in the summer, and a little cooler in the winter. Though the trees here photosynthesize in the moonlight, they don’t get the same type of food that the trees in the human world get from the sun. The dip in sunlight hours and temperature is what causes the change in color, so since that doesn’t happen here, your leaves remain a deep blue-ish green.” As you explained, you watched the understanding creep into Belphie’s half-lidded eyes. You were actually surprised he hadn’t fallen asleep during your TedTalk. 

“I’m going to lie in a pile of painted leaves!” Asmo did you a favor, summarizing the disaster seeping through the ruined newspaper pages on the kitchen island. What if the paint stained? What would Lucifer do? 

This didn’t seem to concern Asmo, as he was too busy cooing, “I’ll reach out to the camera with a playful laugh as leaves flutter around my perfect face and oh! My fans will want to jump through their screens to join me~” 

You smiled, affection blooming in your chest as you admired his radiance. No matter what he was doing–whether it was rifling through his closet to piece together a new fashion statement, or snapping a masterpiece out of the most mundane view, or painting his brother’s nails–Asmodeus emanated such passion for his craft. It was infectious. 

“I could lend you some string lights, if you want,” Belphie drawled, slow and feigning any sort of disinterest. You knew better. He wouldn’t offer if he wasn’t intrigued. 

“That would be nice,” You agreed, carefully watching Asmo’s reaction. “You could snake them throughout the leaf pile.”

His smile was stronger than the sun. And boy, did you miss the sun. 

“Ah, careful. This bed of leaves might become even nicer than my own bed!” Asmo giggled, tagging a wink at the end, “Only if you were to join me, of course~”

You couldn’t help but snicker as a dark cloud passed over Belphie’s expression. Rubbing salt in the wound, you teased, “I’ll definitely join you in your pile of autumn sweetness.”

The chip bag sounded once more. This time, the sound was a death rattle, the foil scrunched into the palm of Beel’s hand. Drool dripped from this bottom lip as he moaned, “Like lying in a pile of maple cookies…” 

Asmo scrunched up his nose, opened his perfect lips as if to refute, then seemed to think better of it. You exchanged a glance with Belphie, your quiet laughter harmonizing in the background. 

Sliding off the stool to follow Beel out of the kitchen, Belphie left you with a shrug and a smirk. “You might want to find a leaf-shaped cookie cutter.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

OBEY ME! MONTH MASTERLIST

[yourlocalmerchgirl]

Is it ok if I call you mine? Part Two

Soft!Joel Miller x Neurodivergent/ anxious F!reader

Part 1 Part 3

Summary: Joel is falling for you, and he wastes no time coming to your aid when you call him in the middle of the night because you needed to hear his voice

Soft! Joel miller x neurodivergent reader AU (outbreak never happens)

Warnings: soft Joel, concerned Joel, protective Joel, neurodivergent, audio overstimulation, anxiety, self inflicted angst. Best friend Tommy, falling in love. Acceptance, low self esteem.

A/N: I hope you guys are loving this story as much as I’ve loved working on it! I’ve been so touched hearing from people have been relating to the story so far and I’m thankful for you all!

There’s not a lot of descriptors about reader other than eye color but they can easily be changed.

The wind howls as it slams rain against the windows, shaking the screens as it pulls the rain back and forth with each gust.

It’s late, your inability to sleep renders you curled up in your bed doing some light reading as you try to tire your mind. Sleep doesn’t come easy for you often. Nighttime is when your thoughts are the loudest, often analyzing and reanalyzing conversations you’ve had and situations you’ve been in, thinking about all the different ways they could of gone or thinking about every possible angle to a situation that hasn’t happened yet, just so you’re prepared if it does. The one time recently you actually slept without issue and slept well was the night you fell asleep at Joel’s. There was just something about Joel, something about his presence, his voice that was soothing to you. His ability to ease your overbearing mind allowing you to be in the moment when he was around was nothing you’ve ever experienced before and that scared you. The mystery of these uncharted waters scared you, the unknown of not having a situation in your past to lean back on for reference made you feel anxious. But the way he made you feel out weighed the anxiety for once in your life.

You start to doze off when you’re awoken by the sound of booming thunder filling the room. You sink under the covers the more the thunder rolls through the room. You can’t explain it, there’s just something about thunder that’s been anxiety inducing since you were a kid. At this point you’re curled up in the tightest ball when a loud BANG is heard and all the lights in the house go out. The bright flickers of lighting light up the room from the sides of the shades as more thunder crashes, sounding like giants falling through the atmosphere. You’re terrified at this point, trembling in a tight ball under your covers.

—————————————————————-

Joel’s Pov

Joel’s up, he’s always up late. Sleep often alluding him. He didn’t rest well, always feeling that he hasn’t done enough, that he’s failed someone. He’s just laying there half watching the tv when his phone rings, he knows Tommy’s home because he can hear him down stairs and it’s too late to be any of the guys from work. Panic washes over him when he sees your name on the screen.

“H-hello..”

“J-Joel?” Your tone sounds strained

“Sweetheart, is everything ok?”

“I-I just needed to hear your voice” he can tell by your tone that you’ve been crying, that your stressed out.

You let out a strangled whimper as another boom of thunder rolls through the sky.

“I-I’m just having a hard time a-and just needed to hear your voice.”

Joel melts at the notion that he comforts you, that your comfortable with him and that you would turn to him for comfort. Because truth be told Joel was crazy for you, you’d pretty much stolen his heart since the day he met you. All he wanted to do was show you how much he cared, how much you meant to him.

“Is it the storm sweetheart?

“Y-yes, the thunder makes me anxious and we lost power.”

“Where are you? Y’at home?”

“Yes”

“Ok darlin’ listen to me. Put some music on on your phone to focus on, use t’he flashlight on your phone t’pack a back for a couple days and I’ll come get ya.”

“No Joel…I-I couldn’t ask you to do that”

“I gotta make sure your alright darlin’, I care bout ya k’now that right? You didn’t ask me do anything, I’m doin it cause I want too, I-l I want t’see you”

“ I-I want to see you too Joel”

Joel swears he can her the smile in your voice. He means every word of it. He’ll take every chance he has to protect you, to make you feel loved and cared for.

“TOMMY” Joel yells down the stairs.

“Already got the truck runnin’, I heard you on the the phone, I’m comin’ with you.”

“Tommy no, thunder is one of your triggers I can’t ask you t’do that.”

“Y’two are the two most important people in my life, it’ll be rough but I’m not having y’two out there alone.”

When Joel and Tommy get to your street they find it blocked off. It appears the cause of the power outage was a big tree going down on the power lines further down the road.

Joel pulls up to the barricade rolling down his window.

“Evening officer, w’ould it be possible to get to that second house there?”

“Sorry roads closed”

“ I understand that sir I just need to get to my girlfriend, she’s without power and having a panic attack about all the commotion. Just need to pick her up and we will be on our away.”

“Alright, but make it quick!”

The officer moved the barricade so they can get through.

“You called her your girlfriend?”

“Fuck I dunno Tommy it just came out, I didn’t want the cop to say no.” Joel says as they pull into your drive way.

“You do like her though, you want her to be your girlfriend don’t you?”

“More than anything Tommy, I’d do anything of that girl, hell I’d take her hand and marry her tomorrow if she take me, but she probably doesn’t feel the same, what’s a girl like her want with a guy like me?”

“Stay in the truck I’ll be right back”

You swing the door open before he even reaches the top step of the porch, like you’d been waiting by the window for him, because truthfully you had been.

Joel catches a glimpse of you in the moonlight of the open window, he reaches out to caress your face when he sees how distraught you look, how puffy your eyes are when you just fall into his embrace. He’s taken a back by this for a moment, realizing you really do find safeness and comfort in him.

“Let’s get you outta here sweetheart, you’ll be nice and safe at the house with me and Tommy”

Joel grabs your bags and swiftly leads you outside into rain to the truck. Joel’s helps you into the back when he realizes Tommy’s in the drivers seat.

“Tommy? W’hatya doing?”

“Figured I’d drive back so you can be in the back with her.”

“Tommy! The thunder, you didn’t have to do this” you exclaim as you lean over the seat to give him a big hug.

Tommy didn’t have to say anything, you already knew it was hard for him to be out in the storm surrounded by the thunder too. You and Tommy where similar in those ways. Joel admired the care you showed Tommy, that even in a time of distress for you you’re making sure Tommy is alright too.

You settle back into the seat as Tommy starts backing out if the driveway. You let out a ragged breath and instinctually grab Joel’s hand as another rumble of thunder rips through the sky. He wastes no time lacing his fingers in yours, smoothing his callused thumb over the side of your hand.

You scoot closer to him as you lay your head on his shoulder, breathing out a relaxed sigh.

“Im so happy to see you Joel” you whisper as you tilt your head up to look at him.

“I’m so happy to see you to sweetheart, I’m glad you called”

Joel can tell your tired by your eyes, but you’re still, even in this moment, the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.

“Let’s get you settled so you can get some sleep, I’ll set you up in my room and I’ll sleep on the couch”

Joel grabs your bags and chuckles “Christ it looks like your moving in” he jokes as he walks you up the stairs.

“Well I had to bring my pillow too, I can’t sleep anywhere without it” you laugh shaking your head at how ridiculous you sound.

“Let’s get you out of these soaked clothes, you must be cold”

“I am a little bit” you say bearly above a whisper as you take your pillow out of one bag and dig through the other for pajamas

You go down the hall to change. Washing your face in the sink you pause just looking at yourself in the mirror.

You look like shit. But you have to tell him how you feel.

Joel’s down stairs setting up the couch when you get back from the bathroom so you lay down and curl up in the bed leaving the room dimly lit with a small lamp. Joel comes upstairs to check on you, when he gets to the doorway he sees you curled up in his bed. He finds the sight of you precious, how cozy and relaxed you look it’s a sight he could get used too. You look up to see him standing in the doorway looking at you and you give him the most genuine smile.

“Sorry, I kind of made myself at home” you say nervously.

“Oh sweetheart don’t be sorry. I want you to feel at home here. I was just coming to check on you, make sure you were comfortable.” Joel says sitting on the end of the bed.

“You must be tired, try to rest and get some sleep. I’ll be on the couch if ya need anything.” Joel says reaching for the lamp.

“J-Joel… you can..um will you stay with me?”

Joel is taken by surprise that you’d actually want to share the bed with him, that he just stares at you for a moment. When he says nothing you become anxious, fearing you misread things.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Forget I said anything.”

You reach to shut the lamp off but he rests his hand on your leg to stop you.

“No, no sweetheart it’s not like that, I’m honestly just surprised. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to say that.”

“I don’t want you to feel pressured either. I don’t feel pressured at all, Im being genuine.”

“If you’re truly ok with it I would like to stay in here with you” Joel says as he searches your eyes for any hesitance. But when you meet his gaze with the kindest genuine smile he knows your serious.

“I usually sleep without a shirt, i-is that ok?”

“Of course, how ever your comfortable, I don’t want you to change your routine because I’m here.”

“Sweet dreams sweetheart” Joel says before clicking off the lamp.

“Thanks Joel you too.” You flash him a smile even though it’s dark, thinking he won’t see it but he does.

Another boom of thunder rolls across the sky as you let out a pained sigh. rolling over and resting your head against Joel’s arm, just like in the truck.

“It’s ok, come here baby girl, I got you.” Joel says as he opened his arms, hoping he didn’t freak you out by calling you baby girl, it just came out.

As you scoot closer, he wraps you up in his arms. It’s dizzying how good you feel there, the way you nestle you head into his broad chest until you’ve found the perfect spot. The way you contently hum as you wrap you’re arm around his mid section holding him just as closely as he is you that really makes him melt. The way you start sleepily drawing little circles on the skin over his ribs as you lay there. He could die in this moment and be ok with it, being happier than he has been in years. It’s in that moment that all he wants to do for the rest of his life is love and care for you, to protect you and be there for your every up or down.

“Thank you Joel” you mumble sleepily as the sound of his heartbeat starts lulling you to sleep.

“Anything for you sweet girl” Joel whispers as he kisses the crown of your head.

—————————————————————-

As your eyes flutter open the next morning your head is still nestled on Joel’s chest. The two of you slept like that all night, which makes your smile tug at the corner of your lips. This is what happiness and acceptance feels like. You gingerly and quietly slip out from under Joel’s arm and sit up on the bed. You sit there for a moment and take in the true beauty of Joel, the way the morning sun highlights his strong nose and jaw. How his sun kissed olive skin glistens with every rise and fall of his chest.

You slowly get up off the bed as to not wake him and quietly pad down the stairs to get a drink of water.

You sneak back up the stairs and crawl back into bed. Joel had rolled over while you were down stairs, so you just curled up on your side and settle back in.

There was just something about Joel you couldn’t put your finger on. You wanted him to be the first thing you saw in the morning and the last thing you saw at night. You wanted to be there for the ups and downs, showering him with love every chance you got. Something about Joel just felt like home. You are pulled from your thoughts by Joel as he wraps his arm around you pulling you back flush against his chest, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. A giggle bubbles up when his scruff tickles the soft skin of your neck.

Here’s your chance…

“Hey J-joel” your voice is barely above a whisper

“Hmm” he sleepily hums in response

“I-I like you, like a lot” I say nervously, regretting the words as soon as you say them, preparing for the rejection.

Joel’s eyes snap open, he feels like he’s in a dream, he couldn’t of heard you right?

“Say that again sweetheart”

You roll over so your facing him, though you’re barley able to look him in the eye.

“I like you Joel… I like you a lot.” You nervously say as you reach out smoothing your fingers along his cheek bone.

Joel feels his heart beat quicken. “I like you a lot too baby girl…god I’ve been dying to tell you.

“Is it ok if I call you mine?”

Tag list:

@kalllistos @justasadlittlebean @bcon24 @its-dee-lovely @fishingforpike @macaroni-artist @gengar-neutral @morgaussy @sailorsophiee @samarav @dionysusinparis @arlovesper @fandomsohmyohmy @lovelyladiess @lovebandrry @joelmillersblog @pinkbowsandcoffeestains @pascal-is-punk @thatgirlpeaches @alyhull @fandomwhored @hiddenbabynyc @goldenhxurs @frecklefacelm @amyispxnk

[sunshine-zenith]

Playing around with inking/shading/simple coloring a bit more. Not sure how much I love inking — on one hand it’s super satisfying erasing the undersketch and being left with crisp lines, on the other I realized entirely too late I should’ve used the star as a light source and couldn’t go back to fix my shading

Onto this guy— I’ll admit, Wish is kinda growing on me these days. I don’t think it’ll be great, but it’ll probably be good. The character designs are beautiful and the way the animators are rendering the CGI is pretty neat. I do love that we’re getting a Classic Disney Villain again, though, and I’m super interested in this guy because he seems to break so many CDV rules — while there’s some Evil Green Magic in his villain song, he himself doesn’t have a CDV color pallet (greens, black, reds, purples), instead having light grays, whites, and light blues. He looks genuinely friendly and approachable, but he isn’t a Plot Twist Villain. They’re outright advertising him with his Villain Song. He’s also married. I don’t think we’ve seen him and his wife interact at all in marketing yet, and given the fact that the queen is included in toy sets with Asha, the hero, I don’t think she’s gonna be a Plot Twist Villain, so they might not still be married by the end of the movie, but still, it’s unique (I can’t think of a single CDV who’s married off the top of my head. The rest play Unwanted Suiters, widows, romantic obstacles, reconned into having a past relationship for the sake of Sequel Babies, or have no involvement in romance at all)

I’m crossing my fingers that he has more than one song. Thanks I Get has grown on me the more I’ve listened to it, and I do like the actual animation that accompanies it, but like. It’s basically Evil You’re Welcome y’all. Like Gaston got a fun Villain Song too, yeah but he also had the Mob Song — please give Magnifico the same courtesy and give him a second boisterous and wicked song — it doesn’t have to be another Hellfire, but please gimme more Friends on the Other Side and Mother Knows Best, I beg you. This is the first actual CDV in a musical in what? A decade? Go all out with him!

(Also, juries out on if it’ll gain an explosive fandom after the movie comes out or not. I can see fans going either way — Encanto took off like wildfire when it went to streaming and Frozen had those snow storms in NY to help boost it, while other Disney movies barely have their time in the sun. Tbh there have been many media properties that I’ve been meh about over all that I’ve come to adore because they have an engaging fandom and good character designs/concepts)

[crappyyuki]

Bryan with lava eyes :DDD

It’s been a while since I fully colored smth :,)

Here’s the Sketch and the one with a background!

I attempted to make lava. I’m not sure if it went well lmao.

I also don’t know how to draw or render muscles but BUFF BRYAN SUPREMACY!

HE IS SLIGHTLY TONED BUT HE CAN FLATTEN A STONE FUCKING COUNTER THATS CANON FIGHT ME

Honestly, I’m not sure if I can write this AU. With confidence I mean. I already got like a 15k word outline going on and it’s still going and it’s been like that for the past 3 years. Yeah. Pretty crazy. But if I can’t write this then I might resort into posting a bulleted list on what I should’ve written in the betterment of those 3 years instead of making a long ass outline to get it out into the world.

I love this AU, you have no idea, but it is so hard to write. So bear with me. I’ll give a bit of insight into it.

• This is a canon divergence of the canon timeline where instead of Bryan taking the hit, it’s Molten taking the hit. (My guy is not having a great time. Both of them.)

• This AU is canon defiant to the actual lore in Bryan’s series. A lot actually. This is a bit more canon compliant to the Fnaf storyline. Focusing more on spirits and souls than portals and portal magic. Soul juice produced from murdered children. All that good stuff. Don’t get me wrong, I love the series but I wish it focused on the souls of the kids and their stories if only a little.

• Let’s say there are a lot of hidden secrets in the old pizzeria that Bryan would carry to his grave. Most of them is guilt. The other is shame borderlining to self loathing.

• “No one would ever believe you.” :)

• This AU’s pov is also on the animatronics side. Mostly Freddy, Helpy (the old one), and maybe probably Foxy (the Rockstar one) I miss them, okay?

• Pat is around too. Watching over the animatronics while getting deathly afraid of them for a definite period of time before making friends with them because wow, those robots aren’t actually gonna force them into a Freddy Fazbear suit. Why did they listen to a pre-recorded message anyway?

• Jon is the one that stumbles onto the secret. But its not complete. He wonders where he should find the other pieces.

• You know OG Freddy? How he was repaired? Yeah. That part wasn’t the only thing that brought him back to life.

• And the monitor Lefty stole from the pizzeria? Maybe Egg Baby? Wonder whats that for?

• The book that Bryan gave to Twisted Bonnie also changed. Still has the blueprints of the animatronics but of different animatronics.

• “Hmmmm, I wonder what I can do for Baby’s birthday? How can I make it her happiest day of her shortlived li—wait, can I even say that?????”

• Also, does anyone know what happened to Twisted Freddy? Did he just become the wind or what? We’ll see.

• Since Lefty didn’t die, let’s say Shadow Freddy had other places to be. And Twisted Wolf? Honestly forgot about that guy hahaha I’ll think of something.

• Oh! EB (Evil Bryan) is there too! Like actually.

• It’s quite funny to have two short humans going on offense while literal monsters go on support and defense lmao. What a bunch of losers.

• “See you on the flipside!”

• Hey. What’s up with Bryan’s eyes?

That’s all for now. Maybe I’ll post another one or work on a chapter? Who knows…

I can’t promise anything. I can only promise that the next will take a whileeeeeeee, a post or a chapter.

I still have not named this AU and marked it as INSERT TITLE HERE.

And to those that recognize that title, I am so sorry. I literally redid the first 5 chapters, finished 4, then dropped it off at chapter 7-8. Chapter 1-4 are finished but 5-8 is a land mine. I don’t know how to keep it going lmao. No really, it’s a struggle writing this dang thing and I want it out of my head too. I can’t promise any chapters or that I’m working on it because I’m so busy but I did not forget it if thats what you’re thinking. It’s just hard to write. Like really hard. That’s why I focused a bit on oneshots.

One things for sure though. It’s either chapter 5, 6, or 7 BUT—

Minigames. Plus Springtrap.

ITH!Bryan: Oh joy.

Feel free to ask questions about this AU! I’d be happy to answer! (Most of them anyway. Can’t reveal everything.)

[trickstarbrave]

I know you're not open for commissions, but any idea when you might be?

Not atm

To be honest when I was open for commissions it really stressed me out. Art was no longer fun or a source of stress relief I could express myself with, but instead something to make money. If I wasn’t getting comms I felt bad. If I was getting comms I felt bad because I was constantly fretting if I was doing a good job or not capturing what someone wanted. And then if I wanted to draw a picture for myself I felt immense guilt over not working on comms first and quickly got very burnt out. I’m sure there is a work-life balance I could try and make but bc of it I also haven’t been eager to get back into commissions and try it out while the rest of my life is already very stressful 😬

Also if I did open then I’d make them really expensive. Like some of my pictures take hours and hours to render and I feel I’ve built up a lot of skill so I wouldn’t wanna charge like. Federal minimum wage. Sketches would prob be 45-60 depending on complexity. Flats colored sketches around 90. Basic shading for like a headshot around 200. Complex dramatic lighting or very detailed pieces like this?

It’s prob gonna run anywhere from 500-800 depending on size and complexity.

And I understand these prices are way out of most people’s budgets. Very few people wanna cough up 60 bucks for a sketch or are ready to drop hundreds of dollars on a colored illustration. It just takes me so damn long on top of having another full time job that if you asked me to do it for money this is what I’d have to charge. Several days of skilled work would have to be equivalent to several days of work at my full time job.

But I also know opening commissions with these prices will likely scare people away from my art entirely or inevitability trigger people complaining to me about how my art is too expensive and not worth the price and “I can get this for cheaper elsewhere/use an AI” while calling me a dirty rich capitalist and I don’t wanna deal with that either tbh

So I dunno when I’ll actually endure all of these to open commissions for people. I could honestly use the money but it’s stressful essentially picking up a second job. Especially one like commissions. Even if I really needed the money I doubt I’d get many commissions at prices that are even worth drawing for so <:v I suppose it’s anyone’s guess.

Tl;dr: I’m very easily stressed by commissions and I’d charge an arm and a leg for them. I know not everyone would be able to afford it and I don’t wanna deal with the hassle atm of justifying it or searching for commissioners so I just don’t offer them rn nor do I know when I will. Maybe in the future but only time will tell honestly

[shirecorn]

how about 17 and 24? what inspires you and how do you deal with art block?

Long post warning.

Art block...

I don't actually get art block, which is probably a combination of neurodivergence and drawing every day for the last 3 years

I wrote an entire tutorial about how to do that, but didn't feel like illustrating it. Would people want to read it even without visuals?

Maybe... I'll just start rambling.

There's a couple different types of art block, and it's really just a philosophy puzzle to get past them. I'm going to assume that the things I think of slow days, or art mud, is a milder form of art block and work through that.

Art block is a symptom, not a disease. You probably have something deep inside that you don't want to face, or don't know how. Sometimes you need to discover the cause, sometimes just power through.

Method 1: Rest

Let yourself just Exist. The act of consuming art is part of the process. Watching shows and playing games, taking a break and going gardening or focus on school. This is what you need for burnout-induced art block.

Method 2: Action

I always choose action, sometimes it means a tiny 2 min sketch per day. Ugly or super simplified. As long as I don't stop moving.

Toss everything. Start every piece thinking you will throw it away.

The act of drawing moves you forward; pinning it to the fridge does not. Don't work things until they are perfect. Work them until they are there.

Art block causes and solutions:

- No Inspiration

Not sure what to draw, nothing seems appealing. Art won't come out like it used to.

Do studies from life or photos. Sketch, paint, digital, traditional, doesn't matter. Rocks, fruit, figure drawing, landscapes, buildings, anything.

Study and copy professional's work. Old masters are best, like rubens, michalangelo (only his men tho) etc because they will teach you anatomy while you work. If you copy someone with a lot of flaws, you will repeat those flaws.

Trace to learn, not to earn. Trace photography and art from anyone you want. Don't post it unless you have the artist's permission or they are dead, whichever comes first. This is strictly work for yourself, on yourself. It's not about the finished drawing.

Find an artist with a fun style and try converting stuff into their style. Don't make that your new style though and especially don't start selling it. Your style is a chimera of everyone you love, not a clone of one person.

Take blurry photos. You don't need a fancy camera or good skills or beautiful subjects. Doing studies from your own photos can spark life into your workflow.

Make challenges for yourself. Randomly generate things to combine. Try fusing characters! Don't try to make it look good, just be fun.

Doodle patterns, swirls, lines, random stuff. Try looking up art warmups and doing some of those.

- Everything Sucks

You finally see how bad you are. Or somehow you got worse. Every piece is a fight and you spend hours trying to get something right only for it to be stiff and disgusting and STILL wrong.

Why are you trying to draw good? It's enough just to draw.

Accept that your art is bad. Every artist can see flaws in their work. Your problem is that those flaws outweigh anything remotely worthwhile and hurt to look at.

So what? You're in a period of growth, not a period of production. Keep that wonky second eye. Let them have hot dog fingers.

Show everyone! Show no one! No piece of art can ever be a reflection of the artist. Not their worth, not their skill. The only thing your art says about you is "Held and moved a pen for a bit."

Make bad art. It's ok. Most of the time, the pressure to perform and get things Right is what made them wrong in the first place. Relax.

- No Motivation

The #1 killer of artists everywhere. On some level you think you should draw, on every other level you think you should stay in bed.

You are not lazy. You wouldn't have read this far in a post about art block if you were lazy. You wouldn't CALL it art block if you were lazy. Laziness is wishing you didn't have to do anything. A block is wishing you were doing something. If you think you can namecall Yourself into productivity again, you're wrong and You need to unionize so that you don't treat You like that anymore.

Consider Mental Illness. Losing interest in something that brought you joy can be a symptom of depression. I know it seems obvious, but if you're waiting for a sign that it's "bad enough," it's bad enough. Seek care if you have the means. Forgive yourself if you already know this.

Selfcare. Examine yourself for neglect. Nutrition, exercise, enrichment, social need, and sleep are all part of the art process. Eat three meals and sleep 8 hours. That's your gaymer fuel. You deserve it, I promise. Depriving yourself of your needs will make your blocks worse, not kick you into making them better.

Identify potholes. Sketchbook falling apart? Tablet cord frayed? Half your pencils missing? Chair uncomfortable? Desk hard to reach? There's a lot of things that you tell yourself to work around and get over. Just because you CAN workaround something, doesn't mean you SHOULD. A difficult work environment can cause secret dread deep inside that you don't recognize and just think you're lazy. What you think of as "no motivation" might actually be "I don't want to deal with my tablet disconnecting every time I move it wrong and I have to wiggle it for a few seconds to make it work again." These little things are like potholes in the road. Sure you CAN still drive through them, but eventually you're going to look up and realize you haven't voluntarily left the house in weeks.

Repair potholes and roadblocks. You might feel bad about buying a new pencil, headphones, tablet, car, etc because technically the old one works if you hustle. But if you're running into so many potholes you've ground to a halt, it doesn't Actually work anymore, does it? Invest, save up, request, and require working equipment and suitable conditions. This stuff isn't just cushy privilege, it's an investment in yourself and your art. You are worth the effort it takes to clear the way. If you can't afford reliable (reliable! not perfect or luxurious) equipment, then say it. If cardboard is all you can afford, draw on cardboard. But know that you deserve canvas, and one day you might be able to make the jump. Acknowledge that sometimes, if you don't have it in you to smear burned twigs on wet cardboard, the problem isn't motivation, but opportunity.

- Haven't Drawn in So Long

A unique type of art block that self perpetuates. The thought of starting again is so stressful you can't do it. Or maybe you'll do it tomorrow. Yeah. Tomorrow for sure.

Face your fears. Are you ashamed of your lack of drawing? Are you anthropomorphizing your paper and thinking it's going to judge you, like "oh NOW you come back >:/" I internalize voices I hear and project them onto other people, concepts, locations, and inanimate objects. Your paper, computer, WIPs folder.... none of that is judging you.

Reframe your WIPs. Do you feel shame when you see "unfinished" projects? Why? Who says you MUST bring everything you start to Finish? You don't have to. A sketch is a finished art piece; it's called a sketch! If a sketch is a fully realized creation, pages that are half colored, 75% lined, or partially rendered are all fully realized creations too. Unless paid otherwise, art is done when you're done working on it.

Lower the stakes. Draw a chibi or grab some crayons. Get messy and slowly ease yourself back into the flow over the course of a couple days. It's fine.

Get a buddy! Find an art meme, do an art trade, get a study subject, or just wing it. Drawing art alongside someone can help you get past that block.

Pretend you never stopped. Don't think about the gap, how long it's been, or rustiness. As far as anyone knows, you drew the mona lisa yesterday and didn't break a sweat. Today, you drew a starfish on your hand with a gel pen. Keep up that streak, good job!

Just keep drawing. Make a goal to do one sucky drawing per day on the back of a napkin. Don't make up for missed days, just pretend they didn't happen. Who's going to judge you? The calendar? That's pieces of paper; it doesn't have an opinion. Draw a cat on it. Done. Keeping up the momentum is a great way to prevent art blocks in the future.

TLDR: Draw imperfectly and toss it. Selfcare is king. Draw often and don't judge yourself.

Art is a process, not a product.

[mountswhore]

Hey girl, me again 🥺I’ve had this idea in my head for ages 🤔 based off the song ‘Polaroid’ by Liam Payne Mason Mount on holiday with the boys in Mykonos, him and the boys befriend a small group (reader and friends) bassically a holiday fling between reader and Mason but he never actually gets her name or anything just a few ‘Polaroid’ pictures of them both, few months later he’s been trying to find her but can’t and the lads convince him to post it on Instagram with the caption “Instagram do your thing” after a while he notices numerous different people (her friends) tagging the reader in it and turns out it’s her and sends her a message. Thankyou sweet cheeks 😎💙

aaahh bestie this is such a good idea

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 — mason mount

summary: mason can’t find the girl he had a fling with last summer, so he takes to the internet to find you.

notes: my requests are open, ask away!

for @yourmypurpose

Winning the Champions League was supposed to be a feeling like no other, a feeling that you’d remember for the rest of your life. But Mason felt deflated, he felt like the world was closing in on him and he could do nothing but watch it happen. Even his friends noticed his awful mood, they’d gone from watching him run around the pitch with the trophy, with a smile nobody could take away from him, to this; a man not wanting to leave his bedroom, let alone his house. His career was the only thing he was doing well in, his girlfriend left him, he would just train, come home to an empty house, sleep, and repeat. It wasn’t a life worth living.

“It’ll be fun,” Declan pleaded, following his best friend into his living room, “it’ll be the perfect chance to get away from everything, from work, from the UK, from your ex.” He spoke the last part quietly, yet Mason still heard and shot his friend a glare as he sat on the couch.

“I’ll think about it.” Mason mumbled, reaching for his PlayStation controller and turning his console on. Declan was trying to get Mason to come to Mykonos with a few of the Chelsea boys, as a celebratory vacation after winning the Champions League. But he wasn’t budging.

“You say that, but you never do. Come on, if it doesn’t lift your mood, you can take the next flight home.” Declan was trying to reason with his friend, to do anything in order to get this man out of his sweatpants and into some swim shorts. This holiday was all Mason needed to get back into his rhythm, to realise you don’t need a girlfriend to be the best version of yourself, to realise he was Mason fucking Mount.

The look on Mason’s face was completely readable, a smile appearing on Declan’s face. Declan jumped onto his friend, cheering and shaking him vigorously. “You won’t regret this, we’re gonna have so much fun.”

Mason found himself in his plane seat, earphones on, and on the way to Mykonos. Greece had always been one of his dream destinations, it was one of the places he’d planned on going to with his ex. Shaking his thoughts from his head, he’d drowned himself in the music. Waiting for the next three hours to be over.

The villa was lovely, the view from his room was even better. He felt himself smile just a little, hopeful for this holiday. He’d spent the first day enjoying the food of Greece, visiting the beach, taking in the place he was staying. Every time the negative thoughts would try to push in, memories of his previous vacations with his ex, he shut it down. He forced a smile and laughed with his friends, hoping they didn’t see through this façade.

It was tiring. Getting back from a busy day and then being told there was a club in town. Having to force that smile back onto his face once more. He still dressed appropriately for the night ahead, pre-gaming with his friends before heading out to this club. It was only 8pm and it was packed, the place had an outside terrace, which didn’t seem so crowded.

Drink after drink, rounds of shots, drinking games with his friends and a few randomers. It was wild. Mason was finally beginning to let go of it all; his negative thoughts weren’t affecting him right now. It was pure bliss.

“Mase,” Declan called out, gesturing to him on the other side of the bar, “wanna play beer pong? These guys need another group.” Mason just nodded along, looking over to the group he was referring to. It was a group of four, just like them, but he’d locked eyes with you for the first time.

Throughout the game, you constantly had a smile stuck to your face, brighter than anything he’d seen before. It was the infectious type of smile, one that spread to his face too. The drinks had done a number on his movement, almost stumbling to the terrace, where only a few people sat. He took in the cool air, resting his head back onto the wall behind him.

“You good?” You questioned, sitting beside him and placing a hand on his shoulder. He quickly opened his eyes, turning his head to face you. There you were again.

“I’ve had a lot to drink,” Mason mumbled, breathing heavier than usual, “your twin looks so much like you.” You just laughed, understanding how much he’d had to drink. You had also had a lot to drink, but clearly Mason didn’t handle alcohol well.

“Here,” you instructed, holding his hand out for him and placing a cup into his hand, “it’s water, drink it.” You watched as he did so, downing it rather quickly and slamming it onto the table beside him. “Do you remember your name?”

“Yes, it’s Mount. Mason Mount.”

“Well, Mount, Mason Mount, do you remember where you’re staying? I think it might be an idea to get you home.” You spoke, the cool air sobering you up almost entirely. Mason’s head was getting droopy, you’d seen this all before, he was inches away from snoozing on your shoulder. You just giggled at him and stood up, grabbing both of his hands and pulling him up.

“We walked here from our villa, it’s a silly looking one. One with the pool shaped like a love heart.” You hummed, not knowing which one exactly, so his information rendered useless. He was leaning against you as you both walked back into the club, spotting his friends again.

“Hey, he’s had a lot to drink. I was going to walk him home but the only thing he said about the villa was that the pool was heart-shaped.” You laughed to his friend, who you’d learnt was called Ben. Mason was looking around the club, the multi-colored lights making his eyes squint in pain. This was the beginning of his hangover, he knew it was only going to get worse from here.

Ben had been kind enough to give you the villa address, and a key, so you made your way to the location. It was weird how trusting they were, for all they knew, you could be a psycho thief. You’d gotten to the villa, after an awful walk up the hill, and placed him on the couch. You didn’t even want to look at their stairs, let alone take Mason up them.

“I’ll stay here until your friends get back,” you spoke quietly, grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch and laying it over the half-asleep Mason, “night, Mason.”

“You never said your name.” He stated, craning his head to look at you as you sat on the opposite couch.

“Y/N.”

Declan had gotten back, wanting to arrange another outing together, a bit less boozy than a club. And here you were, on your way to spend the day on a boat. You’d brought your polaroid camera with you, hoping to get some nice pictures with your friends before you go home in a few days.

“You’re back.” You spoke, sitting beside Mason as the boat started to move. He smiled at you, handing you a flute of a sparkly liquid, which you’d taken without complaining. “Having fun so far?”

“Yeah, I’m glad I’m seeing you again. I don’t really remember much from last night apart from your face.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. You blushed, hiding it with your hands and reaching for your camera.

“What do you say to a picture? To remember this moment.” You suggested, holding the camera up at the two of you. Mason’s arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you in closer with a smirk on his face. You just smiled your usual, bright smile, and let the photo develop.

The day was spent enjoying the view, jumping off the boat multiple times, finally making your way back to the docks when the sun began to set. Everyone was sitting on the front of the boat, taking in the last few hours of the sun on their skin, whilst you and Mason were at the back together. Away from the sun, completely alone. You laid beside him, your eyes shifting to look at him every few seconds.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He retorted, poking his tongue out at you as you laughed, shoving his leg slightly.

“Oh, I already have.” You replied wittily, holding the polaroid up to show him. It was quite a creative picture, actually. His skin was tanned, muscles perky, the sun hitting him in all the right places. He was very handsome, you could only imagine the job he had back home.

“Hey, give that,” Mason chuckled, reaching for the polaroid but you’d held it away from him. He leant over to you, hand out to grab it, but you’d both been focused on something else. How close your lips were. You could feel the other’s breathe, it was straight out of a movie the way Mason grabbed your waist and closed the gap between the two of you. He was pulling you down with him, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. This was an Oscar-worthy kiss.

You knew you wouldn’t see these boys again, as you didn’t have long before you returned back to the UK. So, as you were grabbing your things, you’d flicked through the polaroid's from today, finding the one of you and Mason.

“Here,” you spoke, holding the polaroid out for him to take, “I thought you’d like it. And it’s a way of remembering your time here, and the most gorgeous girl you’ve ever laid eyes on.” You joked, but Mason really felt that way. You were the most gorgeous girl he’d laid eyes on. He came on this holiday thinking it would depress him even more, but he found fun in you.

“Trust me, I won’t forget a face like that.” He replied, placing the polaroid into his wallet and smiling. “See you,” he whispered against your neck as you hugged, one last time, “someday.”

It had been two months since he’d returned from holiday, back to work, but more importantly, back to his old self. He enjoyed going to work, coming home, and spending time with his friends. He saw beauty in his mundane life again. But he missed you. He never thought he’d miss a two day fling with a random girl on holiday, it wasn’t even a fling, The pair of you hadn’t hooked up, only shared a kiss. But it was a good kiss, an unforgettable kiss.

“Have you searched her name up?” Declan asked, relaxing into the corner of Mason’s couch, rolling his eyes as Mason opened his wallet up for the fifteenth time that day. The boys were round for their frequent game day, a day Mason looked forward to.

Mason shook his head, slightly embarrassed to have forgotten your name, in his defense, he was out-of-this-world drunk. “I don’t remember it, I was hammered. Plus, I’m sure there’s at least a thousand people in this country who share her name.”

“Post the picture on Instagram, people always find people on there, it’s creepy.” Ben added, laughing at the end of his statement. It was a good idea, but was he ready to put it out there that he’d moved on, only for his ex to be mentioned in his comments again? Were you worth all of those nasty comments?

He’d posted the polaroid that evening, with the caption:

‘Instagram, do your thing.’

You had received a call from your brother, just as you were heading up to bed. Strange, you thought, your brother only called if he had some ridiculous news. You’d answered it, sitting on your stairs as he spoke.

“Did you meet anyone on holiday?” He questioned, your mind instantly flicking back to your memories with that man. The kiss on the boat, the horrible walk up the hill, the fighting over a polaroid.

“Why’s that your business?” You questioned, running up your stairs and grabbing the polaroid's from your bedside table and flicking through them.

“It’s my business when I’m scrolling through Instagram, only to find a Chelsea player has posted a picture of you and him.” He mentioned, voice raising in disbelief as he finished his sentence. You furrowed your brows, Chelsea player?

“Chelsea player? Chelsea, as in the football team you follow?” You wondered, opening Instagram to find this man’s account. You’d forgotten his name, curse your horrible memory. “What’s his name again?”

“Mason Mount,” he recalled, and you were kicking yourself for not remembering his silly James Bond introduction. Finding his account, you’d seen his recent post. It was your polaroid. The one you’d given him the last time you’d seen each other, he was looking for you. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest, scrolling the comments and seeing everyone compliment you. How did you manage to run into this man and not remember his face? Or his name? The amount of times your family had mentioned how A1 he was on the pitch, how happy they were when Chelsea had won the Champions League.

“That’s not me,” you lied to your brother, knowing there was no way of escaping this now, everyone you knew would be able to tell it was you.

“Don’t bullshit me, Y/N,” he laughed on the other end of the phone, as you were frantically shoving the polaroid's back into your drawer, “I don’t know anyone else who uses a polaroid camera.”

“Should I text him?”

“You’d be an idiot not to.”

After ending the call with your brother, you sat in Mason Mount’s inbox for over an hour, unable to send him a message. Was there a right thing to say? Was ‘hi’ not enough for the man you’d left a mark on? Throwing away all of your conflicting thoughts, you sighed and just sent the word, ‘hey’. It didn’t take long for him to get back to you, so over the moon that he’d found you.

Mason: I can’t believe it worked, I actually found you.

Turns out my brother follows you and saw the picture, small world?

Mason: Chelsea fan, huh?

Guess so.

Your conversation lasted until the early hours of the morning, you promising Mason a proper date when you were both free. He had training the next day, but how could he sleep when he now knew you. He now had your Instagram, so he could talk to you, instead of staring at the polaroid in his wallet a million times a day.

[thatsummersguy]

Long post!

Thought I’d do a little walkthrough of my process on this Knight of Swords for the 78Tarot Magical Deck project. (I actually saved process steps for once!) This was a super-fun gig, and I was thrilled to be a part of it with so many artists I respect and admire, including more than a few of my art heroes (Matt Stawicki! Iris Compiet! Larry Elmore! I mean...c’mon.)

The brief called for “an Angelic type warrior figure in movement (movement is a bit up to artist interpretation – play with it). A little bird-like wouldn't be bad, to capture some that air symbolism. (A sword must be shown somewhere).”

First up were the thumbnails. The two ADs, Chris and Delphine Malidore, decided to go with bottom left, feeling that it best matched the description and vibe they were shooting for. Then we discussed a few options for setting, and I revised to a more fitting look.

From there, I put together some references, using Google photos for hairstyles and a 3D model for the basic pose.

I decided I wanted to lean into the whole “magical/fantasy” thing a little more, so I changed the outfit around a bit, going for more of an adventuring knight look. Chris then gave me some good feedback about making the pose a little more active and dynamic, so I raised the shoulder and adjusted the flow of the cloth.

This was the first color block-in. I had a lot of fun painting those woods in the background, but didn’t feel like it was hitting the “air” theme specified in the brief. So I reworked the bg to a more dramatic sky, which the ADs enthusiastically approved.

From there it was just a matter of render render render. You can see that I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with the foliage in the front, as it changed pretty often from blurry to focused :P

From my research, I noticed a lot of Knight of Swords cards have some butterfly symbolism, so I used that—along with the moon, cloud tattoos/decorations, and the eagle on the pauldron—to try and push the air theme, with a hint of an Eastern vibe. Maybe a bit heavy-handed, but it worked out.

The knight wound up looking a little more feminine than I’d originally intended, but I’m really happy with how the face—and the overall card—came out. It’s by far one of my favorite pieces of the last five years or so.

I wound up being the first one in the project to finish their art—I think about a week, maybe 10 days, after the assignments arrived?—and that led to a second card assignment when another artist had to drop out. I’ll post that one another day :D I was also thrilled to be invited back to the current 78Tarot project, a Halloween-themed deck. I’m not quite as speedy on that one thus far, but I can’t wait to get going on my 2nd card for it!

Thanks for reading, and I hope this brought some measure of insight.

—Eric

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (4)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 5.2k warnings: symptoms of depression, PTSD, anxiety, some really sweet moments to balance it out, more book recs 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“You’re staring at the doors again, sweetie.”

Chin resting on your hands, arms folded out on the countertop of the library’s front desk, you tore your eyes away from the entrance to find Mrs. Jefferson peering over at you from over the bridge of her glasses. She smirked as she returned to her book, knowing she’d caught you in the act.  

“Have patience,” she said simply.

“Book club is tomorrow and—” you sighed, a heaviness returning to your body as you slumped back against the counter, stare drifting back to the doors at the entrance. The sun was beaming outside, reflecting in beautiful rays as it illuminated the walkway and touched over old oak and the colorful bindings of novels. 

You frowned. “I really thought he was going to come.”

“This James Barnes... he’s a soldier, yes? Like my boy?”  

You nodded, disappointment burning like a lump in your throat, though you swallowed it back. “A Sergeant. Sam said he came home a little under a year ago.”  

“Then he’ll come,” Mrs. Jefferson pressed confidently, sliding her glasses up her nose, the chain of purple beads clicking against the gem stones on her sweater. “Boys like that don’t break their word. Even if he is a bit of a hesitant one.”

You knew what she meant by that. Hesitant.  

No one liked to talk about the dangers of a soldier post-war. It was uncomfortable; the idea that they could still be fighting a battle long beyond the absence of a weapon in their hands and the threat of present danger. Heroes weren’t supposed to have chinks in their armor. They weren’t supposed to crumble and break under the weight of what happened beyond borders and the guilt they carried.  

They were supposed to be strong; a symbol of a great country and a willing tribute to place upon a pedestal. It was unacceptable to be a burden, unacceptable to do anything other than seamlessly integrate back into a society that they never really knew to begin with.  

It was all a farce; a rigged game set to line the pockets of the rich and exploit everyone else in its path – sent off to fight for a cause no one really understood or believed in. It left behind good men and women to the rubble; Bucky Barnes among them.  

Sam hadn’t told you much about Bucky before you met him, but you knew enough to tell that it was a struggle to get him to leave the apartment. He was isolated and quiet and hardly recognizable from the man you’d seen in photos. Only, it wasn’t the lack of his left arm that drew your attention when you first saw him, but the lingering sadness in his eyes.  

Sam had a picture hanging in the office that often pulled you in. Bucky stood on his left side, smiling so wide it left lines on his face. He was bright, light as a feather, only weighed down by Steve’s arm slung around his shoulders. You wondered if the man in the photo would have flirted shamelessly with you, if he’d have corny pickup lines or offer to take you dancing. He looked like the sort of man who had girls chasing his tail, a line of heartbreak in his wake. He was beautiful.  

It was strange to see him like that, comparing him to the man he was today. Now, it was like a cloud lingered over his head, draining the color from his skin and chipping away at his soul until it dimmed and crumbled and faded away.  

But you’d seen glimpses of the man in the photo. He was still beautiful; a little hurt and dragging his feet, but beautiful. His smile wasn’t quite as wide and the cloud was still present, but there was a peak of sunshine peering through. A single ray puncturing over stormy skies, but it was something. He’d laughed and teased and it was more than Sam had known him to do in months. You were determined to see the sun touch his skin again. If only he’d let you guide him there.  

“I’m going to go restock on the second level,” you conceded, pushing yourself up from the counter and sauntering over to the cart lined heavy with books.  

“Alright sweetie. I’ll be sure to page you when your Sergeant shows up.”

You felt a heat burning in your face at the very idea of ‘your Sergeant’. Mrs. Jefferson chuckled to herself, eyes still down on her book. She waved you off, not giving you a chance to object, even if you could string together a coherent sentence.  

***

Bucky couldn’t get out of bed.  

He’d been in this predicament hundreds of times before; staring up at the ceiling, wasting the days away as the curtains blocked the light and shielded him from the reminder of another sun daring to rise beyond his window. His energy would be drained and his willingness to so much as brush his teeth was obsolete. He’d known what it felt like to not be able to get out of bed.  

This was different.  

He had somewhere to be. He actually wanted to get up. He really fucking wanted to.

But the pain in his arm had flared to one of the worst episodes he’d had in months and it rendered him useless; the arm that was both there and not there. He could feel his left hand curl to a fist, could feel the itch on his palm, but when he tried to scratch it, he was only met with thin air, his right hand sinking to the mattress in search of the sensation that didn’t exist.  

It was infuriating.  

The nerve endings in his shoulder were going haywire. It felt like his arm was being ripped from his body and it took nearly all the energy he had not to let it consume him. He’d even gone as far to bite off a piece of his cheek in an effort to suppress the lump in his throat.  

Sam would have frowned at that, spewed him some bullshit about how crying can be therapeutic and Steve would nod his head annoyingly in agreement, but Bucky was tougher than that. He had to be tougher than that. If he allowed himself to unlatch that gate, it would consume him whole. He’d drown.  

Hinges squeaked at the front entrance as the door swung open and a pair of heavy footsteps came rushing into the apartment.  

“I’m coming, buddy! Hold on!” Sam called, the plastic swish of the grocery bag handing off his arms dropping to the floor. Bucky tried to concentrate on the sound of running water, the bottle of pills shaking in the small orange bottle, and not on the pain threatening to tear him in half.  

The door to his bedroom flung open and Sam rushed in with a glass of water and his fist closed around two red capsules. He paused in the frame, a frown pushing down at his mouth, and Bucky could only imagine what he looked like; disheveled, sweating, laying in day old clothes and muddled sheets. His right hand was shaking.  

“Alright, help me out, Barnes,” Sam said, setting the glass down on the bedside table. He placed a steady hand on Bucky’s back to help push himself upright. Bucky swung his legs off the side of the bed, finding his balance before Sam placed the pills in his hand.  

Bucky threw them back into his mouth, holding his hand out for the glass of water that would come next. It landed in his grip and he gulped down the medication. There was no instant relief with pain like this, but the knowledge it would soon wear off to something manageable was enough.  

“Thanks,” he mumbled out, voice tense as he struggled to find it.  

“Insurance companies are assholes,” Sam scoffed, shaking his head, though he patted Bucky on the knee. “Cutting off coverage for a fucking vet with no warning like that? Can’t believe you’ve been without this stuff for almost a week. It’s messed up.”  

Bucky had come to expect it. He knew something had to go wrong eventually with how things were starting to turn around. He’d actually been looking forward to seeing you at the library and almost went that next day if it wasn’t for the sudden attack on his own body. He'd tried to deal with it on his own, thinking he might sleep it off, but then it became unbearable. Insurance wouldn’t budge and he didn’t have the energy to argue on the phone with them all day. Thankfully, Sam did.  

Except now it was a day before the next book club meeting and Bucky didn’t know how he was supposed to face you. Part of him wondered if you'd be disappointed, if maybe you’d steal a glance over the doors and hope that it was him walking through, only to be let down as each day passed by. The other half wondered if you’d care at all.  

But he’d seen the way you’d smiled at him, how you’d lit up at the idea of him stopping by.  

You’d care.  

He wasn’t sure if that hurt worse, seeing as he never showed up.  

“You could still go.”

Bucky sighed at Sam’s suggestion. He wasn’t teasing him, wasn’t wearing that shit-eating grin. He was being serious. It was the kind of look that reminded Bucky that under it all, Sam was one of his closest friends, one of the few that stuck around when everything went to shit.

“She’ll want to see you,” Sam continued, nudging Bucky’s side with a soft smile, but Bucky shook his head, unconvinced.

“What am I supposed to say to her, Sam?” Bucky groaned, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “’Sorry I stood you up, but I felt like my hand was being sawed off on an arm I don’t even fucking have?’”

“Why not?” Sam shrugged, earning a glare in response he let roll off his shoulders with ease. “She’d understand, Buck. She knows what comes with the territory here. She’s a lot more familiar with this stuff than you think.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, a pang of jealousy burning hot in his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Maybe you should ask her why she got involved with the VA in the first place.”

Bucky pressed his lips to a thin line, a silence coming over them. That was an immensely personal question; one akin to someone asking him how he’d lost his arm. He wasn’t sure that was an answer you’d be willing to share.  

Sam exhaled a heavy breath, patting Bucky three times on the knee before he stood up. “Let the meds kick in, but promise you’ll try to go, alright?”

Bucky stared up at Sam for a moment before he conceded with a short nod. The pain in his shoulder was starting to lessen, at least. It didn’t feel like his arm was being torn from his body or a knife was plunging into a part of him that didn’t exist anymore. It would likely get back to a place he could deal with within the hour.

“I promise,” Bucky said. “I’ll go.”

***

A brush of warm air filtered in through the vents as Bucky stepped inside the library. It was bigger than he remembered with large stain glass windows on the outer walls, filtering in a colorful sunlight onto the aisles upon aisles of books. At the center, just ahead of the entrance, was a reception desk. Bucky exhaled a tense breath in an attempt to rid himself from the nerves rattling in his veins and made his way to the woman sitting behind the counter.  

She was reading quietly in her seat, a pair of glasses on a beaded chain perched at the very tip of her nose. She didn’t look up in his direction until he stood at the edge of the desk, and only then, she caught glance of him over the top of her glasses before a smile rose on her lips.  

“Can I help you, young man?”  

Bucky cleared his throat. “I’m supposed to meet someone. She, uh, works here. Y/n.”

The woman nodded. She wore the kind of smile on her face Bucky was familiar with. He’d seen it in Sam about a dozen times in the last week; the kind of smile that said ‘I was right.’

“You must be Sergeant Barnes,” she said as she picked up the radio from the desk.  

Bucky nodded quickly, glancing over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he felt jittery. He tried not to let the fact that you’d clearly talked to this woman about him throw him completely off his game. If he even had game to begin with…  

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky replied with an even tone. She smirked.  

“Y/n,” she called into the radio, “you have a guest at the front desk.”

The woman held up a finger to him though it trembled with age, signaling for him to wait a moment. Bucky nodded, tucking his hand into his pocket as he silently made his way over to the series of chairs lined along the wall.  

He gripped his fist tight inside his pocket, trying to ignore the pulsing in his shoulder. It had lessened considerably since Sam brought him his meds, but it hadn’t gone away completely. Showering had taken longer than usual and it took him nearly four minutes just to pull a shirt over his head. His army jacket hung over his shoulders, wrapped in a protective layer, loose sleeve at his side. 

“If you’re pulling my chain, Mrs. Jefferson…”  

Bucky perked up at the sound of your voice. You were crossing the main entrance from the staircase, half jogging to the counter where the woman, Mrs. Jefferson, was grinning to herself from behind her book.  

You draped over the counter, toes barely keeping hold on the tile floors as you attempted to reach for her book, but she snatched it from your grasp just in time. You huffed, sinking back down the floor.  

“It’s not funny!” you whined and Bucky almost felt a little guilty for not making his presence known yet, but you were just so cute the way you slumped your shoulders and glanced back at the entrance.  

Mrs. Jefferson pointed over to where Bucky had slowly begun to make his way towards you, but you folded your arms over your chest. Bucky cleared his throat when he stood a few paces off your shoulder, but you didn’t seem to hear him.  

Mrs. Jefferson caught Bucky’s eye before she turned her attention back to you. “Sweetie, he’s—”

“He’s not coming, okay?” you groaned and Bucky felt a stone drop into his stomach. “I—I thought he would but… I was wrong.”

Bucky parted his lips to speak but suddenly his throat was dry. Mrs. Jefferson’s smile started to fade. Clearly, Bucky wasn’t the only one who heard the disappointment in your voice, the sliver of heartbreak, too. He tried to speak, to call your name, to say something, but he was marbled stone.  

“I’m going back to work.”

There wasn’t time to pull his words together before you slammed head first into Bucky’s chest. He stumbled back a few paces, surprised, and you gasped, hands flying to your mouth.  

“Oh God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t—” You stilled, taking in who was standing in front of you. “Bucky?”

He pressed out a smile, though his ears were burning red. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No! N-no, you’re totally fine! I didn’t—I didn’t think you were—” You blinked a few times before your eyes darted back at Mrs. Jefferson who only smirked from behind her book, adjusting the glasses on the tip of her nose. You turned back to Bucky, brushing out the hem of your skirt and wrapping the thick layer of a lavender colored cardigan tightly around your waist, almost like a blanket.  

You exhaled a nervous breath, a nervous smile lifting into your cheeks. “I’m happy you came.”

“It would have been sooner, I swear,” Bucky replied quickly, watching helplessly as your smile brightened into a laugh. “But, um, my uh—”  

He chewed on the edge of his lip. Was he really going to tell you what kept him held up in his room for days on end? Would it bitter the sweet way you looked at him to know that he was a mess under a poorly constructed surface, tied together with string and scotch tape? But you were looking at him so fondly, he wondered if there was anything he could say that could take that away.

“My arm,” he admitted, waiting for a flash of disgust on your face that never came. You softened a bit, but your eyes never left his. He cleared his throat. “It, um… It was just acting up. I ran out of meds and the pain it—it got bad. The kinda pain that sorta makes me wish I had the arm just so I could saw it off myself.”

Shit. He hadn’t mean to say that much but there was just something about the way you looked at him that made him feel like he couldn’t say a damn wrong thing. You pursed your lips, nodding in as much understanding as you could offer. You gestured to the staircase and Bucky followed you without question.  

“I would have been here last week,” Bucky finished because he needed you to know. He couldn’t stand the idea of you being upset, of that sliver of disappointment in your voice when you’d accepted he wasn’t going to show. He needed you to know he’d tried.  

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you said simply, though he could tell you appreciated it nonetheless. You offered him a smile, one that washed away any feelings of doubt that crept up to the surface. The pain in his shoulder was long forgotten when you looked at him like that.  

“I just wanted you to know.”

I just wanted you to know I’m trying.

He had something to look forward to now, a reason to get out of his bed and open the curtains and look at the fucking sun for once. He had reason to shower and go outside and shove away all the thoughts of self-doubt and paranoia because there was something incredible waiting for him beyond the door.  

I just wanted you to know you’re the reason I’m trying.

“Come on,” you grinned, leading him to the staircase. “I have a few books in mind you might like.”  

Your hand extended in his direction, but you caught yourself when you realized what you were doing. It was seamless enough that you easily played it off as you tugged your sweater tight around your body, but he noticed. It was an intimate gesture, a closeness he hadn’t known in years.  

He hadn’t remembered what it felt like to crave something like that.

***

It didn’t take long for Bucky to settle on The Martian by Andy Weir. It was the first book you pulled from the shelves, one amongst a series of alternatives you had ready in the event this one didn’t appeal to him. All it took was a single glance over the back cover, a slight incline in his brow, and he was sold.

“I trust you,” was all Bucky had said; so simply, as if it didn’t take the breath straight from your chest.   

Bucky didn’t have a library card you realized as you brought him back to the front desk. He’d sheepishly asked to check it out on your account, but you were determined to see more of him and you hoped that by getting him his own card, he might be more inclined to come back. Not that you explained it that way per say, but he didn’t object at least.

It had taken a lot less time than either of you anticipated and you found yourself following him to the exit, both of you dragging your feet.

“So, um…” he started, a nervous chuckle in his voice. “That was easy.”

“Yeah,” you scratched at the back of your neck, glancing to the clock hanging high on the eastern wall. “I hope you like it after all this trust you’re putting in my judgement.”

“I’m sure I will.”

A short silence swept over. Neither of you moving to leave. A couple swerved around you in an effort to get to the doors. The silence wasn’t awkward, but there was a nervous energy in it, like you were both waiting for the other to make the first move. Only, you both did it at once.  

“Would you want to—”

“I’m off at four—”

You bit down on your lips, suppressing a laugh. You gestured for him to go first. His looked so sweet with the pink in his cheeks. A man who had been once rendered as a weapon and he wore a blush in his cheeks. Your stomach held butterflies in its cage.  

“There’s a coffeeshop nearby,” he continued nervously. “I was thinking I could replace that coffee of yours I spilled last week…”

Your cheeks were starting to ache from how wide you were smiling. “Give me five minutes? I just need to wrap things up with Mrs. Jefferson and then I’m yours.”

Bucky’s eyes widened for a second, a flash of something unreadable on his face. He shook it off quickly and nodded, telling you he’d wait by the chairs along the wall until you were ready. It wasn’t until you were halfway to the desk that you’d realized what you’d said.  

I’m yours.

A harmless saying; one people used every day in passing. Still, you felt that same surge of energy at the thought. From the twists in your stomach and the stammer in your heart, you knew that if he’d asked, it would be true.  

***

Bucky watched as you scurried back to the main desk, a few quick glances back over your shoulder in his direction like you were making sure he was still there. You were smiling so wide, he wondered if it ached in your cheeks. He’d never known anyone to smile as much as you did, like you had this limitless supply of joy eager to be tapped into. He couldn’t help but feel a twist in his stomach, knowing he had been able to syphon some of that joy and bring it to the surface. It was him you were smiling at. It felt like a dream.

He glanced down at the book nestled into the sleeve of his bag; a stunning ombre in shades of orange to red to black, a lone astronaut in the center – like he was floating adrift. You’d told him it was a story of survival, of the intricacies of humanity and human connection. It was funny at times and filled with science beyond your pay grade, but it was mesmerizing.  

There was an unspoken hope he could read in your eyes that he might connect to the main character, Mark Watney in his search for connection, in his desperate hope to free himself from the isolation, in his resilience. You’d said Mark was an exceptional character, one with courage and determination to be admired.  

Bucky wasn’t sure he could stand up to the likes of Mark Watney, but he would certainly try.  

The glimmer in your eye as you spoke about the book, almost as if it were an old friend, was enough to convince him. For the first time in years, he felt the urge to read when he got home, just so he could see the look on your face in book club when you realized he’d already started it. He wanted to make you proud, wanted to see more of your smile. It was his new drive.  

A few minutes later, you came jogging back up to him. Your purse hung over your shoulders, a few new books of your own tucked under your arm. You’d done more than finish your shift at the desk though, he realized, because his eyes flickered to a reflective shine on your lips, one that hadn’t been there before. You’d put on lip gloss.

His heart flipped.  

“Ready?” you asked, gesturing to the doors. All bright eyes and sunshine as you looked at him.  

“There’s a café called Luciana’s not too far from here. I’ve heard good things about it. Might be quiet,” Bucky offered and a flash of something unreadable crossed your features. “Do you know it?”

“I go there every Sunday before book club! It’s my favorite,” you replied, nearly skipping in your steps. “Replacing my coffee and getting it right down to the same shop? I’m impressed, Bucky.”

He chuckled, hanging his head as he followed you down the descending staircase and into the heavy flow of pedestrian traffic. He’d forgotten how busy the sidewalks could get at rush hour and the smile quickly drained from his face, though he wouldn’t let you see.  

Bucky tried to focus on you as the strangers circled in around him, how you were laughing at the coincidence of it all, starting on a tangent of your favorite donuts at the shop. Your voice was like a beacon and he did his best use it as a guide.  

But he could feel the quicken pace of his heart inside his chest, how it thumped through his ribs and pulsed into his head the closer strangers got to him. He swerved out of the way of a tourist who was too busy looking down at his phone to notice Bucky in his path. He kept his head down, hand clenched tightly in his jacket pocket, eyes staring at the concrete.  

Teenagers were whispering behind him, snickering under their breath, and Bucky could hear the harsh ‘shhh’ of a father at wit’s end. His lungs felt tight, certain that the boys were mocking the loose sleeve hanging down by his side. He could have taken it if here were on his own. His ears would flush red and a wash of shame and embarrassment would flood his senses, but he could have taken it.  

Not with you by his side. Not when you could be privy to the harsh stares and the cruel voices, the validation to a fear he’d known to be true long before he met you – that he was a broken mess of who he used to be and he would never find that sense of normalcy again. He was kidding himself into thinking that you could ever want someone like—

“Bucky?”

When he looked up at you, your smile had fallen away, replaced with concern. It must not have been the first time you called his name. He didn’t know what to say. He felt small, like a child, embarrassed that even on a good day the influx of people still rendered him to a state of panic.  

“Come on,” you said quietly, glancing around to an alley off your shoulder. “Let’s take the scenic route.”  

He followed gratefully, staring at your shoulder blades as you led him away from the busy hustle of the crowd and along empty side streets and residential neighborhoods. It would take longer this way, but you didn’t seem to mind. You were too busy admiring the architecture of the brownstones and the beautiful array of plants and flowers hanging along the windows. In the open space, you skipped a few paces ahead, arms out wide and twirled around, simply because you could. You laughed and it echoed up along the buildings.  

Bucky could have handed you his heart right then. He could have pulled it straight from his chest and set it into your palms. He wondered if you would handle it with the tender sort of care he hoped you would. His heart was fraying and damaged, after all. It required a gentle touch.  

You fell back in line with him easily and you checked to make sure the next block wasn’t too busy before you led him down another side street. He tried to ignore the voices telling him he was a burden, that his baggage was dragging heavy at your feet, but it crept to the surface no matter how many times you smiled at him.  

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled out, willing his voice to be stronger than it felt. “I don’t know why this is such an issue for me. I was fine on the way over.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Bucky,” you said gently, slowing your pace until you came to a stop.  

Bucky dragged his feet, stopping along a bush of pink hydrangeas planted outside a stunning brick townhome. From the corner of his eye, he watched as your hand reached out to him instinctively, almost in slow motion, and you only paused as you realized what you were doing and pulled back. You cleared your throat.

“I’m not ever someone you have to apologize to about this stuff, okay?” you continued with a kind of sincerity in your voice, Bucky didn’t have a choice but to believe you. The way you looked at him nearly pulled him to pieces. “It comes and goes. Waxes and wanes. There’s no fault. No blame. Just tell me if something’s wrong, so I can help. That’s all I ask.”

Were you speaking from experience? Did you know someone who had been as shattered as he was? Was it the reason Sam wanted him to ask about why you were involved with the VA to begin with?  

It was quiet on the side street; the only sound the distant footsteps from traffic up ahead and the low rumble of car engines in the distance. A bird chirped from a low handing branch above.  

You shoved your hands into your pockets in an effort to keep yourself from reaching for his. He was surprised at the twist in his stomach when he wished you would have tried just one more time. Maybe he could have had some courage to take it.  

“Okay,” Bucky agreed, feeling a weight lift from his chest. When you smiled again it was small— a little heavy— but it touched your eyes. There was a relief in it, maybe an appreciation, too. It swept away some of the anxiety from his veins.  

“Okay.” Your smile widened as you continued to walk down the sidewalk. Bucky found himself feeling a little lighter as he followed behind.  

When the two of you approached the main street again along the block Luciana’s was tucked away in, Bucky didn’t feel as though he was suffocating anymore. He could sense his reflexes picking up, a subtle increase in his heart rate, but he walked a little closer to you, your hip bumping against his every so often and he found that it grounded him. It kept him firm on the surface when he felt like he was floating up into a distant unknown. He wondered if you knew the extent to which you affected him.  

Luciana’s was quiet inside as Bucky jutted out ahead of you to reach for the door. A soft strum of an acoustic guitar and a Spanish speaking singer’s intricate melody hummed over the speakers. He felt a solid breath of air fill his lungs, tasting of coffee beans and fresh pastries.  

“Welcome to—” a voice called from behind the counter before she paused, eyes falling on you. “Y/n!”  

A woman ran out from behind the counter, dressed in a stained apron and a long, bright pink dress, and held her arms out to you. You laughed as she enveloped you to her chest.  

“My darling! It is not Sunday, you know. You’re getting your days mixed up!” she exclaimed, wagging her finger at you. She didn’t even give you time to explain before she turned to Bucky, who suddenly felt a burn of heat on his face. “Ah! You finally brought me one of your boys!”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, turning to you quickly. His stomach dropped.  

“She means at the VA,” you explained, a little embarrassed at her implication as you shuffled your feet, eyes darting at the floor. Bucky raised an eyebrow in realization, eyes flickering back to the woman – who he assumed to be Luciana herself – as she scurried back around the counter. He noticed then that she was wearing slippers on her feet.  

“Come, come!” She called eagerly, waiting with a tapping toe at the register.  

You and Bucky exchanged a glance, a breath of a laugh escaping before you stepped up to the counter. You didn’t hesitate in your order, though you took some extra time in looking over the pastries and donuts after Bucky told you to pick something out for him. You put so much thought into it, it was really quite sweet. He waited until you reached down for your purse to slip his card over the counter to Luciana.  

She wore that same smile he’d seen on Mrs. Jefferson at the library. That smirk. Like they knew something he didn’t.  

You heard the ring of the cash registered and looked up at him, agape. You swatted his arm without thinking twice about it and there was a comfort in that. He laughed, taking his coffee and settling in at a table by the windows as you followed behind.  

As he watched you across the table, your eyes glancing out to the pedestrians as they walked back, nursing the steaming mug of coffee between your hands, that morning suddenly felt like it was a life time ago.  

Had he really been paralyzed with pain, unable to move from his bed, just a few hours earlier? It felt like a century had passed in between. In a rare indulgence, Bucky let himself wonder what it would feel like to spend all his time with you; if maybe time moved so fast it swept him off his feet or if it moved slow enough to allow him to catch every second.  

All he knew was that he wanted more.

[lilblueorchid]

Thought process and easter egg on the Digimon Anniversary Illustration! 

Hello everyone, today I feel like explaining some stuff over my Digimon Illustration, mostly why I drew thing this way or point out some little details and easter eggs you might have missed. ;)

Click on read more if you want a LENGTHLY explanation with a lot of rambling from me, or if not you can just enjoy the process gif. <3 

The Digimon illustration was a special one for me for different reasons. Firstly, obviously, Digimon! It was a show I grew up with, and I find it quite fitting that after a tough year of graduation movie under a pandemic, in which I really experienced the pain of growing up, I ended up finding back Digimon. 

Secondly, as a child, I remember spending HOURS looking for fanarts online! I would save all the ones I found pretty and keep them preciously, i still have the folders actually haha. While pursuing art, I always had in mind thatI wanted one day to make a fanart my child self would have gone crazy over! And, i think I achieved that with that one haha. 

Anyway LET’S START! Shall we? 

First off : the illustration process

When I do an illustration I always do a quick draft first, and most of the time, in colors. I think I’m more of a “color” person than a “line” person, I tend to need to see colors quickly in order to see if it’s ok. 

For this one, I’ve always had in mind it would be a double illustration, with the older Tai’s silhouette acting as a frame for the children illustration. It was a bit tricky, I had to make the children illustration fit nicely into his silhouette, it was hassle around the neck area, that’s why I made little Taichi stand up haha. Also used Mimi’s hat to balance the picture : the bottom part is very heavy and there’s only sky in the upper part, adding the hat helps making it more balanced. 

The character were the longest and the most challenging part by far. As you can see I had 3 different steps : super rough, they’re almost like stickmen and smiley face, a more detailled one in which I figure out their actual pose and anatomy, then a last one in which I fix some proportion, add details and clean. Fun fact I don’t clean over a new layer... i just erase the unwanted part of my sketch. :’D

I did a quick pass over the BG after that, then I colored the characters in flat colors before rendering them. It was a back and forth between the BG and the characters to make sure everything was working together nicely. 

Now was the time to render the BG, I did the tramway first, the flower field after. Fun fact, I did my flower field study in order to know how to approach the flowers in this illustration! If your have the time, i totally recommend finding a photograph close to the kind of BG you wanna do, and make a study of it so you can try your hand at it first and go into your own BG later with an idea of how to approach this.

Adjust colors, add flower petals and butterflies and emotional text, slap over a paper texture, and THERE. You have it! On to the next part now...

The meaningful details and easter eggs

Be aware there will be spoilers for Digimon Adventure 01 (but I assume you already know it), but also for Digimon Adventure : Last evolution Kizuna, which is the conclusion of the first serie. So read at your own risk! 

The tramway is obviously a reference to the end of Digimon Adventure 01. The kids used it to go back to their world, so It was their goodbye to their Digimon at this moment. In Kizuna, Tai and Matt find the tramway trapped in crystal in Menoa’s fake memory world. Hinting that had they been caught by her, their memories would have brought them back here.

Tailmon has Kari’s whistle! At the end of Digimon Adventure 01, Kari gives it to her as a memento. 

When I drew Sora, I had in mind how she was in Kizuna, very stressed out by her mom’s expectation, which led her to neglect Piyomon. She realized it too late, and after that she refused to fight because she wanted to keep Piyomon with her as long as possible. Tragically, she was the first one to lose her Digimon. Here I tried to convey a softness and a kind of “I won’t forget to appreciate you” vibe in the way she holds Piyomon’s hand. As for Mimi and Palmon, in Digimon adventure 01 Palmon was very emotionally affected by Mimi’s departure, so, a hug was fitting. :’) 

The screens on the Tramway display DA for Digimon Adventure, and also 01.08.1999 which is the date of the children’s journey’s beginning. :) 

The little drawings also show the 8 crests. 

There are butterflies flying over the illustration, it’s a reference to Butter-fly, the first Digimon opening, by the late Koji Wada. 

"I'll become a happy butterfly, and ride on the glittering wind, I'll come and see you soon. “

Now, let’s the see the counterpart of the illustration. The one with the grown up Tai from Kizuna.

I made him wear the hoodie he had in his very last adventure with Agumon.... but truthfully the reason is that I think hoodies are cool lol. And the hood’s volume gave me more space in the silhouette, which made it easier for me to do the other illustration inside.

You don’t see it clearly, but he is holding his Digivice, albeit the darkened version once his partner bond with Agumon is broken. The Tai in this illustration has already lost Agumon. (Yes it was painful for me to go fetch the screenshots)

He is also holding his dear signature google he used to wear as a child. Fun fact, I rewatched the older movies, and as a kid he even used to sleep with it, how cute haha. 

Also yes, the crest of Courage over his hand, which is his own. I’m so dumb I realize I should have made the time counter from the movie instead of the crest for a maximum emotional hurt impact. 

And the quote is from one of the trailer for Kizuna, I think.....................

But then you go : Oh that illustration is so depressing then! Well. Yes. But no. but yes. But not really. 

One of my favorite shot of the movie is this one : this is after Tai and Agumon learn their time together is limited. Agumon asks him if they will have to go separate ways once Tai is all grown up. Tai doesn’t answer, and takes him to eat something instead, as Agumon was hungry. In this shot Agumon eats to his heart content next to Tai, who’s not eating at all and just watches him fondly. I love that the framing doesnt show agumon. It’s a foreshadowing of their unavoidable separation. 

At the very end of the movie, Tai write in his thesis about Human and Digimon’s relationship that Agumon was like a part of himself.

In a way, Agumon symbolizes childhood, the carefree days we would spend as a kid, with our big dreams and hopes. When you grow up, you tend to forget those simple emotions because you get swallowed into the stress of studies, figuring out your carreer, your life path. Just like us, Tai forgot this part of himself. In the madness of growing up, he lost Agumon. 

However, it’s not the end. He will pick himself back up. He will move forward in life despite his worries and incertainities, and he will find himself again. Therefore, he will find Agumon again. The kids in the illustration are waving goodbye, but it’s not goodbye, it’s a see you later.  In the meantime, Tai is holding on to these precious memories, until they meet again. 

[ktheist]

girls like you [don’t] run ‘round with guys like me | m

characters. popular!reader x shy!jimin

genre. college au. rich kids au. fwb au. eventual ceo au. eventual racer au.

words. 4k

warnings. 18+

note. this is a repost. tumblr messed up my exposure last time. this fic didn’t show up in search and it’s probably a third post of mine that ends up like this. this one probably won’t either but posting bc someone might see it and like it.

x

It’s easy to tell when Park Jimin is in love.

Unlike Kim Seokjin, his eccentric, dad joke-loving friend, Jimin would only wear the pastel pink when he’s feeling giggly and shy and mushy inside.

The source of said feelings being either the barista he goes to get his daily dose of coffee from, or the girl at the library he studies at during finals or well, right now it’s the girl he’s fucking almost every day of the week - you.

“What are you doing?” Seokjin looks at him like he just dumped a spoonful of salt in a broth that needs a little, teensy bit of sugar.

Or his face seems to say that as he goes on, “she’s a mean girl. She’s mean.”

Jimin isn’t sure if Seokjin’s aware that he’s just repeated the same thing twice.

“She calls you Chim!” The older man reiterates.

“Yeah, it’s…” Jimin trails off, the heartwarming image of you cuddling into him after yet another mindblowing sex, flashing at the back of his mind, “...her pet name for me.”

“Sounds to me like she can’t remember your actual name,” Min Yoongi interjects from the couch he’s claimed for himself ever since they got to their usual hangout.

It’s a penthouse Jimin’s parents bought him on his 18th birthday. Him and the boys would hang around there after they’re done with classes or just need a place to crash whenever they have problems with their girlfriends or boyfriends or parents or any sort of problem that renders their usual room not sleepable.

“I think we can just agree we have different wants,” Jeongguk - or the sanest of them all, as Jimin likes to call him - chirps in, taking a bite of the apple he got from the fridge.

“Exactly,” Jimin throws his hands up as if freed from his elder friends’ judge-filled eyes. The vibration of his phone in his lap gives him even more comfort to know that he finally has an excuse to slip away - he checks his phone, your name flashing in the bubble that says ‘hey, wyd?’

“I have to go, it’s ___.”

A series of groans and hollers equally erupts from the men in the room at the realization of what Jimin’s ‘having to go’ means.

And so it goes. Jimin finds himself under your blanket that smells like fresh laundry - it’s a nude green color compared to the pleated black and white from last time. Your head is on his chest and he’s caressing your hair like it’s the softest thing he’s ever laid his hands on.

Besides your boobs, that is.

“I was thinking… since we have Monday off… maybe we could-”

It’s the way you push yourself off him, eyes that are onto him gazing straight into his soul, “oh shoot, Monday’s a public holiday. I totally forgot! I have to meet my parents. My dad’s been nagging me to come back since I skipped Christmas and New Year.”

And there goes his chance to ask you out on a date.

“Oh yeah, what were you saying about Monday?”

Jimin wears the biggest fake smile he can muster, “just that… me and the boys are gonna hang out and we’re bringing our girlfriends and boyfriends and uh- doesn’t have to be someone you’re exclusively seeing,” he almost chokes at the almost-admittance that he has the fattest crush on you and wants to make it official by inviting you to a couple’s-only hang out, “but like, I don’t think I’m going, it’s boring anyway.”

He waves his hand dismissively, trying to play it cool.

You make a cooing sound, eyebrows knitting together as your lips pout cutely before a playful smile blooms on your face, “I know what you’re trying to say.”

“You do?” Jimin thinks he heard his heart dropping to his stomach.

“Yeah, you’re single and all the boys have someone special they’re gonna bring… it’s gonna be awkward as hell because they’re gonna act different because they’re around their special someone so you thought if I was there, it’d be more fun because at least you have a friend with you that’s not gonna act fake the whole time there but I can’t go so you decided you’re not going too like a minute ago.”

Silence lulls in after your analogy that you sound so sure of when, in fact, he has a whole list of things he’d do on the date which he may or may not have gone over a hundred times in his head.

Doesn’t matter now, since that date is a no-go.

He’s going to delete that list off his phone once he gets to his place and drink himself silly until he wipes it out of his mind.

“Yeah,” Jimin says a moment later, “yeah… I mean, girls in love are cute but boys in love are just… annoying.”

The week flies by without Jimin ever mentioning Monday and you’ve showed him the clothes you’re going to wear to visit your parents because apparently-

“It’s lunch at some five star Michelin restaurant and I think they’re gonna tell me they’re getting a divorce,” your voice drifts into the room from the open, walk-in closet.

“If they’re not in some long, dreadful battle on who gets the holiday house with the pool and the dogs - how do I look?” You step out, in a frilly creme sweater with a black ribbon tied around the collar of your white undershirt with a black pleated skirt that stops mid-thighs, just inches from your black stockings.

A glaring contrast to your collection of washed out skinny jeans, plain t-shirts and sneakers.

“You… look…” Jimin knows he should stop openly ogling at your never-before-seen drip but there’s just something about the creme colored sweater.

“Like a good girl?” You offer with a smile Jimin couldn’t quite put a name to. Somehow he notices a trace of sadness in your eyes, but you disappear into the closet too soon.

“I’ll think about what to wear the morning I need to wear it,” you’re in the middle of pulling off the sweater when Jimin comes up behind you, kissing your neck and grabbing your boobs like they’re his.

The sound of your giggle is music to his ears.

That is, until his boner brushes against your butt and you gasp, “Chim! We just did it.”

“I know but you look so cute in that sweater.” He sounds exactly like Jeongguk. Like a fuckboy.

Like one of the boys you got tired of before you finally noticed him, the quiet, shy guy who’s friends with the outgoing, baby-faced Jeon Jeongguk whom - Jimin hates to admit it but he thinks about this every once so often and gets jealous all on his own - you’ve humped and dumped.

How you and Jeongguk still manage to stay friends and tease each other about the other’s choice of partners, Jimin doesn’t know.

It’s like a twin calling the other ugly.

He wonders if you and him will still stay friends after…

Jimin pushes the thought out of his mind. It’s not hard to forget everything when he’s with you - when he’s kissing you on the mouth like you’re the only girl he’ll want to spend the rest of his college life with and maybe his old days with together too.

“Chim, I can’t get my shirt creased,” you say but you’re already dripping wet and laying down in said shirt that’s half ridden up from him sucking and biting on your nipples.

He stopped you when you tried to take off your clothes.

“I’ll wash it and iron it for you,” he negotiates just as he rolls the condom over his length.

The sound of your giggle makes his heart skip a beat. Or maybe that’s the libido?

Either way, your mouth clamps shut when he pulls you down against him by the dip of your waist.

A different kind of hymn leaves your lips as Jimin throws his head back, relishing in the feeling of you around him.

When Monday rolls around, Jimin’s lying on the bean bag with his two legs sprawled over the floor. The boys are all out with either their significant others, working part-time or at a party.

The worn out baseball Jimin’s been tossing in the air and catching with one hand finally hits him square in the face when he hears the doorbell, signaling the presence of someone at the door and that someone being none of the boys because they would just punch in the code and strut in like they own the place.

Jimin thought maybe it’s Yoongi - the guy couldn’t even remember what he had for dinner and actually forgot the passcode to his own rental room once.

So he didn’t think to check who it was.

When your bright smile and slightly puffy eyes flash in front of him, Jimin thinks his soul just yeeted itself out of his body.

“Hey!” You sing song, holding up two plastic bags of beers and snacks.

It takes a moment for him to snap out of his stupor and grab them from your hands and then stepping aside to let you in.

“Is… everyone late or am I just early?” You sound increasingly confused as you step further into the center of the room, standing right next to the bean bag he was laying in just a moment ago.

“Oh-” he says once before he opens his mouth the second time, ready to spurt out another lie, “oh yeah… we decided not to ‘cause why hang out in a group when you can hang out with your significant other… you know, just the two of you… doing what couples do…”

“Huh,” you say, nodding though not quite believing him but you being you, easily lets it slide, plopping on the bean bag and grabbing the closest thing to you which is the ball that hit Jimin in the face - he’s sure he has a circular mark smack dab in the area on the top of his nose bridge, in between his eyes.

The dress you end up wearing is creme colored and riding up your thighs - Jimin swallows thickly and give extra attention to the bottle opener.

“So… how did lunch go?” He pops two beers open and hands one to you, taking a seat on Yoongi’s favorite couch and admiring how your dress is taking the shape of your body as gravity pulls it down.

“Oh, you know, everyone was being fake and acting like the perfect role in the family,” you put the beer down a few inches above your head so as to not tip it over with the ball you’re waving around but not throwing in the air like Jimin did.

“Sounds suffocating,” Jimin repeats a similar answer he gives whenever you use that dismissive tone while talking about your family.

“...are you okay?” Then he asks - and he’s genuinely asking - about your state of mind while casually downing the beer and feeling the bitterness lessen with every gulp.

The silence that lapses in between you is familiar.

“If I say no, can I get a hug?” It’s the look in your eyes, glimmering like the lake he used to go to in summer.

“Always,” he sets his beer down on the table next to the couch and goes over to you, standing on his knees before bending down and engulfing you in his arm.

You’ve always had a knack for picking yourself up.

When he sees you the next time, which is on instagram and a post of you having lunch with your friends, Jimin could hardly believe that’s the girl who asked him for a hug as if she’s afraid she’ll be putting him in an uncomfortable spot by asking for too much.

But there’s something…

Like an invisible wall made of ice that he can’t thaw through nor can he climb over to get to the other side where you are. Where you keep the people you love the closest. Closer than he’ll ever be.

Jeon Jeongguk is one of them.

In the picture of five people huddled close to fit in the frame, Jeongguk has his arm over you with a peace sign while you lean your head on his neck but not actually resting on it - like it’s an unconscious action you’d do because you’ve done that plenty of times.

Is it when you two were together?

Everyone he knows, knows that you and Jeongguk used to be more than just friends at some point.

Sometimes he still hears people talking about you two in passing.

‘Did ___ and Jeongguk get back together? I saw in Jeongguk’s snapstory - they were in a club or something.’

‘No way. There goes my chance of getting close with Jeongguk.’

‘Girl, with ___ hanging around him 24/7, do you think he’d look at girls like us?’

‘A girl can dream though.’

Jimin wanted to open his mouth and tell them they deserve way better than Jeon Jeongguk - though they’re not prettier than you.

He thinks you’re the loveliest girl on planet earth and if there was another life form on another planet, he’s almost a hundred percent sure you’d still be prettiest being in the universe with your obsession for skinny jeans and the way you’d unconsciously pout when he talks about how things weren’t going his way that day as if you would’ve exchanged your abundance of luck with his shitty one just because you’ve got that big of a heart and how you’d be walking with your friends, laughing and giggling and when you see him, you’d wave at him like you’re good friends.

Second only to Jeongguk and your friend group that you’re always hanging out with.

“Oh, ___? We were childhood friends.”

“Hmm… Gguk and I became friends because our parents are friends.”

The two of them say at different times and settings when Jimin asked, trying to play it cool. Like he isn’t just brimming with jealousy. Like he’s not half-way to losing his mind because the girl of his dreams just went to a retreat with his friend-of-a-friend-turned-actual-friend together when everyone else in the group who was excitedly planning for the trip - couldn’t make it.

The rooms at the inn weren’t even pre-booked. It was owned by Jeongguk’s family and they didn’t deposit any money for the trip for them to rationalize going on that trip anyway despite everyone else not being to go.

“The trip? It was fun, if you want we can go together next time.”

Jimin isn’t sure if you even mean that when he asked how the trip went after you’re glistening with the glow of after sex and scrolling through instagram, liking posts of everyone you know.

But then three months later, on your break, Jimin is hit with a ‘keep your schedule free next week for a whole week!!!’

Then he finds himself at a five star hotel by the beach with the most breathtaking view of the sea.

It wasn’t the inn owned by the Jeon’s but Jimin liked the fact that you brought him to a place - and he hopes his assumptions are true - your friends have never been before. Especially Jeongguk.

“Woah, this place is better than I thought,” a king sized bed lies directly across from the balcony where you’re standing, hair flying behind your back as the seaside breeze blows into the room.

“We can watch the sun rise and set from our bed,” Jimin comments for the sake of saying something.

He’s not sure what this means. He’s not sure if he should be having a boner at the thought of the two of you being together for a whole week without any other person getting in the way. He’s not sure if his heart should be thumping this fast.

For the first time since he’s known you, Park Jimin is the most unsure he’s ever been.

“You know what I wanna watch?” Your hands slip in his as you stand between him  and the open balcony door, “you under me, biting your lips because you’re still shy about the sound you make.”

So when you tug him back into the bedroom just minutes after checking in, naturally, Park Jimin follows like he’s been bewitched by your ungodly beauty.

Once the one week of nothing but heavenly morning wishes and passionate night kisses - oh, there was more than just kissing but Jimin remembers how your lips meld so perfectly together with his the most - Jimin is sure.

‘Something definitely changed.’

He thinks maybe it’s not impossible to dream of a future with you even after college.

“Jimin I-... I’m not at a point in life to be thinking about relationships,” you say, hand gripping your arm, head lowered as if your whole body is saying sorry.

“O-oh,” is all he says, he hearts his heart breaking and his chest caving.

All of a sudden, the lights in Gangnam city doesn’t seem so bright anymore.

You both live your last year pretending like the other doesn’t exist. He doesn’t look at you when he passes you and neither did you. Only talks to Jeongguk even though you’re right next to the aforementioned man - granted you were talking with your other friends like you didn’t even notice him there.

But Jimin’s never felt so invisible in his life than he does now.

Then, graduation rolls around and he thinks finally, he won’t have to walk through the hallway and pretend like he didn’t see you. Don't have to keep a five feet distance whenever you meet up for a group project.

Park Jimin doesn’t need to see your pretty face and starry eyes anymore.

“Jimin… do you have a minute?”

Or so he thought.

“So… congrats on surviving college,” you make small talk while standing just ten feet away from the boys whom he’s sure are speculating on what you’re talking about.

Jimin never got to prove to his friends that you’re not the mean, name-forgetting girl they all thought.

Jeongguk knows you’re not. He’s always backing Jimin up when Jimin’s debunking their passing accusations about you.

“Sometimes things just don’t work out between two people but doesn’t mean one of them is the bad guy.” Jeongguk's words put an end to their debate of whether Jimin deserved better than you or not.

For someone young, Jeongguk spoke his mind decidedly.

Jimin felt ashamed that he’d ever been jealous of Jeongguk’s relationship with you.

“I just… didn’t wanna leave things on a bad note. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings when I said no but I really like spending time with you - whether it’s sex or just staying over and cuddling for hours… I like it all.” You say the word sex and cuddle like they’re used interchangeably and Jimin thinks his heart just fluttered.

And you’d said it in public where your everyone can see or possibly pick up on what you were saying, at that.

Well, one thing’s for sure, you’ve got bigger balls than he does.

“My feelings are the same as six months ago and call me crazy but I don’t think you dislike me either.” He finally says and it feels like a deadweight has been lifted off his shoulders.

There comes that pout, as if something is bothering you and you always ever pout like that when that something concerns him.

“You kidding me? I can never dislike you.”

The Jimin from six months ago would have stared at you with disbelief and a dust of pink on his cheeks. But the Jimin he is now simply smiles, heart thumping in his chest. He nods.

“Thanks for telling me that,” and Jimin knows that’s the closest to an ‘I like you’ he can get with the girl who builds an ice fortress around her heart.

A whole year passes by and Jimin finds himself in different shades of grey every day, working at his dad’s company and attending dinner meetings. Life comes to a standstill while time passes him by.

“So, like, you have a sports car, right? Why don’t you come over to the race circuit after dinner? Everyone’s gonna be there.”

Jeongguk tells him over the phone.

And by ‘everyone’ he means the sons and daughters in the corporate world. It’s networking at its finest.

When he’s there, three cars are already racing in the circuit. The smell of burnt rubber and the sound of tires screeching against asphalt isn’t exactly his favorite but they have cheap booze instead of fine wine and he knows the people here are in for the same thing as he is.

An escape.

Away from the grandeur of fine wine and dinner dresses and the elders breathing down their necks and having to act like the next heir to the legacy they were born to carry.

“That Chevrolet over there,” Jeongguk comes, hand on Jimin’s back as his other one that’s holding a bottle of beer points at a red car that looks like a racing fireball, “everyone’s betting on that one tonight.”

Jimin doesn’t know there’s a bet.

“I’ll skip the bet this time ‘round. Haven’t seen the driver yet,” he shrugs dismissively.

Even in stock investment, he’d learned to study the market first before placing his best bet.

Jeongguk leaves his side when his friends - he’s got new ones now - beckons him over. At the same time, the Chevrolet passes the finish line seconds before the Ford Mustang and McLaren 720s, making it the winner of the night.

The driver seems like a show off with the way the car rolls up to the audience, the sound of its engines revving into the night being met with cheers of half-drunk young adults.

Arrogance is a man’s downfall.

Jimin’s about to turn around and head for the exit when the door of the car gets pushed open. The driver steps out, decked in black and red leather jeans and jackets that seem to match the car.

But it’s the smooth, silken hair that cascades past the helmet that catches his eyes.

Park Jimin’s seen many arrogant men in his life but he’s only ever seen one woman with balls and looks good wearing them.

“___! ___! ___!” The crowd starts cheering as you pull off the helmet, holding it underneath your arm and waist.

Your eyes are as brilliant as the night sky full of stars. They’re tinged with shock and then recognition. And finally, you smile that gorgeous smile that gets you misunderstood often as a woman who doesn’t need anything or anyone but uses them as they come.

But Park Jimin knows better than anyone, how wholeheartedly happy that smile looks when you see him.

Like meeting a good friend after a long time.

Seven months down the road, Jimin finds himself with just a blanket draped over his waist while you’re taking a shower in his bathroom to get ready to head to Hong Kong for a business trip.

He hears the sound of the shower head being turned off. The tapping of your foot around his bedroom as you pick up your clothes that are strewn all over the floor.

Then the bed dips ever so gently under your weight as you climb over to him, the fresh scent of shower get filling his senses.  Lips press a deep, lingering kiss on his. As if you don’t want to go to a place where he won’t be.

A few socials and midnight races after his first meeting with you after a long time, you asked him if he’s seeing someone.

“If I say yes, what will you do?” It’s playful at first, because Jimin didn’t want to get himself hurt the second time.

But it’s the way you tilted your head, a finger tapping on your chin as you pondered on his words, “that’s a problem because I don’t want to be that girl that steals another girl’s man,” then you looked at him like you know he’s the one you want to wake up to every morning and the last face you see when you sleep at night and if you can’t have that. then-

“Can you be mine… just for tonight?”

“I don’t think I can.” The crestfallen expression you wear makes his own heart break, even if it’s just for a split second-

“Because I’m not seeing anyone but I’m in that point in life where I want a serious relationship or nothing at all.”

But what he doesn’t tell you is how he doesn’t want a relationship if it’s not with the girl who still haunts his dreams even after all this time.

Just like how you’d turned him down because you weren’t looking to be in a relationship before, you’d courted Jimin like you’d want to spend your whole life with him now.

Flowers got sent to his office everyday until it smells nothing short of floral. You’d be there, waving at him like he’s your savior in that dreadful social you were both attending. Every week, you’d plan dinner dates under the guise of catching up.

Before you race, you’d look over to where he’s standing, as if saying ‘this one’s for you’ before slipping into your car and coming out first every single time.

As if you were making up for every month of the year that you’d let life pass you by.

Now you’ve won a total of 36 races since he met you and the metal band you gifted him on the night of your 12th win feels warm against his skin. As if it’s absorbed all the love and adoration you poured into it.

And you’re wearing that ring he got you on your birthday on your finger that’s resting on his chest where his heart is as he kisses you back just as reluctant to let you leave.

But Park Jimin knows wherever you are, wherever you will be - you will always find your way back to each other.

Back home.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Podoboo

Debut: Super Mario Bros.

Before I start this post, I’d like to clear something up. Podoboo? Yes, Podoboo! I’m well aware these enemies are often called Lava Bubbles and that’s the name Nintendo has been trying to make standardised these days, but you know what? You can’t make me! Podoboo is a lot cuter, plus its the name I grew up with and changes in society scare me and cause me to lash out! Maybe Lava Bubble is closer to the Japanese name of just “Bubble”, but since when has that been a factor in any of the localised names? Do you really want to refer as Lakitu as “Jugemu”, huh? I’ll have you know one of my civil rights as a citizen of Wet Dry World is to refer to Mario enemies with whichever official name I please. Like it or leave it!

So this is a post about Podoboo. Do you like Podoboo? I certainly Podo-do! They are perhaps the most generic design you could give to a Mario enemy, a visibly Dangerous Thing with two eyes, but they have always charmed me! It’s the little things, like their distinct shape and the fact their pupils are somewhat wider than most obstacles like this. They bring me comfort in dire times. No matter what happens, I know Podoboo will be there, jumping at a set height in a particular spot of lava! Without them I would be nothing! 

So simple is their design, isn’t it weird to think they started off as even simpler? The Podoboos in the first SMB game are completely blind, and with no eyes they may as well not be creatures at all! Of course, I’m very glad they are creatures, and their iconic behaviour was there from the start! They love to jump, of course! There is nothing they would rather be doing!

Awaken! As of Super Mario World, they have been gifted sight and are no longer blind to the sins of this world! Hurray! What do you think they see as they jump up and down? I’m surprised it doesn’t make them dizzy!

You’ll be glad to hear Podoboos have had an expansive career ever since, now with their new trademark eyes! After all, they are THE lava enemy! Anywhere you’ve got that tasty hot fire juice, these guys are soon to follow! Here they are in Super Mario RPG, called Sparkies here because they couldn’t make up their minds on a localized name and probably because they confused them with Li’l Sparkies. In Yoshi’s Story they even called them Spark Spooks! Geez, I’ll even take the name Lava Bubble over this! But doesn’t this render look nice and juicy?

Though any great career has its flops, and I have to say... I am usually the first to campaign for the unique designs from the first three Paper Marios, but I do not really like this Lava Bubble! This takes away from their distinct Mario-y charm and makes them look like a Fire Enemy you could find in any other game! Though in the RPGs they are able to float around without needing any lava, the ones in Super Paper Mario act just like the platformer ones, jumping around despite not looking like they should be doing that! Ok!

The Podoboo from New Super Mario Bros. DS just wasn’t trying very hard at all. Come on! They could’ve it a bit more justice than this! 

Ah, there we go! The Podoboos in New Super Mario Bros. Wii decided to finally stop messing about and go back to what everyone loved from them in Super Mario World. I encourage experimenting with your identity, of course, but it’s good to be back, and now they are more mortal than ever! A single shot from an Ice Flower is enough to instantly vaporize a Podoboo in a puff of smoke, which is a bit scary! Are they really just pure fireballs that can be put out just like that? What a frightening life to live!

And in Super Mario Galaxy 2, they... hey, wait!! You took away their eyes again! Now you are just being inconsiderate. This outraged me as a kid! One of my most vivid memories of playing this game with my brother involved chanting “Podoboo rights! They deserve eyes!” because this upset me so much. Maybe my past as an activist is why I am so passionate about Mario enemies these days... I think I was 100 percent correct in hindsight, and now you know some of my backstory, too!

What relief it gave me to find out they were back to their usual selves in 3D Land! And they have been ever since, of course getting redesigned for the modern Paper Mario games and everything. 

What’s this? Blue Podoboos! Podo-blues, even...! They show up in 3D World, in its incredibly cool-looking blue lava levels! It’s a well known fact that blue fire is objectively cooler than red fire, and it seems even the Podoboos wanted in on the action! Blue Lava is an actual phenomenon I’ve just learnt, though it’s a sulfuric fire rather than lava. Could it be that Podoboos, being made entirely of lava, adapt to their environment? I’m not sure...

As an aside, the blue Lava Bubbles aren’t to be confused with Lava Bubble (Blue), which are from Mario Galaxy and show up during King Kaliente’s fight! They hop around on the ground and have square-ish eyes, which is enough to make them different I guess!

The Podoboo’s next big appearance, in Super Mario Odyssey, was in Soup! Yes you heard me- Soup! Some delightfully pepto-bismol pink coloured soup, no less. This is why I wasn’t too sure about Podoboo’s being able to adapt to their environment earlier- the Luncheon Kingdom is a big soup volcano after all, but the fact these Lava Bubbles are able to live in it is very interesting!

There is simply no way I would talk about Odyssey here without talking about possibly its greatest achievement, the best game design decision ever made! After decades of begging from fans, they finally did the impossible- they made Podoboo playable! Now it is Podo-you! It is quite unlike the other captures in the game, since it keeps the Podoboo’s simple-looking eyes and simply adds onto it a nose and a mustache! You may very well be the world’s first Podoboo with a sense of smell! I wonder if that is a benefit or not. The constant smell of soup might be a bit overpowering. 

Not only is this delightful, but it gives us more insight into the life of the humble Podoboo. First of all is the fact that they can swim around in lava, not just jump in one spot! Do you think they do this when we aren’t looking? I really hope so! Imagine a school of Podoboos swimming through molten lava in a castle’s moat. How delightful! 

The Luncheon Kingdom is also home to a number of Lava cannons, marked with a Podoboo’s lovely face. These are cannons for only for Podoboos to launch themselves across the kingdom, from one body of lava to another! My question is whether this was technology made by Podoboos themselves or whether it was made by some generous Podoboo lovers as some lava equivalent to the Fish Tube. I think I would take either explanation! 

And last I have a Podoboo appearance that even I, the world’s biggest Podoboo fan, didn’t know about! Paper Mario Color Splash has a Big Lava Bubble boss which speaks with you through a Shy Guy translator! It is quite upset that you barged into its volcano and decided to change the temperature. Mario, of course, kills it anyway, and also the Shy Guy translator without a second thought.

Still, just take a look at this sprite sheet! How cute! A little disappointing that they thinned out the eyes, but wow! They more than make up for it with this range of expressions! An angry Podoboo! A sad Podoboo! And my personal favorite is of course the shocked Podoboo with its assymetrical dot eyes, which might be one of the best things I’ve ever seen. 

To be honest, I could talk about Podoboo forever! If you didn’t stop me, I would go on all day about their every appearance, but I kind of had to limit myself to some of the most relevant ones. I just think they’re neat! And cute! And silly! Besides, I’m Mod F Boy, so I’m basically obliged to talk about fireballs with eyes! But for now I must bid you Pod-adieu! 

...Not! What, did you really believe me? Well you clicked the Keep Reading button, so you only have yourself to blame for this. Here I am talking about more Lava Bubbles from all over, because Lava Bubble’s career has taken it BEYOND the Mario series! Wow!

Podoboo’s had quite a few appearance in the Zelda series, appearing in Link’s Awakening, both the Oracle games, and even Cadence of Hyrule! Their Zelda wiki page is still called Podoboo instead of Lava Bubble, which means those Zelda fans have it better than we do. But wow, this is a pretty angry looking Podoboo! I wouldn’t mess with them! 

Both the Oracle games even had a Podoboo Tower! Amazing! They look quite a lot like a Fire Snake, but they are simply a tower of Podoboos! Why don’t they do this more often?

Hm... The Cadence of Hyrule one doesn’t have any eyes. Come on guys! It’s 2019! Podoboos having eyes should be standard! Though they still made the conscious decision to call them “Podoboos” in 2019, so I can’t be too mad. 

And they have even spread to Minecraft! In the Mario Mash-up Pack, they replace the Magma Cube enemies, and really there was no better choice for this. And now we have a Podoboo Cube! What more could possibly be left for Podoboo?

The answer is obvious- Podoboo in real life! Thanks to a certain Lego Mario set, Podoboo is now real and can be in your home for the small price of 19,99 US dollars. Please give a Podoboo a home today! Just make sure you don’t own anything flammable. 

[outercrasis]

Sessions

Pairing: College!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: None (let me know if I missed something!)

Summary: Everyone is talking about the mysterious new guy on campus

A/N: I had a ton of fun writing this extremely self-indulgent AU and I have plans to keep writing more about these two. It won’t be an actual chaptered fic, but at some point I’ll throw together a masterlist with a chronological order to things.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Introductions

The semester had only started four weeks ago and he was already a legend around campus. Almost everywhere someone could be found whispering about him. You'd even heard faculty speculating, wondering about the rumors they overheard their students sharing.

You first heard of him in your literature seminar, some of your fellow classmates discussing a recent rumor about the now fabled man. Something about a motorcycle and a child caught your ear, prompting you to interrupt and the girls in front of you who they were talking about. 

The looks you received from the pair were incredulous at best. “You mean you haven’t heard about him?”

“Heard about who?” you asked, genuinely confused. It had only been the first week of class at the time and you were too caught up with your own busy start to check in on the rumor mill.

“Mando, obviously. He’s all anyone is talking about.” From there the girls had happily filled you in on all the latest sightings and rumors. 

Mando, as they called him, was shrouded in mystery. He'd popped up on Corellia University's campus when the semester began and no one knew a thing about him. He hadn't gone to Corellia before, internet searches turned up nothing, and even the skull-like symbol on the back of his leather jacket wasn't familiar to anyone. Any information on him was conjecture at best and there was plenty to go around. Once the rest of the class caught onto what you three were discussing, theories began to fly.

People discussed how he’d been spotted downtown, beating on some guys in a back alley. He’d also been seen uptown the same night though, strolling through Basalt Park. One girl was nearly certain that she’d gone to elementary school with Mando, but he’d mysteriously disappeared one day without explanation. Someone else was confident he was just a cop trying some weird shtick to go undercover. Then one person insisted he had a kid with him sometimes while another was trying to explain that he was actually a murderer. The rumors only became more ludicrous from there.

By the end of the discussion you only ascertained two things for certain. He went by the name Mando and he wore some kind of special helmet. Information you could have gotten by watching him pick up a drink at the Java Hut. Not nearly enough to warrant this level of fervor in your opinion.

From there, hearing about Mando was inescapable. You got home that night only to have your roommate and best friend, Layla, launch into theories about him. Within the week someone set up a social media page to try and track his location around campus via DMs fellow students sent in. That had struck you as invasive and unsettling, but the messages about him kept flooding in.

By pure chance, you had yet to actually see him for yourself. There weren't even any creep shots for you to look at. People had been trying to take photos of him, but he was like a ghost. In the time it took them to pull up their cameras he'd disappear. 

There wasn't even more concrete information about him beyond what you'd learned that first day. Just more and more speculation, a good amount of it made up purely for the shock factor. Another week slipped by, the semester picking up, and Mando news became standard in your day. There was always something new going around about him and as much as you tried to avoid it and focus on your studies, you couldn’t help but wonder about him yourself.

Who was this guy? Was this all some stunt or ‘social experiment’ that would be revealed by a sociology student at the end of the semester? Or was he a legitimate peculiarity, doomed to stick out like a sore thumb? You weren’t sure if you should hate him for making a big deal out of himself or pity him for all the unwarranted attention. Either way, you were sure that whenever you met this enigmatic Mando, you’d know.

×××××

You grumble looking at the submission form. The name and student ID information is blank again. You told Todd last week those fields needed to be made mandatory. How else were you supposed to know who to email when you end up with a no-show for the hour?

Looking further down you're pleased to note that they're at least a grad student. Despite the unfinished form, graduates almost never skip sessions like these. You're thrilled to have the opportunity to discuss something other than freshman composition for once. It's fun helping the wide-eyed freshies, but you can only go over basic comma rules so many times before you start to lose it a little.

There's a knock at the study room door and you look up only to be rendered speechless. It's him. Mando. With a kid on his hip. So Alissandra hadn’t been lying when she told you about the toddler she saw with him. Interesting. Continuing to take him in, you can’t help but focus on the obvious - the only thing you knew about him other than his supposed name, the helmet. 

It’s unlike anything you've seen before. You're fairly certain it's a motorcycle helmet, but it's been modified. Rather than the typical rounded shape, his is all sharp angles and flat at the front. It’s colored a sleek, shining chrome that gleams under the washed out fluorescent lighting. Most arresting is the way he's changed the face of the helmet. The cheeks dip inward at a sharp angle, creating deep, curved contours. His visor is a T of black glass in the center, entirely impossible to see through. It's intimidating and… kinda hot?

The little boy he's holding starts to wiggle in his grasp, physically demanding to be set down in the study room. Once his feet touch the floor, he immediately runs over and climbs into the chair next to you. He's a welcome distraction from his father’s? brother's? guardian's? commanding presence in the room.

The boy can't be older than three, smiling up at you with a wide toothy grin. His hair is covered by a green beanie with large floppy ears sewn onto it and he's wearing a little brown jacket with a sherpa collar. Maybe a bit too heavy for the early autumnal weather, but if the rumor that the kid rides on a motorcycle with Mando is true, it’s perfect. His eyes are large and brown, shining up at you with a slightly mischievous glint.

"Hello, what's your name?" you ask, smiling back at the child.

"Grogu," comes the reply, not from the kid, but from Mando.

You arch an eyebrow at him. He can't be serious with that name. "Grogu?" you ask.

He shrugs, placing his bag on the table. "I came home one day and he told his babysitter that was his name now. He won't respond to anything else. So, Grogu."

You look back to the bouncing toddler. He's still grinning, nodding along with what's been said about his name. They must not be lying then. Either that, or it was some elaborate prank between them and you would never be in on the joke. 

"Well okay, Grogu it is." 

You extend your hand out to Mando, offering your name alongside it. He offers a leather clad hand in return, giving you a firm handshake. You're pleased when he only gives your hand a gentle squeeze, not crushing it like so many other students have done. His gloves are unique as well, black with orange fingers, the leather well worn in. It's warm to the touch, his body heat radiating through the thick fabric. 

"Mando," he says, officially introducing himself as he takes the seat on your other side, across from Grogu.

"Mando," you repeat, cementing it as a truth from the rumor mill. "Got any other names?" You hope that comes across as casual and not intrusive. He hasn't even gone to remove his helmet, telling you he isn't a man who cares much for people prying into his business.

"No. Why?" Mando cocks his head slightly as he asks, the helmet adding an exaggerated look to the movement. He reaches into his bag, pulls out some crayons and a pad of paper, pushing them over to Grogu.

You shrug, trying not to think about how you heard his name might be David from someone in your composition course. "Just thought I'd ask. One hears many things around campus and it's hard to tell what's true or not."

"What do you mean?"

That question makes you pause. Surely he knows. Part of you is still convinced he’s doing this act on purpose, trying to gain notoriety for some reason. The way he asked though, something about it tells you that the poor man is clueless about the buzz he's caused.

"Mando, you're like the talk of the town right now. We only just met but I've heard plenty about you," you explain. It's hard to tell with the helmet on, but you're fairly sure he's shocked underneath. Grogu ignores you both, excitedly scribbling away on his paper.

"I'm fairly sure most of it's just rumor and speculation, but still. You're like a thing around campus," you add.

He's quiet for a moment, his laptop only half out of his bag. "Oh," he finally says. "I didn't know."

Grogu gives a happy shriek not a second later, breaking the awkward tension that had begun to creep into the room. He's beaming, holding up his crayola masterpiece. On the paper there is what appears to be a hastily drawn frog using every color in the box.

Mando returns to himself, pulling his laptop the rest of the way and continues to get set up. "Great job, kid. It looks good."

Most people would have said that dismissively, a platitude to get their child to stop bothering them. When Mando says it though, the authenticity is palpable. He said six words and you can hear the pride lacing them all together. It’s sweet, the obvious affection this clearly private man has for the toddler. 

You can’t help but wonder what his connection to Grogu actually is. The way he spoke just then, if you had to put your money on it, you’d say father. The kicker then though is if he’s biological or not. And if not, then how else does a grad student get strapped with a three year old? Thinking about all the potential scenarios is enough to make your head hurt.

You’re also left wondering where all the more violent rumors about him are coming from. His tenderness is so readily on display that it’s hard to imagine the man before you choking someone because they cut him in line at the local froyo shop. He’s mysterious and gives off a vaguely dangerous vibe, sure, but less than five minutes around him and the kid and it’s obvious he’s no threat to you. He’s just a guy trying to get his assignments done for class, same as everyone else.

Your stomach still catches in your throat as Mando starts unexpectedly tugging off his gloves. From what you’d heard, he never takes anything off: not his jacket, not his gloves, and certainly not his helmet. All anyone knows of his true appearance on campus is that he’s obviously male with rumors flying around about everything else including simple attributes, like the color of his skin. Now, here he is, casually revealing this groundbreaking information to you.

His hands move fluidly, pulling off each glove in just a few easy tugs. His skin matches the heat you felt from them just minutes ago, a warm golden tan, with a few faded lines of scars worn in. Watching him type, pulling his paper up for you to discuss, you feel a deep and sudden ache to have his hands touch you again. A simple handshake is no longer enough. Every stroke of the keys is measured, deliberate, and leaves you wondering how he would use those fingers on you.

“This is what I have so far.”

His voice snaps you back to reality, a quick wave of shame washing over you. Where did all of that come from? It was just a man’s hands for heaven’s sake, certainly not something you should be horny about at two in the afternoon. Not to mention that he came in here looking for your help, not wanting you to start fantasizing about his hands expertly working you over.

You clear your throat and tear your eyes away from the offending appendages. “Great, let me just read the introduction here so I can get an idea for what you’re writing about.”

You settle into working with him easily. His paper is already well-written, just needing tweaks here and there to bring it to the next level. It’s nice working with him. He’s attentive, clearly listening to everything you have to say and taking it into account. He doesn’t even try to challenge you as some of the more macho male students are wont to do. By the end of the session, you can’t help but wish all of your time as a tutor was that easy.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, tucking his laptop away. “You really helped.”

You smile at him, thrilled with his genuine complement. “Of course, that’s what I’m here for.”

He finishes packing up his and Grogu’s things, with you silently lamenting as his gloves slide back on. It still feels like a ridiculous thought, but he really does have beautiful hands. There’s a small tap on your arm and you look to your left to see Grogu patiently waiting. He’s offering something to you, paper outstretched in his little hands.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the sheet from him. You look at it to see a frog carefully drawn on the page. It’s not the same as the first one he showed you and Mando, this one more deliberate and thoughtful. The colors are still just as varied, but it’s obvious he took more time to think about where he was using each one. You can’t help but smile at his small masterpiece.

“It looks great, buddy. I’ll keep it forever,” you tell him. Grogu beams at your praise, excitedly looking over to Mando. 

Mando nods at the kid. “Yeah kid, I heard her too.” He turns his head towards you. “Thank you again. I’d take good care of that drawing. He’ll never forgive you if he finds out you got rid of it.”

“Does that mean I’ll be seeing you again?” Your own boldness takes you by surprise. You have no idea where that came from, how those words spilled without a second thought. Part of you is already cringing at Mando’s potential reaction.

He surprises you once again though, holding a hand out for Grogu to take. Shouldering his backpack, you hear an amused huff of air from under the helmet. “Yeah, mesh’la, I’ll see you around.”

There isn’t a chance to reply as Mando turns, escorting his tiny charge out of the room with him. You’re a little dumbstruck, now equally surprised with him as you had been with yourself. 

And what was that name he just called you? Mesh’la? You don’t even know what language that could have been, much less the meaning. Something about his tone when he said it tells you it’s a good thing though, that he’s not secretly calling you rude names in some unknown language. You can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever get to find out.

.

.

.

taglist: @honestly-shite

[yououui]

"Why is it so damn difficult for you to believe you're worthy of love?" but it's Kurogane saying it to Fai because we all know who the one that needs therapy is in that duo lol

They are given the luxury of time in Clow following the battle. A few days to rest and recover, to look back on what has transpired and consider what should be done moving forward. Syaoran spends almost every moment with Sakura, as is to be expected. Kurogane finds his time filled with Fai at his side; each morning, a knock at his door marks the start of a new day as the mage comes to fetch him. They take their meals together, wander the town and the castle together, visit the medics for checks and fresh bandages together. At the end of each night, they share some of Clow’s sweet wine and then part ways for their own beds.

Mokona usually hops between the two pairs depending on how she’s feeling that day, but she usually sleeps curled against Sakura’s neck.

They spend this evening on the balcony of Kurogane’s room. Kurogane’s weight is leaning against the thick stone safety railing and Fai is sat precariously atop said railing. Kurogane would have barked at him to get down, but he knew that Fai would easily be able to save himself if he happened to fall.

“Syaoran is going to have to leave soon,” Fai murmurs, eyes watching a lone, drifting cloud. “Time is ticking.”

“Hn.” Kurogane grunts in response as he takes a drink. “And what’re you gonna do?”

“I was thinking I’d join Syaoran-kun, if he’ll take me,” Fai responded. “It would break my heart if he had to do this on his own. And it’s not like I have anywhere else to go!”

Fai laughs as if the depressing statement is a joke. He’s tense, Kurogane notices, the topic of conversation painting a plastic smile on his face. Kurogane wants to tell him to knock it off. The sight of it makes something crawl under his skin.

“And Kuro-sama?” Fai asks, his gaze turning to the ninja. “You’ll return to Nihon, right? Tomoyo-chan must be thrilled you’re finally returning.”

Kurogane clears his throat before responding, “No, actually. I contacted her last night. I’m gonna join the kid, too.”

Fai’s rehearsed smile falls for a brief moment as he’s struck with surprise instead. His eyes shine impressively even under the dark sky until he shuts them with a laugh. “I would have thought Kuro-sama would run home as soon as he could, but Syaoran-kun will be so happy!”

Kurogane doesn’t ask the question lingering on his tongue—and Fai? How does he feel about it?

Kurogane clears his throat again—there’s nothing stuck in it but it’s tight for some reason as he continues on the topic. “It’s not like it’ll last forever. I’ll go back to Nihon when we get those two idiots back and I can give them a proper punishment for worrying us.” Fai’s smile softens as Kurogane speaks, the first vestiges of something real as he chuckles quietly to himself. Kurogane continues, “And… y’know if you wanna settle down somewhere when it’s all over… you can always come back to Nihon with me.”

“...Eh?” The surprised look is back on the mage’s face, his smile frozen from the pure shock of the question. He laughs nervously for a moment and looks away from Kurogane as he processes the question. “To Nihon? D-Did Tomoyo-chan say she has a job for me?”

Kurogane’s brows furrow with a frown. “No. I mean, I dunno. There might be a job you can do, but it’s not like you’d need one. Tomoyo and the Empress wouldn’t kick you out, anyway, and besides. I can work enough to cover you.”

“M-My, is there something in the wine?” Fai is laughing again, forced and awkward like he doesn’t know what else to do or say. “You’re making yourself sound like an old-fashioned father—I didn’t know Kuro-sama could make such jokes!”

“I’m not joking, you idiot,” Kurogane tells him, frustration rising hot in his blood at Fai’s adamant refusal to accept what Kurogane is telling him. “What’s so hard to believe about taking care of someone you love?”

There’s a pause, a moment when even the air around them seems to still along with Fai’s breath. “...Love?” It’s a quiet murmur, more to himself than anything, spoken like a child hearing an unknown word for the first time.

Kurogane’s frustration dissipates in an instant, his shoulders falling with a sigh. “Yes, you idiot. Love.” He should have known better than to assume Fai’s strongly built defenses would fall so quickly, even if the mage was trying. Kurogane has been honest with his feelings for such a long time now, he didn’t think there was a way Fai couldn’t see it. But if Fai, in his self-taught method of avoidance, refused to see it, there was no other choice than to say it outright.

Fai silently turned and pushed himself off the balcony railing to fall silently to his feet. He cradled his glass of wine close to his chest, like it could act as a shield somehow. “K-Kuro-sama shouldn’t tease me so much.”

The forced happy tone from before has disappeared. Now, he sounds properly hurt, his voice trembling as if on the edge of tears. He begins to leave and Kurogane catches him by the arm to stop him.

“Oi, what the hell have I done recently to make you think I’m lying?” He asks Fai. “You think chopping off my own arm was my way of teasing you?”

Fai’s eyes—two again, and Kurogane didn’t know how much he loved the color blue until that moment—widen as guilt sweeps over him. “I-I didn’t—” He lowers his head as if in shame. “I didn’t… mean it like that…”

Because of course Fai had to know, no matter how much his toxic thoughts tried to tell him otherwise, that Kurogane at least cared for him. No person would willingly give up their own blood and tie them together for life, nor cut through their own flesh and bone without another thought without at least some bit of concern and attachment. And Fai would always feel guilty for those decisions, even if Kurogane was adamant that they were his choice and he would make them again.

“After everything,” Kurogane releases Fai’s arm to tap his knuckle against the underside of Fai’s chin, gently getting him to lift his head. “Why is it still so damn difficult for you to believe you’re worthy of love?” Kurogane asks, voice so soft and mushy it surprises even himself. He can’t help it though, nor can he bring himself to care. Not now. Not with Fai.

Something teeters over the edge within Fai and his eyes immediately fill with tears. Although Kurogane never wants to see the way his lips tremble before parting with a much needed sob, he will always prefer the open honesty over the fake smile. Kurogane wraps his one arm around Fai and lets the mage have his much needed cry, slender fingers grasping desperately at the front of Kurogane’s shirt as tears stain the fabric.

“Come back to Nihon with me, mage,” Kurogane says, whispers into Fai’s hair like a secret kiss. “When it’s all over, come with me.”

Fai is rendered speechless for a long while, his throat tight and words interrupted with gasping, cathartic sobs that are sometimes mixed with unabashed, joyous laughter. He nods in immediate agreement. Kurogane only holds him closer.