#JUST BECAUSE OF THE LIGHT CHARACTERS ON BLACK BACKGROUND

[hxlxnaaa]

can i pretty please have the extended version of what happens in zaynes exclusive tutorial……. asking for a friend……..

ⁱ ᵃᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ….

𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥

★ synopsis: an extended version of zaynes exclusive tutorial 5-star ;)

★ character: zayne

★ cw: first person pov, quickie SMUT!!!!, a lot of the dialogue is just taken from the card

★ word count: 3.5k

★ a/n: i literally have not wrote smut since i was at least 13...i lowkey blacked out writing this so if it sucks i'm so sorry. it was good practice though so ty for the request!

Internally, I was dreading this. As a Deepspace Hunter, low-key yet high end, relaxed events were not something I was accustomed to. While it was a nice change from the chaotic atmosphere of my own work, I couldn’t help but worry I may embarrass myself.

When Zayne first invited me, I was a bit surprised he’d ask me of all people. I was sure the man was convinced I’d, at some point during the night, make a fool of him and myself. Though I was pleased he thought of me, and honored to be chosen, it put the stakes of the night higher.

I tried to make myself as fancy as possible, without overdoing it, because I was convinced these people would know I was trying too hard. I mean, they were all top med school alumnus who probably made more in a day than I made in a year.

Walking in with Zayne, the club lighting was low with soft jazz playing in the background. I scanned the perimeter, and observed the people around. Nearly everyone had brought a companion, and I smirked to myself. Mentioning I could tell why he brought me along, I gestured for him to lean down to my level.

“Did you feel left out because everyone else brought someone? Is that why?”

Zayne looked back at me, “Yes. It’s why I invited you.”

“Lame… I thought you’d make up an excuse and deny it.

Bantering with him for a second, one of his classmates approached us. The two make small talk with each other, when the man finally introduces himself as Steven to me, reaching out for a handshake. Before I can even respond, Zayne quickly grabs my hand instead.

“Let’s find a place to sit down and talk.”

-

Sitting at the bar with Zayne and his classmates, I get to finally turn off my brain and just listen. All of them go on and boast about him, Steven particularly going on about his pool skills. Zayne sits comfortably with the attention, and it’s safe to assume he’s well accustomed to being the center of it all; though it didn’t last when I quickly caught his eye, as he gave me a helpless look.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” He whispered to me, an edge to his voice that was practically begging me to get him out and away from these people.

Zayne grabs his drink, assuming I was going to agree, and I stop him. He gives me a confused look as I turn my body to fully face him. Deciding to have some fun, the drinks I’ve had giving me some liquid courage-

“I haven’t seen Dr. Zayne play pool either… Is he really that good?” I smiled at him.

He pauses, lips forming into a tight line, “Ah, so you’re ganging up on me.”

I was pushing the right buttons.

While another classmate comes up to Zayne, doting all over him like the others, as he goes on about “hands on learning” with him.

I smirk inwardly, taking a sip out of my wine glass. Oh yeah, I thought to myself, I’m gonna use that one.

After the man leaves, Zayne playfully pinches my ear, “I could see you eavesdropping from a mile away, did you find anything interesting?”

I looked up at him through my eyelashes, “I heard…” Pretending to think for a second, I looked around the room, then back at him, “you’re incredibly considerate to your juniors and are highly respected by everyone, Dr. Zayne”

He sighs, looking away, clearly unsatisfied with my answer. “I guess you can be nice…” I tapped his shoulder.

Zayne raises an eyebrow, “You guess? Do I not treat you well?”

Shrugging, I shake my head and raise my hands, feigning innocence, “It’s hard to say…” I take another sip out of my glass. “You never did any ‘hands-on’ learning with me.” Sticking out my lower lip in a pout, “And everyone says it’s an honor to be taught by you, sir…”

Putting down my wine glass, I sigh, “I wonder when I’ll get to experience it…”

“It seems you truly do want to learn about surgeries.” Zayne retorts.

“Who says it has to be for work?”

He looks at me, almost startled.

“Follow me.”

-

On the club's second floor, the billiard hall is tucked away, secret, and empty.

Perfect.

Walking forward, I circle around one of the pool tables.

“Why are we playing pool all of a sudden?” Zayne asks from behind me.

I flip my hair and look at him over my shoulder, “Because I wanna learn from you of course. Dr. Steven was praising your pool skills, but you’ve never mentioned them before.” I pushed my back to the table, leaning back on my hands.

Zayne walks up to me, “He was drunk and just rambling.”

“Oh? He said you were really good…” Cocking my head to the side to look at him, he stared back at me with intent, “Like a professional.”

“Maybe because a surgeon has steady hands.”

“Then-” I stood up straight again, crossing my arms and smiling sweetly, “it’d be nice if I could get some tips from you.”

“While I can’t give any tips per se, we can play.” He looks at me and smiles back, “If you want.”

Picking out two cue sticks, handing me the shorter one, he walks to one of the tables in the corner, “Have you played before?”

“Once or twice. People say I have potential,” Zayne raises a brow at my confidence, “but I ‘can play’.”

“Are you gonna be strict with me, sir?” I playfully swing around the cue stick. Zayne crosses his arms, leaning into me, “Strict teachers make outstanding students.” He states, “Let’s start.”

Gesturing for me to go, I lean over the table, feeling his eyes boring into me. I hold my breath as I hit the ball, the only sound in the room the echoes of the balls scattering.

Zayne chuckles under his breath, and I look back at him, “Did I do something wrong, sir?”

“You have more than enough strength. If you adjust your posture, you’ll see better results.”

“I need you to help me identify my weak spots via ‘hands-on learning’, sir.”

I watch as his facade begins to crumble a bit, before he quickly regains himself, “We’ll have to work on your posture then.”

Coming up next to me, I stand up straight as he leans down over the table, “Like this. Place your right foot back…” He strikes, graceful as ever. When I try, I look like a klutz.

Bent over the table, he comes up behind me. “Relax,” He whispers, “you’re too tense.” He places his hand on my back, and almost as a reflex to his touch, my waist immediately bends. “Now you’re too relaxed.” He clicks his tongue as I become jelly under his touch.

“Relax your left arm. Allow it to bend naturally.” His arm snakes up under mine, “Your head, right arm, and the cue stick should form a straight line.”

He places his hand softly on my cheek, shifting my head to the left, “How is it?”

“It,” I winced at the uncomfortable position, “hurts a little.”

I hear him smile, “That means it’s correct.”

Making a face, I try to give him my most pitiful look.

“You’re so harsh, sir.”

He grabs my chin, making me face the table again. The gesture makes me gasp.

“Don’t tilt your head.” Zayne remarks, “You messed up your posture again.”

“Is there an easier way? Like something I can do without much trouble?”

“Yes, but are you sure you want to do it?”

I groan, my body feeling stiff from holding this pose for so long, “Bring it on.”

I feel him shift from beside me, “Don’t move for now.”

Zayne comes up behind me, positioning himself where his chest is flush against my back. Reaching his arms around me, one of his hands comes up to grab mine. Lowering his head, I feel his breath on my neck as his lips settle next to my ear, “Your rhythm with the cue stick…isn’t quite there yet.” My eyelids flutter closed at his voice, “You need more hands-on training.”

He directs me carefully, “You should neither be too fast nor too hesitant.” His words sound distant as all I can focus on is the feeling of his body pressed against mine, as heat spreads in between my thighs.

My hand is enveloped in his, and the back and forth motion of the cue stick slows down, “Move the cue stick three or four times..” He instructs, everything about this feeling overwhelmingly provocative, “Stop at the point closest to the ball…”

“Did you get that?” He whispered, turning his head away from the pool table to face mine.

“Yeah…” Was all I could muster back.

Softly smirking, he turned back to follow my vision, “Keep your eyes on the ball, one…two…three…” I think I may actually combust if he keeps this up.

“Stop, and pull back the cue stick.”

He loosens his grip on me, “Snap out of it. Are you even listening to me?”

No, not really Zayne. I can really only focus on not grinding back into you right now.

“Ah yes,” I cough, “Pull back the stick…”

“Very good, just like that…” I bite back a whimper and the urge to rub my legs together at his praise, he knows good and well what he’s doing.

“Now…strike.”

I hit the ball, and when it goes in I snap out of whatever hypnotic haze I was in.

“It’s in!”

Zayne pulls back, and I stand up straight, placing my hands on my hips. “Did you see that? It was a great shot! I’m so cool…” Flipping my hair over my shoulder, I flash him a smile.

“I did.” He smiles warmly back, “You’re not a total beginner.”

“Maybe it’s because I practice shooting all the time. Or, it’s possible I’m a prodigy…” I started regaining my confidence after it had ever so slowly faltered on the pool table.

“Perhaps.” Zayne shrugs, “To be honest, all you need to be good at pool is…”

He leans over the edge of the table, looking over at me. My breath hitches at the sight.

“A steady hand, precision, and a calm attitude.” His eyes bore into mine, “Once you’ve locked into your target, don’t let go.”

I swallowed. Even though he was clearly talking about the ball, it felt oddly personal.

He has me play a bit more, teaching me as I go. I easily earn his praises and they ring like music in my ears.

“If a student does a good job,” I remind him, “shouldn’t they get a reward?”

He considers it for a second, “What do you want?”

Confidence bubbling up again inside of me, I sigh dramatically. “Well, it might be difficult to hit this next ball. Help me.”

“Is that all?” Zayne asks, clearly not convinced. Pausing before coming to help me, I give him a smug look, “What’s wrong Dr. Zayne? Are you scared?”

I was pushing my luck, and loving every second of it.

He frowned, “Provocation doesn’t work on me.”

“Then come here.” I nodded toward the pool table, giving him a sweet smile.

Zayne inches towards me, only moving slightly closer.

“Closer.” I demand, “Or else I can’t reach it.”

He gives me a confused look, “What exactly…”

I grab him by the collar, pushing him back onto the table. Zaynes cheeks turn pink as he stares up at me with a shocked expression. Lips slightly agape, I can see a million thoughts running behind his eyes. The dumbfounded look on his face makes me want to take him on the table right now.

“Look,” I pout, “the ball’s so far away. I think it’s time to use a cue rest.”

I tap the cue stick on each side of his head. Zayne narrows his eyes at me, “Using cue rests would be overkill.” He sits up, and I use the stick to slowly tug out his tie, “And this,” he glares, “is inappropriate.”

Though he feigns annoyance, the look in his eyes is a dead giveaway.

“But…” I pull the stick away leaning towards him, my breath dusting his ear, “I think you’re enjoying it…” He looks down and away at the table, clearly embarrassed, “I shouldn't have taught you so much” he mutters.

Running my fingers through his dark hair, I slowly tease my hand down his body, caressing his face, down to his chest, down to where I see where he’s aching for me to touch the most. I coo at him when I see the desperate look in his eyes, and quickly snap my hand away before I reach the bulge growing in his nice slacks.

Zaynes face is red hot as he sits up on the table enough that he’s eye level with me, “Who taught you to use your teacher as a cue rest…” he frowns.

“Well,” I place my hand on his chest over his heart, “this cue rests heartbeat is going to ruin my accuracy.” I tut.

“Is it my heartbeat affecting your accuracy, or yours?” His hand comes up to caress my cheek, “If you actually want to learn, I can show you another way…”

Zayne leans in, lips almost to mine before I grab his shoulder and push him back. He looks at me, wide eyed at the denial.

“Sir, this seems to be lacking professionalism.” Crossing my arms across my chest, his lips curve at my attempt to scold him.

“Weren’t you just using me as a cue rest?” He leans back in, “Talking about professionalism… is a bit too late.”

As he grabs me by my waist, I push him back onto the table again as a reply. The gesture only lasts a few seconds before Zayne smiles at me, quickly sitting up and using his hand around my waist to reverse us; flipping me onto my back and onto the table, he settled in between my legs. I squeak at the sudden change, as he now hovers over me, my head caged between his arms.

“Why don’t you let me show you…” Zayne pulls back, standing up straight. He grabs his cue stick, “Watch closely, I’m only going to do it once.”

Pushing his chest against mine, he goes for the ball right behind my head. His head hovers right above my face, and I lean up to place a kiss on his adams apple right as he strikes the ball. I have half a mind to bite into his neck, but he quickly stands back up as he watches the ball go in.

He looks down at me, and I’m sure I look utterly disheveled. From where he stood in between my thighs, my dress had ridden up high enough that every inch of my bottom half was almost on display for him to see. My hair was splayed out around me on the table, and my chest heaved with the breath I was so desperately trying to catch.

The sexual tension that had slowly built up throughout the night was now thick enough to cut with a knife. Smiling softly, Zayne tilts my chin up, caressing my jaw as his thumb slowly parted my lips, dipping it past my teeth and pressing it against my tongue. “Pretty little mouth…” he mutters, staring at the way his finger sits in between my lips. I look up at him through half-lidded eyes, sucking down on his thumb.

He frowns, “Always such a tease.” Zayne sighs, picking up my ankle, pressing a kiss to it. I craved his lips on mine, but I always enjoyed the shows he’d put on for me. He continued to kiss up my calf, closing his eyes as he felt my skin against his lips.

“Zayne.” I demanded, and he looked at me annoyed, as if I was interrupting something.

“Yes?”

“Kiss me…”

He leaned down, nose brushing against mine, but not meeting my lips. I pushed myself up, trying to connect us, but he pulled away at the last second. Frustrated and tired of his games, I grabbed Zayne by his tie, crashing my lips against his, pulling him down on top of me onto the table.

“Behave.” He groaned as I took his bottom lip in my teeth, tugging softly. Grabbing my wrists with his hand, he pinned them above my head. Zayne’s free hand roamed up my thigh, fingers dusting over the place I was praying for him to touch the most.

I squirmed under him as he toyed with the lace on my panties, never dipping his fingers past. His grip on my wrists tightened, lips leaving mine so our eyes could meet. Waves of lust crashed in his green eyes.

“What do you want?” His lips kissed down my neck and chest.

“You to touch me.” I whimpered.

He tsked, “Beg.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me. Or do I need to teach you how to do that too?” Zayne nipped at my collarbone, then kissed the skin.

“Please…”

“What was that?”

“Please, Zayne.” Everytime I said please, his fingers inched closer to the arousal pooling in between my thighs, “Zayne, please, please, fuck, please.”

I felt him smile against my skin, and he dipped a finger inside of me.

Clenching around him, I moaned at the satisfaction.

Zayne groaned, “God, you’re so wet. You’ve been eager all night…” Pumping in and out, I stifled my whimpers and moans against his shoulder. He let go of my wrists, and my hands flew to his collar, gripping for dear life as he added another finger.

Tracing his thumb on my clit, two fingers curling up inside of me, Zayne always knew just how to make me come undone. He could get off on this alone, watching me fall apart underneath him by just his hands. I was seeing stars, thinking nothing could get better than this.

Zayne pulled away, and I cried out at the emptiness. He stood there for a second, just taking all of me in, “You’re so beautiful.” He took off his tie, gently grabbing me by the back of my head and lifting it up so he could tie the fabric around my mouth as a makeshift gag.

“As much as I love to listen to you, I don’t want anybody else to hear. Is that all right?”

I nodded at him and he smiled, petting my cheek, “Good girl.”

Reaching forward, I palmed his hard on through his nice, business slacks. The idea of them being around his ankles as he takes me on this table was enough to almost make me cry from joy. Sighing at the friction, Zaynes eyes fluttered closed, and I worked my hand up and undid his belt. Getting too eager, he freed himself, and slid my panties down to where they loosely dangled off one of my heels.

“I wish I could take my time with you,” He pressed his tip against my opening, “but this will have to do.” Sinking all the way down to the hilt, I choked out a muffled scream, squeezing my eyes shut as the tie killed my lewd noises.

Zayne grabbed my chin, fingers digging into my skin, “Eyes open.” He demanded, pulling out, and slamming back in, “Keep looking.”

Already overwhelmed from the stimulation he provided earlier, tears welled up in my eyes from just how good all of it felt. The impossibly delicious way he could fill me up, lips dancing across my skin as he chased after his own pleasure. His hand gripping into my hips, most likely leaving bruises, as he drilled into me; kissing my palm before biting into the skin to muffle his own groans.

Zayne’s skin glistened with sweat, the top buttons of his shirt undone, his lips red and swollen from my aggressions. He railed into me like a maniac, like he was fucking starving. Gracefully, his hand found its way back in between my thighs, finding the bundle of pleasure that made me cry out. At the feeling I blinked out tears, my eyes burning from the mascara I was practically sobbing away. I was moments away from ruining this table beneath me, and Zayne knew that.

He grabbed my neck, almost as if for stability as he picked up his pace. Desperately rolling his hips against mine, I clenched down around him “Just.. like that, oh... God." He moaned. I lifted my hips up to meet his thrusts, trying to chase my own release and his. Zayne looked me in the eyes, squeezing the hand around my neck, “My girl. Mine.” He groaned.

With one last thrust and his praise, I was screaming behind the tie, shaking from my release beneath him. Digging my nails into his biceps, his hips stuttered, and with a moan he pulled out, finishing all over my nice dress.

Zayne nearly collapsed on top of me as we laid there for a while, just soaking in the aftermath. As he pulled away, I watched him cringe at the mess he had left on me. For some reason, I started laughing.

“What’s that for?” He questioned.

I continued to giggle, “I didn’t know you were that good at pool…”

“If we had more time, I’d show you more of my techniques…”

Slapping him on the shoulder, I sat up, and he swept me off the table and back onto my feet. Brushing my hair with his fingers, he attempted to wipe away the mascara stains on my cheeks. “I know the back way out of here,” He pressed a kiss to my temple.

(divider by cafekitsune)

[kinkajouwof]

Blaze and Glacier!!!

GLACIER DOESNT DIE EVER SHE LIVED AND HAS A GIRLFRIEND AND THEY HAVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER FOREVER!!!

OVERALL I LOVE THIS RELATIONSHIP I THINK THEYRE CANON

[hollow-keys]

The Wicked adaptation is actually so painful it's like if the musical got all the cunt surgically removed from it.

[juubli]

Here are some of process snapshots of this piece of Astarion in Baldur's Gate.

I am a messy painter and I often adjust and change the designs as I paint. (Mostly because I don't have the patience to do proper line art haha)

I start out with a rough sketch, I usually sketch ideas out on my ipad and move to my cintiq to work with colors.

Next I block in rough color thumbnail. I keep this part messy as I just want to figure out the value structure and the overall mood.

At this point, I have collected a myriad of screenshots and reference images from the game, pinterest, and also from artists work that inspires me.

With the references on one screen, I start to paint the details, I work from foreground to midground to background. (Sometimes I'll bounce between the depth when I get bored from painting one thing for too long)

Sometimes after I block in the colors I'll make adjustments. I didn't like how warped the perspective was getting on the building on the screen right side, so I adjusted the vanishing point and added more tiers to the design. I went back into the game and looked at more how the stairs were designed and figured it out more thoroughly with a sketch on on top.

I think sitting down and doing the details is the most time consuming part. I still want the focus to be on the character despite all the detail going on the background. At this point I'm toggling on black & white filters constantly to check the value, grouping everything in the background together, making sure the lighting frames the subject in focus. At this point I realized, I forgot to paint Astarion's hair LOL, and that the bg was getting a bit too detailed, so I used a more textured brush and painted away some of the edge details of bg buildings.

Last, I make final adjustments, and I make a overall lighting/fx adjustment folder. Adding in some noise, adjusting the contrast, color balance, and lighting over all and call it done!

Link to Print shop!

[describe-things]

Making this its own post to further spread the correct information.

The name Mickey Mouse is Public Domain.

Trademark is a separate thing from copyright. Trademark means you can't trick people into thinking your version of Mickey Mouse is sanctioned by Disney.

You do not need to rename Mickey Mouse to use this character.

He's literally named in the title card (along with two alternate outfits for him and Minnie that are also Public Domain, which means, yes! You can give him gloves!).

The only way the name "Mickey Mouse" would still be copyrighted would be if he hadn't been named yet in Steamboat Willie, which very clearly isn't the case, because his name is the largest thing on the title card:

[ID: A screenshot from the Web Archive’s video player showing the video paused at 00:04, showing the title card that reads:

“Disney Cartoons presents A Mickey Mouse sound cartoon: Steambie Willie, A Walt Disney comic by UB Iwerks, recorded by Cinephone system, copyright MCMXXVIII”.

On either side of the text are Mickey and Minnie, smiling at eachother. Mickey is holding up a hat in one hand, and a cane in the other with a wide grin of greeting. He has a white face, a buck tooth in his open mouth, white gloves, and light grey shoes and shorts, with the shorts having dark buttons and darker vertical stripes. Minnie has her hands clasped as she smiles at Mickey with lowered eyelids in a flirting pose. She has the same hat as mickey, with a flower stick behind it. She has two circles on her chest like a bra or bow, with a polkadot skirt with a wavy edge. She is wearing light grey heels. End ID.]

There is also a public domain poster with color, which means this design is also Public Domain. And again, this one also names him Mickey Mouse -- making the name Mickey Mouse Public Domain! And this alone would have made the name Public Domain even if he hadn't been named in Steamboat Willie! And, he again has gloves!

[ID: A color poster reading, "Celebrity Productions Inc. Present a Mickey Mouse Sound Cartoon. A Walt Disney comic drawn by UB Iwerks. The World's Funniest cartoon character, a sensation in sound and synchrony.". Mickey is drawn with one hand on his hip and the other in the air. He is wearing yellow gloves with a button in the center of the palm, red pants with white buttons, and large brown boots. He has a red blush on his nose and cheek. His tongue is red, and his black pupils have a white triangle on the side. The background is pale tan. End ID.]

There is also literally nothing stopping anyone from giving any of these characters new color designs with entirely new outfits. That's what the Public Domain is for. Don't think you can only use these characters in black and white, you just can't use versions that Disney still owns the copyright to.

[honourablejester]

I’m realising as I browse around that I really love lore when it comes to ttrpgs, games and game worlds. And by that I don’t mean I like to obsessively learn lists of dates and wars, and the names of leaders of factions, I mean …

I like learning weird, juicy details about the worlds of games. I like finding little nuggets that say things about the set-up and culture and assumptions of the world. I like finding fragments of ideas to hang whole story and character concepts off.

I love that in D&D 5e’s Spelljammer, the Astral Sea is full of the corpses of dead gods that you can fully sail up to in your ship. Just. Floating out there. Waiting for you to rock up to them.

I love that in Sunless Sea, the king of the drowned is the way he is because he fell in love with an eldritch sea urchin from space, and successfully married it. His niece is an angry sentient floating mountain whose mother is a goddess-mountain and whose father is a face-stealing humanoid abomination. This is fine and normal.

I love that in Starfinder, there are mysterious bubble cities in the surface of the sun that the church of the sun goddess discovered and cheerfully occupied despite having no idea who the hell built them or for what purpose.

I love that in Dishonored, the entire industrial revolution that has built the empire we’re in the midst of saving or destroying was built on the properties of whale oil harvested from eldritch tentacled whales that live half in the oceans and half in an eldritch void personified in the form of a weird-ass black-eyed shit-stirrer of a deity who was formed from a murdered and sacrificed child. And this is largely a background detail.

I love in the Elder Scrolls that the dwarves up and fucking vanished, as a race, at some point in history and absolutely nobody has any clue what happened to them or where they went, but their technology is so insane that ideas like ‘they time-travelled’ or ‘they erased themselves from existence’ are absolutely on the table.

I love that in Numenera, so many incredibly advanced civilisations have risen and fallen on this world that it’s absolutely littered with bonkers science fiction artefacts that have caused the current medieval-esque society built over top of them to develop in bizarre ways, and also you can find a mysterious artefact that absolutely baffles and delights your character, but that you the player will fully recognise as a slightly-more-advanced thermos flask.

I love that in Fallout, an irradiated post-nuclear apolocalypic hellscape, there’s a cult that worships the god of radiation as they have come to understand it, and they are mysteriously immune to radiation with absolutely no explanation whatsoever. They’re not ghouls, the usual result of fatally irradiated humans with some resistance, they’re perfectly normal humans who can somehow just tank rads all damn day. It could be a mutation, but Lovecraftian gods apparently do also fully exist in this setting, so it’s also possible that maybe they were on to something with this Atom thing.

I love that in Heart The City Beneath, there’s a mass transit train system that they tried to hook up to the eldritch beating god-thing buried under the city so that they could metaphysically chain the stations together more easily, which went horrifically and metaphysically wrong in entirely predictable fashion, and now there’s a whole order of train-knights who have to keep people safe from the extradimensional weirdness magnet the network has become.

That, and all the fantastic little details you can stumble across. There’s a biotech augmentation in Starfinder called an angler’s light that gives you a little angler-fish bioluminescent antenna on your forehead, and it was developed by asteroid miners who needed light but also both hands free for work. In Dishonored there’s a festival that everyone pretends is outside of time so nothing you do during it can be held against you. There’s a god of snuffed candles mentioned in a single line from Heart The City Beneath who has pacifist cannibal priests, and that is literally all the information you get on him.

While things like the history and geography and timeline of a world do also fascinate me, I’m not really here to memorise stuff like that. I’m here to find weird little nuggets of information and worldbuilding and delight in them. Give me funerary customs and weird myths and oddly specific circumstances and baffling little objects and absolutely bonkers cosmological implications. Give me the corpses of dead gods, and aesthetic movements with highly specific backstories, and bureaucratic fuck-ups of titanic scale, and mysterious things that seem to break all other rules of your setting with absolutely no explanation because people in-universe have no fucking clue how they work either. Why are the Children of Atom immune to radiation without ghoulifying? Not a clue, but Confessor Cromwell has been cheerfully standing in that irradiated pond that kills the player character with about 10 minutes of exposure for the last year and he’s still absolutely fine.

I just. I really love lore. I like my settings to have some meat in them, some juicy details to dig into, some inexplicable elements to have fun trying to explain. Particularly that last bit. I feel like a lot of people when building worlds feel like the rules have to be absolute and everything has to have an explanation, but nah. Putting some weird shit in makes everything immediately feel bigger, more real, because we don’t have even half an idea of how our world truly works, there’s always something we just don’t fully understand yet, and you can put that in a fictional world too. Some mysteries, some contradictions, some randomness, some weirdness. There’s a line, obviously, this depends on execution, but a little bit of mystery really does help.

Lore is awesome. And weird lore is even more so. Heh.

[deoidesign]

How I save time on backgrounds as a full-time webcomic artist

Hi! I make webcomics for a living, and I have to be able to draw a panel extremely fast to keep up with my deadlines. I draw about 50 panels a week, which gives me about 45 minutes per panel if I want any semblance of a healthy work-life balance.

Most webtoon artists save time on backgrounds by using 3d models, which works for them and is great! but personally I hate working in 3d... I went to school for it for a year and hated it so much I completely changed career paths and vowed never to do it again! So, this is how I save time without using any 3d, for those of you out there who don't like it either!

This tactic has also saved me money (3d models are expensive) and it has helped me converting my comic from scroll format into page format for print, because I have much more art to work with than what's actually in the panels. (I'll touch on this later)

So, first, I make my backgrounds huge. my default starting size is 10,000 x 10,000 pixels. My panels are 2,500 pixels wide, so my backgrounds are 4x that, minimum. Because of this, I make them less detailed than I could or that you might expect so it doesn't look weird against my character art when I shrink portions of it down.

I personally find it much easier to add in detail than to make "removing" details look natural at smaller sizes, but you might have different preferences than I do.

I also make sure to keep all of my elements on separate layers so that I can easily remove or replace them, I can move them to simulate different camera angles more easily, and it's simple to adjust the lighting to imply different times of day.

Then I can go ahead and copy/paste them into my episodes. I move the background around until it feels like it's properly fitting how I want.

Once I've done that in every panel, I'll go back through the episode and clean up anything that looks weird, and add in solid blacks (for my art style) Here's a quick before and after of what that looks like!

This makes 90% of my backgrounds take me just a few hours. This is my tactic when I'm working in an environment that an entire scene, or multiple scenes, will take place.

But many panels will inevitably have a location that's used exactly once, and it would waste time and effort to draw a massive background for those. So in 10% of cases, I just draw the single panel background in the episode. I save all of these, just in case I can re-use it later (this happens more often with outdoor locations, but I save them all nonetheless!)

I generally have to draw about 2 big backgrounds per episode, and 3-5 single-panel backgrounds per episode! At the beginning of an arc/book the number is higher, but as the series is continuing and I'm building up an asset library of indoor and outdoor elements to re-use for the book, the number generally goes down and I save more time.

My series involves time travel and mysteries, so there's a lot of new locations in it and we're constantly moving around. If I were working on a series that was more consistent in this aspect, this process would save me even more time!

Like I said earlier, this also saves me a lot of pain and gives me a lot more options as I'm converting from scroll format to print format!

panels that look like this in scroll format...

can look like this in print!

because I drew the background like this, so I didn't need to go through the additional effort to add in the extra detail to expand it outwards at all.

Anyways, I hope this helps someone! As always if it doesn't help, just go ahead and disregard. This is what I do and what works for me, and I feel like I only ever see time-saving tips for comics that involve 3d models and workflows, which don't work for me at all! I know there's more people like me out there, so this is for you!

Enjoy!

Also obligatory "my webcomic" if you want to see this in action or check it out!

[vintagetvstars]

Leonard Nimoy Vs. Avery Brooks

Propaganda

Leonard Nimoy - (Star Trek, Mission: Impossible) - actor, director, musician, writer, photographer and mensch whose hotness as spock CHANGED THE WORLD

Avery Brooks - (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Spenser: For Hire) - ben sisko absolute all time tv dilf and have you heard him SPEAK... the stage background absolutely shows and it truly makes him a standout in a legacy franchise *full* of incredibly talented people. also frankly top 3 all time sexy bald guy

- No Negative Propaganda Please -

Master Poll List | How to submit propaganda | What is vintage? (FAQ)

Additional propaganda below the cut

Leonard Nimoy:

This is the Spock website, come on

its leonard nimoy......

Avery Brooks:

Avery is a certified TV sci-fi hottie as Benjamin Sisko in Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. The first black star trek Captain, he also negotiated his signature look - the bald head and goatee - against haters who thought a Captain should always be clean-shaven. Thank God for that, because he looks devastatingly hot in a a goatee (a phrase never before uttered). He went on to direct several episodes of DS9, use his pleasant voice to record music and multiple host documentaries, and mostly retire from acting to teach as a professor.

TW: Flashing Lights

with that wonderful stentorian baritone voice he could move from intimidating commander to gentle and compassionate space dad...benjamin sisko is a man of many qualities, thoughtful, morally complex, understatedly hilarious, a lil unhinged, really really excited about baseball, and avery brooks never fails to breathe life, depth and dimension into the character and also did i mention his voice. fun fact he was a professor of theater arts at rutgers while filming deep space nine and would occasionally teach classes via vhs tapes recorded on set, complete with starfleet uniform. he also directed a number of ds9 episodes including notable ones like "rejoined" and "far beyond the stars", and performed many of his own stunts as sisko. stunt coordinator dennis madalone said, "of all the stars that I've worked with on all the Star Treks, and all the other shows that I've been on other than Star Trek, I've never seen an actor so physically capable of just doing everything...every time I'd bring in a stunt double, he'd be angry, sitting on a bench, because Avery was doing so great." he's also a distinguished stage actor and an accomplished musician and singer who's performed everything from jazz to opera. science has yet to discover whether there's anything this man can't do.

[dorabellingham]

I'm all yours.

warnings: none

characters: jude x fem!reader

summary: when your husband becomes jealous of you during a real madrid party.

may contain spelling and translation errors!

The event was in full swing, with twinkling lights and soft background music creating a sophisticated atmosphere. Jude Bellingham, in a perfectly tailored suit, looked like the center of attention as always. But, that night, what really caught attention was not his imposing presence, but that of his wife, who looked absolutely stunning in a long black dress. You shined more than anyone else in the room, and that was starting to irritate Jude more than he thought possible, but not because you were attracting attention, never, he loved seeing his wife shine, but he hated strangers devouring you with their eyes.

As soon as you arrived, you were bombarded with compliments from all sides, men and women who could barely contain their admiration. Jude, always very protective and with a quiet sense of ownership, was beginning to lose his patience. With each new compliment you received, his smile became a little more requested, his jaw clenched as his hand remained firmly on your waist.

You couldn't walk two meters without someone stopping you to tell you how beautiful you looked. A group of teammates, who always maintained a friendly attitude, now seemed to go overboard with their jokes. One of them even commented:

—Man, you're so lucky. Your wife is amazing. You really outdid yourself.

The comment wasn't exactly mean, but the joking tone got to him. Bellingham squeezed your waist lightly and gave his friend a cold look.

—Yes, I know that.

He responded dryly, without humor, and continued walking with you, who laughed softly at his reaction.

When you finally arrived at a slightly calmer area, another group, this time of businessmen who worked with the club, approached. One of them, particularly insistent, looked directly at you, ignoring your husband completely.

—You are absolutely stunning, Y/n. I bet it attracts attention wherever it goes.

The man said, smiling exaggeratedly, while you tried to be polite and just thanked him. Jude, arms crossed at your side, let out an audible sigh, his gaze turning into a mixture of boredom and irritation. He took a step forward, positioning himself so that the man would have to acknowledge his presence.

—She attracts attention, yes. But guess what? She's here with me too, so you better tune in!

He said, his tone dry and full of jealousy. The man got nervous and walked away with some excuse, but that didn't ease the tension that was growing inside Jude. You, always perceptive, saw his mood and were excited about the situation.

—Babe, relax. It's just an event, no one is trying anything. You know I'm yours.

But your calmness seemed to make Jude even more irritated by the constant attention. When you were chatting with some more formal guests, another man, clearly enchanted by your beauty, arrived and made a bold compliment about how you looked like a "movie star". Jude interrupted a conversation on the spot.

—What did you say?

He asked, interrupting a conversation, his gaze sharp as a blade. The businesswoman was a little disconcerted, but tried to hide it.

—I was just saying that your wife has a... a special sparkle.

Jude let out a short, ironic laugh.

—Yes, I know that. She is special. So, you'd better keep the compliments a little more... discreet.

The tension in the air was evident, and the woman, slightly uncomfortable, hurriedly said goodbye. You, who was watching everything, crossed your arms and looked at your husband with an expression of someone who was having fun.

—You are impossible today. There will be no one left at the event, Bellingham.

You commented jokingly.

He shrugged, still frowning.

—They need to understand that there is no chance.

You laughed, holding his hand and stroking his fingers with yours.

—Nobody here has it, Babe. You know that. But it hasn't been improved yet.

You walked around the room together again, and whenever a longer look fell on you, he visibly tensed. People noticed the atmosphere and, little by little, they became more restrained when approaching her. Still, Jude kept his guard up throughout the event.

When he finally reached his car, after a long night of compliments and prying eyes, Bellingham let out a heavy sigh as he climbed into the passenger seat.

—I don't like it when people look at you like that. Like, you were ogling you and I wasn't there.

You, who was already more used to his protective posture, radiated and leaned towards him.

—You were there, yes. And me too. With you, always with you. And no one here can change that.

Jude looked at you, finally relaxing.

—I know... But it's hard not to be jealous when you're so... perfect.

You smile, kissing him softly on the lips.

—And I'm all yours. I didn't forget that.

[stevieschrodinger]

I do not have time to write this, but I really need to write it down.

All the events of Stranger things happen as normal - one crucial difference, Eddie gets involved, but not in the same way. He's an innocent by stander who never made friends with the kids. He's a vague background character to the action. He's an extra on set, effectively, and when he drops out of school and leaves town abruptly, someone might notice, but no one really questions it.

Years later, the only thing that feels real about the whole thing are the scars Steve still carries on his body. Sometimes, sometimes, he has to call Robin, just to check it was all real. That he hasn't lost his mind. He still flinches when a light flickers, to this day his ears ring for hours after a loud noise. He has headaches.

The only people he can talk to about it are Robin and the kids; but he feels bad. The kids aren't kids anymore, and they all seem to have just...gotten on with their lives. Seemed to have grown and evolved past it all, even though Steve regularly still wakes in the night, sweating and fighting with his bed covers. He doesn't put that on them, he sounds happy on the phone, and he is, loves hearing about their lives, their relationships, their plans and their own kids.

Robin has a girlfriend, she's happy and settled. Steve's the only one who seems...stuck. Like he cant move past it. He bums around. Stays with Nancy for a while, then Robin. Visits Argyle, makes loose acquaintances and sofa surfs. Drifts, aimlessly, through life.

It's about time in his cycle to visit Robin, but the relationship is serious this time and she nags him to find his own place to stay near by - loosing patience with him when he fails to be motivated and finding it for him herself. It's tiny, the kind of place where the bed is also the couch and the TV rests on a short run of kitchen counter because there's no where else. Feels okay though.

Steve gets a job. Spends a day on foot, door to door, walking through town; lands in a record shop of all places, even though CD's have now well and truly taken hold and vinyl isn't much of a thing. It's dark inside, the walls painted black, the bare brick red. A couple of people browse through, but Steve heads right for the counter.

There's some screamo rock stuff playing that Steve doesn't recognize, but it's quiet, so it's okay.

Behind the counter, someone Steve half recognizes from another life. Eddie Munson, Freak of Hawkins High. What are the odds.

Eddie isn't who Steve remembers. He's angry now. Bitter. Has a horrible scar that creeps up his neck and onto his face, pulling the corner of his lip down. Steve does his best to ignore it. Begs for work.

Eddie employs him, but only because he thinks it's fucking funny how far the king has fallen. Now the king works for the jester.

Steve does his best at the shop. Cleans a lot. Gets on well with the customers, charms plenty of sales.

Eddie walks with a cane and seems to hate everyone and everything; but nothing so much as a cold morning. Seems to be in more pain than usual.

Steve wants to ask, Eddie tells him it was an animal attack. In 86.

Steve's seen some of the scars by now, caught glimpses of how bad Eddie was hurt; helped Eddie even when Eddie was spitting angry about accepting any help.

What the fuck kind of animal could do that much damage in Hawkins?

You wouldn't believe me if I told you.

And Steve puts it together then, instantly and viscerally realizes in his bones what must have happened. No one ever believed Eddie. Why would they? How could anyone think that monsters coming out of the walls, out of the floors, out of glowing red portals could be the truth?

And Steve says, did it's face peel apart like a flower?

And then he tells Eddie. He tells Eddie everything. He shows Eddie his own scars. Tells him about every monster they ever come across. It was one of the demo dogs. Like Dart. Steve knew it must have been, but Eddie confirms with a description.

And then Eddie cries, because he finally has a explanation. He's not crazy. For the first time in his life, someone believes him.

[art]

Creator Spotlight: GDBee Art (@prinnay)

Geneva Bowers is inspired by the wonders of the natural world around us, and enjoys manipulating colors to create art full of mood and feelings.

Check out our interview with Geneva below!

How did you get started with art? Did you originally have a background in art?

I’m going to say yes because that’s all I’ve known how to do. It started because I wanted to draw better horses than my sister, and it just spiraled from there. People started asking me to draw things because they saw me drawing horses. I was like, well, I can draw things that aren’t horses, and then it was just kind of all I did. 

Have you ever had an art block? If so, how did you overcome it?

I have one right now! Honestly, with time, and I also collect art books; I think I have a couple hundred. If I really want to draw something, then I just flip through those and try to steal some ideas.

Which three famous artists (dead or alive) would you invite to your dinner party?

I mean, of course Van Gogh…I’m really inspired by Impressionism and Post-Impressionism, so I would invite Van Gogh, Monet, and Julie Dillon to a dinner party.

Have you ever wanted to dive into another medium before?

Yeah, actually, I currently am! I’m trying to do more traditional painting. I used to do a lot of acrylics, but I haven’t done it in years, and now I’m kind of bad at it. I’m trying to get into actual impressionistic art with oils and oil pastels. I’m like failing, but you know, you get there. Just fail until it looks presentable. 

If there is one thing you want your audience to remember about your work, what would it be?

I guess it’s more of a feeling. I create art because I’m inspired by things around me, like certain video games. For example, I have been inspired by a Japanese RPG called Chrono Cross on PlayStation 1. They make me feel a certain type of inspiration to create something, so that’s kind of like what I’m hoping to leave behind. 

Have any of your projects surprised you with their outcome?

Yeah! I did this Weapon Faerie series where I took three prompts: a weapon, a winged insect, and an herb, which I combined to make different characters. So, a faerie with a spiked club or a butterfly faerie with a katana. I made 13 of those, and they kind of took off! I wasn’t expecting that at all.

What is the hardest part of your process?

My whole art style is coloring, like the way it’s colored… but I hate the coloring process, haha. I like doing the color combos, but I don’t like the blending and shading. That takes like one-trillion years. It’s the part where I’m most likely to give up. You know how art kind of looks ugly before it looks good? I’m trying to trust that process. 

What do you wish you knew when you started creating art that you know now?

I guess one big thing would be knowing how to use lights and darks. When I do color, it is definitely colorful, but when you switch it to black and white, you see that everything’s the same tone of gray. I’ve learned that if you just use some brighter colors and some darker shades, you create a bigger impact in the end. So, now, when I paint something digital, I make it black and white for a moment to see where all the hues are, and if something is weirdly dark or not dark enough, I can change it.

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

Oh, @feefal definitely inspires me. She does a lot of spooky art.

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

five | chapter list

Finding out you’re a princess isn’t half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can’t seem to stop flirting with you. 

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, implied chubby!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

James can tell you're nervous, though you hide it exceptionally well. Years of training and years before that of being the best friend to two natural born fibbers has given him a professional understanding of the ways people will pretend.

There's no need to pretend. It's your father's funeral. 

James sits behind you on the pews. There are guards posted at all four entrances and exits to the church, but the level of security doesn't relax you, because it isn't why you're tensed. 

He has to bite his tongue to stop from speaking. Has to cling to his own hands rather than lean forward and inquire if you're alright. He's lucky he'd been allowed to sit as close to the front of the room as he had been, and that was only after a convincing speech to the Queen herself on the dangers your first public outing may entail. He hadn't been exaggerating. 

James hadn't been as succinct as he could've been, either, but no one else needs to know. 

He looks around the front of the church rather than the back of your head and your tight shoulders. The room has all the furnishings one would expect of a royal funeral, garish white tapings and mammoth crystal chandeliers with their metal fixtures waxed to a burning shine. Light floods in multicolour from gargantuan stained glass windows, reds and greens and buttery orange-yellow kissing the floor, the walls, and the brown lacquered casket at the front of the room. 

The proceedings had been in Genovian. James understood the majority, and he's sure Remus caught the rest. Your shoulder had started shaking somewhere between psalms, which means your arm had been shaking, and that's likely from a jigging anxious knee. You're unsettled. 

James is unsurprised. There are huge cameras in several places across the room, and at times they'd been pointed at you, your cousin, your aunts and uncles, and, of course, the Queen. 

Your identity has been officially broadcasted to the entire world —though thanks to now redundant members of the Royal staff, that had already been true to some extent. You are a princess in the gaze of billions, even if you do choose to give up the role as you're intending. This won’t be easy to leave behind.

Crown Princess or not, you're of royal blood, entitled to royal protection, and so. James can follow you anywhere you want to go for the foreseeable future as long as you allow him. You are just scared enough to say yes. (He hadn't exaggerated the state of things to you. No part of him wants to scare you. But he told you the truth, and he'd scared you anyhow.) 

Sitting next to the Queen is the Queen mother (your great-grandmother), and beside her is your uncle, your aunt, the Princess Julianna, and then you. Julianna is clearly unhappy with your untrained decorum but won't risk talking lest she end up on the front page of the newspapers scolding her newly instated cousin. 

"Might we all bow our heads for the final prayer." 

You bow your head too quickly and too low. James winces and does the same. Hopefully they'll think you miseducated rather than stupid, though to many that's the same crime. 

The prayer ends, and pallbearers step forward to carry the casket back out of the church to the hearse, a mixture of royals and paid actors strong enough to take the weight. The first row stands, James sticking out like a nettle among flowers, though his all black uniform isn't out of place for once. 

He slots himself behind you in the procession as it begins to walk down the aisle. He can speak and get away with it due to both occupation and occasion, a melancholy orchestra plays as the King is carried home. 

"Hello," he says, his face tilted near imperceptibly toward yours. "Everything okay?" 

He wants to ask the same question, but better. How are you feeling? I'm sorry I can't give you an out yet. 

"Okay," you say. 

"You're doing so well," he says.

You relax slightly. You pass Sirius at the very back of the church, where he taps his chin, prompting you to lift your own. The photography outside of the church is respectful, but Sirius and James alike have already quizzed you on what expression to keep. You can't smile. You can't frown. You have to look heartbroken but not hysterical —being branded as an attention seeker so early would fry your reputation. The last thing you need is a smear campaign before the funeral is over. You have to look grateful to be here. 

It is not an easy balance to strike. 

James thinks you're doing wonderfully either way, and the point of the funeral is to respect your father now he's passed, but he'd also say it was a successful launch. You look sweet, and remarkably made up. 

"Can we go home now?" you ask. 

"We can. You don't have anything else on the docket." 

"I don't have to go to, like, a wake?" you ask. 

James shakes his head. "No. I think most of the family want to grieve in private after a spectacle like this." 

"An event," Sirius corrects. 

"Are you hungry?" James asks. 

"Why, does Genovia have McDonald's?"

It's a credit to both James and Sirius that they manage to hide how funny they find you. "We do, but we can't take you to McDonald's. There'll be paparazzi following your car as soon as we leave the lot." 

"I don't want McDonald's," you say. 

"We know. I'm just asking so I can call ahead," James says. 

"It's my job, really," Sirius says. 

It's neither. You should've had a lady in waiting by now, a professional one to handle every aspect of your day by day, but the sudden nature of your arrival and now incoming date of your departure has left you without one. Sirius and James (and Remus, at times) have been happy to pick up the slack. 

"Is it bad that I am hungry?" you ask. 

James guides you away from the procession as the hearse pulls away, eager to get you in your own car sandwiched between a crowd of bodyguards. His men fall in without prompting, surrounding you on all sides. You visibly wither at the precaution. 

"It's not bad. Grieving is hungry work," Sirius says. 

James can't keep up with your conversation. There's suspicious movement at the barricade, the gathered supporters strangely rowdy for the occasion. He gestures with two fingers for the guards at his side to pull in tighter. Unsatisfied, he clears his throat and says, "Fall in, guys." 

He doesn't need to say what he's worried about. The guards under his employ and under any branch of Palace security should have enough sense to feel the difference in the atmosphere. 

"There's the Princess!" someone shouts. Hundreds of eyes find you. 

"I don't wave, do I?" you ask, turning to look at James. You realise the guards have tightened ranks, a frown twisting your pretty smile down. "What's happening?" 

He hates the sudden fear in your voice. 

"Nothing," he says, hand hovering behind the small of your back, eyes at the crowd. There's a man standing too still to be natural. "Don't worry. What are you having for dinner?" 

"That was an awful lie, you didn't even try," you complain, following his line of sight as best as you can to the crowd. 

"Seriously, Princess, what are we having for dinner?" Sirius asks.

"Am I in danger?" you ask.

"No," James says firmly.

"They're protecting me," Sirius says, which would be more believable if he didn't have to shout it over someone's shoulder. 

"You're not in any danger," James says, firmer still, a bite to his voice that makes Sirius wince. You stare. "You're still on camera, Princess." James is on camera. Your safety comes first, but his job is his job. Mary already berated him upon her return about his mishandling of the first airport disaster, and if James can't handle these situations, they'll find someone else to do it.

They manage to get you to your car without any incidents. James covers the roof and ushers you in, closing the door behind you. He takes the passenger seat, and your driver for the day, Munroe, starts the short journey back to Bellaverden House. 

James stays sitting prim, the light of the police escorts fronting your procession gaussian blue on his hands. 

"Are you okay?"

James is surprised that you're asking him, turning to meet your eyes from over his shoulder. "I'm perfectly fine. How are you, are you alright?"

You look a little seasick, hands either side of you in the empty seats. "I'm sorry if I made you mad." 

It's an expression he's seen on Sirius a hundred times, uncertainty, the anxiety of not knowing if you're in trouble with someone. He does as he would with him. "I'm not mad, Princess. I have to… I have to be someone else when I'm working to make sure I perform the way I need to. I’m sorry if that feels personal, but I can assure you it's just work. Okay?" He starts professional, ends soft. "Now, are you alright?" 

He keeps waiting for the reality of your situation to press upon you. Grief for a man you never knew, even anger at his inactive role in your life, but you stay quiet and cagey as a nervous cat. 

"I'm fine, James."

"Are you?" James watches for it, finds the tremor in your hands that betrays you even if you don't think there's anything wrong. 

"Fine," you say. 

—

Two days later, you take a flight home. Private again, less than ten passengers, six of which are following you. You’d wanted to escape the royal duties and they’re practically tucked in your back pocket. 

“Don’t look so scolded,” Sirius says, ineffectual as he gets comfortable beside you, a tray of biscuits in his lap. 

“What?” 

“James isn’t angry.” 

You hide a small fluster with a swallow. “I know.” 

“Well.” Sirius eats another biscuit. You honestly like him as much as you like James, though you’re starting to think he might end up being a pain in your side. He’s… opinionated. “You don’t look like you know. Can you eat something so everyone can stop worrying?” 

“Sorry.” 

You eat a chocolate biscuit, frown, eat a shortbread. Your stomach rumbles with a sickly lurch, but after a bit the sugar kicks in and you feel better. You peer around Sirius to spot James and Mickey pointing at different things on an iPad across the aisle. Just behind them, Remus sleeps, sitting next to Marlene. And, for reasons unbeknownst to you, Lily and Emmeline chatter in the seats just ahead. 

You tried very hard to get out of being a princess, and yet you’ve been trailed back home anyways. 

“You’re like Remus,” Sirius says, with surprising affection for both of you, “a bit of chocolate and the sulking stops.”

“They’re nice biscuits.” 

“They’re Genovian, obviously they’re nice biscuits. You’re used to that English shite–”

“Come on,” you reprimand lightly, “have you ever had a Welsh shortbread? Get a grip.” 

“I’ve had many Welsh shortbread. My Remus is very Welsh.” Sirius sinks down in his seat a little, seemingly sated by even a mention of Remus. The more you know them, the more you realise ‘my Remus’ is accurate. Sirius doesn’t even really say it with fondness or anything so saccharine, but just the addition of the word packs a punch. He’s said ‘my James’ before too, and that had been the same. 

A little nibble of jealousy blossoms in your chest. 

“Have you and Remus always been friends?” you ask. 

Sirius tilts his head back. His nice chin points at you, his eyes lazily opened but friendly all the same. “Yes. Despite his wishes, some of the time. I was friends with James first, the day we met, but Remus shared a room so he couldn’t escape us. He was friendlier with… we had another roommate. So for a while we were natural pairs, but eventually we became a right group of messers.” 

“I find it a bit difficult to make friends.” 

“Me too.” He closes his eyes for a second. “If I hadn’t been forced to see them every day, I wonder if I would’ve managed it.” 

You’re late for boarding school, but seeing people each day might be manageable. After all, you’ve a trapped posse of advisors with you at this very moment, destined to trail after you for what could be months. 

You hope that, when they inevitably return home, they might still want to be friends. 

The plane begins descending half an hour from the airport. Sirius squeezes the arm but doesn’t fuss. Then, suddenly, the landing gear is out, the seatbelt lights are on, and Sirius is encouraging you to ram the last of the biscuits in with him so he can bin the plastic tray they came in. “Go on,” he whispers, forcing the last, huge slag of caramel and chocolate in your direction, “before Marlene can see we’ve ruined dinner.” 

“She’s not actually going to cook for me, is she?” you ask, frowning. 

“Of course she is.” 

Of course she is. You cringe through the landing, but can’t stop yourself from smiling when James makes his way to your chairs to get your bag from the overhead. You know it’s lame, but it’s just like having a boyfriend. 

“Remus, will you get mine too?” you hear Sirius ask as he slinks around James’ body. 

“Get your own.” 

“Nice flight?” you ask James. 

He smiles. “Awesome. You look better off than the last time.” 

Last time you’d been exhausted, with red-rimmed eyes and a shiner. This is decidedly better, but you’re thrice as tired emotionally. 

“I can’t wait to go home.” 

James puts a hand behind your shoulder like he’s known you for years. “I bet you can’t,” he says. 

“Will you be, uh, sleeping on my sofa again?” 

He laughs and encourages you down the plane’s aisle. “Not this time, Princess. The proper arrangements have been made. I’ll miss your floral pillowcases, rest assured.” 

“I’ll miss getting decked by my door.” 

James’ gaze snaps to yours in shock. He pauses with his mouth just slightly open, and then a laugh jumps from him, a sunny, warm, crackly chuckle that heats your cheeks. “Yes!” he praises, giving you a poke. “I knew we’d make a comedian of you. And a dark one.” 

The sheer look of joy on his face buoys you as you journey home. It was out of character, sure, but worth it to have made him laugh. You find you like the feeling of it, the pleasure, even the satisfaction of making him laugh. You’ll have to do it again. 

You seem to have avoided any leaks of gossip or press, ushered by a small, tight group of security through the airport and to a jet black freelander. 

James opens the back door for you. “No SUV?” you ask, climbing in. 

“They’re not exactly common here, are they? This is less eye-catching.” 

“Less impressive,” Sirius says, nudging you across to climb in after you. 

You find yourself shuttered to the opposite side of the car as Remus gets in behind him. “Idiots,” James mutters. 

“I thought we should’ve had a G-wagon,” Sirius says. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Remus says. 

“Or something stylish, then. A Benz.” 

“This is nicer than the bus,” you say. 

Sirius wrinkles his nose. “Too right.” 

“So, where are we going?” you ask. You can’t work out why they’ve gotten into the same car. 

“I thought we’d stay with you for a bit,” Sirius says easily. 

“Why?” 

You flush as you realise what you’ve said, and how bluntly it came out. 

Sirius doesn’t flinch. “I was thinking you might want company. No?” 

“You don’t have to–”

“No, we don’t,” Remus says, resting his weight on Sirius’ arm, “but we want to if you’re alright with it.” 

You settle in your seat for the drive home, a small smile playing on your lips. It would be nice to have friends right now. 

—

It turns out that time spent with the boys can get out of hand. Even James, oh so serious, begins to play into their shenanigans. Being together relaxes them, evident in their huge dopey smiles and the tactile way they go about the evening. 

James was supposed to leave sometime after eight when Mickey arrived to relieve him, but he’d hunkered down with Remus on the sofa, stealing sips of his tea and attempting to push his socked feet under Remus’ thighs. “No,” he says now, giving Remus a prod, “you knocked the Genovian pear juggler clear off of his feet! And you blamed Sirius!” 

“And I took the blame like a proper man,” Sirius says, tipping his head back to lay on Remus’ knees. “You’re welcome.” 

“You owed me.” 

A vague tenseness lines James’ shoulders, but Sirius only says, “Yes, I did.” 

“He had to wash dishes for a month,” Remus says. 

“I accepted my punishment. Besides, it gave me plenty of opportunity to pilfer the kitchens. We ate enough chocolate to make ourselves sick of it in a week.”

You curl up tighter in the armchair. The TV is playing quietly, an old movie flickering in muted colours, dabs of it caught on James’ arm. 

He pushes his glasses further up his nose. You like them, the glasses, though he says they aren’t practical. They look good on him, bringing an extra darkness to his eyes, already a nice honey brown. All these brown eyed boys in one place isn’t good for you. 

Marlene had, to your horror, come around to make you and your guests a late supper. You’d asked her how the royal kitchens would run without her and she’d asked you not to insult her workers. She’s bullied you into three plates worth and promised to be back tomorrow morning. 

You’d said oh, no, please don’t, and James had reminded you that you’re going to be a princess for the rest of your life. Get used to extravagance. 

And company! Sirius called. 

He hasn’t moved since he got here, not even for dinner, though it’s not like you all would’ve fit around your teeny kitchen table anyhow. He picks at a plate of buttered bread and Genovian grapes, which Marlene had apparently gotten for him on special request. He has a planner in front of him, a heavy looking silver pen between lithe fingers scribbling across the pages, scratching things out, drawing big arrows as he moves dates around. 

“You’re busy,” you say sympathetically. 

Sirius snorts. “This is your planner, babe.” 

“My what?” 

“I’m trying to fit driving lessons around your classes. They’re quite random, aren’t they?” He lifts his gaze to meet your confusion. “James wants you to learn.” 

“Well, I haven’t asked her yet, mate,” James says. 

Sirius shrugs. “If I’m going to work it out, I need to do it now before bed.” 

“What about my shifts?” you ask. 

Sirius tilts his head ever so slightly to one side. “You still want to work?” 

You remember the shock of the inheritance all over again. Weird to think a lump sum will have cleared in your bank account before you got home, the accruement of years spent unaware of your heritage. It will be strange to quit The Morgan —you know so many of the regulars, and you’ve spent the last two years living off of that paycheck— but the idea is a sudden warm blanket. 

“I can quit?” you ask. 

“Sure,” Sirius says. “If you want. You don’t have to worry about it anymore. That’s not to say you can’t work, but I can’t imagine you’ll spend what you have soon…” 

You smile to yourself, guilty and so, so relieved. “You wouldn’t believe how horrible my manager is. I don’t want to be spoiled–”

All three boys roll their eyes. It’s unnerving. “It’s not spoiled,” Remus says. 

“It makes my life easier,” James says. “Besides, the Royal Family might demand it.” 

“Mm, it’ll look bad if the heir keeps her pub job,” Sirius says. He scratches out a last corner of the page. “Alright, darling, listen up. You can fit in two hours of driving a day, three times a week, is that gonna be something you can do? In about two months you should have your forty five hours of practice. We can study theory twice a week. If it’s too intense we can slow down, there’s no rush, really, just James–”

“Doesn’t like the bus,” you say. 

“Hates public transport,” Sirius agrees. 

“It’s good for the environment,” James speaks up, leaning further and further toward the arm, sinking into your battered throw cushions, “bad for princesses.” 

That awful p-word. 

“Alright. That sounds perfect, Sirius. Thank you for working it all out.” 

“You’re very welcome. You might not like me so much when you see how many hours I’ve given Remus.” 

You put your hands between your legs. “Oh, do I still have to do all that? Even if I’m not going to...”

“Become the crown princess of Genovia and rule the country?” Remus asks. “Yes, you still have to do all that. If only the basics.” 

“But why?” 

“‘Cos I said so,” Remus quips, leaning forward as Sirius leans back, a scarred hand falling naturally against his sharp shoulder. 

“Ooh, you’re in trouble now, Princess,” James says. “An angry Remus is formidable.” 

“I’m not angry.” Remus reaches over Sirius for a grape, his nose brushing black hair. 

Sirius softens from the brush of touch alone. It is an intense thing to see, not private but intimate nonetheless. They must be seeing, you decide, curling tighter again in the armchair and craving another box of biscuits. For the first time since the funeral, you aren’t feeling off centre. You just feel like you, home again, an itch to sketch in your hands battered down by fatigue. It’s been such a long day, yet you stay your leave. 

“Scratch my hair?” Sirius asks. 

Remus hums. “No, thank you.” 

“Oh, please, Remus. Just scratch it, don’t be selfish.” 

“He’s a sponge for it,” James tells you. “Couldn’t be touched when we met him, mind, but now he won’t leave you alone once you’ve said yes. If he asks you to draw shapes on his arm, save yourself and say no.” 

You wouldn’t mind, you don’t think. Sirius sees it on your face and grins. 

James decides to appease Sirius while Remus refuses and ushers him his way. He runs a big hand through Sirius' hair, fingers combing to the ends, and then he goes up the back of his neck, where he begins to scratch long circles. “That’s better,” Sirius says, falling back against James’ leg. “I always thought I should be a prince, you know. I like the royal treatment.” 

“Didn’t get much royal treatment as a lord, did you?” Remus asks. 

“You’re a lord?” you ask. 

“I could’ve been. I was the heir,” Sirius says, tone taking on a dripping disdainfulness that seems tired of real emotion. 

“Lord of the most Noble House of Black,” James says. “Only he ditched them. Quite dramatically.” 

“Thank goodness,” Remus says. 

Sirius looks at you again. Both exhausted and unaffected, like the deepest pain has passed. You can see the weariness of someone who’s spent days at a long dinner table, though now he sits slouched and cared for against your ratty sofa, and it suits him more. “My family is traditional, and I’m less so. I could never have lived the life I was supposed to. It probably would have killed me. So I left, and I was lucky enough to be taken care of by another oh so noble family.” 

“The Potter’s aren’t noble,” James says quickly. “I’m not a lord or heir or anything.” 

“Well, you are heir of the Potter name and riches and all,” Remus says, taking Sirius’ plate of snacks into his lap. He folds a thick piece of the bread and butter and offers it to Sirius before eating the last one. 

“Yes…” James gives Remus a pointed look, which Remus ignores. “But it’s not like the Black family. You might actually meet them, one day.” 

“Pray not,” Sirius says to himself. 

“Hmm. The Potter’s are an older family too, but not like the Black’s. The Black’s have deep Genovian roots, my family are–” James’ cheeks take colour. “Rich, yes. Very rich.” 

“But you work,” you say. 

“I think I’d go mad if I couldn’t.” He must spot the look of guilt you fail to thwart. “But it’s different. To grow up completely looked after, I’ve never had to do anything I didn’t want to do.” 

“That’s not what I’ve been led to believe,” Remus cuts in, laughing, meeting James’ eyes, “all that homework you needed my help with, you did that willingly?” 

You laugh at James’ faked annoyance and their matching chuckles. Time that night seems to slip away, and it’s well past midnight when you fall asleep, still curled in your chair. 

In the morning, you wake up in bed. 

You pull a pillow over your face, cold underside to your boiling skin. How did I get here? you ask yourself, terrified of the answer. 

—

Honestly, your flat isn’t the nicest. It’s clean as you can manage, but there’s damp in the bathroom and it’s rather squashed. James finds himself squinting in disgust at the door at the front of the building which still doesn’t open properly (and so can be jimmied) despite his annoyed email to the landlord where he’d cited a few chosen laws and threatened to withhold the rent, though he supposes it had no weight because James isn’t the one paying it. Still, he can’t deal with this. He has to convince you to move. A gated community might be a shout; he’d worry less if you lived among the rich and their security cameras. 

But he doesn’t suppose the best course of action here is to displace you again. You like your flat, he thinks, hadn’t you told him before that you liked the quiet? Or was it the noise? It’s not like London has a reputation for peace. He’s still not sure how you ended up living in central London: he commits to ask. 

James isn’t going to give up on you. He wants you to be princess, The Princess, he wants you to take your place as Queen of Genovia one day. Not because you’re the only one who can stop fucking Baron Riddle from ruling Genovia as a tyrant bastard, but because it’s your birthright. You run from something that could be so special to stay here, alone and lonely. He knows it’s harsh to think of it that way, and yet he does. And, selfishly, he wants to stay with his friends. He wants to be your friend. If the Riddle family control Genovia he can say goodbye to his job, and he can say goodbye to the life he’s made. He could make another one, of course, but he has a feeling about you. 

He takes the stairs past the huge discarded mattress and a floor covered in mail to your flat. The door is propped open which he hates, but Mikkelson is inside, sitting at the kitchen table with you, drinking a polite cup of tea. Sirius leans up against a counter with his own.  

“Good morning,” James says. 

You’re wearing jogging bottoms, socks, and a t-shirt with a charcoal smudge on the neck. It has short, short sleeves, showcasing the lengths of your arms. James is only a boy, following the curve of one down to your hand. 

You glance at your arm, then him. “Good morning?” 

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks to save himself. 

“It’s warm out?” you say, peering around Mickey to check the sunshine coming from the window. “It’s warm in here, at least.” 

“Mickey, are you ready?” James asks. 

Mickey thanks you for the tea and leaves, tired in the eyes. James slaps him on the shoulder as he goes. 

Sirius stretches backwards. When he rises up, he fixes James with a cool look. “Jamie, I’ve just heard from our royal sweetness that you’ve been calling me her stylist.” 

You flinch. “Uh–”

“Well,” James says, grinning as he settles against the doorframe, “it is how Lily introduced you.“

“Ah, yes, Lily Evans. Longtime frenemy. I expected it from her. I didn’t realise you were driving the narrative home in my absence.”

“Sirius, you do style her, you realise.” 

“I’m a media coach!” Sirius sniffs. “And a gentleman in waiting, for the time being.” 

“You’re more than a coach,” James says. 

“Yes, well. I’m not a stylist. At least, that’s not my first priority. I’m miffed with you now, so steer clear of me.” Sirius says, ferrying back to the living room. 

James hears the clunk of his modest briefcase being opened. You start to apologise, but he shakes his head with a grin. “Please ignore him, he’s kidding.” He traces the side of your face in the light. “Your bruise is almost gone.” 

Your fingers flit to your cheek and the well of your eye. “Yeah. Yeah, it's only sore now.”

“Little yellow in the crease.” Hard to see if you’re not really looking.  

“It feels like it was a really long time ago,” you say, standing from your chair with a wobble. 

“You alright?” he asks. 

You make for the kettle, flicking it on. “Fine. Tea, coffee?” 

“Sure, I’ll have some tea. What’s Sirius doing up so early?” 

“He didn’t say yet.” 

You take a mug from the cupboard printed in autumn leaves. James hears a rough sound and turns to the living room on instinct, hard pressed to hold in a laugh as he watches Sirius right your knocked coffee table. James had taken Remus back to the accommodation last night while Sirius insisted he’d stay. It’s not nice to be alone, he’d said simply. When James turns back to the kitchen, you’ve placed a tea bag and a teaspoon in the mug, jug of milk waiting, jar of brown sugar cracked. “It’s gone solid,” you warn, “there’s nothing wrong with it though, I promise.” 

“I only have a little. Here, I can do it. Have you eaten?” 

“Yeah, we had toast. Did you?” 

“Don’t worry about me,” he says. 

James has said goodbye to professionalism. Not safety, not doing his job, but if what you need to be the crown princess is a friend, James will be your friend. He can do that easily. It feels a little odd after fighting it for the time you spent in Genovia, but he’s done with pretending you’re not cutesy. 

“What are you going to do today?” he asks, coming up behind you, close enough to see the dark pupil of your eye and the white of the kitchen light against it.

“Um, well, Sirius is going to help me tender my resignation at the bar, and then I guess I have a driving lesson? I should probably try to catch up on my assignments, or. I don’t know, maybe I’ll drop out.” Your eyes widen slightly. “Not because I want to do nothing. I just– I can– can try again. A fresh start at a proper university.” 

James holds the top of your arm. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that. You don’t have to decide anything today. I’m sure you can take a sabbatical for your current term, Sirius can help you sort that out, just until you decide. Or you could drop out tonight and think about it all later. You have time. I didn’t think for a second it was because you want to do nothing, and even if I did, that’s not bad either.” His thumb crests a small circle, pushing up the line of your sleeve. 

Your lips part for a moment before you answer, as though practising. “Thank you, James.” 

“I haven’t done anything.” 

“I bet you don’t think so.” 

James pats your shoulder gently, then reaches for the kettle as it flicks off, boiled. “Can I suggest an addendum to your calendar?” 

“Sure.”

“I was thinking you could try another counselling session.” 

You blink, stopped with a tea bag in hand. “Why?” 

“The first one went well, didn’t it?” 

“But I’m home now.” 

“That doesn’t erase the last week.” Nearly two now, since you found out.

You push your mug toward his and he fills it with hot water. He follows suit and adds his own milk, stirring it together quickly. His spoon on the sides is a biting clink, clink, clink. 

“Things have felt a bit staccato, haven’t they?” he asks. 

You nod, toying with the handle of your mug. 

“It would be nice for you to have something constant. Some stability. And we can arrange for you to have private care here, you know.”

“I have stability,” you argue unsurely. “You and Remus and Sirius, and Frank, too. Is he coming back?” 

“Frank’s having some time off with his partner, but he’ll be here soon.” He laughs, pushing the body of his teabag against the side of his mug, the brown of the tea seeping into the milk in a wave. “I don’t think you can get rid of me, however hard you wanna try.” 

“I wasn’t trying to get rid of you.”

James looks up. He catches your eye. Again, the dark of your pupil shines and shakes, not sure where to look, but your lip stays in a firm line like you’ve been chastened. He remembers flicking you under the chin the last time you’d looked at him like that. He could do it again, but he fears Sirius’ judgement. “I know,” he says, voice soft with his low volume. “I’m teasing.” 

“Would you not?” you ask. 

“So spritely today! Alright, is your tea done? Let’s go sit in the living room and make a list.” 

“A list?” 

“Of things you want to do,” he says, scooping the tea bag from his mug. 

“I don’t know what I want to do.” You take his spoon to remove your tea bag. 

You chuck it in the sink, pulling your mug to your chest. You don’t sound happy about making the list, but you follow him obligingly to the living room where Sirius is brushing his hair from his face, a list of his own coming to life on his knee. 

“Not more duties for me?” you ask tentatively. 

Sirius makes grabbing hands for James’ mug. James, with a sigh, lets him have it. Sirius takes a glutinous sip and doesn’t offer it back. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t clear up your job status when talking to the Princess, Pads. Can we ever be friends again?” James says in defeat. 

“I’ll think about it,” Sirius says, not bothering to meet James’ eyes. “And to answer your question, your sweetness, it’s not for you, don’t worry. I’m trying to make sure Remus’ medical information is being properly swapped over. It’s…” Sirius takes another sip of tea and then thankfully passes it back. “A headache. Doctors.” 

“Does Remus know you’re doing that?” James asks, sitting on the empty sofa. You take the seat beside him. 

“Not yet. It’s not– not like it’s not part of my job. He works for the princess, I work for the princess, I might as well make sure he’s tip top shape to do that.” Sirius gets that look James recognises for not wanting to talk about the thing he’s talking about anymore, his eyes lighting up predictably. “What’s on your agenda today?” 

“I suppose we’ll be taking the Princess to the shops at some point. You needed some bits?” he asks. 

You noticeably fluster but don’t answer. 

“And then after that I’ll be taking her for her first driving lesson.” 

Your jaw drops. “Wait, you're teaching me?” 

“Well, just to begin with,” James says. He squints at you. “I’m a good driver, I’ll have you know.” 

Sirius rolls his eyes. 

“I am! And besides, who do I trust more than me? And you trust me, don’t you?” he asks you.

You cross your arm over your chest. “Yeah, ‘course.” 

James’ grin is evident in his tone. “Good. Because after that we’ll be endeavouring into the land of self-defence.” 

“What?” 

“With a safety mat, don’t worry.” 

You nibble your bottom lip. “Well, I wasn’t until you said that.” 

[erinwantstowrite]

bear with me here because i'm gonna ramble about something i've been thinking about for a while... and i'm not complaining, i'm just noticing

sometimes i think we've leaned so far into the vigilante side of the batfam that we miss out on what really makes their characters: detective work. we need more mysteries in their lives that don't lead up to some big bad "we already know who's doing it" or an "end of the world" or "yet again: this fucking guy." we need more stuff where spy movie music plays in the background and dumb adventures that don't lead up to some huge grand event with a big name villain. the shock factor stops being shocking or interesting in any capacity if we're like "Gah! the Joker! ... Again!" or whatever

does that even make sense? like "yeah sure they're blowing up a building again and there's hostages. oh look they're gonna poison the water supply." these aren't bad and that's not what i'm getting at because obviously this is a classic for comics. you need to have characters/antagonists that show up more than once and who can make a story better by being in it. and i did say to bear with me- that's because im tired. so like i hope im getting this across the right way? it's just that sometimes i don't wanna see a huge explosion, i want these motherfuckers solving a regular murder or a disappearance or regular corruption in a local office without it being tied to a grand reveal like "actually this person knows you as a long lost relative" or "they were at that circus can you guess which night they went?" that kind of thing? if you get me? like... more of the small time stuff makes the big stuff important, it makes it stand out more. at some point, the format gets repetitive even if you're switching up the villains. you can make these situations/mysteries still fun to solve for the characters and fun to read for the audience if you do it right

the concept of a detective dressed as a bat and having a sidekick in traffic light colors is inherently goofy as hell??? but that is what is so charming about it??? i think we have lost the balance between them being silly while also being intelligent with important conversations that criticize the world as we see it and teach lessons and can go over dark topics. nowadays it's always end of the world problems or just straight up the most gruesome true crime you can think of?? or they can ONLY do the dark stuff and the criticism without offering a balance of the good in the world. or we keep coming back to the FUCKING JOKER-

like yes they are vigilantes and with that comes a different level of their work, but their brand should be a mix between a black and white detective film that can get very nitty gritty and a classic spy movie, that kind of thing. at the end of the day, it's what makes them so different from the superheroes. that's what appeals to me.

seeing them in the big superhero groups is fun, don't get me wrong. it's always funny to see them standing next to people who are so powerful they never really fit in with anyone but each other, who chose to step up and use their powers for good. the Bats' specialty is Gotham and yet here they are stopping a god or whatever. and they do stop the god or whatever, all the while being an important leader and strategist to their teammates. they're important to have in these cases. but if there's a world ending event every time i pick something up, it's not as fun

the fact that they are so very human and not fantastical is why i like reading them. it's what makes the joke of people, even Gotham citizens, theorizing about them being cryptids, funny. they're fucking weird but that's because they're detectives. people who love to solve mysteries usually have a fatal flaw of curiosity. they forget the bounds between social interactions sometimes because they're used to working through problems or being intertwined with partners that understand them. but they're very much human. so human that it hurts them in many ways. and idk i've just been thinking about it lately and idk what point i'm trying to get across actually

it's just that in my eyes that's how it really is for Batman- a black and white movie narrated by a very serious man who took up a job to help people, one that has a deeper commentary on the world and viewed outwardly as pessimistic but actually has a deep hope for his city and who tries to help even the people who have wronged others. He's a stationary man in the belief that him being a constant can serve to soothe others and help them move forward. He stays in the middle of the path so he can tell everyone what is up ahead. he blends into the Gotham rainy night to serve justice but in a way that saves both the victim and the perpetrator. (the way he tucks a Robin into his cape is the same he does for Gotham with his mere presence.) and his background is actually so important to his story and yet people still somehow gloss over the lesson from it? he lost his parents because of a man who was on the opposite end of the spectrum to where he was in life. and yet he chose to help the people like the man that killed his parents. he could have done anything else with his power and money, but he instead is choosing to bring as many people up with him as he can. He's Mr. Serious that no one else can get a read on. and yet he walks into a room and he's already piecing together your life and what you're going through because he thinks it matters. he comforts people who have lost something or someone or themselves. I picture Batman and I don't picture a man trying to save the world, I picture a detective walking around a crime scene and trying to save at least one person every time he puts on the cape. and he put on the cape and became a vigilante because then he could go out of the bounds of what laws have been set up- and specifically, Gotham has other people in power who are corrupt, keeping the system that way. that's why Batman being a billionare and throwing himself into helping people at the risk of his own life is so important. he knows that if you are alive, you have something or someone to lose, no matter who you are. the dude is a bleeding heart but he doesn't know how to express it, in fear that if he gets too close, if he moves down the path with them, he'll be lost again

and then he's met with someone who should be a complete opposite, but isn't at all, because they're two sides of the same coin. his partner in crime, his son, a boy that is nothing like the black and white world that he sees. and that's the point in his life where he first sees that potentially getting lost is worth the risk. Robin is color and passion that needs guidance to move forward, but can not do so unless the stationary man learns to move with him. the kid is loud and reckless and you'd think he's from a different genre from the detective but they aren't so different, really. not when you look close enough. Dick grew up moving from place to place and seeing the world, knowing so many different people from different cultures. He's been learning to fly and jump and embrace the free fall his entire life. He's clever and he's sharp, and he thrives in the action and adventure. it's that perspective that compliments the stationary man. one is steady and the other pushes. he's the same genre but a different generation. and Batman introducing him to the way of life he chose for himself was another way he could save someone. because let's be real for a second? Dick would have gone down a very dark path had he not had Bruce, who understood, who saw not just himself in the kid but also saw who the kid has been his entire life until now. he saw Dick's parents, he saw the family he had in the circus, he saw the joy he had in what his family was doing. he saw the grief and the fire and the color that Dick's world was made of. because to Bruce, it always matters. Dick had to come to terms with Bruce's perspective to help anyone who they come across, to always give more chances, and it kept Dick from losing his color

what gets me is that the man who lives in the black and white world can actually see many different shades of gray (because black and white always needs the medium), whereas the boy in a world of color and light can get so focused on the bright that he can become single minded. and yet the boy sees a world of color and delves deeper into the lives of the peolle they come across and can be much more open minded, and the man in the black and white world sometimes forgets the shades of grey are right there. they are just like each other. they can exist without the other, but do they want to? because the black and white can be built up into the colored image, like the inking and shadows drawn on a comic book page before the colors are added in. they meet in the middle to complete each other. Bruce has been passing the story over to the next generation for a long, long time, even before his story was complete. and just like with the first Robin, it was so for every Robin afterwards. they each color in the lines differently, but that's what makes Robin so special, so unique. they are an art style that branches into their own life, but can not forget where they started: tucked into Batman's cape and the inky black of his world

and so detective work really frames their hunanity to me. the mysteries they get their hands on, the glimpses into the lives of Gotham citizens that they swore to protect, it's fascinating. it's what makes their story stand out compared to the people who can lift trucks or cast spells or run around the world in seconds. so yeah ig that's what i'm trying to say? that i want to read more of that? in both canon and fanon. cause even the small time villains we see can be like. AWFUL people and it takes out the fun of their gimmicks. and if it were any other day this would be a more coherent post but alas, it is not any other day

[acelvrr]

Op characters + their rooms (modern au)

pt.1 ft. Ace, zoro, law

Ace

- whoooow it stank

- LED lights are always on blue cuz my mans always in his feels.

Only turns them red when he’s tryna get the mood on if u know what I mean 😽

- For your own mental health don’t look under his bed or else you’ll get flashbacks to the Tacos you had last Tuesday

- only cleans his room when you are coming over (his definition of cleaning is throwing everything under his bed)

- has his tv opposite his bed so you guys can cuddle and lie in bed whilst watching a movie

Netflix and chill 😼

Zoro

-Room smells like body spray mixed with a hint of lavender because of his lavender sleep mist

-Basic ass room

Argues that he doesn’t need to decorate it because all he does is sleep and workout in there

- everything is either black or grey

- has more dumbbells in his room than clothes

- Buys a super expensive mattress that ‘helps with back problems’. (he got scammed by Nami)

-then shortly after got scammed again, this time into buying overpriced pillows.

Would’ve only bought one if he wasn’t with you

- Has a framed picture of you on his side table and he gets flustered everytime he looks at it 🤭

Law

- clean freak and also very freaky

- changes his sheets everytime someone comes over

- practically lives at his desk, he’s so studious 🤭

- his desk can get veryyyy clattered and messy

- has a towering bookshelf full of textbooks and other books he hasn’t read yet

- whilst he’s studying he always has candles lit , humidifier on and white noise playing in the background

-He rarely ever switches his ‘big light’ on, always used warm toned lamps and is big on using natural light.

-has a few posters up but nothing too fancy

- you are the only person he actually likes having over

-also has a mirror opposite his bed because he’s freakyy

but moves it before going to sleep cuz he claims he doesn’t want any paranormal activity to take place

(he’s just a nerd that spends wayy to much time on Reddit reading about niche topics)

[urdreamydoodles]

X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

Your partner having to pause and tend to you because you burnt your finger while cooking (Part.1)

X-Men characters dropping everything to care for you after you accidentally burn your finger while cooking.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue & Erik Lehnsherr

Logan (Wolverine):

- You’ve always insisted on cooking for Logan, despite his rugged exterior and tough-as-nails attitude. It’s your way of showing love, and he enjoys watching you work in the kitchen, though he tends to hover in the background, grumbling about doing all this “fancy stuff” when he could just throw some meat on the grill. Today, you’re preparing something special—his favorite—but as you’re chopping vegetables and tending to the stove, you accidentally brush your finger against a hot pan. A sharp sting runs through your hand.

- The hiss of pain that escapes your lips brings Logan over in an instant, faster than you expect given his usual laid-back demeanor. “What happened, darlin’?” he growls, his brows furrowing as his sharp eyes catch sight of the reddening skin on your finger. Before you can even answer, his hands are already gently cradling yours, his gruffness momentarily fading. You try to laugh it off, but he isn’t having it.

- “You’ve gotta be more careful,” he mutters, reaching over to the faucet to run your finger under cold water. His touch is surprisingly tender for someone who fights so fiercely, and you notice the way his rough hands contrast with the way he’s treating you now. It’s a side of Logan he doesn’t show often, one of quiet concern and care, though he tries to mask it behind his gruff words. His thumb traces over your skin as if double-checking that the burn isn’t worse than it seems.

- After a moment of silence, he grabs a first-aid kit from under the sink—something he’s way too familiar with—and wraps your finger carefully. “There,” he grunts, looking satisfied with his work. But instead of letting you go, Logan pulls you into him, holding you close with one arm around your waist. “Next time, you let me do the cooking,” he growls into your ear, though there’s a teasing softness in his voice. You roll your eyes but smile, knowing he’s just relieved you’re okay.

Remy LeBeau (Gambit):

- You’ve been cooking all afternoon, determined to surprise Remy with something homemade since he’s always the one who spoils you with candlelit dinners and sweet gestures. You’re working on a recipe you found online, and everything is going smoothly—until you accidentally touch the edge of a hot pan. The sting is sharp and immediate, and you curse under your breath, hoping he didn’t hear.

- But of course, Remy is in the kitchen within seconds, his heightened senses picking up on your distress. “Ah, chérie, what happened?” he asks, his voice dripping with that charming Cajun drawl. He moves closer, his red-on-black eyes narrowing with concern as he gently takes your hand in his. “You hurt yourself?” he purrs, inspecting your finger with a mix of concern and playful teasing.

- You try to shrug it off, but Remy isn’t having any of it. He moves with swift grace, grabbing a dish towel to wrap around your finger as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “You know, you’re too pretty to be messin’ with hot pans,” he smirks, his lips curving into that signature grin of his. Despite the lightness of his words, there’s a genuine tenderness in the way he’s handling you, his touch soft and reassuring.

- After cooling your finger under some water, he insists on kissing the small burn as if that will heal it faster. “There, all better,” he says with a wink, though he doesn’t let go of your hand just yet. Remy steps closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “How ‘bout I finish up in here, mon amour, and you take a lil’ break, hmm?” His voice is low and sultry, making it hard to refuse. Before you know it, he’s guiding you to sit at the kitchen table, a playful glint in his eyes as he takes over the cooking—though you know he’ll still have time to sneak in a flirtatious glance your way every few minutes.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler):

- You’re standing at the stove, focused on making Kurt’s favorite dish—something you’ve wanted to surprise him with all week. He’s been busy with missions lately, so you thought a home-cooked meal would be the perfect way to show him how much you appreciate him. But as you’re flipping something in the pan, your hand slips, and your finger briefly touches the hot metal. The sudden sting makes you yelp.

- In an instant, there’s a flash of blue, and Kurt appears at your side in a puff of sulfur-scented smoke, teleporting into the room the moment he hears you. “Liebes, are you hurt?” His bright yellow eyes widen with concern as he reaches for your hand, inspecting the burn. His touch is gentle, his fingers brushing over your skin like you’re made of porcelain. You can see the worry etched on his face, and it tugs at your heart.

- “It’s nothing,” you try to reassure him, but Kurt shakes his head, clicking his tongue softly. “Nein, even a small injury is too much for someone as precious as you.” His tail curls protectively around your waist, pulling you closer as he turns on the faucet and guides your hand under the cool water. The sensation is soothing, but more than that, it’s Kurt’s presence that calms you—his soft murmurs of reassurance, the way he leans in close, his concern for you palpable.

- Once he’s sure your burn is taken care of, Kurt teleports again, this time returning with a small bandage. “Just to be safe,” he insists, carefully wrapping your finger. His warm, affectionate nature shines through as he finishes, then presses a soft kiss to your hand. “You do so much for me, mein Schatz, but please let me help next time, ja?” His words are earnest, and his golden eyes glow with love. He pulls you into a warm embrace, his tail wrapping around your legs. “No more injuries. I need you safe,” he whispers, kissing your cheek softly before teleporting to finish cooking for you.

Scott Summers (Cyclops):

- You’re midway through cooking dinner when you feel a sudden sharp burn on your finger as you brush against a hot pan. Wincing, you step back from the stove, but before you can react further, Scott is already by your side. He must have heard your quiet hiss of pain from the other room. “Hey, what happened?” His voice is laced with concern, his eyes hidden behind his ever-present ruby-quartz glasses, but you can feel the intensity of his focus on you.

- Scott is always serious when it comes to your well-being, and it’s no different now. He gently takes your hand, leading you to the sink as he turns on the cold water. “You need to be more careful,” he says, his tone stern but not unkind. He’s always the logical one, quick to act in any situation, but there’s a softness in the way he holds your hand, ensuring the water soothes the burn.

- “I’m fine, Scott,” you try to reassure him, but he doesn’t seem convinced. He grabs a small first-aid kit from the nearby cabinet, carefully dabbing ointment on your burn before wrapping it with a bandage. “You’re always taking care of everyone else,” he murmurs, his hands steady but gentle. “But you need to let someone take care of you sometimes.” There’s a weight behind his words, a reflection of how much he shoulders as the leader of the X-Men, but in this moment, he’s only focused on you.

- Once your finger is properly bandaged, Scott gives your hand a gentle squeeze. His expression softens as he looks at you, and though his glasses hide his eyes, you know there’s a deep affection behind them. “I’ll finish up dinner,” he offers, though it’s less of a suggestion and more of a decision. Scott is always the one to step in when things go wrong, and even though it’s a small burn, his protective instincts kick in. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment. “Next time, I’m staying in the kitchen with you,” he says with a small smile, his hand resting at the small of your back as he takes over the cooking.

Jean Grey:

- You’ve been busy in the kitchen all day, determined to make Jean’s favorite dish, and the aroma of the food fills the air. She’s sitting at the dining table, flipping through a magazine, occasionally looking up with a smile to watch you work. As you move the pan, your hand brushes against the hot metal, and the sudden pain makes you gasp. Before you can even call out, Jean is by your side, her telepathic link with you immediately picking up on your discomfort.

- “Oh no, let me see,” Jean says softly, already taking your hand in hers. Her green eyes are filled with concern as she inspects the burn, and though she’s usually calm and collected, you can tell she’s worried. With a wave of her hand, she uses her telekinesis to turn off the stove while guiding you to the sink.

- “You don’t need to push yourself so hard, Y/N,” she murmurs as she runs your hand under cold water. There’s a warmth in her voice, a quiet reassurance that makes you feel instantly better. Jean’s care is always gentle but firm, and as she tends to your burn, she smiles softly at you. “I know you want to take care of me, but it’s okay to let me take care of you too.”

- She moves her hand to your forehead, her touch cooling the heat of your skin as she uses a tiny bit of her telekinesis to ease the sting of the burn. Once she’s satisfied that the pain is manageable, Jean pulls you into a tender hug. “How about I help with dinner, and we finish this together?” she suggests, her voice filled with love. You know she’s only suggesting it so she can keep an eye on you, but you don’t mind. With Jean, everything feels safe and warm, even a simple evening in the kitchen.

Ororo Munroe (Storm):

- You love the sound of rain, and today it’s pouring outside as you stand in the kitchen, preparing a cozy meal for you and Ororo. She’s outside on the porch, enjoying the weather she summoned, the gentle rhythm of raindrops creating a peaceful backdrop. You’re lost in thought when you accidentally touch the edge of the hot pan, and the sharp pain makes you flinch, biting your lip to stifle a yelp.

- In an instant, Ororo is there, moving gracefully as she rushes to your side. “What happened?” she asks, her voice soft and soothing, like the rain outside. Her bright blue eyes are full of concern as she gently takes your hand in hers, examining the burn. Even with the storm raging outside, Ororo’s presence brings an immediate sense of calm.

- “Let me see,” she whispers, her fingers lightly brushing over your skin. The cool breeze from outside seems to follow her as she guides you to the sink, running your finger under cold water. You can feel the faintest touch of her powers as the air around you cools, helping to soothe the burn. Ororo is always so in control, her calm demeanor making you feel safe even in moments like this.

- “You must be more careful, my love,” she says, her tone gentle but firm. She reaches for a towel, patting your hand dry before wrapping a small bandage around your finger. As she tends to you, Ororo’s touch is filled with affection, her concern for you evident in every movement. She presses a soft kiss to your forehead, her lips cool and comforting. “How about we enjoy the rain together while I finish up here?” she offers, her smile radiant despite the storm. You nod, feeling grateful for her constant care and love.

Rogue:

- You’ve always loved cooking with Rogue. She’s a little clumsy in the kitchen, but her enthusiasm makes up for it. Tonight, though, you’ve taken over the cooking while she watches, leaning against the counter and making playful comments. You’re just about done when your hand slips, brushing against the hot pan. The sharp pain makes you wince, and Rogue’s eyes widen immediately.

- “Oh, sugar, what did ya do?” she asks, rushing over with concern written all over her face. She’s always so protective of you, and the moment she sees your burnt finger, she’s already grabbing a cold cloth to press against it. Rogue may have a tough exterior, but when it comes to you, she’s as gentle as can be.

- “Ya gotta be more careful,” she scolds softly, her Southern drawl filled with worry as she holds your hand. She doesn’t use her powers much when you’re together, but she treats you like you’re the most fragile thing in the world. “Ah don’t wanna see ya hurt, not even a lil’ bit.” Her gloved hands are always so careful with you, and even though she can’t touch you skin to skin, you feel her love in every gesture.

- Rogue pulls you in close, her arms wrapping around you protectively. “How ‘bout we order takeout next time, huh?” she suggests with a small grin, her lips brushing lightly against your cheek. You can’t help but laugh at how serious she’s being over a small burn, but that’s just how Rogue is—always looking out for you. “Now come on, let me finish up here,” she insists, making sure you sit down while she handles the rest. Even though she’s a little clumsy, you know she’ll do anything to make sure you’re taken care of.

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto):

- Cooking with Erik is always an interesting experience. He’s meticulous and precise, just like in everything he does, and tonight you’re both working together on dinner. You’ve just pulled a pan off the stove when your hand brushes against it, and the sharp sting makes you wince. Erik’s attention is immediately drawn to you, his eyes narrowing in concern.

- “Y/N, are you alright?” His voice is calm, but there’s a clear edge of worry as he steps closer, his hand already reaching for yours. You try to brush it off, but Erik isn’t one to let things slide. He carefully takes your hand in his, inspecting the small burn with a frown. “You need to be more cautious,” he murmurs, his tone a mixture of concern and reprimand.

- With a flick of his fingers, he uses his powers to bring a cold cloth over to you, pressing it gently against your burn. Erik is always so in control, even in small moments like this, and you can feel his intensity as he tends to you. He doesn’t say much, but the way he cradles your hand speaks volumes about how much he cares. Despite his stern exterior, Erik is always careful with you, his actions filled with quiet affection.

- “There,” he says after a moment, satisfied that the burn isn’t too serious. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Next time, let me handle the stove,” he adds, his voice softening as he presses a kiss to your temple. Erik may be a master of control and power, but with you, he’s always gentle. “You’re too important to me to risk getting hurt over something as trivial as this.” He holds you for a moment longer before guiding you to sit, insisting that he finish up dinner while you rest.

[sweetlyvibe]

PAIRING : Hajime Iwaizumi x F!Reader

GENRE : angst/comfort

WC : 1.3k

SUMMARY : Iwaizumi discovers your love letter, revealing your feelings for him, but Oikawa’s arrival complicates everything.

CONTENT/WARNING : oikawa angst, love triangle, unrequited feelings, friendship strain, confession, character anxiety

Iwaizumi Hajime wasn’t someone who spent much time thinking about popularity. He never cared for the spotlight or the attention, unlike his childhood friend, Oikawa Tooru, who seemed to thrive on it. In fact, the dynamic between the two of them had always been clear—Oikawa was the star, and Iwaizumi was the reliable friend in the background. It didn’t bother him, not usually. He was content being the steady presence, the dependable one.

But lately, something had changed.

It started with you.

You weren’t like the others. At least, that’s what Iwaizumi told himself every time he caught himself thinking about you, every time he watched from the sidelines as you talked to Oikawa. It was easy to assume that you, like everyone else, were drawn to Oikawa’s charm. Who wouldn’t be? Oikawa had a smile that could light up a room, a way of making people feel special, like they were the only ones in the world when he spoke to them.

And Iwaizumi? He was just… there.

Sure, you talked to him too. You’d laugh at his dry comments, ask him how he was doing, sometimes even linger a little longer when you saw him after practice. But Iwaizumi convinced himself it didn’t mean anything. You were friendly with everyone. It wasn’t like you were seeking him out specifically. That was just wishful thinking, something Iwaizumi had long ago trained himself to stop doing.

Because Oikawa was always the one people liked. It had been that way since they were kids. Whether it was volleyball or school or just walking down the street, Oikawa would always be the center of attention. And as his best friend, Iwaizumi was used to stepping aside, letting him have that spotlight. It was how things were, and it was fine.

But when it came to you, it wasn’t fine. Not really.

Iwaizumi found himself thinking about you more often than he cared to admit. During practice, during class, on his way home. He’d wonder if you were thinking about Oikawa, if you liked him the way everyone else seemed to. Why wouldn’t you? Oikawa was everything Iwaizumi wasn’t—charming, effortlessly cool, confident in ways that made people swoon.

It was stupid, Iwaizumi knew. He didn’t have a chance. He wasn’t flashy, wasn’t charismatic like Oikawa. And deep down, he believed that if you had to choose between the two of them, you’d pick Oikawa. Everyone always did.

The day everything changed started out like any other.

Practice had just ended, and Iwaizumi was heading to the locker room, towel slung over his shoulder as he wiped the sweat from his face. His mind was still on the drills they’d run that day, thinking about how they could improve before the next game. Oikawa was already off chatting with some girls near the gym doors, flashing his usual smile, and Iwaizumi shook his head, used to the sight by now.

But when he opened his locker, a small, folded piece of paper fell out, landing at his feet.

At first, Iwaizumi didn’t think much of it. Probably a flyer or some forgotten note. But when he bent down to pick it up and unfolded the paper, his heart skipped a beat.

It was a letter—a confession.

He stared at it, his brain struggling to catch up with what he was seeing. The words were written neatly, carefully, and at the bottom was your name.

Your name.

Iwaizumi felt his pulse quicken, his hands tightening around the letter. Was this real? Was it a mistake? There was no way… but there it was, in black and white. You had written him a love letter. You liked him?

For a long moment, Iwaizumi just stood there, staring at the paper like it might disappear if he blinked. This couldn’t be right. He had spent so long convincing himself that you were just like everyone else, that you had no reason to notice him when Oikawa was right there. But this letter…

It was real. And you liked him, not Oikawa.

Later that day, Iwaizumi found himself walking toward the school courtyard where he often saw you after class. His heart was racing, his thoughts spinning with a mixture of disbelief and hope. What was he supposed to say? How could he even begin to process that you, the person he’d been quietly admiring for months, had confessed to him?

When he spotted you sitting on a bench, his breath caught in his throat. You looked up when he approached, a soft smile spreading across your face as if you had been waiting for him.

“Hey, Hajime,” you greeted him, your voice warm, familiar. “What’s up?”

Iwaizumi swallowed, suddenly feeling awkward and unsure. He wasn’t Oikawa—he didn’t know how to charm people, didn’t know how to make this feel natural. So instead, he just pulled the folded letter out of his pocket and held it up.

“I found this in my locker,” he said, his voice gruff, trying to hide the nervousness underneath.

You blinked, your eyes widening as you recognized the letter. For a moment, you looked like you were about to say something, but Iwaizumi beat you to it.

“Is it real?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “I mean, did you… did you really mean it?”

Your expression softened, and you stood up, stepping closer to him. “Yeah,” you said simply, your voice steady. “I meant it, Hajime. I like you.”

Iwaizumi’s heart was pounding in his chest, his mind still struggling to make sense of it all. You liked him. Not Oikawa, not the guy everyone else seemed to gravitate toward. You had chosen him.

“I don’t get it,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Why me? I mean, Oikawa’s right there. He’s…”

“He’s great,” you finished for him, nodding. “I know. But he’s not you.”

Iwaizumi looked at you, searching your face for any hint of doubt, but there was none. You were serious, genuine, and it was starting to sink in that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t living in Oikawa’s shadow when it came to you.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa’s voice rang out suddenly, cutting through the quiet moment like a sharp blade.

Iwaizumi turned, and there Oikawa was, walking toward the two of you with that usual carefree grin. But as soon as he saw the letter in Iwaizumi’s hand, his smile faltered.

“Oh?” Oikawa’s voice was still playful, but there was an edge to it now. “What’s this?”

Iwaizumi’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t told Oikawa. He hadn’t had the chance. And now, Oikawa was standing there, putting two and two together. His eyes flickered between Iwaizumi and you, and for a moment, something unreadable passed across his face.

“So,” Oikawa said, his voice unnaturally light, “I guess I’m not the only one with feelings for Y/N, huh?”

Iwaizumi’s chest tightened. He knew Oikawa well enough to recognize the disappointment behind the smile, the hurt that was carefully hidden behind his usual bravado.

“Oikawa, I—” Iwaizumi started, but Oikawa waved him off.

“Hey, it’s fine!” Oikawa laughed, though it sounded hollow. “It’s not like I had a claim or anything.”

But Iwaizumi could see the truth in his eyes. Oikawa liked you, too. And now, things would never be the same.

That night, as Iwaizumi lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the events of the day played over and over in his mind. You had chosen him. Oikawa had hidden his hurt behind a smile, but it still weighed heavily on Iwaizumi’s chest.

But as he thought of your smile, your words, and the way you had looked at him, a quiet sense of happiness settled in. For once, he wasn’t just Oikawa’s dependable friend. You had seen him, truly seen him.

And despite everything, that was enough.