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garlicisgodsbestinvention · 5 months ago

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perfect dimensions

(Carmy x Designer!Reader)

Summary: The Bear is weeks from opening, and Sugar hires an interior designer to bring the vision to life. Part 1/3.

Warnings: cursing, WILL contain smut later 👀NO use of Y/N because this is the 21st century. Carmy x female!reader, reader is described as having longer hair but that’s it for physical descriptions. NOT EDITED because I’m lazy girl tehe

—————————MINORS DNI——————————

“I hired a designer,” Natalie tells them in passing on Thursday, waving a vague hand when both Syd and Carmy open their mouthes to ask, “She’ll be here in like, twenty minutes.”

“Okay, heard, but we already have a design,” Carmy says, gesturing to the wall covered in layouts.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you had a degree in architecture and engineering. Those are fake dimensions, Bear; we don’t know shit about anything, so someone is going to come in and make sure that we’ve got the right fucking shade of white!” Natalie shouts before the office door slams shut, leaving Syd and Camry to stare after her with equal confusion.

“Pregnancy is making her…” Syd starts to say.

“Mean?”

“Yeah, mean. Definitely a little mean,” Sydney sighs, “She’s right though. Vibe doesn’t get us to opening night.”

And that’s how Carmen finds himself stuttering through an introduction from a now much-more-pleasant Natalie when she shows a woman through the front doors.

Carmen extends his hand to you, clearing his throat, nodding like a fucking idiot when you tell him your name.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’m uh, I’m Carmen.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say, mouth spreading into a smile that makes his heart beat a little faster. “Walk me through?”

Natalie takes the lead while Carmy and Syd hang back. One glance at the look on his partner’s face should have sent Carmy scrambling for something else to do, but he’s not fast enough to remove himself from her presence before a laugh is bubbling from between her closed lips and he’s desperately hoping his face isn’t turning red.

“Im, uh, Carmen,” Syd lowers her voice in a mocking tone.

“Fuck right off,” Carmy shakes his head at her.

“You literally forgot your name!”

“I didn’t forget my fuckin’ name—“

“Like oh my god, a pretty girl with pretty eyes appears and you forget how to talk!”

“Are you done?”

“Absolutely not. I can’t wait for Richie to meet her.”

Carmen wishes the day would never come.

Ten minutes later you appear back in the dining room, Fak following close behind with a shit-eating grin that makes Carmy wish he had never gotten out of bed this morning.

“Carmy! Did you know she likes to bake?”

“No, Fak, we’ve only just met. Would you let her do her job?” Carmen sighs, rubbing his fingers into his eyes to stop an oncoming headache. Syd snorts.

“We’ll chat more later, Neil, I promise,” you say.

“You might have just made yourself a new best friend,” Syd laughs.

Carmy looks away the moment your eyes swivel over to his, trying to disguise that he’s staring as best he can.

“So,” you say, “Natalie said you had drawings. May I see?”

Camry’s fingers itch in a weird way, but he manages a nod before striding over to his backpack to pull out the notebook while you scan the wall of swatches and inspiration photos. You nods your head a little, like you’re concocting an idea.

Carmy wants to twirl a finger through the strand of hair hanging loose out of your updo.

“So, uh, this is what I’ve come up with so far.”

He then spends the next ten minutes walking you through each of the drawings, explaining himself a little too thoroughly, and making random comments about lighting and booth fabric. You look intent the whole time, brow furrowed at the page, occasionally pointing and you don’t even have to say anything—Carmy just starts to over explain immediately following the point of your painted fingernail.

When he’s done, you nod your head slowly, the corner of your mouth twitching up. You’re wearing some sort of lipstick that reminds Carmy of the stain of touching a cherry pit.

“These are amazing,” you say finally, and Carmy feels his face heat. “I like the vibe. I love the vibe, actually. Are you a sensitive person?”

You look up at him and Carmy short-circuits.

Syd says yes, at the exact time he says no.

“Conflicting signals,” you say, “Anyone else to weigh in?”

It takes a second for him to realize that you’re making a joke, and he has to shake himself out of a stupor caused completely by the sight of your smile.

“Uh, no, no I’m good. Gimme feedback,” he says, and you reach out to flip the pages back, landing on the entry.

“Great. I’m going to tell you what we need to fix,” you say, straight to the point. “This entry is too small. Either we need to extend out into the sidewalk, or we need to push the kitchen back by at least five or six feet. The bar is going to create a bottleneck right here, and we need to inset these shelves to give you a little more working room. The lighting here needs to be sconces, and the bathroom doors need to slide to maximize space—this is too small for a swinging door.”

Carmen is fully intent on taking in every word you’re saying, but out of the corner of his eye he can’t help but see Syd’s face transform into something mildly resembling devious.

“Heard,” Carmy says, nodding his head as you looks back up. “Let’s rock.”

——————————————————————————

You become a fixture in Carmy’s life in the same way that Sydney or Richie or Nat are, appearing every time he turns the corner and whispering a hello in passing before you start barking orders to the contractors who listen to your every word. Strangely, he can relate. A week ago you told him, Carmen, please decide which side of the bar you want the ice machine on, and do it quickly so I can tell the water guy when he gets here. He’s never made a decision so fast in his life.

Even Nat had popped an eyebrow when he replied, on it, before you’d even really finished your sentence.

Usually, he’s on autopilot—walking in and straight back to the office or the kitchen and hardly ever stopping to notice what’s going on. He’s the first one in and the last one out by design, so he doesn’t even see everyone else arrive until they’re already there.

This morning, though, Carmy walks into the kitchen to see you already there, writing something out in a notebook as Natalie talks, waving her hands wildly.

“Okay, I got you,” you’re saying only glancing up when Carmy’s shoes shuffle too loudly on the floor. “Oh! Good, you’re here. I need you.“

Carmy raises his eyebrows. “Need me?”

“To look at paint swatches,” you say, ushering him into the main dining area. The words ring in his head like bells as he follows you, the scent of your perfume surrounding him as he walks through the crowd of it. You smells so good, and it reminds him of New York City somehow, the faint scent of rain.

He figures that you must have come in even earlier than he and Natalie both, because you’re dressed more casually than usual, and there’s a charm necklace dangling over your tee shirt that he tries to identify when you turn without you realizing he’s staring. He makes out a paintbrush and nothing else.

“Right, so,” you start, gesturing to the wall. There’s a beat of silence with them both staring at the three swatches on the wall, and then Carmy turns towards you.

Your words overlap.

Carmy says, “I hate them.”

At the same moment, you say, “They’re horrible, right?”

Carmy laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, not it.”

“Okay, so hear me out.” You say, leaving his side to pull something from your folder. “Pink.”

“Pink?”

“Like, oyster shell pink. Neutral enough that in the low light it’ll look pale, almost indiscernible from white. And this wall—“ you point to the back where the booths will be and shake your head. “Has to be a mural. It’ll look unfinished if it’s bare.”

Carmy nods along with everything that you say, trying to envision it. “What kind of mural?”

You tilt your head, chewing at your lip. Carmy completely short-circuits for an embarrassingly long second.

“I might have some ideas,” you say in a soft voice, crossing over to the table where you’ve set your things and pulling out a black sketchbook.

“Two artists in residence, huh?” Carmy jokes, his stomach fluttering when you smile.

“Do you draw anything other than food and restaurant interiors?” You ask.

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” you repeat, looking up at him. He knows that you want him to elaborate—he would never admit out loud that he spends the hours he’s not cooking trying to replicate the way your necklace hangs off of your neck and the curve of your wrist.

Occasionally he doesn’t do weird, obsessive, borderline creepy things—sometimes he sketches the buildings outside his window as the sun goes down, or tries to remember what the boat in Copenhagen looked like, or that one place he used to drink coffee at in New York.

Your eyes narrow at him just a little, like you’re trying to read all the things he’s not saying.

He dips his head, half to look at the page you’ve opened the notebook to and half to get out from under the scrutiny of your pretty eyes.

“That’s insane,” Carmy finds himself saying, looking down at the waves of color on the page. “It looks like, almost like wood? Or marble. That’s—fuck, that’s so cool.”

The page is covered in shades of brown and deep green and black, melding together into something that reminds him of tree rings or stained wood panels, muted like an old chinoiserie river painting.

“You could hire someone to change it out seasonally maybe, it’d be cool, but I think something like this would look nice with the color of the wood we picked for the tables—“

“Will you do it?” Carmy asks, fingertips tracing over the edge of the paper and coming away brushed with color—oil pastels. “Could you, I mean, I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do it like this.” He tells you, rubbing the tips of his fingers together and watching the color meld together before meeting your eye.

Your mouth is parted, eyes wide as you look at him, and he gets the urge to flick your bottom lip to see if it’s as soft as it looks.

“I,” you start to say, “Yeah. I can do it. If you want me to.”

“I do,” he says, too quickly. “Want you to. Paint it.”

Because what else would he be asking you to do? He wants to throw his entire brain into the blender on high.

“Okay,” you say, “I’ll start tomorrow.”

He makes a mental note to make sure he’s there all day to peer through the windows and watch you work.

#Syd is Carmy’s biggest fan and also his biggest hater #Carmy see girl and brain go brrrrrrr #Carmy don’t be creepy challenge #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy the bear #the bear hulu #the bear fx #designer au #the bear au

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zarnzarn · 1 month ago

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Odysseus' wife owns a gold chain.

The first week they were together after he returned, she'd slithered it out of its box when he was distracted, holding it up in the dim lamplight.

"You left my sight today," She snarls, beautiful in her fury. Insane and flawed and real and his.

"For ten minutes," he reminds her fondly. "To help bring in a sack of grain."

"Too long," She declares, voice choking up with tears. He reaches up to wipe at her waterline, heart aching. "Leave such things to other people."

"My darling wife, so strong," Odysseus coos. "You know that you ask the impossible. But I can see you have an idea?"

Penelope grins again, almost cruel, and lays the chain across his chest, heavy and glinting. "It is designed to be inescapable. Unbreakable. It will not let you walk even past the sands of our shoreline, let alone the docks."

His stomach swoops in excitement and some stirring form of arousal.

"I was going to clamp it on your wrists when you were sleeping," She says casually. "But now I find I want you to look as I shut it upon you."

Another man would have started shouting. Pushed her off, threatened her with a sword; a sane one would go running for the hills.

Odysseus smiles. Cocks a brow. "Wrists?"

The King of Ithaka, they say, has chains around his feet like a common slave.

It echoes in the palace like a dancer's anklets, tinkling and rustling when he walks around his home laughing with his son, when he makes official trips to the markets and to the goat festivals, when he comes to eat.

It is on him when he teaches the children of Ithaka to spar, somehow never an impediment for the crafty king, only a tool to be used against them. He can run faster than his own son even with them on, although Prince Telemachus is growing into his own terrifying capabilities at an astounding rate with every passing day, and many already fear his beauty and his wit.

("Huh. Mom get you those?" Telemachus says on the first day. Odysseus idly wonders if he should be worried about the utter lack of surprise on his son's face, and what it implied about Penelope's parenting and ruling skills.

"Yes," He says, pulling him into a side-embrace and kissing him on the forehead. Telemachus relaxes into his arms like a kitten and he smiles warmly. "I don't think she quite plans to let me out of them."

"Yeah, sounds like mom," His son yawns. "You should get someone to make sure it doesn't chafe, though.")

The King wears them even when nobles and dignitaries come to visit, of which there are many. Never bats an eye at their cries of astonishment and outrage, like he has accepted already that he will be in them forever.

"My wife doesn't want me to leave the island," He says jokingly, when someone whispers concerns and questions to him. "Hence, the chains!"

For a week, perhaps, an outsider to the island could consider it stress, a story to laugh at later once the fear had passed. But the Queen of Ithaka shows no signs of telling her husband to take them off, and everyone in Greece who was left to her tender mercies for twenty years knows better than to trust her placid, warm smile enough to confront her about the madness. They rule together now, and the chains remain on in some horrific perversion of royalty, even as they lean into each other and whisper and giggle like infatuated youngsters.

His comrades from Troy, when they come, shout in outrage, drawing their swords, but are quickly reassured by the people of Ithaka themselves, who point out the way the King never complains about them, visibly melts whenever his wife possessively tangles one of her own feet in the chains to pull it shorter at their stares, looking at her with nothing but adoration.

("Are you truly fine with it?" Hermes is the only one to ask, and get a true answer. His ankle-wings flutter in uncomfortable nervousness whenever the chain clinks- if it can hold one of his blood, it can most likely hold Hermes himself, too- and Odysseus knocks his head into the other's shoulder reassuringly.

"I am," He says truthfully. "It keeps her calm, and it keeps me happy- to belong. To choose being tied up, rather than being forced."

"It sounds horrific and I do not understand it or you in the slightest," Hermes replies cheerfully, ruffling his hair. "But to each their own, I suppose.")

The only time the King of Ithaka is let out of his chains is in the early morning, when the sun is still down and no one can see them.

Penelope and Odysseus both enjoy their baths, and he lies back on their bed after, still dripping with water, and lifts his feet in the air seductively. Penelope strokes his legs lovingly, pressing a kiss to his calloused ankles before unmercifully clamping the chains shut once more.

(Athena comes in once during this moment, swooping in silently through the window. Odysseus meets her eyes over Penelope's shoulder, and for a moment the mad thrill of it all recedes at her knowing gaze.

She raises a judgemental eyebrow, questioning. He gives her a small smile and shrugs the best he can without tipping Penelope off.

She shakes her head, a fond smile on her lips, and makes her way closer. Penelope's breath catches as Athena places a hand on her shoulder and she looks up sharply at their patron, some vestige of scared guilt passing over her face. Vulnerable.

Odysseus knows that it is only Athena and Athena alone who Penelope will listen to, if the goddess tells her to take the chains off. His wife braces herself, as if preparing for an argument, but he knows Athena can see just as well as he how deeply their separation hurt Penelope, why he agrees day after day to let her put them on, indulges in her possessive madness- although his agreement doesn't really factor in here much, he knows.

Athena studies the both of them once more, and then smirks. "You should get him the full set.")

Odysseus' wife owns a gold chain.

Years have passed, and he still thinks her smile is at its most beautiful when she tightens it around his feet.

#odypen #odysseus #penelope #epic the musical #telemachus #hermes #athena #hints of odypenath but shes more their homoerotic best friend in this one #for hermes this is a horror story athena gives it 2 thumbs up and considers it kink #its both lol #my fic #i really. should remember to tag that.

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otterloreart · 6 months ago

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MLP-Takara generations: a design experiment

Takara MLPs are considered generation 1 My Little Pony; the original ponies look like little horses and the takaras are obviously very different.

But the standard MLP toyline underwent a lot of changes throughout the years... so, if the takaras had been successful, what would their changes look like?

Generation 1 year 2+ takaras.

Year one MLP was only a few ponies with a single color of body + matching hair... just like the takaras. It was year 2 that they introduced unicorns. pegasus, and seaponies.

You all know I've already been concepting these so it's not surprising at all. As MLP g1 went on, they ended up doing more and more gimmicks throughout the 80s which would also be kind of fun to see the takaras do... (hint hint if you want me to draw those lmk which gimmicks are your favorites)

I also think they should bring in markings like the normal ponies but that could be part of the gimmicks. Maybe on their cheeks, or on their bellies like care bears?

In the later years og MLP also had a lot of variations on the normal pony body type, so maybe you could also see the takaras with that kind of variant, so that might be cute:

Moving on!

Generation 2

If you aren't big into early gen My Little Pony you might not know that generation 2 didn't do very well; it was a reboot of a beloved franchise, it was new, and different, and all that jazz:

Main differences between them and g1: first, you can see they have a very late G1-type body, which is why I pointed out the thinner pony in g1. Their face is less detailed and rounder, but they have a little more expression, very smiley.

Their ears have a more horse-y curled in shape, they have fur around their hooves (in g1 only the boy ponies had hoof floof), and they have a gem in their eye.

Also they had a lot more moving-leg gimmicks where you could push one part of their body and another would move (eg push tail -> bobs head)

So you may ask, how am I could to g2-ify the takaras? After all, they are already much rounder than the g1 ponies. Well, I'm not going to make them just *look like* the g2 ponies, although I'll borrow more elements.

Instead: I am going to take and exaggerate all of the differences that I listed above and see what we come up with.

So! Here is my idea for g2 takara pony. I feel like its the exact balance of very cute and something that would upset collectors familiar with the original takaras, just as g2 upset the g1 fans.

First off, she's thinner, the iconic takara nose is removed in favor of a sculpt with a smiling mouth, the legs are more horse shaped with fluff and human fingers to match the additional foot detail. a lot of people find the g2s a little "uncanny" so I feel like this works.

The sparkley eye gem and ear shape are just straight off the original g2s, just to have extra gimmick to it (also the og takaras basically had the g1 ears)

g2 came out in the late 90s so I like to imagine the pony eyes would be extra shoujo too

Finally, a ball jointed head for more flexibility. (yes the arm would be posed like that in the doll, because its a more dynamic pose, and we can also assume that the larger size allows the doll to have a joint with more flexibility)

g2 had pretty similar gimmicks to g1 but also had some light up ponies, so maybe the takaras could have some with that gimmick too

fun fact, g2 MLP was sold for a longer time in Europe and performed better there.

Generation 3

Generation 3 ponies are a pretty clear return to g1 MLP style, kinda scrapping most of the changes g2 made, other than proportionally thinning out the ponies a bit.

g3 ponies have very similar face sculpts with bigger eyes, nearly the same legs, and their heads just a bit bigger in proportion to their body

They do remind me a lot of the g1 Petite ponies, which were 1 inch sculptures that also had those proportionally bigger eyes and chunkier legs.

I have here included the g1 so you can see the slight changes better! I think the main difference would be the g3 takara would be a lot rounder, smoother, and cutesy-er. While the original has the hello-kitty simple cute look, the g3 version would definitely have like eyelashes and big eyes.

The only other thing to note about the body is some bigger ears, a generally rounder face, and round feet.

There weren't many gimmicks super /unique/ to g3 but one I wanted to highlight was the Breezies. G1 did have the flutter ponys, which were ponies with butterfly/dragonfly type wings, but the breezies are like their own little species AND they have antennae. While the flutter ponies were sort of graceful and thinner than the other ponies, the breezies are like little chibi-er ponies.

A little bit Littlest Pet Shop-core, since its the early 2000s too.

SPEAKING OF

Generation 4 Generation 3.5

Before there was gen4 there was a subset of Gen3 ponies with a different and unique style. They were basically an exaggerated version of the Breezies with even bigger feet and tinier snouts. They are also VERY littlest-pet-shop-core.

So, pretty straightforward changes

Just an even more chibi, kid-ish style pony. I think the g3.5 ponies were even meant to be kids. So this is just an even more child-friendly, littlest pet shop type horsey.

Generation 4

So, obviously generation 4 ushered in a whole new era of My Little Pony with its unique and bright artstyle, which did need to transfer over to the ponies

Personally, while I love g4 in a lot of ways im not a fan of the toys in the same way I am the other generations, their little noses have shrunk to specks, they're skinnier and more big-eyed than ever. Well, g3.5 was pretty big-eyed but at least those ones were like little kids.

This is such a drastic shift from g1/g3 and even g4, I would be unsure about the takaras.

So: eyes, bigger. Snout, so tiny and so smooth. Ears, bigger. Hooves are flatter and parts of the legs are just kinda featureless. a longer neck. They released a decent amount of ponies with plastic hair this gen, too.

I was struggling to come up with a doll for this one, but I finally realized I was doing it backwards. The thing that makes g4 stand out, I think, is the fact it was fundamentally designed opposite from g1. Lauren Faust, an animator, designed the ponies and the toys had to be designed around her art.

So the primary difference was considering what a tv show- a tv show concieved in the 2000s and airing in 2010s- and I did look into some kids properties from that time period as I was designing

I think these Strawberry shortcake dolls are really close to the concept I'd want for a early 2010s mirror of MLP g4. So basically these toys but more anthro.

I ended up making a 3D mockup so I'd be able to plan the different angles and keep them consistent.

The eyes are kind of far apart but I think thats true of the g4 pony toys as well. Again, because of the way the g4 show was stylized as animation, there was sort of cheating with the anatomy, especially on the face.

Generation 4.5

Gen 4.5 was a spinoff of gen4, just like gen3 had 3.5 where the ponies are more chibi. More big eyes with even bigger ears and a face like... a cats? instead of a horse. Hoof fluff again.

I think this nailed the style without being as much of an outright copy. The bendy arms with fingers seem so silly but also I think that matches the vibe/artstyle.

G4.5 don't look like horses to me really at all though, they're like cats with hooves. Out of all of them we've seen so far they're suffering the most from "predator eyes" where they've gone so far as to make their eyes just face forward.

Generation 5

Generation 5 premiered with a CGI movie, so the toys that would be released are fairly on model with their movie selves except for the fact their heads are smack dab in the middle of their neck which i find extremely unsettling and dislike

We've gone full "predator eyes" (no the predator eyes thing doesnt 100% biologically hold up but I find them freaky and I get to say it) AND full human eyebrows stenciled in like a makeup vlogger in the same color as the hair.

The ears are back to cup shaped (more horselike) but again the face is round with a little muzzle (more catlike). The hooves have really detailed feathering on the legs. Otherwise the body is mostly just structured like the g4 body (except a bit longer) just with more specific horse details.

These continued the trend of having a lot more articulated versions with moving legs as well. I think given that most dolls these days have articulated elbows and knees, it is reasonable to expect the takara g5 dolls would too.

Again, I made a 3D model so I could keep it consistent from various angles.

ta-daaaa heres my takara pony generations 1-5 lineup! Tell me which youuuuur favorite are. if you want.

#im sorry for how long this post is #long post #my little pony #takara pony #mlp gen 1 #mlp gen 2 #and so on #generation 1 #doll designs #sketches #i also wanted to do the clothes styles for each gen but this took so long already #and alternate gimmicks #would be fun to explore

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minkieater · 3 days ago

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spiderhead → yj

tattoo artist!yeonjun x fem!reader

smut mdni, cheating, alcohol consumption, toxic relationship wc. ~6k

the buzz from tattoo guns spread across the room as if there were a swarm of bees — the shop was busy today. yeonjun’s mouth tasted of tobacco and menthol, his favorite combination, his index and middle fingers stained with the scent from years of use. he rain a hand through his hair, feeling the ends tickle his neck, before burying both hands in the soft, fleece lined pocket of his hoodie.

he made his way over to his station, checking his tools, cleaning up the area so he could prepare for his next client. the steps whirled in his head as they always did when he fixed his area: wash his hands, put gloves on, sterilize his tools, cover his equipment, disinfect all surfaces. he loved this part, the organization, having everything accessible to make his art easier to complete.

god, yeonjun loved his fucking job. just the plain idea of him drawing and coloring on people’s bodies, having his art stay there forever, it was magical to him. yeonjun knew in high school that he wanted to be a tattoo artist — he bought a shitty tattoo gun online, spent his weekends drunk in beomgyu’s basement leaving wonky doodles on his friends in places no one would ever see. at parties, people would beg him to whip out the tattoo gun, implore him to etch small designs on their skin on the big leather couch in soobin’s parents’ house.

those nights turned into lonely ones spent in his bedroom, cross hatching lines into fake skin on his desk, shading with pointillism in designs he’d seen on pinterest, smoke from his lit joint dancing into the air of his bedroom. he had a year long apprenticeship at a tattoo shop in the middle of brooklyn when he turned nineteen, he tried college for a year when he graduated high school but quickly realized it just wasn’t for him. now, four years later, he was thriving: he was booked, he was busy, he was a real fucking tattoo artist and made real fucking money.

he grabbed his phone to check the time before he started disinfecting, only five more minutes before his client was supposed to show. he scrolled his lock screen, eyes thinning when he read the notifications.

v: did u turn the lights off before u left v: if my electric bill is high again just know you’re paying that shit

his lips pulled into a line, thumbs moving a mile a minute.

yj: yes i turned them off yj: u dont have to remind me every single day

he locked his phone and set it face down on the counter that ran along the back of the shop, packed cabinets filled with saran wrap, disinfectant and ink caps underneath. he shook his head, irritation flooding his thoughts, he’d left the lights on one time and now he’ll never hear the end of it.

well over a year now, together but still not quite official — on and off but pretty much living together, yeonjun has spent more time in your bushwick apartment than he has at his own downtown. granted the shop was closer to your apartment than his own, but he’s always liked your apartment more, anyway. tall ceilings, funky art, maps and concert posters on the walls, a unique touch to your living space with your red lacquered kitchen cabinets and dark wood accents where his own looked cheesy and cheap in comparison.

two bedrooms, one full bathroom and a separate room just for the television and couch, yeonjun thought you were fucking loaded when he first stepped foot in your apartment. it had to be your parents paying your bills, or maybe you were a nepo baby – this is new york, after all – but as your relationship grew and he learned more about your occupation, how much you truly made between high commission and tips, he’d never thought a hairstylist could make so much fucking money.

both of you in your careers, working full time with the public, both creative people that spend their days creating art that lives on people’s bodies. your canvases were humans, walking, breathing pieces of scrap paper that you drew on, painted on, poked, cut, shaded. the two of you related to one another too much in too many areas, on too many levels, so many conversations about people and their critiques, their wishes, their families, their stories. if you and yeonjun could do anything, it was talk.

you’d met on your twenty first birthday, a little over a month after yeonjun’s twenty second. you and your girl friends and coworkers he later learned circled up on the dance floor with you in the middle, rolling your hips to the beat of the song, head tipped back in a drunken haze and a cocktail in your hand. he eyed you from the bar, thinking nothing of it other than the fact that you were a drunk twenty one year old about to be obnoxiously loud in his ear all night. he sipped his glass of whiskey, neat, tattooed fingers wrapping around the glass that dripped sweat onto his palm.

the bar was hot, too hot for the outfit he had on — oversized black hoodie with the hood over his head, black pants, boots on his feet. he was dressed for early november in new york, layered to fight off the chill of brooklyn, not for whatever the hell was going on in his favorite bar.

you approached him first, slurring over your words, tucking your hair behind your ear which was already tucked. you batted your eyelashes, your eyes glossed over in intoxication — yeonjun was not biting, he wasn’t interested in the slightest. he gave you a tight lipped smile, clinked his glass with your own and turned his attention away from you, a small gesture to say what you’re looking for is not me, keep it moving.

but when you strolled into his shop two weeks later as a walk-in and yeonjun had a cancellation, only then was he taking the bait, the bait you had no idea you were dangling from a hook right in front of his own two eyes. you didn’t seem to recall your interaction on your birthday, you didn’t seem to recognize yeonjun at all and that only made him curious.

you asked for a ruler along your index finger, two lines to show the public what two inches really is. he laughed at that, a small puff of amusement leaving his perfect plump lips just as the words left yours.

“is that stupid?” you asked, head cocked to the side, eyebrows furrowed in question but your eyes wide and he swore he could see them shine as you looked up to him. he was taken then, from just that one look in your eyes – he knew he was in trouble.

“not at all,” he said as she shook his head, smile still dancing on his cheeks, “it’s funny, i’ll take you back.”

you sat down on the bench, yeonjun went searching for a ruler in the cabinets lining the back of the shop. you spoke mindlessly about your job as he searched, immediately telling him a story about a client you had a few days ago who wanted a balayage and not highlights but they couldn’t decipher between the two — they insisted on highlights when what they were describing was clearly a balayage. you spoke with such enthusiasm, your mouth running a mile a minute, words spilling from your lips just as fast as you thought them.

yeonjun had no idea what you were talking about but he knew you were adorable — much different from when you first tried to pick him up at that bar. your eyes are bright, words controlled, movements sharp and alert. what did stay the same was the confidence, your outward extrovertedness made it so yeonjun didn’t have to say much, just nodding and listening to your little story as he tried his best to keep his head on straight.

“finger tattoos don’t last as long as they do on other parts of the body,” he interrupted as your story ended, finally pulling a small red plastic ruler from the cabinet to his left.

you shrug, “i figured as much, my hands are in water a lot, too.”

yeonjun sucked a breath in through his teeth, “that makes it even worse.”

“so what, i have to come back and get it touched up, then? big deal,” your hands came up at your sides, shrugging altogether, “as long as you still work here when i have to get it touched up then it’s fine.”

“already commending my work when i haven’t even done the tattoo yet?” yeonjun wears a lazy, teasing smile as he sits down on his stool, grabbing the arm rest for you to lay your forearm on.

“who said i was talking about the tattoo?” yeonjun’s eyes shot up at you who was already wearing a smirk, his lips parted ever so slightly. he immediately cracked a smile, shaking his head as he looked back down to your hand.

“that’s crazy,” he mumbled under his breath as he put the ruler up to your finger, then grabbed his pen from his tray to mark the inches. maybe you did know — maybe you were purposely dangling the bait, or maybe the two of you just had the same amount of interest in each other. maybe there was no bait to begin with.

“i don’t think it's crazy,” he didn’t expect you to hear him or respond, but it seems you don’t have a filter of any kind as you keep going, “you’re hot, i’m hot, we have a lot in common already.”

“we have a lot in common?” he raised an eyebrow, looking up to you again after marking the second inch, he grabbed a different pen to mark the eighths.

“we’re both creative, both work with the public, we have picky people as clients, have to listen to unrealistic expectations, both work in careers that aren’t super common — not common, maybe abnormal? or maybe i’m trying to say we can be abnormal because our careers aren’t super judgemental? appearance wise, i guess, whatever, anyways, we also both know how to talk to people, i can keep going…”

“so all we have in common are our careers?” he’s still playing along as he finishes marking out the lines, “how does that look?”

“looks good to me,” you say after a quick glance, barely an inspection of your finger, “pretty much, but our careers teach us a lot about ourselves. oh! and we can do art trades, i’ll do your hair and you give me tattoos.”

“are you bribing me or pimping yourself out?” the corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk, and the smile that paints itself on your face feigns innocence, he’d save that look for his sketchbook later tonight.

“maybe a little bit of both. are either of them working?” you cocked your head to the side again, swinging the feet that hung from the bench ever so slightly, careful not to kick anything in front of you. yeonjun had to reel himself in.

yeonjun had to be honest — with himself, and you — it started working the moment you stepped into the shop. you had no visible tattoos, a casual outfit on, sweatpants and a tee shirt that left just a sliver of skin between the hems of your clothes. your hair was done but it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, you didn’t seem like anything special off first glance– in fact, you seemed the exact opposite of his type, the girls he usually went for. yeonjun was just as confused with himself as he was enamored by you.

“i don’t know, i think you might have to try a lil’ harder,” he faked a deciding face, eyebrows scrunched as he moved back in his stool, ushering for you to stand up. he looked at your finger from all angles, analyzing it as you stood to the side, lifting your hands, flexing your fingers as you stood. he was happy with his sketch, his outline, he was more then prepared to freehand a couple lines.

“you should let me try harder over some drinks if the tattoo comes out good,” your eyes were trained on your hand as you followed his instructions, moving your hands into every position he asked for.

yeonjun laughed at that, “if the tattoo comes out good? what, am i the one picking you up now?”

you shrugged as he ushered you to sit back down, “you might be, i’m trying to find out.”

he nodded with his lips pursed, folded into a frown that wasn’t exuding any sort of negative reaction, more impressed than anything. “fair game.”

your tattoo came out flawless, the lines he free handed onto your finger came out straight, perfect in thickness. as easy as it seemed, you knew the talent it took, the patience and a steady hand needed for such precision. after you paid, tipping him generously, your flirting returned with vengeance.

“i think we hit it off if i’m being honest,” you smiled, showing all of your teeth to the black haired man behind the counter, “do you have anyone else after me?”

he shook his head, “you’re my last, i had a cancellation.”

“oh my god– do you believe in fate? yeonjun, i think that’s what this is, i’m being so serious,” your eyes were wide, eyebrows shot up, smile wide. excitement bled from you, your veins, you were nothing but honest. so shameless, not a thought in your pretty little head that he’d reject you – he wasn’t sure if you’d care if he did.

he laughed, something he seemed to do too much during your entire service, his head hanging low in front of him before he picked it back up, looking at you who was already staring expectantly at him. “i don’t, but maybe if we go get drinks you can change my mind.”

you raised your fists, “i’ve won.”

the bar was halfway to your apartment, almost smack ass between the tattoo shop and your place. you’d been there before with your girlfriends, once or twice since your birthday – you could finally join in on the fun. yeonjun was dressed in all black, you’d soon come to find out he was always dressed in all black, and he never looked like he got enough sleep. you seemed so bright next to him, with your hair and your clothes and the plush keychains attached to your purse. you looked like total opposites, when you knew you had much more in common than what meets the eye.

that one night bled into the next year of your lives – something he was not expecting after your first interaction. it’s not like he’s never had a client try to bag him before, but something about you was different, it drove him insane that he couldn’t put a finger on it. he was used to playing games, always the winner, never the loser. he was used to confusion, being stuck in the inbetween, the gray area that sometimes came with relationships, or lack thereof. with you it was so straight forward, a slippery slope, not a hole he dug himself into but instead a well, one full of water, full of life. he never wanted to stop drinking from it, gulp after gulp, chugging until he was so full he thought he might spill over.

the spilling didn’t come until six and a half months in. your first two months were every man’s wet dream – he had every inch of you, every fistful of perpetually iron-curled hair, every corner of plush skin burned to memory – on every surface of your apartment and his.

in yeonjun’s past relationships, he never seemed to be the problem. if anything, he was the victim.

small fights to massive blown out arguments over petty shit, staying out too late with his coworkers at his favorite bar to beomgyu stealing him for a night out clubbing, missed texts and phone calls to going MIA for three days. yeonjun never seemed to understand what the issue was – petty arguments were never his thing, he’d rather stay silent than give into whatever the fuck his current plaything was yelling about this time. so what if he stayed out too late with his coworkers? he still came home. there’s no harm in a night out clubbing with his boys, she didn’t even know about the girl that was grinding against his dick all night, or the other one that had her lipstick smeared across his lips in the corner of the dark club. he went MIA for three days because his phone was dead, not because he had her number blocked. it was ridiculous, really, the things women would try and pin on him – yeonjun never seemed to think he was the issue at all.

the thought never crossed yeonjun’s brain that these behaviors were learned, or that he could teach them to anyone else. he never thought that his pretty, bright eyed new girlfriend would turn into a different version of himself – if she did, he’d be grateful, he thought himself pretty fucking cool – yeonjun never thought any of his behaviors were bad, but when yeonjun got a taste of his own medicine he knew he met his match.

he showed up at your apartment past midnight, drunk off his ass, clothes oozing whiskey, weed and burberry her. he let himself in with his key, the one you gave him after three months in, the one you told him to use whenever he wanted. he called out your name, searching from room to room, but you were nowhere to be found. he’d never shown up to an empty apartment, there’s never been a lack of you, cuddled up in a fuzzy robe, either under your duvet or sitting on the couch watching reruns of your favorite drama. yeonjun was confused, his dazed head couldn’t think up a proper reason for your absence, he decided to do what he absolutely fucking hated to be done to him.

he called you about thirty six times, texted you about forty two times. he also left four voicemails, not one of them nice.

he sat there on your couch – after a much needed shower, a bottle of water and a change of clothes you kept for him in your bottom drawer, he sobered up real quick. he felt more level headed, but he couldn’t ignore the anger that began to grow, a pit that sat heavy in his stomach: where the fuck were you? who were you with?

you damn near fell into the room an hour later, keys falling to the floor after you ripped them out of the door. you giggled to yourself, your heels in your hands, fingers curled into the heel of your black pumps. the strapless, sparkly scrap of fabric he could barely call a dress was crooked, your hair that was always purposely styled to perfection was a mess, your red lipstick was smudged down your chin. yeonjun’s seen this scene before, he’s done it, he’s lived it.

“who fucked you?” were the first words that left his mouth as he stood in the living room, oversized black clothes hanging off his frame like hade’s robes. the breath that left his nostrils was hot, burning his cupid’s bow, his jaw locked with his usually plump lips scrunched to a thin line.

you laughed – you fucking laughed. “you’re a fucking psychopath, junie. i just came back from a night with the girls!”

yeonjun was not buying it – he stepped closer. the stench of alcohol was masked by dior sauvage, a smell he knew too well, a smell that drifted past him as you nearly pushed him out of your way. yeonjun was dumbfounded and raging, his eyebrows furrowed together, his hands held out in front of him like he didn’t know what to do with them.

his girl, his only girl – well, other than the girl he made out with earlier – he couldn’t fathom the thought of someone else’s hands on you, being so close to you that you came home smelling like him. he followed you to the bathroom.

you were already stripped down bare – no bra and no panties to be seen on the pile on the floor with that thin scrap of fabric, yeonjun couldn’t collect his thoughts fast enough, his rage was creeping up his spine, sitting in his stomach like food poisoning, threatening to come out whether he wanted it to or not.

“you’re lying,” was all he could get out as you brushed through your hair, putting it in a tight knot atop your head, a small smile still sitting on your cheeks. he didn’t sound angry enough, his voice wasn’t stable, his feelings weren’t enough to give his voice ground to stand on.

“no i’m not,” you said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, like your words were the honest to god truth. you turned to him, your best innocent look paired with that award winning smile, “wanna shower with me? or did you already when you came home from the club?”

yeonjun had a full body reaction, his eyebrows furrowed and his face scrunched up in disbelief and shock, for just a moment there he thought he might be insane. did he make that up? was the dior he smelled just remnants from being with beomgyu earlier? no, no he showered, that was all you. he was not insane. he stepped closer.

the smell of a shower he’d taken just an hour ago filled the room, the body wash that you always used was the only scent he could decipher. he took a breath, “you fucked someone.”

“i think you might still be drunk, baby,” you wore a fake pout, raising your right hand to run your thumb across his bottom lip, “happy anniversary, by the way. six months!”

that was the start of everything – his pretty little bright eyed girlfriend was buried somewhere, six feet deep in wet soil, replaced with something akin to a fucking monster. when yeonjun first met you, you had told him you had so much in common, yeonjun didn’t believe it, didn’t see it. he thought the two of you were polar fucking opposites, yet he liked you anyway, liked that you introduced him to a new type of relationship. while yeonjun spent six months subconsciously teaching you his own behaviors, you spent the time purposely teaching him quite a few of your own.

goodmorning texts to goodnight texts to facetime – yeonjun never did any of that shit before. yeonjun has never bought a single person a bouquet of flowers in his entire life. yet here you stood, his pretty little bright eyed girlfriend, in the middle of your salon surrounded by a herd of your coworkers with a bouquet signed ‘your junie <3 love you baby!’

his friends called him whipped, a simp, a cuck, every name in the fucking book because yeonjun adored you, and it was painfully obvious. you’d come to beomgyu’s garage, parading around in a mini skirt and your tiny little purse that yeonjun was sure only had lip gloss inside, getting him beers from the fridge and cracking them open, handing them to him with a smile and sitting straight on your throne: his lap. his friends adored you too, they couldn’t figure out what you saw in yeonjun – with his dark clothes, heavy tattoos that covered his body, bags under his eyes, black hair and too much metal through holes in his face. his friends were constantly flirting with you, getting you whatever you needed, they were the ones cracking beers and serving them to you, yet you were doing it for yeonjun.

yeonjun was filled with pride, he loved it. a trophy they could look at but never touch. he’d never had this type of relationship before, someone so obsessed with him, someone willing to wait on him hand and foot, he slipped deeper and deeper into an emotion he’d never experienced before without even realizing it.

the day he did realize it, that was when the true fun began, because while he was unconsciously slipping, swimming deeper into that well, you stood at the top, holding the rope, pulling bucket by bucket out of the well with that award winning, innocent smile etched into your skin.

you weren’t kidding when you said you’d do art trades, even his coworkers knew your face by now, taehyun two stations down always offered his services when you sat down on yeonjun’s bench. you giggled and flipped your hair, saying why would i do that when my boyfriend’s a better artist than you?

god, yeonjun loved to hear those words leave your lips. it was a bit the two of you did, taehyun acted as if he was shot through the heart, a poisoned arrow slipping straight through his skin, and yeonjun could hear the sweet melody of your giggle through the shop. yeonjun has filled up one of your arms by now and half of the other– a garden, flowers, bees, butterflies, tattoos that were so undoubtedly you he couldn’t even make fun of you for them. he wouldn’t expect you to have anything else.

his favorite, though, was the YJ right above your hip. it was in yeonjun’s own handwriting, a doodle he marked on your skin for life, late at night after too many drinks – it was like he was in high school again. that was four months in.

that night, yeonjun felt the closest thing to his entire world caving in on him – he needed to go. he stared at the scribble on your hip while his face was buried between your thighs, you were writhing above him, hands buried in his hair, you always looked so fucking gorgeous like that. instead of being focused on you, determined to push you over the edge like usual, yeonjun’s head was clouded – hazy. he wondered how a person he’d met by chance just a few months ago could become so important, so detrimental to his life, he feared he would be a shell of himself if you ever chose to leave him.

it terrified him. he’d never felt this way about anyone before.

before that night, your relationship was golden – yeonjun was something out of a dream, a hero, the prince in your story, you were convinced you’d spend your life with him. he was honest, he was smart, he told you everything that he had wrapped up in his complex, dark brain, and you accepted every word that came from his mouth, every thought that popped into his head.

when he left that night, hours after shoving a twelve gauge needle in your skin with ink the color of his hair, you didn’t stress. you woke with a panic, of course, where the hell did your boyfriend go? but after twelve hours of no response, a trip to his shop, a night spent in his favorite bar, hours bent over your ikea bed frame, you knew what this was. you recognized this fear, you saw straight through him, yeonjun wasn’t as masked as he thought himself out to be. you’d shared too much, you knew too much about one another for yeonjun to be anything but transparent.

you paid attention. late nights, coming home smelling like another woman’s perfume, earrings that fell from his pocket when you did laundry, long and short pink and blonde and brown pieces of hair found around every inch of your apartment – you looked at the tattoo that sat above your hip, you knew there was no one else for you in the world. if yeonjun wanted to play the game, you’d play it too, you’d play it better.

the first three or four or twenty two times you did it – yeonjun didn’t notice. you even sent him home in one of yeonjun’s tees, one of his favorites, one that you successfully convinced yeonjun he left at his own apartment. when he couldn’t find it there, it wasn’t your issue anymore – with half of your wardrobe in two different places, you’re bound to lose a shirt or two.

it was only when you got sloppy, when you wanted him to notice, that he did. two months in, six and a half months after your relationship began, he’d caught you and you were so fucking close to convincing him that he didn’t.

“we’re fucking done,” he was seething as you stepped out of the shower, wrapping a plush beige towel around your torso, no effort needed to keep yourself calm.

“why’s that?” you continued to feign innocence, stepping in front of the mirror to start applying your skincare, not even glancing at the man who stood next to you, his hands balled into fists.

“i know you fucked someone tonight,” his voice was stern, it was hideous on him. you loved the cool, calm yeonjun better – you loved your yeonjun, the one you spent endless nights with, looking through his sketchbook, where he showed you all of his doodles, his drawings, when he let himself be the most vulnerable. “there’s no use in denying it, v.”

“and what have you been doing for the past two months, yeonjun?” your head snapped to look at him, your voice matching his, cadence slipping into something more harsh, laying yourself bare for him. you supposed your time was up. his mouth opened and closed.

“great,” his head dropped, low, sarcastic laughter slipping from his lips, “you fuck someone and blame it on me? project your cheating onto me?”

“there’s no use denying it, jun. have you talked to beomgyu? maybe you should ask him what he did after he dropped you off.”

you physically watched his face turn red – ears hot, crimson bubbling up from his chest to his throat to his face – you had to stop yourself from smiling. he stormed out, slamming the door behind him, and you slept like a baby. freshly fucked, coming down from a solid drunk, you felt brand new.

it was a week before you saw him again – honestly, you were shocked it took that long. that gorgeous, long black hair that curled around his ears, peeked from the hem of his hoodie, you longed to touch it, feel it between your fingers. he looked like he hadn’t slept since the last time he saw you, his bags sat heavy, dark, in your entryway, key in hand. you wanted to take care of him, wanted him to get a good night’s rest – next to you.

you sat on your couch, not a muscle to be moved in his direction, the two of you just stared at each other from across the room. moments went by, you’re sure maybe a full minute, then he was pacing towards you.

“hello?” you asked in disbelief and concern before he was pulling you up by your wrists, smashing his lips against yours. his lips tasted of whiskey, neat, cigarette smoke, menthol. you thought maybe you were addicted to tobacco too from the way his mouth felt euphoric against yours, an old friend you’d missed. it’s only been a week but it could’ve been a year for all you knew.

“you’re mine, you know that?” he’d asked between kisses, his mouth swallowing yours, his tongue stealing the words you couldn’t begin to think let alone speak. instead you nodded into his lips, fingers tangling in his hair, body forcing itself into his, you missed him. you missed his smell, his touch, the feeling of him against you, you missed everything. you never wanted to part from him again.

he had you split open on the couch as he knelt on the floor, head between your thighs again, eyes trained on the YJ that sat on your hip. he hadn’t seen it in a week, his brand on you, his initials that were inked into your skin for the rest of your life – he missed being between your legs, missed tasting you, missed taking everything you had to fucking offer. he missed you, his other half, the monster he created, his comfort, his home.

yeonjun would be lying if he said he was willing to part ways with you, but he’d also be lying if he said he was willing to acknowledge to the full extent of what he felt for you. yeonjun felt betrayed, played, messed with, like you snuck into his brain and plucked every single thought out of his head and fucking warped it. god, he loved you. he was so scared.

he told you as he barreled into you, fucking you like he hated you, whispering those words in a choked breath over and over into the shell of your ear. he couldn’t believe he was admitting it, couldn’t believe he was saying those three little words – you’re different, you’re everything. he loved you.

the months to follow were dancing right on the edge, together, but not quite. apart, but were you ever really apart? every night, wrapped in your sheets or his sheets – always someone’s sheets, always together. you never discussed sleeping with beomgyu, yeonjun never brought it up again, he looked back at that moment in his head and all he saw was weakness, a time where he let you slip away – let you get away from him. you never spoke of it, but it was always there, between the two of you like a wall.

that wall that stood between you was tall and rock solid, unlike the glass doors to yeonjun’s head, yeonjun’s thoughts, that wall of his was unbreakable – even when he came home smelling like burberry her again no argument in the world could pry that night out of him again.

you knew better this time than to try with beomgyu again, he hadn’t reached out since the night yeonjun left your apartment, you knew better than to try with anyone. instead of fighting fire with fire, you got distant, you spoke less, you asked less, you tried less. you became the ghost of his pretty, bright eyed girlfriend, one that had been to hell and back, one that learned from her mistakes. you became a reflection of yeonjun.

yeonjun checked his phone after his client, only two hours had gone by, surprisingly enough. it was a solid first session for his client’s leg sleeve, but his bones were aching, his eyes sore from being focused for so long.

v: you left the fucking lights on

#choi yeonjun #yeonjun x y/n #yeonjun x you #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun #tomorrow x together #txt smut #txt x you #txt x reader #txt fanfic #txt #i have a crush on choi yeonjun

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were--ralph · 18 days ago

Note

how do you approach designing characters? was wondering since i fucking love your characters and wonder what your thought process is

It depends! usually what happens is I find something randomly while scrolling that i like and build off of that. In other cases I scroll through my character design insp folder and pick up on things I like.

for example with Kaisain:

I always pick a color I want to focus on first, which for him was green. If you notice, most of my OC's have one main color besides brown that I picked to focus on. I also LOVE asymmetrical designs and in the past ive overdesigned characters so i wanted to keep it simple.

Then looking through my character inspo folder, I found these:

the first one is obvious where i pulled the inspo from. I've always liked more skull-like head designs and it was new for me.

this one i thought about asymmetrical horns and remembered that guy from Spyro because im pretty sure the spyro remake had just come out recently. I also think he was the general inspiration for Kai?

and this one i really liked the huge scales on his neck and wanted to replicate that on the shoulders. The chest part I originally was going to take entirely and have something through his chest but realized it'd be a pain to draw everytime, so i just put a large scar originally.

From there once i put the giant scales on his shoulders i thought they looked like large leaves so i went with a forest theme and made the horns wood, which then clashed with the skull so i made that wood also. and with the scar, i thought about the wood parts and made some roots come from it.

Other miscellaneous things:

I love things floating over my characters heads for some reason, and thus the orb

originally a moon, i made the horns freeze over near it to show a temperature drop

i added water between the horns sort of like rivers

i later added white spots to the horns to pull from the white wood horns on the sides

the clothes were just a combination of fantasy outfits i like

the fur/hair reminds me of clouds

When it comes to making refsheets I always try to keep them loose and kind of simple because they're mostly just there for people to get an idea of what i want. A good example of what i mean is the first image where i told the artist they basically had free reign just follow the refsheet as closely as they need and simplify it if they need to.

I also try to only use flat colors because it makes it more accurate later on when other artists are picking colors from it. in Kai's case specifically, i used gradients because.....i just wanted to try it lol.

but yeah if you have specific characters you want to ask about, absolutely go for it i love talking about stuff like this

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sleepy-spacetronaut · 20 days ago

Text

Info sheet for the Human Bill design + some drawings

*had to censor because I don’t know if it would get me yeeted off Tumblr or not.

The Handyman Bill AU is actually interesting because there are multiple outcome possibilities from there…

For one, I like the idea of Bill exiting the Theraprism to find himself with most of his powers stripped away and be taken in by Soos and Melody to live and work with them in the mystery shack. I can imagine the amount of shenanigans he’d drag the Pines family into.

On the topic of appearance

Ive seen a ton of anthropomorphic Bill Cipher designs over the past weeks, and each has a cool concept with their own specialties (Spoony’s design is particularly notable). My Bill, unfortunately, looks like a middle aged, expired version of the ‘twink Bill’ from around 2015, except with longer hair. This design is different from what I had imagined it to be, so I chose to draw Bill in 3 stages (as a kid, young adult and as a middle aged man. I’ll post his younger form sometimes later) so the character design wouldn’t go to waste.

For the outfit, I just went with what I’ve seen people draw him clothed in and what I thought would look comfortable. I feel like after being trapped in the Theraprism for ‘rehab’, he would be neglectful of his overall appearance, instead of going for fancier stuff like tuxedos or coats and capes, he’d probably enjoy to wear baggy clothes you can easily throw in the washer and won’t require thorough maintenance. (He might look dusty, but he takes baths, I swear—)

They’re a few variations of what he wears while still with the totality of his powers, maybe I will give him another , more elaborate outfit. I have yet to draw a full body version of Bill where I can show his tattoos and scars—currently I must decide on what to do with his face, I have too many single-eyed ocs, and I’d like to add an original touch to him.

When would the AU in which Bill returns take place?

After the Weirdmaggedon occurred, the residents of Gravity Falls were probably still shaken by the amount of strange and atrocious things they experienced. They’re great chances they’d still be triggered when they see cipher script or anything that reminds them of the evil triangle demon.

In the case of my design for him ,and potential fanfiction outline, Bill would have returned into the dimension where the Pines family won two years after the events, so the traumatic events are fresh in their collective memory. So, Bill would be put under intense scrutiny (by everyone but especially Stan and Ford, they’d be mistrustful of him) and be forced to cover up his tattoos when at work…and in general.

Bill would have a certain reluctance to work at the shack, he’d try to scam the customers to get the sales up upon and get caught red handed at it, or try slacking off during his shifts to try to sneak in Ford’s lab in search for anything that could help him restore his power to its former glory.

The highlight of his days would potentially be to annoy the Pines family, bonding with Mabel and Dipper (being let onto their gossip and some activities they do, maybe help out with their studies as well), and ABOVE ALL, to have some alone time at night to stare at the starry sky.

Psychological traits and etc.

As for his personality, he would be a lot less flamboyant, still as sassy as Weber though, perhaps grouchy from being forced to interact with ‘insufferable sentient meat sacks trapped in a cage of bones with a squishy exterior’. From the majority of cases I have observed, Bill keeps a nonchalant attitude, he is fairly collected and only truly lets out his emotions when it comes to fits of anger, jealousy or, in rare cases, sadness (often related to flashbacks of his childhood or his parents in the Euclidean world).

But what if it wasn’t the case? What if instead, Bill, as a human, would be unable to control his emotions? I had a theory that Bill Cipher has a higher pain tolerance while in his triangular, two-dimensional form partially from his powers but also because of his body isn’t entirely physical, and so it may lack several sensory receptors.

His liking for pain may be due to the fact he could barely feel anything (or plainly because he’s a masochist. Who knows.) It would qualify as a new and interesting experience for him, and he is a curious creature who also ‘efs around to find out’.

However, once he gains a physical human body, he will be faced with various problems humans have: muscle pain, bloating, cramps, eye sores, back sores, hair loss, acne, sickness, getting cuts and bruises easily…and never mind gravity, which would be a new inconvenience for a being who used to float almost 24/7.

So Bill wouldn’t be able to control his emotions because of how humans tend to feel a lot,he’d be forced to resort to masking and even then he wouldn’t be able to hold it for long. Plus, when he was a metaphysical shape, he had a bigger pain tolerance by contrast to when he gained a human body with hundreds of touch and pain receptors—Drinking with his eyes won’t be working no more, ouch!

He’d easily get a meltdown because of overstimulation (from the environment, from interaction with people he mostly hates or dislikes, and from being able to feel a lot more sensations than while in his bi-dimensional, triangular form) and have trouble regulating his body.

Additionally, Bill heavily relied on his magic powers to get stuff he needed or to protect himself, but now that a great chunk of his magic abilities would be gone , it would require more effort from him to do anything. And if he ends up activating the remaining power, the constant use of it would always backfire as his human shell isn’t made to contain the pressure of magic, resulting in cramps and stomach issues.

As a final note to this, in the show it had been shown that he is short tempered and easily leans into his emotions (especially anger) but can use his magic in order to ‘blow off some steam’. (Remember Time Baby and his whole squadron of men—except like for Blendin, getting erased?) However now, he cannot blow up a planet just because he’s having a tantrum, so he would most likely just stomp the ground while shrieking like a five year old.

Yes, when put under pressure, the evil Triangle becomes a CRYangle.

P-S. : He’s trying his best, plz be nice to him.

Edit: Woops it’s Blendin , not Baldwin, he’s not bald yet.

#gravity falls #gravity falls bill cipher #gravity falls headcanons #bill cipher #bill ci the triangle guy #antropomorphic #human bill design #human bill au #handyman bill au #Bill still calls everyone by nicknames #Bro will be rebaptised William to not get canceled by the townsfolk #gravity falls fanart #tbob #the book of bill #baby bill cipher

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shuuen-no-cimory · 5 months ago

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Also of course, it ain't me if I don't crossover my current hyperfixation with my ultimate current hyperfixation. So... Degrees of Lewdity x ProjectMoon! (This post is full of me yapping as I explain each drawing, so I guess, be ready?)

First, I'll go hard with Whitney as R Corp. 4th Rabbit Team. The initial idea was that he reminds me so much of RHeath LMAO But eventually I love the idea because I think he'd go along with Myo well. Plus... Somehow imagining Whitney in Rabbit Team Hatchery shenanigans seems... Interesting.

Next is Eden. If anyone notice, I originally designed him based of 2 Abnos: Der Freischutz and Big Bird. Der Frei was, of course, a nod to his title as a Hunter, and a marksman as well. For Big Bird... Yeah definitely there's the Big Bird in DoL, yet I think temperance-wise, Eden does felt similar to Big Bird. A creature living in a forest, thinking they protect others by doing the action that definitely doesn't seems to be out of protection. As for RRH, oh think about this: Being hunted down while getting marked. One by a hunter, and another by a wolf. Oh isn't it just reminds me of something...? Right

Funny enough, before I designed the school LIs properly, I reimagined them as The City's feathers. "If they're living in the City and has to work with one Wing, which one they'll work on?" I've talked about R. Corp Whitney earlier so I'll talk about the others! Robin, L Corp. - I can imagine him with the pressing needs to survive under the weight of Bailey's rent ends up either being sent or signed himself up as an agent for L Corp. The Wing doesn't ask that much requirement as per Hokmah's story while the agent supposed to have a great pay (being a wing and all). Hence, I think he might work for L Corp. Sydney, K Corp. - The idea was that after graduating, Sydney might follow Sirris path in science. Being the obedient child she is (as we sees on the game before they get corrupted), she probably choose to do what Sirris might do hence her as K Corp. researcher. Oh anyway, truly this is just a fyi that doesn't seems to be related to anything, I reimagined Harper as Dongrang in this scenario, with the whole Teary-Thing problem exist. Oh, lucky enough for Sydney to help producing K Ampule that definitely just as seen in the canon Limbus story. Just saying. Kylar, W Corp. - This one actually a rather fun idea. This is set with the idea that Kylar work as the Clean Up Member, with parents that's definitely unaware with how their child work but nevertheless proud with him. They'd even use WARP Train solely to be sent off by Kylar each time, much to Kylar silent dismay. If only they know what Kylar has to clean up among the 6 seconds they went into the train... Read one of the reblog tag and yeah. It has to do with Love Town. And pretty much how Kylar had to regularly assemble his parents again and again each trip they made.

LCB! SYDNEY LET'S GOOOO!!!! This idea came as I made my LCB-esque ID Card for Sydney. The idea of LCB Sydney's background was that it's pretty much what happened in the game, but make it The City-esque and seen from Sydney's eyes. It's fun imagining her as a Dieci Fixer who was caught in a complicated issue which she rather dip out from as she hasn't fully grow the backbone to face it yet. Oh right, in this AU I reimagined Ivory as Abnormality and both Sydney and Kylar got their EGO. Sydney got their Longing Phase EGO (HE, Gloom) while Kylar got the Haunting Phase EGO (WAW, Wrath). I actually had a draft of how the EGO works and its gimmick but let's talk it later on lol

When Yield My Flesh event is up on Limbus, my head doing the funny by thinking, "Damn... Jun Wren sounds cool..." then I remember Tingtang exist like jfgdjfgbjd HE FITS BETTER AS TINGTANG WHY DIDN'T I THINK ABOUT IT ON A SIDE NOTE, I also had the thought on how Bailey MIGHT kills it as either a Kurokumo or a Middle. After all, Middle never forget... Just like how Bailey never forget your rent LOL

And last but not least: Sydney and Robin as L Corp. Agent! Robin will be a high Temperance agent which work for Safety Team, while Sydney is the high Fortitude, high Prudence Disciplinary Team Captain. Oh, if you do notice: I made Sydney's cross looks like Penitence EGO Weapon. It's actually based of this idea of how One Sin and WhiteNight's dynamic thematically fits Sydney the Faithful and Sydney the Fallen. The name of both Abnos' EGO Set-- "Penitence" and "Paradise Lost" respectively, both fits the image of each Sydneys. Hence, I draw them in both EGO Sets!

#Degrees of Lewdity #DoL #DoL Fanart #Whitney the Bully #Robin the Orphan #Sydney the Faithful #Sydney the Fallen #Eden the Hunter #Kylar the Loner #Should I also tags PJM related stuff here??? I unno honestly #But yea the easiest way to make me yap is by THINKING about anything PJM #SDBHJDFBJDHFJDFG I JUST LOVE CONCEPT OF THE CITY SO MUCH OKAY #IT'S LIKE... You can make anything inside it YET it also has its own whole sets of worldbuilding that makes you just think #'damn think about all the possibility can happen if these people became part of the City. Like just think!!!!'#This has become a chronic illness fr fr fr #Wren the Smuggler #I FORGET TO TAG WREN IM SORRYYYYY

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brooke0297 · 2 years ago

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Make You Feel My Love (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus Sized Female Reader

Summary: “I will tell you everyday how much I love you and how perfect you are to me. If you can’t believe it for yourself, I’ll believe it for both of us.” When the reader is having trouble loving herself, Bucky tries to remind her.

Warnings: Angsty beginning with happy ending; talk about gaining weight/slightly negative body talk; slight allusions to smut (blink and you'll miss them); mentions of past injury (gsw, passing out).

Author's Note: For me, being plus sized can be great and sometimes not so great. So I wrote this story for me and I hope that you like it. Comments and reblogs always appreciated!

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“I’m not going!”

Bucky leaned his head against the door to the bathroom and sighed.

“Doll, please come out so we can talk?”

“No! Bucky I’m not going so can you please leave?”

“Baby, please I just want to talk to you.”

Bucky waited, and he could feel his heart cracking when he heard the muffled sniffles coming from the bathroom. He glanced over to the doorway into his room and shook his head at Steve and Wanda, who were peering into the room. They slowly backed away as he continued to knock on the bathroom door.

There was a September Foundation gala happening in just over four hours and the compound was buzzing with preparations. Tony had been at the tower all week, waltzing around and telling a team of interns and designers to move decorations three inches to the left (with Pepper following close behind to move them back to their proper place). The team was in full glam mode with stylists and makeup artists running from room to room.

Which is why when he’d heard the slam of the door to Y/N’s room and a personal stylist huffing angrily down the corridor, he had poked his head into her room to see what the matter was. Only to catch the tail of her robe disappearing into her bathroom. He’d knocked, only to be denied entry with a firm refusal to open the door. Which is where he was now, standing barefoot in front of her bathroom begging her to let him in.

“Can you at least tell me if you need me to track down that stylist and put the fear of God in them?” he tried.

“Please don’t, Bucky.” Y/N whimpered and Bucky sobered immediately.

“Baby, please let me in because I’m starting to panic and I will break down this door if I have to. Especially if someone hurt you.” he said gravely.

“No one hurt me, Buck! Please I just need you to leave me alone!” she insisted. Bucky sighed, turning from the door to sit beside it. He was trying really hard to not let the rejection sting, but there was a part of him deep down that was still bothered.

He and Y/N had been together just a little over 8 months. She had started working at the compound a few weeks after he’d joined the Avengers as an analyst and had become an integral part of the team. He’d never known mission briefings to be as interesting as they were once Y/N had come aboard. They had flirted, a glimmer of the old Bucky breaking through the trauma and insecurities, and he’d been toying with the idea of asking her to dinner.

But then a mission in Versailles threw a wrench in the plans. It was supposed to be a quick in and out reconnaissance mission: Steve and Nat with Bucky for backup. But Y/N needed to also come to decrypt the files Nat was retrieving from the museum. Nat was on lookout, but the guards were too quick and before she could take them all out and before he had reached the threshold of the office, one had gotten off a shot. Dr. Cho had told them later that a millimeter closer and it would have severed Y/N’s carotid. Instead it had fractured her collar bone and sent her careening into the window behind her, shattering the glass. Bucky had felt a glimmer of the old soldier, long dormant since Shuri’s reprogramming had been successful, take over and the remaining guards were dead before they could draw another breath. Steve ordered him to provide cover as the four of them escaped and flew home as fast as they could. All Bucky remembered from that night was holding Y/N’s hand as she sobbed in pain and whispering assurances in her ear until she passed out from the pain and blood loss.

He hadn’t left her side the two days she was in the med bay. When she woke up after surgery, he was there. He had tried to leave her once, to give her space, but she had already tugged him closer and pulled his lips down to meet hers in a gentle but passionate kiss.

“Sorry it took me so long, but getting shot will do that,” she’d murmured. He’d laughed and kissed her again. And he hadn’t stopped for 8 months.

Now though, he worried that something had happened. Maybe she had finally realized the Soldier and his actions were too much to excuse and she couldn’t bring herself to break it off gently? Maybe she’d found someone with less baggage?

“Y/N. I just…I just need you to know how much I love you. You are the most important thing in the world to me and your happiness is priority number one for me. I…I would not be alive now if it wasn’t for you and you are the reason that I wake up in the morning.”

He heard some shuffling and then he could feel her body lean against the door. He got up and rested his head against where he knew hers would rest.

“I love you too, Bucky.” she whispered. Bucky felt the hole in his heart mend itself and he sighed in relief.

“Baby, I know you might not want to talk about it and if you really don’t want to go tonight, I will respect that. But I really do need you to open the door. Please, because I never want you to feel like you have to shut me out. We’re partners and when something bothers you, it bothers me.”

“I know Buck. It just…ugh I hate this feeling!” she groaned. She sniffled again and Bucky waited.

“My dress doesn’t fit.” she whispered. Bucky felt his heart skip and he sighed in defeat.

Y/N was plus sized. She was a beautiful, confident woman who embraced her curves and never let archaic societal expectations get in the way of loving herself. Bucky was enamored with her confidence and considered her the sexiest woman he’d ever met. But there were days where clothes fit tighter or sitting in a theater was uncomfortable, and Y/N was reminded that the world was not created for people who looked like her. Bucky would try to listen to what she needed in the moment: space, righteous anger, ect. And he was always sure to worship her body when they were alone. He loved all of her, every single part, and he tried everyday to tell her.

The stylists had received strict instructions from Nat and Pepper (and him) to provide more than enough dresses in her size to give her a wide range. She’d had a ball trying them on and modeling them for the girls and she’d promised him that he could have his fun getting her out of the dress (with a slight preview that night).

“Baby,” he murmured sadly.

“I know that I haven’t been eating super well and my shoulder was bothering me so I haven’t been to the training gym in a couple weeks but… I just thought… it hasn’t been that long! And the dress wasn’t snug the last time I tried it on…” she sniffled again.

“Y/N, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I know how much you loved that dress.” he said into the door.

“It’s dumb,” she said, tearfully. “I shouldn’t be crying over a stupid dress but…it’s just one of those things, y’know?”

“It’s not dumb, Y/N.” Bucky said, vehemently. “Nothing you feel is ever dumb. And you never have to minimize what you’re feeling, especially with me.”

“I know, baby. And I love you so much. I just…I don’t want to feel like this. I’ve worked really hard to love my body and all it takes is a stupid dress for it to all come crashing down.”

Bucky stood silent for a moment, wishing he could take away the hurt she was feeling. Even for a moment.

“Doll? Can you open the door for me? I want to see you.” he murmured gently. He heard Y/N sigh before the lock twisted and the handle turned. He waited as she gently swung the door open.

The dress was a cobalt blue, tea length dress with pleats in the skirt. The bust had molded cups and was held up by thin spaghetti straps. Bucky’s eyes ran up the dress to meet Y/N’s frustrated glance. Her eyes were swollen from crying and she looked frazzled and defeated.

“It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever worn, and it won’t freaking zip,” Y/N grumbled, turning and showing Bucky the gaping back. Sure enough, the clasps of her strapless bra and the top of her shapewear showed from between the teeth of the zipper.

“The stylist tried three times to get that zipper to work and they finally gave up. Bucky, this is humiliating!” Y/N’s lip trembled and her eyes began to glass over with tears.

“Hey, hey look at me,” Bucky insisted. He took her face in his hands and met her gaze intently.

“First thing is: I love you more than anything on this earth. You are the single most important thing in my life.” he began. Y/N choked back a sob as Bucky pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“The second is…” he turned them to face the full length mirror sitting in the corner of Y/N’s room. Bucky’s arms wrapped around her waist and he rested his head on her shoulder. He could feel the smooth fabric of the dreaded dress in his flesh hand and the warmth of her skin underneath. How many times had he held her this way, reveling in the feel of her surrounding him? How many times had he traced patterns on her soft skin? He didn’t think he would ever tire of it.

“The second is that you are perfect no matter what you wear. You could be wearing the most haute couture outfit or my old t-shirt that mysteriously keeps finding its way into your laundry basket and you will still be the most beautiful, most radiant woman that I have ever had the honor of calling my partner.”

Y/N bit her lip to push back the tears as her arms came up to cover his around her waist. He could feel her melting into his embrace and he kissed her shoulder beside the loose strap of her dress.

“I know that there will be other days like this ahead, and while I wish that there won’t be, all I can do is promise to always tell you all the ways that you are so much more than the dress size you wear. You are sweet and kind and smart and hilarious. You never let Sam and Tony get away with the bullshit and you are fiercely loyal to the people you love. And I have never seen someone be able to reconnaissance a three floor HYDRA warehouse faster than you can. You are the glue that holds our team together, Y/N. You have saved our lives more times than I can count.

“And there are still days that I can’t believe you even glanced in my direction, let alone chose me to hold your heart. You saw through the darkness and destruction in my soul and you helped me let the light in. I will spend everyday making myself worthy of your love, but you never ever have to shrink yourself to a box to make others love you.”

Y/N turned in his arms and pulled him down to meet her lips in a searing kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, and his hands traveled from her hips and around her back to pull her closer.

When they pulled away, lips swollen and breathless, he cupped her cheek and stroked his thumb across her face.

“If you don’t want to go to this gala, I will happily tell Tony to fuck off and we will do whatever you want to do,” he promised. Y/N sighed, looking away briefly.

“I want to go so badly, but the dress…”

“...has arrived!” came a voice from the doorway. They turned to see Nat and the stylist from before striding in with a garment bag slung over their shoulder. Bucky remembered suddenly that their name was Zo.

“What?” Y/N asked, confused. “What are you talking about? I’m currently wearing the dress and it does not fit.”

“You’re currently wearing that version of the dress,” Zo said, unzipping the garment bag to reveal an identical dress to the one Y/N was wearing. Y/N stared at it, dumbfounded.

“I was told this was one of a kind,” she murmured, reaching out to feel the fabric.

“Well as far as the stylists knew, it was. But I know this designer and she is working on expanding her plus size brand, so I had a hunch she had some sample sizes stashed somewhere. All it took was a quick phone call, a police escort thanks to Tony Stark, and now you have your dream dress that I will happily tailor to you. But I am not a miracle worker so say buh-bye to your hunky arm candy and let us work our magic! We only have three and a half hours to make you dazzling.”

“She already is,” Bucky interjected strongly. Zo rolled their eyes and motioned to Natasha, who grabbed Bucky and began hauling him out the door.

“Hang on a second!” he protested, pulling out of her grasp. He turned back to a bewildered Y/N and kissed her deeply.

“Could I at least help you out of this one?” he teased cheekily. Y/N laughed as Nat groaned in disgust and pulled him away.

“I swear to God I will kick your ass, Barnes,” Nat grumbled, “Now go get yourself pretty while we pamper your girl.”

She promptly launched him out of the room as a team of makeup artists and stylists filed in and slammed the door behind her. Bucky grinned and made his way back to his room to put on his tux and grab the surprise he’d been waiting to give Y/N.

Three and a half hours later, he was back waiting in front of Y/N’s door. His short, dark hair was styled back, and the cobalt blue pocket square tucked into his classic black tuxedo jacket matched the color of Y/N’s dress perfectly. His vibranium hand, encased in a black glove, fiddled with the box in his pocket and he tapped his shiny polished dress shoes nervously. Just as he was about to knock, the door flew open and Zo appeared, looking positively giddy.

“She is a masterpiece!” they declared, ushering him inside. When Bucky made it through the door, he froze at the sight of Y/N’s figure in front of the mirror.

The dress, now zipped and tailored perfectly to her body, seemed to shimmer in the light as it accentuated her curves before flowing from her waist, around her hips, and stopping at the middle of her calves. She wore two inch high, black block heels and her hair was styled down and loose around her face. Her makeup made her skin look luminescent and her eyes bright. When her gaze caught Bucky’s, she smiled widely and Bucky knew the storm had passed.

She was absolutely ethereal.

“What do you think, Y/N?” Zo asked, moving past Bucky’s prone form to pick imaginary lint off of the dress. Y/N smiled brilliantly at them and took their hand.

“It’s perfect. And I cannot thank you enough for everything, Zo. I feel…”

“Gorgeous,” Zo finished, squeezing her hand. Y/N nodded and Zo discreetly stepped aside as Bucky’s breath returned to him.

When he took a step towards her, Natasha’s hand flashed out to stop him. She had changed into her figure hugging black gown with a sweetheart neckline and long side slit and it made her look even more dangerously beautiful than she was in her widow suit.

“If you even think about messing up her makeup, I will take you down. Behave.” she murmured. Bucky rolled his eyes. He had been to enough events with Y/N that he knew to never kiss her directly on the lips or cheek when her makeup was that flawless.

Instead he approached her and took her hand in his, stooping down to plant a gentle kiss to her knuckles. He heard Zo and the other stylists swoon behind him, but he only had eyes for Y/N.

“Hey handsome. You clean up nice,” Y/N teased. Bucky stood up straight and pulled her closer.

“Ни на одном языке нет слов, чтобы описать, насколько ты прекрасна,” he whispered in her ear. Y/N shivered and he grinned. He knew how much she loved hearing him speak Russian.

“I love you, моя любовь” he murmured fiercely. Y/N smiled and smoothed her hands across his lapels.

“I love you too,” she murmured back. He chuckled and she cleared her throat, remembering their audience.

“Shall we?” she asked. She moved to step around him before he gently pulled her back.

“One second. I was waiting to give you this until tonight.” He handed her the box as Natasha herded the stylists out of the room. She glanced up at him in confusion before opening the top of the box. She gasped in surprise and delight.

“Oh Bucky,” she breathed. Bucky reached in and pulled the necklace out, letting it shimmer in the light.

“The sapphire is from an old brooch of my ma’s that Steve helped me track down. My dad saved for a year to buy it for her and she wore it to church every Sunday. And I had it set with a couple of the diamonds from your mom’s ring.” Y/N reached out and held the pendant of the necklace in her hands.

The sapphire was set in the center with two oval diamonds on either side. They touched at the bottom before fanning out away from the sapphire.

“I remember that brooch from a picture you showed me. Bucky, this is the most amazing gift you could have ever given me! Thank you, my love,” she said, reaching up to kiss him. She turned and let him place the necklace around her neck and fasten it before he pressed another kiss to the clasp at the nape of her neck. She turned back to him and wrapped her arms around him.

“Thank you,” she murmured. Bucky smiled.

“For what? The necklace?” he asked, brushing her hair back from her face.

“Well that, of course. And for loving me when it’s really hard to love myself.”

“I meant what I said,” he insisted. “I will tell you everyday how much I love you and how perfect you are to me. If you can’t believe it for yourself, I’ll believe it for both of us.”

“Back atcha, baby.”

With one last quick peck, she turned and took his hand to lead him into the hallway. They made their way through the hallways until they reached the main elevator.

“Wait…weren’t there two sapphires on that brooch? What are you going to do with the other?” Y/N asked as they entered the elevator. Bucky grinned.

“I have something special planned for that one,” he said slyly, pressing a quick kiss to her left hand ring finger.

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“Ни на одном языке нет слов, чтобы описать, насколько ты прекрасна,”= “There are no words in any language to describe how beautiful you are.”

"моя любовь" = "My love."

Thank you everyone for reading! Let me know what your thoughts, feelings, ect.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #the winter soldier #captain america #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #b's fanfics

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