#branch artists how do you do it

[turontot]

some human brozone doodles, first photo was supposed to be all four of them but i didnt like how i drew branch and the other two so im only showing bruce and jd

(PLEASE DM ME FIRST FOR PERMISSION IF YOU PLAN ON REPOSTING!)

[agnesandhilda]

as far as christian-themed art goes I'm of the opinion that you cannot meaningfully appropriate mainline western catholicism (it's a massively powerful branch of a religion that has been spread by imperialism and that actively seeks out converts as a core tenet. how could you appropriate it?) but that it is possible to engage with it shallowly and that that's fair game to make fun of. I will not be taking questions at this time

[fulcrvm]

Last Line Tag Game

Thanks for tagging me @teejaystumbles ! A really nice surprise!! :D I am indeed contemplating writing two Dead Boy Detectives fic right now, but they're both in the very early 'being-outlined-in-my-head' stage, haha. They both revolve around post-s1 Edwin pining for Charles, one where Edwin takes matters into his own hands and one where he decides to have a chat with the Cat King about it. Not sure if they'll ever be written but they're intriguing!

But for the sake of the tag game, here's a lengthy bit from a Dreamling wip I've slowly been chipping away at for a few months!

A scene from Every Little Thing (Working Title)— In which Morpheus is a figure drawing professor who has just been fired from a film production based on his comics, and Hob does part-time figure modeling and is determined befriend the aforementioned professor.

Morpheus picks his class schedules wisely— he runs two first year general figure drawing classes, at 8 a.m. and at noon on Mondays and Thursdays. He helps the uni’s live figure workshop club on Wednesdays and Fridays at 6 p.m., and meets his sister for lunch on Wednesdays. All other free time was dedicated for his industry work. That wouldn’t be a concern anymore, would it. By the time Morpheus unlocks the door to the studio, sets his bag down by his desk, and starts fiddling with the ceiling studio lights pointed at the model stand, all of Morpheus’ thoughts have reduced to pure spite. Fine, maybe the big studios don’t want him. They don’t deserve him, then, their loss. His portfolio and repertoire are infamous in the industry, they’ll be crawling back to him in no time. Too bad, maybe he would have started his own production studio and he’ll end up with the next ground-breaking animated film. Maybe— Morpheus’ thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door. He shakes himself out of it, calling, “Come in.” A glance at his watch tells him it’s only 7:48, perhaps it’s an overeager student here early. It’s only the second week of the semester, they grab every opportunity to prove themselves with a spirited step that Morpheus might be slightly envious of. “Hello, Morpheus Endeles?” Hearing his full name startles Morpheus, and he turns from the lighting settings to the door. “Yes?” The man who steps into view can only be described as radiant. He can’t be much older than Morpheus, not much taller either but wider in the shoulders. His hair is cropped just above his shoulders and he sports a neatly kept beard. Morpheus registers this all first simply because of his profession but— he gets caught on the man’s brilliant smile and deep brown eyes. There’s something there that knocks all thoughts clear out of Morpheus’ head. The stranger smiles warmly, smiles like he already cares. “I’m here to model for the morning and noon figure classes?” The man says. Morpheus clears his throat and steps forward, “Yes, this is the right studio.” He extends a hand, “Robert Gadling, I presume?” The man takes his hand��� god, he’s so warm— and shakes it steadily, “Please, call me Hob! All my friends do.”

I'm a sucker for the 'Morpheus catalogues Hob's appearance during their first meeting' trope in most Dreamling human AU fics, I couldn't not do it too :]

Besides this, I've also got a Dreamling Velvet Goldmine-ish AU fic that I want to get done this summer. I'm a very slow and ruminative writer so let's see if I can commit to any of these fics now that I've posted about them lol!

No pressure tags! I have no idea who's been tagged recently so-- lol. @hardly-an-escape @valeriianz @moorishflower @amielot :)

[apuff]

boy dont lie in the snow thats bad for you

[faithfromanewperspective]

my uni showed us a bunch of graphs they had from a study of something like rate of depression symptoms in 11yo kids vs income of their household and. the results were of course exactly what you’d expect given poverty=stress

but I’m wondering what would happen if we extended this to include wealthy nepo kids. bc I’m pretty sure it was just a medium sized study on middle and working class families. but every time a nepo kid writes a sad song I’m like. I fucking knew it. now let’s get the science to prove this theory so we’re one step closer to evening out the wealth and also the fame as well

[tunedtostatic]

[Additional Image Description: On a grey background, there are five small black line art illustrations lined up across the center. The first is a sword with a hooked blade pointing upwards, the second is a hand with magic curling up out of it, the center is a castle with wavy lines extending from it into a dark sky, the third is a beaker with steam curling up from it, and the last is a shortsword pointing downwards. The sword has a few dark red shading lines. In the lower right corner of the fanmix cover is the title, "heart of my own," in dark red medieval calligraphy font. End Additional Image Description.]

HEART OF MY OWN - A FANMIX FOR CASSANDRA DE ROLO IN THE TIME OF THE BRIARWOODS

Overgrown - machineheart // Edge of the World - Within Temptation // Ashes and Rust - Wynnie Stone // Take Me Home - The Paper Kites, Nadia Reid // Nobody (Live) - The Crane Wives // The Tangled Tree - Josienne Clarke and Ben Walker // Heart Of My Own - Basia Bulat // Don't She Run - I Draw Slow // Murder City - Abigail Lapell // Until the Fire - Ladytron // Control - Halsey // Lament - Mount Moriah // Catch the Light - Haroula Rose

Fanmix on YouTube

Fanmix on Spotify

[bibiana112]

Question inspired by today's nyancave p3p stream, do you actually need a license to voice act in Brazil? Thought you might know because you live there

Well, not really a specific license for voice acting, you just need to be a registered actor the same way people need to be to perform in theater, television, movies and stuff

What you do absolutely need is a ton of nepotism though

[g1rlr0b1n]

ok guys, I am about to post a shit ton (not really it's like 3) of commissioned art that I've been sitting on because I wanted to release it with my writing but my ADHD has gotten worse recently and I feel bad for holding these amazing pieces hostage.

[foxyfexyll]

WHO WANTS TO DO FURSONA TELEPHONE

human -> fursona -> ponysona -> dragonsona -> monstersona -> demonsona -> gemsona -> squidsona -> spidersona -> human

^ list length and order are still subject to change, of course. this is a concept im not sure thats been done before. someone give me thoughts

some artists spawn onto this earth with the drive to make every not-human character out there into a human design. on the other end of the battlefield, some other artists spawn in with the drive to make every human character out there into an animal. these forces are at eternal war, but neither gains any ground, as they are constantly cancelling out each others progress

[ratspider]

i hate that thing i do where i prioritize drawing/painting/sculpture above like every other form of art. like if i fill a sketchbook that's more of an accomplishment than this cool hat i made. maybe the equivalent to that is crafting an entire outfit down to making the pattern myself. or filling a box with Stuff I Sewed. idk, i think drawing is just valued so so so much online and i watch all those sketchbook tours and i'm like Wow! these people are so motivated and these sketchbooks are so cool and filled with personality and just. so dense with creativity and I Wish I Could Do That but i already do. i just don't do the 'one sketchbook a month' thing. i have The Yearning but not the drive to draw that much and i need to just value what i'm already doing that's easy for me to do right now.

[elodieunderglass]

hi! i was just wondering if you’re getting a piece of this pie. https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/voidrealmminis/rise-of-the-eldertubbies?ref=profile_saved_projects_live

Oh my goodness! Haha thanks for showing me! And no, of course, this guy is still selling my dream while claiming it’s totally nothing to do with me. I hadn’t heard about it so thank you.

For those just joining us, here is the saga of the elder teletubbies:

1. in 2017 I posted a dream I had on Tumblr. In the dream I discovered that the childish teletubbies shown on BBC’s Teletubbies are merely the children of a species that grows up to be forest cryptids as adults. The post contained a detailed character description explaining how the children’s simple antennae become more complex antlers; their coats become thicker hair; their eldritch screens are unknowable; here, look:

The adult Teletubbies have more branching, complex antlers and shaggy coats. They are less brightly coloured. They are terrifyingly large. Their strangely human faces, emerging from the thick fur, are unquestionably adult; remote, serene, reproachful. Their television screens are glitchy, esoteric and unknowable. They are cryptids whose public exploitation has undermined their rarity and their strange, alien dignity.

That’s a pretty clear description.

2. The post quickly gained attention and many people drew art, made sculptures, designed in-depth character concepts, and even made DnD character sheets and entries with detailed notes. It was 2017. The post got over 90k notes. It had an extremely clear description of the cryptid in it. This wasn’t at all obscure.

3. The post and four pieces of the concept art, including the first piece by were screencapped and posted on r/tumblr. The post included this art by the now-deactivated @finoliatav which is, I think, the first piece of art. Most screencaps don’t show that it’s animated! Once you see it you can no longer pretend that any more work needs to be done in designing these characters, really - they’re all variations on a very clear theme.

4. A guy called Jars started drawing the BBC Teletubbies as adult Teletubbies. He noted on Reddit that his inspiration for the first one was the r/tumblr post but after that, he considered it entirely his own creative work. He drew each of the 4 BBC Teletubbies as adults using my character description and wrote a little story about how his character had stumbled upon them in the woods. He’s a good artist and his work went viral on Reddit and instagram. Those places being separate from Tumblr by the walls of the enclosure, they quickly believed the Jars was being highly original and praised him for it.

5. jars got carried away by his fame and started merchandising for all he’s worth. He’s selling elder teletubbies placemats. He got a collaborator to help him make and sell plushies.

6. Plushies of my character design applied to BBC characters. Jars sells them. To people. Who buy them. He sells these.

7. I think this is like… his job.

8. It has been years of this. I don’t think he has actually come up with anything else to sell by himself. But given that he now has millions upon millions of views on platforms I don’t use, let alone dominate (Instagram, YouTube, Reddit, TikTok) he seems to have fully subscribed to the idea that this is his THING.

9. After a while I wrote him a friendly email expressing that since my original dream was very much about discomfort with how the teletubbies were being exploited, I didn’t mind him selling his own art but that I wasn’t happy with him selling plushes based on my writing.

10. He wrote back along the lines of it all being his original intellectual property and absolutely nothing to do with me, etc, so jog on and don’t interfere.

11. I’m not entirely sure where the original intellectual property is when taking BBC characters and drawing them according to someone else’s detailed description of how to “evolve” them (branching antlers, shaggy coats, eldritch screens, serene adult human faces) especially having drawn them after seeing four separate detailed reference photos to base your own drawings on; especially when they’re the existing BBC characters from the show and not even your own. Like, Jars, you were given an entire detailed brief, several sets of references, an entire concept and a television show: the only artistic choices made here were to pick up your own personal pen and do the drawing. You have never deviated from my description, which you did not come up with yourself in any way. But okay Jars. You did some real intellectual heavy lifting here, this is Intellectual Property suddenly, and I guess this is your day job!

12. I myself actually have a day job, am capable of generating lots of other original material just for funsies, have never asked you guys for money, and I’m not generally huge jerk I don’t think. Also, I’m uncomfortable but have never been clear on how to stop him - I don’t think I can. So I don’t do much about this, apart from occasionally scream with hilarity with you guys about it.

13. Like this is the opposite of Goncharov. This is a guy making his wage on a 2017 tumblr collaborative shitpost insisting that this is the beautiful fruit of his only brain. And millions of people believe him.

14. There are now YouTube documentaries with millions of views and TikTok lore about Jars, and his lore, the Elder Teletubbies, which apparently he invented. People are making their wage talking about the history of Jars and his teletubbies lore. These documentaries are, if you can’t tell, not especially well-researched, as it is not difficult to find the original elder teletubbies art on the internet, which is all timestamped. Occasionally hilarious people from Tumblr point this out in the comments (thank you, you guys are hilarious) but the juggernaut is unstoppable!

15. Jars is now, apparently, doing a kickstarter to raise money for some kind of DnD sheets using the grown up BBC teletubbies.

16. I will point out that tumblr made and played with DnD teletubbies in 2017 for free and nobody had to pay $3000, but again. The juggernaut is unstoppable.

I have never, ever known what to do about this guy.

I have always been open to advice but genuinely never been able to articulate how it “damages” me, apart from ethical discomfort about how much I hate my writing being monetised by other people, especially when it was about my discomfort with exploitation. The juggernaut is unstoppable though. He fully intends to get thousands of dollars from this. He almost certainly will!

[ozzgin]

content: gender neutral reader, noncon!, gore!, mutilation!, captivity

Yandere!Artist is not quite an artist by profession. His skill of trade can be immediately guessed in the way he so masterfully handles a scalpel. He hacks, and cleaves, and stitches right back up.

He's saved many souls, and his competency as a surgeon has never been doubted. One could say he's had a lot of practice with the less fortunate...patients.

It started with anatomical drawings; idly tracing over his used textbooks, untangling the thick vessels connecting the liver tissue. This can't be all, he thought at the time. It looked bland, it looked fake. He needed a different kind of muse.

Oh, he's gained a lot of experience since. It took many bodies to perfect his artistry, but now he can finally return home, sit back, and admire his work adorning every wall.

Then he found you.

A different kind of fascination enthralled his soul. He wanted to learn all there is to you, know you better than anyone else. Special little thing, too innocent and naïve for this world. Worry not, you could never be in better hands than his.

"Oh, it's an ugly one."

Your lips are curved into a pout, soft sobs spilling out of your mouth in hiccups. Through tears, you can discern what's left of your leg. Right above the knee, the flesh is torn, sliced choppily and exposing the bone, with clusters of fat glistening among the pooled blood.

He glances at the axe that tarnished your skin.

"You left me with no choice. How many times must I explain myself to you?"

He tucks a few hair strands behind your ear.

"Do you truly believe that the world out there is any better than here? I'm saying this out of love and concern. If you wished to have a walk, or go somewhere, I would've accompanied you.

If you're going to be sneaky, I have no choice but to discipline you."

You nod, in a daze, ears ringing from the shock. Upon reflection, it might have been a poor idea to try and escape. All the way to your hip, there's a prickly numbness, a wet warmth. You stare at his slender hands as he tucks a thin strip of cloth into your gash.

Before reaching for his surgery kit, he eyes the scenery once more: the steady streams of blood branching across the tile, the femoral artery gushing and spasming against the improvised bandage. Your face is pale, and your gaze hollow. He must confess, you're particularly beautiful in this moment, resting against the wall, your damp lashes reminding him of a Madonna painting.

"Perhaps...might you give me a moment?"

He quickly hops on his stool, and twirls a brush between his fingers.

"Don't worry, I'll be quick. Just the sketch, I promise."

He gently dabs the canvas, observing you in raw adoration. Every detail must be considered. Every stroke must be calculated.

"Afterwards, I'll patch your precious leg back. You'll be as good as new in a few days.

And hopefully wiser, if you want to avoid it in the future. I can't do miracles. This will leave an ugly scar."

Lesson learned. Your nose wrinkles with a sniff, yet you obediently straighten your back.

"Is this alright," you ask meekly, referring to your rather poor attempt at posing.

"Perfect."

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟓]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.1k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, reader is mentioned to be wearing a dress, descriptions of blood and injury

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. the slow burn is burning... kinich is a little slow to the punch though LOL. this chapter talks about turnfire night, i took a lot of ~artistic liberty~ with the banquet and such so don't hate on me pls. there's a bit of angst in the next few chapters, i'm sorry HAHAHA. pls lmk what you guys think, it's very motivating! i hope you enjoy <3 reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗥𝗢𝗢𝗠 (𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗛 𝗢𝗙 𝗠𝗘)

At some point, the flowers start to speak your name.

Kinich isn’t sure when the idea took root in his mind—it had been slow for sure, a snail crawling over a branch. Living together makes you a perpetual presence in his life, a certainty like the rise of the sun and the glint of the stars. He finds comfort in that knowledge, but rarely thinks on it more than that.

The day he realizes it, the sun is a bright yolk in the sky, honey-yellow and shining dutifully upon his back. A layer of sweat plasters itself to his forehead, and he scrubs it away with his wrist, panting. For as many years as he’s been a farmer, the work hardly gets easier; it still leaves him sore and aching every day.

Across the field, the front door of your home swings open—it’s you that peeks out, waving. Kinich nods back in reply, gathering the vegetables in his basket and jogging back over to you. He frowns when he notices a dark spot on one of his carrots, vaguely noting that he should toss that one out later.

“I ran you a bath,” you offer, leaning halfway out the doorway. Kinich extends a half-smile in gratitude.

“Thanks,” he replies, holding the harvest out to you. You take the basket with a small ‘thank you’, placing it down on your feet. Usually, you would take the vegetables inside right away to wash and cut them, but today, you’re lingering—there’s something on your mind.

But Kinich is nothing if not patient, so he merely waits, arching a brow.

“It’s Turnfire Night,” you finally admit, hands clasped behind your back. “Elder Leik invited us to the banquet, if you’re keen on going.”

Surprised, Kinich glances over his crops. He’s just about done here for the day, and he doesn’t have anything on the to-do list for tonight anyway.

“Do you want to?”

You’re hesitating, likely out of shyness—he watches you rock back and forth on your heels.

“I think it’d be nice,” you reply, short. 

You’re trying not to force him, he realizes. You know how much he hates crowded things like that. And usually, you would be right, but he thinks back on the last time he’d visited the village. It’s been long enough, he decides, and one day wouldn’t kill him.

“Sure, we can go.”

Your disposition brightens instantly, nearly ascending with joy. 

“Really?” you squeak, hands drawing to your chest. He smiles and nods, shaking his head with amusement when you disappear back inside, cheering. You’re easy to please in a lot of ways.

Kinich takes you up on your offer of a warm bath, then prepares one for you as well. Gone are the days that the two of you washed up in the river—a nicer bathtub had been one of your earlier investments, and Kinich had grown to appreciate the blessings of a warm place to wash at the end of a long day. It does wonders for his aching muscles.

Over the years, Kinich’s house had slowly grown into a home, right under his nose. Your presence had been a driving force in that process.

While his hair dries, he’s in the kitchen organizing a few of the cupboards when you emerge from your bath, footsteps quietly padding against the floor. You call his name, voice thin and uncertain. When he turns, his heart squeezes.

You’re wearing a lovely dress, a forest green with golden accents—he briefly notes that it matches his eyes, then wonders if you had chosen that on purpose. The thought leaves his head foggy.

“What do you think?” you ask shyly, giving a small twirl. Kinich’s gaze follows the flow of your skirt, the liveliness of it. He’s never seen you dressed up like this in all his years of knowing you, and the sight makes something take root in his chest. “I bought it at the market a while ago, just in case.”

There’s a beat of silence, but it doesn’t sit for long.

“It looks nice,” is all that crawls from his throat, thick. The words sound awkward from his lips, he thinks harshly. A heated flush surges up his neck, curling around his ears and resting there. You practically glow at his response, clapping to yourself. 

“I got something for you too,” you sing, disappearing into the bedroom. Kinich waits patiently until you return, gesturing for him to close his eyes. He indulges you, and it’s a few seconds before something soft brushes at his forehead, pushing his bangs aside.

A bandana.

When his vision returns, you’re standing inches away from his face—his breath hitches at the proximity. Your gaze is searching as it meets his, your lip twitching at the edge. The excitement nearly pours off of you in waves. 

You’re staring.

Kinich’s fingers brush his own cheek, self-conscious. “What is it?”

You lean impossibly closer.

“Nothing,” you hum, happy as a clam. “I just think it makes your eyes look even prettier.” 

You’ve always told him how much you love his eyes, the starburst of jade and gold. You have a tendency to notice things about him that no one else does.

“Does it look nice?” he asks quietly, thumbing at the cloth. He would recognize a product of your weaving anywhere—you must’ve been working on this for a while now. He wonders when you found the time, or even how you managed to do it without him noticing.

You nod, a fond smile gracing your face. “You look really handsome.”

Kinich feels a touch of jealousy at the ease with which the words seem to fall from your lips. Sometimes, he wishes he could speak his mind the way you do. He doesn’t usually hold back in his words—most people he interacts with can attest to that—but when it comes to you, his tongue grows heavy in his mouth.

Still, the idea that you think he looks handsome is…nice.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

You turn and skip back into the bedroom, calling over your shoulder about how the two of you should leave soon. He watches you leave, the dress flowing like silk over your form. He swallows.

It’s really, really nice.

Later on, Kinich holds you close as the two of you grapple toward the village, mountains and trees racing past you. Your giggles are warm against his ear; you love traveling like this, the adrenaline that pulses through your veins. Winking dots of light are already visible in the distance, a rousing cheer reaching your ears—the festivities have already started.

He lands neatly on one of the wooden walkways, taking in the scenery. The village is decorated with bright streamers and vases of blooming flowers, crowds of people maneuvering around the party. You maintain your grip on Kinich’s hand, unwilling to lose him in the crowd.

Two taller figures emerge from the swathe of people, greeting you by name. 

“Have you two been taking care?” Elder Leik asks warmly, Chief Wayna smiling at his side. The elders are concerned for the two of you, Kinich knows; they’ve tried many times to convince you to move back to the village. Their efforts slowly ceased as the two of you grew older—you’ve always been steadfast in your independence.

You nod enthusiastically. “We’ve been doing really well! Everyone’s seeking out Kinich’s work.”

Your compliment makes him feel a bit embarrassed—he feels an urge to deny it, but the elders only laugh and congratulate him, ruffling at his hair. He does feel a bit satisfied that they recognize his strength.

“That’s great,” Chief Wayna replies, genuine. “Just remember you can always come to us if you ever need anything. But also make sure you enjoy the party!”

He leaves the two of you with a wink, fading into the crowd, and you take the opportunity to grasp at Kinich’s hand, pulling him along. You’re the most excited person there, truly in awe of everything.

Kinich indulges in some of the food, laughing at the gusto with which you scarf down your own—he chuckles as he wipes crumbs away from your cheeks. Everyone’s spirits are high; the music is loud and roaring, an electrifying song that Kinich can feel in his veins. You perk up at the sound.

“Kin, can we dance?” you beg, eyes bright and lips pouted. 

He glances around. Really, he doesn’t want to, especially not in front of all of these people. But the music is slowing, and Kinich can never say no to you, so he sighs, pulling you close and placing a cursory hand at your waist.

“Is this good?” he asks, a murmur. You hum in content, resting your head at his shoulder.

“It’s great.”

A permanent grin seems to have plastered itself over your lips. Kinich absently thinks that it makes you look so much more beautiful—a flower in bloom.

“You’re really happy today,” he comments.

Your eyes flutter shut, delighted.

“I’m happy you wanted to come with me. And I was happy that you liked my dress, and that you liked the headband I wove for you. I’m just happy.”

A deep yearning fills Kinich’s chest at the feather-softness of your voice—he feels an urge to hide you away. Somehow, he wants this side of you to only be for him.

“I did really like it,” he confirms. “The headband, and…everything else.”

He likes spending time with you, he likes your dress, and he likes the warmth that permeates his body when you hold him like this. Everything else seems to fade into nothingness.

For a while, the two of you talk about nothing and everything. It’s a truly peaceful existence. Kinich tries to remember if he’s ever been to a Turnfire Night like this before; the last time he’d attended, he’d likely been too young to even remember the event. You just have a way of replacing his darker memories with pleasant ones.

The beat of the music picks up again, and Kinich feels an instant chill when you lift your head from his shoulder. Still, he sways to the music with you, smiling when you start to sing along to the energetic song.

“You’re a good dancer,” you observe, in awe. Kinich shrugs, smoothly spinning you again.

“It’s not that hard.”

Dancing with you is actually fun, he realizes despite his initial hesitation. Your laughter fades with the passing wind, dissipating into the night, and he can’t help but stare at the way the torchlight glimmers against your skin.

The two of you celebrate until the music dies to silence, until people start to yawn and retire to bed. By this time, the sun is already peeking in the distance, barely a whisper of light reaching you. 

Kinich carries you home, soft snores echoing from your place on his back—he decides he won’t tease you about it later.

Instead, he promises himself that he’ll keep taking you to Turnfire Night every year after.

(Then, he promises himself that he’ll always protect your smile.)

/

By the time he cries for the first time, Kinich is fifteen.

He feels that he knows the way the world works now—those with strength, with value, survive. It’s not that he has any interest in being one of the rich ones with towering houses that line the cliffside. Really, all he needs to be satisfied is a comfortable life with you at the foot of the mountain. And his needs—things like clothes and food—come with Mora, so he makes Mora. It’s a simple existence.

He spends more time with you. Slowly but surely, he starts to bring you on jobs and hunts with him. You’re eager to learn about the work he does, and even more excited to help—your medical knowledge does tend to make things go faster. Still, he feels extra layers of anxiety whenever he knows you’re coming along, his grip drawing tighter around his sword.

It comes on a day like any other.

At first, it doesn’t seem like a particularly difficult job—it’s a run-of-the-mill request, to subdue a Saurian that’s been attacking travelers near the village. Even still, Kinich is as thorough as always in the days leading up to the job, and you let him take the lead. He’s strict about these things when you come along, and you know better than to distract him.

The day of, the two of you encounter the Saurian in a clearing adjacent to the road. It’s sick, you mention quietly, hidden in the foliage nearby—it’s foaming at the mouth, erratic in its movements. Kinich mumbles back his agreement.

It starts to peck at the poisoned berries he’d left for it, movements slowing. He counts down the minutes—at this point, it should be incapacitated enough for the kill.

It’s only when Kinich creeps up behind it, greatsword in hand, that he realizes he’d been wrong. The Saurian seems to switch at the last second, beady eyes burning as it poises to strike. Kinich barely blocks the attack with the flat of his blade, teeth gritted.

“Kinich!” you cry out, running to his side. The Saurian perks up at the sound, tense.

Kinich’s eyes widen. “Wait, don’t come—”

It’s too late. The Saurian’s claw catches you in the stomach as it whips around, sending you flying.

A sickening crack echoes when your back smacks against a rock—you crumple to the dirt, hunched over. A cold breath hisses between Kinich’s teeth as he screams your name.

The Saurian doesn’t last much longer than that, not that he really remembers any of it. He swings his sword, cutting and slicing, sounds of battle piercing the air. It’s only when he sprints to your side that he returns to his senses.

A harsh gash is ripped through your shirt and the skin beneath, a pool of crimson already gathering on your stomach. The sight brings bile crawling up his throat.

“Kin…”

Your voice is weak, and Kinich hushes you quickly, an urge to save your strength. A striking fear has his blood freezing in his veins—he remembers his father’s corpse. Terror hovers over his body, leaving him breathless. He intertwines his fingers with yours, pressing the back of your hand to his lips. 

“That hurt,” you mumble, a touch of humor in your tone even now. “I’m tired.”

Your eyelids are heavy, stare unfocused. 

“Don’t close your eyes!” he demands. He palms at your cheek lightly, willing you to stay awake. It’s unlike him, the desperation in his voice. “Didn’t you say you’d always be by my side?”

You chuckle, a line of blood dripping down your chin. Kinich thumbs it away.

“I said that when we were kids, silly.”

He swallows, throat bobbing. Your eyes follow the motion unconsciously.

“We’re still kids.” 

His voice cracks as he says it, like his words can’t bear the brunt of their meaning. Your heart pulses, a burst of adrenaline coursing through you at his rare show of emotion. It’s only a moment, because the pain returns milliseconds later and a groan escapes your chest. 

Quickly, Kinich pulls his headband off, sliding it between his teeth to hold while he pulls the flask of water from his belt. He sets about cleaning your wound, gentle, but the stress is evident in his expression. His hands are shaking; you can feel the tremble against your skin as he eases your shirt up.

“It’ll be okay,” he breathes. Even he is unsure if he’s speaking to you or himself. You nod weakly.

“It’ll be okay, Kin.” You cough, and something in Kinich’s chest snaps when a spray of blood splatters over the hem of his shirt. A spray of your blood. “Don’t worry, okay?”

He can’t even really hear you anymore. He’s staring at the crimson mist, wondering how this had even happened. He’d assumed he was strong enough—strong enough to do this job, strong enough to protect you—and he had been wrong. There must’ve been an error in his calculations, or maybe he hadn’t prepared enough. 

He fastens his headband around your wound, stemming the blood flow. It’s almost an out-of-body experience—he hardly even recognizes the hands as his.

He’d gotten too comfortable, and you had paid the price.

Those with strength survive, but that day brings a sobering realization—Kinich is far weaker than he thought.

A cold tear slides down his cheek as he carries you home. 

You’re sniffling in pain at each step, the movement irritating your wound, and Kinich feels truly helpless. All he can do is whisper promises and apologies, that he’s sorry it happened and that he promises everything will be okay. It almost feels worse that you don’t seem to blame him at all—you’re apologizing too, telling him you’re sorry for being a burden on his job.

“You’re never a burden,” he spits. It comes out harsher than intended, so he sighs, softening. “You could never be a burden to me.”

You don’t reply.

A thick lump lodges itself in his throat as he feels your blood soak through the back of his shirt. It all almost feels unreal—he feels like he could return home to your warmth and smile and everything would be okay. You have a way of making everything okay.

“We’re almost there, okay?” he murmurs. You’re sweating from the pain, sticky against his skin. “Just stay with me.”

The house feels unnaturally cold when he kicks the door open. 

By the time he has your wound properly wrapped, the sun is gone, a distant memory. He sets you down in bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin—you’re already asleep, but your expression is unpleasant, tortured. You must be in pain, even in your dreams.

The thought makes him sick.

With a sigh, he stumbles out of the bedroom, collapsing onto the couch. His hands are still shaking from overuse and exhaustion. He’s not used to the tedious movements anymore like you are—you’re always the one patching him up these days.

A vase sits on the table. It’s full of Saurian Claw Succulents—you’d planted them yourself, cheery at the prospect of decorating the house a bit more. Kinich plucks one of the flowers from the vase by the thin stem, vacantly inspecting each petal.

He wonders what he has to change.

Those with strength survive. Kinich wants to survive. He wants to survive and live his days out with you.

But he’s not strong enough. If you can’t smile at his side, what good is he at all?

Your labored breathing is audible from the other room, the sound grating against his ears. If he had a Vision, or some other kind of power, things might’ve been different. If he had just been stronger—

He thinks back on his younger self, on his innocence, on his weakness. He’d discarded that side of himself long ago in favor of something more powerful, in favor of someone who could protect and take care of you.

There’s no turning back now, he thinks.

The stem snaps under his fingers, under the weight of it all, previous gentleness gone.

[hbbisenieks]

ok, i've gotta branch off the current ai disc horse a little bit because i saw this trash-fire of a comment in the reblogs of that one post that's going around

[reblog by user makiruz (i don't feel bad for putting this asshole on blast) that reads "So here's the thing: every Diane Duane book that I have is stolen, I downloaded it illegally from the Internet; and I am not sorry, I am a thief of books and I don't think I'm doing anything wrong, ideas are not property, they should be free to be used by anyone as they were before the invention of capitalism; for that reason I don't believe it's wrong to use books to train AI models"]

this is asshole behavior. if you do this and if you believe this, you are a Bad Person full stop.

"Capitalism" as an idea is more recent than commerce, and i am So Goddamn Tired of chuds using the language of leftism to justify their shitty behavior. and that's what this is.

like, we live in a society tm

if you like books but you don't have the means to pay for them, the library exists! libraries support authors! you know what doesn't support authors? stealing their books! because if those books don't sell, then you won't get more books from that author and/or the existing books will go out of print! because we live under capitalism.

and like, even leaving aside the capitalism thing, how much of a fucking piece of literal shit do you have to be to believe that you deserve art, that you deserve someone else's labor, but that they don't deserve to be able to live? to feed and clothe themselves? sure, ok, ideas aren't property, and you can't copyright an idea, but you absolutely can copyright the Specific Execution of an idea.

so makiruz, if you're reading this, or if you think like this user does, i hope you shit yourself during a job interview. like explosively. i hope you step on a lego when you get up to pee in the middle of the night. i hope you never get to read another book in your whole miserable goddamn life until you disabuse yourself of the idea that artists are "idea landlords" or whatever the fuck other cancerous ideas you've convinced yourself are true to justify your abhorrent behavior.

[redzie02]

Imagining Wooyoung as a girl dad

quick imagine ...ur honor i love him and im here to push the girl dad! wooyoung agenda masterlist

wooyoung loves kids, even more so when they're his kids

your daughter had just been born a few months ago and he'd had a hard time leaving her side

when she would cry in the middle of the night, he'd jump out of bed before you could even process what was going on. you'd sleepily walk into the nursery to find him rocking her back and forth in his arms, mumbling whatever was on his mind in the softest voice. all with a smile on his face. the love he wore in his eyes was one so special that not even the greatest artists would be able to capture it

he'd always tell you how amazingly you were doing, ridding any doubts and insecurities you had about becoming a new parent

but oh was Wooyoung greedy with your daughter-so clingy he was with her

kisses. so many little kisses. forehead kisses, kisses over her eyes, nose, her tiny knuckles.

as soon as you were done feeding her, he'd whisk her away from your arms and pat her back until she burped, cradling her afterwards.

he'd snatch her from you so often that it started to frustrate you

you whined, "wooyoung! she's not gonna remember who I am if you keep taking her away like that."

"ah, sorry. i just can't stop thinking about having to go back to work in a couple weeks. I don't want to miss anything."

"i know, but just- remember she's not just your baby, okay?"

introducing your daughter to rest of ateez had certainly been fun. so many ranges of emotions- a few crying at the sight of the tiny scrunched face, some scared to hold her, some a little too excited to toss the fragile baby in the air

you and Woo walked into the room with your daughter in her carrier, confused when you took in their appearances- absolutely dressed to the nines. "Oh- are you guys performing after this?"

San spoke with his cat like grin. "Nope, Wooyoung told us to dress up for this."

You raised an eyebrow at your husband, not knowing a thing about whatever was going on.

Woo shrugged. "What? First impressions are important."

They'd all watch in awe at the little being yawning then falling asleep immediately after in Seonghwa's arms, her tiny hand loosening its grip on his index finger

"Wow, she's so cute...thank god she looks nothing like Wooyoung," Mingi joked, earning a slap on the shoulder.

"Shut up, she's my twin." And he would proudly prove so, pulling out his phone to find his own baby pictures.

Whenever it was possible, he'd have the three of you wearing matching outfits he custom made himself, down to the tiniest details- the jewelry, the shoes, socks and hair ties.

Cuteness aggression would overtake his senses when you would walk into the living room, daughter in arm, twirling to show off the outfits he put together. He'd clap and beg for another twirl, pulling out his camera and snapping pictures of the two he loved most. He'd go through the photos with tears in his eyes, zooming in and showing you his favorite ones.

He loved to go on dates to flaunt the outfits, driving you to the park and picking the perfect spot; under a tree with branches that drooped, providing the perfect amount of protection from the sun (and he made sure little baby had her sunscreen on). He'd smooth your favorite picnic blanket on the grass and set up the food- he had packed the baby's food and necessities before anything else. He'd take out his camera, adjust the settings, then snap more photos, excited to edit and print them out later. He always kept a photo of you three in his wallet, switching it out for a new one every week.

With every year that went by, you noticed her personality only grew to be more like Wooyoung's. Between the constant babbling and the energetic outbursts, there was never a quiet day at home. Her and Wooyoung could ramble about nothing for hours, not taking a breath once.

She'd even adopted the habit of sloppily kissing your cheek whenever you were near.

Before Wooyoung, you weren't a fan of so much physical touch, but now you can't go a single hour without expecting a kiss on the cheek or forehead from either of your true loves.

a/n: im so sleepy and this is all i could think about. i have so many drafts but my writing is subpar so i leave u with an imagine. might do these more often

[bucksangel]

milk and honey

pairing: alpha!Steve x alpha!Bucky, alpha!Steve x artist!omega!reader x alpha!bucky (poly)

word count: 7.9k

Summary: “Are you sure about this, Steve?” Bucky just needs to be sure, needs to know his boyfriend is certain before they try this again. And by the way Steve nods eagerly, he knows this time might be different. 

“Okay, we’ll give it a shot”

or - alpha’s Bucky and Steve decide to bring an omega into their relationship. 

Warnings: fluff out the assssss, flirting, reader is a little awkward, there are parts where it’s just Steve and Bucky, kissing, omegaverse, bucky is a tease, steve is very fond, handjobs, wet dreams, allusions to sex, 18+

a/n: this fic is dedicated to my heart and soul @buckysbarne

milk and honey masterlist | main masterlist | tip jar

“Hi! How can I help you?” A soft, honeyed voice sounds through the air, flowing up to Steve’s ears and making his skin tingle. He suddenly feels warm all over, and not because of the thick coat covering his broad shoulders to prevent the crisp autumn wind whipping outside from stinging his skin. 

Slowly, he turns around, swallowing thickly at the sight before him.

A beautiful, young Omega with eyes that sparkle in the natural sunlight that shines through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Her hair is pulled away from her face as best as possible and there are splatters of paint on the apron wrapped around her torso, as well as specks on her fingers. And her scent, oh God, the scent wafting up to his nostrils makes him want to rumble and puff out his chest, lavender and vanilla mixed with something undeniably and uniquely sweet that makes it hard for him to not lean forward and bury his face in the Omegas neck.

“Um, sir?” The Omega asks again, brows furrowed.

“S-Sorry, I, uh…” Steve trails off, clearing his throat. “I’m looking to get back into drawing, and I saw your studio as I was walking back to my apartment and thought I’d come in to see what you have.”

The Omega nods, a bright smile stretching across her face. “Well, I can show you around if you want? Do you have any specific mediums or pencils you were thinking of?”

Steve nods, a smile of his own now etched onto his face. “Yeah, that’d – that would be great. And, um, I don’t really know what I’m looking for. I used to draw with charcoal pencils, but I kind of want to branch out, you know?”

She nods again, her smile widening. “Yeah! Here,” she turns and waves her hand, indicating for Steve to follow her, “I have a bunch of different kinds of paper, and pens, we also have canvases, oh! And paints are over here.”

Steve trails behind her dumbly, nodding along to everything the pretty Omega says and listening to every word that spills out from her glossy lips – and for a moment he wonders if it’s flavored, cherry maybe, then thinks of kissing them to find out.

He doesn’t do that. Of course not. He’s only just met her, yet there’s already just something about her that makes him swoon. She makes him feel alive, like only Bucky can.

Suddenly, though, he’s slamming into her, not having realized she’d stopped in front of him until it was too late. But before she could fall back, Steve reaches for her hips to keep her upright.

The Omega squeals and grasps Steve’s biceps to steady herself. But, even after they’re both back in place, neither one of them removes their hold on the other. It’s silent for a moment, growing tense as Steve stares down at the pretty Omega he’s now holding. And the Omega, this beautiful little thing, is staring back up at him, mouth opening and closing as though she’s trying to find her words. 

And after a few more tense moments, she finds them.

“S-Sir?”

“Steve,” he says quickly. “Um, my name is Steve.”

__________

“My name is Steve.”

Steve.

This man, Steve, is still holding on to your hips, and you can’t help but lightly squeeze his biceps, trying your hardest to not let out another squeak. He’s just so… manly. With his big, capable hands, biceps that you can feel through his coat, and his mouthwatering scent - bergamot and patchouli. There’s also an underlying smell of pure Alpha, the aura that surrounds this man would naturally pull any sane Omega in its orbit.

It takes a moment, but you’re able to snap out of your trance long enough to mumble your name. This makes Steve smile, repeating your name softly before squeezing at your hips and realizing, all at once, how little space there is between you two. Some part of your hindbrain wants to whine at the thought of leaving his space, but you pull away, nonetheless.

“Um, I-“ You try to think of something to say, something to make things a little less tense, and when you glance to your right you see a variety of canvases and remember that you’re at work.

“So, uh, were you thinking of any… pencils you might want?”

Steve clears his throat and nods, smiling at you again.

“Whatever you think is best.”

And that’s how Steve bought way more than you suspect he’ll actually use. But just as he finishes paying, you start fiddling with your fingers, swallowing thickly. You want to say something, maybe give him a reason to come back so you can bask in his presence again. And then, a lightbulb goes off in your head.

“I’m hosting an art class in a couple of weeks! And, um, if - if you want to come then I can give you a flyer.”

The smile that Steve gives you is bright, and he starts nodding his head before you even finish the sentence.

“Yeah!” Steve coughs, trying - and failing - to cover up any semblance of desperation in his tone. “That sounds fun.”

You smile at him, your heart beating ever faster. Christ, anyone would think you’d never met an Alpha before. Steve opens his mouth, ready to say something until his phone starts ringing.

His soft sigh is barely audible, grumbling about ‘bad timing.” When he pulls his phone out, he looks up at you with a remorseful smile,

“Sorry, guess I have to go now.”

You shake your head, “No, it’s fine. Here’s the flier.”

“Of course,” Steve says softly, then takes the paper and gives you a wave before turning and walking out of the store.

____________

The door nearly slams open, Steve cringing as he remembers not to use so much strength when nudging the door open with his elbow. But, hey, he has his arms full of art supplies so he can’t use his hands.

“Babe? What’s with all the noise – what the fuck?” Bucky asks incredulously, hands placed on his hips as he stops a few feet from the front door.

“Oh, hey. Do you mind helping me out?” Steve asks with a chuckle, walking further into the apartment and shutting the door with a push of his foot. Bucky sighs but walks towards him with an outstretched arm anyway.

“So,” Bucky says, grabbing a few of the bags and bringing them to the living room. “What’s all this?”

“Oh…” Steve trails off, placing the rest of the bags onto the couch and fiddling with the end of his shirt nervously. “Well, I went to the new art studio that’s down the block.”

“Yeah, I see that.” Bucky laughs, peeking into one of the bags and raising an eyebrow. “Did you buy out the whole store?”

Steve sighs, rolling his eyes. “No, I didn’t, thank you very much. I just want to start drawing again, you know that.”

“I do,” Bucky confirms with a nod. “But I feel like you’re hiding something from me considering you hate oil paints and yet there are several different kinds in here.”

Right then Steve’s heartbeat speeds up, his face warming. And he silently curses himself for being so easy to make flustered. Especially considering Bucky, his mate, can feel through their bond that Steve’s nervous.

“Well, you see-“ Steve coughs, bringing up a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “I was talking with the owner and she… God, Buck, I think she might be… we’ve been talking about maybe courting an Omega. And I think she could be what we’re looking for. She’s so sweet, so beautiful, just so… perfect. And her scent, oh God. Other than yours, it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever smelt.”

For a minute Bucky doesn’t say anything, his hands return to his hips as he thinks over Steve’s words carefully. After all, they have talked about courting an Omega, they’ve even talked to a few, but none had ever gone far. They just haven’t seemed to find the perfect one for them, so Bucky is naturally a little skeptical. But then he looks into Steve’s eyes, he sees how they sparkle, the way his bottom lip is trapped between his teeth, and the sincerity in his voice just seems to win him over.

“Are you sure about this, Stevie?” Bucky asks skeptically, but he just needs to be sure, needs to know his boyfriend is certain before they try this again. And by the way Steve nods eagerly, he knows this time might be different.

“Okay, we’ll give it a shot.”

____________

Three days later it’s another chilly day, the clouds hanging overhead and the light rain have sucked all the warmth out of the air. The heater in the studio is on low, yet high enough to warm the space comfortably without it being too overwhelming.

Due to the rain and cold, there weren’t many people in the studio. In fact, it’s just you. There have been only a handful of customers coming in today, so you sent your coworker, Tori, to the back so she could study.

And since everything had been organized and cleaned over an hour ago you find yourself sitting at your easel, tongue poking out of your mouth and eyebrows furrowed in concentration. You’ve been here for the last hour, so focused on your painting that you don’t hear the bell ring above the door.

You also don’t hear the footsteps approaching behind you, so you can’t help but let out a slight scream whenever someone taps on your shoulder. Jumping in shock, it takes everything you have to not knock into your easel.

“Sorry, darling, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Comes a voice from behind you, deep and soothing. And you can feel your heartbeat increase further, and not because of the scare. No, this man, clearly an Alpha, has a voice that makes you nearly weak in the knees.

Turning, your eyes widen. The most handsome man stands in front of you, wearing a tight red Henley under a leather jacket. His gloved hands rest on your forearms, helping you off your stool in such a way that you don’t knock over your painting. The man’s hands are huge, able to encompass your entire forearm and then some.

It takes a moment to realize that you’re staring, mouth parted and face flushed as you step back to a respectful distance.

“N-no, it’s fine! I should have been paying attention,” You clear your throat to hide the fact that your voice wavers a bit, but the stranger’s smile lets you know that it didn’t work.

You can’t help it though. His smile, though small, is comforting and kind. His deep blue eyes twinkle with mischief, and you can’t stop the heat rising to your cheeks. His beard isn’t thick per se, but just thick enough to complete his rugged look, something that makes you melt. But you kick those thoughts out of your head to the best of your ability until you’re finally able to speak.

“How can I help you?”

____________

“How can I help you?”

Bucky gets it, understands what Steve was saying about the pretty Omega he thought would be perfect for them. He’s heard only a handful of words come out of your mouth, yet he feels his chest tighten, his heart clenching as he exercises a considerable amount of restraint from encasing you in his arms, pulling you into his chest.

His hands itch to touch you, to run them over your soft-looking skin. And he can’t help the less innocent thoughts that cross his mind, really feeling your body, caressing. And, to be quite honest, these… intense emotions kind of startle him, because the only person he’s ever felt this way with was Steve.

Nevertheless, he follows his instincts, something deep in him knows that Steve was right when he said you’d be perfect for them.

“I’m waiting for my…” Bucky trails off, thinking about whether he should tell you he has a mate or not, then decides against it. If you knew he wasn’t single you probably wouldn’t be open to his advances, and would probably think it’s weird for a mated Alpha to be flirting with you. After all, two mated Alphas aren’t exactly common, and, to be honest, they can be a little intense together.

“My friend. And I haven’t seen this studio before.” Bucky gives you a cheeky smile, trying not to laugh as he sees you fiddling with your fingers, glancing down as though you’re avoiding his gaze.

“I’m Bucky,” He reaches his hand out, letting you slowly put yours in his before he squeezes lightly, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand.

You give him your name with a squeak, flushed and nervous in a good way.

“It’s nice to meet you, Bucky,” you’re stumbling over your words slightly, and Bucky really can’t stop himself from smiling.

“And it’s lovely to meet you, darling.” Bucky holds his breath, cautiously waiting for your reaction toward the pet name. But it seems like he doesn’t have to worry, because the tiny squeak of delight that spills from your lips confirms to him that you’re, at the very least, open to his advances.

“S-so, um. Did you want to look around?”

Bucky smiles, shaking his head and finally releasing your hand. “The main reason I stepped in here was that I saw the poster in the window about an art class you’re hosting soon. I thought I’d come in so you can meet your new student.”

“Oh!” You smile brightly, wiping your hands along the front of your apron. “I’d love it if you could come! To be honest, I’ve only had a handful of people confirm that they will. I was kind of thinking of canceling, honestly.”

“Oh, don’t do that. There are plenty of people who’d love to come, your business is new so it’s going to take some time for your clientele to grow. Plus, I’ll be sure to tell all of my friends.” While he already hates the idea of other people - especially his unmated Alpha friends - getting personal time with you, he also hates how dejected you sounded about possibly canceling the class.

“Oh, gosh,” Your voice is soft, your eyes twinkling in the bright, natural light. “Well, that’d be very kind of you.”

Bucky chuckles, nodding. “Don’t worry about it, darling. Plus, it’ll be nice to see you again.”

Once again, a small noise from the back of your throat makes its way up and out of your mouth. And he can hear your heartbeat speed up, can see the look of embarrassment clear on your face.

And just as you’re about to reply, Bucky’s phone dings. He sighs, pulling it out and glancing down at it.

“Well, I’m sorry to do this, but I have to go now,” He smirks at you, giving you a wink so slight you’d miss it if you weren't staring directly into his eyes.

You nod, giving him a shy and awkward smile. “No, it’s fine! Besides, I’ll see you at the class, right?”

“Oh,” Bucky chuckles, placing one of his gloved hands on your forearm and squeezing tenderly, “I wouldn’t miss it.”

____________

“Who the fuck was that?” A voice behind you says, and when you turn you see it’s Tori looking exasperated.

“I have no idea,” Your voice is small, still unbelieving of what just happened. Your arm still tingles from where he squeezed. You then turn to look back toward the door, a tiny part of you wishing he’d come back in.

“Why do you get all the flirty Alphas? I want my turn!” Her comment makes you laugh, and you can see a hint of a smile cracking through her faux-angered expression. 

“They’re bringing their friends to the art class, maybe you’ll meet one too. Besides…” You trail off bringing your hand up to rub your arm. “Maybe he wasn’t even flirting? I mean, I haven’t lived here long, but a lot of the Alphas that come in here are really nice. Like Steve!”

You were hoping to convince not only her but yourself as well, desperately trying not to read too far into their actions. They could just be friendly, a little touchy but not overbearingly so. Whatever the case, Tori lightly smacks your arm.

“Babe, Steve was flirting with you too.” She rolls her eyes, placing her hands on your shoulders. “You may be shy, but you’re not stupid. They like you! And you need to accept that and go for it.”

“Okay, let’s say they do like me… there’s two of them and one of me. I don’t know if I’d be able to choose between them, especially since I don’t even know them. I wouldn’t want to lead one of them on.” Sighing, your eyebrows furrow, now fiddling with your fingers in anxiety.

Because, let’s be honest, you’re not one hundred percent certain that they were, in fact, flirting with you. Maybe they really are just being nice, maybe that’s how they are with a lot of people. Because Alphas like them don’t like Omegas like you; shy, awkward, introverted, too easily flustered, and so clumsy that there is absolutely no way you wouldn’t embarrass yourself in front of them at some point.

But it’s fine, because maybe they won’t show up to the class, maybe they’ll have to cancel and you can stay within your comfort zone. Change is scary, meeting new people and - possibly - dating them is scary, and you’ve never really been one to take risks.

Maybe that’s why part of you is hoping they’re not actually interested. However, you cannot deny the fact you’re interested in them. But, if things happen you want them to happen naturally, yet from beside you, Tori hums thoughtfully. In the seconds of silence that follows you know she’s planning on meddling. But before you can tell her to please not do that, she claps her hands together.

“Don’t worry about it! I’ll help.” With that, she turns and goes back to the back office, leaving you to stew in your thoughts.

____________

Bucky coughs, clearing his throat, then chuckles when Steve jumps in surprise. One of Bucky’s hands settles on his mate’s waist while looking at the bag of food in Steve’s hand.

“You get everything?”

Steve scoffs, moving Bucky’s hand off of his waist and lacing their fingers together. And as they start walking Bucky can hear his mate’s heartbeat pick up, and he smiles to himself. “Yeah, I did. Now…” Steve trails off, running his tongue over his bottom lip before biting it. Bucky squeezes his hand in comfort.

“How did it go?”

Bucky hums, cheeks reddening as he remembers your sweet voice and beautiful smile. While he is able to steel his exterior and become this suave Alpha, he’s really just a teddy bear on the inside. He craves love, he craves touch. And while he loves Steve with everything he has, he has to admit that, even though he’s just met you, he knows you’ll be able to give him the same feelings Steve does.

“God, Stevie…” Bucky sighs, looking over at his love. “I get it. I get what you were saying about her. She’s just - just the loveliest Omega I’ve ever met. And, I swear to God, I wanted to just wrap her in my arms. She might be right for us, Stevie.”

Steve chuckles, his eyes sparkling with joy at hearing his mate confirm his instinct that you’d be perfect for them. One block later they get to their apartment, go inside, and set the food down on the table.

“So, how do you want to approach her about it?” Steve asks as he grabs the plates while Bucky gets out the food.

“Well, she said that she’s hosting an art class, we can go to that.”

“I don’t know, babe,” Steve sighs, setting the plates down and sitting in his chair. “Don’t you think that would be a little… intense? Plus, it’s not common for two Alphas to be mated to each other, what if she’s uncomfortable with it?”

Bucky nods, grabbing drinks and setting one down in front of the other man. “Well, we’ll just talk to her one at a time then. We’ll go in on different days and get her to warm up to us before then.” At Steve’s pensive sigh, Bucky crouches, placing one hand on the back of his neck.

He knows Steve really wants this to work out. He’s a true romantic, and anyone who has ever met Steve knows within the first thirty seconds of talking to him that Bucky is the love of his life. He also knows Steve sometimes needs more, and it’s become worse the more potential mates they meet. And Bucky will be damned if he doesn’t give Steve everything he wants and needs.

“It’s going to be fine, Stevie.” Bucky then leans forward, placing a soft and lingering kiss on the other man’s lips. And he keeps kissing him until Steve hums against his lips.

“You promise?” Steve mumbles softly, eyes still closed.

“I promise.”

____________

Ever since the day you met Bucky, he’s been coming to your studio more and more. Only buying a few items at a time, some of which you’re pretty sure he’s not actually interested in, though he spends most of his time talking to you. And it’s a give-and-take with the conversation. Sometimes Bucky will ask a question and you’ll ramble for twenty minutes on the subject before realizing and promptly shutting your mouth.

Then there are times when Bucky is more so talking at you. Sometimes you just get so anxious that you get a little quiet, deathly afraid of saying anything embarrassing to the very handsome Alpha who likes to spend his time talking with you of all people.

And it’s confusing. And getting harder and harder to convince yourself that the Alpha has no intentions other than simply getting to know you. Every smile he gives you makes you weak in the knees, the way his eyes crinkle and his nose scrunches just make you want to melt.

Not to mention the subtle touches every so often. Whether it’s by stepping around you down one of the aisles and placing his hand on your waist to “steady you” should you fall, or by letting his hand graze yours for longer than it should when you hand him his bags, he’s gotten steadily more forward, though none of it is unwelcome. And maybe he can tell by each of your surprised yet pleased squeaks you let out whenever he shows off how good of an Alpha he is - including but not limited to doing the heavy lifting when you have to move some products onto the sales floor, bringing you coffee after you offhandedly mentioned your favorite cafe, and telling you about how he’s fixed up his motorcycle from the ground up, wordlessly showing that he’s mechanically and physically capable.

And on the sixth visit, exactly three days before your class, Bucky comes in once more at exactly noon. He tends to come in around your lunch break, knowing that you typically just paint in the studio while slowly taking bites of whatever food you brought. You’re in the back office sorting through some paperwork when you hear the bell ding above the front door. You don’t worry about going out to greet whoever just came in since Tori was there helping out.

You hear her chipper “Hi! How are you?” and for a moment your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Because who could she possibly be talking to that warrants a little too much enthusiasm?

The voice that responds makes your heart beat a tiny bit faster, the low and raspy tone saying something about visiting a ‘friend’. And then it hits you, it’s Bucky.

Another thought hits you mere seconds later, fuck, Tori’s out there.

And just as that crosses your mind you can hear Tori ask him, “So, you’re Bucky, right?”

Before you have time to think you’re rushing out of the back office, doing your best to listen to their conversation as you speed down the hall.

Bucky chuckles, and you can hear the smile in his voice when he responds “Yeah, how’d you know?”

You can also tell Tori is smiling when she starts talking again. “Oh, I’ve heard about you once or twice. My friend is the owner of this place, the one you’ve been flirting with, you know?”

You finally turn the corner and face the pair, Tori’s back to you while Bucky looks back at you. You can’t miss the wide smirk on his lips, his pleased scent slowly pouring out from him.

“Yeah? I’ve been flirting?” Bucky winks at you over Tori’s shoulder, apparently finding humor in watching you get flustered.

“Mhm,” She says, crossing her arms over her chest. “You know, from what she says, I think you like her. And she -” Suddenly she’s being cut off by your hand slapping over her mouth, appearing behind her and grasping her arm with your other hand.

“Okay! That’s it, you have to study!” You snap, glancing up at Bucky’s amused face for half a second before turning Tori around and shoving her toward the back office. “And don’t come out until you’re done with all three chapters!”

Tori huffs then rolls her eyes and trails off, leaving you and Bucky alone. And you feel like you’re on fire, like there’s no part of you that isn’t burning to the touch. Subconsciously your fingers start fiddling with each other, and you can’t bring yourself to look the Alpha in the eye.

“Hey,” He says softly, though still humorous. “It’s okay. She was right, you know?”

You hum in confusion, finally looking up at him even though it takes a lot of willpower to not look away. “What do you mean?”

“I was flirting with you. Is that okay?”

You’re no longer burning up, no. You’re ice cold now. It’s almost as if you’ve fallen into the seas surrounding the Antarctic and everything seems to slow down. Bucky’s been flirting with you? An Alphas been flirting with you? This Alpha? Your heart wants to beat out of your chest and your skin tingles, what are you going to do? What are you going to say?

“Oh.” Apparently, that’s all you can decide on, though you’re snapped out of your haze upon seeing Bucky’s face fall slightly. “No! It’s - I mean, it’s o-okay, if you… you know, are.” Internally you cringe, of all times to trip over your words, it just has to be now.

“Well, I’m glad.” Bucky smiles again, and you find yourself getting lost in his eyes, in the soft gaze and deep ocean-blue hue. A squeak escapes your lips knowing that his fond expression is directed at and because of you.

“I can’t stay long today, unfortunately. But…” Bucky trails off, slipping your hand into his and gently rubbing his thumb along the back of it. “I just wanted to come by and ask if I could treat you to lunch after the class on Saturday.”

“Like… like a - a date?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper. Your head is spinning, and you’re positive that Bucky can tell your nerves are building.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be a date. Even though I’d very much like it to be.” Bucky smiles, giving you his best puppy dog eyes, earning him a soft yet cautious giggle.

Now, you’re not too sure what to do. Over the past week or so that you’ve known him you’ve become enamored with him. You enjoy his company, he makes you feel safe, and the fact that he listens to your rambling with rapt attention makes you preen.

But, you have to take a moment to gather your thoughts. Because mere hours ago Steve had come in asking the same question - though he had suggested dinner.

Steve has also been coming in quite frequently, though he mostly spends time with you as you paint. He comes in first thing in the morning, knowing that your business is usually slower so he can have more of your attention.

He’s not as forward as Bucky is, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t shown any interest. His approach is more careful; lingering glances, not-so-subtly checking you out whenever he thinks you’re not paying attention, the way his gaze drops to your lips every so often whenever you’re speaking to him. Not to mention the way he always compliments your artwork. It’s all so… charming.

His mischievous yet chivalrous persona could pull anyone in, including you. Not to mention, Steve’s bright smile and deep laugh just make your inner Omega want to tilt your head and bare your neck to him.

Interactions with him give you similar feelings when you’re with Bucky, making everything overwhelmingly confusing. Because, like you told Tori, you’d hate to lead one of them on, but you can already tell you’re developing romantic feelings for both Alphas.

And hours ago you’d given Steve a timid ‘yes’ when he asked you out. What are you supposed to do? Suddenly, your lonely inner Omega forcefully pushes its way past all of your negative thoughts and ever-growing anxiety to give Bucky the same answer.

“Okay.” Despite your inner turmoil, Bucky’s bright smile and unfairly cute nose scrunch settle any nerves you’ve been feeling.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, hopeful.

“Yes, I-I’d love to go on a… date. With you.” This time you can’t stop the way you physically cringe at your awkwardness, though Bucky only seems to find it endearing because he laughs softly.

“Awesome,” Bucky breathes out, giving you the softest gaze you’ve ever received, and the amount of restraint it takes for you to not melt into his arms is astounding. “I have to go now, but I’ll see you Saturday, yeah?”

“Y-yeah! Of course,” Your voice goes a little high. Jesus Christ, why does he have to be so charming?

At that, the Alpha brings your hand up to his lips at the same time he leans forward and presses a lingering, gentle kiss to your knuckles, looking you in the eye all the while. And the squeak that escapes your lips would almost embarrass you if you weren’t having an out-of-body experience.

“Okay, darling.”

Bucky releases your hand, walks back a few steps, gives you a wink, and then turns around to leave, sparing you one last glance before exiting.

____________

Soft. Warm. Gentle.

Everything is coated in golden honey, cotton-candy clouds, an ever-flowing river.

It’s ecstasy, his body aflame as it moves, rocking forward, pulling back, then pushing forward again. His eyes roll to the back of his head, and short and breathy gasps fill his ears as grunts and groans travel up his throat and out of his mouth.

Steve’s eyes open, and the view makes his heart want to stop.

It’s you, with your arms above your head, body bare to him and, wait. Someone’s behind him. The person's strong arms wrap around his waist and his muscled chest presses against his back, and then a metal hand turns his head to the left. And there’s Bucky, his Alpha. Bucky presses a filthy kiss to his lips while the brunette’s hands rest on his hips, aiding in their movement. With a quick smack to his backside, Steve gets back into the action, grinding his hips against your pelvic bone before slowly pulling out. The force of the forward thrust of his hips causes you to shriek, your breasts bouncing wildly as he continues his harsh thrusts.

It takes no time at all for Steve to feel his knot throb, threatening to expand and lock into your sweet pussy as he fills you with his cum. He’s close. Oh so fucking close when you moan.

“Alpha!”

Steve wakes with a gasp, his eyes flying open and heart racing as he tries in vain to cling onto any remnants of sleep, desperately hoping to finish the dream - his first wet dream in a while.

“Stevie?” Bucky appears from his left, walking out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair dripping from the shower. “You okay, Alpha?”

Steve shudders, the way you sweetly moaned for him, for your Alpha, coming to the front of his mind, and his cock throbs in a rude reminder of his current predicament.

“Y-yeah, I’m, fuck…” Steve trails off, his hand sneaking under the covers and grasping the base of his cock. “I’m good, baby. Just…”

“Just had a wet dream?” Bucky chuckles, walking over to their bed and sitting sideways on it so he can face Steve and run a hand through his already messed-up hair. “I could hear you whimpering from the shower.”

Bucky then flings the covers back, shooing Steve’s hand away from his cock so Bucky can grasp it. “I heard you whining for her, our sweet little Omega. She’s perfect, isn’t she? She’s so small compared to us, bet we’d break her the first time we get our knots in her perfect pussy.”

Bucky’s hand is jerking Steve off in earnest, his grip is tight as he strokes and pulls and flicks his wrist every so often. And Steve is helpless but to let him, to listen to his mate spout filth of how well you’d take them, how sweet you’d be for them, how he’d let Steve be the first to take you. He takes everything he’s given, gripping the sheets tight enough that he’s sure they're tearing, letting his pleasure climb higher and higher by the second.

But what really sets him off is Bucky’s growl, “I had to jerk myself off in the shower just listening to you moan for our Omega.” Steve cums with a shout, his eyes clenching shut, and he’d be embarrassed about how fast he came if it weren’t for the extremely vivid dream he just woke up from.

It takes a few moments for Steve to get his bearings until he’s finally able to open his eyes and meet Bucky’s playful gaze. Steve wants to feel bad about dreaming about you when you’re not even theirs, but he just can’t bring himself to do so. Just thinking of you made him shoot off like a rocket, he doesn’t really know how he’s going to handle actually being with you.

But they hadn’t even taken you on a date yet, and they both get the feeling it might take a while before you feel comfortable enough to give yourself over to them like that. But that doesn’t matter, because Steve is sure that he and Bucky will wait however long is needed for you to feel comfortable like that with them.

“So,” Bucky says with a smirk, bringing his hand up to lick Steve’s cum off of his hand. Steve groans in response. “You feelin’ better about today?”

Ever since they both asked you out neither has gone back to your studio, they didn’t want to make you anxious since they knew they both asked you out and you might get even more conflicted if you saw them again since then. Steve’s been worried. He doesn’t want to back out, God no. He just… he really wants this to work out. And every awful scenario keeps playing in his mind on a loop.

What if you get too overwhelmed with both of them together? What if you turn them down when you realize they’re mated? What if you’re disgusted and don’t even want to be their friend? What if -

“Stevie.” Bucky’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts, and Steve sighs. “Stop thinking too hard, it’s going to be fine.”

“But-”

“No, Steve.” Bucky sighs and gets off the bed, then he crouches down so his face is level with his mate’s. “I promised you, didn’t I? I promised that everything would work out and I’m going to fulfill that promise today. We’re going to go to the class, explain everything to her, and ask her out together.”

Bucky pauses to lean forward and press a kiss to Steve’s lips.

“She likes you, baby. And she likes me. That’s why she agreed to go out with us. It might be a little weird for her since two mated Alphas aren't common, especially since she doesn’t seem used to Alphas flirting with her at all. But, it’s going to be okay in the end. Everything will work out.”

Bucky kisses Steve again, and Steve gives his Alpha a gentle smile.

“I love you, Alpha.”

Bucky smiles back and says, “I love you too, Alpha.”

____________

“Okay, okay, okay,” You mumble to yourself, running your hands down the front of your apron for the hundredth time. “Everything is going to be okay. They don’t know you’re going out with both of them, everything is going to be fine.”

Sighing, you mumble another ‘I can do this’ before turning around, jumping in shock when you see Tori standing in front of you.

“Jesus Christ, Tori! Warn a girl, will you?”

Tori laughs, smirking. “Sorry, I just thought I’d tell you that your Alpha, Bucky, is here with some friends but I didn’t want to interrupt your pep-talk.”

Oh shit, in your panic you didn’t even realize your class starts in less than ten minutes. But then you realize a certain word she used. Your Alpha.

“He’s not my Alpha. He’s just… an Alpha that happens to like me and wants to take me on a date.”

Your eyes widen in horror, because the realization that you’re actually going on a date with him, and, separately, Steve, in just a few hours is hitting you in full force.

Oh God, how am I going to survive today?

Tori pulls you out of your thoughts, literally, by grabbing your bicep and leading you out of the back office.

“Whatever you say, babe. Now, let’s not keep him waiting.”

When you get to the studio part of your store you see him, well, them. It’s Bucky, surrounded by about ten other people, all talking and laughing. Wow, he wasn’t kidding when he said he’d bring all of his friends.

There are about five other people milling about, looking at all the different canvases and paints available for the class. It makes you happy that you had so many people show up, even if most of them probably had to be convinced to come.

There’s just one person missing; Steve. It’s only two minutes from twelve, and you can’t help the disappointment at the fact that he probably forgot or, worse, was just joking about being interested in you and doesn’t actually want to see you.

It hurts you, deeper than it probably should, but you mask the hurt when you get up to Bucky and his friends.

“Um, hi, Bucky,” You say softly, glancing over at his friends all looking at you with knowing smirks.

“Ah!” The Alpha says, smiling widely at you. “Hello, darling.”

It takes everything in you for you to not melt right into the floor, both from embarrassment from having his friends chuckle in amusement as well as his smooth yet low tone directed at you.

You turn slightly to the group of people behind him, all giving you amused expressions and small waves. You wave back at them with an awkward smile, then turn back to the Alpha in front of you. “Um, I… It’s nice of you to come.”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” Bucky winks at you, and you press your lips shut so as to not let out the high-pitched whine that wants to be set free.

After a tense few seconds of silence, Tori appears from beside you. “I hate to break up your moment but it’s time to start.”

“Oh! R-right.” Your heart is racing ever so slightly, but it’s also hurting. Because it seems like Steve really did bail.

That is until you ask everyone to sit wherever they want. Bucky sits at the front, taking the easel closest to you. His friends and the other patrons all sit as well, and one spot remains open, right next to Bucky.

The bell above the door dings, and your head whips up to see the Alpha in question rushing through the door. He gives you a wide smile, and immediately makes his way to the empty seat.

Fuck.

“Sorry I’m late, I got held up.”

“No, it’s - it’s fine!” Your heart rate increases again, and you don’t know how you’re going to survive this class, especially considering Bucky is already giving you a heady gaze.

“O-okay, everyone, let’s get started.”

Surprisingly, the class goes by pretty smoothly. However, the intense stares from both Steve and Bucky, as well as their smirks and Bucky’s occasional winks, make you stutter over your words every once in a while. That would cause Bucky’s friends to snicker and smirk. Though it seems relatively harmless, simply finding amusement in watching you get flustered over flirting with Bucky but not with any malice.

Still, it’s going well.

It’s not until you tell everyone to put down their brushes that your nerves return, hoping that Steve won’t stick around and you can just meet him at the diner he suggested.

But, fate has other plans. Because Bucky’s friends stand and choose to hang around the window, looking at some of your other displayed paintings. The others came up to you with thanks, complimenting your work as well as your teaching skills, all of which make you smile so wide you’d think it’d hurt.

But then they leave, and after the last lone customer leaves, you turn and see, oh no. Fuck. Steve and Bucky are talking, laughing, standing way too close to one another for two people who don’t know each other. You’re standing by your easel still, eyes locked on to them, frozen. Because you have a strange inkling that they do actually know each other, which would mean that they would know you’re going on a date with both of them.

Then why would they ask you out if that were the case?

It takes everything in you not to run away when Bucky turns to face you with a wide smile, Steve turning next and smiling too.

“Hey, darling,” Bucky says, walking toward you when he realizes you’re frozen in place. He stops in front of you, and Steve follows his lead and stands next to him. They look at each other for a moment, Steve nodding his head once before Bucky turns to you and opens his mouth.

But you’re panicking. Because you’ve already decided that they’ve just now found out and are going to cancel the dates and maybe insult you for accepting a date from both of them. Even though, logically, you know they would never say anything even remotely rude to you, your anxiety is telling you that they would. They will. So you take it upon yourself to apologize.

“Guys, I-I am so sorry! I know I shouldn’t have accepted a date with both of you but I really, really like both of you and I didn’t know how to choose because I don’t want to choose between you two because you’re both really nice and amazing and I know it sounds awful that I want both of you when you’re probably not even interested anymore because why w-”

“Darling!” Bucky cuts you off, placing a warm hand on your bicep, squeezing it once, and then running his hand down your arm until he can take your hand in his.

“It’s okay, honey,” Steve says, bringing up a hand to gently turn your head to face him more directly.

“I-It… It is?”

They both give each other another glance while they chuckle to themselves. Steve takes your other hand, slowly rubbing the back of it with his thumb.

“We have something to tell you, darling.” Bucky sighs, then clears his throat. “We… planned this. We didn’t want to tell you upfront because we didn’t want to scare you away, because we really like you too. We’re… Steve and I are…” He trails off, and now his nerves are swirling deep in his stomach. Steve steps in for him though.

“We’re mates. And we know it’s not common, and two Alphas with an Omega isn’t common either, so we didn’t want to be too overbearing by flirting with you together. We’ve been wanting to court an Omega together so we wanted you to get to know us individually so you wouldn’t be overwhelmed because we can be… a lot. We’re sorry we lied.”

By the time they’re done speaking, you think you’re dreaming. No, you’re positive you’re dreaming. They’re mates? And, as Steve said, two mated Alphas aren’t exactly common. Even still, that doesn’t bother you. You’re big on doing what you want as long as no one is getting hurt. And you can understand why they didn’t want to approach you together, because, yeah, even just being in both of their presences makes your heart race and stutter.

But, they both want you? Like, together? They want to court you and maybe bring you into their relationship? It’s been a while since you’ve been in a relationship, and even then it was with a Beta, so you can’t even imagine how dating two Alphas would be.

“Oh.” Smart. Really fucking clever. God, why can’t you just say anything?

“Do you… Do you not want to date us?” Steve sounds disappointed, sad. And the way he frowns makes you mentally slap yourself out of your haze.

“No! I- I do! I just… I’ve never dated two Alphas. I don’t mind that you’re mated, really. I’m just not used to…” You trail off, biting your lip and glancing down, realizing that they still have hold of your hands. It makes your skin tingle, their large and warm hands fill your entire body with fire, and the smile that returns to Steve’s face makes you smile too.

“You’re not used to what?” Bucky asks, squeezing your hand.

“To being wanted this much, I guess.”

You miss the way both Alphas look at each other with furrowed eyebrows, both men frowning now.

“How about this,” Steve says, bringing up his other hand to tilt your chin up to look at him. “We’ll cancel the dates for today. And we can go on one tomorrow, together. All of us. And if you think it over more tonight and decide you don’t want to anymore, then that is okay. But we really do like you, honey.”

Well, you’d never stood a chance against them from the very first meetings, so there’s not really a doubt in your mind that you do want to go on that date, it’s just your anxiety that’s causing you to doubt their feelings.

But Tori’s voice pops up in the back of your head telling you to stop overthinking, to just take a chance. So, that’s what you do.

“O-okay. Tomorrow is good.”

Both Alphas smile, simultaneously sighing in relief at your words. Bucky then releases your hand so he can pull out his phone, unlock it, then hand it to you.

“Here, we’re going to go but you can give me your number so we can talk over more details before tomorrow.”

You do so, typing in your number and watching with dazed eyes as they gather their things to leave. And when they’re about to leave, both men make quick moves of kissing each of your cheeks before retreating with charming smiles.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, darling?” Bucky asks, only leaving when you give him a nod and a wide smile.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it.”

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