#color palette is all over the place but WHATEVER....

[copepods]

original sin

[tojisbbygworl]

He’s Not Actually That Cool - Hobie Brown x Black!Reader

Based off of this post

Part 2 bonus bonus ii

Masterlist

Imagine Hobie, the undeniably coolest person in the Spider Society, is a virgin nerd with a big dick

Tags: Hobie is a pathetic virgin loser, 18+, a lil smut, Oral (m receiving)

"How are you even cooler under your mask?"

"I was this cool the whole time."

A scoff behind the both of them. It's you shaking your head in your mask.

Hobie smirks at you. "Something funny there, love?" You don't say anything, just pretending you don't hear him and looking away innocently.

Hobie was the reason you were a part of the Spider Society. He and Miguel had captured the anomaly in your own universe with your help, of course. You knew Hobie had immediately took a liking to you what with the way he stared at you through his mask when he first laid eyes on you, frozen in place, color palette pink.

You liked him the moment he ripped his mask off when it was all said and done. He looked real good with his wicks, his sharp facial structure, wide-set nose and even larger lips. You actually believed him when he said he was briefly a runway model, emphasis on the briefly.

He invited you to join them and pulled you into the portal before Miguel could even say anything. You two have been inseparable ever since.

As you met more people, they all told you of their opinion of the man who seemed to be your best friend. Everyone says the same thing, that he's effortlessly cool and it makes him a little obnoxious. It always made you tilt your head.

You've seen the anime action figures in his room ranging anywhere from Naruto to Tokyo Ghoul.

"Oi, don't touch my things. You're the only person I trust to let in here, don't ruin it."

He's talked your ear off about the intricate lore of FNAF (he HATES MatPat btw)

You've groaned at how many times you've heard the name 'Afton' leave his mouth.

"So the place shut down again after the victim lost their entire frontal lobe"

"And that's the bite of '83, right?"

"No, that's the bite of '87. Thought I told you about '83?"

He probably did but he talked about it so damn much that you forgot. "It's cool, I'll tell you. So the bite of '83..."

This man is a fucking nerd but the BIGGEST misconception everyone has is that he's probably great at sex.

He has a reputation of "running through" everyone who wants him at the society...and yet no one has actually done anything with him. Everyone whispers about it, but no one has ever come out and admitted to having sex with him.

He's without a doubt your closest friend, so you asked him about it while you were chilling at his, watching him strum his guitar.

"So I heard you been running through the Spider Society like a tomb raider."

He cackled, "Yeah, that's what they all believe, innit?"

"It's not true?"

He shook his head. "I haven't got bottle, luv. Don't know what the bloody hell I'm doing."

"Oh really?"

He stopped strumming to look up at you, his smirk falling upon seeing your sultry and mischievous face. He grew a bit nervous, but was more excited if anything.

"What's that look about?"

"Would you like someone to teach you?"

He dropped his pick from how badly he was shaking. Hobie gulped and slowly nodded his head. You walked over to him and slowly lifted his guitar off his body, then pushing him back into the couch and sitting on top of him.

That's how this current make-out session started with you doing most of the work, taking off yours and his clothes feverously.

Hobie just sat back and let you do whatever you wanted. He especially loved watching you strip down to your underwear, blood shooting to his dick as soon as he watched your breasts bounce out of your shirt. He watched you pull your panties off of you leaving you completely naked and him only in his boxers.

He shifted in the couch to relieve some tension. You giggled at his starstruck face.

"You good?" You asked him. He nodded. "Do you need me to pull it out for you?" He nodded again.

You laughed, but was quickly shut up by his long, curved shaft slapping back onto his stomach. His underwear did him no justice, nothing could have prepared you for this.

He shyly looked away and bit his lip, not wanting to admit that he liked the way you gazed at it. It fueled his ego, but he didn't know how to tell you without stuttering.

He was actually shaking pretty bad, and it worried you. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah...I just..." he gulped and looked back down, his dick jumping upon looking into your eyes. Just like his, yours were a deep brown. Your eyes were furrowed in concern, and your full lips were parted. His breathing got deeper.

"You really want to have sex? With me?"

You deadpanned him, then leaned your head down to his base. Hobie gasped when you stuck your tongue out and licked all the way to his tips. Your played with it for a couple seconds, leaving him a shuddering mess. His precum leaked from it and you licked it all up reveling in the salty taste.

"O-oh..." he moaned when you grasped it gently and began to pump. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, so glad that he didn't have to imagine it was your hand beating his dick. He humped into it a little, and he looked so sexy crunching his abs that you couldn't help but to enclose your mouth over him.

"Oh, fuck," he exclaimed. He threw his head back up and gazed upon your form. You were giving him the sloppiest top he had ever seen, (he only watched BJ and missionary porn and you were much better than those girls)

God, he couldn't wait to get you under him and hump into you like's he's thought about for so long. He's used his hand, his pillow, he even looked up how to make his own flesh light because he would never be able to hide a real one from you. It was gross but fuck, how else was he supposed to get his rocks off? If he didn't do any of those things, he would have no control around you.

"Fuck, babe. Please keep going~" Hobie was drooling - actually drooling - out the side of his mouth. He panted and clenched his hands. You had to reach out and move them to your hair.

The poor thing panicked, he had no idea what you wanted him to do. He gently pet your small afro, more concerned that he was close to cumming down your throat.

You stopped and popped him out of your mouth, laughing a little at how cute he was.

You didn't notice how stressed he looked, him sitting up a little more in the chair. "Ngh, wait, no-" he whispered.

His dick bounces with each spray of his cum with him letting out a string of moans and curses as it lands on his stomach and chest. "Ffff...uh...uck..."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," you say, watching his fucked-out face. His head bounces with each deep breath he took.

"Why...did you...stop?" he asked in between pants.

"Why did you pat my head?" you asked, standing up, begrudgingly putting your clothes back on despite the ache between your legs.

"What was I supposed to do?" Hobie stares at your ass lustfully, feeling the blood rush back into his dick from how it moved.

"You were supposed to grab my hair and choke me with your dick, baby."

He gulps not being able to take his eyes off of you. "Oh."

You turned after putting your panties back on and froze. His dick was standing straight up again, the head glistening with thick white liquid. He stared at you embarrassingly, hoping that you would just come back over and kiss it.

"You could have said something before I started putting my shit back on."

"Sorry," he said, not being able to contain his excitement when you walked back over to him. His smile went away when you instead hovered yourself over his lap. His cum was still on his stomach and his dick. "W-Wait-"

"Yeah?" You whispered sensually, grabbing him again and pulling your panties to the side to line him up with you.

"I'm still-, I still have-, Is this okay?"

"I'm on the pill."

He starts getting nervous again, but he doesn't know why.

"You scared?" She asks.

He looks at her and rests his hand on her hip. "I don't want to hurt you. Or make you uncomfortable."

You giggled again. "I promise you I'll be fine."

"But, I still got my cum on me, babe."

"I know." You leans over to his ear and lick it. He shivers. "Isn't that so nasty?"

Hobie moaned as you begin to sink yourself onto him. You moan too, Hobie splitting you like you never imagined.

"You really want to shag a virgin?" He finally asked her, his voice wavering.

She rolled her eyes and sighed in frustration. "Virginity is a social construct. Don't be ashamed. Now shut the fuck up."

Definitely making a part 2 and a lil bonus and another bonus (ii)

Taglist is closed!

Masterlist

[kinichval]

all at once, everything is different

he finds no meaning in celebrating the day of his birth (or creation), yet this year he finds himself whispering a wish — please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh he can recognize anywhere.

content. wanderer x rtawahist!fem!reader, wanderer is addressed as hat guy, reader can see aranara, not dating but clearly in love ykwim, one (1) kiss, hat guy hates his birthday, not-so-mean because his soft spot is showing lol, mediocre writing, slight angst if u squint. | 3.5k words

“hat guy, you have a visitor!”

the said man groans and shuts his eyes, displeased with the interruption. if ignoring the knocks were not enough to convey the message, then he will not be liable for his harsh tone over the unwanted company.

except, well, the visitor on the other side of the door happened to be his new friend — durin.

wait, what the fuck is he doing with nahida?

“hat guy!” the little dragon's enthusiasm explodes across the room. he quickly flies over to the indigo-haired scholar, taking a peek at the paperwork on his desk. “what are you doing?” his curiosity is rather adorable, though hat guy would not let that thought slip out his lips (and hopefully the dendro archon wouldn't attempt to read his mind).

“i'm working on a new thesis.” he simply responds, durin lets out an innocent ‘woah’ although he knows he doesn't fully grasp the concept. nahida giggles; the thesis proponent has been cooped up in this room for days, it's a given that scholarly papers and academic writing generally takes months before completion, but it's also clear to her that his response was merely an excuse.

“let's go out, hat guy!” durin initiates, flipping in the air as excitement rushes through his little body as he expects his first friend to agree — only to frown when hat guy scoffs, “i'm busy right now. let's plan another time.” hat guy hopes the compromise would convince his dragon friend to leave him alone and so will the dendro archon.

but no, both of them are determined to reign victorious against his convictions.

hat guy knew what day is it today, he sighs heavily, eager to stay put in his lair doing whatever academic duty there is just to avoid the light of day and utmostly reject the idea of celebration.

it's as if a simple greeting of ‘happy birthday’ bears no sense of something, it feels awkward to receive such words when he feels nothing about the beginning of his existence. was he supposed to say ‘thank you’ when in the first place it's an unsolicited message?

one of these days, he's sure to receive a smack on the back of his head if this attitude continues.

(he'll just protect his head then.)

(unless the prevailing lord of sumeru casts a more perilous punishment when he wears her patience thin.)

durin's crimson eyes dulls, the drop in his float and lowered head presents his broken heart, “allow me to go through your progress and i'll leave my own criticisms, take it as a partial checking. we wouldn't want to finish a thesis then realize the whole paper is wrong, would we?” nahida suggests, her eyes round and pleading. hat guy stares down at his desk, almost praying to some other god — probably the anemo one, though he doesn't have much faith in the freedom archon — to make nahida and durin realize that he is unavailable at the moment.

“come on, hat guy, today looks like a good—” nahida's words are immediately cut off when hat guy finally looks at their gazes, “fine!” he abruptly stands up with his palms on the desk, the split second of his widened eyes being enough evidence for nahida to see his true feelings without needing to use her mind-reading prowess.

“really?!” durin's eyes sparkle and wings flap in triumph, hat guy groans in defeat, and nahida smiles brightly. “but i'll decide when the day is over.” his tone is as cold as his color palette, but durin does not complain about his condition, his little cheers soften hat guy's bleak exterior.

hat guy detests walking around the heart of sumeru during this time of the year, he remembers in the previous year when akademiya students ambushed him just to get him to blow a sickeningly sweet birthday cake. he lowers his head, until now he can't fully comprehend the nature of birthdays and its significance — for mortals, it may be because their lifespans are merely a flick of a finger compared to non-human races.

he has already lived for so long and will continue to do so, but what part of birthdays satisfy fulfillment if he rejects it himself? it's even so absurd that he is expected to extend gestures to others on his own day.

“hey, hat guy, do you know those tiny things with hats and a smiley face?” the little dragon's query snaps hat guy out of his zoned out state, he momentarily pauses to think what creatures he is referring to before furrowing his brows at the unsure conclusion in his mind, “what things?” the boy envisions the forest spirits around sumeru, the aranara. he doubts durin means the smiles as they do not have a smile, still he remarks those elemental clusters as cute.

“those little things! with hats like yours!” durin tries his best at composing his description, “wait, they have pointy hats, yours is flat.” his voice is small at the realization of the difference in design, “you should know what i mean, right?” he flies right in front of hat guy's face, hoping that his thoughts will get through to his friend.

“perhaps you mean the aranara? they're plant-like forest spirits in sumeru. where did you see one? they don't often show themselves as i've known.” hat guy explains, he sees the bright grin on durin's face, the sight melts him.

he knows the aranara only allows their presence to be known by children (adults can see them but terms and conditions must be met first, e.g. the traveler), and deep down he hopes for durin to take sight of those little things. he believes that durin is a child at heart, not only his small size and curious nature, but his core is akin to a little kid who dreams and hopes.

“they're called aranara? it sounds adorable!” durin giggles, “i saw a couple of them tailing behind the archon! do you think i can befriend them?” hat guy smiles, his sentiments mirroring durin's aspirations. “you can go find them and ask for a friendship contract.” he smirks, obviously teasing the little dragon, though his words carry genuine wishes for durin to create friendships.

“do we like call for them? i want to talk to one!” durin's eagerness at meeting the aranara spreads warmth in his chest, “you have to be patient. they'll appear whenever they deem right.” hat guy responds, he's not entirely knowledgeable about their decisions when or when not to appear, but he knows enough that the aranara values the people of sumeru — even if they're unseen, they're the nation's closest companion.

and he's assured enough that the aranara will welcome durin just as much as he was accepted as their friend.

“there you are!” a deep voice pipes up nearby, durin hastily flies behind hat guy to hide from the unknown voice. “who's there?” the little dragon closes his eyes, the fear of being judged is still within him, hence hat guy extends out both his arms as an act of protecting durin as his gaze seeking out who had spoken to them.

the general mahamatra comes to sight, albeit the most distinguishable factor for hat guy is the tall ears poking out from his hat. his right eyebrow is raised, posing a skeptical expression at the big-eared hat guy's presence and intentions with him.

“ah, the famous hat guy of the vahumana darshan. i believe you remember me from the interdarshan championship last year?” cyno utters, there's a prideful look on his face that makes hat guy even more wary of where this is going. “i recall our sparring moments during the competition, yes, you were the representative for spantamad.” hat guy responds, he knows this man is a big persona in the nation although he couldn't dig it in his memory what his name was.

“speak your intentions, i do not have the luxury of time right now.” hat guy asserts, he watches as cyno takes a deep inhale — and wonders what it's for — before he takes hat guy's hand and slaps down a stack of cards (dear archon, how did he manage to hide a tall stack?)

“do you know about genius invokation tcg? i've been meaning to find you and discuss the game. i have high hopes that you'll be a prodigy of a player, so please hear me out. i have read a few of your research, i applaud your intelligence and critical thinking for curating reasonable claims and powerful arguments. you know what else uses the same strategy? tcg! with your keen observation, wits, and quick analysis, i'm sure you'll be sumeru's second best player — i'm the first, of course — please accept my offer and play with me, i assure you that it is an efficient mental exercise outside of the akademiya. furthermore, playing with others allows a space for building relationships and strengthening bonds. what do you say, hat guy?”

oh, cyno definitely needed that deep inhale. hat guy, on the other hand, is bewildered.

“hat guy, what is he talking about?” durin whispers in his ears, still out of sight.

“you should take upon his offer, hat guy. not only will you gain friends in sumeru, but also acquire a reputable image across teyvat.” the green-eyed desert guy (who hat guy knows as the one who's oddly interested in his hat) shows up and backs up cyno's claim.

right now, he feels like nahida casted him in some weird dream spell because what the hell is going on?

hat guy scoffs, “only brains as small as a sweet flower seed would reckon that a measly card game is enough to be a backbone of life-and-death bonds.” still, the stack of cards remained in his hand.

as if cyno was about to take no for an answer, “keep the stack, hat guy. maybe one day you'll have a change of mind, come find me if you find it in yourself to admit that this game is—”

“hat guy!” another voice pops up in the scenario, but rather than having his guard up higher, hat guy's shoulders seem to relax upon hearing your voice.

as you enter the scene, you immediately realize the situation. there's a look of dread in hat guy's eyes that shows his disagreement towards card games. “general mahamatra, pardon for the intrusion, but please do excuse hat guy and his… displeasure with tcg. i'm sure there are other skilled scholars who are more interested in playing a match with you.” you intervene, a nervous laugh at the end because despite this silly interaction, cyno still holds a high position and you know the power this man has.

cyno was about to respond, but sethos — the green-eyed desert guy — beats him to it, “apologies, my lady. the general here just wants a formidable opponent because apparently i don't play enough tcg.” sethos explains as he casually points his thumb at cyno, “i'm not interested to be your opponent.” hat guy coldly rejects.

“no! you will play tcg with me one da—” sethos covers his mouth that he almost stumbled backwards, they bicker among themselves.

“hey, yn! long time, no see!” you hear durin's little whisper, you assume he's hiding behind hat guy, a giggle passes your lips and the endearing thought. “hey, durin. i missed you!” for a moment, you reminisce the first time durin visited the real world — you met him them as he and hat guy relayed to you the tales of simulanka and all the shenanigans that occurred.

“anyways! hat guy, you know you'd be so cute with your hair tied up.” sethos grinned, the change in topic also brightened up his aura however it only dimmed hat guy's. he takes off hat guy's hat, now he's just guy, and his fingers swiftly grabs a portion of his midnight-hued hair and ties a little bun.

and the cherry on top, a bow.

“...tch.”

hat guy never had his hair tied, you had played with a few strands whenever he lays down on your lap, but that's the closest his hair ever got touched. mini durin struggles to hide his laughter at the sight of his best friend's angered face being ten times more adorable with the new hairstyle.

he's extra convinced that this is just another dream simulated by nahida.

“i wonder what you would look like with your hair braided.” you giggle, envisioning different styles on his jellyfish-like haircut. “whatever it is, don't.” hat guy rolls his eyes.

you, hat guy, and mini durin continue to walk to whoever knows where, your path has strayed away from the city but it's no issue when hat guy finds relief in not having to be jumped on by scholars.

along the way, laughter and banter were thrown back and forth. “don't pretend it's erased in history that you broke my favorite pen!” you nag him, “it was already cracked, it just happened to break apart in my hand!” he defends himself, this argument has been going on for months now, it's your personal grudge against him that you bring up whenever he tries to drag you down.

“it's raining!” durin points out as the rain loudly splatters on the ground, “oi!” hat guy yelps as you take his hat and hovers it over your heads. “c'mon it's big enough.” you reason out, he sighs and rolls his eyes, durin is in between you two as you walk to find a better shelter.

until a small meow catches your attention, as if on instinct, your eyes darts toward the sound's origin. it didn't take long to find a small cat inside a pot, wet in the rain. the little guy seemed to be alone with no owner or parent cat around.

and it didn't take another thought for hat guy to grab his hat and cover the white cat's head, leaving you and durin exposed to the rain, “i'll take you to the shelter. follow me if you want.” he says, but instead picks up the cat in his arms — talk about personal autonomy, no?

shortly, he returns to you and durin, the hat barely covering your group but settles with whatever his hat can provide. it's a wondrous sight, no words were spoken at this moment, even durin who enjoyed conversing let the serene silence overpower the rainfall.

and hat guy realizes that not a word had fallen off your lips about his birthday. you certainly had not forgotten, right?

suddenly, his chest feels empty, which is weird enough for he doesn't even possess a heart. a human heart. his ribs feel tight, as if clenching on nothing; he doesn't understand the anomaly taking place within his core, the cat meows and snuggles against his chest, serving as a temporary remedy for the internal ache.

sometimes you were infuriating. not for reasons that are shallow and certainly he doesn't wish for your demise; he finds you the cause of the berserk inside him, for whenever you two are within each other's parameters, suddenly he's at ease and for some reason that he time and time again fails to provide an answer for, troubled.

dear archons, hat guy could almost solve all of sumeru's political issues — if he dared to — but this predicament that involves you bears no fruition to his efforts in understanding the effect you have on him. the lack of an emotional organ within him feels more and more apparent when there's a rampant of feelings flowing in his blood.

is this what a heart is for?

“the sky's clearing up!” durin beams, flying forward. “don't fly too far, you don't know where you're going.” hat guy scolds the little dragon who muttered an apology and returns close to him. 

you settled in an abandoned hut, based on the nearby surroundings, it's safe to assume you're around the region in between avidya forest and vanarana. “are you hungry little guy?” durin converses with the lone cat that chooses to stay on hat guy's lap, rendering him immobile until the cat is satisfied with its rest.

“say, durin, do you know what today is?” you ask the dragon, he tilts his head in response, “hat day, is today a special day?” you softly smile at how closely tied durin is to hat guy, you've known him since the day he started as an akademiya student, you were together at the same table in the library. he wasn't the sociable type, he made that clear, but you were persistent to break into his personal bubble until you finally claim a spot in his vicinity.

“it's just a normal day.” hat guy rolls his eyes, but the slight tint of pink on his cheeks doesn't go unnoticed. for hat guy, you were like a cat that demands to be paid attention to, a ginger-colored one that he can not seem to predict. 

“really? the sun seems to be too bright just for today to be normal.” he's confused, were you about to break open the forest and have the entirety of sumeru to sing him a happy birthday or there's something else up your sleeve that he can't guess.

“is that an aranara?!” durin squeals upon the sight of a blue aranara walking towards the group, hat guy follows durin's line of sight and spots not just one or two, but a small group of aranaras… and origamis?

his brows furrowed in disbelief, “what's going on?” hat guy looks at you with a puzzled face, you want to snort at his expression because clearly he's trying to avoid his birthday.

and you were not about to let him disregard his day like that.

the army of aranara and origami surrounds hat guy, the aranara orients a necklace of origami flowers around his neck. their little squeals speak of their joyous sentiment for this moment, a moment that belongs to hat guy.

“happy birthday.”

hat guy is stuck in a trance when he finally hears you say it.

“happy birthday, hat guy!” durin exclaims, he's flipping in circles, finally releasing the words he desperately tried to hide since he saw him.

“happy birthday, blue nara!”

“happy birthday, hero of simulanka!”

hat guy puts his hand on his chest as the greetings continue to echo in his ears, is this what happiness feels like?

“thank you.” he simply responds, clearing his throat to regain his usual composure. 

“we have gifts for you!” you crouch down in front of him, a big smile on your face. you gesture the aranaras and paper squirrels to come forth, they carry boxes filled with secret stories whose main character is hat guy.

“i got one too!” durin flies down to sit beside hat guy, his own little gift in his embrace.

“why would you celebrate my birthday?” his voice falters as he lets the question fly past his lips, “because i care for you, hat guy. you're special to me.” you simply reply, hoping that it delivers the deeper meaning of his existence to your life.

you love him, you will forever do so.

hat guy hums, unsure how to reply when he's fighting his innermost turmoil of crystalflies. he resorts to opening the gifts instead, one box containing a hand-crafted paper doll of himself, the enraged expression has him instinctively mirroring the same look, “is this how you see me?” he scoffs, but they let him tell his rough comments and cold feedback as he continues his unboxing spree.

“i've got plenty of unusual stuff from you and you still haven't run out of ideas? even durin has his own contribution.” he sighs, his indigo orbs lingering on the gifts you prepared. the stack of tcg cards from cyno still in his possession.

“because you deserve to be reminded that you're loved and wanted.”

loved and wanted, huh?

hat guy quietly apologizes as he moves the cat off his lap, he leans down to you and his hands cup your cheeks. “last time i checked, you're one of the top rtawahist students, but i must refute your claim on that one.”

“then i'll defend my argument, the absence of a physical heart does not restrict your emotional intelligence and morale. your ribs may not house an organ, but your embrace has proven otherwise.”

you may not know the burden that he hides underneath his facade or the weights that made him believe that love is an outerworldly entity, but one thing you will attest to is the hat guy who knows how to love.

even if it takes years for hat guy to realize and admit that he loves, you will continue to be the one to assure him that it's alright.

for the love he yearns and continues to long for is the birthday gift you promise to give him every year. for as long as you live, and in every reincarnation, you will love hat guy.

hat guy covers durin's eyes as he leans down to collide his lips on yours. the crystalflies in his stomach explode, but it's soon replaced with fulfillment. maybe, he doesn't need a heartbeat to tell him that he can love when he's capable of choosing to love.

there's light in his life when you arrived that one afternoon asking what thesis he was working on, there was you who appeared to hold him when the akademiya felt suffocating, and there will always be you beside him who loves and teaches him love.

if the dendro archon is reading his mind right, he would like to say that he doesn't feel lonely now. he has you now. and even without a birthday cake, he'd like to make a wish: please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh i can recognize anywhere.

“it seems like you're the one who's looking forward to my birthday.”

[kkuzushi]

I forgot it's my birthday today(22/10), I swear this is gonna be my last request for this month! 😭 Happy birthday fluff moment with scara? :3 thank you so much🫶🏻

- 🎐 anon

Happy birthday, dearest🎐anon! Your requests are always appreciated in my blog, no need to worry about the amount. Enjoy this drabble and especially your day. <3

The warm afternoon sun barely peeked through the towering trees you were under, leaves shading you from the rays. No rain today it seems—perfect weather for a stroll, no?

Kids passed by you, running and chasing each other with joyful glee on their faces. You smile, affected by their own cheerful demeanor. “Don’t go too far from the village,” you reminded. They nod to your words before continuing their own little game.

Once they’re out of your sight, you turn your gaze back to the path you were on, that is until a familiar, whimsical-looking creature at the corner of your eye appears. Quickly, your eye flickered towards it.

It’s an Aranara. The small creatures that often follow you around, although this one was colored in the palette of cyan. Its hat-like structure on the head makes you remember a certain individual.. You chuckle at the thought before noticing how the creature is now right beside your foot.

You tilt your head as you look down; it mimics you. It turns around and starts waddling away, then looks back at you, like it’s waiting for you to follow their lead.

Taking the silent hint, you start walking towards the creature who continues its merry way into the Gandharva Ville’s forest.

“Are you taking me somewhere?” You ask yet it doesn’t answer you at all. You shrugged, the way this little critter communicates with its body language is adorable.

As the two of you delved deeper into the forest, your hand swishing away the enormous leaves that would slap your face every turn you take, you notice the Aranaras increasing in number.

They all look at you, their smiley faces staring at your direction. You raise an eyebrow as the leader stops, “Are we lost?” You asked. Although that didn’t seem like the case when the leaves opened up to a small clearing.

Standing at the center, with an awkward stance and a birthday cake in his hands, was Wanderer. His indigo eyes met yours, just as the Aranaras watched the both of you.

As if he’s been repeating the same line in his head, he clears his throat, “Happy Birthday.”

You blinked, darting all over the place—the Aranaras, the cake, and Wanderer himself—Now you understand.

“What? Surprised?” Wanderer scoffed, though his lips curled upwards. He walked closer to you, the cake’s design now much more apparent. It looks handmade; the clumsy edges of the icing and the uneven size of ‘Happy Birthday!’ in the middle was a telltale sign.

“You baked this?” You beamed at him, the flames of candles above the icing reflecting in your pupils. He smirked, “Did you think I have no skills in the kitchen?”

You laughed, flattered at his efforts. Wanderer wouldn’t admit it openly so make sure to keep your eyes peeled, and you’ll notice just how much he cares deep down.

“Thank you,” Your genuine smile almost made him flustered. Almost. “Just make a wish or whatever you mortals do when blowing a candle,” Wanderer grumbled, pushing the cake closer to you.

Blowing the candle is too fast.. something’s missing. “No happy birthday song?” You feigned disappointment with a pout.

“No.” He said with no hesitation.

“But it’s my birthday.. can’t you make a small, tiny exception?” You plead.

Wanderer grumbled once more, you’re really not gonna let this go, are you? Before he could even make a choice himself, the Aranaras surrounding the two of you start humming the tune of ‘Happy Birthday’.

Nahida probably taught them.

With one last sigh, Wanderer starts mumbling, “hap.. birthd.. to you.. happy.. bi..” He lifts the cake as if hiding his face while singing. How humiliating.. but if it’s for you, how could he fully decline?

The last note fades, allowing the hat guy to regain his composure.

“Satisfied?”

“Very.”

And with that, you closed your eyes and made a wish, before blowing the candles. The critters start to bounce in joy once they see the flames disappear.

“Before you start to eat this teeth-wracking pastry,” Wanderer prompts, noticing the way you stared at the dessert he's holding. “There’s something else I prepared.”

One of the Aranaras stepped forward, holding a box larger than its own body. It waddled and floated up to you, handing a delicately wrapped present.

“Open it with care,” He says, watching the way your hand tugged with the blue blow at the top. The wrapper was actually so neat, you almost didn’t want to tear it—thankfully, it has an easily removable lid.

To your surprise, the item inside was lifted at the same time the lid was pulled off. Attached to the cover was a wind chime, which once again looked like it was handmade—no, it’s definitely handmade. The design looked similar with the veils hanging from his hat.

“You made this too?” You questioned with awe. The soft breeze of the wind hits the hanging carillons, moving with intricacy, a faint melody filling your ears.

“Should I be offended with how skeptical you are with my aptitudes?” His eyebrows furrowed, though it just seemed like a cat sulking.

You grinned, “No, no.. I’m just in awe.” It’s not everyday you see Wanderer handing out his own creations anyway, what’s there to not be shocked about?

“I like it. A lot.” You added, already planning on where to hang the wind chime. You closed the lid with care again, giving him yet another genuine smile, “Thank you, Wanderer.”

The indigo haired male averted his gaze from yours as he tugs on the end of his hat, “Just eat the cake.” He grumbled.

So what was the real birthday present? The wind chime or the lovely puppet’s presence?

[akimoroll]

coloring sesh

nagumo yoichi (sakamoto days) x reader

fem reader. fwb. slightly suggestive. mutual pining. idk what to tag anymore lmao. minors dni. — wc: 1.2k

“Ah, it tickles!” Nagumo, a longtime friend of yours—and in most occasions, your fuck buddy—is complaining about your idea yet he grins from ear to ear.

You snap at him, “Shut up, you literally let a needle poke you thousands of times.” rolling your eyes.

He chuckles as he keeps his head tilted to the side, “Alright, little miss artist. Whatever you say.” you continued to color in his neck tattoo.

You have always wanted to color in his tattoos but never had the chance. This time you got a hold of him on your living room floor, using the couch as a table for your make up kit, all of your eyeshadow palettes on full display.

“I’d rather have you kissing me there than that brush.” He says with a cheeky grin.

“And I’d rather have you tied up so shut the hell up.” You hold his jaw to keep him still, giving it a little nudge.

He smiles from ear to ear, rubbing circles on your thigh, “Look at you bossing me around.”

You raise an eyebrow, “I am the boss.” you pull away and pick a new palette, “Take off your shirt,” you say in a commanding tone.

“Yes, ma’am.” he says playfully, pulling his shirt from the back and over his head.

You watch him shake his head a bit to remove the strands of hair poking his eyes. God, he’s hot.

But because you’re so painfully prideful, you didn’t dare to admit that you find him extremely attractive, at least to his face. You know he’d tease you endlessly about it.

“Enjoying the view?” he asks, face full of mischief as he caught you gawking.

Your brows shoot up as you come down to earth. Well, he does look like heaven. Frozen from being flustered, all you could do was scowl as you held the eyeshadow palette in one hand, a brush on the other, “I’m not.” You eagerly deny.

But gods, you were. No matter how many times you’ve seen it—whether you were showering together or him changing in front of you or when you’re beneath him—you never seem to get used to it.

“You were looking at me like I’m some piece of meat.” the says, teasing you. He waits for you to react.

As you start coloring in his Praying Hands tattoo placed on the left side of his chest, you say so casually, “Well, you are just meat if I chop you into pieces.”

He scoffs lightheartedly. But then he notices you having difficulty from your position and without a second thought, he pulls you onto his lap for you to straddle him, you squeal.

“Nagumo.” you warn him, cheeks turning pink as you try to get off him.

He grabs your waist to keep you in place., “What? Better position.” he shrugs, looking up at you with his devilish smile.

You frowned and didn’t answer, you just continued where you left off.

It’s gonna be awhile until he sees you again. He’s going to miss you, he always does but he wouldn’t say something like that. The norm was to ask if you want to hangout and if it comes to it, you’d fuck. It has always been like that.

“You’re awfully quiet.” you speak softly this time without looking at him. Although you find him a little annoying when he opens his mouth, he’s still quite endearing. You miss him when he’s gone and being aware of the nature of his work doesn't help.

He beams, “I thought you wanted me to shut up?” caressing the sides of your waist.

You didn’t answer and put down the palette and brush. Wrapping your arms above his shoulders, you gaze at him.

The silence has become deafening as you stare at each other. His usual grin now replaced with something serious, something mellow, something like longing. The only thing you could hear was each other’s breathing and the buzz of the AC.

There were many unspoken things between you two but neither wanted to ‘ruin it’. It has always been obvious— you miss each other when you're together and more when you’re apart. So who’s stopping who?

It was supposed to be just casual, or so you both tried.

What do you mean ‘friendship premium’?

Come on, it’ll be fun!

You’re an idiot.

The same loop that’s been going on for years.

You sigh, picking up the eyeshadow and brush again. You pause midair, you suddenly change your mind, “I don’t wanna do this anymore.”

Huh? His brows knit for a split second. Averting his gaze, he starts looking around his body, “Here.” He points at a wing-like tattoo on the left side of his waist, grinning.

As your shoulders slump, you utter just above a whisper, “that’s not what I mean, Yoichi.”

He’s taken aback by how you uttered his name. Oh, she’s serious.

“Then what do you mean?” He softens his gaze along with his voice. The question hung in the air.

Finally you speak, “this. Whatever this is,” motioning the both of you. “I want… other things.” You mumble.

You mean us? His heart drops, “What do you mean?”

Fuck it, you think.

“What- other things, like—” he rambles but you cut him off by crashing your lips onto his.

His eyes widened. You never do anything like this, it was always him initiating, always the one reaching out, always the one chasing after you… and it feels nice.

You kiss him like never before and he lets you. He wanted to take you right then and there but he stopped himself. Instead, he smiles against your lips as he makes out with you, savoring the moment. He takes the eyeshadow palette and brush from your grasp, setting it aside as you pull him closer.

He cups your face as he gently slides it down to your shoulders. He halts the kiss, leaving you wanting more, “Tell me what you want,” pleading through his eyes, “anything.”

You swallow as he stares at you with anticipation, and yours with worry. You’ve been thinking about what you guys have for a while now, and he was too. He wanted to say something but he’s terrified you might push him away. He was content as long as he could keep seeing you—or at least that’s what he tells himself—even if he couldn’t call you his.

But you want to change that this time. And he felt it by the way you’re looking at him right now, by how you asked to spend more time with him today, the way you were embracing him moments ago as he made love to you. Something shifted and he’s sure of it.

“I-” you hesitate, you purse your lips.

He nods for you to continue. Just like how it’s always been— he waits for you.

“You, Nacchan,” you said his nickname in the most gentle way possible, you continued, “I want you to be mine.”

He holds your face as if you’re the most delicate thing in the world, he sighs. His expression softens, as soft as the way he uttered your name, “I have always been yours.”

♡

[elryuse]

Our True Colours

Tsuki X Male Reader

Tags : Trauma, Bad Past, Vanilla Sex, Love, Romance, Lots of Emotions

Words : 6,333 Words

This Story, Is dedicated to all you Who have ever been in this position before. Feeling Depressed, Traumatized by Past Memories, and Basically Not knowing what to do. I just want to say, You're not alone. I know that You can do it. Don't give Up yet.

I Also made This story, For those of you Who requested me to make more stories about Billie. I hope You Enjoyed it.

The afternoon sun drapes over the college campus, casting long, golden shadows on the ground. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves, sending a crisp whisper through the air. It’s a perfect day to stay indoors—exactly what you always preferred. But something about today made you take a detour from your usual quiet routine.

Hands buried in the pockets of your hoodie, you stroll absentmindedly past the library, weaving through the quiet garden at the center of campus. You walk these paths every day, yet they never feel quite familiar. College is a place full of people—loud conversations, laughter, and the occasional rush of students running late for class. It’s overwhelming at times. That’s why you always blend into the background, existing on the edges, unnoticed.

And then you see her.

She sits on a wooden stool, poised like a vision of serenity, a canvas set before her. A delicate hand moves a paintbrush across the surface, slow and precise, as though every stroke holds meaning. The soft golden light catches her dark brown hair, making it glow like strands of silk. Large, expensive Sony headphones cover her ears, allowing her to drift into her own world, untouched by the noise of the campus.

She’s painting.

You pause mid-step. Something about her presence is… captivating. Maybe it’s the way she sways slightly to the music only she can hear. Or the way her lips curl into a soft, satisfied smile as she mixes colors on her palette. Whatever it is, you can’t seem to look away.

Your heart stirs—an unfamiliar warmth spreading through your chest.

She’s breathtaking.

The sight of her, lost in her own world, makes your stomach twist. You should walk away. You should keep moving, pretend you never saw her. But your feet stay rooted in place. You watch as she dips her brush into a deep shade of blue and glides it effortlessly onto the canvas.

Then, suddenly—

She looks up.

Your breath catches.

For a fleeting moment, time slows as her gaze meets yours. Her eyes—deep and filled with quiet curiosity—lock onto you. There’s no shyness in them, only a soft, steady awareness. You feel the blood rush to your cheeks, your entire body warming under the weight of her attention.

She tilts her head, studying you, and then—

A small smile.

Your heart pounds. You’ve been staring for too long. You quickly look away, pretending to be interested in the grass at your feet, but it’s too late. The damage is done.

And then, her voice—soft, yet clear—cuts through the air.

"Do you like my painting?"

Your stomach flips.

You glance up, hesitant, still flustered from being caught. She’s looking at you expectantly, her eyes holding a hint of amusement. She must have noticed your staring.

“I—uh,” you stammer, throat suddenly dry. You shift awkwardly, glancing at the canvas for the first time.

It’s beautiful.

The painting is an almost dreamlike rendition of the college garden—the very place you’re standing in. The way she’s captured the afternoon light, the way the colors seem to melt into one another—it’s stunning.

You swallow hard, feeling a strange nervousness build in your chest. “Yeah,” you manage, voice quieter than you intended. “It’s… really good.”

A soft chuckle escapes her lips, like a gentle melody. “You don’t sound convinced.”

You shake your head quickly. “No, I mean it. It’s amazing.”

She studies you for a moment, as if trying to decide whether you’re telling the truth. Then, with a small nod, she looks back at her canvas, dipping her brush into a lighter shade of blue.

“You come here often?” she asks, her voice casual, yet laced with genuine curiosity.

You blink. No one ever asks you that.

“Uh… yeah,” you reply hesitantly. “I like… quiet places.”

She hums in acknowledgment, as if she understands. “Me too.”

Silence settles between you, but it isn’t uncomfortable. She continues painting, and you… you don’t know what to do. Should you leave? Stay? The moment feels fragile, like one wrong move might shatter it.

She suddenly gestures toward the empty bench nearby. “You can sit, if you want.”

You hesitate.

She notices. “Unless you’re in a hurry?”

You weren’t. But you also weren’t sure why she was offering. Most people didn’t pay much attention to you. Yet, here she was, inviting you—someone she barely knew—to stay.

After a beat, you nod and move to the bench, sitting down awkwardly. You keep a respectable distance, unsure of what to say. The air between you is filled with nothing but the occasional scratch of her brush against the canvas and the soft rustling of leaves.

Minutes pass.

You steal a glance at her, watching the way her brow furrows slightly in concentration, the way her fingers gently blend the colors with careful precision. There’s something calming about watching her work, like she’s in sync with the world in a way you never quite felt.

Then—

She turns to you again, her expression thoughtful. “You never told me your name.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Oh. It’s… Y/n.”

A slow smile spreads across her lips. “Y/n,” she repeats, testing the sound. Then, she holds out her paint-stained hand. “I’m Tsuki.”

Tsuki.

The name lingers in your mind, settling into a space you didn’t realize was empty.

You hesitate before reaching out, your fingers brushing against hers in a brief handshake. Her skin is warm, slightly rough from handling brushes and paint, but the contact sends an unexpected jolt through you.

She grins, her eyes shining with something unreadable. “Nice to meet you, Y/n.”

Your heart beats a little faster.

"Yeah,” you murmur. “Nice to meet you too.”

And just like that, something shifts.

Something fragile, something new—something that makes the world feel just a little less quiet.

The days pass, but you can’t stop thinking about her.

Tsuki.

The way her name rolled off your tongue felt strange yet familiar, like something that belonged in your life long before you met her. You find yourself returning to the garden more often than usual, your steps unconsciously leading you back to that same wooden bench.

And each time, she’s there.

Always painting. Always lost in the world of colors and brushes. Always wearing those heavy Sony headphones, swaying slightly to music only she can hear.

But now—there’s something different.

She notices you.

The first time you came back after your first meeting, she had looked up from her canvas, a flicker of recognition flashing in her deep brown eyes. A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips, as if she had been expecting you all along.

"Back again?" she had said, teasingly.

You had stammered, made up some excuse about liking the quiet, but she only chuckled before turning back to her work. And somehow, without words, the two of you had settled into a new kind of routine.

Now, every time you show up, she acknowledges you—not with words, but with small gestures. A slight shift in her posture, as if making space for you in her world. A quiet smile before she dips her brush into paint. Sometimes, she’d pull off her headphones for a moment, asking about your day before returning to her art.

It becomes comfortable.

Familiar.

And strangely, you don’t mind it.

One late afternoon, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink, you find yourself back at the garden. The moment your eyes land on her, a sense of calm washes over you.

She’s wearing an oversized sweater today, the sleeves slightly covering her hands as she mixes colors on her palette. Strands of hair fall over her face, but she doesn’t seem to care, too focused on perfecting a stroke.

Without thinking, you take your usual seat on the bench.

She doesn’t speak immediately. Instead, she lets you watch her, like always. The air between you is thick with unspoken words, but neither of you feel the need to fill the silence.

Then—

"Do you ever feel like you don’t belong?"

Her voice is soft, yet it cuts through the air like a whisper of wind.

You blink, caught off guard. "What?"

Tsuki doesn’t look at you. Instead, she tilts her head, eyes scanning the half-finished painting before her.

"Like no matter where you are, you’re always just… observing. Never really part of anything."

Your heart skips a beat.

Because—yes.

You know that feeling all too well.

For years, you’ve been the guy in the background. The quiet one. The one who never quite fit in, never truly stood out. Always watching from the sidelines as life moved around you, never quite knowing where you were supposed to be.

Tsuki finally turns to look at you, her gaze deep and searching. "You seem like someone who understands."

And in that moment, you realize—she sees you.

Not just as some passing stranger, but as someone who might just understand her in a way others don’t.

You swallow hard, your fingers gripping the fabric of your hoodie. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, you say—

"Yeah. I get it."

She smiles then—not her usual teasing one, but something softer. Sadder.

And for the first time, the space between you doesn’t feel so empty anymore.

The days blur together as you find yourself coming back to the garden more often, drawn not just by the peace it offers, but by Tsuki’s quiet presence. You begin to notice the small details about her—the way she hums a song under her breath when she paints, the little frown she gets when she’s frustrated with a stroke, or how her eyes light up when she talks about her art.

There’s a rhythm to it now.

You show up, sit on the bench, and wait for her to acknowledge you. Sometimes she doesn’t speak for a while, lost in her own world of colors. Other times, she’ll turn to you and offer a small conversation—nothing deep, but enough to make you feel like you belong.

It’s during one of those quiet afternoons that something shifts.

You’ve been sitting there for a while, letting your mind wander as Tsuki works, when she suddenly pulls off her headphones and sets them beside her on the bench. Her fingers brush the paint on her canvas absentmindedly, but she doesn’t seem to be focusing.

When you glance up, she’s looking at you.

"You always come here," she says, her voice soft and introspective. "You don’t talk much, but you’re always here. I think I’d miss you if you stopped coming."

Your chest tightens. It’s strange, hearing those words from her. Tsuki—the girl who seemed so self-contained, so distant at times—was saying that she would miss you.

For a moment, you don’t know what to say. The words are stuck in your throat, a mix of surprise and something else—something warmer.

But she seems to understand. She gives you a small, knowing smile and turns back to her canvas.

"I don’t talk to a lot of people," she continues, her fingers tracing an abstract pattern on the canvas. "It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just... I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I can’t say the right things. Like my thoughts don’t fit into words."

You nod slowly. You understand that feeling all too well. It’s exactly why you’ve spent so much of your life hiding away—because words never seemed to come out the way you wanted them to.

After a beat, Tsuki glances at you again, her eyes lingering for a moment before she speaks again.

"I paint because... it’s the only way I can say everything I feel," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. "Each brushstroke, each color... it’s like I’m finally letting everything out. Everything I can’t say with words."

You watch her, captivated by the raw vulnerability in her eyes. Tsuki, the girl who always seemed so composed, was opening up in a way you hadn’t expected. She wasn’t just telling you about her art; she was telling you about herself.

"I guess painting is my way of breathing," she adds, her voice soft and distant, like she’s lost in the thought. "Without it, I don’t think I’d be able to stay sane."

The air between you feels thick, heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions. For a moment, neither of you says anything. The only sound is the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft scratch of Tsuki’s brush on the canvas.

Finally, you speak, your voice quiet but sincere.

"I get that."

Tsuki turns to look at you, her gaze soft and searching. For the first time, she doesn’t seem like the confident, carefree girl she usually is. Instead, she seems... fragile, like she’s trusting you with a part of herself she’s rarely shared.

"You do?" she asks, her voice barely audible.

You nod, your heart racing in your chest. You don’t know why, but there’s something in her eyes that makes you want to say more—to open up in a way you never have with anyone else.

"I’m not great with words," you begin, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. "I’ve always felt like I’m... in the background. Like I’m not really part of anything. But when I’m here, watching you paint... it feels like, for a moment, I’m part of something. Like I’m... included."

Tsuki’s eyes widen slightly, and her lips part, like she’s about to say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she just looks at you for a long moment, as if taking in what you’ve just shared.

And then—

She smiles.

It’s soft, but it reaches her eyes in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. There’s no teasing this time. No playful challenge. Just... a quiet understanding.

"I think I understand you, Y/n," she says, her voice gentle, but with an underlying warmth. "You don’t have to be loud to matter. Sometimes, just being there is enough."

You feel a lump form in your throat. For a moment, you can’t find the words. You just sit there, watching as Tsuki dips her brush into a new color, the motion fluid and effortless, like everything about her is in perfect harmony.

And for the first time, you feel like you’re finally starting to understand her, too.

The days go by, and you start to visit her more frequently.

It’s become a quiet ritual. You arrive, she’s painting, and the two of you share small conversations. Some days, she tells you more about herself—about her family, her childhood, the reasons she started painting in the first place. Other days, she’s quieter, lost in her own world of colors and shapes. But no matter what, there’s always an unspoken connection between you.

And as time passes, it becomes harder to ignore the way your heart beats a little faster when she’s near. The way your stomach flips when she smiles at you. The way you find yourself looking forward to every moment you spend together, even if it’s just sitting in silence.

You’ve always been the kind of person who shied away from feelings—who hid them behind walls of indifference. But with Tsuki, everything feels different.

It’s like she’s slowly breaking down the walls you’ve built around yourself, piece by piece, and you don’t know whether to stop her or let her in completely.

But one thing’s for sure—you don’t want to leave. Not anymore.

The days turn into weeks.

You visit Tsuki more often now—not just out of curiosity, but because something about her presence feels... right. Natural. Like she’s always been part of your world, and you just never noticed until now.

She’s become comfortable with you. You can tell by the way she no longer hesitates to speak, how she pulls off her headphones more frequently to engage in conversation, how she doesn’t seem to mind your quiet nature.

And you—

You’re starting to realize that you crave this.

The sound of her voice, the way her laughter lingers in the air, the gentle scratch of her brush against the canvas. The way her eyes soften when she looks at you, as if she sees something no one else ever has.

You’re drawn to her, in ways you don’t fully understand.

One afternoon, you arrive at the garden expecting to find her where she always is.

But today is different.

She’s sitting cross-legged on the grass instead of her usual seat. Her canvas is on the ground beside her, untouched. Her eyes are fixed on the sky, lost in thought.

You hesitate before approaching, sensing that something is off.

"Hey," you say softly, settling down on the bench.

She doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she sighs, running a hand through her long, dark hair before finally looking at you.

"Y/n."

There’s something in the way she says your name that makes your stomach flip. It’s not just casual acknowledgment. It’s deeper, heavier.

"Do you ever feel like no matter how much you love something, it’s never enough?"

You blink. "What do you mean?"

Tsuki exhales, tilting her head back. The sunlight catches on her skin, making her look almost ethereal.

"Painting," she says. "It’s everything to me. It’s how I breathe, how I escape. But lately... I don’t know. It’s like I’m stuck. Like no matter how much I try, I can’t make anything feel... real."

You frown, glancing at the blank canvas beside her. You’ve never seen it empty before.

"Is this the first time you’ve felt like this?"

She shakes her head, a dry chuckle escaping her lips. "No. It happens sometimes. I just... I don’t talk about it much."

You hesitate, then ask the question that’s been lingering in your mind for a while.

"Why do you paint, Tsuki?"

She looks at you then, her expression unreadable. But after a moment, she sighs and leans back on her hands, gazing up at the sky.

"When I was a kid, my mom used to paint a lot," she says quietly. "She told me that colors could tell stories better than words ever could. I didn’t understand what she meant back then, but... I do now."

You listen, not interrupting, just letting her talk.

"I started painting because I wanted to hold onto things," she continues. "Memories, feelings, people. I wanted to capture moments so they’d never disappear. But sometimes, no matter how hard I try, I can’t get it right. It’s frustrating. Like I’m losing something important, and there’s nothing I can do about it."

She exhales, shaking her head. "Sorry, that probably sounds stupid."

You shake your head immediately. "No. It doesn’t."

Tsuki studies you for a moment, then smiles faintly. "You’re a good listener, Y/n. I like that about you."

Your heart skips a beat. You open your mouth to say something, but the words don’t come. Instead, you reach out, hesitantly, and pick up her canvas.

"Then let’s paint something together," you suggest, surprising even yourself.

Tsuki raises an eyebrow, amused. "You paint?"

You scratch the back of your neck, a little embarrassed. "Not really. But... I want to try. With you."

For a moment, she just looks at you, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she smiles—soft and genuine.

"Okay."

And just like that, she hands you a brush.

As your fingers brush against hers, a warmth spreads through your chest.

You don’t know what this feeling is yet.

But you know one thing for sure—

You never want to let it go.

Painting with Tsuki becomes a new part of your routine.

At first, you’re terrible at it. Your strokes are clumsy, your colors mix into an unrecognizable mess, and more paint ends up on your hands than on the canvas. Tsuki watches you struggle with an amused smile, occasionally guiding your hand, her fingers grazing yours in a way that makes your heartbeat quicken.

But you don’t mind. Because every moment with her feels... right.

And the more time you spend together, the more you start to notice things.

Like how Tsuki isn’t as confident as she seems.

She’s quiet, often retreating into herself when she thinks no one is watching. Her laughter sometimes sounds forced, as if she’s trying to convince herself that she’s happy. And then there are the days when she doesn’t paint at all—when she just sits there, staring at a blank canvas, lost in thoughts she never shares.

It makes you wonder.

What is she hiding?

One evening, as the sun sets behind the campus, casting long golden shadows, you find Tsuki sitting alone in the garden, her knees pulled to her chest. She isn’t painting. Her headphones are nowhere in sight.

She looks... fragile.

You hesitate before sitting beside her.

"Hey," you say softly.

She doesn’t respond at first. Then, after a long silence, she whispers,

"Do you ever feel like you don’t belong anywhere?"

The question catches you off guard.

You glance at her, noting the way her fingers clutch the fabric of her sweater, how her nails dig into her skin as if trying to hold herself together.

"Yeah," you admit. "All the time."

She exhales shakily, nodding as if she expected your answer.

"Me too."

There’s something different about her tonight—something raw, unguarded. You’ve seen her tease, you’ve seen her focused, you’ve even seen her frustrated with her art. But this—this is new.

"Tsuki... are you okay?" you ask gently.

She lets out a small, humorless laugh. "That’s a dangerous question, Y/n."

You wait.

You don’t push, don’t pry. You just wait, giving her space to decide if she wants to let you in.

And after what feels like an eternity, she finally speaks.

"I ran away."

The words hang in the air, heavy and unshakable.

"From what?" you ask carefully.

She closes her eyes for a moment before answering.

"My family."

Your breath catches. You weren’t expecting that.

She swallows hard, staring at the ground. "I grew up in a house where love was... conditional. If I was perfect, if I did what they wanted, then I was worth something. If I made a mistake, if I showed weakness, then I was... nothing."

Your fists clench at her words.

"That’s not love, Tsuki," you say quietly.

She gives you a sad smile. "I know that now. But back then, I just wanted to be good enough. I wanted them to see me. To care."

A lump forms in your throat.

"They didn’t?"

She shakes her head. "Not in the way I needed them to."

Silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken pain.

Then, she takes a deep breath. "One day, I realized that no matter how much I tried, I’d never be what they wanted. And I got tired of pretending. So... I left. I packed a bag, took whatever money I had, and ran."

She looks at you then, her eyes filled with something you can’t quite name.

"That’s why I paint, Y/n. Because if I stop, I’ll remember. And if I remember... it hurts too much."

Your chest tightens.

All this time, you thought Tsuki was free—untouchable, confident in ways you could never be. But now, you realize she’s just like you.

She’s been hiding, too.

She hides behind colors the same way you hide behind silence. She smiles to cover the scars no one else can see. And for the first time, you understand—

You’re not alone.

Neither of you are.

Without thinking, you reach out and gently take her hand. She flinches slightly but doesn’t pull away.

"You don’t have to keep running," you say softly. "Not alone."

She looks at you, her lips parting slightly in surprise.

And then—

She squeezes your hand back.

It’s small. Barely noticeable. But it’s enough.

And in that moment, you know—

You’re falling for her.

Tsuki’s pain isn’t something she talks about often.

But you see it.

In the way her hands tremble when she thinks too much. In the way her smiles sometimes don’t reach her eyes. In the way she stares at her paintings as if she’s searching for something—something she lost a long time ago.

You don’t push her to talk. You just stay.

And somehow, that’s enough.

She starts opening up to you in pieces, small fragments of her past slipping through the cracks.

"My mother loved art, but she never really loved me."

"My father never yelled, but his silence hurt worse."

"I tried to be perfect. I tried so hard. But no matter what I did, it was never enough."

Every word feels like a knife to your heart.

You want to tell her that she was always enough. That she shouldn’t have had to fight for love. That she deserves everything she never got.

But you don’t know how to say it.

So instead, you stay by her side.

You listen.

You understand.

And maybe that’s why she keeps letting you in.

One night, it’s different.

Tsuki is quieter than usual, staring at a half-finished painting in her dimly lit dorm room. You sit on the floor beside her, your shoulder just barely brushing hers.

"Do you ever wish you could go back and change things?" she asks suddenly.

You glance at her. "What do you mean?"

She exhales, shaking her head. "If I had been stronger, maybe I wouldn’t have run away. Maybe I could’ve fixed things. Maybe they would have—"

"Don’t."

She stops, surprised at the firmness in your voice.

You take a deep breath. "Don’t blame yourself for surviving, Tsuki."

Her eyes widen slightly.

"You were never the problem," you continue, your voice softer now. "They should have loved you the way you are. They should have seen how amazing you are. But they didn’t. And that’s not your fault."

Her lower lip trembles. She turns away, but not before you see the way her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

"Y/n..."

You swallow hard, heart pounding in your chest.

You’ve been holding back for so long—afraid of saying too much, afraid of ruining what you have. But seeing her like this, breaking under the weight of a past that never loved her—

You can’t keep it in anymore.

"Tsuki, I love you."

The words slip out, raw and real.

Her whole body stiffens.

You feel your pulse hammering in your ears, but you don’t take it back.

"I love you," you repeat, gentler this time. "Not because I pity you, not because I want to fix you. I love you because you’re strong, because you’re kind, because you see the world in colors no one else does. Because when I’m with you, I feel like I belong somewhere for the first time in my life."

Tears spill down her cheeks.

She shakes her head, covering her mouth with her hands, as if trying to hold herself together. But it’s too late. The sobs break through, raw and unfiltered, years of pain crashing down all at once.

"Why...?" she chokes out between ragged breaths. "Why would you love someone like me?"

You move closer, hesitating for only a moment before wrapping your arms around her.

She doesn’t push you away.

Instead, she clings to you, burying her face in your shoulder as she cries.

And you hold her.

For as long as she needs.

For as long as it takes for her to finally believe that she is loved.

Tsuki doesn’t let go.

Her body trembles as she clings to you, her sobs shaking both of you. You don’t know how long you sit there, just holding her, whispering soft reassurances as she soaks your shoulder with her tears.

It could be minutes.

It could be hours.

But you don’t care.

Because right now, all that matters is her.

Eventually, her cries quiet into soft, broken whimpers. Her breathing is uneven, her grip still desperate, as if she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she loosens her hold even slightly.

Then, in a voice so small you almost miss it, she whispers,

"Come with me."

You don’t hesitate.

She stands on unsteady legs, her fingers tightening around your wrist as she leads you out of her dorm. The night air is cold against your skin, but she doesn’t let go of you, and you don’t complain.

She walks fast, as if afraid that if she slows down, you’ll change your mind. But you won’t.

You’d follow her anywhere.

Tsuki’s apartment is small, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It’s simple—minimal furniture, a bed pushed against the wall, an easel in the corner with half-finished paintings scattered around the room. The faint smell of paint lingers in the air, mixing with something softer, something uniquely hers.

She closes the door behind you, and for a moment, she just stands there.

Then, without warning, she turns and wraps her arms around you again, burying her face against your chest.

"Please stay," she whispers, her voice barely holding together. "I don’t want to be alone tonight. I—I'm scared, Y/n. I'm so scared."

Your heart clenches.

You lift your hand, gently stroking her hair.

"I’m here," you murmur. "I’m not going anywhere."

She exhales shakily, gripping the fabric of your shirt.

"Promise?"

You cup her face, tilting it up so she has no choice but to look at you. Her eyes are swollen from crying, her lips trembling.

"I promise, Tsuki."

A tear slips down her cheek, and you wipe it away with your thumb.

"You don’t have to be afraid anymore," you tell her. "I’ll stay for as long as you need me. And even after that, if you'll have me, I’ll still be here. Because I meant what I said—I love you. And I want to create new memories with you. Happy ones."

She lets out a shaky breath, her eyes searching yours, looking for something—doubt, hesitation, a reason to not believe you. But she finds none.

Instead, she finds warmth.

Safety.

Love.

With a quiet sob, she presses her forehead against yours.

"I don’t deserve you," she whispers.

You shake your head.

"You deserve everything, Tsuki."

She closes her eyes, another tear falling.

But this time, it isn’t from pain.

It's from something softer.

Something she hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

Hope.

And as you pull her into your arms once more, holding her as she lets herself believe—if only just a little—you know that this is only the beginning.

Of something beautiful.

Of something real.

Of something that neither of you will ever have to run from again.

The world outside fades into silence.

Here, in the dim glow of Tsuki’s apartment, it’s just the two of you—wrapped in warmth, in emotion, in something too deep to name.

She clings to you, her body trembling slightly, her breath uneven. But this time, it isn’t from sadness. It’s something else.

Something raw.

Something desperate.

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes still glistening from all the tears she shed. But beneath the vulnerability, there’s something stronger—something unspoken.

Then, she moves.

Soft. Tentative. A quiet plea.

Her lips brush against yours.

A slow, delicate touch—like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she presses too hard. Like she’s still trying to believe this is real.

But you’re here.

And you’re never leaving.

You cup her face gently, deepening the kiss, pouring every unspoken word into it—every promise, every reassurance, every ounce of love you’ve been holding inside for so long.

She melts into you, her hands fisting your shirt as if anchoring herself.

"Y/n..." she whispers against your lips, her voice breaking slightly.

"I’m here," you murmur, your forehead resting against hers. "I’m not going anywhere, Tsuki."

Her breath shudders, and then she pulls you closer—so close there’s no space left between you.

She wants to feel you.

She wants to believe you.

She wants to drown in the warmth you give her, in the love she never thought she’d have.

And so, you let her.

You hold her close, pressing soft kisses against her skin, letting your fingers trace the shape of her as if memorizing every piece of her existence. Every scar, every wound, every part of her that she’s spent so long hiding—you take it all in, worshipping her in a way no one ever has.

And Tsuki?

She gives herself to you. Completely.

Her walls fall, her fears crumble. In this moment, she isn’t the girl who ran away. She isn’t the girl who paints to forget.

She’s just Tsuki.

The girl who needs you.

The girl you love.

And as the night deepens, as your breaths intertwine and your hearts beat as one, you hold her close—whispering, promising, ensuring her that this isn’t a dream.

That you’re real.

That your love is real.

That you’ll never let her go.

Not now.

Not ever.

The first thing you feel is warmth.

A small, delicate weight against your chest, soft breaths fanning over your skin. The scent of paint, vanilla, and something uniquely Tsuki lingers in the air, mixing with the quiet hum of the early morning.

You open your eyes slowly, the dim sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room.

And there she is.

Tsuki.

Curled up against you, her face buried in your chest, her arms wrapped tightly around you as if afraid you’ll disappear. Her fingers clutch onto your shirt, even in sleep, refusing to let go.

Your heart aches at the sight.

She looks peaceful now, but you remember the way she cried last night, the way she begged you to stay, the way she held onto you like you were the only thing keeping her from breaking.

And now, even in sleep, she still clings to you.

You smile softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

She stirs at the touch, shifting slightly before letting out a quiet sigh.

Then, without warning, she tightens her hold on you, pressing herself closer, burying her face even deeper against your chest.

"Mmm... don’t move..." she murmurs, her voice husky from sleep.

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around her. "Good morning to you too."

She hums softly, nuzzling against you like a kitten seeking warmth.

"Too early..." she mumbles, her fingers gripping your shirt. "Stay like this... just a little longer..."

You smile, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

"Alright. I’m not going anywhere."

She lets out a small, content sigh.

For a long moment, there’s only silence. The soft rise and fall of her breathing, the quiet rhythm of your heartbeats in sync.

Then, she speaks.

"I haven’t woken up like this in years..." she whispers.

You glance down at her, brushing your fingers through her hair.

"Like what?"

She hesitates, then shifts slightly, resting her chin against your chest as she looks up at you. Her eyes, still heavy with sleep, are softer than you’ve ever seen them.

"Safe."

Your breath catches.

You don’t know what to say.

So you just hold her tighter.

And maybe that’s enough.

Because Tsuki smiles—a small, real smile—and buries herself against you again, holding onto you like you’re the only thing she has left in this world.

And maybe, for her, you are.

And you’ll stay.

For as long as she needs.

For as long as she wants.

For as long as forever.

The days pass like a dream.

Tsuki never leaves your side.

She clings to you in the quiet moments, cuddling against you whenever she gets the chance. When you cook, she stands behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist. When you sit on her couch, she curls up beside you, resting her head on your chest. Even in sleep, she never lets go, as if afraid you’ll slip away if she loosens her grip.

And you don’t mind.

You hold her every time.

You whisper reassurances when she needs them. You stay with her through every vulnerable moment, through every silent battle she fights inside her head.

And slowly, Tsuki changes.

She starts to smile more—not the small, fleeting smiles of before, but real ones. Ones that reach her eyes. Ones that carry warmth.

She starts to talk more—not just about her pain, but about her dreams, her hopes, the things that make her heart feel light.

And most of all, she starts to trust you.

Not just in words.

But in the way she looks at you.

In the way she leans into your touch without hesitation.

In the way she reaches for you first, without fear of being left behind.

And that trust—fragile, beautiful, something she’s never given anyone before—means more to you than anything.

One evening, as the sun dips below the horizon, Tsuki tugs at your hand.

"Come with me," she says softly.

She leads you to the corner of her apartment where her easel stands. A blank canvas rests on it, waiting.

She hands you a brush.

"Let’s paint something together."

You hesitate.

"I’ve never painted before."

She smiles—one of those soft, secret smiles that make your heart ache.

"Then I’ll teach you."

And so, you do.

You dip your brush into the paint, following her lead, your strokes clumsy at first. But she doesn’t laugh. She only guides you, her fingers brushing against yours, her voice soft as she teaches you how to bring color to the canvas.

Time fades away.

There’s only the two of you.

The quiet hum of the evening. The warmth of her beside you. The colors blending together, shaping something new—something that belongs to both of you.

At some point, she stops painting.

You feel her shift, and then—gently, so gently—she leans her head against your shoulder.

You pause, turning slightly, and there she is—eyes half-lidded, lips curved into the faintest smile.

"Thank you," she whispers.

You don’t ask why.

You already know.

You lift your hand, resting it over hers, fingers intertwining.

And together, in the quiet of her small apartment, with the scent of paint in the air and the weight of her against you, you realize—

This moment.

This warmth.

This love.

It’s everything.

And it’s enough.

The End.

[tiktowafel]

some 1b girl lineups so i can have all my little personal designs in one place :3 slightly inconsistent bc i drew them separately at first but fuck it we ball

no clothes versions that i made for myself to use as templates (yknow so i can draw clothes on top of them without having to draw them over and over again) and showcase my general appearance headcanons

how i think they like to wear their uniforms (looking at bakugo, UA seems pretty liberal about it so i get to have fun lol). obviously what they wear depends mostly on the weather but these are meant to be like,, their favorite combinations?

i really like the "long sleeve shirt with no blazer" look. kind of a shame no one in bnha seems to wear their uniform like this

the most important part!! the costumes!! putting the notes under the cut bc they ended up kinda long

i like Reiko's canon costume a lot, i just decided to give her fingerless gloves and make her kimono long and tattered for the spooky vibes. i used to also draw it with a reversed (right over left) collar bc that's how they dress dead people and Reiko's meant to have this ghost aesthetic but decided against it this time because maybe it's more culturally inappropriate than i think?? idk its not that big of a visual change so i'd rather play it safe

Setsuna is wearing my own costume design that i explained fully in an older post. i still like it, i just gave her spike bands on her legs instead of the same thing she wears on her forearms bc i decided i dont vibe with the total limb symmetry anymore lol

i spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to think up a redesign for Kendo only to settle for her canon costume with extra bandages/cloth wraps (theyre cool) and ordinary combat boots instead of the ones she wears in canon (i just don't vibe with them). i guess sometimes less is more or whatever

Pony is wearing @doodlegraveyard's awesome redesign :) pastel cowgirl swag

Ibara's design is by m0chicakes, i still think its amazing

Yui's costume also takes a lot from doodlegraveyard's design, i just decided to try blue as her accessory color to distinguish her color palette from my Momo design

Kinoko's canon costume is just *chefs kiss* so the only thing i changed was the color of her shoes. her sleeves are short here bc i thought it could look cute for a summer version of her costume, the winter version keeps the long fluffy sleeves. her spray guns were pissing me off so i decided not to draw them but trust me they're here in spirit

i might post winter edits for some of these later :)

edit: posted in a reblog!!

[dn-imagines-in-2023]

DATE NIGHT

Light

Is pretty open to whatever you want to do. If you ask him to choose, he'll go with the classic dinner at a nice restaurant and maybe go to a museum or something.

He's a very good conversationalist. He loves to learn so he's very easy to talk to; he remembers details.

'Oh, they hate this color, I better pick a different tie.'

If you're doing something fun, he'll have a good time. But he's not a fan of the 'lay around on the couch' kind of dates, they make him feel unproductive.

L

He LOVES the lay around on the couch type of dates. They're a good safe option for him when it's not safe for him to be in public.

When it is safe for him to be in public he's completely shameless. All of his habits and quirks are out on display for the whole world to see and he does not care if he gets judged for it.

So if you can't handle the secondhand embarrassment of your boyfriend having his bare feet out for free, you're going to have a bad time.

If you do go out, he likes quieter, more private dates. A library, a park, places that aren't too crowded or chaotic.

Cafes and bakeries are always a win for obvious reasons.

Misa

She really goes all out. You have to schedule your dates with her, because they can be like 6 hours long.

She's a big fan of classic romantic dates. The 'dinner and a move' kind of thing.

I think she would absolutely love to take you to a masquerade. A chance to experiment with fashion and dance with you all night? She'd be all over it.

She would also like shopping dates. She loves to pick out clothes she thinks would look good on you and will let you pick out things for her too.

Takes lots of cute pictures through the night and displays her favorites in her room.

Mello *NSFW mentioned*

He’ll only go on dates with you on his off time- work always comes first. He has to beat Near by any means necessary, that means his love life comes second to that. In another world where everything was resolved neatly, he would likely be more willing to engage in romance.

Mello loves an adrenaline rush. His favorite dates are always a little risky and you always end up sweaty and out of breath (in a good way.) 

I imagine he would like taking you out for drinks and going dancing- probably to raves rather than nightclubs. 

The dark is a nice excuse to hold your hand- so you don’t get separated of course. 

When you’re so exhausted and dizzy you can’t see straight, he’ll call you both a cab and you’ll do everything short of have sex in the back of it.

The real fun starts when you both get upstairs ;)

Matt

Matt loves relaxed stay-at-home dates. You hop on multiplayer on a really relaxing game like stardew valley or minecraft and just lay in a snuggly pile of blankets together. 

I think he would also like dates where you make something together- trying a new recipe, or making an art project. It might not turn out great - he doesn’t have a sophisticated palette or a lot of artistic skill, but he would have a lot of fun.

He doesn’t mind going out once in a while, but he doesn’t like dressing up. He hates wearing ties. He’ll do it occasionally for your sake, but it’s not his favorite.

Near

He doesn’t really do specifically set out *dates*. You both just… end up in each others company.

It’s never a case of ‘Let’s set aside this Saturday at 7 for a date night.’ Usually, you just end up in his room while he’s working, you distract him, and you two end up spending the next six hours talking.

I imagine he would like that type of date, where you sit and have a really, really good conversation for hours and hours.

Especially since you’re one of the only people in the world who can really keep up with him.

He might bring out something for you two to work on together, some of his toys, puzzles, models, etc.

He likes meticulous, detail oriented work. Introduce him to knitting/crochet and you two can sit and knit together for hours. (embroidery would also work for this.)

Matsuda

Silly goofy guy.

He likes new experiences, he’s willing to try just about anything once. So if you have a really wild date idea, he’s probably down with it.

If he’s the one to come up with the date, he tries to put some thought into it and make it personal to you. But he has trouble coming up with new ideas so he tends to stick to what he knows - you two have a dedicated date night restaurant you both like.

I have no idea why, but I imagine he would love live theater? Like specifically musicals. Take him to see Hairspray, he’ll have the time of his life.

[alex-thegiraffeboyy]

✮⋆˙A place we could call home

Summary: Little stories of you and Vi moving in together and enjoying this new life.

Modern Au! Professional boxer and trainer boxer gf ! Vi x reader

Wlw Mens DNI

Words: 4.9k

Warnings: Nothing, much love, a bit suggestives but nothing serious. Reader (And Vi--) have a cat named Titi.

Titi's Backpack

Color's that Vi and reader choses

🏡Vi and you have been dating for about two years when you decide to move in together. Your apartment leases are about to expire anyway, and after the first year Vi was spending more time in your apartment than hers, so....

Yes, they decide to move in together.

It takes them a while to find a place that suits their needs (physical and financial), but they finally find a place they both agree on.

༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･

The day after you and Vi sign the lease for the apartment, you both take two days to clean and paint the space.

The first day you sweep and mop the rooms. You bring a speaker and Vi plays a playlist from her phone with songs you both like, making the apartment come alive with the two of you singing (more you, tbh) and acting out the songs. Laughter and melodies fill the space, you both feel happiness coursing through every inch of your bodies, and Vi can't help but stop every now and then to watch you dance and sing while you clean up.

This is something she has wanted for a long time, a place you both can share, where you both feel comfortable and don't have to worry about things like her roomie, your homophobic neighbors, or how little space there was in your apartment. A space where you can be yourselves, where you can love each other in your own way. A place where you can make it your safe place.

༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･

🏡The day you and Vi go out to buy some paints to paint the walls you're not sure what color you want, but you both know that an all-white house is not your thing. You spend a few hours going through the colors and thinking about how they would look on the walls of the apartment. They finally decide on a bucket of warm orange and a bucket of light blue. But while they both wait for their colors to finish mixing, Vi looks at all the items the store sells, picking out some rollers and a couple of brushes that will come in handy later while you look at the cardboard with the color palettes of the paints. But there's one color in the blue section that catches your eye. A color you'd recognize anywhere.

"Hey Vi."

"Yes, babe?"

"Did you know your eyes color is the name of your sister?"

"Huh?"

You locate the color on the blue shelf and pick up one of the swatches before moving forward to your girlfriend and placing the cardboard next to one of her eyes. You smile with satisfaction as you see that you did, in fact, get the color right.

"What do you mean?" Vi's face is a grimace of confusion with an amused smile, she's feeling quite out of place at the moment, but she doesn't stop you, but rather waits for you to finish whatever it is you're doing with her and the piece of cardboard in your hand.

"That's right, honey" you reply with a fond chuckle, pulling the swatch away from her face and extending it towards her for her to take it "You have Powder blue eyes".

And she is very tempted to take a picture of it and send it to Jinx, but she knows she would become unbearable with that information, so she just keeps the sample in her cell phone case and tells herself that she will think about the pros and cons of sending it (in the end she will do it because she is too excited and she loves her little sister too much not).

༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･

🏡 The day they both decide to paint the apartment everything is a mess. There are newspapers strewn all over the apartment (courtesy of Vander and Silco, who had years of newspapers stored in their garage at home) full of stains and paint splatters. And making an even bigger mess are the two of you running around the apartment like little kids.

It all started as a joke. You were both painting the walls when suddenly you had an idea. Vi had her back to you so it was perfect. You filled your left hand with paint and slowly approached her, hugging her with your right arm, resting your chin on her shoulder. And despite your intentions you can't help but enjoy this contact with her, you can feel Vi startle at the sudden contact, which makes you let out a giggle, nuzzling her neck with your own face.

"Everything okay?" you can hear her smile in her voice, her cheek resting against your head as you both sway from one foot to the other.

"Mmhm, just happy" and you can only sigh quietly because it's true, doing all these things with her fills you with overwhelming warmth and happiness, so much so that you almost forget the real motive you were there for "Besides, I like seeing you like this."

"Yeah ?"

"Mmhm..." And God knows it's true. Seeing Violet painting walls in a tank top and shorts, exposing her toned arms and thighs makes your mouth water. The way her tattoos show on her muscles with every move. The way you can see chunks of her lower back every time she raises her arms and the tank top rises.... Either way- - - - - "But you know how you'd look better?"

Violet just makes a questioning hum at your question, turning her head with a smirk, taking a second to look at your lips before turning back to your eyes, and she can watch in slow motion as your expression turns into a macabre smile before your left hand enters her field of vision, too late for her to react, paint smeared haphazardly across her cheeks and the tip of her nose. And for a second she can't react, until she feels you walk away and hears your thunderous laughter echoing in the empty apartment.

"I'm sorry-" you manage to say between guffaws and ragged breaths, holding your stomach tightly "I couldn't help it, I'm-" but she don't let you time to finish.

Because Vi smeared some of your face with paint too.

"You're gonna pay for that, princess."

And that's how they both ended up running around the apartment, trying to smear paint on each other and running away to get free, the walls forgotten. Only to end up both on the floor laughing, cheeks strained and stomachs aching, sharing sweet paint-flavored kisses while whispering teases and sweet nothings to each other.

At some point in this cute intimacy, when the paint on your hands is dry, you pick up your phone and take several pictures of you both cuddling on the floor. They're hair is a messy, paint-streaked mess. They're clothes are wrinkled and at this point, they're more paint than fabric (luckily they wore clothes that knew they're wouldn't mind getting stained), and, evidently, you're both going to need a good shower after this.

And even though the apartment is only half-painted that day, you don't mind going an extra day to finish the job. You couldn't have done it any other way.

Needless to say, one of the photos is now your wallpaper.

༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･

🏡The day before the move is a disaster.

You and Vi hardly see each other after painting the apartment, both very busy trying to get everything in order for the move. You throw things away, others put them in boxes and bags, clean, rearrange, etc. From time to time they send each other pictures showing their progress, others are just selfies to motivate the other, always leaving cute messages or motivational words under the picture.

Violet <3

"I miss you, baby :("

"Me too :("

"But tomorrow we're moving

in together!!! 🥳"

"💕"

So that night they each sleep in their own apartment for the last time. The move will come early, so you need to be there to greet them and expedite things.

It feels weird not having Violet there, you're so used to them spending the day together that the silence in the apartment is almost overwhelming. So you try to leave some music or video playing in the background.

When it's already dark and you've finished packing and leaving all your stuff in the living room (except for a couple of things you'll put in a small backpack tomorrow) you take a bath and lie down on your bed to check your phone notifications. It doesn't take long for your cat to follow you and lie down next to you.

Most of the messages are from your family and friends asking how the move was going and how you were feeling (although there are also several videos and shitpost's that Powder has been sending you -and you take the time to answer one by one-). It takes you a while to answer them all, but it makes you happy to be able to chat with them for a while.

Your body feels tired and ready to rest after a long day of getting everything ready for the big move, yet part of you is so excited and restless that you feel unable to rest. So you watch tiktoks for a while and exchange videos with Powder and some other friends. Or at least until the messages from your girlfriend start coming in.

Violet <3

"Baaaaaaabeeee"

"Babe :("

"miss you"

"miss you sooooooooo much 😿"

"Come back Violet, the kid

miss you :(( (and so do I)"

"It feels weird not having you here"

"I knooow"

"Btw, I miss Titi too :(("

"Are you done packing your things?"

"Yup. Ready for tomorrow ^^"

"How about you, baby?"

Vi's text reply never comes, instead, you get a video call from your girlfriend. You arrange your phone so she can see you. You're lying on your side, your right cheek resting on the pillow while your cat is curled up next to your ribs. Once you answer, a soft smile creeps across your lips instinctively, you feel yourself relax at the sight of your girlfriend, also lying on her side with a soft, sleepy look on her face. She too is smiling at you and her eyes seem to light up a little as she sees you through her screen. "Hey Sun" her voice is just a sleepy murmur laden with affection, you see her stretch a little, and you realize that she is, in fact, not wearing anything on her torso. You let out a soft chuckle as your cat follows in her footsteps, stretching before lifting her little head towards your girlfriend's voice. You find the comparison quite amusing.

"Hey sweetheart. How you feeling?" you whisper in a soft voice, and you don't realize all the affection and love that seeps through your gaze, but Violet does, which makes her feel a warmth in her chest. It makes her feel loved. Meanwhile you watch her yawn before settling back on her bed, her eyes more clouded than before, the tiredness affecting her a little more and more.

"Tired" her raspy, slightly gravelly voice sounds over the speaker of your phone. You're about to say something else to her when your cat gets up and lets out a small meow, approaching your phone screen as she recognizes your girlfriend's voice. You giggle at the sight of your cat sniffing your phone, you hear Vi laugh, and even though you can't see her you know she has an even bigger smile than she had before "Hi Titii. Hi baby" you hear her speak to your pet in the cutest, gooey voice she has reserved just for her.

Your cat meows a couple of times as she purrs loudly, rubbing her furry little face on your phone screen "Looks like I'm not the only one who misses you" your voice amused as you watch the interaction of the two of you over the phone. You hear her laughter through the speakers, which only causes your smile to get a little bigger. You rearrange yourself on the bed to move the phone away from your cat's face so the camera can focus on the two of you "We miss you so much, Vi. We both wish you were here."

Vi lets out a long frustrated moan. You watch her roll onto her side, burying her face in the pillow and can't help but let out a giggle at the sight. "You enjoy watching me suffer?" she murmurs, her voice coming out opaque from the pillow pressed against her face.

"Me? Honey, neveeeer. What gave you that impression on me?" you reply with an affectionate mockery. You watch her shoulders shake, and very quietly hear her giggle.

"Fuck" she mutters before lifting her head, resting her chin on the pillow. A soft expression greets you from the other side of the screen. Caring smile and affectionate eyes, you soon find yourself mimicking her expression "I really wish I could be with you now" a hint of frustration and melancholy seeps into her soft expression.

How you wish you could hold her right now and shower her with kisses, caresses and cuddles "I know" your own expression turns somewhat sad, your smile is a small grimace, and you know that if she were with you right now you would probably be playing with her hair, gently brushing it away from her face, combing it with gentle caresses "Just a couple more hours, love. A couple more hours and we'll be together in our apartment."

Our apartment.

It's strange to say, but not in a bad way. They're both excited about it. A place they're both going to make their home.

༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･

Needless to say, you slept very little that night. After finishing the call with Vi the excitement ran through your entire body, the night seemed torturously long.

So the next morning, when your alarm went off, it was easier to wake up. At first you didn't want to get up, staying in your bed for a while longer and cuddling Titi (who spent the night with you, helping you fill in a little of your girlfriend's absence) while she just stretched out, snuggling against your stomach and purring loudly. But just the thought of what today had in store for you made the smile on your face grow bigger with excitement. So you sat up carefully and picked up your phone to text Violet.

Sunshine❤️

"Moorning love❤️"

"Excited for the day?"

" 'Cause I am <3"

༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･

🏡The move was pretty quick. You weren't taking a lot of stuff with you, just some furniture and boxes with items that would be hard to carry on public transportation.

Once you make sure everything is in the truck you send a message to Vi, who is already in the new apartment with her stuff (She is carrying quite a bit less stuff than you since she was sharing an apartment with someone else), letting her know that your stuff is already on its way and that you and Titi will take a while longer to arrive because you still have to wait for the owner of your now ex-apartment to give it to her along with the keys.

You turn off your phone after you see the message is delivered, you take a moment to look around your (former) empty apartment. It feels strange, reminding you of when you first arrived a few years ago. You feel nostalgic about leaving the place, knowing that this is where many of your most important moments happened here (many of them having to do with Vi), yet you leave here calmly, knowing that this is the beginning of a new facet of your relationship.

Violet <3

"Ok honey."

"I'm waiting for you here, my girls <3"

༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･

🏡Titi was not used to leave the apartment. So you could be sure she wasn't having a good time at the moment.

After delivering everything you took Titi's backpack, hanging it on your chest before taking the bag with your things and walking to the public transport stop. Once there you exchange some messages with Violet, you also send her some pictures of your cat, who seemed very stressed looking at everything from inside the backpack. You had put her in there with her favorite toy and blanket, trying to give her some comfort, which helped her cope a little better with the trip.

Although the drive to the apartment is a bit long, and you have to split your time between talking to Vi to get an update on the situation with the move, seeing the road, and reassuring your pet. But you finally arrive at your stop, and it only takes you a few blocks before you get there.

By the time you get to the new apartment it's half past eleven in the morning, you open the door and walk in, leaving your things by the door before announcing your arrival. Vi doesn't take long to appear, coming towards you at a brisk pace (almost running) with an excited smile on her lips. She makes her way through the pile of stuff in the move and you meet her halfway, hugging her and laughing at the excitement of the moment. You could say you have officially moved in together.

༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･

🏡Ordering things in your new apartment is another story.

"Babe what do we think?" your girlfriend asks from the small living-dining room of her apartment. You stick your head out through the empty wall space that divides the kitchen from the place where Vi is sitting, who has her hands on her hips and rotates her gaze between looking at the furniture and watching you, waiting for your reaction.

There is a long sofa and another one for a person you brought from your previous apartment, in the middle of it all there is a coffee table that Vi used to have in her room. Titi is sitting next to the couch, across from Vi, watching everything critically the way your girlfriend has arranged the furniture.

"Sure, babe. It looks amazing."

"Yeah?"

"Yu, it looks pretty cool. In fact, I like the way you've arranged all the furniture" which is completely true, in fact, you've just learned that your girlfriend has a very good ability to arrange furniture so that it looks aesthetically pleasing. Behind the sofas is a rectangular table with four chairs, and the TV you've had since before you moved out of your parents' house is in a corner, waiting to be installed on the wall.

Vi nods, more confident at your words as she observes the way she arranged things, her gaze moving from one to one until it stops on your (though she says it's also hers) cat, who is still watching everything critically as she wags her furry tail from side to side.

"Mmm, I don't know. You what do you say, Titi?" her voice turns honeyed and you can't do anything but smile, and she, upon hearing her name, looks at your girlfriend before diverting her attention to her surroundings once more, as if she's really thinking Vi's question over before returning her attention to her, responding with her own meow, raising her little head and blinking slowly at Vi.

"Mmhm, she definitely approves."

"Then that's it" Vi replies with a satisfied smile, bending down to pet the kitten, who promptly begins to purr at her caresses "Titi has given the final verdict."

༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･

🏡 You and Vi like to bathe together. Before you rarely did, only when it was planned for Vi to spend the night (which rarely happened) or when she had clean clothes that she left in your apartment (though mostly it was after you both have sex). Either way, bathing together is an activity you enjoy from time to time since you moved in. You like to pamper her, and she loves to let you do it.

You like to wash her hair, you like to run your fingers through the pink locks and massage her scalp, feel the short hair on the left side of her head, only to go down to her shoulders and massage her, and of course, Vi will return the favor later.

They usually like to bathe together at night, they like to be able to spend this quiet time together before they cuddle up in bed to go to sleep, feeling relaxed after a really good hot bath.

Sometimes you read for a while after that, something about keeping up your reading habit, you usually tell Vi. And she doesn't mind, sometimes she asks you to read out loud to her, sometimes she just hugs you, resting her face on your hip or collarbone (depending on whether you decide to read sitting or lying down) and will close her eyes and probably fall asleep, or she might get distracted on her cell phone while you finish. But it's when you refuse to sleep, even as your eyes close and your head begins to give way to its own weight, that Vi intervenes.

"Baby, you're falling asleep," she says to you softly, her voice a little hoarse and a chuckle creeps in at the end of the sentence. Her eyes narrow with exhaustion and a loving look. She sits on the bed, hugging you around the waist to pull you closer to her, and as usual, your body molds to hers, leaning against her muscular body, resting your head on her shoulder without taking your eyes off the book (even though your eyes are more closed than open).

"No, you're falling asleep" Your voice is almost unintelligible, sleep taking its toll on you, as if you've had alcohol and are now drunk.

And Vi can't help a giggle at your response "Aaaaww come on" her right hand goes up your side until it reaches your shoulder, caressing the full length of your arm, trying to coddle you to convince you "It can wait until tomorrow, you're falling over."

"I just want to finish this chapter."

And she knows you couldn't give in that easy, it wouldn't be you if you didn't put up some resistance, so she uses the best card she has, the one she knows always works.

"Okay, love. Listen" she pulls your body away from hers, and a whimper automatically leaves your lips, looking at your girlfriend with a little pout at the loss of warmth, but that only causes Vi to laugh softly "How about this? You give me the book and I'll read you what's left of the chapter while you lie in bed with me. Sound good?"

And you're no fool, you know that the moment you accept her proposal your sleep sentence is signed. But you love falling asleep with Vi's voice reading to you in the background. So you let her.

"Fine"

You both lie down and get comfortable. Vi puts her arm under your head and you wrap your arms around her waist, your head resting on her chest as one of your legs intertwines with hers. Vi pulls the sheets up and settles in, taking the book in her right hand "Are you comfortable?" she gets a murmur as affirmation, and she leaves a kiss on the crown of your head before she can turn her attention to the pages of the book "Good. So, where you stay?"

"In these walls..."

Vi repeats the phrase under her breath over and over like a mantra. Her eyes searching for the phrase between paragraphs, stopping when she finally finds it "There you are."

Her soft voice fills the space between you, the yellow light from the nightstand illuminating the room slightly, making you even sleepier.

And there's something about the way Violet reads. She does it so passionately and full of emotion, but without losing the softness of her voice, that it always relaxes you (it's a skill she developed after years of reading stories to Powder). You love listening to her, you could do it for hours and hours and never get tired of it. But now, with tiredness on your shoulders and the voice and warmth of your beloved girlfriend, you just want to sleep cuddled up next to her. So you do.

It isn't long before Vi realizes that you have indeed, as usual, fallen asleep, so she puts the book down on the nightstand and carefully turns off the lamp light so as not to wake you, snuggling back in once she's finished.

"Good night, Sunshine."

༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･

🏡The mornings between you are usually quite hectic. Usually in the mornings, Vi has boxing training with her team, other times she teaches boxing classes to some people who frequent at gym. And even though your activities are usually at home or later, you get up with her to speed things up.

Vi gets up at 5 a.m. to take a shower, and you follow her a few minutes later. You get up and walk to the kitchen to prepare something for the two of you, while you're at it you'll also make something for Vi to take to the gym. A while later your girlfriend will appear in the kitchen with wet hair and a towel on her shoulders, already wearing her clothes to go workout.

"Morning baby" her arms always find their way to your waist hugging you against her and leaving kisses on your crown and cheek before walking through the kitchen, preparing her bottle with water and other things she usually takes to the gym while she tells you about what her routine will be today.

Once you both finish breakfast Vi runs to brush her teeth and then checks that everything is in her bag and quickly passes by Titi (who is comfortably lying on the couch) to give her a few quick cuddles before saying goodbye to you and leaving the apartment, leaving you alone until the afternoon.

But there are days like today, days when you both coincide on a day off, or your schedules magically manage to stay clear in the mornings, that you both enjoy each other's company. And their hectic, hectic mornings turn into soft, cuddly mornings. Vi would be the first to wake up due to her usual schedule, but would quickly return to rest after a few kisses and cuddles that gradually persuade her to return to sleep in your arms.

The second time you would be the first to wake up. You like to watch her sleep, it's a sight you rarely get to enjoy. You brush some pink locks off her face and chuckle softly at the small trace of drool on her chin as you listen to her low snores. And even when you see her like this, so vulnerable and somehow so messily tender, you wonder what you did to get so lucky. Because, fuck, even then she's so pretty.

And Violet doesn't take her long to wake up.

"Enjoying the view?" her voice is low and husky, still tinged with flecks of sleep and tiredness "A picture would last longer, honey."

And you can't help but laugh, your hands find their way to her freckled cheeks, cupping them "I like seeing you in person better" drawing her to you to give her soft kisses all over her face. And she would be lying if she said she didn't like this domesticity. She likes spending quiet mornings by your side, she likes letting you love her, as much as she likes you letting her love you. So her own hands pull you to her by your waist, keeping you as close as possible. Hugging you and reciprocating your sweet kisses.

And they spend the morning like that, spoiling each other, whispering sweet nothings to each other. Embarrassed giggles, funny laughs and many more fill the space, creating a warm and loving atmosphere. And if they are in the mood, sometimes they even end up making love in the morning.

And at some point in her affectionate morning, Vi manages to convince you to let her make you breakfast. It takes her a while, as you insist on doing it with her, not wanting to part with her.

"You always make breakfast for me. Let me do it for you this time" that and a few when kisses is all she needs to convince you to stay in bed to wait for her to bring breakfast.

And a while later, as you turn on your computer to watch something with your girlfriend while you have breakfast in bed, your cat shows up in your shared room, happy after being fed by Violet, climbing into your bed, rubbing up against you before lying down next to you, keeping you company.

When Vi returns with two plates of food the laughter is instantaneous.

"Hey, that's my spot, furball" and as if the cat could understand her, she doesn't move an inch, just whines quietly, as if trying to make light of Vi's comment, who gives you your plate and leaves hers on the nightstand so she can carry Titi and get her out of the room, knowing that if she doesn't do it later she'll give them trouble while they eat "Sorry, buddy. You have her every day, it's my turn."

And as Vi closes the door to the room and continues talking to your cat (who responds to her with indignant meows) you can't help but think again how lucky you are.

And they're still trying. You are trying to find balance in this new shared life, but you love finding happiness in this domesticity. You love this home you are both creating.

[grazi-your-rockette-queen]

Idk if party scenes are too played out so forgive me😭 but helping Kirk put on Halloween makeup (like sitting in his lap and he’s all giggling and moving around to make you stay on his lap longer) and yall have matching costumes 🥹

this is like so corny, but cute and i fucking love it 🤭

he’s such a dork i love him

you were getting ready for like whatever little halloween get together party thingy, you were going w kirk as vampires (it’s just the vibe) so you were doing your makeup all dark and pretty, kirk interrupts you to snatch a tube of dark red lipstick from the counter and ask,

“what about this color for me?” you smile and roll your eyes, taking it from his hands while he’s giggling at his own joke.

“can you do mine too?” he asks, smiling wide because he knows you’ll say yes.

“alright, sit down.” he does so, looking up at you with excitement in his big eyes. you grab an eyeshadow palette and a little brush and sit down.

“ok, move your head this way.” you say, placing a hand on his cheek to move his face delicately so that he is facing you. you stop for a minute, just examining his face.

“this isn’t gonna work. i know what would be better.” you move overtop of him to straddle him, at which he is confused at first but then grabs your hips to hold you. you brush his hair away from his face.

“ok, hold still. don’t squint your eyes.” you load up the brush with sparkly black eyeshadow and bring it closer to his eyes. you start to softly brush it over his eyelid but he scrunches up his face at the contact and can’t help but giggle.

“kirk, stop! i told you not to move!” you giggled, shoving him playfully.

“it fucking tickles!” he laughed again. he shut his eyes again, to prove that he was going to be calm this time. so you slowly and softly tried the brush on his eyes, making it dark around his top lid and a little underneath his eyes as well. you added white eyeshadow to highlight and dark rogue on his nose and below his eyebrows.

“not bad, Nosferatu.”

“oh my god, do i look like Nosferatu now?” you laugh at his reaction, his eyes widening and a hand covering his mouth as he laughed.

“no… i’m good at makeup, but not that good.” you started to move from his lap, and kissed his head before standing up to go add the finishing touches in your makeup.

[h-didanart]

Bloodmoon in dresses collection, round 2!

You thought I was done? So did I, but! Inspiration came back! And so I will now kick off the second round of this blog’s Bloodmoon in dresses collection.

One thing to note is that there are new participants, Bloodmoons from other aus that I hadn’t thought of for a while until someone (*coughs* @achickennamedcheese) asked me how many Bloodmoons I have. They are all here though, and they look rather dashing.

Starting us off, Magical Bloodmoon; Harvest Moon and Sturgeon Moon.

They didn’t need to look too far to find their dress, they already had one! Sure it was a skirt and some cool clothes but it’d still work. On top of that they could flaunt their cool shape shifting powers and they cool shape shifting weapon, so why wouldn’t they go for it? Might as well upstage everyone else in this whole damn place

They are having a lot of fun with this.

Next up, someone who you guys might not recognize on account of me not drawing or talking about them in so long. God of Doom Bloodmoon; Adaptation.

Adaptation himself has absolutely zero control over how Morpho decides to present them, so they didn’t particularly care when the butterfly put them in a dress. He did care when the winged death bringer pushed him to the front and basically let them run around and do whatever. He might be a bit self conscious now, but who is he to deny some time to hangout with their twin and the many other versions of themselves that are in that place?

There’s not enough red in his opinion

Last newcomer! I present to you, the amnesiac twins; Ruby and Vermillion.

Unlike around 99.8% of Bloodmoons, Ruby and Vermillion aren’t very close. Waking up so suddenly with no knowledge of anything or anyone and then learning that there’s someone else in their head was a very bad first impression for one another about each other. They both differ on tastes and likes greatly and don’t have much to bond over besides their dislike for the old them. It comes as no surprise then that they’d have trouble choosing something to wear for this event. On one hand Ruby just grabbed whatever he could and called it a day, making Vermillion feel very bad at the asymmetry of it all; on the other Vermillion chose stuff that makes sense and forms a cohesive color palette on top of being comfy, but Ruby absolutely hates the textures.

We can only hope those two come to an understanding at some point.

And finally, to wrap up this post we have the second design for one of the swap Bloodmoons; Fang.

Fang didn’t know what to do for the second round. Fang could steal from the Sun-man again, but didn’t want to, Fang wanted to stay with the other Others. So Fang had to think about what to do that wouldn’t require to go outside. Fang remembered that together with Scythe they usually had a combination of clothes that had a skirt, so Fang decided to wear the clothes the twins would wear together.

Sadly Fang cannot put the hood on

And that’s all for today! Dunno when I’ll be back, but thanks for dropping by, bye!

[apomaro-mellow]

King and Prince 34

Part 33

Steve was minding his own business, walking from the stables to the courtyard when something dropped from above. No, someone. Eddie rose up from his crouch and then cradled Steve’s face, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Well isn’t this a surprise”, Steve breathed out once Eddie pulled back.

“I saw you from the window. And I couldn’t resist.”

Steve looked divine as always. Right now he looked radiant in red. Steve let Eddie’s eyes savor him before kissing him again. Eddie kissed like Steve was all the breath he needed. But all too soon it was over.

“Why do you torture me by stopping?”, Steve asked.

“The anticipation makes it sweeter, does it not? And we both have somewhere important to be.” Eddie hooked his arm with Steve and they continued the path Steve had been on. 

Today had been months in the making, years for some. In most kingdoms, knighthood was accessible only to nobility. But Eddie believed in freedom. He knew more than anyone that greatness could come from the most unlikely of places. And so the trials were open to all classes. Anyone who thought they might have an aptitude for the call to arms was welcome to join. 

From the courtyard they went to the training arena, the ceiling opened and all the entrances as well to allow the most light and flow of air.

“Have I ever told you how fetching you look in red?”, Eddie asked as they took seats upon the stands.

“Well it is my favorite color”, Steve preened.

“I had no idea.”

“I had no idea you knew how to juggle”, Steve mentioned, recalling how Eddie tossed fruit in the air to the delight of some children in town.

Eddie got a mischievous look on his face. “Suppose we play a game of questions?”

“How does one win a game of questions?”, Steve asked.

“To win is to fall even more madly in love.”

“And you think that’s possible?” Steve leaned in to Eddie’s space and as always, Eddie stayed right where he was.

“I think it’s worth attempting. One never knows how deep the fathoms go until they jump.”

“Alright”, Steve gave him a peck on the lips. “You know I like red, what’s your favorite color?”

“Whatever palette finds itself on you, magnifying your visage in ways that make masterpieces look pale and plaid”, Eddie drawled, kissing Steve again.

Steve sighed before getting serious. “The only way to lose is like that. Real answer only. Lovely poetry though.”

“The real answer? I also like red. And! I’m not just saying that because you’re wearing it right now. My turn. Are there any colors you dislike?”

“For fashion? Purple and gray. I don’t look good in either of those. For decor, orange can be garish if not accentuated properly.”

Eddie was listening with rapt attention when Max came by and hit them both on the head with a rolled sheet of parchment.

“One of these days, I will have you tried for treason”, Eddie said.

“If you’re the king, pay attention.” She squeezed between them both, pushing them apart. “This is important.”

“We know”, Steve said, looking down at where Lucas was stretching.

He looked nervous but Steve knew he had what it took. It was what they’d been practicing day in and day out. And when Nancy came upon the recruits, about fifty strong, he knew she saw it too. But she couldn’t play favorites. In fact, she’d made it clear to Steve that she’d probably be even harder on Lucas because she didn’t want it to appear that she was going easy on him by any measure. Steve wouldn’t have had it any other way. As a matter of fact, he’d pointed out that her going harder on Lucas was in itself a kind of favoritism. She disagreed.

Nancy called them to attention. Jeff was there as well and the trials were finally underway. Steve’s eyes rarely left Lucas, but at times they moved to the others trying to make their mark. He also looked to Nancy and Jeff, trying to discern their reactions. Nancy was a rock and Steve could never catch Jeff’s face at the right time.

There were breaks in between each stage of the trials but notably, no one was sent home. Steve had watched similar events in his old kingdom and the moment anyone showed weakness, they were dismissed. Steve had seen at least five that should have been sent home and yet they were allowed to continue until the end, which was hours later.

The only ones who knew either Jeff or Nancy’s thoughts were the squires who followed them, writing down notes dictated by them. At the end of it, Jeff looked over to Eddie and nodded.

At his signal, Eddie stood and walked down to meet those that had tested their mettle today. “I applaud all of you”, Eddie said, clapping his hands. “Whether you are selected or not, you have survived today. And even if knighthood is not in the stars for you, our kingdom will always need people as passionate and loyal as you.”

They were dismissed to go home and Lucas went off with Max. Something was happening between those two but Steve would save that for later. He’d also go without hounding Nancy and Jeff for answers at the moment. Right now, all he could think about was that it had been hours since he’d last kissed Eddie. So once most of the arena had been cleared, Steve walked down to Eddie and kissed his cheek while grabbing his hand.

“We still need to finish our game.”

“I know. And I’ve been thinking about my next question. Ocean or mountains?”

“Ocean”, Steve said, remembering how his parents had tried to send him up to the mountains and cut him off from everything. “How do you write all those love letters?”, he asked as they started to leave the training arena.

“I only think of you and the words just come forth.”

“I suppose all those years have given you time to have an expansive vocabulary”, Steve smiled.

“You say that as if you are uneducated.”

“I often prefer actions over words”, Steve said before pulling Eddie into an alcove. A curtain of ivy gave them just a touch of privacy as their lips found each other again. Steve’s arms came around Eddie’s shoulders and held him close and just a moment after he felt the stone pressing against his back as Eddie pinned him to it.

Eddie whimpered into his mouth, pushing Steve even more into the alcove until he touched at the prince’s thigh and he remembered. Fleshy. Soft. Human. With great effort, he pulled away and not even Steve’s half lidded eyes, lost in desire, could pull him back in. Because he had to be the stronger of the two of them. Because he was stronger.

“What’s wrong?”, Steve asked, reading his expression well.

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, lovely.” Eddie kissed his cheek and then rubbed their cheeks together. “I just don’t want to distract you. I know Lucas is awaiting your words of encouragement.” 

He pulled Steve from the alcove and they went to find his protege. As Steve had expected, he was in the kitchen with Max as well as a younger girl who resembled him. She must be his sister. Eddie made up something about having to speak with his council and then excused himself.

While Steve talked to Lucas, his mind was on Eddie. This wasn’t the first time he’d stop them from getting too heated. And he wanted to find out why.

Part 35

Taglist CLOSED

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent  @snakeorsquid  @ignoremyworld  @theclichefortunecookie 

@goodolefashionedloverboi  @just-a-tiny-void  @0body0disphoria0  @cinnamon-mushroomabomination  @samsoble 

@jamieweasley13  @y4r3luv  @xtkxkrzrizir  @un-knownperson  @greekgeek24 

@justdrugsformethanks  @potato-of-the-lord  @notaqueenakhaleesi  @swimmingbirdrunningrock  @queenie-ofthe-void 

@nebulainajar  @lil-gremlin-things  @nicememerino  @robininblue  @hornedqueenofhell 

@anne-bennett-cosplayer  @moomkin77  @here4thetrama  @bookworm0690  @autumncrocusandladybug

@lil-gremlin-things @littlebluejane @puppy-steve

[bekkarific]

Playing with Fire

Chapter Seven: Embers

Chapter Masterlist

Pairing: The Frontman/In Ho x Fem OC

Ji Ah woke to the unfamiliar sensation of silk against her skin. For a fleeting moment, she forgot where she was. As her eyes adjusted to the fluorescent light humming above, the dark green walls of her new quarters, the vanity table, and the wardrobe filled with dresses that were nothing like her usual attire—it all came rushing back.

Her stomach churned at the thought of the day ahead.

A sharp knock on the door snapped her out of her thoughts.“Number 13,” came the voice of a guard. “Get up. You’re expected to prepare yourself. The VIPs will arrive shortly.”

VIPs. The word carried a weight Ji Ah couldn’t ignore. Who were they? Did they run the games? The monsters funding this horror show? Or just the people reveling in others’ suffering? She ground her teeth as she got out of bed.

The guard didn’t wait for a response. Heavy footsteps echoed as he walked away, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Ji Ah padded to the wardrobe, her bare feet cold against the floor. She hesitated before opening it, half-hoping the contents would have magically changed overnight.

They hadn’t.

Short black cocktail dresses in various cuts hung in neat rows, each one more revealing than the last. Ji Ah scowled, grabbing the least offensive option—a simple dress that started on her collar bone, but clung to her body like a second skin and ended mid-thigh.

She threw it onto the bed and moved to the vanity, her reflection staring back at her like a stranger. The black mask sat beside the small collection of makeup, its leaf-like edges mocking her. A mask to hide her face, but nothing to hide the shame threatening to consume her.

She grabbed a brush and started to comb her hair out of her face, thankfully the shower she had taken last night had removed the days worth of grime and sweat from her skin and hair. The toiletries provided leaving a subtle floral scent.

Hair secured in a half up half down style, she sat down at her vanity table. The makeup was sparse: a single compact, a small palette of eyeshadow, mascara, and one tube of lipstick—bright red. Ji Ah’s fingers hovered over the lipstick, the color somehow feeling like a cruel joke.

She sighed and began to apply the makeup with steady hands, her training as a detective allowing her to compartmentalize her anger - for the moment anyway. She worked methodically, painting herself into the image of what they expected her to be, a faceless object to decorate their twisted playground.

When she finally slipped on the dress, it clung to her in ways that made her feel exposed, her skin crawling as she zipped it up. The heels were no better, their shiny black surface reflecting the faint light as if mocking her discomfort.

Ji Ah glanced at the mirror one last time, her reflection a jarring mix of the person she used to be and the role she was being forced into. Her jaw clenched as she reached for the black mask, the final piece of her transformation.

As she placed it over her face, the red lipstick she’d just applied became the only splash of color, a stark contrast to the dark mask and dress. It made her feel like a character in someone else’s story, her own identity slipping further away with each passing moment.

A knock interrupted her thoughts. “It’s time,” the guard said.

Ji Ah took a deep breath, steadying herself. Hastily securing her mask at the back of her head.

Whatever lay beyond that door, she had to survive it. With one last glance at the mirror, she straightened her shoulders and stepped into the corridor, ready to face whatever twisted reality awaited her.

———————————————————-

The VIP were somehow everything and nothing like expected. From their ridiculous gold animal masks to their bathrobes, Ji Ah was unsure where to look.

She had been told to stand at the door to the grand lounge, a tray of whisky’s in her hand as greeting. She counted six. So it sparked her confusion when only five VIPs arrived.

They all took a drink, making lude comments at her in English. American’s, she deduced from their accents. Each giving her a look up and down before moving onto her four other colleagues.

She felt powerless, all she could so was smile and thank them. She had to thank those sick bastards.

Turning her attention to her colleagues, she hadn’t had a chance to meet them yet, all five of them had been posted to different parks of the room. Two male and two females from what she could see. She did note that the blonde woman was still here, she may come in useful, Ji Ah reasoned.

Then like she could sense him, he appeared. Every part the cold, calculating, intimidating man she knows. So why does her skin start to heat when he is near?

“Gentlemen welcome, allow me to introduce myself I am the Frontman. The host sends his regrets that he cannot be with you at this time, but I am here to ensure your every comfort is met.” He announced coming to stand in front of the VIPs, back straight and standing to attention.

Ji Ah is bewildered by his sudden subservience, so he wasn’t the top man like she thought he was, there are more? Taking a minute to gather her thoughts as the captain - now frontman - she supposed conversed with the VIPs.

Who was this mysterious host then? And why were they not here?

“It’s no worry” the loud Texan spoke “your girl 13 has been taking good care of us, haven’t you darling” he bolsters, eliciting cheers from the other guests. The Texan leaned forward, his eyes raking over her form in a way that made her skin crawl. “Quite the addition to the staff this year. Very elegant. Exotic, even.”

Ji Ah swallowed the retort that rose in her throat, forcing herself to lower her gaze in what she hoped was an appropriately submissive gesture. She could feel their stares, hungry and dehumanizing, stripping her of whatever dignity she had left.

“Gentleman,” came the Frontman’s voice, cutting through the murky cigar filled air like a blade. “We thank you for your compliments” he spoke, his voice growing closer,

Ji Ah’s back straightened instinctively, her pulse quickening as he came to stand beside her.

“She has a lot to learn,” the Frontman said, his words directed at the room but clearly meant for her as well. “But she’s adaptable.”

Before she could react, she felt the faintest brush of his fingers against the back of her head. Her breath hitched as he adjusted her mask, which had loosened slightly.

“Hold still,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

Ji Ah froze, every nerve ending in her body firing at once. His hands were gloved, yet the sensation felt almost intimate, the deliberate care he took in fixing the mask sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.

“There,” he said after a moment, his hands retreating as quickly as they had come.

But the weight of his presence lingered, his proximity making it impossible for her to breathe easily.

“Now,” he addressed the room, his tone once again sharp and authoritative. “Shall we move on to more pressing matters?”

The VIPs muttered their agreement, the tension dissipating as they returned to their drinks and chatter.

Ji Ah dared a glance at the Frontman as he stepped away, his mask giving nothing away. But something about the way he carried himself—subtle, deliberate—told her the adjustment hadn’t been necessary. It had been a reminder.

Of what, she wasn’t sure.

As the night wore on, Ji Ah remained at her post, her mind racing with questions she couldn’t afford to ask. But one thought stayed with her, clear and unnerving: The Frontman wasn’t just watching her. He was studying her.

——————————

The VIPs' boisterous laughter echoed in the room, accompanied by the clinking of glasses as they placed bets on the next game.

Tug of War, the frontman revealed, eliciting gasps of excitement from the VIP keen to watch the real thing live.

Ji Ah forced herself to remain composed, her posture rigid as she served another drink. The night stretched on, each second heavier than the last.

The Frontman moved among the VIPs with ease, his commanding presence drawing their attention. Yet Ji Ah couldn’t shake the feeling that his attention often drifted back to her. Each glance, no matter how brief, sent a ripple of heat and unease coursing through her.

She was stationed near edge of the room, drink tray in hand, when she felt his presence again—silent, like a shadow. He approached, his movements deliberate, and leaned in just enough for his words to reach her without anyone else overhearing.

“You’re holding up well,” he said softly, his tone devoid of the mockery she’d braced for.

Ji Ah didn’t dare look at him directly. “I didn’t realize I was being tested,” she replied, keeping her voice steady.

“Everything here is a test, Number 13,” he murmured, the faintest hint of amusement threading his words. “You’ll learn that soon enough.” And like that he was gone, melting back into the shadow he came from.

Ji Ah couldn’t shake the feeling of his words, nor the fire that licked up her spine.

————————————————-

The announcement of Tug of War sent a wave of anticipation rippling through the VIPs. Their laughter turned raucous, their voices tinged with sadistic glee as they speculated about the fates of the contestants.

Ji Ah’s grip on her tray tightened. She forced her features to remain neutral, though the bile rising in her throat threatened to betray her. Each time a VIP's hand brushed against her as they grabbed a drink, she felt her dignity crumble further. But it was the Frontman’s cryptic words that lingered, needling at her composure.

Everything here is a test.

Her eyes flicked to the screen dominating the far wall, displaying the setup for the next game. Two towering platforms, a single rope spanning the chasm between them, and the gaping void below. Even from the safety of the VIP lounge, the scene was suffocating.

“Frontman!” the Texan drawled, gesturing with his glass. “How about you give us a little insider scoop? Any early favorites in this round?”

The Frontman inclined his head with practiced detachment. “The games are designed to level the playing field. Strength alone will not ensure victory.”

The Texan grinned, his gold mask glinting under the lights. “Smart and mysterious. I like it.”

Ji Ah’s stomach churned as the VIPs laughed again, their focus shifting to their tablets to place bets. The contestants’ faces flashed on the screen, each one a portrait of dread and desperation.

Her chest tightened when she spotted Gi Hun among them, standing with his makeshift team. He was speaking urgently, gesturing animatedly as he tried to rally their spirits. Ji Ah couldn’t hear his words, but she recognized the determination in his eyes.

“Care to place a bet, Number 13?” The Texan asked, placing a hand on her arm.

Swallowing down her disgust “I’ll pass” she said evenly, tilting the tray to offer him a drink instead.

He didn’t take one. Turning back to his tablet

As she turned to walk away she heard “Wise. The house always wins.” The voice startled her, low and smooth, and far too close. Ji Ah turned her head slightly, finding the Frontman once again at her side.

Their gazes met briefly, his mask a barrier that only amplified the weight of his presence. Ji Ah felt her pulse quicken, a mix of defiance and unease swirling within her.

“Enjoy the show,” he added, his voice low enough that the words felt almost private. And just as before, he was gone, his attention now on the VIPs clamoring for details about the contestants.

The contestants took their places, their terror palpable even through the screen.

Ji Ah’s breath caught as the countdown began, her focus entirely on Gi Hun, part of her wondered if her presence her was a blessing or curse for him. He stood at the front of the line, his grip firm on the rope.

“Five... four...”

“Bet on the older guy,” one VIP slurred, leaning close to the screen. “He looks like he’s got a trick or two up his sleeve.”

Ji Ah clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.

“Three... two...”

The room erupted with cheers and jeers as the buzzer blared, signaling the start.

The two teams pulled with everything they had, the rope creaking under the strain. Onscreen, Ji Ah could see Gi Hun shouting instructions, his voice lost amidst the chaos but his determination unwavering.

“Ah, look at them!” the Texan crowed. “Nothing like a good old-fashioned fight for survival!”

Ji Ah wanted to scream, to tear the drink tray from her hands and hurl it across the room. Instead, she kept her mask of indifference firmly in place, her eyes locked on the screen.

As the game unfolded, the struggle intensified. Gi Hun’s team began to falter, their opponents gaining ground with brute strength. But then the other man - Cho Sang Woo she learned from the bets -barked an order, and the team shifted tactics.

“They’re running forward” one VIP exclaimed. “Clever bastards!”

Ji Ah’s chest tightened as the team regained ground, their coordination throwing the opposing side into disarray. Her heart pounded with every pull, her silent prayers echoing louder in her mind.

When the opposing team finally lost their footing, the arena fell silent for a fraction of a second before the inevitable screams began. Ji Ah turned her head away from the screen as the rope was cut, sending the losing team plummeting into the void.

The VIPs erupted into applause, their cheers a grotesque celebration of death. “Damn fine game!” the Texan bellowed, raising his glass. “Frontman, your games never disappoint!”

The Frontman inclined his head in acknowledgment, but Ji Ah caught the briefest pause in his movements.

“Bring us another round, Number 13,” the Texan called out, his grin wide and unrepentant.

Ji Ah nodded stiffly, her hands trembling as she moved to refill their drinks. She couldn’t look at the screen again, couldn’t bear to see the hollow expressions of those who had survived—or worse, the faces of those who hadn’t.

Everything here is a test.

As she handed the Texan his glass, she felt the Frontman’s gaze on her once more, unrelenting and inscrutable. And in that moment, Ji Ah wondered if she had passed.

[eggwishing]

LORD alfuckingmighty i don't think there is a single string of words i could piece 2gether to properly describe the absolute magnificence of ur art . you have such a vast understanding of art & so many of its intricacies. ur character designs are ALWAYS incredible, so so endearing & memorable. every time i see one i get incredibly excited & am strangled by the urge to make fanart because just. oh my god. you have some of the BEST color work i have ever fucking seen like it is genuinely fucking spectacular what you are able to create & look good with combinations of colors i would NOT think to place in the way you do if i were given the same palette. i feel like calling your doodles just "doodles" is like, WRONG, because every single one is something u could spend ages looking at on its own. i'd pick favorites to describe but we would be here for hours . you have the insane ability to keep your style consistent but are able to stretch it & change it for whatevers appropriate/the receive your desired result for the particular drawing and its just SO. SO. COOL. take literally all of this and add it to the fact that you can fucking ANIMATE !!! while still keeping all of these features of ur style intact and that fact is just OTHERWORLDLY to me in the best way possible . not only that but ur stories r always so very intriguing and it makes me SOO ANGRY that oc artwork & original stories dont receive the same attention as fandom work or otherwise because i swear 2 fucking god you go absolutely ABOVE and beyond in terms of creativity for ur stories & DESERVE THE RECOGNITION AAAAAAAAUUUUUUGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRORWGGGGGGGGGGGGRWGGGGGGGGGGRGGGGGGGGGRGGGGGGGGGGGGGRGGGGGGGGGGGGGG okay im done. i hav been up for almost 24 hours and saw one of ur drawings and got real emotional ihope uhave an awesome day eebrt i hope to be at least 10th place in ur list of biggest fans .

oh my god . I'm responding to this on a computer which doesn't have any of my usual images OR emojis that I would usually throw at you like. I don't know Someone who's really really REALLY good at throwing stuff. so I'll just use my words. THANK YOU SO MUCH !!!!!! this means the absolute world to me.. I did not expect to be blasted in the face by one million kisses when I checked my inbox, I had to sit back in my chair like WOW.... I love you .... I love youuuu...... thank you so much for the encouragement, I've been feeling not so confident And kind of afraid (leaving to study animation in college very soon) for the last few days n your words are lifting me out of the void like bingbong's rocket from inside out. not gonna lie your comments are one of the highlights of posting on Tumblr, I love reading them so much when you reblog my stuff. they're beautiful and always make me feel better when I'm feeling down... you were there from the days of homestuck dragons... you were always there for my ocs... You are a "real one." If I had a heart locket I'd print out your icon and put it in there along with all the other people I treasure ^_^ so yeah, definitely in the ranks... when I'm up on stage wearing a solid gold tuxedo (they had to wheel me in because I could not walk in the Solid Gold Tuxedo) and giving my speech to the world before I take it over my i will start by saying First of all I'd like to thank Mel Tumblr user Melissa-titanium On Tumblr for always hyping me up... could not have made it this far without him. And then I'd press the doomsday button and blow up every world leader.

I wish I could respond with something that appropriately returns the energy of what you sent me, but this is all I've got. Just know I am vibrating in my chair right now... hope you got some sleep!!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

[solitaryandwandering]

A Ramble: Love in the Big City Eps 5-6

Well, @lurkingshan welcomed me into this house of pain and I set up camp with full awareness of what awaited me. And yet. And yet. I cried so sadly at the end of episode 6. Genuinely, I don't think I've been this heartbroken watching anything recently. Gyu-ho is so wonderful. He didn't deserve Yeong shutting him out like that. But in the end, they just weren't right for each other. Not with all the heaviness Yeong carries with him, now. And poor Yeong. He was never malicious, never truly wanted to hurt Gyu-ho, but he's in so much pain. He's never been in a relationship like this, which asked for so little (yet so much). And so, here are my scattered, discombobulated thoughts.

On the cinematography front, I continued to geek out over how well each director is communicating Yeong's internal and external worlds. The last section saw Hur Jin Ho start to darken Yeong's world around the edges, still taking full advantage of environment and space. In this section, Hong Ji Young is much more economical. We have tighter shots, more close-ups (especially extreme) and fewer wide shots. Since we are much more in Yeong's head we are forced more into his perspective - what he is seeing takes precedence over placing an audience emotionally in a scene. Her direction is less stylized (which is not to say there aren't creative uses of camera) but that's not to say she lacks a stylistic vision. Rather, where prior sections relied more on movement or camera placement, Hong let lighting do much of the talking.

I mentioned yesterday that this section's color palette seemed more muted in comparison. Episode 6 was brighter but saturation didn't really change all that much, at least not from my perspective. What enhanced this perspective was Yeong's clothing, which was almost austere in comparison to how he dressed in the past. He's in dark colors, usually black, with stern or severe silhouettes. I think he's in lighter colors at work but that's it? Those are still pretty washed-out. I was especially taken with his long black coat, which has to have appeared in the past but I didn't notice it like I did in these episodes. It's like he never left the funeral garb behind. His long coat actually reminded me of Yeong Su's coloring style-wise (and of the brown coat he wears during their break-up). But maybe that's just me. I just can't let go of the ways I think we're visually supposed to see him haunting Yeong, especially after that dream sequence in episode 5. His clothing just seems... older. It reminds me of both of his older partners; maybe he feels like he needs to emulate them? Maybe he feels like he's not mature enough? I could also see Yeong Su showing up in the way Yeong broke up with Gyu-ho, though I think Yeong was catching himself from fully leaning into that. He smiled, he didn't answer Gyu-ho's questions or give any empty reasons, and so on. Yet, he still achieved that same cold detachment. Yeong Su is certainly there in the way Yeong carries himself: ramrod straight. Much of his looseness or vivacity in past episodes is gone. Could not get over how dead his eyes felt in this section.

Anyway, back to cinematography. It felt like to me the lighting was creating a slightly blurred effect, like we were seeing certain things in a haze. Obviously this is in one way a reflection of his depression. Sometimes it felt like it was reminiscent of him wading through a fog, of memories, trauma, dissociation, whatever it may be. In both episodes there is also really cool use of illumination of objects, people, or scenes. In episode 5 there's a scene where he is in his mom’s (oppressively dark) place and a single shaft of light cuts across pictures on the wall. Intentional darkening is used just as often as illumination or brightening. I'm pretty sure every time we get an extreme close-up of Gyu-ho's eyes they are cast in darkness rather than light, which is what you would assume would happen if he were, like, gazing into the eyes of someone he loves. But instead, he's in the dark. In one scene he is hanging up curtains in Yeong's apartment and turns from the light outside (towards Yeong in the dark). When we cut to the close-up we can still see a sliver of light behind him which casts him in darkness. He brings light but Yeong cannot receive it. Lighting (or lack of it) in this section more than in other parts colors/represents what Yeong feels, how he sees others, what he chooses to look at or acknowledge.

In line with that, I really appreciated that this director chose not to overly-romanticize this part. I know the original author wrote the screenplay so that is in part why it didn't feel that way but I do think in a lesser director's hands it could have been very easy to lean into Kdrama romanticism. Without having read the book I was concerned this section would feel like fan-service rather than a continuation of the overall story. I am so relieved not to feel manipulated. Beautifully mundane and sad!!

And can I just say, I love what a complicated and real character Yeong is?? I love him so much even while he infuriates me. Even while he allows his past traumas to influence this relationship with Gyu-ho. And I actually wonder about his motivations in pursuing Gyu-ho? He's obviously very attracted to him and has good chemistry with him in general, so it's not that I think he went into the relationship with false pretenses. But he obviously knows it's not the right time for what he feels like he wants, which is a serious relationship. Initially as he walks away from the subway he turns to go back when girls run by him and one screams that her mother will kill her for missing the last train. Is it a “fuck you” to her that he decides to go after him? A feeling that he wants to live his life, pursue happiness in spite of this oppressive grief he feels? So much to untangle there. He's nothing if not fully human.

The last thing I wanted to get out of my head in this ramble was my thoughts about what themes I detected in this section. So here's what I’m thinking of: distance, shame, and honesty/communication.

All throughout this section I just kept hurting at how detached Yeong seemed from himself and everything around him. Completely distanced from his emotions. He goes into the relationship already with distance since he’s fresh off two horrible traumas, especially that of losing his mom. And he allows every small moment of perceived distance (mostly Gyu-ho not sticking to pre-established patterns Yeong has grown used to in his relationship to sex and intimacy) to widen that gulf. Writing is his passion but with each new rejection he allows himself to drown in it and creates even more distance. He's writing out reflections of their relationship instead of living it. Observing instead of feeling. He begins to enforce the distance he felt in his last relationship - all he wants is attention but is unwilling or unable to give it in this go-around. Even in the ways he opens up to Gyu-ho he maintains his fake-happy, carefree persona. Smiles are weaponized as a distancing tool. And in speaking with Gyu-ho he also can't resist making small digs at him about his job or intelligence. Gyu-ho is not given much opportunity to bridge distance even as they move in together. And what can Gyu-ho do when he is constantly rebuffed? He runs away, looks to fill the void with attention from other men. Returns, only for the cycle to begin again. "Constant goodbyes" as I believe Yeong puts it. As soon as their relationship begins he puts them in the rear view mirror. It's like he moves through much of their relationship as a representation of himself rather than as Yeong, himself. A shadow. When he actually places them in the rear view at the end of episode 6 he says "I guess you'll remember me as a joke you once heard a long time ago... The world's dirtiest joke."

Shame was the biggest thing coming up for me in these two episodes. For obvious reasons, of course. The reveal of his HIV (or "Kylie" which is his way of putting distance between himself and the disease, casting it in anonymity) was as shocking as it was expected. As an aside, this somewhat vindicated my personal interpretation of Kim Nam Gyu's death and subsequent empty funeral as a connection to the deaths of gay men with AIDS (including my uncle). I don't actually think they were necessarily trying to draw a line between the two but it hit me like a crowbar over the head so!

But yeah, Kylie is the obvious connection to that theme of shame. HIV in general carries a HUGE stigma globally, so much so that many countries including China (as we saw) have strict rules for travel of HIV+ folks. As far as I can tell in my brief search online, China ostensibly allows HIV-positive foreigners to come to the country but only for a period no greater than 90 days after which they will (and have) deported people. And that's just their official stance. Yeong discovered his status in maybe the worst way possible, in the military from a homophobic doctor, which colors the way he approaches it from then on. Medically discharged (as a reference, in the U.S. HIV-positive people are allowed to serve if they are asymptomatic and have an undetectable viral load, not sure how it is in Korea) he doesn't even tell his queer friends. This part made me so sad. How the queer community can shut other people out for something like this is deplorable especially considering our history. The T-aras demonstrate themselves to be bigoted in their negative regard of those with or suspected of having HIV, literally telling each other to "cover their glasses" when they see someone in the club who has been rumored to be positive. Yeong can’t wrap his head around being accepted for such a thing or as himself in general. Yeong traps himself in assumptions he makes of others and of himself. In some ways, those expectations are reinforced.

I wondered at why Yeong chose to tell Gyu-ho his status before anyone else. A part of me wonders if he intended this as another weapon of distance, so sure of this as being the thing that would cause Gyu-ho to run. I think he was completely unprepared for his total acceptance (he asks to ask for confirmation of his sincerity later in Bangkok) though it did make him happy. And once he has that acceptance he has no idea what to do with it. He is constantly pushing Gyu-ho away, only knowing how to ask for and accept the intimacy that comes with sex (which is - unprotected - what gave him HIV in the first place). He wants that easy fun he felt as a younger queer but is struggling to heal in this undemanding relationship. All Gyu-ho wants is quality time, emotional connection, a place to call home. Yeong has wanted this, needed this in the past but denied it time and time again he doesn't know what to do when granted the opportunity to have it. Gyu-ho doesn't want Yeong to be anybody except himself, gives him space and has healthy boundaries (practically non-existent in past romantic/platonic/familial relationships). He has nothing to fight against except himself and a world that doesn’t want him. Fighting against faceless rejections from publishers and bigoted HIV attitudes and restrictions are abstract battles, larger than just one person. When facing a bland job which wants a certain imagined version of him he can face off against his boss but she doesn't even show up in a way he can solidly face off against (wearing headphones blasting loud music, for instance). All he can do is fight Gyu-ho who doesn't even give him the battle he wants.

Gyu-ho is the first he tells about Kylie and it kinda feels like he’s punishing him for it sometimes? I’m not sure how much he shares about himself with him other than that. I don’t think Gyu-ho knows that his mom had just died when they started dating or about his past with Yeong-su. Gyu-ho assumes he has his life together and says he can’t understand what it is like to want something of your own. Yeong does nothing to dissuade him of the fact. He knows Gyu-ho can tell he's distancing himself and that makes him even more ashamed in himself and makes him lash out. Against the only person who knows his deepest secret and has wholly accepted him for it. How could he not hate himself for rejecting what he's always wanted?

Mi Ae shows up as another specter of his shame, using him as a prop. It is here that he becomes relegated to the "gay best friend" trope. To Mi Ae, he is perhaps the biggest representation of her "dirtier" or "shameful" past. She uses him to appear cooler to her younger sister-in-law(?) without fully claiming their relationship. The sister-in-law even jokingly flirts with him in the bar. Literally flaunting heteronormativity in his face. It does not feel as if he can fully own himself anymore. And when Gyu-ho moves in, they live together in a place Gyu-ho sees as his but was originally Mi Ae's, a place he was abandoned in, a place he tried to kill himself in. Shame festers and breeds in this space.

Honesty and communication is what bridges the gap, what heals shame. Yet, that is what Yeong cannot bring himself to do. He’s unmotivated to make a change in his approach to Gyu-ho and uses reticence as even more of an obstacle to genuine connection. He’s ashamed of himself and thinks of himself as dirty, undesirable. Yeong doesn’t even tell Gyu-ho about the HIV restrictions that keep him from applying to the job in China. Easy way out of their relationship, maybe, but it’s more about clinging to shame (is his shame is his remaining connection to his mom?). And in the end, he can’t even give him an honest break-up. His opinion of himself is so low he can’t help but prove it right. I think he sees Gyu-ho shrink into himself and comes to the conclusion he takes up too much space. ("I wonder why you sleep in silence. Maybe it's my fault. Maybe it's yours. Or maybe it was inevitable.")

In prior episodes Yeong's loves came in pairs: Mi Ae/Nam Gyu, Yeong Su/his mother. I wonder if Gyu-ho is the only love represented here. In prior sections love was more or less freely felt or offered even if toxic or lacking honesty. Unable to crack through Yeong's loneliness. Maybe the pair here is the absence of self-love. Or the absence of Yeong's ability to place his love in something external. In this section Gyu-ho shows him the love he was missing and wanted in prior sections but he is no longer open to it. He cannot show that love to himself. And maybe that's represented in the city, in Seoul. Big, teeming with potential, but also a lonely chasm where souls go to be lost.

Yikes, that was long. Largely nonsensical, I'm sure. I am terrified for how this show will end. This episode more than any other made me want to read the book RIGHT NOW (and make my brother read it). That's the sign of a good adaptation!

[bonesofapoet]

heart under the gun

[ simon 'ghost' riley x you ]

author's note : the one where you're stuck in a safehouse and you just fucking pine for each other. language

word count : 703

There was always something magical about the world, once dusk arrived.

Even when it seemed the entire universe had fallen sideways, and your life had been placed on pause - if only temporarily - there remained, under the battered, stained surface of your story, an unmistakable awe that lingered at the fraying edges; a kind of raw beauty impossible to miss.

Even if you weren’t searching for it, if you weren’t mindful of it staring right back at you point blank, so aggressively close to your face - it seeped in through the cracks. Always, lately, when it was the least expected, and, honestly? When it was most unwelcome.

This evening was a stunning example, really.

The sun had begun its fall into the night, dipping down behind wispy clouds and tree branches that reached tall and desperate, if only to feel the last kiss of the sun’s dying rays until dawn. Golden fingers fell through the canopies of their leaves scattered along the property, painting the ground in shadowed filigree patterns across tall, deep green grass.

Those wispy clouds had gone from feather gray and lily white to become beautifully stained with the palette of the sunset. Golds, deep oranges and radiant mauves were shining bright where the colors blended with the deepening violet of the sky above.

And yet, up is not where you were looking this time.

He was illuminated in the glow of stray sunbeams, rocking gently on the porch swing hidden around an alcove on the front porch - a charming detail that set this particular safehouse apart from the rest - in time with the gentle breeze. It ruffled the pages of the book held open in one hand - gloved, always - while the other remained draped across the back, next to him.

It had jarred you, the first few days the two of you had been here, just how peaceful someone could look when removed from the harshness of the field. The contrast of something so simple as quiet. . .it was different here. Everything was. Now, though, you had come to learn that this was just Simon being Simon. He had shed the skin of Ghost, slowly, if not hesitantly, the longer you were holed up far away from any front line.

The mask, however, was not so quickly cast aside.

Regardless, that didn’t stop you from admiring how Simon looked in the sunlight instead of shadows.

“You gonna keep fuckin’ starin’ at me, or can I help y'with something?”

Fuck.

Your recovery was quick, if not a little rushed, when you realized his brown eyes had risen from the pages to narrow at you instead.

“Yeah, Riley, you can fuckin’ help me with something," you snort for good measure. “Take your fuckin’ tea before I burn the shit outta my hand, would ya?”

He sees through it, anyway.

“Give it ‘ere, then,” gloved fingers wiggle in your direction, the arm draped across the swing reaches toward you.

You step to fill the remaining gap, the sun’s tendrils of gold slipping over you as you do. Bright flashes blinded you through the trees as you held a steaming mug out towards Simon. Gloved fingers brushed gently, quickly, over your own.

While you were busy trying not to drop the mug or go blind - permanently, this time - Simon’s eyes hadn’t left you. The descending sun had gifted you with a halo, bright, bold, and oh, so divinely ethereal he had to focus on his breath, had to tighten his grip on the mug, the book, had to feel the solid wood of the weathered bench beneath him to stay grounded because -

Fuckin’ Christ, he couldn’t look away.

Simon Riley had never been a religious man, but seeing you all glowing golden radiance inspired him to fall to his knees and pray.

He didn’t know what the fuck he’d say, didn’t even know if you would answer whatever fell through his lips, but he knows he’s never seen you like this.

Relaxed. Peaceful. Makin’ him tea just how he liked it, for no fuckin’ reason. You’ve done that often enough in the past couple of weeks that he knew it wouldn’t be scalding, wouldn’t be burnt or too strong. None of that extra, frilly shit would be tainting it either.

That’s something he liked about you. How you paid attention to the people you cared about -

Simon freezes. Oh.