#edit: so i actually have started drawing my hair curly but i already drew this so....i wasn't about to change it lol

[damsxlette]

(❀´ ˘ `❀)┌iii┐♡

[monstersandmaw]

Modern orc boy x female reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

So this idea came up a few days ago, namely that a big boy in a grey suit was spotted, and it sparked the idea for an orc in a suit. I cannot resist an orc in a suit, and wrote this! He was given the name Dragh by the person who sent in the original ask, and I have their permission to post it and tag them now! So, @slashersheadcannoandimagines I hope you enjoy your idea in a story!

This one hasn’t been previewed on my Patreon, unlike literally all other big stories that get posted on here, because it’s for/inspired by someone on here. I realise it’s also been a while since I’ve posted anything. I’ve been in creative hibernation for a while, but I’m slowly emerging. Anyway, here’s 4.5k words of tattooed orc boy, running a sophisticated vineyard! Featuring satyr bestie, a half-orc half-sister, a blue-haired tiefling, a centaur, and a lilac-skinned goblin, all of whom I need to write stories of their own for one day!

___

“So… my friend runs this gorgeous vineyard out in the country, and they do wine tastings and stuff…”

“Yes,” you said slowly, drawing out the vowel and feeling the slow stretch of a smile creep across your lips and light up the corners of your eyes. Tam was always up for an evening of boozing, and honestly, you weren’t exactly one to say no to fun either.

The satyr grinned, knowing he’d got your attention already. “Well, this friend of mine just so happens to be a really big orc…”

You cocked an eyebrow sky wards and folded your arms. “Male orc, by any chance?”

“How did you guess?” Tam grinned cheekily, his curly, nut brown hair quivering as he laughed and shook his head. His thick, knobbly horns curled tightly around his elongated ears, chunky as ram’s horns, and his hooves danced in amusement. 

Currently he was wearing little more than a soft grey hoodie, his caprine lower half bare, the end of the hoodie just crinkling up over the white flash of his tail, and though you were a little more covered up, you were dressed in similarly casual clothes, lounging on your sofa with a glass of wine in your hand at the end of a working week.

“So, just why are you telling me about this massive male orc who runs a vineyard?” you asked, letting the pale liquid swirl around the glass in your hand.

Tam chuckled and spoke more normally again, leaning back against the sofa cushions and tucking his relatively big hooves up beside him. “Dragh had some kind of fancy hen party booked in for tomorrow, but they cancelled on him last minute. He’d got everything prepped and ready to go, but the wedding is called off, and they cancelled. They lost their deposit, and instead of just cutting his losses there, he’s invited a small group of us over to enjoy it all instead.”

“That’s very nice of him,” you said, frowning.

“Yeah, well, that’s Dragh,” Tam snorted. “He’s always been one to treat his friends…”

“How come you’ve never introduced me before?” you asked. “I mean, we’ve been best friends since Uni, and you’re only now thinking of taking me along - obviously with the intention of setting me up with this orc, I might add - after all this time?”

Tam’s pretty face split into a wicked grin. “You never asked if I knew any handsome orc boys!” he laughed. “Besides, I thought I was your one and only…”

“Tam,” you said seriously. “You are about as gay as I am straight.”

He took a sip of his wine and then mimed stabbing himself through the heart. “Alas, woe is me,” he mock-wailed. “I am consigned once again to the role of gay best friend…”

You simply raised your eyebrow at him again and took a deep draw of your wine.

“Honestly, it never really came up. Anyway, you were with Tomas for so long…” he said, his gaze flickering towards you at the mention of your ex. “I know him through a friend. You know, Seymour?”

“Tiefling, long blue hair, more graceful than God?”

“That’s the one and only,” he said, starting to speak even more quickly than usual as his excitement mounted. “I’ll tell him you said that. Anyway, yeah, I know Dragh through Seymour, who actually knows Dragh’s half-sister better than he knows Dragh himself, and now you’ll know him through me. You are coming with me tomorrow, right?”

“Am I invited?” you asked.

“I’m inviting you…”

“Does he know?”

“Sweetheart, if anyone deserves a day of boozing in a fancy vineyard, it’s you,” he said, tossing you a meaningful glance. Your last relationship had ended badly, well over three months ago, and you still found yourself lamenting the large, minotaur-sized gap in your life, but you’d moved on as best you could. It hadn’t been right, and both of you had seen it coming. Still, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to end things.

The next morning you picked Tam and Seymour up and drove them about an hour out into the countryside. Rolling, south-facing hills were sparsely dotted with farmhouses, and as the summer sun climbed, you began to relax a little, leaving the stress of the city behind.

Seymour was tall and almost silent, but he allowed Tam to natter away at him in the back seat while you wound the window down and inhaled great lungfuls of the fresh air. Yes, it was nice to be out of the city. Perhaps you did need a change of scene after all. Dammit, Tam was always right…

You’d picked your nicest summer dress, though you remained perhaps a little self conscious about the curve of your hips and the extra weight you’d put on around the middle in the last six months or so. Taking a deep breath, you decided that you weren’t going to let even that dampen your mood, and as you drew up at the main stone gates of the old vineyard, you caught sight of an engraved slate sign set into the warm, golden stone wall of the vineyard. Garlanded at the base with summer meadow flowers, it read: Three Oaks Vineyard, and through the wide mouth of the entrance gateposts, visible on the hill opposite at the end of the snaking, downward sloping drive, you could see the three ancient oaks that gave the land its name.

“It’s gorgeous here,” you murmured as you drew up five minutes later in the gravel courtyard behind the old farmhouse buildings and cut the engine.

“Yup,” Tam giggled, slithering out and shaking the stiffness out of his compact muscles after being crammed in the back of the car for over an hour. Seymour sighed and stretched, rolling his neck out, his long, cobalt blue hair falling down his back in a thick ponytail. They both had hoofed feet, which was less common for tieflings, though Seymour’s legs were more like those of a deer than Tam’s chunky goat legs, and Seymour’s long tail, leonine hung behind him in a graceful curve like a cat’s, as though balancing him perfectly.

You admired your two lovely friends for just a moment before the door to what was clearly the reception area opened and a half-orc stepped out of the former storage and cellars building, and beamed broadly at the three of you.

“Seymour!” she said, spreading her muscular arms wide. She wore a form-fitting, but not obscenely tight, pencil skirt and a pale, loose-fitting, sleeveless blouse that showed off her gorgeous, strong figure just perfectly. Her skin was a pale, almost apple green, and you saw as she approached that she had a smattering of darker green freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Her plum coloured lipstick set her other minimal makeup off perfectly, and she threw her arms around the elegant tiefling and drew him into a warm, familiar embrace. “So good to see you. I’m so glad you came.”

He turned and waved a hand to introduce you first, and then he turned back to face her and added, “Shell, I believe you already know Tam.”

“Yeah, we’ve met once or twice,” she said. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m good,” Tam said. “Listen, thanks for letting us take over this failed hen-do or whatever…”

She laughed. “Dragh’s been wanting to do something with just a few friends for a while - this turned out to be the perfect opportunity.”

“So who else is coming?” Tam asked as you all followed her towards the main building, an old French style farmhouse in crumbling sandstone, with sage green shutters flung wide to let in the summer light.

“Maya said she would come,” she said, holding the modern glass door open for you all to file inside. “And Fern too.”

“Perfect,” Tam said, though you knew neither of the names. Seeing this, Tam added with a glance back over his shoulder to you, “Maya is Shell’s girlfriend,” he explained. “A big-ass beautiful centaur, and Fern is a friend of hers, I think?”

The half-orc nodded, but if she said anything after that, you lost it in the white noise that filled your brain at the sight of the orc that was standing  in the reception room beyond.

He wore a pale, silver-grey suit, and a white shirt beneath, unbuttoned just enough to be casual without being obscene, and the tattooed black feathers which you could just glimpse beneath his collar made you want to see the full extent of the artwork immediately. His black hair, perhaps unusually for an orc, was buzzed close above his thick, tapering ears, and cut relatively short over the top, though with enough length to create a soft wave that was just begging to have fingers run through it. There was an attractive flash of white that ran from the middle of his widow’s peak and was swept back over his head as well. He was certainly unusual looking in all the best ways.

He smiled as you entered, and approached you with his enormous hand extended. “Welcome,” he smiled. “I’m so glad you all came.”

You shook his hand - though it might have been more accurate to have said that his hand engulfed yours and you watched it disappear while trying not to let yourself groan aloud. His skin was a deeper olive green than his half-sister’s, but there was a similarity to them about the eyes, namely the warm brown colour and the little crinkle at the corner that hinted at mischief and a cracking-good sense of humour. You introduced yourself and said you hoped he didn’t mind you tagging along.

“Mind?” he chuckled, “Quite the contrary, I assure you,” he said. He had a rich, deep, warm bass voice, and a slight, lyrical accent you couldn’t quite place. “Come through, all of you. I’ve got some welcome drinks and nibbles prepared for you already.”

“A man after my own heart,” Tam grinned, elbowing you in the ribs.

The back of the farmhouse had been converted into a beautiful, glass and steel space. The small, intimate restaurant area had perhaps only four or five tables, and a wall of glass overlooked the sloping lawns of the garden and the vineyard beyond. Your feet faltered as you saw the gorgeous scenery beyond, stuffed full of verdant plants, and while the others headed over to the bar, which was made of a huge, vintage wine barrel and a stunning slab of polished heartwood, you stepped over to the window and gazed out, entranced.

A quiet footstep beside you preceded the appearance of the hulking form of Dragh in the periphery of your vision, and you jumped softly and laughed.

“Sorry,” he chuckled. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Here,” and he held out a glass of sparkling wine in an elegant flute, explaining a little about what it was. He gently chinked his glass against yours, and said quietly, “I’m glad you came along.”

“It’s so beautiful here,” you murmured, and he nodded. “How long have you had the place?”

He took a deep breath and smiled, his conker-brown eyes drifting off towards the sunny horizon. “A long time now,” he said. “I inherited it from parents when I was just eighteen. You can imagine how well a big city orc doing a business degree at university took that…”

You cocked an eyebrow, not wanting to make assumptions.

“Yeah, not well,” he chuckled. “Luckily Shell is older and wiser than me, and I gave her half of the shares of the place, and she took care of it for me til I finished studying. I’ve been working here with her ever since.”

“You’ve clearly put a lot of heart into the place,” you said. Your eyes snagged on a few buildings at the edge of the vineyard, and you nodded at them. “What’s down there?”

He smiled. “Shell’s idea - we needed to diversify a little, so we’ve got guest accommodation too. We do bed and breakfast from Fridays to Mondays.”

“Wow, what a place to stay,” you smiled.

“I’ll show you the cottages on the tour of the grounds in a minute. Come,” he said, stepping back and placing his hand lightly on your back, his huge palm resting politely between your shoulder blades and making you shiver at the warmth of it.

You headed over to the beautiful array of canapes and chatted with the others for a while, but honestly, it was Dragh who held your attention most. You found, interestingly, that his eyes often found their way to your face, and when they did, you found your cheeks heating, but all he would do would be to offer you a gorgeous smile, and continue his conversation politely. Damn though, his shoulders looked incredible in that silvery grey suit, and you could tell his biceps beneath were as solid as stone.

It was only when you realised he was looking at you again, and that everyone else has gone quiet, that you knew you’d zoned out and missed something. “I’m sorry,” you blushed, “I was miles away. What’d I miss?”

Dragh chuckled kindly, eyes twinkling. “I suggested a tour; you ready?”

You nodded, humiliated at your absentminded behaviour, and followed everyone else out into the dry heat of the summer day. Dragh walked beside you as he took you to the various parts of the vineyard, showing you the vines growing, the grapes almost ready for harvesting, and telling you stories of protecting them from late frosts with the help of a local witch in the middle of the night.

You never tired of his beautiful voice and his gentle gestures, and while Seymour and Tam wandered off with Shell to greet the others, you stayed with Dragh in the lower vineyards.

“Let me show you the cottages,” he said. “We redid them not long ago, and I’m really proud of them.”

“Sure, lead the way,” you smiled.

They were indeed gorgeous, with modern, cosy furnishings and white-washed yet warm interiors. Compact log burners promised heat in winter, and the thick stone walls provided welcome shelter from the strong summer sun outside. “I can see why you love them,” you said.

“If you want to stay after today,” he said, “You’re more than welcome. I know said he Seymour was going to drive you back, but if you like, you could stay here and I could drive you tomorrow…”

“Really? But… I… I couldn’t afford to -”

“No,” he laughed, “I wouldn’t ask you to pay for it!” he snorted. “No, I’m offering it to you. My gift.”

“Why?” you blurted, which only made him rumble that deep-chested laugh again.

“Can’t you tell?”

You flushed and he offered you a quiet smile.

“But if it’s too much, I’ll back off. I can be a bit much, I know, but… I like you, and if you go back tonight, I might not get another chance…”

“Chance to what?”

“Flirt with you,” he grinned, his tusks flashing.

“Oh,” and then you began to giggle. “I’m sorry,” you said when he started to look first confused, and then a little hurt. “No, I’m sorry, I’m just… out of practice, clearly. I broke up with my boyfriend about three months ago, and we were together for four years, so… I’m rusty. I’m sorry. I’d like that.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” he said, still smiling. “C’mon. You came here to taste wine, not listen to me bumble my way through flirting with you.”

He steered you back up to the main house, where you all spent the remainder of the afternoon lounging around, laughing, chatting, tasting small glasses of incredible wines, and nibbling local cheeses and handmade snacks. Maya joined you with Shell mid-way through the afternoon, her large, fetlocked hooves clopping on the patio as she moved about. Fern turned out to be a waif of a goblin, with thin limbs, pale lilac skin, and enormous ears and eyes. He grinned cheekily at you though and you liked him instantly.

But it was Dragh who held your attention the most. As the sun began to set, Shell started up a barbecue, and you ate and talked until you felt your eyelids beginning to get heavy. Seymour and Tam said they were going to head back, and asked if you were ready to go, but you blushed and said that Dragh had offered you a bed for the night in one of the cottages.

“Oh did he now?” Tam chuckled quietly as you stood at the edge of the ring of firelight on the patio, the central fire pit casting flickering shadows around the gathered group of mellow friends, new and old. “Good.” The short satyr gave you a hug and tugged Seymour away once they’d said their goodnights.

Maya and Shell slipped away not long after, with Fern practically vanishing into the dusk at their heels, leaving just you and Dragh alone.

“Did you have a good time?” he asked as he checked that the barbecue coals were cool enough to leave.

“I did, thank you.”

“Not too much to drink?” he asked, casting you a sideways glance.

You shook your head. “You paced it perfectly,” you smiled. “And that elderflower cordial that Maya brought was beautiful.”

“She brought it for Seymour because he doesn’t drink, and she didn’t want him to feel left out.”

“I was surprised that he came along when I found out he’s t-total…”

Dragh shrugged and then laughed, “There is more to this place than the wine, you know…?”

You tilted your head up, exposing your neck as you gazed at the summer stars above you, and hummed softly. “Mmm, so I see,” you said.

When you looked back at him, he was staring fixedly at your throat. “Gods,” he murmured. “You’re so beautiful…”

Your lips hitched into a nervous smile, and he set down the wineglass he’d been holding in one hand, and rose gracefully to come and tower over you. He leaned in close, giving you every opportunity to back away or ask him to stop, but when you did nothing but gaze up into his endlessly warm eyes, he closed the distance between you and pressed a kiss to your lips.

He tasted of wine, but then again so did you, and he slid his fingers around to the back of your neck and cupped your head as he kissed you, his eyelids fluttering shut. His lips were firm and confident, but the kiss ended all too soon as he pulled himself upright. He held out his hand to you, and you slid eagerly enough off the wall where you’d been perched, letting him pull you to your feet.

He walked you back down the slope towards the cottage, and at the door he hesitated. He was still wearing that beautiful suit, and you licked your lips as you stepped over the threshold and turned back to face him. “You coming in?” you asked, and he waited just long enough for you to smile again before following you inside.

Dragh nudged you gently against the wall as he kissed you again, his hands roving over your body, savouring the softness of you and moaning beneath the kisses. He shifted his attention and began to kiss down your neck, his tusks digging in almost painfully as he mouthed gently at you.

His hips rocked against yours and you felt how hard he was getting the longer he lavished attention on you. His breath left his lungs in uneven rasps, and he set his hands on your hips and drew back a little to look at you. His pupils were blown wide and he stared at you with glassy eyes. “Tell me you want this,” he growled. “If you don’t want it, I’ll stop, but if I keep going much longer, I might not be able to…” His ears shifted slightly, not being as expressive as a goblin or elf’s, but still showing a little of his uncertainty.

You reached your hand for his rough, if shaven, jawline and caressed his cheek with your thumb. He purred another growl into the quiet space between you, his eyes rolling closed with a groan.

“I want this,” you whispered.

He lost no time in herding you into the bedroom and pressing you down into the bed. He sloughed off his jacket and tossed it over a chair, and you felt the breath leave your chest at the sight of his taut body beneath. Muscles strained attractively against the fabric of his shirt, and as he smiled almost shyly at you, he began to unbutton the shirt. Frustrated, he pulled it over his head, and you gasped audibly when you saw the tattoos beneath.

A massive gryphon stretched from his left pec, over his shoulder, and its inky wings came to rest halfway down his forearms.

“Wow,” you murmured, and he smiled.

“You like it?”

“Yeah. It must have hurt like a bitch though,” you said, glimpsing the ink on his waist too where the gryphon’s taloned hind feet finished. “Turn around?” you asked, and he did, looking back at you over his colossal shoulder, watching you admiring him.

“That’s a sight I could get used to,” he rumbled softly.

“What?” you asked, shuffling up the bed as he turned back around and came to lie down beside you, trailing his fingertips up your leg and making you shiver with a touch light as a spider’s shadow.

Dragh smiled, a slow, lazy, adoring smile, and you bit your lip. “I could get used to you looking at me like that,” he clarified.

“I don’t think I would ever get used to the sight of you though,” you rasped. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, laughing a deep and genuine laugh. “I work hard…” he went on, kissing your shoulder almost affectionately. “Most folks think orcs are just born looking like this, and yeah,” he added, causally sliding his huge hand beneath the fabric of your dress and enveloping your entire thigh in his grasp, “We have it easier than most do, but…” he parted your legs with a gentle gesture, and you just lay back and let him, finding it hard to concentrate on what he was saying now. “But I do take care of myself.” He lowered his lips to your inner thigh and kissed you. “Let me take care of you now…?” he asked.

You gasped as his tusks dug into your thick thighs, and your head lolled backwards as pleasure swept over your whole body, sliding beneath your skin and setting every inch of you tingling. “Yes!” you whispered, breathing hard.

He had you naked in a matter of seconds, laying you back down tenderly and gazing at you until you nearly barked at him to stop staring. He leaned forwards and cupped your breast in his hand and kneaded it gently, moving his mouth to your nipple and kissing, sucking, and tugging on it until you were almost in tears from how good it felt.

Dragh ran both his hands down your body, leaving your nipples cold and overly sensitive in the cool air of the bedroom, and he sank his flat, orcish nose to your sex and nudged against your throbbing clit before lapping over you with his thick tongue. The sound that escaped him as he tasted you was like no sound you’d ever heard before, and as he returned his attentions to your wet folds, he made it again and again. He circled you and laved his tongue up and down over you until you were giddy and breathless, begging for more.

“Please,” you gasped.

“You want me inside you?” he asked, and you risked a glance down to see just how big he was as he sat up a moment. When you nodded, he grinned. “Gimme a second then.” You turned your head to watch as he drew out a condom and ripped into it. He rolled it slowly down his weeping, thick length, and you groaned as you watched him handling himself. He was huge, as most orcs apparently were, with a thick vein running along the length, and as he turned back to face you, he grinned. “Ready?”

An inarticulate grunt and a nod were all you could manage, but he smiled and lined himself up, rocking his hips teasingly back and forth to stretch you, rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit until you thought you might just come from that alone. Almost, but not quite.

“Please,” you hissed, and he smiled.

“You tell me to stop if I’m too much, ok?” he crooned, bracing one hand beside your head and sliding himself into you. He stretched you gloriously wide, but he didn’t know you’d been in a relationship with a minotaur before this, and were more than used to taking a big cock. Even so, the feel of him left you gasping. “Oh gods, you’re perfect,” he crooned suddenly as he sank all the way in, hilt deep. The girth of his cock stretched you until you thought you might break, but when you bucked upwards into him, he took it as a sign that you were ready, and he began to move his hips again.

He picked up a steady rhythm, growling and grunting with pleasure as his cock filled you and you clenched tightly around him. He shifted his thumb to your clit and stroked you in time with his thrusts, feeling you tightening around him with each pounding heartbeat, until you grabbed his muscular neck and came hard, waves of sparking pleasure sweeping through you.

You came so hard you drew his own orgasm from him, and he emptied into you a moment later with a bellow and a roar that left your ears ringing. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his consonants slurring, his eyelids heavy with pleasure as he tried to look at you through the daze of his orgasm. “Is this real?” he added a moment later.

You laughed, and he withdrew, rolling onto his back and sorting himself out while you lay there and let your eyes drift closed for a moment. Deep contentment washed through you, and you took a steadying breath. You felt him leave to slip into the bathroom, but were barely aware of him returning. The mattress dipped as he sat on the edge and laid his hand on your thigh. He murmured your name, and you opened your eyes groggily to see him sitting there, now wearing his tight, black boxer briefs again.

“You want me to go?” he asked in a whisper.

You shook your head, and he smiled, climbing into bed beside you and pulling the sheets over both of you.

You drifted off to sleep not long after that, with his body pressed tightly around yours.

___________________________

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[chipsncookies]

Pls tell us your thoughts on the issue if you’re comfortable! Your voice matters tbh

I've been seeing this issue for days against my will while keeping my distance, and i think i can see the problem.

As many already knew it all started with a Nessa fanart by a JP artist who got harassed by someone, claiming they made her too light. And since then English-speaking pokemon fandom on twitter & tumblr (from what I've seen) have started arguing whether she's actually whitewashed or not. It became 'what colour is the dress' v.2 because nobody can come to an agreement, they're divided into 2 main camps: A) those who think she is whitewashed and B) those who doesn't think she is whitewashed.

From the trend i saw, A say she's whitewashed and you should stay near the official colour regardless of lighting or style. Meanwhile, B believes that lighter skin is acceptable as long as the character still look dark and not drastically changing race to white (unlike the provocative whitewashing resulting from this incident)

And the thing is nobody agrees what constitutes as whitewashing, not even the black/poc/dark skinned people who cited their personal experiences with their skin colours, they're in both camps. It quickly devolved into people brushing off those that disagree with them as immature/stupid/racist. Both sides are stuck in a back and forth argument.

It all makes me sad because i see where both sides are coming from, but nobody wants to listen to the other and in the end there is no foreseeable progress or even conclusion to this issue.

Going back to the original issue where a JP artist is harassed for drawing Nessa lighter, i understand the main concern is people want good dark skin representation, but this was not communicated in a good way to JP people. The dude harassing was being especially rude, imagine a stranger on the internet who don't even speak your language demanding you to edit your work in an angry manner and doing this continuously, and when you defend yourself it gained much attention and everybody on the internet also jumped on it? While not getting why is it such a big problem? It probably read as the dude being high and mighty instead of concerned (which they was).

The rude harassment of JP artists is also partly why some JP artists started making those provocative whitewashing drawings, because they don't believe they deserved the hate and want to hurt us in the way that we have communicated with our reactions. (This does not justify their actions however. And getting mad at them does not make it any better bc that's what they want. I suggest u ignore them; the best way to kill a fanart is to not give them any attention, likes or rt)

I never heard of JP people attacking Americans/westerners for whitewashing, but from my experience Americans and some nonamericans are very strict about dark representation, even i have been accused of drawing archie lighter before (first when i drew him from memory, second when i coloured him under strong lighting) and from what I've seen in fandoms... you get the idea.

I think this endless hypervigilance is not good. In order to have more dark skinned representation, first we need to create a comfortable environment for people to draw fanart: one that won't jump at you as soon as you did a mistake, but instead advises you on how to do it correctly.* When people say this ìssue 'will only make people scared of drawing dark characters', it means this controversy will make people who are not good at drawing/non dark people afraid of trying new things they're not used to & afraid of showing their love and appreciation for dark skin characters by drawing fanart. If this keeps going the number of people who draw dark characters, whether correctly or not, will shrink, leaving only a few people who paints the acceptable the skin colour, and h*ntai artists, which does not contribute positively to dark skin representation.

Thus, I think some leniency should be practiced so people can try drawing dark skin characters. I'm not saying that we should let people do whitewashing by ignorance, instead i believe we should educate by reblogging/retweeting dark skin tutorials and fanarts that handles dark skin well, so that more people could learn. I think it's also important to not single out & harass certain people who didn't do it correctly to avoid discouraging people from trying again and improve themselves. Rather, we should politely tell them why it is not ok, and offer resources on how to handle it correctly. And this is also important: if they refuse to do it don't immediately accuse them of racist, they might not be ready yet to try, simply leave them be and continue upping helpful tutorials and fanarts.

*On topic of how to do it correctly, i noted few days ago that a silver lining about this issue is the many tutorials on how to colour dark skin is being circulated at least on twitter, and suddenly it made me think... is this the same for JP artists? (I asked my friend who's more knowledgeable about Japanese than me about how easy it is to find tutorial on how to colour dark skin in Japanese, and apparently after a cursory googling there's nothing except for a tutorial on how to draw curly hair. I didn't ask her to search in-depth though. Other people who knows Japanese please try and search. I don't have evidence that this is the reason JP people don't draw dark characters, although this could be a contributing factor. )

[timeisacephalopod]

Action

Have uh, some random Peter Q/ Tony thing in which Tony is Tony and Peter is a movie director.

“You,” Peter says, pointing at the hottie with the coffee. Everyone is going to hate his guts but they can all deal. He knows what he’s doing, its why people love his shit. “Want to be a cool space vagabond in a movie?”

Hottie with the Coffee stares at him for a long moment, clearly trying to determine if he’s serious. “Do you even know if I can act?” he asks.

Nope but he’s got a feeling and his feelings always end well except that one time he worked with Ronan and nearly ruined his career that movie was so bad but then he bounced back with some heartfelt Oscar winning daddy issues shit people loved so. He’s good. “You can probably act, lets go,” he says, walking off fully expecting his new casting choice to follow him.

*

Yeah, okay. This isn’t where Tony thought he’d spend his summer but he’s not complaining either. “I thought only rich kids could end up directors,” he says. He knows a few, they’re all shit but Peter is excellent. Fucking insane but excellent nonetheless. Really likes improv, which means his actors have to be good at it. Lucky him Tony happens to be great with a witty one liner.

“Yeah, that’s pretty true. I robbed the tits out of rich people all over California to raise money to make a movie. It ended up being a smash hit success and it put me in demand a little. People came to me to do a couple things, I proved myself a little more, and now I get regular work. None of the show pilots I’ve written have been picked up but I still get stupid amounts of money for writing them so whatever. Movies are more my thing anyway,” he says. “Gamora, move the lights a little to do that thing!” he yells across the set.

Gamora immediately begins moving the lights around and explaining what’s needed to the rest of the lighting crew. That’s not unusual for Peter, handing out some weird instructions and expecting people to get it. You get used to it working for him. “That’s a great backstory, you should make a movie about it,” Tony tells him, laughing.

“Thought about it but I already write a bunch of self insert characters, figured there was no need to do more of it,” he says. “Besides, sci-fi has always been where I wanted to be.”

“Usually you do drama,” Tony says and Peter raises an eyebrow.

“You did your research,” he says and Tony nods. “Yeah. Got stuck in it for a bit, not really that unusual for writers, getting stuck writing one genre in the industry forever. But I got a few people to take a chance on me and now I’m a proven genre jumper so I get a bunch of different shit. Except horror, I can’t write that to save my life. Always ends up horror comedy.”

Tony nods, “but people loved Black Lagoon,” he points out.

“People are dumb, that movie was hot garbage. The only redeemable thing was the fact that the fans started shipping the creature with the fish man from The Shape of Water and that was hilarious,” he says.

“Yeah, I’ve seen the art. So what exactly drew you to me anyway?” he asks because he’s been dying to know.

Peter shrugs, “your hot.” Tony raises an eyebrow. “No really, that’s it. I mean yeah, also you’re ridiculously expressive and carry yourself in a unique way that’s interesting to watch but mostly you’re hot.”

So it was the way he carried himself, interesting. Not really what he’d been expecting, all things considered.

*

Gamora looks amused, “and the rumor mill has started,” she says, handing her phone off to Peter. He grabs it and rolls his eyes at the TMZ article headline claiming he’s shacking up with Tony but its Tony’s response that catches his attention.

#CanNeitherConfirmNorDeny

More than that the tweet has gone viral. Obviously its a joke, Peter knows that, but he had no idea Tony had such a large and active Twitter base that’s now all interested in his movie for no other reason than Tony being attached to it.

“Bitch, what the fuck? How is this guy a one man marketing campaign?” he asks the screen more than Gamora.

“Probably because he’s already famous, idiot. You do know he’s the son of a billionaire and a genius who’s been in the public eye for years, right?” she asks and no he didn’t know that.

“Well shit, I knew that feeling I had was for a good reason,” he says. Suck it execs.

“Peter he’s well known for being difficult and an asshole, plus he has a history of addiction,” she says. “The fact that none of this seems to be a problem for you is a miracle.”

“Is not, its because I had a good feeling and he looks great on camera. His eyes are unique,” he says and Gamora rolls her eyes.

“Stop hiring people because you think they’re hot, its weird and creepy.”

“I hired you because you’re hot,” he lies and Gamora rolls her eyes.

“You hired me because we worked a job together and you know I’m good with tech. You hired Drax because you think he’s hot,” she says.

“Did not. I hired Drax because he’s a big ass dude and I didn’t know how to say no in the face of all those muscles. I hired Rocket because I thought he was hot.”

Gamora wrinkles his nose, “he looks like a rat.”

“He’s striking, don’t be rude.”

“If you find rats striking,” she mumbles.

“I think rats are very cute and you’re being a dick. Rats are good, Gamora.”

*

Peter considers Tony for a moment, head tilted to the side. “Okay, yeah, Nebs- Fast and Furious but for all those gay guys and women out there. Feel up Tony’s sexy space booty with the camera,” Peter tells her.

The younger Peter who follows Older Peter around with the clip board gives him a funny look. “Don’t be creepy,” he says.

Older Peter frowns at him, “what? Women deal with it all the time and I, personally, have been victimized by the lack of men’s space booties on TV. Its equality,” he says and Tony snorts.

“What, do you want me to bend over too?” he asks, amused.

“Can you work that naturally into the scene?” he asks and Nebula laughs behind the camera.

Mini Peter smacks Older Peter, “don’t be weird! Don’t do that,” he tells Tony and for some reason Peter allows it. Weird, considering he’s laid back but not afraid to tell someone off if they step on his toes.

“Its this your kid?” Tony asks, squinting at him. There’s a resemblance, sure, with the slightly curly dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. Beyond that they look nothing alike.

“Yes,” Older Peter says at the same time Mini Peter says, “no.”

They exchange a look. “No he’s just like my son, I adopted him three movies ago and we’re feeling up Tony’s space booty. This will vindicate every man who’s been attracted to me ever and also women. Straight dudes are officially the minority here and don’t we make movies to please the majority?” he asks Mini Peter, who rolls his eyes.

“That is a totally twisted take on that argument.”

“So is every take on that argument. Space. Booty. Feel it up,” he says.

Tony rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he tells Peter.

“Look, just be lucky I didn’t include the original sex scene with an A'askavariian,” he says like anyone knows what that is.

“I’m not fucking an alien. Feel my ass up all you want with the camera, but I draw the line at alien fucking,” Tony tells him.

“Yeah, I got told that was uh. Not appealing to the public and hello, Del Toro had that woman fuck a fish man. Monster fucking is palatable to the public, my editors are just dicks,” he says.

“Peter, A'askavariians have tentacles and needles for teeth,” Mini Peter says, baffled.

Tony wrinkles his nose. “Yeah I know you thought the ass thing was creepy but the alien thing is worse so can we get back to my ass?” he asks.

“Hell yeah, sounds good. Nebula, I assume you know how to work that thing,” Peter says, waving a hand around. “Do stuff. Wait, action,” he says, forgetting fifty percent of the relevant words to his job spontaneously. Not unusual for Peter.

Mini Peter looks horrified.

*

Peter looks like hell, probably, if the rumors are true, because he’s been up all night looking over footage and consulting Rocket for edits later. The guy’s process is a fucking mess. “You should probably sleep,” Tony tells him, bumping shoulders with him. “Today’s going to be a long ass day.” The scene they’re shooting is like ten minutes, which doesn’t sound like a lot but it is when its all stunts and action that looks ridiculous without the CGI to make it look like things are actually exploding. Right now there’s a lot of green screens, sticks with tennis balls on them, and people running around in morph suits.

“Yeah, I’m not leaving anyone else in charge. I have a really specific vision for this and sure I’ve got a good team but also I don’t trust a single one of those assholes,” he says and Tony laughs.

“Will this be more or less painful knowing that you’re tired as hell?” Tony asks. Because some people get nicer and some people turn into massive assholes when step deprived.

Peter looks him over, “for you? Probably a good thing. I assume actors are having as bad a day as I am given that I end up making the poor bastards go through like thirty five takes of one scene. Everyone else? Not so good. I mean I’m a total dick, but shit Gamora knows how lights work why are they like that?” he asks, clearly finding some type of problem and he takes off to go deal with it, leaving Tony to ponder what today will hold.

He decides to make light of that Buzzfeed article that recently came out regarding his supposed relationship with Peter instead of worrying about things.

*

Peter finds Tony in the morning after he fucking sleeps because he has questions. “You, yeah you, what’s with the Twitter speculation?” he asks, catching Tony with a croissant in his mouth looking confused. “You know, about our non relationship,” he adds.

Tony snorts and pulls the food from his mouth. “That? Good marketing gimmick, people love stupid gossip like that. Figured it couldn’t hurt the movie considering your marketing budget is garbage.”

Yeah, true, he spent too much money on music and landed himself in a three week battle over why he needed to blow that much of the budget on music only to win it by pointing out that music often makes movies. Like Halloween without the creepy Micheal Myers theme song? Just some weird guy in a mask following idiot high school students. Sure he gets stabby but its the music that really sells it. Or it did when it first came out, not its just campy to the modern audience. Point is music can make or break a film and yeah sure, he took the money out of marketing but he’s famous enough now that people who know him will go see his shit because they follow his work- built in audience means he can spare marketing dollars.

“Thanks man, appreciate it after three fucking weeks of arguing over that damn budget,” he says, shaking his head.

“To be fair, I’ve heard the music you want paired with the scenes you shot. It’ll sound amazing,” Tony says and finally some appreciation here.

‘Damn right it will. Didn’t think i’d get marketing in the form of celebrity gossip though and when were you going to tell me you’re already famous?” he asks.

Tony laughs, “thought you recognized me but uh, became clear pretty fast that you didn’t so props to you. The last time I ran into someone who didn’t recognize me on sight I was six. Plus I was bored anyway, might as well spend four months on a movie set.”

“Yeah, but I looked you up. Your company has like five new products launching in the next month,” he says. Which is insane given the time and effort that goes into inventing all those things, testing them and he’s been reliably informed by Wikipedia that Tony’s testing process is extensive, and then comes production, marketing, distribution, customer feedback, and then improvements. All of those things on their own is a stupid amount of work, but together plus spending anywhere from ten to eighteen hours a day on a movie set doing random shit? Tony must have the stamina of a robot because keeping up with it all is borderline impossible.

“Half that stuff was already done when I started this and I have an amazing business partner. Honestly most of the credit for all that should go to Pepper. Marketing was all her and she’s a genius at it,” Tony says.

Peter nods because he followed up on the marketing for it. He’s written a few commercials, he knows how difficult it is to run a good marketing campaign when people fucking hate commercials. “You should keep her around forever. She’s way too good a resource to lose when your commercials don’t fucking suck ass,” he says.

Tony snorts, “you don’t have to tell me twice. Pepper is invaluable.”

Maybe he should hire her to run his marketing campaigns. He pretty much hates everyone he has now and in this industry you’re subject to be fired at any moment so he should fire them all and poach Pepper.

*

Tony walks over to Peter and throws himself down beside him, “smile for me,” he says, leaning into Peter’s space and grinning. He snaps a picture of a mostly confused looking Peter and posts it to his Twitter.

“So like. Are you two a thing? Because I don’t know anymore,” Drax says.

“They aren’t,” Mantis tells him. “But its a good method of attaching Peter’s movie to something.”

Drax frowns at her but says nothing. Tony raises an eyebrow and Peter shrugs, “Mantis is never wrong about stuff like that. She’s like... freakishly good at reading people.”

“Oh you’ll end up together but you’re not together now,” she tells them, not looking up from her tablet. “And Peter, please make sure the boom is not in the shots. I’m tired of editing them out.”

“I thought Rocket did the editing?” Tony asks.

“No, Rocket gets the credit,” Mantis says. “I’m kidding. Mostly. I help.”

“Meaning she’s the only thing that keeps Rocket from spontaneously combusting. She’s almost as good with editing tech as she is with emotions and Rocket needs someone to balance him out.” Yeah, Tony has met Rocket. Guy is wound a little tight and inseparable from that friend of his, Groot. Poor bastard probably has the worst name known to man, Rocket following shortly after. Shit, Mantis isn’t far out from that either.

“Huh. Make my ass look good,” he tells her and Drax’s eyebrows draw together.

“Your ass doesn’t need help to look good,” he says.

“Hey eyeballs off his ass,” he says like he has a right to complain. Everyone currently at the table gives him the same look because he’s a total hypocrite. “What? I told Nebula to feel up his ass with the camera, I didn’t feel up shit,” he points out. “My eyeballs were focused on that one fucky light.”

Tony snorts, “yeah, okay.”

“Don’t look at me like that, its true,” he says. “I maintain that until I’ve felt up Tony’s ass no one can give me the looks you’re all giving me.”

“I mean, if that willing,” Tony tells him and the look on Peter’s face is hilarious.

“Are you willing? Because I may actually have dreams about this.”

Drax shakes his head, throwing his fork at his food. “And people say I need to learn how to be less blunt. At least I’m not ruining people’s meals with admissions to sex dreams,” he mumbles, picking himself up and walking away.

*

Rhodey looks down at the article in his lap. “Is there truth to any of this?” he asks and Pepper looks up, leaning out of her desk to see what he’s reading before sighing. She doesn’t even need to speak for him to know what’s going on.

“You know how Tony is, he’ll get bored of Peter once they aren’t spending as much time together. Its a fling,” she tells him.

Which is why, three months later, Rhodey is annoyed to be standing in front of Peter fucking Quill, guy who is absolutely not good enough for his best friend. Tony looks hopeful, like he thinks Rhodey will like this pasty ass cornfed fucker when that’s so not going to happen.

“Let me be clear- I don’t like you. You look like someone stuffed you with some low quality hay, shoved a stick up your ass, and stuck you in a cornfield in Missouri until you managed to come to life, pulled that stick out of your ass, and walked onto a movie set. You’re not good enough for Tony and there is nothing on God’s green earth that will convince me otherwise,” he tells Peter.

“Well, I am from Missouri,” he mumbles.

“Yeah you look like you’re from Missouri,” Rhodey tells him, tone disparaging.

Tony sighs. “Rhodey, he’s great. Really.”

Rhodey squints, “have you watched this man’s movies? He couldn’t write himself out of a paper bag if it was made out of some damn ad libs,” he says and Peter clenches his jaw.

“I’m real upset that you’re coming up with better insults than me,” Peter tells him.

“Rhodey,” Tony tells him. “He’s actually awesome. Give him a break.”

He looks Peter over. “Give him a break? The only thing that needs to be broken here is this ugly ass relationship. Go date Pepper, she’s perfect for you,” he tells him. That is the only person he will accept because Pepper is amazing and treats Tony right. And he’s good for her too, they balance each other out. This shit he’s got going with Knockoff Chris Pratt? Not attractive.

Across the room Pepper looks vindicated.

[mikewheelerr]

Fairy Lights ♡ Hanzier

                   a/n: This is my  @itfandomprompts Secret Santa Gift for @boopboopbichie, you asked for some cute christmassy fluff, specifically the whole “decorating the house for christmas” theme; have a cute first date AND first kiss, too. This wouldn’t be half as cute as it is now without my best friend’s @hypnoidvoid amazing work on editing this for me, thank you so much I love you to death. EnJOY!

warnings: ...Richie curses in spanish

“Come on, Richie, everyone has a crush on Mike.” Stan said, looking up from his raspberry milkshake. The straw was still resting on his plump bottom lip, and his eyes were playful, hiding a fond smile. “But I can help you with asking him out.”

Richie ran a hand through his curls, and stared at him. They were at the college diner, a tuesday afternoon before the holiday season, and more importantly, before finals. “And you’re gonna help me with asking him out after he dumped you?”

“Well yeah, dipshit. We’re friends,” Stan sipped on his milkshake.

Richie did the same, still looking at him, “Mike is the only guy who can turn you down and still be your best friend. Also he didn’t dump me, he was with someone else when I asked him out, just so you know.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“So…” Richie muttered, “he had a boyfriend?”

“Jesus Richie, no! A girlfriend.” Richie’s eyes widened at that, almost choking and spilling out his banana milkshake. He widened his eyes at Stan, the latter curly haired man holding back a laugh, his dimples deeply creviced within his cheeks.

“Stan the traitor man! Does he still have a girlfriend?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to see for yourself,” Stan said, analyzing one of the books he had on the table. Richie’s messy handwriting was around all of the texts and images among various messily drawn penises all over the pages.

“You wound me.”

“I don’t know why I let you write on my books, honestly. You haven’t stopped drawing dicks since third grade-‘’

“I counted on you. Un corazón a menos.”

“Richie, what?” Stan looked up, smiling at him.

“My heart’s in shreds, Stanley. Or something like that. Thinking of finally asking the hot cashier out was what kept me going during these finals all this time,” Richie huffed, leaning his chin on his hand, glasses askew on his face.

“Now I gotta make some field research, since UCLA’s most unreliable jew who’s also my best friend since I was a kid, didn’t want to fill me in on the fact that he might not even like the forbidden fruit!” Richie said, not even losing his breath after talking so much in such a short amount of time. Stan checked for any signs that indicated Richie actually had to breathe, and there were none. Impressive.

“Christ, so dramatic. Forbidden fruit? Richie,” Stan laughed. Richie looked up at him with a huff before smiling and retrieving a second paper straw from his fanny pack, and sipping more of his milkshake.

“How many straws do you even have. I’m pretty sure you’ve been using this red one for three days. It’s all… shrunken.”

“Recycling is the key, Stanny.” Richie tapped the purple fannypack across his chest. The accessory carried straws, pens, Richie’s ID, his phone and countless packs of gum and mints and the trash he produced with them during the week: it demanded a decluttering at the end of every day, however. Richie only actually did it when Stan dragged him in front of a dumpster outside random classrooms around campus.

“Richie on a more serious note, I don't think he still has a girlfriend. From what I’ve gathered, he’s a pretty open guy. Stick to the plan and ask him out on Christmas. It’s gonna be fine. Mike’s a nice guy,” Stan assured him, holding Richie’s gaze.

They kept on studying, Stan rewriting Richie’s messy notes and Richie tapping on the diner’s table every so often. It no longer bothered Stan how fidgety Richie was. As the time passed by, he learned to separate the obnoxious sounds Richie would start to make after about five minutes of silence. He didn’t mind it one bit, he knew Richie couldn’t control it. If anything, it was fun to watch other people get bothered about it. It made them leave after some time and that left the whole place for him and Richie.

Richie woke up the next day to the sound of slamming on his door. Initially, he considered pretending he wasn’t there, which wouldn’t be a surprise. When Stan had told him he would spend the night at Bill’s dorm, it was almost too hard to believe.

“No way!”

“Yes. It’s our third date.”

“You’re sleeping over at his place? Staniel… Woo Hoo!”

“Yes. I am,” Stan chanted, neatly packing a change of clothes. He eyed Richie, “Mike will probably be there, you know. I could try and get you in his good graces before you ask him out.”

Richie hugged Stan as he cried out, “Stan the Man!”

“I will not be there for Mike, though. I’ll be there for Bill. If he still thinks I’m not gay I will, respectfully, throw a fit,” Stan huffed, packing one of the books he shared with Richie into his bag.

“He still didn’t get the hint?” Richie laughed.

“Well after today if he needs any further indication that I’m gay, I think all the dicks you draw on my books will be good enough,” Stan admitted.

“Richie!” Stan said behind the door and Richie opened one of his eyes. Did he forget his keys?

“Finals have been canceled!”

That made him open the other eye, surging up on his bed.

“What?!”

“Open the door-“

“WHAT?”

“Yeah! Open the door, dude!”

He heard Bill. Bill was there too?  

Richie jostled out of his bed, the blinding light inside the room making him reach in front of him with his hands, using his muscle memory to feel his way towards the door. He opened it with a creak, and Stan and Bill stepped inside to shut the door behind them. They looked at Richie amusedly.

“You forgot your keys?” Richie mumbled at Stan.

“I went straight here and left my bag at Bill’s, we already passed this semester. Our teachers came down with chickenpox.”

“Wahh?” Richie blindly blinked.

“Yeah. One of Mr. Hill’s children passed it on to all of them,” Bill expressed with a snide smile on his face.

“We t-thought substitute teachers would do it, but turns out none of our teachers…. I talked to some of the teachers, including Stan’s chemistry teacher, cause he- has fi-finals and you too,”  and Richie noticed the blush creeping up Bill’s cheeks as he mentioned his talk with Stan’s teacher. He shot a look at Stan, who was already looking at him with a proud look on his face, “L-Like as soon as I heard it, they said they didn’t even have the exams ready. And I have no idea if they’ll decide to do something else when we get back, but we got lucky for now at least. The grades you have now will be your final grades.”

“Oh?” Richie chirped, looking at Stan to continue, “Wait..”

“There’s probably a new rule or something. They really talked about not applying the exams at all.”

“What!?”

“Yes. We already got 75% of our grade. A+ for me, A- for you.”

“But wait, what happened exactly?” Richie asked in a haze of his own waking trance from sleep. Stan figured Richie didn’t hear anything except that finals were canceled.

“They said Mr. Hill’s son, or I think it probably was Mr. Hill himself, had the chickenpox while he was here. Our teachers and Bill’s came down with it. I don’t know about all of the teachers but ours at least canceled exams.”

“Christ,” Richie mused. Bill perked one of his eyebrows up at that, noticing how Stan’s saying showed off to Richie. Stan sometimes would draw dicks around the ones Richie drew, so Bill could only imagine they were… learning from each other. Richie looked at Bill for the first time, truly noticing that they was actually in his dorm. Bill had a backpack strung across his shoulders.

“Well good morning to you man,” and Richie looked at Stan and winked, “You’re going home today?”

“No, but good morning Rich,” Bill said, following Stan and sitting on his own bed. They sat very close together, and the smile on Stan’s face warmed Richie’s heart. He smiled.

“Yeah Stan and I are going back to Derry, you can come too and stay with us! But, Mike— he’s still there.” Bill gave Richie a sympathetic look.

“Oh my god,” Richie squeaked, peering at Stan.

“Now is the time, Rich,” Stan said. He looked at Bill and he quickly retrieved his keys from his pockets and gave them to Stan.

“Here: one, five, three. Red opens the door, and if Mike isn't there, will you get my bag?”

“Okay okay okay,” and Richie grabbed the keys and scurried out of his dorm, going on a messy and strange strut to where he could only imagine the 153th dorm was located at. He found it pretty quickly too, to his surprise. The knock on the door came out as a bit of a slam.

The door opened, and Richie’s eyes widened comically as he saw Mike Hanlon standing there.

“Good morning,” Mike smiled. “How’s it going, Richie?”

“Hi,” Richie said. He stared at Mike, biting at his inner bottom lip. So Mike remembered him?

“Oh, sorry. Were you looking for your friend, Stan? He left a while ago with Bill. It’s just me.”

“No it’s you. It’s you I’m looking for,” Richie rushed out. “Fuck, this sounds creepy. But Stan told me you might be heading out since finals are- might be canceled for you, so I came here now.”

“Oh! Do you want to come in?” Mike stepped back, opening the door further. Richie gave him a nervous smile before entering his dorm and turning back to him, delving his hands into in his pant pockets. Except there were…. no pockets? He looked down only to see his pajama pants printed with cartoon ducks. Oh.

Mike was already looking at him and he let out a grin. “Those are great PJ’s.”

Richie laughed, “Thanks my dude.” He was already there in his ridiculously ugly pajamas instead of minimally presentable clothing like Mike was wearing, so he might as well just deal with it. They were, after all, his favorites.

“They’re my favorite. It says Trashmouth on the back. See?” Richie turned, craning his head to the side and looking back at Mike as best as he could.

It was a cute thing to do, Mike thought.

“I see it, it’s uh… it’s awesome. I have a few pairs of duck pajamas too,” Mike said jokingly. “So… everything okay?” His tone was slightly serious now, but still warm.

“Yeah… Everything is fine,” Richie said, looking up at Mike, “Iwaswondering if…. a date…. with me…. you, yeah maybe you, go… Jesus,” Richie garbled.

“I—”

“Sorry. I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date with me sometime, man,” Richie said, with a nervous laugh. He analyzed his feet, but then he looked up.

This was Mike.

“I’ve been thinking about asking you out after finals, it really motivated me to study and carry on with it, and I’ve been noticing you all year so….  figured I should give it a try,” Richie further explained. Mike’s eyes were as warm as ever, yet, he still seemed a little shocked. Maybe.

He continued, “But it’s cool. I’m already really fucking crazy to ask you out, respectfully. I’m doing this out of the blue and I don’t even really know if you’re gay, I thought Stan knew, but I just found out he doesn’t and he just said you’re kind, and yeah you are, but I’m still sorry, like it can be a no homo thing. No homo. Only-if-you-want homo thing. Or not. A thing, uh, I don’t know Mike I’m so sorry dude I promise I’m not this creepy I’m just ramblin-” Richie inhaled, the blush on his cheeks making his whole face warm. His fingers were slightly trembling and he forgot how all this had felt this year. It kinda sucked.

“You’re not creepy, Richie,” Mike chuckled. Richie couldn’t fully understand it, but even he would notice the difference of mood. Out of all the smiles, the Mike Hanlon smile was the brightest.

“Yes, I’ll go on a homo date with you. I have a crush on you too, dude.”

“Oh? Okay okay, really?” Richie perked up at that, staring at Mike.

“Yes, I’ve had my eye on you since you had green hair,” Mike laughed, and Richie started to cackle.

“Oh my  God, Mike, wowowowow,” he laughed, eyes bright at Mike. Richie Tozier may have been  the strangest, yet cutest guy Mike had ever met.

“Why did you wait until finals were over?” Mike asked.

“Why didn’t you ask me out when I had green hair?” Richie countered.

“I guess fair is fair,” Mike said. “And that was way before my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend,” Richie’s face fell.

“Yeah. Oh, well, we’re not dating anymore,” Mike assured him. The butterflies creeping up in their bellies was the best feeling they both had in a long time.

“Yet,” Mike corrected. Richie perked up one of his eyebrows at that, and smirked.

“Misión cumplida. Éxito. Aí carajo,” Richie cheered. “So um… When can we go on our date?”

“I’m going to Derry soon with Stan and Bill, are you going there too?”

“Nah, my parents are in Boston for the holidays. I’ll go there for Christmas and New Years,” Richie said, frowning.

“Okay… Well if you don’t mind seeing a place you’re more than acquainted with... do you like decorating for Christmas?” Mike asked. The way Richie’s eyes brightened at that could only be accurately interpreted by the unevenness of his contact lenses; the film on his left eye suddenly popped out of his iris, falling down on Mike’s flooring with a small, lewd pop.

“Oh!” Mike laughed as Richie stared down at the floor. There was no way he would find it without his glasses, or one contacted eyeball. Mike walked over to him and easily picked up his contact lens from the floor, “I was wondering how you were seeing me.”

“Now I’m seeing you barely at all,” Richie said with a somewhat shy smile as he opened his hand for Mike to drop the contact lens on it. “I was only wearing one.”

“Brave!”

“Unprepared,” Richie looked up at the blur that was Mike now. “When can I come?”

“Today, if you want. I still gotta take my last exam in a few hours but I already have the decorations here.”

“It’s a date!” Richie smiled. “See you at…”

“Seven?”

“Neato, see you at seven,” Richie said and added, “Oh, is Stan’s bag here? You know, vintage, brown, boring?”

Mike walked to the corner of the room and retrieved Stan’s bag from the wardrobe, “Here it is.”

“Thank you. See ya,” Richie said and felt his way to the door. Once Mike closed the door, his excited ‘WOOOOO’ was heard by the whole building, but he did not care at all, and neither did Mike.

It was precisely 6:30 when Richie arrived at Mike’s door: glasses, damp hair, a pair of black jeans, vans, and bomber jacket. He didn’t even have to knock for Mike to open the door. Mike quickly revealed himself, wearing grey casual pants and  a plain white shirt under a warm dark sweater. The giddy smiles they shared when they first saw each other stayed for the whole night.

“Hello Richie.”

“Hewwo,” Richie said walking in.

“Woah!” He halted his feet, turning back to Mike, “...a Christmas tree?!”

There it was, right in the middle of the small room. It barely fit the room, standing tall and proud and green. “Oh my God. How did you fit this in here without getting caught?” Richie asked, grinning and caressing the tree, “Holy shit, is this tree real?”

“Got it after my final exam,” Mike proudly explained, standing beside Richie and smiling at him. “I got an A, and even with the A I still got caught.”

Richie turned to him and raised his eyebrows, “You did?”

“Yeah, I talked them out of snitching by giving them some chocolate pudding. It wasn’t hard.”

“When you say ‘them’ you mean…”

“The monitor and Mrs. Spinoza,” Mike said, laughing as Richie began to cackle.

“Amazing.”

“Shall we begin?” Mike asked and Richie nodded, rubbing his hands on the front of his jeans. His palms hadn’t stopped sweating since he left Mike’s dorm earlier, and he didn’t feel like it would ever stop. And, strangely, he didn’t want it to.

There were two big boxes sitting in the corner of the room and they opened them together. They were filled with fairy lights, ribbons of assorted colors, stringed candy, candles, sparkled garlands, colorful ball ornaments, and, “Pom Poms?” Richie asked, cradling three red pom poms in his hands.

“Time for you to discover one of Richie Tozier’s many hidden talents, chap,” and he started juggling them, gleaming at Mike with a prideful grin.

“They’re really fancy— you can juggle?” Mike asked, perplexed as Richie kept going.

“Uh huh,” Richie said, “they get my hands tired though, I’m only doing it to impress ya.”

“Well, I’m impressed. Good job.”

“All according to plan,” Richie smiled, stopping his movements.

He went to the second box after Mike opened it, and it was full of more ball ornaments and a star topping. Only these were… “Rainbow ornaments?” Richie asked, excited. It was time for Mike’s cheeks to get warm.

“Yeah. Hope it’s subtle enough,” he said, fake-shuffling through the box. Richie was staring at his profile at that, a dumbstruck smile on his face. The Christmas lights were hung first, and Richie was eager to flip them on to illuminate the tree.

“It’s magic, Mikey,” Richie sweetly smiled, his eyes beacons of blue light.

They talked about school, family back in Derry, and about their friends. Conversation flowed perfectly between them, and at some point none of them hesitated to talk about how they felt. Their giddy smiles grew exponentially, there was no embarrassment in saying how much both of them dreamt of something like this, and with each other above all other things.

It was the perfect Christmas, early as it came.

By the end of the night, the Christmas tree was perfectly (their kind of perfect) decorated with rainbow colors, ribbons, pom poms, and lights spurted out where the room solely sparkled with the fairy lights.

Under those lights, they shared their first kiss.

Mike could still taste the warmed chocolate pudding on Richie’s lips. Richie could feel the candle wax he accidentally splashed across Mike’s face earlier when he reached up to touch his own lips to Mike’s soft ones.

It was perfect.

Their families were too far apart for them to actually spend Christmas together, but they had certain friends in common that would do anything they had to, to make that happen.

And above all, they had each other.