#gonna redo some of these but it was good to get the roughs down

[boltwrites]

I haven’t recently thought about Hugh Jackman but this Movie has recently given me hunger™️

Reader/Logan fic hurt/comfort where Logan knew reader in his world (but reader never met Logan in their world) and tries to ignore them out of guilt but reader is persistently trying to be friends w him. Eventually Logan opens up about what happened in his world with reader…

A/N: so uh. i originally wrote this as headcanons in bullet point format but tumblr didn't like it so i had to redo some shit and uh. anyway. it's not my normal fic quality so i'm sorry for that.

in other author's note news - lmk if you want the recipe.

You smiled at Logan across the table as Wade rambled on about something or other. You didn't know him - well, other than what Wade had spouted off about him before inviting you to this make-birthday party after the first one went to shit - but you wanted to.

You didn't exactly know why you wanted that. Maybe just curiosity? Wade did say he'd be living with him for the foreseeable future, and as his neighbor, you should introduce yourself and be friendly, right?

But it was kind of more than that. He was hot. definitely, very hot. Maybe not your usual type - you weren't typically into older men. But there was just something about him. Something magnetic.

Either way, he'd definitely avoided you at that party. spent most of his time sulking in the corner, talking to Al or sometimes Colossus.

You'd walked up to him, smile on your face, and introduced yourself. He'd barely looked at you.

"Nice to meet you," he'd replied, his tone gruff and dismissive. By the way he spoke it sounded less like it was nice to meet you and more like you were inconveniencing him with your mere existence. Like he'd been dreading the idea of you coming over and introducing yourself.

"Wade says you helped stop the time ripper," you tried, willing yourself to ignore how shitty he was treating you. Wade had mentioned that this man - Logan - was a little rough around the edges. rude. A drunk, even. Maybe he just wasn't good with people in general.

"Yep," he replied, shooting you a glare over the glass of - was that pure fucking bourbon? - he was sipping out of. You tried your best not to let it get to you - but you also knew how to take a hint. He wasn't interested in talking. That shot straight to your stomach like a bullet made of embarrassment and guilt, but whatever.

It's fine. you were younger than him by a decent margin. He could probably tell just by the look in your eyes that you were interested in him as more than just a friend. He probably just wanted to shut that shit down as quickly and efficiently as possible. You weren't gonna blame him for that. You've done the same for several weird men in the past - including Wade, before he got the hint and the two of you became fast friends. You weren't necessarily interested in being his post-Vanessa rebound, and he respected that.

So, that's fine, you'd just be nice to Logan. He could be your friend, too. He was rooming with Wade and Al, after all. It would be good to make friends with him.

"Hey!" You smiled when he opened the door a few days after the party. You stood there, hands currently occupied by a tin foil-wrapped package.

"What do you want?" Logan asked, looking you up and down with more paranoia than you'd expected. You thought that maybe he was just uncomfortable with your advances, but this time, it was like he was searching for something. What, you didn't know.

"I just wanted to give you this," you replied, thrusting your gift into his hands - the smooth glass of the pie mold contrasting with the brief brush of his calloused hands. You tried not to shiver.

"It's a pie," you continued on, even as Logan stared off into the distance, at something you couldn't see. "When I saw what you were drinking at the party, I thought you might like it. It's a family recipe. Pumpkin pie with a shitload of bourbon. As a welcome to the neighborhood kind of thing."

You offered him an awkward sort of smile, a little shrug. He blinked, snapping himself out of his thousand yard stare only to glare at you like you'd just offered him a dead animal instead of a home-baked pie. Your blood briefly turned to ice as you wondered if maybe this man was actually sober and you'd mistake the iced tea in his glass as pure liquor. As if Wade ever had that sort of shit in his apartment.

"I-" he looked down at the pie, then up at you, taking a breath as if he wanted to say more, but instead shaking his head, like he was knocking some bit of cobwebs or old dust loose. "Thanks."

He nodded at you in acknowledgement, then slammed the door in your face. Great.

Wade wasn't much help either. He'd returned the pie dish and you'd wrung your hands and asked him if you'd done something that made Logan hate you. The dish was empty, but your stomach churned at the thought of the man just taking a knife and scraping the whole thing into the trash. You'd even made the crust by hand, too.

"Oh, fuck no!" Wade scoffed, shaking his head. "Are you kidding me? Listen, if there's anything I know about our not-so-furry friend, it's that he can put up with a metric fuckton of asinine shit. I mean - he's living with me! Do you know how many times he's used his little clawsies to hole-punch my organs? Like - so many!" Wade waved his arms for emphasis. "If he really hated you, he wouldn't just sulk around about it like a teenager - no! He'd hurt you! Like the kind of teenager that would shoot up their local high school!"

You rolled your eyes at Wade, but you knew that's just how he was. No filter, all idiocy. "Did he - did he at least try the pie," you asked, voice a little more hopeful than you'd meant for it to sound.

"Try it - fuck! That man has full-tilt sprinted at me on all fours and I've never seen him so animalistic. He was eating that pie like it would crawl inside his dick itself and pull out an orgasm. I swear - and may Thor strike me dead and then mourn my fried corpse - that he actually growled when I asked for a slice."

You didn't believe Wade for a second, but fuck. at least that made you feel better. You offered him your thanks and a sweet smile as you received your dish and promised to make him something "Wolvie" wouldn't hoard when you brought something over next. You promised to try your best.

Really, what you'd try your best at was winning this shy Wolverine over to your good side. You didn't want to force him to be your friend, obviously - but if you had made a bad impression, even if that impression was solely based on the fact that you were also friends with Wade - you wanted to make it right.

So you did everything you could. Baked and cooked and offered the results up whenever you could afford the extra ingredients. Made sure to snatch up any packages bound for Wade's apartment so your notorious Amazon thief didn't have the chance to. You even dog-sat that nasty looking creature Wade had adopted - she was very sweet, but you had nightmares about that tongue.

It all came to a head, one day. One day when you almost brained yourself walking up the stairs.

You'd been holding grocery bags - supplies to make your perfected mac and cheese recipe - head down as you ascended the steps. That was, until you ran into what felt like a brick wall. Or, an iron one. Your shoulder smacked whatever it was and you jolted backwards, gasping as you dropped the bag you were holding to cling to the railing-

Only to catch and grip tight at thin fabric as a firm, steel-strong arm wrapped around your waist. You finally caught your breath, lungs filling and then immediately vacating as you locked eyes with none other than Logan.

"Fuck."

Both of you said it. But you gasped, it, breathless and dreamy. Meanwhile he spat it, like he knew something like this would happen, and he'd been planning his whole day to avoid it.

As soon as you found your footing again, he threw his arm away from you like you'd burned him. Like your very existence was offensive to him, somehow. He manages to spin you around as he let go of your waist, disorient you as you sputtered, glancing after him.

The stairs were littered with groceries - blocks of cream cheese, butter, cookies for the crust - fresh fruit for the filling. A bag of sugar had exploded, its contents dusting the next landing like snow. All of this - ingredients you'd bought, with money you'd worked your ass off to afford - and the man you'd been trying to impress stepped in that puddle of sugar, granules crackling under his boot.

You damn near saw red.

"Logan!" you snapped, your voice harsh, crisp as it echoed through the stairwell. Fuck. You hated using that voice - but it made him freeze on the spot.

He turned to look at you - eyes wide, as if he was some child who'd been caught in a lie. But also - that gaze was knowing, somehow. Like he knew what you used that voice for. What it meant for him.

You sighed, tried to regain your composure. It was fine. You were fine. When you opened your eyes, you addressed him with even, annunciated words:

"Why do you hate me?"

Even as you tried your best to dull your voice of emotion, it slipped through. A waved of your throat, the hint of water in your eyes. You hated it - this man didn't hold that power over you. You just - you were used to being liked. That's all.

Logan looked at you like you'd shot him.

"What?" he asked, just as breathless as you felt. You thought you detected just a hint of hurt in that syllable.

"It-it's just-" you tried not to let yourself waver, but you stuttered as you spoke. "I've been trying to just - to be your friend, to be a good neighbor. Like I am to Wade, like we - we hang out, sometimes. But you- you're just - I feel like you've been kind of rude to me."

You sounded like a child.

Logan took a breath. A deep one, as if this were a confrontation that had been a long time coming (which it was) and that he was prepared to have a conversation he'd dreaded (which was really what got you - if he really just disliked you, why would he care enough to prepare something? What was going on?)

He turned around - gathered up all your dropped groceries - and started walking up the stairs, passing you and continuing his way to your shared floor. He'd previously been on his way out, so you didn't do much except stare at him until he was nearly half a flight ahead of you and your brain finally switched on again.

He led you to the apartment he shared with Wade, nodded as he held the door open for you. It felt strange - you hadn't been inside the apartment since the party. You'd always felt too nervous to ask Wade if he wanted to continue your usual game nights. Too intimidated by Logan.

He set the groceries on the counter, and practically sank into the couch. You perched on the chair opposite it, still not quite believing that he had let you in. That you were going to talk. He breathed in deeply, steadying himself before he spoke, eyes still glued to the floor.

"I'm not from here. 'M sure Wade told you that much," he glanced up, only to nod in your direction. You nodded back.

"My world - timeline, whatever the fuck - I killed it. Everyone I loved, everyone I cared about - they all died. Because of me."

You sat in rapt attention as his shoulders tensed, his jaw flexed. This was a lot, for him. You didn't really understand why he was telling you about it, but it was important to him. So you listened.

"Every timeline is different. At least, that's what the science says. Ones that are closer together - might have the same people show up at around the same time. Might be - people I knew. People I - cared about."

Logan glanced up, again. Caught your eyes with his and swallowed harshly.

"You're - one of them. One of the people I lost."

"Oh," you breathed, because now it all made sense. The strange looks, the curt conversations - even the thousand yard stare. You were triggering his memories of a horrible time of his life with every step you took in his direction. And you didn't even know it.

"I'm so sorry," You whispered, trying your best to quell any tears that might form sympathetically. No wonder he kept pushing you away. You were a walking PTSD trigger.

"No-" he gasped, shaking his head as he stood up, like he'd been shocked upright. "No, it's not -"

He cleared his throat, shook his head like he was trying to find the right words.

"I know I was pushing you away. And it is - hard, to see you again. But - I want to see you. I want to get to know you, again," if you didn't know any better, you'd think that there were tears forming at the corner of his eyes.

"You made the pie, you know. The pumpkin pie. I was only there for the one Thanksgiving, but I remember it. You swore you'd cooked off all the liquor, but Xavier made you promise only the adults would get a slice."

He grinned at you, then - wide, real. It was pretty, that smile. You could imagine recognizing it, in another life.

"None of the kids got any. Too good for them, anyway," he took a step towards you, and you rose from your seat, legs only a little wobbly.

"That's good," you breathed, voice as shaky as your knees. "I use vodka in the crust, too."

"I know," Logan grinned, a hand grasping yours, his smile somehow wider than before.

You wondered, as you strode forward into a crushing hug against his chest, if it felt so right in every universe.

[lemon-wedges]

Hello!!! I love your art and your style. I'd love to hear your inspirations behind how you draw and, in addition, hear a bit about your painting process (I love the impressionistic look your paintings have)

ahh!!! thank you so much ;u;

Ill tried my best to break down my thought process behind my drawing, so i hope this all makes sense aahaha

undercut cause it came out real long

SO Karl Gnass is an instructor that i took an anatomy class with. and who broke down anatomy in a way that really helped me grasp space. like space a figure occupies. and from that i think my characters feel a bit more...grounded? im not sure what the right word would be but tangible is something people sometimes say about my art.

And i do think when youre able to make a figure look like its really wrapping its hands around something it makes character interactions a lot more intimate.

heres a few under sketches i do when i start a drawing (i am trying REALLY hard not to use my nsfw ones tho those are pretty perfect when it comes to showing u anatomy RIP)

after i got the poses done ill turn down the opacity and rough sketch out details on top of these. and once THATS done i move onto lineart. and the most important aspect of this step is NOT TO TRACE YOUR UNDER DRAWING!!!! thats what sucks the life out of your work!!!!

instead you use your undersketch as a guide. ilI actually redraw the simple anatomy underneath very lightly, erase where they over lap and then add line weight variety + darken up the details.

examples of this are gonna look a little messy but. Left is the original pose i drew out with rough details. right is the drawing i do on top of it. you'll see theyre not one to one and theres some lines i didnt fully erase out when redoing the anatomy. i find my clean up has a lot more energy when i do this.

the thing about my style is that you'll notice i never actually do actual clean smooth lineart. and thats because i HATE DOING THAT SHIT. like i did learn how to do it and consistently forced myself to do it for over a year. and while i do think i learned a lot about line weight and drawing clearer. i realized? its just not for me. I like a textured brush and i like being able to see those small lines i didnt get to fully erase out because i think they look cool lol and thats ok!! do what you want forever man!!! its your art!!!

Also before i move onto painting ill show you this neat little trick. you know those more "loose" drawings of mine that feel more gestural? the begining process is exactly the same. the difference is i use a chunkier pen and try to see how much i can simplify details + just feel out the energy of lines

NOW PAINTING.

man. where to even start.

the thing about painting is that its an entire different set of skills that need to each be honed on their own and will slowly build up together. ill break it down like this.

VALUE, COLOR, and TECHNIQUE

I've said this on another ask before but you'll notice ill do a lot of black and white sketches. and i do that to practice choosing how to group values.

like this example. how light is laios' wolf coat compared to his skin? or kabrus skin color compard to laios coat. when do you want to really push the contrast of light and dark and when do you let values be closer to each other when you DONT want attention

the next step from this is adding a light source.

and when you're working in black and white its a lot easier to pay more attention where you want your light/how its gonna look like hitting youre characters and how far youre gonna push your shadows.

and you know if you get good at this you can play with limited color palletes

this is literally just be picking out blues and hitting the bottom with the gradient tool to light it up

NOW COLOR

is a lot harder and also very subjective. I do a ton of impressionist studies where i just color pick the fuck out of a piece to see what colors masters used + knowing the history of paint and what colors were available during that time period. +knowing what colors = what mood + knowing what colors to use when you want to be more realistic vs when you want to lean into more stylized+ what colors YOU specially incline towards + AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

its a lot and im actually still learning myself

But when i do a painting i collect a LOT of refrences of the kind of mood i want my own painting to feeling like. I've show the first example in another ask before but heres one from my latest labru too

WHen i actually start a painting tho they look like this. The top drawings are just flat colors with a simple outline of where i want the light to be hitting. like in my value studies im just trying to get the idea down, seeing what values need to be darker vs what is lighter. and how the light source covers the character.

figuring this out in the begining makes the rest of the painting so much easier because youve essentially made all the big compostion decisions NOW. from here you can start playing with colors.

my second stage, youll see with drawings at the bottom, is when i start using my texture brush to lay in extra shadows and just play with variety.

and then? i start rendering

that would be TECHNIQUE

And well....thats also something thats gonna be very subjective.

With my own style im not interested in rendering everything to perfection. Im trying to figure out how to texture hair/skin/clothes in ways that make them feel like the materials they are while also showing the energy of my brushstrokes.

I dont zoom in while i paint btw. everything i do is zoomed out so i can see the entire drawing. it helps me not tight up my strokes while also letting me build up all areas of the painting equally. the only time i zoom in is when im lining out the eyes/mouth of a character. and yeah. it drives me insane doing this because ITS SOOOOO Tempting to obsess over paint 1 area forever then zoom out and see that nothing matches lol

The other thing about my style of painting. Is that im not gonna use the exact same formula for every piece. like this isnt cell shading. you can have an idea of how to texture skin/clothes/hair and sometimes it looks great and beautiful in one painting and then it looks like shit in another. ive overhauled a lot of paintings multiple times because what i thought would work doesnt and ive had to force myself to explore and play with my brushstrokes. and you know? i wouldnt have it any other way. it means none of my paintings are gonna look alike! and i think thats pretty cool :D

ill leave you with this in the end. a painting im in the middle of doing and debating to overhaul cause im just not feeling the strokes. who knows what ill look like in the end

anyways i hope this helped a little? even if you look at all this and go. IM NEVER GONNA DRAW LIKE THIS BOZO ahahah

BUT I WISH YOU LUCK ON YOUR OWN ARTS :DDDD

[endlessvoidsnkittens]

I didn't realize I'd been so quiet here lately.

Gosh, a lot has happened, hasn't it?

Well, maybe not in my personal life so much, but... *gestures broadly*

ANYWAY.

My disability case is being re-evaluated. Think I mentioned that. Well in the midst of that now. I'm so pissed. I knew it was gonna happen eventually but like...ugh. It's such a hassle. And it's not looking good for me. What a terrible time to need to be reevaluated. Idk what I'm gonna do if I get denied. I guess work myself to death. Which is what they want, isn't it?

My therapist has had to take basically a leave of absence. I haven't been able to meet with them for probably a month now. FOR TOTALLY LEGIT AND UNDERSTANDABLE REASONS AND I AM NOT MAD AT THEM WHATSOEVER. But damn, it's been rough. Yes, I have my close friends, but my therapist is where it's at, haha. There's a reason why I refuse to work with anyone else at this point.

I found a new dentist. I may have commented about how I wasn't happy with my current one? However, my insurance is extremely limited with who I can see. Fortunately, through my town's FB group, I learned of one that DOES take my insurance and is also good with people who have dental anxiety and so on. I saw her this past Thursday for some pain I've been having. Unfortunately, we could not resolve the pain. Removing the filling I got 6 months ago and redoing it COULD help, but no guarantee, plus we'd be starting that healing process all over again, so we agreed to just leave it alone unless the pain becomes intolerable. I am definitely going to her for my cleaning next month. She made me feel very at ease and talked me through everything she was doing and was very warm.

My heat went out last night. My furnace started acting up. It just kept acting like it was trying to cycle on but it couldn't complete the process. So I turned it off because I didn't feel safe. Only got down to 58F in my apartment so I was pleasantly surprised. That was still tolerable to me. I wouldn't have liked to have endured that all weekend, maybe, but I actually slept pretty well last night. Nice cold room with my electric blanket... *chef's kiss* Anyway. Brought emergency maintenance out after finding out it didn't cost me anything if the outdoor temperature was below 50F. He wasn't an HVAC guy but he was able to reset my furnace and that seemed to solve the issue, at least for now. Left me with a space heater just in case. Super nice guy. Dad's age.

I'm over on Blue Sky now. Been having some fun with that. Idk how many people here are there, but if you want to find me, just lemme know. But it's a lot of shit-posting on my behalf, so you've been forewarned.

I guess that's all my news? If you follow me elsewhere you've seen / heard most of this. But I do have some Tumblr-only people. So there you go.

[rainmustfallts4]

DovahSims: A Legacy of Legends ◇ Gen 1, Part 2

⊶⊰Info & Index⊱⊷ ⊶⊰Tag / Chrono⊱⊷ ⊶⊰Part 1⊱⊷ ⊶⊰Gen 1 Tag / Chrono⊱⊷

⊶⊰DovahSims Challenge Part 1 & Part 2⊱⊷

─────────────⊶⊰⊱⊷─────────────

Time to go dumpster diving c: Hopefully we get something good that we can use.

“Um… what are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“Digging through the trash?”

“No, you donut! I’m diving for deals.”

“…huh, so you’re one of those crazy guys my mom warned me about. I thought she just made that up to scare me.”

“Hello, ma’am, would you like to talk for like three minutes?”

“Whatever for?”

“My social is low.”

“Your what is low?”

“My social. You know, that bar that goes down when you don’t talk to people for too long?”

“…huh, you’re one of those crazy men my gran warned me about when I was a child. Why, I thought that was just a story!”

“Why does everyone keep calling me crazy? That’s so rude :(“

“I’ll just have to drown my sorrows in this corner. Rain, wash over me! Take away my sorrows!”

He got clean just so he could dumpster dive again lmao

“Mister, whatcha doin’?”

“Seriously, does no one in this town know what diving for deals is?!”

“‘Course, I do. You’re lookin’ for furniture, right?”

“…kid, you may just be the smartest kid in this place.”

“Hehe, thanks. Greg tells me that, too.”

“Who is Greg?”

“My demon bestie! Can’t you see him? He’s right here!”

“…huh, you’re one of them demonic kids I always heard stories about. Creepy.”

“Hello, sir. Shall we converse while stuffing our faces?”

“My kids hate me.”

“That’s why you don’t have kids.”

“Why couldn’t I have met you 16 years ago…”

There are some lemon trees near his plot of land so he harvested them and planted them. Rather than selling them, he’s gonna eat them so we don’t waste money on buying food. The problem is that it takes like 8 lemons to fill his hunger lmao

I have a bit of rant here. I wanted a diagonal house so I placed the shell and started to make the entryway/porch. Only… STAIRS DON’T GO DIAGONALLY. Wtf sims. I was so happy with the shape and then you make me have to redo it all so it’s not diagonal anymore ;_;) Do you know how lazy I am, game? do you

Some cute selfies of the cutie c:

His life thus far has been rough, but he’s happy to have a second chance, as difficult as it may be. He can only hope that it will get easier as time passes.

[volfoss]

Silly little doll box opening (kind of) post for um a VERY heavily modified body :)

This is kind of a two in one post as I bought this head and it FINALLY came weeks ago and i have been waiting for his body to start working on him!

So the head was stuck in the UK for 2 plus weeks but he's absolutely gorgeous. Arrived to me with a slightly damaged faceup but he is probably the only more realistic styled bjd I'll ever get because his PROFILE!!!!! He's got such a gorgeous nose and such a kind smile, as well as the cutest ears that stick out.

^ stealing Dindrane's body (they are about 10 cm of a height difference so it did NOT work but it was nice to get a proof of concept for him on a body!) And him blank! Literally no pictures can capture how lovely he is irl 🥺

The body was a HUNT. His resin color is one that is very hard to match, much less when it's yellowed like he was (iirc he's about 10 or so years old) so I had been keeping my eyes out on the secondhand market. At the same time, I'd been HAUNTED by this very modified body that was the right scale but would be a ton of work to get it where I wanted it to be. I spotted this body months before I bought the head but continued to tell myself I would NOT get it because the amount of work would be immense. The more I looked into bodies and when I compared the one I had been considering, the colors were far too off. In the back of my brain, I remembered the body that I had been beating the temptation to get for months and hunted for resin comparisons. Funnily enough it seemed it would match really well or at least close enough so I bit the bullet and went for it. This body has been spray painted and sculpted on but it was objectively the best deal and the best match so I was pretty hopeful. (I love to get big projects and have 30 million of them). The neck measurements were also super close so I was PUMPED to get him on a body.

The body came to me unstrung (and I promptly forgot this information until I opened the box and was like oh fuck it is going to be a silly restringing moment)

I cannot even remotely emphasize just HOW big this doll is and how much I did not expect that. His torso (not even including his chest) is the size of my hand.

^ rough resin match which showed the head was a tiny bit lighter but I needed to sand the body anyways and it was lightly body blushed so I have pretty high hopes it'll match when I'm done :) or at least close enough! The tendril looking things are the sculpted on bits and I plan on keeping them a bit, but sanding some completely off and some down a little to fit my vision for him!

All unpacked and laid out! He's absolutely GORGEOUS sculpting wise, the detail on the hands and feet alone are more than worth it for me!

Like the veins and the overall sculpting are SO gorgeous. I'm so happy with him :)

^ kitty cat helper 🥺 i was having the fight of my life with this body because he comes up to me eye level when I'm sitting down. He's BIG. (Iirc nearly 30 inches tall) and very heavy!

I had to redo the stringing here but seeing him all put together was so so good! It fits his head size perfectly and is the exact body shape I wanted for him!

^ fully put together!! He's got so much personality and honestly is gonna be so so fun for me to work on!

^ next to my other biggest dolls. He is a UNIT

[elpscroll]

Saturday Report 127

So why is Saturday here again? Even though I updated the scenario and made a special? Did it not get a memo that it should take a break? Is Ran Saturday? I don't understand how weeks work.

Hello there, so I did some great progress on this minor update in between the Memories update.

To start, I have changed how the "Deep think" animation works. Before it was just a ghost on top of the person, which was kinda cool but you can't really see both the expressions well. Now it's something simple but still cool.

I also added a new option in the menu called "Pit Stop". This is something you can toggle on and off, and when it's on it will make Fast Skip stop at the points the story would change a lot by your choices(Notice I said "a lot" because minor changes from your choices will still be skipped).

Well, besides being done with all that, I also finished the writing of Abby's new Day1! Which like I said before I'm remaking it, but I'm also rewriting the Day 2, and I'm gonna do the same with Zoey's.

This shouldn't take long, there isn't much happening since this is just the introduction… As you can see I'm already done with a good part of Abby's.

Well that was all for today… oh and if you haven't seen it, I also made a poll for you to tell me how much you liked the Halloween Special! Link for it is down here.

-How much did you like the new 2.7 update, Rougher and Tougher?

Vote here!

(Poll will stay up until 14 of November)

-How much did you like the new Halloween special, Gadgets VS Ghosts?

Vote here!

(Poll will stay up until 2 of December)

Well, that was all for today. Hope you have a nice Saturday!

Here's the Flowchart of what I've done so far:

(NO NEED FOR ONE YET)

What am I doing?:

Mostly redoing the first Day of Abby and Zoey and Rewriting their Day 2

How much of this update is done?:

Finished the writing of Abby's new Day 1 and 2

Progress of the update:

Rough writing:

Finished the writing of Abby's new Day 1 and 2

Still need to write Zoey's new Day 1 and 2

Animation:

Did like a tiny little piece of Abby's new Day 1

Nothing in Zoey's side

Music and Sound:

Did like a tiny little piece of Abby's new Day 1

Nothing in Zoey's side

[mynameisnowwyrm]

thundermans future au

This won't so much have a concrete plot as just stuff I think would happen in rough chronological order.

So I would like to make clear that I never finished the show so I’m going off the wiki for how it ends.From what I read it says that max and phoebe become the leaders of a new elite hero group and they hire the rest of the family to be part of it and i think that’s stupid so I’m changing it. Instead of their family they recruit a bunch of other heroes their age and their family stays in hiddenville that’s it.

So Max and Phoebe graduate in 2018 I think so right after that they go full into hero stuff and leading the group. I know the whole last season was basically phoebe not trusting that max was fully a hero now and I want to extend that. Since the whole team will be other teen heroes who probably mostly remember max for how hard he was trying to be a supervillain, max is still going to have to deal with a lot of shit.

Throughout the show we see hank and barb treat phoebe better than max, which is presumably what lead him to wanting to break away from the hero role that was expected of him. His whole mentality is that it’s better to not try at all than risk failing, the fear that your best isn’t good enough, failing in this case meaning not living up to his parents expectations. We can see evidence of this thinking in the episode where max is continually failing math and phoebe finds out that he doesn’t even try bc he’s scared of failing. This does not go away overnight and max will likely need to spend a long time working on his own self worth.

Also max did spend a few years of his life actively trying to become a villain, even if it was just a phase I don’t believe that none of the villain mentality stuck. Sure deep down he doesn’t want to physically hurt anyone but what is his internal policy on theft, cheating, lying? Furthermore he has to be fully aware of the injustice that exists in hero society from experiencing it himself and being influenced by the likes of dr colosso over the years so I believe he is currently working with an “i can fix it from the inside” viewpoint.

All that combined will likely cause massive amounts of friction between him and the team. I think that if they were doing missions as a side thing until everyone graduated and everyone had less constant exposure to each other the inevitable breakdown could be staved off but once they start spending time together and going on missions full time the cracks in the foundation would be immediate. I give it maybe a year before everything goes to shit and max once again quits being a hero, only this time he’s not going back to being a villain but rather some in between as a chaotic neutral vigilante.

With max out of the hero game phoebe is scrambling to pick up the pieces. Pr decides to fix the mess by completely redoing phoebes hero persona to distract from everything. She gets upgraded from thunder girl to thunder woman, solo leader of Z-force and gets painted as the “feminist hero”. Not that she didn’t already hold any feminist views they’re just really leaning into the marketing. Since billy and Nora are set to debut as heroes they get pushed into the thunder twins role.

Nora is greatly frustrated with being stuck with billy, especially since he usually gets the credit for her ideas. She comes up with a plan, he runs and does it, teamwork. Except billy gets all the attention from the press, leading him to get more attention from hero society.

Max leaving hero work undoes a lot of closeness that was between him and phoebe resulting in the two barely speaking anymore and everyone only ever really seeing max at big family holidays.

A few things I’m just gonna put in bullets bc it’s important to know

Both max and phoebe are autistic, bc I said so

They are both queer. Not sure exactly what labels they fall under but it's not straight and both are suffering from comphet/internalised homophobia. Basically max is be gay do crime, phoebe is be gay fight crime.

Chloe is their cousin who they occasionally babysit, not the fith sibling. Adding another child was a completely stupid move I dont care

Hank and barb are not good parents

Billy is not an idiot, just oblivious which is valid

So we cut to five years later. Phoebe is a well established young hero, the z-force team function as a teen titans thing where they meet up regularly to fight crime as a team while still doing solo hero work. Max is doing vigilante shit and was initially doing freelance tech stuff to finance it but at some point a rich client screwed him over so he stole all his money. His newest venture is to get rid of all of the hypocrisy inside the hero community and he's trying to figure out the best way to go about it. Billy and nora are rising stars in the hero world but mad that she constantly gets overlooked, nora sabotages billy so that he will get cancelled on social media and she can advance.

Phoebe is dating a female hero named chromatica with light powers but wider society does not know about this bc phoebe has to keep up her image and being gay will hurt that or whatever excuse her homophobic pr team gave. The building pressure and max releasing blackmail he has on multiple corrupt hero's puts a strain on their relationship and at one point she has a complete breakdown causing her to track max down and they finally have an actual conversation after years of not speaking.

Nora's scheming leads to a massive falling out between her and Billy. Not wanting them to go through the same thing they went through, max and phoebe get billy and nora together so that they can all talk about their issues as a family. They come to realise that no matter how much they want to deny it, they all are still fighting to get out of their parents shadows, trying to be the perfect heroes. Even max, who at this point is much happier with his life than his siblings, is still effected by his parents. This whole talk does not fix everything, they all still have the same problems they went into it with, at least now they know they can rely on each other.

Billy is still trying to do pr cleanup and as an apology nora is publicly supporting him. Phoebe's relationship is still in ruins and she realises that its going to take more than an apology to fix things. Coming out is not the answer bc she is still dealing with a lot of internalised homophobia on top of the potential stress of being a queer superhero who has to defend themselves against millions of people and she is not ready for that.

[that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main]

Frank fathering a little girl,

but shes older now hcs

Reader: Female (highschooler so like 16? 17?)

Type: headcannons/ rough outline for something possibly in the future

Note: I liked these ideas, plus i fell in love with Frank dad wholesomeness. Also technically part 3 but whatever, also trying out a new format style

░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░

God. Your such a handful.

Especially now that he's let you go to highschool

You bet he's still trying to braid your hair, and you let him.

First day...Junior year... half way through the year

Thanks matt for pulling strings-

You were the end locker which was fine, some guys besides you.

"New?"

"Yeah."

"This is Ned. Im peter."

"Y/n. Y/n Castle."

New nerd friends?

Absolutely

"Your dads the Punisher!?-"

"Shhh!"

"Right. Right sorry!"

You got two new friends and an opportunity to make more. Maybe it wouldnt be so bad.

It was bad. It was so bad. Everything they taught you, especially in math you refrence weaponry

"So if the sniper shoots from this angle- its 45 degrees. The sniper has to be still to make a precise shot to make it there but it still works-"

"y/n- you cant talk about guns like that in class."

Peter and Ned have saved your asses multiple times by telling you thinks that can and cant be said in class.

For PE they were all doing basic state testing practice, climbing rope and sit ups.

"Ooo pull up bar."

Ah so Flash bullies Peter so hes gonna bully you too

"You can't do a pull up-"

You easily hop up and do pull ups with your bag on your back no warm up or anything

You seen alot of the girls sitting off on the bleachers and were confused.

"No they dont have to do it."

"Why?

"I don't know waver maybe?"

So you wander over, asking with no care in the world to ask

"Oh its the castle girl."

"Yeah? And?"

"Be nice."

Liz is pretty intrested in you, you seem pretty rough around the edges to her.

She runs into you again in the bathroom, you washing your hands while she's redoing her mascara.

She sees your intrested is peaked and ask you if you wants some, you tell her you have no idea what it is. And she starts explaining it to you and doing your eyelashes up with mascara (dont share makeup guys-especially eye makeup- just roll with it)

Frank notices something diffrent when he picks you up all hidden away in that black truck but he cant put his finger on it

He asks about your first day of school and you said it was good. He's happy you're fitting in but whatever is off can't stop bothering him.

The next day your up and tiredly walking into the small living room/kitchen/dinning room- basically the main room and theres black all over your eyes.

He thinks you got in a fight now, and he demands you tell him who did this, but after brushing under it and some gets on his fingers he's like "excuse me- what the fuck is this-"

"Some girl Im friends with called it mascara it looks intresting so I tried it. Don't worry. Im not gonna do it again."

Then you start hangin with Liz more

He starts to notice less and less because you always make sure you wipe it all away if Liz expirements on you with diffrent colors.

Its like drawing on your face and you love it.

You still dress the same till Liz ask you to go shopping with her over the weekend, you can even stay at her house not to mention you have the wrestling orination and you're goin to that too and you know how he feels about you in any "violence"? Lets just say rage.

Telling Frank oof. That was rough;

This time you walked home, a black tanktop and cargo pants on with black boots, hair cliped up due to the warm day.

Climbing up the steps and to the small apartment you unlocked the door.

"Hey Kid."

"Hey ol man."

You stopped, watching him work on his guns and what not, the radio silent.

"You goin out?" Y/n asked, "again..."

Frank was silent for a moment, "yeah..."

Y/n nodded, tossing her bag down and going to het a cup of water.

"I won't be long. Its just for tonight. I promise."

"No. No its okay. I understand what you do." Y/n told, "Im uh...spending the night at a friends over the weekend anyways.".

Akward silence much? Y/n drank her water, Frank had stopped cleaning his arsonal.

"Yeah. Stay safe." Frank responsed, going back to work.

Y/n nodded, grabbing her bag and went to her room to pack some clothes for the weekend.

Awkward.....

You leave about an hour later and Liz is out waiting with some of her girlfriends and guys.

Frank does not trust any of your friends tbh

And the weekend starts out nice, you know, make-up here and there? Nothing huge. Then they wanted to go shopping and you've never really been shopping

But you were glad that you had friends even if they did make you uncomfortable

Then they started drinking and you were like "no thanks." But they insisted saying "the Punisher's daughter cant handle it?"

"Back off man!"

"Dude come on. It's just a little booze-"

"I said back the fuck up man!"

You only left, and as you were walking god knows where you got a call.

"Y/n! Y/n! Y/n!"

"Peter?"

"Come over! You gotta come over! Like now! ASAP!"

He sounded so worried, so you rushed over, and practically broke his door down you knocked so hard, pulling the pocket knife out of your bag.

Aunty May opened the door, you with a knife to her

"Peter! Peter!"

"Shut up you old bitch! Where is he!?"

"Woah! Y/n! Woah Woah Woah! This is my aunt! My Aunt May!"

You apologized: "Yeah, uh. sorry... I think Peter's kinda the only one that truly understands me at the moment, ma'am."

At this point you didn't even know what Peter wanted to show you: but Aunt May was nice to you and kinda figured you were like an Avenger, but the first thing about being Avenger is that you don't talk about being an Avenger.

So Peter finally showed you what he was so excited about

"What is that?"

"It's the death star! Well, a Lego Model."

"Legos?"

He's shook, you don't know Legos?! Like at all!?

So instead of spending your time at Liz's you spend your time with Peter, and Ned when he comes by

Aunt May asked your favorite and you said PB and J or Ramen.

Yeah you and Frank don't eat too good sometimes, so she just ends up making Ribolitta which you fall in love with.

You wish Frank was there with you though, and are tempted to call him multiple times, but don't want to bother him.

Sunday you go home after breakfast with Peter and May.

"Ol' Man! I'm home!"

He's dressed and ready to leave, seemingly waiting for you; "Let's go."

"uh...where?"

"It's Sunday."

Oh...Sundays you guys go eat breakfast together always. "Can I uh...rain check this one? I um...already had breakfast with someone..."

"uh...yeah. Yeah, whatever next week."

He's losing you; well he feels like he's losing you

When you're at school and he's at home, he just stares at your room. And he realizes the little lego man on your nightstand, is an army soldier. At least it's not makeup, he rather you play with toys, makes him feel like you're still a kid.

Asks him if you can wrestle and he's against that idea 101% , that's fine you won't wrestle whatever- gives you time to be involved in Peter's Avengers stuff which is even worse.

"Okay! Okay! So if you're gonna be a vigilante, you're going to need a mask. Like Captain America! Or Daredevil! What do you like? What represents you?" "I like guns and knives,"

"Okay...great start! Great Start!"

Peter helps you in making a vigilante outfit and gives you the name 'Bullet Red' which okay sounds kinda cowboyish but you're going with it.

That's until you guys do your first "Assignment together" and bullets were left behind dented like they hit something but failed to actually inflict damage.

People call you 'Bulletproof Armour of the Backstreets'

You're pretty good at hiding it from Frank too which is really surprising.

Till he catches you stumbling in through the window one day he turning the light on and all.

"Hey there Old man! hehe....you're up past your bed time-"

"Cut the crap-"

"Alright! Alright! You want to truth?"

He only does the dad arm cross as he waits.

"I was out yes. Without your premission, with...my boyfriend... well with my boy thats a friend You know!"

Is that lie going to work? Maybe, "and what were you out doing with the friend thats a boy?"

"...sitting in the back of a car?"

Yeah you didn't realize that ment someting else..., "and what did you do in the back of this car?"

"Hold hands?" You laughed nervously

"You're grounded. I will know if you leave this room, I will know when you eat when you use the bathroom, do you understand?" "

Yes sir."

Your so proud of just being grounded and text peter then hide your phone.

Yet when he said grounded you thought you were grounded grounded: like not leaving at all.

So when Peter showed up to your window terrified you'd been hurt he was confused.

"Why arent you at school!?"

"Im grounded." "Thats now how being in trouble works." "Oh-"

Frank barely sees you come out your room, so he came to you with pancakes, and Peter jumps out the window so quick.

"You been eaten kid?"

"Not hungry lately is all."

You guys are sitting on your bed now eating pancakes and he's trying to give you the sex talk

You're really confused but he's real awkward about it gives up and just says your ungrounded.

"Just come home before 11 now."

"Yeah I promise."

He can't help but loom over the idea that you're gonna get hurt or worse killed.

So when you go to school he goes into your room, he knows for a fact that theres a pistol under your pillow, its for protection.

He cant help himself but check it, make sure its loaded full.

But he kicks something that was quickly shoved under your bed sticking out. He pulls it out to realize its an light body armour and with it a mask.

He realizes that mask right away, and goes to the news paper. Franks more than mad, hes livid.

You're actually in the middle of class when it happens. Your called out of class and theres Frank in a hoodie and cap

"You wanna explain this to me?!" Frank scolded her.

Y/n's silent, "Its bad enough I let you have a gun in your room for protection. And your goin behind my back and doin this shit!"

"I don't understand the problem-"

"You don't understand!? What you need to understand is that this shits dangerous! You're not made for this shit! You can't do this!" Frank argued, "you're gonna get kill doin this! Is this what you do with your little boyfriend?!"

"You do it!"

"Because I need to!"

Y/n scoffed rolling her eyes: "What you need is a girlfriend!" She argued, "Someones going to have to take care of you one day, and that someones going to be me."

You honestly wanted to semi follow in Franks footsteps, to repay him

Thats why you try and be "hard" as some kids put it. You worked out heavily and you did that "vigilante crap" as Frank put it

At the end of the day you wanted to make sure all loose ends were covered so no one could come after her old man again.

When you went home there the stuff was sitting on the table, and Frank was gone.

So you quickly grabbed it and left, you figured you just get ready on the roof tops and thats what you did

You went the whole night, running into some other vigilantes

But you did go to far. Even if the temporary partner did take your weapon away

"No killing"

"Oh god damn it" the man looked at you, "Religious too. Great."

Combat boots are a girls best friend you know

You got home early morning, Frank cleaning his weapons at the table, sitting in a chair.

Its the first thing you see walking in and the first thing he sees when you walk in.

You're covered in blood, some of it yours most of it others. You're tired and you look gone.

You're walking lethargically over to him, arms wrapping around his neck and falling into his lap hugging him as tight as you can with exhausted arms

He could only sigh, and picked you up, you: a 16-17 year old girl, picked up by her old man, like shes a child again.

He helps clean you up and puts you to bed, your head in his lap.

"I just wanna help you."

"Yeah. I know kid. I know."

You tell him everything, things that worry you, like what happened with Liz and her friends, and how you've made better friends since then

"You've been hanging around Karen to much you know. Stickin your nose in places they never should be kid."

"Stubborn just like my old man."

"Just. Trust people more than I do. Don't be alone...alright? Be stubborn but not an asshole"

"Mhm."

Offers to braid your hair like old times, its comforting, knowing you'll always have him

"Oh and old man?"

"Hm?"

"I wasnt having Sex. I was sneaking out to beat the shit out of people."

He could only laugh, kissing the top of your head as he was braiding your hair: "I figured that by now kid. And- I wanna meet the Peter kid, hoping he has a better influence on you than me."

Family dinner is happening now and Aunt May made her

"So Mr.Castle." Aunt May spoke, passing a basket of bread to Y/n who sat infront of her, "What do you do for work?"

"Frank is fine ma'm." He responded, "and uh. I'm lookin' for work at the moment."

"We're always looking for people to work at the shelter." Aunt May spoke with a smile.

"I don't think that's a good idea ma'm."

"Well the offer always stands." May smiled, "I can see how you and Y/n are related. Lovely young woman, sweet, caring, respectful. She has a real good influence on Peter."

Y/n and Peter just try and not laugh as Frank tries and conversate casually.

"Im glad your kids influencing mine rather than me influencing her." Frank spoke.

"Well if it means anything you seem like a good influence to me." May smiled, "and to Y/n."

Y/n only smiled nodding eating her soup.

"So...uh Ma'm how's your day?"

You were both cracking up on the way home, Frank only shaking his head at you, but he could only laugh with you

It was such an awkward dinner you couldn't help but laugh.

"It wasnt that funny.'

"It was. Come on!"

"....okay it was funny."

"See!"

You guys stopped for icecream on the way back despite having dessert with May and Peter.

You only smile as you guys drive no where, just the headlights and open road infront of you.

"You know. That kid up there? He's got your back. He's not tryin to change you. Im glad you've got a good friend like him. You've gotta have his back. Keep each other close."

"How close-"

"watch it kid."

"Thanks for being my old man."

"And im never gonna stop kid."

[simpingcowboy]

Quick Wholesome Frankie Morales thought :)

Just a little something about Frankie's daughter doing his nails

I imagine him working blue collar jobs (mechanic, maintenance, ect.) just anything that has him working with his hands alot.

His job leaves him with really rough calloused hands

BUT his nails are often immaculately painted curtsey of his daughter!

I can see him coming home and apologizing to his kid about how he chipped some of the polish off his nails

"I had to strip paint off a car today and well- I guess it worked a little too well."

She doesn't care. It just means she gets to spend time redoing them!

They'd sit down together. Frankie squished down in one of her play chairs

It takes a good 20 minutes for them to settle on a color

Then another 15 to decide on a design. Accent nail? Glitter? Nail stickers?

Not only is Frankie patient with her, he's equally as involved. Besides they're gonna be on his hands all week

Eventually they get started. Frankie's hands are not the most steady, but his daughter is good at holding his hands still

Having large hands isn't always great. Occasionally makes work harder for him, being unable to reach in smaller spaces. But right now? It's definitely to his benefit

His daughter can easily hold his finger in her hand to keep it steady.

His wide nail beds make it easy for her to apply the polish without a mess. And offers much more room for designs

She's always so gentle with him. It warms his heart

She loves doing lotion and oils after doing his nails so everything looks nice and shiny.

"Papá, your hands are so scratchy! Don't worry I have something for that!"

"Ay gracias mijita, what would I do without you."

The only part Frankie doesn't love is waiting for his nails to dry.

His daughter makes him sit in front of a tiny fan until she's absolutely sure that his nails are dry

But they compromise. He'll be still if she cleans up while they wait

Eventually his nails are dry and he's free to move again

"Do you like them Papá?" She'll ask excitedly examining her work

"I love them! Thank you" Frankie says, wrapping her in a big hug.

His daughter has him take a couple photos for her. Something to document her progress in nail art

Frankie loves getting his nails done. The time spent with his daughter is priceless

He loves that whenever he's having a hard time, he can look at his hands and remember his reason for being clean. His reason for everything

[riku-writings]

ADMIRATION

Pairing: Mitsuya Takashi x Fem! Reader

Summary: Reader likes to fantasize about The Home Economics Club Leader's Hands.

Warnings: Smut with a smol plot, Fingering.

A/n: I am not really sorry about this ꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡,,, inspired by that one megumi oneshot in wattpad that i read ages ago. . .((edited hundred times since i just realized now that some of the smut parts were messed up even though i checked it multiple times,,, I'm sorry for the confusion i hope i got the order right ಠ,_｣ಠ)

Wc; 2k

It started with just an innocent admiration of him being a charming dude, that's all. The guy's a good student, an overall husband material with his sewing and cooking skills. He was heaven sent with his overall visual ( dyed hair, piercings and his eyebrow slits). Everyone knows he's a delinquent because of that Pehyan dude who would fight with Yasuda-San just to excuse mitsuya out of the club. Despite his delinquent bg, Mitsuya was respectful and patient. Making every girl and boy swoon over him.

A bad boy with a soft hubby side. Best of both worlds they would say.

You were part of it. The Home Economics Club, they were lying if the whole club wasn't a simping club for the one and only Mitsuya Takashi. It was only yasuda and you who took the club for extra credits. The others well, you could say they were there to see him. Eitherway everyone was cooperative and hardworking.

Not only were you with him in that club. You were his classmate. Even better, his seatmate. You always get a view of his charming side profile.

You find yourself just staring at his features, from his long lashes to his pointed nose, down to his lips. Sometimes his tongue would dart out, out of pure concentration. (You noticed this whenever you try and get his attention to check your work in the club)

Your eyes always latching itself down to his hands. Not that you're a complete freak but you appreciate it. Like if someone asked you what body part attract you the most. You would definitely answer, hands.

His hands were the prettiest especially when its enclosed with those rings that has a cross engrave on it. It was veiny, fingers elongated and a bit bony. Nails cleanly cut. His wrist always had a silver bracelet on it. You don't know why was that attractive.

You had an unpopular opinion that it was soft to touch. You wonder if your thoughts were true. You can feel yourself blush at the thought of him just holding your hand.

You can't help it but you just stare at them with pure admiration. Due to this, you noticed how he liked twirling a pen around his middle and index finger. Fascinated, you tried it once, though you failed. You not knowing he was looking at your failed attempts. Grinning.

"y/n are you listening?" A voice called pulling you out of your own embarassing thoughts. You look up at the owner of the hands you've been staring at for a while now.

"U-uhm yes?"

"Tell me how did you end up with this then?" Mitsuya raises his brow, your messed up fabric lifted up by him. The girls around you giggled at your clumsy behaviour. You retrieved it. "Ehm, I'm sorry leader can you explain it again?"

"Alright, listen this time dummy" He says with a teasing grin, ruffling your hair gently. He sat next to you. Using the seam ripper to remove your mistakes. You just stared at his fingers pointing at where you should redo it.

You wondered how he would shove it in your mo—

You mentally slapped yourself. As you crossed your legs together at the sudden image that came over your mind. "You okay? y/n?" Mitsuya stared at you noticing how you pressed your thighs together. "Hmhm" You responded.

"Leader! can you check this?" Another called out for mitsuya. He stood up and pats your shoulder.

"alright, I'll leave it to you then" He smiled.

The next days you tried to scold your mind for having intrusive thoughts of Mitsuya and his hands. Unfortunately, your mind developed a sudden kink with it. Making every imaginary situation more. . . . lewd.

"Hey Y/n! Hold up your hand" Your classmate suddenly called you lifting his hand towards yours. You knew exactly what he was trying to do, since he's been busy tryna do that with the other girls this morning. "Eh? I don't want to." You replied.

"Bet if mitsuya did it, y/n would do it!" Another classmate of yours shouted from the back. You raised your middle finger, continuing on cramming your homework.

"Leader~ Can you do that for us~" The boys teasingly called mitsuya. Who was back from his lunch raising an eyebrow at them. Hands pocketed "Do what?"

"We're just comparing hand sizes" They shrugged lifting up their hands. "Y/n won't let us~~"

"Eh? Stop bothering y/n." Mitsuya say in his deep voice his feet landing a hit on their butts, before proceeding to you. The men in the back groaned.

Bending to meet your gaze. He grinned "Now you owe me, work on your missed templates with me later" The lilac haired boy reminded. You just rolled your eyes on him mocking a tongue out. He chuckled. "And I thought you just saved me, leader."

You stayed with him in the club room. Doing your templates beside him. Him just handstitching a bunny like doll. The room slowly darkening as the sun sets. He turned on a lamp beside his table. Slowly the other girls started to leave the club room, waving their goodbye's to Mitsuya.

"Hmmmm you've been spacing out lately, are you okay?" He coughed softly referring to your messed up works recently. Eyes going to you.

"Me? spacing out?" You acted dumb, you scoffed in a fake manner. Brushing your hair with your fingers to shake off your stiffening state.

Not meeting any of his gaze, you just continued to sketch.

Did he figure it out? Did he catch me staring at his hands? Nah I need to stop overthinking.

"Alright then." Silence invaded the whole club room again. Your eyes roamed around realizing the rest of the girls left already leaving you two alone.

"Hold your hand up." Mitsuya suddenly commanded. Eyes going to him, you raised your brow. "I wanna know— our hand difference." He explained raising his hand infront of you. Placing his doll down the table.

"You know the boys in our class are just a bunch of perverts right?" Speaking like a fucking hypocrite, your actions didn't match up with your words. Almost instinctively, you faced him holding them up. He pressed his against yours.

Your insides melt at this gesture. Your theory confirmed that he has actually, soft hands.

"You have cute small hands" His lips curled up, slowly his fingers intertwined with yours, locking it with his. "Well yours rough" You lied, cheeks burning as you looked at your connected hands. "Is that so?"

Abruptly, mitsuya pulled you close to him. Making your other hand rest on top of his shoulder. His face centimeters away yours. Lips almost brushing.

"So is this what they're trying to do with you?" He asks in a low voice his eyes piercing through you. Craning his neck, curious.

"Yeah. . . " You broke eye contact. "Good thing I stopped them." He chuckled, eyes closing. He leaned back. Patting your head.

Funnily, that interaction with him didn't stop your thoughts. Actually it made your whole dirty secret worse. Just seeing him tapping his fingers on his lips as his chin rested on his palm. Made your mind run thoughts about the things his hands would do to you.

You leaned back looking around the morning peace in the clubroom. You were always the first one to go here. Since it's more quiet that way.

You closed your eyes craning your neck side to side. Loosening up a bit.

What would his fingers feel wrapped around your neck— no. no.

You shifted on your seat, pressing your thighs together. Mentally slapping yourself.

Changing your attention, your sight caught your pen. Picking it up you tried to do that cool trick again. Trying to twirl it around in between your middle and index finger.

"Ohhh you're trying to do it again?" Mitsuya popped out of nowhere. You jolted a bit, making him laugh. You clearly didn't see him coming in.

He hovered behind you, his chest pressed on your back as he rested his hand on your desk right beside yours. He leaned in observing your half-done project. "Again?" You asked head turning towards his face.

"Well I saw you trying to do this"

He pulled his other hand up grabbing your pen, his fingers did it in ease. "no need to brag leader-san" You tell him grabbing your pen back. "Looks like you're gonna stay with me again later" Mitsuya mentioned pointing at your work.

After classes you proceeded to your clubroom already, knowing you're gonna take so long with your project. Though you were greeted by yasuda leaving you with her tasks because apparently she also had friday plans like the others. The others always had friday plans that it would leave you, yasuda and mitsuya with the work.

"It's okay yasuda-san! I promise to clean up and remind leader to lock the door!" You assured her, she then finally nodded. "Fine fine— Also don't let that slimy delinquent distract leader" She added, you nodded giving her a big thumbs up, she then waved her hands leaving you all alone with the mess of excess papers and fabric from this morning.

You tied your hair as you clean up the place before doing your own project. You actually sat on the front desk as you look around feeling satisfied. Finally continuing your hand stitch. (You gave up after breaking 3 needles into half with your machine.)

You stay seated on the front desk, comfortably doing your own project. Humming a few songs here in there. The door then slid open.

"I'm guessing yasuda san has plans?" Mitsuya came in seeing you on his desk. "yup" You nodded eyes focused on your stitch. Sudden fingers gripped your knees.

"You should stop manspreading in that skirt" He scolded you pushing your knees together. You shivered at his touch against your skin. Due to this sudden awareness of his hand still gripping your lower thighs— you accidentally pricked your finger on a needle.

"Ouch." You hissed as you saw your finger starts to ooze out blood. "You're so clumsy" Mitsuya clicked his tongue removing the cloth on your hands bringing it down to the side. He grabbed your hand and started sucking on your finger.

"U-uhm" You widened your eyes as you saw the sight of mitsuya sucking your index finger. You blushed profusely at this. "Eh? I- I — you didn't have to do that" He finally let go of your finger.

"I don't have bandages on me—plus that always does the trick" He says wiping it. You just nodded looking around. "Tsk what is it that got you distracted again hm?" He questions furrowing his brows he leaned closer to you. He layed his hands on the table, locking you in.

"Ugh you really want me to say it huh?" You groaned. He craned his neck to the side. Waiting for you to continue. "Okay— I may have a small admiration towards your hands. . ."

"Admiration?"

"Well it was honestly innocent at first until it got all dirty and as much as I wanted to get it out of my head you suddenly do things to me"

"And what was my hands doing?"

"Mitsuya . . "

"No dove tell me" He said as the choice of endearment shoot straight to your core. Making you shift on your seat.

"hm shoving it in my mou—"

Mitsuya shoved his middle and index finger inside your mouth. Your cheeks burn at the sudden action. His other hand held your waist, holding you closer. "You like this?" He asked with hooded eyes. Your tongue twirled around his finger, he slowly discarded them letting out a popping sound as it came out of your lips. Feeling your chest warmed up down to your lower belly.

"Is this why you're so distracted lately? because you're too busy thinking about my hands?" He then held your chin with his fingers as he hummed. Lips inching closer to yours. You just nodded feeling feverish. "Do you want me to kiss you?"

Once again you nodded. You can feel the growing lust underneath your skirt. Pressing your thighs together to relief the heat. Mitsuya following the movement. His eyes went back to pierce through yours.

"Say please" He smugly commanded. You pouted.

He taps your lips. Wetting it with your own spit.

"Please kiss me."

Mitsuya leaned in to claim your lips, you lightly gasped as his lips finally touch yours. Closing your eyes, you melt into his kiss. He smirked at his before his hand on your waist went up to your hair tie, pulling it to let your hair flow against your shoulders.

He then licked your lips, instinctively you opened your mouth allowing him to enter his warm wet muscle inside. You whimpered at this, feeling your feverish state get warmer. Spreading all over your body. He caressed your cheek as he kissed you deeper. His other hand caressing your side, slightly brushing up against your chest. You hummed against his lips.

Biting onto your bottom lip he licked it. Before leaning back, placing a soft kiss on yours before taking in your whole panting visual.

"Do you want me to touch you, dove?" He questions, his thumb now pressing onto your bottom lip. His left hand went down on your thighs, softly pinching them.

"Please touch me, takashi"

With that his fingers indulged inside the band of your damp underwear. "Hm you're so wet, princess" He hummed letting his finger brushed up against your folds. You squirmed under his touch, your pussy clenching around nothing.

"Is this what you're thinking about in class?" He whispered next to your ear, placing a hot kiss on your cheek. You nodded, biting onto your red lips. As his middle finger continued to slide so easily with your wet slick. Up and down teasing both of your sensitive clit and your pleading hole.

You then felt the pad of his fingers teasing circles on your entrance, you looked at him with glossed eyes. He licked his lips seeing you practically begging for it.

His other hand held the back of your knees spreading your legs to gain more access. You leaned back supporting your weight with your hands.

Letting your skirt ride up, He bit his lips as he saw your ruined flimsy panties with his hand in it. You just looked at him with a pout wanting his fingers to penetrate your hole. "Please" You plead him trying to grind into his hand. Without caution he plunged his two fingers in your heat.

You bit back a moan. "Don't hold back now, dove." He said with a smug as he felt your hole clench around his fingers. "I-I can't takashi" You say feeling little under him. He chuckled at your pouting lips before placing a kiss on them. "Acting shy now huh"

Mitsuya curled his fingers inside making you squirm. "Don't move." He warned before pounding his hand into your writhing pussy. His long fingers hitting your soft spot almost immediately. You moaned letting your forehead clash itself against his. "You're taking my fingers so well baby. So noisy" He said referring to the slick slapping sounds of your wet pussy. You blushed at this ashamed on how you were making a mess on his hands.

"Aa you're so lewd— bet you've touched yourself multiple times thinking about this" He said adding another finger in your hole easily. You sobbed at the sudden feeling of fullnes inside "Hmm too much"

"Too much? you're a good girl you can take it" He says kissing your cheek once agaib. He thrusted his three fingers into your hole curling it up to feel your spongey walls clenching into him tighter.

"Mmn t-takashi—k-kiss" You mumbled feeling yourself itching up to your own orgasm.

"You want a kiss baby hm?" He hummed as his thrusts got harder and faster. Knuckles deep, the tip of his fingers hitting your sensitive spot. You purred nodding, He kissed your lips deeply making your moans muffled. You felt hot inside you as you panted trying to comprehend everything that he was doing to you. With that you felt your orgasm continue to build up. Your head leaned back breaking off his kiss, grinding back into his hand. Mitsuya felt yourself tighten continuing to hit on your sweet spot. Your own wetness beginning to drip down.

His thumb finally taking notice of your abandoned nub. He played with it. You squirmed as you feel it burn against his thumb.

"'m close" You squeak biting onto your lips. "Go on baby cum on my fingers" He said littering kisses on your neck, hands pounding into you harshly. With those words and his thumb rubbing your sensitive clit. Your thighs started to fidget. You closing your eyes shut as you panted.

You came onto his fingers. You let out a whiny moan as His fingers slowly ride out your high.

"Good girl" He said pulling his fingers out your panties. Your eyes opened seeing him cleaning his fingers clean with his tongue. He smirked as you lolled your tongue out. He placed his fingers on your tongue, letting you lick and suck them clean.

"You look so pretty like that, dove" He say as you finished pulling his fingers out popping out of your lips. He held your waist with his arms, moving you closer again. Leaning in to kiss you softly this time on your forehead. "How was that?"

"Better than what I imagined actually"

"C'mon it looks like we have friday plans too" Mitsuya said kissing your lips. Bringing you down the table. You smiled.

[1111jenx]

Hi ❤️✨ can you tell me something about Saturn in the 1st?

Ofcourse luv! ( omg i had this whole 2 pages typed out for yall but my computer decided to be silly all of the sudden now i'm redoing everything so pls b patient with me 🥲💞 )

my rising series(on-going)

Saturn 1st house/ Capricorn rising:

cold, distant exterior⚡️( saturn is very far from the sun, is also a v "dry" planet )

air of regality and entitlement to them. almost similar to leo/taurus rising but wayyyyy more detached imo(saturn=teacher)

usually comes from a very well educated family or very expressive, socially active family.

i notice they're super drawn to fire heavy people? maybe its because their aries 4H they feel very comfortable with fire energy and perhaps even find us chaotic people entertaining to a degree🤣

these babies are their worst enemies. they're extremely self critical and no one sees their own flaws like they do🥺

others rely on them, they just seem so put together and you know that once they're stepping in to take over, things will be okay.

coldest fucking stares when they're mad. omg just don't get on their bad side. watch them come to y'all with receipts and fact-checking while you're going off on your bs🥰 ( even worse than virgo rising, trust me on this. )

constant identity crisis and worry about everything🥺 they always feel as if they can never truly be content, they always yearn for more, for "perfection" and they feel that their success is too minimal.

overachiever. some people said they're not competitive?? honest to god they'd probably just didn't care enough. once they do watch them pour their heart and soul into it.

dedicated💞 loyal💞 lowkey affectionate💞

want to make a saturn 1H/cap rising feels good? compliment them on their success! acknowledge their hard work and sleepless nights! they may act as if they're happy on their own but they secretly need that reassurance.

not the type to be irrational with you when things are rough. my capricorn rising libra sun friend deadass screamed at me while I was fired up in one of my tantrums like "sit your ass down we're gonna figure this out". wouldn't bullshit or give me superficial support, just started to create a freakin list with bullet points, detailing step by step to overcome my problem💀

if you're acting stupid, watch them call you out on your bs. they have no problem with that.

hates hatesssssss crying (in public especially). a lot of cap rising has Aries 4H so they were taught to be independent and self reliant from a young age, to them individuality means more than anything and they'd literally die before being embarrassed in public💞

gets ANNOYED when people don't follow "the plan". if you cancel on them last min without giving a concrete reasons like your mom was hospitalized or something, they'd get very veryyyyy mad. if you can't do something, let them know beforehand, don't wait til 20 mins before the thing happened 💀 ( i learned this the hard way guys. lessons learned )

trendsetters🕊 elegance style, looks expensive without trying, literally anything look hella boujee on them!!!

picky with their appearance. takes criticism seriously too!!

sarcasm and extreme dry sense of humour. naturally serious nature but their jokes are so goofy and dry?! but its so sooo funny for some reason

they bite. i'm so serious have you seen them losing it on someone? watch them drag you to hell and back with their words.

a taste for finer thing in life (taurus 5H). they truly appreciate aesthetics and beauty🖤

an animal in the bed, so sooo dominant and they have this appraisal kink? worship them and watch them treat you like royals. (leo 8H) like is that really the person who just did an hour long presentation about types of bureaucracy ???

when traveling with them you'll b sure they'd plan out everything for ya, they know people and they have done their research on almost everything.

they love when someone makes them feel like home. (cancer 7H) they're super into caring and observing people. they notice the smallest thing so don't try to manipulate them haha🤣

the type that sees everything and sees through your bs but will ignore it for your sakes if they like you🥲

THEY HATE LOOKING STUPID. DONT MAKE THEY FEEL STUPID YOUVE BEEN WARNED

mature from a young age or was forced to grow up. as a child they were pretty care free but soon were introduced to adulthood almost immediately.

amazing bodies. models. bone structure > (saturn rules bones of the body)

materialistic. don't blame them they just know better than yall. money can't buy love but it can buy that LA mansion.

suprisingly into charity and believe in giving back to society tho!! esp if well aspected. (aquarius 2H)

metal mentality. unfazed. watch them go "oh?" when you tell them something shocking. they predicted it but chose to be silent because "its not their business"

dont insult their family, close circle. they're pretty drama free and honestly don't have time for your petty stuff but would not hesitate to come for your throat if you cross the line.

well-mannered to the core and dislike people who are socially clueless.

tendency to love people who rely on them. motherly nature.

secretly LOVE it when other confide in them. don't worry they're not virgo rising they wouldn't let it burden them but they appreciate your honesty a lot.

expect people to open up FIRST. then maybe they will if they deem you as worthy✨

Sorry for the long post luv🤣 I just really love my Capricorn rising/Saturn 1H people. Only with them can my chaotic ass be calmed down🤍

love,

saint jenx🥀

[rotshop]

help girl i just woke up and im already thinking abt mag s/o again. anyway please consider ;

[ tw body horror, some brief light gore and violence ]

[ note ; reader is SLIGHTLY described. the only thing mentioned is that they have a noticeable, identifying scar on their face

hank + mag s/o

-he knew you even before the boombox incident. he doesn't even really remember how you two first met, he just remembers that you started talking to him and then just kinda kept coming back. at first he wasn't the biggest fan of you since he was 'doing just fine on his own,' but...he admittedly was already really attached to you. they've never been much of a talker and that's especially noticeable to you at that point in time but ,,, they respond enough with signing, nodding / shaking their head, or the occasional speaking that you're able to carry some conversations pretty well.

-he doesn't really. have. a lot of people in his life. you're really his only real close friend, it's kinda hard for him to fully wrap his head around it so !! they chose not to, instead focusing more-so on whatever it was you were rambling to them about that day.

-not super sure of where to put this lmao but ummm ehe . he's actually surprisingly touchy with you????? like. you've hung out at his house a few times and he just like. you'll start out sitting next to each other and you'll end up either laying with your head on their chest or vice versa . its . a little funny . you tease him about it a little and he just flicks your shoulder. also traces your scar a lot if you'll let them, they're not entirely sure why they do it, they just . like asking you about it occasionally.

-also you have scary dog privileges. they might look like any other grunt at that point but they're still tall as fuck and idk man !! something abt getting a blank stare from someone who towers over u would probably make u shut up and mind ur own damn business.

-again, he's not super good at fully recognizing / acknowledging certain thoughts and feelings of his but . yknow. he can definitely tell he at least worries about you a lot more than he would some other grunt he just met. he can definitely tell there's a reason he doesn't mind you touching him, whether by grabbing his hand to go show him something or just placing a hand on his shoulder or arm (most likely arm, again. hes tall. ). they can definitely tell there's a reason that they find themself genuinely enjoying your interactions.

-after the park thing you don't see them for a long time. everytime you try and call him the lines dead, everytime you try and ask others about him you just get choice words, all in all you're pretty much lost on the entire thing. sure, you know what happened but . it just never sits right with you. it doesn't help whenever people ask questions about them or give you wary looks because of your association, half steps back when you take one forward.

-anyway. yeah nevada goes to shit and you get magnified for the aahw. by now you just. don't really talk about hank. surprisingly, you have a little more of your old memories than the average mag !! congrats. problem is they're all foggy enough that you only really distantly decipher them. lmao. you aren't super high on the ladder but you're a pretty tough mag to beat. you're well known enough that other mags tend to hang around you when there's not much else going on. v2 mags especially think it's fun to mess around with you by jumping on your back or otherwise clinging onto you . idk man u've got like . a little family here .

-at one point or another there's an outing youre on that ends up going wrong. you get split up from the rest of your unit and are forced to hide out in some old abandoned building while you wait for backup. you're a little too injured to try and walk all the way back, a heavy gash on your side preventing you from doing too much in the moment. when you hear heavy steps on concrete you're able to give some sort of noise of relief, turning your head to look over your shoulder at whichever agent in your group had finally found you-

-you're instead met with red goggles and the end of a gun.

-any kind of relief is snatched away, you know damn well who it is by just the bit you can see in the dark alone. even standing in the shade between two windows (one of which you were sitting by, probably how they seen you in the first place- if that's the case though, it's a little weird they hadn't just shot at you through it.) you knew it was him. you're already stumblingly forcing yourself up to as much of your full height as you can manage, taking some kind of defensive position even as one of your hands ghosts over your gash. the throbbing pain of it and the feeling of blood sticking and running down your skin is enough that you can't seem to focus on the fact that he won't stop staring at your face.

-it doesn't take long before your legs seem to fail you, forcing you forward a bit as you kneel in some sort of attempt to keep upright. you're too busy hissing under your breath and screwing your eyes shut in pain as your hand covers your side to notice your company stepping forwards. you're snapped back to attention when there's a hand on your face, fingertips digging into your skin as they yank your head down a little further. you know you should be grabbing him, that you should be digging your claws into his torso and ripping him clean in half, throwing whatevers left aside and leaving. you know thats what you were told to do, what you were told they deserved anyway. yet, you aren't. instead, you're just giving some warning growl as you stare at them. you notice how the end of the gun is pointed away from you, how their touch seems to outline the mark on your face.

-"If you try and hurt me, I'll kill you." That's the only real heads up you get before he's crouching down and shoving your hand out of the way, grabbing something from his pocket to get to work on you. you don't fail to notice how little attention they're paying to you (aside from the focus on your wound, of course), that you could just rush forward and slam them into the ground if you really wanted.

-ok im skippin g ahead bc this is already way too goddamn long for hcs DEJWJCS

-anyway. it's a complicated relationship for a while. the others tend to avoid you a little but he just keeps showing up around you. they keep staring at you and just hanging around in your general area. it's not that much of an irritant if you ignore all the weird emotions and thoughts it keeps bringing to the forefront of your mind, forcing you to once again try and meddle with your memories.

-eventually he just starts walking over to you and sitting down next to you. sometimes he doesn't say anything at all, just sitting there and seeming to wait for one thing another- he never seems to find whatever that is, as he always gets up and leaves without a word at some point or another. then they start talking, its just little things at first, point-blank statements you can't say much on. sometimes they're just saying they and the other three will be gone for a bit othertimes it's some half-demand to let them look at the stitches they did on you (semi-related, he's not good at them. the stitches are pretty rough. at one point or another sanford has to redo them properly lmao)

-but then there's one particular night. they do the normal thing, come over, sit down next to you, not say a word. this time though you note how they're facing you. instead of some reminder or a demand for anything, he's pulling his ask down and asking a simple question. 'What do you remember?'

-it's a long conversation. he's talking more than he normally would by a long shot, occasionally stopping whenever his words seem to especially fail him and get stuck in his throat. you don't even really remember moving around, or even him pulling you in any way, you just know you somehow end up laying next to him with your head on his chest.

-whenever the memories do seem to click into place, it's hard. you have a lot of choice words for them yourself, months of being left alone without a word bubbling up with a vengeance, they listen to them. while some mags (such as yourself) do have the ability to speak, the san and dei don't think they've ever heard one with that much emotion in their voice. they've especially never seen a mag just break down like you do, they're both tensing up a little from their far away spot when hank's walking closer to you. instead of you lashing out or swiping at him though, you just sit there while he wraps his arms around you (as best as he can at least, it's a little difficult but he's able to get them around your neck and reach his other hand behind you well enough). you're eventually doing the same to him, though it's more so just your hands resting on their back.

-it takes a good while for proper trust to be rebuilt along with an honest, proper explanation from hank that only you're privy to. eventually though, there's enough trust that you're able to hang around him again without narrowly avoiding an argument or anything. they don't like being super affectionate or 'vulnerable' in front of the other two, so most times they prefer being in your or their room. also they're still touchy lmao, doesn't help that you're mag sized now and so they just want to hold you . its hard to explain, he's never been super affected by others heights and even when he is it's usually a negative thing for him but . for some reason . he just likes being shorter / smaller than you lol ,,,,,,,, hope you like holding them a lot bc that's what you're gonna be doing

-holy shit these are long so . i think .i am going to stop here.

[meltwonu]

| 𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔦 𝔪𝔢𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 |     [CHAPTER 4]

pairing; fratboy!wonwoo x reader

this chapter’s notes; fratboy!wonwoo, fingering, littlest bit of dirty talk, praise!kink, soft soft soft FLUFF hours, a bit of a filler chapter before the last chapter!! 😭 I can’t believe it’s almost ‘over’... This chapter has the least amount of smut yall will ever see with fratboy!wonwoo so don’t get used to it ☠️ LMAO 🤣🤣 also... it’s been a garbage week(boring work drama) for me so I’ll answer inbox msgs and stuff on sunday, I need to get away from the internet(and people) for a day dkfjhskh 😭💕 Ya’ll thank you for so much love and support with Caffeine and Until I Met You! It means so much to me and I appreciate every like, reblog and comment I get on it 🥺💕 No I will never be ending my fratboy!wonwoo au so don’t worry about that hehe 💕 For now, enjoy this soft ch 4 and I will see yall on Sunday! I love you, have a great weekend! 💕

[mood for this chapter: more than enough - alina baraz]

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - x

“So…”

Wonwoo sighs - re-shelving another Edgar Allen Poe book. “So, what?”

Mingyu tilts his sunglasses down, eyebrows raised at the older male that continues to do his job instead of give him the time of day. “What’s going on with you, hyung? You’ve been… weird.”

“Okay, define weird.”

The younger male pouts as he takes his sunglasses off, pocketing them as he leans up against the bookshelf that Wonwoo is currently still shelving.

It only takes one utterance of your name for Wonwoo to stop in his tracks - fingertips on the spine of another book as he turns to Mingyu. “What about her? Did she say something to you?”

“No, but do you like her? I mean, ‘like’ like her.”

“Is it not… obvious? That I do? Did we not all collectively have that conversation about me giving her a set of keys to our house?”

Mingyu grimaces slightly as he mentally goes through all the times he’d even seen the two of you together and he’s only able to conjure up a few select memories - none of which were anything necessarily romantic. “Well… I wouldn’t say ‘obvious’, I guess. The two of you aren’t exactly the ‘kiss and hold hands in public’ kind of... people. More like the, ‘sneak off to fuck in a public restroom’ kind... Which, uh, isn’t really... romantic.”

This time, Wonwoo crosses his arms and leans up against the opposite bookshelf as he sighs.

It’d been a few days since he’d seen you and you’d been swamped in so much class work that you didn’t even have the time to come by the library or the frat house. And even while Wonwoo stood in between the bookshelves having a conversation with Mingyu, you were finishing an art project with Minghao that was due by the end of the day.

“I know. I told her it’d be kind of a slow crawl for me.” He plucks another book from the cart, staring at the glossy text as he simmers in his thoughts. “Mingyu, am I awkward?”

“Erm, well, I wouldn’t say that necessarily.”

Mingyu steps forward, patting Wonwoo on the shoulder as he smiles.

“You like her and you’re trying even if you’re not used to it. You gotta start somewhere, hyung. Even if you’re a fish out of water. But that’s okay, you can ask me for help if you want!”

“When are you gonna put a ring on Wonwoo-hyung?”

You snort at Minghao’s question - reaching for a clean paintbrush as he stands across from you in the large, empty studio. “First of all, can you not say it like that? I’m not gonna marry him, okay.”

The male rolls his eyes as he steps closer to you; his own hands and clothes covered in a colorful array of paints. “So you’re saying you never imagined hyung in a suit, hair slicked back and his buff arms carrying you off into your honeymoon?”

“W--wh--n--no! No, I haven’t!” You avoid his piercing stare as you focus on your end of the large canvas instead.

No, but I dreamt about it once.

“‘Hao, would you hurry! We’re supposed to be collaborating on this and it looks… like it’s 5 different art styles.”

“Don’t change the subject on me. And anyway, I like what you’re doing to hyung. Breaking him out of his shell, y’know? He’s just shy, that’s all. Needs a little work in the bold department.”

You bite down the urge to laugh because to you, Wonwoo was everything but shy when it came to the bedroom. Although, Minghao was right with everything else. “Yeah, I know. We went for breakfast together after I, um, stayed over a few nights ago and he kinda just sat there zoned out, picking at his waffles. He’s really cute when he wakes up in the morning though. Pouty and whiny.”

Grinning at Minghao, he pretends to gag in response before taking a seat next to you.

“Disgusting. Tell me more.”

Wonwoo makes an effort to check in with you throughout the day before he heads back to his room - asking you if you’d had your meals and if you’d finished your project on time.

You’d answered sporadically as you and Minghao raced to finish.

‘I’ll eat late probably… rly gotta finish or else my ass is failing lol’

‘Just don’t forget, okay? It’s not good for you to skip.’

Wonwoo lays down in his bed; yawning as he sets his phone onto the nightstand next to himself.

His eyelids feel heavy and he’s quick to give in to the tiredness that takes over him once he gets comfortable.

When Wonwoo finally decides to shift during his nap, he finds it difficult and extra warm.

“Mmh…”

His bleary eyes adjust to the, now,  slightly darkened room as he makes out your figure tucked underneath his arm. He calls your name softly - waking you up from the nap that you’d apparently joined him in.

“Mmh… Wonwoo…” You snuggle in deeper, voice still laced with sleep. “You didn’t even budge when I came in…”

He chuckles softly as he readjusts to spoon you from behind instead; his strong arm wrapped around your waist to keep your body flush against his own.

“I’m surprised you came by, sweetheart. I would’ve just stayed awake had I known you were coming over.” His voice is groggy and laced with sleep as you sigh softly in return as you blink away the sleepiness.

“How was your day at the library? Miss me yet?” Wonwoo smiles into your shoulder before he tilts his head up to kiss the shell of your ear.

“Always, sweetheart. Although, Mingyu decided to keep me busy today.”

“Oh? Anything fun?”

He plays with the hem of your shirt, “Well… Fun isn’t the word I’d use to describe what that was. Nosy was more like it.”

This time you can’t help but snort in response. “You too? I think some people were being ‘lil moles today.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it. Did you end up just coming back here with Minghao from the studio?”

“Wasn’t planning on it, to be honest but… S’been a rough day.” Placing your hand over his arm, you squeeze slightly as you pull his arm around you tighter. “Our professor came by while we were working in the studio and said our project wasn’t up to par with what Minghao and I usually submit for projects. She didn’t fail us on the spot but she said we need to redo it for less credit or take the failing grade.”

Wonwoo nuzzles your neck; peppering small kisses on your clothed shoulder. “I take it the two of you are going to redo it?”

“Mm… We spent so long coming up with a concept and now we’re both stressed about coming up with something new. I walked over here with ‘Hao and he locked himself up in his room as soon as we got here. Figured I’d come hang out with you and found you napping… With your glasses on, no less.”

The two of you share a laugh; Wonwoo’s embrace making you feel more at ease.

“Can I help you de-stress a little, sweetheart?”

You stare at the opposite wall, nodding gently as Wonwoo’s hand leaves the hem of your shirt in favour of the waistband of your shorts.

“Just want you to feel good,” he whispers. “You deserve it. You’ve been working so hard, baby.”

He teases you softly; fingertips ghosting across your skin as you shiver. “Ah, Wonwoo…”

“You worked extra hard today too, didn’t you? I’m so proud of you for what you accomplished today.”

Your body heats up at his praise and you can’t deny that his deep, soft voice sends thrums of arousal pouring over your body just as he dips his hand into your lounge shorts. He touches you over your panties - fingertips ghosting against your mound as you moan his name shakily in return.

“I know your new idea is going to be great, baby. I believe in you.”

Soft whines threaten to spill as Wonwoo strokes you over your panties - slowly working you up as you find yourself trying to grind against his hand. “Y-yeah… ‘m p-pretty sure ‘Hao’s already working on it…”

Your voice is barely above a whisper as Wonwoo continues to stroke you gently; making no efforts to rush or add pressure to his feather-light touches.

A disappointed noise falls from your lips when he starts to pull his hand out of your shorts but it quickly turns into a content sigh when he starts teasing your chest instead.

“Mm, so soft…” Muttering against your shoulder, his eyes stare off into the dark room as he massages your body. “And all mine~”

You hum in response, “We should go on a date sometime…”

“You want to? We can go this weekend. After you’ve redone some of your project. I’ll take you somewhere nice for a job well done.”

You giggle softly; images of a wedding day’s Wonwoo dancing in your mind after the conversation you’d had with Minghao earlier. “I’d like that. We should do something for the whole day.”

“Whatever you’d like, baby.”

Wonwoo’s hand flits down your body again - snaking into your shorts and, this time, into your panties as you whine. “Do you wanna cum or go back to sleep, hmm?” 

You ponder it for a second as the drowsiness equates the urge to cum on his fingers. 

“Both? I wanna cum and then sleep a little more... If that’s okay?” 

Wonwoo hums in agreement as his fingertips drag through your folds - collecting the wetness on them before he teases your soaked hole. “Only a little teasing gets you this wet, hmm? So cute.” 

“Ah, f-feels good when you go slow t-too...” 

He stores that away in his head for later; chuckling against your shoulder as he slowly starts to dip his middle finger into your cunt. 

You feel warm and content when he starts a slow pace - thumb on your clit rubbing soft, slow circles while he pumps his finger into you. 

“O-oh, Wonwoo...” 

“You’re always good for me, baby. Always such a good girl.” 

“Ah, Wonwoo...”

“You can cum whenever you want. You deserve it.” 

He adds his index finger - thrusting both fingers into you as you mewl and arch away from his warm chest. Your toes curl and your thighs clamp and trap his hand between your legs as you start to grind down onto his nimble fingers.

“...W--Wonwoo...” 

“That’s right, baby. Call my name, let me hear your pretty voice when your cumming for me.” 

You turn your head - cries muffled into his pillow because despite his slower than usual pace, you find yourself already on the brink of cumming with his fingers knuckle deep inside of you and his thumb on your clit. 

“Mmh... Ah... Feels s-so warm... and g-good...” You mutter, eyes blinking drowsily. “Gonna c-cum...” 

He doesn’t say anything in return as he focuses on you and your pleasure; fingers scissoring and curling right into your g-spot as you clamp down onto them in a vice grip. 

Wonwoo knows when you’re about to cum when he feels your hand coming down on his forearm, holding onto him for dear life when your orgasm still hits you just as hard. 

“Ngh, Wo---Wonwoo!” 

Your walls flutter around his fingers and make it harder for him to thrust them in and out with how tight you get. 

“That’s my good girl. Cum for me, baby~” 

His deep voice makes you whine - nails digging into his arm and body trembling as the pleasure steadily washes over you. 

“Ah, bet your face is so pretty right now too~” 

“Mmh, s-stop...” Your cheeks burn in slight embarrassment from his constant praise but you can’t deny the way it goes straight to your core and only prolongs your orgasm. 

“Don’t be so shy, baby. It’s only you and me here.” 

Wonwoo leans away slightly to kiss the crown of your head - still working you through your orgasm as you sigh contentedly in his arms. 

Various thoughts run through his head in the moment, but the one that sits at the forefront of his mind is definitely how to make sure he kept treating you right. 

Starting with your date that he would spend time meticulously planning.

‘Ah, I should ask Mingyu for some advice.’ 

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink. 

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself! 

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.  

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.      

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.  

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”  

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.    

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.  

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.  

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.  

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.  

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”  

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.  

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.  

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.    

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.  

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”  

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.    

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.  

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.    

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.  

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.  

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“    

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself. 

“The whole process, it feels sort of  - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.  

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.  

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.    

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.  

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.  

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.  

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

-

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?  

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.  

Yours,

Bucky”

-

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

[certified-anakinfucker]

Can you tell anything about GDOCS, Cheeri?

Oh yeah absolutely!! GDOCS is just my Google Docs. I have a shiiiiitton of wips in there just to float around.

- adaa (my redo of kalevala!) — this is just a basic overview of how adaa will be structured in terms of intrapolitical power, and eventually i’ll add a section on the environment.

- alor cerel alyth, adaa (intro sheet) — the oc gifted to me by beloved and absolutely adored YOU, i’m working on her sign-up here and there as i get a feel out for her personality and style. there’s not a lot on it yet but oh my GOSH i am so excited

- re wen / finn ertay fluff (for kiwigi <3) — a technical oc ship between kiwi’s oc re wen di and my reclaimed canon char finn ertay! it’s suuuuuper soft, about re wen bringing them back to serenno because he’s on the search for a very particular plant; meanwhile finn ertay is inadvertently doing some soul-searching on just how deeply she loves him. they’re gonna confess their feelings and then go back to sleep

- miz dissociation — so i was supposed to be nice to miz. BUT. i couldn’t help but do a little blurb on miz having a bad day that turns a little worse when someone triggers him into what i call a “miz moment” - extreme dissociation and, if seated or otherwise still, catatonia. it’s not As rough though since the trigger wasn’t done by his abuser but instead an unknowing clone who genuinely wanted to help, and still at least got miz a shower and into a bunk somewhere.

- maul redemption blurb — so i have the jedification of maul, right? yeah basically so the blurb is about two jedi, a metalworking tiefling named karai and her mind healer not-partner narama lokimi going through the motions of karai suffering Really Strange illness bouts, which she says is caused by someone calling through the force with extreme anguish. it’s maul, bisected in the bottom of a cooling station on naboo. and karai Needs to go help him, he’s in so much pain she can hardly stand it. (karai will later take him on as her padawan after ten years of narama’s therapy)

- at the cost of the golden prophet — MY MAN HELLIR’-AMDERAK EDI DROVADDAL oh my god i love him. so this is just his overarching story outline where i just put down what kinda stuff happens in his lifetime, which spans a pretty good while. his late founding and induction to the order, meeting two of his crechemates, his aspirations to be a musician crumbling before his eyes because he happens to be a very good delegator and so he ends up as a diplomat eventually, and then he fully trains his first padawan to knighthood, returns to music, and then he’s handed a 25y/o obi-wan in need of (a) therapy and (b) his padawanship completed and YEAH THERE’S EVEN MORE TO IT AND I LOVE HIM SM SM SM SM

[babygirlkiki1016]

Masterlist

Chapter 10: A lovely bond

Chapter 11: Unexpected Betrayal

I resealed the door, drawing the same pattern as before to lock it in place. I was going to miss this little cave, for more memories than I ever could imagine happened here. I ran my fingers over my newly designed dwarven braid, after Thorin saw the one I made he decided to redo my braid into a dwarven rose. It was incredibly beautiful, I don't think I'd ever want to take it out.

"Well, you owe me a tooth." Kili wrapped his arm around my shoulder as we headed to the shifter's home. For he had more supplies that we needed, especially some from my home that we have supplied him with. "I found your courter, I will say I am surprised that it was my uncle. I never believed he could feel that way towards you, but now I understand why he didn't want you to think about marriage."

"Oh really? And why is that?"

"He didn't want you to marry anyone else but him, I guess that means we get to call you auntie now. Auntie Y/n, rolls off the tongue doesn't it?"

"Although I'm glad that my uncle has warmed up to you, why would you want to be with someone who hurt you more than once?" Fili came close to my right, giving me a curious look. I didn't know why I loved Thorin, all he has ever done was make me feel sad. Did I fall in love because I wanted a person that didn't want me?

"I don't know the answer to that Fili, I have no idea why I fell in love with him. Thought I'm glad I did, for he has made me feel something I haven't felt in years." My gaze trailed over to the King who is staring back at me with a soft smile, my heart fluttered. As we made our way to the shifter's home, I rejoined my beloved who led the company.

"Thorin." I greeted, making him glance over at me with the same grin from earlier.

"Good morning amralime, I was beginning to worry you were ignoring me. For you haven't said a thing to me all morning."

"I was busy helping the others pack their things, for some reason they kept bowing as I approached." They had never done that before, and to me it was weird they would treat me such way. It became highly annoying, I had to keep reminding them that they didn't have to do that.

"You are my betrothed, soon you will be the Queen under the mountain. They have recognized you as one of their own, and accepted you as their Queen."

"I've done nothing to prove I'm a good leader, how could they call me such?"

"They first started to admire you when you asked for me to set your people free if you fell. Then you protected us in the Goblin tunnels, and when we were fighting the trolls. Even when you left, you still came back, you showed loyalty. And that's all they can ever ask for, it's all I can ask for." He slipped his arm around my waist pulling me closer to him, that look of adoration now had a permanent place on his features. Yet the small romantic moment came to an end, darkness appeared behind us, an orc pack was not far behind.

"Thorin." The look on my face was obvious, he shouted to the others to get their weapons ready. "This way!" I led them far into the forest, and soon we made our way onto Beorn's land. We ran across the field, the Orcs hot on our heels stop when they hear the creature roaring close by. We rushed to his house with the insanely large bear traveling behind us, quickly I unlocked the door letting everyone in. The creature lunges its head through it, and we all push to close the door. After being slightly injured by the pressure of the gate, Beorn finally moves his head and we manage to shut and lock the entrance.

"What is that?" Ori asked turning to me and the great grey wizard that stood beside me.

"That is our host," Gandalf explained as my focus went to Thorin, who was leaning on the door tiredly. He held his side, I reached forward and pulled away his cloak to see that he was bleeding slightly. "His name is Beorn, he’s a skin-changer. Sometimes he’s a huge black bear, sometimes he’s a great strong man. The bear is unpredictable, but the man can be reasoned with. However, he is not overly fond of dwarves."

"Come, let me fix your bandage." I let Thorin lean on me slightly, slowly I set him down on a nearby stool as the rest of the dwarves questioned if Beorn's abilities were dark magic or not. As Thorin slipped off his top clothing I grabbed a herb from my homeland that we had given to Beorn which he rarely ever uses. It's more of a 'just in case' necessity, good thing he has it.

"What is that?" Thorin took the red egg-like plant from my hand, examining it.

"It's called Arigonis, the juice inside has healing properties, it's a very rare plant. Well was, but we found a way to grow it, it'll heal your injuries all the way. However it will take time, a hour or so tops so don't scratch at it no matter how much it itches." I brought over a small bowl with water within, kneeling in front of him I took the plant and broke it apart. Using the juice and skin, I made this paste-like substance to put on his injuries. He had already taken his bandages off and discarded them to the side. When I looked up to cover him in the red-like paint, our faces were close, it was hard not to kiss him though I hardly doubt he would mind. I got to work in covering him with the herb, and it didn't take long before he went to scratch at it. "Hey, no don't do that." I slap his hand away playfully, he groans in frustration.

"It itches."

"That's how you know it's working, but if you scratch at it your wound won't heal all the way." He wants to scratch it badly, his fingers dug into his thigh so he wouldn't be tempted. Once I was done covering him in the agitating red paste, I washed my hands before making my way back over to him. I removed his hands from his thighs and made him focus on me. I was nervous, for I had never sang in front of anyone before but I figured it would help. I took a deep breath, keeping my gaze to the floor. "Wind howls in my hair, the world stops when you come this near. Starlight on your skin, the sky sways as you pull me in. And I, I wanna swim in your ocean. I wanna know how to love again, Ooh take me into your arm, sirens call, how fast I fall. Beneath your waves, no storm can take my eyes from you." Everyone turned to me, listening as I sang the song my mother used to hum to me when I was a child. "Crash down to my knees, their fears and hopes flood over me.

Your hand finds my own and shows me that I'm not alone. Now I, I'm diving deep in your ocean, I see the way to redemption, Ooh.

Take me into your arms, sirens call, how fast I fall. Beneath your waves, no storm can take

my eyes from you." All gathered around to listen as I sang the vocals, while others closed their eyes to sleep to the sound.

"Y/n." Thorin rested his hand upon my cheek, making me lean into his touch with a need to feel it. His eyes shined with a lovable glare, for he was stunned at my sudden talent.

"Take me into your arms, sirens call, how fast I fall. Beneath your waves, no storm can take

my eyes from you." (Song called Into Your Arms by Ryan Louder & Serena). Thorin's lips found it's way to mine, the rough skin made me crave more but we can only do so much in front of the others.

"You should sing more often." He gave me a pleading look, I rolled my eyes and retrieved another bandage to wrap around his torso.

"Perhaps I will, but for now you need to rest."

"Sing me to sleep, my Queen?" I kissed his forehead, smiling at his request. His hands landed on my waist pulling me in, but he kept me away just far enough where I wouldn't mess up the paste.

"Anything for you my King."

~♪♠♪~

My arms rested around the dwarven man, his hair tickling my nose slightly. Ever since we had proclaimed our love to each other he's been wanting me to sleep by his side. Which of course I was willing to do, but it made me think. How long would I have a moment like this? Surely the other dwarven kingdoms would want him to marry someone suitable, though maybe I am suitable. Once we get those reports and it's shown to the world that my kin is innocent they wouldn't be able to turn down an alliance with the Queen of the Digonisks.

"You seem deep in thought." Thorin's voice rumbled, a shiver ran down my spine at the sudden vibration.

"Have you been watching me this entire time?" He shifted onto his side, those beautiful blue orbs meeting mine.

"No, but I can tell when your asleep and when your not. And when you think deeply about certain things you tend to frown or smile. Today you did both." His thumb caressed my cheek, a gesture to make sure I was alright. "What is it amralime?"

"After this quest, and my kin goes free, won't your people want you to marry someone suitable?"

"You are suitable, there is evidence that digonisks are innocent. Once the humans and the rest of my people realize their mistake, they'll do anything to make their wrongs a right."

"...What if the scrolls aren't there? What if we never find them, will you still love me?"

"Of course." He seemed hurt that I began to doubt his feelings, a determined look appeared. He leaned forward and pecked my lips, but it soon became a more passionate kiss. Luckily we were in one of the empty stables for privacy, or the others would be grossed out. His arms wrapped tightly around me, I settled on top of him and straddle his waist. His bandages remained on his chest, for I had forgotten to take them off last night yet his wounds should be healed all the way now. With a smirk he flipped us over, his muscular figure now above my own.

"We're gonna get caught."

"Let them see." He goes to kiss me again but a loud fake gag was heard from behind him.

"No don't them see." Kili covered his eyes along with his brother, I gave Thorin an 'I told you so' look. "We came to tell you breakfast has been made." They quickly scurried away, sighing Thorin stood and we headed to the dining room. Everyone is sat at a table being served breakfast by Beorn, whose eyes widened when he saw me.

"Y/n." He nods his head slightly as a greeting, but a frown comes upon his features. "What are you doing here with a bunch of dwarves? Shouldn't you be in-" He stopped talking, for he did not want to give away our hidden home.

"No, I've been helping these men for the past few months. Don't worry Beorn they know, and they've accepted me." I stood in front of Thorin, undoing the white cloth that had been around his torso for far too long.

"If your here then who's running things?"

"Lani, my handmaiden why is there something wrong?"

"I've received word from your people that I must pay tribute for the Arigonis. They want me to cut wood so they can collect it." I stopped, pay tribute? I've never had him pay tribute before and Lani knows that, besides it's not that rare of a plant anymore.

"And if you refuse?"

"They wouldn't supply me with it anymore, and if I continue to refuse they threatened to imprison me. At first, I was angry for I never expected this out of you but seeing you now showed me that you had nothing to do with it." Imprisonment? That was nothing like my kin, what was going on while I was away?

"Who gave the order?"

"Fenris delivered me the scroll explaining how things were going to be handled from now on. Though I don't think it was him." There was no way Lani would take control like this, she was an innocent girl, right? Or was she abusing the power I gave her? Maybe it was a misunderstanding, that's not like her, she can barely ask me for something. "They're coming later to receive my answer, they should be here in a few-" Before he could finish his answer there was pounding on the door, well speak of the devil.

"Thorin wipe off the paste, I'll be back." Angrily I opened the barn door to see Fenris, the commander of my armies who immediately bowed along with the rest of his group.

"My Queen! I did not realize you were here."

"I did not realize someone gave the order to threaten my friend, who ordered that Beorn would have to give up his wood for the herb?"

"Well, you did my Queen." I was taken aback, and I could hear gasps behind me. The dwarves watched as I went from angry to absolutely furious.

"I gave no such command, for I haven't been in contact with anyone for quite some time. Where did you hear about this?"

"Lani showed us the paper you supposedly signed, that anyone we give supplies to must pay tribute in return and if not, they shall be imprisoned or worse...be sentenced to death."

@fili-is-my-lover @kirenia15 @lunariasilver @depressedchilipepper @tschrist1 @ayamenimthiriel @ask-the-elf-stuff