#i like how the practice doodle on the side turned out. i did that one first

[smeddiemunson]

(part 1 here)

After they narrowly escape being fucked up by what Eddie had planned for them (a goblin ambush they were completely underprepared for), the Hellfire members took their sweet time in clearing up after themselves; an unspoken agreement between the older members to hang around long enough to see just how Eddie behaves around Steve.

Gareth didn’t think Dustin had figured it out. He just connected dots he doesn’t know are on the same playing board, Eddie’s mystery crush and Steve’s favourite song nothing more than a coincidence. Or at least Gareth hoped that’s how it’s playing out, he knew it took a lot, more than his posturing would ever imply, for Eddie to reveal his big secret to the band. He didn’t want Eddie to have to confront that again until he felt ready, even if it is just to some kids.

Jeff was kneeling on the floor, reaching under the table where he pretended to drop a bag of dice when Steve began to make his way down the stairs.

Over his shoulder he called out, “Thank you, Mrs Wheeler!”

Jeff didn’t see the way Eddie perked up just at the sound of his voice, but Gareth and Grant certainly did.

“Are you flirting with Mrs Wheeler again, Stevie?” Eddie teased, ignoring the way Mike retched and groaned about it being gross.

‘Stevie?’ Gareth mouthed to Grant, who just shrugged. Nicknames are a dime a dozen when Eddie decides he likes a person. Gareth had been Gare-Bear for as long as he’d known him, Jeff was Jeffy, and Grant got to be ad-Grant-age. Stevie was a bit different, Stevie was close, affectionate in a way that the nicknames that usually spilled from Eddie’s lips weren’t.

This was maybe worse than they thought.

The last crush Eddie had was there and gone almost in a blink of an eye. Connor from his home room who doodled stick figure drawings of their teachers to pass to Eddie every morning until the jocks got to him and Eddie was cast aside again. But for two precious weeks, Eddie was happy, nice, and didn’t freak when Grant snapped a guitar string that meant they couldn’t practise until he got his hands on a replacement.

This was wholly different. Steve didn’t even bat an eyelash at the affectionate tone, in fact, Gareth thought he saw a faint pinkness colour his cheeks; though he didn’t know if it was just the heat of the basement that did it.

“Convincing her you haven’t yet corrupted her children more like,” Steve laughed.

Jeff, who had now appeared from under the table, made a half aborted motion towards Mike that only Gareth and Grant could see from their side of the table. There was no question that Eddie had sunk his claws into Wheeler and the boy was fully corrupted. If they didn’t know better, they could’ve confused Mike for Eddie’s brother, the resemblance now so uncanny.

Eddie smiled. A real one that took up his whole face and made his eyes sparkle.

Definitely worse than they thought.

Steve turned to the kids. “Henderson, you’re with me. Byers you’re with Eddie. Sinclair, I trust you can walk next door without supervision?” He glanced at his watch while Lucas nodded as if this weren’t the first time he’d been questioned in such a way. “And we’ve got thirty minutes until curfew so get moving.”

The kids, naturally grumbled but they didn’t argue, which was yet another weird thing for the Corroded Coffin boys to experience. Those kids argued with everything.

“Oh hey, Ed, Argyle is getting in late Friday night so pool party at mine on Saturday. You in?” Steve dug his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, trying to act casual, as if he didn’t care about Eddie’s answer. But it was clear as day to Gareth, who didn’t even know him, that Steve really really cared.

Eddie’s face fell. “Sorry, band practice on Saturday. We’ve got a show coming up so…”

Gareth jumped in before he had to watch either of them start crying. “You can go after, Eddie. My mom’ll kill me if we spend all day in the garage anyway.”

Steve’s face lit up like it was Christmas morning.

Now Gareth couldn’t be certain, he wasn’t certain about anything in his life except for his love of Iron Maiden and the reality that he was never leaving Hawkins, but he was fairly sure Steve Harrington might just return Eddie’s feelings.

“Awesome! Hey, you guys should come too! It’s only gonna be a small thing: me, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan and his friend Argyle.”

“Um, thanks, but—“ Jeff cut off in his refusal with a groan as Gareth and Grant not so subtly dug their elbows into his stomach.

They were going to have to spend more time in the orbit of Eddie-and-Steve if Gareth was going to be able to figure out if feelings were a two way street. He wasn’t super excited about the prospect of spending all afternoon playing nice with rich kids, but he’d done worse things for the sake of making Eddie happy. He could do this as well.

“We’d love to!” Grant filled in a little too excitedly. Gareth shot him a look that hopefully conveyed his need to calm down.

“Where do you live?”

Steve smiled. “Teddy knows, he’s been enough times. Oh and you’re welcome to crash after, if you want. There’s enough space.”

“Teddy,” Gareth echoed. They all knew about Eddie’s mom’s nickname for him. Eddie’s dead mom’s nickname for him, and the way he never wanted a reminder.

Steve laughed. “Yeah because he’s just so cuddle-able!”

Eddie, through clenched teeth and a bright red blush, hissed. “Shut up.”

Oh and his eyes pleaded with Gareth to let it go, that they wouldn’t talk about it later.

Clue 5. Eddie was completely aware of how smitten he was.

“We’ll be there, Harrington,” Gareth said, the finality on the matter that Jeff would be arguing with him about later.

Steve smiled so wide it was almost blinding. He left with a squeeze to Eddie’s shoulder, hand lingering longer than necessary, and Dustin moaning about why the kids hadn’t been invited to a pool party.

There were two things Gareth knew for sure. One: Eddie wasn’t just crushing on Steve Harrington, he was well on his way to being in love with him. Two: Steve was either just the chillest guy alive (unlikely) or he returned Eddie’s feelings.

Either way, Gareth had some meddling to do.

(part 3)

[baddiewiththebook]

Over the Years | e.m x reader | p. 2

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

-> <-

Sep. 1974

It’s as if you’re already going off to college. Dropping her baby off for the first day of first grade gives your mom crippling worry. She tugs at the fabric of your frilly pink top that she was gifted while you were still in her belly.

There is a part of her that always wants you by her side. She can’t let go of when you were a brand new babe. You and her did everything together. She still sits in the back with the other parents, while you practice at your etiquette classes on Saturdays.

If you could tell her how ridiculous they are without shattering her spirit, you would without a second thought. Who knew there were so many different types of spoons? Or that walking with your shoulders up is aggressive and unladylike?

You have much more fun when you’re digging for worms with Eddie and racing him around the trailer because you’re faster than him even on such short legs.

A set of footsteps approach from behind where you stand at the front of the school. It tears your mom up, but she’s got to stop picking at your clothes and slicking down loose pieces of hair. You’re clean, you’ve been fed a full meal and you have your lunch pale. Oh - she twists your arm. Lunch pale? Where’s your- the pink strap drops from her shoulder.

“Here, baby,” she might lose her head if she isn't careful. Handing over your lunch pale, she loops the strap over your shoulder and secures it with a tight tug. “You ready?”

Wayne’s giving a lecture to Eddie about responsibility, and he’s hoping that whatever Eddie is staring at behind him isn’t too interesting and that he’s actually listening to what his uncle is saying. Alas, there’s only so much he can do.

“You take her hand and you walk her straight to her classroom. Eddie,” Wayne’s warning straightens Eddie out, “make sure the teacher sees her. Okay?”

“I got it,” Eddie kicks the gravel under him. “Can I go now?”

“Hug,” it isn’t a question and Wayne sneaks a kiss on the top of Eddie’s head.

Meanwhile, your mom is suffocating you into an endless hug. She holds back her tears as best as she can, but her sniffling gives away the secret.

When she’s ready, you turn away from her. Your backpack is half of your size. Silly little doodles and sparkles scream out across the fabric.

Eddie holds out his hand, and you gladly wrap your fingers around his. The two of you are sucked into the swarm of kids entering the school building, and your mom will stand there until she absolutely is sure that pink glittery bag is gone.

“Do you think it ever gets easier?” She toys with the necklace around her neck.

Wayne wipes her eye, “no, I suppose not.”

“Do you want to get a bite to eat before I head off to work?” Your mom offers. “I’ll pay.”

“I’ll pay,” Wayne shakes his head. “I’ll meet you at the diner around the corner.”

The crowd tightens inside the school, where you’re hardly able to move around the sea of kids. Parents hang around outside of the classrooms waving goodbye to their children.

You’re hardly sure of yourself. The school is still new under your feet. Tile slips beneath you. Everything smells fresh inside. It’s clean. You’re a fan of clean.

Eddie keeps to his word and even tightens his grip when you’re about to be separated by a bigger guy. Fifth graders. They’re all that once they’re at the top of the food chain. Compared to scrawny you, you’re like a minnow in a sea of swordfish.

You near an open classroom where the orange candy colored door has a number one stuck onto a bright orange sun. There’s a few smiley face stickers dancing down the door frame.

A friendly face greets you at the door. Her hair is like the maple syrup you drown your pancakes in. Skin like soap. And, you think she smells like mint.

“Good morning, Eddie!” Her cherry cheeks pinch upwards. “Are you helping your friend to class? That’s very sweet of you!”

Eddie was enrolled in her first grade class a few years ago. Mrs. Clark is one of the kindest ladies that he ever met. They had fun guessing colors and counting numbers together. Sometimes she would give them funny little rewards like candy or cool shiny pencils.

Mr. Brown, Eddie’s new third grade teacher, will surely not do that. The man is about as interesting as a plank of wood. Still, he should try to learn something. Maybe he can finally master cursive writing. That would be a neat trick.

You spin around when Mrs Clark ushers you forward. Brows furrowed into the center of your forehead, Eddie drops your hand and sends you on your way with a wave.

“I’ll see you at recess,” he reassures you.

“Okay,” you swallow those nerves. “Bye, Eddie.”

There’s a hum that separates the classroom from the hallway. Chaos consumes outside the room, but inside is much calmer and quieter. Encouraging posters flash at you from the walls. An alphabet stretches across two corners or the walls at the tippy top. You know your alphabet like you know your numbers because your mom wouldn’t let you rest all summer. She insisted you must know them, before you get into class.

“Do you see your name on the front of any of these desks?” Mrs. Clark encourages your independence.

Weaving between the rows of desk, you do find your name plastered largely on a piece of construction paper that sits atop your desk. You hang your backpack over the back of the desk, before sliding into your chair.

“You can color your name tag if you would like,” she encourages, “you can use your crayons or there’s a big bucket we share over there.”

There’s a whole wall of construction paper, crayons, markers and art supplies that you could choose from. You’re going to enjoy this class a lot. You just know it.

Mrs. Clark leaves you to return to the hallway, while waiting for a few more kids. That cookie cutter grin never leaves her face.

Your mom told you that everything you need is inside that backpack. Unzipping the biggest pocket, you find a purple pencil case. It still has that zesty waxy smell from last year. You go ahead and drop the case onto your desk, before popping the lid open.

“Hi,” pops out a young brunette girl about your height and weight. She’s got on overalls that are one size too big, and she’s missing a tooth in the front of her face.

“Hi,” you smile with all of your teeth.

“Can I borrow some of these?” Her eyes go wide with interest at the particularly pretty pink crayon you have in that box.

You are ready to tell her that there’s a shareable box on the countertop that’s already being picked through by several of your classmates, but before you get the chance, she’s already taken a couple of your crayons. Scrunching your brows into a tight knot, you let the interaction go for now. Your mom’s voice rings in your ears to share with the other kids.

It’s not your favorite thing to do, and your mom chops that up to not having a sibling. Mom says you won’t get one, even though you really want one. Apparently it’s too difficult to get a sibling these days, they’re really expensive. You’ve never seen a store in the mall that sells siblings, but your mom has never been one to lie to you.

They must be rare.

The crayon thief sits right across from you, so you can keep an eye on her. Tongue stuck out from focusing too hard on whatever she’s coloring, you peak over to see. She’s got a cool fish doodled on the right side of the construction paper. The pink is being used roughly to draw some scales across his back.

“That’s cool,” you pipe up.

She finishes the scales, before she speaks to you again, “thanks! Yours is cool too!”

You spent a couple moments drawing lines and shapes across the piece of construction paper in all different colors.

“Thanks!” You say, “What’s your name?”

Lifting the piece of construction paper out in front of her with such theatrics, she traces her name across the paper.

“Robin,” she points. “Yours?”

In a swift motion, you’re also holding up the construction paper so she can read your name off. She nods in acknowledgment, and hands off your pink crayon. Bye, not without sneaking the orange one to scribble a few more scales.

“We should eat lunch together,” Robin decides in that moment. “I don’t have many friends, but I think you’re going to be one of them.”

Your face flushes, “Okay, Robin.”

The moment of chatter has passed, as soon as Mrs. Clark comes into the room with an agenda. She begins by writing her name out in big letters across the chalkboard and then telling you guys something interesting about herself. She has a big dog named Fluffy.

You want a dog, but your mom does not. She tells you that you’re enough responsibility. Dogs are messy.

You never get what you want.

Most of the morning time goes without a hiccup. You’re spelling new words, and your teacher even gives you a list to share with your mom. There’s also something called ‘adding’ and ‘subtracting.’ You haven’t quite gotten the hang of that yet. But, your new friend Robin understands. Her hand shoots up faster than anyone else in class.

By the time lunch rolls around, you’re all told to stand in a straight line at the front of the classroom. Mrs. Clark is leader. You stand with Robin somewhere in the middle, and await your turn to walk. Clutching your lunch bag, you’re excited to share what you have with Robin. She didn’t come with a lunch today, but rather a few dollars to pay for food.

The cafeteria is quite a ways down the hall. You pass by other classrooms that are also ready for lunch. Maybe you’ll find more friends from those classes. Where is Eddie?

When you get into the lunch room, the cafeteria is nearly bare. The children who have a lunch are instructed to sit at a table and to eat what they came with. You’re sitting down amongst a small group of girls that hardly pay attention to you. Their pretty bows wrapped in their hair and their nails all painted up tells you what you need to know.

“This seat is saved,” is also a clue.

You scoot down to give them room for their friend that will never come. Putting your lunch box on top of the table, you undo the straps to find what’s inside. Your mom has given you a sandwich with the crusts cut off. There’s a baggy of chips and a juice pouch. Your favorite flavor.

While you snack on the chips, the cafeteria begins to flow with more life. Eventually, you do see Eddie. He comes into the cafeteria with his own classroom. They’re rambunctious and awfully loud. Eddie heads for the long line to buy his lunch, but not before catching you sitting by yourself and he sends a wave your way.

You wave back at him, and hear the girls next to you snickering. Dropping your hand, you go back to hiding in your bag of chips. One of the girls leans to your ear;

“Do you like-like him or something? Is he your boyfriend?” She snickers. “He looks like a girl. Look at his hair! Do you like girls or something?”

“Eddie is my friend, and he’s not a girl,” your eyes begin to well up, but you take a deep breath before any of them fall.

“Aw,” she doesn’t miss a beat, “you gonna cry? Where’s your mommy?”

Robin approaches the scene just in time, as she overhears these pigs making fun of you. Slamming her tray in between you and her, she swings her leg over the bench.

“This seat is saved,” the girl scoffs, then puts her hand on the bench.

“I don’t see any name on it,” Robin sits hard onto the girls knuckles.

The girl yelps, and babies her fist.

“Are you going to cry?” Robin imitates the girl’s pouty lip.

“I’m telling!” The girl shouts in defeat.

“I’m not scared of you,” Robin rolls her eyes as the girl gets up. When she’s gone, she faces you, “you okay? Don’t let her get to you.”

“I’m okay,” you hold out your pudding cup. “Here.”

“Oh, wow!” Robin beams. “Thanks! You want my jello?”

“Sure!”

The two of you talk about not-so-important details of each other’s life. Robin’s bedroom has a red clock on the nightstand, and your bedroom used to be an extra closet before you were born. It’s all the same to you. Then, Robin tells you about her parents being business people. She’s not really sure what that means, but the house they live in is just down the street. She says she’ll talk to her mom, and maybe you can sleepover sometime.

You’ll talk with Robin throughout lunch, and then some more while you play on the structure outside at recess. The slide quickly becomes your favorite. Robin really likes the swings. While you push her on the swings, Eddie takes a turn on the one next to you two.

“Hi!” Eddie bounces into the seat.

You wave, “Robin, this is my neighbor, Eddie.”

“Hi, Eddie,” Robin twists about in the swing. “Do you want to play?”

“Okay,” Eddie taps your shoulder. “Tag, you’re it!”

Wind whipping in your face, you dart through the play structure after Eddie. Robin hugs the slide where you can’t see her, but her laughter gives her away. You tap on her shoulder because Eddie has grown much longer legs, and you’re too tired to find him across the field.

You dash away in Eddie’s direction. Screaming at the top of your lungs, you charge at him to yelling that Robin is ‘it’ now. Hugging a tree, you spin a few times, before Robin will give up and run after Eddie.

It’s not too long, before a few of Eddie’s friends join in on the fun. They’re older and much speedier than the two of you, but the chase is so rewarding.

Lungs burning. Heart pounding. A smile that cracks the sides of your lips. The only reason you stop the game is because a whistle blows in the distance. You're beckoned inside by your teachers.

"I'll see you later, Eddie!" You wave to him across the playground.

Eddie shouts from the line forming in front of his class, "Bye!"

-> <-

[July 1979]

tags -> @leelei1980 @sheneedsrocknroll92

[amalasdraws]

Amalassss, i was stalking the author of the formula 1 fic on tumblr and saw your art and was like “?? Woww that is really similar to amalas style” lolll then i saw that it was youuu 💀💀 you have such a distinct style!! The art turned out great! Have you ever drawn Gojo? Welcome to the satosugu side of fandom!! You asked for fic recs for satosugu right? Ill come back later with a list for you

Hahah omg I love that!! Especially since it's not colored and doesn't have one of my signature clutter bgs and you still recognized it as mine! Love it! I started the fic and binged it like crazy and now I'm in so deep! If I had the time I would draw so much fanart!! SO MUCH!!

I have drawn Gojo!! But not for the fic, and also only as some doodles. I did them some time ago to see how and if I could draw Gojo

I have some full scene fanart ideas in mind and wanted to see if I could draw Gojo and practice him a little. Sadly I didn't had the time yet to draw the full scene illustration. I want to do something with Geto and Gojo in 2006, but all is well and they are just chilling and enjoying a day together. And now I also want to draw many scenes from the Coanda Effect fic. And I don't even know F1!!! WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?!?!

Send me time and energy and I'll draw all the art :D

[sweetlyvibe]

PAIRING : Platonic!Bokuto koutarou x Reader , slight Akaashi Keiji x Reader

GENRE : just fluff

WC : 811

SUMMARY : Desperate for help, Bokuto persuades Akaashi to tutor you and him. As Akaashi tries to keep things orderly while explaining, he secretly appreciates your presence, and a sweet connection forms amid the chaos.

WARNINGS : none.

As the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm glow across the classroom, you found yourself hunched over a pile of textbooks, battling a fierce enemy: upcoming exams. The thought of failing had you on edge, and that’s when your gaze landed on two of your classmates—Bokuto and Akaashi.

Bokuto was pacing back and forth, his usual energetic self bouncing off the walls. “Akaashi! We need your help! We can’t study without you!” he declared, his voice echoing in the empty classroom.

Akaashi, seated at his desk, looked up from his notes, adjusting his glasses. “Bokuto, it’s just math. You can do it,” he replied, trying to sound patient. His calm demeanor, however, was only adding fuel to Bokuto’s fire.

“Just math? Akaashi, this is our future we’re talking about! If we fail, we can’t play volleyball! You wouldn’t let that happen, would you?” Bokuto pouted, folding his arms dramatically.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at Bokuto’s antics. “Come on, Akaashi. We really do need your help. You’re the smartest one here,” you chimed in, your voice laced with a hint of desperation.

Akaashi sighed, glancing between the two of you. There was no escaping this, was there? “Fine. But you have to promise to focus,” he relented, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks as he glanced your way. You barely noticed, but he did.

With a triumphant grin, Bokuto plopped down beside you, practically bouncing in his seat. “Yes! Let’s do this!” he exclaimed, leaning in close, making it hard to concentrate.

“Alright, let’s start with algebra,” Akaashi said, pulling out a whiteboard. You could see the slight twitch in his eye as Bokuto grabbed a marker, ready to unleash chaos.

“Wait, no! You’re supposed to write neatly!” Akaashi protested, but it was too late. Bokuto had already scrawled a messy equation across the board.

“Look! I wrote it like an artist!” Bokuto beamed, completely missing the point.

Akaashi rubbed his temples, a mix of annoyance and amusement flickering in his eyes. “That’s not how it works, Bokuto. Here, let me show you.”

You watched as Akaashi took the marker, demonstrating the problem with precision. There was something so endearing about the way he focused, his brows slightly furrowed as he explained each step. You could see the spark of determination in his eyes, and your heart fluttered just a bit.

“See? It’s simple if you just take it step by step,” Akaashi continued, his voice steady. But just as he was about to erase Bokuto’s chaotic drawing, Bokuto interrupted.

“Wait! I have a question!” Bokuto exclaimed, his face suddenly serious. “If you were a math problem, would you be hard or easy?”

Akaashi blinked, caught off guard. “That’s… not really relevant,” he stammered, the tips of his ears turning red.

You burst into laughter, unable to hold it back. “I think you’d be hard, Akaashi. But only because you’re so smart!”

“Exactly!” Bokuto agreed, grinning widely. “And that makes you even cooler!”

Akaashi sighed, trying to maintain his composure, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips. “Okay, back to studying. What’s the next problem?”

You glanced at Bokuto, who was now doodling on the side of his paper, completely distracted. “Bokuto, focus!” you urged, leaning closer.

“Right! Right!” he exclaimed, suddenly back in the game.

The chaos continued, with Akaashi trying to guide Bokuto through each topic while you chimed in with your thoughts. There were moments of pure confusion, silly jokes, and laughter echoing through the room.

Eventually, as the sun set and the room dimmed, Akaashi managed to regain control. “Okay, I think we’ve covered enough for today,” he said, looking relieved yet amused.

“Can we do this again tomorrow?” Bokuto asked eagerly, a big smile on his face.

Akaashi shot you a quick glance, and you could see the hint of a smile forming. “Sure, but only if you promise to study seriously this time.”

As you gathered your things, you couldn’t help but feel a warmth spreading in your chest. You glanced at Akaashi, who was packing up his materials, his focus entirely on the task. A part of you hoped that these study sessions would continue—not just for the exams but for the laughter and the connection that came with them.

“Thanks for helping us, Akaashi,” you said, your voice softening.

He looked up, a slight blush creeping back onto his cheeks. “Anytime,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

And just like that, you knew that even amidst the chaos of studying, there was something special blossoming between the three of you.

. 🏐 〃 ⋯ TAGGING : : @0samuloml @yoghurtsan @lxdymoon0357 @achy-boo

[serenescribe]

pénthos Twisted Wonderland | 2.2k Summary: Silver is dead, and everything is wrong. AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52165603 TW: Major character death, heavy angst

I wrote this a few days ago while trying to process my complex feelings about death and life continuing on, mainly due to the sudden decline in health of one of my family's dear pet cats. It is, in essence, a vent fic; it deals with a lot of grief and hurt.

Nevertheless, writing is still a form of expression, and I hope that someone can find some meaning in this, in spite of the heavy content.

The cottage door opens with a long, drawn out creeeaaak.

He covers his nose and mouth with a hand as he steps inside, eyes squinting against the deluge of dust and musty air that permeates the inside of the house. For a moment, Lilia lingers there, standing stock-still in the doorway, his other hand still wrapped around the handle of the door. His grip tightens the slightest bit, the movement imperceptible, matching the way his heart is squeezed within his chest — a scarcely noticeable gesture to match such inner, invisible pain.

With deliberate effort, Lilia forces his hands to drop to his sides.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes.

And then he dives in.

A home is a place, everyone says. That is the textbook definition of what it is — a place where one lives permanently, especially as a family member, or as a member of a household. This cottage is a home, has been a home for all these many years spent deep in the woods of the valley. It was once decrepit, abandoned, falling to pieces, but Lilia had restored it for the purpose of creating a home.

A home for two — for him, and for his son.

His steps are slow, soles practically dragging against the dirt-stained floor. Despite the way the stale air makes him cough, with barely any fresh oxygen in this musty household to revitalise his soul, Lilia leaves it as it is; it is far more fitting this way, than to push open the windows and allow sweeping gusts of forest air to burst inside, washing the living room alight with life.

The decrepit atmosphere matches his mood, the emotions clawing inside his chest, tearing into him from the inside out. There is no point bringing life into a home, when to him, it does not feel like one anymore.

And with that thought, that realisation, Lilia stills. He blinks, and for a moment, it feels as though something indescribable has overcome him — an emotion so peculiar, so powerful, eating at the hollow abyss that has festered within his chest ever since it happened. His shoulders stiffen, teeth snagging against his lower lips. He raises his head, pulling his eyes away from moth-bitten curtains and dust-smeared windows to glance around instead.

Lilia looks at the frames on the wall, housing paintings and photographs within them — an oil painting of him, hair streaked fuchsia yet still draping over his shoulder in long locks, a slumbering toddler seated on his lap; smaller colleges of him years later, laughing in black-and-green uniforms with a boy who towers over him; and scribbly doodles on yellowing paper that tears at the edges, crayon scribbles of stickmen, with wobbling words that read: “Papa and me.”

The claws of fate snatch at his chest, and strangle his heart.

Pressure builds behind his eyes, something wet pricking at the edges. Before he even knows it, Lilia is pressing a hand against the framed drawing, tracing the amateurish yet loving strokes, a lump forming in his throat to choke him until he collapses into the black.

From the very moment he found a crying bundle in a castle of thorns, he has known one singular truth: Lilia has never intended to live longer than the son he shall raise.

Even all the way back then, as he used magic to bless the baby, watching sunlight-spun hair turn to streaks of silvery moonlight, Lilia has always known that his end was near. His only mistake was assuming he had more time than he actually did; if he were truly aware of how meagre his magic reserves were, of how he would run out before Silver even reached the threshold of adult maturity, he would have taken careful steps to preserve it longer.

But Lilia has always known he would not outlive his son. For all his human mortality, Silver was young, and Lilia was old; death has always followed him in his shadows, stalking him with each ticking year, looming like an inevitability that would one day swallow him up.

And yet, the fates had been cruel. Far, far too cruel.

Everywhere he steps in the cottage, Lilia sees him.

He lingers in the bookshelves, from the picture books to survival guides and training manuals. He is there in the wood-carved critters, from amateurish carvings of a bird to much more detailed squirrels and bunnies, that gather dust along the shelves, keeping the neglected books company. A candle, half-burnt, the wax melted a significant amount, sits on the square table they take their meals at; it would always be lit by a smiling son, who started with matches and ended with flickers of budding fire magic.

He haunts the creaking steps and groaning floorboards, the hinges that squeal as Lilia pushes into room after room. He stiffens with each sound, whisked back to years of the past; suddenly, he is playing hide and seek again, and he expects to hear a squeal or a giggle as he calls out a playful warning; “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” When Lilia steps into the bathroom, he spots the laundry basket that the giggling boy used to sit in, when he was tiny enough to hide inside and pull the lid over his head, unable to stop his laughter from squeaking out as Lilia entered and feigned ignorance about his obvious whereabouts.

He lives on in the withering potted plants and the bird houses hanging from the outside of the windows, still visible even through dirtied glass. Signs of life taken care of, from the flora which flourished under his care, lapping up water poured from a little cup and blooming with ample sunlight, left in the view of the shining sun, to the birds and squirrels who would clamber up swinging feeders, chirping and chittering as they tucked into meals of nuts and berries, a veritable feast gathered by a young boy who simply loved the world.

The hollow ache in his chest never dissipates. It only grows and grows, consuming his heart.

Lilia feels something streak down his cheek, and absentmindedly wipes it away.

Silver’s room is untouched by time.

Everything is just as he left it, coated with thin layers of dust. His bed is made, quilted duvet folded and spread over it neatly, his pillow fluffed up at the headrest. His tables are cluttered with a few trinkets, and his training sword, wrought from wood with some metal to emulate weight, leans against the wall. Books line his shelves, next to gifts received from his years of schooling — clocks received as gifts from hometown travels, a little jewellery case that gleams with far too many expensive jewels, and a memory album received in his final year. Lonely clothes hang within the wardrobe, limp and sad without their owner to adorn; he swallows a lump in his throat at the sight of a silly hat tucked away within an inner drawer, thinking back to the silly smile his son adorned when he wore it for the first time.

The weak rays of a setting sun streak into the room. Dust dances in the air.

Lilia stands in the middle of the room, and stares.

Slowly, he moves to the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, and he spreads a hand against the patchwork quilt beneath. Lilia can remember every little patch of fabric and their origins; against the logic that barely stands out in his tumultuous, aching mind, he summons what little bits of magic he has left, closing his eyes as he casts—

“Far Cry Cradle.”

Silver is young, and Lilia is younger than he is now, new to fatherhood with little idea of what to do. Silver outgrows his clothes at a rapid pace, faster than Lilia expects — how peculiar it is, the way the little human baby seems to grow in the blink of an eye!

The clothes pile up, again and again and again. Silver is older, tottering around on two feet. He giggles at him and claps his hands together, babbling at him over and over.

Lilia has always held a weapon in his hands. The calluses marring his flesh is proof of that. The needle he picks up feels pathetically small in comparison, thread looped through the little ring on the end. Silver slumbers in the cot nearby. A pair of scissors rest on the table to his side, along with a mountain of tiny patches of fabric.

A patchwork quilt. Baul told him about it, when Lilia visited him and his daughter and her family, and had grown interested in the colourful blanket folded across her child’s bed. “She sews one for everyone in the family,” Baul tells him, his voice gruff, though pride and affection underlines it deep within. “It’s her way of showing her love.”

So he tries. He uses Silver’s old clothes, before he moves on to his own, and then he moves on to anything else he can get. Silver grows as new squares are added, his stitching clumsy before it slowly straightens out over the slowing movement of time.

By the time he is six, Lilia wraps him in a thick, snug blanket, heart soaring at the way the young child beams at him, flashing him a toothy grin.

“I love you, Papa!”

Silver is dead, and everything is wrong.

“The worst thing about loving humans,” Baul’s daughter said to him once, when he’d visited in a panic over Silver growing sickly and ill, “is that they don’t live long.” At the time, she had fed the baby some medicine, mixing herbal remedies with some warm milk before feeding him with a bottle, and when she and Lilia began to converse, she had been rocking the slumbering baby in her arms.

Her eyes had grown distant as she glanced down at Silver, before raising her head. Their eyes met; “The knowledge that you will outlive them won’t ever go away,” she told him, her voice tinged with a miserable acceptance. A sad smile graced her lips, scales across her face shifting with her emotions. “I will someday have to bury my own husband, and perhaps even my own children. And yet, that is the risk I have taken, to love who I love, and to raise those who are mine.”

“I do not know if I will outlive Silver,” Lilia had confessed. He drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair, eyes floating down to the slumbering baby cradled in her arms. “I’m not sure how much Baul told you about me, but I am rather old, as it stands. And it isn’t just an issue of age,” he added. “I… greatly overworked myself during the days of war. Magic is what makes us who we are, after all — and how much longer can a fae live without their magic?”

There had been a pause, a comfortable silence filling the air. And then Silver had hiccupped noisily, eyes squinting open the slightest bit. He babbled, hands raising weakly, and Baul’s daughter had smiled at Lilia, reaching forward to pass him the little bundle of life. “You never know what may happen, Lilia,” she said, as Lilia took Silver into his arms, the baby breaking into a toothless smile. “Lifespan is one thing. Have you ever considered how much more fragile humans are?”

“Of course I have,” Lilia answered as he rocked Silver back and forth, heart bursting with such melting warmth. “Who do you take me for?”

And that was precisely why he decided, there and then, that he would raise Silver to be the strongest human that ever was. To live long, to live forever, to live past Lilia, and thrive through the rest of his life.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, fingers clenching tight around the quilt. He hangs his head, the tears finally flooding forth, pouring down his face as he gasps for breath. “Silver, I’m sorry—”

But the only thing left for him is the ghost of a home, an empty cottage ladened with dust.

Even as Lilia wraps the patchwork quilt around him with trembling hands, burying his nose into the fabric in hopes of drinking what little snatches of Silver there still are, he knows, deep down, that Silver is gone. A horrible reality he never hoped to pass has come true — he has outlived someone he always knew he would, no matter how hard he tried to cope, lying to himself about a shortened lifespan and dwindling magic.

Fool, he thinks to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. You absolute fool, you—

A home is not a home without the son he so truly loves. As Lilia tips backwards, collapsing into the bed, he stares at the ceiling. The little mobile with the carved animals that he made when Silver was just mere months old still hangs over the bed. Even as Silver outgrew it, he still insisted on hanging it when he upgraded from a cradle to a bed of his own.

Lilia watches as the animals drift the slightest bit — barely moving, for all intents and purposes, static.

He sucks in a deep breath, and closes his eyes.

[the-kr8tor]

Hehe 910 PICKLES??? Ooo I'm gonna doodle hobie and syn as ghosts once exam revision + exams are over (After Tuesday next week I shall be officially out of the chains of exams and free to doodle) Also I better know when this blog officially turns a year old- cus you bet I'm gonna do a juicy, angsty lil gift for it >:) Daily Hobie HC!! You and Hobie were best friends as children. Practically tied at the hip, doing everything together. Of course, there were tough times. Bullies, fights, blood and tears, but nothing could break the bond. He gifted you a bracelet for you two to match. The last sighting you've had of him before he disappeared. Your thirteenth birthday, alone, and without Hobie by your side. Every birthday is a shell of a promise. "When we're twelve, we can go see the stray kitties!" "When we're thirteen, we can go....." "When we're fourteen.." Eventually the empty promises became blurred in your head, much to your dismay. How did he even look like again? Would he look the same, now, if he wasn't dead? He left you then. And now? Look at you. A tough member of a little rebellion group, roaming around the darkened streets to think over the memories, trying to desperately revive those times where he mentioned something, anything, about being older.

But why were you holding onto this? It's been years, and he's probably dead. His life was tough, always has been. Perhaps he ran to avoid it. And kept running ever since. You glance down at your wrist, the worn out matching bracelet still snug on your wrist. Of course, there were red lines from the fact it was so small, but you kept it on, moving it sometimes throughout the day so you didn't restrict any blood flow. However, you stopped in your tracks upon hearing a certain voice. A voice that belonged to a very recognizable person, going by the name of Spider-Man. You remember a few other members of the underground rebellious group wanting to join ties with him at least, so you follow the voice, keeping your footsteps effortlessly light. The only thing that could give you away now are the spidey-senses, but if you're quick enough, you could possibly get past it. As you near the punk Spider-Man, you see him beginning to turn around as his spidey-senses go off. However, you managed to buckle his knees in and knock him out just in time.

Only God knows how you managed to drag him back to your house, but you did it, tying him to a chair to ensure a passive encounter. He's very clearly blacked out from your attack, and so you roll up his mask to rest on his nose, making sure he can breathe just fine. Since it was night, you had no problem just collapsing onto the couch and dozing off, with your mind waking you up at exactly 6 AM in the morning. You glance over to Spider-Man, tied in the chair, having gained consciousness the same time as you, looking around the place. With a yawn, you greet him, throwing on your robe over the clothes you slept in and putting the kettle on for some tea.

He's confused by your unbothered and non-threatening acts, slowly beginning relaxed in your presence as you both simply just engage in conversation. You unsheathe a nearby pocket knife, undoing one of his hands from the chair as you go to grab you both some tea, simply just taking casually about the corruption and crime of the city. However, Hobie is rendered silent by what he sees. A worn out, matching bracelet on your wrist, his eyes widening in shock. Slowly he puts the cup on the table, prompting you to raise a brow at him. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out the other half of the bracelet, small and worn out as well. He holds it out in front of you, watching your face contort into a mix of emotions, tears brimming at your eyes as he smiles at you. He calls out your name, watching as you hurriedly cut away the rest of his ropes. Hobie is quick to wrap you in his arms, burying his face into your shoulder as small tears fall onto your skin. You easily reciprocate the hug, taking in his warmth and letting the smell of his perfume (hehe) wash over you You found him. You finally found him, after years. He's back. I have been trying to send this for legit a few hours now I am so tired :(. -🐦‍⬛

That's a lot of pickles 😮

Oohhh that already sounds amazing!!! I bet it'll look as good as the anon drawings you did awhile ago!

The anniversary will be on the 25th! You'll know bc I have a lil something something planned 😉

DAILY HOBIE HC!!!! 🎉

GAHHHH!!!! I WAS READING THIS WITH MY EYES WIDE OPEN BC IT WAS SO GOOD! TRULY NEEDED SOME POPCORN WHILE READING IT

Oh I'm a sucker for best friends reuniting 🥹🥹🥹

R was so mean for beating the crap out of him lmaoooo 😂 they're like "spiderman?! *Cracks knuckles*" also also i think he didn't notice them immediately bc his spider senses didn't work on them bc it was like "bestie?"

Oh noooo!! Get some rest, my love ❤️ ily

[zecretsanta]

to: @goggles-girl

from: @mortellanarts

prompt: A reunion of Aoi and Akane post-ZTD good end

Extra gift!!! Didn’t feel right to have this as the main one because it’s a scene I was already working on for my own fic but I did make you a doodle (with outdated dialogue because I edit sentences. a lot) But yeah I love them here you go enjoy the sneak peek ^•^

——————

The first thing Akane intended to do, as soon as Carlos put down the gun, was head to the intercom. The only reason she doesn’t head there right away is because Junpei had been more concerned about going to them instead, checking the body, then checking the chamber of the weapon to be, thankfully, devoid of any more bullets. He was still very adamant about keeping it on him, though. Understandable bit of paranoia, which… she might have had a hand in embedding into him just a tiny bit… she’s glad to let him have it over anyone else here at the moment, so it’s fine.

Diana had actually gotten up there first, with Sigma in tow now permanently glued at her side, but she made the nurse hand the radio to her almost as soon as there was any reception. The excuse of her being better spoken was there for decor, no real effort into hiding her intention was going into it and she thinks Sigma can tell, not that he appreciates the tone she just took with his… partner? Crush? Spouse? Whatever their relationship status, all Akane could give a solid thought to at the moment was structuring her sentences on the radio just the way she had arranged with her brother. 

Feign a regular distress call while using just the right words of code that he’ll recognize while listening in on the monitored connection, and he’ll know to intervene and locate the source of the radio signal and send a team to pick her up, like they agreed, and he’ll be here and he’ll get her out–

Before she knows it the talking is done.

The little bit of palpable anxiety that she felt start to dread up her neck vanishes as soon as she gets the last word in, certain that Aoi picked up the signal. Now it’s back to regular anxiety that she can easily shove down in order to not display any weakness. 

Easier than breathing at the moment, practically second nature. 

Turns out they’re still subconsciously dividing themselves into teams, more or less. Mira, Eric and the kid were the first to break from the group, off to the side of the building, at first trying to find cover from the sun themselves and then for Gab’s sake. Surprisingly, Phi had then joined them, uncomfortably sneaking past her own team and sitting down petting the old fluff ball as if he were a therapy dog.

Most urgency they might have had seemed to evaporate along with the dry air outside the facility. Any normal metabolism would burn out from a shock as sudden and drastic as having their already sufficiently overwhelmed consciousness jammed into versions of their bodies with absolutely no time to anticipate. And that’s regardless of any training one could possibly have undergone, a burst of adrenaline like this is bound to mess you up eventually no matter who you are. 

What a ragtag assortment of people… Sure, they all agreed to work together now to save the world and everything, but she’s pretty much the only one here who knows the kind of work that implies. At least everyone seems equally and utterly fatigued. It is great news, as long as this provenly volatile mix of personalities doesn’t have any more energy to cause friction or implode in on itself, she’ll manage. 

The only thing that is not ideal about that is how she’s included. God, she’s at her wits end. She’s resorted to counting the seconds until Aoi gets here to keep herself awake. 

She is, afterall, oh so fond of this place. And this environment. And, best of all, the temperature. It was only the air conditioning that made the coming and going from building Q even marginally bearable. Even in winter this dress is far too heavy and warm- god– okay, where did Jumpy wander off to?

Having since joined the growing line of people forming under the sparse shade around the perimeter of the building, roughly 18 minutes pass of her trying to ground herself by indulging in conversation with Junpei. Who… didn’t seem to have wound down as much as the others himself. There’s a topic to disarm him though, sheepishly talk and tease about the ring she knows to be in his pocket, though he doesn’t want to bring it back out again just yet. Come to think of it, wasn’t one of the other couples talking about marriage proposals at the start of the week…? Weddings weren’t on her list of subjects she expected out of this venture.

Carlos is there too. She has to teach herself to be civil with him if only out of respect for the fact he never did anything to her out of truly bad intentions, even with ample room to do so. Not that she’s fond of people getting in the way out of sheer ignorance either. But, she has to know to cut her losses, and there are certainly good qualities there she could see as very useful to have on her side still.

Then, finally, the cars arrive. She’s already dusting herself off as soon as they come to a stop and of course a bed of white hair poking out of the door is the first thing she sees. Rushing out, he pulls her into a hug so quickly that she’s still piecing together the look on his face as her head rests under his chin. Considering everyone that is still here to see the scene, it’s a bit… much. But she knows she has to let him have this second of comfort. Besides, it’s not like she herself doesn’t feel overwhelmed and grateful for it too, a safe embrace after nearly a full day’s worth of torment. As always, she hides it better, but she clings on just as tight. 

“Are you going to tell me what that silence was all about?” When he pulls away just enough so they can look at each other to talk, still gripping her by the shoulders and leaning down a bit, she can tell he didn’t even touch up his hair and, even more telling, had left the house without concealing his eyebags.

“At some point, yes.”

They agreed on several times for daily check-ins. Nothing complex, literally any thought she could easily send his way counted. How many of those did she miss in this timeline? What time is it? What date- Not that- it isn’t hard to believe he’d be worried sick over just one. It’s Aoi she’s talking about, afterall. 

And she’s so relieved to talk to him.

“Ok. Are you okay?”

“I'm–!” For a second she sounded so enthusiastic she almost uttered the word, mouthing it but not quite following through the rehearsed motion. Hearing the affirmation crack under her own voice hurt more than expected, but still she cleared her throat and cheered. “–We all made it this once. No one’s, to my knowledge, currently in any need of urgent care… Oh! Right, ehrm… hehe, although we do need to clean up a little mess…”

The little twinkle in her eyes isn’t coming back anytime soon, but she’s trying her best not to falter, to keep the mood from dwindling. 

“This- once– yeah- cool, cool, cool–okay… Okay.” The more her choice of words sinks in the more he feels like he dodged a bullet, the more he has to redirect his thoughts elsewhere. “Do I have to know? And what kind of mess are we talking about here?”

She coos as if she doesn’t get what he means immediately.

“Oh-! I don't… I suppose not everything would be relevant for you to know right away, no.”

“Good then.” He places a kiss on her forehead. Priorities. Right now he has to keep focused and match her attempt at levity until further instructions, that’s all.

The near heart attack he had during the time nothing they tried could establish contact was enough of letting his imagination run amok with worst case scenarios. Plus, popping up somewhere completely different in this desert had its own implications, he knew that. 

His tone is still too shaky to really sound like a joke. 

“Please don’t do the details yet then, alright sis? Beg of you.”

Not only does she look a little dejected by that but the way she looks over to the other people with her leaves an anxious unspoken weight on both their minds. For a second, her breathing goes uneven and she looks like she’s keeping herself from crying.

Not that one could tell just hearing her voice. 

“Well, I beg of you to tell me if the air conditioner on these cars was running and if I can sit down without-”

“Fuck, of course, lemme just-” 

Even though the desert air pouring into the vehicle as they speak isn’t ideal, the cool interior is just enough relief that she needed to get her bearings back. Aoi quickly pulls some water bottles from somewhere between the seats too.

Then she nods and takes a sip before speaking again. Gesturing more energetically, more theatrically. 

And the weight is gone.

[princessconsuela120]

CHAPTER FOUR: LANDSLIDE —✧

Series masterlist

Chapter Warnings: mentions of sex, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of abortion, cursing, angst

Author’s Note: I’m gonna start adding a lot of additional things then just the movie plot to the story pretty soon so make sure to keep liking and commenting, it really helps motivate, thank you all!!

Chapter art by @silvell

—✧

KYLE HAD REALIZED LATELY THAT HE REALLY LOVED THE COLOR YELLOW. It reminded him of joy, of walking home from school and finding small dandelions on the ground that reminded him it didn’t always need to be so cold. The sun that shone above, leaving a yellow hue on the world. But mostly because it reminded him of me. The yellow fabric of my science trip shirt laid in his lap, his hands bunched around the sleeves. He gently traced the words of my names signed into the fabric, next to a small doodle of a flower I added to the mix.

This had been his routine for the past few weeks since he had found me on his lawn. It was his way of bringing himself back down to earth. No one knew, he was lucky. He felt bad that he was lucky. He didn’t have to tell his parents, his mom wouldn’t freak out on him, he wouldn’t receive dirty looks. No one knew he was a father. It would be over soon, but Juno would have to live with that. And that didn’t sit easy with him.

“Hey, Kyle. Are you coming to eat?” Sheila asked, knocking lightly on Kyle’s door. He jumped up slightly, still wearing his basketball shorts from practice, not having the willpower to take them off. He held the short closer to him, hiding it beside his pillow so his mom wouldn’t question it.

“No, I don't think so.” He mumbled, looking back down with a sigh. Sheila sighed back, smiling softly at her boy.

“You played for 5 hours today Bubby.” She said softly, making Kyle smile up at her, a very forced smile, that Sheila seemed to recognize.

“I'm not hungry, oddly.” He shrugged, grabbing a handful of the t-shirt under his pillow. Sheila sighed, noticing how his eyes shifted down, then to the side, then back to the ground.

“But it's breakfast for supper. It's your favorite, Ike wanted to show you his science project for school.”

“Yeah. Tell Ike I’ll come down in a second.” He turned, letting his mom know he didn’t want to talk anymore.

“Juno Marsh called while you were at basketball today.” Sheila noticed how he perked up in his seat. “I like her Kyle, she’s a nice girl.”

“Yeah, yeah. I like her too.” He smiled, and she smiled back.

“Come down when you’re ready Bubala. Take your time.” He nodded, letting Sheila close the door before hurrying his head in the t-shirt, shaking comfort in the smell. He really did love the color yellow, more than he even knew possible.

—✧

“So I'm not really sure how I'm gonna spit this out.” My hands were anxiously knotted together in my pocket, pulling at my fingers over and over. I had gathered my parents into the dinning room to break the news. I of course had gathered my support team, Kenny sitting beside me and Stan leaning against the staircase behind the table.

“Hon, did you get expelled?” My mom asked nervously, making me stop, shaking my head.

“No, the school would most likely contact you in the event of my expulsion.” I explained, going to sit down beside Kenny. He placed a hand on my shoulder, rubbing soothing patterns into my shoulder.

“Well, I was just asking. It seemed plausible.” She shook her head slightly with worry. “What, do you need a large amount of money? Legal counsel?”

“Weed?” My dad spoke up, earning a dirty look from my mother as Stan scoffed.

“Randy.” My mom said in warning, making him hold his hands up in defense.

“I'm not asking for anything. Except for maybe mercy. Like it would be frigging sweet if no one hit me.” I ranted, pulling lightly at my hair. My mom looked up at me with even more worry in her eyes.

“What have you done? Hit someone with the truck?”

“Break into my weed stash?” Dad interrupted again, causing Stan to interrupt this time aswell.

“Dad! Not the time okay?” Stan shouted, making dad look down like a lost puppy.

“No.” I mumbled, hiding my face in my hands as I let out a loud groan.

There were some moments in my life I can recall being hard. Things like, learning how to ride a bike when I was 5. Moving to Tegrudy Farms, that was hard. Getting into advanced sciences, that was pretty tough. But never has something been so hard it was almost impossible. My mouth physically rejected saying the words ‘I’m pregnant’ to my parents. I felt like I would throw up in any second by trying to force them out.

“Dude, I think it's best to just tell them.” Kenny said, grabbing my hand and giving it a light squeeze, they way we used to comfort each other as kids.

“Rip it off like a bandaid Junebug, you can do it.” Stan reassured, as if he could feel the anxious vomit collecting in my stomach.

“I'm pregnant.” I said quickly, looking down at the ground as I heard a soft gasp leave my moms lips.

“Oh, God.”

“I'm gonna give it up for adoption. I already found the perfect couple.” I explained, Kenny raising a hand proudly.

“I helped.” He chimes in, causing my mom to hide her face in her hands.

“Oh god.” She said again into her hands, my heart rate increasing ten folds.

“They're gonna pay for the medical expenses and everything. In thirty-odd weeks, we can just pretend that this never happened.” I continued to ramble, squeezing Kenny’s hand tighter, causing him to look at me with worry.

“You're pregnant?” My dad asked. It was strange, hearing him say that. Not because of the words he was saying, more so because of the way his voice broke when he said it. I had never seen my dad cry, or hear him falter at all. This was something new.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. And if it is any consolation… I have heartburn that is radiating to my kneecaps… And I haven't taken a dump since Wednesday. Morning.” I explained, holding my chest as I explained the said heartburn that crept into my chest.

“And you knew Stan?” Mom asked, making Stan frown.

“Barely.”

“I didn't even know you were sexually active.” My mom whispered in disbelief, as my dad looked up at me.

“Who is the kid?” He asked, making me furrow my eyebrows as I placed two hands on my stomach, looking down confused.

“The baby? I don't really know much about it other than it has fingernails.” I said making my mom roll her eyes.

“Allegedly.” Kenny mumbled, causing Stan to look at us confused.

“Nails? Really?” He asked, making me nod.

“Yeah.”

“No, I mean who is the father, Juno?” My dad corrected, making me sigh. I didn’t say much, I looked down at the ground and kept quiet for a second. Kenny was the only one who knew, now they were all gonna know. God I wish Stan weren’t here.

“It's Kyle Broflovski.” I said weakly, looking down at the ground to avoid any eye contact. The room went quiet.

“Kyle Broflovski?” My mom asked calmly.

“Kyle?!?” My brother shouted, causing me to flinch in response. “What the fuck Juno!!?” He shouted, moving from his comfortable spot, no longer my source of comfort. I couldn’t even look at him. I knew how bad it was.

“Stanley!” Our mom said, but he didn’t care. He stood infront of me now, and my eyes wondered to meet his.

“You didn’t tell me it was my fucking best friend, what the hell is wrong with you guys!!?” He shouted again. I really didn’t know what to say. Being honest, I felt like my heart had broken, my body shut down and I was dead on the floor. But I wasn’t dead, I was alive. Being alive was so damn hard.

“Stan i” I stuttered out, but Stan shook his head, walking upstairs.

“Oh fuck you dude.” He hissed, stomping up the steps, angrily slamming the door.

“I didn't think he had it in him.” My dad said, making Kenny chuckle.

“I know, right?” Kenny said, laughing.

“This is no laughing matter.” My mom spoke up angrily, causing both Kenny and Randy to clear their throats and look down.

“No, it's not. And, you know, Kyle is actually great in…Okay. In chair.” I explained, before looking down with shame at the angry look both my parents gave.

“You're thinking about adoption?”

“Yeah, yeah. And there's this couple, they haven't had...They've been trying to have a kid for five years.” I explained, Kenny nodding as he rushed to back me up.

“We found them in the PennySaver next to exotic birds.”

“They have a legitimate lawyer, and I was gonna go meet with them next weekend.”

“Junebug, that is a tough, tough thing to do. It's probably tougher than you can understand right now.” My mom said, shaking her head. I could tell this was hard for her, i could tell she didn’t know what to do. I didn’t blame her, I didn’t know what to do either.

“No, I know. And it's just that I'm not ready to be a mom.” I said softly, looking down again, kicking my foot against the table. My dad let out a laugh.

“Damn skippy. You don't even remember to give Sparky his breathing meds.”

“That was once. And he did not die, if you recall.” I said, scoffing in defense.

“Honey, had you considered, you know, the alternative?” My mom offered, but I shook my head, holding onto my stomach lightly, not wanting to remember my failed almost abortion.

“No.”

“Well, you're a little Viking.” My dad said, earning an eye roll from me at the teasing.

“First things first. We have to get you healthy. You need prenatal vitamins. Incidentally, they do incredible things for your nails, so that's a plus. We'll schedule a doctor's appointment, figure out where you'll deliver.” My mom explained, and I nodded.

“Juno, I'm coming with you to meet this adoption couple. You're a kid. I don't want you to get ripped off by baby-starved wing nuts.” My dad rambled, and I smiled at him softly.

“Thanks, Dad.” He sighed, shaking his head at me.

“Boy, I thought you were the kind of girl who knew when to say when.”

I smiled softly, feeling my heart ache.

“I don't really know what kind of girl I am.” I said softly, about to walk away as my mom sighed, grabbing my wrist lightly.

“Honey, don’t stress about Stan okay? He’ll come around, he loves you he always does.” She reassured me, and I nodded.

“Yeah, yeah okay.” I grabbed Kenny’s arm, pulling him with me and he followed me into my room. Kenny held me that night, and stayed with me to sleep over. I didn’t sleep though, I could hear every word from the other room, my moms wails that traveled through the walls, that eventually turned into my own. This is hard, this is really fucking hard.

—✧

[lemon-wedges]

Just wanted to ask (and feel free to not answer), but how do you draw so much so quickly? I'm always impressed by how fast you doodle or paint. Also, wanted to say that I appreciate your Barok and DGS art as a whole.

and with this ask i have finally reached an artist milestone 😭

Well theres a short answer and a REALLY long answer (which ill put under cut when i get there).

short answer: practice + refs

which.....can be an annoying thing to hear. And as someone who studies art and has bought a LOT of online courses trying to figure out how industry people can just churn out work like nothing. it feels like a let down every time i find out their big secret. just practice and photo refs. Every. Single. Time.

LONG ANSWER:

its how you studying your refs. heres how i do mine

sorry if this is rambly. but ill try my best to at least be clear. BUT THIS is the EXACT way i taught myself how to be quicker.

I do not know if youve taken any art classes but essentially one of the ways to study gesture drawing is by first tracing ur photo ref to get a sense of the flow/proportions of the body. youve probably seen a billion of these tutorials floating around:

So last year around hmmmm june/july? i was NOT looking to get better at my anatomy or gesture. i was actually trying to get better at clothes. but my problem was it took me so long to draw out a figure (which i was fine with cause i liked how my people looked at the time) that i could never really just focus clothing part.

So i told myself look. ur not looking to draw in this style like this forever. so for now SIMPLIFY SIMPLIFY SIMPLIFY!!!! I WANT THE BAREBONES OF A HUMAN HERE TO MAKE A MANIQUIEN FOR CLOTHES OK

but how do i do that....

Im gonna use this piece as an example from my rise and yosuke fashion palooza month. FIRST u see i got all my photo refs together. i like those poses on the right and i want to switch out the clothes for the other ones i picked out. i trace out my poses. kind of like the tutorial up top but since this is about draping i was focused the exact places their waist/arms/legs/etc would bend.

and like the tutorial u turn off the photo ref and do a drawing based off that traced piece.

then i would turn on my refs and add on my clothes

And after a month of just doing that over and over and over. i was surprised to find that figures and poses were so much easier to understand when i would break them down like this. and once u get familiar with them the faster and more confidently you'll draw them.

I and still do this btw. heres my otasune from the last week

i used photo refs for all my sketches. if i cant find anything online to match what i want i just take photos of myself. and some might say well arent u just relying on reference TOO much?

AND AGAIN take it from someone who has spend a lot of money buying classes from their fav artists in the industry. The Secret of how they churn out so much cool work so fast always turns out to be this. practice and photo refs.

Every. Single. Time.(tho this is omitting a lot. im not getting into like they way they stylize their art work. that actually the fastest and funnest thing to do once u have ur base down)

Now PAINTING

The thing is, i dont actually post up all my work on this blog. So theres a ton of stuff you havent seen me do. These are some paintings i did 2 years ago for a class.

I already know how to pick my values and set up lighting. When you see me painting my figures now. i am not focused on learning these basics im actually just honing a technique.

you might see me post readmores with these kinds of wips. I lay in all my colors and lighting with the lasso tool. ALL THE MAJOR DECSIONS ARE DONE HERE

(the little miniature i add on the side basically tells me what the overall feeling is going to be when i blend in the lineart to be cohesive with my colors) ( also if you had any questions on my prepainting process tho. feel free to ask!!!)

and if you compare this wip to my finished piece youll actually find that i dont stray that far from what i've laid in.

everything happening at THIS stage is about feeling out how i want the textures to blend with one another and getting funky with some brush strokes.

and thats it? im not sure if any of this is helpful but if anything. i hope you come away from this feeling like what ive been doing here is nothing special. "THATS IT???? THATS ALL THERE IS??? well i could have done that :T"

exactly man. you can do ALL OF THIS aND MORE!!! I BELIEVE IN U :D

but ill let this be the last thing i leave u with my friend: my barok sketch and the refs i used for his boobies

[tiddiesoutwhenthetisout]

recent doodles (in between losing our shit in overcooked so we don't actually lose it)

random bulshit incoming

Pyrhhus

context: we have what we call our own "fanon pyrrhus" based on the idea that he is "an achilles without a patroclus". we play this super random game where we make a story, leave blanks for characters, then randomize. the storyteller improvises depending on these, and what happened was... the demon lord hector was being attacked by pyrrhus, took one look and said "yk what, i'll adopt you. i'm done being a demon lord (because the party sucked so hard he didn't think it was worth it). let's go back to my wife and kid."

and for the first time pyrrhus felt genuine love and care and went from the snarling boy (bottom right) to the cutie on the left. and in our succeeding games he has dissociative identity disorder as a running gag. he turns feral when he feels threatened (words said, things seen, etc.) but generally he's a really sweet guy especially when he has granny (thetis), but a father figure whether isolated or not is essential lest he's just feral.

in one story, his father threw him into the dungeon (yes it's achilles) because he didn't want the child. so little pyrrhus had to eat monsters to survive. his grandfather peleus turns out to be the leader of an orc gang hanging out in there so at least he has a sweet side, but they don't live together because pyrrhus is rebellious and defensive with his autonomy and capability. also, this one plot definitely wasn't a crack rework of dungeon meshi lol-

then here's ANOTHER redesign of

Patroclus

because i can't get him right orz. the "looks like heracles" thing was because he resembled my image of heracles before i tried to salvage his hair. i couldn't erase anything bc we did not have an eraser lmao. i think this will finally work, but i just have to tuck that stray lock of hair away from his face next time. also, i'll attempt facial hair again but in smaller amounts (i put stubble on him in the next pic). i'm just incapable of drawing more "masculine" features rn but i'll practice at some point... 💀

that's achilles below patroclus. the dark left eye was an accident, but honestly it *would* be interesting if he had one pitch black iris from his mother and the other green is from wherever the fuck he got it. i took the headband thing from his hades design too hahaha (idk my ancient greek culture okay)

also, yes, they do have matching ear piercings. i might try to digitalize these again later on when i'm in the mood.

i have to learn how to cartoonize stubble oops

also, curly/wavy hair is so fun to draw with these simple shapes, huh : 0 i'm the type of person to draw hair with fine strands except when i'm deliberately aiming for that anime style (i just want to learn how to color like them help).

i was going to yap about the stories we've done so far but i realized maybe i should turn that into an entire new post. or maybe draw stuff for them 🤣

also, like DnD this game would probably be fun with a lot of people. you could do this for any fandom too so that's the best part of it.

[ehh-is-the-name]

Today marks the year anniversary since ONE 17 came out, and that means we've seen Airy's true form for a whole 365 days.

I've not been normal about him this whole year. I looked through my files and found out that I drew him a lot more than other characters I like, so I figured eh fuck it. Art dump.

Here's all the doodle's I've drawn and liked of him in chronological order, dating from roughly 15th Aug 2022 to 7th July 2023. They all range from digital, traditional, to even mixed media for the Airy page.

Under the cut are a few pictures of some physical things, like keychains and my goddamn Halloween hat.

Alrighty, first keychain. It was mostly just to practice cross-stitching but he's still on my bag. Idk how I feel about it, it's wonky but idk. I like it. The left is the quick pixel art I did just to see what he'd look like so low-res, and I obviously did some tweaking before sewing it.

This one turned out a lot better. Near the end of the images above you can see the sketches. I think it's funny how this thing came from some absent-minded doodle on my science work in class. And you know I had to make each side different! That's like 90% of the fun with shrink plastic.

I can't believe I forgot to take pics of the just hat after I'd finished it, but luckily I'm a hoarder and keep everything. It looked a little better in October, but I can't go back in time and take photos. If you wanna see the costume and wip pics they're in this post btw.

[johannesson]

I ordered a really cool book (long)

I know it's Julius Ceasar day but I just got this book and I'm really excited about it!~ I just received it and I'm very happy to have it in my hands. I'm planning on (carefully, gently) photographing the pages for archiving

It's called "Life of General Warren; To Which are Added Sketches of the Lives of De Kalb, Wayne and Morgan." Published by Nafis, Cornish and Co. in 1847.

The box it came in was neat, a box for cable staples. It was nicely packed with styrofoam cut precisely, so that the book didn't shift around at all during transit. It was also tucked into a small plastic bag taped shut, the person who sent it to me took care for the safety of the book. The book itself is really little, it makes all the people in the drawings so itty-bitty. It's reeally cute

The cover of the book is worth noting - the back half is right-side-up, but the front side is upside-down. There is a little man that was once embossed in fake gold, but it's since been rubbed off. You can tell a little around the edges.

The same design is on the back cover, with no gold embellishment. That's the only place on the book where I could find it. Like most other old books I've found so far, I don't have a lot of experience outside of my grandparents' collection, the spine is cloth and has nothing on it. It's bound with glue, so some of the pages are loose and falling out. Not all of them, though. I think this little embossed man is the same design as the one on the color page (plate?)

Here's the other color 'plate'

It's featuring the Battle of Bunker Hill. Famous, bloody fight that scared Howe, but not to make him quit. The colors here are red, blue, yellow and green. Wonder what ink they used for the pages? It's still very vibrant after over a hundred years. The faces of the little people are hard to see with my phone photo, but they're actually very expressive, and tiny. I think up there is Clinton? With the two Epaulets. Could be wrong though

There are more illustrations inside, these are the only two color ones. On the first two pages, someone wrote down in ink advertising them. There's also some writing here? The "twenty-two dollars" must have been written later in pencil. Nice cursive practice, didn't expect the ink to bleed on this paper, did you?

Someone also wrote down a recipe on the back of the front cover...can't tell what for. Something about 1/2 cup tea?

Lastly, someone's name

Nice to meet you, William. I think on the next pages it says 'his book' in pencil, but it's faded.

I think he liked doodling.

A few more notable mentions : studying medicine. He looks so bored of it. My favorite besides his wee cunty expression is the simple house outside the window

stop! i know you might be confused here, but this is page 56

not to be confused with

anyway here's cowpens. tarleton isn't in the drawing because he didn't want that shit illustrated, he got his ass beat

i'm close to finished Lock, Stock and Barrel, but when I do, I'll probably purchase that book and do a little review on it before reading and posting about this one. I'll need a whole day off for archiving it

UPDATE : I started reading and it turns out that a few pages are missing from the front of the book, with the first few loose from the binding. The rest should still be intact, but it leaves out some information that way :(

[syncogon]

inktober 2024 review

Completed Inktober 2024! Last time I did this was in 2018, with some dinky little doodles in a notebook. Now I'm learning digital 💪

Prompts were from the QZGS rarepair week for 2024 and 2023. Next year perhaps I'll continue going down the list. I tried to have a specific area/skill I wanted to work on with each day.

Sharing my favorites here! The rest are all at @synco-arts. Please click for full size / colors!

5) "fragile": [RS] This is my favorite shot of the Rainbow Sea OP, which is already such a banger full of symbolism and narrative. The way this moment is directed to make you think you're watching Maidang himself, until the moment he punches and the mirror shatters and you realize—oh, his Rainbow Stone was on the wrong wrist, it was a reflection all along. Timed to the music, it's so excellently done...

9) "wait": [GFS] X waits, alone and helpless, for news of his father's surgery. He can only watch from afar, and the framing of the background is meant to evoke his car window. He didn't want news of his current situation to cause stress that would worsen his father's heart condition, but his absence is already causing stress enough—yet this was the only course he felt he could take to save his family...

13) "caution": [RS] I love Tang Wude and I love this moment, what can I say? Strolls in looking wack and casual, and then immediately establishes dominance over a crew of criminals. Umbrella users my beloved. This one might be my favorite overall due to all the colors and lighting, and the background was so much fun to draw!

17) "precious": [YB2] Eighth Room is so precious to me. Just look at them! I think this was the one I spent the most time on? This is a redraw of a shot from one of the reality shows the actors filmed together. Spent some time debating what hairstyles to give them; I need to give it some more thought still.

18) "abandon": [TKA] I want to get better at putting together nice sketch pages! Also at hands lol. I was surprised? impressed? that I managed to make Tyranny ZJL look older and more tired compared to HB ZJL—I'm not sure if it was even so distinct in the original.

19) "past": [YB1] I liked the composition of these images, and drawing this moment upon the brushstrokes of the background. I think about this flashback and cri everytime

23) "foreign": [YB2] I wanted to practice side profiles, didn't like how his turned out, but then really DID like the second sketch I did, which was way more fun than I anticipated. He looks cool! Maybe too cool. The extremely intricate outfits are fun to depict in sketch form, and I like his hairstyle here even though everyone was roasting it lol. The lines of the background are just roughly meant to evoke what was actually in the bg of the reference shot, but I quite liked the effect.

25) "freedom": [YB2] I just really like how Chu Niao turned out here, with the details of her costume and her expression. Look at them talking about their future 🥺

26) "peak": [YB2] I think this was the only painterly one I did, but I liked how the vibes turned out—the half-obscured fire, the costume of a god, the crouched figures, the distant mountains and clouds. A unique shot that should be very distinct to those who've watched.

29) "color": [YB2] As you can see I was feeling very emo about YB2 in the latter half of the month haha. This was such an emotionally charged scene and there are 3000 words packed into Wen Wuqi's glance back as Hua Cishu carefully avoids meeting the gaze of someone he's not supposed to know...

[thee-morrigan]

:D for your twc girlies, ♡♥∇?

tysm, Bunny! <33333 ngl, it was an effort not to turn some of these into full-on essays lmao.

♡ - romantic headcanons

Petra loves naps. To the extent that she semi-regularly blocks time on her calendar for a power nap if she knows she’s in for a particularly long day. Once Ava realizes this, blankets start appearing on the backs and arms of every chair or couch Ava has ever seen Petra fall asleep on at the warehouse. (Did Ava enlist Nat’s help for picking good blankets? Signs point to yes.) Holland has what is, at this point, a frankly embarrassing number of never-to-be-sent love letters in various states of completion hidden in a shoebox in her closet. These notes (obviously) contain all of her Sappiest Nate Feelings ™️ and would fully expose all the dreamiest romantic parts of herself that she likes to pretend don’t exist (v delusional of her to think they aren’t obvious 😌) on the topic of not-so-secret sappiness, Leila has SO many doodles and sketches of Morgan in her notebooks, the margins of meeting minutes, etc. I know this is probably going to be obliterated by actual canon, but to me, the first time Del says “I love you” to Felix is totally accidental. he does something that makes her laugh so hard her sides ache, and when she catches her breath, she says, “oh, I love you,” out loud without meaning to.

♥ - family headcanons

canon be damned, Leila has a great relationship with her grandparents and has always spent a fair amount of time with them. This has continued into adulthood. She’s especially close with her grandfather, who inspired her love of cooking (and taught her how to make perfect tahdig). Petra doesn’t want a family in the traditional, married-with-kids sense—never has, really, but certainly not in her current line of work! she’s much more flexible on the marriage part than the idea of having kids, though (so, if that were something that were important to Ava or if she proposed, Petra would be fine with it; she just wouldn’t care if they didn’t, either). Despite her stated lack of interest in children, Holland is the one who broaches the idea of adopting the supernatural orphan who ends up at the facility one day after falling through a portal. (this hc is based solely on vibes/a random thought I had literally years ago; my brain latched onto it and now it’s her canon, I cannot explain myself further.) Del snoops for more info on Rook in the Agency’s databases pretty much as soon as she learns he was also a human liaison for Wayhaven. Rebecca won’t talk about him, and she wants to know everything she can (few things frustrate her more than feeling left in the dark).

∇ - old age/aging headcanons I meannnn this is just (im)mortality/Turning vs Not hcs, yes? Because that’s how I’m taking it :D

Delaney thinks eventually becoming a vampire is more or less a no-brainer decision. I’m not sure when she’ll start making any kind of serious plans, but she might be the only one for whom it’s a very clear and definite “yes, this will happen at some point.” A rare instance in which Petra doesn’t make a purely impulsive decision haha. She absolutely wants to see All The Data on success rates, procedural notes, etc. Of all my twc girlies, she’s probably the one with the most practical concerns/considerations re: not staying human. I think she ends up deciding to go for it(?) Leila is another relatively easy “yes, why wouldn’t I?” with the caveat that she has a bit of an identity crisis afterwards — and especially as the ramifications of her decision start to sink in (friends/loved ones aging, etc.). She won’t ultimately regret her decision, per se, but there will definitely be Some Feelings about it! aaaand I genuinely have no idea where Holland will land. She has the most anxiety about it by FAR. She really struggles with wrapping her head around what the realities of living forever would be like, day to day. (Also, she has a deep-seated fear of choosing immortality and having it force her to learn the definitive point at which people (…okay, Nate) stop(s) wanting her around.) She ends up having a number of conversations with Adam, weirdly enough (she’s definitely least close with him, out of all of UB), about most of her concerns, which is a cool bonding opportunity for them.

headcanon asks

[swampstew]

Blind Date Event - Yamato X Reader

Thank you to everyone who submitted applications for my Blind Date Matchmaking Event. I hope you enjoy these lovely bedtime stories during this week of overpriced chocolates, flowers and heart shaped things.

Mostly fluff, SFW, Yamato(he/him) X GN(they/them) reader, first blind date experience. WC: 930. Minors DNI - my content is for mature audiences only

Yamato was practically bouncing in his chair at the ramen shop he had taken you for your blind date. The ride to the small restaurant was quiet as you held on to his waist. He had picked you up in his teal MotoTec Phantom 49cc – and not having ridden a motorcycle before – you were silent via anxiety as your arms gripped him tightly when he rounded corners. You didn’t see it happen, but the action made his face split with a smile each time.

The ramen shop is called Oden’s Pot. You were both new to match making so you’re both equally nervous. Excited jitters rippled through Yamato while the waiter refilled your glasses, taking your orders.

“_______ tell me more about yourself! We’ve been talking about my background and job as a bouncer at the hottest queer bar in the city but I really want to know more about you!”

You sip on your water as you try to summarize yourself in as few words as possible.

“Oh um, well I already told you about my job. Hum…I guess I’m just down to Earth. I enjoy simple pleasures like playing video games, watching movies and YouTube essays, and I’m a big fan of listening to music while I do art or other creative endeavors,” you slowly trail off, hoping he won’t ask to see any of it.

“Wow can you show me your art?!”

Damn.

Fingers trembling, you pull out your phone to share one of your finished pieces. You’re quite proud of it, even if you won’t say so yourself, trying to downplay your own work.

“Nope, not buying that _____. Art is subjective, there is no grading scale that determines how good it is. If you feel proud of the work you put it, that’s the real value of your art. Personally, I’m not that great beside some doodling but THIS <points to your phone> is damn good!”

You smile bashfully. He said the same thing your close friends have told you countless times. You felt like you could share more of your artwork and not once did he subject you to unsolicited constructive criticism or ask you to draw him on the spot.

When your food arrived, you took turns playing 21 questions and other ice breaker games provided in the blind date packet you received from the Medium Matchmaker. Yamato was enthusiastic through it all, even during the slightly more uncomfortable games and topics that were suggested in the pack. You were skeptical of the whole idea when you saw the online application. However, now that you were here and actually enjoying Yamato’s company, you were glad your best friend forwarded you link.

Yamato wasn’t rude or aggressive with you like your previous disaster dates had been. He wasn’t some meathead gym bro even though he had impressive muscles on his tall body – he swears its hereditary, his family being from a different country. He’s incredibly handsome without being arrogant and you appreciated that. He was down to earth and easy to talk to. Being easy on the eyes and having magnificent hair was a bonus too, you felt butterflies in your stomach.

Not wanting the night to end, Yamato ordered several desserts for you to share. “I just want a taste of everything,” he speaks softly, blushing furiously as he drains his water. It made you giggle.

“Oh wait that’s not an innuendo!” alarm flashes on his face, sputtering water to the side. That made you laugh out loud; you reached out to pat his hand in understanding before he really panicked.

Through dessert, the topic of conversation got a little heavy. Yamato was brave enough to disclose the abuse he suffered from his father who raised him single handedly. Not because he wanted you to pity him but because he’s an open book. He has nothing to hide nor shame about his past. You were impressed with his strength, with his ability to cut out the toxicity from his life and move on to build himself up with no one else to support him. You felt like this is a person you can get close to. A person you can share intimate details of your life without fear that he’d freak out or reject you.

The ride back to your home was more relaxed. You felt secure in his company as he swerved between traffic; not once showing off in a way that would put you in harm’s way. He walked you up to your front door, fingers twitching as he considered how to end the night. Not quite wanting to leave but also not wanting to make assumptions.

“_____, I had a really nice time tonight. If you feel up to it, I would like to take you on another date. Maybe see that new blockbuster horror film that comes out on Friday?” He tapped his forefingers together nervously as your eyes widened.

You smile, “I had a nice time with you too. I’d love to see that film with you for our next date.”

He looked so relieved. “Yeah? Awesome! I can pick you up then, same time as tonight?”

“That sounds like a plan,” you twiddle with your keys in hand.

“I don’t want to be presumptuous but do you want to come inside? I could go for a cup of tea and some Mario Kart. Unless you don’t like the taste of dust as I leave you at the starting line.”

Yamato’s gorgeous orbs lit up, “Oh you’re SO on _____. I call dibs on the Flame Runner bike!!”

[bizkitsnuggets]

MEMORIES AND SKETCHES.

masterlist.

The teacher talked endlessly as [Y/N] drew small doodles of whale-sharks in her sketchbook mindlessly. She also drew two cigarette sticks purely because she has yet to find out Jotaro's favorite brand.

The girl of course, without realizing, drew a bluefin tuna. This time she didn't draw it just by itself. She added a person, a fisherman. The bluefin tuna was freshly caught and it reminded her of the first time she went on a fishing trip with her father.

She was seven years old at the time and it was late spring. That's usually the time where bluefin tunas become available in the sea of Japan. [Y/N] was the one who asked (forced) her father to take her on a fishing trip and he obviously had no choice but to oblige. He thought it'd be a good idea to show her just how bizarre the ocean world is.

So, there she was, in a boat with her father's crewmate. As they're doing all the work, [Y/N] sits on top of a barrel all cutely. It wasn't until a few moments later that one of her father's crewmates alerted them about some sort of big fish. The girl's father then ushered her to come see.

"Alright kiddo, don't get any closer. Just watch and learn." Her father told her before reeling his fishing rod into the water. Not long after, the rod started to wiggle, startling [Y/N] and her father. "This is it!" he shouted, his crewmate then took some sort of dart with a rope and when the fish was near the boat, he threw it. [Y/N]'s eyes widened as her dad pulled the fish onto the boat.

The fish was humongous, it was almost larger than her dad. "This is the fish they usually use in sushi, kid. It's called bluefin tuna." He extended his hand so the girl could take a better look at it. [Y/N] didn't know if it was the sun that made the fish look so majestic. Never in a million year would she expect herself to call a fish "majestic" but here she is. It was practically shining.

The girl could only look at it with her mouth open and her eyes wide. Her words were taken away from her and her muscles seemed to stop moving. It was the first time she'd seen a fish that big in real life. She would be lying if she said she wasn't a bit taken aback.

But after that, she never saw a bluefin tuna again. She'd only see it already sliced up and served as food whenever she went out to restaurants.

Well... not until one day, in her second year of Highschool, she had gone to the beach to take pictures of the sunset. She stood by the shore, holding her digital camera up and took a picture of the golden hues.

It was mesmerizing to say the least. Suddenly, she heard a flapping noise beside her. Her head turned to the sound, and to her surprise it was a stranded bluefin tuna. It was flipping around, struggling to get back in the water.

The girl backed up out of surprise. She didn't know what to do. She wanted to help, but she wasn't authorized for that and there was a possibility that she could end up hurting the fish. So, [Y/N] did what any sane person would do, she called to the fishermen that were nearby.

It didn't take long before they started running towards her. However, [Y/N] didn't know why, but she felt as if the fish was glowing. She didn't know if it was the radiant hues from the sun, but it was weirdly alluring.

Slowly, she put her hand up as the sound of the shutter camera went off. Suddenly, she felt the urge to look to her side. Again, she didn't know why. And there he was. The infamous troublemaker, Kujo Jotaro. He was a few feet away from her, looking at the sunset.

He was far away enough for him to not notice her but close enough that she could still make out his facial expression. His brows were furrowed, his face as if made of stone. He looked normal, he looked like he would every day at school. That same scowl, that same lidded eyes. But despite that, he looked remorseful.

Oh, after missing fifty days of attendance he's finally back. I wonder what happened.

That day was a core memory for [Y/N]. She never cared for Jotaro, she never spared him a glance. But that evening made her change her opinion on him a bit. He reminded her of the bluefin tuna which was stranded. Jotaro looked lost, stranded. Just like the fish.

"Ms. [L/N]? Ms. [L/N]?" The teacher called out to her. The girl looked up from her notebook, "yes sir?"

"What's so interesting about your notebook, Ms [L/N]? Mind sharing it to the class?" He interrogated her in a sharp tone.

"No sir, sorry."