#i regret not painting this on a larger canvas

[electricparchment]

power duo ⚡️

+ the humble origins of this painting

references are screenshots by the great @sunsetagain

[sunarots]

so high school ━━━ atsumu miya

23. first day ♡

“Come on.”

You take in a deep breath, looking up at Atsumu from your spot in his passenger seat. He leans against the open door of the car, a hand outstretched towards you. Your eyes drift to the building behind him, the blinds drawn and blocking the view inside of the restaurant.

Now, not only have you got to pretend to be Atsumu’s boyfriend to the public, you have to pretend in front of his brother. And your boss. Despite your anxiety, you accept Atsumu’s hand and let him lead the way into the restaurant. He drapes an arm around your neck, pulling you in closer to him whilst using his other hand to open the door.

The lights are up full to compensate for the lack of sunlight, so you can see every detail. The walls are painted a dark grey, decorated with pictures taken from the twins’ childhoods, the restaurant opening. You approach the closest collage of photos, scanning over each one.

There’s one of them as young kids in a volleyball club, wide smiles on their faces. The two of them in high school, black uniforms in a large gymnasium, the entire team surrounding them. Another at their graduation with their mother between them. One of them at the grand opening, Osamu in the middle with his friends surrounding him.

You point to one of the faces in the picture. “Who’s this? I recognise him.” You look back, Atsumu leaning in closer to see who you were pointing at.

“Oh, that’s Sunarin. He was in the Japan team the year I was there.” Atsumu smiles, directing your attention to a larger framed photo. “Here’s us at the Olympics. Me, Sunarin, and ‘Samu.”

You gesture to the first picture that caught your eye, smiling softly. “I like this one. You were cute kids. What happened?”

Atsumu laughs, gently swatting your arm. “Oi, don’t make me regret getting ya this job.”

“Well, too late for ya to take it back.”

The two of you turn to face Osamu, walking out from the kitchen. He sits his towel over his shoulder and approaches you, reaching out a hand to shake. “How are ya both?” He pats Atsumu’s arm before crossing his over his chest.

“We’re good. Y/n’s glad to get out the house, aren’t ya?” Atsumu sets his hand on your shoulder with a soft smile.

“Yeah, I’m going fully insane. I even started watching Atsumu play against Argentina. And I was there for that game. I’ve been so bored.”

“When you’ve stooped that low, that’s how you know time’s come.”

Atsumu slaps his brother’s arm, shaking his head. “Ya better not turn her against me, ‘Samu, I swear.”

Osamu shrugs his shoulders, laughing softly and saying, “Hey, if she turns against ya, that’s not on me.” He claps his hands together and turns around to direct you to the far wall. “This is where we’ll display your art. I will take anythin’, I’m desperate. Sunarin and Kita have been up my ass about it ever since the repairs.”

You furrow your eyebrows, looking between the brothers. “Repairs?”

“The pipes burst and the entire wall got wrecked, almost collapsed. Took a while to fix it back up, but here we are. New wallpaper, too. Do ya think you could do something with it?”

You nod your head, taking your phone out of your pocket and taking a few quick pictures. It’s the same shade of grey as the rest of the walls, the only difference being the gold embellishment of fish covering it. “Yeah, I can see why they’ve been bugging you. It’s very bare. I can definitely do something. Um, do you have any ideas? I can do a lot, so if you have any references I could put something together. Maybe a black canvas with gold on it, or the other way around?”

Osamu nods, waving for you to follow him towards the counter. He pauses when Atsumu doesn’t follow. “Ya good?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna head to work. Need to get a coffee first. I’ll be back to pick you up after practice, darlin’. Stay in touch, yeah?” He awkwardly pats you on the back before doing the same to his brother, tucking his hands in his pockets and heading towards the door.

“Bye, Atsumu!”

He gives you a smile and a wave in response when he leaves the restaurant. You turn your full attention to Osamu, following him behind the bar and towards his office. The walls are painted a navy blue, coat hooks and lockers lining the way to the staff room.

Inside his office, the walls are still the floral print from the last owners, certificates and awards hung on the walls. More personal photos, one of him and Sunarin with their arms around one another on his desk.

You take a seat in the cushioned chair, tucking your hair behind your ears and watching him rummage through the papers on his desk.

“So, I started looking at work that you’ve posted to get an idea and I had some help putting this together, but these are some images I’ve found that I think would suit your style.” He hands over a stack of ten loose sheets of paper, each with one or two pictures on them.

You flick through them, folding corners on the ones you thought you could use. Leaning back in your seat, you cross one leg over the other and smile at him. “I can definitely work with these, thank you. I also saw that you had a lot of pictures of you and friends and people close to you hung on the walls. I do portraits and, um… I can do a portrait of you and one or two other people, if that’s something you’d be interested in?”

Osamu smiles, eyes flickering to the picture frames on his desk. "Yeah, that would be nice. I can send you a picture? We don’t have much spare time to pose.”

“Of course. Could you send a few? Fully confidential, and I’ll delete them once I’ve finished the painting. I, um… I’ll also need a deposit from you, just in case you pull out.” Your eyes widen when the words leave your mouth, regretting your choice of phrasing. “Not that I don’t trust you or anything! I do, I just take a deposit from everyone to secure and just so I don’t, um… Waste my time.”

Osamu waits for you to finish, nodding along to everything you say. “That’s no problem. I expected that, anyway. If you give me a quote on the deposit whenever you can, and I’ll transfer that straight over to you so you can make a start. I’d also like to fund whatever materials it is you use. Paints, canvases, everything that you don’t already have. If you buy anything for this, give me a receipt and I’ll refund you for your purchases.”

“Oh, Osamu, I can’t let you do that, it’s too much.” You fix the papers into a neat pile. “The deposit is enough.”

He shakes his head, eyes flickering past you to something in the hallway. He nods his head before turning his full attention back onto you. “It’s not, I’ll be paying you for this. Now, are you ready to start your training?”

masterlist. previous | next

summary. after your best friend reveals he’s moving out of your shared flat, you’re presented with a tough choice: let one of the creeps who are begging you to let them move in with you, or find a cheaper flat in another area of town. a do-over couldn’t have come at a better time for you, but your only option for a place to stay is with someone your best friend knew from high school, and his two teammates.

taglist (open!). @reignsaway @yuminako @thiisisntlovely @diorzs @aboutkiyoomi @spicana @bakingcuriosity @kr1nqu @savemebrazilhinata @dazqa @sereniteav @beckxisxinxlovexwithxjin @sleezzsister @hermaeusmorax @giocriedpower @sophosphorescent @gigiiiiislife @zazathezaer @rrosiitas @iaminyourfloors @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @sillygooseymood @ellouisa17 @wakashudou @punkhazardlaw @arminswife12 @libbymeows @thomatri @nanamis-right-tiddie

[lisenberry]

The sweat on your skin is better than regret on your heart

Part three! (One and Two) I know I promised smut, but I just got really deep into his tattoos. Part four will finish this up, I swear.

Tattoo Artist!Price x F!Reader

He led you towards the back of the shop, past the reception desk and the waiting area, and behind the black velvet privacy curtain.  You were surprised at how clean it was in his workspace.  Welcoming in its warmth.  You expected neon lights and goth décor.  Crystal skulls and gleaming stainless steel.

Instead, it was a palette of rich, earthy tones.  A supple looking camel-colored leather sofa, maps of the ocean and model ships of every shape and size.  A compass rose painted with elaborate detail on the ceiling.  A stained-glass light fixture at its center. 

“It’s beautiful in here,” you mused, as you spun around slowly in a mix of awe and anticipation.  If you were to get a tattoo, it would be the place. 

“If you give me a second, I can draw you up a few ideas.  The ones you showed me on your little phone are uninspired shit.”  He slipped another cig from his pack and tucked it behind his ear.  Always at the ready.

“I’m actually more worried about the placement.”  You bit your lip for courage.  You couldn’t believe you were doing this.  “Could you show me yours?  Maybe that’ll help me decide.”

You sat atop a padded seat that he could recline forward and backward, raise up and down to suit the best position.  It was comfortable and smooth against the back of your knees. 

“I think we can stop pretending why you’re still here.  You want me to help you forget your boyfriend, don’t you?  Work you up so hard—so good and proper—that you don’t remember his name.”

But even as he spoke, he obliged you.  Tugged his shirt off efficiently, pulling it up from behind his neck and shrugging it over the front of his shoulders, letting it come to rest between his wrists.  It briefly looked like handcuffs before he tossed it on the floor beside him.

His hair stuck up in roguish angles before he could smooth it down with a stiff swipe of his palm.   

“No, I want to remember.  Remember this feeling for the rest of my life.”  You couldn’t look away as he stood so close to you, so proudly as if for an inspection. 

At the swath of hair that curled around the thick muscles of his chest and trailed down to disappear beneath the waist of the pants that hung low where his hands rested on his hips.

“What feeling is that?”

“Empty?”  You reached a hand out tentatively to touch the skin along his side.  To move him closer for a better look.  “But free.”

He was inked in a scattering of places, like memories collected over time.  No rhyme or symmetry to their arrangement.  A snake coiled around his shoulder and sunk its teeth into his collarbone.  A black bird with a long neck and hooked beak sat vigilantly on one bicep while a simple, unadorned dagger with wings claimed the other.

Some more weathered than others, it was hard to tell which was the oldest. 

“What’s the bird for?”  you asked, nodding to his left arm.  Below it was written “You’ll never walk alone” in stylized script. 

“That’s a liver bird.  The symbol of the LFC.”  A football club?  You cracked a smile at the boyishness of it.  You wondered if that was his first one, as a lad staking his claim on his body.  And the world.

“And the snake?”  You took your time tracing his right shoulder with your fingertips. 

“I hate snakes.  Scare me to death.”  Brave then, to carry one around with him always, forever creeping up to bite him. 

“And the bees?  You scared of them, too?”  You noted the collection of realistically drawn bumble bees at his side, fresher and with bright yellow colors. 

“Those are for my nieces.  Beatrice, Brenna and Bailey.”  He pointed to each, with a glimmer of softness in his voice as he recalled their names.

As you slid your hands to his hips, you turned him around to view the larger canvas at his back.  Just as disjointed as his front, your gaze fell to a ghostly face. 

More skeleton than specter, it sat on his right shoulder.  It’s teeth were made of bullets, and it stared blankly back at you.  The pitch black in the depths of its eyes unnerving. 

Beside it was a bear, warlike in its posture.  Its face open and fearsome, ready to consume its foe.  A claymore style longsword, with a thistle design at its hilt held in its massive paws.

One last piece balanced out the trinity.  A Knight Templar, crouched in armor.  On one bent knee, in service to a force unseen. 

They felt significant, inked in a similar style and with a fluidity that bound them together. 

“They’re important to you?”

“To be at my back?  Yeah.  They’re the best.”

From there, your fingers moved lower, to a set of four lions sat on their flanks.  You recognized them from history.  They were the Landseed lions of Admiral Nelson’s monument in Trafalgar Square.  They’d once held names too, like his nieces. 

Peace. War. Vigilance. Determination.

But these had arrows in their backs.  You imagined that each one in the count held a significance.  Not a life taken.  Or a victory.  Not something so crass and boastful.  Instead, something lost.

Below each, he’d had a set of coral red poppies added.  Bright and vibrant and new.

“It’s lovely,” you felt a tear drift down your cheek.  You didn’t know why.  It happened sometimes when you were at a museum or a gallery.  Moved beyond words at something beyond yourself.  The unbridled expression of another.

The last was a lone set of crosshairs, in a style so different than the rest.  Thin and unsure, as if doodled in a dream.  Just below his neck.  Dead-center at the crest of his spine.

“What’s this one?” You grazed it gently with your fingers.  Not entirely sure you wanted the answer.

“That’s the one that finally gets me, love,” he growled as he twisted around and held your probing hand in his.  “You’ve looked your fill.  Now it’s my turn.”

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 7

The Sacred Lands

Up at dawn to continue on from the Hunting Grounds, three marks up.

I met a man along the road, looked Carja. Two corpses beside him, and he said he was there rooting out bandits who had come across the boarder to ensalve and steal from the Nora in their weakened state. Just as Varl said. As if I didn't have enough to worry about.

I stumbled upon another ancient ruin, hidden underground just like the one I found as a child.  I found a door in there, and ancient armour. I repurposed the two power cells I'd been lugging around (I found another while exploring All-Mother mountain) to power the locking mechanism…partly. I’ll need to find more to get to that armour. And I will get to it.

I rode onto Mother's Rise and met a young healer called Fia who was caring for dying Braves. There were so many of them, lying out on stretchers of canvas and skin. Fia needed Dreamwillow, a herb to ease their pain in death, so I agreed to check the caches along the trail. I know I can't stay here, but there are so many people that need my help. It's what Rost would do, I think.

I also met Yan, who worries for his sister Nakoa. She travelled beyond the boarder to seek revenge on a Carja officer for his deeds in the Red Raids. I can't fathom knowing someone I care about is in danger and doing nothing to help them, but it seems that Yan's fear of spiritual ruin is greater than his love for his sister. I just can't understand it.

On to the site where the Nora war party was ambushed by the killers. I rode through the ruins of Devil's Thirst, the rusting, overgrown carcass of the Old Ones' great city. Are there others, larger even than this? I couldn't resist climbing one of the structures. Hunted a couple of foxes to last me a few days. Skins are good for carrying all the trinkets I keep finding.

My Focus picked up a signal from a Tallneck patrolling the area—a machine I had only ever seen in paintings. There was a node on it's head that promised information, a map of the surrounding lands. There was only one way to get to it. Better than any Brave trail, and the view was incredible! The Tallneck takes in all it sees and sends it to the machines on the ground. Does it tell the machines where to go? Or do they decide based on what it tells them?

I finally made it to the ambush site, a mess of blood, metal and arrows. An injured Brave found me there and told me where Sona had been heading with the survivors.

On the way out I ran into a group of bandits. They attacked me on sight, probably thinking I'd be an easy target. I called over my Strider and it trampled them. Surprise.

Checking a few Dreamwillow caches—all empty—I returned to Mother's Rise to stock up and rest a while. Fia told me of another healer called Jun who might have Dreamwillow to spare, and I agreed to seek him out the next day.

I rode out again just after nightfall, making for the ridge on the other side of the ruins where Sona made camp.

Sona took credit for a kill I was itching to make, but that was a small price for finding her and the other Braves alive. They led me to a large outpost of killers and their corrupted machines. Blaze too—lots of it. I made use of that once my cover was blown, but I managed to take out most of their soldiers from a distance with my new sharpshot bow.

It looks like they were digging corrupters up from underground, buried machines…How many of them are down there? 

When the fighting was over, Varl found us. Sona was not pleased. Searching the outpost, I found out about the killer's base in the ruins, where they're stockpiling blaze. I have a feeling they'll come to regret that.

All of them have Focuses, sending each other messages, leaving datapoints...but they don't seem to work as well as mine does, able to track people across distances and through solid objects. Maybe mine is just in better condition, or they aren't as adept at using them. Still, it's strange.

I overrode another Strider. I left my old mount by the ridge. I hope it wasn't attacked or anything. Part of me wishes I'd kept it closer by.

Sleep. For what's left of the night, anyway. Sona is hurt, so are some of the other Braves, though our losses were low. They'll be a couple days before reaching Red Echoes.

[toon-tales]

Hiya, guys! As you can see, another one shot of the 'Branch has a child' au, cause I can't stop now! Anyway, just wanted to describe Rosiepuff, cause I suck at drawing. Ok, so, she has pastel yellow skin and coral, specifically peach pink, hair, and her nose is that salmon shade of red. Pastels, as you can see, because who doesn't like pastels?

Also, this takes place during THIH, after Branch's gift exploded

Anyway, enjoy!

Crafted bonds

It blew up as fast as it came together. That's probably why it blew up. Branch groaned, reaching out a shaky hand to the back of his head. Great, he thought sarcastically. Just great.

Then a small cough interrupted his thoughts.

His instincts kicked in, and the first thought that crossed his mind was Rosiepuff, his daughter. With the colorful dust still hanging in the air, he swiftly maneuvered through the scattered remnants of his grand gesture, his eyes searching for her familiar face. The bunker, usually a place of calm, was now a canvas of disarray, but all that mattered to Branch was Rosiepuff's safety.

He found her not far from the epicenter of the blast, her wide eyes reflecting the myriad of colors that had painted the place just seconds ago. She was startled, yes, but unharmed, her resilient spirit already turning the shock into curiosity. Seeing her guardian's concerned expression, Rosiepuff reached out, her small hands finding Branch's larger ones, a silent reassurance that all was well. Her smile, a little shaky but genuine, was enough to ease Branch's worry.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" he suddenly asked, pulling away from the hug and examining her, his hands moving with practiced ease to inspect for any injuries. "Legs? Arms? Feet? Anything?"

The girl shook her head. "I'm fine, Daddy," she muttered, slightly shaking as she buried her face in the older Troll's chest. Branch sighed in relief. His grip tightened around the smaller finger ever so slightly, careful not to hurt her.

"What are you going to get Aunt Poppy now?" Excellent question. Problem? Branch didn't know. He stood amidst the chaos, his heart sinking as his eyes fell upon the torn remnants of photographs scattered around him. Hands hesitant, they reached for the scattered pieces of pictures around him. They were split, torn, the once-taken-care-of's. Each picture was a captured moment, a memory of the laughter and love he shared with Poppy, now frayed at the edges and split by unintended mishaps. The vibrant colors of their past adventures seemed to fade before his eyes, overshadowed by the gray pall of regret that now hung in the air. He knelt down, gingerly picking up another piece of a photo, the edges rough against his fingertips. It was a snapshot of a picnic they had, with Poppy's radiant smile being the centerpiece of that sunny day. Another piece showed them mid-dance, lost in the music and in each other. Branch felt a lump form in his throat as he put them together.

He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, trying to center himself amidst the storm of emotions. When he opened them again, his resolve had hardened. With careful hands, he began to gather the pieces, laying them out like a tapestry of their time together. Some edges matched, while others did not, but each fragment was precious, as he placed them on the table.

With a determined spark in his eyes, Branch turned to Rosiepuff and declared, "We're going to make a scrapbook, Rosie. A scrapbook for all these memories."

Rosiepuff's face lit up with excitement, her tiny hands clapping in joy. "Scrapbooking with dad!" she squealed, bouncing on her toes. Together, they gathered the torn photographs, the glitter, and even the bits and pieces that were scattered around from the explosion. They laid everything out on the table, a canvas waiting to be transformed.

"Okay, sweetheart, we'll start by placing the photos here," Branch instructed, pointing to the empty pages of the notebook. Rosiepuff nodded eagerly, her fingers already picking up a photo of her and Poppy playing dress-up. "This one is my favorite. Can we add it?" she asked, waiting for permission to place the photo on the page.

Branch smiled. "We'll add whatever we want when we get to it." Another squeal escaped the young girl.

Branch chuckled as he sat next to her. "Now, what do you think we should add?"

Rosiepuff, needles to be told, had already gathered all the colorful papers she could find. She let them land on the table with a soft thud, and dust flew around them for a second. Her eyes beamed with joy. "Will those work?"

"You bet, sweetheart," her father replied with a 'let's get down to business' smile. "Let's start from the beginning."

"The trip to Bergen town?"

"The trip to Bergen town," Branch confirmed, handing her two different shades of purple pieces of paper and a pencil. "Can you draw a spider?"

She looked up at him. "Like the one you chased away with your hair?"

"That one."

"Yes!"

Branch smiled at her enthusiasm. He watched as she picked up her tools, drawing random lines across the paper before she began to draw the main outline. His gaze shifted to the tiny scraps in front of him. 'Branch and Poppy's great adventures' rang in his head. Simple, and beautiful. Perfect.

"Done!" a tiny voice cut through his thoughts, and a crocky drawing of a spider slipped under his face. "What do you think?"

"Amazing, Rosie," he praised. "We'll just have to cut it out and stick it."

And Rosiepuff wasted no second in grabbing the scissors. Which were gently taken from her grip.

"You're not allowed near scissors yet," Branch stated in a matter-of-factly tone. "You can draw something else while I cut it out, how about that?"

The younger pouted. "But Aunt Poppy lets me cut out the figures when we scrapbook together!"

Branch's eyes widened, the scissors' path coming to a halt. "Aunt Poppy does what?!"

Rosiepuff avoided his gaze, and she murmured a soft, "Aunt Poppy lets me hold the scissors…" as her finger traced along the wooden table.

The dull troll looked at her as if she had said she murdered someone. He sighed. "Well, from now on, you're not allowed near anything sharp. Got it?"

"But-"

"No buts, I can't risk you getting injured while I'm not here." He took out another red paper. "You can draw something else while I do the cutting."

She huffed. "Alright…" She picked up her pencil. "What should I draw?"

Branch pondered for a moment. "Hmm… how about… the moment Poppy got crowned?"

"Ay ay, Dad!" And with that, the young girl began her work.

—------------

"Stick the rest of the pictures while I decorate the cover, can you do that?"

Rosiepuff sat with a fascinated glint in her eyes, surrounded by a sea of colorful paper, glitter, and more memories waiting to be immortalized in the scrapbook. Branch, with his gentle guidance, showed her how to select the perfect moments that captured the essence of their adventures with Poppy. He taught her the value of each memory, explaining why some moments shone brighter in their hearts. The pastel-yellow girl listened intently, her little hands carefully placing photos, her concentration palpable as she decided where each piece belonged.

"Write a little note," Branch said softly, nodding towards the shot of Poppy and his daughter playing dress-up.

Rosiepuff giggled, a small squeak escaping her lips as she wrote letters Branch couldn't quite make out. Not that his handwriting was any better.

"We're out of glue."

His eyes widened. "What? We still have so much to do!"

His daughter looked at him with an innocent smile. "Want me to borrow some from Aunt Poppy?"

"No, she'll suspect something is up…"

"We can use tape!"

He took the tape from her hand. It won't be as good, but at least it's better than leaving half of the pages empty. And besides, Poppy wouldn't suspect anything if they didn't ask for glue. "Alright, let's see."

Branch watched as her tiny hands reached for the scissors once more, only for him to win the race and have them in his grip again. A proud smile tugged at his lips, while a disappointment pout appeared on her face, as he saw her creativity bloom, despite grumpy. He offered suggestions, but more often than not, he found himself learning from Rosiepuff's uninhibited approach to the scrapbook. She mixed colors with abandon, pairs the unlikeliest of memories, and somehow, it all came together beautifully. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two from her.

"Now, let's add some…" he trailed off, gagging slightly, "glitter around it," he muttered, handing her a jar of glitter. Rosiepuff's face broke into a wide grin as she sprinkled the glitter over the page, turning it into a shimmering masterpiece.

Hours passed, and the scrapbook began to take shape, each page a collage of their lives. There were pages filled with laughter, pages that sparkled with the magic of their world, and pages that simply showed the everyday moments that, when pieced together, told the story of a family.

Finally, as they placed the last photo, Rosiepuff leaned back and admired their work. "It's beautiful, Daddy. Aunt Poppy is going to love it!" she exclaimed, her voice full of pride.

Branch wrapped an arm around Rosiepuff's shoulders, pulling her close. "She will, Rosie. And it's all thanks to you," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

[seth-the-giggle-fish]

The next installment of my Walter Family Portraits is done!

We have the original inventor, creator of our beloved Singing Musical Automatons, Col. Peter A. Walter I. Based off of the original art from Sam Luke (@samhears) in the Steam Powered Giraffe comic and a photo of David Michael Bennet

Color pallet was partially chosen by popular vote here on tumblr using the poll function

Acrylic paint on a 8x10 inch stretched canvas

WIP photos under the cut as always

The canvas was originally a test of the new blues I had bought, and was going to be used for the Sky Shark painting, but I ended up going with a larger size for that so it's been sitting partially painted since then. On the far left side you can glimpse my skeleton helper Darla, and part of my work surface is the sketch for my Lily Airheart painting (still in progress)

The very initial sketch, transferred over using graphite tracing paper, the canvas wasn't completely square so I decided to try making it look like an oval frame over a photo instead of a square and trying to find a frame that looked good with it

Unfortunately the blue had to go, at least for the bits of the painting that wasn't background, so it was time to start laying down some base colors and solidifying my choice to go for half-comic half-realism

Didn't really know what I was doing and ended up using Yellow Ocher for one of my base colors, I changed my mind on this much later after sleeping on the decision for a few nights. The yellow just wasn't working right with the Burnt Sienna for this

My reference photo and some more base colors, nearly ready to move onto shadows and other tones

Lips??? How do people paint lips?

Starting to regret the yellow, but forging on hoping that it'll end up looking ok

Relising that the process isn't going to fix this and that the yellow needs to go, starting to paint over it with a combination of Unbleached Titanium and Burnt Sienna

Just before I realized that I forgot his coat buttons, and a few details left to finalize. The little gold frills weren't popping as nicely as I hoped so I painted them over in black before adding a gold wash over it to make it look like worn and old gold

[theclo4ked1]

abnormally large paintbrush aura: diminishing return. Probably the last bit of painting I'll have for a while. Here, we have seven of the eight paintings I did from late November to almost Christmas of 2023. For this series, I focused more on colour and landscape variety--I didn't want two paintings to look or feel the same or be similar in any way; uniqueness was the challenge. I'm sure you know the drill with these: paintings are ordered by creation.

I'd say this was a strong opening for this series, and I like it. In this abstract painting, and only this one, I had used my fingers to make some paint strokes. There is some brushwork, yes, and I think five colours were used, those being the primaries in acrylic and a yellow and a black in oil. I was thinking of another episode of Daria while doing this, too; where Jane was also applying paint with her fingers.

An all oil painting; this one uses blues and whites to make a mountain range by a lake. I did try to mimic the way Bob Ross painted mountains as I saw him do in an episode, it didn't work that well, and all I got out of this was Ice Cap Zone.

A green oil painted forest that has a acrylic brown layer painted underneath to make it seem dirtier. Nina's was planned to be there, skipping through shrubs, but for some reason, I just didn't add her, so now it's just her ghost. Nina was planned to appear in a larger painting, what could have been the eighth, but I had other plans.

A grey tornado in the farm fields somewhere in The Country. This one was done very fast because I did it fast because the tornado makes a messy and you can see the spin of the tornado, right? I want to see one someday, but I think I may regret living that dream. I have a feeling this was made to also use paint so it wouldn't be wasted. The sky behind the tornado is a dull maroon and green gradient thing, that's because I remember something that said skies become a vague green colour when disaster such as this happens.

I wish I knew what this was supposed to be in the first place, but it's a part of a canyon.

It gets better from here. The sixth and seventh were in creation at the same time. Those two are the only ones that were drawn with pencil first to plan out the perspective landscape. This sixth one is an abstract city, with oblong and strange buildings, and a church with a dome that's missing a cross (if you look hard enough, you might still see where it's supposed to be). The clock tower on the left is also stacked like misaligned building blocks. The moon is also present.

Comparison, not inspiration: my painting vs. Tallest Mountain ("Click!". Dora the Explorer. 2002.)

The seventh one, surprisingly, ended up being my best one in terms of content, colour, and technique--seriously, I had NO idea I was capable of this. It's also my favorite. And see? Mountains done right when I didn't do so great in the second painting. It's a good thing I didn't do a valley painting sooner because I don't believe it would've been as good as it is now. I just needed let be to cook, I suppose. Thinking now, this probably has some of East Asian influenced pulled from my memories, but know, when I finished the painting at first, I looked at for a bit. Then I was like "oh god did I just unconsciously reference Dora the Explorer?" I mean look at the mountains: purple and green. The painting looks better if you look at it from farther away or if you blur your vision.

There is no eighth painting here. It's not be included in this collection, not even on Tumblr.

{ It would've been here. }

This. Is the largest painting I've done thus far (also the largest acrylic-only painting I've done), standing--well, it would be, if I had stabilized it with a wooden frame--at what I think was 6' x 5'. In fact, its size was the reason I opted to not stabilize it and instead just went for "raw canvas" style. It allowed me to transport it with relative ease. I had nailed it to the walls of where I worked. When I was done where I was, I simply removed the nails and rolled up the canvas so I could carry it elsewhere. Peers thought the coloured circles made the subject seem at a party. Just at a party staring off from a corner. The stance and look of the subject looked heroic to one peer. I have no real reason for what I painted. I just did what I thought. It's partially undone, but it is what it is... now I have paint marks on my wall.

And that's it! I don't have to talk about painting for a while, at least until I get my own drive to create a painting. Ooh, I've got a other project waiting in the oven and I'm going to shit my words onto the screen when I post about that. It's an ugly one, but the greatest love letter ever! Soon though, I need to paint it... Thanks for reading!

[homedecor-shop-online]

How To Make Your Living Space Visually Appealing With A Few Quick Fixes

If you think your house needs some decor but are confused about what exactly it needs to look beautiful, you have come to the right place. Home decor is important. Research has shown that it helps calm you and improve your mood. Good home decor can turn your home into a happy place.

In this blog, we will explore different types of home decor and provide you with some tips on how to exactly use them. We will also talk about one of the best decor shops in Mumbai, which was also mentioned in The New York Times. Let’s get started.

Simple and Quick Tips for Arranging Furniture

I am sure that even if your house is not visually appealing, it does have some sort of furniture. Maybe a table, a nice couch, and a few chairs. If they are of good quality, they are enough. You don’t need new furniture. We just need to properly arrange them. So here are a few tips:

Consider the furnishings in your space as the brushstrokes on a canvas. An essential component of the composition as a whole is the arrangement.

Take advantage of symmetry, as they can have instant and powerful transformations.

Consider arranging your furniture in pairs, such as two accent chairs or matched end tables.

Following these tips will have an instant impact on the visual beauty of your house. This brass and wood table can be a good option if you are planning to buy a table.

Smart Lighting to Boost Ambience

Let the light shine—but in a smart way! A room's lighting has the amazing power to change its mood. Layering your lighting sources can create a multifaceted effect. Combining task lighting, floor lamps, and overhead lighting produces a pleasing atmosphere. Choose lighting that allows for adjustable brightness to achieve optimal results.

For example, if you are a reader, you can buy this study lamp from Satguru’s. Not only will the lamp allow you to read without disturbing others, it will also create your own warm corner. Your special reading corner.

Mirrors: The Deceit of Elegance and Space

Whose room is the loveliest of them all, mirror, mirror on the wall? Mirrors are the decorator's magicians; they quickly double the amount of visible space while glamming everything up. To reflect natural light and provide the impression of a larger, brighter space, think about putting a huge mirror opposite a window.

You can buy mirrors from Satguru's amazing collection. The mirror gives the room an air of spaciousness and doubles as a last-minute outfit check before leaving.

Paintings for Adding Luxury

Buying a painting for your house is an investment you will never regret. It instantly adds a luxurious feel to your house. A painting will always be the first thing your guests will notice when they come to your house. Here are a few tips you need to follow when buying a painting:

Paintings can be expensive, so set a budget. You can buy affordable paintings from decor shops like Satguru’s, especially spiritual andIndian paintings.

Make sure the colour and size of the painting you choose blend with your existing decor pieces.

Go for paintings that you find appealing. For example, you should buy a 2000-Rs painting that you like instead of a 20,000-Rs painting that does not connect with you.

Don’t hang your paintings in crowded places or in places where people can’t see them clearly.

If you are looking to buy handmade paintings for the living room, you must check out this ‘Manikarnika Ghaat’ painting.

Conclusion

You have the ability to completely change your living area through the captivating realm of home decor. You may transform the unimpressive into the amazing by adopting these easy and inventive home design tricks. Therefore, get your thoughts together, put on your work gloves, and start working your magic. After all, every house needs a little bit of aesthetic appeal and a unique personality. Have fun with the decor!

If you are looking to buy decorations for your place, you must check out Satguru’s. They are one of the best home decor shops in Mumbai. Here you can buy home decor items like vases, wall art, dinner sets, and even handmade decor items. You can either visit their store or buy from their online store, which delivers the products all over India. Visit their website today.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Quite at Home in Hell

For @whumptober2021 day six & day 21:  blood-matted hair & hunger

CW: Vampirism, blood drinking, noncon touch, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper, biting, captivity, dehumanizing language

Vampire Chris AU Masterlist | Follows directly from this piece

Thanks to @boxboysandotherwhump for helping me with the German & @alittlewhump for helping with the French!

-

1918, the Western Front of WWI

The prisoners are held in a small, hastily constructed sort of barracks far too close to the front lines.

Gefrieter Erich Eeten knows why, of course. The hope is that his own people will hesitate before they blast this bit of dirt apart, that they will be concerned enough about killing their fellow soldiers that they’ll give up a few key moments of pause to the French, the Americans, and the British. Give them the advantage in a firefight.

They want to shield themselves with the bodies of the men in this tent, unwashed and dirty, who are exhausted from a day spent digging trenches for their enemies to hide in. 

He can’t exactly blame the Allied powers for it. 

It’s a brilliant bit of strategy, if less and less effective as men on both sides become so battle-hardened that they cease to care about their own lives, let alone each other. Still. He’d almost rather be at one of the true POW camps further away from the front lines, where the Red Cross at least comes to check on their treatment.

Here, so close to the front, there is no one keeping watch on what happens to them at all… and the longer the war draws on, the more viciously they kill each other, the more the prisoners kept here too far for oversight feel like they are teetering at the edge of some terrible invisible cliff. 

There’s a stiff breeze outside the tent, whipping the heavy, waterproofed canvas edges. They’re flapping a little, making a sound that Erich will one day hear in his nightmares. The cold sneaks in through the slight space between tent and ground, and the men in here are huddled together for warmth, sharing the meager blankets they are given. 

At least, though, their captors are officially the French. 

Say what you will about the blasted frogs, they never deny their prisoners a nip of strong cognac to help hold off the cold. The Americans, on the other hand, seem to be laboring under an enforced lack of good liquor, not just for prisoners but for their own soldiers, too. That seems a worse crime than nearly any other, in circumstances like this. To force a man to be a cruel killer without even a nip or three to soothe his conscience… to Erich, it sounds like brutality.

There’s a bit of a scuffle outside the tent, and the prisoners look up. Erich is at the back, leaning back against the rough frame of a cot he sleeps on at night, cards in his hands wrapped in strips of bandage cloth just for warmth. What happened to his gloves, he’s no idea. Probably one of the Allies took them for a souvenir.

The canvas wraps work well enough.

“Au garde-à-vous, prisonniers! Sur vos pieds!” Erich knows the voice - it’s the main guard of the tent they sleep in, a man named Alain who looks entirely too old for war. Here he is, anyway, all moustache and silvering hair, pulling open the entrance of the tent, moving the flap aside. 

Erich glances left and then right, meeting the eyes of his fellow prisoners, and the half-dozen of them that share this single small tent push heavily to their feet, shifting apart as much as the tent will allow, hands behind their back. 

His stomach dips, a low drumbeat of dread alongside his heart. Something tells him this isn’t a social call he wants to be part of. 

He’s even more certain when a tall, thin American steps into the entrance, nearly silhouetted by the dim, barely-there light behind them. Their hair is long, in a loose plait with parts undone, and their eyes gleam, briefly seeming to glow in the dark. Erich is reminded of his mother’s cat, who would stalk mice at night and whose eyes did just the same when light hit them.

He feels very… mouselike.

They wear a medic’s uniform, but it’s a little tattered. There are unrepaired bullet holes through the heavy woolen tunic, and they move with grace and disdain for how heavy wet wool must be, how itchy and uncomfortable. As if it simply doesn’t matter to them.

Because, of course, it doesn’t. The damn thing is a walking corpse, baring fangs in a grisly smile.

“Hello, soldiers,” They say, in a voice that isn’t quite a purr. “You all look a fright.”

“Verdammte Blutsauger,” Lukas Müller mutters to his right. 

Erich hates the bloodsuckers. Everyone does. They come with the Americans, monsters brought from the shadows as a kind of secret weapon. Erich has never seen vampires out in the open before - back home, they are creatures of hiding. They live in cellars and basements and houses with the windows painted in thick matte black. They sweep along the streets at night, a risk for anyone who stays out too late.

But they’re not part of anything. 

Here, they’re death itself, demons quite at home in hell.

 Oh, sure, the Americans claim they use them only for bringing the injured back to safety - and some of them, he’s sure, are kept to that purpose. Some kind of ability to deny the truth of them, if there are enough seen doing only what the official story claims.

Erich, though, has seen one dispatching wounded German soldiers one by one left behind in a field, killing them before they can be recovered by their own people. He’s seen one with fangs buried in the throat of a man who would otherwise have lived. They’re listed as medics, but those things are what keeps the Germans on their own side of the battle lines after dark, and everyone knows it. 

His own side brings canisters of poison gas. The Americans respond with an army laced around its edges in abominations the gas can’t touch.

The vampire sighs, faintly disappointed. “No good morning for me from my audience?”

Erich speaks the best English out of them all - his grandmother was English, taught it to his father in the cradle, who taught it to him. It’s made him more or less the spokesman for his small group of prisoners, and for the larger group when they are moved and briefly allowed to interact with the others. He clears his throat, stepping forward slightly. Lukas and Vilhelm, on his other side, nudge him just a little with their shoulders. It’s meant to be support, he supposes. 

He feels like he’s being pushed onto a target painted on the floor, one invisible only to him. 

“Good morning,” Erich says, voice flat, letting his accent roll far more heavily off his tongue than it needs to, turning good into gut. It’s always good to let the enemy believe you know less than you really do, so he pretends that English comes with difficulty and not ease. “Should you not turn to ash?”

Their eyebrows raise just slightly, not quite in amusement, and they give a brittle little laugh. “First off, Fritz, that’s a myth. Secondly, it’s not even morning. Probably close to evening now, honestly.” 

Erich rolls his eyes. Lukas mutters something under his breath next to him, but the slight creaking of their boots seems to cover it too much to be understandable. Erich sighs, heavily. “Then why did you have us say to you good morning, Blutsauger?” 

“Because it’s funny that you don’t know what time it is, of course. All right, who here is Fritz, who is Hans, and who am I just going to call Kraut?” 

“No one here is named Hans and no one is Fritz, fangs.” Erich tips his chin down slightly, a lock of greasy brown hair falling into his eyes. “May you drown in holy water.”

He spits at the vampire’s feet.

He feels a pang of regret when the vampire turns to look at Alain, the French guard and points back at Erich, cheerful. “I want that one. He’s rude.”

“Das ist pech,” Lukas whispers.

When Alain simply stares at them blankly - and Erich knows Alain speaks English, they’ve spoken before in a tongue they had in common when neither spoke the other’s mother-tongue -  the vampire groans. They don’t seem to know Alain is pretending not to understand them. “Fine. Let’s try this again. Je veux cet homme, s'il vous plaît.”

Alain’s expression tightens a little. He nods, and he won’t look Erich in the eyes as he draws the entrance open a little wider. “Emmenez-le alors.”

“Merci beaucoup,” The vampire says, giving a little bow. Erich backs up, but there isn’t anywhere to go, and none of them is armed. Besides, any resistance is met with removal of meals, with being denied the smallest comforts that make this bearable. With the possibility of all of them being handed over to a vampire, not just one.

This war had been civilized, in some ways, before the Americans brought their monsters.

It’s not actually true, but in this moment it comforts him to pretend it, to have a place to put his furious disgust as the vampire’s thin, long fingers close around his arm and yank him forwards with inhuman strength. They’re clicking their tongue against the top of their mouth in a strange animal way. Erich thinks again of his mother’s cat, making just that sound watching birds outside the windows.

“May your hands be pressed into the holy cross,” Erich snaps as he’s forced out into the freezing humid air outside the tent. There are others walking around - a war camp is never less than controlled chaos, no matter the time of day - but none of them will look at him. No one acknowledges him, although they’ve all seen this before. They know what’s going to happen here. 

“Je déteste ça,” Alain mutters.

A bell is rung, clanging in a discordant note, and soldiers move into the POW tents. Erich is led towards a pole in the center of the ring of prisoner tents, something that a half-century ago might still have been a flogging post, a punishment for mutinous men. 

“Crosses don’t really harm us,” The vampire says, careless and casual. “Very little does, actually. I’m a big fan of garlic, for instance. Silver, though…” They hum, dragging a fingernail over Erich’s wrist. “That hurts.”

He jerks his hand back and free, only to have the vampire laugh, bright and brilliant, and grab him again, spinning him around until they’re behind him, chest pressed to his back, using that demon strength to twist his arms up his back until his bones creak and ache, forcing him forwards towards the pole. 

“I hope you have silver shoved down your throat,” Erich manages, but his heart is pounding in fear as the vampire grabs his hair and jerks his head to the side, forcing his cheek against the rough-hewn wood. Splinters bite into his skin and he grunts as his arms are moved, forced to encircle the pole. His wrists are tied with rope, leaving him looking a little ridiculous, as if he decided today to go for a hug. 

Another rope goes around his shoulders, keeping him in this awkwardly pressed position. He tries to kick back, pulling viciously, but then his ankles come next. The rope goes from them to small metal hooks driven hard into the ground, keeping his legs more than shoulder-width apart. He can’t kick, or even balance himself. He must rely entirely on the pole he’s tied to in order to stay upright. 

“I’m going to enjoy you,” The vampire murmurs. 

Behind Erich, the sounds of a crowd gathering begin. Soft mumbles, exhalations of surprise and disgust. He closes his eyes against the rush of heat he feels - more rage than tears - knowing the prisoners are being brought out to witness this, to be shown what could happen to them next.

It does an excellent job of making them grateful for every day it’s not.

The French commander of the POW camp is barking a running list of commands to his men, but Erich doesn’t speak enough French to clearly understand them. Someone comes close by behind him, and he jolts as there’s a clap to his back. There’s a laugh behind him, not the vampire but someone else.

He manages to see from the corner of his eyes. A different American, of course. Comfortable enough with the vampire to get this close to them. 

“Isn’t this a sorry sight,” The American says, and laughs. “What’s the prize for, fangs?”

The vampire lifts their hand, gently brushing Erich’s hair from his eyes. He spits in their face, this time, and is gratified by a flash of very real anger that briefly overtakes their constant amusement. They slowly wipe the spit away, then clean their hand - sort of - on Erich’s uniform. 

It’s so dirty they’re probably even less clean after that than they were before.

“Reported a desertion. Now I get fresh food.” They lean down, meeting Erich’s furious hazel eyes. “I’m so hungry, Fritz. All the time. Imagine being surrounded by schnitzel and cabbage as far as the eye can see, and you’re not supposed to eat your fill. Imagine how empty you would feel.”

“Fick dich.” 

“What, you won’t even curse at me in English anymore?” The vampire pouts, lower lip sticking out. He hates them more than he’s hated anyone during this godforsaken war. “Come on, you have to understand how hard this is for me, right?”

Erich ignores them, jerks his wrists again, trying to yank himself free of the ropes through sheer force. His back already is aching from being slightly bent forward, his thigh muscles stretched. He does the only thing he can think of - he slowly, with effort, drags his face along the wood and manages to turn away, and look the other direction. 

“Well, fine. I suppose you’ll be mad at me for acting like you all eat schnitzel and cabbage, too,” The vampire says behind him. He doesn’t dignify them with an answer. He fixes his eyes, instead, on a point in the dark roiling clouds in the sky, above the remaining trees. 

“The prisoners are well-positioned to witness,” A French officer states, speaking with a light, dancing accent but without the difficulty and hesitancy some of the regular infantry have. “You may feed when ready, Private Saathoff.”

That gets Erich’s attention. “Saathoff?”

“That’s right.” The vampire laughs, stepping up behind him. Their fingers move through the hair that curls, grown a little too long, over the back of his neck. He shudders with disgust at the intimacy of it. Their mouth moves close to his ear, but there is no heat of breath. Only the brush of lips. “Ich bin Deustcher, genau wie du.” 

“Nothing like me,” Erich grinds out with his teeth gritted together so hard his jaw is already aching. He presses his forehead into the rough wooden pole and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath. 

If he’s going to die…

“Vater unser im Himmel,” he begins, halting. He hasn’t seen the inside of a church since he was fourteen, and that was twelve years ago now. Still, the words to the Lord’s Prayer come easily, more muscle memory than thought. “Geheiligt werde dein Name. Dein Reich komme, Dein Wille geschehe, wie im Himmel so auf Erden-”

“Zu jeder anderen Zeit hätte ich dich als Haustier behalten.” They use his hair to jerk his head back, and their fangs jam into his neck with a flash of sudden agony.

It’s a white-hot pain that races down his spine to the very tips of his toes, and Erich screams, the sound strangled and thin but still echoing, bouncing off of trees and tents and back into his mind, crashing like the shells that slam into the earth. 

Lukas jerks forwards as if to run to help him and is pushed back by one of the French soldiers, their expression set in a grim line. They have to twist Lukas’s arms behind his back to hold him as he shouts, angrily, that this isn’t fair, it’s against the laws of conduct. 

There’s laughter, at that, from their captors. 

The other prisoners grumble and shift uncomfortably, look at anything but Erich whenever they can, but they can’t escape the sound of his horror, of his pain. 

There’s no pulse of the much-spoken-of venom. There’s no numbness to drift in, there’s no fog to cloud out his awareness of what is happening to him. Every muscle of Erich’s body is tensed tight enough to snap the bones they wrap around, the veins standing out in his throat as if giving them a roadmap of where the food can be found.

He didn’t know vampires could choose not to use the venom.

He didn’t know they could make it feel like this.

When his scream dies, he can’t get enough breath to make another. All he can do is let out high-pitched, thin whimpers and cries. Spots dance before his eyes. Beneath the sound of his heart pounding in a sudden panic to push more blood faster to replace what is being lost, he can feel - can hear - a low rumbling sound against his back.

Erich has heard the rumors that vampires purr, and now he knows they aren’t rumors at all.

He can feel it right through his back, just barely. It’s a vibration that would be pleasant if it didn’t seem to be somehow making everything hurt even worse, waking up his nerves the way the venom is supposed to deaden them. Their hands are closed around his ribs, pressing the tips of their fingers rhythmically against them, as if playing a piano, as if he is dough to be kneaded, as if he isn’t human at all.

As if he’s nothing but a field mouse that found his way into the wrong house, and the vampire is the housecat who has waited too long for a living toy to torment.

There is no prayer, in pain like this. There is no thought beyond the body’s fight for survival and the mind wanting to flee from it, if surviving means this feeling will not end. There is nothing but the feeling of his blood being pulled forcefully out of his body, nothing but his nerves screaming to escape it, nothing but the bite of the ropes that ensure he can do no more than jerk in his bonds and choke on his agony.

It feels like forever - and like a moment - when their fangs pull free, their cool rough tongue lapping at the wounds to close them, purring against his ear with contentment. Their fingers knead into his skin a little bit longer, drawing the moment out as he slumps against the wooden pole he’s tied to. He’s only standing because of the ropes.

Pain rolls through him, breaking against the edges of his body from the inside, like the smaller waves after a storm falling onto a beach already strewn with debris. He slumps. His own breath is a rasping wheeze, taking far more effort than it should.

Nein, Erich, Erich stirb nicht…” Lukas’s voice comes from somewhere so far away, filtering through the noise in Erich’s mind slowly. He can’t even begin to form a response. His mouth won’t answer his commands. It only hangs open, panting, pulling in the chilly air over his tongue. He starts to shiver as the breeze hits the cold sweat in his hair and on his neck, cuts through his uniform somehow.

He doesn’t have enough blood left to warm himself.

Their tongue licks up his neck behind his ear, matting his own blood into his hair there, sticky and hot. It starts to cool and dry immediately in the cold air. Erich’s stomach twists.

“Oh, he won’t die,” The vampire coos, petting through his hair slowly. Their nails scratch at his scalp. “Not today.” Their mouth presses back against his ear. “Thanks for the meal, Erich. And for being so entertaining. Maybe I’ll find you after the war. I’ll buy you a beer… and some schnitzel.”

They push themself away from him, turning away to wipe a bit of blood from the corners of their mouth, and walk with a jaunty step through an opening that appears in the ring of watching prisoners, whose eyes follow them with apprehension and no small amount of fear. 

When Alain comes up to untie him, Erich simply collapses into the Frenchman’s arms as soon as he’s free of the ropes. Lukas is allowed to move up to stand at his other side, putting Erich’s limp left arm around his shoulders, while Alain supports his right. Erich lets his head fall into Lukas’s shoulder, hitching his breath as he forces down a sob. 

“Wh… why do you let them do this?” He asks, his English slurred with the exhaustion that means he is dragged with his boots carving paths through the mud back towards the tent. 

Alain is silent until Erich is dropped onto his cot, the hard frame digging into Erich’s back right through the thin mattress. He glances over his shoulder, the three of them alone in here for the moment, and then looks back. 

“It is believed that this is how we will win,” He says, and pats Erich’s hand. “My apologies. I do not believe in the monsters, but I am not the one to run this war.”

“None of us are,” Erich says, weakly. He closes his eyes. “We are only the ones who must fight in it.”

There’s a pause, and Alain’s exhale is audible in the quiet tent. “I will ensure you are given extra meat rations tonight, and I will find you some schnapps. Essaye de dormir, maintenant, si tu peux,” he says with soft regret lacing his voice. Then there is a shuffle of footsteps, and he’s gone.

Lukas shifts and sits with his back to the cot, in the same position Erich was in before. He swallows, picking up the abandoned cards from the game they’d been playing, looking over Erich’s hand. “You’d have won, you know, on the next hand,” He says in German, before he reaches out to grab the others’ cards and reshuffle the deck.

“Do I still get my… my winnings?” Erich can barely move his lips to speak. He’s so tired. So, so tired. He can feel his hands starting to shake, now that it’s over, the trembling moving slowly up his limbs, stuttering his breathing. 

“My share of the liquor? Not on your life.” Lukas pauses, and then his tone gentles as he looks Erich over again. “You know what... of course you can. You’ll need warmth. What did the bloodsucker say to you, anyway? I couldn’t hear.”

Erich thinks about the promise to find him after the war, about the way they spoke into his ear as if he were little more than a toy top to be spun at their command. In another time, I’d keep you for a pet, they had whispered, before they bit down. 

He shakes his head, slowly. “Lies,” He answers, and feels the softer-edged darkness of sleep begin to take him.

“Lies?” 

“I hope… I hope they were lies.”

For the moment, at least, he is too exhausted by the present to feel terror for the future.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump @thefancydoughnut

[grasslandgirl]

helloooooo I would LOVE to hear what your incomprehensible hardshine nonsense entails👀👀👀 there is a CRIMINAL lack of hardshine fic on ao3 tbhhhhhhh

i already answered this one here, but for YOU darling benny i am MORE than happy to offer an additional snippet. also i have sooososooo many thoughts 😳

Hardwon was dabbing paint on one of his few larger canvasses when someone knoked on the door to his studio. “Hardwon?” Moonshine called, and he could hear Pawpaw scratching gently where the bottom of the door met the jamb on the floor. “Can I come in really quick?”  “What? No, no, gimme a sec-” Hardwon said quickly, terrified that Moonshine was going to bust into his studio of his own accord, but apparently Lucanus and Beverly had finally gotten through to Moonshine about personal privacy, because she waited quietly and didn’t try to open the door. Hardwon scrambled, picking up the canvas he was working on and tilting it face-down against a wall and shoving the scattered pages into stacks and hiding them beneath cups and pallets and empty canvasses.  “Uh, hey,” Hardwon said, trying not to sound out of breath, as he poked his head out the door, trying to block the crack between the door and the jamb with his body so Moonshine couldn’t see in, “Whats up?” "Uh, well,” Moonshine tugged a hand through her hair as she hesitated, knocking a few tiny mushrooms loose that tumbled slowly to the floor. She smiled at him, a little nervous, a little sheepish. “Peepaw Luc’s birthday is comin’ up and I was- I dunno- I wanted to do somethin’, like, big because it’s the first birthday he’s had with, well, me? If that makes sense?”  “Yeah, I get that-” Hardwon shrugged as best as he could with his shoulders shoved between the door and the wall- “you remember how wild my mom went when we were in Shadowfell the first time.” “Yeah, well, Hardwon, I was wonderin’ if- and you don’t have to, I know your stuff is like, personal, and I don’t wanna make you do anythin’ you dont want to- but I was wonderin’ if you’d help me make something for Peepaw Luc? Like with paints and drawing and stuff? I wanted to do a big portrait thing of him and me and Meemaw and Pawpaw and you and Bev and maybe some of the other Crick folk, and maybe Mavrus and Erdan; and then have, like, the Grandma Tree in the background but it has all the lights from the streets of Gladeholm in it?” Moonshine laughed a little, “I dunno, you’re better at the whole art visualization thing than I am.” That, more than her asking for his help in the first place, threw Hardwon for a loop. That she thought so highly of him, despite only seeing a handful of his crude, old drawings- ones of Gemma that he’d carried like a lifeline until Frostwind, and buried like a coffin afterward. That Moonshine Cybin, fungal queen and water daughter, Titan of Bahumia that killed Thiala, thought he was better than her at anything, that she came to him to ask for help.  “Uh, sure,” Hardwon said, unthinking, and before he could spare a second to regret his decision, Moonshine was beaming at him like her namesake. How was he supposed to regret anything, with her smiling at him like that? “Really? Ugh, Hardwon, thank you I do not know what I’d do without you!” Moonshine leaned down to scoop Pawpaw up from where he was lounging at her feet, pressing a brief kiss to his forehead. “D’you hear that, Pawpaw? Hardwon’s gonna help me paint a family portrait. Who’d’a thought, last year,” Moonshine said, turning back to Hardwon, “I’d know who my daddy was, and have an artist help me make a family portrait for him?” Hardwon shrugged, but couldn’t keep Moonshine’s contagious smile off his face. “Who’d of thought last year, I’d have a family at all?"

but YEAH you're so right there are SOOO FEW hardshine fics in the tag <//3 the naddpod tag on ao3 in general is just. very thin 🤧 be the change you want to see in the world, i guess <3

send me the name of a wip off of this list and i'll reply with a snippet and/or my thoughts on it !!

[ultralovedeluxe]

Yan! Wamuu with prompts #20 and #23

This was requested by the lovely @teachillvibes, thank you so much for requesting! Hopefully this came out nicely ^^

‘I can’t live without you anymore!’

‘Please don’t scream at me like that. You know how much it hurts me’

Warnings: Naga Au, yandere behaviors, kidnapping, masturbation, nsfw, hypnosis(but not really), non/dub con, badly written

  It almost felt like an eternity.

 You don’t even remember when he took you. One day you were having a good time with your husband and friends, next you were getting abducted by a monster you regret befriending. But should that be your fault? Maybe. After all your husband always warned you to stay away from nagas. Even now, you wish you had listened to your husband’s words. Nagas were not creatures to be messed with. You wished you had just gotten ridden of the thought that, maybe, just maybe, some nagas were friendly and kind-hearted. You were delusional enough to believe that this one was different. That this one wouldn’t hurt you. Unfortunately, nagas were dangerous and feral creatures, and you were just delusional.

 “[first], I have returned, I brought the sea urchins you love so much”

  He was here. The monster that claimed to be your ‘mate’ was here. The only true moments of happiness you felt in your imprisonment was when he was gone. Because in that small amount of time, you would think about how your husband was doing. Was he happy without you? Or was he looking for you? You could never be sure. Letting out a deep sigh, you look behind you to see the naga that had kept you here. The sight of him no longer brought the same comfort it used to have. Now you truly began to see the horror behind his appearance.

He was a man, or atleast had the appearance of a man from head to his torso. The rest of his body is what made him threatening to you. Below his "human" appearance, the Naga Wamuu had the body of a snake. He was far larger than you, far larger than any human for that matter.

Sometimes you wondered if he'd eat you, or if he'd feed you to more of his kind. But no, you knew what Wammu wanted from you. You knew exactly why he was keeping you in this position. And quite frankly, maybe the thought of him eating you wasn't so bad.

You didn't even feel Wammu's tail wrap itself around you. You felt disgust rush through your body as the naga left passionate, but almost impatient kisses on your temples.

"Dear pet, I can't bear the thought of staying alive without you anymore. But please, enlighten me, why do you seem so displeased with my touches? Am I not enough for you?" Wamuu asked as his grip on you tightened.

Was he humoring you? Was this an actual, genuine question? And here you are thinking you were the delusional one.

You wanted to spit in his face and yell at him for all the things he's done to you. For taking you away from your village, for forcing you to live in this hell he calls your home. But in fear of angering the naga, you stay silent. However, you still needed to answer his question, because he would get mad regardless.

"Wam- I mean, dear, I'm just not in the mood to be held by you. That's all.." you said, quickly correcting your mistake. Ever since he had captured you, he had forced you to call him pet names to satisfy his deranged fantasy he had with you. Acting as if you two had been lovers for years, as if you had always been the little human house-wife he could come back to after hunting.

 Wammu hummed in understandment, but you knew he didn’t understand. In fact if he truly understood you he would have let you go already. Let you live outside this dull, dark cave and allow you to return to your village. You snapped out of your thoughts as Wammu began planting small kisses on your neck once again. Oh gods..you only hoped Wammu didn’t want to ‘treat’ you tonight. This was usually always a sign when he wanted something, or wanted to give you a treat for being ‘such a good little human’. You remember all the times he had made you gag on his monstrous cock, and then forcing you to swallow his semen as a reward. You tolerated his physical gifts a lot more, because you can’t exactly gag on glorious jewels he had gifted you over the course of staying here. 

 Wammu pressed his lips against you once again, completely savoring the feeling of your dried lips against his. You looked so adorable when you were obidient, he was glad that you weren’t causing any trouble or trying to escape. “My dearest [first] , I will be heading out tonight for some errands, stay inside and don’t let anybody in unless it’s Kars, you know I trust you.. If you are good tonight, I’ll spoil you like the queen you are” he said, unwrapping himself around you. His larger body towered over you, so you simply nodded. The naga leaned towards your face and kissed you again, and you kissed back while carressing his face softly; just as he liked. 

 “I’ll see you soon”

--

 You were bored out of your mind. One of the reasons you hated this cave was because there was no color to brighten up the mood or anything to do. You would just sit around and ponder, until Wammu came back. Maybe you could rearrange your jewels again, just like last time. Maybe you could organize them by shape instead of color, who knows. Maybe Wammu would bring you something to enteratin yourself today. A sewing kit or a painting canvas would be nice. Your thoughts soon drifted off to think about your husband. You missed how his sapphire blue eyes would look in the sun. Oh how you missed tangling your hands in his soft, blonde hair. It was always so soft and wavy, you wondered how he would look like with his hair down. You missed they way he would teasingly hold onto your hips until you gave him a kiss, or whenever he would kiss your chest without holding back. 

 Before you knew it, your pants were gone. You were spread out on the bed Wammu had gifted you when you had ‘obeyed’ his wishes. Your hand had gone down to touch your throbbing clit, and it felt amazing. How long have you been neglecting yourself? You didn’t remember, but for now you just wanted to enjoy this time you had for yourself before Wammu came back. 

 You rubbed your clit slowly with a gentle force. Those small movements were enough to have you whimpering out softly. It just felt so good. To finally touch yourself after weeks of being away from your loved one. You imagined it was your husband prepping you up, so you could easily take him in. You imagined the gentle tone in his voice, constantly praising you throughout your session. He was always so gentle and sweet, but at the same time he was dirty and rough when he wanted to be. Your hand movements became desperate, moving your hips in order to gain some friction. 

 “Hn, Caesar..please-”

 You couldn’t help but to moan out your husband’s name. In fact you did it several times. You wanted to see him again, you wanted to leave this place so you could feel safe again-

 “How dare you think of another man while I’m gone!” 

 You quickly reached over to grab covers, but Wammu didn’t let you; as he had already made his way over to you. You had never seen Wammu this angry before. Sure he has given you his fair share of punishments, but he always kept a poker face. At the moment, anger was clearly visible on his face, and he wasn’t afraid of showing it. 

“Wammu please! I’m sorry! I won’t ever do it again!” you knew it was useless, but trying to plead with him wouldn’t hurt, right? (yes it would, you knew you were in danger, and that there’s no escaping your punishment). Wammu grabbed you by the hair and lifted you up like you were a piece of paper. “Put me down! Please Wammu don’t do this!”

 Instead of hitting you as you first assumed, Wammu placed a rough kiss on your lips. “Please don’t scream at me like that darling, you know how much it hurts me. But your actions have consequences..” While all you could do was look at him in fear, Wammu then proceeded to slap your throbbing clit. “Seems to me you don’t need me to prep you up. You can take both of my cocks well, right pet? After this you will never think of a man other than me ever again”

 Before you knew it, you had lost control of yourself.

--

 The cave you were in was filled with despair and the occasional shimmer from your jewels. Currently, the cave you were in was filled with the hot sounds of Wammu’s twin cocks slamming against your already wet sex. His pace was rough, without any pauses in between. Your moans and pleas were nothing but music to Wammu’s ears. He enjoyed how easily you stopped complaining and fell into the pleasure he could give you.  As for you, the only things you could hear were Wammu’s grunts into your ear, along with the clapping of your sex against his. 

 “Ah Wammu please go slower!” you whined, but Wammu did the complete opposite. He went just a tad bit slower, but made his pace rougher than it was before. “I’m afraid I can’t do that pet. Do you love me? Do you enjoy what we’re doing?” he asked while thrusting himself in you, while at the same time rubbing your clit with a gentle amount of force.

 “Yes! Wammu please let me cum!” you moaned out. Never in your life did you think you’d be ravished by a monstrous man. Wammuu hummed in amusement as he slowed his pace and bit your neck softly, “Then say my name pet, who can make you feel this way?”. You were at your climax, “You Wammu! You’re the only one I swear!-” you whined as you came on Wammu’s cocks.

 Wammu laid you down on your bed, “Now pet, who is your one true love?”. You could barely open your eyes, “Cae- you Wammu..” you whispered, clearly still tired from your 'love' making session.

 “Guess we’ll have to try again..”

[coffeecakefanfics]

Mosaic | B.B x Fem!Reader

An: I can’t tell if I like this but have it anyway

Fluff? idfk

requests are open

words: 2,011

It started innocently enough.  When Bucky was brought to the compound Steve had taken the young girl under his wing, treated her as his kid.  Though in all fairness she was Stark's actual kid first, she never minded Steve stepping in as a second parent. She actually appreciated Steve and Bucky coming to visit her in her room or when theyd all sit in the living room and watch movies, catching the pair up on things they’d missed. 

Steve had to go on a mission, it left a few other Avengers, Wanda, Nat, Bruce, Bucky, and Peter (who popped in every now and then to ask for help from the older girl). 

“Hey Guys, can you do me a favor and look at this piece and tell me what you think?” She asked, carrying a large canvas into the Kitchen. Wanda stood at the stove, Pepper was sat at the counter typing on her laptop and Bucky was perched at the table, a cold look on his face. 

“Show,” Wanda grinned and turned from the stove.

“It’s for my senior portfolio, my theme is “Lost in Time”,” Y/N spun the canvas, setting it on the table.  It was a painting, a painting of Steve and Bucky from the forties, a painting of a picture that to Bucky’s knowledge had been lost. The breath left his lungs and tears sat at the edge of his eyes. 

“I Figured I’d paint my two favorite guys, you know, since you literally were lost in time and all,” she gulped the lump in her throat at everyones silence. 

“Do, do you have more?” Bucky asked barely above a whisper, his fingers willed him to reach out. Y/n slowly nodded and peeked down at the painting. It was the first thing he’d ever said to her, and her alone.  It made her heart skip and her stomach flutter. 

“It’s beautiful Y/n. I’m sure this is the one that’ll get you the scholarship,” Pepper smiled and stood, kissing the top of the girls head. 

“Thanks Pepper, Hey Wanda how long till dinner?”

“About 30 minutes dear,” Wanda smiled at the girl. 

“Okay, Bucky I can. . .Show you the others, if you’d like that,” Y/n spoke slowly, testing the waters.  Receiving a nod in response the girl hugged Wanda and kissed Pepper on the cheek before leading the man up to her room.  The walls were a soft white and were littered with paintings and posters and vinyl records.  Bucky watched as she set the painting on an easel.  

“This one is one of Steve, When he was doing the propaganda tour,” she smirked and pointed to the painting. 

“That one is of a little boy i’d found in an old photograph, he’s polish.  Oh this one, is actually inspired by Gone with the Wind umm, it’s one of my favorite books and movies that’s a period piece,” she motioned to a painting of a woman on a swing in one of the big puffy dresses. 

“It was mine too,” Bucky almost, almost smiled.

“I have a copy of both if you’d like to ever read or watch it,” she beamed at him.  It set something in him ablaze.

Here she was 25, sitting in her apartment on facetime with her little sister, working on her portfolio 

“Morgan I promise to come see you and mom this weekend, I just have work,” Y/n laughed at her sister.

“But I miss you now,” The little girl frowned. 

“I miss you too goofball,” her eyes welled up.

“Mommy says you’re going to be famous,” Morgan spoke pointedly into the camera. Y/n let out a chuckle at her sister. 

“Don’t jump baby, I still have a lot of work to do,” she smiled.  

“Mommy also said daddy would be proud of us,” her heart panged at that.  

“He would Morgs, you know, Daddy loved you very much,�� Y/n felt tears slip from her eyes. 

“Come on Morgan, dinner, “ Pepper spoke, “Say bye to Sissy,” 

“Bye, Hurry home”

“I will” Morgan passed the phone to Pepper. 

“How are you doing Sweetie?” Pepper had a solemn smile on her face. 

“I’m. . . “ Y/n stopped. “I miss him, everyday,” the tears spilled over.

“I know baby, I miss him too. Our door is always open if you want to stay,” Pepper tried not to cry, for Morgan. 

“Thanks mom, Give Morgan a huge hug for me okay, I’ll see you this weekend,” Y/n choked. Pepper said her goodbyes and hung up the phone.  (E/c) eyes drifted to the larger than most canvas across the room,  the canvas covered her dining table and was adorned with a half painted portrait of her dad, Steve and Nat.  The memorial piece would be hung publicly at the new Stark Memorial building.  She tried to finish it, the unveiling was in two weeks, but nothing felt right.  It had been 6 months, 6 long months without her dad, without Nat, without Steve.  

A gentle knock drug her attention to the door.  She drug her feet as she crossed the room, opening the door as much as the chain would let her standing before her was Bucky and the New Captain America, Sam Wilson himself. She gasped and slammed the door shut, flinging it open and wrapping her arms tightly around Bucky.  The tears fell again. 

“Holy shit, how, how did you find me?” she asked as she pulled back and threw her arms around Sam. 

“Had to ask your stepmother,” Sam smirked when Y/n stepped back. 

“In, come in, sorry,” she stepped aside and let the men in.  The two smirked at the decor in the apartment. 

“You always did know how to make a place feel like home,” Sam joked and let his eyes drift over pictures of her with the Avengers. 

She turned her attention to Bucky who shifted in his shoes. “I missed you Buck,” she smiled at him. 

“Missed you too doll,” he bit his cheek. “Sorry I didn’t call I-” 

“Don’t” Bucky gave her a look. “Don’t blame yourself, you had a lot going on, so did I, but it’s okay you’re here now, so chill,” she smiled and nudged him, earning a light chuckle. 

“So what brings you handsome men to my little home?” she joked and pulled down two wine glasses 

“Well, we wanted to check on you, it’s been 6 months. Hear you’ve been busy?” Sam questioned, and thanked her when she handed him the wine. 

“Yeah um, I managed to get into an art exhibit, and I’m working on a piece for the Stark Memorial building,” she handed a bottle of beer to Bucky.  She’d never admit it, but she kept a six pack in the fridge for if he ever stopped by. 

“Stark Memorial?” Bucky asked. 

“Uh Yeah the memorial building, one of my artist friends is carving the statues out front of Steve, Nat and, Dad, I am in charge of the Painting for the entryway, the one that’ll hang above the door.  The memorial is going to display the suits and tech and stuff like that I don’t know the specifics,” She stammered on.  The three sat and talked for hours before Sam had to go, it was getting late and he didn’t want to miss his flight in the morning. 

“Bucky?” her voice was soft.

“Yeah Y/n?” he looked at her. Regret filled his belly as he took in her frame. 

“Do you mind staying a little longer, it’s been a while and I missed you,” her voice was shaking, nervous, scared of rejection.

“Of course,” he nodded and sat back down. 

“So therapy?” she spoke, her tone lighter.  Bucky let out a groan. 

“Do NOT get me started,” he rolled his eyes.  Y/n let out a laugh, a laugh that he missed.  

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to her, in fact he would sit and watch her name light up his shitty phone.  He was afraid, afraid that he would get attached, that she would leave him too. That his heart would betray him yet again.  He was Afraid of losing her, of loosing the only other person he felt at home with until now. 

“I’m proud of you Buck,” she swirled her wine, he hadn’t noticed she’d brought the bottle to the table. 

“For?”

“Trusting Sam,” she peeked up at him. A soft pink dusted his cheeks. He took a sip of his beer, missing the feeling of being tipsy or drunk. 

“I wanted to call,” he blurted out.  His words took the girl aback. 

“I just, I couldn’t bring myself to, not after what happened,” he cleared his throat.

“Oh Buck,” she set her glass down and stood up. “Come here,” she held her hand to him.  He traced his eyes over her hand, up the expanse of her arm, over the curve of her shoulder, before allowing himself to submit to her.  Her hand was soft, warm, clammy.  She led him through her apartment and opened a door.  She pulled him through.   With a flick of the switch the room buzzed to life, her studio.  His eyes danced around the murals and paintings that littered the desks and shelves and walls.  His eyes were directed to a desk in the corner, a sheet was draped over a canvas.  Her fingers lifted the dust colored fabric to reveal a painting that knock the air out of Bucky’s lungs and made his eyes well up.  The same effect her first painting had on him now knocked him breathless once again.  It was the two of them, sat side by side in the quinjet, his first mission.  The two wore huge smiles across their faces.  Her hair was set back neatly and Bucky had his pinned back, courtesy of the girl next to him.  God only knows what had them all smiled, but that was the moment they realized they needed each other.  

The mosaics of paintings around the room started to make his spin, most were snippets of them. Have you ever taken that first sip of coffee? The way it slides down your throat and hits your belly so well it speaks to the soul.  The feeling Bucky felt when he looked back at Y/n again.  Her hair was messy from work, her lips stained from the wine, the way her clothes fell on her body had Bucky’s head spinning.  He felt almost dizzy? Is dizzy the word he felt.  He let himself go, entirely, giving in to the craving of her skin on his.  He enveloped her in a hug that was nothing short than the blanket of security she had longed for since her dad passed, since Steve left, Since Bucky hadn’t returned her calls.  The barrier between the two crumbled as he cradled the back of her neck gently in his hand, the cool metal pressing her back to be closer, willing himself to conjoin with her, to never leave her again.  Tears fell from his eyes this time. 

“I was scared,” he said. “Steve left me, he chose her, and I didn’t want to lose you too,”? He choked. 

“Buck?” He couldn’t respond, only nod. 

“Your painting was the one to get my scholarship,” she spoke, her voice was shaky, small. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he pulled back, letting his fingers brush over her cheek. “So proud” he pursed his lips. 

“I buy plums and beer just in case you come by, I reread Gone With the Wind and the Hobbit when I'm sad because it was your favorite. I sleep with my window cracked because hearing outside made you sleep better. I never wash my clothes on Wednesday because that was your day.  I am a mosaic of you and all of your pieces,” the way she looked at him shattered every doubt he had.  The way her lips felt against his shattered hers.  The two wrapped themselves in each other, relishing in the feeling of releasing pent up emotions.

[hanoella]

Affettuoso- With Feeling (Part 1)

Pairing: Bucky x Pianist!Reader

Set after the events of TFATWS: In an effort to start over and make a home in Louisiana, Bucky meets a friend of Sam's who ends up being his landlord. With only a driveway to separate them, he finds that he's not the only one looking for a fresh start.

Series tags/warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual Bucky x Reader, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Canon Level Violence

Read Part 2

---

After everything that happened with the Flag Smashers and the GRC, Bucky thought that laying low with Sam in Louisiana was a good idea. He had been looking for a fresh start anyway. Between losing Steve and making his last amends, New York as of late had only been full of sad memories and regrets. Louisiana was so different- slower paced and fresh, no negative feelings. No feelings at all, actually. Sam was more than understanding, letting him stay with them until he found a semi-permanent place here.

Currently, Bucky was staring out the window, watching the breeze make little waves in the grass as he ate his sandwich. Sarah and the kids had gone out to the boat, making the house feel virtually abandoned. There was too much space and not enough people. For just himself, it was only a reminder that he would continue to stay as he always had- alone.

Sam walked into the kitchen where Bucky was, effectively breaking his train of thought. He raised an eyebrow at Sam’s mischievous smile- or maybe it was a regular one. He always looked like he was up to something, at least to Bucky.

“Great news,” Sam started. “I just got off the phone with a friend of mine. She’s moving down here for some work and is looking for someone to live on the property with her.”

“She?” Bucky questioned.

“Listen, I know what you’re thinking but before you say anything else, let me explain. So she already bought the house, it’s less than 10 minutes from here so you can still see us whenever you want. The property’s a couple acres so it’s got tons of space. It comes with an apartment over the shed, so you don’t have to share walls. She keeps to herself so she won’t bother you,” Sam said, counting the pros on his fingers as he talked.

“And the best part is: you don’t need to pay rent. I explained the situation, with you being a hero to the world and all, and she said as long as you can help her out with the heavy-duty stuff like taking care of the property and the occasional repair, you don’t have to worry about it.”

Bucky eyed the couch that had been his home for the past several weeks. Don’t get him wrong- being here with the boys was fun. Unfortunately though, he was still in a place in his life where he needed time to think, heal and meditate. The nightmares, although less frequent, were still occurring. Sam was always supportive, but Bucky didn’t want to keep putting him out. Sam noticed the hesitation and spoke.

“You don’t have to decide right now, but she’s moving here in a few days and could at least use some help. She said we could go look at the property now- no pressure though. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want.”

Bucky paused a moment before nodding.

“Okay, let’s go.”

---

Sam turned into a dirt driveway lined with low hanging trees on one side and a field on the other. Bucky wouldn’t have even noticed it if not for the mailbox on the street.

“See, well this is perfect for you, it’s back in the cut.” Sam said.

Bucky could understand from context clues that that meant secluded. Probably.

It took a few seconds down the driveway before the trees on the left cleared and the water was visible. On the other side, there was a light green house with white trim. With the typical Southern architecture and porch, it was the picture perfect place to live. No neighbors- just trees and water.

Sam whistled as they pulled up at the end of the driveway by the house. Now that they were closer, Bucky could see the large garage on the opposite side of the driveway. It almost looked like another house but much smaller, and with a small dock in the water. The bottom floor of the garage had two large doors that opened upwards, and one regular doorway. The top floor had several windows with curtains in them, shrouding the inside. Getting out of the car, Bucky walked around the car to where Sam was opening the door to the garage.

Going in to inspect the garage, Bucky blinked to adjust to the dim light. He looked around to find several yard tools, some cans of paint on shelves, and a riding mower. On the back wall was a door. Hearing a rustle, he turned to find Sam feeling up on the highest shelf.

“Found it!” He said triumphantly, holding the key to the apartment up.

Walking over to the door on the back wall, Sam unlocked it and pulled it open. Bucky poked his head through the doorway and looked up to the staircase at his left. He turned to meet Sam’s eye, who shrugged before gesturing to Bucky to take the lead. It led up to the top floor of the garage, which was fitted with an apartment that turned out to be nicer than he thought.

It was simple but in good condition. Dark hardwood floor, white trim, pale steel blue walls. Where they had walked up was the living room. Directly across from it was a kitchen area with a veranda to walk out on. The open space then shrunk to a hallway to the left. The bathroom being the first door and a bedroom at the end of the hall. Overall, plenty of space for one person.

“I don’t know about you Buck, but this place seems perfect.” Sam said as he opened the glass sliding door to the veranda. It overlooked the undisturbed landscape, hidden from the nearby town.

“It does.” Bucky responded simply.

He took a moment to walk out onto the veranda with Sam and view the birds wading through the water.

“Well good,” Sam said with a chuckle. “This way, you can stop hitting on my sister.”

Bucky laughed and punched him in the arm. Sam feigned physical and emotional injury.

“Haha, Very funny.”

Sarah was a nice gal, but focused on her life at the moment. Sure, there had been a few sparks, but ultimately she had made it clear that her priority at the moment was her boys and her business. Bucky had been a good sport about it. It just felt good to be back in the game without it feeling forced.

Sam watched as Bucky stared out at the water before switching to a serious note.

“So… You feel like you’re ready?”

Bucky slowly nodded.

“Yeah. This is it.”

Sam smiled wide as he handed the key over and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Welcome home.”

---

Bucky had very few belongings from New York that came with him. A small wooden table with chairs. A few books. A bed, a couch, a TV. There wasn’t really a whole lot that couldn’t be replaced if needed. He had been able to take the trip to and from in a few days, already moving his belongings into the apartment. The only big thing he had done was bring Steve’s old Harley out of storage. He probably should get a car at some point since it wasn’t the city anymore but he’d figure it out.

After saying goodbye to Sarah and the kids, Bucky opened the door to Sam's truck.

“Promise you’ll visit?” shouted one of the boys before clinging to him.

Bucky smiled and patted the kid on the back.

“Of course, I will.” He said, looking at the other boy before gesturing for him to join the hug.

“Uncle Buck’s not going anywhere boys,” Sam promised across the center console from the driver’s side.

Both boys eventually peeled off of Bucky’s side. He got in the truck and rolled down the window.

“Be good for your mom okay?” He said to the boys as he waved and nodded at Sarah, who smiled back as the truck started.

“Okay, bye!” They shouted until Bucky could no longer see them in side view mirror.

He really would miss those kids.

They drove in comfortable silence until they pulled up to the house where a light blue sedan was parked next to a storage pod that had been delivered. After parking by it, they exited the truck as you were stepping out of your car.

“Sam!” You exclaimed cheerfully, as you went in for a hug. He lifted you slightly off the ground and you laughed, smiling wide. Bucky stood to the side and observed the interaction, giving you a once-over. You were dressed appropriately for the work you were about to do- light-wash high-water jeans, a white t-shirt with a chest pocket, canvas shoes, and hair up in a slightly messy bun with a few gold bobby pins thrown in to hold back any loose wisps of hair.

After Sam set you down, he turned to Bucky and introduced you.

“… and we met during a charity event that Tony hosted. She offered her services free of charge to help us raise money for the VA.”

You held a hand out to Bucky.

“It’s very nice to meet you! Thanks so much for helping me move in, I really appreciate it.”

Bucky smiled lightly and nodded as he shook your hand.

“Nice to meet you too.”

You smiled and took back your hand before looking at the house.

“Shall we?” You inquired, gesturing towards the storage pod.

“Of course,” Sam replied, opening the door to the pod. As Bucky looked inside, he noted that it was mostly just boxes. The noticeable items were the same as his: the bare minimum- besides a fancy electric piano.

“How’re you gonna fill up this house with a few pieces of furniture?” Sam joked.

“Hey, it’s better than having too much stuff! Besides, don’t guys always say that women have too much stuff?” You quip back as you reach for one of the larger boxes in the pod.

“Ah-ah-ah, no you don’t,” Sam said as he intercepted you and picked up the box.

“Oh, c’mon Sam. I’ll feel bad if I make you guys do all the heavy stuff.”

“You’re not making us do anything. Besides, I’ll be fine, and the old man could use some exercise,” he said, nodding towards Bucky.

You smiled timidly at Bucky.

“I have a bad shoulder.” You explained while gripping the top of your right arm.

“I get what that feels like,” he sympathized, nodding to his metal arm.

“Ah, yes, I’m sorry, it’s not nearly as bad-”

Bucky cut you off.

“Don’t be sorry. If it’s hurting you, don’t worry about it. We can handle it.” He said gently, pausing for a moment before continuing.

“Or at least I can.”

Sam tilted his head back and feigned hurt feelings while you picked up a lamp base and shook it lightly at him.

“Does this meet your approval, Mr. Wilson?” You asked teasingly.

“Why yes, yes it does. Now come on.”

He walked into the house, you right on his heels. Bucky eyed the two of you together for a moment before picking up a few boxes himself.

---

A few hours later, he was sitting on the worn leather couch next to Sam while you went to get them some drinks in the kitchen. You appeared under the white trimmed archway into the living area holding three glasses.

“One sweet tea for the guest, one lemonade for my new neighbor, and a half and half for the gracious host.” You said, holding up your glass after handing the others out.

You three clinked glasses and you sunk into a sage green armchair with dark wood.

“So… how does this work?” Bucky asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“Mmm, yes.” You said, swallowing the sip you had taken.

“Uhm, basically whenever you’re not off saving the world with Captain America,” You started, smiling with pride at Sam. “If you could just make sure the grass doesn’t get too long and help me with some of the more physically demanding repairs and jobs around the house, that’d be great. Of course, that only applies if you’re here, and even then, as long as it’s not urgent, you can take your time getting around to it. Other than that, you’re free to do as you please.”

“That’s very generous of you.” He remarked.

“Well, don’t say that yet,” you said while laughing. “The property is huge so it might be more of a challenge than you think. But like I said, there’s no need to rush to anything. Besides, I should be thanking you. You’ve done a lot for the world.”

Sam interjected before Bucky could respond, which was okay because he still wasn’t used to accepting thanks instead of apologizing.

“Where’s my thank you for saving the world?”

You rolled your eyes and sarcastically rattled off a thank you. Bucky cleared his throat after a moment.

“Anything you want me to start working on?”

“Oh, please get settled in first. I have some furniture getting delivered that I might need help assembling in a few days but otherwise, there’s nothing else. If you have any expenses like paint or tools, you can just use this card and let me know.” You said, handing over a credit card.

“We should also exchange phone numbers too. What’s yours?”

Bucky stalled a moment before rattling off the numbers. It was a foreign feeling- giving out his phone number. He was most definitely having PTSD from his therapist chucking his phone at him. He watched as you typed away on your phone. Feeling his phone ping, Bucky looked at it and saw a message from an unregistered number.

“Hi, It’s me :)”

“That’s my number. Obviously.”

Bucky nodded his head in thanks while registering your number. It had been a while since he had added anyone’s number. You and Sam started talking about something else while Bucky exited back to the main list of contacts. There, your name was italicized and highlighted at the top. What a strange feeling.

…

Later that night, Bucky was relaxing, enjoying the peace. It was warm for autumn, and the water was reflecting the moonlight. He couldn’t sleep. Not that that was surprising. He walked out of the apartment down to the small dock to sip on a beer and celebrate his newfound independence. Sitting on the edge where his feet barely touched the water, he leaned back onto his hands and took a deep breath in.

That’s when he heard it.

Just barely, with his enhanced hearing, he could hear your crying. It was like you were wailing in pain. Not a sharp new pain, but an intense never ending one. The kind that you hear from an animal that’s been maimed- the kind you put out of their misery. Whatever you were holding in, it had been building up for an impossibly long time and finally, exhausted, you found a chance to let it out. Being able to hear it felt like a dirty invasion of privacy.

Bucky swallowed and took another deep breath before trying to focus on the sound of the wildlife around him. But it was no use. Here you were. Here he was.

No longer the only runaway seeking refuge.

[flyingkiki]

I Secretly Enjoy Trashy Books

Oh, boy, oh boy. Because I promised you a #TimRae 2021 Year of Smut and Steam, here is this hot piece of something.

ENJOY! *fans self*

Raven liked buying trashy books. And she was the least bit embarrassed over her dirty reading choices when Tim Drake-Wayne caught her leaning over a pile of trashy books that simply reeked of trash at an art festival in Star City.

~

Raven wasn’t sure if she spotted Tim Drake-Wayne at the art festival in Star City until she did a double take and watched the man bend over some fancy cutlery embellished with shiny stones and copper wires a couple of stalls down. Casually dressed in a pair of dark grey chino shorts and a white band shirt with a worn Gotham Knights baseball hat, Raven assumed he tried to blend into the summer festival crowd. She watched him push his Rey-Ban’s up his nose and wondered if that was even possible, given how popular the man really was as CEO of Wayne Enterprises. The stall owner talked to Tim with gusto, shoving some sparkly spoons under his nose, and Raven was sure the old man seemed to recognize Tim.

“You gonna buy that lady?”

Raven blinked and turned back to the elderly woman selling old photographs from 1920. “Oh, yeah.” Raven breathed and looked down at the selection of old photos of women dressed in fur and slinky dresses in her hand. She had no particular knowledge in photography, but the old black and white photographs were pretty to look at. Picking two photographs of an attractive couple dressed glamorously for a party, and a mysterious woman in a fur coat, she showed them to the lady with a small smile. “Here,” she said and handed over her money to the woman.

After stuffing the two photographs into a small manila envelope the woman handed to, Raven looked back to the cutlery stall and wondered if Tim Drake was still there, getting sidled into buying forks he may never be able to use. Much as she had expected, Tim was already gone. Probably off inspecting other embellished kitchenware, if that seemed to have become his thing.

“Thanks,” Raven smiled at the woman and ducked out of her tent. She immediately regretted that decision and internally groaned as the blazing summer sun beat down her back. Star City was hot and muggy. It was wrong for her to wear dark blue today – no matter if it was a crop top. The material was accumulating heat and sticking to her back. She could feel her ponytail stick to her neck. Ugh.

Despite the blistering heat, the festival was alive with live music blasting from the center of Star City Central Park. The park was filled with a good number of people, visiting stalls and tents that sold books, paintings, knickknacks, and a wide array of food. While Jump had a similar art festival annually, she discovered a few years back that Star City had a far more well curated festival. There were a couple of painters from whom she’d get buy small paintings from. At night it turns into a music festival, which on occasion Raven would attend.

Heading over to one of the bookstands, Raven idly browsed through some old and beaten copies novels. Raven snorted as the selection seem to lean more on the trashy romance novels as pictures of barely clothed women and men’s hips draped in starchy white blankets looked up at her. She quickly discovered that the selection was largely all about raunchy romance, she mentally shrugged and picked one. A book was a book, no matter how trashy it was. Starfire would love this anyway. The burly man on the book cover, who of course looked like Fabio, had a woman dressed in a windswept lace dress draped over his muscular arm. Raven scrunched her nose in amusement.

“How much for this book?” she held up the image of Fabio to the elderly stall keeper. She wasn’t sure what the book was about, but a trashy sex book was a trashy sex book.

“A dollar,” the man told her and pointed at the sign over their heads.

Raven returned his amused smile and nodded. “Right,” she said and momentarily dropped the book back on the pile that screamed of sex and trash. As she fished through her bag to pull out her wallet, another person came up to the stall. Raven immediately recognized the aura and pointedly ignored the amusement that rolled off of him.

Handing over a dollar to the stall owner, she smiled softly. “Here you go, thanks!”

“I didn’t know you were into these, Rachel,” teased Tim, as he snatched the book from the pile before she could get it back. He led her out of the stall and threw her an amused grin.

“‘Love blossoms in the storm. Young, innocent, Violet is the secret in releasing the kingdom from a decade-long draught. Prince Rolf, the lord of thunder, has every intention to bring Violet to their nuptial bed. Their passion of love and hate releases a storm so violent, that brings life back to the kingdom’,” Tim read aloud and his brows furrowed. “That makes no sense.”

Raven rolled her eyes and snagged her book out of Tim’s hands. She ignored the amused chuckle and that familiar press of emotions and roughly shoved the book into her messenger bag. “When do trashy novels make sense?”

Tim stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “I’m just worried over poor Violet. Sounds like the makings of a Stockholm Syndrome,”

Raven made a face as they walked through past stalls. “At the expense of bringing rain back to the kingdom,” she added.

“I wonder how they’ll bring back rain from the nuptial bead,” Tim laughed, as they rounded the corner and entered an area filled with stalls of paintings for sale.

Raven snorted as she idly looked at some of the contemporary paintings on display. “I’ll let you know once Kori and I are done reading it,”

“Don’t hold back on the sordid details,” said Tim, as they bent over a painting of a square orange. Raven threw him an amused look, eyes twinkling. There it was, that familiar press of curious emotions as she watched him grin down at a painting of a shoe. “Sure,” Raven’s lips quirked. “I’ll tell you all of Prince Rolf’s deeds of deflowering young virgins,”

Tim snorted very gracefully. They moved on to the next stall and Raven threw him a curious glance. “What brings you to Star City?”

“I had a meeting at Queen Consolidated this morning. Working on a merger for a biotech project,” Tim explained. He held up a small painting of a sad green unicorn and showed it to Raven. “Thought I’d check this out and forget all the science and money talk for a bit,”

Raven took the painting out of his hands and returned it to the table of other oddly colored animals while shaking her head in amusement. “Don’t you have a report to write or something?”

“I live to inflict pain on myself and write out the report and proposal at the last minute tomorrow morning,” Tim chuckled. He shrugged when Raven sent him an incredulous look. “There’s not much to write about. I sent Bruce and Lucius an email before I got here,” he said while following Raven towards a new stall. “What brings you to Star City?”

Raven eyed an abstract painting curiously. Red, green, and yellow paint splattered all over a black canvas. “I come here every year,” she replied. “Dick knows I take a leave for a couple of days for this. The art festival here is much better than the one we have in Jump,”

“So this is your…”

“Second day,” supplied Raven. “I’m going back to Jump on Sunday. I like the music festival at night. I usually buy one or two paintings here too,”

“And some very raunchy novels,” Tim grinned.

“Hah!” Raven wrinkled her nose in a way that Tim thought was adorable. “Especially those,”

Tim looked around the stalls, trying to find any painting that was interesting. “Is there anything you are particularly looking for?”

Raven shrugged. “Not really,” she replied. Walking up to a stall that sold flower paintings, she spotted a painting of a white calla lily against a black and purple background. Engaging in quick small talk with the stall owner and discovering the young woman painted the work, Raven was set in buying the painting. “I’d like to buy this,”

Tim watched as Raven continued talking to the stall owner, Nora, and proceeded to pay for the painting. As the artist handed over the canvas, he stepped up to Raven and easily took the medium-sized canvas from Nora. “I got it,” he said, throwing a quick smile at Raven.

“Oh, thanks,” Raven thanked Tim. Nodding at the artist, she smiled at the woman and offered her thanks. Walking up to Tim, she quickly shot him a curious look. “I could take that from you if it’s too much of a bother,”

Tim gently tucked the medium-sized canvas under his arm and nodded for them to continue walking. “It’s no big deal,” he waived her off.

They continued walking around the park while idly talking about the festival and teasing each other every so often. As the Teen Titans quickly outgrew their Teen moniker and became the Titans, Raven and the rest of the team had taken on larger missions with the Justice League and other teams. She had worked and met with Tim and the rest of the Bat family on several occasions, Dick and Kori’s wedding most recently. Raven had quickly learned that Tim was quite easy to talk to, extremely smart, and kindhearted. His emotions were tumultuous just as any other of the Bats, but this was something Raven had gotten used to. They easily settled into conversations. She did admit, that his soft press of emotions against her were surprising, something she was unsure of still how to settle with – but she was not complaining. It was nice.

“You know as much as I like going around the festival and checking out weird art, I’m getting really thirsty,” Tim threw her an amused look. “Also very sweaty, Star City’s heat is unforgiving,”

Raven wrinkled her nose, suddenly all too aware of how she felt and looked. Pushing her sweaty black hair away from her neck, she nodded. “There’s a café out of this exit we could get something cold to drink and get out of the heat for a bit,” she said, pointing towards the exit up ahead.

“Lead the way,” Tim followed the small Titan out of the park.

They settled in a small café just around the corner, tucked away from the bustle of festival goers. Sighing loudly in relief as they entered the air conditioned café, they made quick work of ordering drinks.

“WHY are you did you order hot coffee, didn’t you just say that it was too hot outside?!” Raven sent Tim a bewildered look as they settled into one corner of the café. Tim laughed as he gingerly set her painting on a steel chair across of them. He settled down next to her around the small wooden table.

Tim shrugged and tugged at the collar of his shirt, trying to circulate some air. “Force of habit,” he said and stretched a bit, muscles still sore from last night’s patrol and work out this morning. After the waitress dropped off their drinks and cake to share, Tim pulled off his sunglasses and rubbed some sweat off his face. “Ugh,”

Raven carefully pressed the large glass of unsweetened cold green tea against her cheek and sighed softly. Tim titled his head towards her and watched her in mild amusement as she leaned over their small table and pressed the cold drink against her cheek. He silently mused how different this Raven was from the 16-year-old he met years ago. His gaze followed the trickle of condensation that slipped down her cheek and neck, before quickly looking back up at her blissful expression. A brief thought crossed his mind before blinking and stowing it away. “Better?”

Raven lazily cracked open her eyes and eyed him mildly. “Much,” she breathed before straightening and taking a sip through her metal straw.

“I didn’t know you were into art,” Tim said and leaning back into his seat, stretching his legs a bit. Settling for some small talk, he eyed the painting before curiously turning to Raven. “Any particular style you like?”

Raven made an absent noise in the back of her throat and shrugged. “I enjoy collecting art from local artists. I like supporting their work, I think it’s important we support local artists in their craft,” she replied. Propping her chin on her right hand, she cast her new painting a quick glance. “I’m not well versed with paintings, but I like modernism and impressionism. Surrealism and expressionism too. I honestly just enjoy the pieces, no matter the style.”

Tim nodded and hummed in acknowledgement. “Bruce has a lot of impressionist paintings back at the manor. Most of them from his parents and grandparents,” he said. “Gotham Museum keeps a big collection of Monet paintings. You should check those out if you haven’t yet,”

There it was again, that pleasant press of emotions that made Raven smile just lightly. She tilted her head in acknowledgement and smiled at him. “Sure. I’ve never been to the Gotham Museum,”

“Let me know when you’re in town. I could take you there,”

Raven snorted playfully. “Aren’t you too busy running Wayne Enterprises?”

“Nah,” Tim waived her off and fiddled with his coffee mug. “I could make time for you.”

There was a soft pause between them and Raven looked up at Tim, tilting her head in slight wonder and taking in his warm emotions. She blinked and the corner of her lips raised into a smile as she caught his gaze. They shared a smile. “Okay then.”

Ignoring the warmth that spread through him, Tim hastily took a sip of his hot coffee to keep himself (and his wandering thoughts) busy. Wincing slightly at the scalding liquid, he nodded towards Raven’s new painting. “Why’d you pick that?”

“Calla Lilies are my favorite flowers,” replied Raven and fiddled with the cold metal straw.

“Oh?”

Raven shrugged in response and absently tapped the crude drawing of a dick on the table. “Yeah. When I was younger, my mother brought some to Azarath once when she went on a quick trip to Earth. I liked them. We did not have calla lilies on Azarath,” she explained.

“They mean purity and innocence, I learned,” continued Raven. She quirked her lips a little at the irony. “And apparently they mean death too.” She hummed absently and shot him an amused glance. “Seems pretty appropriate flower to have as a favorite, all things considering.” She straightened in her seat and titled her head. “And it symbolizes fertility too,”

Tim made an amused sound in the back of his throat and squinted at the painting. “Well, it does look like…”

“A vagina?”

He was going to say a heart. But yeah, she was right. It did look like a vagina. Tim released a breathy laugh and smiled, ignoring the pleasant warm feeling that spread in his chest. Leaning back and catching his breath, he stared at the painting with a mixture of confusion and amusement. He shot Raven a torn look. “I cannot un-see this now.”

Raven shrugged. “Well it’s true,”

She felt Tim’s amused emotions and she offered him a small smile. She was about to continue when soft guitar music filled the air. Their attention shifted to the small stage in the corner of the café and a singer with a guitar appeared on stage. An upbeat guitar song filled the café and everyone’s attention shifted towards the stage. Sharing a brief glance, they both turned their attention the musician.

The café grew just a little dimmer as the upbeat song filled the air, something about happiness and summer heat, and Raven could feel the relaxed emotions of the crowd. Getting comfortable after some relief from the heat, she leaned back into her seat. Stealing a quick glance at Tim, she felt his content aura. They settled into a comfortable silence, listening to the musician up on stage. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Tim relax – a rather rare sight. Dick had previously told her he had been worrying over Tim working himself to the bone with cases and work as CEO at WE. Raven did notice his driven work ethic the times the Titans had to work on cases in Gotham. Tim was a slave-driver on himself.

Midway into the third (or fourth, Raven wasn’t really keeping track) song, a young boy sidled up to their table carrying a bunch of paper flowers. She noticed the boy earlier moving from table to table when they entered the café. “Hey mister!” he called their attention. Tim turned to the boy curiously.

The boy held up a bunch of his colorful paper flowers – roses, carnations, daisies – a few lopsided, but still intricately made. “You want to buy your girlfriend some flowers?”

Raven blinked and colored immediately. She leaned forward and tried to waive her hand in dismissal. “We’re not –”

“Yeah, sure,” Tim smoothly cut her off and leaned towards the boy. Ignoring her bewildered expression, he fished out his wallet from his pocket. “How much are they, buddy?”

“Three bucks each,”

“Great,” Tim pulled out a 20 and handed it to the boy. The boy raised the bunch of flowers towards Tim, who pulled out the lopsided yellow rose, a pink dahlia, and the green daisy. “Keep the change,” he waived off the boy as he tried to fish for change in his pocket.

The boy, who looked around 12 years old, blinked and stared at Tim in awe. “Really mister?” at Tim’s nod, he beamed. “Thank you, mister!” he gasped before scampering away towards another table.

“Here,” Tim handed the three flowers to Raven, who accepted them with a surprised look on her face. “They’re a bit wonky but I figured it’d be better we got these since I doubt others might be interested in buying them from him,”

Of course he had to do something nice. Something warm spread through her chest and Raven fought off a blush. She absently fiddled with a paper leaf. “You didn’t correct him,” she said with an accusing tone.

Tim shrugged his shoulder absently. He gave her an amused grin. “I’m pretty sure he did not recognize me. He’s definitely too young to be a gossip column writer. I doubt he knows what TMZ is,” he teased. He eyed the flowers briefly before looking at her curiously. “Do you like them?”

She felt the familiar warm press of his emotions. Leaning into his space just a little bit, Raven offered a him a small pleased smile. “Thank you, boyfriend.”

Tim laughed, eyes bright and amused at her teasing. Raven enjoyed how his emotions pressed into her. “You’re welcome, girlfriend.”

They stayed at the café for another few hours, enjoying the music and talking about random interests. When the sun was slowly setting and the heat was not as unforgiving as before, they left the market and returned to the fair for another quick look around the place.

Raven ended up buying one more painting, a small scene of pink cherry blossoms, claiming that Kori would like it.

“Where are you staying?” asked Tim after Raven paid for her latest painting and they were mindlessly walking past booths. It was getting dark and he was getting hungry, perhaps it was a good idea to drop off all her things. “Do you want to grab something to eat?”

Raven blinked, mildly aware that she was hungry. But with the paintings they were carrying, it didn’t seem like a good idea to grab anything at the fair. “I’m at the Grand just by the West exit of the park. I can drop the paintings off,” she said and raised her free hand to grab the painting Tim was holding.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you. It’s no big deal,” Tim waived her off and started walking towards the west exit. “I saw a Thai restaurant close by, we could go there after we drop off your humongous shopping haul,”

“Hey,” Raven frowned at Tim. “My shopping is not humongous,”

“You bought two paintings, Rachel,” Tim teased. “I think you were about to buy another too,”

“I was not,”

Tim grinned. “I saw you eyeing that small painting of a teacup,” He eyed her curiously. “How are you even going home with this many paintings?”

“I have my ways,” Raven rolled her eyes.

Tim knew what she meant and just chuckled. They made it to the hotel and politely declined help from hotel staff. Raven stole a curious glance at Tim as they entered the elevator and she swiped her room card on the sensor and pressed her floor number. She silently thought what a surprise this day turned out to be.

They made it to her floor and reached her room with little distractions. Opening the door for them, Raven switched on the lights.

“Come on in,” Raven said, throwing an amused smile at him before depositing the small painting, her paper flowers, and her bag on the large TV console table. Toeing off her shoes, she sighed in relief and padded towards the balcony to open it.

“Fancy hotel,” Tim commented after placing the large calla lily painting on the other end of the table. He idly walked around, taking in the large hotel room with the modern furnishings and the dim lights. He watched Raven pull aside the curtains of the large balcony glass doors and open the doors to allow a comfortable breeze to slip into the room.

“It’s the least I can do to get a good vacation from living with boys for all these years,” replied Raven as she moved onto the balcony and leaned on the railing to look down.

“That bad?” Tim chuckled and joined Raven on the balcony. He stood next to her and his eyes widened at the sprawling sight of the park down below them. “Oh wow, that’s an excellent view,” he commented. “You got a better view than my place,”

Raven blinked, surprised. She imagined he’d have a far better place than hers. “Where are you staying?”

“We have a WE apartment a block away from here,” Tim supplied. He pointed towards the other end of the park. “Right by the business center,” he shrugged his shoulders absently. “I get a good view of the business district, nothing as nice as this. I’ll probably book a stay here the next time I have to come by,”

“Do you always travel for work?” Raven asked curiously. She always wondered how Bruce and Tim balanced their day jobs and vigilante life. Richard was largely hands off from the business and kept most of his time either at the tower or helping out the local police force.

Tim placed his elbows on the railing and leaned forward a bit, enjoying the warm summer breeze they were getting. He stared at the lights and movements pensively down below. “Once in a while. It’s usually for large business acquisitions or other boring stuff,” he shrugged. “CEO work has me more at the office these days,”

“I was always curious how you guys get to balance your work at WE and your,” Raven paused and tried to find the right words. She titled her head and smiled up at him in amusement. “Night job?”

Tim chuckled. “A lot of coffee, no sleep, and painkillers?”

Raven made a face and snorted. “Sounds terrible,”

He shrugged. After years of living this kind of lifestyle and working as CEO since he was a teenager, Tim didn’t really mind as much anymore. “It isn’t as bad as it sounds. There are days off, though rare and in between,”

“Like now?”

She felt that familiar soft press of emotions again as the mood shifted ever so slightly just as a warm breeze settled on them. She watched Tim smile softly as he continued to stare at the people down below. “Yeah,” he said softly. Tilting his head in her direction he offered her a warm smile. “How do you spend your day at the Tower?”

Raven hummed and looked thoughtful. “Nothing really as exciting as business mergers,” she said and she could see Tim out of the corner of her eyes slowly in amusement. She leaned over the balcony railing and watched the busy festival below. “I don’t think there’s a lot going on for Rachel Roth outside of work,” she made a face. “I read most of the time,”

“Raunchy novels?” Tim teased, grinning at her and leaning into her space just a little bit.

Raven chuckled. “Especially those,” her blue eyes danced. “I help Victor with some upgrades on our vehicles. I’ve become very good at fixing rocket boosters and particle beams,” she said. “Also, I can change oil,” she said teasingly. “Let me know if you need your oil changed,”

Tim laughs. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“There’s really nothing else. I go to festivals like these once in a while, or a café,” she said.

“Didn’t you finish college recently?” Tim asked curiously. At her surprised look, he continued. “Dick mentioned you finished a history degree?”

“History and Literature,” supplied Raven, surprised that Tim even knew this. “I finished last year. Took classes at Jump University, but did most of the coursework online, because crime fighting keeps tight schedule,”

“Sounds pretty amazing to me,” Tim said with an impressed note in his voice. “Juggling school and ‘work’ is tough,”

Raven hummed in agreement. Looking down she watched lights blink from the festival and distant music fill the air. “Looks like the music festival is starting,”

Tim looked down briefly before turning to Raven. “Did you want to go back down? You said you liked the music festival,”

Raven ignored how nice it felt that Tim actually paid attention to what she said earlier. Her chest warmed and she nodded. “Sure,” she said. “Maybe grab something at the Thai place first though, I’m hungry,”

Tim laughed and followed her back into the room. He watched her close the balcony door. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’m famished,”

They wound up sharing a large order of pad Thai, some tom yum, and sticky rice. Tim discovered Raven had a sweet tooth after ordering a Thai milk tea to go just before they headed to the outdoor music area. The crowd wasn’t all to large but seemed very much alive and into the music from the indie rock band up on stage, with people cheering, dancing, and jumping up and down in time with the music. The two of them shuffled through the crowd, barely hearing each other over the loud bass and guitar riffs. With her free hand, Raven grabbed Tim’s wrist and steered them towards the side of the crowd, close enough to the stage but with some distance from the thick center of the audience.

Tim stared at the stage, unable to recognize the music or the group of men with full beards and tie-dye shirts on stage. The music was fun, with a rocky edge to it, though he barely could hear the lyrics over the loud bass. The crowd did not seem to mind as everyone cheered and danced to the music. Awkwardly stuffing his hands into his pockets, Tim glanced at Raven and grinned as she bobbed her head to the music and lightly swayed to the beat. A smile played on her lips and Tim watched as the lights of the large LED screens reflected on her face and made her eyes sparkle. He ignored how his chest fluttered at the sight.

“Do you even understand what they’re singing?” Tim asked, raising voice over the loud inaudible singing. He had to lean into her, drawing closer just so she could hear him. There was a loud guitar riff and people screamed in delight. Tim watched as Raven laughed and turned her face to him, unfazed at the close proximity, her eyes bright in amusement. Tim felt his breath catch.

“No!” Raven replied and bounced on her heels. Her milk tea sloshed dangerously in her plastic cup and some spilled over her hand. She took a careful sip and looked at him, still swaying to some random song. “Does it matter?”

“Well, yeah?” Tim laughed, delighted to see this side of her. He watched her glance over his shoulder, taking in the happy crowd close to them. He shuffled closer as some concert goers brushed past him. Tim watched as Raven glanced at him, lips curling into a small smile before turning back to the stage and lightly swaying to the music, her dark hair flying behind her back. Tim released soft chuckle and turned to the stage, silently surprised at Raven’s interest in loud music.

The band shifted to some kind of chanting and clapping, to which the crowd replied in gusto. Tim thought the band was rather eclectic and awkwardly clapping along, lest he looked out of place. Raven stood in front of him, lightly swaying and clumsily slapping her wrist to the beat while juggling her half-empty milk tea cup. Tim thought this was definitely a sight and he grinned, finally getting just a little bit into the music.

They stayed like that, swaying and bouncing to the music. Raven occasionally raised her hands clumsily when the rest of the crowd did too. Tim laughed and joined when she turned to him to do the same. At a particular upbeat song, which again, they barely understood, the crowd went wild and everyone was jumping and dancing.

“C’mon!” she yelled, tugging Tim’s arm and bouncing on her heels. He laughed and quickly joined her. They could figure out the actual lyrics to the songs later.

He glanced at Raven, drinking in her amused face and the bounce in her movements. She caught his gaze and they shared a long smile, both caught in the moment. As the music shifted to another song, Raven squeezed his hand and slowly let go, she kept close this time, gently pressing into Tim’s side and swaying to the music. Instinctively, Tim placed his hand on her shoulder and stole a glance at her, watching as the corners of her lips quirked into another smile. Turning back to the stage, Tim felt that familiar flutter in his chest and smiled.

“Opfh!”

Someone accidently bumped into Raven’s side and they barely registered who it was and what exactly happened. Raven jumped as some of the milk tea spilled out of the cup and slid down her side. “Ugh,” she breathed, and tried to swipe some off he shorts and her crop top.

Tim steadied her, watching her shake off some tea from her hand. “You good?” he asked, keeping close to her ear.

Raven looked up, briefly surprised at the close proximity, before offering him a small smile and nodding. “Yeah, just sticky,” she said.

They stayed at the concert until it ended at a little before midnight. They joined the crowd as they trickled out of the concert arena. Raven laughed as Tim commented that his knees were starting to hurt from all the bouncing around. (“Getting old Mr. Wayne?” Raven teased.)

“Did you like the concert?” Raven asked as they left the concert area. They passed a garbage can and she dropped her empty milk tea cup in it.

Tim leaned in and teasingly grinned at her. “I’m sorry, what was that? The deafening bass guitar busted my hearing,” he said, raising his voice just a little bit.

Raven rolled her eyes and nudged him away with her shoulder. “Okay, I honestly did not understand a thing too,” she said, voice still a little bit raised from the deafening music earlier.

Brushing his sweaty hair out of his face, Tim glanced at her. “It was fun. I honestly cannot remember the last time I ever went to a concert that did not require formalwear,” he said and beamed as Raven laughed. “I didn’t know you liked concerts, let alone bands with terrible sound engineering,”

Raven laughed and rolled her eyes at the jab at the band. They stopped at traffic light as they headed back to her hotel. “Kori loves them. I tag along with some of the girls. I’m honestly surprised that I actually enjoy going to some,” she said. She glanced at the red stoplight before turning to a curious Tim. “After the whole ordeal with my father, it’s nice to indulge in emotions once in a while. Though, it’ll be a while before I’ll ever go to a crowded place again,” she added.

Tim nodded in understanding. This also explained her open emotions. He silently wondered if he could see this side more of her – he would love to see more of this open side of her. The light switched to green. As they approached her hotel, they lightly discussed the band’s songs and blindly tried to guess the lyrics.

“I’m sorry, but I’m pretty sure the song did not go ‘flying turtled ‘yo back,’” Tim laughed as they stopped in front of the hotel’s entrance.

Dark blue eyes danced in delight. “Well, I could be wrong. But it definitely did,” Raven said.

“I’ll make sure to be on the lookout for this song on the radio then,” Tim teased.

They shared a smile, staring at each other momentarily before realizing that they had made it to their stop. Tim inhaled softly, awkwardly wondering if this was already goodbye. He wondered if there would be other chances to see Raven again.

“I had a fun today,” Tim said finally and offered Raven a gentle smile. Shuffling slightly in his spot, Tim thought perhaps they could go see each other again, maybe in Gotham? Or in Jump? The drive to Jump wasn’t all too bad.

“Yeah, me too. I had fun,” Raven breathed, suddenly flustered and just a tiny bit breathless. Her body was still buzzing from the high of a good time spent together, and somewhere in the warmth and high, she enjoyed Tim’s presence. She felt that familiar press of emotions from him, lingering around her. A thrill ran down her spine. Catching his long stare, she smiled. “Thanks for today, Tim,”

Tim returned her smile and nodded. “Yeah,” he breathed. Admittedly, Tim did not want this night to end. Because, there were so many discoveries and revelations – and he definitely wanted to know more about her. But perhaps at another time. “Well, good night. I’ll see you again?”

An open invitation. Her stomach fluttered and she nodded. “Yeah,” she breathed. Swallowing, she briefly glanced at the hotel’s entrance before turning back to Tim. She blinked and threw caution in to the window, heart suddenly in her throat and a tingle ran down her spine. “Actually, do you want to come up?”

Tim raised his eyebrows in surprise and watched Raven shift under his gaze, a tentative smile playing on her lips. He blinked and swallowed at the open invitation and what it held. A nervous jolt ran through his body as he thought of the possibilities and he quickly dismissed the images that came to mind. Inhaling softly and ignoring how breathless he felt suddenly, Tim smiled gently down at her. “Yeah,” he said. “Sure.”

Raven wordlessly nodded, her smile growing just a fraction, before ducking her head and leading the way into the hotel. Tim followed her into the hotel, silently crossing the lobby with her and joining her in the elevator. The elevator ride was filled with a heavy silence and Raven silently wondered if she felt her own nerves and Tim’s as she heard her heart beat loudly in her chest.

Their heavy silence was broken by the loud automatic lock of her hotel room door as it closed behind Tim. At the noise, Raven glanced at Tim, who in turn curiously looked back at her. As the silence settled again over them, Raven’s lips quirked into an amused smile. Funny how an afternoon of long conversations led to this moment of silence. Sensing her amusement over the situation, Tim offered a gentle smile in return.

“Do you want something to drink?” Raven asked, tearing away from Tim’s gaze as she suddenly grew warm again. She blinked and turned towards the mini fridge, wondering if there was anything to drink at all. Not really waiting for a reply, she pulled open the black fridge and grabbed one of the water bottles. Turning around, she noticed that Tim had silently crept up to her and was standing next to her. “Here,” she said and quickly pressed the cold bottle into his hands. Fingers brushed against her hand and she blinked at the contact.

“Thanks,” Tim chuckled and gratefully took the drink, at least it kept him preoccupied for a little bit. After taking a few gulps of water, Tim recapped his water bottle and watched as Raven pulled off her shoes and socks. Leaning against the console table, he watched Raven move around the room.

“So,” Tim breathed after Raven had neatly placed her shoes and socks into one corner of the room. She glanced at him as she walked towards the other end of the console and deposited her phone on the surface. “What are you plans tomorrow?”

Raven shrugged. “There’s supposed to be a pottery station tomorrow, I think I’ll do that tomorrow. Maybe buy a few ceramics for Kori and Jinx,” Her lips quirked teasingly and her eyes danced in the low light of her room. “Preferably something shaped like a dick for Jinx,”

Tim laughed, enjoying her teasing. “Good luck with that,”

“You’re going to miss out on the ceramic dicks,” Raven teased, crossing her arms and leaning into the table to face Tim.

“Ah,” Tim breathed and shook his head in mock disappointment. Moving away from his spot, he shuffled closer to Raven and grinned at her as the tension seemed to lift. “I think I’m good with what I have,” he blinked and immediately backpedaled once his brain caught up with his mouth. “I mean –”

Raven released a bark of laughter she had been holding and Tim felt heat rise to his face. He watched her snort ungracefully and Tim chuckled sheepishly in response. His laughter slowly died down as he watched Raven grin at him in total amusement, her eyes bright, and her nose scrunched up in that familiar way if she found something ridiculous.

“You’re weird, Tim Drake-Wayne,” Raven breathed as her chuckles subsided and she felt her cheeks hurt from all the laughter and smiling she had done today. When was the last time she actually thoroughly enjoyed someone’s company like this? She wondered as something achingly pleasant stirred within her.

“Hah,” Tim released a breathy chuckle. Stealing a quick glance at her, Tim surveyed her room and took in her how neatly she kept everything. His gaze briefly landed on her neatly made bed and he ignored how his heart leaped as he remembered where they were.

Turning back to Raven, he caught her staring at him in an expression he could not quite place. He swallowed thickly. “Could I see you again?” Tim asked tentatively, voice dropping just a little bit at the question. He watched Raven’s eyes widen in response.

“Tomorrow?” she asked a little breathlessly. The moment shifted. She felt it, that low press of flirting and desire, emotions she was not all quite too sure if they were his or her own. She shifted under Tim’s long stare and felt herself take a deep breath, as her body seemed to react all on its own.

Tim hummed and tilted his head to the right light, studying Raven under the pale light of her decorative lamp in the room. “I have a board meeting tomorrow,” he explained. Not one to wait any longer, Tim took a step towards her, and slowly crowded into her space. A thrill ran down his spine as he realized just how tiny Raven was she craned her head to look at him. “I was thinking some other day? For dinner? The museum? Or maybe coffee?” he paused and quirked his lips. “Milk tea?”

Raven was aware of the little space they now shared and she could see his gaze drop to her lips and back to her eyes. “Yeah,” she said and nodded. “I’d like that,”

“Great,” Tim breathed and drank in the pleased expression that crossed her face. “I,” he briefly stumbled and very tentatively touched her hand that rested on the table next to them. He stared into Raven’s blue eyes that seemed to darken under the light. Her fingers twitched as his calloused fingertips ran over the rings on her fingers. “I like you, you’re pretty amazing, Raven,”

“Oh,” Raven breathed and somewhere in the middle of his confession and where his fingers ran over an old scar on the back of her hand, she felt her body react and her breath catch in her throat. His fingers stilled on her wrist and Raven vaguely registered the little space between them and the warm press of his emotions into her. “How long?”

Tim’s finger wrapped around her wrist and she felt his index finger ran along the thin silver bracelets she wore. She watched him shrug absently, his expression turning light. “Since the mission in Peru,” he said, lips tugging in amusement.

“Two years ago?” she asked and she watched him nod. Or was it three? She wasn’t all too sure anymore as her mind slowly refused to work as she grew increasingly distracted by her own warm emotions, desires, and the little ministrations of his fingers against the inside of her wrist. She vaguely remembered the long conversations they shared in briefing rooms, the linger stares, and the stray smiles. Her chest tightened and stared up at Tim as he waited for her reaction.

She wasn’t all too sure what happened next – if she pulled him in or if Tim pulled her in. But she was sure that Tim’s fingers were dangerous as they teasingly slipped up and down the of her arm, sending shivers down her spine and stocking a heat low in her abdomen. She sighed into his lips, as long fingers curled into the nape of her neck and tilted her head in such a way he could better drink the soft whimpers that escaped her lips.

She felt him push her into the table behind her, the sharp edge digging into her back and drawing a soft gasp from her. Tim eagerly chased her soft gasps with long kisses, tongue swiping against her own and teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She could barely hear their heavy breathing and soft whimpers as her heart beat loudly in her ears.

Her fingers sunk into Tim’s shoulders, curling into the soft material of his shirt and pressing into hard muscle. Raven gasped as warm hands pressed into her bare waist, fingertips stroking old scars and pushing under her crop top. His fingers were a confusing mix of feathery and strong as they danced over scars, she faintly wondered what else his talented fingers could do.

Tim released her lips and pressed a soft huff of laughter into her cheek, as his hand pressed into the dip of her waist. “So sticky,” he chuckled into her cheek and Raven became vaguely aware of the sensation of sticky milk tea on her skin.

“Shut up,” Raven mumbled and she felt his lips spread into a languid smile against her cheeks. Clumsily reaching up and pressing herself against Tim’s solid body, her fingers curled around his neck and shifted his face to press their noses together. “Less complaining, more kissing,”

And kiss he did. As Tim greedily drank her whimpers, Raven was sure she was drowning. She felt teeth sink into her bottom lip, drawing out a long gasp from her and her fingertips clumsily slipped from his neck and caught in the collar of his shirt. She felt the low rumble in his chest as Tim groaned and pressed into her.

Unable to bare the sharp edge of the table press into her back anymore, Raven unsteadily tried to lift herself onto the table. Catching her movement, Tim grabbed her hips and pushed her onto the table, promptly filling the space between her legs. Pitching forward, Tim kissed her neck with teeth dragging slowly across her pulse point. Raven groaned in response, body arching into Tim and her fingers slipping into his hair. Tim hummed as she tugged his hair.

In the haze of her mind, she vaguely felt rough hands slip under her crop top and slide over her ribs, dragging the material up with them. Tim pulled away from her neck and Raven felt herself melt under his gaze as his dark eyes started at her, searching for a reaction. She watched his eyes drop briefly to her chest; his hands stopped on the sides of her chest and pooled her shirt with them – the beginnings of her black bra teasingly peeking out below her shirt. Tim swallowed thickly and looked up, gaging her response.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, his breath fanning teasingly over her face. Tim was sure his whole body was on fire, desperately seeking more of Raven. The little gasps and whispers of his name were driving him crazy and he was desperate for more. His fingers teasingly slipped under her bra, waiting for her reply.

Raven took in his hooded gaze and flushed cheeks. Her fingers curled into his shoulders, digging into muscle. Vaguely feeling the heat building inside of her, Raven inhaled sharply and nodded, thighs pressing into his hips. “Yes,” she whimpered.

Tim released an unsteady breath and he felt heat pool low in his abdomen at her breathy response. Pitching forward, he kissed her roughly before pulling away and made quick work on her clothes.

His hands were swift as they worked off her shirt and her bra, and Raven gasped as rough hands dragged agonizingly slow down her chest, slipping over her nipples, and sliding down her stomach. Her back arched, she desperately gasped for a deep breath as she leaned heavily against the wall behind her. Tim’s hands were addicting, fingers longer and gentle, yet rough and powerful at the same time. She whimpered as hands stopped at her waist and fingers dug into hot flesh.

Opening her eyes, Raven watched Tim stare openly at her. She sat there, bare and open and Tim seemed to drink in her nakedness – his gaze greedily drinking in her form. Her back arched as his hands made another slow and agonizing trek up her body. It was like she was on display and Tim took his careful time in cataloguing every bump, ridge and scar under the dim lights of her room. Raven felt deliciously exposed under his gaze as he studied every last inch of her. She hummed as fingers slipped over the swell of her breasts before feathering over perk nipples, and sliding over her collarbones and around her neck.

Raven was addicting, Tim thought. She was everything and more, he realized as he watched transfixed at her heady gaze on his hands as they travelled up her body and slipped over her breasts. He felt his cock ache at her soft whimper and he vowed that her whispers were like music he had been craving for.

Tim pulled her upright and Raven sank into him for another long kiss, groaning as fingers danced down her back and counted ever bump of her spine. Blindly sliding her hands down his sides, Raven slipped her hands under his shirt and made quick work to remove it from his body. Tim drew away from her, breathless as he pulled his shirt over his head and his hands dropped to the tops of her thighs to give them a moment to breathe.

Raven stared transfixed at Tim, drinking in the broad muscle and watching it contract with each movement. God it was a sin to look this beautiful, she thought as her fingers slipped over his sides and she listened to his sharp intake of breath. The old bullet wound scar in his right oblique contracted as her fingers pressed into the defined dips of muscles.

“Raven,” Tim breathed into her neck as she continued her careful ministration of memorizing every scar and muscle. Raven’s fingers left a trail of fire as they danced over his abs. Fuck. Tim breathed into her neck and felt her hips roll into his.

He caught her lips in another delirious kiss and Raven whimpered at the hot contact of hard muscle against her chest. She sank to him, trying desperately to feed the growing hunger within her. She could hear her breathy gasps and moans. His fingers slipped down her ribs and teased her old scars on her waist. As teeth greedily sank into her bottom lip, Raven was sure she was going to explode.

“Bed,” she whimpered, feebly pushing against his shoulders and gasping for breath. “Please,” she whimpered and her hips rocked into his clumsily. She heard Tim growl and pull away from her to allow her to get off the table. Raven stumbled off the table with her feet landing on the floor unsteadily, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders for support. Tim caught her, pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek and guiding her towards the large hotel bed.

Raven released a breathy laugh as they tumbled into bed, Tim’s weight pressing deliciously into her. She felt the low rumble of Tim’s chuckle against her chest, and she smiled as she relished the feeling of being wrapped up and held tight. Fingers danced up her ribcage and over the swell of her breast, before slipping under her chin and pressing her face up for another heady kiss. She arched her body into Tim’s, groaning at the needy press of emotions.

After another strong nip to her lower lip, Tim pulled away and stared at her breathless face. Grinning languidly, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her flushed cheeks. “You taste like Thai milk tea,” he mumbled with a soft teasing lilt into her ear.

Raven laughed, chest light and her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. Tilting her head to offer better access to her neck, she felt him chuckle and press feathery kisses down her neck. Her breathing hitched as Tim’s lips slowly worked their way down, nibbling at the curve of her neck and slipping down to her collar bone and to the swell of her breasts. Raven gasped and slid her fingers into Tim’s hair as his tongue flicked her nipple before eagerly sucking and nibbling the pebbled peak. After a few sharp breaths, Tim switched to the other breast and Raven felt like her body was burning.

“You’re beautiful, Raven,” breathed Tim as he pulled away and hovered over her, his dark gaze sweeping over her writhing form. Tim was sure the sight of Raven pressed into white bedsheets, black hair flayed, body flushed, and completely on display to him would forever be etched in his memory. He watched her take in a shuddering breath as she looked up at him, blushing in response.

With how on fire her body was, Raven barely felt the heat that rushed to her cheeks. Releasing a soft huff, she watched Tim grin at her. Rolling her eyes playfully, Raven tugged Tim back to her for a languid kiss. She sighed at the welcome press of his weight and she felt his hips press into hers, drawing out a soft moan at the telltale press of his erection against her hip.

Raven shifted her hips against Tim’s, enjoying the hard friction and the whisper of relief that came with it. Tim groaned in response and rolled his hips into hers. Tim’s fingers slid down her stomach and hooked teasingly into the waistband of her shorts. His knuckles pressed into her abdomen and he pressed his thumb against the button of her shorts.

“Is this okay?” he mumbled into the crook of her neck. He pressed a kiss to her neck as he waited for a reply.

Unable to find her voice at this point, Raven whimpered softly and nodded. She released a breathy sigh and closed her eyes as fingers were fast at work on her shorts and underwear and slipping them down her trembling legs. She breathed unsteadily at the cool brush of air against her hot, wet center.

“Ah,” Raven gasped, back arching off the bed as fingers slid over her and her legs obediently spread open. Long nibble fingers stroked and probed her, Tim’s lips brushing gently against her cheek, coaxing long breathy moans from her. She felt his own hum and groan as Tim continued with his thorough ministrations.

The whole world seemed to melt away as Tim greedily drank in her gloriously naked sight. Tim inhaled sharply as he watched her eyes roll back as he spread her wide to him and brushed her clit with his fingers. His cock twitched painfully as she whispered his name with every quick stroke.

Heat pooled low in her abdomen and she rolled her hips into his hand as one finger slowly slipped into her. Raven moaned as she felt his long heated stare over her body, as if memorizing every reaction and storing it to memory. She burned under his gaze. “Tim,” she gasped, thighs spreading wider in invitation. Heat was consuming her.

One finger became two and Raven was sure she was going to burst into flames. She whimpered and her fingers curled into Tim’s shoulder trying to anchor herself. Tim pressed a kiss to her flushed cheeks, murmuring her name into her heated skin.

“Please,” her voice cracked embarrassingly and her right hand blindly reached down, clumsily hooking into the waistband of Tim’s shorts. Her knuckles pressed into hard abdomen and she felt the muscle contract.

She felt the low rumble of a groan in Tim’s chest and they shifted, bodies pressing together in a hurried motion. The material of Tim’s short’s rough against her thigh with every desperate little thrust she tried to make. They kissed once more, rough and languid, and Raven released a shuddering breath into Tim’s lips as she felt his fingers slip out of her. She whimpered as slick fingers pressed into her hips to pin her body down.

His shorts and underwear disappeared soon thereafter. Raven inhaled sharply as she watched Tim kneel in between her spread legs, his form large with muscles glistening and scars prominent as a thin sheen of sweat covered his body. His bright blue eyes roamed her body, eagerly drinking her in.

Tim was burning for release and he was dead set in making it as pleasurable for Raven as it was for him – and more. Tim loomed over her, his left hand dropping to her thigh to anchor himself as his gaze traveled from her dripping core to her face. He gave himself a few strokes as he consumed the sight of her spread legs and writhing hips.

Raven watched Tim give himself a few powerful strokes. Raven’s breath hitched at the movement, tearing her eyes away from his hand and the way his cock pressed into his abdomen to look up at his face. Tim’s lips quirked as he caught her stare.

Tim leaned into her and kissed her long and hard. Raven thought his kissed were that of a thirsty man, as he eagerly drank her breathy sighs and milked her for more with the feathery touch of his fingers dancing over her ribs and waist. She felt the hot press of his erection against her thigh and she instinctively rolled her hips into him, purring at the delicious feel of hot silky cock sliding against her inner thigh. Her legs spread wider for him, accommodating his hips in between her legs and she whispered his name in pleasure as he pressed his body harder into her.

Tim hummed and pressed his hips into her. He pulled his lips away from hers with a shuddering breath as he felt his cock brush against her wet center. Fuck.

“Raven,” Tim released a throaty groan as he felt Raven roll her hips against him again. He heard her whimper in response. He felt a whispered ‘please’ against his cheek and Tim groaned. Leaning back, he took his erection and lined himself up to her center. His body hummed in eager anticipation and he watched Raven writhe below him. He sunk in.

Raven saw blinding hot white wrap around her as her eyes sharply pressed closed and her back arched off the bed. She gasped loudly as Tim stretched her wide in the most delicious way possible. She felt his restrain as he hovered above her, arms on either side of her head quivering, as he slowly sunk deeper into her – stretching her wide and filling her. Her body burned and she moaned loudly as he finally, finally, filled her to the hilt and sunk his hips into her and pressed his face into her neck, groaning loudly into her ear in sheer pleasure. She was so full and hot – Raven was sure she was going to explode.

Tim whispered her name breathlessly into her skin, still delirious at the hot feel of pure Raven around him. His cock throbbed as he sought for more. Dragging his teeth over her pulse point, he slowly pulled out of her, earning a soft gasp from her lips, and sunk back into her. Tim cursed at the delicious friction and prayed that he would last as heat slowly flooded his veins with each stroke of his hips into her.

Raven gasped and her fingers sunk into Tim’s upper back as they found rhythm that stoked the fire that was settling lower and lower into her. She dragged her nails down his back as she released a strangled groan just as Tim filled her to the hilt, hips snapping loudly against hers. Tim cursed loudly into her neck as each push sent another shock of blinding pleasure through him, each press and stroke more powerful and addicting than the last. He could feel her tighten around him, his cock eagerly stroking her hot core.

They picked up their pace and Raven eagerly pushed her body up to meet his every thrust, stoking that burning fire within her. She moaned loudly as Tim adjusted her hips and dragged her right leg over his hips, hitting her just the right way.

“Fuck,” Raven cried and rolled her head back in pleasure as Tim rocked into her at a pace that had her racing towards the edge of a cliff. Her leg tightened around Tim’s hips and she dug her nails into his back as his hips snapped into her.

The sounds Raven was making were driving Tim wild. He hitched her leg higher up his hips, sinking his cock deeper into her and making her sing. He groaned as he felt her flutter around him, and he was stunned at how loud and responsive Raven could be. Tim desperately wanted to hear her more.

Life around them disappeared as the sound of flesh hitting flesh and their breathy moans filled the room. Their thrusts became more frantic as the build of fire burned their nerves. Tim growled and sunk into her, hips snapping into Raven and his fingers quickly sliding between them as she mewled in pleasure. He pressed his thumb against her clit and rubbed the sensitive nub. He watched mesmerized as Raven gasped, her mouth dropping open and her back arching off the bed as she released a loud strangled cry.

Raven cried out his name as she flew off the cliff and into oblivion. The whole world disappeared into a burst of bright light and her body soared. Her thighs quivered around Tim, thrusting frantically into him as his cock continued to stroke her, guiding her through a blinding high. She pressed herself into him, gasping his name like a mantra and her hips snapped wildly into him, as she felt his own release barrel into her. She felt his muscles contract as her fingers slipped over his slick skin and he continued to thrust into her, stroking a delicious hot fire as they rode off the edge. Tim shuddered as hot jolts of pleasure ran down his spine and he sank his teeth into her neck to muffle his groans.

Tim released a shuddering breath and pressed himself into Raven, careful not to crush her. Pressing his face into her neck, he breathed in the scent of lavender and sweat and listened to her unsteady breaths. Raven wrapped her arms around his shoulders, as she felt Tim’s loud heart beat against her own frantically beating heart. Her senses were slowly coming back, as the sweat and smell of the world around them slowly creeped back into her mind.

Raven opened her eyes and turned her head to watch Tim’s face. Catching her gaze, Tim gave her a breathless smile and clumsily pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. He slowly pulled back, pulling himself out of her. Raven shuddered at the sensation and sighed softly at the loss. Tim rolled over onto his back into the space next to her and sighed loudly. He quickly grabbed her and pulled her towards him. Raven immediately curled into his side, legs tangling into his and her arm draping over his chest. Tim tucked her under his arm, pressing her closer and allowing them both to catch their breaths and bask in the aftermath of the moment.

When the world finally fully came back to them, Raven inhaled deeply and tilted her head towards Tim’s face just to catch him staring at her intently. Tim reached out and gently brushed some sweaty strands of hair away from her face, the gentle action made her chest warm and her lips curled into a soft smile.

“Hey,” Tim breathed, his hand sliding down her chin and his thumb feathering over her lower lip.

“Hi,” Raven whispered. Her chest fluttered at the warm emotions that seemed to wrap around them. She knew that they had to talk about what just happened, perhaps once she could think properly. For now, she would enjoy the way Tim’s fingers danced over her shoulder and traced imaginary patterns into her skin. For now, she won’t overthink this and just bask in the moment, relish the confessions spoken earlier, and drink in every minute of tonight and the promise of tomorrow. They would talk, soon.

~

Raven woke up to loud knocking at the hotel room door. She groaned and pulled her face from her pillow as the feeling of tiredness and sore muscles kicked in. She was sleepy and exhausted – they had stayed up most of the night up until dawn before exhaustion finally kicked in and knocked them out. She turned to the empty space next to her, she could still smell hints of cedarwood waft from the pillow and tickle her nose. She faintly remembered rustling of bedsheets and clothes, and the gentle press of a kiss into her bare shoulder blade that morning.

The door knocked again, ‘Room Service!’, and Raven sighed. Ignoring the pang of disappointment of waking up alone, she hauled her naked body out of bed. Her muscles ached, a reminder of everything that happened. She grabbed one of the spare bathrobes from the bathroom and quickly attempted to to fix her hair to hide all evidence of her long night of debauchery.

The door knocked again and Raven frowned at the persistence. “Coming!” she called. Making sure her robe was secure, lest she wanted to flash the poor hotel staff, she marched towards the door and promptly opened the door. She stared in surprise at the hotel staff and the trolley in front of her.

“Good Morning, Ms. Roth. Breakfast time!” chirped the hotel staff, a young woman. Not really waiting for Raven’s response, she pushed the trolley into Raven’s room, set up the trolley next to the balcony, and made a few adjustments on the trolley. “Enjoy!” she said and disappeared out of Raven’s room as quickly as she came. The door locked behind her.

Raven blinked, utterly confused at the sight of a rather lavish breakfast trolley with silver serving covers and large pot of tea. Her gaze settle on the beautiful bouquet of flowers set in the center of the trolley – calla lilies. Her earlier disappointment dissipated and Raven found herself smiling at the bunch of white calla lilies. She felt her stomach flip and chest flutter at the sight of the flowers and she gingerly touched one of the silky petals. Noticing the small white envelope with her name on it. Picking it up, she pulled out a simple white card. Raven smiled.

“See you soon.

- T.”

[set-phasers-to-whump]

hiding injury

prompt: hiding injury

whumpee: eddie diaz

fandom: 911

hi here is my fave trope ft. one of my fave characters!!! this kinda got away from me in length lmao but i loved writing it and im not mad ab how it turned out. i hope you enjoy!!!!

Something had felt...off about tonight’s victory. It had been in the way his opponent had looked at him, not the usual disappointment and anger that typically came with losing a fight, but something stronger, more violent. Eddie’d brushed it off. He’d had worse looks thrown at him. 

He’s regretting having brushed it off right about now. If he hadn’t, if he’d just talked to the guy, calmed him down, something, he wouldn’t be here right now, hand pressed to a stab wound in his torso, leaning up against the door of his truck, feeling blood slowly seep through his fingers, warm and wet. 

For a split second, his non-occupied hand reaches for his phone, but he stops himself before he even unlocks it. He can’t call 911. If he calls 911, then the 118 will discover what it is he’s been doing...they’ll realize that he’s dangerous, reckless, stupid, for having gotten himself stabbed, and he doesn’t want them to think that. He can’t lose them, not now. So no 911. He’ll be fine. He used to be a medic. He knows how to treat a stab wound. 

He gets into his truck, left hand still firmly pressed to his torso. He fumbles around with the other until he finds a rag on the floor. Not bothering to think about where it might’ve been, Eddie balls it up and presses it as hard as he can into the wound, gritting his teeth to stop from screaming. 

He drives home as carefully as he can, for the most part keeping a hand pressing the rag to his torso, but occasionally having to let go. His lap and seat are coated in sticky blood by the time he gets home. 

For the first time in his life, he’s grateful that Chris isn’t there. There’s no hiding the blood coating his torso, legs, hands… He doesn’t know how he’d even begin to explain this to his son. 

Eddie gets himself inside and into the bathroom, making a pit stop in the kitchen to grab some alcohol first - this isn’t going to be pleasant.

He stands in front of the mirror, dripping blood onto a towel he’d pulled quickly down from the rack. A first aid kit sits open in front of him. He takes a larger-than-probably-necessary sip from the bottle in his hand, then sets it heavily down onto the counter and gets to work. 

First, he has to clean the wound. He grabs a bottle of saline solution, grits his teeth, and pours it onto his torso, hissing at the stinging feeling. 

He waits for the pain from that to subside before starting on the more painful part of the task - the stitches. He pours some hydrogen peroxide over his supplies to make sure they’re clean - this cannot get infected - and then he takes a deep breath and begins. 

In, out, in, out, in, out...it’s not a terribly long wound, which is good, because every stitch feels like getting stabbed again (which it technically is). He’s crying when he ties the thread off, and his hands are beginning to shake. He’s just glad they waited until he didn’t have a needle poking through his skin.

Eddie carefully sticks a gauze pad over the stitches, then gives himself a once-over in the mirror, hoping he’ll be able to say he looks pretty good for a guy that just stitched himself up. 

But he doesn’t. His face is slightly pale and his eyes are red and there’s blood smeared all over his body like paint on a canvas. He can’t go to sleep like this, although sleep is about the only thing he wants to do at the moment. He’s got to clean himself up.

There’s no way he’s getting in the shower with his freshly-done stitches, so he settles for ruining several washcloths, cleaning his body with water from the sink. He can’t get all of the blood, because he can’t quite bend over without his torso pulling in a way that suggests more stitches will be imminent if he keeps doing it. But most of the blood is removed from his body, anyway, which is good enough for him. He strips out of his bloody shorts and puts them, the washcloths, and the towel from under his feet into the trash. He’ll take it out as soon as he gets redressed, so Chris won’t find them. 

He puts on clean pajama pants, not bothering to run the risk of putting on a shirt, and grabs the trash, taking it outside to the can on the curb, pain thrumming through him with every step. That done, he returns to the bathroom and wipes his blood off of the counter, extremely grateful that none had dripped off of the towel and onto the floor. 

He runs a quick check of the house, making sure there’s no blood on any of the floors (there is, but he scuffs a towel over it with his foot, which is not bloodsoaked enough to warrant the trash, but is instead tossed into the washing machine). He locks the doors, triple-checking to make sure they’re secure, and does the same with the windows. He doesn’t particularly think the guy that stabbed him is going to come after again (and even if he wanted to, it’s not like he knows where Eddie lives), but it never hurts to be cautious. 

When all that is done, Eddie finally lets himself sink very carefully into his bed, placing a couple more towels under him in case his wound should start bleeding in his sleep. He prays it won’t. He doesn’t want to have to stitch his skin up again. 

--

He wakes up in the morning, immediately checking himself for blood, which, fortunately, hasn’t seeped out of the gauze. There's a few spots on the gauze itself, but he needs to change it anyway. 

It looks pretty good, Eddie thinks, eyeing the wound in front of the mirror. Not infected, stitches holding...about as good as he can expect. 

He gets dressed, very painfully, and nearly dislocates his arm trying to get his shirt on without causing any stress on his chest. He makes a halfhearted attempt to make himself look like he didn’t just climb out of bed and head straight to work, but that is what he looks like, he’s sure. 

Buck confirms this for him the second he walks through the station doors. “You look like shit, Eddie,” he says, bumping Eddie’s shoulder with his own. 

Eddie gives him a smile that feels more like a grimace. “Overslept,” he says. Buck nods. “Chris was at that sleepover with...oh, what was her name...Olivia? Bet you expected him to wake you up early for breakfast.”

Eddie nods, surprised that Buck remembers where Chris is. He’d ordinarily smile at the fact, but currently can't bring himself to.

They head up the stairs to the loft, Eddie dragging along behind Buck significantly. Every step pulls on his stitches, and he feels like he can literally feel them starting to pull apart. Which he very well could be feeling, he knows. He just hopes he isn’t. They can’t know about this. 

Of course, for them to not know about this, he has to act completely normal. Which is a task far easier said than done. As soon as he steps foot into the loft, Bobby’s tossing a container of oatmeal at him from the kitchen, with instructions to come over and help him out. Eddie catches the container with a barely concealed wince, and reluctantly goes into the kitchen to help Bobby, leaning up against the counter when he can. 

“You okay?” Bobby asks him, as the team settles down to eat breakfast. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, though it doesn’t sound very convincing, even to his own ears. 

Bobby nods, not pushing the issue. Eddie sees Buck look like he’s about to say something, but Bobby interrupts him by telling everyone what they’ve got on their plates today - cleaning the station. There are general groans from around the table, but Eddie’s never been more excited at the thought of mopping. He’s pretty sure he can do that, but rescuing someone from a burning building might push him a bit too far. 

And if that’s the case, he shouldn’t be here. Not that he should be here anyway, he knows. Ideally, he should be at the hospital. But he can’t be there, and if he’d called in sick today they would have been concerned anyway, and worse, someone might have come over to check on him. So he’s here, gratefully grabbing a mop from the supply closet. 

He turns around, mop in hand, and comes face to face with Buck. 

“Look, I know we’re still...not on the most solid ground,” Buck starts, “but I am sorry, Eddie. I told you why I did what I did, and I understand if it’ll take you some time to process that, but…”

“It’s fine, Buck,” he says, as kindly as he can muster up the energy to do. “Really.” He means it, though he’s pretty sure his words lack the sincerity he feels.

Buck looks at him doubtingly, but after a second he seems to accept that answer, and then, before Eddie can stop him or back away or do anything, Buck’s hugging him tightly around the middle. 

It would be just about the nicest feeling in the world if it didn’t make him want to scream in pain. As it is, he manages to turn the scream into a low groan, muffled into the fabric of Buck’s shirt.

Buck, of course, hears it anyway. He pulls back, arms on Eddie’s shoulders, scrutinizing him. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Eddie says, trying to sound dismissive. Before Buck can say anything else, he adds, “we really should get to mopping.”

Buck can’t argue with that, so they begin their chore, though Eddie doubts that Buck is going to drop this. 

Fifteen minutes of painful labor later, Eddie’s taking a break (hiding from the torture of the mop) in the locker room. Even the simple task had been absolute hell on his stab wound, and he can feel wetness beginning to seep through the gauze. He’s extremely grateful that his shirt is dark enough to hide the stain that is surely growing on it. 

Knuckles rap at the glass. Eddie starts and stands up, turning around and coming, again, face-to-face with Buck. Can we talk? he mouths, and Eddie can’t exactly say no, so he nods. 

Buck comes into the locker room looking somewhere between hurt and angry. “What’s up with you?” he asks. 

Eddie turns his face away from Buck’s eyes. “Nothing,” he says, and Buck laughs humorlessly. 

“Right, ‘cause that sounds so believable. Eds, you’ve been acting weird all day, you still look like shit even after Bobby’s breakfast, and I’ve caught you wincing at least five times in the past twenty minutes. What’s up?”

Eddie shakes his head. He can’t do this...he can’t let them know. Nobody can know about this side of him, this anger and this pain and this goddamn stab wound…

Which all of a sudden hurts a lot more. Eddie snaps open eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed and sees Buck’s hand pressing into his torso, not yet touching the wound, but extremely close. 

“Stop,” he whispers, but Buck presses on. 

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong with you,” Buck insists, moving his hand and pressing down directly on top of Eddie’s injury.

He makes a noise like a strangled scream, and Buck pulls his hand away suddenly. “What the hell, Eddie?” he asks, and then he looks at his own hands, which are covered in Eddie’s blood. 

“What...the hell?”

Eddie shakes his head. Buck pushes him down onto a bench, and Eddie goes willingly. Buck pulls his shirt off over his head, jostling his arms, and Eddie doesn’t make a sound. His eyes have gone unfocused and his vision has gone blurry from tears he’s unwilling to let fall, but he can still make out the shape of Buck in front of him, knows what his face looks like without having to see it. Disappointed. Angry. Disgusted. He knows this must be how Buck feels. It’s how he feels.

A hand touches his face, cool and soft, and Buck’s voice sounds much the same when he says Eddie’s name. 

Buck moves his hand back to Eddie’s torso, this time gently touching the skin around the wound, pulling back the gauze carefully. Eddie can’t stop himself from whimpering, which he immediately hates himself for, but Buck doesn’t seem to feel the same way when he apologizes and puts a soothing hand in Eddie’s hair. 

“Eddie. Eddie, can you look at me? Please?”

Eddie focuses his eyes as best as he can and looks at Buck, who is crouched on the floor in front of him. “Eddie, what happened?”

He can’t hide it now...Buck knows, and they’re all going to know, know how weak and angry and in pain he is, and then they are going to hate him for it. 

“Hey, hey, Eddie. It’s okay. I’m not going to be mad at you or anything. I promise. Just please tell me what happened so I know how to help you.”

Buck’s hand is back on his face, brushing away tears that he hadn’t ever wanted Buck to see. He takes in a ragged breath. 

“Got stabbed.”

“Okay,” Buck says. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he says in return. It’s the only thing he can think of to say, and it’s not enough, it’s never enough, he’s never enough…

“You don’t need to be sorry, Eds. I’ve got you. We’ve got you.”

Buck shouts for Hen and Chim, and Eddie hears him explaining to them what’s happened. He tries not to pay attention, tries to ignore their voices. He can’t hear them. Can’t hear what they must think of him.

“Eddie?” 

It’s Chim. He nods in response. 

“We’re gonna take you to the hospital, alright?”

He nods again. He can’t fight them, he knows. He desperately hopes they won’t be too mad at him. “I’m sorry,” he says again. 

“For what?”

It’s Hen this time, and he feels her hand on the back of his neck. He doesn’t reply, and this seems to be fine, because nobody asks him anything else, except for Buck, who asks if he’s ready and doesn’t give him time to answer before they’re all helping him up and onto a gurney, then pushing him into an ambulance. 

Hen’s driving, and Buck and Chim are sitting in the back with him. Chim’s busy being a paramedic, though since Eddie’s already cleaned and stitched the wound there’s not a lot for him to do. He slips a pulse monitor onto Eddie’s finger and asks him how he’s feeling. 

“Fine,” Eddie says, which is the wrong answer, obviously. Chim sighs and asks if he’s sure that he really feels fine, you know, with a stab wound to his torso and all. 

“Fine. It hurts,” Eddie mutters, and Chim says a smug thank you that almost makes Eddie smile. 

Buck grabs his hand from where he’s sitting next to Eddie, holding on tighter than can possibly be necessary, like he’s worried Eddie’s going to just fall away. Eddie wishes he had that kind of power. 

“Will you tell us what happened?” Buck asks. Eddie shakes his head slightly. He can’t talk about it. Or, he can, but he doesn’t want to. Except some part of him does. He doesn’t say anything as he tries to figure that one out. 

“Eddie, listen. I know you’re hurting right now. Because of Shannon, because of Chris, because of me...I know I haven’t been the best friend lately, but I have never stopped caring about you. Whatever happened, you can tell me. I promise I won’t judge you or be mad at you.”

“Same,” Chim adds, putting a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. 

They won’t be mad, Eddie tries to tell himself. They won’t be mad. They won’t be mad. 

“I was street fighting and it went bad,” he says, the words coming out of him in a rush. 

“Okay,” Chim says, with professionalism. Buck, on the other hand, says nothing. He’s looking at Eddie with this unreadable expression on his face and he’s not saying anything, and Eddie thinks that this is it. This is something that can’t be looked past. This is the moment that Buck leaves him, for good. 

“Okay,” Buck agrees, and his grip on Eddie’s hand tightens even more. “Thank you for telling us.”

They arrive at the hospital not ten seconds later, and then Buck, Chim, and Hen are walking beside him on the path to the doors, and when they reach the doors, rather than surrendering him to the doctors and turning around, they follow him in.

A few minutes later the four of them are crammed into a room that’s a little too small for all of them. Eddie’s lying on a table and the others are standing around him, giving the nurse a wide berth but anxiously looking over her shoulders. She’d told them there was no need for surgery and that he hadn’t lost enough blood to be in serious danger. She’d give him an anaesthetic, clean and stitch the wound, and then he’d be kept for observation for a couple hours. She had also pulled the other three away and talked to them about something Eddie hadn’t been able to hear. Him, most likely. 

Buck, Chim, and Hen then clear out for the nurse, who smiles kindly at Eddie and asks whether he’s alright with receiving the local anaesthetic. He’d like to say no, that he’s fine, he’ll tough it out, but he is unfortunately now familiar with the feeling of stitches pulling through his skin, and he accepts the anaesthetic readily.

A few minutes later, he’s been stitched up far better than his at-home job, and he’s lying in a hospital bed trying to argue with the nurse about going home. 

“It really is best if you stay, just until this evening, Mr. Diaz,” she’s saying, and he knows full well she’s right, but he hates it anyway. But Buck and Chim and Hen are standing behind her, eyeing him with looks that leave little point in arguing further. 

He resigns himself to staying in the hospital for a little while. Buck, Chim, and Hen head back to the station and promise to come back as soon as they can. Eddie calls his abuela and asks whether she can pick up Chris from his sleepover. He tells her he’s been hurt on the job, nothing major, and he’ll be home that night. She says she’ll bring Chris by in an hour, and tells him he’d better not think he’s getting away with his shoddy explanation. 

He tries to keep himself occupied as he waits for people to arrive, but time in the hospital passes extraordinarily slowly, and he finds himself bored out of his mind and kind of sleepy. He closes his eyes experimentally and finds it easy to drift off. 

--

He wakes up to voices. Chris and Buck, he realizes, talking very excitedly about a new school project involving plants. Eddie smiles and opens his eyes. 

“Dad!” Chris shouts excitedly, standing up so quickly he about topples over in his haste to give Eddie a hug. Buck catches him before he can fall and reminds him to be gentle, and then Chris is hugging him around the neck and saying he’s so glad he’s okay, and did he hear them talking about the new project? And does he think Buck can come over and help him work on it after school on Monday?

Eddie answers Chris’ questions as well as he can, and Chris seems satisfied with the answers, sinking back into his chair and grinning. Buck gives his hair a tousle and looks at Eddie. “You okay?”

Eddie nods. Now that they’re here, truly, the answer is yes. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he looks Buck straight on, hoping he’ll feel Eddie’s sincerity. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell anyone. I thought it would be fine. I just...I didn’t want you to know.”

“Know what?”

Eddie looks at Chris, who is looking between the two of them somewhat confusedly. He shakes his head. Chris doesn’t need to hear this. 

At just that moment, there’s a knock on the door, and Eddie looks up to see Athena, with Harry and May in tow. “Bobby’ll be here as soon as he can,” she says to him. “And then you and I are going to talk.”

He nods. He’d figured this was coming. He’s just glad she hadn’t said they were going to talk right now. 

“Hey Chris?” Buck asks, and Chris turns to him, grinning. 

“Dad’s really okay?” Chris asks, before Buck can finish his sentence. 

Buck nods. “He’s going to be just fine, I promise,” he says, holding up his hand like he’s swearing it. Chris giggles. 

“Okay, Buck. Then...can I go play with Harry?”

Chris looks imploringly at Buck, then at Eddie, and Eddie catches Harry giving the same look to Athena. All three adults nod, and the two boys head out into the hallway, Athena and May following behind them. May closes the door behind her and smiles at the two of them, almost encouragingly? Which Eddie thinks is a bit odd. He’s broken away from the question by Buck slipping right back into their prior conversation.

“You didn’t want me to know what?” 

Eddie takes a breath in, then turns his gaze to his hands, intertwined atop the blanket. He doesn’t think he can look at Buck while he says this. 

“I didn’t want you to know how much it hurt. How angry I am. I didn’t want to tell you because then you would realize that I’m not enough, that I am angry and hurting all the time, and I’m not worth the trouble. I didn’t want you to know that about me. I didn’t...I didn’t want you to leave me.”

Buck doesn’t say anything. Eddie risks a glance up at him and sees that there are tears in Buck’s eyes. He hates himself for putting them there.

“Oh, Eddie,” Buck says, and his voice is as soft as anything. He grabs Eddie’s hand, rubbing his thumb in circles on the back of it. “Eddie, there is not a thing you could say to me that would make me leave you. That would make me stop loving you. I’m gonna be right here, no matter what. I’ll be here when you’re hurting, angry, upset...I love all of you, Eddie, not just the parts of you that you show to the world. All of you.”

He’s briefly interrupted by a whoop of joy from the hallway, a mix of Harry and Chris. Eddie looks back up at Buck, who’s smiling despite the tears on his face. 

“And all of Chris. I’m not going to leave either of you, Eds. Even if I get mad at you sometimes. Even if I am mad at you for not telling me that you were hurting.”

Eddie’s crying too, now, and he feels Buck’s hand gently grab his chin, lifting his head so they lock eyes. 

“You are more than enough, Eddie. For Chris, for the 118, for me...we all love you. We’re all right here. You don’t need to keep going through all of this alone.”

Eddie nods, feels a sob escape him, and then Buck’s holding him, incredibly gently but still grounding, running fingers through his hair and telling him, over and over, that he is enough. That he is loved. This just makes Eddie cry more, until finally he pushes Buck away, for once wanting to meet his eyes.

“I love you,” he says, and even after everything Buck’s said to him, he panics for a moment and wonders whether this is too much, and then Buck is moving towards him, slowly, looking at him like he wants confirmation that this is what Eddie wants, and of course this is what he wants, of course it is, and it must show in the look that he gives Buck in return, because the distance between them rapidly closes, and then he is kissing Evan Buckley, and Evan Buckley is kissing him. 

“Eww!” 

The two of them break apart in surprise, and Buck laughs softly, resting their foreheads together. The door to the room opens, and Chris, Harry, Athena, and May walk in. 

“Kissing’s gross,” Harry says, and Chris nods. May whacks her little brother on the head. “What?” Harry protests. “It is.”

Eddie looks at Chris, for a second terrified that his son is going to hate him for this, but then Chris gives the most exasperated sigh that Eddie has ever heard come from a child, and he says, “I guess kissing’s okay.” Harry looks at him with betrayal on his face. “It’s still gross, mostly” he reassures, “but it’s not the worst. ‘Specially since we’re at the hospital. You’re supposed to kiss people better.”

Eddie smiles at his son, and he catches Buck doing the same, looking so incredibly happy and bright that it’s damn near painful to look him straight on.

“Yes!” May says suddenly, and she meets the questioning gazes of everyone in the room, looking up from her phone, where she’d been furiously texting. “Hen and Bobby and Dad owe me $20. I owe Chimney $20, too, though.”

Athena gives her daughter a look. “You bet on this?” she asks. 

Eddie feels himself blush, and sees Buck’s cheeks darken, too. Had this been that obvious?

“Mom,” May starts, but Athena interrupts her. “And you lost to Chimney?”

May nods. 

“And so did Bobby.”

Another nod.

“So we collectively owe Chimney $60. I can’t believe it. I swore I’d beat him. Ooh, he is gonna gloat.”

“Athena!” Buck yelps, mock hurt. “You bet on this?”

“It was a matter of time, Buckaroo.”

Buck smiles at her, and then turns his face back to Eddie. “A matter of time, huh?”

Eddie nods. “Apparently so.”

aghhhh thanks so much for reading this!!! i had literally the best time writing it and i hope you enjoyed!!!

[curiosity-killed]

#ShowYourProcess

From planning to posting, share your process for making creative content!

To continue supporting content makers, this tag game is meant to show the entire process of making creative content: this can be for any creation.

RULES — When your work is tagged, show the process of its creation from planning to posting, then tag 5 people with a specific link to one of their creative works you’d like to see the process of. Use the tag #showyourprocess so we can find yours!

ty for the tag @sketchyscribbles ! and also ajksdh props for picking the hardest pic I could do this for lmao 

tagging (if you want to but no pressure ofc!)

@tricksterkat209​ with this piece

@lookforanewangle​ with this piece

@littlewhitetie​ with this piece

Process for this yanqing piece under the cut bc whoo boy we wordy

Planning:

In general, except for bigger pieces, there isn’t...a whole lot of planning....ever. This one was a break from working on a large, detailed painting and the result of talking with @apaladinagain about yanqing AU thoughts so it was pretty quick and mostly just a kind of visual note-taking for myself.

I don’t have any of the WIP files/layers because I clean out my WIP folder at the end of each year but based on memory and knowing myself, the initial sketch would’ve looked something like this (this is done with my trackpad and a sore wrist but honestly...probably not that far off. my sketches are uh rough):

Creating:

I work in Paint Tool SAI (but like. a slightly fucked up version. idk why but it’s been janky since I got it ANYWAY) with a Huion tablet. My usual process is a little weird but goes:

rough sketch — usually a very rough scribble of where heads are and other important features (in this case, the lotus and fire) on a canvas around ~1500 px on the short side

clean sketch — the actual base of the piece, where I fully draw out all elements of it (except fingernails lol) and also set the composition. On this one, the original sketch was flipped, which felt much more stagnant, so I flipped the canvas in order to have more visual interest/direction. I also wanted to be more intentional about placement of hands so that each of them should roughly correspond to the upper dantian (Wen Qing’s right hand), middle (Wen Qing’s left, with the flame), and lower dantian (Yanli’s hands with the lotus). I don’t totally remember the thought process behind this but I do remember looking at a lot of pixelated diagrams. as u do. this part’s usually on a slightly larger canvas (~2500 px short side)

lines — I use a custom brush I made a long time back but it’s basically set up to emulate like...a micron pen? might be the closest feel to it so smooth, slightly softer edgers, etc., and I always size up the canvas so that the shortest side is at least 6000 px so that I can downsize and have extra crisp lines

colors — block in colors roughly to get a sense of color composition (for bigger pieces, I often do a rough version of this before I go into lining it), then clean them up so they’re all within the lines. Once all the main color bodies (so like: skin, base color of each set of robes, etc.) are in, I always go in and add facial details first (blush, nail colors, eyes, lips, etc.) mostly out of habit and also as a treat to myself bc it’s one of the easiest ways to start seeing the piece come together

details — after that, it is clipping layer central! in this one, I think (based on squinting at it lol) each robe has at least 2 clipping layers for details such as the difference colored collars on Jiang Yanli’s and the pattern on Wen Qing’s sleeves. I tend to organize layers by color so like the dark red on Wen Qing’s robes would be one layer and the ombre pattern would be a separate one. This is also when I do any rendering, usually, which there isn’t much of here but would include the details on the lotus

shading — pretty basic multiple layer here. I p much always use desaturated blues and purples for shading unless it’s for effect. 

effects — glow baby glow! this is where i had to google “How to Paint Fire” bc it’s been 8 million years and then spent forever airbrushing on luminosity and overlay layers. also added a luminosity effect to the lotus for the shigs. Also added an overlay layer for the highlights from the fire here

signature — pls don’t ask me how many times i redraw my signature for each picture. it’s embarrassing. i’ve had the same signature, with slight variation, for like 10 years and yet. orz

fussing — on very rare occasions, this translates to me actually checking for errors and making sure I haven’t forgotten anything but most generally, this involves me staring unblinking at my screen as I slide the saturation and hue bars back and forth and contemplate whether I should start exclusively drawing at 100% saturation. in this piece, the background was originally a lovely deep blue but at this stage I decided to turn it green both for the contrast with all the red and for a hint of unease/eeriness coming from a highly saturated green + the donghua’s use of green ghost fires for yllz!wwx — basically hinting at Bad Shit Comin’. I have regretted that decision every time I’ve seen this piece since then :| it was such a nice blue...

Sharing:

At this point, I spend 15 minutes staring into the middle distance trying to come up with any sort of caption and then just throw down whatever I think of and post it on tumblr. titling fics? easy peesy lemon squeezy. captioning art? terrible death suffering time.

if i think abt it, i’ll post to instagram (unless i am defeated by the cropping curse) but i didn’t with this one...presumably bc I am p meh about it (the blue!! the blue ;____;)? but also possibly bc i just forgot