#i should do shading like that more often when it comes to art pieces like these

[sitelenco]

"the sea is so biiig!"

HER YAAAHHHHH!! I LOVE HER SMMMM 💛💛

i kinda miss drawing Okegom stuff so lemme bless your timeline with Memoca art skkhskhds

also hope you're having a great 2025 and hydrate too silly!! >:3

[shithowdy]

this is your periodic reminder that for all the artifacts and errors and "tells" one could possibly list, the only reliable way to actually determine if an image is ai generated is to investigate the source. it is becoming increasingly common for "fake classical paintings" to circulate around curative aesthetic blogs, and everyone should be using this as an opportunity to not only exercise their investigative skills but also appreciate art more in general. you're all checking out the artists you reblog, right? 🫣

so what are some signs to look for? let's use this very good example.

what a lovely late-impressionist piece blended with evocative leyendecker-esque themes! why haven't you ever heard of this artist before? surely tumblr would be all over an artist like this. who is justin brown?

your two options from here are to do a search for the name, or a reverse image search. i prefer reverse image searching, particularly when it comes to a common name like "justin brown". so what does that net?

Immediately, without looking at any text, something is wrong: it barely exists. an actual historical piece would turn up numerous results from websites individually discussing the piece, but no such discussions are taking place. Looking at the text, though, does show the source-- and at least in this case, the creator was honest about their medium.

But let's also look at the "exact matches", in case a source doesn't make itself apparent in the initial sidebar results like this.

This section will often tell you post dates of images, and here it can be seen that the very first iteration of the image was posted 15 days ago. It did not exist online prior to that.

Seeing how long an unsourced image has been floating around is a skill applicable to more than just generative images! See a cool image of an artifact or other intriguing item with a vivid caption? Reverse search it! If all the results are paired with that caption and only go back a few months, you might just have viral facebook spam.

Sometimes generative creators are dishonest about their medium and do not tag it like in the example, so that's when establishing "jpeg provenance" becomes important. While it can be a little trickier to determine if someone is using generative images and not admitting to it if they aren't trying to pass it off as a classic, something to consider is the age of their account and the frequency with which they post. Here are some account red flags:

-Did they only start posting art after 2022, or if they did before, did their style/skill level WILDLY change? Not gradual improvement-- I'm talking amateur graphite portraits straight into complex digital renders. Everyone starts somewhere, newness is not a red flag alone; it's newness combined with existing in a vacuum away from any community.

-Do they post fully-finished paintings several times a week? -Do many of these paintings seem iterative of a similar theme or subject matter ("three well-dressed young men face each other under shade and dappled sunlight")?

-Does their style change in inconsistent ways? An artist that can swap between painting like Drew Struzan and Hokusai should be pretty well known, right? Why is no one hyping this guy?!

-Do they have social media besides the source instagram? If so, what are they posting about? Are there any WIPs? Doodles? Interactions with other artists? Gallery dates? 3am self-doubt posts? Or is it all self-promo? Crypto? Seemingly nothing art-related at all for someone pushing out 3 weekly paintings?

Basically, if it's important to you to omit this stuff when you curate, please don't just smash reblog if the source doesn't seem to be the OP themselves. Seeking out sources was important even before this became an issue, now it is more than ever.

peace n love

[sweetimpurity]

I Think I'll Keep You 5

a/n: Thank you again for your patience! I hope you guys enjoy and the next chapter is already underway and will come very soon! And some more art and bots coming out as well so look out for that!

w.c.: 10.2k NSFW MINORS DNI

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5

“...accurate and efficient methods of decoding… further aiding us in understanding… um… complicated genetic codes… pushing preservation and conservation. Uhh… yeah.” Miguel sighs, sitting up in his seat and peering over your arm as you type away on his laptop. Sitting at a table in the middle of the library during tutoring hours. Your fingers typing for him as he speaks what he wants written. He can’t type. Not with his right hand totally out of commission. So he’s come to your open tutoring hours. And now you have a student to work on so you can get paid and he can get help with his work. It’s Saturday and the two of you have been practically connected at the hip for the past two days.

You woke up beside him yesterday afternoon after that late night emergency room run. Lazily, sleepily taking the rest of the day slowly. Walking across campus to get food since all you both ate the whole night was a few pieces of candy. Smiling and talking, shoes splashing in shallow puddles along the concrete. A refreshing feeling having moved on from the mess of the last few weeks. The bubble has popped. That bubble of sex and ignorance that felt so great for the both of you. Sitting in the dining hall, among the hardwood and tall, ancient windows of your old university; looking over the school grounds turned fall shades and the autumn breeze blowing in through the window. Trying to talk about anything that won’t add any more stress or tension. No talk of friends, or family, not even school. Really just talking about whatever comes into your mind. And the conversation is just so easy. It’s different to spend time with him outside of the dorm room. It didn’t happen very often before. A lot of your conversations were pillowtalk. It’s different talking about the other parts of your life that don’t take place right after doing the deed. Miguel is funny. And he’s a good listener when his mind is clear and he’s focused on you. Only you. 

Feels like things are going back to normal. Well not how it was before. A new normal. 

“I think it sounds good… it’s a little awkward in the intro still but we can fix it up later…” You assure him, fixing a few typos and reading it over. The library is nice and quiet as always. You didn’t have any other students come this afternoon so you have time to focus on this and help Miguel since you know he can’t really do it himself right now.

“I don’t know… feels like I’m missing something. I’m gonna include the research but it doesn't feel like enough.” He sighs, leaning his elbows on the table, pushing his frames further up the bridge of his nose and looking over the notes in his hand. His knee is bouncing under the table and you can feel the vibrations of it in your seat. He’s applying to the Alchemax grant program. A huge grant with a long essay to go with it, multiple letters of recommendation and a personal profile piece. Tens of thousands of dollars for his research project. And he’d basically be an intern there. Able to use their facilities and labs to complete the job and create a brand new study of his own. It would start right after graduation and almost definitely lead to a great job at Alchemax Industries. He sighs, leaning back in his seat, draping his arm over the back of your chair. 

“You okay?” You hum, observing his clearly distressed behavior. His knee bouncing, his brow furrowed, the sighs. He looks over at you, in your eyes. Don’t lie. “Yeah I’m fine… just… want to get this right.” 

You nod. Knowing that’s not all there is to it. But accepting it for now. “Well, maybe you should include some of your… personality…traits…” You suggest with a small smile, knowing that it will be like pulling teeth with him, clasping your hands in your lap and looking over at him next to you. 

“Like what. I mean… Tyler knows me. He’s the one that told me to apply.” [Tyler Stone. President and Ceo of Alchemax Industries.] He sighs, pushing his glasses up on his head, his dark curls becoming a little messy with the metal pushed through them, and rubbing the sides of his nose with his fingers. The ache of wearing his glasses for a while when he usually doesn’t like wearing them at all. But he’s worn them more often the past few days. He can see you more clearly now.  

“Yeah but he’s not the only one who’s gonna be working with you or deciding if you get the job or not. You want people to know who you are… know the kind of person you are. More often than not, that’s more important than the research when it comes to something like this. I mean, you’re not just applying for a grant, you’re applying for a job…” You explain kindly. He looks up, in your eyes, his eyes raking over your pretty face. He loves feeling like he can be close to you again. He loves feeling like he knows what’s going on in your head. Or maybe that’s just his need for control seeping in. Like venom in warm blood. Just sitting next to you like this. Even if he hasn’t so much as kissed you since everything went down. It’s only been nearly two weeks but it feels like an eternity. He wants to so badly. But he reminds himself that this is how things are right now. He messed up and he’s getting a second chance. He won’t take your forgiveness for granted. “Yeah, you’re right.” He admits, dropping the graphs and charts on the table.

“Maybe talk about family… inspirations… personal goals. People like that kind of stuff. People also want to know that you can be a part of something bigger than yourself…” You say, fingers brushing over the keys and ready to type what he says. “Uh…” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, trying to pull this out of his brain. He doesn’t really want to talk about his family. Doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction of being considered inspiration. But his upbringing and his parents’ names alone have opened a lot of doors for him in the past. His fingers fidget on the back of your chair, catching a few strands of your hair, playing with it so softly that you don’t even feel it. And he watches the side of your face to make sure you don’t notice, your eyes focused on the computer screen. Curling the strands around his finger and getting lost in touching you. Hanging on desperately to this morsel of touch. Knowing he probably shouldn’t but he just can’t help himself.

“I guess… we could say I grew up watching my parents with their business. But that’s more… financial services. When I was born, OLI was just taking off and now… I’ve watched them build it into what it is today.” He explains. You keep typing, writing it down in the notes to keep it straight. You can hear the sigh in his voice like he hates to be talking about it. You don’t know why. Mostly because he’s never spoken about this before. But if he’s applying for such a big opportunity then it’s important to include.

“OLI, I’ve heard of that, I think…” You look over at him, unsure what that stands for but you know you’ve heard that acronym before, or maybe you’ve seen it somewhere? 

“O’hara Legacy Investments.” He says with a nod and sigh, a level of disdain in his tone. He leans forward, his mind still on this essay. On beefing it up with info that might secure him this grant. Even though he’s confident his connections will get him in. There’s always a chance things might not go his way. He wants to prepare for every possible outcome. He hates to feel out of control. You stop typing. That sounds like investment banking. Like the kind of thing that makes people billionaires. 

“Is that the… that tall building downtown?” You ask, looking over at him and he nods, a blank stare in his eyes as he’s looking down at the research notes. “Your family runs that?”

“Yep.” He sighs, not offering more information so you don’t ask for more.

“Okay sooo… how would that influence your work at Alchemax?” You prompt, trying to veer back on course. You can tell he’s losing steam, you’ve been at this a while. 

“So I guess it’s not really the same as what I would be doing at Alchemax but… Watching how that runs… how many people it takes to keep something running like that. I guess something about leading teams of people working towards a goal…” He keeps thinking out loud and you keep typing, interpreting his words into organized notes and ideas. “So.. maybe about you as a leader? You think you can be a good leader…” 

“Yeah. I think so… and soccer, we could include that too.” He says, perking up and sitting up a bit straighter. Although the topic of soccer does bring his anxiety levels up a bit. Watching you type while playing with a piece of frayed material on his cast. “Yeah, captain of the soccer team, sports is always something they want to hear. If you’re a leader… organizer. And coming from SU especially, they love to see it.” You agree, typing and compiling the thoughts that come to mind. “And to know you can work in a team…” 

Miguel nods. Feeling relieved that you’re able to help him with this. He did all the more technical notes for it over the past few weeks. Organized lots of thoughts and data to start the writing process. Then he broke his fingers and that put a wrench in the process. It’s due next week and without you he’d be screwed. But it works out sort of perfectly, and a little selfishly, that now he’s spending more time with you because of that. “I think also…” 

He starts. You look over, ready to type whatever he suggests. “I’m an older brother too… that’s… I don’t know…” He mumbles. You find yourself smiling. “I feel like… maybe being a leader in that way is different.” 

“It’s very different, yes…” You nod, looking back at the laptop screen, a smile dancing on your lips. “Maybe something about… protecting… looking out for those that are important to me. Or being a good role model I guess…” He sighs. Thinking. About Gabriel. About you. Pretty much the two most important people in his life. I guess I haven’t been a very good role model as of late. 

“Loyalty… role model…” You say and nod. Typing those words in the compilation of notes you’re making in the margins. His knee is still bouncing.

“I also think you’re very passionate…” You say. He looks over at you, the side of your face, watching you type more things in the notes. Trying to create a section of his essay that can portray him as not just another applicant. “I think I’m just generally angry… I don’t really think before I do things…” He scoffs, shaking his head and leaning forward, his arms on the table, his head resting down on his forearms, looking at your pretty face from this angle. You grin and nod, giving him a look. “Yeah but we don’t have to include that… passion works…” 

He laughs through his nose, blinking softly and admiring your face. Watching your pretty eyes, the light of the computer screen reflecting in them, making them especially sparkly. It’s quiet for a moment, just the clicks of keys and fingertips. He thinks, reflecting on all that’s happened in the past few weeks. That thing with Dana keeps coming to mind. That was really a moment of lost control. Is that the passion you’re talking about? That he loses control and can’t get it back until it’s almost too late? He worries about that. Not remembering most of it because he was so angry. It sort of feels like a dream. Especially since he fought with you right after that and then everything went right to shit. 

All he knows is that Dana made it back to his dorm. He knows for a fact nothing happened. He wouldn’t have wanted it anyway because he despises her and she was drunk off her ass. But she did lie on his bed. Her perfume was all over him. And he remembers standing over her and wanting to make her hate him. Just so that she would leave him alone. That’s a level of anger he never wants you to witness, or anyone really for that matter. It scares him a bit now to think of it. All he knows is that if you think he’s loyal, he’ll be loyal as a dog. If you think he’s passionate, he’ll be a raging, burning fire to keep you warm. You think he’s anything, he’ll be that. If you want him to be. 

He fidgets with the fray on his cast. Coming off the blue material. His gaze caught on the little cursive “mine” you wrote. That night in the drug store. When you were both so deliriously tired, sitting in the middle of the floor. Having this on his arm is like a reminder. Or a promise. That maybe you’ll be his or he’ll be yours again. He’ll just have to be patient. His thumb brushes over the word, like making sure the letters won’t fall off, making sure they’re stained into the blue permanently. Do you even remember writing this? He thinks. Or were you so tired it feels like a dream? His bouncing knee still vibrates against your chair. 

“Anything else for today? We did a lot…” You ask, looking over at him. Bringing him out of his thoughts. “No, I think that’s good, thank you… but maybe next week we can finalize things and you can help me edit it?” He asks hopefully. “Yeah definitely, I’ll block out some time for you…” 

He nods, sighing and pulling his glasses off his head. Folding them up in his hand and collecting his papers. You just save the document, debating in your head the words on your tongue. Closing the laptop so he can pack it up in his bag. 

“So… you wanna tell me what’s stressing you out?” You ask, turning in your seat to face him and leaning your elbow on the table, head in your hand. He stops what he’s doing, putting down the stack of notebooks. “You can read my mind…” He smiles. 

“No, you’ve just been bouncing your knee against my chair for the past hour.” You sigh, smiling soft but sympathetic at him. His shoulders slump. “Oh sorry…” He shakes his head, feeling embarrassed for being so obvious, pinching the bridge of his nose in his fingers. 

“It’s okay… Is it the grant? I think your essay will be good enough…” You hum. Noticing all of his distress and not wanting him to be freaking out over something he’s already spent so long working on. “No it’s not… I… I’m really glad you can help me with it. Thank you… I’m just worried about the game tomorrow…” He nods. And it dawns on you. “Ohh…”

“I actually should get going… have a meeting with the coach. Figure out how we’re gonna pull this off…” He sighs, getting up from his seat to gather his things. He’s been wracked with anxiety about the game ever since putting two and two together that he’s out for the next few weeks. It’s against the rules for someone to play with a plaster cast on and he’s nowhere near getting that removed. So the team will have to supplement him. 

“You’re not gonna play are you? You shouldn’t… not with your hand like that.” You insist, watching him get up, pulling on his jacket precariously with his one working hand. He can hear the concern in your voice. “I can’t. It's an instant disqualification… so I have to talk to Coach and maybe I’ll just assistant coach tomorrow, I don’t know…” He sighs, knowing it’ll be a struggle for the team to play without him. And they very well might not win. This is a university proud of its win streak so far. 

“If it hurts, let Coach know… you don’t have to do anything that’s uncomfortable.” You advise softly. Wanting him to be comfortable. Always. That look of care on your face makes him feel a little warm. Making him feel a little soft and fuzzy inside. He can’t remember ever being worried over like that. He clears his throat, trying not to let that feeling get to him too much, shoving his laptop in his bag and zipping it up. “I will… don’t worry about me…” 

He says it but he doesn’t really mean it. Although he doesn't want you to be anxious; he definitely doesn’t need to inflict any more emotional pain on you, he’s done more than enough of that over the past few weeks… he does want you to care. Or it’s more like… once he realized you actually do care, now he doesn’t want to lose that. 

“Just be careful… I know you’ll do well and the team will be fine…” You smile gently. Clicking your pen and watching him getting ready to leave. His bag slung over his shoulder. “Thank you… yeah I just need to chill.” He sighs, moving his hurt hand around absentmindedly to soothe the ache. “Well… the feeling you’re having just means you care. It’s a good feeling, even though it’s scary…” 

He looks in your eyes, down at where you’re still sitting. Feeling struck by your words. You’ve always been so good at that. You always know exactly what to say when he needs to hear it. He hopes to do the same for you one day. If only he can figure out how you manage to do it every time. He just nods in thanks, a renewed sense of relief inside. 

“Dinner later?” He inquires, brow raising as he’s starting to walk away. Walking backwards away from the table, his eyes on you the entire time. 

“Sure, I’ll meet you there…” You rest your head on your hand, watching him go from where you’re sitting. Watching that look on his face. A sort of satisfaction in that he’s leaving but already thinking about when he gets to see you next. He nods. Turning towards the library doors and smiling to himself, making his way out. Sneakers tapping on the hardwood floors of the academic building, sparing you one last glance. Finding your eyes still on him. A stupid sort of giddy feeling in his chest. Lopsided grin on his lips as he leaves the library.

“O’hara! Dude.” Peter’s voice brings him out of his flurry of thoughts. Watching his friend march down the rest of the hall to him. “Where you been? You disappeared again…” Peter chuckles.

“Oh yeah I‘ve just been… busy in the lab and stuff… and my application.” He lies. While it’s true he has been working on his application and piles of homework, he’s also been actively avoiding all of his friends ever since your fight. Unable to handle even the slightest of social interaction. His mind set on you and only you. But he won’t tell Peter that. 

“Dana said you were being crazy or something…” Peter huffs, his brow quirked in disbelief. Miguel’s heart starts to beat a little harder at that. Did Dana tell everyone what happened? Or her version of what happened? “What did she say?”

“Well… she’s kinda implying that you two hooked up after the party last week…” Miguel’s eyes widen at that news. It’s just not true. But that seems to be the story everyone believes so far. “MJ thinks she’s full of shit bu-"

“She is full of shit.” Miguel sighs. Pinching the bridge of his nose. Or trying to with his cast. It was a foolish thing to give into his anger and take Dana back to his dorm. But he didn’t sleep with her. He’s not surprised though that she’s spreading that rumor around. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

“Shit, what happened?!” Peter flips, looking down at the cast engulfing Miguel’s forearm to the tips of his fingers. Looking at the seemingly broken hand, his eyes scanning over Miguel as a whole. Feeling like he has no idea what’s going on with someone who’s supposed to be his closest friend. “I broke my wrist but it’s fine, doctor says it’ll be fine even without surgery.”

“It’s fine?! What about the game?” Peter asks in panic, running a hand through his previously neat light brown locks. It’s against policy rules to play with a hard plaster cast for the safety of the other players and teammates. But Miguel’s the captain, their top offense and shooter. 

“I’ll be on the sidelines and Miller and Durante can take care of it.”

“It’s Princeton, Miguel. We’re gonna get fuckin’ smoked out there…” Peter huffs, going on and on but Miguel just shakes his head, feeling that anxiety rising again. The anxiety you were able to dampen only moments ago. “I know it sucks… I know. But those new drills have been helping… I’m gonna talk to coach.” 

“Alright… but Marco and Santiago need to get their asses in order before tomorrow. I’m not playing defense because they can’t pay attention to the fucking ball.” 

“I know, I know…” Miguel sighs and nods. Knowing this is all bad timing. They’ve been preparing for this game for a while now and it’s a pretty big spectacle. The stands will undoubtedly be full to the brim. It makes him tense and anxious to think about.

“Okay…” Peter huffs, running a hand through his hair. “Well, text me what Coach says…” He sighs, lifting his fist. Their knuckles colliding as he’s starting to walk off to where he’s going. “No more disappearing…” Peter chuckles, looking back as he starts walking down the hall, pointing a finger at his friend. “Yeah, yeah…”

“Alright, I’ll see you later.” Peter says with a nod, his hands in his pockets as he rounds the corner, walking into the library. Miguel sighs, feeling that tension, that tomorrow might not go well and it’ll be all his fault. Because he can’t do more to help the team he’s supposed to be leading.

He jogs down the stairs, down another hallway and outside. The fall breeze and smell of the trees and crisp autumn air flows past his cheeks, blowing back the little curls by his ears. Hunching his shoulders up when the brisk air cools his neck, pulling his collar up and walking across the commons to get to the athletic building on the other side of campus. To meet with Coach about the game plan for tomorrow. 

“Come on guys, one more time!” Miguel calls out to the team. Dressed in his uniform, dark blue and silver stripes, school colors with the Sterling University crest on his arm, a C on his chest. Number 99 on his back. Cleats and his cast to match. It does suck he has to miss out on actually playing but he does a lot of assistant coaching as captain anyway so it’s nothing he’s not used to. Coach Dean is talking with the referees anyway. Schmoozing on the sidelines, convinced it’ll earn them less whistles through the game. 

Miguel sighs, anxious, shaking his head and directing his attention to the mobs of people filling the stands. The sun is setting, the field lights coming on and a slight chill filling the air. A buzz with that too. College soccer fans here as well as lots of students from both universities. People are excited. The team is excited as well as anxious without Miguel playing beside them. Knowing they’ll have to supplement him being out. Miguel huffs, stretching his arms and wincing slightly at the remnants of ache in his wrist, his breath fogging in the cold air.

“Come on… si yeah! ¡Mantén la posesión!" He shouts from the sides, watching the team warming up with the drills and keeping order, following them up and down their half of the field. “Marco!¡Sigue presionando! Call for it!" A mix of Spanish and English naturally leave his lips. Dark eyes follow their form and technique. Keeping everyone in order. They’re doing really well as always. But Miguel would prefer perfection. “Good! Alright break!” He shouts.

The team all relaxes, sighing in relief and collecting on the sidelines near the bench. Some passing the ball back and forth. The goalie is doing some technique in the practice nets with Durante and Miller. Others glancing at the opposing team warming up on their side of the field. “Marco, you’re gonna break you’re fuckin’ ankle doing that. Keep it light, it doesn’t have to be so fast. Slow down and go through the steps, alright?” Miguel instructs calmly, grabbing a ball and demonstrating on the turf by the benches. Marco nods, wiping his brow with the edge of his jersey. 

“Just like that… keep it loose and look at Miller, he’s the one you’re paying attention to. Don’t look at Durante, he’s gonna be looking at Miller for that pass down the field. But that was still good, keep it up..” 

“There’s a lot of people here…” Peter comments, squirting some water into his mouth, catching his breath. Miguel walks over from helping Marco, standing beside his friend and looking out at the people in the stands. It’s a little more than they’re used to. Little intimidating considering this stadium seats thousands of people.

“It’s a big game…” Miguel huffs, grabbing his water bottle. Wish I could fucking play… he thinks. Glancing at Coach, still talking to the refs near the midline. They have a little while before everything starts.

It’s the end of the first half and it’s been a good game so far. Princeton is good but so is Sterling. They’d be better if Miguel was on the field to help them. He finds himself getting frustrated on the sidelines, disagreeing with the refs calls and calling out to his teammates, trying to lead and instruct. The whistle blows and the team finally relaxes. Panting and walking over to the sidelines. 

“They’re fast…” Marco pants, plopping down on the bench to catch his breath. “We have to be faster… but we’re holding our own…” Miguel says, hands on his hips and looking over the team, trying to keep the edge from his tone. He’s here to lead, not berate.

“You good?” He sees Peter covered in grass stains. Peter’s the one that’s been scoring pretty much all the goals so far. Princeton’s defense is good. It’s one of those games where no one’s going to score very many goals, it’s all about making sure the other team doesn’t get too close. “That was really good, keep doing that. And if it works better for Marco to go up the right side, then do that.” Miguel says. 

“I will… they’re so fuckin fast…” Peter pants, grabbing his water bottle and squirting some in his mouth. Breathing heavy through his nose. The team takes a few minutes at halftime to refuel and plan for the second half. Peter and Marco will have to be smart about the next plays. They’re down by two and the other team just keeps getting closer and closer. 

“I got a girl in the stands…” Peter says with a lopsided smile, still out of breath, spraying some more water into his mouth. “Yeah?” Miguel’s brow quirks at that information. He knows Peter has a lot of girls around him and friends that are girls. Makes sense, he’s very smart, an athlete, loud and the life of the party. Everyone always trying to get a piece of him. Not a foreign concept to Miguel himself. Miguel grabs his water bottle too, raising it to his mouth. “Who is she?” 

“Her name’s y/n…” 

What?

“...yeah you should meet her… she’s really pretty and smart and funny...” 

What?

Peter keeps talking, tossing a ball to someone else across the bench. Not even registering the look on Miguel’s face. Like shock and something else. Something Miguel himself can’t put a finger on. And Miguel can only half listen to Peter’s words. “She’s head of the tutoring club… did I tell you I started doing that? Dude, I’m getting paid to do some freshman’s homework and get course credit. It's like the easiest shit in the world…” Peter laughs, talking on and on. 

Miguel doesn’t understand. It’s like his brain can’t process this. Staring at Peter silently and waiting for him to say it’s a joke. But how could it be a joke?

“She’s riiiiight… there-” Peter turns, pointing at the stands. Turning stiffly, Miguel looks out to where he’s pointing. His dark eyes searching the stands and looking for your face. Hoping to see some stranger who happens to have the same name as you. But no. It’s you. 

He watches your gaze snap onto them, seeming surprised to have both their attention now. How did he not notice? You’ve been here this whole time, sitting nearly 15 rows behind him and he didn’t know? But Peter knew?

He can’t help that his immediate reaction to seeing you is relief. Seeing you up there and he just wants to smile. Wants to disappear with you and forget this stressful game. You’re like… his best friend in the whole world. But then that relief is quickly quelled when he realizes Peter is the one who invited you, he’s the reason you’re here. 

Miguel huffs. Nearly getting hit in the face when Peter starts waving at you. Stepping back and trying to make sense of this. There you are, waving back their way. What is this? He wonders. Unable to help the scowl that appears on his face as he observes Peter waving. What is this happening that he doesn’t know about or had no idea could even happen? Another bubble has popped and he didn’t even know it. 

He looks back up at you. Your eyes looking his way. But are you looking at him or are you looking at Peter? He hates that he can’t even tell. He hopes it’s him but it’s too much distance to know for sure. He just holds up a hand weakly. Waving at you. Feeling like an idiot, a total fool. And here Peter is waving at you, thinking Miguel doesn’t even know who you are. Fuck.

“Alright boys! Let’s huddle up!” Coach yells, coming over to the bench and motioning for everyone to come over. Peter moves to head over, gently kicking a ball on his way. And Miguel can’t help but keep glancing at you. Feeling self conscious. You’ve been watching him and witnessing all of this, this entire time? He didn’t even know you were here and half of the game had already been played. And all he’s done is stand on the sidelines while Peter played big shot scorer. 

Your hands wave at him, mouthing something he can’t make out. His brow knitting together as you try to communicate something to him before Coach snaps again. 

“O’hara!” 

His eyes snap to the team huddled by the bench. Taking long strides to get over there. But his mind is a mess. He didn’t even know you knew each other. 

The second half, the rest of the game, it’s hard for Miguel to focus on coaching. He’s watching the team play but it���s like a delayed reaction in his mind. Like his body is here but his brain is trying to tap into some invisible signal stretching from you to him. Peter scores again and Miguel flinches at the sound of the stands erupting. Cheering and echoing through his head. Pounding the sides of his skull.

He can’t help but glance your way every chance he gets. But every time he’s able to spot you in the sea of colors and foreign faces, you’re looking at the ball on the field. Which is always in Peter’s possession. And he can’t focus on anything except what he doesn’t know. What he can’t control. 

…

“Wooooo!” Marco hollers, the team gathering in a huddle on the field and celebrating their close victory. They won, but it was a tough game. Miguel stares almost blankly as the team all slaps hands and says good game. And by the time he snaps out of it, turning to find you, the stands are already emptying out and you’re gone from your seat. 

“O’hara!” The team shouts, bringing him out of the mess of thoughts. The players crowding him in celebration on the sidelines. Cheers and loud voices. Talking about moments in the game, highlights, certain techniques that had Princeton on their toes. All in all it was an exciting match and Peter was definitely the savior, scoring more goals than anyone and making the game. And Peter is all smiles. 

The team heads back to the locker room. Showering and warming down from the game. Miguel stands at his locker. His new locker since the punched in door wouldn’t close properly on his old one. Pulling off his jersey carefully with one hand and hanging it up. Wiping down his broad chest with a towel and hearing Peter with some of the boys walking in from the showers. His movements slow, brow furrowing, grabbing his change of clothes and pulling a tank top on, the black material bunching down his toned abdomen against his deep skin. Listening to Peter’s voice. 

His mind races. Since when did you two become such good friends? And why wouldn’t I know you were coming to the game when I saw you all day yesterday? Does Peter know that? Does Peter know we spend countless hours together? Does Peter know we have this deep connection that I’m actually working really hard to repair? He ought to. 

He listens to Peter’s conversation, as if waiting for him to say your name to confirm he’s talking about you. But he can’t make it out all the way. Something about a party, something about his car, something about the game. He watches the rest of the guys leave the locker room. Peter walks by with the guys and he just subtly, silently glares as they pass, not noticing him. pulling his hoodie on and shutting his locker gently. Pulling his phone off the charger and slinging his sports bag over his shoulder, walking out. 

He slumps down the concrete steps, the hallway leading to the exit doors, opening out to the athletic parking lot. Raking a hand through his hair, his mind a mess. He’s not used to feeling so beaten down after a game. They won, he should be happy. He should be glad. But he just feels indifferent. Or he just really needs to see you. 

When the door swings from someone else leaving, he catches a glimpse of you through the opening. The bright lights from outside assault his eyes as the door swings again. Seeing you for just a moment. Just a split second. Talking with Peter against the fence. He stops. What is he walking into? What’s about to change? You’re gonna be there right when he goes through that door. He stands in the dim concrete tunnel, feeling his heart race. He doesn’t like this feeling. This is the loss of control.

“Miguel!” Peter smiles, making you turn to look back. And there he is, walking out the door. You want to just run into his arms and tell him how great he was. Even though he didn't get to play he still coached very well and played his part in the victory. But Peter is talkative and gets in there before you can. And you don't really want to interrupt when he's talking with his friends. Since this is the first time you've been around his friends with him. 

“We’re gonna get drinks, you have to come” Peter says, ushering Miguel over to where you’re standing. “This is y/n… y/n this is Miguel” 

“Yeah we know each other.” Miguel says immediately. Not a hint of a smile on his face. He’s annoyed with Peter. Annoyed that it’s not a known thing. He wants it to be known that you two are an item. Or… that there’s something going on… he’s not even sure of at the moment. At least that Peter should know to back off. “Oh cool, so drinks?” 

Miguel’s a little astonished with how easily Peter just brushed that off. Eyes flicking between you two and hoping to god you don’t accept the drink invite. But he bites his tongue. Friends. Really good… friends. 

“Uh… I don’t know, I’m kinda tired…” You sigh. Part of you not wanting to go since it’s not your normal scene but a bigger part needing to go so you can feel like you’re really one of Miguel’s friends. Not someone he has to hide. That you can get along with them and be a part of his life. That’s all you want to prove to him. 

“Come on… please?” Peter pouts. And Miguel wants to scream. Trying to tell you with his eyes that he doesn’t want to do this. Not right now. Maybe later when he’s had time to mentally prepare himself. It doesn’t help that you look adorable right now. In your Sterling Uni hoodie with a scarf to keep warm. He doesn’t want to do this. He’d rather just go to dinner. Like always. Talk for hours and maybe even fall asleep talking in your dorm like always. Not this. Please not this. 

His eyes burning a hole right through you, trying to communicate it without using the words since he can’t right now, not with Peter standing right there. Part of him wants you to come and show you off. The other part of him wants you all to himself, not wanting to share you with anyone. But he’s trying to be better. Trying to control himself rather than try to control everything else around him. 

“It would be fun, right Miguel?” Peter asks, bringing him out of his thoughts. He wants to say no. Wants to say fuck no and disappear, taking you with him. But he can’t do that now. So he just nods stiffly, forcing a smile. Almost painfully. “Yeah… come…” 

Your eyes light up and Miguel knows he’s done for. “Oh great!” You smile and Peter is instantly excited too. Talking about how great it’s going to be and how many people will be there. Miguel’s heart is pounding, seeing how easily Peter was able to get you to come. How Peter is smiling and looking at you. A sense of dread filling his chest.

It’s the usual bar. The college bar around the corner from campus where the sports teams usually congregate after a game. Or the general student body on a Friday night. Loud music and conversation, the place is packed. Football and UFC playing on the multitude of TVs hanging in the place. The team filters in all acting like they own this place. Playing pool and getting drinks, talking to girls in corners and at the bar. It’s a crazy night at least for you. Miguel’s seen nights like this before, but this time you’re here. And he won’t let you out of his sight. Even as people talk to him, trying to strike up conversation and catch up. Since everyone knows who he is and knows his name. He still keeps his attention focused on you. He doesn’t care about anyone else in this bar tonight. 

Drinks flow the second everyone is in there, laughter and loud voices, trying to be heard over the music. Miguel keeps his arm barred at your side to help get you through the density of people. Like a shield to make sure no one bumps into you. Not wanting you to be too claustrophobic or crowded. Staying nearby until you find two seats at the bar miraculously. As you sit down, Miguel quickly scans the room. Looking for one face in particular. No sign of Dana and he can relax a tiny bit. Sliding into his stool seat beside you. 

He sits down, watching how you observe the place, looking a little out of your element here. It’s clear you’re not a party girl. You’re a smart, intelligent tutor and it shows. It would almost be comical if Miguel didn’t have a fierce determination to protect you in this place. 

He leans over, getting closer to your ear to be heard over the noise. The smell of your shampoo mixed with your perfume, so close and familiar, filling his senses and almost making him dizzy. His mind flashing with moments of you in his bed. Your body under his and his face buried in your soft sweet smelling hair. He’s the only one in this bar that knows what you sound like when you come.

“Drink… Do you want a drink?” He asks, trying to be heard over the noise, his cheek brushing against yours. Pulling back to hear your response. “Yeah! Whatever is fine…” You smile, trying to speak over the chaos of people and stimulation. A bit out of your element but doing fine. Excited to be here with him and feel like you’re fitting into his world. 

He gets the bartender's attention, ordering you just a beer in a bottle. He doesn’t know if you’d want anything fruity, not that this crappy bar would have anything that good anyway. He’s never drunk with you before. He slides it over to you, watching you take a gulp and smile. You’re so out of your element here. He sighs. A swell in his chest. 

Even though he would normally be drinking a couple beers himself, he just has water in front of him. He wants to stay relatively sober. Enough to keep watch over you and make sure no one else talks to you. “Oh, I thought you were gonna get the same thing…” You chuckle, leaning your elbows on the bar and watching him sipping his water from a plastic cup. 

“Someone needs to be responsible for all these people right?” He chuckles. As captain of the team he actually does feel that responsibility. To keep people in line since he knows they’ll listen to him. “And I need to be sober if I’m carrying you out of this place drunk off your ass…” He jokes, teasing you. 

“I’m not getting drunk tonight, no way. No thank you…” You sigh, shaking your head. Looking down at the label on the bottle in your hand. Then your eyes dart around the crowded room a few times. He just looks at your face. You’re so pretty. Especially pretty in this low light. 

“Well how is the beer at least? I know it’s not something sweet but it’s probably the best thing they have here.” He huffs, keeping his eyes on you, studying you. He’d love to just be all over you and show people that you’re his. But you’re not right now. You’re his friend and that’s the boundary you both set. He’s trying his best to uphold that after his mistakes. “It’s fine… I don’t ever drink much anyway so I’m not picky…” 

He nods. Learning more about you all the time. The two of you have never been out to a bar or club before so this is all brand new. He can see how you’re a little nervous in this place. It’s not your usual hangout spot and he can tell. “Yeah, this place is pretty chaotic tonight…” He comments, looking around then back at you. “You’re okay though, right?” 

“Yeah I’m fine…” You smile. Clasping your hands in your lap. He’s attentive, more recently than ever. It’s true that he’s become like your best friend over the last month and a half. Even though it hasn’t been that long, it’s felt like a lifetime. And with how much time you spend together, it still feels like he separates you from a lot of the other parts of his life. Friends, family, everything else. You spot Peter across the way standing with some people. The only other person you even know in this place. 

Miguel follows your gaze over towards where Peter is and he can't help but wonder why you're looking at Peter or what you're thinking. He looks at the group of people around him, recognizing teammates and classmates, but notices Peter in particular.He tries to remain cool, looking back at you. "He's a great friend… isn't he… "

He says it with a little bit of annoyance in his voice, thinking about how you two have gotten really close as friends and he didn't even know it.

"Yeah he's really sweet," You smile, not really noticing his expression. You want Miguel to know that you can get along with his friends too and you can be a part of his life. "He's funny…"

His brow twitches just a bit. He doesn't know how to feel about the fact that you two are friends in and out of the tutoring club. And that you’re calling him sweet. And funny. He knows how charismatic and charming Peter is, knowing he could get any girl he wants. "He always gets the girls…  he's quite the flirt…" He mumbles.

"Oh really?" You smile and scrunch your nose up, looking back at Peter and seeing that yes, there are many girls around him right now. And he must be very popular with the girls, you think. You hadn't really noticed that Peter was a flirt but you think he's charming. Maybe you're just so focused on being his friend to prove to Miguel you can be part of his friend group.

Miguel can feel his patience slipping. How you seem so oblivious to the fact that Peter is a huge flirt and that Peter was flirting with you earlier when he invited you to the bar. But he's been Peter's friend for years, of course he knows the girls flock around him. It just annoys him that you’re completely oblivious to it. He watches you watching Peter across the room, trying not to let it show on his face how frustrated he is.

"How's your hand?" You ask, taking a sip from your bottle. Gesturing towards his cast in his lap. Trying to talk over the noise in the room. The topic change gives him some relief. Grateful to think about something other than the image of Peter taking you home tonight. He lifts his hand, flexing a few fingers. "It's fine. Doesn't really hurt much right now. It's a good reminder to not lose my cool again… "

"Yeah, that locker room hates to see you comin’…" You joke with a smile. Shaking your head. Punched his locker like some guy in a movie.

Miguel can't help but smile, knowing you’re referring to him punching the front of his locker like a crazy person. He sighs, knowing it was stupid and a loss of control. "That locker had it coming though…"

You laugh at his words, his eyes lighting up watching your head throw back a bit. The fluttering sound of your laughter carrying slightly over the noise in the room and hitting his ears. He wants to make you laugh like that all the time. Make you smile like this every day. And  Peter works his way through the room over to the bar. 

"There you guys are! I thought I lost you…" Peter's face lights up when he gets closer, excited to see his best friend and you, the pretty tutor. He stands behind both your chairs putting his hands on the backs of them. Miguel’s eyes flick back-and-forth between you two. You're still oblivious. Smiling at Peter like you don't know what he's doing. Every instinct inside of him telling him to make Peter back off. But he's trying to be better for you. Trying not to lose control or act impulsive. 

"Spending the night bragging, are you?" You smile and tease Peter lightly. Leaning over the back of your chair. He did score a lot of the winning goals tonight. Peter laughs and loves any attention from you. Miguel can only listen and watch this interaction between the two of you. It's like a nightmare come to life. And he's feeling claustrophobic in this crowded place with all these people. He just wants to take your hand and go back to campus, go back to your dorm, go back to the library.

"Well you all played very well…" You hum. Looking between the two boys. You can't help but notice Miguel’s body language. Thinking he must just be upset that he didn't get to play because of his cast. But he did very well on the sidelines. 

"Peter here was especially on his game today. Princeton is tough…" Miguel says with tension in his tone, finally joining in on the conversation. His eyes flicking between the two of you but landing on you mostly. Watching your reaction to Peter's words.

"It's all in the foot work really. Reading the opponent… Gotta think about 10 steps ahead." Peter says with a grin, in his element. Miguel has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. As much as he loves Peter, he wants him to fuck off right now.

You giggle softly at Peter's joke and his obvious love for attention. Loving the way you can so casually hang out with Miguel and his friends for the first time ever. Miguel clenches his jaw, sipping his water and trying to keep his cool. You take a sip of your beer finding it's the last one, putting the empty bottle back on the bar. It seems both boys take notice. 

"Can I get you another? "Peter asks, His eyes lighting up.

“Um…" You're thinking. You don't really do this that often and you're finally getting to hang out with Miguel and his friends. What the hell… "Sure!"

Peter flashes that charming smile at you and Miguel can feel his control slipping again. Now he's buying you drinks? 

"I got it." Miguel suddenly says, waving to the bartender for another round. If anyone's getting you drunk tonight, it's gonna be him. So he can make sure you're okay. “Okayyy…” Peter huffs softly, raising his brow at Miguel’s rivalry. But Miguel doesn’t care. Grabbing the fresh cold beer bottle and sliding it over the bar in front of you. Looking back up at Peter, a stern expression on his face. 

Over the next hour and your next two beers, Peter just won’t go away. He’s practically hanging on your chair, talking to you about whatever. And because you’re so nice and sweet you just keep giving into him. Smiling at Miguel too like you want him to be in on the conversation. But it just makes him feel worse somehow. Is he really losing you to Parker? Is that how this is gonna go? 

“So… you guys are like best friends?” You ask, your words slightly slurred, cheeks pink and flushed. You’re tipsy and Miguel’s watching you like a hawk. Your beer shined lips as you smile up at Peter. So damn cute and pretty. “We are… best friends…” Peter says in a cocky way. Grabbing Miguel’s shoulder and shaking it a few times, a beer in his other hand. Miguel might be the only sober one in this place and it’s getting annoying. 

He fidgets with the same fray on his cast, pulling on it and pulling on it. Watching you talk to Peter. Forcing a smile when you look his way. It’s getting unbearable. Eyes flicking around the crowded room and just wanting to get out of here. 

“One more round?” Peter asks and Miguel groans internally. You’re both drunk, everybody is drunk and he just wants to get you back somewhere it’s safer. Peter gets to chatting loudly with some other people down the bar.

“Do you wanna leave?” You lean over, getting closer to Miguel, right up to his face and he just gives you a soft look. Admiring your pretty flushed features. He can see you’ve been having fun. “No, I’m good, we can stay if you want…” He hums gently. 

“Don’t lie, Mig…” You whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear over the noise. And his brow knits together, hearing the nickname, your soft warm voice, wanting to reach out and brush your hair back, kiss your pretty pink lips. Anything. “I’m a little tired…” He admits. And even in your tipsy state, you know it’s time to go. 

“Let’s go then… it’s too loud…” You sigh, a distracted Peter now talking loudly with Marco and Miller down the bar. Relief, Miguel thinks. He does really want to make sure you get back to your dorm okay. 

…

“Wai-I ‘ave a question…” You slur, hanging onto him and pressed up against his chest as he’s trying to get you over to bed. His big strong arms around you and it feels so good, feels so right. What you’ve been missing all this time and now it just feels like everything is perfect and everything is good and… and your tongue still tastes like beer and… and he smells so good. 

“Yeah, what's your question?” He asks so soft and gently. His voice is like smooth melted butter mixed with sweet brown sugar. Bringing you over to your bed and sitting you down on the edge. Making sure you don’t topple over. “Hold still, I’m gonna take your shoes off…” 

“D’you think… that… um…” You sigh, the alcohol clouding everything making you instantly forget what you were about to ask him. But the thought is mixing around your brain just waiting to come out. After all, it’s all you were thinking about all night. “M-my shoe is stuck”

“I know, I’m trying to get it off…” He sighs, unable to stop the smile when he hears your little whine. You are pretty cute like this and he likes helping you. Kneeling down in front of you and taking your shoe onto his knee to undo the laces, slipping it off.

“Do you think that… all your friends… that they like-like it?” You sigh, wiggling your toes in your socks as he slides your shoe off. His hands on your calves, absentmindedly caressing up and down, having you in his hands like this is too good to pass up, but he looks up at you at your question. His brow furrowing, wondering what you mean. “Do they like what,-?” He almost called you baby right there. But stopped himself. Maybe it’s just being like this with you right now. Being close and finally being needy for his help, needing him in any way. Or the way you seem so soft and fragile right now he just wants to protect you. 

“That they like me…” You sigh. Pushing a hand through your hair and he pulls your other shoe off, your feet freeing and legs dangling off the side of the bed. 

He looks up at you, piecing together your broken sentence. Do his friends like you? Peter? 

“Like P-peter… does Peter like me?” You ask and his expression goes serious. Swallowing thickly and setting your shoes to the side. He knows the answer. He knows that Peter obviously has a thing for you. It’s becoming more clear you have a thing for him too. 

Miguel straightens back up, standing over you and listening to your drunken rambling. Your mumbles. “Cuz I think Peter is really nice and I think you and I can be friends… and I can be friends with your friends too…” 

He doesn’t understand what you mean. Towering over you and feeling so blocked up. Like he’s miles away from where he wants to be with you. He wants you to want him. Not think about Peter. 

“Uh… I think Peter likes you, yeah…” He mumbles. Looking down at your face. The way it lights up and his heart falls. “Really? So we can all be friends?” 

His heart hurts, looking in your eyes. So confused, not knowing what to think. But wishing he could just kiss you right now and make your thoughts stop. Or to fill your thoughts with him. If he kissed you right now would you forget Peter ever existed? If he kissed you right now, if he laid you down and pumped into you until you were a crying trembling moaning mess like all those times before, would you forget Peter and think about him again? 

“I’m sweating…” You huff, moving to get up off the bed and his arms come to steady you. “Woah woah slow down, sweetheart…” The words ooze off his lips. His hands guide you before you reassure him you can walk. He huffs, watching you walk over to your closet. He sits down on the edge of your bed, head in his hands. Feeling pathetic and so lost. Not even knowing what to do at this point. Has he actually lost you for good? Will he actually only ever be your friend now?

You’re sweating, pulling at the material of your hoodie and ripping it off over your head. Slipping your pants off and sighing in relief. Standing in your panties and bra by the dresser and looking for some comfy clothes. Your mind filled with the thoughts of being Miguel’s again. You’re friends with his friends like any girlfriend would be. So what’s stopping him? What’s stopping both of you from just being together again? Since you’ve proven to him, you can fit in. 

“Miguel…” You hum, his head coming out of his hands and looking up at you. Eyes widening seeing you in just your underwear. Gulping thickly. “Yes?” He whispers. Like beckoning to your call. Like a plea for you to just put him out of his misery already. 

You walk over to him, trying to half haphazardly pull on a big t-shirt. His hands unable to stop themselves, coming up to help pull the material down. You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing. This all just makes him feel somehow worse. Your body taunting him, teasing him with everything he needs and no way to get it. 

Your hips slot between his legs, standing between them and getting closer. Fingers clenching into his shirt and smashing your lips against his. His fingers splay out, shock and surprise. His eyes wide and heart seemingly stops. You’re… kissing him… you…

Heavy breath through his nose and his eyes flutter closed. Kissing you back, feeling your eager tongue tasting like alcohol come into his mouth. Letting it swirl against his lips and his tongue. His big hands snaking around you, holding you for the first time like this in so long. You gasp and hum against his lips and a chill goes down his back. He must be dreaming. 

But your hands go to his chest, pushing him back on the bed, and he’s so weak to you. His back hitting the mattress. He wants this so badly. Wants you more than anything in the entire world. You climb on top of him, clambering over his body, sitting on his abdomen and leaning down to kiss him again. 

“Wait-”

He’s silenced by your lips, trying to be dominant and licking into his mouth. You never did that before. That was always him. But right now it’s like you’re hungry for him in the exact same way he was hungry for you all this time. 

“I need you…” You whisper, pulling back from his lips with a smack. His eyes wide and breath heaving. It’s everything he’s ever wanted and yet it’s not right at all. “No baby… you need to go to sleep… you’re drunk…” He whispers, feeling so weak, his hands running up your warm bare thighs, like medicine. His cast is slightly scratchy on your thigh. Finally your body on his, your warmths feeding off of each other. 

“No please… say you want me, please you have to, don’t you want to?” You whine. Leaning over him and kissing his cheek, burying your face in his neck. He’s speechless. Doesn’t know what to say or think. He thought you were done all this time. He thought you were pining after Parker. 

“I want you… I do want you…” He whispers before his mind can even think. His hands falling from your thighs and flat on the bed. It feels wrong to touch you this way. His love for you overshadows his own selfish need. You won’t remember this in the morning. 

You won’t remember this in the morning. 

“I love you…” He whispers. Into your hair. Choking back a lump in his throat. 

“Mm?” You groan, pushing yourself up drunkenly on your hands, your hair dangling into his face under you. 

“Nothing…” He whispers. Swallowing thickly and wrapping his arms around you again. Pulling you to his chest and hugging you. Keeping you there, knowing you’ll pass out in a few minutes anyway and he can tuck you into bed safe and sound. 

To be continued…

Reblogs and comments very much appreciated!! Let me know what you think or your theories!

Taglist (thank you my sweets 🍬) :

@miguels-cock-piercings @queerponcho @club-danger-zone @bossva @softcrayon

@nommingonfood @bruhhvv

@jessies-unrelagated-thoughts @mauvecherie-writes @haveclayeveryday @kimivixen

@jadeloverxd @chiikasevennn @mvlanchqly @resident-cryptid

@x0tw0d57 @vampyboys @miguelspriscilla

@francesca-the-1st @migueloharasbbm @razertail18 @laysmt

@tojiragdoll @maiyart @wazawazooo @mun-2996 @marshhbs

@curious-randomlr @safixiovi @daddyfroglegs @theplaid-wearingmoose @reader-1290

@yeanika @elysiumsangel @rinnako @mangoslushcrush @twwcs

@izakopanyi2 @migueloharasoulmate @slut4oscarissac23

@miss-loomis @genny101

@aphinthestars @webshooterrr9 @m4dyy

@jdbxws @roserfz27 @ohara-whore @oharaslove @daisy-artfield

@mooreaey6yem @peachey-pie @migueloharacumslut @pxtched

@yougavemeyourheartyouknow @julia4today

[genericpuff]

Why is the art so unappealing in lore Olympus now Persephone looks like a highlighter and maybe it’s just me but the proportions like the fingers in arms are soul over the place I don’t think they used to be this bad. Am I just looking at it with nostalgia or am I crazy ?

Honestly, nostalgia does play a huge part in it, even to this day there are times I look back on old S1 panels and go-

Actually here's a great example that literally just happened yesterday in the ULO Discord that nearly had me on the floor LOL This is from Episode 70:

Like I didn't even believe that that was real until I was told what episode it was from and I was just. Astounded and flabbergasted. The over-shading of the blanket that just makes it look like a really bad edit. Insane.

And yeah, there are a lot of old panels that hit different now that the rose-colored glasses have been removed, crushed, and thrown into the trash compactor.

I think that's why it makes it all the more amusing when people come into my inbox and ask me "wait, why did you like LO to begin with?? It's always been ugly as shit, I think you're just romanticizing it" because like... there's something to be said about art and subjectivity, even if something is ugly to one person doesn't mean it isn't beautiful to someone else. It's why I try not to be too mean towards the fans of this comic for still enjoying it, because while I definitely have strong opinions about how "LO has gotten worse" and what kind of following Rachel has cultivated (cough cough), there are also just as equally valid arguments that LO has never begin good to begin with that I can't necessarily disagree with now that I'm looking back on it with a more critical eye.

That said, there's tons of media that I enjoy that is objectively awful. Like y'all, you don't need to take my opinions about a dumb pink x blue fantasy romance comic seriously, I like Starfox Adventures-

Like yeah it's a badly made rushed piece of shit that was developed right on the ass end of Rare's glory days and was really an original IP (Dinosaur Planet) that got Frankenstein'd into a Starfox game so it could "sell better" for Nintendo, but I don't give a fuck, I love Starfox Adventures and some day I wanna be in the top 10 speedrunner leaderboards for it, which I know doesn't mean much because no one is speedrunning Starfox, but I do and no one can take that away from me dammit-

Anyways. Lore Olympus has, in many regards, always had "bad art". But "bad art" can and should still be enjoyed by those who find joy in it.

And in LO's case, the world it existed in when it launched was a lot smaller than it is now - more specifically, the world of Webtoons. We can look back and see how 'bad' LO looks and reads now because there are genuinely way better comics surrounding it. It was unique and refreshing and experimental back then... now it's just "that stupid blue and pink comic for horny teenagers".

In most cases I would consider that "cringing in hindsight" feeling a good thing because normally it means something has grown and that it seeming "bad" in hindsight would mean that it's outgrown itself and moved onto bigger things. But LO has the more unique problem of "its current stuff is shit and it's making us want the old stuff more, even if the old stuff wasn't good either". In that regard, LO is closer to being like Harry Potter. Remember when The Cursed Child came out at the height of Rowling being exposed for being a TERF and even people who liked Harry Potter didn't like The Cursed Child because it was just objectively worse overall (with or without Rowling's bullshit attached)? It made a lot of people go back and re-read / rewatch Harry Potter with a more objective lens and go "wait a minute guys, I think we only adored these books so much because we were 12 when we read them". Often times it's the good memories we have surrounding certain things that make us have the opinion about them that we do.

Of course, LO is definitely not as politically weaponized as Harry Potter is, so that's where that comparison ends. But my point is that LO is definitely in a situation where it's been riding off the same privileges it had back in 2018 - having an 'experimental' art style while also utilizing tropes and characters that were VERY popular at the time (remember that 2017-18 was when Tumblr was at its height of H x P "Hades was a chill accountant guy who wore socks and sandals and didn't cheat on his wife like Zeus did" fantasizing) - and thinks that those same tricks and tropes will still work today.

Because of this, the art in LO really, really hasn't aged well, even the stuff that we look back on fondly. But I think it's the panels that we specifically think of when remembering "old LO" - the ones that stuck in our memories the most - that are the ones that make us miss or just not care about the panels that don't look good (the panels that make people question why we ever liked it to begin with).

We liked it because of how it made us feel to look at panels like these-

Those genuinely wonderful panels that we think back on the most don't exist separately from the bad panels, they exist in spite of them. Even if we can look back on panels like these and pick out problems in the lineart or the proportions or the color travelling outside of the lines, that can't and shouldn't change how those panels made us feel at some point or another. And that's why when people ask me "why were you even into LO in the first place" I don't have any one answer, because I can't fully explain how something made me feel to justify why it's good to someone who can see from the outside - without rose-colored glasses - that it evidently isn't. It's very much a "you had to be there" type of thing.

Unfortunately, nowadays even the 'best' LO panels in S3 still don't come close to what the S1 panels accomplished - because for many of us, the rose-colored glasses are gone, we can't appreciate the good among the bad because we know now how bad it truly is and so the good just feels like wasted attempts at trying to recreate something it can no longer be. It "came back wrong" so to speak.

LO came back just regular. But our journey to resurrecting it changed us to such a degree that even its closest intimacies are now foreign to us. Sorry dude.

This is still probably one of my favorite panels out of the entirety of S3 for being as close to "old LO" as I've seen since S2, and even it feels like a mistake, an accident, how could a panel like this exist in S3 when so much of it is a dumpster fire? It's like a flower growing in the ruins of an apocalyptic wasteland.

But wasn't that always the case? Isn't that 'always' what LO has been, since the very beginning? A poorly cobbled together mess of writing and panels that, every now and then, manages to leave an impression that makes you feel something? Did we ever truly know LO? Or have we just been relying entirely on an idea of it that we've built up in our heads that when it does do exactly what it's evidently always done (even if not made apparent until looking back on it in hindsight) we think it "came back wrong"?

[harley-sunday]

Renaissance

Renaissance [noun]

re·​nais·​sance ˌren-ə-ˈsän(t)s  -ˈzän(t)s 

1. capitalized : the period of European history between the 14th and 17th centuries marked by a flourishing of art and literature inspired by ancient times and by the beginnings of modern science 2. often capitalized : a movement or period of great activity (as in literature, science, and the arts) 3. literal translation from French : re-birth

Summary: Charles wins the Monaco Grand Prix.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: None.

Word count: 765 (a short one, I know)

AN: You know I had to come out of retirement after Charles winning his home Grand Prix. Hope you enjoy this little drabble. Please come yell at me in the comments ♥

Part of Rituals

Charles Leclerc, in 2021, when asked if he has any race rituals: “At every start of the season, until F2, my grandmother used to take my race suits, remove one of the sponsor logos and sew a little cross instead of it. Now grandma is gone, I can’t sew and the ritual is over. I was thinking about keeping a lucky charm in my pocket but then I thought to myself: if you need an object [to feel better], then you are missing something on the mental aspect, so I let it go.”

[Angel of God, my guardian dear,]

The ritual is not over.

You can sew and the ritual is not over. 

Charles took pole today, you can sew, and the ritual is not over.

[To whom God's love commits me here,]

It’s late. It’s late and with the rest of the world asleep you are wide awake, hunched over in a chair, with the red of the Ferrari race suit draped across your legs, and the floor lamp casting a golden glow over your lone figure. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the window earlier, the scene eerily reminiscent of a renaissance painting you saw in the Musée des Beaux-Arts in Nice last year. 

Freddy is sleeping at your feet, tired after spending yet another day barking at race cars from the safety of the balcony. The gray hairs around his nose are becoming more and more prominent, a cruel reminder of his upcoming sixth birthday next month. Except for Freddy’s soft snores, the house is quiet, and it almost feels like a sanctuary. 

[Ever this day, be at my side,]

Modern Formula One suits don’t have sponsor patches, everything is printed on, and so instead of having to decide which patch to remove, you try to find a piece of thread that matches the yellow of the Ferrari logo. There’s no exact match, everything you have is a slightly different shade, and after a few minutes you give up and take out a bobbin with black thread instead. 

It’s been years since you’ve last sewn something but your muscle memory makes feeding the thread through the eye of the needle easy. You pick up the fabric and set to work, using a simple back stitch to sew a cross in the black of the Ferrari horse. No one will even know it’s there, not unless they look closely, and people hardly ever do. It only takes a couple of minutes to finish and once you’re done you run your fingers over the stitches, while you say a quiet prayer. 

Careful not to disturb Freddy, you get up then and drape the suit back over the chair, making sure it looks untouched. You leave the light on, it’s almost morning anyway, and make your way back to the bedroom. 

Charles stirs when you lay down next to him and when you settle into him you can feel him press a kiss to your forehead, “Lucie is back to sleep?” 

For a moment you’re confused, not sure what he means, but then you remember you told him you’d go check on your daughter earlier. You nod and tilt your head back so he can let his lips ghost over yours, “She is. You should be as well, chéri. You’ve got a race to win tomorrow.” 

[To light and guard, Rule and guide.]

Charles takes it all in from the top step of the podium, lets his eyes wander over the sea of people below him, the water in Port Hercule glistening in the distance. He can feel his smile growing wider when he finds his family in the cheering crowd - his mom and his brothers looking at him with watery eyes and soft smiles, and her, with their daughter perched on her hip, biting her lip to keep from crying. He wants nothing more than to hug them, hold them close, and celebrate with them, but he knows that will come later, in the quiet hours after the public celebrations, back in the sanctity of their home.

It’s time for the national anthem and so Charles takes his cap off and places his hand over his heart. When his fingers graze over what he quickly realizes is a cross, embroidered onto the Ferrari horse, he has to swallow back tears. He didn’t see it before the race, doubt anyone has, but now that he knows it’s there he never wants to race without it ever again. 

The ritual is not over and Charles Leclerc is a Monaco Grand Prix race winner.

[seffen]

What is your favourite art piece you made? Also do you have any tips on drawing I hope you have a good day. Also, thank you for answering my asks. Thank you for that :)

You're welcome, it's no problem for me. I'm sick and not working right now, so I have a lot of free time.

When it comes to drawing, I don't think I'm the right person to ask for that kind of advice, I intentionally break proportions to fit my vision and style. I also didn't study it anywhere, I'm self-taught, they wanted to take me to art school, but I didn't go there, maybe it was for nothing, but I don't regret it.So I may not have that much knowledge professionally. Mostly I learned by observation, sketching, sometimes even tracing some angles. And of course, a lot of drawing and a lot of repetition and mistakes.

Now I think I've found my style and I'm getting quite successful. Now I like to paint with strokes and silhouettes. I also paint with shading, which is cool too. I wanted to stop on the strokes in more detail, with them to draw quite easy, even you can not use layers if you are not afraid to make a mistake. do all quite simple, example below:

You use the big spots first, cut off the excess, cut off the main parts, and then finalize them. It's simple. The main thing at such drawing mentally always imagine where what is located. With dynamics it works the same way, but there it will be necessary to memorize more details what goes where and where it should be.

If we talk about hatching sketches, I draw intuitively here, I don't make any circles or drawings. Sometimes it can be a letdown, so you have to be more careful:

I should also confess that Overwatch has helped me a lot in drawing poses, I often spin characters there and visually memorize how they look from different angles.

I also have something to confess. I'm sorry.

And I realize you asked this first, but I think my favorite work of mine is Angels. I drew them with a lot of inspiration and I like them a lot. I realize that subscribers are the least interested in them since I started my blog with Cult, and I can't blame anyone for that:

https://www.tumblr.com/seffen/754228679256801280/i-sometimes-draw-for-myself-i-like-this?source=share

If you are interested in the work on the culture, it's probably the work I'll throw below:

https://www.tumblr.com/seffen/750655303210647552/so-i-did-what-i-wanted-i-understand-that-this?source=share

I like to create sort of "blueprints" that I can then rely on and where I can know exactly how they look to me.

[coveteddilf]

— EYES ON ME + reo mikage x afab!reader (18+)

synopsis — while taking yourself on a fancy dinner, you run into pro soccer player reo mikage at the restaurant. he decides he wants you as his entertainment for the night, and you agree, even if it is in an unused staff room. afterward, he gives you an offer you can’t help but accept.

✿ content — aged up characters (20’s), afab!reader, pro player!reo + soft dom!reo + body positive!reo, heavy smut, pet names (bunny, baby, sweetheart), fingering, unprotected sex (pls use condoms guys lol), inappropriate use of ties, reo is big on consent in this one guys, nsfw + minors dni

✿ words — roughly 7k

✿ rating — explicit (18+)

✿ notes — this was written with my best friend ( @seehaven ) in mind. i’ve owed her about 10 fanfics for around 2 years, so this is my first to make it up to her lol this is not beta’d in any way, and i didn’t even re-read it (i really wanted to get it out before reo’s birthday ended), so if there’s any glaring errors, let me know. otherwise, eat your hearts out. happy birthday you purple-haired bastard.

( requests open @ofbarou! )

Rarely do you get to go out and spend time at a restaurant as fancy as the one you and your friends made reservations for tonight. Stepping into the extravagant entrance alone makes you feel like you’ve stepped into another world, with the plush red curtains and chandeliers made of diamonds and gold. Things are expensive in a main city like this one - high rise buildings and penthouses that boast wealth on top of stories and stories of infrastructure. You’re sure that the cost of the meal you’re about to eat will cost more than you usually spend on groceries in a month.

But it feels good to get out of the apartment; it feels good to slip something sexy on and take a night out on the town, even if it’s with friends you don’t normally see. Maybe that’s part of the appeal itself, being a different person for a night.

Even seated at your table, you can tell no money was spared in making sure the atmosphere and the quality of product was correct. The burgundy polyester napkin that the waiter draped across your lap makes your toes curl in heels you typically don’t wear. If you weren’t feeling luxurious in the little black slip dress you’d picked out, you certainly do now, when the waiter returns with a glistening bottle of wine. 

Your friends engage in little conversations across the table, and the three of them seem to be keeping up with the social expectations here pretty easily. While you’re in awe of the place, you’re a little…bored, sitting stagnant at the table, bouncing your feet beneath the cloth-covered surface. You’d much rather be looking at the art sprawling over the walls or the opulent architecture that makes up the building. 

When you’ve all placed your orders, the waiter takes the menus from you, compliments the lavender shade of your nails before he walks away. It warms your cheeks, and you can’t help but push a stray piece of hair behind your ear. You got them done just for this dinner. It was nice to treat yourself sometimes - you work hard for your money and spending it on making yourself feel good should be more of a priority.

You smile to yourself after thinking that.

People in your life are often telling you to be less-cautious, take more chances, to be less afraid of the unknown. You know that you’ve missed out on some good things by not taking leaps of faith more often.

You excuse yourself from the table for a moment, make some excuse about using the restroom, and fold your napkin nicely on the table before you go. While you’re not normally so meticulous, you want to keep up appearances in such an immaculate place, one where there’s not even a single item in disarray on the main floor.

Taking this time to look around, you find yourself drawn to a local artist’s work hung neatly on the wall. It certainly appeals to the general vibe the restaurant tries to make come across, and you almost want to touch your fingers to the dried paints of the feature. There’s a long moment where you hold the tiny little purse slipped over your shoulder a tad too tightly, fighting the urge to actually give into the impulsive thought.

The woody notes of an expensive cologne bring you out of your thoughts a breath or two later - you spin around with a sharp inhale when you realize someone is right next to you. Your face heats, and your body clenches in surprise, and you let out your gasp like a relieved sigh when it doesn’t seem to be someone who works here coming to yell at you for gawking at the painting for minutes on end.

Instead, it seems to be a soccer star that you’ve only seen on television and youtube interviews. 

Somehow you hadn’t realized that time had slowed since the Reo Mikage stepped into frame, because when it speeds back up, you feel out of breath. Frazzled, you hurry to make apologies, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Am I in your way?” You step away from him instead of closer, despite the fact that your body is screaming at you to do the exact opposite for the love of god. He seems to think you being flustered is either funny or endearing because he laughs, and it’s like hearing the chorus of your favorite song again for the first time in years.

“You’re fine,” Reo says in English, and it’s magical. He gives you this cocky little smirk that would look annoyingly smug on anyone else, but it just makes Reo look unbearably handsome. “I saw you get up from your table, and I figured I’d come find you.” 

You’re not sure what he means by that, but the words make your stomach flutter in a good way. You attempt to ask ‘why?’ but when you open your mouth, nothing really comes out. You’d known when you walked in that the VIP section in the south of the room had been occupied, the area secluded from the other tables in the restaurant, and filled with pretty important-looking business men. But you can guess that maybe that was where Reo had been hiding. You would have noticed the shock of purple hair and magenta eyes.

His suit looks expensive (and tailored, if the way it hugs his muscled arms and legs is any indication - you’d hate to see him turn around and catch you staring at the other thing the clothing was clinging to), and the grey jacket and navy tie do wonders for accentuating his features. And now that you’ve spent too long gawking at him again, Reo looks like he’s letting out a relieved chuckle. “For a second, I thought I’d lost my edge - now I can see you’re just embarrassed.” 

Reo exudes confidence, and for just a moment, you want to bask in it. You’re still not sure why he’s talking to you, but you’re taking advantage of every second you can get with him. 

“You have a beautiful smile,” He starts, taking one step closer over polished marble floors that are so damn clean that you can almost see your reflections in them. The space between you dwindles when he copies the motion a second time. You’re in a corridor off the main dining area that would elude to more privacy, but there are still plenty of wait-staff meandering around. You don’t want them to get the wrong impression. “I wish I had been the one making you blush like that, but I guess I can correct that in the future.”

The man’s tone oozes something that warms you from the inside out, and suddenly, even in such little clothing, you feel like you’ve been enveloped by it. 

And that’s when it hits you: Reo Mikage is flirting with you. 

“You could start right now?” You say, and it’s like something has possessed you for a moment, because in no other context would you ever say something like that to someone like him. While you’re generally not bad at talking to people, you’re never outright flirty with someone who makes your heart thump like a hammer to your rib cage, and so blatantly.

Seemingly, Reo likes the remark though, because he’s throwing his head back for a much fuller laugh, and it makes his cheeks pink too. “Yeah? I guess you’re right. Beating me right to the punch.” By now, he’s backed you both into more of a corner behind the wall, the original painting that had caught your eye some fifteen, twenty feet away. Your attention has been stolen by something far more important.

“I’ve been told that your non-dominant hand is stronger than your dominant one, watch out for my left hook.” You tease. Reo must delight in it because the words seem to change the light in his eyes; it’s shifted into something competitive, teasing, excited.

And while you’ve definitely known that he’s taller than you, it’s much more noticeable with him towering over you like this, a large hand slowly moving to wrap two large fingers around your much smaller wrist. 

It feels as if you’ve entered another world with him. 

You can still hear the muffled sounds of the restaurant through the corridor some feet away, but it’s more like white noise when all you want to focus on is the sound of Reo’s voice and the way his laugh reverberates through you.

“You know, I almost believe that.” Reo tilts his head, smile still staining his cheeks amused, “I’m here for a business meeting that’s gotten so boring that I want to gnaw my own arm off. I’d much rather entertain myself with you.” 

The words are so blunt that you don’t hesitate to answer quickly after he says, “What do you say?”

“Yes.”

You both look at one another for a moment, tension palpable, before Reo breaks the moment with a pleased laugh. His fingers tighten around your wrist and he tries to pull you along down the corridor. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say. And to think, I almost called those idiots to come grab me after sneaking out of the back of the restaurant,” He says a little more to himself.

“Lucky me,” You murmur under your breath. You follow dutifully, heels clicking on hard floors, and you’re both at a speed-walk by the time Reo seems to find where you’re supposed to be going. A door marked ‘STAFF ONLY’ in a golden plaque and little detail. 

He notices your unease after reading the door and shakes his head, “Don’t worry.” He lets go of your wrist momentarily, and calls for one of the nearby floor staff. They talk for a moment out of earshot, and there’s a flash of a second when you seem to come to your senses.

‘What the hell am I doing?’ You think. A series of unwanted thoughts about how crazy this all is, how someone, somewhere has to be joking with you. You don’t just run into a pro soccer player that you’ve admired and supported for some time at a restaurant far too rich for your blood. Something in the universe must be playing a trick on you, because why on Earth would Reo Mikage want—

As if sensing the mood change, Reo quickly sprints back to you. Obviously he would be fast, considering his profession, but you hadn’t realized what that would look like up close. “Hey, eyes on me.” He says, and you can’t do anything but listen. You wouldn’t take your eyes off of him ever again, if you could help it.

He soothes your nerves as he pulls you into the now-unlocked staff room. Reo says something about his family knowing the owners that you don’t quite hear, the blood roaring in your ears now that you’re alone with Reo in a much smaller space. The room must be somewhat soundproofed, and it looks like maybe it was a previously used break room, based on the sturdy wooden table and the miscellaneous items like paper-towels and cleaning supplies on a table in the far corner of the room. 

You blink at him as your eyes readjust to the new lighting. Whereas the previous room had been a dim, soft white glow, this room had more of an edgy, blue glow to it without the main lights on. The only light source hung on the wall in the corner of the room, much more modern and much less oppulent than the decor outside of the door. It adds a striking splash of color to Reo’s angular face and bright hair, and you wonder how one person could be so handsome.

“Can I still spoil you, or do you want to keep playing i-Spy with the decor?” He teases, slipping into your space again. While his tone is playful, you can see the widening of his pupils, like he’s got something in his sights that he wants to consume. You remember from Reo’s time at Blue Lock that everyone called the group of people from the program ‘egoists’. You can certainly see now how they got their name.

Reo moves with the confidence of someone who gets what he wants, and while it makes your mind spin, he apparently wants you. 

“Do something interesting then,” You play back, reaching for his hand that’s come out to rest on your hip. “I don’t want to have to call some friends and slip out the back door.” 

The words barely leave your mouth before his lips are capturing yours with a growl. Reo kisses like he has something to prove, and maybe he does. Maybe he wants to prove that he can make your brain melt out of your ears, or maybe he wants to convince you that you’re crazy because never in your wildest dreams did you think something like this could actually happen.

You’ve always been a passive sports fan - soccer is fun, it’s engaging, and the players like Reo work hard to make their dreams come true. You’ve admired many of them over the years, but you’ve always had a soft spot for the man with magenta eyes and ladder to climb. Mikage is a household name at this point, and you’re glad it’s not just for the business-aspect anymore.

He presses harder with calloused fingers into your hips, and you shudder and shake in his grasp, mouth opening in a gasp at the sudden sensation. Reo takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into the warm cavern waiting for him, groaning at the taste of you. Warmth pools in your belly, and it’s much different from the previous kind that made your chest tight as Reo complimented your smile.

One of Reo’s hands curls possessively over the side of your neck, and it makes you feel small. You’ve always felt like too much - too loud, too emotional, too everything, but simply by existing, Reo’s managed to coax the roaring inferno of your anxiety into ashes. You find yourself relaxing into his touch, tongue meeting his as it skims across your teeth. 

Your breaths mingle as well as the taste of too-sweet wine and dry bourbon where your mouths meet. Backwards, Reo begins leading you toward the steady wood table in the middle of the room. There are no chairs around it, so it must not be used very frequently, you think. You nearly stumble back and Reo holds onto you a little more closely now.

The heat of him distracts you enough that you almost don’t hear him speak, “Don’t tell me you’re a klutz.” It’s clearly a tease, but if you’ve learned anything in your short time interacting with him, it’s that Reo loves to be teased too.

“What, don’t want me falling for you?” 

The smile he presses to yours is answer enough, but when he whispers a soft, “Wouldn’t be so bad,” you nearly lose your footing entirely. 

Luckily, he manages to catch you, lean you down on your back over the surface of the smooth wood beneath you, and nestle himself into the space he creates between your legs. The little black dress you’ve chosen tonight wasn’t very long to begin with, and Reo seems to pick up on the fact that it slides easily up your thighs at the angle he’s keeping your legs. 

He catches sight of the small number you’re wearing beneath it and whistles, pupils dilating. “Were you expecting someone?” His voice sounds dark, a little more on-edge than it had previously. If you had been in less of a whirlwind mindset, you might have even thought the man was jealous.

“No,” You start, cheeks stained red and hands splayed over the wood beneath you. For a moment, you try to close your legs, embarrassed, but his sturdy frame halts any progress you might have made there. You try not to bring your hands to cover your underwear in your nerves, “I just like to feel cute. Is there something wrong with that?”

And just like that, his expression softens. “Nothing wrong with that at all,” He sees your panicked expression, the warmth in your cheeks and says a hot, “bunny,” against your lips before he’s following the same design from before. You try not to react too harshly, but the pet name makes your thighs squeeze around his hips where he holds you open, so it must be kind of obvious.

Your hands pull at his clothing and Reo sits back enough to help you gain some progress. He makes quick work of the suit jacket and tie, and it gives you ample opportunity to rove your gaze over his body. His fingers undo the buttons of his dress shirt quickly enough that it’s obvious he’s experienced in the motion, and you can’t look away when his skin is exposed to you.

Soccer players train their bodies in ways you couldn’t imagine firsthand - build themselves up and break themselves down. Blue Lock’s broadcasts years ago had proven that they go through so much, and Reo was no exception to the rule. He’d completely changed from his beginning to the end of his time in Blue Lock - every interview he’d given made that clear.

You feel a sense of pride, seeing him stand so confidently in front of you, even with as turned on and disheveled as his appearance is now. “You’re beautiful,” You say before you can stop it. Reo’s eyes grow wide and his face heats rapidly. 

He stutters out a flustered, “Y-You can’t say those kinds of things that casually!” He leans back over you to place his mouth over yours, presumably to shut you up. There are blotches of pink over his collarbones, his chest. You wonder how many people have wished to find out what that looked like in-person, and now you get to experience it. “I’m supposed to be making you frazzled, not the other way around,” He grumbles into your mouth, scraping your tongue with his teeth a moment later.

But something in the atmosphere changed, like Reo is a little more himself, less the persona you see on the covers of magazines or in front of a camera. He cups your face with both large hands and steals your breath away.

When it seems like his patience has run out, he stands back up to his full height and strips himself from the waist down too, toeing off polished dress shoes and kicking slacks and designer belts to the floor. His dark briefs leave little to the imagination, and your tongue desperately wants to follow the inseam of the only clothing item keeping you from seeing him bare. The outline of him bulges at the stretchy material. He likely wears them because they decrease panty-lines in his suit, but you can’t help but admire how fantastic they make him look.

He holds out a hand, and you take it without a second thought. When Reo sits you up, he begins to pull the dress already hiked up past your waist toward your chest, over your head. It feels odd to be laid so bare, just a lacey little number covering you from such an intense look, but it does little to deter your arousal.

It should be embarrassing, how wet you are already, and you’re thankful the panties you picked out are a shade of charcoal. You’d thought they look great on you, and clearly Reo agrees by the low pitch of his voice when he says, “Let me get a look at you.”

You’re confused at first, until you realize your hands have come up to hide your chest. You never wear a bra with a slip dress, and now you’re fighting the urge to cover yourself from his gaze. His approval would mean the world to you, and you’re not sure why you’re doubting how he likes what he sees when he’s looking at you like a starving man at a feast.

Slowly, you put your hands down to your sides, leaning back on the table. There’s a little shake to your muscles where you have to fight the nerves, the impulse to cover yourself back up in case Reo says something that would absolutely destroy your self-esteem, but no comment like that ever comes.

Instead, you’re greeting with a groan, like the soccer star has been punched in the gut. “Oh my god, you’re gorgeous. And you’re over here giving me compliments.” Reo huffs haughtily, hands hesitantly slipping over your neck, down your shoulders. He gives you a look before touching. “This alright?” His voice is gruff, like he’s barely holding himself back from just giving in and doing whatever he wants.

Like he’s always gotten it as soon as he’s asked for it.

It seems like this time is no different, because something creaks in your chest, unbidden and soft and full of warmth at the thought that this man, who anyone would die to get their hands on, would ask permission to touch you. His thoughtful nature despite being someone who usually takes life by the horns splits you in half, makes you spill out the sides of your person and rearrange yourself into something different.

Reo is just a man, too. He’s eager and excited, and his hands immediately find purchase as soon as you give him a quiet ‘yes’ on sensitive skin. He leans over you, cups the creamy skin of your thigh with one hand, the curve of your breast in the other, mouth falling to yours for a moment, then guiding its way toward your neck.

You open your mouth to beg him for a mark, but he beats you to it, the blunt points of his teeth on the junction of your shoulder, your collarbone. It sends shocks through you, and your legs tighten around his waist where he’s managed to make a home for the second time.

The girth of him presses against your folds where he lays his weight, and you feel the kick drum of his pulse where his cock throbs in an effort to get closer. “Reo,” Your voice sounds unlike you, breathy and full of want, and your fingers pull at the small ponytail in his hair, letting the purple locks free. They fall over his shoulder, make the cut of his jaw that much sharper when he looks up at you, meets your eye as he sucks a bruise into the jut of your breast. You’ll be covered in imprints of his teeth for days, at this rate.

That shouldn’t warrant the gush of slick that leaves you at the thought, but there’s no way he’s missed it, pressed this close. He spreads your thighs wide with his hands as he takes your nipple into his mouth, rolling the bud with his tongue, feeling the goosebumps break out over your skin at the sensation. You gasp, and it sounds an awful lot like his name and the word ‘please’ mxied together.

You’re overwhelmed with sensation, and the silky softness of your panties give you no friction, even as he ruts against the hot line of your folds. You squirm, needy and restless as he takes his time with you. It’s almost unbearable, by the time he’s switched to the opposite one, then pressed kisses down your sternum. He’s not a needy grind away from you anymore, now that he’s moved his hips back to get at your chest from a better angle, and you find yourself grabbing hold of his hair, pulling his face back to yours.

“Please?” You breathe against his lips, voice shaky and eyes dark when they meet his bright ones. 

“How can I deny you when you ask like that, bunny?” He nips at your lip, then slithers one hand down to the core of you, rubbing slow circles over your hole through the silk of your underwear. “Do you feel how wet you are right now?” Reo’s voice meets arousal and amusement, maybe a tinge of awe, if you could concentrate enough to parse it all. 

Some sort of shame floods your system at his words, but it seems to be the good kind, if the way your hole clenches at the promise of his fingers seems to be any indication. Reo notices, of course. You almost want to damn his impeccable ability to read the room, but it does get you a firmer press of his fingers to your heat, so you can’t complain too whole-heartedly. Your hips press into the motion, and the tacky wetness begins to leak over your thighs in the overflow.

You move a hand to shield your face from his gaze, but he quickly pulls it away, face stern. “I want your eyes on me, sweetheart. Don’t look away.” His ego rears its head, but it doesn’t stop the pulse of want that echoes through you at the words. You’d do anything he asked, you think.

“O-Okay,” You swallow thickly, wetness creeping on the edges of your vision the moment his fingers dip below the fabric of your panties. He grazes the smooth, wet edges of your folds, and sinks a single digit into the heat of you. A shuddery yelp leaves you, and you can’t tell if your body wants to push into it or get away. The sensation is overwhelming, but it leaves your body feeling hot and too-sensitive.

“I should have known you would be a cry-baby. The ones with the prettiest smiles cry the easiest,” Reo soothes as he swipes a tear from your cheek where it falls as a betrayal. You try to protest, that you’re not crying because you’re upset, but he shushes you with a quiet, “I know, baby, I know. Feels good. It’s okay - just feel it.”

And rarely do you just give into that urge - just feel something because you want to, because you deserve to. You’re not being too much, according to Reo, who seems to eat up every sound that escapes you as he curls his finger inward, then adds a second. You’re practically panting at this point, and you’d try to feel some semblance of pity for yourself if the wide stretch of two, then three of Reo’s fingers didn’t feel like one of those coming-to-god moments.

“Please - please, I’m so ready,” You whine, and Reo laughs, even as the words make him palm his cloth-covered cock with his free hand. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” He tries, crooking his fingers, letting your slick drip down over the meat of his palm. “Although, I’m not sure that it’ll be much of an issue.” He still sounds cocksure, and there’s a part of you that wants to disarm him as much as he’s disarmed you. 

You’re distracted by him pulling his fingers free. Reo wipes them over your thigh while he sticks his tongue out, and you both laugh a little at the childish behavior. It’s nice to be able to laugh during sex - you know plenty of people who take it too seriously, and Reo is just the right kind of charming to keep the mood light. 

When he finally shucks down his own underwear, the jut of his heavy cock is prominent where it slaps messily against his abdomen. There’s a pearly slick at the tip of him, and you can’t help but huff out a quiet, “You were making fun of me for being wet?” He has the decency to look at least a little sheepish as he pulls off your underwear for you, throwing the garnment to the ground like it personally offended him despite his previous praise for its aesthetic. 

“You can’t blame me after hearing the noises you’ve been making,” He gripes back, and it’s like you have a routine despite hardly knowing one another at all. The easy feeling floods you as he finally presses the tip of his cock to your sopping hole. 

Reo’s gotten distracted with the way you’re spread out for him, your legs held wide by his large palms, the way you’re trying to suck him in as he passes the outline of his dick over your wet labia. He presses the very tip of his dick to your clit, uses a finger to hold you open as he gently rotates himself in circles over you. An overstimulated shuffle happens and a long whine leaves you when he doesn’t stop the motion.

When it seems like he’s had too much, he closes his eyes, ruts inexpertly into the wetness of your mound and coats himself with your juices. “You gonna let me fuck you, bunny?” He presses, voice deep and achy with arousal. It’s the first time it hits you that he wants you just as badly as you want him right now. It makes you just as impatient as him.

Your nod is all he needs.

He guides himself to your hole, spreads your thighs with his own, and angles himself down as he presses into you with one long thrust. Gravity does most of the work for him. It’s not long before the meat of your thighs and ass are meeting his pelvis. It’s sticky and warm between you, and you’d be shy about how wet you were if Reo wasn’t keening at the feeling of being fully sheathed inside of you. 

Reo’s eyes are wide and full of emotion - he’s overwhelmed too, it seems, but his mouth gapes open slightly when he gives a gentle roll of his hips inside of your wet warmth. It feels a little like he’s spearing your guts, being bent in half the way he has you, but the incredibly full-feeling is welcome. 

Large hands hold onto your legs, hold them closer to your chest as Reo leans more of his muscled weight on you. It makes his cock feel deeper, wider as he fucks into the core of you with a steadily building rhythm. The first few slaps of skin are so wet that it brings tears back to your eyes. The glide of skin on skin is easy this way, and your cunt tightens each time Reo pulls out and shoves his way back in.

He’s like a storm - the force of him receding and then plowing back in tenfold. You know your cries are loud each time he slams home, pressing delightfully against sensitive spots you weren’t even aware you had, and it’s only confirmed when he reaches for his tie still slung over the corner of the table beside them. “Open your mouth, babe —“

The words are somewhat slurred, like maybe Reo is a little cock-drunk too. He’s panting over you, hips unable to stop moving, even as he deems this little interaction a necessary interlude to your current scenario. You’re not really listening though, just clenching around the intrusion inside of you, milking his cock by rocking your hips back and forth to meet his.

He hisses like a cat when you hit a particularly good angle, it seems, because not only do you feel the tightness in your abdomen grow, but you also feel the way his body clenches, the way his dick throbs inside of you. Reo leads a thumb into your mouth, presses it against your tongue. Like second nature, your mouth opens wider to let him in.

Reo groans, hips stuttering at the warm-wet of your mouth, and he wishes he had all of the time in the world to use you. You know that look -  and the fact that it’s directed toward you sends you reeling, hips shoving against Reo’s with more force. Breathless, takes the end of the tie and presses it to your mouth. “Bite down on this bunny - they’re gonna hear you if we’re not careful,” He whispers, and you follow his orders.

It’s nice to let Reo take the lead; you despise making the decisions all of the time, so it’s a welcomed change of pace to have someone who so dutifully picks up the reigns and apparently fucks you into a sex-induced stupor. You whine around the fabric of his expensive tie and try not too feel too badly about the fabric slowly but surely becoming wetter and wetter as you are around Reo’s dick.

His hips piston a little harder, at little more of an angle, and the next thrust has you seeing stars as he shoves in just that tiny bit more. Reo catches on based on the increased volume of your need, moans spilling out left and right, each a different rendition of ‘Reo’ and ‘please’ and ‘more.’

Holding himself above you with one hand, the other slips down to rub messy, wet patterns over your clit. The tightening of your pussy, the way your thighs seem to tremble around him as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge, it all seems to be undoing him. The sweat on his temple makes the edges of his purple hair a deep eggplant, and there’s a waging war between the pleasure and the fierceness in his eyes.

Your eyes widen when the stifling heat of your orgasm rushes like a tital wave to the forefront of your mind. Your moans become more babbling, nonsensical things, but Reo can hear that it’s supposed to be his name, doesn’t take the time to think about how you knew it without him even telling you. 

He really puts his back into it, the echoing slaps of skin-on-skin filling the room, along with the wet squelch of your pussy wrapping around him. Reo’s groaning too, thighs shaking as he speeds up his thrusts. “Come for me, bunny. I want you to cum for me.” His voice is commanding, but there’s this tinge of sweetness that undoes you.

It only takes one thrust, two, three - before you’re legs are clenching around his hips like a vice, and his only choice is to rut into the heat of you while you ride it out. His own whines are loud without a tie to muffle his voice too, but you’ve never heard a sound that turned you on more in your life. No need to hide how much he wants you, how good you’re making him feel. You feel powerful. You feel important.

And you feel a little special, the way he’s grinding into with needy little thrusts and clenching his jaw so hard he might break something, repeating, “Yes, bunny - yes,” as he pulls out suddenly, leaving you empty and distraught about it. You try to whine, but it’s quickly shut down as he comes across your stomach and chest with a few quick strokes to his cock. The tip is so pink and its throbbing in his hand where he can hardly seem to touch himself, oversensitive and pleasure-filled. You remove the tie from your mouth.

“Fuck,” Reo shudders, eyes closed tightly as he comes down from his own high. There’s a moment where you’re both panting, bodies full of tremors and happy hormones, and then he’s laying his body over yours, careful not to squash you under his weight.

He presses a kiss to your cheek, your jaw, your chin, then oh-so gently lifts your mouth to his. Without hesitation, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him to you. Your frantic heartbeats are slowing down in time together, and you feel incredibly connected now. Reo murmurs how amazing you are against your lips, a slew of other compliments, and it makes your chest tight, your heart fuzzy.

When the moment has begun to pass though, you both cringe at the cooling, tacky feeling between your bodies. Still, it helps you both laugh. “Hold on for a second,” Reo murmurs, the first to be able to use his legs again as he stands and holds his spent dick in his palm. He waddles over to the paper towels on the opposite corner table, runs one or two through the water in the small sink hidden neatly beside it, then waddles back.

He’s perfunctory in his cleaning job, but you can’t really say you blame him when your legs have forgotten how to work too.

When you’re both as clean as you’re likely going to get, he tosses the paper towels in a small trash can against the wall. Reo lets out a sigh of relief, looking more relaxed than he had all night. There’s a swell of pride at the thought that you are the reason he looks like that.

A small smile welcomes your face and he eagerly kisses it, humming with affection. “You’re amazing,” Reo promises as he pulls away. 

You both get dressed as well as you can. Your dress seems fine, although you’re not really sure you’ll be able to wear your underwear now that they’ve been stretched out as much as they have around Reo’s hand. Something must show on your face because Reo says, “I’ll buy you a new pair. Hell, I’ll buy you 10 new pairs.” 

It makes you laugh. You don’t know Reo that well, but you have a feeling that there’s less joke to that statement than the average person would think there is.

When you’re semi-put-together, Reo says, “I had the waitstaff tell your friends that you weren’t feeling well. I have to get back to my meeting, but there really is a car out back that will take you home so that you don’t have to try and walk home like this,” He huffs, disgruntled at how much he’s taken you apart, like he didn’t enjoy every second of it.

“Sorry about the underwear. I really will replace them,” Reo holds his hair tie in his mouth just a mere foot away, sloppily putting the hair at the back of his head up into a messy little ponytail. He looks…disheveled too. You don’t really feel bad. “Do you like soccer?”

You nod, and he smiles, “Come to my next game. I’ll fly you out, all expenses paid. And if you miss any work to be there, let me know. I’ll give you your yearly salary for any of the time you miss.” The grin he wears now is sly, confident. “My driver will give you as many tickets as you want. Sell them, give them to your friends - whatever. Just keep one for yourself.” 

Reo steps close again, drawing you into him. It’s a last kiss, of sorts. There’s a stab of panic at the thought of saying goodbye, but you really don’t want to be in the way when he’s got business to attend to. 

Still, when he pulls back, the look he gives you is reassuring. “Don’t forget, okay? I’ll be waiting.”

He unlocks the door, hands you the small bag you’d carried in with you, and looks around for something in the hall. When he apparently finds what he’s looking for, he points in the direction of the back of house and guides you outside of the door. One of the waitstaff smiles politely and gives you a quick, “This way, please.” You look to Reo and he smiles encouragingly.

“I’ll see you soon, right?” You nod. You say a quick goodbye, somewhat embarrassed, and he cackles, saluting you with a wink and a childish poke of his tongue from his lips. That soft little thing inside of your chest thuds painfully against your ribs. 

He watches you the entire way out of the restaurant and into the car from the long hallway. The last thing you see is him wave when the back door closes, and when you get inside of his fancy car, the driver nodding his hello to you, you realize the meal you ordered earlier has been remade and is in a small container for you. 

The note on top says, “Thought you might be hungry after that. xoxo” And then a phone number. Your face stays beet red, even as you open the container and begin to eat your food. He must have planned for things to go well in advance, enough to have the kitchen make your order when you left. You want to be annoyed at his presumptuous nature, but all it really does is make you want him more. You smile around your fork.

[stardayzzing]

I wanna know more about the deer!

Sorry this took so long!! This is a bit long and Im just gonna recycle the art for it but heres some more in depth information about the deer and elves!

(Sorry for any typos too!)

So for starters, EVERY greenwood/mirkwood elf has a deer. They are in a since like a piece of said elf's soul.

•The elves have a "coming of age" type situation with deer, when they reach an age similar to the age of about a 5 year old, the deer will often appear to them. Some have taken longer than others.

• The deer can express emotions similar to their elf, and even share opinions, such as not liking certain vegetables or liking the same colors!

•All deer are SLIGHTLY different. Wether their noses are a different shade, or their tails a brown color or their antlers larger or smaller. Even eye colors do not line up.

•Legolas's mother was the only elf with a doe who had blue eyes and a bright pink nose and ear tips!

•The gender of the deer does not apply to the elf though! Tauriel, who prefers she/her pronouns, has a large white buck as her deer. Legolas of course, has a doe.

Another thing about them, is that, while they are connected to a specific elf, if the elf dies or the deer dies, the other will not.

• If a deer dies, their elf will however feel extreme pain that can last many many years, though slowly fading to nothing but a dull throb. They cannot obtain a new deer though, even if the death was not their fault.

•If an elf dies and has no young offspring, they will leave and become wandering deer of the forest, though skittish of all but elves, and may at times help young ones back onto the paths.

•While elves cannot reconnect with deer, it is also not unknown to see a long forgotten deer grazing beside a deerless elf who may have been enjoying the wildnderness alone for a while.

While random deer cannot connect with random elves, some situations are different!!

•If a mother or father passes before their child reaches a certain age, it is mostly common that the parents deer will move on to be with the child instead.

•This happened with Legolas! His mother's deer watches over him now.

•Thranduil is in a similar situation.

Thranduil's, the Elk

•Despite all other elves having a deer, The first of the elvish leaders in the forest had an elk, which survived long enough to keep following the path and eventually end up Thranduil's despite everything.

•The elk, like in botfa, does die, and when it does, causes Thranduil great pain, however we all know he's capable of handling it. However, there is a mourning period to the loss of a deer/elk and afterwards, it oftens feel like losing a family member, considered almost as painful even as the loss of his wife.

•While the elk will eventually be reincarnated, should Legolas have offspring, until then, there would be no more elk.

•When reincarnated (a rare but not impossible thing that happens when some deer/elk die) instead of appearing, grown and mature, they will appear to their new elf as a fawn, small and fragile. This is the sign theyve been reincarnated rather than being a new deer.

Deer are very important to elven culture as well!

•Like how people see dwarven braids, and such things, deers are seen similarly!

•Only family can touch the deer, and a loved one. The deer seem to share this idea, steering away from strangers, huffing and puffing. Even friends can not get close to them often times.

•The only exception to this is if they are riders, which then sometimes others are brought onto their backs or enemies may of course touch them in battle. Riders have their own designated ways of still expressing their importance however, just differently from the gentler deer of the other elves that do nit see war.

•Deer will befriend another elf's deer, often times if the deers' elves are friends, but this will not allow the other elves to touch them.

•Tauriel and Legolas's deer are often found grazing and oacing together, but neither Tauriel nor Legolas will ever be able to touch nor approach them, as they simply do not feel that way for each other mutually.

Interracial children

•So this is of course a concern. Will children of say, an Elf and a Dwarf have a deer like their elven parent? The short answer? Maybe!

•The long answer? It depends purely on luck! Sometimes, a half-elf will receive a deer, though it will not be quite the same as an fully elf child.

•Often times, half elf children get deer who have bright splotches of colors, mismatched eyes, and similar. There's nothing wrong with these deer, but their elven magic is not as strong as those in the forest, which makes them look a tad different!

Other Facts:

•When outside of the forest, the deer of the elves will often times transform to appear as horses. This is because the deer are poached at times, so to protect themselves, they disguise themselves to the outside world.

•Most deer are bigger and stronger, a fully grown elf able to ride even a doe into battle if they needed.

•Sickly elves, with ailments that can not be easily healed, would be the ones to have deer of weak builds, smaller and more frail, but still strong and happy often times.

[This is an Elf OC of mine with their buck]

[hythlodaeus-mynewoldfriend]

Day 9: Lend an Ear no warnings. word count 899

“And that’s what happened,” Sib says, finally taking a breath, “We saved them but….they don’t believe that things can change here anymore.”

Demos nods, crossing his arms, looking down at the ground, “Makes sense, it’s not easy finding hope when war is all you’ve known. Or saw everything you’ve ever known come crashing down in an instant.”

Her tail flicks side to side, brow furrowing, “Then what are we going to do when neither occupied country wants to fight back?”

“Same as we did in Ishgard, keep setting the example that things can change. Just gonna take a little extra work is all.” Sib nods, shoulders starting to hang as Demos rubs her back, “You still did good today though. They won’t forget it.” He glances around the hideout frowning when he doesn’t see Yugiri. “I’m guessin’ Yugiri took it the hardest?”

“Hm? Yeah. I-I didn’t really know what to say and knew she’d want me to come back here first. I should go and look for her.”

He shakes his head, “You get some rest, I’ll find her.”

“You sure? I can go with you.”

“I got it, think I have a good idea where to look.” Siberite nods, turning to lay in the small darkened barracks. He watches to make sure she stays, relieved that she falls asleep near instantly when falling into the pillow, before making his way back up to the surface with his messenger bag containing his sketchbooks and art supplies. The sun begins to turn the sky orange as he finds high enough ground to see most of the water’s edge. It takes three scans of the area before he spots her sitting with her knees to her chest at the base of a tree using the bush surrounding it to shield herself from the world. He smiles when she glances up at his approach, “Hey you. Mind if I join you?”

She moves over, nodding at the open space before facing the water once more. He sits with his legs crossed enjoying the sound of the flowing river, as he waits for her to break the contemplative silence. “Did Siberite tell you what happened?”

He nods, “Figured you could use a friend….or someone to keep you company and watch your back at the very least.”

The hint of a smile graces her lips for the briefest moment, “Forgive me for making you search.”

“Wasn’t that hard. Had a good feeling of where you’d gone.”

“Oh?”

Demos nods, “Noticed how often you liked to stand by the water and just listen back in Eorzea. Especially when we were near the ocean.”

“I didn’t think anyone noticed.”

“I did. And then figured out why when we were in Ishgard.” She tilts her head giving him a curious look. “Stranger in a strange land looking for our sanctuaries, or as close as we can get them. For me it was the buildings. For you the flowing water.”

She smiles, turning away to hide the small blush in her cheeks. “It calms me, the sound. It helps me to remember the sway of the ocean when I close my eyes.” Her eyes close for a moment before opening them once more to look at him, “In truth I am not a Doman but a child of the sea. I was born beneath the waves of the Ruby Sea.” 

“Do you miss it?” She nods, Demos searching his bag, pulling out a thin sketchbook, flipping to a two page roughly shaded drawing of Sui-no-Sato. 

He taps her with the sketchbook, her eyebrows raising, “You-. You were there?” He nods, encouraging her to look through the pages. She sits enraptured at each page before she stops on a more detailed portrait of an old auri couple, tears brimming in her eyes. “You met my mother and father.” Her fingers lightly run down the page, tracing their faces, “They are in good health then?”

“Yeah. They were happy to hear you were well also, they miss you.”

“You have no idea how much comfort this knowledge brings to me.” 

Yugiri attempts to give it back to him, Demos pushing it away, “That’s for you. I was trying to add more detail to it before giving it to you, maybe put a little color, but think you need the little piece of home now more than ever.”

She closes the sketchbook, hugging it to her chest, closing her eyes to let a few tears fall, “Thank you, Demos.” He lets the silence fall between them once more, watching and admiring the way the sun's setting rays dance on her contended face. She turns to him, “You came originally to see how the people’s reaction to our actions weighed upon me.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. If you do though, I’ll gladly lend you an ear like you did for me.” He smiles, giving her a small nudge, “And if you want silence then I’m real good at doing just that.”

Yugiri smiles, moving closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Maybe we just sit in silence just a little bit longer then.” She puts his hand on her knee, covering it with her own. He waits until he feels her relax a little before looking out over the water, taking comfort in the feeling of her hand holding his.

[anhed-nia]

More Not-Blogtober for What Doesn't Ail Ya

In my latest experiment with manipulating this content mill to force my thoughts on an unsuspecting public, I say my piece about what makes Rob Zombie's movies uniquely important--and it's not all the nerdy references or the extreme sex and violence, or any of the usual stuff people surface. To quote Nurse Forsythe, "even old flesh is erotic flesh," and Zombie definitely got that particular memo:

The truth is that I don't even necessarily like everything I write about, despite my often positive/SEO-friendly tone. There's only one Rob Zombie movie that I absolutely love all of, and a few others with parts I enjoy--but the question of quality often has to take a back seat to the question of what something means, why it happens, what has brought it into public awareness. Another good example of this is the TERRIFIER series, which I really do not enjoy, though I sort of talked myself into appreciating it when I dealt with it for Blogtober a couple years ago. It doesn't take a genius to come up with the whole Evil Santa gag, but when I started connecting the dots I thought...is Evil Santa actually a time-honored anti-censorship avenger? I think this is possible; I think that, possibly, the horror world needs to formally institute ax-swinging Kris Kringle as a specific avatar of free speech:

To be totally honest I feel a little tired just knowing that I'm going to have to watch this movie in October, but the series does have its qualities. The most embarrassing revelation from my previous series rewatch (which I really don't think I can repeat) is that I really like TERRIFIER 2's popular novelty sunglasses scene. David Howard Thornton is a good clown and he makes it really funny, without diluting how actually-scary the scene is; being in a public place during business hours should feel safe, but it really doesn't here since any false move can set off Art and then he'll remind everyone that he's a supernatural being and strangely inescapable. But anyway, I was amused to see new novelty shades in the TERRIFIER 3 trailer, obviously Damien Leone realized that there's something there...for some reason. They should do a New Year's movie for TERRIFIER 4, there's always lots of gag glasses circulating around then.

[blazehedgehog]

What do you think of AI stuff like DAll-E or Midjourney?

It's not as useful as some people want you to believe. A lot of people pushing for the acceptance of this kind of software are the same tech bros that invested in crypto currency and were trying to sell you NFTs, which should tell you enough.

All of this "it's democratizing art!" and "finally, people can make art even if they don't have natural talent!" is snake oil.

You know where my "natural talent" came from? I started drawing when I was 4 or 5 years old. I drew at least one thing per day for over 20 years. I earned the ability to crank out dumb doodles on a whim.

You can't just show up one day and think you deserve to make artwork without putting in the work to learn and get good at it. Art's importance comes from the length of time needed to learn to master it. And I don't just mean drawings, I mean music, film, food, everything. No matter what it is, effort is value.

Financial value, sentimental value, it doesn't matter. All value is derived from the effort required to make it.

If you can just push a button and churn out artwork en masse, that devalues the importance of art. I mentioned this back with the Martin Scorsese ask, but it's like, which has more value? An original hand-made piece of artwork, or a print of that artwork? Prints are easy to mass produce. You can get a nice, high quality, glossy print of the Mona Lisa almost for free at this point. But the actual Mona Lisa, the original product, is actually valuable beyond value.

Art prints are literally just replicating a single file over and over and over again, but the original is one-of-a-kind and where all the effort is most evident. All the layers of paint can be felt as DaVinci sought perfection in his work. That's what makes it special. That's what makes it important.

My uncle does woodworking. He's so good at it, he gave my Mom an end table that looks like it came from a high-tier furniture store. A mass-produced end table like that would be at least $100. He made it by hand. It is beautiful. I will treasure that end table forever.

Effort is value.

If you spend any length of time looking at art websites where AI art is allowed (such as deviantart or pixiv), what you'll often find is these AI art chumps submitting massive amounts of artwork. They'll submit 10, 20, 40+ images a day, all from the same prompt, all with slight differences, because to them, every single thing the generator produces is worth submitting.

Even when I was drawing regularly, I could only really do maybe one finished piece per day. Two if you were lucky. Not only because sketching, inking, coloring and shading would take so long, but because after I was done the tank was empty. I'd used up all my effort for the day and had no more creativity left to give.

All the claims of "letting people without artistic talent generate art" are bogus because it throws the whole signal-to-noise ratio out of wack. Too much signal in itself becomes noise. And it devalues the effort that real artwork takes, because real artwork is now part of that noise, instead of rising above it.

When anyone can vomit out hundreds or even thousands of AI generated images that are of decent-to-good quality, a lot of what would be considered "b-tier" artwork ceases to be important anymore.

In a world where AI generated images are normalized, only the top 0.1% of artwork (your Mona Lisas) are considered to have real value. And who benefits the most from that kind of stuff? Rich people. Rich people who can afford to drop a million dollars on a historic piece of hand-crafted artwork. And just to be clear: these are exactly the same people who are trying to sell you on how important AI generator software is going to be going forward.

Or to simplify it even more: the people who stand to profit the most from AI "art" are the ones trying the hardest to sell you on its benefits. Because it benefits them more than it will ever benefit you.

Because, full disclosure, over this last week, a friend of mine has been having a lot of fun with Bing's new image generator feature, and I couldn't help but also play with the toy. The quality of images it can generate is shocking.

Microsoft, in their endless desperation to get anyone to use Bing on purpose, is clearly playing with fire here.

When effort is value and value is effortless, nothing has any value anymore.

I understand how, if you aren't an artist, this is all probably incredibly difficult to comprehend. The lure of fast and easy artwork from a simple line of text is a net gain to you, and nothing else really matters to your perspective. But imagine all of the up-and-coming artists who get completely pushed out of the conversation because of how easy it is to crap out endless AI generator output. I spent 20 years drawing every day for results that can be beaten in 20 seconds.

How many future artists is that going to discourage? There's a lot of buzz, now more than ever, about "late stage capitalism" and the way that's manifesting in our lives. When AI generated images are "good enough", how is that going to change the world around us?

You can't just think, "we'll figure something out" because the people trying to control this narrative do not have your best interests in mind. The people trying to control this narrative think they still don't have enough money yet even though there's not much money left to give them.

Their solution is to stop paying people to do work that they can get a computer to do for free, even if it means destroying the entire foundation of human culture. Long term destruction for short term gain. The same old story.

Are they going to get away with it?

(Another good ask along this line is over here, from February.)

[slavhew]

Any advice for doing back grounds?? Shits mad confusing im tryna practice drawing like characters actually in them and im going insane

ouu i can't say im a good authority on this, because I never did much in lieu of backgrounds except painting some sunsets. I do have some theoretical knowledge but i struggle putting it into perspective, because depth is hard.

I feel like the hardest thing really is making the characters look like they belong in the environment, and that sounds like your problem too? I think ? So it's what I'm going to try and address here.

One that is in my opinion by far THE most important is to start a composition with the background in mind. It is always going to look somewhat wonky if you don't

(Rest under cut)

(exhibit A)

(this is the reason why I often don't do backgrounds, because a vast majority of my work starts as a doodle that i polish up later) (and also I used a game screenshot here, I didn't actually draw the walkway)

compare this to the drawing that was my inspiration, and the difference in flow and focus is astronomical

A good background can be either super simple, just a backdrop or something your characters actively participate in; in both these instances, it will be much easier to draw it if you start out with it in mind and being able to adjust early on is a massive lifesaver

Second, and most often repeated I think, is to think of the space as 3D, and use some geometry to help yourself out

the most useful part of this to keep in mind imo, when it comes to scaling characters, is that they will also follow roughly that line of perspective that in reality "runs parallel" to the rest of them, but in perspective looks as if it gets smaller

There's probably plenty of tutorials on getting a feel for this out there, but looking at other people's art (and the classics) and sketching over them can help

this is only linear perspective examples, but there's lots of them out there! point is, the character, and many lines of the environment are going to "flow" into a point. It's usually demonstrated with tiles and suchalike, but as you can see it has many applications, depending on how exaggarated you want to make the perspective.

You should also be mindful of the perspective of your character versus the environment. A few things to keep in mind are their lines, and their color/shading.

Colors are relatively simple; keep the source of light in mind so the shading feels in line for both the character and environment (perspective lines help with that too).

(this is definitely not to scale but just, to illustrate my point)

And keep in mind that with especially pieces that have great depth, like landscapes, the color of the environment changes the further you look. The lines blur, the details are lost, and it fades into more solid colors. A character and their palette will be affected by this environmental lighting

With keeping the characters consistent with backgrounds, lines-wise, it really helps to block them in first, because you can easier keep track of how they look in relation to backgrounds, and fix accordingly early on.

it's good (and painful, honestly) to keep in mind how bodies are 3D objects too. I had this great reference for this point, that I forgot where i saved, so we have to do with my amateurish recreation:

These lines are going to get distorted and effected by the perspective too. To avoid the characters looking flat against the backgrounds, try to keep them "on the same level" of exaggaration, so to speak..

And lastly. USE REFERENCES!! there is NOTHING more needlessly painful than drawing something as complex as environments out of your head.

All these things contribute to the complex thing that is. backgrounds. Now, please dont take my word as gospel, considering that even keeping all of this in mind, this is about the best i can do offhand to demonstrate my knowledge lol

I wouldn't be surprised if all the things I said here aren't anything new to you, in which case i genuinely apologize, because I'm also a huge beginner with this 😭 but i wish you a lot of luck on your journey practicing this!! It's a lot of work to be sure.

As sort of a PS, a few pieces with cool bgs showcasing some of my points *a lot* more competently, that I have saved in my bookmarks on twitter:

[x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

[lonelysheepling]

Advice for artists and non-artists but mainly just artists

You know how you do a thing for so long that it’s becomes super mundane and insignificant to you, like when you’re sewing something you just do a basic stitch and struggle to tie a standard knot at the end. But you don’t do this often enough for it to stand out to you. You’re an artist, hey maybe even a professional one, and you’ve been doing your art a certain way for a long time. You use pose references and look up environment pictures to reference. But you still draw shoes without a reference or you draw clothes without any detailed folds.

At various points in my art journey I tried using tutorials, resources, and step by step guides for drawing certain things, be that nature brushes, drawing noses front-on, etc. and my skills at the time were kinda basic so I could never really pull off the tutorials in a way that satisfied me. I then went years just improving on broad areas like perspective and posing, focusing more on the overall composition than the minor details. But one day, years later, I got bored and decided to look up how to draw clothing folds

On the left of the green line is some previous work, on the right was two pieces I drew after I heavily referenced cloth physics

Ignore the shading, lighting, colors, etc. the stuff on the right definitely has way better flow than the stuff on the left. Now it wasn’t like a “wow I used a reference and now I’m a master” situation, there was an adjustment period with some less than stellar examples

But when I created those first 2 folds it was like a fucking switch was flicked in my head and I’ve been improving ever since. I am immensely grateful that I just happened to go looking for reference photos because holy shit something as simple as improving my clothing folds massively boosted my confidence in my work. Something I’ve noticed after I followed tutorials is that during the adjustment period, while the first couple of pieces are very reminiscent of the source tutorial, they start to get a little too far off and I stop referencing the tutorial and start doing my own thing (for better or for worse), but there’s then a period afterwards where I go back (maybe after re-watching the original tutorial) and develop it more into my own style.

Here’s a graph to better explain my thought process

Here’s another gun to the head reminder to use references. Recently I was drawing shoes for a character and I have a pretty consistent method of drawing shoes (consistent, not good).

But I wanted it to look more rugged so I looked up an image of a hiking boot and guess at what point in this timelapse that the reference was pulled up

I had for years tried using tutorials and reference photos but the process never really clicked for me. But over the years I have improved my technical skills and I believe that those improvements and all that practice made it way easier for me to understand and replicate tutorials, i understand now how the specifics of certain things like shading and depth work, picking up new skills that are still in the area I work in became way easier. But Im obviously still finding areas in my art by random chance that I can improve on. Because I don’t think about those parts anymore, they’re in the background of my design process.

This is where my advice to non-artists comes in. Look up tutorials. For anything. You know earlier when I mentioned sewing? Look up a guide on stitching, I just learned today what a surgeons knot is despite having been hand stitching for years. You don’t know what you don’t know, you don’t seek out improvement when you don’t perceive the need to improve. Trust me, there’s always areas to improve but you are going to have to stretch your mind at some point to recognize them. Everybody talks about how you should use tutorials and use references and all that, but I don’t think many people are going to research tutorials for things they don’t feel like they need improvement in.

. Anyway that’s the end of my monthly psa

If something in this post confused you feel free to send me like an ask or a brick through my window with a note attached to it, I’m not picky.

[da-owo]

GOOD MORNIFN TUMBLR IT IS CURRENTLY 2 PM FOR ME AN I AM FEEELIN VERY GOOD VERY COMIC MOTIVATED to answer some questions tho - do i sleep? absolutely even if its only a couple hours i have horrible insomnia and i tend to have to exhuasted myself to an extreme deal if i want to sleep more then 3 hrs which is why sometimes ill be alive at 4 or 5 am , this is also why i stated updates will be random , tho i dont like posting at 3 am i will if i want to move onto my next project -you've noted my bio says full time nsfw artist , is there going to be nsfw in the comic? if there is it will not be plot related and it will kept to my nsfw accounts ( i will not be sharing a link here or in the comments of this post as i have already shared where you could find that content ) - i'm really fast how am i getting this much done this fast? i work from home an yes do art full time , i do live in stream commissions so i just have "trained" my self to move faster when it comes to my art that way i can do more then just one persons commission in stream so now out of habbit i go go go go i've been called the "amazon prime" "same day shipping" artist haha tho sometimes a really really big piece comes through an that is a all day project but nonetheless anyone can practice enough to do stuff fast i also have been a full time artist for 5 years now ( sometimes even just taking a day to do fast sloppy sketches really helps with getting speed but speed should not be you main focus your growing as a artist and should enjoy the process and the art you make <3 -anything cosplay related , since i have gotten a vast amount of questions there -my wigs are all to mostly from arda wigs ( my jack frost and danny wig is a jet wig from arda, jacks is a silver in jet and danny's is a pure white in jet but i cut it in half to dye the under cut black ) if my wig isnt from arda they are mostly from amazon map of beauty is a good start for someone who wants a cheap wig to start with - i have been cosplaying for almost 12 years now i do not use name brand make up tbh my foundation is super stay from walmart in the lightest shade since i dont get to see the sun very often haha , i will always recommmend TRANSULUCENT setting powder -Contacts! yes sometimes i wear them but my eyes are very sensitive and i am very blind so most the time i am just editing them to the color i need them lol please stay away from ttdeye contacts they can damage your eyes DO NOT SHARE CONTACTS if they hurt TAKE THEM OUT NOW , contacts can cut and damage your eyes very easy - my jack frost cosplay staff , my staff is over 6ft tall ( i am not very short so i had to make it sized to me ) its a pvc pipe i had laying around and on the top there is a piece of a different broken prop hot glued to hell and back and heat shaped to make the hook then i i cut up a bunch of random lengthed shapes of foam and glued it around from the base to the very top and then sat there with my hot glue gun and added wood texture with hot glue , painted it a off brown , then dry brushed white all over it my staff is not perfect but for having made it all in one day i love it

if i missed anything feel free to ask im sure have an answer haha also been debating a name for my comic so might be refering to it as the golden dream but im unsure if i want to commit to it haha

[redbreastedbird]

hey robin this is a bit of a sensitive question, but i know hazel is from hong kong, and i’ve always imagined her skin as a more olive tone and yet i only see people draw her as very white, i don’t wanna get it wrong when i draw her cus i’ve always drawn her with a slightly darker skin tone as i headcanon her mom has quite a dark skin tone while her father is more pale, which is why hazel is pale but slightly darker. I just wondered abt it cus i’ve only seen her draw as a pale asian, and i don’t wanna get her appearance wrong, or would you say it’s more up to the reader’s interpretation (as long as we are all aware she is definitely chinease ofc lmao)

This is a super great question, thank you for asking it.

I try not to be too prescriptive about fan art, because a lot of the artists who draw my characters are very young, and still working out their style. There’s also such a weight of racism pressing down on all of us in terms of how we think about and see Asian people, from generations of terrible representation in media, that often we internalise all of that as children and then spend a lifetime unlearning it. So I’m not expecting art by young fans to be perfect.

I also am not one of those authors who has a photographic image of my characters, so when (and if!) it comes to casting I would be happy looking at a range of different kids of Hong Kong Chinese descent for the parts of Hazel and May.

However I do expect that older artists (and especially professional artists who work on my books) think about this and work to acknowledge and fix their biases. Hazel and May are quite obviously not white, and to my mind they aren’t particularly pale. Their skin should be clearly different from Daisy or Nuala’s skin tone, with warm brownish undertones.

A piece of MMU art I like is this, of Daisy and Hazel, by Kip Alizadeh. I think they’ve done a good job of differentiating skin tones between Daisy and Hazel even though Hazel is still quite pale.

You can also look at May Wong from the Ministry covers for help - she, Eric and Nuala all have visibly different skin tones, with Nuala the palest and pinkest, May some shades darker and warmer, and Eric with the brownest skin.

So yeah. Please don’t draw Hazel or May as white! Take a look at how other artists, especially Asian artists, have drawn Asian characters if you’re unsure where to begin. I am not an artist, obviously, I am an author, but it does matter to me that my characters look basically right, and wherever I can (which is really the UK and US covers only, I don’t really get feedback on other international covers) I try to ensure that.

[dardinan-ingellvar]

Who They Were Before

((TW: Brief allusion to gore. MDNI))

Only a few days after they discovered what really happened to them as an infant, Dardin'an has already come to terms with it. Likely the result of being in the Mourn Watch, and their excitement to learn about spirits, the dead, wisps, and so on. But there is something else nagging at them:

Who were they before they became a wisp, before they possessed this body? All they know is they were Emmrich's first love, and they died in an unfortunate, and gruesome accident.

"...What was I like? Y'know...Before...You said I'm different now...Who were they, Emm?" Dardin'an speaks up after a long silence over dinner.

Emmrich is a little taken aback, but sets his silverware on either side of his plate and sighs. "I suppose it is your right to know...You were a piece of them. You should know where you came from...But it is still hard for me to think back on it. I miss them dearly to this day."

Dardin'an bites their lip "I mean...If you aren't ready to talk about it yourself, I will understand, love. It's not like I'm in a rush. I'm just curious."

Emmrich shakes his head with a thankful smile "No, darling, it's quite alright. Really. You make it feel better. You are very different from them, but there are little similarities that help me know they're in there. You really did come back to me in some way. It is incredible."

Dardin'an leans forward, excited to hear about it, and Emmrich leans back to look up and remember.

"Their name was Varien Latencio. An Antivan mage who was surprisingly proficient in Necromancy, but due to the stigma around the art, had to learn in secret. They heard tell of our work in the Mourn Watch and fled home to learn here, in the Necropolis. I met them when we were both seventeen, just about to move to more advanced studies. They were the first person I'd ever met who didn't fit the role or a man or a woman. It was one of the many things that drew me to them."

Dardin'an nods, eager to let him go on, but they can't help being curious. "Wait...So, were they an Elf like me? Or...?"

"Oh! No, they were human. But they did have blue eyes. Deep blue, like your right eye. I'll admit, that was something that stood out about you when we first met. That shade of blue is so rare...As is the pink of your left eye, even for Elves. It was hard not to be drawn to you immediately."

Dardin'an blushes softly at the thought, but wants to focus on the topic at hand, as much as they do love flirting. "So...When I first talked to you about my gender expression..."

"Yes, I was thinking of Varien. People often mocked them too, thought them confusing, told them to pick one. I have never understood. Spirits typically use 'it' or 'they'...We study the Fade, where such rules and societal standards are simply nonexistent, or if they do exist, they're not enforced to any set standard. They simply are. So why would so many of my peers refuse to apply that to our own world? It was infuriating."

"I am glad I didn't deal too much with that myself. Some of my peers were a bit detached...Their parents still held that sort of view, but mostly, I was left alone, if not accepted as I am. But I did sense that about you when we met. That you were safe. Didn't stop me worrying a little." Dardin'an looks down, a little ashamed they ignored their own memories thanks solely to Emmrich's age.

Emmrich scoffs "Oh, it's no harm. Far be it for me to expect you to see a man my age and blindly trust I'd accept you. I'm not blind to how my generation treats people who are different. Even with the wisp of my past love in you, it is better to heir on the side of caution."

"...So...You protected them...They fell for you because of that. I remember that much. I remember being assaulted by a couple of brutes in the dorms while you were in class. But you left early..."

"Yes! I forgot my notes, and when I saw them, I put them in their place, using my stave, and my understanding of certain weak points...They didn't think twice after I came to their rescue, and kissed me. It wasn't my first kiss...But it was the first that mattered." Emmrich smiles fondly at Dardin'an, loving sharing these moments.

Dardin'an takes the moment to kiss him themself. "I do remember the look on your face...Shocked, but grateful"

"Well, I had admired them for some months by then. I just wasn't sure how to bring it up. And I was scared I'd damage our friendship if they didn't feel the same" Emmrich laughs "I was still so young then."

"Aw, that's precious. And...We didn't take our time with each other" Dardin'an smirks

Emmrich's face turns a rosy pink and he clears his throat "Well, no...We were hormonal teenagers. Barely adults, and a little pent up. They were more experienced. Antiva has...much less strict views on sex. They made it less stressful for me to be certain. Though I could have waited more than a few short hours to jump in bed with them. Not that I regret it."

"Nah, you'd waited months. Both of you had. I-...Or...Varien was chomping at the bit for some time themself. There was no way it was going to be even a day longer." Dardin'an laughs.

Emmrich eyes them with a soft smirk "Seems you really know plenty about my long lost paramour...What is this really about?"

Dardin'an giggles, hands up defensively "I promise you...I did want to learn about them...But talking to you brings back more of it. That...And I love the look you get when you're nostalgic..."

Emmrich blushes and pulls Dardin'an closer. "Well, I'm happy to indulge you either way. And if it helps you get in touch with your past, I want to provide all I can"

"Well...One thing I can't remember...What did they look like? I mean...Human, with blue eyes like my one, but that doesn't exactly paint a picture."

"Well...They were a bit fairer skinned than you, sans the vitiligo, but not by much. A cooler tone too, with long, black hair, usually braided or put in a bun or other decorative fashion. They were just a little shorter than me, and had a softer figure, rounder...Their smile alone lit up the room...Oh! And their voice was like silk...And impossible to read as masculine or feminine. It was almost ethereal. I still remember it..."

Dardin'an chuckles "I am glad for my voice as it is. It is a tad more masculine than I hoped, but...I think it suits me. And it throws some people for a loop, which is always fun. But it is nice to be able to picture Varien better."

"Yes...I wish you could meet them properly. You two would be quite the duo." Emmrich sighs, looking a little forlorn. "I loved them so much. In a way, I suppose I still do." He looks to Dardin'an, who looks down, saddened by the admission.

"I'm so sorry you lost them. But I'm glad I found you...again, I guess...I know it hurts, but...I need to make sense of that nightmare I had...How exactly did they...?"

"As you saw in your nughtmare, they were told a family member's spirit had gone mad, summoned, apparently, and was turning into a rage demon. I was notified not long after they left, but I got there too late. They made a misstep in one section of the ruins where the spirit had last been seen. An axe killed them. I finished their job, and safely put the spirit to rest before taking their body home...I didn't have it in me to even shed a tear until they were taken to the morgue to be prepared for the burial. I was so numb. But the moment I made it to my room, before I could even clean myself, I broke down. It took me a long while to find my bearings again. When it happened, I was 21, we'd been together for three years, happy, planning a future...And it was ripped away in one moment."

Dardin'an sat silently through Emmrich's story, but inched closer until they were hugging him, and nuzzling him for comfort. "I'm...so sorry you had to see any of that...that you lost them...But they loved you. They still do...I do. And I know I'm not...really Varien...But I can feel how they did."

"Thank you, dearest. That does ease some of the pain. But I want to be clear that I love you first and foremost. I loved you before I ever knew you carried a part of them. And that hasn't changed because of our discovery."

"I know. It's really nice that it hasn't felt any different...Knowing you love me for me. Not just who I used to be." They kiss him sweetly and stay that way for a while, just watching the wisps in the distance.