#instead of just black lines on blank background

[yaniiiiism]

you love rain, i love you. ꒰ a l.mh imagine ꒱

˖ㅤㅤ۫ ㅤㅤ ꕮ ㅤ۫ㅤ 🪜 ˖ㅤ ㅤ۫ㅤᘞ ˚ ۪ masterlist > schedule > main directory

♪┆pairing : lee minho x fem!reader ͏ ♪┆info : tsundere x sunshine , tooth rotting fluff, they're in loooovvveee, uni au (bc im obsessed), adorable, friends to lovers ♪┆ personas: uni students , close friends , brief and generic hobbies [songwriting, reading books] mention :3 ♪┆word count : 3.3k ♪┆warnings : very cutesy very demure very mindful

happy lino day !

Y/n had always loved the rain. 

It poured over the town like a soft lullaby, softening the edges of buildings and trees, cloaking everything in a quiet serenity that calmed her restless heart. 

Oh, how it fell without hesitation, bold yet calming, casting a peaceful blur over the colors around her. It was as though every droplet held a piece of the town’s secrets, whispering them in hushed tones to anyone who dared to listen.

In the university’s library, her thoughts floated with the rhythm of the rain against the glass, far from the textbook that lay open but untouched before her. The shelves towered around her, each one a guardian of knowledge, but her attention drifted, flitting like a restless bird. 

She watched as droplets cascaded down the window beside her, blurring the shapes of people passing outside and muting the lively colors of umbrellas. The town outside seemed softer, wrapped in a cocoon of gray mist.

The lady was a bright spark against this stillness, a warmth that radiated quietly as her gaze followed the streaks of rain across the windowpane. 

She fidgeted with a loose thread on her beige sweater, flipping her pen in her fingers, letting her mind wander. 

The quiet library seemed to mirror another person’s presence beside her — calm and steady, unruffled by her little flares of energy that rippled across the tranquility.

It had been pouring for nearly an hour, the soft patter of water on the library windows a soothing backdrop to his quiet focus. 

Minho’s focus, unwavering and cool, contrasted her own, a constant rhythm in the background of her daydreams. He sat across from her at their usual table, bent over his notes with a slight frown as he tried to concentrate on the assignment. He was meticulous, reading every line twice, tapping his pen in a steady rhythm. 

Her, on the other hand, had long since given up pretending to work.

She was stretched out in her chair, head tipped back as she lazily flipped through a book she wasn’t really reading. Every so often, she would sigh dramatically, looking over at the guy with big, pleading eyes, hoping he’d say something to break the monotony.

He didn’t look up. Instead, he fixed his glasses, pushing the thin, black frame up the bridge of his nose. 

“You’re not helping by sighing every five seconds, you know.”

“Maybe I would help if it wasn’t the most boring assignment in the universe,” she whined, drumming her fingers on the table.

He rolled his eyes, still focused on his paper. “Just do your part, and it’ll be done faster.”

“Or,” she frowned, glancing around as if conspiring, “I could just watch you do it. You’re so good at it, Min.” She tilted her head, giving him a teasing smile.

He gave her a blank stare. “Flattery won’t make me finish your work too.”

With a defeated sigh, she pushed herself out of the library’s velvet chair, eyes lighting up as she spotted the vending machine near the exit. 

“Okay, well… at least let me get us some snacks. We both need a break.”

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered, eyes never leaving his notes.

The girl practically skipped over to the machine, fumbling for change in her bag. 

She pressed a few buttons, deciding on snacks, but after a clunky whirr, the machine swallowed her coins without dropping anything. 

She tapped it, then tapped it again, her brows furrowing as she gave the machine a light kick.

Oh screw you, stupid machine. 

From across the room, the only other guy looked up, already smirking. 

“You’re going to break it.”

She turned, shooting him a mock glare with a dissatisfied frown. 

“It literally swallowed all my pennies? It owes me a snack!”

He snorted, barely hiding his annoyance yet nonchalance. “That’s the third machine you’ve broken this semester. Weren’t you banned from them by the council president or something?”

“You mean Jihoon? Please, he was only making small talk.”She rolled her eyes, turning back to the machine to shake it gently. “I just have bad luck with vending machines. They hate me.”

“Maybe they’re scared of you,” he hugged, finally leaning back in his chair, watching her with a smirk, his arms folding behind his head. “They know you’re trouble.”

She gasped, turning back to face him with feigned hurt. “You’re mean.” 

“Maybe I won’t share my snacks with you now.”

He rolled his eyes, switching back to work. “Like I asked for them in the first place.”

“Oh, I know you’ll want them,” she replied, sticking her tongue out at him before giving the machine one last exasperated look. 

She returned to their table empty-handed, pouting as she flopped back into her seat.

“Done causing a scene?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he glanced over his notes at her.

“Done ignoring me?” she replied back, folding her arms with a small huff. 

But even as she pouted, she was smiling, knowing full well that he was secretly enjoying every second of her company, even if he pretended otherwise.

“Can you try to focus for like at least five minutes without moving around?”

“Fine,” she said, leaning her chin on her hand, staring at him rather than her paper. 

She watched him as he scribbled notes, his brows drawn together in concentration, glasses fogging up slightly as he breathed out in annoyance, his lips pressed into a faint line. 

For all his grumbling, he was focused, diligent, and..

Oh, so attractive. 

There was something calming about watching him work, even if she’d never let him know how much she admired him.

She lost track of time until her gaze drifted toward the window. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the rain pouring down, after having paused for a few minutes, the drops streaking the glass and creating a soft, blurred glow in the library.

“It’s raining again,” she whispered, more to herself than him.

“Yeah?” He didn’t look up, his voice absent-minded.

“Mhm!” She beamed, getting up from the chair to walk towards the closed window a few steps away. 

The window was slightly foggy from the inside because the dew. Seeing that, her fingers immediately found their way onto the glass, drawing patterns. 

It was as if all her worries were just.. gone, for that time. As if she was a child once again. 

It was raining, and she was experiencing it again with the guy. 

The same guy that had never left her side.

The same rainy day with him that marked into one of her favourite days. 

Because it was with that same guy that she fell in love with.

Then her focus was interrupted when she heard his voice again.

“Done admiring the weather, pretty? You’ve got an assignment to finish.”

She felt his eyes on her, and it drew her back to reality. Her ears turned red almost instantly, then she was turning with an embarrassed face. “You were staring.” She mumbled, skipping back over to the table. 

“Yeah, I was. You noticed?”

“What?” Her eyes widened, pupils dilating a bit, as she sat back down, hiding her gaze into the notebook. 

“Nothing.” He grinned. 

Sigh.

‘You noticed?’ 

Sorry, is he seriously flirting with me right now?

Does he even know the control he has on my heart?

Might fall off a cliff you guys ; i’m done with this sappy monologue. 

Moving on. 

“Minho, do you ever think about how every raindrop is like… a little memory? Like, it falls from the sky, touches the ground, and just… disappears.”

“But for that second, it’s part of something bigger, you know?”

The guy simply blinked at the randomness and suddenness of the excitement. 

Barely lifting his gaze from his notes, he replied, “Right.. Raindrops with memory loss. Very poetic.”

Ignoring his remarks, she continued, leaning forward. “No— like think about it! Like, the rain touches everyone’s life at least once. We’re all connected by it in a way.” She paused, “Don’t you think that’s amazing?”

“Fascinating,” he murmured, not missing a beat, though she could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Undeterred by his lack of ‘enthusiasm’, the girl professionally yapped on. 

“And then, once the rain dries up, it’s like it leaves a little piece of itself behind. Kind of like how memories leave marks on us even when the moment’s gone.”

Minho finally looked up, shaking his head as he looked at her with squinted eyes. “Only you would find romance in rain puddles.”

“Hey, maybe I am, it’s.. deep, I guess. You’re just a boring cynic, Minho. No imagination.”

“Or maybe I just save my imagination for things that don’t involve the simplest scenes of life.” He gave her a look, but his smile softened as he watched her.

“Simplest but prettiest.”

“And, oh, today in class, the english professor went on this entire rant about using semicolons correctly, and I swear he’s obsessed. Every time someone writes a comma instead, it’s like they’ve committed a crime.”

He simply nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips, letting her continue without interruption. 

Her words flowed like the rain, nonstop and bright, filling the air between them. She was all sunshine, chattering about everything and nothing at once, her eyes lighting up with each new tangent.

“Dude and— did you know,” she leaned closer, “that the library has a secret stash of old, out-of-print books? Like, they’re hidden on a shelf way in the back. I found one with all these handwritten notes in the margins. It’s like someone’s personal journal was left behind.”

The overachiever just listened, nodding and throwing in a casual “Really?” or “No way,” watching her grow more animated with each word. 

He wasn’t paying much attention to what she was saying; but, he was captivated by the way she said it. Her hands gestured wildly, her eyes sparkled, and her whole face lit up. 

She was mesmerizing, an endless source of energy and light.

Eventually, her words started to trail off, and her lids grew heavy, her sentences getting slower and softer. 

“And earlier when I was at the park, I followed this little dragonfly.. who kept circling around.. me.. “

She slumped forward, head resting on her folded arms, a sleepy smile lingering on her lips, “..and it lead me deeper into the garden..”

And with a yawn, she drifted off. Minho sat there, unfazed, quietly watching her, his gaze softening with affection. 

The rain outside continued its gentle rhythm, as if lulling her into a peaceful sleep.

He leaned back, letting his pen fall silently to the table, and took a long, steady look at her. Her brown hair cascaded over her arms, and her expression was calm, completely at peace. There was a faint smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth.

With a fond sigh, he gently reached for the soft strands of her hair that framed her face, pushing one behind her ear, then leaned back to simply watch her. 

The rain continued to fall, casting a soft glow over her face, and he knew this was one of those moments he’d hold onto forever.

His gaze only softened further as he watched her sleep, her breathing gentle and even, the faintest rise and fall of her shoulders barely noticeable in the soft light of the library.

He tilted his head, studying the way her hair framed her face, how a the other few strands had fallen messily across her cheeks. 

There was something innocent in her stillness, like the world hadn’t yet touched her with its harsher edges. He had known her for years, through her loud days and quiet ones, but this — seeing her so open, so vulnerable, even in sleep — felt like a privilege, like he was witnessing a secret she didn’t even know she held. Although this may be the hundredth time he’s seeing her like this, but she never fails to lull him more each time. 

“Why do you have to be so.. stupidly adorable..?”

The words slipped out in a gentle whisper, almost swallowed by the rain. His gaze fixed onto her face, tracing each curve, the eyelids, the eyelashes, the nose, the pink lips. 

But immediately as he realised, he froze, his eyes darting to her face, heart pounding in sudden panic. 

Had she heard him? 

Her breathing remained even, her lips barely parted in sleep, and his own breath released in a silent sigh of relief.

Minho leaned back, exhaling, his eyes drifting over her with a gaze that was softer, deeper. He knew he was gone for her — completely and utterly. 

No amount of teasing or sarcasm could hide it, especially not now, as he sat in this dim, cozy corner of the library with only her and the rain to keep him company.

He felt a quiet ache settle in his chest, the kind that was bittersweet. This was the girl who had grown up by his side, whose love for books and late-night study sessions was matched only by her passion for music, her endless playlists and handwritten lyrics tucked between notebooks. 

She was everything he admired and everything he was afraid to lose, wrapped into one.

His fingers reached out instinctively, but he stopped, hand hovering just above her resting one. 

He could imagine her waking up to his touch, the way she’d crinkle her nose and blink sleepily, maybe even tease him for “staring like a lovesick fool,” which was exactly what he was — but that’s not the point. 

He couldn’t help it, though; her light pulled him in every time, scattering his carefully guarded walls like raindrops hitting a still lake.

But instead of waking her, he let his hand drop gently, leaning back to watch her for a moment longer, his heart a little fuller, a little softer, because of her. 

And only her. 

She’d wake up soon, annoying and bright, blinding the eye, and he’d be ready with another roll of the eyes, heartstrings tugging down. 

Yet deep down, in a place he never let her see, he knew the truth; that she was his every reason, his brightest light in all the dim places.

And as the rain drizzled down, casting faint reflections across the window, he knew that for him, every raindrop from here on out would hold a little bit of her.

— 

Y/n had always loved the rain. 

To her, it wasn’t just water cascading from the sky but a reminder of everything raw and alive in the world. 

The clouds, heavy with unshed emotions, poured out their burdens as if inviting her to do the same. 

There was a release in it, a beauty. She could stand in it, close her eyes, feel it washing over her, and for a moment, all her worries would dissolve.

So, when the downpour was still continuing while she and Minho were done at the university’s grand library, she didn’t reach for her umbrella like he did. 

There they were, standing at the entrance of the library, once again, and she stepped out on to the wet cobblestone path. 

Her eyes drift upward to watch the raindrops falling from the grey skies. 

A soft smile tugged at her lips as she tilted her head back, letting the rain soak her skin, drenching her clothes and weighing her hair down. 

She laughed — a light, airy sound that blended with the rhythm of the rain.

Minho, on the other hand, was leaning against the pillar of the library’s entrance, watching her. 

He sighed, fidgeting with the buttons of his umbrella, opening it with a click and stepping out as well. He raised an eyebrow, holding it over his own head, while the raindrops danced off its edges.

“Are you seriously gonna stand and dance there like an idiot?”

“Yes,”

Unfazed, the girl twirled around, arms open to embrace the downpour. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s wet,” he grumbled, his lips curling into a barely-there smirk as he watched her spin, her joy illuminating her like a halo under the dim light of the streetlamps. 

But the sight of her so lost in the rain, so… free, it did that thing to his chest — once again. 

She stepped out of the umbrella’s reach, that he tried to cover her with, ignoring the way he shook his head at her. 

“You could at least try to enjoy it,” she said, smiling. Her eyes sparkled, glancing at him over her shoulder, as if daring him to join her.

He rolled his eyes, holding the umbrella closer to himself as if it were a shield from her infectious energy. “Enjoy what? Getting sick? No thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” She shrugged, but she was still smiling as she returned to her little rain dance, not caring how soaked she was getting. 

Each step she took felt lighter, and she almost forgot Minho was even there, watching her from under the safety of his umbrella.

And he was watching her, unable to look away. 

She looked… ethereal, like something out of a dream he’d be too proud to admit he’d had. The way her laugh rose above the rain, soft and unburdened, made his heart ache in a way he would never, ever admit to anyone.

But he knew he’d regret it if he didn’t do something. With a resigned sigh, he closed the umbrella, letting the rain drench him in an instant. 

“You’re such a pain, you know that?” he muttered, striding over to her with a faux scowl on his face, shuddering slightly at the contact of the cold droplets hitting over his figure. 

She paused mid-spin, startled to find him suddenly standing in the rain with her. 

“Minho, what are you doing? You’ll get soaked!”

“It’s a little late for that, genius,” he deadpanned, shoving his now-useless, foldable umbrella into his pocket. 

But his eyes softened as he looked at her, something unspoken hidden behind his steady gaze.

Her laughter quieted, her gaze locking with his in the middle of the rain-soaked street. 

There was a weight in his stare, something she couldn’t quite name. “I thought you hated getting wet?”

“I do,” he replied, his voice low, rough around the edges. “But… sometimes you make it hard to stick to my rules.”

She felt her cheeks warm despite the chill of the rain, her heart thudding in her chest. “Oh yeah? And what rule am I breaking now?” She paused in her tracks, staring at him right back. 

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he just held her gaze, studying her with that intense look that always left her breathless. 

His hand came up, almost on its own, brushing a raindrop from her cheek with the back of his fingers, lingering just a second too long. 

He cleared his throat, pulling his hand back quickly as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Never mind,” he mumbled, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “It’s nothing.”

She bit back a smile, savoring the rare vulnerability in his expression. “You’re really something, you know that?”

“Oh, shut up,” he grumbled, but there was no bite in his voice, only a soft resignation. 

He reached down, taking her hand in his own, his fingers gentle but firm around hers. 

“You’re going to catch pneumonia if you stay like this for longer.”

She blinked, startled by the sudden contact. 

But Minho just kept walking, his fingers still laced with hers as they stepped through the rain-soaked street, side by side. Her heart stuttered, a thousand questions running through her mind, but she didn’t say a word. 

She was content just to feel the warmth of his hand in hers, even if he’d never admit why he did it.

As they walked together, silent but for the rain, she glanced at him, catching a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he stared straight ahead. For all his complaints, for all his grumbling, he was still here with her, getting drenched in the rain simply because she loved it.

And that, she realised, was more than enough.

a/n. ୨ৎ

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY LOVEEE happy lino day :<< SORRY FOR THE LATE POST !! 😞 if u liked this lmk by commenting or liking <333 check out my post-schedule/masterlist/taglists/etc right here ! thank you for reading >< !! also just fine chp 8 is coming tmr ! — love, yani ♥︎

thank you for the dividers! ♡︎ @adornedwithlight

[sunshinebingo]

A Gwynriel meet-cute fic inspired by my writer's block and the music video of I Hear A Symphony by Cody Fry.

Synopsis: Gwyn tries everything possible to put a stop to her writer's block, unbeknownst that her source of inspiration will appear right at her door.

Word Count: 2.4k

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

She sat, alone and upset.

She sat in her home, as lonely and desperate as she had ever been, and waited for a miracle to happen.

Gwyn crossed yet another sentence, the words becoming less readable with every line she frustratingly drew across them.

“Ugh. I’m a lost cause,” she complained.

What was she doing wrong? She was applying every advice she had received from her fellow authors, some of which had worked for her previous writer’s blocks. She was so desperate that she was even doing everything all at once to increase her chances at finally writing. Her head had been a blank slate for too many months now.

The first step had been to put on her comfiest hoodie and shorts, her hair up in a high ponytail, and to sit on her comfiest chair at her desk with some cool water. She was also using a pen and paper instead of her laptop. Typing everything out later would be an extra step, but one that she was willing to take. If, she hoped hard, she managed to write anything at all. In addition to all that, she was using a different colour than black, and had convinced herself that she was using a different font. If she always used Times New Roman, Arial or Calibri, her own handwriting had to count as a new font, right?

She even had ambient music playing in the background; the sound of a peaceful forest that she imagined her heroine – a nymph – living in. From the different sounds that floated around her, Gwyn imagined the nymph sitting in her little cottage, with a freshly polished dagger on a table next to a steaming cup of hibiscus tea. Magical birds could be heard chirping outside along with her ethereal voice humming. Occasionally, Gwyn could also hear tiny footsteps and giggles that made her think of the little folks that she had introduced earlier in chapter 3.

All the conditions were perfect. Every element was right here in her head; the setting, the mood, the time and weather. Yet it still felt like nothing was happening. As though she couldn’t get her heroine to do anything, no matter how hard Gwyn poked her with her mental stick. Perhaps she was also waiting for something more interesting than everything her creator came up with.

Gwyn sighed and rubbed her eyes. The bright pink was starting to hurt her tired eyes and making her annoyance with herself grow. Maybe she should have picked a different one among her many colourful pens. Could a glittery one work?

She took a few sips of water from her favourite mug, followed by a few slow and deeps breaths during which she wondered how the hell she had managed to publish two books in four years with a brain like hers.

Reading and writing were a passion that she had successfully turned into her job. It meant more to her than just paying her bills and affording everything she owned. It was her source of joy and fulfilment; what had slowly let her out of her safe shell and had given her a reason to live. At least it was all of this when the made-up creatures living in her head actually did things that she could write about. Her team of editors and publishers would never approve of a story where the characters only sat and waited for the unknown for half of the book.

“Someone could die,” Gwyn tapped her pen against her cheek and thought out loud. But for that to happen, she would have to come up with a motive and a plan.

She imagined her protagonist staring blankly at her as if to ask, “Really?”

She scowled at the pink ink on the white paper and asked, “What else do you suggest to spice up the plot?”

She refused to give up on her story midway through. Something would happen. She just needed faith in her creativity and her skills. And a prayer or two to the writers’ gods to send a genius idea her way. With little hope that they would listen, Gwyn plunged back into her story, where the nymph was still doing a whole lot of nothing.

She sat there, as lonely and desperate as she had ever felt, and slowly giving up on the hope that miracles could happen, when a rattling sound disturbed the quiet of her home. It persisted until…

“Wait a second.”

…until the author realised that the sound was coming from outside her own apartment door.

“What the hell?”

Both of Gwyn’s best friends, Emerie and Nesta, the only two who ever showed up at her place unannounced, were currently at work. Even if they had gotten out early, they would have knocked or called after finding her door locked. Which it most often was. The building that Gwyn lived in was quite luxurious with an excellent security system. But judging by the person who had been trying to forcefully open her door for the last minute, Gwyn’s anxiety about her safety began to surface again.

She stood from her desk and made her way towards what could be an intruder. Holding her pink pen up like a serial killer might hold a knife, Gwyn brought her hand to the knob. If she was fast enough, she could press the button on the interphone right next to the door as soon as she opened it and alert the security guard. But what if Frank was already dead and now the killer was coming for her? Gwyn damned herself for having gone with an apartment on the second floor instead of the twenty-second. What was the benefit of having one of the best balconies in the building if she was among the firsts to die?

“Pull yourself together Gwyneth!” she told herself.

Her heroine wouldn’t cower before the one trying to break through her cottage. She would feel the fear but confront it. Gwyn might have no dagger nor claws; she might have no magic to bring down her enemies. But, like her nymph, she refused to die. Not when she had a story to finish. Gwyn summoned as much courage as she had often infused her nymph with and yanked her door open.

What she saw crouching before her with a key in one gloved hand and a black and blue helmet in the other didn’t look like a murderer. Not that she had ever knowingly come face to face with one to know what they looked like.

Gwyn lowered her pen at her side as the man straightened and towered over her with strong arms and broad shoulders that were hugged by a black leather jacket. His brown skin glowed under the dim yellow light of the baroque-style hallway of the building. His hazel eyes were like a blaze that bore into Gwyn, even as the rest of his handsome face showed signs of surprise. There was a hint of confusion apparent in the frown of his obsidian eyebrows that matched the colour of his short, dishevelled hair.

He looked like a male straight out of a romantasy. The type whose looks alone could mark him as someone who is always broody. Until he meets the one who can effortlessly make him smile with an adorable laugh, a teasing remark or an irreverent challenging look; the latter being the kind a writer like herself would describe as a withering stare that would earn the object of the male’s fascination an amused chuckle.

Was he even real? Or had Gwyn dived so deep into her fictional world that she had landed somewhere inside it? If it was the case, then it meant that there was more to her story that she had yet to discover, since she had never met such a stunning man in that world of hers. She didn’t even know that such beauty and magnetism was possible.

He was just standing there in front of her. Yet his eyes seemed to hold a power that made it impossible for her to acknowledge anything else.

“Hello.”

The deep voice she heard didn’t sound like it was coming from her imagination.

“Hi,” she breathlessly greeted back.

“Uh... Hi... I was...”

Gwyn took in every single fumbled words that came out of his plump lips, ready to listen to him say anything. But he stopped and, for a moment, just stared at her with an intensity that she did not realise matched the way she was looking at him.

“Can I help you?” she asked when the silence stretched, hoping that she hadn’t looked at him like she had never seen a man before. Although she was still not entirely convinced that he wasn’t a manifestation of her fantasies.

The man shook his visible stupor away at her question and offered her a small yet very charming smile.

“I think this is my new apartment.”

Gwyn frowned in puzzlement.

“I’m sure it’s not?” she said like she wasn’t sure at all.

He cocked his head to the side in thought before looking around as though he had dropped something. Then, realising he was already holding it, he held his key up for her to see.

“Isn’t this number 9?”

Gwyn’s frown deepened until realisation struck her harder than a lighting bolt.

“Ah. I see.” Gwyn pursed her lips to hold in a laugh. “May I?”

She extended her hand to the mystery man and motioned to his key with a tilt of her head.

He raised a brow at her. A corner of his lips slowly tugged into a smirk that disappeared a few seconds later. Whether he was trying to consciously school his features or not, Gwyn didn’t know. But she enjoyed the mischief that she had glimpsed for a moment there.

“You may,” he said as he dropped the small object in her open palm.

Gwyn held the key chain up and placed it next to the engraving on the wall with her house’s number on it. She showed him how, in this way, the key chain formed a miniature version of the engraving, with the design being the exact same, except for the 6 of her house number which didn’t match the 9 of his key.

His eyes darted between the engraving and the key, and to the redhead who was playfully wiggling her eyebrows at him. Then he laughed, his rich voice so beautiful that Gwyn imagined it would be impossible to ever tire of hearing it. And when she laughed with him, she found that she very much liked the harmony that their two voices created.

“I’m sorry.” He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “That was very dumb of me.”

“I’ll give you that. It was,” she said with a shrug.

The man eyed Gwyn like he was disappointed that she had so quickly agreed. His expression only pulled another laugh out of Gwyn.

“Yours is the one over there.” She pointed at the hallway behind him. To the second door down to her left. “Next to the wall lamp.”

He look there before turning back to her. Gwyn dangled his key in front of him.

“You won’t get my home just yet but you’ll get to be my neighbour.”

She found herself curious as to what kind of neighbour mister handsome here would be. Would they come across each other at random hours of the day and night as they went about their lives?

The smile that brightened his face was more disarming than any that Gwyn had ever seen.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, neighbour.” He extended a hand to her.

“I’m Gwyneth. Or just Gwyn.”

She shook his offered hand with the same one that she still held his key. He took it with him as he slowly, almost reluctantly, pulled his hand away.

“I’m Azriel. Or just... Azriel.”

He cleared his throat and adjusted the helmet he carried under his left arm. Gwyn smiled.

“Alright. Just Azriel.”

They stood there in silence for a while. Their gazes locked, their hands fidgeting with whatever they carried. Gwyn was here and somewhere else at the same time. His body, his face, his voice, his mere presence stirred something in her. It was thrilling and also...intimidating.

He was like a mystery that was yet to be unfold. A story that needed to be written. Gwyn sensed in her writer’s heart that his could be one with pain and pleasure, ire and love. His eyes were a window through which she wanted to dive into his soul and learn all of his secrets. She also wanted to know what kind of man he could be in his most caring or vulnerable state.

Knowing a person in such a deep, all encompassing way was almost impossible. But perhaps, Gwyn wondered as her eyes widened, her version of him could provide her with the answers she sought.

“I – ”

“I – ”

“I should – ”

“I need to – ”

They both laughed at their synchronicity.

“I should go check my actual apartment.”

“And I should get back to mine. I hope you don’t get lost on your way.”

One of his brows rose. “I will blame your directions if I do.”

Gwyn crossed her arms and scowled at him. But the effect was lost with the smile that threatened to spread on her lips.

She watched him turn around and walk to his apartment. No doubt sensing her eyes still on him after he opened his door, “just Azriel” looked at her again. Gwyn waved at him. He winked, then stepped inside. Without wasting another second, Gwyn closed her own door and rushed to her desk.

Words and images formed in her mind like music flowing out of her imagination; a scene playing out like a musician effortlessly soaring through the notes of their symphony.

Gwyn immersed herself in it and let her hand glide across pages after pages of her notebook. She wrote about the nymph and her intruder, a mysterious male that became more real with every element she discovered about his character.

It might have been luck or sheer coincidence. It might have also been an answer to her hopeless prayers. Gwyn had no time to care. What mattered was that she was now inspired.

[nogoodsheepstealing-greatgrandma]

Team Green: Sorry your faves are boring 😊🤷‍♂️ Sure you're supposed to root for the Blacks but the Greens are just more fun. Jace is boring I'm here for my angsty disaster mess 💚

You realise that's bad writing, right? This is a family civil war drama. One side of that family civil war shouldn't be populated with blank slates. If no effort is made into making Rhaenyra and Daemon's children as fleshed out as Alicent's children then that is bad writing.

Some people find the Lannisters more fun than the Starks, but the Starks are still fleshed out characters (and considering in the books Jace is 14/15, Luke is 13, Joffrey, Baela & Rhaena are 12, Aegon the younger is 9 and Viserys is 7 - these kids ages almost map straight onto the Starklings so they were so meant to be our Targlings). It didn't have to be a zero sum "you can only have ONE side that's interesting". The show is poorer for it. Game of Thrones was a disaster in many ways, but at least the different sides of the conflict had equal screen time and attention.

How hard would it have been to flesh out Jace, or at least give him a half-decent haircut? He could have been a mirror to Jon Snow (they technically have the same initials). One is a bastard who does not know he's a targaryen prince, the other is a targaryen prince who discovers he is a bastard. In a world that hates bastards, that insists they are 'wanton and treacherous by nature', there was plenty of potential to explore some complicated emotions, to give weight to how he feels about being a bastard. The whispers that would have followed him, the scrutiny he would have felt, the internalised guilt and shame, his protectiveness over his little brothers and wish to spare them the truth. Maybe after Alicent confronted Aegon over the pig there could have been a shift where Aegon turns his bullying away from Aemond and towards Jace (more in keeping with book canon). Maybe Jace could feel anxious about lessons with Criston Cole due to his open hatred of him. Maybe he could be equal parts devoted to and resentful of his mother over his parentage, maybe he could be driven to perfectionism to prove himself worthy.

The show made Jace more violent in the fight with Aemond than in the book, by changing who started the fight (from Aemond to Rhaena and co.), by narrowing the age gap to make Jace more of a match for Aemond, and by having him draw a knife instead of a wooden toy sword. But they didn't earn that moment. How much more satisfying would it have been if both Aemond and Jace were given equal emotional weight in the build-up to the fight? If the hurt and anxiety at discovering he was a bastard had been building and building until it burst out. The entire reason the show changed the age dynamic between Rhaenyra and Alicent to make them peers and best friends was supposedly to make their conflict more dramatic - why would you then drop that approach with their kids? How does it make the civil war story better if one half of the next generation of characters aren't really characters?

They didn't even have to put much effort into Baela, as GRRM already had her brimming with personality on the page, but they just... ignored that and made her a non-entity. Oh she gets one punch in, and there's a blink and you'll miss it background shot of her trying to hit Aegon (at this point I don't think the actors were even directed to do that I think they just took it upon themselves). Meanwhile Baela in the books is wild and fearless and deliberately provocative and quick to anger and fiercely defensive of her loved ones and wrestles squires in the training yard and has a pet monkey and sneaks out in search of adventure and brings home 'unsuitable' friends. Including a legless beggar, a blacksmith's apprentice whose muscles she admired, a street conjurer, twin prostitutes and an entire troupe of mummers. And she alarms everyone due to being 'overly fond of boys' and gets epic lines like this when it is suggested she marry Lord Rowan:

“I’ve bedded two of his sons. The eldest and thirdborn, I think it was. Not both at once, that would have been improper.”

She could have been an absolutely chaotic presence onscreen. Rhaena meanwhile is a little more like Sansa to Baela's Arya, but would have needed more work to flesh her out onscreen. Her insecurities and wish for a dragon seemed promising at first, but they were dropped as soon as Aemond lost his eye. Because that was ultimately the narrative purpose she served - to provide a new reason for the fight to start that wasn't Aemond hitting and pushing a toddler into a pile of dragon poo. She helps Aemond's image by being the one to start the fight instead of him, and from then on she becomes a voiceless non-entity. We watch Aemond fly away victoriously on Vhagar, we don't see Rhaena tearfully watching the last link to her mother vanish over the horizon.

Considering the prominent role of bastards during the dance (especially the dragonseeds), the uninterest in exploring bastardy in Jace makes little sense. Considering the centrality of gender to the story (and considering a certain event involving key players during the dance), the lack of effort into Baela and Rhaena makes zero sense (the show doesn't even bring up their right to Driftmark in an episode dedicated to discussing the rightful heir to Driftmark).

Considering especially that in fantasy black women are so often consigned to minor Missandei roles, the fact that we were robbed of Baela and Rhaena as main characters particularly stings. Baela in particular was an easy fan favourite in the book, and its a role that black women and girls so rarely get to play. If you had told me before the show that Helaena would be a fan favourite over Baela, I wouldn't have believed it. And don't get me wrong, I like that they fleshed out Helaena in the show, like Rhaena she didn't have much of a presence in the book. But it is so typical that the relative non-entity that they kept white gets to be fleshed out, while the more fleshed out character that they made black becomes a non-entity. And Helaena is skinny now, of course (all love to Phia Saban, but I am mourning plump Helaena).

And don't get me started on Kylo Raemond.

[snaillock]

demotivated artist!reader x bllk boys

(bachira, kaiser)

tags: gn!reader, kaisers gratuitous stripping of course, bachira being a silly little guy, kaiser being an attention whore

bachira

you sat at your desk, mindlessly watching a youtube video that was supposed to be your background noise as you did your art. instead your sketchbook was left on the fresh blank page as you were completely engrossed in the video.

“aren’t you supposed to be doing something” you snapped out of your focus from the distraction and turned to see bachira cheekily smiling at you with an eyebrow raised and hands on his hips

“ugh fine you caught me,” you said as you turned back to look at your computer and felt bachira wrap his arms around you and his head rest on his shoulder.

“i just… don’t know how to start. i’ve been on an art block for weeks now and it’s starting to wear me down.” you let out a deep sigh as you rambled and tapped your pencil on the desk, “it’s just so hard to find any ideas now”

as bachira listened to your rant, he unwrapped one of his arms from your shoulder and silently reached out for your colored pens and markers with his tongue out in absolute concentration, none of which you noticed.

your ramble got interrupted the second you heard marker scratching on paper. you look down to see bachira doodling on your sketchbook

“bachira?! what the hell are you doing!?” when you said that, he quickly snatched up your sketchbook and a couple of markers and ran out the room giggling, too fast for you to catch up. ‘god why did i date a football player’ you sighed and ran out to find him

you spotted him on the couch, comfortably laying on his stomach as he continued doodling on your stolen sketchbook with your stolen markers. you immediately snatched the book out of his hands.

“i cannot believe you would take my things like that! not only did you take my sketchbook, you also drew in it without my permiss- oh wait…” your scolding trailed off as you took a look at the page he drew. you saw the vibrant squiggles and lines he did along with some star shapes and hearts.

“wow this is actually really pretty,” you said, sitting down right next to him. you took one of your pens that bachira stole from your desk and started to draw on that page, using the art bachira did as a colorful background to bring out the black ink of the figures you drew in front of it. bachira rested his head on your shoulder and watched the entire time.

“hehe looks like i once again saved the day,” bachira laughed as he looked at your ‘collaborated’ work.

you rolled your eyes at his comment. “ok fine i guess you did help with my art block,” you smiled and kissed his cheek, “i appreciate it and i appreciate you”

bachira grinned and wrapped his arms around your waist, “you are so so welcome!”

“is this something you did with your mom every time she couldn’t paint?” “oh yeah constantly” “ah should’ve guessed”

kaiser

you sat at your desk while scrolling through different photos on your laptop, trying to find something to draw since your brain was completely dried out of ideas

“babe~” you sighed as you heard a whiny voice from behind you. uh oh kaiser needs attention. you turned your head to look at him

“what do you need kaiser”

“how much longer are you gonna be in here for? you’ve already been here all day…” it’s only been an hour.

you rolled your eyes as his whining got more desperate and you spoke, “who knows at this point. i’ve been stuck for a while so you might have to wait for the rest of the day.” you glanced at him, knowing that would get to him.

“no darling! you cant stay here all day”

“well if you have any ideas for me, i’ll love to hear them”

he closed your laptop, pushing all your things aside, and sat on your desk right in front of you with his leg crossed over his knee, “how about this… you should just draw me.” he smirked as he looked down at your unimpressed face

you thought about it for a second before nodding, “you know what… that’s not too bad of an idea! i’ll do it.”

“ok great!” he said as he started taking his shirt off.

“kaiser no! i don’t need a nude model so please leave your shirt on!”

“fine…” he groaned, hesitantly removing his hands from his shirt and smoothed it out. he mumbled, “it’s nothing you haven’t seen before anyway”

you playfully rolled your eyes and got your stuff ready. you started drawing him as he did various poses while basking in all your attention. every now and then he would try to convince you that him stripping off his clothes would help more but you kept shooting that idea down. you had to deal with him constantly walking naked around the house already.

once you finished, you showed him the sketches. he wrapped his arms around you and kissed you multiple times, each one on a different spot on your face. “wow you did such a good job! you captured my beauty so well”

he took photos of your sketches while gushing about how good of an artist you are and how blessed he is for having you (and also how blessed you are for having a great and attractive model like him)

the next day while he was out at practice, he showed off your drawings to his teammates, bragging about how beautiful and talented his partner is

a/n: haha hai so like i was planning on only sticking to hcs format for this blog but i really wanted to do like a drabble/hc thingy and i also have very little writing experience so sorry if this sucks ass. hope you enjoyed it!

this was supposed to be a three character post but i struggled to

think of another so if anyone wants a part 2 with diff characters, feel free to request so with the characters you want!

[sinning-23]

Mona Lisa

Warnings; none(yet)

Updates: Introduction found here

Chapter 2 found here

Chapter 1

The house was alive with guests and music. Of course, you were on the clock, taking time to paint the scene in front of you. Natalie was sweet enough to offer you some wine but you declined, needing the utmost attention in order to paint. So instead you were graced with a glass of water that rested beside you. The pleasant and savory aroma of spices filled the air. You felt at ease as the smells ignited nostalgic Memories of home.

You’d been painting for hours now, the once blank faces now taking shape as your background was completed. Needing to place your focus elsewhere for a minute, you looked out the window. The sky was a gorgeous purple and the lush clouds scattered around it was breathtaking. The trees outside were darkening as shadows cast over the house and a breeze gently shook the leaves. It’d make a beautiful landscape. 

You sigh, finally placing your brush down on your canvas after holding it for so long. Despite your work taking form in a culmination of calculated paint strokes and colors, your wrist was ready to betray you, the cramp beginning to form and your arm beginning to give out. Reluctantly leaving your station, you stand and stretch, deciding that you most definitely needed a break. 

Squeezing past partygoers, you find your way to the kitchen, hoping it’d be empty. But like always, your hopes were crushed when you spotted someone. A man with curled blonde locks falling over his face stood in front of a stove. His eyebrows lowered and knit together with a scowl on his lips.

He was just as into his craft as you were.

What was he cooking? That must’ve been what you were smelling when you were painting before. Maybe you shouldn’t hover over him. You take a step back, silently backing against the countertop, watching how his eyes darted from bowl to bowl of mixed ingredients but never to your figure standing across the room. Every movement made the muscles in his arms flex.

“I didn't know Nat had a personal chef.” You murmur, the rings on your fingers feeling uncomfortable with how tightly you were squeezing the countertop.

Damn Nerves. 

You must have startled him because he flinched at your voice and was just now taking the time to make quick eye contact with you.

“She uh- she doesn’t, just watching this for her…but she has a personal painter?” His icy blue eyes scan you. He’s analyzing and his focus lingers on your frame.

 What was he looking at? You averted your gaze, the coldness of his baby blue’s clashing with the warmth of your chocolate brown eyes. Since he decided to stare you took it upon yourself to return the favor. His arms are flexed, and the fabric of his simple long sleeve is rolled up enough to have them exposed. Black ink contrasts with his porcelain skin and his face has noticeable splotches of red, most likely from the heat of the stove. You allowed your eyes to trail down the middle of his face. His lips remained pressed into a line still awaiting your answer with his head tilted to the side. 

He’s pretty, really pretty. But you’d be a fool to say it aloud. 

“I wouldn't say personal. It's a favor for a friend.” You finally answer, turning to wash your hands and break the seemingly awkward stare-off you were having. His attention returns to the food. 

—-

The party had died down quite a bit. Your station clean up went better than you expected, the only thing left of your area was the canvas was on display. You return to the kitchen for the second time this evening to clean your brushes hoping to run into the ‘personal chef again’. Unfortunately, the blonde from before was nowhere to be seen.  The smell of spices was almost nonexistent now, every few minutes you’d turn around expecting to see him appear, even if it was just for a second. Judging on how spotless the kitchen looked, he must have cleaned up for Nat and left after he was done ‘watching’ whatever food for her. Speaking of which-

“The painting looks amazing.” She compliments with a smile.

You smile back, taking time to get between the bristles with your fingers, the clear water mixing in a sea of browns when your brushes made contact. 

“Thanks, I was starting to panic though, I got a cramp halfway through.” You chuckle, setting the brushes into your apron once they are rinsed. 

The two of you joke back and forth for a bit, discussing whatever subject came to mind. You’d gotten close enough to her for that type of thing now. She insists on paying you but you decline and reassure her this is simply a favor amongst friends. Of course, you just had to open your mouth and mention the stranger. 

“Who was that by the way? He said he was watching your food for you but I saw him add some stuff. He was kind of… I don't know. Anyway, who was he?” You question, clearing your throat a bit.

“Who, Carmy?” She questions, voice raising an octave as her brows raise. 

“So that's his name. I was kind of disappointed that I didn't see him again. He moves quickly. Whatever he was helping cook it smelled great.” You grin, the memory making you giddy. 

“Y/n, he’s my brother.” She explains making your eyes widen. 

“Really? Huh, he’s not much of a talker is he? I mean I was just- we just- I didn't want to interrupt him. I came in for a sec to take a break and…Well he was here but..” You try to explain, but Nat sees right through you. 

“Mhm, Well here’s his number. Give him a call sometime, he never talks to me anyway. Maybe he’ll talk if he has some extra company like you around.” She explains, handing you a freshly written Post-it note. 

—

The sun had long set, stars sprinkling the sky here and there while the cold nips at wherever it can get a hold on. Early spring still felt like winter. You decided to leave your paint supplies in your car and draw a few landscapes in your sketchbook. Maybe you'd even pull the stuff out in the park if you were feeling spontaneous. 

The apartment is warm and the whirr of your appliances is the first thing you hear upon entry. Bubbles, your fish is inside the castle of his own little fishbowl apartment and your lights are dim. To anyone else, this would be messy. But your studio was calculated chaos in your eyes. There was a system and in your mind, you knew where everything was and where it should be. 

Hot water runs from the shower head and onto your skin, soaking off the day's dirt with ease. You're sure not to wet your braids, the humidity from the steam already doing enough damage to make them fuzzy. It was time for fresh ones anyway. Your mind trails thoughtlessly over to-do lists and possibilities for tomorrow, but the person you’d least expect to cross your mind was the stranger you knew as, Carmen.

Natalie did say they were siblings and the more you think about the two of them the easier it gets to see the resemblance. Speaking of which, you knew of her older brother. Michael? Yeah, Michael. That's who you did the portrait for that day she requested…well it was a portrait for her of course. It's been months since you touched it but she was so understanding.

You lower your sleep mask and tuck into the warmth of your comforters, turning off your phone for the night after drafting your message.

To: ***-***-****

Personal painter to personal chef. What are the odds of us meeting again?

[yarrowleef]

I thought I made a post about the Onestar's SE back in 2022 a couple months before it came out and I found it in my drafts, never posted for whatever reason

anyway, as a "pre-thoughts before reading (more of) it", how I felt was that I wasn't super excited about the idea of a Onestar book.

idk. warriors is funny for me in that even though I like messy morally gray characters in literally any other property i’m into, all of warriors (in)famous morally gray characters are just. annoying to me. in a not fun way.

Like with Clear Sky, narrative misogyny aside (bc I didn't really unpack All That until after finishing the arc) I found it completely impossible to enjoy any of his POV chapters, or...anything about him, really (I’m sure a lot of it has to do with an unwillingness to let him face lasting consequences for anything. I’ll never recover from the pure elation I felt at his mother roasting him and then the stark plummet into disappointment when five seconds later she back pedals into “it’s ok actually, what you REALLY need is to forgive yourself and move on uwu”)

the frustrating thing is, I wouldn't find this character horrible to read about in theory. I feel like nearly every action he took, how quickly he escalated things, how is ego manifests.....If I was just given a summary of Clear Sky and what he did, I could probly fill in the blanks for how he made (most of) those decisions, and I might think “that would be an interesting character to read about, especially as a POV"

and yet in practice it was Not Fun to read Ever

I think erin hunter is just... really bad at believably arguing for their characters

Sometimes it feels like someone got an outline saying “this character kicks a puppy” because that puppy needs to be kicked in order to motivate the plot. and instead of sitting down and thinking through what kind of mindset would lead to someone kicking this puppy, what kind of internal arguments are they making, how are they rationalizing it, instead they just. copy the instruction down in black and white with no expansion. Character thinks “I have to kick this puppy!”, someone else asks “why do you have to do that?? wtf is wrong with you?”, character responds with “they just don’t understand! I have to kick this puppy!” without really any delving into what made them come to this conclusion first, and every obstacle and bad consequence that comes up they just repeat some variation of that same line over and over “they just don't understand why I have to kick this puppy!!” like ok cool but do YOU even understand why you have to kick this puppy???? cause sometimes it doesn’t feel like your writers do, it feels like they are dispassionately following instructions.....y'know what i mean????

Anyway, that’s what it felt like reading Clear Sky’s POV chapters

and I suspect I'm going to feel similarly about Onestar once he enters his Bitchy Leader era. Not that he is anywhere near as bad as Clear Sky, he's not, but just that this particular feeling pops up any time the Erin's try to write from the perspective of someone acting aggressively for complicated reasons. I could envision how the things that happened to Onestar led him down the road he ended up on but I'm afraid seeing inside his head will only make the character way more brainless and shallow then he was as a sort-of background character that we had to piece together on our own

[apompkwrites]

Hi hi! Remember the school au I made for the Lil Sheep and never mentioned again? Lmao, I have been working on it, but most of it is me screaming

The school does have dorms, and I wanted to base it on something like how Noble Bell College, Night Raven, and Royal Sword are, however, I'm not 100% sure if I wanted to base it off of other stories or keep it generally centered around the Seven.

I have some ideas for other stories that the dorm could be based on and some ideas for it being based on the Seven. If it's based on the Seven, then the dorms would be centered around the background characters, after all the Lil sheep in the game would be background characters who the main character probably wouldn't interact with much, and their whole arc in their school would be all of the Sheepies learning to accept that they are their own person and have their own lives, they don't need to revolve around their parents, siblings, or other's around them to survive and they aren't just background or one-off characters, they're their own people independent of whatever story they're tied(this is a newer idea, so it isn't that fleshed out)

Meanwhile, if it was based on other stories, I thought of basing it on ballet and opera stories. I have been flirting with this idea a lot, and I like it since it separates the Lil Sheep and gives them their own story, not just their brother's story. While I am pretty set on this idea, it's not 100%; I do have some possible stories to base the dorms off of, though, and even some ideas for some very silly events that would happen and I even have a few tidbits for it before the background character idea came about and here it is

I honestly have no name for any of these dorms all I know is that Shroud's dorm is based on Giselle by Adolphe Adam and Jean Coralli and I put Data recording for talent because I can totally see Lil Flame blanking when writing that down because they never considered themselves talented at something and since data recording is something that they do a lot of they just put it down and I put Piano down for hobbies because of my previous hobby headcanons

I made it so that all the dorms have been split into two sections and these two sections have two different leaders, just to make it easier for the house wardens to manage and because I don't want to make another school for the "good guys" of the stories and thought it would just be easier and they have two vice dorm leaders to assist the two dorm leaders

also, I did a very silly thing when deciding their student id number

The headmistress handpicked all of the black sheep which everyone considers odd since she normally gets her butterflies to do her and the school doesn't have a magic mirror however the dorms seem to quite literally have a mind of their own, I mean the dorm picks the dorm leaders.

It's unknown on what basis the dorms pick their leaders on, as it just happens randomly the first week back at school after the previous leader graduates. The choice can be found in a painting with all the dorm leaders in the main hall and in the dorms there is a line of portraits of the previous leaders stopping only at the current two. No one has ever witnessed the process of the paintings being made they just appear overnight with a letter accompanying it announcing their choice, and there is a ceremony acknowledging the choice so that the whole school knows, this same process happens with vice-wardens too.

The dorm assigning process is actually also done by the dorms, the Headmistress puts on the main building walls the names of all of the new students and on the first day of school, the freshmen are told to go find their name and dorm placement.

the two sections were actually a choice made by the dorms itself as the day that the dorms picked it's chosen leaders the Headmistress found that instead of it picking just one it picked two, and the Headmistress figured out what it was trying to say rather quickly.

also an interesting thing about Shrouds dorm, it was the first dorm in 50 years give or take to have only one dorm leader when the choice was made. This was because the dorm didn't see anyone fit for the position of second dorm leader. That was before they got a transfer student who midyear appeared in the painting in the main hall, sitting next to Shroud with their head on Shroud's shoulder with the other dorm leaders surrounding them. it was a shock to the whole school since this had never happened before, but was a massive relief to Shroud and the two vice-house wardens who were taking most of the work for the missing leader.

at this point, I've just decided that might as well use the other stories instead of the background characters idea lmao

also as a side note, the Headmistress hand picks all the students but does so in the form of her butterflies, she very specifically instructs them however for whatever reason when she chose the Lil Lambs she appeared in person, everyone is under the impression that she leaves it up to her butterflies when she really just micromanages the shit out of it

anyways enjoy these crumbs of a idea from me lmao

hi hi! ofc i remember the lovely school au :DD

glad to see you bestow another crumb unto us <33 love that lil shroud is our main focus (my lil baby :DD).

and is that a doc i see :O is. is there more :OO

we love the lil sheepies getting their own school where they can grow without being in the shadows of their brothers :)

[ipsen]

Blank Canvas, Chapter 5

Read on AO3. Summary: Kaneki is teased, and Takatsuki plans a special outing. Word Count: 3368 CW: Brief history lesson on comfort women in Japan during WW2 Chapter 6 Chapter 4 Master Post

Unbelievable.

From across the table, she glared at the man that was supposed to be her father. Tall, old, and dressed in all black. Like a mafia figure in stories. If this were like those stories though, they wouldn’t even be here.

But instead, she was being given away to someone else. Again.

Her eyes, thin as snakes, followed the paper that was slid over to him: despite not being there for her for fourteen years, his consent was still required for someone else to adopt her. She watched him pick up the pen without any trace of hesitation and sign off on it.

How.

It was his fault that Papa died. If he’d just done the bottom line job of being a parent, or even just being there for her and Papa, then maybe they wouldn’t have been attacked by that weirdo, and Papa wouldn’t have been stabbed in the neck eight times, and she wouldn’t have had to slice that guy’s belly open before she suffered the same fate. If it weren’t for the man in front of her, neither of them would be here. It was his fault.

He seemed indifferent to her curses on him— that, or he was oblivious to them, and both were equally infuriating— as he passed the paper to her new foster father: some middle-aged guy with beady eyes and a tall face— Shouji? Shinji? It didn’t matter, even as he signed the paper as well and attached her to his hip. Who cared about him.

She scowled again at her ‘father’. Papa— the one that actually raised her— had told her about the organization. Some weirdo adults with god complexes who thought they could just walk all over anyone outside their circle. An organization that acted like the world belonged to them.

What a joke. And her ‘father’ was a part of them? Was power so intoxicating to the human mind that nothing could serve as an antidote?

“Well, Mr. Shiono, thank you for this.” Her ‘father’ stood up and held out his hand. “Take good care of *^~ for me.”

She hated that name. It was so cruel and unusual given the circumstances.

“Er, of course, Mr. Yoshimura,” Shiono replied nervously, shaking it. “You can count on me…”

And her ‘father’ turned his back on her once more.

She swore she would ruin him. Somehow, she’d do it. Him and his precious organization both.

———

It was now the middle of August, meaning summer was in full swing.

During the past three months, Kaneki drew concepts, backgrounds, and characters. He paneled key scenes and showed the sketches to Takatsuki, upon which her eyes would glow with approval. In return, she would show him her draft for future chapters, explaining her thought process, and he would give a thumbs up and a smile.

All in all, they worked surprisingly well together.

Where she was too angry, his empathy cooled the flames, and where he was too hesitant, she happily crossed the line. It was a dynamic that served to balance the story on a tightrope as it pedaled down the path to the end.

And between the outlining and the storyboarding, whatever image he had of Sen Takatsuki, the author, happily faded into the background in favor of Sen Takatsuki, the person.

Whenever they grabbed food together (which was often; she seemed to like dragging Kaneki to new restaurants he’d never heard of), she usually cleaned her plate. She liked her vegetables steamed and fresh— otherwise, Kaneki found himself with a fuller plate— and her favorite foods were meats and seafood. She especially liked takoyaki, and ordered a plate every time they went somewhere new.

She was also always quick to pay for both of them, even after Kaneki’s paychecks started rolling in. “You should spend that on more important stuff,” she told him, taking his wallet and shoving the bills he’d handed her back in. “Leave the monotony to me.”

(Even though there was nothing monotonous about it.)

Another thing he learned about her was that she didn’t care for her birthday. When June 19th hit, and he couldn’t find a suitable gift in time, Shiono assured him that she didn’t want anything. It was probably obvious based on how she didn’t call off their session that day, but Kaneki couldn’t help but be curious. He wondered why.

When they traveled for inspiration, research, or both, Takatsuki liked to spout trivia about the location. However, it wasn’t inconsequential stuff like the year something was built, but rather the bloody history behind it. The types of things that weren’t in childhood textbooks, even adult textbooks. The shameful things. The darker things.

While they were investigating a certain building, she pointed at it and said, “This is actually a repurposed brothel from World War II. They plucked women straight from their homes and brought them here to be raped by Japanese soldiers.” She then glared. “Not that the government wants you to know that; they still haven’t apologized for it.”

Most people would be uncomfortable with such knowledge, Kaneki imagined, but the fact that Takatsuki trusted him to bear the burden softened the blow. In fact, learning about the suffering of the world made him a little bit more confident in himself. If others could experience worse and still live to an old age, then why couldn’t he? At least, maybe he could.

Plus, it was those moments that the simmering layer just beneath Takatsuki’s friendly demeanor poked its head out. A creature whose jagged edges occasionally cut the cloth that hid it— a hint of the angry thing that inserted itself between the lines of her books.

It was those fascinating glimpses that Kaneki drew. In secret, of course. When he wasn’t storyboarding. For himself. In a separate sketchbook. That he locked in his drawer. Where the key was tucked in his copy of Frankenstein. Not the special edition that he usually brought around when he was feeling the itch for a reread, but the paperback cover with missing pages that he had bought in middle school.

Point being, only he would ever see those drawings.

———

“Ken,” Kaya spoke gently, but Kaneki could tell by her smile she was ecstatic, “Touka tells me you’re dating again.”

Kaneki groaned. “Why does everyone think that I’m—”

“You can fall in love with a coworker. It’s not illegal.” She chuckled. “It won’t always work out, as we both know, but it’s perfectly normal.”

The two of them were at Apes & Dobers, the nonprofit charity co-owned by Kaya and Enji. The members— mostly remnants of the old Devil Apes and Black Dobers gangs— offered shelter and food to those who could not yet afford it. Located in the 20th ward, it (secretly) took unused food from Anteiku and gave it away for free; Mr. Yoshimura, as Anteiku’s owner, simply looked the other way.

In fact, Kaneki and Kaya were working on organizing that food right now, along with donations from the latest food drive, in one of the many storage rooms.

“Th-That’s not what’s happening!” Kaneki protested, lifting up a box full of soup cans. “I just— I just admire her, that’s all! She’s my favorite author, and now I’m working with her. E-End of story…”

“Mhm.” Kaya shrugged in such a way that was so unbelievably fake. “Ken, you miss every single shot you don’t take; you know that, right?”

“Of course I do, but—!”

The door flew open, and in stepped Hide and Touka, bringing a cart full of new foods between them. “Yo!” Hide said, hand raised in greeting. “Work’s finally slowed down a bit, so I figured I’d come help!”

“Hey, Hide! Hi, Touka!” Kaneki said a little loudly, grateful for the chance to change the subject. “Great to have you!”

“Yo.” Touka made the same greeting as Hide. “Just dropping by to help.”

Kaya checked her watch, then raised an eyebrow. “On your lunch break?”

“Yeah.” Touka shrugged. “Why?”

Kaneki watched as Kaya circled around him, approached Touka, and promptly shoved her out the door. “Excuse me,” she looked at him and Hide, “but I have to make sure someone eats. Can you take care of the rest for me?”

“Sure thing, boss!” Hide saluted with a laugh. “Have fun, Touka!”

Touka protested the entire way out, but it was mostly inane phrases, and she was clearly smiling. Kaneki, chuckling, couldn’t help but think she lied to get Kaya to eat instead; it was one of her worst habits, and part of why he got along so well with her. That, and she was the only one who could understand how he felt when Rize disappeared.

Hide glanced about as he unloaded the rest of the cart. “No Enji again, huh?”

Kaneki shook his head. “No…” It went unsaid that Enji was taking care of Mr. Yoshimura. The decline was getting steeper.

“That’s too bad.”

A beat of silence. Food was organized. At least Kaneki got to spend time with Hide, which was surprisingly rare. Hide’s work kept him so busy during the day, and that didn’t change with Kaneki’s new job. So hearing that Hide would be around more often eased the invisible tension in his shoulders.

“Sooo… How’s Takatsuki?” Hide asked, grinning.

“Not you too…” Kaneki groaned, fighting a blush. “But she’s… fine, I guess?”

Hide cackled. “Just ‘fine’? Doesn’t sound ‘fine’ to me.”

Of course Takatsuki wasn’t fine. She was great. More than great. But calling her ‘great’ would just earn Kaneki some heavy teasing, and he’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

But he couldn’t let Hide’s opinion of her get sullied. “She’s… Uh, a really good coworker.” It was safe, and it was apt. It didn’t encompass everything about Takatsuki, but it was a good start. “She doesn’t wear any business clothes like everyone else at Shoeisha, which is nice, so I’m not pressured to be fancy all the time.”

“Oh, wow. That’s cool.” Hide grinned, counting some canned fish and recording the number on a nearby clipboard. “Pretty casual environment, then? Actually, what’s it like working on a story?”

“Well, we go to a lot of different places to study the area. We also study some of the local people to inspire character mannerisms. When we’re not doing that, it’s just me and her in her office.” As soon as Kaneki said it (plus Hide’s lack of interjecting), he knew he slipped up.

Hide gasped like a true gossiper. “No shot! Just you two, alone, in an office space?! Scandalous!” He cackled at his own joke.

Kaneki palmed his face, then crossed the room to double check Kaya’s work on a previous stack.

“But seriously man, be honest with me.” Now that he’d had his fun, Hide went into serious mode. “What do you think of her?”

Kaneki paused mid-count, then looked at Hide and smiled gently. At the end of the day, he knew he could always count on Hide to look out for him. “She’s amazing,” he confessed comfortably. “I think we can make something great together. And we will.”

Hide smiled back at that. “Sounds like a dream come true.”

Kaneki chuckled. “I guess so.”

“I’m serious!” He trotted over to pat Kaneki’s back. “I know what they say about meeting your heroes or whatever, but you seemed to have lucked out!”

“You think so?”

“I know so! Think about it: despite having zero experience, she thinks you have the chops and personality to make her work shine!” Hide wrapped his arm around Kaneki and pulled him close. “I mean, that’s, like, a one-in-a-million chance of happening! You, sir, are the luckiest rabbit of them all.”

Kaneki laughed, and Hide laughed back. As they did, crouched on the floor in front of a stack of canned beans, footsteps rounded the corner and stopped at the doorway.

“Kaya, you in here—? Oh shit,” a new voice sounded from the doorway.

The pair turned to see a young woman with straight black hair and beige eyes, dressed in dark clothing.

“Kurona!” Kaneki exclaimed, shooting to his feet. “I didn’t realize you were here!”

The (younger) Yasuhisa twin was actually a member of Taiwa Act, one of the sister organizations of Apes and Dobers, after her family fell out of public favor and her father was murdered. However, she and her (older) sister, Nashiro, went over to offer their services when work wasn’t holding them up. Nashiro was an independent investigative journalist while Kurona worked closely with Kimi, head of Taiwa, on organizing events.

“Hey, Tree Branch,” Kurona greeted back. It was her stupid nickname for him using the kanji of his family name. “Hide.”

“Yo, Kuro.” Hide waved, and serious mode was over. “I was just trying to figure out if our dear mutual friend here has a—”

“A great time at his, uh, his job!” Kaneki interrupted, scratching his chin. “A-And I am, Hide, thanks so much for asking!”

“Oh, you got a job? Well, shit, I thought— Never mind.” Kurona shook her head and sighed. “I guess making you the butt of the joke is just that easy.”

“Okay, yeah, it’s a job, but he totally has a crush on his coworker,” Hide said, cackling.

“Hide!” Kaneki hissed.

Kurona, dead serious, walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. “You have my pity.”

That was a new one. “W-What?”

She raised a brow. “You’re kidding, right? Imagine if you had to work with your ex. Sounds like a shitty deal to me.”

In response, he glanced down at his shoes, which were suddenly very interesting. He hadn’t even thought about that. If he was considering dating Takatsuki— which he wasn’t— then the risk was way higher than the reward. He wouldn’t just lose a relationship— he’d probably lose his job, as well as all future hope for a career as a comic artist. Not that he’d ever commit career suicide this early on (even for someone as amazing as Takatsuki stop it), but it was certainly an angle to keep in mind.

“Oh, Kuro, where’s Shiro?” Hide glanced behind her. “She outta town again?”

Kuro backed off and shrugged. “Sorta. Said she’s pursuing something more local this time, somewhere in the 13th, but won’t say a peep more. I’m sure she’s fine, though.”

“What about that Torso guy, though?” Hide stuffed his hands into his pockets. “They’ve been really active lately; should she really be alone like that?”

“The Torso only targets women with visible scars.” Kurona traced lines on her arms. “Nashiro doesn’t have anything, so she’s not their type.”

Hide went quiet, but the strange moment passed as quickly as it came. “That makes sense. Phew!” He stretched then. “Well, the food won’t sort itself!”

Kaneki swallowed. Women with visible scars… Now that he thought about it, he’d never seen Takatsuki without her tights or in short sleeve attire. She was always covering up her whole body, and he’d never thought to ask until now. What if…?

He tried to ignore the new sense of dread growing in the pit of his stomach.

———

“‘Cruelty is permanent, but it can be tempered’,” Takatsuki recited aloud.

Kaneki, on the couch, didn’t respond, idly drawing scars in his sketchbook. Cuts, bruises, burns— marks that interrupted the smoothness of skin like nothing else. Flesh crumpled and darkened and changed under the weight of such things, never to return to the halcyon days of normalcy. And when the Torso saw such things, he—

“Haise.”

Kaneki jolted up. “H-Huh?”

Takatsuki shot him a rare look of irritation and repeated the line. The story itself was split up into chapters, and each chapter had a poem that she wrote; she must have been working on the chapter after Fushimi, the protagonist, learns about the lobbyist organization’s connection to the antagonistic serial killer.

Serial killers… He cleared his throat, trying to laugh it off. “O-Oh, it’s, um… I-It’s good!”

It was clear it wasn’t the response she desired, and returned to scrawling in her notebook. “Okay.”

A wave of shame washed over him. He shouldn’t be thinking about this; Takatsuki was smart. She wouldn’t get caught like a deer in headlights like him. Right? Right. She probably had way more experience dealing with crazed fans too; a stalker killer was probably not too fundamentally far off from an unhealthy fan. But what if she was caught and subsequently froze up? He couldn’t know until it happened, and if it happened, it’d be too late; she’d already be doomed and he’d be powerless to help her.

He had to ask. But what if she suspected him? No one had ever seen the Torso’s face; Kaneki could be him, for all she knew. An unsociable artist with an eye for anatomy— he wouldn’t have much ground to stand on if he started asking about Sen Takatsuki’s body scars. He shouldn’t risk his reputation this early into his career, but…

He looked at Takatsuki as she crossed out a few lines. She was using her left hand today, he noticed. She liked to switch it up every now and then, much like her hair. Today was two buns instead of one, the bunches of hair gathered up in a messy style on either side of her head. She rested the end of her pen on her mouth, gently parting her lower lip from her upper. Kaneki didn’t realize that he ran his tongue over his own lips as he stared.

What he did realize was that he was drawing her again. A focused expression, representing a mind trying to pry apart the future and ignorant to the present. The sunlight through the window worked with the shadows to glint off the rim of her glasses, lightly obscuring part of her face and creating an air of comfortable mystery. A dash of indescribable weight to her irises to top it off.

He looked between the finished product and his muse, then smiled in defeat. He still could only capture a fragment of the real deal. He closed the sketchbook and sighed.

“I-I’m sorry, Takatsuki,” he said, getting her attention. “I’ve been… worried about something. It’s been distracting me for a while.”

She glanced up. “Oh?”

“The serial killer… A real one. The Torso. I learned that he targets women with scars.” If he was going to do this, he had to be honest with her. “And… I was just worried about you. B-because you, um… you cover up a lot.”

He hoped his question was implied. He watched her expression dip deeper into the shadows, obscuring itself from his vision.

“I-It was just a passing thought,” he hastily explained. “Stupid, really, in hindsight. I let it get the best of me, so I’ll, uh—”

“You want to know if I have scars, then?” Takatsuki had stood up and crossed the room, and now she stood before him.

“W-Well, I, um—” Kaneki scratched his cheek, looking everywhere except at her— “I-I don’t have to, but—”

“Tell you what.” She was smiling, and he immediately knew there was some sick enjoyment coming out of watching him squirm. “You show me one, I’ll show you one.”

He froze.

“Deal?”

“U-Uh… Sure… D-Deal…” What was he supposed to do, say no? If he didn’t show any scars, then the deal was basically invalid, anyway! Now he could just move the conversation along to—

“Great! If I remember correctly, I owe you for the park, don’t I?”

Oh, no. She meant metaphorical scars.

Takatsuki giggled. “Kidding, kidding! Your face was just too funny.”

Kaneki let out the biggest sigh of relief in his life. “You almost gave me a heart attack…”

“And I loved every second of it.” She tapped his arm with the back of her hand.

He gave a hesitant laugh. Well, at least he wasn’t distracted by the Torso anymore. Now he could focus on… another serial killer. A fake one, but a serial killer nonetheless. The Torso was terrible for becoming active again.

“Oh, but before the topic grows cold— Haise,” she turned to him now, “have you ever met a serial killer?”

His brow furrowed. “No…”

She tilted her head and gave him a toothy grin. “Would you like to?”

[ath1a]

Espressos and Almond Lattes

I work in a cafe as a barista. My job isn’t particularly hard, I go through the days serving customers and cleaning tables. I find enjoyment in making drinks for people though, the cafe being a microcosm of everyone’s lives, put together in an amalgamation of different personalities, backgrounds and experiences. There is one customer in particular who caught my eye.

A man, who comes occasionally, entering for the first time after ‘noticing the signboard outside’. It was hard to understand him at first, his likes, dislikes and if he had any preferences for any drinks.

Usually he orders the first thing he sees on the menu boards, barely making eye contact, paying and walking away after getting his drink. But occasionally he orders one specific drink; a double espresso, no sugar. He orders the drink for small periods at a time, before going back to choosing random drinks.

A lot can be said about a customer, from the drink they choose, to the way they enter and leave, and even their reaction to a drink. You can tell whether they’re happy at their current point in their lives or if they’re experiencing a major event.

The man in particular is an interesting case. When he orders the double espresso for the first time in a while he seems to really crave the caffeine, understandably when you work long hours like I suspect he does - the bags under his eyes somewhat visible. But during these - espresso periods let’s call them - over the short time he’ll order them he starts to enjoy them less, sometimes commenting that its too bitter for him, and the caffeine is taking a toll on his body. Sometimes I mildly suggest he choose another drink instead, or maybe adding something extra for a change. The man insists he wants the espresso, but then a few days later he’ll order the triple shot mocha with cherry syrup or the pistachio cold brew with whipped cream. It’ll go on for a few weeks before he’s back to ordering the double espresso, no sugar.

And the cycle continues.

Until one day a few months down the line he comes in, leaving his bag at his usual chair before coming to me. Huh, that’s strange, he usually takes his drink first. I pay no attention until I realise he’s making direct eye contact with me, and not just for a few seconds. I wait expectantly for him to tell me his order, only for him to look at the menu board, falter and clear his throat, looking me in the eyes again.

He asks me to make something for him, a drink of my own choosing. Oh.

Oh.

Right, yes I need to make him…

An Almond Latte, I tell him. That’s what I’ll make for him.

You see almond lattes are my favourite drink. They’re very warm and inviting, the mildly bitter notes mixed with the subtle sweetness of the milk and the coffee blend. But they’re also the furthest thing from an espresso, not only in taste but also in appearance. almond lattes are a warm brown, compared to the dark almost inky black liquid of espressos.

They’re so different I doubt he would even like it.

I don’t usually make them for others, as a general rule for myself. The last time that happened it resulted in the customer never returning… I guess they really hated it, huh? Yet, somehow I’m now standing by the coffee maker, and the small jug of milk is in my hands, about to be frothed. I keep blanking out while somehow assembling the drink well enough to serve to the man, his sudden behaviour change at the forefront of my mind. By the time I’m done making it, he’s still there at the counter, ready to take the drink. I dust some cocoa powder on top and I gingerly place the drink on the counter, steadily awaiting his reaction.

Until I realise he’s smiling. He’s actually smiling - the corners of his mouth have tugged up into a faint smile, an expression I realise I’ve never actually seen before on him.

I want to see it more often.

The man tells me that next time I can bar the cocoa powder, but he wouldn’t mind any variation in the drink next time. Next time. He wants to order it again.

And he does, again and again, until it becomes his usual order. Over time I make slight changes, until I find the best combination for him. Over time his expressionless exterior breaks, the both of us sharing smiles from the cafe, even an inside joke or two about the other customers. Over time I realise my heart swells whenever I see him come through the door. Over time he starts leaving his coat with his bag, and his stays in the cafe get longer. Over time I see his gradual change through the months of ordering the almond lattes as he becomes less aloof, and more open.

I feel as if we have gotten incredibly close over time.

Until one day, he comes through the door, the winter chill cutting through the steamy warmth in the air and I can tell something’s up. He doesn’t meet my eye as he comes in, putting his bag down but not his coat, and for some reason I feel sick. Understandably I make mental excuses, maybe he’s in a rush, and can’t sit down for long today. Even though he’s made himself late for meetings by staying here before, he’s told me that himself. He doesn’t make eye contact with me as he comes up to the counter, and there’s a sinking feeling in my chest when I ask him for the usual-

No. He says. He still refuses to meet my eyes, the space around me apparently more compelling than I am. I ask him what he wants instead as I try and swallow the lump forming in my throat. I feel like I’m having to silently beg him to look at me. Why won’t he look at me?

He awkwardly clears his throat and asks for a double espresso, no sugar. Oh. Wait what?

I have to stop myself from asking him to repeat his request, I know I heard him loud and clear. I feel empty inside, but still, I go through the motions, making the drink for him. At one point I blankly stand by the coffee machine, the large mechanical box being the only visual barrier between me and him, while multiple questions cloud my mind.

Why the sudden change, what prompted it, did he not like the almond lattes? And if he didn’t, why did I keep making them for him?

I pour the dark liquid into a to-go cup, since he doesn’t seem to be sticking around today. I place it on the counter, and he gives a hard look at the cup, before looking back at me for the first time today. His eyes soften, and there’s almost a look of regret, but I blankly look back at him, my unwavering gaze showing no sign of any emotion. He looks back at the cup for a split second and grabs it, taking the cup. I nearly don’t hear the muttered apology as he leaves, taking his bag from his usual table and exiting.

The man’s trips suddenly become less frequent, only for a few minutes to grab his drink and leave. I’ve been sitting in the break room a lot these days, while I drink my almond lattes by myself. I prefer the solitude, that way I can enjoy them in peace, without the input of others.

Sometimes when the man comes in, he looks like he might order an almond latte, but the words double espresso, no sugar come out his mouth.

Anyways, I don’t think he’ll order an Almond Latte anytime soon, he likes Espressos too much to stop drinking them. It’s not my job as a barista to make him change his preferences either.

That’s up to him.

Funny how he made me think I could, though.

All works belong to @ath1a. Please do not repost without permission.

[countlessrealities]

{ @mcltiples || To Evil Rick from Weird Rick // someone decided to skip the science and go straight for the romantic route xD }

Inside of the lab, Rick decides to sneak up on his partner. He stood behind him, curling his arms around the other's waist, pulling closer to his own body. His chin rested on a shoulder. Comfortable and pleased with the positioning. If it were reminiscent of a romantic embrace, it was mostly due to his own instincts and the fact he could show off the gift easily.

In his hands, that were settled around Evil Rick's stomach, was a black velvety box. The clasp to it shone a silvery grey. It wouldn't stay closed for long. As the top of it opened, showing off a dark blue gem in the middle of a ring. The band itself a metallic black. Dark enough to show one's reflection.

"Do you like it, kitten?"

The feeling of a body, warm and by now beyond familiar, pressing against his back caused Rick to stop mid-gesture, the blade he was about to use freezing mid air. He instinctively tensed, but only for the briefest moment, because that interruption, while unpredictable, wasn't completely unexpected. Between the mistletoe episode of the day before and the obnoxious Christmas jingles that had been playing in the background all day long, he had grasped that his partner was in a festive mood.

Or, more accurately, that the other was in the mood to mock all the holiday clichés he could think of. From the decorations to the music to the traditions.

What Rick hadn't anticipated was to be faced with a present. Maybe, if it had been a mock one, meant to be yet another joke, he wouldn't have felt so caught off guard. It would have been in theme with everything else his alternate had done so far. Yet, even just looking at the box, he could tell that this was no prank. What he was looking at was a genuine, thoughtful gift.

Gray blue eyes flew sideways, catching a glimpse of the face set right next to his own, but then quickly dropped down once again when the lid was lifted, revealing the beautifully crafted ring.

Silence stretched between them as he momentarily ignored the other's question, choosing to take the box out of his partner's hand instead. His fingers plucked the jewel out of it, lifting it so that he could examine it more closely. The gem caught the whiteness of the artificial lights, shining as if it had been shining on its own, while his own blank stare looked back at him from the perfectly smooth black band.

His cybernetic eye measure the inner diameter of the ring in a split second, showing that it was the exact same of the fourth fingers of his own left hand. The spot usually reserved for wedding rings, with the exception that he would be the only one to wear it, in line with the imbalanced nature of their relationship.

The symbolism, while not overly open, wasn't lost to him. It was yet another way to mark him as taken, owned. A mark that would be there for everyone to see and understand. He briefly wondered why a ring, of all things, when there were stronger ways to remind the universe whom he belonged to, but he quickly discarded the question. He would take what he was given, as per usual.

The jewel slid easily along his finger, until it came to rest in the spot where it was supposed to be, hugging his flesh and bone with the exact amount of pressure that told him that it had found the spot where it was supposed to be. Yet another piece of the leash he had willingly put on himself and then handed to his alternate.

The corner of lips twitched upwards, in the shadow of a more than rare smile. Not a crazed smirk, not a sadistic grin. The closest thing to an actual smile his features were capable of.

"Yes," came the quiet answer, as he turned his head to be able to look at his partner once again. "Y-You have an oddly good eyes for aesthetics, Rick."

Perhaps the statement held a little jab, but there was no sharpness in it, especially as he let himself relax, even if imperceptibly, against the body embracing him. His hands covered his partner's fingers sliding between the other's. Not really intertwined by close enough.

"Thank you."

From where it was strapped on the operating table set in front of them, paralysed by an agent that left it completely conscious and able to experience every sensation, Rick's latest test subject let out a muffled sound of confused distress. It was quiet, but not quiet enough. Quicker than a heartbeat, the hand with the ring picked up the blade that had been set aside and slashed the creature's throat open in one smooth movement.

Splatters of dark purple sprayed his skin and the front of his clothes, painting his fingers and staining the gem. It was a little of a waste, but it didn't matter. He could still harvest what he had meant to extract and he could find another live specimen easily enough. He would deal with it later in any case.

Rick nestled his head in the crook of his alternate's neck. "...T-Turn off that irking music or I will cut your head off."

[acenomadic]

[Image Description: A fan drawn Owl House comic by Tumblr user moringmark with 19 frames.

Frame 1: Gus sitting at the front of a classroom. There is a blackboard behind him with the words C&C on the top line, (Cash and Cashiers) written on center line, and Session 0 on the bottom line. Gus is sitting behind a DM screen that has a drawing of a pedestal with a glowing dollar sign on top, money raining down, and a city skyline in the background. Guy is sitting with his fingers interlocked in a stereotypically devious pose with a smug look on his face. He says ". . . So, after the quest to the bank,"

Frame 2: Four Hexside students sit at one of the long classroom desks, they all have pencils and paper in front of them. From right to left they are Eileen, Mattholomule, Bo, and the unnamed goat faced cyclops student. Gus continues speaking from off frame saying "The party of adventures has reached the Cafe."

Frame 3: A close-up of Gus's face with a very serious expression saying. "And just when they are about to order some smoothies. . ."

Frame 4: Gus is now shown behind the counter of a cafe with a cash register beside him. Instead of his school uniform he is now wearing an apron and green visor. He is holding a green card and says "I'm sorry sir, your membership card has expired."

Frame 5: The four students are now all standing. The classroom behind them has been re-textured to more resemble a cafe, including a large full wall window. Eileen is now wearing a lab coat and chemical safety glasses, Bo seems to be wearing both a police uniform and a stethoscope. The goat student is wearing a black top hat, a black t-shirt with an indiscernible white logo in the center, and is holding an electric guitar. Mattholomule is wearing a hard hat, a white t-shirt, a tie around his neck, a nerf blaster strapped to his back, and a bandolier of nerf darts around his waist. Gus continues from off frame saying "You have to pay full price." Mattholomule, with a stupefied expression on his face replies back "What?"

Frame 6: Mattholomule points with a determined expression "You are going down!"

Frame 7: Gus is now shown back in his school uniform and behind the DM screen again. He asks with a quizzical expression "So what action are you taking?"

Frame 8: An extreme closeup on Mattholomule. "I'll ask ..." he says confidently, "To speak to the manager."

Frame 9: A wide shot of all four students. Once again in their school uniform and with the classroom background. Mattholomule is confidently shaking a twenty sided die in his hand. The other three students watch in awe. Bo and the goat student say "ooooo"

Frame 10: A closeup of Mattholomule's hand releasing the die onto the table

Frame 11: The die sitting on the table, showing a natural 1

Frame 12: A wide shot on Gus saying "Oh no, before you can even finish that sentence'"

Frame 13: A closeup of Gus's face with a cocky expression saying "He smiles and says-"

Frame 14: The background is back to the cafe. A closeup of Gus's hands slamming the counter

Frame 17: Gus standing behind the register gesturing dramatically to the name tag on his apron. In bold letters he says "I am the manager"

Frame 18: A closeup of the students in their alternate outfits and a blank background. They all appear horrified and each have the words -1 HP appear beside their head. A caption at the bottom of the frame reads [Gasps in Witchish]

Frame 19 (Final Frame): A shot of Luz sitting at a desk by herself with a placard saying "Human Lore Expert" in front of her. From off frame we hear "Woah this game is intense" and "Wait until you get to the quest of stock market!" Luz excitedly says " You are doing great, Gus!"

End image description]

So it may have been a questionable decision for my first time writing an image description for a post to be a 19 panel comic that relies heavily on visuals, but hopefully it turned out well. If anyone who is reading this has any formatting improvements I could do, please let me know for the future.

[visuallanguagesophie]

PROJECTION WORKSHOP

Material preparations:

We have been asked gather materials such as:

For slide transparencies - Old 35mm slides (if you or someone you know has some - don't worry if you don't, we have some), blank acetate, acetate with imagery photocopied on to it (relating to your chosen brief), letraset, paint, a sharpie. Really anything that makes an interesting mark on acetate/slide film.

For OHPs – Transparent/semi-transparent materials, acetates (with imagery/text), packaging materials, fabric, transparent objects. Anything you want to experiment with! You could, for example, photocopy some of your map drawings on to acetate.

I didn’t have 35mm slides but I thought I could try using film negatives that i have, and so I have gathered a few of these from different photo albums - mostly photos of myself from when I was a baby and a toddler. I thought this could be relevant to the strange brief - being new to life.

I also found some photos from my mums digital camera and thought it could be interesting to edit these photos and photocopy them onto acetate:

I really liked the last one where I got rid of the background completely and and traced the figures, I made myself just an outline rather than coloured in black like the rest as I thought this was an interesting way to highlight myself and to show how I felt alienated in school and indifferent and alone despite being around people. I am thinking of continuing this further with different imagery and creating text on acetate relevant to the images so that I can project this with the figures. I’m thinking of using text similar to the ones on my map: divided, alone, distance, outsider.

I have also prepared some materials from packaging such as honeycomb packaging and bubble wrap (I am not sure how this will project as it is clear but could still make interesting marks). These are more for textural purposes rather than relevant to my concepts so far.

I am also considering photo copying sections from my map onto acetate, I think a lot of the likes and text could be interesting - I am also thinking about colour and how it could be interesting to use coloured transparent folders I have that could add colour to my projections.

more images

I really liked the drawing over the people in the images, showing the alienation and disconnection through my childhood. I also thought it was interesting to completely trace the image and leave myself as just an outline, showing an actual deference compared to the other figures - giving a more sense of disconnection.

Looking at my map I wanted to print this one section into acetate to see how this would look projected as I think it would look interesting with all the lines and words. I also particularly liked the eyes on my map, how these reminded me of being watched or watching others seeking connection or even the uncomfortableness of eye contact that becomes isolating for a lot of people. And so I took a phot of my eye which I plan to print in acetate.

I also was really interested in the text used in my map so I thought it would be interesting to separately print out some words that I could then project onto my silhouettes if people and other imagery. I felt the words “alone” and “disconnect” “disconnected” resonated with my concept so far and so I decided to use these. I wanted to go for a news paper clipping look but I figured it would’ve been difficult as took a lot of time to find all the letters, photocopy these and then find away to enlarge this so that they are bigger than actual size and so instead of doing this I found a website that you can type your text into and it gives you a scrambled font for each letter. I found this really easy to use and much more convenient. Although if I decided to use text and develop my projection further I would experiment with using actual newspaper.

My final idea for acetate prints for my projection was to print some textural images that I could use to overlap with my other images. I thought about the literal sense of alienation and thought about space, especially the interesting textures of planets and so I found some images and adjusted these for printing.

Photographs by: James Webb (image 1) A. Simon and M. H Wong (image 2)

Projection results:

I wanted to try project my film negatives although I didn’t want to cut them to fit into the machine and so I tried photocopying them instead. Although this didn’t work, it became really useful in making my own images for projecting since I could scrape the ink off of the acetate - for this I used a fountain pen nib. I tried to draw images related to the stranger brief, for the one above I drew silhouettes of a crowd with a person scribbled un the centre, showing the disconnection from others. I enjoyed the scraping process to make this but felt I could’ve experimented more as this process was quite simple, in the future I would like to use colour and texture using paint and perhaps overlap slides.

Tried to overlap slides on the second last photograph, I liked how the text showed up - not completely clear and slightly blended with the scribbles I also thought the text worked well with that slide as to the word being detached and the imagery being a person surrounded by scribbles - symbolising being detached from reality.

[roseaesynstylae]

I have some thoughts about Caribou's cover story.

You know, if I ignore Caribou's... everything... during the Fish-Man Island Arc, I can almost tolerate him in this. That said, the main reason I want to talk about this cover story is Jimbei's cameo at the beginning and another character who shows up near the end.

I guess that giving Caribou a few redeeming traits is a good thing. I like him going back to help the old woman and his implied affection for his grandmother.

Jimbei punching Caribou is very satisfying. One thing I do like about him (design-wise) is that his Devil Fruit allows his face to contort even more than the average One Piece character.

Okay, enough about Caribou!

I want to know more about Gaburu's grandmother. What has her life been like?

I love the whiplash between the Caribou Pirates celebrating and Drake coming in out of nowhere. He's pretty stealthy for a dinosaur. I also like that the scene is drawn in solid black against an empty white background, with the only visible eyes being Drake's as a white dot. It makes him look downright feral and enraged, and I have to wonder what he's feeling in this scene.

I like the cover of Drake dragging Caribou. It gets across how strong he is, given that Caribou has absorbed Scotch (a man who seems to be made of metal) and is probably really heavy as a result. Drake just has him by the ankle and doesn't seem bothered at all. I like his post-time-skip design, with black leather, that weird sash thing across his face, and that bolero jacket/cape. It's just me, but I'm glad he got rid of the hat. (Also, I initially thought that the X on his chest was a scar instead of a tattoo.) I get the impression he isn't in a good mood during this mini-arc. Look at his face when he's captured Caribou. Granted, he usually frowns, but the lines on the eyes that Oda adds whenever a character is furious are present.

I wonder what's going on in Drake's head when Caribou is protecting the old lady. He's stoic as usual, and the scene is presented as a flashback on a cover, so it's hard to tell what he's thinking. Would he have hurt her if Caribou hadn't interceded? On his own, I don't think so. He can be hard to figure out, but I think he tries to do the right thing. Unfortunately, the situations he keeps getting into don't make it easy to be moral. Also, I wonder if he was thinking about his own biological family. We know about his relationship with his father (justifiably awful), but the rest of his family is a complete blank. Maybe he had a good relationship with his grandparents. I also must note that he leaves Graburu's grandmother alone.

[that-g3-artist]

2 types of big brothers, plus dad

bonus featuring uncle wars:

[usergif]

Hii, your blog is amazing!! Could I request a tutorial on how to make that text effect in the first gif of your pinned gifset (the one that says “welcome to” ft kanthony in the background)? And also (if it isn’t too much to ask) a tutorial on how to make the purple/black and white effect in the second gif of the same post (the three Spider-Mans)?

hi, thank you so much! I'd be happy to help! the effects from our welcome post are super easy, so this will (hopefully) be very straightforward. tutorials under the cut!

HOW TO CREATE: fade-animated text & color-blocked layouts

for both effects, you'll need to understand the basics of gif-making! check out our resource directory for some helpful tutorials :)

🪄 FADE-ANIMATED TEXT

1. after you finish arranging and coloring your base gif, add a text layer and style it however you like (my font/style details at the end of the tutorial)

2. add a blank (white) layer mask to your text layer and then erase your text using a soft black brush (I just used the default brush with hardness set to 0%!) like so:

(I also did another pass with my brush set to around 30% opacity. that’s the light grey bit on the left. this was just so it looked super smooth and seamless)

3. be sure to toggle off the chain icon shown above ^ this will unlink the mask layer from the text layer. if you leave this on, your animation effect will shift the entire layer, instead of the mask only.

4. with the text now fully erased, create two keyframes (diamond icon) on the line called "layer mask position" (shown below). put one at the start of your gif and wherever you want to end your animation, like this:

5. don't make any changes to the first keyframe. click on the second keyframe (where the animation will end) so we can move the layer mask position.

6. while the second keyframe is selected, go back to the layers panel and click on your layer mask. simply move the layer mask all the way to the right so your text is fully visible again. here's how mine looked:

7. and voila! when you play back the timeline, you should see the magic in action! if you think it's moving too fast or slow, simply move the second keyframe to another spot on the timeline. it'll keep your layer mask settings.

8. the last thing you MUST do is convert your timeline back to frame animation and delete the duplicate frames. when animating with keyframes, photoshop tends to put extra frames (I think as a buffer). if you don't remove these frames, your gif will not look smooth. here's the gif before deleting extra frames:

↳ you’ll notice it’s a little choppy as the animation plays. the base gif looks like it lags a bit or moves slower at the start.

here's the gif after deleting extra frames, ✨nice and smooth✨:

and lastly, here are more details about my typography:

font: lust script

warp transform: "wave" > bend = 50.0

blending mode: difference

gradient overlay: blend mode = hard light; gradient colors = #815dd3 -> #6549df -> #7e39c5; style = linear; angle = 137; scale = 150%

drop shadow: blend mode = multiply; color = #000; opacity = 20%; angle = 145; distance = 2; spread = 100; size = 1

🪄 COLOR-BLOCKED LAYOUT

1.��start with your base gif, without coloring. unlike other multi-gif layouts, we’ll be using one gif and simply splitting up the canvas. for an overview, here are my dimensions and my layers panel:

* don’t ask me why it’s 154-225-153 instead of something balanced 🤦🏻‍♀️  i only just noticed that while doing this tutorial lmao

2. put your base gif in a group (command+G on mac) and add a layer mask. you could start with a blank mask or you can do what I do:

i like to map out my layout first. so I like to use the shapes tool to create rectangles in a new layer and see each section blocked off like this:

with this map in place, I just command+shift+click all the rectangle layers, select my group, and click add layer mask on that group! you should see black filling the spaces that you want to be transparent (see the group in the overview image titled “full gif”)

3. to block off your coloring, we’ll use groups and layer masks again! put your color layer adjustments (my group is called “center coloring”) and black and white layer adjustments (my group is called “outer coloring”) in separate groups 

4. add your layer masks! you can use the same guide as your “full gif” mask. but this time, we won’t use all 3 rectangles at the same time. select the center rectangle only (command+click) and add a mask to your color group. your mask should look like a white vertical rectangle with two thinner black rectangles on either side

5. select the outer two rectangles (command+shift+click) and add a mask to your black and white group. (you could also just select the color group’s mask, add that to your bw group, and hit command+i to invert the mask!)

6. that’s it! make sure you have no background layer on your canvas, so your gutter lines stay transparent. 

re: my coloring process — i have a process that i haven’t deviated from for years but mainly, i use a lot of levels, curves, selective color, and my fav for vibrant sets: hue/saturation <3 here’s a before and after:

also, the usergif team is filled with creators who are MAGIC with coloring. here are some extra coloring resources from our talented members:

elio’s coloring tutorial by spacedjarin

giffing and coloring tutorial by sashafierce

gradient coloring tutorial by sashafierce

isolating colors by sashafierce

the beginner’s guide to channel mixer by selinakyle

coloring yellow tinted shots by nobodynocrime

I hope this helps! if anything isn’t clear, feel free to send another ask! :) — nik

[navegandoaciegas]

1-2-3 Way

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader x Steve Rogers

Warnings: smut, bed sharing, there was only one bed???, loss of virginity, dom/sub undertones, dom!Steve, sub!reader, switch!Bucky, unprotected sex, praise, slight degradation, overstimulation, face fucking, fingering, slight spanking, edging, doggy style, aftercare.

Summary: There’s only one bed and you have to share it with your childhood friends Steve and Bucky.

A/N: Listen… there was only one bed is my favorite cheesy trope, I’m sorry. Thank you for the commission, @maryfloat , I hope you like this!!

It’s so clichè, the way that the receptionist offers you a tight lipped smile and an apology. There must have been an error with the reservation, maybe the server crashed or something, she says, you’ve booked one room, and that room has one bed only. Coincidentally, everyone’s in town at the same time as you, and the only hotel in the area is fully booked.

How unfortunate.

She hands you the keys whilst Bucky hauls your suitcase and his up the stairs, and Steve follows behind him. She eyes them warily and whispers to you, asks if you’re safe and comfortable, and apologises again for the inconvenience.

When Steve, ever the gentleman, proposes they sleep on the floor, you’re almost tempted to accept and thank him. They’re big and strong, and one night on the cold, hard floor won’t kill them.

You hate sharing beds anyways. It gets too warm with more than one body rolling around, and then someone hogs all the blankets, or kicks you in the shins, or elbows you in the ribs, and you can’t catch a break.

Instead you scoff and wave him dismissively. ‘I trust you guys more than I trust myself.’

And you do, really. You’ve known them since those awkward middle school days, where Bucky was chubby and covered in painful acne, and Steve was dangerously skinny and a foot shorter than you. You’ve fallen asleep on their shoulders on long road trips, occasionally napped on their legs in their dorm rooms, fallen asleep on Steve’s hospital bed when he was a frail kid and you and Bucky took turns visiting him.

You trust them, you really do, but still, sharing a tiny bed with them seems more intimate, definitely more wrong, than anything you’ve ever done.

It sends a weird signal down your stomach that your brain can’t quite interpret. You’re not anxious, but as you sit sandwiched between them, you can’t say you’re relaxed either.

Bucky sits to your right, computer perched on his lap, open on the Netflix account he pays for and Steve and you leech off of. He makes the most money with his waitressing job, the old ladies love tipping him for his flirty remarks and bright smiles, so it’s only fair.

Steve munches on a chalky protein bar to your right, a frown on his forehead as he chews with his mouth open and judges Bucky’s recommended section.

“You’re not making me watch another sci-fi, Barnes.”

“And you’re not forcing me through another Studio Ghibli movie, Rogers.”

“C’mon, at least those are relaxing-,”, “and cute,” you quip, intercepting Steve’s snack and taking a bite out of it just to spite him. He side eyes you, pinching your side as hard as he can.

“Oh? I forgot you were the ones paying for the account.”

“This is literal blackmail, holding the damn Netflix over our heads like that.”

“Not sure that blackmail is the word you’re looking for, but go off, bud.”

“Don’t smartmouth me.”

“Or what?”

They bicker like they’ve always done, and you’ve been friends with them long enough to have learnt how to drown out their voices when they fight.

Sometimes your friendship feels like it’s always been, playful, sibling like. They roughhouse you, you make fun of them. It’s familiar, warm, comforting.

No matter how bad school gets, no matter how uncertain your future seems, no matter how many times you get your heart broken, you know that Bucky, Steve and you will always be there to pick yourselves back up.

Some other times the lines get blurred, and it’s scary. But the scarier it gets, the more rewarding it becomes to look for signs, finding them in the smallest of things, like how Steve gets all sulky when you go out on dates, or how Bucky constantly seeks your approval for whatever he does.

You space out as they pick a movie, your mind eerily quiet, your body weirdly warm.

There’s a pit in your stomach that you can’t understand fully. It’s been there a while, ever since your friendship has started to shift, and your stares have been lingering as much as their affectionate touch.

Your eyes travel from Bucky’s black t-shirt to his side profile, tracing the gentle slope of his nose and his pouty lips. Lately, you’ve been looking at him a lot more, catching yourself in the act and shaking yourself out of your thoughts.

What thoughts, you don’t know. Your mind is blank more often than not when you’re set on him. When you’re with them.

You’re doing it again, unconsciously, until Steve elbows you in the side, and you’re rudely snapped out of your reverie.

“You’re too quiet,” he mumbles, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Which is weird since you never shut the fuck up,” quips Bucky, hitting you with his shoulder, effectively bringing you back to reality.

You resist laughing because you’ll never give him the satisfaction, and just swing back at him.

“I’m just tired, ‘s all. My neck hurts a lot, guess we’re getting old, huh.”

Bucky just shrugs and presses play on the movie they’ve chosen. You smile at Steve as convincingly as you can to get him off your case.

He nods at you, not quite sold, but leaves it at that, knowing better than to prod you.

“Want me to give you a massage?” he asks, wiggling his fingers in front of your face.

“Please?” you pout, turning your back to him.

Your thought process was that you can never refuse Steve’s healing hands. You didn’t think it through so much, clearly, as he kneads the knots in your neck and you feel your lower body coming alive, a warmth pooling awkwardly in your belly.

Bucky gives you the most offended, betrayed look you’ve ever seen, frowning and pouting like a petulant child.

“S’ not fair. I want a massage too,” he whines, shimmying his shoulders in your direction, offering you the best puppy eyes he can muster.

Cute, you think. “Gross,” you say, “I’ll give you one if you stop with the face.”

He just sticks his tongue out, wiggling between your legs.

The movie plays in the background, your mind too focused on Steve’s warm hands on your bare skin and Bucky’s back muscles flexing under your touch.

The hot feeling in your chest is back when his eyes move from the screen to yours, a goofy smile on his lips, features relaxed.

You bury your hands in his silky hair, scratching his scalp. He almost moans, butting your palm like a kitten.

He’s so effortlessly sweet that it hurts.

It’s silent in a comfortable way, with the sound effect of the movie lulling you all, except your traitorous brain, in a serene state.

It’s a kids movie, and you’re just giving yourselves a massage like you’ve done hundreds of times before, but something feels different about it, in the way that Steve’s warm breath tickles your neck, or the way that Bucky turns around every few minutes just to smile at you.

At some point your hands stop moving, and your back is flush to Steve’s front as he holds you in his arms, Bucky’s head on your lap as he hugs your thighs to his body, fingers absentmindedly caressing your skin, hiking up your legs, higher and higher-, goosebumps erupting all over you. He stops just before the hem of your shorts, making his way down to your knee, just to do it all over again.

You can no longer deny the fluttering in your core, nor the slick gathering in your panties at the thought of what would happen if he just crept higher.

By the time that the end credits roll around, you're cocooned in their warmth, Bucky asleep on your stomach, your own eyes droopy. You’re drowsy, pliant in Steve’s hold as he adjusts you both comfortably on the pillows.

The last thing you feel, as darkness envelops the room, is his lips on your forehead as he whispers to you good night.

-

You hate sharing beds, but when you wake up in the middle of the night between them, you think you may not hate it as much as you thought.

Bucky is a messy sleeper, arm swung over your hips, legs sprawled over half the mattress, face buried in the pillow next to yours, back gently rising with every breath he takes.

Steve is more put together. He sleeps on his side, lips parted, one arm under the pillow, the other close to your side, his fingers intertwined with yours.

You don’t know how long you spend staring at the ceiling, heart hammering in your chest, wondering if this shift in your friendship will bring you closer or break you apart in the long run. You don’t want to entertain the chances of them breaking your heart, or you breaking theirs.

Even the possibility of having to choose between one of the two seems absurd to you.

The bed creaks under Bucky’s weight as he turns to you, tightening his hold on your hips. You’re paralized as he nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck, a breathy whine escaping his lips. All your blood travels to your face when you feel his hard on rub against your legs, his hips uncounsciously rutting on you.

“So soft,” he mumbles, eyes fluttering open.

You’re staring at each other, almost in a daze, and maybe it’s because it’s pitch black outside and you’re in your own little dimension, or maybe it’s the adoration in his bleary eyes, but you don’t turn away when he closes the distance between you.

The kiss you share is soft, lazy, tentative.

You prod his mouth open with yours, tongues swirling together with no rush and no shame. You’d imagined kissing your best friend would feel more awkward than this, and instead his warmth, his taste, his hungry kisses, everything about it seems natural to you, like it’s what you’re supposed to have been doing all this time, a chance you were too scared to take.

You’re so lost in the moment that you barely register the lips on your neck and another set of hands making its way under your t-shirt, settling on your stomach, fingers barely grazing the underside of your boobs.

As soon as his mouth detaches from your own, Steve is pouncing on you, his kiss more rough and demanding than Bucky’s, tongue less hesitant as it explores you, wiping any remnant of sleep out of your mind.

You’re breathless as he invades all your senses, barely wrapping your head around the fact that your shy friend is eating you whole and the flirty, outgoing one is just looking with hunger and rubbing himself on your leg.

Steve breaks away from you, a string of drool connecting you, his eyes dark with desire. He pecks your lips again, smirking at you as he lowers his face, leaving a trail of kisses on your jaw, to the column of your neck, down your collarbones, settling between your tits.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, grasping the hem of your t-shirt, “Can I touch you? I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

You nod fervently, growing needy with each passing second, “Please Steve, just touch me.”

Bucky gets bolder, kissing you with more conviction this time. Your clothes are shedded, his bare skin heated against yours, your hands in his hair.

Steve takes his sweet time making his way downwards, leaving a trail of bruises on your chest, stomach, hips, kneading your ass. He settles between your legs, looking up at you as he closes his mouth on your clothed pussy, sucking through your panties and leaving a wet mark on them.

You’re embarrassingly horny, arousal dripping out of you, nipples stiff as Bucky plays with them. You want him to rip your panties to shreds and take you right there and then, but Steve has other plans, enjoying the way you’re so pliant underneath him.

He grabs you by the hips, turning you around with your face down and your ass up in the air. The string of your underwear is almost swallowed between your puffy folds, stained with your slick.

Steve takes a deep breath before tugging the string up, teasing your swollen clit with the material, raptured by the way you’re so open and ready for them, glistening with desire.

Bucky sits back on the headboard, eyes half lidded, legs spread before your face. You trace the outline of his hard cock through his boxers, mouth watering at the idea of him inside you, filling you up.

Steve doesn’t give you the time to touch him before he’s tugging you upwards by the hair, flush to his chest. His breath tickles your neck as he teases you through your panties.

“Are you gonna be good for me? For us?”

You don’t have to think about it, strings of ‘yes’, ‘please, ‘touch me’, leaving your lips as if having a mind of their own. It would be embarrassing to be this wanton with anyone else, but with them, everything is like it’s meant to be.

“Then be a good girl, okay? Show Bucky how good you can be with that pretty mouth of yours,” he grunts in your ear, pressing his hard on against your ass cheeks, “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

You nod, grind yourself on his cock, so pent up and desperate for release that you rub your legs together just to feel the string of your panties digging in your folds, hoping it would help soothe the ache in your cunt.

“Of course you have, you little slut,” he grunts, pushing your head down on the mattress as Bucky tugs his underwear down.

Yours is ripped by Steve, thrown somewhere in the room, exposing your quivering hole to the cold air. Arching your back, you silently beg for something, anything, which comes in the form of a sting and a loud smack reverberating in the stuffy room.

Steve smacks your pussy again, and again, and again, until the sharp pain in your clit becomes so pleasant that you could come just from that. Bucky wastes no time yanking your head towards his crotch, slapping his heavy cock on your cheek, until your face burns with humiliation and need.

Your hands tremble as you reach for him, hesitating before licking a stripe from the base to the tip, savoring his musky pre cum. You swirl your tongue around the head, teasing his sensitive slit with kitten licks, hands fondling with his balls.

Steve’s thick finger prodding at your entrance makes you gasp, giving Bucky the perfect opportunity to shove your face down his cock until you’re coughing, lungs burning, clawing at his things as he holds you down.

“Calm down, Bucky. Stop bein’ so desperate,” Steve’s voice is muffled in your ears as you struggle for air, feeling light headed.

He plunges a finger inside your pussy, then another, eased by the embarrassing amount of wetness dripping out of you.

Bucky whines something in return, yanking you up. Tears blur your vision as you heave, barely getting enough air in your lungs before he pushes you down again, using your head as a flashlight.

He keeps you still, nose buried in the dark hair of his pelvis, as he stands on his haunches. Grabbing your face with both hands, he starts relentlessly pummelling inside you, fucking your mouth with abandon.

With a broken moan he thrusts all the way down, his balls slapping your chin, fingers clamping around your nose when you start gagging.

“Oh, she likes that. She’s squeezing my fingers,” Steve says, scissoring his fingers between your gummy walls, “Do it again.”

Bucky pinches your nose one more time, depriving you of all air. Dark spots start appearing at the sides of your vision, mind hazy. He lets up before you faint, barely giving you time before he’s stuffing your mouth with his cock once more.

Steve lays down between your legs, face up. From his perspective he can see your glistening pussy, your tits bouncing with the force of Bucky’s thrusts, and his cock disappear between your abused lips. You’re being so good to them that he feels like rewarding you.

His hands guide you to sit down on his face, your moans muffled as he latches onto your swollen clit. He sucks on it until you’re on the edge of your orgasm, walls quivering with the need to release.

He stops just before you can reach your peak, and spanks your clit again.

“You’re not coming on my mouth now.”

Your throat vibrates around Bucky’s cock with moans of pleasure, spurring him on to hold you down longer, chasing his own orgasm with a string of curses.

“She’s gonna faint, idiot,” Steve scolds him, tearing you away from Bucky’s cock, drool dripping down your sore jaw.

“She can handle it,” rasps Bucky, rolling his eyes.

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” you frown, slapping Bucky’s hands away when he reaches for you.

“Brats, both of you,” Steve sighs condescendingly, “Be more gentle. And you,” he warns, pinching your inner thigh, “don’t talk unless it’s to beg for more, ‘kay?”

There’s a pause, an awkward moment when you don’t know where to look, what to do with your hands, waiting for Steve to take control again, like he always does.

“So-” Bucky starts, looking up at Steve for guidance, “What now?”

“You’re both- y’know, it’s your first time actually doing it, right?” he asks after pondering for a second, eyes darting between the two of you.

“Yes,” you both respond, and he hums.

“Then you two should go first, be each other’s first times. It makes more sense. I got her ready, so it shouldn’t hurt.”

The idea of Bucky’s cock inside you makes you a bit anxious, considering how much you struggled taking him in your mouth, jaw still sore from his abuse, but it also fills you with warmth.

You trust them blindly, and you want this, you want him to be the first one inside you for whatever reason.

There’s no need for words between you, a tiny nod and a reassuring smile all you need to settle on the pillows, spreading your legs for Bucky to settle in between.

He’s always so sure of himself, but in the moment he looks like a lost puppy. He pumps himself a few times, and braces his weight on one arm as he lines his cock with your entrance.

He gives you one more kiss, tasting himself on your lips, before pushing past your entrance. The tip is barely in by the time that you screech, the pain sharper than you imagined, and Bucky halts immediately despite looking like he’s about to bust on the spot.

Your pussy feels like it’s burning, and no amount of fingers inside you could have prepared you for the stretch of your walls.

“It’s okay,” Steve whispers in your ear, a hand rubbing your shoulder to comfort you, “You’re doing so good, being such a good girl, you’re so perfect. It will go away before you realize, promise.”

“Okay, okay, I can do this,” you pant, digging your nails in Bucky’s back.

“Let’s switch, it will hurt less if you’re on top,” Steve suggests, and you and Bucky comply.

He lays down on the pillows as you straddle his hips, propping yourself up on his toned abs. Steve kneels at your side, holding you up as you hover over him.

Your heart’s beating out of your chest as you grasp Bucky’s cock, taking a deep breath to steel yourself before inching down on him, whimpering with every centimeter that gets swallowed by your gummy walls.

The stretch feels like it’s splitting you open, and if it weren’t for Steve’s strong arms, you’d collapse and cry on Bucky’s chest.

Steve whispers praises and reassuring words in your ear and kisses your tears away, swirling his fingers around your clit to help you out, and Bucky caresses the sides of your waist, mumbling broken apologies to you, kissing your neck.

Once you finally bottom out, you still and slump on Bucky’s shoulder, burying your nose in his hair, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent.

The pain is throbbing, burning, but it becomes more subtle and bearable the longer Bucky stays inside you.

“Okay, it’s getting better” you wheeze in an attempt to encourage yourself, “But I can’t feel my legs now.”

They break in a fit of laughter, easing the tension in the room.

“Let’s switch again,” Bucky proposes, slightly out of breath with the way that your pussy is squeezing him in a vice, “I can move.”

You nod, clinging to his neck as he lifts you up, careful not to let his cock slip out of you.

“I want to feel you close,” Steve says, slightly out of breath, “Lay her on me.”

They help you lay on his chest, Bucky’s cock still buried inside you, the pain fading away in a dull sting.

You’re sandwiched between their bodies, enveloped by their warmth and affection, coated in your slick and their sweat, and despite the discomfort, you’ve never felt as full of love as now.

Bucky seeks permission with his eyes, then reassurance from Steve, and starts rocking his hips tentatively, biting hard on his lips to keep himself from cumming embarrassingly fast.

His cock drags against your walls, a ring of white cream slowly accumulating around the base.

It’s not painful anymore, slightly uncomfortable at times when he’s accidentally too rough, but the burn is now a simmering heat that grows in your core with every thrust.

Steve sings praises in your ear, “Look how good you’re doin’, taking Bucky’s cock so well, you’re such a good girl,” whilst Bucky rutts needily on you.

He’s sloppy in his movements, and his hips don’t have a rhythm to them. He takes you high, close to a release, just to fuck it up again when he stutters, involountarily edging you over and over again.

“I’m close, I’m so close, I’m gonna cum inside you,” he moans.

In a blur you’re on your stomach. Bucky positions you on your knees and pummels inside you again, thrusting more forcefully as he loses himself in the pleasure.

You whimper between Steve’s tender kisses before Bucky tears you away from him, yanking you flush against his chest.

“I love you, I love you, love you so much, love you,” he keeps mumbling, tightly clutching his arms around your stomach and tits, slamming you hard on him.

At that angle Bucky’s cock pushes against a sensitive spot inside you that makes the coils in your stomach tighter, your clit throbbing and your walls clamping down on him.

Steve, never one to be outdone, sits back on his haunches and manhandles your head down again until you’re faced with his hard, leaking cock.

He’s trimmed more neatly than Bucky, but he’s just as big and intimidating.

He slaps his cock on your lips, smearing his precum on you. You’re a moaning mess, automatically taking him in your mouth, savoring his musk on your tongue.

Your jaw is still sore but you do your best to accommodate Steve, eager to please. You relax your muscles and let Bucky’s thrusts do the work for you, already lightheaded with the lack of air.

They keep stuffing you with their cocks, bouncing you between each other, the lewd sounds of your squelching pussy and the bed creaking filling the room.

Bucky’s fingers teasing your clit, your lungs burning, your vision going spotty, it’s all too much for you.

Just as you think you’re about to reach your peak, you feel Bucky pause and stutter, a choked moan escaping his throat as he comes, stuffing you full of his warm cum. Steve comes at the same time, and you almost choke on his release as he spills his load down your throat.

It feels good, you’re fuller than you’ve ever been, but it’s still not enough to push you over the edge.

You both collapse on Steve, exhausted, cum pouring out of your hole and onto the sheets. You expect him to take you immediately after, instead he snakes a hand between your bodies, finding your sensitive clit, overstimulated with all the touching.

“You did so well, baby, you were so good for Bucky. Now cum on my fingers, cum for us,” he moans, twirling your bud between his fingers.

Pent up as you are, it doesn’t take long for you to finally come, almost blacking out with the intensity of your orgasm, your limbs shaking and quivering between theirs.

When you come down from your high, you’re tired out, your whole body is sore, your hips and legs hurt, and the cum seeping out of your entrance reminds you of the burning pain there, now back with a vengeance.

When morning comes, you’ll have to remind Steve to buy you Plan B.

The exhaustion catches up to you as soon as your head hits the pillow, a loud ring in your ears as you barely register your surroundings, Bucky already asleep by your side in true Bucky fashion while Steve takes care of you both, cleaning you up and tucking you in bed.

He whispers ‘I love you’ and kisses the tip of your nose.

Maybe one day you’ll say it back.

For now, you let yourself rest in their embrace, always the three of you like it’s meant to be.

—

Damn, 4k words of porn. This felt like giving birth or something sksjshj

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