#might have over-rendered the hair a bit but. fuck you i like it

[zecoritheweirdone]

first art post of the new year!!! granted, i don't share my art here that much anyway, but– shhh.

hehehehhhooo,, here's something i've been working on for 'bout a month,, albeit not consecutively– took a few,, very very long breaks in between working on this,, but i managed to finish it in the end! am i satisfied with it? .......ehhhh? not completely, but if this took any longer, it might not have seen the light of day, so like. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

anyway,, made a little poster for my favorite fic, tommyinnit's services for villains, vigilantes, and various other vagabonds, by @scorpionoesit!!! it's really really good,,, and i've always wanted to make more art for it,, so i decided– poster! at least,, that's what it's mean to resemble,,, dkdmkdmdkd.

i will freely admit,, i'm... not the biggest fan of the fan-made logo i tried to design for it,, feels a bit boring, and could definitely have used a bit more pizazz, something to make feel more like the fic itself(what does that mean? you figure that out),,,, but– again, steam was running low,, dkdnksjs. graphic design is my passion. i do also have other complaints, but i'm afraid i already punched my one-use self-critique card,, oh well,,, dkdnkxjdkd.

regardless,, even with the flaws only i can really see,, this still turned out pretty okay!! hope you enjoy it, mx. scorpio and mx. alibi!!! and i hope everyone else has a wonderful new year!!!!

[artficlly]

hi !! i love ur work <3

ok i had an idea for a one shot but it’s totally fine if u don’t want to do it!

so reader and bucky break up (bucky dumps her) bc he thinks she can do better or whatevs and instead of feeling sad, reader is kind of getting off to how bad bucky is doing without her 😜😜 this is obviously inspired by my kink is karma from chappell lmao. anyways ends in fluff or smut and a lot of how much bucky missed her 🙂‍��️🙂‍↕️😛😛

thank uuu !!

BITTER [one-shot]

modern marvel au vet!bartender!bucky x reader Bucky doesn't do relationships, but maybe you'll be the one to change him

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, sexual themes, angst, hurt/comfort, major character death, ptsd, bucky barnes needs a hug, bucky barnes has issues, bar fights, alcohol, smoking, swearing, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8.2k

A/N: heya nonnie. this isn't exactlyyy what you asked for but i hope you like it anyway. i'm technically on hiatus rn but i felt bad leaving your ask unanswered for so long. i've been working on this between classes, i'm not super happy with it but i thought i'd post it anyway, it got a bit longer than i was expecting. i have like 5 million things due at the end of the month so i might be gone for a bit so here is a treat in the meantime! much love! ! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

permanent taglist: @civilbucky @globetrotter28 (i swear there was someone else who wanted to be added, pls let me know if that was you i lost your comment)

main masterlist

The first thing Wanda had told you about Bucky Barnes was to beware. 

Proceed with caution.

You were the type to fall in love easily, it was one of the first things you had confessed to Wanda, wine-drunk only a week after moving into her dodgy shoebox of an apartment, where the previous tenant's mail still showed up—and so did their debt collector. You were new in the city, bright-eyed and overly romantic about all you encountered, including the suspicious stains on the carpet courtesy of Wanda’s old roommate, who she only referred to as ‘that nightmarish cunt’. Wanda was cool, chic yet edgy, her voice dripping a Slavic accent and always armed with a dangerous look in her eye. She worked downtown as a sous chef at one of those mid-tier restaurants that you considered fancy, but anyone even marginally higher than your pay grade wouldn’t look twice. 

Her boyfriend, Sam, worked at a bar across the road. Howling Commandos. He co-owned it with his buddy, the infamous Bucky Barnes. They had met while serving in the army, both retiring early from service. Sam was discharged after an injury that rendered him ‘useless’, and Bucky was discharged shortly after on grounds of mental health. 

And maybe that was the allure—the myth of Bucky Barnes. 

He was handsome, dark-haired, blue-eyed, the usual fairy-tale rom-com affair. He was brooding, damaged goods, and had a real chip on his shoulder since his discharge. He poured a good drink, kept the bar running smoothly, and was big enough to intimidate drunk frat boys who occasionally wandered in looking for a fight. But apparently, he didn’t do relationships. He would fuck anything that moved if it caught his fleeting attention for long enough, but that was it. 

Wanda had confessed it all to you on that dreaded wine-drunk night, hummus and carrot sticks forgotten as the TV blared Wanda’s Spotify playlist on loop. She’d had a friend, one who had moved away now, but that friend had slept with Bucky. Said it was the best lay of her life. 

So, Wanda had said, voice dipped as she gave you a drunken, sloppy grin over her Pinot Gris, the two bottles she had pinched from work now empty. If you want the night of your life, go for it, but don’t expect anything more. 

That was the rule with Bucky Barnes:

Don’t get attached. 

So, maybe foolishly, when Wanda had roused you from a hangover-induced nap the following day by asking if you wanted to join her at the Howling Commandos and continue your bender from the night before, you had taken the leap. 

–

Howling Commandos didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat.

It had the look of a place that had seen one too many late nights and even more bad decisions. Exposed brick walls, low-hanging lights that shrouded the room in a dim orange glow, and a row of pool tables tucked in the back behind a collection of stained wood tables and chairs.  It was edgy, kind of dark and mysterious, much like the infamous bartender who now stood before you in the flesh. 

You and Wanda had descended upon the bar at half-past nine, arms linked, laughter spilling between you. You’d gelled quickly—your soft, unguarded friendliness balancing out her wicked smirks and razor-edged sarcasm.

She swung into a barstool with the ease of someone who belonged here, peeling off her winter coat and tossing it onto the counter, shaking the snow from her auburn hair. Across from her, Bucky barely spared her a glance, his mouth set in a line that could have been annoyance or indifference.

“Wanda.” His voice was low, unimpressed.

That was all he said. No hello, no warmth. Just her name, like it was something to be tolerated.

Wanda only grinned, leaning her elbows onto the bar like she had all the time in the world.

“Sam’s out back,” Bucky added, eyes flicking toward the door before sliding right past her, landing on you instead. “Still picking up strays, I see.”

You grinned before you could help yourself, slipping into the seat next to Wanda. As you shrugged off your coat, neatly sliding it into your lap, Wanda let out a mock-horrified gasp on your behalf. 

“So rude, this is my new roommate.” Wanda’s eyes slid over to you, head tilting as she gestured towards the scowling Bucky. “And this dickhead is Bucky. He’s co-owner with Sam.”

“I remember.” You replied with ease, your gaze and smile unwavering even as Bucky gave a noncommittal grunt, turning away to continue polishing the glass in his palm. 

Wanda, unbothered by his callousness, leant in. “I’m going to be honest, I need a drink ASAP. I’ve got an awful headache, and you know what I always say! Best way to beat a hangover? Drink even more.”

“Does Sam know you’re an alcoholic?” Bucky cut back, not even bothering to turn around. 

“Awwh, Buck, is that genuine care?”

“Not for you.” Bucky snipped.

Wanda made a mock pout face, fingers drumming across the bar. “But seriously, put me out of my misery here—”

“Your usual?” He cut over her.

Wanda didn’t skip a beat. 

“Pretty please,” she purred, her tone sweet and syrupy, dripping with exaggerated charm. As she settled more comfortably into the stool, her gaze flicked to you with a knowing gleam. “What do you want? On the house.”

Before you could respond, Sam’s voice rang out, thick with amused exasperation. “Baby, you can’t go offering drinks on the house to everyone—” He appeared from the back, a box of bottled spirits cradled in his arms,

“She’s my roommate—” Wanda began, but Sam cut her off, raising an eyebrow as he set the box down with a thud.

“Oh yeah? I haven’t forgotten the last one that you also insisted could have free drinks, and she turned out to be—”

“Don’t! Don’t bring up that cunt—”

You tuned out the conversation as Wanda slipped from her seat, weaving around the bar with the kind of effortless grace that came with knowing she belonged. She leaned into Sam’s space without hesitation, her laughter slipping through the low hum of the bar, threading between the murmur of voices and the scratchy tune spilling from the jukebox in the corner.

It wasn’t until Bucky slid a glass of dark liquor across the bar—precisely where Wanda had been sitting—that you finally tore your gaze away from them.

His eyes found yours, expectant, unmoving.

“It’s okay, I can pay,” you assured him, reaching for your wallet, but his unimpressed stare didn’t waver. His silence stretched, almost as if he were waiting for you to back down first.

You didn’t. “Gin and tonic.”

No acknowledgement, not even a nod. He simply turned, reaching for the bottle of gin without a word.

Wanda reappeared beside you, collapsing back into her seat with a dramatic sigh, a sound that quickly dissolved into a giggle as Sam pressed a quick kiss to her cheek on his way past. The small moment of affection made you smile, your gaze trailing after him as he made his way toward the pool tables. He moved with familiarity, exchanging greetings with the patrons, his presence met with easy grins and back pats.

“He’s cute,” you hummed, watching him settle into the space like he owned it.

“I know, right?” Wanda smirked, pulling her drink closer.

You propped an elbow on the bar, your curiosity piqued. “How’d you meet?”

She took a slow sip, savouring the taste before setting the glass down. It looked like rum and coke. Smelt like it too. “He used to come to my work all the time when they were fixing up this place. We just got to talking one day and—”

Bucky set your drink in front of you with the same quiet precision as before, cutting off Wanda’s sentence mid-thought. You turned your attention back to him, offering a bright smile that didn’t falter, even as he met it with a frown.

“I’ve never liked those,” Wanda barely spared him a glance, instead eyeing your drink with mild disdain. “Not sweet enough for me.”

“Well, I like my drinks how I like my men,” you replied, the words coming with a smirk that you directed toward Bucky, holding his gaze longer than you probably should have. “Bitter.”

—

Shivering in the back alley by the dumpsters probably wasn’t your brightest idea, but at this point, you were committed.

You and Wanda had knocked back one too many drinks—again. It was becoming a habit, one that Sam was starting to take personally, considering he was the one who had to cut Wanda off after she got a little too liberal with her chatting and nearly convinced a stranger to let her wear his coat home. You, on the other hand, had managed to slip out gracefully, settling your tab before Wanda was carted out back to be babysat and force-fed water.

Neither of them had been thrilled at the idea of you walking home alone. Buzzed, barely dressed for the weather, and just reckless enough to make poor decisions, you’d assured them you were fine. Which, technically, was true. What you had failed to mention was that you hadn’t actually made it more than a few feet out the door before deciding to truly test the limits of your dignity.

The cigarette hanging from your lips wobbled slightly as you tried—unsuccessfully—to light it with numb fingers. You swore under your breath, stuffing the useless lighter back into your pocket just as the back door of Howling Commandos swung open.

And as fate—or some cruel, all-seeing god—would have it, it wasn’t Sam or Wanda who stepped outside.

Bucky emerged, a black trash bag slung over one shoulder, his usual scowl fixed in place. His stride slowed slightly when he caught sight of you, his expression unreadable.

“Thought you went home,” he muttered. “Sam and Wanda already left. If you need a ride, I can call you a cab.”

You tilted your head, watching as he moved, efficient, mechanical. The back door groaned shut behind him, its echo swallowed by the muffled city noise beyond the alley. Dumpster lid up, bag tossed in, blue eyes flicking back to you, waiting.

“I don’t need a ride.”

His gaze swept over you, unimpressed. “Sure about that? You look outta your damn mind right now.”

You exhaled, breath clouding the frigid air as you shoved your hands deeper into your coat pockets. The wind bit through the alleyway, slithering beneath the fur-trimmed collar and creeping up your spine.

“Well, when I had this brilliant idea, I was still drunk,” you admitted, shifting your weight on unsteady legs. “Now that alcohol’s worn off and it’s cold as shit, I can’t even fuckin’ light a smoke ‘cause my hands are shaking so bad.”

You lifted your fingers to prove your point, stiff and trembling from the cold, flashing him a lazy grin. He did not look impressed.

“This a cry for help? I don’t know what it is with Wanda and picking up crazy fuckin’ roommates—”

“I wanted to get your number.” You shrugged, unbothered by the scepticism in his tone. “Didn’t want to do it in the bar, figured you’re a private kinda guy, don’t like putting your business out for the world. I can respect that.”

He blinked, once. Then, slowly, “So you thought the next best option was to wait in a back alley in the snow—?”

“Hey,” you cut him off with a laugh, shifting your weight against the wall. “I said I was drunk when I came up with it… never said it was a good plan.”

Something flickered across his expression. Dry amusement, maybe. Then, to your surprise, he huffed out a short laugh, his breath visible in the cold air curling between you.

You smirked. “C’mon, I’ve been out here for like… an hour. Least you can do is give me your number.”

He took his time looking you over, slow and assessing. Despite the heavy winter coat hanging off your shoulders, you were still grossly underdressed for the weather. The short, tight-fitting dress clung to you like a second skin, courtesy of Wanda’s slut-shaming is sooo 2016 speech. A poor choice in hindsight, considering the temperature was bordering on unbearable.

“I’ll do you one better.”

You arched a brow. “Yeah?”

His voice dipped lower, something rougher curling at the edges. “How about I lock up, and you sit your pretty little ass in my car? I’ll drive you back to mine.” A beat. “Sound good?”

Now, this was the Bucky Barnes Wanda had described—the dangerous one, the elusive ladykiller. The shift had been minuscule, yet you already found your panties were wet.

You smiled. “Well, now you’re talking my language.”

—

"We should stop seeing each other."

Bucky sat hunched on the edge of his bed, forearms braced against his knees, fingers laced tightly together as if he were holding himself back. He didn’t look at you. His jaw was set, his mouth a firm line, but that wasn’t what unsettled you—it was the tension in his shoulders, the restless bounce of his leg, the way he exhaled through his nose like he was already regretting this conversation.

That first night had been the spark, but the fire never quite burned out. It carried on in flickering embers, nights tangled in his sheets, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress, bodies moving in time with the city’s restless heartbeat. If you had to put a name to it, fuck buddies was the closest fit, though even that felt too familiar, too warm. There were no tender morning-afters, no texts outside of arranging the next meeting. You met him in the alley after closing and let him drive you back to his place. Though sometimes, you never made it that far. Sometimes, it was the backseat of his car, windows fogged, streetlights streaking across his skin as you clawed at his shoulders. Other times, it was rushed and desperate, your palms braced against crates in the storeroom, breath hitching between half-suppressed moans before either of you had the sense to lock the damn door.

But as winter thawed into spring, something shifted.

The first crack in the foundation came when Bucky, against all odds, accepted your half-hearted invite to grab a bite to eat. You’d won a cheap voucher for a hole-in-the-wall Mexican place around the corner from the bar, fully expecting him to wave you off. But he hadn’t. And somehow, the two of you had ended up crammed into a booth, sharing a pile of nachos, snickering into your drinks as you watched a group of college kids make absolute fools of themselves. You wouldn’t have called it a date—Bucky sure as hell didn’t—but something about it felt different. Easier. The way he’d nudged his plate toward you when he noticed you eyeing his last taco. The way he leaned just a little too close, voice dropping low in your ear, murmuring some dry remark that made you snort into your margarita.

You weren’t sure when the line blurred. Maybe it was when your not-date nights became just as routine as your hookups. Or maybe it was at Wanda’s birthday dinner when Bucky—without thinking, without hesitation—draped his arm across the back of your chair, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against the bare skin of your shoulder. You hadn’t even noticed at first, too caught up in conversation, but Wanda and Sam sure as hell had. They shared a look, one of those wordless exchanges, tight-lipped and knowing. Like they were bracing for the inevitable. Like they could already see the fallout creeping on the horizon.

And they were right.

Because after a year of effortless, reckless bliss, Bucky finally reached his limit.

You should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve known that letting Wanda rope you into planning his surprise birthday party was a mistake. That something so personal, so full of effort, would make him withdraw. It was all too much. Too close. Too intimate for someone who spent his life keeping people at arm’s length.

And just like that, the fire snuffed out.

Your grip tightened around the box in your hands, the crinkling of the wrapping paper comically loud in the quiet room. The laughter and chatter from the party outside felt like a world away, muffled through the walls of his bedroom. You had pulled him aside to give him his present in private, and now it sat between you like a hand grenade, pin already pulled, waiting for the explosion.

“Are you going to open your present? Hand-picked by yours truly, I made sure not to let Sam meddle with those prank gifts of his—” You ignored his words, shoving the brightly wrapped box towards him. He barely glanced at it before waving it off, his scowl deepening.

“Did you even hear what I said?” Bucky interrupted you, expression nowhere near impressed

“Jesus, Bucky. Are you serious?” The sigh that left you was excessive, the once bubbly and sweet aura you wrapped yourself up in so tightly melting away in an instant. 

You should have known.

He had been off all week. Distant, restless. He’d stopped waiting for you in the back alley after his shifts ended, ignored your texts, and let your calls go to voicemail. Hell, he hadn’t even invited you over to fuck in two weeks, and that was the foundation of whatever this was between you. You’d told yourself it was the late winter blues—snow had been falling thick for weeks now even with spring looming closer by the day. Maybe, you had told yourself, it was some kind of early mid-life crisis with his birthday looming.

But deep down, you’d known better. You’d felt it in the way he couldn’t meet your eyes anymore, how his touch had cooled from burning to indifferent. It was like a switch had flipped, turning lust into something close to disgust.

“I’m serious,” Bucky said, exhaling like the conversation had already exhausted him. He rubbed a hand down his face, eyes fixed somewhere past your shoulder as if looking at you would make this harder. Or maybe easier. “We should stop… whatever this is.”

The present now sat on the bed, abandoned between you. You placed it down with deliberate care, fingers smoothing over the edges as you mulled over his words. Beyond the walls, the party raged on, voices rising in drunken harmony as Sweet Caroline blared over the speakers. A chorus of shouts—touchin’ me, touchin’ you—mocked the silence stretching between you.

You knew there was no point in arguing, not when Bucky had already made up his mind, disillusioned or not. But the question still burned its way up your throat before you could stop it, raw and sharp as you met his gaze.

“Why?”

His brows furrowed. “Why?”

However he had expected you to react, this clearly wasn’t it. Maybe he thought you’d cry. Maybe he thought you’d yell. But you had never been the type for tears or begging. You just wanted the truth. The cold, ruthless reason why this wasn’t working anymore.

“Yes. Why? What’s changed?”

Bucky hesitated, something flickering across his face. Hesitation, regret, guilt, maybe all three. Then, his jaw tensed, and he forced the words out like they tasted bitter on his tongue.

“You’re… You’re just too much. You’re too much for me.”

Your head tilted slightly, observing him. He still wouldn’t meet your eye.

“Too much, huh?” You echoed, voice steady despite the way your stomach twisted. “And how exactly am I too much?”

He sighed, exasperated. “You’re just… overbearing. You always want to text or call, or stop by the bar. You’re always asking after me with Sam and Wanda. It’s all just a little too much, doll. This was supposed to be a casual thing.” His fingers flexed at his sides, his frustration palpable. “You’re just—”

“So, you’re punishing me because I care?”

“That’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying, Bucky?” Your voice sharpened, and your patience unravelling. “That I’m clingy? That I’m suffocating you? Is it such a crime that I want to spend time with you—”

“You’re just—fuckin’ everywhere.” His voice rose, and you arched a brow, arms folding over your chest. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I swear to God. Every thought I have, everything I do—you’re there. I dream about you. And sometimes, I swear I smell that goddamn perfume of yours even when you’re not around—”

“Bucky.” You took a step forward, searching his face for something, anything. “Have you ever considered that maybe this is happening because you like me? Not because I’m some overbearing burden in your life—”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his entire body stiff.

“I don’t do relationships.”

You let out a dry, humourless laugh, shaking your head. “So, what then? You’re just gonna cut me off? I got too close, didn’t I? Too close to you—to the real you, the one you hide under all that brooding, tough-guy bullshit—so now you’re pushing me away?”

Bucky’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing.

You exhaled sharply, your patience splintering under the weight of his silence. “You know, Wanda warned me this would happen. Sam too. Hell, just about everyone out there did.” You gestured vaguely toward the door, toward the muffled chaos of the party beyond his bedroom. Laughter and music seeped through the walls. “Your friends, your colleagues. They all warned me. Guess I’m the idiot for thinking it’d be different, huh?”

His gaze flickered. A barely-there flinch. You pressed on.

“They told me you throw people away when they get too attached.” Your voice softened, but not with kindness, with something hollow, something resigned. “Or worse, when you do.”

His breath hitched, so quick and so subtle that if you hadn’t been watching him so closely, you would’ve missed it. But you saw it: the crack, the hesitation, the battle waging behind those sharp blue eyes.

For a second, it almost looked like he might break. Like he might finally say what he was really thinking.

But then, just as quickly as it appeared, the moment was gone. His expression hardened, every ounce of warmth draining from his face.

“I don’t need you.”

And just like that, the last ember of hope inside you burned out.

You swallowed against the ache in your throat, but your voice came steady, unwavering. “Is that the truth?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “Or are you just telling yourself that to feel better?”

His eyes darkened, and this time, there was no hesitation.

“Get out.”

—

You weren’t sure why you came back to the Howling Commandos.

You were beginning to suspect that Wanda and Sam were scheming something. She was constantly begging you to visit the bar every night off she had with the promise of free liquor. It had taken a few weeks after Bucky’s birthday meltdown for you to finally budge. Maybe it was the way Wanda had pulled you along, her arm hooked through yours like she could drag you away from the weight of it all. Maybe it was the way she made you laugh, tipping her head back, auburn hair catching in the bar’s dim light, her wicked look as she shrugged off her coat and flung it onto the counter. Maybe it was because you knew he would be here.

And, maybe, just maybe, you wanted that.

Bucky stood behind the bar, sleeves rolled to his forearms, jaw tight as he poured a whiskey neat without looking up. He must’ve heard you come in like he always did, but his eyes never once lifted from his work.

You perched upon one of the barstools beside Wanda, the wood sticky beneath your elbows, the orange glow from the bar’s lights catching in the condensation on your glass. A gin and tonic. No words exchanged, no request needed, just Bucky’s hand sliding it across the table without so much as a glance in your direction.

It was almost funny, the way he refused to look at you, wouldn’t acknowledge you beyond the ghost of a touch as his fingers brushed the glass. And yet, he still remembered your drink. Still took the time to slice a bit of lemon for the rim, just the way you liked it. Never mind that he’d once grumbled about how much he hated customers who ordered anything that meant extra cleanup at the end of the night.

“You gonna sulk all night or actually have fun?” Wanda teased, knocking her knee against yours.

You took a slow sip, letting the cool burn of gin settle on your tongue before answering. “I am having fun.”

“Sure you are,” she drawled, not buying it for a second.

But the night wasn’t all bad. You were feeling good, maybe a little too good, laughing at Sam’s exaggerated retelling of a story you’d already heard a dozen times, Wanda snorting into her rum, the buzz settling in like a second skin.

But the uneasy peace did not last long, as chaos had a way of following Bucky Barnes like his own shadow.

Two guys, a little too confident, a little too eager. You felt them before you even turned, whiskey on their breath, a practiced smirk tugging at the lips. The kind of men who smelled like cheap aftershave and overconfidence, sliding into your space with easy grins and empty compliments. One leaned in too close. “Didn’t think someone like you would be drinking alone.”

You arched a brow. “Who says I’m alone?”

He took the bait, smirking. “That right? Where’s your boyfriend, then?”

“Don’t have one.” You replied, tone disinterested.

He grasped your arm, and you yanked it away, nearly elbowing Wanda beside you in the process. “Oh yeah? I could change that for you sweetheart—” 

You didn’t have time to answer before you saw the bar flap shoot up in your peripherals. 

“Hey, man,” Sam warned, barely getting the words out before Bucky was there, a cloud at the edge of your vision, muscles wound tight beneath his shirt. He wasn’t looking at you, not really, but you could feel the storm rolling off him in waves, the tension singing through his frame.

The guy didn’t even have time to react before Bucky shoved him back—hard enough to knock him off balance, sending his drink sloshing onto the floor.

“The fuck?” Whiskey-breath scowled, stumbling forward like he thought he had a chance.

Bucky stepped in, jaw clenched, fist already curled like a promise. His voice was smooth, even. “Out. Now.”

The guy scoffed, straightening. “Oh yeah? What are you, the bouncer?”

“Nah.” Bucky tilted his head. “I fuckin’ own the place.”

Sam was rounding the bar, slipping beneath the bar flap. “One rule, Bucky! We have one rule!”

“No assholes in the bar?” Bucky deadpanned, flexing his fingers.

“No. No punching customers—hey!”

Too late.

The first punch landed with a sickening crack, sharp enough to slice through the low hum of conversation. A brief, stunned silence settled over the bar, glasses paused mid-air, a cue ball rolling to a stop on the felt. Then, a gasp. A sharp inhale. Someone let out a bark of laughter.

The guy staggered back, clutching his jaw, blinking like he couldn’t quite process what had just happened. But instead of learning his lesson, he surged forward, swinging blindly in a desperate attempt to save face.

The impact came from the right. A solid hit, knuckles cutting against Bucky’s brow. His head snapped slightly to the side, strands of dark hair falling loose from where they’d been tucked behind his ears. The second punch followed fast—less precise, more frantic—but it clipped him along the cheekbone, just enough to split the skin.

A thin trail of red welled up, tracking down the sharp line of his face.

Bucky stilled.

A slow, dangerous exhale. Then, before the guy could so much as blink, Bucky struck. A brutal, efficient one-two, fist slamming into ribs, then an upward cut that sent the man sprawling. His friend hesitated, torn between pride and self-preservation, before grabbing a fistful of his collar and dragging him toward the door.

Bucky flexed his fingers, shaking out his hand like he was testing for damage, like he barely felt it. The cut above his brow was bleeding, a slow trickle of crimson trailing towards his temple, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

You took a sip of your drink, eyes flicking lazily towards him, your pulse not even kicking up. Beside you, Wanda didn’t so much as blink; she just swirled the last of her rum and coke, watching the scene unfold like it was a rerun of a show she’d seen too many times before.

Finally, with a knowing smirk, she leaned in, voice low and honey-smooth. “You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?”

You swirled your gin and tonic, ice clinking against the glass, lips curling around the rim as you took another sip.

“Maybe.”

—

The back room was cold, the kind of cold that settled deep in the bones, seeping through the exposed brick walls. A single bulb hung overhead, casting a dim, yellow glow over the stacked crates of liquor and the metal shelves lined with bottles. You’d been in here many times, though usually under much more pleasurable circumstances. Bucky sat on an overturned crate, elbows on his knees, blood drying along the ridge of his knuckles. His head was tipped slightly forward, shoulders hunched as he rolled one of his split knuckles between his fingers, like he was testing if it still hurt. 

You shut the door behind you.

His jaw tightened. “Don’t.”

You ignored him, stepping past the crates and grabbing the first aid kit off the nearest shelf. “Sit up straight.”

He didn’t move.

So, with a sigh, you pressed a firm hand to his shoulder and shoved him upright. He let it happen, though he shot you an unamused look as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Jesus, you’re pushy.”

You crouched in front of him, flipping open the first aid kit, the sharp scent of antiseptic filling the air. He watched as you poured alcohol onto a clean cloth, soaking it through before pressing it against the cut above his brow.

Bucky flinched, fingers twitching like he wanted to grab your wrist, to stop you. But he didn’t.

“Hold still,” you murmured, dabbing at the wound.

His lip curled slightly, but he stayed put, letting you clean the blood away. His fists clenched on his thighs, shoulders wound tight like he was waiting for something worse.

“You know,” you said, voice light despite the weight in the air, “I heard from Wanda you’ve been losing it lately.”

Bucky huffed. “Yeah?”

“She said you’ve been missing shifts, and when you do turn up, you’re, uh…” You smirked, twisting the cloth to clean the edge of his jaw. “Well, these are her words, not mine—a miserable old cunt. Keep picking fights with customers.” You paused, waiting to see his response. His lips remained sown shut, his gaze cold, and he did not quite meet your eye. With an arch of your brow, you continued.

“Apparently, someone broke into your car, and you’re getting kicked out of your apartment because your landlord wants to sell it to some construction assholes.” You tilted your head, studying him. “I mean, some of that isn’t your fault, but it sounds like karma to me.”

Bucky’s fingers flexed. “Why do you care, doll?”

“I don’t,” you said easily, wringing out the cloth before pressing it against his brow again. “It’s like… watching a car wreck. Kind of captivating in a way.”

He let out a short, humourless laugh. “You’re fucked up.”

“Yeah, maybe I am.” You shrugged, barely glancing at him as you grabbed another clean cloth. “But I think, deep down, maybe I just pity you.”

Bucky’s expression darkened. “Why are you so normal about all of this? Aren’t you the one that’s supposed to be, I don’t know, freaking out? I was the one who dropped you, not the other way around.”

You paused, the cloth still pressed to his skin. You considered his words, then slowly and calmly, you replied. “It’s your own heart that you’re breaking, baby.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed. “You don’t know that.”

“I think I do.”

His lips parted like he was about to argue, but instead, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You don’t know shit about me.”

You sat back on your heels, observing him. The bruises were darkening across his cheekbones, his knuckles still raw, and his body shuddering from the aftermath. But beneath it all—under the cold defiance and the sharp edges—you saw it. The weight of something unspoken, something he wouldn’t admit to himself.

You hummed, tilting your head. “I know a lot.”

Bucky’s gaze flickered to you, wary.

“I know that you take your coffee black, your whiskey neat,” you said, voice soft. “That you always make your bed because it’s a habit from when you served. You prefer to drive stick. You’re a cat person.” 

You held his gaze, watching the way his fingers curled. “I know that you wear two sets of dog tags. That there are ghosts following you that you don’t talk about. I know that you realised you were getting attached to me. That it scared you so badly you dropped me the moment it clicked.”

“I know that you still ask after me,” you finished, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know that deep down, you care about me.”

Silence settled between you. 

Bucky stared at his hands, dried blood caking along the ridges of his knuckles. He was still for a long time, so long you thought maybe he wasn’t going to respond at all. 

“This… this thing between us.” His voice was rough. “It was a fling. Nothing more. A moment in time, not to be repeated.”

You inhaled slowly, disappointment evident, then stood.

With an easy motion, you tossed the bloodied rag onto a nearby crate.

“Keep telling yourself that,” you murmured, stepping back.

Bucky looked up at you, something flickering behind his eyes, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

You just smiled.

“Because I know,” you said simply, turning toward the door, “that in the end, you’ll come crawling back to me.”

“I won’t.”

You glanced over your shoulder, the corners of your lips curling.

“Okay.”

—

The cemetery was quiet, save for the whisper of wind through bare branches and the distant hum of traffic beyond the iron gates. The last bite of winter still clung to the air, spring struggling to take hold, leaving the sky an endless stretch of pale grey.

You pulled your coat tighter around yourself as you stepped out of Sam’s car, boots crunching against the gravel path. Wanda climbed out from the passenger side, rubbing her arms against the cold, while Sam exhaled sharply, tilting his head towards the small gathering of headstones up ahead.

“He’s already here,” he murmured.

Bucky stood with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, his back to you, his head slightly bowed toward the grave. Even from a distance, there was a tension in the way he held himself—like he was bracing for impact or maybe just trying to keep from unravelling.

You tightened your grip on the flowers in your hand and followed Sam and Wanda towards him.

Bucky didn’t turn when you approached, but you saw his shoulders shift, the slight tensing of his jaw when he realised there was one more person than expected. He still didn’t say anything, though, just kept his eyes on the headstone.

Steve Rogers.

The name was carved deep into the stone, clean and straightforward. No rank, no medals, no accolades. Just a name. A man who had meant something to them.

You hadn’t even known Steve existed until Sam mentioned him offhand a few days ago, his voice softer than usual, the usual humour dimmed. He hadn’t given many details—just that Steve was an old friend, someone he and Bucky had served with, and that the anniversary of his death was coming up. It hadn’t been an invitation, just a passing remark, but something about it stuck with you. Maybe it was the way Sam glanced at Bucky afterwards, concern hidden beneath his easygoing demeanour or the way Wanda’s expression darkened slightly like she’d been expecting it. You didn’t know anything about the man they were mourning, but you knew Bucky, and you knew the kind of grief that sat heavily on a person’s shoulders. Maybe you wanted to pay your respects. Perhaps you just wanted an excuse to get eyes on him, to see how bad the damage was. Either way, when Wanda and Sam left for the cemetery, you were in the car with them.

You stepped forward and crouched down, laying the flowers gently against the grave. The wind tugged at the petals as you stood, moving back beside Wanda, who sent you a glance but didn’t say a word.

Sam was the first to speak. “Damn, Steve. I hope you know we visit you even in the freezing fuckin’ cold.”

A small chuckle rumbled from Bucky’s chest, barely there. “Yeah.”

Sam exhaled, shaking his head. “You know, I think about that time in training when Bucky dared you to climb the roof of the barracks, and when you actually did it, Bucky nearly had a heart attack ‘cause you realised he’d have to go up there to get you down.”

Bucky huffed, shaking his head. “Idiot did a victory pose at the top. Almost fell straight off.”

Sam laughed. “Man, I wish we had taken a photo of you, dumbass.”

They fell into an easy rhythm, trading stories, some funny, some quiet and unspoken, shared only through small glances and nods. Wanda stood beside you, hands clasped in front of her, while you listened, letting them have their moment. She hadn’t known Steve either, just fragments of memories and stories Sam had told her over the years.

Eventually, the cold started to settle in deep, and Sam clapped his hands together. “Alright, I don’t know, but I think Steve would be personally offended if we froze our asses off standing here like idiots instead of heading home.”

Wanda nodded, already turning back toward the cars. You followed, but before you could take more than a few steps, Bucky spoke.

“I’ll take her home.”

The words were short, and clipped, but they made Wanda and Sam pause.

Sam lifted a brow, glancing between the two of you, then exchanged a look with Wanda, one of those unspoken conversations between lovers that didn’t need words.

But neither of them argued.

Sam just gave a small, knowing shrug and started toward his car. Wanda followed without a word, though you could’ve sworn the auburn gave you a subtle smirk.

You exhaled softly, then turned towards Bucky’s car.

The drive was quiet.

Outside, the world blurred past, fields and roads stretching under the grey sky. You kept your hands close to the vents, soaking in what little warmth the car offered, your fingers still stiff from the cold. Bucky’s grip on the wheel was tight, his knuckles pale. He was wound up, his shoulders rigid, and his jaw locked. The muscles in his forearms twitched as he shifted gears, and every so often, he exhaled sharply like he was biting back something sharp.

Minutes passed, the ghost of unspoken words swirling between you.

Then, suddenly—

“Fuck this.” Bucky muttered the words under his breath, his grip on the wheel tightening before he jerked the car off the highway. The tyres crunched over gravel as he turned onto a narrow backroad leading toward a small, empty picnic area near a river. The place was deserted, picnic tables dusted with half-melted frost. Too cold for anyone to be out.

You sat there, the hum of the engine the only sound between you. The sky outside had darkened, clouds pressing down low on the horizon as the river lazily wound its way through the mist. Bucky’s hands gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, his eyes fixed on the view outside. 

“How did you know about Steve?” The question left his lips quietly, almost like an afterthought, but it was sharp all the same.

“Sam.” You hesitated for a moment, gathering your thoughts. “I kind of put the pieces together. It’s his dog tags you wear, right?” Your voice came out soft but steady.

Bucky gave a single, sharp nod. “Yeah.”

You sighed, glancing out the window for a brief second. The weight in his voice, the way he carried it like an old wound, told you this was something fragile, something that had never quite healed.

“I didn’t mean to intrude. I just…” You trailed off, the words dying on your tongue, uncertain, too small for the grief that lingered between you. Your gaze flickered to his, but he wasn’t looking at you.

His voice, when it came again, was quieter than before. “Steve... Steve, he wasn’t just my friend. He was my partner.”

Something inside you stilled. The breath you’d been meaning to take got caught in your chest. “You were… together? Dating?”

“Yeah.” His voice wavered, unsteady in a way that made your stomach twist. “We were, uh, in love, I guess.”

The words hit you like a cold gust, Something in your mind clicked into place, pieces of him you hadn’t understood suddenly making sense. You stared at him, taking in the way his brows furrowed, the way the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes seemed more pronounced now, like he’d aged in the last few minutes.

“Did Sam know?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, jaw tight. “A few people did. His family, mine. A few friends.”

“I’m sorry.” You swallowed, trying to push past the lump forming in your throat. The words felt inadequate, almost meaningless. “I know my words don’t mean much or change anything, but I truly am sorry that you lost someone that important to you.”

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, his grip tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening, the leather creaking beneath his hold. His eyes stayed locked on the river, but he wasn’t really seeing it. He was somewhere else.

Then, barely above a whisper, “He stood on a landmine.”

Bucky’s voice was rough, worn thin. “He was dead before… before he would have even realised he’d stepped on it. They never really recovered all of his body. He just kinda… turned into mist.”

You felt your stomach drop. A slow, creeping horror curled around your ribs, sinking its claws in deep. “You saw it?”

“Yeah.”

“Bucky, that’s horrific, I—”  You felt your words die in your throat. What was there to say? There was no comfort for something like that. No words that could make it hurt less.

Then, slowly, his head turned, an empty, haunted gaze meeting yours. “That coffin out there, it’s empty. We do this every year, but it’s like talking to the wind.”

The words were like a punch to the gut. You swallowed hard, your throat tight with the rawness of it. Slowly, you reached across the console, your fingers brushing against his arm. “He didn’t suffer.”

“No.” Bucky's voice broke for the first time. “No, I suppose I should be thankful for that.” A tear slipped down his cheek, and he wiped it away with a rough, almost impatient hand. But he didn’t pull away from your touch. Didn’t move to hide the way his hands shook, fingers still locked in a vice grip around the wheel.

You didn’t comment on it.

You kept your hand on his arm, a steady presence against the tension coiled beneath his skin. There was nothing to say—at least, nothing that would make any of it easier. He had already said enough, and you weren’t going to insult him by pretending there were magic words to fix it. So you simply stayed, grounding him in the quiet, hoping that maybe, just maybe, letting even a sliver of it out might lighten the weight he carried.

The silence stretched, thick but not uncomfortable, the kind that settled in the space between two people who understood each other without needing to fill the gaps with empty words. A sharp gust of wind rattled against the window, slipping through unseen cracks and sending a shiver down your spine, but you didn’t move. Neither did he.

Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, Bucky turned his head, his gaze locking onto yours, raw, searching, like he was looking for something he wasn’t even sure existed. His throat bobbed, lips parting as he exhaled a slow, uneven breath. “I’m sorry.”

You blinked, taken aback. “For what?”

“How I’ve treated you these past few weeks.”

“Baby, you don’t need to apologise—”

“No, I do.” He interrupted tone tinged with frustration. “I… I realised that I cared for you. A lot. And it scared the shit out of me. After Steve, well, I swore I wouldn’t love again. I couldn’t… I couldn’t imagine going through that again. Or worse, if I died and left someone behind like that—”

You shook your head, cutting him off gently. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not though—” he began, but you interrupted him again, your voice calm, sure.

“I forgive you.”

Bucky went still, his expression unreadable for a moment as he processed your words. His jaw clenched, his eyes flicking between you and the river, as if weighing something in his mind.

A long, charged silence settled in. Then, just as you thought the moment would pass, he spoke, his voice quieter this time. “You’re sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure.” You smiled softly. “Listen. I didn’t know Steve, and I never will but… if he cared for you. If he loved you, he’d want you to be happy. He wouldn’t want you to shut yourself away from love, from feeling.”

“Honestly…” Bucky paused, sucking on his teeth. “Honestly, you’re probably right, doll.”

Bucky let out a slow breath, staring ahead like he was trying to gather his thoughts.

“I still don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice quiet. “Loving someone. Letting someone love me.”

You smiled softly, tilting your head. “Good thing I’m patient.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, that much is obvious.” Bucky glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, something unreadable flickering across his expression. Then, almost too softly to hear, “I want to try.”

You reached over, lacing your fingers through his. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

His grip tightened, just for a second like he was anchoring himself to you. And then, as if realising how ridiculous he sounded, he let out a low laugh, disbelief lacing his tone. “You’re too good for me, doll.”

“Hmm, maybe.” You giggled, leaning towards him, resting your forehead against his shoulder for a brief moment, letting the warmth between you settle. “I think I’ll stick around, though.”

“Yeah?” His voice held a tinge of uncertainty like he was testing the waters. His arm shifted, moving from the wheel to pull you closer to his side. “I haven’t scared you off?”

You tilted your head to look up at him, grinning. “I think you’d have to try a little harder to do that.”

He held you closer, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “So…” He paused, his breath hitching as if the words were caught in his throat. “Would you stick around… as my girlfriend?”

You jolted up, eyes widening in surprise. “Did the Bucky Barnes just ask me—”

“Shush, you.” He chuckled, cutting you off, his finger moving to gently press against your lips.

You smiled, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek, and he tugged you in closer, his grip firm but not demanding. His lips found yours, slow at first, testing—like he was still convincing himself this was okay, that he could have this. But as you melted into him, your fingers curling against the fabric of his jacket, something shifted. His hand slid up your back, anchoring you against him, his lips warm, sure, moving against yours with a quiet intensity.

You sighed into him, your breath mingling with his, the space between you disappearing until there was nothing but the press of his body, the soft scrape of his stubble against your skin. His fingers skimmed the nape of your neck, tilting your head slightly, and he kissed you again, slower this time, savouring it like he wanted to memorise the way you felt against him.

The world outside blurred, the hum of the car engine distant, unimportant. There was only this, only him, his warmth, the quiet, desperate way he held you like he was afraid to let go.

When you pulled away, Bucky let out a sharp sigh as if something inside him had finally relaxed. “Thank god, it would be kind of awkward if you didn’t—”

You silenced him with another kiss, and for the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.

A spark reignited. 

[sometimesanalice]

for the prompt party, how about: “i can’t help it,  i feel so sleepy and cozy now.” with our fave blue eyed WSO?

💖 @callsignspark

A reason to write a sleepy, cozy, domestic Bob?!?! Don’t mind if I do, Elle! 🫶🏻 (ps I still owe you a birthday fic, but please accept this humble offering in the meantime!)

There were a lot of things you liked about Bob Floyd.

You liked that he’d made a point to read your favorite book when you’d first started dating, because he wanted understand the things that made you you. 

You liked that he was the type of man to remember an offhand remark, it was as if he wanted to collect every crumb of you and nothing was too small to escape his notice. Like the time you mentioned being excited for summer fruit season, and he’d brought you a box of peaches from the farmers market the moment they’d arrived.

And you really liked the way he whispered the sweetest things as he fucked you into the mattress, the intoxicating sound of his baritone murmuring in your ear as he rendered you thoroughly boneless. His honeyed tongue was just as good at making you swoon as it did at making you come. 

But one of the most unexpected things you’d learned about him since he’d become your boyfriend, was that he could not seem to make it past the first 40 minutes of a movie without falling asleep. 

The two of you had sailed through that tentatively affectionate part of starting a new relationship, where every inch moved the two of you moved closer to each other felt like a new milestone. 

From sitting a respectful distance, pinkies just barely touching, in the getting to know you stage. To sitting snuggled close with his arm over your shoulder, enjoying getting to be curled up against him because you could and he was yours. To straddling his lap, those big hands roaming everywhere, and missing whatever was on TV completely because close enough wasn’t close enough. 

You’d been a big fan of each phase, but your favorite was easily when he was sprawled out on top of you like your own personal weighted blanket.

The first time he’d done it was after you’d made him your family’s favorite chicken soup recipe. The weather had just started to change, which in San Diego didn’t mean much, but you’d decided that since it was technically Fall it had been time to woo him with something warm.

He’d just finished doing the dishes, at his insistence, since you’d been the one to cook. You were lounging across the couch trying to find a movie to watch when he’d come over- with a groan and stretch that had revealed just a peek of skin- and flopped himself right on top of you, still ever careful in that way of his. All of his warmth, all of his sturdy weight pressing you into the cushions of your couch.

No one had ever made you feel as safe and secure as he did.

You were only a few minutes into the comedy you’d put on when you felt him stir, trying to sit up. “‘m sorry, honey, I’m probably squishing you.”

“I can take it,” you’d teased, with a wink before wrapping your arms and legs around him, keeping him in place.

He didn’t protest further, only inched himself over a little bit so that the couch was doing most of the work, while you combed your fingers through his hair.

The movie hadn’t even reached the half way point when you heard the first of his soft snores. You’d smiled to yourself and let the movie finish playing, not wanting to disturb him by reaching for the remote.

What you didn’t expect was for it to become a thing. 

You thought it was a fluke the first time it had happened.

The second time it happened, you thought he might have been messing with you. 

By the third, you were entirely amused.

When the two of you were curled up together on the couch, Bob was always slipping a hand under your shirt, his fingers idly tracing patterns onto your skin until slowly but surely they stopped moving at all. Usually right around the time you hear those first deep, slow breaths and quiet sighs of sleep.

But tonight, you’d decide to put your theory to the test. With your handsome blue eyed boy draped across you, you cued up a movie, stealthily starting the timer on your phone at the same time you’d clicked play. 

And sure enough, around 33 minutes in those long fingers of his stopped their circling. And just past the 40 minute mark you’d heard that gentle snore. 

You bite your lip, trying not to giggle. "Bob."

There's a long beat. “Hm.”

"Are you awake?” you ask, rubbing his back.

“Just resting my eyes.” It’s a sleepy mumble.

“Oh, really,” you muse. “Well then, can you tell me what just happened? It was pretty big plot twist.”

He lifts his head up, propping himself up on an arm to look at you.

“If you get me a couple minutes to google it I can,” he says with a sheepish smile.

You tip your head back and laugh, entirely and thoroughly charmed by him. “Is that what you’ve been doing after every movie night? Because I’ve been keeping track, and you sir, have yet to make it all the way through any of movies we’ve watched in the last few weeks.”

“Busted, huh?”

“Very. I had a theory and everything, backed with some serious scientific evidence,” you tease, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

Bob huffs a laugh, his ears a sweet shade of pink. “I can’t help it,” he says, doubling down and nuzzling his face into your neck, “I feel so sleepy and cozy now. You’re so soft and you smell really nice.”

Fond. You’re just so fond of him.

“Let’s make a deal,” you suggest, dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “As the official resident de facto cinephile in the relationship, I’ll handle all the movie related questions the next time we go to trivia night with your friends, sounds good?”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” You feel his smile pressed against your neck.

“Ok, you can go back to ‘resting your eyes’. I’ll send you the wiki article for you to read later.”

He chuckles softly. “I love you, honey. You’re the best.”

You were already warm with him on you, but now it radiates all the way down to your toes. “I love you too.”

[blorbologist]

I wish you would write a fic where Percy and Vex need to get warm.

Do with that what you will. (It is effing cold here so it’s on my mind) lol

This welcome has been, so nice and warm

900+ words | Gen | Perc'ahlia | TLOVM s3 and C1 compliant, set in the 1-year timeskip.

I wish you would write a fic where... prompt game

EDIT: Now cleaned up and on AO3!

--

Vex loves Percy. I mean, it’s a simple, straightforward fact. So much of him is reflected in Whitestone that it’s impossible not to love the city too. 

She might just love it a bit less right now, though. Apparently something about turning Whitestone into a necromancer's paradise impacted weather patterns (guess it’s hard to raise undead in frozen ground?) - because Percy remarked, during Winter’s Crest last year, that it was an unusually balmy winter.

This one is not unusually balmy. It’s cold. It’s skin-prickling, hair-frosting, finger-tingling fucking oppressively cold. 

Vex never knew it was even possible to be too cold for snow. But she’s definitely fucking familiar with the concept now!

It sure doesn’t feel like the Dawnfather smiles on her when the dawn was several hours late, and she woke up to several feet of snow, and to have any hope of catching anything she had to leave her very cozy bed and even cozier Percy.

Another thing to hate about this weather? Dressing up. Gone are the days of throwing on boots and bounding off for a hunt. She needs not one but two hosen on her legs, and a sweater and a jacket and a cloak on top, and gloves, and big huge boots that make her feel like the clumsiest thing in the whole fucking Alabaster Sierras if the rest of the outfit didn’t already accomplish that.

And a hat. A knit, tight hat that she has to drag over her ears or the points will freeze. It feels like she’s going deaf when she wears the thing.

After several hours of vigil in a tree - a third of them taken before sunrise when even that couldn’t warm her - Vex finally just gave up and trekked home. Because even for the Grand Mistress of the Grey Hunt there was only so long she could fight off shivers to stay still. And feel every breath sharply. And watch her scarf and fur collar and stray strands of her own fucking hair slowly prickle with frost. 

She must have frostbite. Even if her magic doesn’t seem to catch on any damage. She’ll get inside, take off her gloves, and see that her fingers are black and falling off and Pike will have to leave the bakery to put them back on.

Not like she has any use for those stupid fingers; they’re stiff with cold, and she doesn’t have any game to haul back.

Everything sucks even more knowing she - don’t forget, the Grand Mistress of the Grey Hunt - didn’t even hunt anything. Not even a rabbit, or a turkey, or a glimpse of that Grey Render. Funny thing: the wildlife has the sense not to be out in this weather, even if she doesn’t.

(The worst part is that Trinket, for the first time in his whole life, has decided to hibernate. Because the Parchwood is the sort of place bears want nothing to do with when the days start to shorten. And it means that Vax is in Zephrah, where it never snows, and Trinket is soundly sleeping in the warmest part of her mansion, and Vex is out here alone.)

(It means there’s less body heat to keep her warm out here. Of course.)

Grand Mistress of the Grey Hunt who sucks at hunting in the Parchwood for a third of the year. It’s times like these where she’s really giddy the mansion was completed not long after the first frost; she can avoid the (surely super judgemental) stares of the townsfolk.

She just… has to fight through knee-high snow to get back. Or awkwardly step through the tracks she left in the morning. Or test the thin sheet of ice on the top of the snow, make it a few strides before crashing through. And no matter what she does her socks end up cold and wet!

By the time the lights are in sight she’s exhausted, and sweaty, and pissed, and really itching to kill something. And above all else, freezing. It’s almost enough to dull the ire - almost.

A petty part of her heart hisses that she never, ever should have fallen in love with a clever, thoughtful, nerdy, proud, cynical, and extremely sexy man who happens to live where it gets fuckoff cold for a solid third of the year.

Except as she trudges closer, she can see his silhouette in the window. And the moment that interruption in the light jerk upright because he’s seen her, too.

Except he leaves that warm, cozy home they’ve made to meet her outside with his coat and slippers. And he kisses her burning cheek and steals her hunting gear and rambles about some idle nothing - and notes he’s got hot chocolate on the stove. 

Except once they’re in the mudroom, and her cold skin prickles at how balmy it is in here, he’s taking her hands and warming them in his. And he’s taking off her boots and grimacing in sympathy at the packed snow and agreeing it’s awful out there, she’s entirely correct, and he’ll be sure to have those poor cold feet in his lap as soon as possible. Yes, by the fire, of course, he’s not a madman.

Except he’s so delighted to have her back, so happy to have an excuse to pamper her. And Percy, with an impish delight, cocoons her in thick blankets and tugs her along to the little nest he’s made by the hearth. And Vex, impossibly, falls a little more in love with him every time he leads her through this dance.

Because Percy, as a man of fuckoff-cold Whitestone, has getting warm down to a science, and Vex can almost forget she was ever cold in the first place.

(She has her own thoughts on how two lovers could warm eachother up, of course - but she did fall in love with a clever man.)

[ragingbookdragon]

All Work And No Play Makes Dull Boys

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Word Count: 1.1K Warnings: Suggestive Themes

Author's Note: Guess who's back with an actual fic? Fantastic render by @ave661 Go check her out! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

If there’s one thing Simon “Ghost” Riley knows about Spades, it’s that she, in all her infinite glory, never spares any expense when it comes to how she looks, and what her gear is. And the same has begun to occur for the 141 as well. It started small, bits and pieces rearranged, a few new knives and sidearms to try out, then it went to bigger things, new rifles and shotguns, and then it hit the gear. At random moments, Spades had pulled each man of the 141 into her room and stripped them down to their tighty-whities before she measured each inch of them—Soap and Gaz had gone willingly, it took Price a few days to convince, and Ghost? Ghost didn’t step foot in her room or anywhere near her when he learned what she was doing—no need though, she already had what she needed from him.

***

It’s a late evening in October when she comes to his door. She doesn’t bother knocking, never does, and unlocks it with a key she had made (he has no idea when and how she did it), stepping into his room. He looks up from the mission brief he’s been reading while laying on his bed, an unimpressed, almost annoyed look in his eyes as he glares at her.

“Don’t look so happy to see me, Simon,” she says with a sickly-sweet tone. “Someone might accuse you of actually liking me.”

“Out.” Is all he says.

She tuts and beckons him with a finger. “Come.”

They stare at each other for a solid minute before he exhales through his nose, annoyed and exasperated, and rolls off the bed; he stretches and rolls his shoulders before following her down the hall into her room.

“I’m not getting measured,” he says as he closes the door behind them.

“As if I don’t already have your measurements, Simon Riley,” she retorts and now he’s a bit unnerved because he’s never given her time to measure him, so how did she already have them? She doesn’t answer his silent question, merely walks to her room divider, and rolls out a fancy looking set of black gear. “I give to you, ‘The Gilded Reaper.’” She announces with a note of pride in her tone and a helluva lot of it in her expression.

He takes one look at it. “I am not wearing that.”

“YOU HAVEN’T EVEN TRIED IT ON!” Spades yells and thrusts her hand to it. “I spent a lot of time and money on this, and you are going to try it on for me whether you like it or not.”

“Am I?” he dares and it’s obvious he’s going to go for the door as she points at him.

“If you make me chase you down and drag you back here, I’m going to make you regret it entirely, do you understand me, Simon Riley?”

He’s almost tempted to do it just to see her follow suit with her threat; he glares her down before he lets out a long breath. “Fine.”

Spades smiles and chirps, “Thank you.” Simon dips behind the divider, tugging the mannequin with him and she rolls her eyes. “It’s as if you think I haven’t seen anything you have before.”

“It’s called ‘common decency,’” he retorts. “Maybe you should look it up.” She throws one of her shoes over the divider at the tuft of blond hair she can see. “That hurt.”

“I meant it. Now hurry up, I want to see it.”

It’s another few moments before he steps outside the divider, and she stares wide-eyed as he does.

“Well?” he asks, and he really means, “This is so fucking stupid.”

Spades takes her time walking in circles around him, pulling at belts, at the straps, checking if everything is fitting well enough before she stops in front of him, staring up into his golden mask.

“I like it,” she notes, and her voice lowers an octave, a tell-tale sign that she’s being honest; she only ever does it with him. “I think it’s you.”

“It’s ostentatious,” he deadpans.

“Careful, that’s a big word for a caveman’s brain.”

He rolls his eyes, not taking the bait of the insult. “I can’t wear this out on missions. It’s practically a neon sign that says, ‘Hey, shoot me!’”

Spades reaches up and strokes the gold mask. “Who said it was missions?”

Simon freezes up, body still as he gazes at her, and Spades looks awfully innocent as she dips her fingers below his golden mask, feeling his masked face beneath. It’s not often that Spades can render Simon completely silent, the two practically have a raging desire to be each other’s constant pissing match that there’s always something to say, and yet, he’s still quiet as she pulls her hands away and twirls around him to his back. Her hands slide up his sides beneath the cape, feeling firm muscle beneath.

“I made this just for us, Simon,” she coos, hands slipping down to his belt where she tugs it. “I was thinking we could take a trip to the mountains where I have that cabin and we could…play.”

“You mean hunt each other,” he breathes, and it’s low and heavy, she knows exactly what he really wants to say.

“All work and no play makes such dull boys,” Spades muses. “We’ve spent so much time working, Simon, we’re awfully dull, don’t you think?”

He lets out a low noise from his throat, a warning that should send bells off in her head, but all it does is urge her on, a grin worming its way onto her lips.

“Please, Simon,” she begs and lifts a leg on the outside of his hip, her thigh just beside his hand. “It would be so much fun.”

His head tips to the side, hand grasping her knee in an iron-clad grip and he spins them; Spades is back up against the wall in a flash and she gives him a flash of white teeth in a smile as he takes her jaw in a firm hand, tilting it up to get a good look at her. “We haven’t played hunt in a while. What makes you think you’ll win this time?” he challenges.

It’s true, Simon often wins their games of hunt, but it’s only because Spades gets tired of waiting and lets herself be hunted down. “Call it a feeling,” she replies, tugging at his center belt. “Should I give you the coordinates for our game, Ghost?”

He leans forward, close enough that she can feel the warmth radiating off of him and he remarks, “I’ll get ‘em on my own.”

As he pulls away, she watches as he turns and stalks for the door, only stopping when her voice reaches him in a provoking, “May the best hunter win.”

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝓘 𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓨𝓸𝓾 (say it back): Sour 🔞

You know people think you're just using him. And he knows that people think he's just getting used by you. And maybe it's time for him to stand up, and make some things clear.

Tags/Warnings: Girly!Reader, Introvert!Jungkook, non-idol AU, opposites attract AU?, established relationship, Angst, Major Fluff, some drama, Slice of Life (like Good Girl AU for example), mc is kook's biggest simp, kook is kind of overwhelmed by her love sometimes, but it's fine they both cute, Jealousy oh no, possessive kook!, multiple rounds, boob slapping like.. once, cumplay, creampie oops²

Length: Long, didn't count oops

A/N: There is no taglist. There is no taglist. There is no taglist. There is no-

-> Masterlist

━━━━━━━━━━.~°♡°~.━━━━━━━━━━━

"Ah, by the way!" His trainer asks, while Jungkook quietly unwraps his hands after his boxing training. "I wanted to ask you, who was that girl you were with when you came here earlier?" He asks, referring to you.

Jungkook doesn't really know any other girls besides you, after all. So it has to be you- you've tagged along to the boxing studio with him, leaving him to walk inside on his own however since he'd offered to simply take you along, so you could go to your appointment at the hair salon while he was working out, and bring you back home once he was done.

"..my girlfriend." Jungkook says, continuing to unwrap his other hand before flexing the fingers a bit. It's a bit odd to say it out loud- but not a bad-odd. Just unfamiliar.

Maybe because he doesn't say it much.

Maybe he should.

"Really?" His trainer wonders, looking genuinely surprised for a second as he looks at Jungkook- who feels a bit challenged, almost. Jungkook has noticed that the start contrast between you and himself has caused some people to look at him with almost something akin to pity- as if he's the prey in the cougars claws, about to be chewed and spit out once you're done with him. He gets it- but at the same time, it irritates him to no ends, because you're pretty much the sweetest cursing little angel he's ever met up to this point.

So it's unsurprising that his answer might sound a bit more offended than he's intending it to. "Yes." He answers, brows lowering.

"Oh, wow." His trainer seems to catch up on his mood. "No offense, really! Just- surprising, you know?" He tries to explain himself. "You're always so quiet, and you know… Are you sure she's in it for the right reasons?" He asks, and at that, Jungkook puts everything down to look up at his trainer with a serious face.

"What are you implying?" He demands to know.

"Man, I'm just saying! You know, I know girls like that. They use guys like you! They might fuck you well but-" He tries. "-I just-"

"You want to fuck her instead, is that it?" Jungkook calls him out, and by the look on the guy's face, Jungkook had hit the jackpot. And just as he gets up to walk closer, the door opens, and you walk in with a rustling paperbag that smells like takeout food.

"Uh.. am I interrupting something?" You ask, a little unsure- and both men stare each other down for a bit longer, before Jungkook walks off to walk over to you instead, hand on the back of your neck as he gives you a short but heated kiss- rendering you a bit speechless for once. He's never this bold in public.

What's going on?

"I'll go shower real quick, okay?" He tells you, and you just dumbly nod, left by yourself as he walks past his trainer into the changing rooms and showers.

"I'm just- not gonna ask." You just say, more or less to yourself as you sit down in a chair close by, throwing one leg over the other before pulling out your phone.

"He's just having a bad day." The trainer tells you, walking closer. "So, you and him?" He asks, and you nod at that, big grin on your face.

"Yep!" You chirp, tapping away on your phone.

"Don't make him spend all his money on you." The trainer tells you, somewhat joking- though you can hear the hint of honest threat in his tone, which makes you stop what you're doing. "I know he's a softy, but come on. Just cause he's easy doesn't make it right." He says, and you become a bit insecure at that.

You know that's what most people must think of you- but hearing it said out loud makes it sting just a bit more.

You want to stand up for yourself like you always try to do- but somehow, you can't, not in this moment. Not because you don't want to- but because you're just realizing how little people think of Jungkook. You're not even the victim here. It's not your place to even be offended in the first place.

You can take the weird rumors about yourself, the glances and looks, the stereotypes and boxes people put you in. But the fact that just because Jungkook cares, and loves, and treats the people around him with kindness, he's seen as someone weak and pitiful, just makes you angry. Because if you stood up for him right now, it would only cause more issues- the guy in front of you would only feel validated in his opinion, would never let your boyfriend live it down that his own stupid dumb girlfriend had to defend his poor self from the world.

"I'll send you my cancellation for my membership via E-mail." Jungkook suddenly says as he emerges from the showers, grabbing his bag before he helps you stand up from your seat, brushing down the back of your skirt with his palm. He almost instantly reaches for your small bag as well, holding it for you while you put your phone away.

"Hey man, I was just looking out for you-" The trainer starts, but Jungkook puts himself between him and you as if to prove a point, calmly speaking.

"Don't. I'm very much capable of doing that myself." He says, simply takes his bag to throw over his shoulder before he takes your hand in his, and leaves the gym.

It's only in the car that you dare ask what's happened. "Is it because of me?" You wonder, and Jungkook perks up at that, face completely devoid of the anger he'd had just a few minutes ago.

"What do you mean?" He asks, even his voice not in the slightest irritated any longer.

"At the gym, earlier." You say, opening the paper bag to steal some fries for yourself. "Like, you said you'll cancel your membership and stuff. And you love boxing." You shrug, and he shakes his head.

"I think I just realized that I need to start putting my foot down." He offers, changing lanes as he drives you both home. "And the membership was also pretty overpriced anyways. There's other gyms I can check out." He tries to joke, though you don't seem too convinced next to him.

"You know I'm not using your for, you know, sex and money right?" You ask him, and his eyes widen. "Like, I really really do love you-" You begin, and he laughs.

"I know that, don't worry." He tells you. "Is that what he told you?" He wonders, and you shrug.

"Lot's of people think that." You huff to yourself. "Comes with the style, I guess. And like, I'm not mad about that- I don't really care if people think I'm a money-grabbing whore." You laugh, making him cringe. He doesn't like you talking about yourself like that. "But it just makes me mad that people think you're a pussy who needs to be babied all the time." You complain.

"So you're getting angry on my behalf?" He chuckles, and you nod, crossing your arms.

"I hate when people don't take you seriously." You huff to yourself, staying quiet the entire rest of the ride until you both reach his apartment where you're staying over at tonight- when his arms reach around you from the back, his face hiding in the crook of your neck where he kisses the skin.

"I love you."He hums, and you shiver at the sound of that sentence. He doesn't say it often, his love language non-verbal, rather expressing his feelings in acts of service or fleeting touches. So whenever he does say it, it's special. "And I'm.. really happy you're my girlfriend, you know that?" He says, and you shrug.

"I'm.. you know, I'm sorry I'm always so much trouble." You sigh, but he shakes his head.

"You're not." He denies. "I need to.. say it more often to people. You know. Stop introducing you as.. you, but as my girlfriend instead." He tells you.

"You don't have to-" You start, but he chuckles.

"No, I do." He argues gently. "Because I can't stand it when people think you're easy to get. Or that you're someone that's available in the first place." He complains, walking you closer to his small bedroom, where he suddenly picks you up and let's you fall on the bed, your body bouncing from the impact a little.

"Jung-" you start, but he's already crawling closer to you on hands and knees, leaning in.

"You're mine." He almost growls under his breath, kissing you feverishly. You're not sure what's gotten into him, but you're also not complaining- or maybe you do, as you hear fabric rip and buttons drop to the floor around the bedroom.

"kook!" You whine. "That was one of my favorites-!" You complain, while he's busy pulling your skirt from your legs.

"As if I care." He growls, before he pulls you closer by the backs of your knees. "I like that lingerie though." He almost purrs, hands pulling on the straps of the lace body, letting them snap back against your skin playfully so.

"Yeah I like it too-" You pout, crossing your arms. "-So don't break it." You huff, making him raise one of his brows before he moves to push your wrists into the bed up above your head.

"I won't promise anything." He comments, before he leans down to kiss you, lips eager to claim your breath while his hands roam around your body, grabbing onto the softness of your breasts before they travel lower, over your sides, stomach, one pulling your leg up, while the other moves between your legs.

Your toes curl as he finds a way to slip his palm inside, teasing you for a good while before he throws his shirt over his head, shedding the rest of his clothes as well, before he grabs at the lace bottom of the lingerie.

It rips as he creates an opening, making you whine.

"I'll buy you a new one." He hums, one of his hands pumping his cock before he guides himself into your leaking core, pushing in slowly to help you adjust. "I'll buy you ten, I don't fucking care."

"You'll rip them all.." you sigh partially because of the feeling of him filling you up like this.

"Damn right I will." He chuckles darkly, pulling out before he pushes back in.

It's the start of what you think you know by now- but he's catching you off guard as his hips move at an aggressive pace, skin against skin echoing in the room as he clenches his jaw, a hard grip on your thighs, making you wonder if he'll leave bruises.

You wouldn't mind if he did.

Your head spins as you're left taking whatever he gives you, one of his hands leaving your thigh to instead pull down some of the straps on the upper part, pulling out your tits for him to see freely move. He can't help but grab onto one of them, hold it before he slaps it once just to see how it feels.

You, meanwhile, feel like you're having an out of body experience. You can hear yourself moan almost obscenely, whining and whimpering as he pounds into you, but its like your body doesn't respond to you any longer, as you arch your back and curl your toes.

And like the devil he is, he doesn't slow down. Instead, he grabs your hips, and adjusts you to lay over his thighs, gaining the ability to aim even deeper inside. And your body freezes up as you hit your orgasm full force, thighs shaking violently as he slows a bit, erratically moving to reach his own high as well, your cunt clenching around him tightly.

And as he finally cums, pushed as far inside you as he can, he finally gains back the ability to year, and notice his surroundings.

Your chest is rising and falling rapidly, your eyes are closed, skin shining in a light layer of sweat as he can't help but run his hands over the pale pink lace lingerie covering your body.

You're just so pretty.

He moves the straps and lace around, helps you out of the garment, slipping out of your core for a moment, causing you to whine in complaint. "So pretty.." he hums, as he finally has full access to your bare skin, lips peppering kisses from your stomach up to your neck, hands never staying still. "All mine." He speaks against your skin, when you feel him suddenly harshly suck and bite at your neck and shoulder.

"J-jungk-" you stammer, legs rubbing against one another as he chuckles.

"Already wanting more?" He wonders, and you nod, hands clinging onto his arms. "Think you can take it?" He jokes, and you nod again.

"Please-" you beg, and he leans back, pulling you with him to straddle his lap, adjusting you properly on his still sensitive cock. You've never had sex in this position before,but you immediately decide that it's one of your favorite- the way he holds you, his body all over you, the way he's able to provide such an immense feeling of safety and comfort to you, is otherworldly almost.

Or maybe it's just jungkook himself. You're not sure.

He's overly sensitive but pushes through that first wall, moves a lot slower and more sensual now as he helps you bounce on his lap, before you instead start to roll your hips into his- earning a very vocal response from him as he holds onto your ass, assisting you in your motions while your hands are on his back, nails scratching a little over his skin.

And he loves it, loves the idea of wearing your marks just as much as you do his.

He really should show his love for you more often. It's still a bit odd to him why you're with him in the first place, but he should stop trying to figure that out- because that's not what it's all about, isn't it? Your relationship doesn't need any other reason to exist than live alone, and love is something you both have a lot of.

The love for your body, your mind, your soul. The love for the way you nap around whenever you can in the most random of places. The love for your random kisses you place on his cheek, on his neck, on his hands, on his shoulders. The love for your cooking, your care and your hugs at night.

He's got so much love for you, and he should show that.

He's sure he can't cum again, but he knows he's reaching his second orgasm however, hips moving erratically just like yours as you pick up your pace, lips chasing after his, as he licks at your lips, open mouthed kisses sharing breaths as you reach your highs.

You cling onto him for a good while after, feeling him fill you up once more as his cock spurts his release up your cunt, making it leak out down your legs, as he lays your limp body back down on the bed, pulling out.

His hand can't help but try and push his seed back in- and when he notices he can't, he instead uses it as lubricant to instead let his thumb circle over your pulling clit, a frail whimper coming from you as he softly lures another orgasm out of you, his breath finally normalizing as he watches his cum leak out of you.

He's tired, exhausted, but forces himself up at least to help you and him clean up and so you go pee, while he simply throws the stained sheets into the wash. Neither he nor you get dressed after showering and drying up, rather opting to sleep wrapped in simple blankets on the couch instead, holding each other close.

And the pain in his muscles the next time he wakes up is so worth it-

Just like the honestly amusing sight of you struggling to walk straight.

[angel-in-shadow]

Soooooo I might have some remastered Kuris mesh rambling below the cut:

File format didn't change, so the old methods to extract models still works >:D I'm having issues with textures but I can brute force that another day. Until then, have some real quick Kurtis mesh comparisons.

First up, his head. It's literally a work of art. His fucking NOSE??? I really love the new definition on his cheekbones, his jaw, the tendons in his neck and his adam's apple. But the overall shape is incredibly faithful to the original while massively increasing the poly count to something more modern (not fully modern standards mind you, for example Johnny from Cyberpunk 2077 has about double the polygons in his head than Kurtis does, so they're still aiming for the style over realism).

His hair looks fantastic, I really love how the hair looks in this remaster. Strangely enough, they opted to follow the original model's example and not have the back of his scalp actually modelled at all - his hairline literally meets the jagged end of his forehead, rather than opting to have a full scalp like most modern games.

Another neat little feature is that his scar is physically embedded into the topology which is... honestly kinda wild. Scars are usually all texture work, as doing it in polygons is more expensive on render times, but it's so tiny and the polycount is already low enough that they could spare some here for his scar, and I LOVE it. By having physical depth in the mesh where his scar sits, it looks more believable than simply using a normal map and creating fake depth. Also! Eyelashes!

Some other neat bits, starting with hands:

Really good topology for... what essentially hardly ever bends, which is massive overkill, but also very impressive. There's so many polys on each of those joints, my head spins just trying to think about the process of building this mesh. I noticed the nails on Lara while playing, but I love the actually defined nails. I also really love how his fingers are chunky, but are sorta knobbly and really have nice detail (those thumbs are great). Also, his accessories are now proper models all their own with 3D depth and detail - love to see it!

His guns, harness and clothes in general look SO good, I think clothes might be one of the nicest parts of this remaster. Also CHECK OUT THEM PECS. The definition on his chest is really nice, it looks tight around his chest but loose and comfy at his belt which is a nice touch, definitely helps exaggerate the folds the original texture tried to imply. Each of the little fastenings on his harness too are meshes all on their own. His double belt situation might still be in effect? I won't be able to tell until I see the model with textures, but for now it looks as though they redesigned the belt situation to let his discus be held on by a separate belt that clasps onto the main belt? I'll report back on the infamous double belting when I nab the new textures.

(The original double belt for context.)

I also just thought his new boots were cool as hell, and the remastered discus looks clean. As someone currently deep in retopology hell for an assignment, I love admiring how nicely done all of this is.

Original model: 4,798 polygons

Remastered model: 53,366 polygons

*chefs kiss*

[courfee]

hiii! i was wondering if you have any advice for drawing curly hair? your james has the *perfect* curls and i have been struggling SO much to find resources, free or paid, on drawing male curly hair! it’s all straight male hair or super long curls and i’m fighting for my life trying to draw curly haired james and remus

hi!! first of all, i'm very happy that you like my james curls, i love drawing his hair, so this is a nice compliment :D

second, i have to admit that there is honestly not much technical stuff to what i'm doing, so i fear my advice might not be very helpful. regardless, i have drawn you a quick little james and will try to explain my process below the cut

I put a speedpaint here, unfortunately that's rather blurry, but i think you still get the gist of it

my lineart for hair is very, very rough. i generally don't have any connecting lines, that way in the end the hair will look more fluffy and flowy and you're not as confined to a specific shape while colouring

then the base colour - i start by using a big brush and just colouring in a blob that doesn't quite reach any edges. generally for colouring i use a brush with pressure sensitivity and colour in a way that usually it's a little transparent. I always add a flat colour layer (usually orange-y) underneath all my drawings. that way you a) won't have any white spots and b) all the colours will harmonise better with each other.

once i have the big blob of colour done i go in with a smaller brush and add the rough curl shapes i couldnt do with the bigger one, and after that i make the brush even smaller and draw flyaway hairs and the likes, basically each curly bit gets a few strands and then i just add a random few that go against my previous established pattern to give james that messy look

after that comes i guess a sort of rendering process? i clip two layers to my hair colour layer and have one for highlights ("add" layer with orange-y colour) and one for shadow ("hard light" layer with dark purple, idk what these modifiers are called in other programs) and honestly, this is just a process of fucking around. i usually highlight the entire top outline of the hair, just take a wide brush and go over the edge, and then i put a random splattering of curves throughout the rest. most highlights are paired with a shadow next to it, but not all shadows are paired with a highlight, they're just there for more texture of the hair. there really is no specific process here besides avoiding to align all the swoops in the same direction

the last step is the very last step of every drawing i make, i add another "add" layer at the very top and use a different, rougher brush with less pressure sensitivity. with that one i add all my glowy details nearly everywhere where there are highlights. for the hair this is basically just fly away hairs that get extra highlighted, primarily all around the edges of the hair. with this one i also like adding the odd highlight where there is no flat highlight from before

that's essentially it. i would say the main takeaway from this is that the less you try to get a certain shape done, the more it will look like messy curls, and the random pieces of hair not quite following any shape add a lot to it.

i hoped this helped in any way whatsoever? good luck in your curl drawing adventures!! <33

[lixenn]

OCtober 2024 day 23: community

@myrmyrtheorca one science girl coming right up! Anemone is also working hard, pipetting lots for qPCR 🫡 what a legend!

A yapping essay under the cut, I will talk science so you have been warned.

Now before I ramble about science I'm just gonna talk about the art for a bit. I did use a reference for this because I'm not insane and drawing the lineart with it was ... alright I would say. I actually looked through my own pictures and my uni website first in case I could find something as a ref but no dice so I needed to look it up anyways. I think the most difficult lineart to draw was the fucking pipettes... I need everyone to know that all the lab equipment (except maybe the blue regant holder) is a simplification of what it actually looks like because by god I could not replicate the real thing with my current skill set. I know most people will not give a fuck but I do so it needed to be said.

Otherwise colouring went okay and rendering wasn't extremely tedious. I noticed that I actually really like rendering blond hair, years ago I found this hack where you use red for the shadows and turn the opacity down and it works so well every time, I'm a bit obsessed tbh. I need to give more of my OCs blond hair lmao.

Okay enough about art let's talk science! Honestly this is really just me explaining science stuff, so feel free to skip because this can get long.

As I mentioned above I drew Anemone doing qPCR and I chose qPCR because her focus is genetic research. So basically she looks into the human genome (entire set of human genes) to see how it correlates to the Pallid Flame.

qPCR stands for quantitative polymerase chain reaction or real time polymerase chain reaction (RTpcr) and it's a valuable tool for analysing stuff down to genetic aka DNA level. You might have learnt about PCR in school but if not or if you've forgotten: PCR is the amplification of a specific gene aka you take one specific part of someone's DNA and replicate it a bunch of times. This is useful if you want to proof if a specific gene is present in the DNA you are analysing. Now qPCR also does the DNA amplification but as it already implies with the name it also counts how much the gene was amplified. You can use qPCR in many applications for example I used this method in my thesis to test if skin related genes are upregulated (higher gene expression aka genes are more activated? <- me trying to simplify genetics I'm not sure if this is the correct term of phrase) or down regulated (lower gene expression) when I put mast cells in my skin models. It gives you insight how certain factors affect cells on DNA level and since it will give you number at the end you can do statistics which is what everyone will really care about. I hope this explanation was at least somehow understandable if anyone has any questions I can talk more about this no prob 🫡

In fact I will talk more about it just... less why you do qPCR but more on how you do it. Because the thing is with this method... You need to pipette, you need to pipette A LOT. And honestly I'm really not a fan because you need to be so exact with this pipetting since each mistake you make stacks up and shows in your data at the end. It's very frustrating especially because there are a lot of steps where you can make mistakes and you need to be fully concentrated the entire time. I... I would say I'm good at my job but I really don't like this part of it because it grates on my nerves. But I think Anemone would be good at it, it's something repetitive that requires a steady hand and patience. Normally post Docs and even some PhD students let assisstants handle this job but I'd like to imagine that Anemone likes doing small things occasionally. Maybe not the entire process (there's a lot of prep work required for qPCR) but the last few steps she can take over, just for a change of pace.

[rumbelleshowdown]

-

Author: pomegranate seed

Group: B

Prompts: Theft, rose, “how long?!” Pillowfort. Turn the tables.

-

Priceless

Mr Gold peered across the cramped floor of his shop with a crooked smirk on his face. Lacey French was in the process of pocketing a piece of jewelry that had been dangling from the rack–a necklace with a locket pendant, featuring an enamel face emblazoned with a deep red rose.

The same color red as the lipstick she was always wearing, he reckoned. 

The necklace was a piece of decent quality–but it lacked the sort of provenance that might render it worthy of a spot in the glass case he was standing behind. In truth, he ought to have melted the thing down for scrap. Jewelry simply didn't move in a pawn shop–plenty of sellers, rarely any buyers. But he'd found it a charming thing, and hung it up front in the hope that someone might be willing to part with some of their hard-earned cash in exchange for it. 

Evidently not. 

Lacey was making a display of pretending to admire a few of the other pieces on the rack–costume jewelry mostly. Picking them up, turning them this way and that in the dim, incandescent light, and humming before putting them back. 

Mr Gold cleared his throat. “Miss French.”

She froze for a beat, seemed to catch herself, then looked up at him with a friendly smile. “Yeah? Mr Gold?”

He scoffed. That smile didn't suit her. After all, Lacey French didn't have a friendly bone in her body.

“Will you be paying for that?” He asked.

She furrowed her brows and pouted her lips, feigning innocence as she looked around the shop. “Uh… paying for what?”

He supposed he had to admire her effort. “It's a lovely little thing, isn't it?” He said, grabbing his cane and hitching out from around the counter. “Late nineteenth century. Timeless motif, the rose. Gold plated. There's some imperfections in the wiring of the cloisonné–but that only adds to its charm, I think.”

She swallowed, knowing she'd been caught, but not prepared to admit it just yet. 

He held out his hand with his palm up. “Miss French.”

She glanced desperately around the shop again as if looking for her escape, but there was none. With a resigned sigh, she reached into her bag and dug out the necklace. “How long have you been watching me?” She grumbled as she dropped it into his palm–the delicate gold chain falling in a soft cascade around the pendant.

The corner of Mr Gold's mouth curved into a smile. “Why–since the moment you walked in, dearie,” he said, closing his fist around the necklace and dropping it into his jacket pocket. 

She folded her arms tightly across her chest and shifted on her feet–those deep red lips set in a defiant, pillowy pout. “You know, you really shouldn't admit shit like that,” she snorted. “Makes you sound like a bit of a creep.”

He swept his eyes over her, his grin widening. Storybrook was a dreadfully provincial little town–and Lacey French was one of its few treasures. Behind that vulgar mask of hers, was a woman who was as bold and clever as she was stubborn. 

“...So says the thief,” he said. 

“I didn't do anything,” she said, without an ounce of shame. “Maybe it fell in.”

“Leapt off of the rack and straight into that knockoff bag of yours?” he scoffed, tossing a pointed glance at the cracked and peeling finish on the edges he'd spotted from a mile away.

Her nostrils flared at that, and he felt a small trill of satisfaction course through him.

“...Better a bartender with a knockoff bag than a fucking landlord,” she snorted.

Mr Gold gave a light chuckle of amusement. A decisive blow, but an expected one. “You know, it was a pity to hear about what happened to our good friend Leroy Herzberg last month,” he sighed, looking down at his hand where it rested on the handle of his cane and flexing his fingers as if to check his nails for cleanliness. “As I understand it, he was on his way home from the Rabbit Hole. Had a few too many to drink.”

At this he looked back up, tossing his hair out of his face and waiting to see what retort she'd make next. But she only clenched her jaw tightly, her eyes hard as stones.

“...Last I heard he was well on his way to a full recovery though,” he added. “I'm sure that must come as a great relief to you.”

Lacey drew a deep, steadying breath. “You really are a fucking asshole, you know that?”

He chuckled and bobbed his head, reaching back into his jacket pocket and pulling out the necklace. He tossed it gently in his palm, letting the chain unfurl and slip through his fingers. “It's not a terribly valuable piece,” he said, smiling down at the pendant cradled in his palm. “At least not to me. But the woman who sold it to me seemed quite attached to it.”

He staggered back over towards the counter, only to pause halfway and turn around. “You know, it's funny–” he said, “you seem her spitting image.”

He spun on his heels and continued to the counter, setting the necklace down and beginning to unlock the case. Perhaps it deserved a place inside after all. 

“Fine,” Lacey said. “How much do you want for it?”

Mr Gold paused, his lips curling into a grin. “What's your best offer?”

She rolled her eyes. “I'm not stupid, Gold. How much did you pay for it?”

He wet his lips like a dog awaiting a meal. “...A price that your mother found fair enough, I can assure you.”

Lacey huffed and stormed up to the counter. “Cut the shit and name a price, asshole.”

Mr Gold's heart thumped pleasantly in his chest. Colette French had been a lovely woman of many charms–but her wayward daughter possessed a far rarer kind of beauty. 

“Something you learn in my line of work, Miss French–” he began, “is that the value of goods changes over time. What was considered junk a decade ago might be highly-sought treasure now…” he mused. “Supply and demand and all that,” he finished with a shrug. “I'm sure you understand.”

Lacey rolled her eyes. “So then what is the value of it now?”

He picked the necklace back up and pretended to study it anew for a moment. In truth, he'd expect it to go for no more than forty dollars on the market. But to Lacey French, it was worth far more than that. 

He ambled back around the counter and gestured for her to turn around. “If I may?”

She narrowed her eyes at him skeptically, but indulged him nonetheless.

And what an indulgence it was, as he strung the thing around her neck. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and her chest rose and fell shakily with each anxious breath. His own fingers trembled too, as he fastened the small clasp.

“There we are,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear.

She spun around quickly, her cheeks colored by a blush that hadn't been there before–and my, was she beautiful. Exquisite. Blue eyes, fair skin. Red lips, red rose.

And thorns. Lacey French had thorns.

Mr Gold reached for a hand mirror that he kept on the counter for such occasions as this, and handed it to her.

She shot him another wary look as she accepted it, turning her back to him again as if she needed a bit of privacy.

“...I'd say it's quite priceless,” he said once enough time had passed. “Wouldn't you? Miss French?”

-

[that-1d-blogger]

Plot - a two shot where you marry the love of your life - Liam Payne

My hands shook slightly as Salem carefully pinned the last piece of my elaborately styled updo into place. I took a deep, steadying breath, trying to keep the rising tide of nerves at bay. Today was the day I had dreamed about for years - my wedding day. The day I would finally become Liam's wife. Mrs Payne .

Fucking god

I don’t know how long it had been until Salem kissed my cheek, told me she loved me and ushered everyone and herself out of the room to give me some space .

A sharp rap on the door made me jump.

"You decent, love? Only got two handsome blokes out here looking to escort a bride," Louis' unmistakable voice called out in a cheerful rasp.

"Come in!" I managed to reply, my voice coming out higher than normal.

The door swung open and Louis strolled in with Zayn right behind him, both of them looking devilishly dapper in their immaculately fitted blue suits. Their jaws dropped almost comically when they got their first look at me.

"Bloody hell..." Zayn breathed, running an appreciative eye over my form-fitting white lace gown. "Payno's one jammy bastard, isn't he?"

A wide grin stretched across Louis' face, crinkling the corners of his bright blue eyes. "You're not wrong there, Malik. Although our little blushing bride has rendered me speechless for once."

I felt my cheeks flush ever deeper at their compliments. Zayn gave an exaggerated bow while Louis swept into a courtly gesture.

"My lady, might we have the honor of escorting you to your prince on this most blessed of days?"

Rolling my eyes good-naturedly, I linked arms with the two men who had quickly become like brothers to me over the past few years. I still remembered the first time I met Liam's tight-knit group of friends...

It was a quintessentially dreary London evening, rain lashing against the cafe windows in sheets. I had been freelancing some writing work and stopped in for a coffee break, never anticipating that the curly-haired bloke at the next table would change my life forever. Our eyes met across the dim, crowded shop and something indescribable passed between us. All I knew was that I had to talk to him.

With uncharacteristic boldness, I had scooped up my things and slid into the empty seat across from him before my nerves could fail me.

"This is probably incredibly forward of me..." I began. The stranger's features shifted into an undeniably handsome smirk.

"Forward? From a gorgeous girl like you? I don't mind one bit, love."

We spent the next few hours chatting away like old friends, losing track of time until the barista had not-so-politely informed us that they were closing up shop. I learned that his name was Liam, and those warm brown eyes and crinkly smile tugged at something deep in my soul. When he asked if I wanted to grab dinner sometime, the word "yes" had tumbled from my lips before I even had a chance to think.

We became inseparable after that first date. Liam's positivity, affection and quiet strength grounded me in a way I'd never experienced before. He had an incredibly close-knit group of friends, a bit of a lads' club really, but they welcomed me with wide open arms from day one. When he finally introduced me to Louis, Zayn, Harry and Niall over beers one night at their local, I instantly knew why their friendships all ran so deep.

Louis, with his biting wit, devilishly flirtatious charm and surprisingly soulful warmth...

Zayn, the quieter, more mysterious one but with hidden depths and an incredible loyalty to those closest to him...

Harry, the playful, shameless flirt with the raspy laugh and dimpled smile...

And Niall, forever the sun-bleached golden retriever puppy, ceaselessly positive and silly and kind to the core...

As different as they all were, their bond was palpable. It was like gaining not just a boyfriend, but a whole new wacky chosen family that fully embraced me as one of their own. Stumbling out of the pub well after closing time on that first night, cheeks flushed from too many pints and ribs aching from marathon laughter sessions, I had known there was something profoundly special about this whole crew.

Two years later, and here we were - Liam and I taking the ultimate plunge and sealing our commitment for life. Just the thought of it made my pulse race.

As a child I always wished of that fairy tale wedding with my parents walking me down the aisle , my hundreds of people cheering , but all of that shattered when I lost my parents in a car freak accident , and got stuffed in a orphanage home . So when I asked Louis and Zayn to walk me down the aisle, we all started crying and hugged each other for 30 minutes straight .

I met Salem and Sabrina while interning at Fine line designs, after an awkward run in , we were assigned to a group project and we bonded even after it ended . Sabrina then introduced me to her long time girlfriend and now Fiancée Jasmine, who gives the best advice and is an elder sister to me. We four got pretty close . Salem , Jasmine and Sabrina , aren’t close with the lads as I am but when they get together they mix well.

Well Salem nearly balded Niall once for saying she got wrinkles , and Jasmine broke Liam’s nose accidentally but they mix well….

"Ready, love?" Louis murmured, suddenly looking almost choked up despite his customary bravado. "Last chance to run, you know. Although Tommo might have to chase you down..."

"Don't you start!" I admonished through a watery smile. "I've never been more ready for anything. Besides, you'd only come rescue me from those other bridesmaids out of some knight-in-shining-armor complex."

Zayn barked out one of his distinctively rough laughs. "She's got you pegged there, Tommo. C'mon, let's get this princess to her charming prince before the lads start placing bets."

With Louis and Zayn bracketing me on either side, we headed out into the hallway and made our way toward the main hall where the ceremony would take place. My breath caught in my throat when I heard the first swells of music - this was really it. I was about to walk down the aisle toward Liam and pledge the rest of my life to him.

"Don't worry, I'll be here to hold you up if those knees start shaking too bad," Zayn murmured in my ear with a wry smile. I shot him a grateful look, pulse thundering in my ears.

"And I've got the fainting couch ready just in case," Louis chimed in with a wink. Taking a fortifying breath, I gave them each a playful shove.

"You two are terrible..." I grumbled, but my lips twitched with suppressed mirth. Honestly, I was grateful for their teasing banter and lame jokes. It helped steady my frazzled nerves.

At long last it was time to make our entrance, and the ornate wooden doors swung open before us. A soft gasp escaped me as I got my first glimpse of the resplendent scene awaiting us. Every surface seemed to sparkle and gleam with opulent white florals, crystal drippping from the soaring ceilings in glittering chandeliers. At the end of the long, lavishly decorated aisle stood Liam beside the officiator, hands clasped tightly and practically vibrating with nervous energy.

His entire face lit up like a thousand watt bulb when his eyes finally landed on me. The tender adoration in his expression very nearly buckled my knees, his warm brown eyes shining with unshed tears of joy. Harry and Niall flanked him in sleek black suits, the latter rocking back on his heels in apparent excitement while the dimpled Cheshire Cat grin stretched across Harry's face. I couldn't help but laugh at the cheeky winks they shot my way as Louis and Zayn led me closer and closer down the aisle, the music swelling all around us.

My best friends, Salem , Sabrina and Jasmine standing in navy blue dresses standing beside my side of the alter gave me tearful smiles. Jasmine made inappropriate whoops, as Salem blew kisses with one hand, the other hand cradling Sabrina who smiled widely at me, tears running down her cheeks. Thankgod the makeup was waterproof.

It felt like an absolute dream, this perfect slice of time almost shimmering around the edges with its beauty and poignancy. All too soon though, we reached the end of the aisle. Louis pecked my cheek firmly, sniffing in a distinctly un-smooth way.

"Love you, kid," he murmured gruffly. Zayn pulled me in for a tight hug, dark eyes looking suspiciously bright.

"You've got this," he mouthed, giving me a reassuring squeeze. I squeezed them both back fiercely before taking Liam's outstretched hands, losing myself in the endless warmth of his loving gaze.

"Hi," I mouthed, feeling drunk on happiness and disbelief that this was actually happening.

"Hi yourself," he mouthed back, dimples winking as tears spilled over onto his cheeks. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

I felt my own eyes well up at his words, the love blazing between us almost a palpable force. The ceremony itself passed by in a dazed, blissful blur. Liam's vows were incredibly emotional and heartfelt, each vow and promise twining inextricably around my heart as he professed his eternal love and devotion to me. When it was my turn for vows, I had to take a few calming breaths before finding my voice.

The low murmur of the guests faded away as the officiator, a dignified looking man with silvery hair, stepped forward and raised his hands. A hush fell over the room.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of this man and this woman in holy matrimony..." his rich baritone rang out.

I felt Liam give my hands a reassuring squeeze as the solemn but joyful words washed over us. My eyes traced over the familiar faces of our nearest and dearest - Louis giving me an over-exaggerated wink and cheesy double thumbs up, Zayn smiling softly beside him, Harry throwing a roguish air kiss in my direction and Niall practically vibrating with poorly contained excitement.

Shaking my head fondly at their antics, I refocused my attention on the officiator as the traditional recitations began. Liam and I turned to face one another, his warm brown eyes shining with so much pure love it nearly took my breath away.

"The couple has prepared their own vows to share with one another," the pastor continued. "Liam, if you would..."

Liam swallowed hard, giving a jerky nod before inhaling deeply. For a moment his eyes flicked over to the groomsmen and I couldn't resist a cheeky aside.

"Don't worry, your mates already told me you've got this," I murmured with a wry smile. A beat passed before Niall gave a badly muffled snort of laughter, making Liam's lips twitch upwards.

"The bride's got a point, Payno. Don't blow it now after all our pep talks!" Louis cackled in a carrying whisper.

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Liam gave me a look of pure adoration before finally starting in on his vows.

"My dearest love...from the moment you boldly plopped yourself down across from me at that cafe and started chatting me up, I knew you were someone incredibly special," he began, voice thick with emotion. "Your warmth, your spirit, your kindness and bravery in the face of everything this crazy life has thrown your way - it all captivated me right from the start. You came into my world during some really dark times, but you were the shining beacon that showed me the way back into the light again."

My own eyes welled up at the raw truth ringing in his words. Liam had been in a very unhealthy place, both mentally and physically, when we first met. The sadness and hurt he carried from past trauma had nearly consumed him. Yet my stubborn refusal to give up on him gradually chipped away at the walls he built up until the beautifully kind, sensitive and strong man I knew was waiting inside emerged once more.

"Our connection was cosmic, fated - something that transcended this earthly plane. You are quite simply the other half of my soul," Liam continued fervently. "Your unshakeable strength, spirit and compassion inspire me every single day. I promise to spend the rest of my life cherishing you, protecting you, lifting you up and supporting your dreams and ambitions. I vow to nurture, respect and care for you always. You have shown me how to live and love again...and I will spend my forever showing you the same in return."

By the time he finished, I had dissolved into a teary mess while the officiator discreetly passed me his handkerchief. Louis openly blew his nose beside me, already having lost the fight against his emotions. Zayn wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders, giving me a subtle "okay" gesture to indicate it was my turn.

Taking a steadying breath, I willed my voice not to shake as I met Liam's reverent gaze.

"Liam, you are the strongest, bravest, most generous person I know," I began, meaning it with every fiber of my being. "I saw glimpses of your beautiful soul that very first day at the cafe, but I don't think even I could have anticipated how immense and profound your capacity for love and healing truly was."

A sly chuckle escaped from Harry's direction, making Liam's brows furrow slightly. Zayn discreetly elbowed the green-eyed flirt before I continued.

"When we met, I had resigned myself to a life of solitude. As an orphan, I never expected to find that elusive place of safety, of true belonging...of home. But you showed me that even those of us who started out alone in this world could create our own extraordinary family through the people we choose to keep close."

I couldn't resist pausing to gesture at Louis, Zayn, Harry and Niall then, all of them straightening up proudly.

"These ridiculous lads you somehow conned into being your best mates are proof enough of that," I teased, successfully Breaking the tension with a ripple of laughter. "Thank you for welcoming me into your wild, weird, wonderful brotherhood from the very beginning and making me feel so cherished. I'll never be able to properly express what that's meant to me..."

Swallowing hard, I locked eyes with Liam once more.

"My love, you are my happy ever after. You are my peace, my joy, my home. I vow to spend the rest of my days showing you the incredible depth of my love and devotion for you. I promise to respect you, cherish you, challenge you and nurture the profound goodness inside of you that makes you so undeniably special. I will celebrate your successes, catch you whenever you fall, and remind you of your unique power and magic whenever you lose sight of it. You have given me a life and love I never could have dreamed of...and I will spend my forever making sure that you never for a single moment doubt how indescribably lucky and grateful I am to now call you my husband."

Liam's breath escaped in a watery rush at the end of my vows, squeezing my hands until our knuckles turned white. Over his shoulder, I saw Niall passing around a wad of tissues, hastily wiping away at his own suspiciously bright eyes.

"And now, the rings, if you please," the pastor's voice carried over the reverent hush that had fallen.

Salem and Louis both stepped forward, those ridiculous matching dimpled smiles plastered on their faces. Tradionally the best man gives the rings over, but of course these four had to put their own spin on it. Harry carefully plucked the simple platinum band from the plush velvet pillow he carried and slipped it into Liam's waiting palm. Louis did the same for me before leaning in entirely too close.

"You hurt him, I hurt you, got it love?" he stage-whispered, winking cheekily to take any sting out of the words before rejoining Zayn and Niall.

It appears Salem made a similar comment to Liam , whose eyes widened and made a visible gulp before nodding immediately. She gave me a cheeky wink as she went back to join Sabrina and Jasmine

She definitely threatened to chop his dick like sausage.

With a rueful chuckle, Liam met my gaze once more, eyes shining.

"Ready to make it official, darling?" he murmured.

"Forever and always," I replied fervently.

We repeated the age-old words after the officiant, sliding the rings onto each other's fingers with hands that somehow weren't quite as steady as we would have liked them to be. Looking up from our joined hands, I was struck by the pure radiance of the joy on Liam's face.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife..." The words triggering a thunderous outbreak of cheers and applause from our assembled loved ones. "You may kiss the bride."

I barely had time to draw a breath before Liam's hands were cupping my waist , twirling me as he crashed his lips fervently against mine. Distantly, I could make out the unmistakable catcalls and whistles from our groomsme- no, our brothers. Liam and I sealed our new beginning as a married couple with that searing, loving kiss, only breaking apart when Louis and Niall's increasingly lascivious hooting and hollering grew too obnoxious to ignore any longer.

Laughter bubbling up from both of us, we turned to face our exuberantly cheering guests - husband and wife at long last. Harry, Louis, Niall and Zayn all surged forward to engulf us both in a tangle of hugs, laughs and playful roughhousing. In that singular moment of joy, I felt so overwhelmingly grateful not just to have found my life partner in Liam, but a whole family of true brothers as well. Bound together by far more than just friendship, the five of us wild, weird souls had created something magical and unbreakable through the inexplicable circumstance of fate and destiny.

-------

Part 2 with a drunk fun party will be uploaded tomorrow!!! It's better i promise

---

Mainblog

[lancer-the-blue]

Going to finally watch the full Ninjago Dragon's Rising season 1 and 2 since everything's out rn and live blog throughout the experience

1.30 in and man the animation is crazy, Arin is already pretty compelling. Really good vibe so far

*"Jay the Lightning Ninja!" nooooooooo, not this foreshadowing!

Kais voice was weeeeeird there for a sec... ohhh that's Arin my bad

Oooh as someone who is obsessed over the map of ninjago ngl that's a sick map of the Merge, I need a copy as a map nerd

OMG THAT SEAGULL WAS A REFERENCE TO ZANES FALCON

Arin with Lloyd's hood is so cute! *i need to draw that*

I need those rottweiler dogs as fig accessories

"It's called having money, which isn't exactly our situation" moood Sora mooood

"Wannabe ninja go!" Damn the writing this season is snappy af

Just noticed how fucking gorgeous the backgrounds are in this season like damnnnn

"Who doesn't like pie?" Feels like a reference to Cole and cake but that might be me looking waaay to much into it

Kingdom of Imperium smashed up against Ninjago does looks snazzy I agree Arin

"And the perfect chance to meet me" dawwww that's so cute

Ooooh it's called the crossroads, nice

"My bff, my fam" ☠ never did I *ever* expect that from Ninjago

I agree having your own penthouse is pretty cool, damn Sora is so relentlessly shsmeless I fucking adore her

Noticing again how *clean* the animation looks, the inside of the room is so highly rendered wow

"Whennn we win" gods damn it Sora you fucking rock!

"And invite everyone else who lost their parents to live with us" noooo gods noo the feels, jesus these kids are putting me through it

Damn I'm sensing potential arc tension between Arin and Sora after that earthquake exchange

First time actually seeing Lord Ras on screen and not through fanart he's giving me Chima reject /lh

Golden helm horn guy with the autism yeeeees relatable

*Omg gimmie frog faced minifigure it's a whole mood will be my sigfig*

Quick serious question tho, is the frog person and Ras' spieces from Chima tho? Lord Ras is giving me Sir Fanger vibes

I LOVE LABO, will not ask about mom noted tho

OMG THAT SCENE PAYING WITH THE PIE DIDN'T HAVE TO HIT *THAT* HARD

Ngl love seeing the random Hypnobrai walk around is peak

Dawwww baby riyuuuu

"Labu avoids hazards" awwwww

Sora being peak again about money

RIYU AWWWWW

"The things they'll do to him" oh gods what does that say about jay...

"What would the ninja do?" "LET'S SAVE THAT DRAGON"

OH NO NOT LUBO GIVING A RESENTFUL MOTHER SPEECH

The scene with Riyu giving Sora powers is sick. Need to draw that

That grey haired raz goon is pretty, funny top 7 ninjago evil side bitches

Need to draw Arin doing Spinjitzu like that that was also sick

Damnnnn Raz was intense, "hunt down your entire family" I don't think ninjago ever got *that* explicitly threatening

"Runs on dragon power" ngl that's a little bit too goofy for me

Arin hyping up Sora is goals ngl

Uuuuh Sora roasting the ninja that's funny

Lloyd coming in that last second was low key kinda unexpected, was thinking it would happen in part 2 but still cool tho

Annnnnd we're done with Ep 1 S1, on to Ep 2!

Rating solid 8/10, writing and pacing was cleannnn. One of the best season openings

[blue-grama]

A teeny Boston fix-it fic

Had some feelings about Boston's ending (like everyone on this website), decided to channel them into fix-it fic (like half the people on this website). Please enjoy this missing scene that would have fixed everything for me had they shot it (or something like it). [Edit: A slightly amended version now lives on AO3.] New York, February 2024

The text comes while Boston is enjoying a post-fuck joint at the window of his shitty shoebox apartment in Washington Heights.

“Huh,” he says, passing the joint to the boy next to him and unlocking his phone. The guy takes a hit and blows the smoke out the window, elbows propped on the windowsill. He leans over Boston’s shoulder.

“That’s fucking cool,” he says, and it takes Boston a second to realize he means the Thai alphabet, not the fact that Boston has just received a cordial text from that shithead Mew, of all people.

“Mmm,” he says, trying to process the text. He’s high enough that he feels less relaxed and more stupid, like he’s got to parse each word individually. Mew is thanking him for the photograph he’d sent for the hostel. It looks good on the wall, he’s written.

“Anything important?” the boy next to him asks. He’s blonde, with shaggy, tousled hair, now all the more so for the way Boston had pulled it while he had him bent over his bed. They’d met at a bar not long after Boston had arrived, and now they have a nice little booty-call thing going on. The guy is a graduate student in something Boston doesn’t give a fuck about – biochemistry? bioengineering? – and he probably couldn’t find Thailand on a map, which is fine by Boston because he couldn’t find wherever this guy grew up in on a map, either. He has the vague impression of the middle of the country, something something deserts and corn. They know no one in common and have nothing in common, which is also fine by Boston. He’s learned now not to fuck anyone he might end up liking.

The only problem is that the guy’s name is Nicholas, of all things. “Nicholas or Nick,” he’d said to Boston, when he’d first sidled up to him with the promise of sex in his eyes. “I don’t care which.” Boston has never once shortened it, even though he knows his accent renders the syllables just a little bit off.

“Important?” Nicholas repeats, and Boston realizes he’s been staring at his phone screen for too long. Six weeks ago, even a month ago, when he was lonely and exhausted from operating in English all day, he would have said yes, and maybe could you get out of here, I’ve got to make a call. But now that he’s found his feet and daily life comes a bit more automatically, he’s not so sure. Mew and his sanctimony and Nick and all of Boston’s mistakes are so far away.

“Nicholas,” he says, instead of answering. “You wouldn’t catch feelings for me, would you?”

Nicholas looks alarmed. “Uhh. Look, no offense, because you seem like a cool dude, but I’m super not looking for anything serious right now. I’ve got so much work with school, and I just thought we were blowing off steam—”

Boston can’t help but laugh at his own panic reflected in someone else. “It’s good, it’s good,” he says. “Relax. That’s what I want, too.”

Nicholas takes another hit. “So what, ex-hookup texting you?”

“Ex-friend,” Boston says. “Long story.”

“Oh,” Nicholas says, nodding with the wisdom only half a joint of primo cannabis can confer. “I lost friends when I came out, too.”

Boston snorts. “It’s not that. I fucked his situationship.” He’d learned that word from another hookup a couple weeks back, and he loves it. Excellent fucking idiom. “He got a recording of it and threatened me that he’d play it for my dad –”

“The fuck?” Nicholas says. “Jesus. Dude.”

“What?” Boston says.

“That’s like, deeply fucked up.”

Boston shrugs, feeling half a step behind. “It was my fault,” he says.

“Bro,” Nicholas says. “I think that’s like, a crime.”

Boston can’t quite figure out what to say to that. He’d thought Mew was taking it too far that day, but no one else has ever suggested that Boston deserved any less.

But then, Americans are quick to tell people to fuck off. And Nicholas doesn’t have the whole story.

“He’s talking to me again,” Boston says, showing Nicholas the phone, which he can’t read so why did he just do that? “I tried to say sorry before, but he didn’t forgive me.”

“Do you forgive him?” Nicholas says. “I mean, is that ‘I’m sorry I tried to revenge porn you’ in Thai?”

“Um,” Boston says. “No?”

“Well then,” Nicholas says. “You didn’t ask me, but I’d leave that shit on read.”

Boston blinks at Mew’s text a couple of times. His head is clearing a bit. Maybe he doesn’t need, like, closure or anything. Maybe he’s a dick, but maybe his old friends are dicks, too, and maybe he can just … try not to fuck anyone’s situationship in the future. To the best of his ability.

“Yeah,” he says, putting the phone down. “Yeah, okay.”

[tetraharmonic]

Rating the TriStamp Designs based on Suitability for Desert Travel

So, to give this post some context, in my character design class from two semesters ago, it was a super big thing for our professor that characters were dressed to the environment, ie hot weather causing folks to wear short-sleeved clothes, or combat focused characters dressing based on their style of combat and mobility requirements. I was doing some sketches yesterday and realized, man, some of them are actually fucked when it comes to the environment itself. And...well, here's my hotcakes.

Zazzie the Beast: 9/10

Clothing is the loosest out of the group, with the lightest over all colors. The outfit has not just one but two possible ways to cover the face, such as the mask and that scarf thingie. The main reason I'm marking the fit is for the pants, which would give them one weird sunburn. They'd also need more warmth once the suns go down.

Meryl: 8/10

Loose fitting and light clothing is a huge plus. She also has layers, allowing her to adjust better as nightfall hits. However, she has almost no face and eye protection, which would leave her with a nasty case of windburn.

Knives: 7/10

Tight fitting clothes trap the sweat against your skin, increasing the odds of overheating. His feet are also bare, so you know good and well that they're going to get roasted and burnt by the hot sand, causing blisters at best. However, having the cloak could, in theory, keep him cool during the day, and its looseness should allow for more airflow. Would've been a 6, but I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt when it comes to his skintight suit. Who knows, it could be some real damn breathable fabric.

Roberto: 7/10

Light colors, layer potential. He's doing really well in terms of clothing. However, a suit coat would absolutely be too heavy for day wear. Also, he doesn't have any sort of face, eye or ear protection, so fighting the sand would be difficult.

Legato: 7/ 10

Same thought process here as Roberto. His clothing is light on the outer layers, which could help with heat management. However, his under layers are black, which would make him feel a whole lot hotter in the case that he had to remove his jacket, which he probably will need to, because it looks thick as hell. No facial protection.

Wolfwood: 6/10

Dark clothes, not good. But they're at least pretty loose and unbuttoned quite a bit. He has eye protection in the form of sunglasses, which would help with both sand and UV protection. Loafers might be an issue, though. If he can't keep the sand out of them, he could end up with some vile blisters.

Vash: 4/10

Has eye protection. It doesn't look like it would block much sunlight, but it would help for the sand, so that's a massive boost. However, tell me that jacket isn't going to be hot as hell out there. I dare you. He's also wearing very tight-fitting black clothing, which is not going to work out too well for him. He also runs the issue of his prosthetic. There isn't any way for him to keep sand out of the joints, which will, after some time, render his prosthetic unusable or extremely uncomfortable. His undercut gives him an extra point, though, because it'd help with the weight of hair and help keep his head cool.

Livio: 3/10

Dark clothes, not very lose. No eye protection. He'd be absolutely fucked. Keeping his hair out of his eyes will provide a slight advantage when it comes to seeing things, but it's completely irrelevant when compared to the horrible sun exhaustion this poor man is going to face. And he's got a turtle neck so he's just going to have more sweat trapped close to his body with nowhere for all of that to go. Dehydration and heat management would be a horrible issue for him, besides the fact that the metal thing on his face would heat up from the sunlight and begin to scorch his skin or even blind him. His outfit when he was young would've been fantastic, if his shorts were longer, but, yknow, three layers of black suits.... Poor dude. Someone get this man a kool-aid pouch.

Thats all for now folks. Enjoy!

[sideblogformindtrash]

prev

cw: dubcon, pet whump, substance abuse, ableism, classism, sexual conversation and flirting

He walked a lot looking for that prostitute last night, and it took its toll the next morning. 

He can feel the awful ache on his hips and knees before he even opens his eyes, worse than the headache he got from crying. 

But he also has the pet in his arms, and it gives him a wonderful smile, always so grateful for the small gentleness he gets. It seems over the moon today, having been rescued, bathed and allowed to sleep cuddling with its master on the bed. 

Farlan smiles back, pets the white hair. Sometimes he regrets allowing himself to care about the pet as it only made things worse for him. Other times, seeing that devoted smile, he thinks it was worth it.

“M-m-mmor…mor…”

“Morning pet” He sits up and looks around the room wondering where he left the damn thing “Get me my cane, please”

The pet nods and rushes out of bed, walking oddly and with shaky legs. Maybe he needs the help more than Farlan does today.

Still, with some struggle it manages to complete its task.

“Good. Back to bed now” He grants him that small mercy “I’ll bring us breakfast”

The pet nods, grateful that he wasn’t ordered to go back in the middle of those people. 

Farlan groans as he gets up, a sharp pain setting through his hips, but that was the harder part, as he makes his way to the wardrobe and as he struggles to get dressed he almost considers abandoning his plan and just calling room service.

But no, he wants to see if the whore is still down there and how well it survived. He doubts anyone respected any of his limits, or cared that he was drugged out of his mind. 

Not that it was his problem… after all the whore had betrayed him for a little extra money. But he felt a little responsible being the one who brought him into this wolf den. 

“T-t-t-t….-t-thank….” pet stutters, wrapped in blankets like a little nest. 

Farlan lifts his hand and it silences and tenses up. Then he sighs - he shouldn’t do that anymore. Their therapist had said the… incident rendered him partially mute, and stopping him from his attempts would make the condition worse. Even if Farlan didn’t often want to hear what a pet had to say… he wanted to fix that. He did promise to fix their relationship, after all.

“Don’t worry, I know what you mean. I’m not mad” he explains “I just have a bit of a headache right now. So why don’t you try and get some more sleep?”

He expected a little ‘yes master’, but the pet nods and quietly seeps back on the sheets. So he fucked up that too, and might not hear pet speak again today. 

He sighs, making his way to the elevator, ignoring that it still hurts. He is not using a wheelchair today, not here where all of them will fucking stare at him.

The hotel staff worked fast. 

He expected to see a mess when he arrived at the hall, but they had already cleaned up most of it and set up the usual decorations and an extensive selection of breakfast food in the dining room.

Farlan could see why his father liked to throw parties here.

He scanned the room. Only a fraction of the guests were here, looking horribly hungover. He guessed the rest was still asleep or had called for room service. And thankfully his father wasn't here. 

But he did find the whore.

He wasn’t allowed on a table. There were plenty of empty ones, but they would never let someone like him take it. 

He figured that at least, he wasn’t kneeling by their feet licking the food out of their fingers, but sitting in a corner on the floor, surrounded by plates of every type of food. He already had eaten way more than what seemed to fit on such a scrawny body.

He’s starving, Farlan realized. 

He tried to access his state, but someone had given him a shirt and briefs, both too big for him. The black dress hadn’t survived the night. His eyes were hollowed out and surrounded by black bags. He was pale and sickly looking.

Feeling the star the whore lifts its eyes and bares teeth at him, clutching a donut and groaning like he’s afraid Farlan will take it away. 

“...Easy boy, easy. I’m not taking that” the whore narrows its eyes “I just wanted to see if you were still here”

“...Just barely”

“Well. Why don’t you tell me what the fuck last night was about? We made a deal”

Out of habit Farlan hits the tip of his cane on the floor twice. It’s a warning to his pet, but it means nothing to the whore. 

“I don’t fully remember, to be honest” he puts the donut aside and chooses a cupcake out of the pile, licking up the icing slowly, batting his eyelashes “But you know… I’m not exactly known for my loyalty”

"Lesson learned" 

“Besides” he continues, licking his lips exaggeratedly “You seemed disgusted by me last night. You only wanted me because I was the most repulsive thing you could find”

Farlan averts his gaze. It 's kind of true. 

The whore sighs. “Whatever, I don’t care. I can afford a taxi today. And I got some new contacts. It’s a good day”

“Look… did they hurt you?” 

Once again he narrows his eyes, stares at Farlan for a long while, before picking up some coffee.

“A little. Nothing I can’t handle. There were just too many of them” he shrugs as if it’s nothing “I don’t know how many fucked me last night. I might need to take an STI test, I don’t know”

“How can you be alright with that?” He twisted his nose.

“Eh. It was kinda hot. Sometimes I bite more than I can chew and I have to swallow it either way” he winks. “Oh I’m sure you swallowed a lot” he rolls his eyes. 

“Anyway, what’s even your deal” he takes another cupcake, licking the icing off it and ignoring the rest “What was that all for? Your dad does seem like an ass but he wasn’t really all that upset about it”

Farlan smiles, shakes his head. 

“Well, it backfired yesterday. But looking back, I think it still worked out. I got my pet back”

Orfeu makes a pause, searching his scrambled memories for it. 

“...There was… a little guy tied up…?”

“Yeah. Him. He 's mine. But my father doesn’t seem to be able to keep his hands away from him. Even worse when… it’s for this”

He gestures to the tables filled with guests.

“Ooww. You love your little guy, hm?” He smirks “In love with a pet, dear?”

Farlan blushes. 

“NO. NO- I mean. He’s mine. And I don’t like when they touch my things” he crosses his arms “That’s just it”

The whore just lifts an eyebrow. 

“Enough to get your father to hit you for it?”

…He sees red. The audacity to talk to him like that… He tries to kick him, but his legs hurt far too much and he can’t keep balance, the whore just curling up and protecting its face, while he falls on his butt.

He groans, burning in shame as the guests have their eyes on him now. Orfeu tries to help him get up and he just slaps his hand away, struggling but managing.

“How much would you charge to just let me beat the shit out of you, freak?” he whispers.

“...Hm. Same as yesterday” he shrugs, kind of setting Farlan back. He wanted to threaten him, he wasn’t expecting this reply “...But I can’t right now. Hurts too much”

He sighs, anger subsiding. 

“Man… you’re really fucked up aren’t you”

He gets no replies back. 

“I’ll get going” he picks up some of the food, stacking it on his shirt and reading to leave.

Farlan follows him to the hallway.

“Wait - wait. Do you want a ride?”

He turns, frowns.

“Why the fuck would you offer?”

He doesn’t have a good answer for that. 

“I just want to leave this hotel for a bit” he tries. He figures the pet will be okay for a little bit.

“Fine. But I mean it. If you try anything funky, I’ll stab you” 

“I’m sure you will”

He drives according to his instructions. It leads them to the edge of the town, to a creepy looking gravel road in a forest, and he starts to wonder if he actually plans on stabbing him.

Finally they reach this tiny run down shack. Truly the stuff of nightmares. Seems appropriate for that guy, anyway.

“Thanks” Orfeu purrs “You know… I still owe you a fuck. I did take your money… and I’m not giving it back”

Farlan lifts an eyebrow. The guy looks destroyed.

“Can you even after all that?”

“Well. Honestly, I think my poor ass deserves a break. But I’ve got fingers, and a greedy little tongue” he licks his teeth and winks “Or if you are up for it, we could surely invert things a little”

“Invert?” He frowns.

“Yeah! Have you never considered getting topped?” he winks “Maybe even a little dommed, love?”

He nearly chokes, his cheeks getting hotter. 

He’s never even been with anyone who wasn’t a pet. And being topped by a pet felt like an insult. 

“That’s ridiculous”

“Well. You seem embarrassed” he teases and giggles, leaning closer “I’m good at figuring out what people desire. I can make you melt under my hands…”

“No. No I would not enjoy that- stop” He blushes harder, realizing he’s pressing himself against the door.

Orfeu leans back and gives him space, so he can fucking breathe again.

“Well if you don’t want that, it’s alright… But it seems to me that you are just afraid~”

“I’m not afraid” he groans.

“...Shame goes a long way to make your life miserable. There’s nothing wrong with subbing. I know what you associate it with but - it’s cathartic. It feels so intimate” he shrugs “And we can take as many breaks as you like. Go slow. Safeword if you need. You’re the boss after all…”

“Yeah - yeah I’m the boss and I want you to stop-” he demands, sweating and gripping the wheels “I need to go back now - I want to take my pet home”

“Well. Thanks for the ride then” he shrugs, opening the door ”You know where to find me”

He doesn’t reply, just speeding off from there as fast as he can.   

@whump-blog

[odysseygame]

Ah, lovely, you've made the blog! Happy to have you here hun 💜

Mind telling us some more about the boys?

Glad to be here, dude! <3

I'm a fan of characters who defy expectations, so I designed my male leads with that in mind.

Kouji presents a tough exterior but transforms into a helpless goofball when he's around MC. Normally, his personality aligns with his looks, but for some inexplicable reason, MC brings out a new side of him. While he displays yandere tendencies, they manifest as clinginess rather than purposeful violence. He might use his strength to overpower MC if she resists, but he wouldn't deliberately harm her. However, let's be honest, MC has pressing matters back home, so his reaction to her departure might not be very composed. I believe his masochistic inclinations will make him a truly intriguing character.

In contrast to Kouji, Fumihito is a fucking goblin. He has a sweet child-like personality at first glance but he’s hiding a bit of a temper. He takes pleasure in asserting control over MC whenever possible. His belief is that by diminishing MC's self-esteem, she'll lose the drive to seek attention from others. While he refrains from physical aggression during their relationship, now that she's attempting to break free, he's open to using force. His sadistic tendencies and episodes of mania render him unpredictable. He's prepared to even resort to pulling MC back by her hair to keep her by his side.