#not so proud of the painting itself but eh

[murdleandmarot]

Can’t believe that I technically created another oc just to make this painting. Diabolical

Anyhow uhhh Bluebelle and Bluebeard :)))

[tgrailwar]

Tumblr Holy Grail War, Another End: (Final Battle for the Grail) - FINALE

The battle was over. Exhausted, the Archer and Caster teams grouped together.

Dante: "We've won. Foreigner's magical energy is decreasing. I believe we've hit her Spirit Core, and Lady Medea's Rule Breaker will stop her from recovering."

Medea: "Perfect. Then our job as Servants is done, if the Sabers managed to destroy the Grail."

Arjuna: "I see… so it's truly over. You all were unconventional, but… well, you were worthy allies."

Nobunaga: "To think that we'd be fighting together during a Holy Grail War. What a strange occurrence…"

The four Servants stood together, before their bodies began to slowly fade, signaling that the Grail itself had been successfully destroyed.

Nobunaga: "So I'm going first... I suppose that makes sense. I've put quite the strain on my Spirit Origin. Our time together was short, but certainly eventful. Keep your chins high, Masters. You summoned the great Oda Nobunaga, after all, and while I will allow you to be disappointed at my leaving-- I don't want to see any downcast expressions. After all, us meeting and parting was inevitable!"

The warlord gave a broad grin, as her body turned to twinkling light.

Medea: "…She's certainly loud. But I suppose I share her same sentiment. You've done well. Perhaps not perfectly, but asking for perfection would make me a rather poor instructor, wouldn't it? Be proud of what you accomplished here, my cute Masters. Perhaps we'll meet again."

The magus gave a bittersweet smile as she disappeared into the ether.

Arjuna: "…I wish I had more to say. I simply hope that I served well as your Archer, and that perhaps… perhaps we may cross paths again. Be well, Masters. As strange of a journey as this was, I did enjoy every moment. Your kindness. Your determination. Your earnestness... do not lose those qualities."

The warrior nodded somberly, before vanishing with a peaceful smile.

Dante: "This was a worthy endeavor. I see you took my words to heart. I believe the word has changed over time, but to me, a comedy will always simply be a 'happy ending'. To make a story-- to make one's life-- a comedy doesn't mean that there aren't moments of strife or sadness, but that you simply end everything with a smile and with satisfaction. I believe this is the type of ending that you can smile at, my Masters. I wish you all the best on your journeys."

With that, they vanished without any trace except the memories they left behind with their Masters.

Two Servants remained at the scene of the battle. Foreigner, her Spirit Origin collapsing, was sending out violent pulses of burning hot mana, causing the ground around her to crumble. The process seemed automatic, a self-destruction-- worthless as her enemies had already faded to dust.

However, even Van Gogh, defeated and destroyed, didn't seem to be filled with madness or anger.

She simply wept, with a peaceful smile on her face.

Van Gogh: "...You did your best, Masters... you did your best to support a Servant like me... you could have summoned someone better, or stronger, or easier to handle... but you supported me. I'm happy. Maybe... maybe if we meet again... I'll be able to repay you for your kindness... or maybe just paint you a picture... ehehe... just a Gogh Joke..."

And with that, even she was gone.

The only Servant that was left was Avenger. Despite looking worse for wear from the battle, he had a wide smile on his face, looking satisfied.

'Avenger': "Good work, that's all I can say. And I'm saying that to all of you. No matter who's Master you were, you did a hell of a job. Feels like Foreigner's mana is speeding up the system collapse though. Shame. Would have wanted to spend some more time wandering around with you guys."

He looked around at the destruction, before chuckling to himself.

'Avenger': "Eh. It was more scenic before. We're not missin' out on much. ...Hm? Me? I'm not saying goodbye yet. I have to make sure that this all shuts down properly, after all. I'm sure Ruler's doing the same. I'll leave you alone for a bit. Goodbyes are always a bit tough, after all."

[babygirl-ocs-askblog]

so what do poppe and witza think of the other bosses?

-lime anon

"Eh?"

"What we think of the others? Oh my then..how about we begin with-"

"-...Pepperman."

"HEYY MY MAN!! Okay, golly, where do I start?? We are ALWAYS on the same wavelength. We're like, best friends, but also rivals. LOVE hanging out AND beating the shit out of him! ..and eating paint while he's not lookin'."

"I, however..Well, how do I say this..I believe we are quit different..for example we tend to admire humans differently. He tends to want to picture, sculpt, or paint them, while I on the other hand prefer to research and study humans and their behaviors. It feels like that difference clashes with itself, sometimes.."

"Okay okay uhh..Vigi next?"

"Oh! The Vigilante! Such a kind friendly face. It's always a thrill to catch a chat with him while he has time. Little secret..he may look a bit tough on the outside as the sheriff, but..he's really quite caring for others if you give him time to get used to you. I quite like that about him"

"Yikes, you call stickin' a gun in my face 'caring'?"

"Give him time, dearie.."

"How about um..Mr. Noisester next?"

"Oh yeah! Noise! Pretty chill. He's kinda my drinking buddy. Yeaaahh..we go out for drinks together sometimes. I'm not as big of a tequila fan though."

"If I may be as honest as I can..He really is too all over the place for my taste sometimes. I..really do not enjoy loud sounds, and, well..he goes by 'The Noise' for a reason.."

"Hey hows about that munchkin o' yours next?"

"Oh!! My little one!! He's learned and adapted so fast..I can't help but be proud.."

"Course you'd say that..You like, made all those clone thingaroos didnt'cha? I dunnoo. Now that I think of it, he kinda creeps me out..Mostly cuz its a clone of the guy I hate most."

"What mother figure would I be if I wasn't proud of my little one?"

"HEY! WHAT ABOUT ME??"

"Why..are you here.."

"Screw off boss, this isn't YOUR askblog!"

"I..guess we could answer anyway. Alright, well, he's my brother but I am not very proud of it. I get dragged into all his silly shenanigans.."

"..too pissed to explain why but DING DONG DAMN DO I HATE MY BOSS. SO MUCH. HES TECHNICALLY NOT EVEN MY BOSS ANYMORE. GOD."

[sunb0rn]

random ebas to getting this painting:

since makita ko sya at mainquire yung price, ginamit ko nang wallpaper HAHAHA. inangkin agad?? well, in a way i was checking baka impulse lang yun nung naisip ko sya kunin, baka magsawa din ako. like do i really want this in my life??

pero di naman kasi talaga ako nag sasawa agad, kahit mahirapan pa nga basta naka set na eyes ko sa isang tao. ill fight for and with you. charot. ay tungkol pala sa painting?? de ayun. last week narealize ko na kht lagi ko nang nakikita, i really wanna have the piece itself

sobrang tempted na ako mapareserve ASAP kasi inisip ko enough naman na ata ung spare money ko for the concert

kaso pinaglalamayan sister ng asawa ng tito ko (dad side) + nanghingi help pamangkin ko (mom side) dahil nakulong daw kapatid nya. nagpadala ako ng kaunting tulong sa pamangkin ko.

nung magpapadala na ako abuloy para sa kapatid ni tita, she told me "nag bigay na mommy mo". ayuuun. 🥺 (pag may time mag separate post ako on this)

right there and then i got all giddy and PMed the artist na mag DP ako as soon as makalabas ng Newport Mall. ang hina kasi ng signal eh I was waiting pa non mag bukas theater doors kasi bibili ako AHEB merch.

so nag DP nga ako even nag sabi yung artist na irereserve nnya sa akin evem without it. kakahiya din kasi kung may someone na gusto nang bilhin pero shes considering na hintayin ako.

feeling ko by August ko pa to ma full pay. dami tlaga gastos ihh. but Im so proud of myself + thankful that someone sent me some amount nung bday ko, pandagdag din yon. hihi.

//

reserved na siya sa akin. 🥹🥹

[nagiru]

It's been forever since I posted any of my art projects, so! Here we go!

I first drew them back in April and meant to post the sketch in May for my first ever try at MerMay, but. Life happened, my brain completely skipped the month of May, and then when I remembered it was June and I went "well, maybe I should paint it first, then", so. I. Took until July to turn it into digital art ('cuz I don't paint in paper), and then I only just finished painting it. And it's great, thanks. My first try at painting a background for one of my drawings and I think it was fine!

[wickedpact]

dear tumblr user crim wickedpact pls write the essay/dissertation about nicky being shakespeare's fair youth (if you have time, ofc!!)

Not To Imply Nicky Was Shakespeare’s Fair Youth But Ive Read The Fair Youth Sonnets & Nicky Was Definitely Shakespeare’s Fair Youth, an essay by me, tumblr user crim wickedpact

background knowledge: our man shakespeare wrote some 120 sonnets about a young man referred to as the Fair Youth during the mid 1590s; there has been some debate among shakespeare enthusiasts whether shakespeare’s interest in the Fair Youth was platonic or romantic (but like. they were definitely romantic). no one knows for sure who the Fair Youth was, but it was definitely nicky and my first and most important piece of evidence regarding this hypothesis is the ‘lmao babe do you remember that guy who had a crush on me?’/ ‘i try not to remember the guy who had a crush on you’ look joe and nicky exchange when Merrick brings up shakespeare during the movie. especially since gina confirmed in a tweet that joe and nicky canonly did know shakespeare

my second piece of evidence is that it just Works (except for a couple small facts like.. the Fair Youth was prolly closer to his 20s than his 30s. and the fact that shakespeare implies that the Fair Youth slept with his mistress at one point. but he doesnt know what hes talking about shhh we IGNORE)

long post under cut

A. The Description Matches

when describing the Fair Youth (who I’ll call the FY from now on), shakespeare says he has a ‘gold complexion’ and ‘beautiful eyes’ and compares him to a ‘summer’s day’. He says the FY has “A woman’s gentle heart" and “An eye more bright than [women’s are], (...) Gilding the object whereupon [they] gazeth”

As much as shakespeare’s perceptions of sexuality and gender are very........  late 1500′s (whoo boy sonnet #20 is a wild ride) ...... the description does match, and also:

  B. The Fair Youth Refused to Get Married

it’s never really said why one way or another (shakespeare assumes it’s because the FY is selfish) but the FY didn’t/wouldn’t take on a wife and have a kid, and this was something that was a real sticker for our man Willy S. because, as he says in his sonnets a million times: beauty doesn’t last forever, but having a child not only passes down the FY’s beauty, but also blesses the woman the FY would have a child with (im not saying shakespeare wanted to bear the FY’s children, but he definitely did)

Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. For where is she so fair whose uneared womb Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?

(ie. If you don’t renew yourself/ have children, you deprive the world and deprive a woman from having your child, since what woman out there is so beautiful that she wouldn’t want to bear your child?)

Like.

1.) if nicky is the FY then so many of these poems center around the idea of nicky growing old sometime soon and that must have been pretty funny to Nicky and

2.)  the fact that shakespeare would have been So Desperate for nicky to find a wife must have been the opposite of funny to joe. considering the ease of his and nicky’s relationship and the fact that being gay in late 1500s england was probably not a walk in the park, it is very likely shakespeare wouldn’t have known they were in a committed relationship-- or at least not known how close they actually were. Thus:

  C. The Rival (aka. Joe)

shakespeare mentions having a poetic rival in regards to the FY in several sonnets. In sonnet #21 he talks about how he’s not like Those Other Writers who use grand metaphors to talk about their muses

So is it not with me as with that Muse, Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse, Who heaven itself for ornament doth use And every fair with his fair doth rehearse, Making a couplement of proud compare With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems, With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare,

(ie. I’m not like other poets who, when inspired by a ‘painted beauty’ use heaven and every other beautiful thing on the planet to make a grand comparison to their muse: he specifically lists the sun and moon as examples as well as other beautiful things)

He then goes on to say

And then believe me, my love is as fair As any mother's child, though not so bright As those gold candles fixed in heaven's air:

(ie. my love [the FY] is as beautiful as any other beautiful person, though I wouldn’t compare them to the stars/heavens (which is what he means by the 'gold candles’. those are stars.))

So shakespeare insults poets who compare their subjects to the sun, moon, and stars (amongst other things) and in the comics, Joe does literally exactly that

That man is the stars in my sky, and the sun that lights my days. That man is the moon when I'm lost in darkness, and warmth when I shiver in cold.

shakespeare also goes on to say in the same sonnet “Let them say more that like of hearsay well / I will not praise that purpose not to sell” which is to say ‘let people who like that kind of language use it, I wont because I don’t want anyone else to have the subject of my affections (the FY)’.

(which is a bit of a contradiction regarding his feelings abt the FY getting married, but these sonnets are full of contradictions. shakespeare was a confused dude; man spent the first 100 or so sonnets convinced the FY loved him back only for him to start wondering if the FY ever loved him near the end)

(not to mention Marriage For Love wasnt really.. much of a thing in Ye Olden Times but thats a different conversation. so shakespeare prolly didnt associate marriage with love/competition? anyways)

Shakesy-boo goes on to complain about this rival several times. In #79, he says

Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent He robs thee of, and pays it thee again. He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word From thy behaviour; beauty doth he give, And found it in thy cheek: he can afford No praise to thee, but what in thee doth live.

(ie. everything ‘your poet’ (as the FY apparently favored this unnamed rival) says about you, he takes it from you in the first place. he talks about your virtue, but learned the word from watching your behavior. he calls you beautiful but only discovered beauty by looking at your face. every compliment he gives you he took from you in the first place)

[and, as a smaller example, he also bemoans the fact that people want to paint the FY in #67, saying, “Why should false painting imitate his cheek, / And steal dead seeming of his living hue?”. and yknow. Joe’s an artist.]

And then another example in #86

Was it the proud full sail of [the rival’s] great verse, Bound for the prize of all too precious you, That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?

Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?

(ie. he’s talking about how he’s having difficulty writing abt the FY and is rhetorically asking if ‘the proud sail’ of the rival’s verses was the reason his ‘ripe thoughts’ were killed in their ‘womb’. He then asks (again rhetorically) if it was the rival’s ‘spirit’ (or creativity, maybe) ‘’’‘by spirits taught to write’’’’ that killed his own drive to write. none of the analyses I’ve read really explain what shakespeare means by ‘spirits taught to write’, other than maybe being a joke or reference to something we dont know, but... ‘taught by dead people to write in a way mortal people can’t’ very much sounds like a description of an immortal poet, eh?)

Which brings me to,

  D. Willy Boy Thinks There Are 500 Year Old Writings About the Fair Youth

shakespeare talks about people having written about the FY ‘500 years ago’ from the late 1500s in #59 which......................... would have been around 1100 AD. :thinking face:

Oh that record could with a backward look, Even of five hundred courses of the sun, Show me your image in some antique book, Since mind at first in character was done, That I might see what the old world could say To this composed wonder of your frame;

(ie. Oh if I could look back 500 years and see how you were described in some old books so I could see/reference what people used to write about you)

Which again brings me to,

  E. I’m Not Saying shakespeare Stole From Joe, But:

1.) In #22, shakespeare says this,

For all that beauty that doth cover thee, Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me: 

(ie, your beauty is due to the ‘clothes’ my heart gives you-- probably means something like ‘you’re beautiful because i love you’. goes on to say his heart lives in the FY’s chest, and the FY’s heart lives in shakespeare’s chest)

so: shakespeare tells the FY he has shakespeare’s heart. in comparison, Joe calls nicky ‘my heart’ in the comics...... :thinking face x2:

2.) In #109, shakespeare tells the FY ‘thou art my all’,

For nothing this wide universe I call, Save thou, my rose, in it thou art my all.

which rings similar to Joe’s ‘he’s all and he’s more’ as well as (from the comics) ‘he is my everything’

and just saying. joe looks pretty #done the mention of shakespeare.

  F. The last One

Despite shakespeare writing 30+ poems about the FY eventually growing old, the very last poem he writes about/for the FY says,

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle hour; Who hast by waning grown, and therein showest Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self growest. 

(ie. you [the FY] have power over the ‘mirror’ (fickle glass) of time as well as time’s ‘harvesting’ ability (sickle hour) and as you grow older, you remain beautiful while your lovers [shakespeare] wither and grow old)

The transition from ‘get married and have a baby before you get old!!!!’ in #1-20 to talking about the FY’s presence in 500 y/o books in #59 to admitting the FY isn’t growing old in #126 kinda seems to imply shakespeare learning of/about nicky’s immortality at some point, and this last poem is him accepting it.

TLDR: not only does it make perfect sense if nicky was the Fair Youth from the FY sonnets, but it also makes perfect sense if joe was the Rival from the FY sonnets. its canon nothing will convince me otherwise

[constellarations]

moon's wane - reki x gn!reader

reki's feeling down and you comfort him.

pairing: reki x gn!reader

warnings: sad reki :(

notes: hi

gift for: @hpalways

Reki was acting strangely today.

Actually, he’s been strange for the past week. Week! Why a week? Uh, you weren’t sure.

You wondered if he was possessed. Kyan Reki, a literal skateboarding-fanatic, had suddenly stopped skateboarding to school. Was this what parents called a phase?! An era, even?

He was unenthusiastic, and even when you offered to go skating with him, he declined and said he was busy.

Busy doing what? You munched on an apple angrily. Sure, you didn’t confess to Reki yet. And suuure, you had no idea if he liked you back or even cared about your feelings, but—!

“[Name].”

Okay, honestly, you didn’t even know if Reki was into you. His love for skateboarding probably overpowered any inch of… existence… that you had up in his (tiny) brain.

Silence.

And not to mention the fact that the two of you shared like— zero hobbies in common! What does writing and skateboarding allude to? Uh… poetry about a board? Hello?!

“[Name].”

You took another bite out of your apple, questioning the meaning of life and whether the way Reki spared you a glance for approximately 0.628 seconds meant that he was in love with you.

“[Name]!”

You flinched. Looking over to your side, where your ear was getting yelled at, you were met with the sight of Langa…

… Who had a very unamused expression.

“Did you have a fight with Reki?”

You were offended momentarily, taken aback at his sudden question.

“No?”

“You sound unsure.”

“I didn’t talk to him at all!”

“When was the last time you talked to him?”

Are you a therapist? A detective, even? You sweatdropped, unsure of how to answer.

“I don’t know… yesterday?”

Langa looked surprised. What was he expecting? For you to not talk to Reki for weeks? As much as you wished you could do that, Reki, unfortunately, had some kind of magnet around—

“So he’s sad because of another reason.”

“EH?! Are you saying he’d be sad because of me?”

Okay, now you were actually offended. Did Langa think Reki and you had some kind of bad blood? Hello… that’s a Taylor Swift song! Not your relationship!

“I don’t know.” Langa shrugged. You almost wanted to strangle him, but alas, you were not here to kill pretty boys. “He just seems… off.”

He does. You agreed silently. You were so used to a flamboyant and sunshine Reki, it was odd to see him so down in the dumps. In all honesty, you didn’t even want him to be down. You wanted Reki to be happy.

“I’ll go talk to him!” You stood up with newfound determination. Langa, on the other hand, could only watch you with his usual confused deadpan.

“[Name]-chan, do you even know where he is?”

You deflated slightly. If this were a K-Drama, you would’ve known. Ah, what was the title of that one show? Where they have this little alarm in their head when they come close to the one they love? Yeah, that was what you wanted to be. Though, if you were near Reki with that ability, you may have gone mad due to the repetitive alarm of your mind.

“No… I don’t. But I can find him! Just watch me!”

Langa let out a puff of air, mumbling something along the lines of “no thank you.”

A tick mark appeared on your forehead. The Canadian boy was lucky that he was cute, if he wasn’t, he would’ve been six feet (under)!

And then, you ran off. Leaving a very indifferent Langa and a bunch of questions sprouting in your mind.

Usually, you would find Reki somewhere like a skatepark— but obviously, he was possessed or whatever— so he wouldn’t be at such a place.

Your brain then became the size of the galaxy. His house! You made an abrupt turn, running for your bike that was parked before swiftly hopping onto it, pedalling away to the boy’s address.

Okay, actually, you were no stalker. So you had to pull your phone out to get directions… but let’s pretend that you knew based on instincts because of your undying love for the red-haired boy!

Coincidentally enough, there was a silhouette standing right outside the boy’s house. Squinting, you could barely make out the faint hue of crimson, matched with a very unfitting frown.

Reki. You pedalled a bit faster, desperation rocking each time you did. He’s sad? Why? He seemed to be looking quietly down at his skateboard. The scratches on the bottom represented all of his hard work, and yet, he didn’t look proud.

Finding your voice, you called, “Reki!”

You smiled brightly. It contrasted his solemn look as he glanced up at you instantly. Slightly, you could make out his lips curving up. Somehow, it managed to make your heart beat faster.

When Reki frowns (which was very rare), you would smile. If you could, you would give him every single smile that you’ve ever shown. All of them, any of them. You’d smile for him until your lips could not do so anymore.

Because whenever you were sad, he was there for you. It was only fair to do it back to him. If it were nature’s ecosystem, you supposed that Reki would be the rain and sun, giving you time to flourish. And in return? You’d promise to take care of this grand Earth while he cultivated it.

When did I suddenly become a poet? Your hands subconsciously braked, you suppose it was muscle memory. Docking the bike before hopping off, you walked slowly up to the boy with a small grin.

“[Name].” He seemed relieved when he saw you, and for a moment, it made your hopes fly high. It felt good to know that you were not the only one who was ecstatic over such a brief meeting.

“Want to walk around the town? There’s a new boba place that opened up! We should go together.” You decided to take his mind off of whatever was bothering him. You were no therapist, per se, but it was a start.

And surprisingly, Reki accepted your offer. Weirdly enough, he turned around to his porch before dropping off his skateboard. It confused you a bit— no, tremendously.

Deciding that the sport was the source of his worries, you decided not to pry. I’ll ask later.

With a warm face and a racing heart, the two of you walked off in the direction of the shop. It was odd not biking and him skateboarding, but a change of pace was nice every now and then.

“Hey, [Name]...” Reki kicked a pebble. You almost felt bad for the tiny rock. “Have you ever fallen behind in something you loved?’

Your eyes widened before your mind drifted off. Many times, actually. You were not invincible or a character that was protected heavily by plot-armor— you were just you… kind of average, kind of dumb, but at the end of the day, failure was common, wasn’t it?

“Yeah,” your voice quieted down, and for a second, Reki panicked.

“Sorry! Was that too blunt—?! I’m really sorry!”

You smiled.

“Don’t worry about it, Reki.” You could feel your face get hot, even under the cool Okinawa breeze.

“Actually, I fall behind a lot.” Looking down at your feet, you kind of wanted to sink into the floor. This is embarrassing! But seeing how distraught Reki was, you supposed that giving up your pride would be worth the smile he’d wear after.

“But everyone has different goals and minds. It’s not fair for me to compare myself to others…” You were tempted to give Reki a look as his lips seemed to be quivering.

“Hey, [Name]...” He spoke, stopping abruptly on the sidewalk. You paused, glancing over at him slowly.

“Can you… l-look away, for a bit?” He stuttered, face somehow turning red even under the dimming light. You wanted to question why, but the expression he had and the way his arm rubbed his eyes was enough of a response.

“Sure.” You turned around, refraining from doing the opposite and holding him while he cried. His sniffles grew louder and louder, even when he was making such an active attempt to dwindle them.

“I… I just…” His breath was shaky as he seemed to choke on his own words. “I don’t know what went wrong… what did I do?”

You did nothing wrong. You stayed silent. The male seemed to not need words of reassurance, instead, he only needed a listener.

“He started after me… b-but now I’m just a n...nobody. He’s so much better than me, in everything, anything.” He cried, sniffles turning into hiccups. Don’t cry. You wanted to turn around, but that would be a violation of his request.

So you stepped back. One, two. Counting, you finally felt a wall of fabric. The image of Reki’s yellow sweater popped up in your mind. Cute, you mused. He still wore it in times like these.

You could feel his breath stifle once your back met his. With the two of you facing away from each other, the warmth from his hoodie flourished like ink in water.

“Why do you skate, Reki?” You gazed at the sky. The moon is pretty tonight. The stars too, but right now, the stars reminded you of tears.

And it was then you realized that Reki was not the sun or the rain. He was the moon. Supportive, bright even in the darkest of times, and hidden. Reki was hidden behind prodigies like Langa and Miya, but even so, he was essential.

What would the sun do without the moon? Who would the sun step back for to lay down the burden of giving light? The sun gives for the moon to take, and the moon takes for the sun to give.

If you had looked, then Reki would probably be crying stars. Constellations would be trickling down his cheeks, and maybe, you could make out polaris with it. He could paint the galaxy with him and himself alone, he could do so much, and yet, he was not the sun.

No, he would never compare to the sun. The sun was a completely different essence in itself. It would be unfair to hold Reki up to Langa and expect them to be the same.

Reki was silent. You supposed that in this trek of inferiority, he had lost that essence— that galaxy. What was the reason he skates for? Why did he spend so many hours getting bruises and scratches?

Why did he do so much and expect so little in return?

“Because it’s fun,” he said confidently. If the moon was the sun, then it’d shine so brightly. If the moon was the sun, then the world would never have time to sleep. There would be no way to see the stars, or the constellations in the sky, or Venus and Mars.

With those three words alone, you could feel Reki’s breath speed up. He turned around, resting his hands gently on your shoulders as you could feel his smile alone.

“It’s fun! Skateboarding is fun! It can be done anywhere, anytime—” His voice cracked due to just having cried, and you swore that fumes escaped his ears. You wanted to laugh slightly at his embarrassment, but decided to be benevolent and stay quiet.

“... and can be done with the ones you love.”

You froze. Love. What a strong word, what a broad word. What is love? What does it entail? How can one person want to devote their entire life to another? It was strange.

But you suppose that love is Reki. He is love, he is someone who you’d think about the second you woke up. Was that cheesy? Yes. But when you were a kid, you used to think that the moon was made out of cheese— so it works out. You were quite the poet, Shakespeare kinnie.

“Is that so?” You pretended to question, but Reki knew that you were just saying that to say it.

Reki was an anomaly. As much as you knew about him, and he knew about you, you never seemed to understand him. If it were anyone else, you were sure that they would not recover from a slump with just three words.

But Reki was not anyone else— he was not a nobody either. Reki was the moon and the definition of love, he was sunshine even though he was unappreciated. He was everything and anything.

It was strange, though. You two were only teenagers, and yet, you could envision a whole future with the red-head. Unrealistic. You wanted to scold yourself, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.

“[Name],” Reki called, and this time, he spun you around. He averted his amber eyes from your own irises, a light pout dusting his lips.

“Do you want to… skateboard with me?”

You sweatdropped. What a weird way to confess. Though, you had just concluded that Reki was an anomaly— so this was not that strange.

“Is that your way of asking me out on a date?” You smirked, but that wasn’t enough to mask the way your eyes widened in shock. You were both idiots, but you supposed that wasn’t a bad thing.

“No— yes! Yeah? Wait—” Reki short-circuited, unsure of his own choice of words. Now, he really was reprimanding himself for being such a dummy.

“Relax.” You patted his shoulder, smirk turning into a goofy smile. “If it is… then I accept.”

“R-Really?!” His mouth hung agape, and you could only deadpan.

“Were you expecting me to say no?”

“Well.. I wasn’t really expecting to get this far!” He managed to laugh, even with tear-stained cheeks and reddened eyes.

“Idiot.”

“Hey!”

[lunarxdaydream]

“ ‘Reallocation’.”, she repeated with growing amusement. Coupled with his expression, how could she not? The word itself implies as if it were a necessary move. Something done in the best interest of the person — and perhaps that alone is what made this all the sweeter. Not only did he lack humility but guilt, a perfect combination in a place like this. “How thoughtful of you to take that daunting role.” 

Head turns, few snowy locks moving as she glimpsed at the ongoing process. The number growing well into the mid five-digits so far. Eh, a good enough win but she could have gone overboard. 

Maybe. 

“Not sure.” A proud grin settled on painted lips. With her attention back on him, the shuffling of the mortal behind the desk is heard. A faint sound — almost unnoticeable had she not grown curious over the limits of this place. “But I’m guessing I’ll find out soon enough.” That is if the movement of security on the far wall mumbling into their devices were any indicator. 

Humility is Not Their Strong Point || @lunarxdaydream

It'd probably be a minute with the load of chips she had. And that was fine by him. He was hoping for the more astute and undaunted sort if he was able to make his way back around this way. Her haunt didn't seem to change along side the knowing pleasure that graced her features.

"Swindled?" he echoed, as if confused by the term, "I wouldn't say that. More of...reallocation of some resources. But they're an auditor. Knows what to look for and where to prod. Most days. But you know, everyone has their bad habits. Not that it looks like you have to worry about that."

The din of the chips clattering seemed to emphasize this, "Speaking of...how close are you to having the overseers scrambling over the sight of your shadow?"

[wolfstarlibrarian]

Welcome to the fifth installment of Beyond The Shelves!

This month’s creator spotlight is on the truly unique and amazing @mlim8. Mel has brought new life into fandom with her stunning art and comics that can make you laugh and cry. She's also the artist behind the Padfoot you can pet on the Librarian's home page (desktop) and the Moony gif on the Help Desk page. Now let's get to know this incredible artist!

Name: Mel is fine :D (she/her)

Where can people find your art?/Support you?

I'm only on Tumblr! @mlim8 (I tried getting a Twitter but I got confused so it's an account in limbo~). My Wolfstar/HP Masterlist is here (links only work on mobile)

What's your favorite thing about Remus & Sirius?

I'm a biggggg sucker for the 'childhood friends' trope. As well as pairings that scream mutual pining, but on the other hand, can be pure fluff. I like pairings where the couple can play off each other, can support each other, who might not always see eye-to-eye but have also been with the other for so long now, they know what they’re doing to make sure they still work, because in the end, they LOVE EACH OTHER. Somehow, Remus and Sirius can tick off all these different boxes and I love them for it uwu And then, there’s also just so much mystery about them in the books and therefore, so much freedom to interpret them, given how little we actually have to go on - it’s so cool to see them in an assortment of AUs, tropes, canon, non-canon fics and see them fall in love over and over and over again… So ultimately? I guess my favourite thing is that it’s so damn obvious how in love they are with one another that the Wolfstar fandom is as big as it is :)

What do you think your signature style is?

I think I’m known for fanfic comics, cute fluff, and my chibi style. You will also see a blush on my characters’ cheeks like 98.9% of the time. I can’t help it… it belongs there lol

What inspires you?

Fanfics, usually. I actually came back to drawing on tumblr because of some beautiful fanfics that I couldn’t get out of my head and needed to draw them. Afterward, it would be songs, videos, memes, conversations with friends, posts from friends, etc - it’s not difficult to take something and go “Do it again, but as Wolfstar.”

What advice would you give new artists?

I guess some obvious ones would be to practice, practice, practice. Use references and 3D models, they help so damn much. Video tutorials and other art tutorials are there to help you make things easier, there really is an endless pit of things to learn and techniques to master. Some other things that people might forget: drink water, do stretches for your wrists and neck, get up once in a while to get blood flow in your legs. But most importantly, even if you want to practice a lot, don’t forget to TAKE. BREAKS. Your body and mind will thank you.

You also don’t need anything super fancy to draw: traditional art is just as valid as any digital art (more so because you don’t have a CTRL+Z function and it drives me insane, so power to you!!). Cheaper $50 art tablets can do what you need them to, as long as you know how to use it. With art programs, there are tons of free ones that you can get your feet wet before committing to any expensive programs (I’ve used Paint Tool SAI for years in the past and I know artists that use FireAlpaca and GIMP with amazing results as well :D)

Lastly, and this is gonna be a hard one: Don’t compare yourself (or your progress) to other artists. People take years (decades??) to make art that they love and develop a style/technique that they’re proud of and it’s not worth the stress. You’re only in a competition with yourself and that’s challenging enough already!

What do you use to create your art?

I use a Wacom Bamboo Fun Pen & Touch - it was a birthday gift from waaaay back that I’ve had for a decade now :’)

For art programs, I’ve been using Clip Studio Paint for about 8 months now and I use Photoshop for stitching larger GIFs together uwu

What's a favorite piece you made and why?

Oh my God, how to decide… there’s been a ton that I’ve been proud of but my favourite (spelling with a u because I’m Canadian, eh) would be the recent Candy Heart Post I did a couple weeks back now. Just a lot of love and effort went into it, not just the art itself but trimming the song, all the editing and timing of each frame. I wanted so hard to tell a story and I think it came out the way I wanted it to :)

Pick one of your own pieces/AUs and give readers a little note about it. What inspired it? Why is it a favorite?

Okay, so this is probably an obvious one for those that have been on my blog for the last few months - but I have an AU called ‘Rembus and Hunter AU’ that is about an incubus demon, Remus, and a Demon Hunter, Sirius. The demon, affectionately called Rembus, is surprisingly sweet and adorable. In short: HE IS BABY. And when Hunter comes to the Village of Gryffindor to get rid of him, he learns that there’s more to demons than he’s known through the church and his family.

It’s just a really stupidly cute AU, despite the premise, and I’m so excited to share their story with everyone (one day, haha I’m a slow artist -)! Here’s Part 0 (the info card), if anyone is interested :)

It was created when I came upon an outfit ( similar to what Rembus wears) and thought “Okay, but Incubus!Remus.” - and that’s it. That’s usually how my AUs come about. The smallest inspiration and I spiral out of control with a backstory. This AU was fleshed out a lot with the help of Whippy, who was great to bounce all these ridiculous ideas off of lol

Make sure to check back later today for a list of works and recs from Mel herself!

[real-fanta-sea]

Prompt for the kiss no. 71

Prompt: "Not to be cringe or anything, but I really like the idea of the kiss 71 (height difference kisses where one person has to bend down, and the other is on their tippy-toes)...where Trevor is his true height. i.e. Ogg's height and Michael has to stand on his tiptoes to snog him."

I'm sorry, anon, but I saved the post as a draft and it just vanished into thin connection. So, I have to answer this way.

This work is more of a spur of the moment thing, but I kinda like the way it turned out, being it just my emotions spilt onto paper. If you'd like, you can read it on AO3 here, or under read more. I hope you'll like it as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)

tw: kissing, child abuse memories

It's been three weeks already.

An unhealthy greenish glow of flickering light tubes and the icy breath of an industrial refrigerator made him shiver as Michael, gliding on the orbit touching stars in his mind, put yet another box of ready-made microwave hamburgers into his shopping cart. If he were not a regular in this particular shop, he would have got lost. It resembled an anthill with seemingly infinite shelves and aisles, bursting with the merchandise, even though the depressed lights covered everything in the same shade of decay green. The same life outlook was shared with most of the shadows roaming around whose name tags qualified them as proud employees of Flormart.

It's been three weeks, and he still stuck around, hanging on his every word.

Michael pushed his cart further from frozen goods, and the pictures swirling and smearing all around transitioned from photoshopped vegetables to flashy fireworks of chips and other guilty pleasures he planned on indulging in later on. Some people would find the height of the shelves menacing, but to Michael, it was just a memory that pulled him from the orbit back to earth and placed him in the middle of a football pitch. The smell of sweat building up underneath his helmet. The crunch of the crisp lawn under his feet. The spotlight following him whenever he scored. Cheering faceless crowds in time with busty faceless girls' pompoms. But most of all, he felt happy again - needed, cherished, innocent, and with a bright future awaiting his embrace. But then, just as he crossed from the snacks aisle to the alcohol quarter, the football stadium lights flickered and turned bright red. All the faceless girls turned around, their mouths gaping as if someone dislocated their jaws, and the cheering turned into a hellish cry of pain. Where their eyes were supposed to be, he saw a flair, screwing itself deeper into their skull, and a stream of scarlet goo drip down on their immaculate white dresses.

It's been three weeks, and somehow, his puppy-like behaviour didn't irk him yet. Quite the opposite if he were honest with himself - he felt strangely peaceful in his company.

Michael gulped in a desperate attempt to wash down the horror that invited itself under cover of a happy memory. Shaking his head only did so much and dispersed the spectators and cheerleaders alike, in the same way shaking a snowy paperweight would. Michael's chest constricted as he felt unable to breathe in properly, people splatting and exploding upon impact all around him in his mind. Suddenly, he felt a pull under both of his shoulders and found himself flying towards the pitch-black sky, where instead of one moon, two shone down on him. As he flew closer, they shrunk into two amber irises - and Michael immediately knew who pulled him out of the memory. As he crashed into a mass of pink candy cotton clouds, his vision blurred just to clear up when he felt a solid surface under his feet and someones hot hands in his. Somehow, he found himself looking at the tips of abused old pair of sneakers he was wearing, the same pair Michael knew he wore that faithful day at the airstrip. A moment later, a couple of dark blue, equally run-down ones stepped into his field of vision. He slowly let his sight slide up on crumpled jeans, the hem of a military jacket, a pair of dog tags hanging around a slender neck, a sharp jaw, a pair of full dark lips and finally, to the pair of amber eyes, eyes that radiated worry, care and, at the same time, something he could only read as love and utmost devotion.

It's been three weeks since the incident, and anytime he woke up from a nightmare that played in his mind over and over again, he was there to soothe him; he was there waiting for Michael's tears to dampen his naked shoulder. He didn't bitch about it and didn't tell a soul in the morning.

Michael let out a shaky breath. Stopping his feet from casually continuing in their stroll proved harder than he thought, and he leaned on the shopping cart handle, running fingers through his hair. He couldn't decide what mortified him more - the creativity his brain proved to possess when playing out the horrible things he has witnessed in just a few years of his fresh adulthood, or the way it put his acquaintance on some fucking pedestal and presented him as the alpha and omega of his thoughts and desires.

"Hey Michael, are you ok?"

Speaking of the devil... "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just.." Michael breathed in again and turned towards the source of the voice, trying to display a small smile by twitching his tired lips "I need a smoke, that's all."

It's been three weeks, and he got that tingling feeling in his guts already. He could barely tolerate touch or prolonged eye contact without getting goosebumps and that ticklish feeling solidifying and slicing right into his groin. Michael wanted to believe it was just his weird head showing gratitude for saving his ass, but anytime he found himself in the company of that amber-eyed twink, the longing grew worse.

"Hey, how about a bottle of something to wash the cig down?" said the guy and his oversized jeans jacket hanging from his shoulders cringed into weird shapes as he took one of his hands out of his pocket and pointed his thumb towards the shelves. He looked so adorably dishevelled in all jeans, and with his silky hair framing his hopeful face, Michael couldn't have said no to anything he would suggest. Instead of mustering the strength to say no, Michael threw another smile towards his companion and turned his back to him to choose the dream crusher he wanted to numb them with before they went to bed.

To someone who grew up in a functional family, all the labels and bottle shapes would seem the same. To Michael, however, to choose the right brand and size meant the same as selecting the bananas or avocados of the proper ripeness would for them. It was a work of art; he learned so much in the ten years of living with his stepfather. While scrutinizing the shelves, index finger and thumb scrubbing on the sides of his chin absent-mindedly, he remembered how they would come to the similar shop together, he and his mother's second husband, and how he slipped behind the shelves. At the same time, Frank chatted with the clerk, and he stuffed his lunch box with a large flat bottle of Chief's Heritage Fire Water whiskey. He had to carefully close it to avoid disturbing the aluminium foil that served as a guard from the primitive electronic protection device they had to pass through on their way out. Michael would then tuck his stepfather's sleeve, babble some cute nonsense to get candy from the unsuspicious clerk, and after they paid for the two packs of cigarettes and a beer, they would leave. Frank would let him chug on whiskey then, and if he were in an exceptionally good mood, he would let him sleep through the night without beating the shit out of him.

Finally, spotting the whiskey he knew so well on one of the top shelves, Michael attempted to grasp it but only managed to graze his fingertips against the bottom of one of the bottles that rocked gently upon touch but otherwise didn't move an inch. "Fuck", he uttered under his breath, cracked his neck and stretched onto the tips of his toes, steadying himself by holding onto one of the lower shelves. But, again, he could only touch the bottle but not get a good hold of it. He even contemplated climbing the shelves to get it, as if the shame of his disappointing height haven't already painted his cheeks bright red and didn't make him want to leave the shop right away. Just as he braced himself for the climb, eyes fixed on that damn bottle, a gentle touch of someone's hand squeezing his shoulder made him turn around. It was Trevor's hand, and even though Michael still had to look up to meet his eyes, the small sympathetic smile put him in ease in a blink of an eye.

"Chief's, huh? Good choice, Mike!" the praise in his voice made Michael shiver, and he desperately tried to ignore the warmth he was receiving through the palm still steady on his shoulder and which upset his heart into beating twice as fast as ever before. "My old man used to drink this. It tastes like cat piss but knocks you out good for the buck." Trevor's grin felt like a warm touch sunrise after countless years of freezing darkness. Michael couldn't help but soak in the warmth, allowing himself to lose himself in the feeling completely. "Let me get it for you, eh?" he heard Trevor say from somewhere near, and before he could object, most of the light was obstructed by a jeans-clad chest.

It was then when Michael closed his eyes and tried to get hold of the situation. Trevor, the guy he only knew for three weeks, pushing Michael's back onto the shelves as he leaned for the bottle but also pushing his chest almost to Michael's. If it weren't for a couple of inches of hot air and fabric between them, their bodies would brush against each other. Michael could only gulp when he opened his eyes again, and his mind provided him with the maddening picture of Trevor's naked lean chest, peppered with dark brown hair as if puberty marked its way down towards his groin with it. Michael's head was spinning when he looked up to see Trevor still busy fetching the bottle. Michael's racing imagination saw him grabbing the guy's head, crashing lips with his and dissolving into what he thought would be the best kiss he would ever receive. Michael gulped again. He had to have him.

He was anxious about the way it was too easy to raise both his hands and grab fists full of other man's jacket as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Michael didn't fight it when he felt his muscles pull on the fabric and only turned his gaze up to where he expected Trevor's eyes to look once he would feel the movement of his clothes. Michael didn't have to wait for it at all, actually; the puzzled expression was already waiting for him to drink it up. However, he couldn't maintain the contact for too long as his eyes focused on something completely different; the dark lips, deliciously parted in the unspoken question. The distance between his own and them unnerved him, and in the sparking silence, Michael again propped himself onto the tips of his toes, pressed harder on the fabric to steady himself and, closing eyes, pressed his lips to Trevor's.

For a delicious moment, the world fell apart as if some invisible force made the dimensions crash down. The trembling soft firmness against his lips sent shivers down his spine with each cautious move. Whenever Michael recalled the moment years later, he could always sense the faint smell of cigarettes, petrol and sun mixing between their bodies and the way the ground shook and cried under his feet when he felt Trevor's palms slide down his sides and pull him closer, effectively sweeping him off his feet.

Trevor seemed to be relishing at the moment as much as Michael was, but when he felt solid ground under his feet again, and the pair of arms letting go of him, Michael reluctantly broke the kiss with a coquettish wet pop and tried to catch his lost breath. Then, leaning against the shelves again, he only dared to peek up when his cheeks stopped burning from what felt like a mixture of acid and a marathon run. Trevor's face might as well have been a mirror, for he looked down on Michael with eyes wide, face red and lips wet and trembling as if he didn't get a grasp of reality yet. Michael couldn't help but let the anxiety scream right to his face in the voice of his stepfather - and there were thousands of things he might have ruined then and there, just because he didn't fight his stupid queer side, because he let himself kiss another man, because by the twisted chain of mistakes he fell from what could have been a good life to longing after a rabid smuggler in the middle of a liquor aisle.

Just as he was about to duck under Trevor's arm and run away from the voice and feelings of shame it brought about, he was stopped by a gentle, almost shy touch of a hot palm on his cheek. The slender fingers brushed against his face in such a delicate way Michael's heart skipped a beat, and closing his eyes, he leaned into the touch, seeking the soothing silence it brought with the warmth. The hand fit his cheek like a glove, Michael mused as he relaxed into slow movements of fingertips on his temples. Right there, at that moment, everything felt so right, so natural. Why has he deprived himself of the delicious heat for three weeks when somewhere deep inside, where the beating of his heart always gave away the truth, he knew he needed it from the start - well, Michael didn't know. Instead, he slid his arms around Trevor's waist and buried his face into his chest.

"Michael?"

The vibrating echo of his name, spoken in such a husky yet caring way, made Michael squeeze his arms around Trevor even tighter. He sought the last bits and pieces of it before he dared to speak up himself, afraid of spoiling the delicious contentment of the moment.

"Let's get out of here."

A gentle kiss on top of his head and long arms lacing his shoulders later, Michael found himself too far from Trevor for comfort. But even with the newly gained distance between them, a quick glance sideways has provided him with a sight of a beaming smile and a fire deep inside Trevor's eyes that made his own lips twitch into a happy upwards bow. As they rolled into the checkout, Michael has noticed the world has changed as well. The depressing shade of green has somehow transitioned into a welcoming warm white; the shadows that they passed by on their way in suddenly bloomed into happy faces. The various packings of goods exploded in all the colours of the rainbow. As Michael and Trevor emerged into the darkness of the parking lot, ready to relive their revelation in thousands of ways, Michael has felt at peace with himself for the first time in forever. The days of the inner night were over.

[alby-rei]

Paint My World in Shades of You (Vincent x MC)

a/n: Happy birthday Vincent <3 

[Characters]: MC, Vincent, Theo

[Genre]: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

[Warning]: None

{Paint my World in Shades of You}

I was sitting in Vincent’s room on his couch while he painted. His eyes were trained on the beautiful arrangement of flowers that rested against the window.

My eyes were trained on him; I was obsessed with his side profile. I loved the way his eyes shone with concentration, and his jaw relaxed and tensed as he worked. Suddenly, his serious expression lit up in laughter.

“When you look at me like that, I can’t help but lose focus.”

“Ah—I’m so sorry! I just—” My face heated up considerably, I must be a roasted tomato by now, “I really like watching you paint. It fascinates me so much how you create such wonderful paintings, and I was… taking mental notes of your technique,” and your face, and your arms, and your fingers, and-

“Have you painted, too, in your time?”

“Mmhm,” I nodded with enthusiasm, “though I’m still very much a beginner. I enjoy painting with a friend more than I do when I’m alone.”

“Oh?” Vincent set his palette down and faced me fully, “I can get you a canvas if you want to paint with me.”

“Right now?? I mean I’ve never worked with oil paints before… just acrylic and watercolor.”

Vincent rummaged through his supplies behind his desk, taking out a case full of paint tubes.

“I’ve got watercolors right here,” he shot me an excited smile, and my heart fluttered. How was I so lucky to have such an adorable boyfriend?

I wasn’t used to painting on large canvases— though it was still small compared to his— so I felt pretty intimidated just staring at the blank white abyss in front of me.

“What’s wrong?”

“I… don’t know where to start,” I looked back at him sheepishly.

I waved my paint-less brush on the canvas, shifting my gaze between the flower bouquet and the canvas to make a mental sketch. I caught sight of Vincent’s work in progress, and I had an idea.

“Hey Vincent, do you mind if I… copy you?”

“Hm?” He quirked his head to the side. 

“I want to learn how to paint like you, that’s how I’ve always learned actually— by watching others.”

His eyes widened, and he stuttered uncharacteristically. His gaze softened, as a small blush crept up his cheeks, and he looked back at his own unfinished work.

“Well, if that’s what you want to do, then I’m all for it.”

“Yay!” I clapped my hands in excitement. 

Vincent didn’t have an extra easel, so he suggested I use his. But I insisted that I can work without one. I brought a stool and dragged it close to his and started watching his every move.

“So first, I mixed these colors…” he stretched his arm out to display his color palette. It was a beautiful mess of oil paints, with a large white spot in one corner.

Time flew as we enjoyed the moment in each other’s company doing what we both love. 

“I’m not sure how to make this shade…” I pouted, staring at my messy palette.  

“The trick is to get a bit of ochre yellow in the mix, and then…”            

We talked on and on as we painted together. I tried to keep my focus on the bouquet, but I always ended up leaning over to see Vincent’s own painting.

“Your painting should capture how you­ see the world, MC.”

“I know… but I can’t get it to stand out the same way yours does,” I confessed. 

Vincent’s soft laughter eased my anxiety. I mixed some colors together blindly to try to create the right shade I’m looking for.

“Hey! That’s a great shade of purple you got. How did you make it?” He asked me with child-like curiosity and excitement.

I told him honestly that I didn’t know how, and we sat and experimented together. In a way, it gave me a confidence boost to see him try so hard to replicate the shade that I accidentally made. 

Clearly, I had lost track of time because the sun was gone, and the lamp in Vincent’s room was the only source of light left. I didn’t even notice the change, so when I looked up from my work, I had to rub my eyes to adjust.

“Oh boy, I didn’t realize I was so focused. I think I got a small headache…” I brought a hand up to apply pressure on my forehead.

“Are you ok, MC?” Instantly, Vincent was by my side, one hand caressing my arm as I sat on his couch to regain my bearings.

It took a second, but the world stopped spinning. I took a deep breath and looked up, smiling to reassure Vincent. Worry was written all over his face, bordering guilt.

“Don’t look so down, Vinnie~ It’s nothing serious,” I giggled, scratching the back of my head.

I looked between my canvas and his. I was really proud of how it turned out! His painting definitely had better defined lines and clearer contrasts in all the right places. Mine was less impressive in my eyes, but still a full image of the bouquet, no less.

“What do you think of my painting?” I nodded towards my canvas.

“It’s beautiful just like its artist,” he brought my paint-stained hand up to his lips and gently kissed my knuckles.

“Oh you…!” I punched him jokingly with my free hand.

“Mm… I meant it,” he laughed along, shielding his arm from further assault, “I’m a lucky man to be able to share my passion with my sweetheart.”

“Vincent, you’re too sweet.” I wrapped my arms around him, hiding my tomato-red face in his chest.

I felt his arms wrap around me, too, and we sat there in comfortable silence. The smell of oil paints and flowers wafted in the air around us, as his arms squeezed me securely. It was like we were left in our own bubble and time itself had stopped for us to enjoy this moment. I pulled away eventually, needing to wash my hands and help Sebastian with dinner. Looking outside again, I realized I was already late… woops.

“I have to go prepare dinner with Sebas soon, so I’ll see you later?”

I reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. He turned his head and captured my lips with his. How am I supposed to say goodbye like this? The thought of leaving this room, this bubble of ours, felt like I was leaving a paradise behind.

“Don’t go just yet…” He pleaded with his eyes shimmering under the glow of the lone lamp.

“How about this: I’ll go wash my hands, then come back to clean up with you. Then, we’ll walk together to the kitchen, deal?”

He nodded, “Deal.”

I went to the guest bathroom room across the hallway. Paint was a lot harder to wash off than I thought. I scrubbed at it with soap, making sure not to damage my skin in the process.

It took a solid while, so I hurriedly dried my hands and made my way back to Vincent’s room. I was standing outside when I heard—

“…and what do we have here?” A chuckle, “Were you teaching a kid how to paint?” It was Theo.

Theo and I… didn’t get along. Maybe our humor just didn’t align, maybe he didn’t appreciate walking in on us that one time when he… shouldn’t have. And maybe I was too sensitive for his bluntness. But we made an unspoken truce to avoid conflict with each other for Vincent’s sake. At least, I thought we did. 

Before Vincent got a chance to speak, Theo was already inspecting the foreign painting in art-dealer mode. 

“Hmm… the colors are dull, and the strokes are uneven. If they thought they could imitate you, they’ve clearly got a long way to go,” he scoffed.

“Theo, that’s not—”

“And who asked you, huh?” I couldn’t stand aside and let him talk about me or my painting like that. It meant a lot to me; it embodied my precious time with Vincent.

“So the pup wanted to paint, eh? I guess I shouldn’t have expected much, then.”

I was about to give him an earful, but Vincent stepped in.

“That’s enough, Theo! MC and I painted this together. So, if you think it looks like a child’s work, then you’re saying that about me, too.”

“What…? No! I didn’t mean—” He shook his head, choosing to stare at the wall instead. He sighed, scratching the back of his head sheepishly, “I’m sorry I said those things, hondje. I didn’t mean to upset you.”      

Well, that was fast. At least he’s being civil about it.

“I-it’s fine… I’m just an amateur anyway,” I hugged my arms, looking away as I tried to calm myself. I was shaking, whether it was from anger or embarrasment, I didn’t know.

The silence was killing me, so I made to start tidying up my station. I blinked away the oncoming tears—I had nothing to cry about! I enjoyed painting with my boyfriend, and Theo apologized.

So, I kept blinking. Discretely.

Or at least as discretely as I thought I was.

Theo dropped the supplies he brought in for Vincent, talked to him for a bit, and left. I wasn’t paying attention to their conversation. 

“MC…”

Vincent’s voice broke me out of my thoughts. I sensed the guilt rising in his voice, so I rushed back to hug him in reassurance.

“…don’t worry, Vinnie,” I nuzzled my head into his chest, not realizing my tears had spilled onto his apron, “it’s not like I’m a professional artist anyway, he was just stating his opinion.”

His strong arms wrapped around me firmly, rocking me back and forth as he spoke.

“You are an artist just like me, with your own unique view. That, in itself, is a valuable treasure that no one can take from you,” he pulled away to stare into my tear-streaked eyes with his own saddened cerulean eyes.

Then he smiled gently, soothingly, “Art isn’t about perfection, it’s about self-expression… about sharing your world on a canvas. Today, you shared a piece of your world on my canvas, and it is my greatest honor.”

I was speechless, I couldn’t find the words to express the pride, the elation, the utter admiration I had for Vincent and his ability to always say the right things to cheer me up.

“…Thank you, Vincent. I-I really appreciate it,” I smiled brightly up to him, and my tears flowed freely down my cheeks.

He brought his right hand up to wipe away the tears, using his thumb to caress the side of my face. Try as I might, I couldn’t blink back the tears fast enough before they spilled silently down my face. I wasn’t mad, or sad even. I was just really extremely happy. It’s hard for me to explain though, and Vincent held my face in his strong hands and kissed every tear as they fell.

“We should do this again,” he declared, his hold on me never faltering, “I want to display your paintings all over my room until every part of it is immersed in the world you create.”

[strawberrylemonz]

Tonight’s Showing

Part 1 [CURRENT]

Part 2

DT: @bargledblocks my beloved <3 and @snapdragonfirefly my beloved <3

------------The screaming and yelling tore into his mind, filling him with pain. The screams, Tommy’s screams, called out to him, begging for him to save him. He didn’t want to leave the boy there, he never even dreamed of such a thing! That stupid security issue that occured a week ago had started all this, and Sam hated every bit of it. He didn’t know what to do in the situation. What was there to do? 

“SAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!”

His eyes widened at the tone of Tommy’s voice coming through to him from the communicator. Tommy sounded terrified. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t wait any longer. Rushing through the halls towards the main cell, Sam was fully prepared to get Tommy out of there. Fueled by the screams, he stumbled into the room, flipping the switch to undo the lava. His fear and adrenaline only grew the moment the screams fell silent. Why was Tommy silent? Before he could even see the lava fall, however, a bright light momentarily blinded him. Upon regaining his sight and senses, he was quick to draw his weapon, only to realize he had no weapons or armor on him. The only thing he had were his everyday clothes.

“Why am I here? Where is here?”

He quickly turned around to see that he was not alone in this confusing predicament. Everyone from the server was appearing into the strange room, all panicked and confused. Ranboo quickly rushed to check on Tubbo, who appeared to be digging around his pockets for some form of protection. Ghostbur, Techno, and Phil stuck close to each other, the latter two wary and ready to fight. Heck, even Drista was there! Everyone was the same, armorless and weaponless. Everyone, including-

SMACK!

Everyone turned to watch as Sapnap’s fist flew threw the air, connecting to a familiar mask. Dream. Dream struggled against Sapnap for a moment, his mask as crazed as his movements. Before the two could exchange any more punches, an invisible force separated the former friends. As the two regained their senses, everyone could get a good look at the freed prisoner. Whether the blood on him was from the altercation with Sapnap or not, no one knew. Standing there, mask facing mask, Drista could only stare as she questioned her older brother.

“What did you do?”

“He did something despicable and disgusting.”

The unfamiliar voice caught everyone’s attention, causing them to turn and face the direction of it. Standing there was a petite woman, watching them. Studying all their expressions, she snorted as she turned to face Dream, who was trying to walk forward. 

“Don’t even try leaving that small area, Dream, you can’t. Then again, I’d enjoy seeing you struggle, Bitch Boy.”

“Who are you?”

“Didn’t Tommy tell you guys? Wait, I forgot that none of you ever took him seriously when he mentioned me. The name’s Clara, I’m the lady in the sky.”

Lani played with her fingers, unsure of what to say or do. Sticking close to her brother, she gathered her confidence before speaking to the mysterious “lady in the sky”.

“Excuse me? Clara? Did you bring us here?”

“Yes! Well, with a little help, of course.”

Clara smiled as a grand being glitched into the room, his white orb of a head spinning in delight. Stopping the orb from spinning, his shoulders shook in joy as his prominent ‘XD’ presented itself to everyone there. Techno and Phil pressed their lips together as they shared a knowing look, obviously not expecting to see the god once again.

“Oh, you make me blush, Clara.”

“I do no such thing, we both know that. Did you give unhacked access for the others to join us?”

“Yes, they should be here any moment now.”

“Wonderful.”

Just then, a dark door emerged from the ground. Watched as the knob twisted and jiggled, the residents of the server didn’t know what to expect. When the door opened, however, they could only watch in confusion. Everyone, that is, aside from Phil and Techno, who happily rushed to her side.

“Kristin!”

Said woman smiled and giggled as Phil gathered her in his arms, planting kisses on her face as his broken wings flapped in excitement. Her own wings, white and pure, happily fluttered behind her as she returned the gesture. Pulling away, she turned to face Techno, a hand on his face as she smiled.

“And how is my eldest child?”

“Eh, you know. Here and there.”

“Here and there, indeed.”

“I’m sorry, what is going on here.”

Quackity watched the scene unfold in genuine confusion. Who was this lady named Kristin? Why was she so important to both Phil and Techno? Where did she even come from? He wasn’t the only one confused, pretty much everyone in the room was. Smiling as she stood in front of both men, Kristin hummed as she extended her arms in a welcoming manner.

“My apologies, I forgot to introduce myself! Hello, my name is Kristin! I’m the wife of Phil, as well as the mother of Technoblade, Wilbur, and Tommy! I’m also Death itself.”

“I’m sorry, Philza Minecraft fucked death?!”

“Wait, Techno is Phil’s kid?! I thought they were just business partners!”

“Business partners? I thought they were just besties!”

“I’m still not over the fact that Techno is related to Wilbur and Tommy.”

“I knew about Tommy being brothers with those two, as well as being Phil’s son, but I didn’t know about death being his mother! You’d think he’d tell me, given that I’m his best friend!”

“You knew?!”

“Duh.”

“And you never corrected us?!”

“Thought it was just a dumb inside joke.”

Ignoring the chaos caused by those around her, Kristin made her way to Fundy, who was frozen in uncertainty. Smiling as she placed her hands on both sides of his face, Kristin gave the fox hybrid a sincere greeting.

“My my, what a lovely young man. It’s finally great to meet you, Fundy. Look at you, I’m so proud to call you my first grandchild.”

She knew that her words caused her husband to flinch, it’s what she intended. As much as she loved and adored her significant other, she did find it sad that Fundy was denied the right to be loved. He deserved to feel loved and important, because he was.

“I can’t wait to learn all about you during the free periods! Oh! Speaking of grandchildren, silly me.”

They watched as Kristin made her way back to her opened door. Peering in, she spoke out in a gentle voice.

“Twins? Can you two please come out? Grandma will make sure no one hurts you two.”

Everyone watched as two small figures made their way out of the door, tiny hands holding onto one another. Watching as the door disappeared back into the ground, the twins turned to face Kristin. Humming, she gathered the two in her arms as she presented them to the room.

“Family, not family, meet Clementine and William-”

“Hn.”

“-I’m sorry, love. Meet Clementine and Wilbur! They’re technically Tommy’s children, born from the debris of his star.”

“I’m sorry, his star?”

“That will be revealed soon enough, no worries.”

Clementine just glared at the occupants of the room, her pigtailed hair bouncing as she turned to make sure everyone saw her expression. Wilbur, on the other hand, opted to hide behind his curled hair, painted in the same blond color as his sister’s. 

“Did he name his son after his dead brother? Because if so, that did not age well-”

“Fuck you!”

Everyone watched with apaled expressions as Clementine glared Dream down, flipping him off with her tiny fingers. Kristin shook her head in mock annoyance as Clara belted out in laughter, XD following in suit. Doing her best to regain her composure, Clara spoke up once again.

“Oh my Me, she certainly is Tommy’s daughter.”

“Well, as much as I don’t enjoy hearing my youngest son and my only granddaughter curse out their issues, she did do it in her brother’s and uncle’s honor, so I’ll let it slide.”

“Hehe.”

“Go on, go sit with your cousin.”

“M’kay!”

Kristin set the twins down back on the ground, smiling as Clementine immediately took her brother’s hand in her own. Pulling him along, the two happily ran up to Fundy, smiling as they did so. The moment was interrupted by Quackity, who was unsure of everything.

“As great as witnessing this family reunion was, why are we all here?”

Sam nodded as he agreed with Quackity, speaking up as he gave Dream a pointed look.

“Not to be rude, but I agree. Something happened back in the prison, and I haven’t been able to see what.”

“Ah, yes. That is exactly why we’re here. Kristin, XD, if you will.”

The two nodded at Clara before taking each other’s hands. Closing her eyes, Kristin began mumbling as XD stood there, waiting. Once Kristin finished her mumbling, XD released one of his hands from her, drawing invisible signs on the air. Once he was done, both deities gave a synchronized nod. Rumbling was heard as a tunnel emerged out of nothing. A train emerged from it, coming to a sudden stop. As the doors slowly opened, everyone froze as they watched the occupants walk out, confused and cautious. 

“Wilbur?”

“Schlatt?!”

“And me, MD!”

Before anyone else could make a move or sound, Clara spoke up once more.

“As much as I want more of these sweet reunions to occur, we really do need to get a move on. Now, I am very tired of everyone treating my poor starchild with such unjust unfairness. Don’t get me wrong, Tommy does make mistakes and his narrative is in his perspective, but come on! Blaming everything on him? This is getting ridiculous at this point! Now, you are all going to sit here and feel and hear everything he did! I, alongside Kristin and XD, will be monitoring you all. And Dream? Don’t make me go over there.”

Without warning, the environment completely changed. The group suddenly found themselves in the vast emptiness of space. They didn’t know what they were looking for, no one but Kristin. Said woman could only grimace as she nodded to herself, unconsciously touching her stomach.

“I remember this.”

“Remember what-?”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

The group turned to see another Kristin scream out in pain, her hand resting on the bump of the belly. They watched as she tried to take a step, only to double down in pain again.

“FUCK YOU, PHIL. HOLY SHIT, I’M GONNA PUNCH YOUR FACE SO MANY TIMES.”

Phil grimaced as he leaned away from his wife, who laughed as she kept sikeing him out with her fist. Wilbur snickered at the sight. Turning back to the scene before them, they watched as Clara quickly rushed to Kristin’s sign, obviously not enjoying her distress.

“Clara, I- Ah! I don’t think- think I can make it to the bo-OOOOOOAH! The boys! I know I promised, but I can’t.”

“Phil will understand, dear. Breathe with me, in and out, okay? I don’t know a thing about human childbirth, but I know starchildbirth. Allow me to help, okay? I don’t like to see you in pain, and neither would your husband or sons.”

“Hurry!”

Clara pulled out a small orb from her pocket, holding it in the palm of her hand. Gently holding it against Kristin’s belly. Closing her eyes, she mumbled as the dull like of the orb brightened, growing in size as it did so.

“What is she doing?”

“That orb in my hand? That’s a dying star that I collected that morning. I’m using it to dub Tommy a starchild so that Kristin wouldn’t struggle with giving birth.”

Kristin let out a sigh of relief, her screams and sobs subsiding. Taking deep breaths to try and calm herself, she rubbed her face as she tried to wipe away her tears. Mumbling out a thank you, she watched as Clara extended the bright orb to her.

“Here he is, a healthy little boy! He’ll shine brighter than the sun, I’m certain of it.”

Kristin smiled as she took the orb into her own hands, watching as the light dimmed, revealing the newly born child. Tufts of blond hair poked out of his head as she adjusted the blanket. Kristin couldn’t help but let more tears fall as she held him close, kissing his forehead.

“He already looks so much like his father. Oh, Phil will be upset that he missed this.”

“Go and see your family, I’ll cover your shift for you.”

“Thank you.”

Kristin summoned a door, adjusting her youngest son as she walked through it. Navigating through the dark void, she came across another door. Opening the door, she stepped outside into a secluded area in the woods. Walking down the path, she approached the cozy cottage that proudly stood there. Knocking on the door, she cooed at the child in her arms as she waited for the door to open.

“Kristin?”

“Meet your son, Phil. He looks so much like you.”

The group watched as Phil dropped everything in his hands, startling his sons from the other room. Holding his newborn son and wife in his arms, he wept tears of joy as a tiny Wilbur and Techno rushed in, prepared for the worst. Seeing that it was only their mother, their worried looks morphed into joyful expressions.

“Mum!”

“Mom!”

“My boys! Come, meet your new brother.”

The two boys staggered for a bit, eyes widening at the revelation of the newest addition of the family. Watching as Phil and Kristin stared down at the bundle with great love and joy, they couldn’t help but feel excited at the sight. 

“Can we hold him?”

“Of course, just be gentle with him, okay boys?”

“M’kay.”

The twins carefully cradled the bundle in both their arms, working together to keep him safe and secure in their arms. Watching the sleeping child, they were in awe at the sight.’

“He has golden hair! Just like papa!”

“Gold! Gold! Gold!”

Kristin and Phil both laughed as they watched, joy and love filling them. Humming, Phil spoke up in a gentle tone.

“Well? What’re you two gonna name him?”

The twins just watched their baby brother as he slept soundly in their arms. Suddenly, startling the twins, their new brother yawned and squirmed in their arms. Rubbing his eyes with his tiny fists, he blinked his eyes open for the first time. Blinking up at them, he tilted his head as he squirmed. It wasn’t until Wilbur spoke up that he reacted.

“Tommy. Let’s call him Tommy.”

Everyone gasped as the feeling of immense love and wonder filled them, something they weren’t prepared for. Doing their best to cope with the feeling, they watched as the baby let out gurgles of giggles, reaching for his brothers. It was only then that they realized that Tommy was a very emotion-driven person, and they were going to feel every bit of that.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

anon ask where the first line speaks for itself

How do you deal with self doubt when you’re doing something you love but aren’t proud of your work?

like, I love painting and I’ve painted a lot of things and even sold some. I’m decent at painting I guess. (I’m definitely not amazing at it) and lately every time I try to paint, I get discouraged when I don’t like what I’ve done and just give up. End up crying, throwing the canvas away, a whole breakdown because I just want to feel like I’m good at something in my life for once. When people praise my work, it literally makes me feel worse. I don’t understand that. It makes me want to cry when people praise it because in my mind I know what I painted isn’t worth anything. So when people praise it, I feel guilty and so shitty because I know it could be better and sometimes i feel like they’re lying to me. I don’t want anyone to praise or want something I’m so disappointed in. Does that makes sense? I really love painting, I just don’t believe in myself and don’t believe I could ever paint something I will actually be proud of and like. Again, I just want to feel good at something for once. So when it doesn’t go right (which is every time), I give up and doubt my entire being. I just want to be better at things I do.

with all due respect, my homie

chill, pls

*worried look at camera*

Is this bad to say that... I don't take it that seriously? I don't go into creation thinking that I have to be proud of the end result. I create because I want to, because it is an expression of what I'm feeling at the moment, because it is for me. I don't put pressure on myself to create something amazing or even something that shows off my complete skillset. I create from within, and use my skillset to my advantage. Whatever the result, even if I hate it, oh well, I will try again another time.

Your art is not your master. You art serves you.

I've said this before, but this things I publish on this blog =/= how much I actually write. Honestly, if you all could see how much I actually write in a week vs the published stuff, you'd be shocked lol. I have tons of unfinished stories, snippets of things, an entire document dedicated to "shit I probably won't finish". I guess you can equate it to an unfinished painting pile. But I don't delete them, I just kind of leave it there (it is easier when it's just data stored on a hard drive, I admit it).

'bsod'? I wrote that exactly one year ago from the date I posted it. Why didn't I post it? I didn't like it then. Actually, I hated it when I wrote it. "Eh, this isn't good enough." So, I didn't post it. A year later, I found it again and shrugged. "I'll post it."

And that was that.

I get the feeling of wanting to be proud of the things you do. But it's not realistic or possible for every piece you create to be something you're proud of. And just because you're proud of something doesn't mean other people will like it. Just because you don't like a particular piece you've created doesn't mean that someone else won't think it's the coolest thing they've ever seen. Art is subjective, to the person who creates it and to the person viewing it. And, sometimes you don't like it during creation, but you like it in the end.

I hold myself to a very high standard (disturbingly high standard, some might think). Some say I'm too hard on myself. But I always tell myself the same thing - it's part of the journey. The reason why I post something is because I believe there is something about what I wrote that is important to me. The "me" who wrote it at the time, those feelings I was trying to convey; each story is a documentation of those emotions at the time of creation. When it comes to writing, and maybe it's like this with painting too, I don't think I will ever be satisfied with the "whole picture". It will never be perfect in my eyes. I will want to tweak something every time I view it, but every time I do that, I feel it gets "ruined", further and further from my original intent. When I edit, it is for clarity and spelling mistakes, and that's it.

Feeling that you're "good at" something... hm, I could say I'm "good" at writing, but mostly I think that because I've done it for years. So, yeah, I've probably put in the "10,000 hours" to master a skill. But I still think I have a lot of things to improve. What will it take for you to feel that you're "good at" painting? Is there some kind of finish line? I think it's a forever journey when it comes to creation. Work on what you want to work on. Not everything has to be perfect or great. If the technique isn't expressing what you want to express, then move on to a different one. Try something new, like different paints or a completely different painting style. Maybe what you need to express right now is just in the wrong medium. To become better at something is to do it over and over, to practice, and to fail. You don't need to beat yourself up over failing. It's part of the process.

In terms of praise, your reaction to it is based on whether or not you think you deserve it. But praise is not something you "deserve". It is not an obligation. It is a gift. Whether or not you think you're worthy of it is not the purpose of praise. Praise is someone else showing their admiration for you. You don't get to decide if they can like something or not, they just do and they're telling you. It is a reflection of who they are as people. Let them show their appreciation and kindness. Thank them for doing so.

Don't be so hard on yourself. Don't worry so much about the final product. If you don't like the direction it's going, set it aside and work on something else. Or play hooky and spend the day doing something else entirely. You can always come back to it later or toss it when you have a clearer head. Trust in yourself and your abilities. The only way to get better is to keep trying, keep practicing. Maybe later you'll look back and think what you've created has merit after all. But you're not gonna know unless you keep going.

also,

you've sold paintings.

Come on. That's pretty fuckin' cool. Don't sell yourself short.

[crayonwriting]

08 - Why, Why Did I Ever Let You Go

Summary: Maiko just wanted her good ol’ dad to walk her down the aisle. So, she invited the three men from your past in hopes of meeting him. The only problem was, which one of them is it?

Pairings: Oikawa Tooru x Reader, Bokuto Koutarou x Reader, Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

Disclaimer: This is based on the movie directed by Phyllida Loyd and written by Catherine Johnson which is inspired by the music of the pop group ABBA.

catch up here!

After a few hours of bustling about, you were finally able to set up the tables and a few decorations. You were currently untangling a long cord of fairy lights to test out in the evening. Just as you were about to unravel a small knot, Bokuto appeared out of the blue. You clutched at your chest slightly trying to calm your heart.

"Bokuto."

He chuckled. "Whatever happened to just 'Koutarou'?" 

"What are you still doing here?" You returned your attention to the task at hand. The knot that you were trying to unravel earlier seemed to have tangled itself again. With Bokuto's presence nearby, it became difficult to continue. You dropped the fairy lights back in its box, letting out a frustrated sigh.

"Here, let me help you with that." Bokuto knelt down on the other side of the box, picking up the knot you were working on. He unconsciously let his tongue peek out of his lips as he concentrated on his work. You took this time to admire him.

Bokuto, like Oikawa, has matured over the years. He seemed to retain his strong physique and his hair was the same length and colour as you remembered. He seemed much calmer than before. He used to shout obnoxiously whenever he wanted to. 

"All done." He said with a proud smile. He noticed the way you were looking at him, which made his heart skip a small beat. He coughed into his hand, snapping you out of your small daydream. 

"So, Y/N, would you like to go on a walk?" He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He scolded himself for acting like a teenager. But he couldn't help feeling like he is especially when it came to you.

"Why do you want to take a walk with me, Bokuto?"

"Can you please just call me Koutarou again?" He looked straight into your eyes. "And I just wanted to catch up with you. I also want to show you something. Please Y/N-chan." He jutted his bottom lip outward, doing his best attempt at a pout. Unfortunately for you, just like with Olkawa, it worked.

***

You and Bokuto took a small stroll around the village. He conversed with some of the locals, especially the elderly women. They were all fond of Bokuto and seeing him interact with them reminded you of his obaasan, Meiko.

That woman helped you stand on your feet when you found yourself broken and useless when Kuroo had left you. She saw you bumming about on the mainland and had asked what you were doing. You just gave her a vacant stare, proceeding to cry after. She tsked at the state you were in. She then invited you inside the small bar that she owned and made you drink a glass of water. Too numb to form a coherent response, you just did what she said robotically.

After finally explaining to her what had happened, she offered you a job in her bar. With nothing else to do, you agreed. You worked as a waitress and a bartender and then after a few weeks, when her son had dropped by the bar to perform with his band, you became a singer for the bar. Everyone was mesmerized by your voice and you enjoyed singing in front of the crowd—it reminded you of all the good times you had with Yoshiko and Rika.

“Thank you for the fruit!” Bokuto bowed in respect before returning to your side. He took a bite of the apple he had bought from a stall and handed the plastic bag to you. “Do you want some, Y/N?”

You shook your head. “It’s okay, Bokuto.” He grimaced at you still refusing to call him by his first name. “So, you said you wanted to show me something?” This seemed to lift his mood and he then proceeded to lead you to the docks. When you neared the end, you gaped at the beautiful vessel in front of you painted in a clean white color accented by an amazing wood brown. He stretched his arms out wide as he made jazz hands towards the boat.

"Ta-da! Meet my beautiful princess!" Bokuto put his hands on his waist and looked at his boat like a proud father. "My pride and joy." He looked at you, still gaping. "So? What do you think?"

"When you said you had a boat, I didn't think it was this kind of boat! I thought you were referring to, I don’t know, a tugboat or something."

He laughed at your comment. "Now why would I get a tugboat? That’s interesting, though.” His expression then softened a little as he looked at you.  “Remember when I told you I wanted to travel the world? What better way to do it then by sailing?” You nodded at the memory, remembering it very clearly. 

You've been spending every day then with Bokuto ever since he arrived. He helped out at the bar and has been nothing but sweet and fun to be around with. In that short amount of time together, you had told him about staying and living on the island and he had told you about his dream of travelling the world.

Bokuto also voiced his concern about the rising prices of flights. So, you suggested, albeit jokingly, that he buy a boat which could serve as his accommodation—besides transport—to cut off expenses. He considered the thought and he did just that, a few years later.

“You told me to buy a boat and I did. Best thing to come to my life.” Besides you, he wanted to add.

“It was a joke!”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, “Can’t give this back now, can I? And besides, I don’t regret one thing.” That includes you.

“Do you join races as well, like you once told me you would?” 

“Hell yeah! I just won one recently. I mean, not to brag.” He puffed out his chest in pride which only made you laugh.

“Let’s take her out for a spin!’ He gently grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards the boat. 

“Eh? But I have to prepare the villa and—”

“Just to that small part of the island over there,” he pointed to the distance, “And I’ll sail you right back. I promise.”

The sun was still high up in the sky, casting its bright rays upon the island. The whole place was bright and beautiful—the aquamarine of the sea, the green leaves of the trees, the faint smell of salt in the air—you could’ve sworn you were living in a postcard or something.

And in the midst of the beauty of Kalokairi, stood in the middle was Bokuto who already had a foot on the small ladder of his boat with his palm open towards you. His golden eyes were gleaming and his smile made something bubble in you that felt warm—almost as warm as the sun’s rays.

You took his hand in yours.

***

"This is amazing!" You held unto the sides of the boat as it seamlessly glided along the waves. Bokuto smiled at your amazed state from his position on the wheel. 

Soft music played on his phone in his pocket as he continued to watch you. It seemed like you were in some type of cheesy music video, with the way your hair was flowing in the wind and the orange glow of the sunset seemed to accentuate your features.

Not able to help himself, he gradually slowed the boat down and anchored it in the middle of the sea but still fairly close to the shore. You eyed him curiously as he approached you. 

“What are you planning?” You raised an eyebrow, suspicious.

“Nothing, nothing.” He pulled out his phone and changed the song that was currently playing. When the first few notes had played you immediately groaned and slapped a palm to your face. Of course he would pick that song.

"This is my favorite jam!" Bokuto started snapping his fingers and moved his hips to the beat. You covered your face in embarrassment for him. He did the exact same thing all those many years ago. 

You were working a night at the bar when the band wanted you to perform a song. This was the song that was chosen that night and Bokuto had sung—and danced—with you. You didn't feel embarrassed then but being reminded of it right now, you realized that it's one of the silliest things you've ever done. 

"C'mon Y/N-chan, dance with me!" He grabbed your wrists and swayed you from side to side. He tentatively pulled you closer to him but you didn't notice. Bokuto circled his hips comically making you laugh. “Aww, you danced that night away like there was no tomorrow! Don't be shy, it's just me." He eyed you with a soft look and smile. Bokuto always had the easiest and contagious smile you knew of. You found yourself relaxing a little bit in his hold before you experimentally shimmied your shoulders.

"Now, that's the spirit!" Bokuto moved with you and soon enough you were dancing, albeit ridiculously, and belting to the song's chorus. 

The song was only almost five minutes long but it felt like a lifetime to Bokuto. He spent the first two convincing you to dance with him and the other three minutes to actual dance with you. His heart thumped erratically against his chest in both excitement and nervousness. 

The way your shoulders would brush against his or when you pressed your back against his chest to recreate that one dance move that night, all of these may mean nothing to you but to him it felt like electricity. 

The song had ended with you and Bokuto chest to chest. You were slightly out of breath because of the slight adrenaline but after realizing the almost non-existent distance between your faces, you suddenly found it hard to breathe.  Both of you remained quiet, only staring into each other's eyes. Bokuto pulled you in just a tad bit closer.

"Koutarou." You watched his eyes flicker for a moment. Finally hearing his first name tumble out of your mouth made his eyes widen for a moment. You gave him a small smile which you hoped conveyed everything you wanted to say. You searched his eyes and you could see the wheels turning in his head. You giggled softly at the way his eyebrows were slanted as he was deep in thought. You pressed your thumbs against them lightly, smoothing them out.

"I need to get back now." You said. 

Not this soon, please. He pleaded inside his head. He looked at you for any signs of hesitation, maybe, but you were determined. Bokuto smiled, a tight-lipped smile before nodding once and going back to his position behind the wheel.

The sun had just set on the horizon when you arrived back. The walk back up the docks was quiet but comfortable. Spending the past hour with Bokuto made you think of what might have been—just like what you thought of when you were with Oikawa earlier. What if it was Bokuto who you ended up with? Would it always be like this, afternoon sailing with some dancing and karaoke? Would he even have his beat in the first place? You shook your head  at your silly daydreams. 

Just when you neared the end of the docks, you turned to him and stated that you can walk back on your own, emphasizing as well how you knew the island like the back of your hand.

"Thank you for sailing me around on your boat. It was also nice catching up with you." You didn't know what possessed you to do so, but you wrapped your arms around him, pressing your cheek on his shoulder. "I'm proud of you, Koutarou. I'm glad you're still chasing your dreams." You tried pulling away but Bokuto pulled you back to him, placing a hand at the back of your head and one on your back.

"I'm proud of you too, Y/N-chan."

The hug only lasted for a few more seconds before you finally pulled away. You took a few steps back, waving goodbye. Before you were out of reach, he took your hand and kissed the back of it. You flushed lightly and just nodded and walked away.

Bokuto sighed to himself, kicking at the ground. If only he'd return to Kalokairi after that visit with his aunt then maybe, things would've been different between you two.

tags: @yikes-buddy​ / @ushi-please​ / @melodiamore​ / @akaashi-todorki​ / @honeymoneyy​ / @minty-mangos-world​ / @ochabby​ / @paettonissahotcheeto / @chrisrue15​ / @cottage-babe2​ / @tsukkx​ / @yashinosakura​ / @coconut-dreamz​ / @roseestuosity​ / @youstydiaa​ / @shiningstar-byulxx​ / @mkkhaikyuu​ / @waywardtrashfam​ / @otaku-fangirlse​ / @juni-multifandom / @voids-universe​ / @chimsblogg / @1-800-imagine​ / @awkward-bard​ / 

a/n: eight part, yay! y’all might’ve have noticed how bo’s chapter is longer than oikawa’s. and fluffier too. my explanation’s kinda long, so i just might do that when this series is over. but hey, if you get it then yay! 

the song reader-chan and bo danced to should’ve been ‘Why Did It Have to Be Me?’ like in MM2, but the song I had in mind was ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me)’ by Whitney Houston.

same warnings as before. this isn’t proof read. i’m sorry. point out any errors or confusing parts to me! my inbox is always open.

only 2 chapters left! i don’t want to say goodbye yet!

[m-y-fandoms]

Mondo Oowada x an effeminate male S/O

Request: Oml heyyy may I request a Mondo x male! S/O (imagine or headcanons i don't really know the difference dkfjlds) where the s/o is very feminine and tries to get Mondo to do feminine things? Painting nails, etc.

Of course! This was gonna be a head canon post but I just kept writing so I turned it into an imagine. The bullet points were getting too long LMAO, but it does include some personal headcanons throughout. And thank you for giving me my first ever request! Means the world to me! - Mod Kokichi

Imagine below the keep reading cut! SFW and no spoilers included~

     Your first day at Hope’s Peak Academy as the Ultimate Tailor, you got teased a bit. It was inevitable. You were the new transfer student, fresh meat to pick on, and you were a dude in a skirt, a doubly enticing threat to bullies. Immature high-schoolers were always going to whisper and glare at the ones willing to step outside the norm.

     On one of your first days there, during a particularly ruthless bullying session, the school’s hall monitor and student council president, Kiyotaka Ishimaru, stepped in after noticing the noise, breaking up the situation by standing between you and your oppressors.

     “Bullying is not supported in this progressive and nurturing school environment!” Taka’s loud and volatile personality always made quick work of the school’s trouble-makers. He spun quickly around to you, inviting you to spend lunch at his table for your trouble.

     You hesitantly agreed, but were glad you did in the end. That day, you met Taka’s best friend, Mondo Owada, a toothpick between his teeth and his feet kicked up onto the lunch table as he fixed his perfectly styled hair.

     You immediately found him extremely attractive: the sharp jaw, the bit of chest hanging out the top of his tank top. Quickly, you fell into their little friend group full of excitable and extroverted men. There were random stragglers to your lunch table on certain days, with Akane and Shuichi tagging along occasionally, but the main staples that ate with you every single day were Fuyuhiko, Mondo, Taka, Kaito, and Nekomaru, subconsciously scaring away anyone who wanted to start shit.

     You weren’t nearly as close to the rest of them as you were with Mondo, however. You often found yourself leaning against his chair, sharing your packed lunch with him, entranced when he laughed.

    He found himself always hanging out with you, shootin’ the breeze, smoking up on the roof after classes, putting his hand around your shoulder when you told a joke that made him and Taka crack up at lunch. He kept many secrets of yours, and promised to take them to his grave.

     When you came out to him as someone who likes men, he stuttered his response a little, but pulled it together.

     “It takes a real man to admit what his heart’s feelin’, S/O, you can be sure your secret’s safe with me until you’re ready to tell everyone else.” Feeling the atmosphere become awkward out there alone on the rooftop, he quickly changed the subject “So, Ultimate Tailor, huh? Shit’s pretty sick. Seen some of your clothing designs out in the art wing’s showcase. Don’t tailors just tighten up and fix a person’s clothes, though?” You smiled at his interest in your field.

     “Uh, yeah, normally I think they take in and size up clothes, b-but,” you put a hand to the back of your neck, nervous with his complete attention on you, “ I think some make designs from scratch, I have always loved making my own clothes. Maybe I should just be the Ultimate Fashionista instead of Enoshima…” you giggled, feigning envy humorously. Mondo smirked.

   “Yeah, maybe you should. You gotta design me a new coat sometime. This one’s seen better days.” You both looked at the dirt caked at the bottom of his coat, permanent stains throughout, and loose threads hanging in random places.

     “F-for sure!” You grinned.

     Your days returned to normal, lunch together and group hangouts after school, but something was different...to Mondo at least. He had to admit, to himself only of course, that he felt a little jealous of you. You could just come out and tell him who you are inside. He could never be that open. He usually was the one keeping secrets, not expressing them. But then, he caught himself. Why should he feel jealous...he was a simple guy, he didn’t even have any secrets or desires to share, even with who would listen. He brushed it off as just his normal hot-headed mindset, and packed up his stuff in his bag for the day.

     But the next few days, his eyes would linger on you even more, and he would become uncomfortable, his insides warm, his head clouded with that same envy tugging at his heart strings. In the hallway after last period, he kicked his locker, frustrated at this knot in his head and mind. What the fuck is up with him. Then it clicked…

     “It takes a real man to admit what his heart’s feelin’.”

     The next day, he pulled you out to the rooftop, his cheeks red and his heart beating wildly. You waited patiently, sitting down, figuring you were just in for another hang out session like usual, and pulled out your homework from third period, until he began to speak.

     “L-look man, I have been thinkin’, ever since you told me you’re into dudes…”

     Oh no...your head dropped expectantly. You felt like this was bound to come eventually, no matter what. He was this macho dude and hung around you all the time. It must be bothering him, ruining his rep-

     “That shit takes heart, like I said before, and I owe you my truth too, r-right, since you trusted me with yours?” He startled you, looking for validation. Mondo only stuttered when he was pissed and screaming, but he looked nervous now, a look of begging to be understood that you empathized with all too well.

     “I…” he looked out over the roof. Stop being a little bitch, Mondo, he seethed internally. “Fuck, I don’t know, man. I like you? I want us to be more than just friends. I mean, you’re cool as my bro, but…” He didn’t expect you to reach out and take his hand hesitantly, his cheeks flushing. You didn’t want his evident struggle to drag out until he blew a fuse.

     “I think that sounds ‘sick’ ” you mused, taking up one of his favorite sayings. He nodded, a arm around your shoulder, unable to look you in the eyes. But he felt a wave of peace run over him.

     Your close friends immediately picked up on this new relationship, seeing you lean on Mondo a little harder at lunch, Mondo’s blush as he rested his hand on yours over the table. Nekomaru slapped your shoulder loudly that first day as a new couple, almost shattering the bone there. He laughed, saying he couldn’t wait for you two to just finally admitted your feelings. A team works smoother when everyone is on the same page, after all.

     Weeks passed, and inside school, there was little issue. It’s the 21st century. Most were accepting of your obvious relationship. Those bigots who weren’t didn’t try anything. No stupid ass student was picking on a dude with Mondo, Taka, Fuyuhiko, Kaito and Nekomaru at his back.

     The problems started to arise when Mondo took you on rides on his bike, to his gang’s HQ or stomping grounds in general. That was the outside world, not an institution of modern and formal learning like Hope’s Peak. Japan itself was a little behind western society in terms of LGBT acceptance, and like the rest of the world, had a long ways to go.

     With Mondo being the leader of a biker gang, a setting known for violence, masculinity, grit, toughness, and a yakuza-like brotherhood of men, it just wasn’t an environment most conducive to openly gay relationships, but no one in the gang dared to call out Mondo, knowing how hot-headed he is and ultimately respecting him as their leader. They owed him unconditional loyalty.

     That was, until one day, a rather cheeky second-in-command saw you filing your nails, sitting in Mondo’s lap on a couch at HQ, and decided he’d had enough. He confronted you both in front of everyone, all eyes on you, making you shrink back into Mondo’s chest.

     “Eh, boss. If you’re gonna have a dude in a fucking dress doin’ his nails and twirling like a princess on your dick, why not just date a chick? This is gettin’ a little embarassin.” He spoke angrily. Mondo was taken aback, not used to being challenged by his men, obviously the alpha of his pack. He paused, struggling to find a response.

     “What’s the fuckin’ issue?! Like most of you idiots aren’t so close that you might as well be tuggin’ each other’s dicks anyway!” He spat defensively, refusing to take back talk from a subordinate. He looked down to your shaking form in his lap, seeing that you were obviously disappointed with his response and looked up at him with a bit of anger, tears at the corner of your eyes.

Why was he defending his rep, and attacking the man back? He should be defending the relationship, and pushing forward acceptance. It made you feel like he wasn’t proud of you, ashamed of what you two had become.

     He saw this in your eyes and hated himself, changing his stance quickly. He scooped you up from under your thighs from his lap and set you on the couch beside him. He stood, stepping up to the out-of-line gang member, chest out, looking down on him with malice.

     “Maybe you’ve forgotten your place, yeah? You forget who’s in charge? I’m involved with S/O, he’s with me, so he’s part of the gang. You’re gonna accept that, or there’s gonna be trouble to deal with, got me? What, you such a pussy that you can’t accept shit if it ain’t what you expect it to be?!” The second-in command cowered, breaking eye contact with Mondo, and the rest of the onlooking members returning to what they were doing. “Now, we got any other issues?”

     When Mondo drove you home on his bike hours later, you sat behind him as always, but squeezed onto his waist a little tighter than usual, and his heart beat proudly, knowing for once he was sure he did the right thing. You two rode silently, you pecking his cheek before slipping inside your house. He walked back to his bike, blushing like mad, and you two texted all night.

     The very next week, Mondo was over at your house for the first time, doing homework in your room. Well, that’s what you were supposed to be doing. Mondo wasn’t exactly the model student, much the the chagrin of his best friend Taka, and you just weren’t in the mood. And so you sat, him eating some chips from your pantry, watching you paint your nails on your bed, a towel to catch loose drips under your flattened out palm. You looked up to him, smiling at having his full attention on you as per usual when you were alone..

     “Want me to paint yours next?” It just slipped out. You didn’t really mean it. A guy like Mondo wouldn’t want that, surely, but you figured it wouldn’t harm to tease him. To your surprise, he responded rather quickly.

     “I seen Kaito walkin’ around this week with that shit on his nails. Maki apparently forced him to after he lost a bet to her. Didn’t look that bad, actually. Kinda looked sick with his jacket, all purple and shit,” he paused to think, “ fuck it, sure. But no pastel shit, yeah?” Your heart leapt with excitement. There’s no way you expected him to answer in a positive manner, but in this relationship, you quickly learned that you often underestimated Mondo, and let his macho-biker-gang persona leave you biased. You didn’t want people judging you by your sexuality or the eyeliner you wore, and suddenly felt hypocritical for ever pre-judging your big motorcylce-head of a boyfriend.

     Mondo held his hands out after you finished, observing the slick coat of black polish that covered his once grisly and battered nails. Yes, you had to manicure them real quick to even get the polish to stick. They had dirt under them and the cuticles were disgusting.

     “Hell yeah.” he simply spoke, smirking before pulling you in to lean on him as you finally pulled out your homework.

     Weeks turned into months, and soon Mondo was watching you get your ears pierced again in a new place, then sitting in the chair to get his done. He took you, in turn, to get “ink that matched your bitchin’ sense of style” as he put it. The tattoo didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would, and certainly inspired you to design clothes that showed it off and accentuated it.

[docholligay]

Divided by Four: Eighteen

Basic training would begin in three weeks, and she had been bouncing about in anticipation, but for the time being, Lena Oxton, who was kicking around what she thought her callsign might be, was still a civilian pilot, walking around the tiny little plane she shared with at five other people and afforded with her hours collecting glasses and washing up Saturdays and weeknights at the pub. 

It helped that the other five were also Oxtons, and so Lena was expected to pay a fair share if not necessarily an equal one. 

It was not an impressive plane, she supposed, as she crouched by the landing gear, tightening a bolt, but she loved it nonetheless. It was only a little Cessna that wanted a bit of a new paint job and had nothing to recommend itself in the field of agility, but any blemishes against it were removed the moment she got it in the air. On the ground, she might have dreamed about owning something more along the lines of a Piper, or a Cirrus, depending on the direction she wanted to go, but Lena found that once she was in the air, her favorite plane was the plane she was currently flying. 

Which didn’t make her any less enthusiastic for the sort of planes she would fly in the RAF. 

Her mother had been a squadron leader during the crisis, and her dad was a decorated pilot, and she had the Oxton name behind her, which would either give the instructors confidence in her or make them twice as hard on her. 

Well, they could be twice as hard on her if they wanted. She was twice as good, and she knew it. She was born under a lucky star, and had the near-misses to prove it. 

“So you think you’ll get into fast-jet school?” Her dad walked around the side of the plane, running a hand across the tail to check it as he did so. 

“Oh, so you doubt me now?” Lena laughed and sprung to her feet, tossing the wrench from one hand to the other. “If I don’t, it’s you who taught me to fly, so doesn’t say much for you.” 

Bert chuckled. “No, I’d suppose it doesn’t. MIght be a bit too short, eh?”

“‘Ave you know I am the exact minimum ‘eight required, I am.” She held herself straight. “Checked just this morning.” 

Bert studied the edge of the window and smile. ‘Be sure you stand up straight.” 

Lena looked at him for a moment. “Dad,” she waited for him to look at her, “Do you not want me to go?” 

He looked at her for a long moment, scratched the back of his head, and put his hands on hips. “Lena--”

“Because I’m going any’ow. I love you, but I am going.” 

Lena and her dad had been--well, it wasn’t fair to say on their own in a family like the Oxtons, but without a mum certainly--since Lena was six years old, and mum had died. She was an only child, and he hadn’t even thought of dating until Lena herself started two years ago. It was, of course, difficult in bits, but all lives were difficult in some way, and Lena knew of no one else as close to any parent as she was. They’d spent years taking care of each other and confiding in each other, and though she never would have said so, there was a part of her that wasn’t anxious to leave, either. Her father had promised to take care of her, when her mum has died. To keep her safe. He’d dragged himself up from his own grief, and done it, and because they had learned love could be lost so easily, they rarely took the other for granted. 

So nothing was all bad, really. 

“I want you to go,” he sighed, and chuckled, ”Just wait till it’s you ‘alf past forty--”

Lena scoffed. “I’m never going to be forty--”

“Lena, please don’t say that.” She looked at his face, darkly serious, “Dangerous work, and I know that, know it better than most, but I lie awake nights quite enough without ‘aving your morbid premonitions about your own demise, love. Lost your mum, lost me sister, so could you please, as a personal favor, resolve to outlive your old dad?” 

“I was only ‘aving a go,” Lena tossed the wrench into the box, “Been talking to Parvati, ‘aven’t you? Can’t keep anything a bloody secret in this family, can I? You know, me entire bloody life I’ve been told, “She put her hands on her hips and tossed her head,  “Lena, you fly like someone aiming to be no one’s nan,” and that’s all right, innit, but if I make a bloody joke about it--” 

Bert shoved a clumsily wrapped box at her. “Happy birthday love. Please shut up and tell me you’ll be careful. Lie to me, if you must, though I’d prefer it to be the truth.” 

“I’ll be careful, Dad.” She smiled as she took the package, “Almost forgot it was me birthday.” 

“Ruddy terrible liar, you are.” He sat down on a metal box at the edge of the hangar. “Just ‘ave to keep ‘oping your skill is as good as you seem to think it is.” 

“One day,” she nodded at him a finger under the paper, ready to open it, “I will be the best pilot in the world. Going to work for Overwatch, I am, you just watch.” 

“That’s as may be, love, and I wish you all the luck, but it don’t change me concerns whether you’re wearing a roundel or a...whatever they’d call it. I suppose it’s a roundel of a sort, as well, innit? Well, you understand me.” 

Lena started to open the package. “I understand you’re a nervous old wo--Dad.” 

What she held in her hand was not, as a rule, very impressive. A small pair of aviators, rose gold on the frames, a few stray scratches across the lenses. You might have found them in a bin at any charity shop, a few pounds for the pair of them. 

“You won’t want to use them for flying, of course, too beat up for that safely, not made for the sort of acrobatics you get up besides, but I thought you should ‘ave them.” He chuckled, “What good are they doing me?” 

Lena turned them over in her hand. For as long as she could remember, this pair of sunglasses had sat on the one of the shelves in her house, next to a photo of her mother and father in their flight suits from the crisis. Lena looked back to him. 

“You sure?” 

“Didn’t want to give you ‘er jacket, as you should ‘ave your own, right? Course anything of ‘ers you want is yours, far as I’m concerned, so you can ‘ave it as well, but--”he smiled sadly, ‘She would be so proud of you. You’re a brilliant pilot, Lena, really you are. You are the best daughter we could ‘ave ‘oped for. ‘Appy birthday, love.” 

She sat down next to him, still looking at the glasses. “I’ll outlive you, promise.” 

He shook his head. “Don’t think about it in the air. Makes you a poor pilot, given what we do. Can’t think about who’s waiting for you on the ground. You know that.” He chuckled. ‘I should know that.” He grinned and slapped her knee, “I do ‘ave presents for you beyond some of your mum’s old rubbish. Eighteen! Properly an adult. Be wanting a place of your own soon, I’m sure.” 

She saw her reflection in the glasses. Eighteen years felt like so many. Forty would be twenty two more. What was a year, here and there, whatever her father said about it?

“Not if don’t you want me to go.” She smiled. “Moving’s a chore, only coming ‘ome every so often any’ow. If you’ll ‘ave me.” 

“As long as you’d like.” 

When she was older, sometimes Lena would wonder what might have happened if she’d gotten married while her father was alive. If  they simply would have swapped bedrooms and kept on with the easy rhythm of their domestic arrangement. The older she got, the more pleasant it sounded to her. But of course, they would never know, because Lena kept her promise, though Bert never got to know that. Life has a dark sense of humor that way. 

She remembered that promise, in the shifting static of time. How it had been her birthday, but her father’s wish. How, at the time, eighteen had seemed like so many years. 

So many.