#quick doodle i decided to color :P

[iamdieterbravo]

Puppy love =^_^=

[vivwritescrappythings]

squeeze

tattoo artist!eddie munson x fem!afab!reader

Eddie is your tattoo artist and long term boyfriend, one night you have an idea of how to spice up your next tattoo session.

an: idk why I thought of this but I did

cw: fem and afab reader, needles, tattoos, unsanitary tattoo practices, don’t let anyone do this to you, p in v sex, cockwarming, masturbation, mild dubcon, mentions of marijuana use, i picture this version of eddie as older, masochism, swearing, dirty talk, not proofread.

wc: 2.3k

masterlist

MDNI

—

It was only after a few joints that you could have ever thought this was a marginally good idea. You and Eddie were well baked by the time you stumbled out of his van in the alley, eyes bloodshot and a wide smile on your face. The rest of the tattoo shop was dark as Eddie snuck you in the back door, the two of you giggling like vandals as though it wasn’t his shop. The keys jingled as he tucked them back into his pocket, nudging you toward his station.

He turned on the harsh fluorescent lamps surrounding the leather chair in the center of the small space. Paper screens separated it from the rest of the store, drawings and sketches stuck haphazardly all over the dividers and walls. “You’ve been drawing more,” you murmured, looking over the magnitude of new additions.

Eddie was already wiping down the chair and getting set up, looking over his shoulder at you with a hum of acknowledgment. You took in the way his shoulders filled out his worn Metallica shirt, his jacket hanging on a hook near the back door. There was something about his warm, chocolate-colored eyes that made your heart flutter every time he glanced at you.

“You gonna pick something out or just stare at me?” he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You rolled your eyes, a little too stoned to come up with a response you considered to be clever enough. The wall of flash tattoos beckoned you closer. Eddie had given you countless tattoos at that point, insisting that dating a tattoo artist meant you had to get all your work done by him.

Anyone else would just be cheating.

It was how the two of you met five years ago: you came into the shop with a crumpled piece of paper with a book quote you loved scrawled onto it looking to get your very first tattoo. Eddie had stolen you from the guy who usually took the walk-in clients with a saccharine smile, ushering you to his little sectioned off area and charging you half what he normally would for a tattoo that size. You left with fresh ink and Eddie’s number, and the rest was history.

You squinted up at dozens of drawings crudely taped to the wall, admiring the smooth linework and the variety. There were a few from his Hellfire days, fleshed out Dungeons & Dragons monsters and sets of dice high up near the ceiling. The rest were the typical subjects: skulls and flowers and doodles of food and ghosts.

It was hard to decide, your arms folding over your chest as you worried your lower lip with your teeth. Normally it was a quick decision, you’d pick something off the wall or had an idea of your own and Eddie would be off to the races.

That time it took Eddie pulling out the battered notebook he insisted he did his best work in, his name scratched into the black cover. “How about this one? Been workin’ on it, thought it would look good on you,” he murmured, flipping it open to a page in the middle.

The drawing was beautiful, detailed and delicate while still fitting with the rest of your tattoos. You realized that Eddie was listening when you told him you wanted to tattoo your sternum a few months ago, the pages littered in drawings that were suited to the smooth patch of skin over the bone. As always, he knew what you wanted more than you did.

“Yeah, it’s perfect,” you finally said, tracing it with your fingertip.

“Yeah? You sure?” Eddie asked, already rifling through drawers to put together a stencil.

You nodded, biting your lower lip as you sat back on the leather chair. “Matches everything else you’ve put on me,” you said, making yourself comfortable as he went off to trace out a stencil.

You fidgeted with the well-worn Corroded Coffin shirt you were wearing, running your fingers over the torn-up hem and looking up at the ceiling tiles Eddie had painted black.

Meeting Eddie must have been the luckiest moment of your life. You never thought that you’d find someone, for some reason you’d been convinced that you were beyond what anyone wanted—destined to be the old lady with the cats at the end of the street. But Eddie wanted you, he wanted you fiercely and with a passion that was almost startling sometimes.

“Alright, dove, shirt off,” Eddie said, startling you out of your thoughts. He rounded the corner with the stencil in hand, chocolatey eyes focused on you.

You complied, slipping the shirt off your head and tossing the fabric onto a nearby folding chair. The cold air in the shop made you shiver with just your pajama shorts on. You’d forgone wearing a bra, the trip to the tattoo parlor borne from a spontaneous idea you had in the living room of your shared apartment.

“Never gonna get tired of that,” Eddie mumbled, staring at your chest as you settled back onto the cold leather. You rolled your eyes as your face started to heat up, part of you wanting to cover your chest with your hands.

Eddie stood between your legs, rolling over the silver tray that held the little containers of ink and gloves and his machine. He’d already washed his hands, his fingers were cold as he shaved off the smattering of vellus hairs covering your skin. You squeaked when he wiped down your skin with an alcohol pad. His tongue poked out when he concentrated, his brow furrowed as he started to apply the stencil.

He pressed firm to get it to transfer, pulling the strip of paper away and reaching for a mirror for you to see it. It was weird to see yourself reflected back in the small hand mirror. You sat up to properly inspect how it looked between your tits, the U-shaped stretch marks between them catching and shining in the fluorescent light. The mirror tilted up, letting you see your own bloodshot, hazy gaze in the mirror. The blunts Eddie had rolled earlier were strong.

“Looks great, Eds,” you said, lips quirking into a grin as you settled back on the chair. Eddie hummed, letting the mirror drop with a clatter on his drawing space as he went to wash his hands again.

He came back ready, black latex gloves pulled over his hands and hair tied back in a low bun at the nape of his neck.

Bony hips knocked the insides of your thighs apart, your boyfriend curling down over you. “You still feeling up to the rest of this?” he asked, a brow lifting until it disappeared under his frizzy bangs. You were silent for a minute, taking in the sincerity of his expression. “You don’t have to if you’re not feeling right, dove. I can just do the tattoo and we can go home.”

You furrowed your brow, shaking your head and blurting out protests a little too eagerly. It made him grin, boyish charm returning to his stubble-ridden face as though he wasn’t a day out of high school.

“If you feel uncomfortable, what do you say?” Eddie prompted softly, leaning forward to nudge his nose against your temple. He didn’t touch you with his hands, keeping them sterile.

“Yoo-hoo,” you mumbled a little sheepishly. Eddie picked it, the safe word always made you roll your eyes.

He hummed sweetly, pressing a kiss just above your eyebrow. “That’s right,” Eddie said, the simple praise already making you feel warm.

You bit your lower lip as you looked up at him, watching him get the machine going and getting ink on the needles. It felt like your body was buzzing with anticipation, your knees squeezing at his waist.

“Help me out, can’t get my hands dirty,” Eddie said, twisting to fuss with something on the tray next to him. You didn’t care about what he was grabbing, only reaching forward to loop your fingers in the waistband of the sweatpants he was wearing. On a normal day he wouldn’t be caught dead here in sweatpants.

The original idea had come from you. Something in your stoned mind combined to make you ask Eddie if he’d ever thought about cockwarming while giving a tattoo. He looked at you like you’d grown a second head, but fifteen minutes later he wanted to bring your fantasy to life.

“Been so fucking hard ever since you brought this up,” Eddie hissed through his teeth as you pulled his sweatpants down over his cock. It slapped up against his stomach, the tip flushed red and already leaking. You swallowed thickly, reaching out to wrap your hand around him.

The soft moan coming from Eddie’s pink lips was gratifying in more ways than you expected, satisfaction making you feel warm as you looked up at him through your lashes.

“You want me to take my shorts off?” you asked quietly, tilting your head to one side. There was a thrill associated with being naked in the tattoo shop. Of course, it was the middle of the night as no one would have reason to be there, but it still felt scandalous all the same.

“Yeah,” he said, the harsh buzzing of the tattoo machine starting as he touched the needle to the ink. The sound was familiar to you now, part of you associating it with Eddie. “It’ll be complicated to do this if you leave them on.”

You rolled your eyes, letting go of him to strip yourself of your shorts. He cursed under his breath when he saw you completely naked on the chair. Brown eyes traveled over every curve and slope of your body, taking it all in with reverence as his tongue poked out to run over his bottom lip.

There was a brief pause, the two of you waiting for the other to do something. Eddie ended up taking charge.

“Play with yourself for me,” he mumbled, staring down at your cunt. His gloved fingers twitched. “Get her nice and wet.”

Your face heated up at his request, bashfulness binding your chest together for a moment. It was impossible not to comply with Eddie’s request, your fingers finding their place between your legs. You touched yourself without fanfare, your fingertips settling on either side of your clit and rubbing in tight circles.

His gaze was locked on your cunt, chin pressed to his chest and lips parted. Normally you would be embarrassed under that kind of focus, but the awe shining in Eddie’s eyes made your anxiety slip away.

Your movements were practiced and smooth, sending electricity up and down your spine. It was easy to get turned on, your breaths eventually becoming pants and wetness building up around your fingers. His jaw was clenching, you knew he wanted to pull your fingers away and touch you himself.

He huffed, swallowing hard before directing his gaze to your eyes. “Alright, let’s do this,” he said, stepping in closer between your legs. “Before I just decide to ruin my sterile environment and fuck you the right way.”

The idea was enticing, making you bite your lip as you considered. But you already came all the way down here and had the stencil placed and ink in the tattoo gun. And you wanted to make your fantasies happen.

You grabbed Eddie’s cock, your wet fingers smearing down the length of it. Of all the times you fucked, you almost never were the one to guide him inside of you. It was a bit clumsy as you dragged his tip through the soaked seam of your cunt, nudging against the swollen bud of your clit a few times.

Finally you hit your mark, Eddie’s deep moan filling the air as he slotted himself inside of you with a strong thrust. The patch of dark, soft curls at his base brushed against your already sensitive clit. The stretch made you see stars. Your head rolled back against the leather chair, a breathy whine pulling from you as he rubbed against every gummy ridge and gooey spot inside of you.

“Eddie,” you whimpered, brows pulling together as you looked up at him. He seemed to be going through a similar sense of euphoria, his long lashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he breathed into the feeling.

His eyes open, pupils expanding like ink in water as he curled over you, readying the tattoo machine over your chest. He blinked hard, rutting softly against you once… twice… before steadying. The concentration was incredible to witness, his expression hardening and jaw flexing again.

“You ready, dove?” he asked, briefly glancing up at you before staring at the patch of stenciled skin like he could burn a tattoo into it with just his eyes.

“Yeah,” you breathed, feeling like your entire body was made up of TV static as you willed yourself to relax on the chair.

He nodded, the familiar buzz of the tattoo gun starting again. It pressed to your skin like fire, the vibration carrying from the gun all the way down into the flat bone of your sternum. You held your breath without meaning to, toes curling.

Eddie groaned, a smile finding its way onto his face. “You’re squeezing so fucking tight around me,” he said, voice a bit raspier than normal.

You made a conscious effort to relax, staring up at the ceiling and tapping the tips of your fingers along the sides of the chair. “Sorry,” you murmured, a giggle echoing from you as Eddie resumed the line he was tattooing.

Each stab of the needles kept your body alight, teetering you on the edge of pain and pleasure. “You're such a masochist.”

You smiled, your gaze hazy and your pussy fluttering a bit as you took shallow breaths. “I know, it’s gonna be a long night.”

[guardianoftheearth]

King P and his "Queen"

The little android sat in the orange chair of his luxurious playroom, filled with toys and gadgets of any size, shape and form. It was currently playing with its precious red yo-yo, in total tranquility. While it played, it looked at the cutesy, childish patterns on the room’s walls. It liked those swirly, blue lines, they made it feel good.

The robot then lifted itself up from the chair, the small round toy still in its hand, and went towards the pattern filled wall. Putting the yo-yo aside, it sat on the ground, using its hands to open one of the many unwrapped gifts. It wasn’t unusual for it to quickly unwrap a gift, it didn’t really care, after all, it received them almost daily, it was like paradise, at least in its head.

While it thought about what to do next, the red siren in its head played and lit up in contempt, as the android found exactly what it needed: a new, perfectly unscratched set of beautiful crayons. Finally, it stood up, opening the set of crayons with a bit of a lack of care, and immediately discarded the white and black ones. It couldn’t stand to see them, even worse seeing them right next to that beautiful, bright red. Close to the red one, there were also a yellow and blue one. Most importantly, right at the other end of the crayon set, there was a hot pink one. Weird little thing: the one controlling the android always loved the color pink. Yes, it might’ve been unusual for someone like him, with all the “coolness over anything” rule, but he didn’t really care, it always resonated with his inner self, if he even had one.

Without thinking too much about it, the android started to carelessly doodle on the wall, starting with a little pink circle. Then it drew another circle right under it, and continued doodling and doodling, a line after the other, switching colors sometimes to draw another figure. While it did, the little sound player in its body played a melody written for the android and it only—or better, who was commanding the android, and seeing through its eyes for the whole time. The little robot jammed up and down slightly, as if it was dancing, and if it could hum, it would’ve done it.

Once the drawing was finished, the robot took some small steps back, admiring its work of art. The one behind the eyes of the robot giggled at the sight, a sharp toothed smile forming on its slightly rotten and blueish lips. A lovely doodle of him and his best friend, a little red capped boy. The doodle was crude, but it depicted the two boys hugging, with the one behind the screen giving the other one a little kiss on the cheek. Side note: He also decided to include a weeping, small snake right under his shoe, as if it was being stepped on.

The one behind the android, laying down on his bed, breathe in and out, with a young-like, old voice. He coughed, chuckling at his decaying state. “Ahah… cough, cough… oh my Ness… if only you were here with me… I would spoil you in gifts and love… and you could watch me as I rule this dumb, gullible world…” He said, breathing in and out, relaxing and closing his eyes, hands opening and closing. “Ah… I can’t wait for the moment… you’ll finally be back…”

Oinks and squirms reverberated inside of the lab, the soldiers, doctors and scientists rushing from side to side, bringing barrages of strange pots with unknown liquids, from colors that went from a dirty pink, to a sickly green. All that working, all that going up and down, left and right, as quick as they could, was for one, and one reason only.

“The Queen…! The Queen is awake!” The scientist right next to the huge, burbling test tube exclaimed, their mouth letting out some strong oinks of anxiety and surprise.

At the announcement, everyone stopped to look at the tube, as a weak, chubby, human hand was pressed on the glass from the inside. The hand, now closed into a fist, started knocking on the glass, the owner of the hand barely visible because of all the strange, color-changing liquid inside. The “Queen”, closed in a fetal position, after a long time, started moving, the arms and legs wriggling, first slow, then fast, and faster.

“Release her, before she- AH!” The colonel tried to say, before everyone in the room, in the blink of an eye, were thrown up in the air by a sort of explosion. The colonel gritted their teeth behind the mask, as they felt like a blade was piercing through their soul and shattered something deep within them.

With that, the test tube exploded, and as the wave hit all the other tubes, they trembled and exploded, what was contained within them falling down, liquids poured in every angle of the room. Some of the content inside of the tubes was peculiar, one of them contained tons of moths, another one a bunch of organs expelled from a young boy another one some strange, iridescent scales, and another one the corpse of a beautiful woman, who’s chest sported a hole right where her heart was.

Alongside the strange objects, the Queen exited her own capsule, sluggish, slow movements coming from her. Her head felt heavy, full, as she stretched her arms. She breathe in and out, from her mouth, her nose feeling blocked and her survival instinct forcing her to use the oral cavity. The creature looked around, taking notice of the strange men in pink suits, who she could not distinguish well since they all looked so similar to one another. She could not understand why they were backtracking, or shaking, some of them screaming, which hurt her incredibly sensitive ears. She whimpered for the pain, using her chubby hand to cover her ear.

Taken some courage, a scientist tried to get closer to the Queen, her figure now perfectly visible, as the scream of terror died in their throat. The figure of the creature was uneven, chubby and meaty parts alternating with skeletal, malnourished ones. They “stood” in all fours, limbs trembling, mouth agape, breaths painful out of her mouth. A strange, usual red shape was on top of the supposed head, a red shape with a strange blue tumor on one side of it, the soft, organic shape over the short black hair, who seemed more like extra small tentacles covered in black, thick body hair. The scientist watched as the creature opened her eyes, a dying, mortal white staring back, slightly swollen and with strange tears made of the same liquid that contained her.

“This is too much! I-I’m out of here-Oink!” a soldier snorted, rushing out of the room to who knows where. As they did, many others followed them, the room only being 5 or 4 people and the freak who violated nature itself. “… we went too far.” One of them said, looking at the poor, weeping creature who barely stood on her feet. “King P won’t be happy about this…” another one affirmed, already shaking imagining what terrifying torture they’ll have to witness.

“I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

[fuckupguitarist1039]

Man, I love Summer

"You made it. You’re done.” She smiled proudly. It felt like only last Monday me and my best friend were sat on his bed doing our first ever set of notes. We’d walked to get pizza in the blistering summer sun that burnt us both before we had made it through to cool air conditioned doors. The Quick Check a few doors down scolded our volume as we wandered in in search of drinks full of artificial colors, flavors, and sugars. I only drank regular Coke with you. And on the days I missed you and needed some sense of proximity, found in the taste of summertime adventures through the woods and long days at the beach. We’d infiltrate the Starbucks drive through before the gym and go again for a second round after a horribly shitty work out. We’d rinse off in the ocean and let the comforting waves heal our sore muscles. Sunscreen was unheard of as we rode skateboards down the side streets behind your house. Debating using the hot tub, deciding it was too hot. Laying on the deck and spending time with your sisters. Still walking to the convenience store in the rain, no umbrellas accompanied. Making beaded bracelets at four in the morning, we were so tired we kept dropping our almost completed star shapes off the side of the bed. Gossiping about who we saw on their bikes while out and about ourselves, hardly acknowledging they were most likely speaking similarly about us in their own bedroom. 

Spending hours on Facebook Marketplace, looking for cheap cars to fix and free plywood to fix the roof of our fort that had caved in through hurricane season. On the super stormy nights we piled all the blankets on the couch and took shots while watching scary movies, letting the thunder add to the suspense. We baked Christmas cookies in August, except we ate all of the batter raw before the oven was done preheating. Sneaking out of your sliding glass door at exactly 2:03, treading lightly across the wet deck without shoes on to avoid making any noise, the wet socks were worth your parents continued sleep. Speeding down the highway with the top down, hitting 120 MPH for the first time in my own car. We were late to a concert. I drove an hour in 35 minutes. The sun made your light hair even lighter and you helped me re-dye the back of my hair to the natural looking black I struggled to keep it in my never ending war against the heat waves and salt water. Getting lost on the way to dinner, your sister laughed at me while I made a U-turn in front of a sign inscripted “no u-turns”. 

Purple Monster Energy and amusement park lines. We only bothered spending the money when there wasn’t a town fair within 5o miles. Taking day trips and following road maps. Blowing up excessive amounts of balloons and putting dish soap on our slip and slide. Driving past our friends’ houses when we couldn’t find anything better to do, hoping to pick up some other accomplices with fresh ideas. Cramming 9 people into the back of my convertible on the way to Applebees. The top stayed up ICOC, in case of cops. Avoiding our Summer work and pretending I won’t be committed to college the same time next year. Dinners at bars, hoping someone would accidentally serve us a drink. Mostly we drank Coke and ate soft pretzels, but there was a valiant attempt. Doodling on each other whenever we came across markers in the art supply store. Mcdonalds runs and Target trips. Wandering around Food Town and sitting on top of the old Shoprite. K Street and Exxon, B and P as a back up. Air fresheners in my car just in case anyone got nosy. Ice cream and long walks from Main Street to the boardwalk. Complaining about kids at Jenkinsons, still waiting in the long lines. He listened for hours while I reminisced about a 5 minute conversation with my hopeless situationship. Walking through the mall on days too rainy to walk down the road. 

I got to be a teenager. Something many don’t have the pleasure of. I wasn’t ready to give it up. No, I still don’t think I am. I’ll lie about my age and stay forever 15, hell, I could pass for 12 if I tried. But today, our psychology teacher said,  “That's it! Those are the last notes you’ll ever have to take in high school!” with a bitter sweet smile on her face. My heart sank, and I looked over to you. One more summer, I pleaded with God. One more to make me feel alive. So for the love of all summer days and the late night heat wave haze, let me be a teenager, just a little longer. A little longer, just with him.

[parfaitstars]

[charmixpower]

🌊 Aish hairstyles 🌊

Literally oh my fucking god the designers can't think of more than three fucking hairstyles for Aisha, if I never see her with twin puffs again it will be too soon. Put her in a unique fucking hairstyle you assholes. This anger at the complete lack of interesting hair for Aisha is what sparked me to do this series in the first place. Just so I can show how fucking cool her hair could be if they weren't fucking cowards about it. Unsurprisingly this one took me the longest, with all the braids I had to line and color (tho it didn't take as much time as expected), but it was a lot of fun to do. I was easily the most excited to this one for obvious reasons. She looks great. I went a little ham on the gold jewelry but Aisha deserves it ok?? Her hairstyles in the show are so dull, she needs some fun

Side note, Aisha has the second longest hair out of the Winx, longest naturally, but it isn't visible due to how coily Aisha's hair is. My hair goes from barely toucing my shoulders to below my sternum, and my hair is curly as where I draw it Aisha's the 4 range. So yeah, her hair gets like at least 6 inches when straighten, going all the way to her butt. I also challenged myself to style her edges differently with every drawing djsjs which you can probably tell

Anyways on to the individual styles

Classic Aisha: this is the hairstyle I've started to usually draw Aisha in. Sporty and practical meet fun and feminine! I also gave her a nose piercing bc she, Musa, and Tecna have the vibes, and to fit the slight vibe of Andros. Aisha's hair in canon usually looks like it's on the low side of curly, and the reason why is made p clear by the miss magix ep and s8/WOW, so I decided to give her tight coily hair. Btw yeah that's her s2 camping outfit

Twists Aisha: this was my first foray into drawing this hairstyle, I usually draw dreads and box braids in this area, so it doesn't look super good but hey I tried jdnsjs. I wanted to stylized them so I'd didn't spend years trying to finish them, and you can visibly see me give up on that with the next drawing, but I think if I were doing a comic or quick doodles this is what I would go with. Anyways, I did this one because it really makes me think of Aisha athletic nature. Idk they just look super athletic to me, and I gave her a little extra ponytail for the fashion of it. Sporty chic

Mermaid-y: When I first drew these braids with the flat bottoms, they kinda looked like Mermaid tails to me?? So my brain was like, Aisha in her mermaid era <33. So my heart is set on her having this hair during s5, mermaid season, mermaid hair. It's literally perfect. Also I thought this top was super cute. This is where I really went overboard with the gold, but she's in her mermaid era, princess, guardian fairy, and dame. She can have a little (lottle) gold, as a treat. She deserves it, she's been though a lot lately with her family and Nabu being in a COMA. Some fun hair is good for the soul

Date night: light rage. They put Aisha's hair into pigtails for every causal event that happens and it inches across my last nerve like you wouldn't believe. Much like how that uniform outfit ruined one of Musa's hairstyles, pigtails feel ruined for Aisha, but making the. Apart of a braid really lessoned the blow. Half of me wishes I did a head wrap instead, but I can't just not include them. The outfit is super cute tho. She's going on a date!!! Yess!!! So pretty. I'm so happy with her earrings and dress. She and Nabu are gonna go have a picnic together, it's gonna be great

Box braids: I just got my braids taken out this Friday, which was fun (it hurt a lot, especially taking the small ones out ;-;) and I think it's a really good hairstyle for Aisha. I used to think that they'd be super impractical due to being so long, but because they're so heavy they're not actually annoying to deal with at all. They don't move all that much and they don't really get in the way. These would work perfectly for Aisha. Giving her the long hair, and the practicality. Absolute win! Of course I had to go for her outfit from her date with Musa. These kinds of braids always make me think someone has an important event coming up or they're trying to look cute, and a first date is a perfect occasion. I had so much fun with the earrings and braid decorations

Work out: I wanted to go for something simple, less fancy, and that doesn't require braiding, for of her hairstyles to just like her hair be itself and vibe. Here it is in a classic half up half down look, completely unbraided and vibing. Outfit slightly inspired by Serena Williams's entire aesthetic, including the headband. I didn't wanna put her hair over her shoulders, which admittedly looks a little weird but I wanted the high low part to be clear fjsjdnd

Poodle puffs: Personally I think Poodle puffs are really hard to styles, because it's hard to get the size of the puffs right without going too far in either direction. I think I got it right here? I think four is a good number of puffs. This is probably one of my favorite looks, mostly because of how warm and royal it looks. I'm a sucker for shiney jewelry and warm colors. I think this one came out especially well, I love the earrings, and the dress looks really good! I was worried it was gonna look silly but thankfully it doesn't

Bantu knots: She just looks gorgeous here. It adds so much to her orginal red carpet energy. Her hair is now all done up and fancy. Her nose ring also adds to the energy. I really like the earring, despite how lopsided it is lol, but I do wonder if it was a little too much for such a elegant outfit? Idk. Either way I didn't do anything to this look because I love it and she looks amazing. Not thoughts, head empty, bantu knots pretty

Princess Aisha: Hehe this one is probably my favorite out of all the hair. Not the outfit top XD. I don't like poofy European dresses rip. I got to go as fancy as I want!! I feel like Aisha usually tries to stay away from super fancy and complicated one event only hairstyles (which is why she usually goes for protective hairstyles she can wear for a while with low maintenance before needing to change it), but she's making a formal appreances, which means I can loop a gem into her hair. I also got to put big gems on her outfit and earrings which was super fun. This perticualr hairstyle always looked super royal to me and I had to include some proper beads on the look too. They match the gem she's wearing. Extra royal look. Her headgear as a child did something similar, but now that she's older she can just get proper braids put that do what the head gear was doing but better. Also can you tell that I was worried about getting too close to the edge of the page XD

[clotpole-art]

Retrospective: Illustrated Merlin Alphabet Challenge

Finally finished the Merlin Alphabet Challenge, so here's the artist notes no one asked for! See below the cut for comments on each piece by order of creation. Be warned folks, it's a long post.

Before we begin: credit to @merlin-gifs for the challenge, which can be found here. It's awesome, go do it.

First thing you should know is I did probably 80-90% of these while on phone calls or in Zoom meetings and that's reflected in the simplicity of most pieces -- the compositions aren't complicated, the lines aren't refined, the coloring is slapdash. If you noticed variation in quality of the pieces, that's why!

Second: I tried to focus on trying something new for each drawing. Didn't always happen, but this challenge did succeed in helping me push me out of my own comfort zone.

Without further ado...

A is for Arthur Pendragon

Textures, baby! Brushed metal of his armor, scratchy linen texture of his shirt, wispy softness of hair and skin. I'd recently gotten my tablet out of storage after a year of figuring out where the hell I was going to live and this was one of the first pieces of digital art I spent time on. Glad it was Arthur kicking us off!

B is for the Beginning of the End (1x08)

Fun fact, I did not draw this with my tablet. I drew it with my work computer's touchscreen. It was awful, would not recommend.

C is for Camelot

I wanted to get used to different brushes, so landscape of the castle it was! There are brushes that help with drawing grass; I did not use said brushes and my wrist hurt afterward. That being said, I really enjoyed working on this and it was one of the few pieces I didn't do while multitasking.

D is for Daegal

Also drawn on my work computer's touchscreen, not my tablet. I didn't learn my lesson from B and the experience was even worse. This is my least favorite piece which sucks because it's Daegal so I'm slated to redo this sometime in the near future. Gotta do our boy justice.

E is for Elyan

Oh, I adored drawing this. Elyan often gets shafted in terms of fandom appreciation so I made sure to choose Elyan for this prompt and to participate in the Elyan fest. Plus, I love a good ghost story and figuring out a way to include the druid spectre was fun. Didn't multitask on this piece because Elyan deserved my full attention.

F is for Freya

Ho boy. This piece. I have such mixed feelings on this drawing. Really really didn't like it after I'd decided it was done and very nearly scrapped the whole thing. I had a vision in my head that I just couldn't render into reality and it frustrated me SO MUCH. Looking back, I like it much better than I did when I first created it.

G is for Gwaine

What can I say, he's pretty when he's cold. I didn't stretch too much with this one -- it's my normal drawing style, I was just trying to find a brush that mimicked the softness of pencil.

H is for Hunith

Another one that didn't stray too far from my comfort zone. I was stupid sick and slammed at work, so a motherly Hunith manifested herself. I blame the bad brush choice on the cold medicine.

I is for Isolde

I woke up and chose violence! Tried to vary my figure drawing style a little in this piece but my brain resisted, resulting in... this. Not mad at it, but not happy with it either. Poor Isolde.

J is for Juggling

Ah, this lovely piece was drawn during a particularly vexing meeting at work. Fun fact, there's another version of this line art that's less about Merlin's stress and more about mine.

K is for Knights of Camelot

Continuing the theme of doodling through bad news and shit meetings. Like I said above, normally meeting doodles aren't complex because I'm concentrating on something else. This one was more involved because I didn't want to concentrate on the meeting. I have a few issues with this from a technical standpoint (perspective, my nemesis) but it's still one of my favorites. Tried some funky coloring technique, didn't hate it.

V is for Vibrant Colors

And here is where we said fuck the rules and started going out of alphabetical order! This one was really fun to do and I loved kicking off Albion Party with this as my first submission. The colors were a challenge (as I hoped they would be) and this is the first time I had to do some color tweaking midway though and after finishing the coloring process. Vibrant Arthur, my beloved. This started as a multitask doodle but took dedicated time to finish.

O is for Old Religion

The concept for this one was buzzing in my head for a bit before a quote-prompt solidified it. I adore the thought of more visible, tangible representations of Merlin as the son of the elements, of "magic itself" -- not just sun-gold eyes, but sea-water hair and sandstone-skin. A complement to the vibrant Arthur portrait.

S is for Sorcerers

When I said I wanted to challenge myself, I wasn't kidding. Ho boy, this was fun but frustrating. I wanted to completely illustrate a gif. So I did. Will I do something like this again? Maybe. A while from now.

M is for Morgause

See above -- same illustrated gif style so at least I was able to reuse some drawings. Poor Morgause ended up looking a little wretched here because I was mentally done with this when I was drawing her. Love the concept of tarot cards + Merlin but others are doing it so I won't continue this series.

Z is for Zzzz

This one was specifically done to test out some custom brushes I made in Krita to make abstract background drawing easier for me. I think they turned out well! Plus who doesn't love bb iridescent Aithusa.

L is for Leon, P is for Percival

Quick, minimal doodles of the boys! Mentally, I was going for a Brady's-style retro ensemble cast TV show credits feel. Not mad at it! Some boys look closer to their actors than others (I think my brain broke drawing Percy, my apologies to Tom Hopper).

T is for Tristan

It wasn't until after I posted this that I realized there was more than one Tristan in Merlin. Could have drawn Isolde's bf but I drew Ygraine's dumb jock undead brother instead. Had some fun with dark greys and blacks here regardless.

Q is for Queen Annis

Best royal in Albion, bar none. I tried a different coloring technique here and I kinda like it! may make it my go-to but we'll see. Old habits are hard to break. Also: our queen deserved more badass clothes.

X is for Arthur X Merlin

Oh, be still my shipper heart. Doodled and colored during a meeting. I had hoped to spend more time on it outside of multitasking but alas, work is a bitch. This one is slated for a rework sometime in the future; I adore the concept too much to let it go without creating another version of this that isn't an utter mess.

U is for Uther's Ward

And here's my attempt at forgoing line art. Not fun, do not like.

Y is for Young Warlock

Channeled some pain into this one. Those are the dead eyes of someone who had been told that he'd succeeded when his friend died. That the destiny he'd been expecting to carry on his shoulders into old age was done and dusted before he turned 30. Grief plus the existential dread of the aimless immortal. Oof. One of my favs.

N is for Nimueh, R is for Rising Sun, W is for Will

And we end on this sorry offering. I was away from home for a while without my tablet and I just got tired of waiting. So, pen doodles at the airport. This was a challenge in its own right because 1. pen only and 2. I wasn't able to pull Netflix up for a reference on the fly. Which is why Will's face is obscured and Nimueh looks.... not like Nimueh lol.

In summary: this was a goddamn joy to do. I finished 26 letter prompts in approximately 21 weeks, which exceeded my own unspoken goal of filling one letter per week. I found a good, happy corner of the Merlin fandom after a years-long hiatus away from being a fandom creator. If you did make it this far with me, thanks for reading my inane comments and giving this little project even a moment of your time -- I'm so grateful.

[tuanyiems]

First Everything

First Everything Bambam x Fem Reader Genre: fluff, a little angst Words: 9.2k [Masterlist in blog description] Plot: Sequel to Muse (Arranged Marriage AU) Part of the Marriage Life AU series. A series of dates in which Bambam tries his hardest (poor boy) to convince you that he really, really wants to be with you. a/n – lol idunno how I feel about this but here you go~

-

When the door of the restaurant opens, Bambam’s eyes dart over to the bodies entering for the umpteenth time. When it’s not you, he sighs, rubbing sweaty palms over the deep purple suede of his pants. The designer material darkens under his touch, but he’s too nervous to fret over his outfit at the moment.

He’s beginning to regret not picking you up at your place. He should have been more insistent. But the choice was made and now he is here, leg shaking in his chair of the Michelin star restaurant that he’s not quite sure you’re even going to meet him at.

He gulps down his second glass of water, throat parched at just the thought of getting stood up. He eats at this place at least three times a month. How embarrassing would it be for everyone to witness this rejection?

The door opens again and Bambam jerks his head up like a meerkat. An elderly woman walks in, much to his disappointment. 

He sinks into the plush seat, tipping the glass to his lips again only to find it empty. A waitress promptly comes over to refill his glass, relieving him of the menacing view of the restaurant door for a fleeting moment. 

What’s wrong with him? Bambam hasn’t been this nervous since…well, high school.

-

“Kun…pi…mook uh Bu—”

Bambam rolls his eyes at the freshmen English teacher, Mr. Kim, butchering his name. “I just go by Bambam,” comes his automatic response.

Mr. Kim breaks into a sigh of relief, taking pen to clipboard, “Great, Bambam it is.”

But Bambam has already zoned out. 

Because right across from him is you—an unassuming girl in the back seat, smiling to yourself. Your lips move as you tilt your head down, but Bambam knows exactly what you’ve mouthed and his heart catches in his throat. Bambam.

His name makes your cheeks dimple. 

He doesn’t know why, but this little bit of knowledge makes his chest squeeze.

The next day and every day after, Bambam makes sure to sit next to you. Thus, began the beginning of your beautiful love story…

…is what he had hoped. 

But after the first day of high school, you don’t even spare him a glance. So instead, Bambam spends every hour of English period watching you from his peripheral. 

You are a quiet student and most days you spend the hour doodling in the margins of your notebook. Often, your doodles are centered around cute cartoons yelling at you to pay attention in class. Every once in a while, he’ll catch a funny caricature of one of your classmates.

Maybe you’ll draw him one day, he hopes to himself.

(You don’t.)

“Bambam and Y/N, please read the next passage,” Mr. Kim interrupts his daydreams one day, about a month into the new school year.

His eyes widen, fingers flipping through the pages of Romeo and Juliet.

“Page 46,” you whisper as you get up from your seat.

Bambam lets out a breath, thumbing to the right page as he stands from his seat beside yours. He squares his shoulders, attempting to stand tall though his shoulders only manage about an inch higher than yours, but every inch counts!

“If I profane,” you whisper when he doesn’t begin reading. 

Mr. Kim looks at Bambam pointedly.

“If I proFANE!” he starts loudly, cringing when his voice cracks. His classmates snicker, making his cheeks go red, but you don’t even flinch. Your eyes remain steady on the page of your own book, waiting for him to continue. He clears his throat, “If I p-profane with my unworthiest hand, this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my…lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand, to smooth that rough touch���with a tender k-kiss.”

Bambam swallows, wiping a sweaty palm on his khaki pants. He prays no one notices his stutter. If you do, you don’t let on, lowering the book as you speak.

“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.”

“Ha-”

“You guys,” Mr. Kim sighs, interrupting Bambam. He looks around the room with a scowl. “Can we not read this out like robots, please? This is young love! They’re talking about kissing! Be more excited!”

“Is that what they’re talking about?” you mutter under your breath, eyebrows arching as you scanned the page.

Bambam snorts before covering his mouth with his hand quickly. You catch the sound though, looking up at him with a smile. 

His heart catches in his throat. 

The playful glint in your eyes keeps him afloat for months after.

-

When the restaurant doors open again, Bambam chokes on his water. He coughs into the red linen napkin, his grey contact eyes watering. He can’t help chuckling despite it all though. 

You’re here. And fortunately for Bambam, your gaze is focused on the hostess. You’re asking her something, probably for directions to his table. You lean towards the hostess’ podium, the heels of your blush-colored flats rising to your tiptoes out of habit even though you are at least a foot clear of the podium. You have on your signature cream oversized knit cardigan which you pull tighter to your chest, covering the simple white dress beneath. 

It is so very you—even the stroke of blue paint at the bottom of your dress (which you probably aren’t aware of). On any other girl, Bambam would have scrutinized the stain, especially at a restaurant of this class. Yet, on you, the mark is somehow endearing. 

He wonders if the paint stain is fresh. Were you so absorbed in a painting that you came rushing straight here with no time to change? Or was this an old stain on a dress you loved so much you couldn’t bear to part ways with it? 

“Hey,” your hesitant voice breaks him out of his thoughts as you take a seat across from him.

“Hi,” he breathes. Underneath the table, he pinches his thigh. Nope, not a dream. 

“Sorry I kept you waiting, I had a hard time finding the entrance,” you chuckle to yourself. There’s a story behind that smile, there always seems to be a story behind every expression and gesture you make. He wonders if he’ll ever be part of that story. When he doesn’t respond, you tilt your head nervously. “Were…you waiting long?”

“Oh! Ha, no, not at all!” Bambam straightens in his seat.

You smile politely before turning away to admire the place. It’s a beautiful French restaurant that sits at the top of one of Seoul’s tallest hotels. The entire restaurant is surrounded by floor to ceiling windows, offering a spectacular view of the city. Your eyes linger on the glittering lights of Seoul’s Friday night skyline.

Bambam doesn’t bother to glance out the window. His eyes remain on you, the glow of the candle at the center of the table flickers like stardust on your skin.

When you finally look back, Bambam leans on the table, lifting a proud brow. “Like the view?”

“This place is breathtaking,” you admit, fingers rubbing absentmindedly at the ends of your sleeves.

“Right? It’s one of my favorite places in the city,” he smiles triumphantly. “Wait ‘til you try the food.”

“Do you come here often?”

“Yeah, Lisa introduced me to this place a year ago and I’ve been coming ever since.”

“L-Lisa? Like…from Blackpink?” you look at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah, that Lisa, she’s a homie.”

You blink at him. “Wow, okay…cool.”

He pauses, not quite sure how to read your tone. Before he can ask though, the waitress interrupts with the usual spiel on menus and dishes of the night. When you read through the menu, your eyes grow big.

“My card is still on file, right?” Bambam asks, quick to assuage your worries. His card has been on file for months now. 

“Yes, it should be, but I can check again for you,” the waitress smiles at him politely, knowing just as well that Bambam already knows this. He winks at her as she leaves before turning back to you.

Unlike his expectations though, the crease between your brow only deepens. He clears his throat, rubbing his palms against his thighs again.

“Anything catch your eye?”

You force out a smile, putting down your menu. “I can eat anything. Why don’t you decide?”

Bambam lifts a brow but nods in agreement. He wonders if French cuisine just isn’t your thing. He should have listened to Yugyeom and gone Japanese, huh? You can’t go wrong with omakase!

“Do you like wine?” he blurts, trying to get his best friend’s voice out of his head. 

“Oh,” your eyes dart to the clear glass cases at the center of the restaurant showcasing their selection. You sink into your seat a little. “Well, I’m not really an expert, but I can drink it. Do you like wine?”

“I’ll let you try my favorite bottle! It’ll go great with the usual course I order,” he smiles, quite pleased with his decision.

“Sounds good,” you nod curtly.

After Bambam puts in the order, an uncomfortable silence follows. Your eyes keep traveling around the room like you don’t want to look at him. And Bambam, who could easily entertain an entire party of people at any given moment, finds himself at a loss for words. There’s probably a stain on his thighs now from how often he keeps wiping his palms. He’s too afraid to check. 

“So,” he starts, extending the single word uneasily. He doesn’t manage to figure out the rest of his sentence though. 

But it’s then that you finally break into a smile. A real one.

“Bambam,” you let out, and his eyes dart to your cheek where the ghost of a familiar dimple lays. “Are you feeling as awkward as I am?”

“More like nervous,” he confesses, leaning back into his seat.

Your brows raise, “You? Nervous?”

“It happens when I’m with beautiful people.”

You roll your eyes, “Says the same guy who’s ‘homies’ with Blackpink’s Lisa.”

Bambam grins, “When you meet her, you’ll see, she’s a bro.”

You arch your brows, clearly not believing him. “If she’s a bro, I can’t imagine what I am.”

You’re frowning and his heart sinks. He hates that you actually mean it. He hates that he can’t even tell you honestly what you mean to him. It’s way too soon for that kind of confession. He’s sure you wouldn’t take him seriously anyways. After all, he barely managed to even get this date.

-

Yn_ig: The animes lied to me. High school sucks.

Bambam snorts loudly, muffling himself beneath his blue checkered duvet before his mom can hear and yell at him to go to sleep.

It’s midnight and tomorrow will be the first day of sophomore year. He really should be sleeping, but instead he’s smiling stupidly at his phone. Your scowling face lights up his screen. Your best friend smiles brightly beside you, poking your cheek with the end of a paintbrush. You had spent your break taking an art class.

Bambam knows this because he’s been stalking your Instagram, although he’s been too afraid to like any of your posts.

You’ve gotten a lot better in the span of a few weeks though. Or at least, that’s what it seems like from having spent all of freshmen year watching you doodle in the margins. He wonders if he’ll get to sit beside you this year too. His stomach flips at the thought.

When morning comes, Bambam yawns loudly, his eyes barely open as he rushes to the bus stop. He hadn’t meant to stay up so late, but one thing led to another and suddenly he was on Soundcloud, listening to an indie artist by the name of Defsoul, who you had commented about on your friend’s Instagram post fifteen weeks ago. 

He pulls out his phone, plugging in his earphones to continue listening. He steps into the bus, in the middle of bopping his head to a song when the sound escapes him and all he can hear is the thumping of his heart.

You’re sitting near the back, looking out the window. You have on headphones and a scowl that looks just like the picture you posted last night. 

Steadying his breath, he walks past you and slides into the row of seats right behind yours. He wonders if you’re listening to the same song.

Maybe you’ll share the same homeroom this year. The entire bus ride to school, Bambam daydreams about all the conversations you’d share every morning if that were the case. He’d talk to you about Defsoul and then you’d share your stories about break. He’d tell you his was alright, but it would’ve been better if you two hung out. You’d give him that look, the same one you gave when you read out loud together, and then he’d poke your cheek like he’s always wanted to, right where your cheeks dimpled.

His bubble bursts as soon as a guy takes a seat beside you. Bambam can’t remember his name, but his face is familiar. He’s a senior, and by the way you move your headphones to the nape of your neck and smile, it seems like you know him. Holding his breath, Bambam pauses his song.

“2A? That used to be my homeroom!”

Bambam clenches his fist. His homeroom is at the other end of the hall from yours. Frowning, he eyes the back of the guy’s head as he leans into you.

“So, have you thought about what I asked over break?”

You fold your arms across your chest and Bambam can’t help but wonder what he’s asked of you. Is it a date? The way he whispers seems like it would be that kind of thing, and Bambam doesn’t doubt a girl like you must have a lot of admirers. Is it making you uncomfortable? Should he interrupt you two? But then, you’d clearly know he had been eavesdropping. But if this guy was making you uncomfortable, that shouldn’t matter, right?

Thighs straining, Bambam almost stands from his seat when you laugh. It’s the loudest he’s ever heard you, at least in person anyways.

“I thought you’d forget by now,” you chuckle.

The guy feigns offense, holding a hand to his chest. “Me? Forget about you? I see you think very highly of me, Y/N.”

Bambam rolls his eyes.

“Sure you aren’t just trying to dump all your responsibilities on me?” you pout. Bambam melts inside.

“Ha, you caught me!” the senior laughs, making you laugh too. It’s such a pretty ring to his ears, Bambam already knows he’ll be thinking about it for the next couple of weeks. “But you know I wouldn’t give it up to just anyone. It’s practically my baby.”

“That’s true,” you admit, chuckling, and then quieter, “You think I can do it?”

He put an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close. Bambam squeezes his fist.

“Not just doing it. I know you’ll be a great president,” he tells you confidently. Your ears go red, and if Bambam weren’t so focused on the hand on your shoulder, he would’ve found it very endearing.

“I don’t know, I just…” you pause nervously.

“Yo,” Mingyu breaks Bambam’s concentration. “2D?”

Bambam breaks into a smile, highfiving his friend as he takes the seat next to him. “2D!”

“Sweet!” Mingyu cheers, shoulders bumping against his playfully. “Kook’s with us too. It’s gonna be a wild year!”

Bambam laughs, shaking his head. “You guys are gonna get us kicked back a year.”

His friend whistles. “Girls are into older guys, Bam, it’ll be like one of those harem animes Kook loves so much!”

Bambam laughs, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he glances back at the hand still on your shoulder. He hopes that’s not the case for you.

-

“It got cold,” Bambam musters as the two of you leave the restaurant.

You nod, looking up at the night sky. “Seems like winter doesn’t want to leave us yet.”

The two of you pause by the curb, in front of the valet. 

“Are you sure you had a good time, Y/N? You barely touched your food.”

You look up in surprise. “Oh, I really did have a nice time, Bambam.”

He looks at you skeptically.

“The uh, the…gourdine?”

“Bouchée à la périgourdine?”

“Yeah, that!” you chuckle awkwardly. “That was delicious.”

Bambam still doesn’t believe you but you look uncomfortable, so he lets it go. Actually, you’ve been looking uncomfortable ever since you laid eyes on the menu. Most of his dates took advantage of his generosity, especially at a place like this—ordering the most expensive dishes and trying out all the wine. You though? You insisted on being full after the first course. When he asked you what your thoughts were on his favorite bottle of wine, you mumbled something incoherent as you tipped the entire glass down your throat. You only had water after that.

It was like you couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Maybe he had read things wrong. He thought you were at least interested in him too. The night of Mark’s fashion launch, the two of you had shared so many things—secrets, confessions, old memories and what he thought had been chemistry.

He glances over your way. You’re turned away from him, eyes watching the valet workers instead. You had admitted to hating him in the past. His stomach sinks at the thought that maybe you still do. 

You shiver, pulling your cardigan closer to your chest. Bambam unwraps his scarf, holding out his hand for you to take it.

“Oh, I’m alright,”

He lets out a soft sigh before stepping in front of you.

“Do you maybe,” Bambam asks softly, placing his scarf gently around the nape of your neck. “I don’t know, it’s Friday, we could walk around or something or…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead biting on the tip of his tongue as he wraps the cashmere cloth securely around you.

Your fingers brush against his, just barely, but he feels it tenfold. “It’s getting late…”

Bambam tries not to look too hurt when he smiles back at you. “I’ll drive you home then.”

-

A week later, Bambam finds himself outside of your studio apartment. When you open the door, you’re wide-eyed and frozen like you’ve seen a ghost. In your defense though, Bambam doesn’t look like himself. He hasn’t ever since the night you left him at this exact spot last week.

Dark circles line his eyes and his newly dyed black hair only makes his complexion paler. 

“Is everything okay, Bambam?” you ask finally.

He sighs, squeezing at the bridge of his nose. His gold frames lift at the gesture.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, “I probably should have called first.”

“Hey,” you place your palm gently on his arm. “Why don’t you come in first.”

Bambam lets you tug him inside like a lost puppy. His eyes travel around the room. Of course, he’s seen your place before in videos, but it’s different being here now. He doesn’t expect the smell of ginger and lemongrass to greet him. The longer he lingers, the more aware he becomes of the subtle scent of jasmine rice wafting in from the open kitchen. It’s comforting.

Your bedroom door is open, and he can see you’re working on a series of paintings. The canvases line your wooden floors in a haphazard row across the room. 

You sit him down on your couch, a worn out burgundy but the geometric pattern is intricate despite its faded color. He lets his finger trail over a line while you poor him a cup of water.

“Your hair is black,” you break the silence. 

“Oh,” he runs a hand through his hair like he is discovering this for the first time too. A faint pink colors his cheeks.

“I like it,” you smile softly. “It suits you.”

“Thanks,” he utters. His eyes trail down your hands. Your thumb smooths down your own cup of water repeatedly. Your fingers are speckled with green paint.

When he doesn’t say anything more, you chuckle softly to yourself. He looks at you in surprise.

“I like this new look,” you explain, eyes gesturing to his outfit. Today, Bambam is in a simple white t-shirt and black ripped jeans. Granted, the t-shirt is still Tom Ford, but you don’t know that. More noticeably though, is what he is not wearing, no sparkling diamonds around his neck, no Rolex on his wrist. Only a plain, silver ring adorns his right pinky. “So, why are you here, Bambam?”

He winces inwardly, reality setting in on him. Why is he here? Because the hair dye didn’t work? Because he agreed to too many projects in an attempt to keep busy but now he’s just tired and confused? Because Yugyeom pushed him out of the office and told him to figure things out?

Because no matter what he does, he keeps thinking about last week’s date and how you looked at him right before going inside—the mixture of disappointment and sadness in your eyes that felt like he had lost it all.

“Bambam?”

“Did I do something wrong?”

His question catches you off guard. “What? No, of course not.”

“You didn’t like the food,”

“The food was delicious.”

“Then it was me. I was boring.”

“Are you really Bambam? Where did all your confidence go?” you joke, lifting a brow.

His shoulders slouch. You make his confidence deplete like he is fourteen again. When he doesn’t say anything, you put your cup down onto the coffee table and look him in the eye.

“Hey, really, it had nothing to do with you Bambam, and everything to do with me.”

He chuckles dryly. “I don’t need a ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ to soften the blow. You can give it to me straight.”

You look at him with a frown, lips threatening to jut into a pout and if Bambam weren’t about to get his heart crushed, he would’ve found your expression to be very adorable. Well, okay, that’s a lie, he still finds you very adorable right now.

“It’s really not you,” you purse your lips together, looking away. “I just…I was very out of place there, Bambam.”

“Wha-”

“I couldn’t pronounce half the menu,” you continue, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Or the wine.”

“But it tasted good?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, looking at him. “It was amazing, Bambam. But that one meal cost about half the month’s rent of this place!”

Bambam doesn’t mean to, but he laughs at your outburst. He is reminded of himself a few years ago when he first became friends with Jackson Wang, who gifted him a set of Cartier jewelry on his birthday.

When he sees your face, he immediately stops laughing. “Wait, I’m not laughing at you!”

“Yeah, sure,” you roll your eyes, but it’s a harmless gesture. Rising from your seat, you look at him, “Is that all you came here for?”

“Well, no.”

Your brows lift.

“There’s this event,” Bambam rushes, digging into the pocket of his jeans. “Actually, I was working on this mini documentary with this artist and he’s opening up a new exhibit this weekend.”

He raises the tickets tentatively towards you but freezes when your eyes bug out.

“Yoshitomo Nara?” You practically scream, falling back onto the couch right beside Bambam. You smell warm and sweet and the memory of the night you shared a few weeks ago flickers in the back of his mind. 

“Yoshitomo Nara,” he confirms softly.

You frown his way, though it quickly turns into a smile, “Well, that’s just not fair. You know how much he means to me.”

“I do,” he smiles quietly.

“So you came here to bribe me?”

He laughs, “More or less. Is that a yes?”

You smile, thumbs smoothing over the tickets repeatedly. 

“Jokes on you, Bambam. I would’ve said yes even without these tickets.”

Somehow, he doesn’t quite believe you, but you are giggling, and he has a date. 

And that is all that matters.

-

Bambam sits nervously on a stool of the art studio, his fingers twisting the lens of an old DSLR he’s still not confident about using. From the elevated windows above, the pink evening sky illuminates. Everything about this moment seems picturesque. If Bambam could use his camera properly, he would’ve known. 

But instead, the camera remains abandoned in his grasp as he stares in front of him where you stand in front of your easel mere meters away. It’s just the two of you. Everyone from both the photography and the painting club had gone home already. After seeing you continue to paint, Bambam had insisted on staying behind to practice with his camera more.

To be honest, he is hungry and could care less about photography, but he can’t find himself to go home.

“Hey,” you twist around and Bambam’s mind spins.

“H-hey,” he musters up, still unconvinced you’re talking to him.

He blinks owlishly at you, and then, his stomach growls. Loudly. His ears turn so red and he feels like he’s been set on fire, but you don’t even react.

“Mind if I play music?”

“Uh, yeah…that’s fine,” he answers you meekly, eyes diverting in embarrassment.

“Cool,” you reply nonchalantly, walking up to his side of the room where the speakers are. Plugging in your phone, the familiar tune of Defsoul’s music fills the studio. It takes Bambam a minute to get over his own mortification before the music reaches his ears and he perks up. But when he looks around the room, you are gone.

Alone now, Bambam finds the courage to get up from his seat and approaches your easel. The chair beside your easel is stacked with art books of Yoshitomo Nara. It seems you are doing a study. Just like the angry little girls on the cover of the art books, your easel holds a portrait of a little girl too. It is different though.

When he looks at the girl in your painting, he sees you. The little girl holds the ghost of a smirk beneath her scowl and her eyes glint with secrets of mischief, just like you. Without thinking, Bambam takes a step back and raises his camera. 

“Like it?”

Bambam jumps in surprise, the flash of the camera going off before it slips from his hands entirely. Flustered, he rushes to bring the camera back into his grasp, thanking god he had kept the old leather strap around his neck.

You giggle softly, standing beside him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

“It’s alright, I was just spacing out,” he mumbles sheepishly, eyes averting to the screen of his camera. You lean in, filling his senses with faint notes of your strawberry vanilla shampoo. “I’m still learning how to use the camera.”

“I like it,” you smile, looking up at him. “Can you send it to me?”

“I-really?” he looks at you surprised. Your painting isn’t in focus and off centered. The photo is not good, even Bambam knows it.

“Yeah, gives me album cover vibes,” you chuckle. 

He snorts. “When is your mixtape dropping?”

You grin, raising a brow. “You never know what could happen in the future, Bambam.”

He shrugs, pretending not to melt at the sound of his name on your tongue. He didn’t think you’d remember him.

“Here,” you hand him a bag of cheese puffs before opening your own bag. “The vending machine popped out two.”

“Oh, thanks.”

Bambam walks back to his seat, gaze on your back again as you return to painting. He glances at the blurry photo on the screen of his camera and then slowly, he raises his camera once more, one eye squinting into the viewfinder. 

Maybe photography isn’t so bad after all.

He snaps another photo. Click!

-

“Wait, this is a formal thing? Should I change?”

Bambam watches with amusement as you bounce nervously in front of his car. You are dressed in a plain pink tank top and matching satin wrap skirt. Of course, your classic cream cardigan drapes over you, and to his pleasure, so does his scarf from your last date.

“You look beautiful,” he reassures you.

You bite at your lip, unconvinced. “But you’re in a suit.”

“Okay, but when am I not?”

Your pout reluctantly turns into a smile and you huff, walking through the door he’s holding open for you, into the passenger’s seat. When he gets into the driver’s seat, you turn to him.

“When you’re wearing your designer gym clothes,” you smirk.

“Stop, you aren’t allowed to make jokes while I’m driving,” he laughs, pulling the car out of the driveway. “Also, tracksuits are still suits.”

Your giggles ring throughout the car.

When the two of you get to the venue, the place is already busy. The exhibition is part of the new contemporary art wing in the museum, which has been closed for the night for an intimate opening with select guests. Many of these guests are artist friends of Yoshitomo Nara, but even more are the wealthy collectors who are more than eager to call first dibs on the latest works. The only reason Bambam has been invited is because his mini documentary of the artist is playing on loop in one of the screening rooms.

While he loves art, these type of art scenes are not his thing. They’re a bit too stuffy for his taste and exactly why he dropped out of art school in the first place. But when he sees the way you seem to shrink into your cardigan as soon as you step into the gallery, he squares his shoulders and grabs hold of your hand.

You look surprised by his touch, but thankfully, you don’t pull away.

“You have to get used to these kinds of events, Y/N. You’ll be hosting them soon.”

You chuckle, glancing away. “Well, if I’m lucky, you’ll be hosting them.”

It’s his turn to blush now, but he pretends to be cool, pointing to the first painting to the right. “Shall we start here?”

You only grin, gripping his hand tighter. You seemed to get a little too much joy out of making him feel shy. Bambam can only sigh, quietly relishing in the warmth of your palm against his.

When you finally turn your attention to the paintings, the two of you look on in silence. Naturally, Bambam’s gaze falls onto you. There is a glimmer in your eyes, emotions passing through your features like its own movie. There is a lift of revelation in your brow, a scrunch of displeasure in your nose, the twitch of amusement on your lips.

Bambam fights the urge to take out his phone and record you. Instead, he follows after you, committing your profile to memory.

“Why do you like this guy so much?” he blurts out after passing a few paintings. You peel your eyes away to look at him in surprise, cheeks rosy.

“I-I don’t know, I’ve just loved his works since high school.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for the question to come out harsh. I was just curious, I mean, his art is really nice.”

You squeeze his hand, calming him. “I know. I guess I was just drawn to his characters. They’re cute, but rebellious and real. It’s charming.”

Bambam smiles. That’s how he feels about you. 

“And it blurs the lines of what is fine art,” you go on, turning back to the painting in front of you. “Like right now, it is hanging in this museum, so it’s considered high end art, right? But this girl can easily be inside a children’s book, and his previous works have.”

You glance back at him, looking embarrassed after your spiel. “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t let you skirt over the topic though as he follows you to the next painting. “Is that why you dropped out of school?”

You sigh. “There were a lot of reasons. Maybe my skin wasn’t thick enough.”

“No, I get it,” he rubs his thumb across your skin. “I don’t like museums much, to be honest. I like the idea of them, but in reality, places like these only cater to the gatekeepers and the gatekeepers are just boring ass, tax-evading millionaires.”

You laugh, leaning into his chest as if that’ll rid you of the attention you’ve already gained around your corner of the room. Bambam ignores their stares, laughing along with you.

“Your art shouldn’t be jailed up in this stale room,” he adds, after your giggling subsides.

“But yours is,” you chuckle, making your way into the dark screening room.

Projected onto the wall is Yoshitomo Nara talking midsentence about his latest artworks. You take a seat on the bench before gesturing for Bambam to take a seat next to you.

“This is filmed beautifully,” you lean into him to whisper. The action makes him smile since you are the only two in this room, but if it’ll bring you closer, he doesn’t mind. “You’re really talented, Bambam.”

“I have a good team with me.”

“I always knew you’d make it big.”

He smiles quietly, watching as the glow of the video illuminated your face. You really did.

-

Yn_ig: This is amazing!

Bambam1a: Thx!

Bambam chucks his phone between his thighs before shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth to hide the smile spreading across his face. He pretends to laugh at something his brother said, though really, he’s twisting with glee because you just liked his latest post on Instagram. And you commented!

“Remember Bammie, this weekend you’re coming with me to…”

His phone dings and his mom’s voice fades into the background. Grabbing his phone, his stomach flips when he sees your handle name sending you a direct message. Ever since the beginning of junior year, he’s been talking to you over Instagram under the alias Muse_ig. It hadn’t been his intentions to deceive you. He was just nervous about talking to you online, but still wanted a way to support you. One comment on your art led to another and suddenly you were messaging him a thank you. Very quickly, that thank you turned into memes and inside jokes. Now, the two of you were talking to each other almost every night.

He clicks on the notification, nodding blankly to whatever his mom is saying.

Yn_ig: Hey! You said you liked photography, right? You should check him out. He’s my classmate. Really talented guy.

Bambam clutches his phone, trying to keep from jumping out of his seat when he sees you’ve sent his Instagram profile.

“Bammie, are you listening to me?” his mom looks at him pointedly.

He tries to school his expression, but joy floods his face anyways. And despite her tone, his mom smiles too.

“Whoever it is, she can wait. Put your phone away,” she teases, inciting laughter from all his siblings.

Bambam laughs it off goodheartedly, tucking his phone away. You think he’s really talented and nothing can diminish the high that this newfound knowledge brings him. 

Well, nothing except, of course, you.

You see, when Bambam agreed to tagging along with his mom to her new friend’s house so she could introduce their daughter to him, he was expecting to spend a few awkward hours with some strangers. Maybe bond with said daughter over the awkwardness, but then he would go home and play video games and that would be that.

What he doesn’t expect is to greet you first thing at your doorway. He doesn’t expect to sit across from you during dinner. And he definitely doesn’t expect the glare you send him between each bite.

“You really are the prettiest thing!” His mother coos from across the table. “She definitely takes after you.”

“Oh, stop it,” your mom blushes, waving her spoon. “To think our kids already knew each other. This must be fate!”

“Hardly,” you mumble under your breath, but Bambam hears it. His heart breaks.

He can’t even blame you for it though. This dinner hasn’t exactly been easy for you. He remembers your late-night texts a few months ago and now all those self-deprecating comments make sense. Those words you were repeating? The I’m not good enough and I should just give up—They were never yours. It was your parents’.

“Bambam told me she’s one of the smartest in her grade!” his mom continues to compliment. He nods eagerly. Your frown only deepens as you poke at the asparagus on your plate.

“What good are all those As when all she does is doodle?” her mom laments, chuckling weakly. “We put all this money into her education but all she wants to do is draw.”

“Paintings,” Bambam musters. Both his and your mom look at him, surprised. He wipes his palms against his pants. In his peripheral, he knows you’re looking at him too, but he’s too afraid to look at you. “She paints, and she’s really good.”

There’s a pause and Bambam’s entire face heats up.

And then your mom breaks into a laugh. “And I heard you’re doing photography!”

His chest deflates and he nods meekly. 

His mom laughs, hitting him on the back. “Unlike Y/N, Bammie here is terrible at studying. I really hope this hobby takes off.”

“Your mom showed me some of your photos, boy,” your father speaks up gruffly, pointing the steak knife his way. “Keep it up and you’ll earn yourself a free ticket to college.”

Bambam rubs at the nape of his neck, “I don’t know about that.”

“No really, there’s a scholarship, isn’t there, Y/N?” your father insists, looking at you.

You nod, putting down your fork. You look at your dad but it’s clear in your tone that you’re talking to him.

“It’s called the Artisan Award—a full scholarship to your art school of choice. It’s given to one graduating senior for their excellence in art across multiple disciplines—including photography. I’ll be applying to it next year.” You don’t even offer him a glance, focusing instead, on your glass of water.

“Well, you’ll be applying to a lot of scholarships,” your mom chuckles uneasily. “There’s still a year to think things through.”

“You should apply too,” your father adds, looking at him.

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d be any good. Sounds competitive,” Bambam mumbles, glancing at you. You’re scowling down at your plate.

“Wouldn’t hurt to try though,” his mom cuts in, smiling at him. “What are the kids saying nowadays? Have to shoot your shot into the hoop?”

He smiles, pretending to grimace at his mom, making her laugh.

“While we’re at it, let’s apply to the athletic scholarships too,” she jokes.

He laughs, rolling his eyes. “First I have to make a shot into an actual hoop.”

His mom snorts, “It’s okay, if anything you can dropout and become a comedian! We’ve got options.”

The table breaks into laughter but when he glances your way, you are glaring at him.

-

“I still can’t believe you were Muse_ig this whole time. I dropped out because of you,” you giggle, a crumpled brown napkin in one hand while the other cradles a half-eaten slice of pizza. The two of you had stopped for a bite to eat next door to the museum.

“Hey, don’t blame me, I was just sending you encouraging messages. You made the decision,” Bambam whines, one cheek still stuffed full of pizza.

“Only because I had you feeding into my delusions!”

“You mean showing you your true worth?” he corrects.

You smile, leaning onto the table towards him. “Which ultimately pushed me to drop out.”

He sighs, “Okay, fine, you win. Please don’t tell your mom, though. She’ll hate me.”

“Impossible, she loves you.”

“And I’d like to keep it that way.”

You roll your eyes as Bambam finishes his last bite. Sitting in the pizzeria on a Saturday night amongst a crowd of college students from the local university, the two of you stand out like a sore thumb—Bambam, because of his tailored suit that’s probably the same price as some of these students’ tuition, and you, because, well, you’re you. 

In his eyes at least, you always stand out. However, tonight, this is especially so. Unlike your first date, you are laughing and joking together. Maybe he should get pizza with you more often.

“This was nice,” you breathe out as you both step out of the pizzeria. When the restaurant doors close, the loud chatter muffles and is replaced by the quiet night breeze. 

“So,” Bambam lets the word drawl sluggishly, not wanting the night to end, but he is reminded of the last date when you turned him down and hesitates to extend another offer.

“So,” you copy, voice soft as you start walking back towards the museum parking garage. “You never explained why you dropped out. Such a waste of a scholarship,” you tease.

“Ah, that…” Bambam stuffs his hands into the pockets of his pants.

You place a hesitant hand around the crook of his arm and his shoulders relax.

“If it’s a touchy subject, you don’t have to answer.”

He shakes his head, looking down at you. “No, it’s not.”

He opens the passenger door for you, helping you in before heading to his side.

“I guess I didn’t have tough skin either,” he chuckles softly, starting the car. “Some days it really did feel like being jailed inside an art museum. Photography didn’t feel the same without…”

His voice trails and his cheeks heat up. You look at him curiously but he’s too embarrassed to continue. Again, he is reminded by the fact that while you grew up together, the memories you share are quite different.

He glances at you and the way you smile at him is sweet. As if to say, it’s okay to not say anything more. But instead of being comforted, Bambam remembers the way you glared at him from across the dinner table as if it happened yesterday. 

“I liked taking photos of the people I care about. I liked capturing moments that mattered…Feelings that…Art school just made me feel empty. I didn’t know why I was doing it anymore,” he finishes off quickly, looking away from you.

“I get that,” you smile weakly. 

“But look at us now,” Bambam chuckles, lightening the mood. “We’re doing just fine on our own, aren’t we?”

You smile, glancing out the window. “Well, you are.”

“So are you! Aren’t you publishing a children’s book soon?” Bambam keeps his eyes on the road but her can see in his peripheral that you are looking at him in surprise.

“Did Mark…”

At the red light, he glances at you gently. “Your mom told mines. She brags about you when you aren’t around, you know.”

You frown, playing with the strap of the seatbelt.

“I know that’s her way of caring for me.” You finally say. “Sometimes, though, I wish she was more like your mom.”

“Well,” Bambam sends you a quick grin before turning back to the road. “If you marry me, my mom comes with the package too.”

You laugh. It rings throughout the car and sets his own heart at ease.

“You don’t have to bribe me with your mother, Bambam! If anything, I should be bribing you.”

“I’ll take it!”

“What?”

He chuckles. “Whatever the bribe is, I’ll take it. Think City Hall is still open?”

You shake your head, giggling softly. “I still don’t get you.”

“What’s there to get?”

You hum thoughtfully. “A young bachelor like you so eager to marry and me of all people? Who’s holding you against your will?”

At the next red light, Bambam steels himself and turns to you, eyes steady on yours. 

“I like you. A lot. For a while now.”

Despite the dimly lit night, he can see you flush. Your fingers clutch the ends of your cardigan sleeves, a nervous habit.

When you don’t say anything, he continues. “I know your parents kind of forced you into this, but that’s not the case for me. Maybe I’m coming on too strong, This marriage arrangement thing…I get that it’s unnatural. I wish I could’ve gone about this differently, but we’re here now and I’m ready. I know you’re probably not and that’s okay, I get it. But I’m interested, I want to date, I want to go through the whole process with you. Slowly, at our own pace, and if I’m not a good fit…then that’s okay too. But I want to at least try.”

The light turns green and reluctantly, he looks away. The rest of the drive to your place is quiet. When he parks outside your apartment, he smiles as if your silence isn’t eating him alive.

“I had a really nice time, Y/N. I’m glad you came with me tonight.”

“Me too,” you reply, almost a whisper.

When you don’t say anything more, he gets out of the car and walks to your side, helping you with the door. But you don’t get up from your seat.

Instead, you turn to him, eyes staring up at him nervously.

“I like you too.”

It is soft, but his whole chest shakes. Bambam breaks into a smile of joy and relief.

He takes hold of your hand, helping you out of the car. His fingers linger, brushing softly against the tips of yours, and you smile.

“Then, I’ll see you next week at your family dinner?” he asks quietly.

You nod tentatively. You purse your lips, cheeks dimpling shyly. His heart skips as you linger, eyes shimmering under the streetlamp.

And then you lean into him, fingers clutching his and you tiptoe.

It is a fleeting touch—light and feathery on his lips—and then he blinks and you’re stepping away again.

“Night, Bambam.”

“N-night!”

He stays for ten minutes longer, waiting for the light of your apartment to flicker on, his lips still buzzing from your kiss.

-

Bambam’s lips sting from how much he’s been nervously biting them, the high from last week’s date now a fleeting memory. He sits at your parents’ dinner table across from you and it feels like déjà vu. 

His mom laughs loudly next to him. Someone made a joke or something.

He doesn’t hear it. All he can see is the growing scowl on your face. Whatever feelings you had for him last week seem to be long gone if your expression is anything to go by.

Your mom swirls her glass of wine, leaning into his mom warmly. “When you told me you wanted my daughter to be your daughter-in-law—my daughter, for your Bambam!—I almost fainted!”

“What are you talking about? The minute I saw Y/N, I fell in love at first sight! I’m pretty sure it was the same for Bammie too.”

Bambam flushes, stuffing his cheeks with salad.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” his mom nudges him teasingly and he almost chokes but he nods adamantly towards you.

“You two are so humble,” your dad chuckles.

Your mom seems to nod in agreement. “I’m sure Bambam can find better options out there.”

“Y/N has one good trait though,” your dad adds, laughing. “She won’t cause any trouble as far as the love department goes.”

“Oh, don’t get me started, this girl is so stubborn!” your mom starts up again, waving her spoon accusingly at you. “Always work, work, work with my daughter. It’s all she cares about.”

“Oh, Bammie’s the same,” his mom cuts in, smiling amiably at you. “It’s the younger generation these days. Married to their work so to speak.”

“Bambam’s got a good head on him,” you father nods to him gruffly. “There’s a difference between working hard and working smart.”

“Unfortunately, she’s only good at working hard,” your mother sighs.

Bambam swallows thickly, gaze fixed on your expression. You’ve been chewing on the inside of your cheek since dinner started. He can see the tick in your jaw every time your parents say something mean your way.

At first, you managed to fake a few polite smiles, but now your head was fully down as you played with the rice on your plate.

“I like Y/N’s work ethic,” he finally speaks up. You finally look at him, eyes unreadable. “It’s hard work that brings talent to fruition and Y/N has both.”

Your gaze lingers on him.

“If we’re talking about talent though, we have to talk about your business!” Your mom breaks the air and the ghost of your smile completely vanishes from your face. You don’t look at him for the rest of dinner.

“Ready for dessert?” your mom asks after everyone was done eating.

You scoot your chair, rising from your seat. “Actually, I’m not feeling so well.”

“Oh, are you okay sweetheart?” his mother asks.

You smile apologetically, “So sorry to have to leave first.”

“Of course, honey! Bammie, why don’t you bring her home?”

“Oh no, that’s alright.”

“No, no, let me.” Bambam rises from his seat and takes hold of your hand. He gives you an encouraging squeeze. “Thank you for the meal! I’ll get her home safely.”

When you exit the house, you slip your hand from his. He pretends not to notice, leading you to his car quietly.

-

“Congratulations to our one and only Bambam for winning the Artisan Award, one of the most prestigious art scholarships in the nation.”

The morning announcement rings in his ears and his homeroom bursts in a parade of cheers and congratulations, but his heart lurches and he thinks of you.

He is reminded of the hours you spent afterschool every day in the art studio, working on pieces for your portfolio. He thinks of all the different art programs you attended during school holidays. He remembers your mother’s voice and the way you’d repeat those words during your late-night Instagram messages.

When he sees you at the bus stop immediately after school instead of in the studio, he almost turns the other way, but your eyes meet his and goes to stand next to you instead. You only give him a slight nod before returning to your phone.

It feels like a long time before the bus arrives.

You sit where you always do, near the back, beside the window. He takes the row of seats across from you.

His stomach twists with guilt when he watches your profile. You can probably feel his stare, but you continue to look straight ahead anyways. You’re probably trying hard to look unbothered, but he can see your disappointment clearly. There’s a slouch in your shoulders, a faint frown tilting the edges of your lips.

You are disappointed and probably dislike him right now.

He wonders if you’ll tell him about this over Instagram. He doesn’t know if Muse_ig will be able to console you this time around. He wishes he had the right words to say, but his throat constricts instead.

When your stop arrives, his eyes follow your back as you stand at the door and he beats himself up for having stayed quiet. And when the bus creeps to stop, you hesitate, before turning back to him.

“Congrats, by the way,” you offer him a small smile. “You deserved it.”

You step off the bus before he can say anything back.

You take a different route home for the rest of the school year.

-

At the red light, Bambam looks over at you. You continue looking straight ahead. There’s a sadness beneath your schooled expression, he can feel this in his gut, but he doesn’t know what to say.

“Y/N,” he starts hesitantly.

“The light’s green,” you interrupt.

He turns his attention back to the room. His gut clenches. 

“Cupcake!” he blurts, gripping the wheel.

Your head turns abruptly. “What?”

“C-Cupcake, my cat,” he continues, not quite sure where he’s going with this. “You met her last time.”

After a pause, you reply back, “Yeah, I did.”

“I gave her a haircut. A really bad one. She had a bald spot, so I had to bring her to the groomers to get it fixed,” he rambles. “They tried their best, but she looks really awful right now. It’s pretty funny actually.”

You let out a soft chuckle. “Poor Cupcake.”

He glances at you briefly, his chest fluttering at the sight of your smile again. “You wanna go see my cats? I heard petting cats is therapeutic, although, not much to pet right now.”

Finally, you laugh. 

“Sure, why not.”

When you finally get to his place, he knows he said the right thing. You sit on his couch, surrounded by his cats and a soft smile on your face.

“Awful, isn’t it?” he asks, taking a seat next to you. King jumps into his lap and he scoots closer to you.

“Absolutely terrible,” you chuckle, petting Cupcake gently.

“But you’re feeling better, aren’t you?”

You let out a quiet sigh.

“Bambam,” you look at him and his heart drops. “Maybe we should just stop this.”

“Fourteen!”

Your brows arch. “You really need to stop saying things without context.”

He puts King aside and grabs hold of your hand like a lifeline.

“I was fourteen. You mouthed my name on the first day of school. That’s when I started liking you.”

You blink up at him in surprise.

“The painting and photography club had to share the same classroom and I knew you just became the president. I did my brother’s chores for three weeks just so I could borrow his old camera,” he looks at you nervously. “I wasn’t planning on falling for photography. You’re the reason I’m where I’m at today.”

“Y-you’re giving me too much credit.”

He holds your hands tighter, shaking his head.

“Your parents have a screwed-up way of measuring your worth, but I don’t care about your job or how famous you are. I care about the girl who mouthed my name and made me feel special. You’ve always been kind to me, taking me seriously when no one else in our grade did. You were the first person to like my photos and you’ve always encouraged me, even though it came at the cost of your own feelings.” He looks at you seriously, “But it shouldn’t. I don’t want to compete against you, Y/N. I want to be on your side.”

“On my side?” you repeat, looking at your intertwined fingers.

“On your side, by your side,” he whispers. “You’re my muse, my first love, first heartbreak. I’d like you to be my last everything too.”

There’s a pause and his chest aches from the silence.

But then he sees it.

Your dimpled cheek.

“So, you had a crush on me since high school?”

He huffs. “That’s what you got from all that?”

You answer with a giggle, dimpled cheeks and very soft lips on his. 

[lennox-levin-little-lilith-did]

Hi again people who follow me!

I’m bored and I’ve decided to make fun facts about our DID system and the four known alters!

So before I start- Lilith has a bit of a show today, but the body was too tired for her to start anything. Like I feel asleep as soon as I got to class. The reason I know this is because of my outfit and she decided to put on lip gloss (which I never wear personally). She’s not conscious currently, none of the other three are, and I’ll get to that later!

Oh! And just so you know, this is Lennox.

👋

Let’s start with Levin!

Levin is the alter that co-cons often or will switch with me

He knows a lot about our system, but is very secretive about it so~

He is the only male alter in the system that I know of

He also goes by Levi and Lev

He likes more soft songs and songs with a good message

His favorite color is forest green

He’s the only alter that Lilith does not take her anger out on

He’s an introvert with really bad social anxiety

He hates sexual songs (so of course being me, I put two of the worst sexual songs I know in his playlist, he doesn’t know)

He has insomnia and ptsd

He’s extremely competitive when it comes to card games

He likes educating people on animals and wants to do gigs, like birthday parties and events, to teach people about reptiles and birds specifically

His favorite subject is English

He is white with blue eyes and dark brown hair. He’s thin, well more twig like, but whatever. He’s around 5’8 (two inches taller than the body)

His clothes style is baggy shirts with either baggy sweatpants or leggings. He wear plain colors, like pale blues, grays, and black. He, surprisingly, likes boots, even heeled boots

His favorite anime is... probably Durarara x2 any season

He has no sexual desires, but romantic likes girls

He’s 18

He’s very comfortable singing, he loves it. That a major way he expresses himself

His favorite song is... I think LA Devotee by P!ATD (idk why but that what he likes)

^^ What he likes to wear ^^

Next on our list is

The demon queen herself, LILITH

She is named after Adam’s first wife, the demon queen, Lilith (yes she liked to go church, but we stopped going)

She is a bisexual

She’s ageless (she has no age, or if she does she hasn’t told anyone)

She’s an absolute bitch and she knows it.

She has violent mood swings and anger issues (respectfully so)

She is also an introvert, but not because of anxiety, no it’s because she wants to strangle every single person that looks at her weird

She hates Little with the burning passion

She gets repressed the most because no one wants to be expelled from school

She likes cooking

She hates cleaning because of her ocd

She wants to pursue a culinary job

Her favorite subject is science

She rarely fronts and when she does it’s quick or someone is co-con with her (ex. What happened with aleia-clownery)

Lennox(me) has to clean up her messes as always.

Her favorite anime is... The Promised Neverland (she likes Ray a lot)

She likes aggressive songs, or songs that swear a lot

Lilith has wavy black hair with blue highlights. Her eyes are a brownish red color. She’s short, like 5’2, and likes to wear heels because of it. She’s black as well

Her favorite color is dark royal blue

Her style of clothes is black shirts with skulls on them and tight, but comfortable, pants. She also likes a certain denim dress I have

She likes drawing and doodling ways to kill people and I have to say she’s pretty good

Her favorite song is Sarcasm by Get Scared (very fitting for her)

^^ What she wishes she can wear ^^

Next is Little!

She likes to bake

She enjoys going to restaurants, specifically Asian style ones

She’s loves animals and wants to work with them so bad.

She’s an extrovert with ADHD

Little is Hispanic and on the chunky side. She has a caramel skin tone. She can understand it way better than me (Lennox) and she wants to learn Japanese and French (I’m interested in Japanese so we’re probably going to learn it)

Her favorite subject was College Writing Prep and before that was Language Arts, but the writing part of it. She really likes writing

Her favorite color is... honestly black. She likes that it matches with everything and likes the science of black too

Her favorite anime is Ouran High School Host Club (I hate it with the burning passion) her second choice is Black Butler (any season) which we allow her to watch

She likes baking and cooking, tho she prefers baking, she likes the way it calms her, I guess

Her favorite song is Voices in My Head (she listens to a lot of nightcore so I don’t the artist)

I’m not saying much else about her (I don’t want creeps harassing her)

^^ What she prefers to wear ^^

Last, and certainly least, Lennox (aka me!)-

My favorite anime is Kakegurui or... BNA... or BNHA... or Hitorjime My Hero (My Very Own Hero)... or maybe Given? Idk I like a lot of anime...

The first anime I’ve ever watched was Wolf’s Rain. I was seven I think, but it was on YouTube so I didn’t get to watch the whole thing. I recently found it, but I’m afraid to watch it lmao

I like the colors teal and turquoise, as well as blood red and jet black

I like anything P!ATD, Halsey, Imagine Dragons, Fall Out Boys, Set It Off, Alec Benjamin, OneRepublic, and Nico Collins and AJR(granted so does everyone else but 🤷)

My favorite songs are Control by Halsey and Lonely Dance by Set It Off and Don’t Threaten Me With a Good Time by P!ATD and River by Ed Sheeran and Eminem and Not Afraid by Eminem and I’m Ready by AJR and Karma by AJR... I can go on for hours, but I’mma stop here

I’m Non-binary and the only gender nonconforming alter. I’m also pansexual

I hate being touched, I hate talking to people that act ignorant, and I hate this body I’m in

I look like the body so no description for you 😝

I have anxiety and depression. Everything else I’ve been diagnosed with can really be related to DID

I’m a neutral party in everything, so when I say I don’t know, I don’t care, whatever, or not my business, I’m literally saying I have no standing or opinion in this

I like cooking, baking, organizing (not cleaning), writing, reading, doodling, and doing self introduced projects for fun

I like plaid clothing, hoodies, and pride shirts. I like sweatpants and sneakers. I also like things on my neck... it keeps me ground I guess

(Oh my god I’m writing this with Ella, right? I told her to stop clawing at the furniture, right? All of a sudden her focus is on the ground and I wiggles my toes, testing if she was looking at my feet, and I started moving them around. I told her, ‘stop looking at my feet.’ This cat, this puta, liked me in the eyes before looking back down and got in position to lunge at my feet. My heart stopped and I pulled my feet onto the couch. And she was going to do it because the moment I moved my feet, she jumped from the top of the couch she’s on... she scares me sometimes 😣)

^^ What I would wear if Lev was a little shit and let me wear pride stuff and jewelry ^^

Now-

Onto how our system works!

Levin and I co-con often. If I’m not in control, then he is

On instances where I get angry, Lilith takes control

Little co-cons with me more than everyone else because she enjoys annoying me

Lilith and Little are both so stubborn and hardheaded, it’s unbelievable. On the other hand, Levs and I are open minded and calm. So we often clash on what we should do as a collective

Lilith is a Christian, Levi and I are atheists, and Little is a Seventh Day Adventist (the religion I grew up with). However Lev and I hold more say, so we don’t go to church

I guess you could say there’s a hierarchy in the system. I have the most important say, then Lev, then Little, and lastly Lilith

Levin and I enjoy co-conning with each other only, anyone else gives us headaches

Everyone loves Nico Collins, Alec Benjamin, Set It Off, and AJR the most

Everyone’s favorite albums are Death of a Bachelor (p!atd), Cinematics (set it off), and American Beauty/American Psycho (fall out boys)

Everyone loves sushi and sushi rolls (California and Philadelphia rolls are the best)

We all really want to try takoyaki and pork Katsudon. When we do try them, I’ll probably make a post about it

We all love Ella and we all want to start a rehabilitation center of all animals and a pet cafe

We love reptiles, like all reptiles, venomous snakes included

I think there are more alters that just aren’t as prominent as the other three, Levin would know but he doesn’t like to discuss our system often

We really want to buy these specific no pierce cuff earrings

Edit: this total slipped my mind- when I’m on my red week (you know what I’m talking about) the others let me deal with it on my own, especially Little and Lev (Lev hates that week and recedes completely)

That’s all I’m willing to share about us (or that I remember)

My part was short because you guys talk to me all the time

Sincerely,

Lennox... with a sprinkle of Levin

I’m tagging some people because why not-

@one-pissed-off-child @liveto-100 @madame-ree @martinidrinkingmartin @anon-nom-nom95 @queenzie-xo @scalybunnypapi69 @gogetyoselfsomesoup (still bitter) @cristinaweeb @aleiakit @aleia-clownery (I’m still so sorry about what happened) @studiesboie @bloomyboithatemoji @pumpkineiji @penelopebakugouburrito1

[fantasyuta]

colors of you

[ jisung x reader: fluff ]

[ wc: 1.4k ]

a/n: i’m back :o

red

‘ow!’ you exclaim as you stumble off of jisung’s skateboard, landing on your bare knees and wincing.

jisung gasps. ‘are you okay?!’ he runs over to grasp your hand and pull you to your feet. ‘i’m so sorry, i should’ve held onto you longer,’ he groans dejectedly. ‘this is all my fault.’

‘it’s okay, jisung, i’m just clumsy, you know,’ you say as you give the boy a reassuring smile. ‘it’s not your fault. but can we go get cleaned up?’ your knees are scraped, and beads of red blood start to trickle from your wounds.

jisung gasps again. ‘y/n! get on my back!’ he urges, bending over so that you can jump on. you giggle a little as you oblige, and jisung starts sprinting towards your house as you cling onto his shoulders. 

you sit on your kitchen counter as the boy pouts and cleans your scraped knees with rubbing alcohol pads from the first aid kit. he covers up the wounds with hello kitty band aids and sighs. ‘does it hurt a lot?’ he asks, looking up at you with sad puppy eyes. ‘i’m really sorry, i could’ve stayed closer and stopped this from happening.’

‘jisung, please, it’s fine.’ you meet his gaze with a smile and wrap him into a hug. ‘besides, it doesn’t hurt as bad with you by my side.’

orange

you and jisung walk to the new sushi restaurant next to your school for lunch. the two of you gape at the revolving belt that rotates plates of colorful sushi through the restaurant and stare in wonder when your sushi order halts to a stop on the conveyor belt. 

after ordering a few plates of fish, you hold up a piece of light orange salmon to jisung’s mouth. ‘say ah!’

jisung blushes pink but obediently opens his mouth to take the sushi from your chopsticks. ‘it tastes better when you give it to me,’ he admits shyly. ‘now it’s your turn.’

you mimic jisung’s actions as he tries to feed you a piece of eel sushi. at the last moment, though, he pulls the fish away from your mouth, drawing a whine from you.

‘okay, okay,’ he laughs while you frown at him in mock anger. the boy finally gives in and watches happily as you chew and beam at him with cheeks full of rice. 

‘you’re right, it does taste better like this.’

yellow

going shopping with jisung is always fun, even if it means going to the small local grocery store instead of some high-end department store. you stand on the ledge of the cart while jisung steers the cart behind you, his arms wrapping around you to prevent you from falling. together, you pick out new snacks to try and pore through the refrigerators for refreshing beverages.

the two of you end up wandering around the store separately, and you peer at the freezer section for some ice cream; the weather has been getting warmer, after all.

‘hey y/n, look at this,’ jisung calls from a different aisle, and you walk over to find jisung in a pastel yellow cap, admiring himself in a nearby mirror. ‘should i buy this? it’s kind of nice,’ he says excitedly. 

you can’t help but laugh; with his full cheeks and shining eyes, he reminds you of a baby chick. ‘yeah, it looks good on you,’ you admit. you stand on tiptoe to reach up and pinch jisung’s cheek. 

green

everything is blossoming around you, so you and jisung decide to have a picnic at the park. you pack a picnic blanket and make some sandwiches, while jisung buys ice cream to share in the warm weather. 

you lay out the red and white picnic blanket under the shade of a tree surrounded by bright green grass and white daisies. you giggle as you create a crown of daisies and daintily place it into jisung’s hair. he likewise tucks a daisy behind your hair. ‘we’re daisy royalty now,’ he declares proudly.

after eating lunch, the two of you lay on the blanket. jisung puts an arm under your head as a makeshift pillow, and in the pleasant weather, you feel sleep overcoming you.

content, you and jisung nap under the tree for hours, and when you turn to your side, you can’t help but admire the boy across from you. his face, still framed by daisies, is tinted green by the light filtering through the leaves, and his eyes flutter open as if he can sense you’re looking at him. 

you blush as jisung returns your gaze with adoring eyes, but you refuse to break the stare. his eyes curve into crescents as a smile blooms across his face.

‘i wish moments like this could last forever,’ you whisper.

‘me too.’

blue

the swings of the old playground creak as you and jisung gently rock back and forth, your hands intertwined between the swings. the two of you watch the sun set while talking about anything and everything. it’s fun to just talk about your pet peeves, or your dreams and passions, or simply how your day went.

the sky blooms into yellows and pinks and blues, all seamlessly blending into each other like a watercolor painting. as the moon rises, though, a light breeze starts to pick up. you shiver slightly in the chill, but jisung still notices. 

‘you should’ve worn something warmer,’ he scolds, but nevertheless he hands you his worn denim jacket as you mutter an embarrassed ‘thanks.’ it’s soft and baby blue. as you pull it on, you notice it smells like jisung. like home.

the boy takes both your hands and clasps them in his to warm them up. ‘let’s get you home before you catch a cold,’ he says gently.

you walk hand in hand towards your house as dusk falls as jisung enthusiastically tells you about his new dance crew and shows you some new moves he’s been working on. he blushes when you compliment his skills; even though you don’t know much about dance, you know that jisung is talented.

you arrive at your doorstep too soon, and you fuss with the sleeves of the jacket that extend past your fingertips. ‘well, today was fun,’ you say quietly.

jisung grins, scratching his head bashfully. ‘yeah, we should do it again.’

you lean over to press a quick peck to his cheek. ‘text me when you get home, okay?’ you say, blushing.

jisung’s smile grows wider while his cheeks get hotter. ‘uhh, yeah, of course, bye, y/n!’ 

you give him a small wave before shutting the door and leaning against it, cringing at yourself. couldn’t you have been more eloquent?

on the other side of the door, jisung gives himself a little fist pump and beams as he starts to walk home. he doesn’t even notice that he forgot his denim jacket.

purple

when you’re overwhelmed with projects and tests for school, jisung suggests going to the library to work so that you can better concentrate. unfortunately, your school library has a strict policy on talking, so you and jisung are forced to pass notes on scraps of homework. you lend jisung a pen for his notes, and you choose to work on a calculus assignment.

jisung is right: the tranquility of the library does help you focus better, but you inwardly groan when you get stuck on a difficult problem. you furiously scribble a note reading ‘sos!!! math :(’ to jisung, but he shrugs. ‘i’m bad at math,’ his note reads.

you sigh and try to work the problem out. to boost your moral, jisung passes little encouraging notes, ranging from ‘you can do it!‘ and ‘i believe in you!’ to doodles of puppies and smiley faces.

with motivation from jisung (and some searching on the internet), you finally understand the problem and get the correct solution. ‘i knew you could do it,’ jisung writes, and you beam. you pass another note to the boy reading ‘i couldn’t have done it without you.’

your breath catches in your chest, though, when you read his next note, scribbled in sparkly purple ink and surrounded by hearts: ‘i think i’m in love with you.’

you glance over to see jisung’s cheeks bright red, his face hidden behind his hands. taking his hands into yours and looking into his eyes, you whisper, ‘i think i’m in love with you, too, jisung.’

[ninvic-rbs]

Day 22

Boy i’ve been waiting for this one. So i decided to do some really weird aus, meaning ive been rewatching some stuff and hallucinating lol. Okay so in order you have the bbc version of sherlock (10/10), the greatest showman (10/10) and money heist (11/10, strongly recommend). And then an old reapertale doodle bc ive seen literally zero reapertale grillster fanart and its so aesthetically pleasing i just had to

And as a little extra i guess, i wrote this thing for @silverskye13‘s bodyguard au, which has been pretty active lately, so lets keep the ball rolling. Please keep in mind that 1. i don’t really write and 2. this is the first time i try to write in english, so any feedback is appreciated. Enjoy, i guess

Gaster bent down to reload for the third time already. In his frenzy he almost fell out of his seat, or maybe that was the way the car was moving. Normally they wouldn't really have to run away, with Grillby being able to either kill or scare the others enough to be left alone. But whatever gang was so adamant on capturing the doctor had quickly figured out that normal magic attacks wouldn't get them anywhere. So now, the people on the car chasing behind them were wielding bright orange water guns. Which looked about as ridiculous as one might expect, but had proved efficient; if the way Grillby was hunched and clutching his chest with one hand was anything to go by. The elemental was driving, and he had given Gaster his gun and he was trying to lose them. It was the first time he was shooting with anything that wasn't his blasters; and he was quickly realizing that he had really bad aim when shooting with his hands and not his soul. Between that and how small the targets actually were from the distance, he hadn't hit a thing in the last ten minutes. He was getting frustrated, which didn't mix well with his growing anxiety for the elemental. Grillby looked like he was in agony; most of his shirt completely soaked and sticking to his body. From where he was, Gaster could see almost half of his face had been completely put out. And he wasn't even allowed to pass out. "How's that going?" Gaster could barely hear him above the howling of the wind around them. The elemental sounded tired. "I can't hit them! They're moving too much!" "S'a bunker nearby. We need some time... try to aim for the tires." The skeleton immediately lowered his aim. Even thought the target was considerably bigger, it still took him a few attempts before the tire exploded and the car suddenly started made a sharp turn right and out of the asphalt. That was such a good idea! How had he not thought of that before? He decided to blame his panicked state. Before he sat back down, he saw the vehicle come to a stop and the monsters inside immediately get to work on changing the tire. The skeleton knew it wouldn't stop them for long, but hopefully for long enough. He decided to focus his efforts now on helping the elemental as much as he could, before he realized that he had no idea how to heal that sort of thing. The only thing Grillby had had to recover from before had been exhaustion. How did you tend to a put out fire?! Should he pour gasoline over him? He didn't know! "Grillby, how can I heal this?" He asked, his anxiety for the other's life making his hands shake. "How can I heal you? What do I need?" He wished he could just use green magic. "Just... anything flammable. And liquid. That normally... works..." he was getting weaker. Suddenly, the car screeched to a stop, almost throwing Gaster off his seat. Before he had time to react, the elemental had already opened the door on his side and was painfully getting out, carrying the small bag that contained his belongings. The skeleton quickly followed him, remembering to pick up his own bag. When he caught up, he noticed Grillby could barely walk. Without thinking, he put his arm around the other's and let him use his body as a crutch; although the elemental barely noticed. "Are you okay?" which was a stupid question, of course. "Yeah" he slurred, as if it was fooling anyone. "S'not too far, but we can't leave the car near the entrance." Gaster nodded. Although they were only walking for a total of three minutes, it felt like a small eternity. The skeleton's anxiety at an all time high; constantly looking over his shoulders and checking if the gang had managed to catch up, and trying to keep Grillby steady; even if his walking speed was declining and he put more and more weight on Gaster as they advanced. When they finally stopped, the elemental slumped to the ground, and the skeleton would have thought he had passed out if it weren't because he had started digging around some bushes. Just when the skeleton was about to ask what he was doing, he heard the sound of metal, and in a few seconds a small hatch had opened before them on the ground. It was dark inside; the only discernible thing a ladder leading down to it. "You go first, s- Gaster." The skeleton wanted to argue, but he knew from experience it wouldn't get him anywhere. So he just nodded and climbed down as fast as he could, almost falling once. It wasn't as deep as it had seemed, and he still couldn't see any light switches or anything of the sort. But that didn't worry him right now; as he was looking up and anxiously waiting for the elemental to get to the floor so he could work on healing him. As Grillby started climbing the ladder down, he stopped a second to close the entrance behind them; and the mechanical whirring that followed assured the skeleton that no one was going to follow them down there. Slowly, Grillby made his way down. But when there were only two steps left he collapsed, and he would have fallen to the floor if it weren't for Gaster's lighting fast reflexes in grabbing him with blue and yelping in surprise. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no...!" he murmured in a panic, moving the elemental and settling him on the first surface he saw; which happened to be a couch in the nearest room. "What's... wrong?" Grillby's voice was barely a whisper. The skeleton quickly looked at him, only to have his soul-wrenching fear grow when he noticed that the elemental looked barely conscious. "Nonono, don't fall asleep! You hear me?! Hey, Grillby, c'mon, stay with me!" "...t hurts..." Gaster almost wanted to cry. He had never seen the elemental in such a weak state, and he had to act quickly if he wanted to keep him alive; because a quick stat check confirmed the alarming rate at which Grillby's life was fading. He prayed to every god he had ever heard of that there was some alcohol in the bunker. "I know, I know, I'm going to fix that. Just... stay here. Try not to move, and don't fall asleep." He had already turned around to leave when he felt a weak hold in his wrist. "P-please don't leave... it's cold... I'm scared, Gaster..." came an almost inaudible plea. The skeleton's soul could have broken right then and there. He felt a knot on his non-existent throat when he spoke again. "I'll be back in a minute, okay? Don't worry, I'll be right here if you need me." He softly let go of the elemental's hand and took off running without wasting another precious second. He quickly realized that the bunker was a bit more like a subterranean house than a refuge. It had too so many rooms; it was probably thought out to be lived in for at least a couple of months. He hoped they didn't have to stay that long. Without stopping for a second, the skeleton stumbled somewhere he suddenly realized was the kitchen. He almost fell twice in his rush to open every single cupboard; his hope growing when he found most of them were full of either nonperishable food or utensils. He finally found what looked like a minibar next to the fridge and immediately grabbed the biggest bottle he saw, which turned out to be whiskey. Within the next three seconds he was already back by Grillby's side, feeling a wave of relief when he didn't see only dust on the couch but still rushing to open the bottle, knowing how close the elemental actually was to it. The way his hands were shaking made him take a few more seconds than necessary. "H-hey, Grillby, are you awake?" Gaster was sure he wasn't, but he seemed to wake up at this. When he saw the open bottle, he took it without a word and started downing it desperately. The skeleton blinked, and before he could react the elemental had already drunk more than half of the liquid. He separated the bottle from his mouth and for a few seconds his flame flared up in deep blue colors before settling back down on reds and oranges that were duller than their normal color, but worlds better than how it had been before. And upon checking his stats, Gaster sighed a breath of relief at his slowly growing health. He sat on the couch next to Grillby's legs, suddenly feeling all the exhaustion of the day hit him at once. He could have fallen asleep right there, but he couldn't bring himself to leave the elemental just yet. The elemental that, when he looked up again, he realized was staring at him, even if groggily so. He immediately became worried again, and quickly asked; "Is everything okay? Does anything hurt?" But Grillby only continued staring. The skeleton was about to check his stats again when he finally spoke. "You shouldn't have to... do stuff like this. I'm sorry I'm so bad at my job." He was said it slowly, his voice barely a whisper. He looked like he was falling asleep. After a small pause, the elemental added, his voice even lower; "I wish I could make you happy." Gaster suddenly froze. He didn't know how to react. What had Grillby meant by that? Was that about his job? But he only had to keep him safe, nothing else. And he wasn't bad at it; Gaster was alive, wasn't he? But that other phrase... was... was that...? But there was just no way that was what was going on here... right? He felt his face grow hotter. But, if not that, then what had he meant?   "B-but that's not your job" was the only thing he could blurt out after a few seconds. Not that it was important, since, he noticed, the elemental had already dozed off. The skeleton wasn't sure what to do for a couple of seconds. Eventually he sighed and settled back down, getting as comfortable as he could. He tried not to think about what had just happened as he finally let himself drift off to sleep; the soft crackling of the fire next to him the only sound in the room.

[innosen]

@obtainedloss​ said: ❛ You need a photo ? ❜ He tilts his head slightly, thoughtful. He assumes it's for a project of sorts, so the boy willingly stoops to her level and looks the picture perfect student council member he is ; stern, professional ━ and apparently not at all what she wanted. Just a normal photo then. Amused, he decides to lighten up, offering a close lipped smile and looping an arm around her shoulder in a loose hug, cheek resting against the top of her head. ❛ Cheese. ❜

an EAGER NOD was given in response to his question. as for the details regarding her request , they ABSOLUTELY had to be kept secret from the older –– it was part of the assignment’s instructions after all ! fingers tightly held onto her phone , CLEARLY NERVOUS if he were to refuse. worry however , soon subsided as he bent down to her height , fitting his figure into the frame of her phone’s camera app. with a grateful heart , gaze returned to the screen. 

while it wasn’t EXACTLY the look that she hoped to capture , chihiro still conjures the tiniest of smiles , all ready to have the photo taken until he suddenly gave her a gentle side hug , tucking her head underneath his cheek , and bringing them closer in the frame. in that moment , pudgy features could not have beamed any brighter as the distinct SHUTTER sounded off from the gadget. a perfect shot indeed ! beyond satisfied with the photo , the younger gave the boy another smile and a quick ❛ thank you , ritsu-nii ! ❜ before heading off. 

now for phase two of the task.

after a whole night’s worth of arts and crafts, the result of yesterday’s photo session was now ready to be REVEALED. ❛ ritsu-nii ! ritsu-nii ! ❜ peeking from his classroom’s door , the girl called out for the student council member. when he arrived , palms rushed forward , handing him a printed photo of them encased in a handcrafted frame made of colorful construction paper with stars and planets doodled ALL OVER. ❛ surprise ! ❜

the assignment ? make a surprise for someone without telling them what it’s for. 

[athena1138]

3, 7, 9, 12 for Asena or Marynn

By “or” you mean “and” right? 

3. If they made a five song playlist, what songs would they want on it and why?

Oof, yeah I deserved that lol 

Asena

The Devil You Know by Kovacs, because though she’s a very controlled person, she just wants to go apeshit every now and then, and something about Kovacs’s voice just touches that emotion in her. Plus Kovacs is really attractive

Hallelujah I Love Her So by Hugh Laurie, because she likes swing-y music like that, and it’s hella relatable 

Soon We’ll Be Found by Sia, because it’s a good, slow kitchen-dancing beat 

The Way by Kehlani, because it’s fun to sing, and it’s a good degree of pop but it isn’t too over the top in any one direction of emotion so she can jam to it p much whenever. 

Tous Les Mêmes from Stromae, because Stromae’s voice, French, the presentation and representation of gender fluidity, the duality of man, the entire fucking thing is a masterpiece, and it’s fitting that Stromae gets his stage name from Maestro. (And his design brand name Mostrae, but eh) 

Marynn

Tough Lover from Christina Aguilera, becase... cmon. 

Voodoo by Godsmack, because even though she’s never pursued it, she’s a little interested in magic, and she’s also smol and angery and it satisfies. 

Midnight by Swingrowers because it’s a hella beat and 11/10 can get TURNT UP. 

Money by Ivy Levan, because firstly, angery, secondly, the video is a MOOD, thirdly, Marynn is pretty much all about the money (albeit, so she can help others, but still.) 

Secrets by Mary Lambert because it... it all applies, pretty much every word. 

7. Out of an impulsive decision your OC dyes their hair and gets a whole new outfit, what do they now look like?

Ooh

Asena would dye her hair a bright fire-color, like yellow at the ends and bright orange at the top in a sort of ombre, 2-tone gradient type thing.

like this  

(And an undercut isn’t... out of the question.) In-game, she’d switch it up from the white-tunic and brown-pant type of Inq. clothes to something more dramatic, like a long coat that cinches at the waist and a big shiny belt which she’d hang a sword that she’ll never use off of. In-story, she normally wears pretty down-to-earth shit outside of work (hoodies, jeans, expensive but not ugly sneakers.) She might upgrade a little, invest in some nicer jeans, start wearing boots, skip the hoodies and go for tank tops and things to show off her amazing mascles. 

Dying Marynn’s hair would be tricky because her beard grows in so fast, it would have to either go with it, or she’d have to keep up with shaving and that’s a Chore(tm.) She might dye it a dark green

like this 

Firstly, a new wardrobe for Marynn would have to 1) be functional for her efforts as a rogue, and 2) she’d like to have clothes that actually... fit? Her pants and boots are literally just human clothes because she couldn’t find any dwarven shit in a decent price range after leaving Markihm. The tits-out look is a favorite, for obvious reasons, but she might invest in something a little more reserved? If she’s dying he hair green, she might want it to be a warm color so she doesn’t get washed out, maybe a maroon-ish dark red? Probably a tank top, and a black cloak that she’ll almost definitely have to hem to her height, and black pants with well-fit boots for a change. 

9. Your OC makes a poster and ships it to their best friend, what does the poster have on it and how does their best friend respond?

Asena’s best friends are Gemma and Bull. For Gemma, it’d be a play on the Fine Dwarven Crafts Direct from Orzammar, except it’d be a picture of Gemma’s face on it because Gemma is a fine Dwarven craft and is from Orzammar. Gemma would lose her shit and hang it on her door. Bull’s would be a little one, just a quick doodle of his and her horns that says “horns up” between them, maybe with a bunch of little symbols to represent the Chargers scattered about. He’d love it and probably keep it folded up in his pack. 

Marynn’s non-Flora best friend was this one waitress named Ingra who’d worked at her father’s tavern with her for years, and she’d send her something with a stupid limerick on it, like a super detailed drawing of a lovely sight line and the limerick would say something like, “There once was a girl from Markihm, who decided to leave on a whim. She traveled so far, met a cute girl in a bar, who said her beard needs a trim,” with a little angry face at the end. The friend would hang it in the tavern bc Marynn was well-liked by pretty much everyone who frequented lol. FOR FLORA THOUGH? Bruh, it’d be a drawing of a bunch of flowers scattered about and at the bottom it’d say something stupid and corny like, “They told me to get you a rose so I got you a whole damn field” because she’s really bad at the flirting but fuck she wants to try so hard. How she reacts? Hopefully well? :D? 

12. If your OC has to describe their best friend, how would they describe them?

Asena frequently describes hers lol. Gemma is a tiny, irresponsible, foul-mouthed, asshole of a woman, but gods she’s so easy to love. Bull is the same, but taller. 

Marynn would say Ingra is one of the stupidest bitches in all of Markihm, hands down dumber than the barrels of ale she serves every day, and she loves the fuck out of her. Flora? Marynn would just kinda... break down because Holy Fucking Dumathoin, she’s incredible. 

[pernilleoe]

A doodle I want to color tomorrow when I have more time - I added a very quick color thumbnail, to decide which colors to choose. #girlsinanimation #doodle #drawing https://www.instagram.com/p/Bn4PUXpiCJ-/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=f23g39dpyy11

[smolfangirl]

Drawing the line

For a fic I had no plot idea for, this turned out quite long :D It’s an artist au with some inspiration from @over-the-pink-moon lovely moodboards *-* Also thanks to @miris-xo for helping me to find anything related to a plot. I hope you enjoy this, especially since I might not have a lot of internet to post new things over the next two months at the end of the world ^^

Word count: 2.9k

///

She always leaves a trace when she walks out of his place. A pencil or a brush on the kitchen table, a quick sketch or color study left to dry on his desk. Once he finds a cup with paint water forgotten by the sink. Her thoughts remind Matteo of the TV screens in a tech store – five different movies playing and without the sound, nothing makes sense. As soon as she begins to pack up, new ideas flicker through her mind, so she simply forgets what remains out of her immediate sight.

But he doesn’t mind cleaning up after her.

Instead, he puts on the playlist inspired by her and wanders through every room, searching for her clues. If he’s lucky she forgot something important and asks him to meet up between classes. Some days (mostly Tuesdays) she even asks him if he wants to tag along to the cafeteria. He never says no.

Today, she forgot her notebook on the couch. Luna has been doodling in it while he discussed the grocery list with Gastón, and the moment he walked up to the couch again, she tossed it away like it was on fire. Before he could ask, she pretended to be deeply lost in filling the canvas with colors.

In moments like these he’d trade his first guitar for a glance into her mind.

The notebook feels heavy in his hands as he picks it up. It’s not the small sketchbook she uses for first drafts and carries around everywhere. And, from experience, forgets everywhere too. He’s only seen the fancy sketchbook two times before, and both times she threatened him to not even blink at it or she’ll ruin his mom’s gift the night before her birthday.

Nothing tempts him more than to sneak a glimpse at whatever Luna is trying to hide from him.

///

To Luna: How much is your nice sketchbook worth to you?

///

The moment she holds it in her hands again, she sighs so loud that the people around them turn around and stare. “And you didn’t look inside? Not even once?”

“Is that how little faith you have in me? After all the times I brought you your other sketchbook, or your brushes, or those funny little sponges and…”

“Okay, okay,” Luna mutters, one hand playing with her hair, “I get it. I shouldn’t come over to work on that painting for your mom anymore, given how much stuff I forget every time.”

She wants to walk right past him, into the cafeteria, but Matteo follows her with ease. A smirk rests on his mouth. “That’s not what we agreed on, and you know that.”

With an eyeroll, she takes a step back to let three guys leave the aisle with their heavy trays. When she’s by Matteo’s side again, a corner of her mouth twitches slightly upward. “Just for the record, none of the people I made commissions for so far asked to watch me while I’m working. Only you did.”

“Because I’m curious to see how the magic happens. And didn’t you say you usually don’t do commissions? That this was an exception for being the hero who gave you your sketchbook back?” Five times, to be exact. How anyone could forget the same thing, in the same classroom, five weeks in a row, remains a miracle to Matteo. But no matter the reasons why, he’s happy to have found her along with the book.

They reach the dessert bar. Luna begins to heap chocolate pudding into a bowl, one arm awkwardly clenching her sketchbook. Matteo watches her for a moment, then snickers. “Do you want me to hold this for…”

“No!” She doesn’t even let him get to the end of the question. “I’m good, you don’t have to.” Realizing she had just shouted at him, she flinches. “Thanks, but no. Just pick a dessert, okay? I’ll pay.”

He chooses a strawberry cheesecake.

///

“So, did you cook this or did your mom make that for you?” he asks after they sit down at the only free table for two, nodding towards her lunchbox.

“My mom. If I tried this, everything would look like a giant mess of green pasta.”

Matteo shakes his head in amusement and chews on his homemade sandwich. “Damn, the poor spinach.”

“How’s your sandwich?” She drowns the latest bite with a sip from her water bottle, and her eyes linger on his cheesecake long enough for him to consider teasing her about it.

Instead, he puts on a smirk. “Good, of course. I just prepared it before my first class.”

They eat in silence. It’s a nice contrast, Matteo thinks, because so far, they have always been interrupted by one of her friends. And they were nice, they chatted and laughed with him, but he’d rather sit in silence with Luna alone than to engage in meaningless small talk with her friends.

“So, you haven’t answered my question yet.”

The first spoon with chocolate pudding just went into her mouth, and she looks at him out of wide, beautiful eyes. “Huh?”

“I asked you if you lied to me when you said you didn’t do commissions.”

“Oh.” Another spoon of pudding. She’s still staring at him, half lost in thought again. He wonders if she’d let him get away with stealing a taste of her dessert. (Or of her lips.) “Well, I didn’t lie. I used to make a few back in high school. But I’ve only drawn for fun since I started uni.”

“Then I’m glad you made that exception for me.”

“You mean for your mom?”

“Yeah.”

///

She’s biting her lip again. She always does when she’s thinking about which part to paint next, and in those moments, Matteo has to remind himself that he should appear interested in what she’s doing, and not in her. Perhaps she believes he actually wants to learn about the right paper, or proper colors, but mostly he wants to learn about her. About the dimples in her cheek when she laughs, and the sensation of her fingertips on his skin. One time she forgot her hair tie, so some strands of her opened curls kept falling into her face, like a frame to a masterpiece, and in that moment, he wished he knew how to pin her beauty down on paper.

“Do you draw people too?”

“Is that your way of asking if I would draw you?” She doesn’t even look up from her canvas, just frowns at it as she dips her brush into her mixed shade of light blue again.

Matteo huffs, robbing an inch closer to her with his chair while he scans her face for a reaction. “Is that your way of telling me you thought about drawing me? Because I was just curious, to be honest.”  And if, in fact, she did want to stare at him for hours to get the most delicate lines of his smile right, he’d be the last person to object.

No reply. The movements of her brush are the only sound in the living room. By now Matteo finds a rhythm in those movements, a melody he misses when she’s gone, sometimes.

Luna sighs. The brush pauses in its dance over the canvas. “Your curls would be a nightmare to sketch.”

“Wow, thanks. What have I done for you to be in such a good mood today?” (So far, she barely smiled at him, and he longs for a fraction of her focus.)

For the first time this afternoon, she turns away from her painting and gives him her full attention. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. I like your hair.”

“You do?”

Her eyes pin down the paper on the table. “Yeah. I mean, the curls suit you, and they look super soft somehow. But I couldn’t do them justice on paper.”

Luckily, she already focuses on her painting again before he can’t contain the smile on his lips.

///

He thinks of her constantly. Not as much when he has a task to focus on, or when he’s with his friends or classmates. His imagination waits for him to be alone, when he stands in the middle of the supermarket aisle and can’t decide on what kind of pasta to buy, when his thoughts stray away from the lecture he’s supposed to follow. As soon as he’s alone with his mind, she’s everywhere.

Right now, Matteo walks home from the bus stop down the street and plays through a conversation where she admits she likes him just as much. Then, he makes up a scene where he catches her drawing him. As he opens the door to the apartment building and fumbles with the key for his mailbox, the Luna from his imagination is blushing wildly while he tells her how wonderful exactly he thinks she is.

There’s a yellow envelope in his mailbox. Bright yellow, the color of sunflowers in August, and no post stamp. It surprises him enough to shush every thought of Luna, at least for a moment. As he takes the stairs, he reads his name written in neat, cursive letters again and again, as if they’d reveal their secret like that. Finally, he glances at the back of the envelope, to discover Luna’s signature.

His feet freeze on the spot.

She sent him something, and it’s definitely not his mom’s birthday gift. They had lunch together yesterday, and she didn’t mention anything that could explain why she left an envelope in his mailbox. He has no idea what it hides, and now his heart is beating against his chest as he takes two steps at a time.

///

It’s a sketch. Of him.

There’s no note attached, not even a date. Just his face on an otherwise blank sheet. The smile she drew radiates the same feeling he gets in his stomach every time she laughs, and she added a sparkle to his eyes he never found in them himself. He wonders how she managed to make his curls look like they’re about to bounce out of the paper, and how long she studied him without him noticing. The mere idea heats his chest up.

If this is how Luna sees him, he might be the luckiest guy in this world.

///

Matteo thanks her for this drawing five times, and one more time as she walks through his door two days later. A smile graces her lips, and her hug surrounds him with her scent that never quite seems like perfume.

“How are you?” she asks, spreading brushes on the living room table.

“Fine. And you?” Do you randomly draw your friends all the time? Or is there the tiniest chance I’m more than just a weird guy who pays you for drawing a picture in front of him?

Those questions don’t leave his mouth. Instead, Matteo sits down next to her and listens to her explanations on drawing open water. Meanwhile, he imagines taking her to his parents’ beach house in Italy.

“So, I think I could be finished with this next week. When was your mom’s birthday again?”

In the last moment, he holds back the sigh that tries to slip over his lips. “In two weeks.” In two weeks, this will be over. Luna will draw at her desk at her home, and exams will be inching too close to waste a full hour with him in the cafeteria. The semester is coming to an end, merciless in its rush of time, and he still has no idea how he’s going to see her again.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Yellow,” Luna replies. “And yours?”

Matteo twirls his spoon in the coffee cup. (She almost dipped her brush into it three times today.) “Blue. Mixed with yellow, it’d be green, right?”

She rewards him with a smile along with her nod. “Yeah.” While she goes on about green and turquoise and color names he never heard of before, his gaze gets lost on her, dragging his thoughts along to the moon. The delicate skin around her eyes wrinkles because she’s smiling so much. Between teal and seaweed green, he stumbles upon the realization of how bright and clear her iris is. Like a gem stone carved out of the earth, polished just so the light could bring his miniature reflection in them alive.

“Like your eyes”, he mumbles, not fully aware his mouth turned his thoughts into words for her to hear.

Luna pauses. “What?”

Matteo clears his throat. “They’re super green.” Quieter, he adds, “And they’re beautiful.”

“Thanks.” Nothing more than a whisper, but her blushing cheeks say enough.

///

The week passes too quickly. He can’t afford to daydream during classes yet curses himself for letting time run out of his hands. Friday night brings him dreams of her, and he shrieks up an hour before his alarm clock. His mind is a Ferris wheel, high and low, Luna and his finals take turns riding it up to the moment she finally rings his door.

For the first time since they met, she’s wearing a dress. Mentally, he congratulates himself for changing into jeans and a decent shirt a few minutes ago, while he also has to fight the urge to stare at her for too long. He’s almost afraid of embracing her during their hug.

“That dress looks amazing,” he says. She hugs him tighter.

///

“I’m gonna miss you sitting here.”

Luna is almost finished, the last strokes of the brush, the last corrections and soon, she’ll scribble her signature into the corner. He doesn’t want her to leave, he doesn’t want to say goodbye to her after handing her the money he still owes her, and he doesn’t want to admit to himself that he screwed this up. It’s a desperate statement he lets slip out in resignation, and it’s of little comfort that his voice doesn’t tremble.

A hesitant smile sits on her lips as she glances at him. “I’m gonna miss you too.” Her honesty catches him off guard, allows him to hope, to search for right way to ask her out, but before he gathers a single word, she clears her throat. “It’s gonna be weird not having you watch me anymore. I mean, not that I’ll have time to draw during finals.”

Matteo silently nods. Inside, everything screams at him to take a chance before the paint dries and the ending can’t be changed anymore. “What’s the weirdest thing for you about drawing?”

A few seconds pass before she answers. Their knees bump into each other under the table, and he apologizes without meaning it one bit.

“Sometimes, when I look at people, I don’t really see them because I start to think about how I’d draw them. It’s like… picking them apart into single shades. Circles and squares and all that.”

His eyes dart towards the window, to buildings hiding the clear blue sky. He holds the air in his lungs, thinks twice, then jumps into the cold water. “Is that what you did too when you drew me?”

“Kinda.”

Silence. He catches her gaze. His breath hitches. “Drawing you was… different.”

“How so?” He knows they’re tip-toeing around each other, round and round, closer to a moment that’ll inevitably change something. Maybe even them. Hopefully.

“I’m not sure I can explain it.”

He doesn’t ask a second time.

///

The last brush is clean, the sketchbook back in her bag. He watches her as she puts on her shoes, heart racing in his chest. The clock next to the wardrobe ticks mercilessly, he can count along when Luna faces him, and they stare at each other out of words. Out of time.

“Thank you.”

She smiles. “Thank you too. I hope your mom will like it.”

“I’m sure she will.”

Her arms around his neck, one last time. Her scent in his nose, her curls falling into her face as they break apart. She hasn’t even left, and he already misses her.

“So, I guess I’m gonna go home now.” Her hand lingers on the doorknob.

“Good luck for studying,” he replies. The door opens. Ask her, say it, keep her here, if only for a second. With one step, she’s in the hallway. Turns around, grimaces. “Bye, then.”

His voice sounds hoarse. “Bye.”

The door closes. He let her go, he didn’t do any of the things he’s been dreaming, hoping for, and he’s the only one to blame. Matteo sighs, closes his eyes, curses.

The doorbell rings. With a frown on his forehead, he opens.

“Luna?”

“I forgot my bag.”

He steps away, and she hushes inside. “I’m sorry, sometimes I don’t know where my head is,” she says. Rambles. Her cheeks have turned into a soft pink. “Anyway, I’m gonna leave you alone now. Greet Gastón from me, okay?”

“Wait.” A plea, crossing his lips at the speed of light. Suddenly, Matteo feels afraid and brave at once, hesitant and determined. If this is his last chance, he won’t waste it. “Can I see you again?”

///

He still searches for her traces when she leaves. They’re not scattered around his apartment anymore, though, they’re all over his skin. A soft kiss, a delicate touch. Sometimes, a hint of paint when he got a little too impatient. Once, between his bedsheets, she whispers that he could be her new canvas. Matteo presses his lips on her temple and prays that she’ll never be done with him.