#to get at least...2? 3? lol

[kinetic-elaboration]

December 4: Miller/Bellamy, Fake Dating + Ugly Holiday Sweaters

2022 Ficmas #1

Miller/Bellamy, College AU, ~1500 words

For the prompt "fake dating and ugly holiday sweaters" from a prompt generator I made to help me be festive

Wrote this in a little over an hour and did minimal edits. Have this rare pair in these wintry times.

*

Miller agrees to attend the annual Wallace House Ugly Sweater Holiday Party on one condition: that Bellamy go with him as his boyfriend.

The Ugly Sweater Party is a holiday tradition that Bellamy, as the dorm president, is required not only to organize but to attend, even though he's not usually one to make public his collection of holiday attire. He'll do almost anything to get Miller to go with him, as if a buddy to look stupidly festive with somehow lessens the embarrassment of the experience. They've been friends for over two years now and Miller knows he'll grumble and argue but ultimately concede. At any rate, he's not imposing this condition to be a dick but because Bryan, who broke up with him last Halloween but didn't have the decency to transfer schools or even move to a different dorm, is going to be there in his own stupid sweater, and so Miller simply can't show up alone.

"You know I'm not gay, right," Bellamy reminds him, as he digs beneath a pile of once-neatly-folded long sleeved shirts in his dresser. "More importantly, everyone knows I'm not gay."

"You're in college," Miller answers. He's leaning back on Bellamy's bed, kicking his heels against the metal frame. "Everyone experiments in college."

Bellamy shoots him a look, still skeptical, and instead of answering throws a navy-blue sweater in Miller's face. He can't tell what's on it yet, but it jingles, so it definitely fits the theme.

"I can't believe you own not one, but two, ugly holiday sweaters," he says, later, as they tramp down the stairs to the first floor. This is a lie. He fully believes Bellamy owns a half dozen. But it's weird that he took at least two to school. Miller's features a Rudolph with three-dimensional red nose and puffy antlers adorned with inexplicable little bells. Bellamy's is a red, white, and green striped monstrosity, which makes him look like a candy cane. A handsome candy cane, but a candy cane nevertheless.

Bellamy just grunts. "And you don't even own a regular sweater," he answers, turning around to push open the parlor door with his back.

"Because we don't have winter in California. Anyway, boyfriends share clothes. It's part of the thing."

The parlor looks pretty much as it always does, except for the strings of small, white lights that have been looped about the room, and which make it seem softer and cozier and warmer, and yet it stands in such sharp contrast to the dusky blues of early twilight outside, the hints of cold and asphalt and brick still waiting for snow, that even the familiar reds and browns of the bookcases, the furniture, the rugs and the wooden floor, seem a particular, special oasis in the frigid guttering of the year. A few small groups of freshmen have already arrived, unfashionably early, but so far the only people Miller knows are the dorm council themselves. Clarke is putting the finishing touches on the food table, carefully turning her plate of thumbprint cookies and rearranging the red and green napkins and the red plastic plates.

One of the freshmen is wearing a reindeer antler headband. Clarke's sweater has a snowman on it, surrounded by little puffs of falling snow.

"Here," Bellamy says, handing him a candy cane. "Be festive. Have fun."

Miller jumps up and down, letting the bells on his sweater ring. "I jingle. How much more fun could I have?"

He stays mostly by the food, and keeps Bellamy by his side, pretending to be some kind of host, while additional freshmen and then sophomores and juniors filter in. At some point after he's realized there's hot chocolate in the containers at the end of the table, but before he's able to fill a cup for himself, he notices that Bryan has somehow slipped in unobserved. He's sitting in the armchair in the corner, talking to a girl Miller doesn't recognize, and he's not sure what hurts worse: that he didn't see Bry come in or that they're both okay to just exist like this, leagues away from each other at opposite ends of the room.

"Hey—take it easy there—sweetheart," Bellamy mumbles, carefully taking Miller's hands away from the hot chocolate dispenser, before he overflows his fragile paper cup. Thank fuck he destroyed the moment with an awkward endearment, or Miller might have gotten too distracted by the surprisingly soft warmth of his calloused hands.

"Don't call me that again," he warns, shrugging back his shoulders to save face. Bryan's sweater, he's decided, is insufficiently ugly. It's a basic green cable knit pullover, and he looks too stupidly good in it.

Bellamy steps sideways in front of him, blocking his view—mercifully, annoyingly—and Miller scowls at him.

"You know you're being a terrible date," Bellamy says.

"You should kick him out for not following the dress code."

"Yeah, I'm sure Clarke will try." He tilts his head, trying to catch Miller's eye, not quite smiling but so close to it that his expression has become almost sweet. Almost fond. Maybe this is how he looks at his girlfriends. Maybe this is how he gets dates with girls—Miller can understand how it would work. "Seriously," he adds. "Are we boyfriends or not?"

Obviously not. But the point is taken. Before he can answer, a too-familiar voice from behind Bellamy says, "Excuse me," and Bellamy steps aside to clear the way to the hot chocolate and also to reveal, of course, Bryan, fiddling with the stack of paper cups. Up close, Miller can see that his hair is slightly ruffled, his cheeks pink from the stuffy, artificial heat of the room.

"Hey, Nate."

"Bry. Uh." He has to have something more to say than just his name. "Nice sweater."

"Yeah.” He grins, glancing over at Miller for just a moment as he pours hot chocolate into his cup. “You too. You look festive. I wish I had something actually on-theme like that."

He is not being complimented on his Rudolph sweater. His brain's not working fast enough, can't tell if the comment is sarcastic or sincere, or just a bald flirtation, or if he's only hoping it might be. "Thanks. It's—"

"It's mine, actually," Bellamy fills in. He slips his free hand around to Miller's back, keeps it settled there in a subtly proprietary way. Miller watches the way Bryan's eyes follow the movement, and he steps a little closer, so that his hip bumps up against Bellamy's hip. "Someone told me that sharing clothes is something that boyfriends do. But if Miller tries to borrow my boots, we might have to break up."

"Good thing I have kickass boots of my own," Miller answers. The grin on his face, which feels sappy and love-struck, is annoyingly genuine. He almost feels bad about it. Like he’s showing off a new-found happiness that’s actually real.

Bryan shifts his weight between his feet awkwardly. "They are pretty great boots," he agrees. "Hey, it was good running into you." And he reaches out and squeezes Miller's arm briefly, and for the first time, the touch feels like any ordinary touch, devoid of all particular, heartbreaking meaning.

"Yeah, you too," Miller echoes. You too.

Later, he and Bellamy split one of the last brownies, pulling it apart awkwardly while crumbs drop onto their laps and gooey bits of frosting threaten to drip off from the sides, sitting side by side on the loveseat by the window. The sun has set completely now, and the glass shows nothing of the outside, only reflects back the fairy lights and their own wavering outlines, as they toast with their desserts and then lick chocolate from their fingers. For a wild moment, Miller imagines grabbing Bellamy's hand, licking it clean. They're pressed up much closer than they need to be, and the room is mostly empty now, and Bellamy is watching him with that unreadable, affectionate expression on his face again. Somehow the laughter of a few moments ago, as they fumbled around with their dessert, has become a too-long silence. A silence on the edge of something he can almost name, a captured gaze he won’t let go.

"Thought you were only into girls," Miller says, as he feels them leaning in. Bellamy still has a brownie crumb stuck to the corner of his mouth, and when Miller brushes it away, he inhales sharply, and then grabs Miller’s hand in his.

Bellamy shrugs. "Everyone experiments in college," he answers, and closes the last distance between them, but the kiss is too sweet and tentative and true to be only that. Miller smiles as they part, briefly, almost laughing, and then immediately intertwine themselves again.

[another-goblin]

A little self indulgent Wriolette

(made before 4.1 so I've got no idea what's Wrio's personality or what's their actual relationship haha)

[deoidesign]

One of my first digital pieces (2010) versus one of my recent ones (2024)

We all start somewhere!

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[harbingersecho]

kill me again; show me the only way you know how to love.

[saphushia]

|| part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || part 4 coming soon... ||

man sabo really thought he'd get away from ace that easy, huh? well tough shit buddy you just got the attention of one of the most stubborn men on the seas. i do wonder how this'll play out now that sabo's cornered... hehe >;3

textless versions below the cut for those who want to look at. pictures <3

(skipped page 5 due to. y'know. it not having any dialogue)

[inkskinned]

one of the things about having an unstable parent is that it can so easily ruin your future. you want to get out, but getting out takes having agency. it takes the resume and the grades and the stellar community service history.

but you have to choose your battles. you know if you sign up for an after-school activity, it'll be okay for a while, so long as the activity is parent-approved and god-fearing. over time, like all things, it will become an argument (i can't keep carting your ass to these things) or a weapon (talk to me like that again, see if you get to go to practice). sometimes, if you love the thing, it's worth it. but you also know better than to love something: that's how they get you. if you ever actually want something, it will always be the center of their attention. they will never stop threatening you with it. telling you of course i'm a good parent, i came to all of those stupid events.

you learn to balance yourself perfectly. you can either have a social life or you can have hobbies. both of these things will be under constant scrutiny. you spend too much time with her, you should be at home with family is equally paired with you're acting like this because you're addicted to what's on that goddamn screen. you cannot ever actually win, so everything falls within a barter system that you calculate before entering: do you want to learn how to drive? if so, you'll need to give up asking for a new laptop, even though yours died. maybe you can work on a computer at the library. of course, that would mean you'd be allowed to go to the library, which would mean something else has to bleed. nothing ever actually comes free.

and that bitter, horrible irony: you could be literally following their orders and it still isn't pretty. they tell you to get a job; they hate that your job keeps you late and gives you access to actual money. they tell you to do better in school; they say no child of mine needs a tutor. they want you to stop being so morose, don't you know there are people who are really suffering - but they revile the idea you might actually need therapy.

you didn't survive that fall the way other people would. you've seen other people scramble and get their way out, however they could. maybe you were made too-soft: the answer didn't come to you easily. it wasn't quick. it was brutal and nasty. some people even asked you why didn't you just work hard and escape during school? and you felt your head spinning. why didn't you? (they control your financial aid. they control your loan status. they love having that kind of thing). maybe in another life you got diagnosed sooner and got the meds you needed to actually focus and got attention from the right teachers who helped you clear hurdles to get up out of here - but for now? here?

the effort of trying. the effort of not-dying. that kind of effort was absolutely agonizing.

[twinkskeletons]

fob 4ever

[anothersuperstition]

like five commissions would solve so many of my problems right now …. 🌀you want to commission me🌀…. 🌀you want to look at my pinned post and you want to commission me sooooo bad🌀…….

a few recent commissions ⬇️

been loving leaning into more illustration/poster work and would love to do more!!

[burningfunobject]

S2 arcane spoilers!!

Anyone else notice how dim viktors eyes look in the new season like

And it's like this for nearly every other shot

Compared to his eyes in s1

And he's rlly out of character too

And sure that could be the trauma of EVERYTHING that's happened

But I feel like it's more than that

The hexcore is controlling him obviously so maybe we'll see him try to fight against it??

I really hope he does bc I don't think the whole magic arcane Jesus thing is really working for me tbh

OR if he doesn't manage to get free of the hexcore maybe he decides to lean into it by baking himself even more robotic buy powered by hextech or whatever the new equivalent would be

I've also been thinking maybe he'll start upsetting the chem barrens?? But it seems kinda unlikely

[raiiny-bay]

the kids released a new album

[valhallavalgrace]

How have your interactions with your floormates been? Do any of them seem particularly friendly?

I think this might be your guy to talk to, Leo, just a hunch...

prev ask

[artsfavoritehorn]

I got an overwhelmingly interested response from everyone about my T2 experience so while I compile those posts about that, I'll share with y'all the best pic I've ever taken (and I've seriously debated multiple times just sending it as a holiday card to my family members and telling them happy holidays from me and my new boyfriend🥰😋 but haven't gotten around to that yet LOL) may I present to you the photo of when Art took me to the prom 🤡

This was taken way back in the summer of 2019 and it was one of the best days of my life, it was before Terrifier got crazy big like it is now so the lines were much shorter 🥲🥹 he was so adorable and sweet and it was so cute asking him in character if he would be okay with doing a prom photo pose and he instantly nodded his head yes with that big ol' smile and instantly turned me around and came right up behind me and wrapped his arms around me (and if you look closely you can see that he was also literally holding my fingers between his 😳🥵😂) I love my clown boyfriend and we are very happy together!!!🥰😋

[sharkiethedork]

my biggest takeaway so far

[86future]

[ 2ND CHILDREN / 5TH CHILDREN ]

— The truth is, Unit 02 simply isn’t compatible with the other EVAs. (E14)

— I never imagined this boy could synchronize with Unit 02 without replacing its core. Quite astonishing. (E24)

Death & Rebirth Pamphlet / Cruel Angel’s Thesis OP / EVA-02 wiki / DEATH (TRUE ²) / E16 / E24 / DEATH (TRUE ²) / E22 / 3.0: You Can (Not) Redo Cover / E09 / The End of Evangelion / E09 / E24 / NGE Manga / The End of Evangelion

[fisheito]

My favourite fantasy lately is Kuya kidnapping Eiden and bringing him to a house in the woods to punish him for endangering himself during some adventure. Kuya keeps Eiden in bondage and constantly on edge, teasing and denying him. And Eiden just takes it without asking to be let out, allowing Kuya to vent his fear and frustration, because he's nice like that.

But, at some point, even the strongest little soldiers break, and just when Eiden is about to shatter from all the stress and Kuya's oppressive anxiety, Quincy comes for the rescue. He's the only one who managed to find that little wooden shack in the middle of nowhere (you know, because Kuya's allowed him to), and he comes in and persuades Kuya to relent.

Kuya hasn't even given Eiden any dick in all the (three? four?) days they've been at it, so serious he was about the discipline aspect!

Eiden cries when Kuya finally fucks him, and Quincy makes him spill

this just reminds me of Billowing Wildfire Kuya R2 where eiden saID sO HImself

i would not be surprised if kuya went full speed into an evil edging hostage situation because he doesn't know how to process eiden's mortality