#two different backgrounds bc the left one is usually how i draw before i realized it was to dark on anything but a bright ass ipad 😭😭

[monpalace]

!!! Pls post your art I wanna see

yh no she might be the reason i claw out of artblock

[theresa-of-liechtenstein]

art by em year in review 2023!

for the fourth time, i present to you a selection of the art i did this year! this definitely was the Year of Understanding Procreate, and i think it paid off. as usual, reflections under the cut.

january: i saw @malcolm-f-tucker tag a picture of abigail thaw with a comment about a theresa faceclaim and it left no survivors, i.e. i decided that theresa should have greying hair and did not look back. this was from when i was still trying to figure out what brush to use for lineart in procreate. luckily i had learned my lesson from the sketchbook learning curve and realized that what i liked for lineart would most likely be in the pencil section. however i wasn’t a huge fan of the brush i used in this one, so i didn’t use it again. instead, for later pieces, i decided to customize the 6b pencil brush to my liking, and…

february: …this came out of it! this is still one of my favorite things i have ever drawn, and it’s my favorite thing i’ve drawn yet for herc and linda. this piece really convinced me to use overlay layers more in my art, and the amount of detail i managed to capture in this one still amazes me now. and before anyone asks, yes, they are doing specific things in the startup procedure for an airbus a320-family aircraft, except linda is doing things off the CM1 checklist and herc is doing something off the CM2 checklist, which i learned later is not really something that is done. let’s just say herc is not the tightest stickler to convention.

march: one half of an intended two pieces centered around the f1 au (which, regrettably, i have yet to continue… i just reread what little of the second part is on ao3 and god, it slaps actually, i really need to continue it so bad) depicting a pivotal scene from around the outside, where theresa and linda decide to put aside a childhood feud at the top of the banked curve at monza. at sunset. on theresa’s birthday. i know, very meaningful, incredibly homoerotic. read the fic to see how well that turns out!

april: i always knew i wanted to redraw the first filipino!hercolyn thing i did back in 2020, the one that completely solidified in my mind the notion that These Characters Are Filipino, Actually, and when i got comfortable in procreate i quickly jumped on that. (if you notice, a lot of the stuff i did this year were redraws of old pieces i really liked but wasn’t fully satisfied with.) of course i wanted to draw them in the traditional clothes in my parents’ and grandparents’ wedding pictures. the implication of this being, of course, that this is the soft shoe shuffle wedding. i have a fic planned centered around that, from douglas’ perspective. now that grad school apps are basically done, if my honors thesis doesn’t kick me too hard, i’d love to get on that as soon as i can.

may: YOU JUST GOT COLINED! SEND THIS TO A FRIEND TO TOTALLY COLIN THEM! ah, colin fairbairn: the figure whose presence haunts all of newcastle but is never actually. named. (much to the chagrin of a lot of people who genuinely thought linda’s dad was named colin bc i Wouldn’t Shut Up About It) i just love him so much and i love this piece, i wanted to depict the wistfulness of an older colin whose airline is on the verge of collapse, who has been secure in his job as chief pilot of air cal, who looks out over glasgow airport (that’s glasgow’s runway in the background) and wonders if it’s time to put himself out to pasture. wondering what he could have done differently. it’s okay bby. there’s no way that you could have prevented this. but he’d never believe it. he’s too duty bound. he lives in my head rent free.

june: another redraw, this time of a piece from 2021. i was so happy with this one, and i am very happy with it still! everything about the older piece i loved was improved massively by this redraw: the poses, the proportions, the line work, the coloring. honestly, just thinking about the two of them just existing in the airport, overlooked by bustling passengers, just part of the landscape, but having such a rich history and relationship between them… it’s something i think about a lot and i love it.

july: this comprises the third part of an unofficial trilogy of drawings i did centered around douglas/martin/theresa. in each one, i centered a different member of the ot3: i did one centering martin last year, one centering douglas in the spring, and this one centers theresa between douglas and martin. i really enjoy how i did the expressions in this one: martin, looking out toward the planes; theresa, following his gaze, eager to share in the passion they both have; and douglas, looking down at both of them (yeah i think they’re both shorter than him. i think it’s cute). i feel like when i draw these three, where they look and how they look is very important to me.

august: can you believe before this point i had never drawn herc and douglas together? yeah, me too. anyway, them 🤍 i’ve literally only ever drawn them as older men so trying to draw them younger was. lowkey kind of hard. i’m hoping to revisit air england herc and douglas in the future, especially since i didn’t intend for this to be anything more than a quick bit due to those bisexual divorcee brackets (which i don’t know what became of them in the end except that douglas got through and herc didn’t, lmao)

september: unposted self-portrait done as a part of my aerospace fellowship application i wound up getting rejected from because they required me to do a creative component. not much to say here. anyways.

october: yet another redraw, this time of a portrait of herc, carolyn, linda, and arthur i did a year prior, in october of 2022. i like to think that lfeu!herc carries pictures of linda, arthur, and carolyn in his wallet: he had never wanted to be the family man for most of his life, but in his new life, this new form, he can play it well. something about the coloring seems a little off to me: i think i may have to go in and adjust arthur’s skin tone because i think it doesn’t look 100% right. but i love this one too. i hemmed and hawed for ages over what they should be wearing but in the end i put them in what they’d wear for work bc i couldn’t think anymore. but it turned out super cute and i think it emphasizes what brought the four of them together in the first place: aviation.

november: a cute little doodle of young!colin with baby linda, from a bigger piece. something i generally feel like i’ve gotten stronger with this year has been drawing a larger variety of poses. i discovered that procreate allows you to import reference images in a smaller window that can be very easily dragged around and resized, which was a massive improvement over my previous strategy with sketchbook, which had been to import reference images as their own layers. often, moving it around or resizing reference images resulted in some loss of quality. anyways there’s something just so tender about colin and linda and i love to revisit them.

december: last but not least, we finish off the way we started, with theresa (and an added douglas lol). and boy, how different does december look from january? granted, it’s a different angle, but i personally think there is so much more dimension at the end of the year compared to the beginning. i was less afraid of using overlays to enhance the coloring. and the brush i wound up settling on for lineart really ended up serving me well this whole year, culminating in this piece. not much to say on this one, i like it a lot :)

overall thoughts: i didn’t think i drew as much as i wanted to this year, but looking back i still think i made really good progress and improved a lot from last year, so i’m still happy. definitely want to draw more next year, explore new subjects, and maybe work on redrawing more pieces from previous years because those projects have been very fun to undertake.

once again i want to say a big thank you to everyone who’s ever shared or commented or left a like on anything i’ve drawn: it will have been 10 years next year since the end of the show i primarily create fanwork for, and to still have people out there who like what i do is such a gift. yes i create for myself, but i do also like receiving feedback from others and sharing it with others, so thank you thank you thank you. and happiest of new years to all :)

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 10/12/21

MANY PROBLEMS

Please do not be alarmed by my sudden correct capitalization and better than usual punctuation, this comes from my phone bc I simply cannot be bothered to move from the couch and my phone is where I write correctly capitalized and punctuated work emails.

listening Anyway here are two spooky songs: Eartha Kitt’s I’d Rather Be Burned As A Witch is a jauntily rude little song I love her

Song two that was on loop as I cleaned my kitchen on Sunday night and has since been stuck in my head: Grabbitz’s Pigs In The Sky, which immediately went on four different character playlists bc I am (as previously established) a weak and predictable woman. The production on this one really pleases my brain, there’s enough happening in the background that it’s interesting and layered and doesn’t sound muddy, which is Very hard to do bc I am Very hard of hearing.

reading Star Wars: Scourge by Jeff Grubb

This book is a DARE campaign about how space cocaine is bad and causes murders. We’re going to set aside the whole drug thing for a minute bc honestly there are extremely few pieces of media that do a good job portraying addiction and drug use and holding a 2012 Star Wars novel to that standard is unfair. Oddly enough, in contrast with that, this book has a very sympathetic portrayal of Hutts, traditionally the cartel bosses of this universe.

Something this book IS good at doing is operating in a tiny backwater and making things feel small. It’s set in period of time where the post-Disney media doesn’t usually end up, on a number of planets we aren’t usually on, with a number of background at best factions. There was a post going around about how small old movies are are how they could be about just one guy having a bad day, and I recently had a convo with my best friend about how I hated the anime series bc it did get to explore bits and pieces but there was always the looming sense of exactly where we were in the narrative. Jabba is always there, or the Empire is always ther. Or the New Order is always there looming in the background. In this one the Corporates are always in the background, a faction that I would not say has had its moment in the Sun yet. Refreshing if disjointed.

This book does an awful lot of telling and not showing. The strength of Star Wars is the visuals, it started with the movies and the most successful pieces are the moving images. This book just straight up tells me how things happen and what everyone’s motives are. It does not let me imagine what the film version would look like, or trust me enough as a reader to draw my own conclusions and solve puzzles by myself. Again, it’s very hard to write mysteries and I may be holding this to an unfair standard, but it simply did not work for me. The clues were either extremely blatant or left me feeling like I didn’t have all the info the book thought I had. I think my main quibble is: not enough red herrings or enough effort put into them, but I do not care enough to reread this and develop my opinion further.

Now, I don’t know if this book is so single-minded bc the author admittedly has issues following and developing more than one plot thread at a time, or if this was a deliberate choice bc it was one of the last novels signed before Disney bought Lucasfilm and couldn’t tie into anything by design. Who could say.

watching Fallow week. Yes really. Been a lotta late nights over here at Evil Lair LLC and I have just enough energy to absorb half a bad romance novel/Star Wars novel/Star Wars romance novel for forty minutes before passing out

playing nothing I can talk about

making I like picking up large melee weapons when they’re a dollar. this file sat in a diluted vinegar/salt bath for two days and it didn’t really do anything except clear enough gunk out for me to realize the tip is just a little mangled. Am I gonna need this file any time soon? Probably not in this apartment but who could say. Before/after/yikes

[strawberry1212]

“IU - Celebrity” Analysis

THE QUEEN HAS RETURNED!!!

I know it’s unhealthy to simp for celebrities...but IU is an exception. I have been rewatching her new comeback an unhealthy amount of times so I thought I’d share some things/details/background info :))

1) Background

So IU wrote about the lyric writing process this time and OMG I have to copy and paste her whole statement bc it’s so beautiful:

"I have a friend who has often been treated as an eccentric person due to her eye-catching outfit, her unique taste, dynamic talents, defensive mechanisms stemming from shyness, and a personality that clearly knows her preferences. I loved her even more because of these unique characteristics of hers, but for the same reasons, she has been living under more scrutiny and hateful eyes. These are the words I wanted to tell my 'unusual friend' that turned into the lyrics to this song but as I worked on the song, I realized that this is also my story as well. After completing the song, I thought that anyone can be the main character to this song. I'm sure everyone has felt left out at least once in their lives because they dont' meet the standards others have made. I want to tell everyone, including my friend, who were born rough around the edges but special. You are not a person from the star (common saying in Korea to mean someone weird/different) but are like a star."

OK THIS IS SO CUTE!! Because like first of all it’s so poetic...the play on words with you are not from the star, but a star yourself. And the fact that we are getting yet another song from IU that is not another romantic song. One of my long standing frustrations with the music industry (American, Korean, and Japanese), is songs tend to always center around romance, and IU tends to break those stereotypes (Bbibbi, Palette, 23, I-Land, 8, just to name her title tracks), and not only that but the fact that this is about her friend is just so beautiful T_T. Also did anyone else think of Sulli when they read this? Sulli was known for her eccentricity, different style, and being misunderstood, but the translation writes “I have a friend” in the present tense...so idk. 

And just her wanting her fans/listeners to feel like the main character (ಥ﹏ಥ) (I’m not crying you are). This is especially such an important message for Korean and Asian fans in general. I only have my experience in Japan to speak to, but Asian collectivist cultures really punish those who stray from the norm, which not only ends up discouraging those from being unique and themselves, but also impedes social progress (feminism, environmentalism, social justice, animal rights, etc.). 

And I also think it’s key where she wrote “as I worked on the song, I realized that this is also my story as well,”--more on that theme later when I break down the music video.

2) Music Video Analysis

The star motif

So she sort of does a play on words by putting a lot of star stuff in, star being another word for celebrity. And as the lyrics “You're a star painted with a left hand,” she’s talking about how this person isn’t the perfect/usual star, but perhaps a crooked/left-handed one...like the one shown to dot the “i” in the first image of the music video:

The star motif also features later around 1:09 in her dance, she draws a star with her finger.

The music video story

So basically it seems IU is playing two people--one is herself, a celebrity type figure dressed in glam clothes, and the other is the unique, “star” character (a stand in for her friend that she wrote the lyrics about). IU sings about the “star,” “A troubled outsider The walk, the style Through the earphones The music is all minor You have no idea Above your lowered head What the bright lights are Shining towards.”

The music video shows IU in glamorous clothes:

While this “star” character is in her unique/non-glam clothing, walking through the crowd.

We can also sense IU’s isolation, she’s dressed like a princess in this glamorous pastel pink room, but she is alone, and the lights flash almost ominously outside, like the constant threat of paparazzi/people always surrounding her wanting to look in on her life:

Or how the clothing racks gradually disappear, revealing her standing alone worriedly:

The next we see IU standing off to to the side (I believe it’s IU bc she’s in an undercover outfit, but it’s clearly very glamorous), as she hides from fans chasing her:

When the crowd passes, she looks around and catches sight of “star” IU, and is seemingly very taken by her unique beauty:

IU chases the “star,” but loses sight of her, and is once again alone:

The irony here is that a) despite being adored and chased by many, the celebrity IU feels alone, and that b) despite being this glamorous celebrity, celebrity IU adores this unique “star,” that is just living her life, and not universally adored like celebrity IU. Celebrity IU almost seems envious of her freedom and unique style. But as the lyrics say, she also is upset at the way society treats the unique “star:”

“Your weary face looks like/ Someone powered you off/ The heartbeat went too quiet/ The glow you have/ The imagination, identity/ Are on a diet” “

These lyrics I had the most trouble with...I think it means the “star”’s imagination and unique identity are being starved/mistreated by society, like they are being forced to put on a diet. 

Next we have:

“You have no idea/ Still not fully bloomed/ Written for you/ A bygone love poem” as celebrity IU works, it seems, on a love poem for the “star.”

Here the star motif features pretty literally, as she is surrounded by her poem writing as the stars fall across the sky. The “written for you, a bygone love poem” could also be a reference to IU’s other song, Love Poem? Also going back to how this could reference Sulli, I could help but be reminded of how IU wrote the song “Peach” about Sulli’s beauty and how much she adored her friend. 

Next we see IU in front of this huge tapestry of celebrity IU, but this time she is wearing a dress studded with stars, and looking further up. She passes through the tapestry, and this could be like a sign of her growth? Like moving past her huge blown up celebrity image of herself to find her true self in a star studded dress?

She then enters into a dark vacuum where she is surrounded by people dancing with lights (another continuation of the star motif):

I think this is the turning point to the music video. Because now it is celebrity IU surrounded by stars. The next scene shows the people (all the people that once chased her) simply walking past her on the steps, perhaps alluding to how fame is ephemeral. She looks unsure and insecure here.

The next scene is most steeped in symbolism; she is in the same room that she was in alone before looking out at the city, but now the curtains are drawn (symbolizing privacy?) and IU reaches out towards an identical version of herself. Now the line between celebrity IU and “star” IU becomes blurred:

It seems that the left is “star” IU, and the right is celebrity IU, who continues to pine and look up to an almost indifferent “star” IU. “Star” IU gets up to leave, and morphs back into her “star” outfit from the beginning of the video, re-affirming that this is in fact “star” IU.

When celebrity IU notices she’s gone, she rushes up to find her (again paralleling her chase at the beginning of the music video), but when she goes to where “star” IU disappears, she is simply confronted with a mirror: she was the unique star all along!

In a sense, the message here could be that our own unique beauty may seem obvious to everyone else (the viewer knew that “star” IU was the same person (IU) as celebrity IU all along, but it took celebrity IU the whole music video to figure it out.

Almost as if this whole sequence has been inside celebrity IU’s head, she seems to come to this realization on a red carpet surrounded by flashing cameras:

Here she breaks the fourth wall, looking directly at the camera, as if to now realize: “I have been my own unique “star” all along.” She looks at the camera as the music sings, “you are my celebrity,” perhaps to mean that the viewer is her celebrity, or that she herself is her own celebrity, and runs off, away from the cameras (as if running away from her fame for a moment), in her beautiful red dress, free and confident at last. In the past she has always been running to chase “star” IU, but now she seems to be running simply for herself:

Messages/themes:

I think there are a couple of final messages here, and it is truly to IU’s credit that she was able to pack so many themes/messages into one music video. I think the dynamic I’m most interested in is how it runs the age old theme of the harms of celebrity fame, but it puts a very unique twist on it. While it shows the isolating aspects of fame, it also has a positive spin, that the love and affection bestowed upon celebrities isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but rather that we should redistribute that love and affection towards those closest to us, and see each other the way IU saw her friend. It also shows that fame and adoration don’t matter when you are insecure in yourself, given the irony of celebrity IU chasing after “star” IU.

This message that what matters most is cherishing and being cherished by those closest to you is interesting, because it can apply to both celebrities and non-celebrities. Celebrities may be adored, but it can be superficial, so they need the genuine love of close friends. Conversely, non-celebrities may feel super connected to their celebrities, but ultimately they need real life close friends. I think the message serves to both humanize celebrities in this way, while also saying that non-celebrities, and even weird/eccentric people, are deserving of the love and adoration we usually only reserve for picture-perfect celebrities.

I think perhaps the most poignant part, is the message of self-love: how at the end she realized that perhaps despite being pigeon-holed in certain ways as a public figure, she can reclaim her unique, beautiful parts. How we can be envious of others who seem set on their unique path and unafraid, but that we are unique and different too.

Also can we talk about how she served LOOKS!!! All of those outfits were GOLD. Anyways, I hope her music and its message reverberate with people who feel undeserving as “outsiders” and being eccentric. Being different is amazing. And as IU suggests, even though we may not be pop stars, we are all “celebrities” to someone. As the saying goes, “to the world you may just be one person, but to one person you may be the world.”

[sneezefiction]

making up for lost time

Daichi x fem!Reader - Scenario

@miss-rin​‘s request: “Where Daichi reunites with the reader several years after highschool... She’s messed up from her last relationship, but wants to try again.... With a fluffy ending though, please!!”

a/n: eeee this was really therapeutic to write. i know it’s a little on the longer side of things i usually post, but i wanted to set it up well. enjoy some angst to fluff Daichi content bb <33333

warnings: break ups, cheating, low self esteem, slight language, general angst

wc: 3350

---

It’s strange. Staring at your textbook, your fingers brushing against its textured, thin pages, you hadn’t noticed the tiny droplets forming on the sheets below. Only when you recognized its salty taste did you realize you were the source. You lean back, using the table to tilt your chair onto its back legs, balancing there for a minute to keep your tears from staining anything else on the desk.

With all the mentions of bonds and fusions, somehow chemistry homework has brought you back into the reality of your current life crisis. 

It’s not like you hadn’t expected tears, but did they have to overtake every aspect of your life? 

In public. Walking through the park. At 4 in the morning.

It was cruel, really. 

That even after a year of complete distance, everything insisted on reminding you of him.

---

Your ex was supposed to be a one night stand. A ploy to get over a deeply established crush. You were running from young, uncertain love, pushing it down, and drowning it all in heavy doses of pleasure. But weekend-after-weekend, your interactions with this mystery hookup turned into regular flings.

From there, you allowed something deeper to develop.

You started sharing with him.

Lying on the bed, limbs entangled, panting subsided. You released small thoughts and simple secrets into the dark of the night. Maybe he would capture those words, pondering them, making a space for them in his mind. Maybe he would let them drift by, like white noise and formless background music. 

But it didn’t matter. You spoke anyway.

Nights passed and you would let out more gentle, whispering comments. Insecurities, dreams, stories. 

And at some point, he started responding. Listening. Mulling over your words. Whether you meant for it to happen or not, things grew personal. He became your stand-in security blanket, pulling you in and showing you his own little world. You didn’t care if it was fabricated and make-believe.

Because for the first time, it seemed like someone reciprocated your words and actions. You were no longer relying on past passions and feelings because you were so busy drowning in the touch of a stranger. He gave you endless chances to let go of your greatest love and high school infatuation. And you took each one.

You pushed yourself to like him. You asked him to be exclusive. He agreed.

Because his touches were soothing. The way his arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you into his chest and whispering dirty, sugar-coated words into your ears. It made you feel wanted. Needed. Like maybe this could be the one. Like maybe you didn’t need the brown-eyed boy from so long ago.

Yes, your ex’s hold on you was physically tight…

But his intentions were loose and undefined. Eerily disconnected from the reality you had pictured yourself in.

In the back of your mind, you knew something was off. The puzzle pieces that tied your interactions together were either damaged or missing. Information and stories didn’t match up.

At some point, he started coming home wearing the scent of sex and perfume. Fragrances that didn’t belong to you. All of the staying out late and leaving the bed early... He was clearly cheating on you. 

But ignorance is bliss... and you were swimming in it.

You now realize he only told you what you wanted to hear. Little, white lies iced with sweet, generous promises.

What did you expect? That he actually needed you? Why would this stand-in boyfriend be any different?

Finding him on top of a girl in your bedroom should’ve cut you deeper. It should have left you with your knees collapsed and your fingers painfully digging into the carpet. You could have screamed and cried, kicked something, at least outwardly shown your pain.

Yet all that came over you was a dizzying numbness. So you shut the door, closing yourself off to their shocked expressions. Cutting yourself off from another failed love attempt. A worthless endeavor.

---

You’re still fighting a losing battle against hot, streaming tears in the library.

You wish the tears stemmed from the breakup. It would be a logical justification for your pain. Yes, it would be easier to cry over something present… or at least something sensible.

But fate is fickle and so are your emotions. Fragile and nostalgic.

Because you aren’t choking on sobs in the campus library over that unloyal asshole. 

No, your mind was fully centered on Daichi. The one person who had actually made you feel whole. Who regularly told you how much he wanted you.

You could’ve drowned in his warm, honey-glazed gaze. He drew you in, submerging you in a euphoric, blissfully intoxicated state. 

Memories flittered back to you. How he would always comfort you, using his firm shoulder as a pillow during after school hours to cry or sleep on when life began to smother you.

How he snuck up behind you in the schoolyard, grabbing you by the waist, lighting a fire inside you that filled you with warmth and made your stomach do somersaults. It was playful. Lighthearted. So very Daichi.

And you wanted more. More than platonic. More than best friends.

His touches were nothing like your ex.

It was like gentle floating fireflies, blinking and flickering in a field at dusk. Consistent but surprising. Sensitive, feathery, and comforting. Not at all greedy or dismissive.

You didn’t have to think twice about it. Daichi still remained in the softest parts of you.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. He isn’t coming back to save you. To take you by the hand and rekindle whatever it was you two had shared back then.

Because Daichi wasn’t ready to commit.

He had told you how he felt. How he wanted you so badly that it physically hurt him. That he wanted to be there for you, by your side, hand-in-hand.

But he just wasn’t ready to follow through. Not with graduation and change so near in sight. Not with the possibility of losing you just as soon as you’d become his.

You knew he was right. College shifted you two into completely separate directions. 12 hours to be exact.

You and Daichi were at the right place at the wrong time.

But as you drifted, the words morphed and manipulated themselves in your mind. They echoed a tone that claimed that you were the faulty one. That you weren’t ready. You weren’t lovable enough. He didn’t want to commit to you.

So naturally, you equated it with not being enough for him. That it was some silly, unfounded puppy-love. Just a bunch of hormones and high schoolers.

So you tried to bury your longing for him, making countless mistakes in the process. 

You had changed. This was your life now. Broken, exhausted, and weathered.

In defeat, you close up the heavy, tattered textbook, gently maneuvering it into your backpack and take your leave from the softly lit library. You’ve suffered enough for one day, so you may as well give yourself a break from studying.

As you make your way out the door, you feel an unexpected buzz in your back pocket, your phone lighting up with a notification. You reach a hand back to check it.

3:47 pm - sawamuradaichi38 followed you

You stop abruptly, feet planted in the doorway, eyes processing the words before you.

“Shit.”

Daichi…

High school Daichi.

The “I was just crying over how much I hate missing you 5 minutes ago,” Daichi.

You hadn’t spoken in over a year and suddenly this? 

It was out of the blue, not to mention at one of the most pitiful moments in your life. 

Broken up, red-eyed, and still helplessly in love with his brown-eyes. How could someone so wonderful have such disastrous timing?

You receive a rude awakening, the door to the library smacking you in the face, drawing you out of your thoughts and leaving you rubbing the now red spot on your forehead, the phone still clutched tightly in your palm.

Leaving the doorway, you spot a park bench and take a seat outside, your thumb still hovering over the “follow back” button.

It takes some persuading, but eventually you convince yourself it will be fine. It’s not like you’re selling your soul to him.

It’s just a simple “follow back.”

It also wouldn’t hurt to see what he looked like.

So you click.

And there he is. Several month’s worth of photos, flooding your eyes.

Party streamers, candids, squinted smiles, polaroid photo-shoots, flushed faces from tipsy weekends, throwbacks… and your heart is pounding at the sight of just how mature he looks.

He’s developed a flattering tan over the summer, giving him a golden glow. The deeper tone has either made him look more toned or he’s gained muscle in the past couple of years. Both are very likely.

You proceed your scrolling, subconsciously looking for any signs of being in a relationship, before you’re startled by another ‘ping’ noise.

Damn this stupid app.

To hell with media.

Why did he feel the need to message you? Is he messing with you, right now? 

But the questions don’t keep you from opening the text.

Nerves settle in.

3:55 pm - Daichi: Y/n!

3:55 pm - Daichi: I’m in town for a while and I really want to see your face.

3:56 pm - Daichi: Only if you want to though… I know it’s been a long time.

How is it possible that your hands are already shaking? It’s just Daichi.

Just Daichi.

What the actual hell, Daichi.

3:58 pm - Y/n: Heya! I’d love to, but I have so many questions???

You have more than just questions.

4:00 pm - Daichi: I’ve got answers. So is that a yes? Bc if it’s a no, that’d be super awkward…

4:00 pm - Daichi: ...given that I’m 5 minutes from your university right now. Could I pick you up?

WHAT IN THE ACTUAL HELL, DAICHI.

4:01 pm - y/n: Well damn, ok. Looks like I don’t have any excuses. Come n get me :)

You do your best to sound smooth, sending him the corner to pick you up on, but you still looked and felt like a total wreck. Your makeup was messy, mascara staining the underneath of your eyes. Luckily, you had baby wipes and could clean up a little, but you were still left with a slightly puffy, red-tinted face.

The blush that appeared after receiving his text messages didn’t help either.

If you were being honest, you felt completely hysterical. You had finally given up all hope, tossing your dreams of being with him out the window. 

And here he was, casually asking you to hangout as if you two hadn’t ever lost contact. As if you hadn’t been bawling your eyes out over him for the past several months. Real cute, y/n, you laugh, thinking to yourself. 

You do your best to fix your face up with your phone camera and a little extra concealer, but if Daichi is anything like he was in high school, he’ll see through it almost instantly.

You spot his car, pulling up into a spot on the side of the road. He’s scanning for you.

Your breath hitches at the sight of him, heart skipping a beat.

He’s even prettier in person. Photos couldn’t capture something that strong and handsome. His features were still kind, but his expression showed how much he’d grown. The turn of his head, showcasing his jawline. Sharper, older. Your heart is pounding and you feel the anxiety settle in.

But as soon as he captures your eyes, you both grow soft.

You could tell from the way he was looking at you, he’d been longing for you too.

He hops out of his car, focused solely on you, and starts walking. Your pace matches his but it quickly increases. The hunger you’d felt for his embrace drives you both to move faster. He felt it too. It was magnetic. Almost like you’d been waiting your whole life for this reunion.

You practically throw yourself into his firm chest, his sturdy arms circling around your torso, the rate of your collision shaking his balance. But he managed, steadying himself one footstep at a time. One of his hands makes its way up to your neck and tangles itself into your hair, grasping locks and running his fingers through it. It was as though your bodies were making up for the lack of touch and all of your unspoken words, closing any spaces between you and affirming the reality of each other’s presence. 

You notice him tucking your head into his chest... just how he used to.

It’s as though nothing had changed. Like you had both been talking and touching and breathing the same air for the past year when in truth, your relationship had mimicked radio silence.

It stays silent, your bodies choosing to take one another in. He smelled of coffee and cedar, with a dash of maple. He’d always carried a sweeter scent. It never failed to make you melt into him.

Daichi’s face is buried within your hair and he can’t help but breathe in the familiar fragrance of your conditioner. A huge swell of nostalgia passes over him like a crashing wave, causing him to pull you even closer.

The very feelings you had been protecting yourself from were overloading your senses.

So you break off the hug, opting to grasp his hands instead.

His gaze is so understanding. So full of raw emotion. It’s apologetic.

“Daichi I-”

“I’m so sorry, y/n.”

There’s a pause. You give him a wobbly smile, nodding gently to let him speak first.

He opens his mouth to speak, but he’s silenced as raindrop lands directly on your nose. You giggle, wiping it off with your hand, then placing said hand back into his.

“How ‘bout we go sit in the car?” He suggests as the rain begins to drizzle.

You follow him wordlessly, taking him by the arm, quickly crossing the road.

You’re snug in his passenger seat, one foot tucked under your other leg, torso facing him directly. Daichi takes a moment to look you over. You flush under his intent gaze. That’s when he notices your reddened eyes. 

“You’ve been crying.” He states directly, hand making it’s way to your chin, lifting it while examining your face.

“A-ah yeah. You’re as observant as ever, Daichi, I’ll give you that.” You smile slightly.

“Why? What… or who did that to you?” He asks, concern lacing his voice.

You look away, head tilting out toward the grey-lit street.

Should you be honest?

That he was the reason for your tears?

You want to trust him.

To believe his words at face value.

You wanted to bare your soul, letting him absorb every moment of the last year of your life. To cry out to him and explain that you wanted him so deeply that you betrayed your own feelings for him.

But look where it got you last time.

Your ex took the most precious pieces of you and stomped all over it. He had used you. Your stories. Your secrets.

You were different from the girl that Daichi used to know.

He couldn’t love that, he couldn’t possibly-

“Y/n, I mean it. You can tell me anything. I promise I’ll just listen.”

And with that, you muster up your last ounce of courage, putting full trust in him.

It comes out in a soft mumble.

“...I still love you, Daichi.”

His eyes widen, lips parting.

“I-” You begin to choke on your own words. 

The emotion of everything, from your breakup to seeing your ex with another girl, to the sad eyes in front of you. It all begins to spill out. It’s not a sob. More like a release.

“I tried to like someone else. I tried so, so hard, Daichi.” Tears drip down your face, catching on the hand still holding your cheek.

You do your best to speak slowly and coherently, but you can’t seem to prevent the stutters that emerge from embarrassment and months of pent-up shame.

“It didn’t work. I- he didn’t love me.” You pause, considering if you should share the next details.

You inhale deeply, remembering his words.

I can tell him anything.

“There were other girls and-” 

Daichi’s eyes darken, realizing what you meant.

“He- he didn’t,” hiccups break up the sentences you’re already struggling to form, “I just wasn’t good enough, Daichi.” You meet his eyes, “Not for you. Not even for him.”

He rubs a thumb over your face, somber and troubled.

A wave of guilt washing over his face, his own eyes tearing up at the sight of you.

Daichi wasn’t there for you. He knows it.

He had left you high and dry, letting himself get washed up within his own pain, not considering how badly it would affect you. You both cut off communication to make things easier, assuming it would help you both to move on, but it had only made things worse.

Now he’s watching it all unfurl…

You’ve been mistreated and he wasn’t there to protect you. To save you. To hold you tightly within his arms.

But he wants to help pick up the pieces.

He wants to dry those tears, one by one.

He’s ready to make up for the lost time.

It’s time to prove that he’s ready for you now if you’ll have him.

So Daichi removes his hand from your face and grabs your hand, staring at it for a moment. He brushes his calloused fingers over your knuckles.

“Y/n, I never stopped loving you.” He half whispers.

He’s tracing the lines and divots in your palm now, but his eyes are on yours now.

“I couldn’t handle not seeing you… 12 hours is a lot.” He acknowledges.

“But it should never have stopped me from being with you. That was my mistake. It had nothing to do with you not being good enough.”

“Y/n, please, God please, promise me you’ll never say that again.” He begs.

Ah, that.

You couldn’t remember if that had slipped out, but it, in fact, had.

This lie you’ve been telling yourself seems a real as the gentle drumming of raindrops on the roof of the car. Your ex had affirmed it. The breakup sealed it.

And now you’re being told to let it go? To just believe you’re enough? Worthy of love?

If only it were that easy.

“I know you don’t believe me right now… you have every right not to. But I want you to learn to trust me again.”

He continues, “You can tell me anything. I promise I won’t leave you.”

Heavy.

The words were so heavy on your heart.

“...Okay.” Your voice cracks, another few tears slipping out.

“I- I’ll try.” You look away, pain creasing your brows.

He drops your hand on your lap and reaches toward your face, cupping it.

“I mean it, y/n. I won’t leave you.” His tone is scarily serious.

His lips brush against yours, asking permission. You lean forward, gently pressing your lips into his.

It takes a moment to adjust, but you meld together smoothly. It was always supposed to be this way. His warmth is sobering.

It’s tear-soaked and somber, but oh so real.

Noses brush. He runs a hand through your hair, tucking loose strands behind your ear, running a thumb down your neck. You tilt your head, deepening the kiss while leaning into his hand. Lips parted, rhythm slow and comforting.

No part of it is rushed. This moment wasn’t for anyone except for you.

Kiss after kiss, you’re being seen. Listened to. Re-opened.

And it may take tens of thousands of kisses. You’ll probably cry into his chest more times than you can count. You’ll have to fight like hell to escape the lie of “never being good enough.”

But Daichi will be there. Because he came back to you. 

And he’ll keep coming back until he doesn’t have to anymore... because by then, he’ll hope to have you by his side forever.

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @kaidasen, @starfissure

[sher-soc-the-famder]

4 +MOXIETY BC I LOV U

Title: That’s How You Know

Pairings: Moxiety, background Logince

Warnings: NONE HAVE SOME WONDERFUL PURE FLUFF

Word Count: 2748

Summary: “Logan,” Virgil accosted the other side in the hallway, “I need your guys help with something.”

Patton loved Virgil, he adored the other side with all of his heart and his soul and his emotions and his heart- wait. But the most important thing was that he loved Virgil, and Virgil loved him back! It didn’t matter that Virgil wasn’t one for huge shows of affection.

Patton could content himself with their love being an understood thing. Patton loved the small touches and the hesitant words of comfort and simply curling up with Virgil every night. He could ignore the sharp ache of envy every time Roman swept Logan off his feet, or when Logan set up something that left Roman a blushing stuttering mess. Virgil loved it when Patton set up their dates anyways, it was fine.

Besides! (Ha, sides) The way Virgil turned red when they brushed hands was adorable. Patton didn’t need large, romantic, out of this world gestures. Virgil was making strides to be more open in the first place and Patton was so proud of him! The anxious side had been getting better about asking for affection and snuggles and reassurance. And Patton was so! so! Proud!

But well, Patton sighed as he adjusted his hoodie in the mirror, it would be nice even if he didn’t need it.

He reached up and poked at his own cheek, trying to draw out more than the strained smile on his face. He wasn’t sad, and he wasn’t tired, so Patton didn’t know why he couldn’t pull on a smile. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his fingers in the sleeves of his hoodie, trying to pull up a picture that would make him grin without fail.

The look on Virgil’s face when they first started dating. A blush doting his cheeks, but the widest grin on his face. Virgil’s eyes had sparkled and Patton remembered the warmth of Virgil’s hands in his own, the light squeeze that Virgil had given them and the way that it had left soft fuzzy feelings in Patton’s chest that were still there.

His eyes fluttered back open and he was greeted with a soft smile on his own reflection. “Today’s going to be a great day!” Patton told himself, and the smile grew into a grin. See! One obstacle out of the way already! He was doing amazing already!

Patton left his room with a bounce in his step, and headed towards the kitchen to start breakfast for the rest of his famILY.

Logan turned a page of the book he was reading, and didn’t look up as Patton entered. Patton blinked at the large bouquet of purple flowers that sat in the center of the table, but shrugged it off and glanced around for the others. The white card that sat in the middle of them was most likely for Logan, Roman was the romantic after all.

“Good morning Lo!” Patton greeted, “Where are the kiddos at today?”

“A good morning to you too, Patton,” Logan returned and closed his book with a gentle snap. Patton wondered at the almost mischievous look in Logan’s eyes, and the way Logan’s lips quirked upwards. “As for where the other two are-” Logan pushed the large bouquet of flowers towards him, “-I am to understand that you need to find out?”

Patton tilted his head in confusion but approached the flowers and plucked the card out form them. Up close, he could make out his name written in jagged script along the top of it and he realized that they were purple because that was Virgil’s color. Patton blinked back tears and reached out to run a finger along one of the softer petals in the bunch.“Morning Glories,” Logan said, and Patton was too overwhelmed to try and figure out what emotion was behind his soft eyes. “During Victorian times they symbolized love and affection, though in Chinese Folklore, they represented a single day for lovers to meet. Some think that they could also be symbols of soaking up the sun and it’s healing energies as Morning Glories are well known for blooming in the morning.”Logan plucked one of the smaller flowers out and tucked it behind Patton’s ear. Patton beamed at him through the tears and Logan grinned back, “Lilacs,” Logan continued as Patton clutched the card to his chest, caught by Logan’s words and too mezzmerized to open it. “Which are in fact the reason that light purple is colloquially associated with the color.”

“Cow-lick-a-lot?”

“Co-llo-qui-al-ly, an informal way of speaking,” Logan explained, and Patton giggled at the face he made. “But to continue, while the purple lilacs are known for spirituality, the color symbolizes first love. Most people consider it a symbol of early love in a relationship.”Logan tugged at Patton’s hands and flipped the card open.Hoping Thistle cheer you up if you follow the clues

Patton laughed at the same moment that Logan groaned. “Thistle, which mean anything from bravery, determination, devotion, durability, or strength, deserves better than-” Logan wrinkled his nose, “-that.”“Come on Logan! It’s not that bud,” Patton said and grinned as Logan threw his hands in the air. “But what clue is Virgil talking about?”Logan stopped muttering, and his eyes softened again. “I believe that he means the flowers themselves. Seeing as he left them with me to give you before rushing off to resume setting up the rest.”

“The flowers?” Patton murmured, and tapped his chin with the card in his hands. Love and affection, soaking up the sun, first love, early love, bravery-

He snapped his fingers excitedly, “The- the- the- the- the one place!”

Patton whirled on his heels and sprinted off, missing the fond grin that Logan sent at his back. “Idiots,” the logical side said warmly, before turning back to his book.

The library- not the Memory Archives but the library- held all of Thomas’s daydreams, each spine holding obscure titles and the name of the side responsible for it. Roman certainly had done a lot of work to fill out the shelves! But that wasn’t why Patton was racing through the shelves.

In the back corner, where most of Virgil’s imaginations were kept, was a large bean bag that was angled just right so the sunlight would hit it. Virgil used to use it when he had wanted to avoid the others, but after opening up the small corner of peace had been introduced to the others.

It was also the place where they had confessed to each other.

Patton grinned triumphantly at the hand bound notebook that lay in the middle of the bean bag. He scooped it up and cuddled it to his chest happily, flopping back onto the bean bag. The leather was smooth against his hands and Patton spent a moment just admiring the love that had went into the craftsmanship. It wasn't as detailed as any of Roman's many, many gifts but Patton adored it just as much if not more because of the fact that Virgil had tried just for him.

Patton flipped it open, excited for the next clue, but found himself blinking back tears at what was written on the first page instead.

Things I love about you

“Aw, kiddo,” Patton whispered, wiping at his eyes, “You know I'm a crier.”

His heart felt to big for his chest, and Patton couldn't wipe the grin from his face. His fingers tingled with warmth, happiness and love and gratitude flowing through him. He didn't know what he did to deserve Virgil in his life, but he knew that it had to have been spectacular! A spectacular act for a spectacular side!

He skimmed the book quickly, eager to see what else Virgil had planned for the day. Patton pouted when the next clue didn't just jump out at him like the last one had and he traced the imprints on the cover in thought. There wasn't anything different about any of the words Virgil had written and it didn't look like there anything special about the shapes Virgil had written them in.

Patton's hand swept up and down then over and in a straight line before going back up again, following a particularly deep imprint. He froze and traced it again. Down, over, up, a zig-zag and then back down.

A crown!

The next clue was with Roman!

Patton pumped his fist in the air and did a quick victory dance. He clutched the card and book to his chest as he does off. Roman would be in his room at this time of day, usually brainstorming for Thomas’s next video. Though Patton had a feeling (ha!) that Roman's usual routine would be a little off.

“Roman? Kiddo?” Patton knocked on the door to Roman’s room, and yelped as he found himself dragged in by the collar of his shirt.

“Padre!” Roman cheered, “I have been enlisted in the noble quest of spreading your true love’s message for the day! The romance! The excitement! Oooooh it’s all just so cute!” The prince bounced on the balls of his feet as he dragged Patton further into his room, through the door into the Imagination. “Of course, it will never measure up to the adoration and perfection of my own love, but as a connoisseur of all things romantic I can admit that it comes close to the top!”

“Come come come!” Roman ushered him into what looked like a tailor’s shop as Patton’s head spun from Roman’s excited chatter and the sudden rush of people that surrounded him. “I have two quests I must accomplish for our own Purple People Eater, and a deadline to meet! Chop chop people, it’s time to pull an Honor for Us All!”

It felt amazingly like Patton blinked at the imaginary people around him were stepping back and handing him a mirror. His hair had been styled carefully and a carefully pressed light blue suit had replaced his normal outfit. They had left the lilac Logan had tucked in his hair, and Patton felt a lot like Logan in that moment.Roman let out a squeal and wrapped his arms around Patton. “Look at you! Ugh, you’re going to blow Virge away looking like this! Just not in the Hamilton sense. But one quest down and we must press onward to the second!”

Patton giggled, letting Roman drag him along through the kingdom enthusiastically. Along the edges of the town, a brand new stage rose towards the sky. Roman grinned and geastured proudly at it. The red curtains caught the light and Patton slapped enthusiastically at the sight.

“Goodness Roman you’ve outdone yourself this time!”

Roman preened, “Why thank you Puff Love! It is one of my best works if I’m honest. Which I am! Take a seat and enjoy our new state of the art theater! Design by and brought to you by yours truly! Did I mention that I also built it?”

Patton gave his arm a pat, and grinned, “It’s amazing kiddo! ….what does it do?”Roman’s grin was blinding. “Why for the moment, until we need it for something else, it plays a message from Uncle Fester-ing Emotions to you! One that, yes I admit, I also helped craft.” Patton raised an eyebrow at him and Roman’s expression turned petulant, “Ok fine it was mostly Virgil, but I still helped!”

“I’m sure it’s just as astounding as you are,” Patton reassured and Roman’s grin returned.

“Of course it is! Ah, but I am holding up true loves path, shame on me! Without further ado!” Roman snapped his fingers and stepped back. The lights dimmed and the red curtains rose with a quiet whoosh. The light wavered and then solidified into Virgil, hair wild and his normal hoodie wrinkled.

Virgil ran a hand through his hair and snarled at something that Patton couldn’t see- or more likely, someone. “You sure this is going to work, Princey?”“Yes! Come on Down with a Mental Illness, have a little faith in me. I’m Creativity! This is what I do!” Roman’s voice came from somewhere off the stage. “Now get started!”

Virgil coughed, clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair again. Patton leaned forward to stare at the light dusting of blush along Virgil’s cheek. The image muttered under his breath about Roman’s dramatics and how he’d have his revenge before looking up and seeming to meet Patton’s eyes. The moral side’s breath caught.

“Hey Pat,” Virgil said, his mouth quirking up into a soft grin, “I mean, I’m hoping your Pat and that you can make it this far, and that you don’t mind watching-”

“Get on with it!”“-me murder Roman,” Virgil continued without missing a beat, and his grin turned mischievous, “I know you care about him but seeing as I’m clearly the favorite.” Patton giggled, letting out a full blown laugh as the recording bickered back and forth. Patton grinned, soft and loving as Virgil’s shoulders relaxed at Roman’s distraction and Patton made a mental note to find some way to thank the prince after all this.“Anyways,” Virgil cleared his throat again, “For your next clue, I was uh, I mean, that is- Iwasgoingtosingforyou.”

Patton felt heat creep up his cheeks and he pressed a hand to his mouth as Virgil shuffled on the stage.

“How does he know,” Virgil started, his voice croaky from nerves before smoothing out into the melodious voice they all shared. “You love him. How does he know, he’s yours.”Patton sighed dreamily, and wanted to get lost in the sound of Virgil’s voice. In the love and determination to see this through. He blinked as Virgil hit the second verse and jolted in place. Right! He was supposed to be doing something!

“The clue!” Patton shouted to himself, snapping out of his lovesick daze. “Enchanted!” He scrambled out of his seat and raced back towards the commons, “Enchanted!”

Roman sighed as he watched Patton run off. “True love.” His eyes sharpened, “But! I cannot let another upstage me as a side of Romance! LOGAN! Logan, dearest! I have the most wonderful idea for a date!”

~~

Patton scrambled at the cupboards that held all of their movies and tugged the copy of Enchanted out of its spot. The book and card sat next to him as he opened the case and let out a crow of triumph at the paper he found within.

I know it hasn’t been a Picnic but you’re almost there. There’s a surprise waiting for you outside

Patton gasped excitedly, gathering his newest treasures up and raced for the door. The suit Roman had put him in was wrinkled and the tie had come loose, but Patton’s eyes sparkled and there was a bounce in every step he took. The sun had started to set and it cast the porch to their home a deep golden glow.

Soft music drifted across the scene, broken only by Virgil’s frantic murmurs as he adjusted everything to perfection. Patton stode at the doorway, soaking the whole thing in. The candles laid out along the banister, the picnic table covered in cloth and with the bouquet from earlier as the centerpiece. Steaming food, Patton was pretty certain that he saw a cat plushie tucked under the table and-

And the whole thing was nothing compared to the way the sunlight caught in Virgil’s hair and oh dear, he was crying again. Patton pressed a hand to his mouth and sobbed from how much he loved this man before him.

Virgil whirled on his heels, panic overtaking his face.

“Patton!” Virgil crossed the porch in three swift steps, hands fluttering around his boyfriend. “Oh god, I’m sorry, I thought you’d like it, I really did, we can- wait no, shit-”Patton reached out and wrapped Virgil into the tightest hug he could manage, voice croaky as he asked, “You did all this for me?”Slowly, Virgil relaxed and returned his hold, thin arms wrapping around him in turn. “Yeah, um, I mean, of course. Is- was it not okay?”Patton shook his head violently, “No!” He looked up at Virgil. “It was perfect! Just what I needed!”Virgil returned his watery grin with a soft hesitant smile, and Patton adored him with all his heart and soul and emotions. He didn’t need huge shows of affections, but sometimes-

But sometimes Virgil could tell when he wanted them.

[thedeviljudges]

Daddy Billy? Serious daddy Billy? Serious daddy Billy turning into a fluffy bear for his princess, Steve?

uhmm, so like i’m so sorry this took ages to get to, but!!! it’s finished, and this is a bit long. although, i really don’t think this is what you had in mind?? just know that i love this; i love this kinda stuff, and i should probably redo this prompt bc this wasn’t exactly what i was going for; it just kinda happened??/f jasldkf idk, but here ya go, babe.

The window to his studio overlooks the whole of New York, and Steve doesn’t miss the way the wind curls into the room like smoke, thick and heavy from air polluted by busy streets and the life of people.

There’s sirens in the distance and the honking of late cars – they’re always there in a place like this, too loud when he’d moved in, but a comfort that lets him know the world still spins. Steve might even hear the distant rattle of voices on a warm, breezy day if the flat wasn’t several stories above floor level.

Deeply, he breathes, inhales air and fresh paint. His fingers are stained blue and green, crust under his fingernails from the hours he’s spent in his studio trying to transfer the images from his head onto a canvas. Soft strums of music fill the room, too, mostly drowned out by city life, but the distinct violin and flute are pitch perfect alongside the orchestra he loves to listen it for concentration.

As Steve picks up a brush, he hums, dips it into the paint and smears it across the canvas in gentle strokes. Sometimes- and only sometimes, does he know what he’s painting. He likes his landscapes well enough, people, too, but often, he likes freehand, knows that it’s child’s play when he does it, as if he’d dipped his fingers into the paint and willed tacky into existence.

It’s still a form of release, though. It may not be anything special, but it cuts his anxiety right in two when he needs it the most.

“You’ve been in here all day?”

Steve jumps, watches helplessly as the brush slides across the canvas in an indecent stroke only to fall out of his hand onto the floor. “Fuck,” he says, climbs out of his chair, reaching for the brush. He delicately places it onto the table, the one that holds all his supplies, his brushes, his paints. He’s even got clay and watercolors, colored pencils and markers he’s still testing out because the texture runs different; the liquid is thinner, and Steve’s determined to understand the variety. “You could’ve made a noise, you asshole.”

“Forgive me for walking through my house.”

The tone is sharp, unexpected, and when Steve looks up, Billy’s leaning against the threshold of the door with a pinch in his brow and a curl to his lip. Steve’s not sure what’s caused it, thinks back to this morning when Billy smiled as he’d leaned over the edge of the bed to kiss Steve goodbye. Thinks maybe he could’ve left something out of place, then wonders if maybe something else has crawled up under Billy’s skin and settled there.

“Right,” he answers, not knowing what he could follow that up with. The tension is thick now, heavy and unsure, and Steve knows it’s one of those moods, the kind that isn’t deliberate because Billy’s only holding back his feelings like that’s the right thing to do.

Might have to coax it out of him, then.

Billy’s brow arches, pointed like he’s waiting for Steve to snap, and at that, he rolls his eyes, unimpressed. “You’re going to come sit down,” he starts, sees the way Billy’s eye twitches after being told what to do. “Sit. Down.” Then, he nods at the chair, turns and pulls open a few drawers until he’s sorting out a set of clean paint brushes.

When Steve turns around, he runs into a solid chest, Billy bracing his hips with the palms of his hands. He’s warm even through Steve’s clothes, a weight he’s missed all day. “Princess is getting a little too big for his britches,” Billy says, blue eyes amused as Steve attempts to wiggle free. He knows that Billy’s cornering him for a reason, for a fight, for maybe a good fuck to avoid the problem at hand, but if there’s anything Steve’s learned about Billy, it’s that his instincts to please win out every time.

“Daddy’s getting a little too serious,” he counters, tone like the edge of a knife. He smiles, makes sure Billy knows that he knows and that Steve’s only going to make him work for anything more than a deep kiss.

It takes a moment, but only that, for Billy to sigh, takes a step back, then another, until his hands are no longer on Steve. He almost looks disappointed, but Steve knows Billy’s insides burn brighter than any star, and if he can’t have his way now, he’ll certainly get it later.

Billy sits down, sort of plops into the seat with a huff like he can’t believe Steve’s making him do this. Really, Steve doesn’t have a clue what he’s intended, but he does have paints and stained hands, clean brushes and white canvases that take his mind off of the bullshit his brain conjures. Billy’s never one to join Steve on his quest, complains too much about the paint fumes and that there’s no point to this if I can’t draw jack, Steve.

Billy’s more of a reader anyway, the study a life of its own with the shelves extending from floor to ceiling. It’s how Billy usually relaxes when he needs it, if he’s not busy coaxing an orgasm out of Steve – which he very happily enjoys – but this time, Steve reaches for Billy’s palm, pries his fingers open and sets a single brush in his hand.

“I trust you know what to do with it.” Steve nudges Billy’s fingers, closing the hold around the wooden stem of the brush. Then, he glances at the canvas from underneath his lashes, back and forth until Billy’s frowning.

“You mean you’re not going to give me a lap dance? I sat down for nothing?”

Try as he might, Steve can’t contain his smirk, tilting his head like he’s talking to a child. “You haven’t earned that yet,” he says, cupping the underside of Billy’s jaw in a tender gesture of affection, only pulling away to grab the other chair he keeps in the corner of the room. “Show me what you got, pretty boy.”

“You using my lines on me is not doing you any favors,” Billy says, narrowing his eyes. He’s pretty good at reading Steve – they’re both good at reading each other now, but sometimes Steve still pulls one over his head, likes when Billy’s games slip from his control, right into Steve’s.

“Just paint, Billy.” And then he waits, stares at the other man until Billy’s grumbling under his breath. The brush rotates between his fingers, Steve watching as he attempts to find a comfortable grip before hovering over the paints like he’s scared to touch them, like he’s never seen them before.

“Weren’t you working on something?” he asks, let’s his arm fall down, elbow to his knee. He glances at the paining, half of it covered in paint, the other half white, and the one lone streak that wasn’t intentional. If Steve could give it one ounce of personification, it’d be the way it mocks him as it lies drying.

“Nothing’s as important as you,” he replies, turning his gaze away from the eye sore – though in actuality, the whole canvas is, but that’s neither here nor there – to continue staring at Billy, watches the way the corner of his lips drag into a frown, realizing that there’s no way around Steve’s stubbornness.

Billy blinks, still doesn’t look impressed and says, “You’re being a brat.”

Petulance is a word Steve would use to describe Billy sometimes, so used to snapping his fingers and people crawling on their knees for a moment of his time. His job – though more like his position – gives him that luxury, and Steve hates to admit that maybe he’d fallen for it too until he realized just how much he could bat his eyes and turn Billy into a puddle of putty. “Didn’t start it, babe.”

“I wasn’t-”

“You were,” Steve insists, gives a quick point to the project as if that explains it all. “So, now you’re going to paint me a picture.” It goes quiet then, the music in the background filling the room, the city outside rumbling as if it wasn’t listening to their conversation.  

“You know I can’t paint, princess,” Billy attempts on more time, just one moment of reprieve. Steve doesn’t understand why it’s so difficult to follow simple instructions, but then again, he’s dealing with a man in a fortune five-hundred company who’s never rolled over for anyone in his life.

Except Steve, but even then, that’s not something Billy easily admits to. It isn’t out of weakness, per se, and Billy loves showing him off to all his friends. As if Steve found objection in the question the first time Billy offered because he hadn’t, but more to do with the fact that Billy and emotions have never gone hand in hand. Like pulling teeth, Steve’s been on the brink of frustration too many times, knows the reason, knows Billy’s past, but still doesn’t wholly understand.

So, out of playing stubborn, Steve shrugs. “Does that look like a masterpiece to you?” Failure has welcomed him too many times; Steve feels like maybe that’s the root of a much larger problem. The career he’d aspired for left no room for positive affirmations, not until he’d struggled for a few years and finally booked a gig big enough to have offers roll in, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deal with his fair share of personal torment over whether all he’s good with his posing.

Steve likes his looks well enough, uses that to his advantage more often than he’d like to admit, but that alone isn’t fulfilling as the time spent in between painting and creating something much more than an image.

He frowns, holds disdain in his eyes because some of the colors have muddled together in a particularly ugly shade of brown. Not what he was going for, but it’s not like he can’t start again. That’d always been a lessoned learned.

“You know anything you do is good enough.” Billy’s eyes are on him now, intense and blue under the streams of sun that shine through the window.

It makes Steve suck in a breath, reminds him of all the reasons he loves Billy’s attention on him. “Not the point,” he croaks, definitely not disillusioned with the idea that Billy knows how he affects Steve. “But thank you anyway. You’re stalling; now get to it or-”

“Or what?” Billy says, the arch in his brow back.

Steve plucks the brush he’d been using off the table, dips it into a shade of blue – bright like the sky and similar to Billy’s eye color; he’d never admit it, but it’s why he bought it, felt like maybe the deep reds and shades of purple he loved the most could use the contrast even though it never really matched.

He’s sure there’s a metaphor somewhere in there, hates how he’s always slow in understanding what his subconscious already knows, but Steve only dabs the canvas in the corner, knows Billy’s looking at what he’s doing, only to surprise him by lifting the brush to slide it down the side of Billy’s cheek. “That’s my favorite color on you,” he says. “For future reference.”

Billy stills, gone rigid by the gesture. The flick of his tongue is what gives him away, that he’s not mad but agitated with really? Did you really?

“If you get paint on this suit-” he says, voice dropping low.

“You’ll what?” Steve taunts. “Spank me, daddy?” And just as he says it, like a slow motion shot of a film, paint drips off Steve’s brush and lands right on the lapel of Billy’s suit jacket. Bright blue paint on a deep brown suit don’t really go together, but Steve is reminded, if only briefly, why he loves color theory so much. “That was not planned.”

He shrinks away, wide-eyed as Billy dabs the paint off with a finger, slides it across the canvas in front of him because Steve doesn’t have a rag nearby, and there’s no sense in it anyway. There’s a dark spot on the suit, and it’s going to be a bitch to remove.

“Wasn’t it?” Billy rubs his thumb and forefinger together, that maybe if he does it long enough, the rest of the paint will wither away. Instead, it just leaves the tips tacky and stained like Steve’s.

“No,” Steve replies, dumps his brush into the dirty cup of water he keeps only in case he runs out of clean brushes. It hardly happens because Steve has enough sets that he can wash and dry a pair without waiting to use them. “You should’ve taken your clothes off before coming in here.”

Now the tables have turned, his argument weak across the tongue. Billy certainly picks up on that with, “Is that so?”

“You know what I meant.”

“Do I?”

“Billy,” Steve whines, flush gradually fluttering across his cheeks.

“Hmm. See, that’s not my name, baby. Not when you have to beg.”

“Who says I’m begging?” But he’s not confident in that question either, pointed out by Billy’s lazy smirk.

“Well, if you’re not,” he pauses, thumbing the bristles of the brush in his hand, “then I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I did this.” Billy then takes the paint brush and runs it straight down Steve’s forehead, between his wide brown eyes and stops just as he reaches the tip of his nose.

“That’s-” Steve falters, feels the cool breeze twice as much as the paint sits wet upon his skin.

“Not fair?” Billy’s brows raise, amusement hidden in the corner of his eyes, significantly lighter than when he’d entered the room. It’s a better look on him, as Steve takes him in, gently touching the tip of his nose, definitely checking that one line had been given to his painting and now another sits between his eyes. Billy must read his thoughts, pushes further by emphasizing his tone lighter and nowhere close to Steve’s. “Didn’t start it, babe.”

He makes a split second decisions - not even that, really - by dipping his fingers directly into the yellow paint, flicking them until little dots dance across Billy’s skin. “Then finish it.”

It happens within seconds. One moment Steve is propped up on the edge of his chair, perfectly pleasant in sharing his space with Billy upright, and the next he’s sprawled across the floor. His brush rolls across it, left to be found later, and his paints - including the canvas and the water - splash around them. It’s in this moment that Steve’s grateful Billy replaced the carpet with tile, but even then he winces until Billy’s got four fingers - all stained with paint - running down the curve of his neck.

“Gladly,” he say as he reaches forward, attaching his lips to the side of Steve’s neck that isn’t covered in paint. He nips, and he sucks until Steve’s wriggling from beneath him. His cock fills quickly, doesn’t take much when he’s around Billy anyway, and he lets him know by rutting against his thigh, soft little presses until Billy reaches for his hip to hold him still. “I’m thinking,” Billy says, slipping two fingers just past the waistband of Steve’s sweatpants. His cock jumps, the anticipation curling in his chest, but Billy moves no further. “That I probably shouldn’t let you cum.”

Steve swallows a noise of disappointment. This isn’t what he’d intended, had really hoped for more of a conversation of intent and resolution than Billy pinning him against the floor on the off-chance that maybe he’d get to come.

But now that he’s here, he’s shameless enough to admit his will power doesn’t proceed him. “Please, daddy,” he emphasizes this time, latching onto Billy’s tie to pull him down into another heated kiss. His tongue is rough against Billy’s, sliding past his teeth, tastes the cigarette smoke and mints, the cleanliness that lingers because Billy knows of nothing else.

Immediately, whatever tension was left lingering in Billy’s body, simply dissipates. Steve feels the extra weight of Billy on top of him as he relaxes, as he pushes Steve’s sweatpants down to expose his cock. Billy takes him in hand, rough at first with the callouses against his palm, but it’s a discomfort that makes him twitch, makes him grind up into the palm of Billy’s hand seeking more, seeking a release he knows will be quick.

Billy thumbs at the head of his cock, breaking away from Steve’s kiss to latch onto the underside of his jaw. Blurts of pre-cum swell at the tip as Billy slowly rubs it down the length of him.

Steve always gets embarrassingly wet, generally likes to use his slick to fuck his fist, and Billy knows this, too, because he’d watched Steve once, made him sit on the couch in broad daylight just so he could stroke himself to orgasm with only the touch of his hand. Billy’s blue, wanton eyes were the only thing he’d seen as he’d fallen over the edge.

So, this isn’t an exception, not when Billy takes him fully, strokes up in one swift movement and too slow - agonizingly slow - to calm the desire in Steve, to make him wet, to make it easier. He whines low in his throat while Billy smiles against the curve of his shoulder. The linger of a kiss remains as he pulls away, stares at Steve and tells him, “Fuck my fist, princess.”

There’s no hesitation from Steve, doesn’t crow over the tile against his back, hard underneath the tarp, and he doesn’t complain about how his pants restrict him from opening his legs wider, can’t use his feet as leverage to give a good thrust.

Instead, Steve’s movement’s are limited, sloppy and uncoordinated. Billy’s seated in desire, curled around Steve’s side as he tightens his fist, releasing it a moment later only to repeat the torture of not giving enough until Steve catches his wrist, holds him there.

The corner of Billy’s mouth twitches, reads Steve’s eyes as they beg, until he releases Billy in the hope he’ll listen. “You’re awfully haughty,” Billy whispers, though the thick of his voice gives away just how little control he has over it, how little he cares that Steve’s pushy when usually it’s the other way around. “Should let you take care of yourself.”

Shaking his head, Steve licks his lips, gives a particularly enthusiastic push of his hips before he tells Billy, “I’m too much of a sight to behold.”

With that, Billy squeezes around Steve’s cock, thumb curving just underneath the head until Steve’s hissing. Billy hums again, has a fond look on his face as he says, “You are, my darling. Watching you makes my day.” And then he’s shoving Steve’s shirt up, releasing his length for only a second to do it, sliding his hand down, down until he’s back stroking, quick sessions of his fist accumulating pre-cum, meeting the sharp thrusts Steve gives.

And then- then Billy’s lips are lower on his skin, as his shirt bunches up against the line of his collar. Billy gives a rough command, says, “Now cum or I won’t fuck you later,” then licks across the bud of Steve’s nipple, swirling his tongue until he gives a particularly hard bite that sends Steve’s head reeling, has his cock blurting thick strips of cum across his tummy, towards his chest.

He’s loud when the moan escapes, as Steve cries underneath Billy’s torture, feels his toes curl, limbs shaking. Billy presses kisses across the middle of his chest, laps at the cum that’s landed that far before taking Steve’s other nipple into his mouth despite the fact that he’s already cum. His hand is gentler now in his strokes across Steve’s cock, eases him through the after affects of release and only steps off when Steve whimpers, squirms away from sensitivity.

“You’re always so unfair,” Steve says after he few breaths, catches how easy it is to fill his lungs after the rise of his heartbeat.

Billy smiles, rests his chin on Steve’s chest lightly. The thick of his lashes make him look bashful, Steve staring down the bridge of his nose for a clear glimpse. He thinks, sometimes, how unfair it is, that all the small, pretty things about Billy always add up into one big picture of beauty, often made him wonder how he ended up here like this with a boyfriend who loved him good, fucked him good, too.

“If anything’s unfair,” Billy retorts, “it’s the fact that you got off, and I’ve yet-”

“Do you want me to-”

Billy’s quick to shake his head, places his cum-covered hand on Steve’s shoulder, which stops him from moving. “Told you I’d fuck you later. I meant that.”

“Like you also meant to snap at me?” Steve asks without a tone of regret. He slides his fingers across the back of Billy’s head, sinking them into his hair, rubbing his scalp with the blunt of his fingernails in light scratches. Steve looks away then, hates to be the bitch that ruins the mood, but he had intended for the issue to be addressed.

Besides, Steve might’ve been cookie-cutter perfect for a good chunk of his life, and that might’ve changed after years away from home, but the one thing that hasn’t left him is wanting to know the truth. No bullshit; no lies, Billy, he remembers telling him. You cheat, and we’re done.

It’s been years since that conversation, and they’ve never held each other to anything less. This is still no exception.

Billy sighs, turns his head so he’s ear is pressed against Steve instead. “Shitty day at work, that’s all,” he says, tired seeping through the vibrato. “Shouldn’t’ve snapped at you.”

There’s no reason to be mad, and Steve’s not, continues to sweep his hand through Billy’s curls, across the top of his head until he’s pulled away the tangles, and Billy’s eyes are fluttering closed.

“You do know I’m always down for a good, hard fuck if you ever need to let your frustrations out, Billy,” Steve eventually says when the silence stretches. “I’ve told you that, and I’d much prefer having my ass pounded than you angry and sniping at me.”

“Fuck, how’d I get so lucky.” Billy’s arm curls tight around Steve’s waist, warm and pliant. Steve can feel the rise and fall of his chest, maybe even feels Billy’s heart hammering away from another slight, like they’re all adding up until Steve finally penalizes him for it. He won’t; Steve will admit he’s stubborn, but he’s not scornful. Especially with Billy.

“You really did,” Steve says in agreement, lets the two of them rest there for what feels like ages, lets the music play and the paint dry and the wind breeze through the window until his back grows sore. “C’mon, babe.” He nudges Billy, almost would’ve guessed he fell asleep if it weren’t for him stirring underneath the shake of Steve’s palm. “Let’s get you into bed.”

Billy sits up, reluctantly, turning to help Steve with his pants, helps him stand. His suit is ruffled, has paint on it in random places. His hair’s a mess from Steve rucking through it, but he looks more than content, looks soft, at least, and much more like the person Steve likes to spend his time with.

Rough around the edges has always been, and will always be, Billy’s forte, but Steve enjoys this, too. Enjoys it when Billy sweeps him into his arms, presses their foreheads together, then kisses him softly. Enjoys it when Billy is sincere, when he tugs on Steve’s hand as he nudges a foot in the direction of their bedroom.

“I’ll buy you new paints,” he says absently as they walk down the hall. Steve regrets not cleaning anything, but the bed looks more than inviting, and more importantly, he knows Billy needs the sleep as he clings to Steve, hugs him from behind. Billy’s lips are delicate against his temple, hands caressing Steve’s hips.

“Good,” Steve says, finally urging Billy to untangle their limbs to sit down. Steve helps him off with his shoes, his socks, lets Billy remove the rest of his clothes until he’s in nothing but his boxers.

With his legs spread wide, Steve slots himself between Billy’s thighs, lays his hand on wide shoulders. “I’ll hold you to it.” And then he’s cupping Billy’s cheek with the palm of his hand, kissing him softly because once is never enough. 

Soon, Steve’s balance fails him, the two of them falling into bed in the middle of the afternoon just because they have the time, just because they can, and just because Steve’s missed the way Billy curls around him when they’re together.