#why did I draw this above anything else I could be working on

[hellsvestibule]

Tristan put that fowl thing away. Oh. hi Lancelot. Nice Cock!

[wannaeatramyeon]

DG x Reader: Manager and their Idol

8.5k. G/N. Soft, colleagues to lover (guess I love this trope). Masterlists

You had imagined life as a K-Pop idol manager to be much more glamorous.

You pity your young naive self. The one that envisaged schmoozing with stars and rubbing elbows with the movers and shakers, and instead set you on this horrid, lacklustre path.

What you didn't expect was the amount of time playing driver. Carting that stupid pink haired brat around. Waiting on him hand and foot during shoots and interviews, and being at his beck and call.

You have saved his ass more times than you can recall, ran through scripts with him, practised his stupid dances and moves alongside, protected him from unhinged fans and reporters and scavengers.

And yet you can count on one hand the amount of times he has thanked you.

Actually no, it didn't require any hands because he has thanked you exactly zero times for all your early mornings and late nights and for going above and beyond your duty.

Out of desperation, you had asked your boss if you could manage someone else and the request was declined.

"DG has taken a liking to you," she said, tone impressed as if that was something you should be proud of.

"Great," your smile comes out as more of a grimace.

And goddamn, this agency was so stupidly prestigious and the benefits and perks here really are second to none. Just why did Diego fucking Kang have to be their top idol.

.

.

The first time you crossed the threshold into his building, greeting the reception security guard and entering his penthouse keycode like you had been let in on the world's greatest secret, you had tiptoed around like a child in a museum. After all, this was DG's residence. The DG!

You had ooh-ed and aah-ed at every little thing. 

Taking delight in seeing his interior design of choice, the type of candy that he snacks on, the shampoo and conditioner he uses, the way he organises his desk. This is the chair DG sits on to eat. This is the sofa DG lounges on to watch TV. This is the bed he sleeps in, the bath he uses, the toilet he-

Any wide eyed innocence and awe evaporated after your first week working together.

Today, you stab in the entry code and let the door shut with a bang. 

You set his now cold coffee order on the kitchen counter and rifle with practised fingers through his unopened mail to see if there is anything you should draw his immediate attention to. You pick up his discarded clothes from the floor (and for fuck's sake, this suit jacket was on loan) and make your way to his bedroom where tufts of pink hair peeks out from under the cover.

"Good morning," you announce, locating the remote to open the blinds and letting in some sunlight.

Bedsheets rustle behind you.

"Good morning Diego," you repeat and give one warning, "I hope you're decent." With that, you throw the covers back to find the scantily dressed idol glaring up at you.

You remember the days when this sight would have made you weak at the knees. Seeing him half naked, in the flesh, freshly woken up with bedhead and half lidded eyes. It's what most of Korea dreams of, including yourself once upon a time.

Now all you feel is extreme irritation.

"Good morning," you say for the third time, plastering on a saccharine smile that you know DG sees clearly through because it is insincere as hell to anyone with half a brain cell. You let the fakeness shine through anyway.

For a split second, DG frowns as his eyes drop to your lips and then he pretends everything is good. Smiling back prettily, sharp canines on show and stretching. Lifting his arms overhead, showing a good stretch of pecs and abs and the line of muscle in a V pointing like an arrow straight down to his-

You roll your eyes.

"You're late." You throw the covers back over him and stride back towards the door. "We should have left half an hour ago." You leave out the part where you had been waiting downstairs in the car and after an hour of no show and no anything, you stomped your way up to his home.

DG, sensing your mood, adds oil to the fire with a smirk, "Why didn't you wake me then?"

If that idiot bothered to look at his phone, he would see a number of missed calls and unread messages from you.

Whatever.

"Hurry up."

.

.

DG has come across many people like yourself over the years. All cute and bright eyed, way too soft.

He never gave you any special treatment, for better or worse, and assumed that you would eventually burn out or give up and move on to something more worthwhile.

Unfortunately, in a rare turn of events, he had miscalculated.

Of course most people would be starstruck, it's only natural. But he mistook your sincerity and kind smile for ignorance and missed your sharp, observing gaze, and astute mind.

He's impressed, and he really can't remember the last time he was impressed.

In a matter of days of working together, you had managed to cut through the bullshit and within the month got him more compliant and docile than anyone else ever has.

Which should be a huge fucking problem, and raising red flags all over DG's mind.

...Except-

What's really troubling him right now, as he sulks in the passenger seat and you in the driver's, is that you have developed some sort of resistance to his charms.

Maybe a part of him does actually miss the you who he formed the first impression of. Who looked at him in wonder, with the same admiration that everyone else did.

Now that he knows you, he hates that he had thought that initial admiration was insignificant and worthless.

.

.

DG has a stash of candy in the car.

Or more accurately, you keep a stash of candy next to him to a) Shut him up and b) Keep him tolerable.

If DG wasn't so aloof, the fact that he has an incurable sweet tooth (and probably cavities to prove it) would have made headlines as a cute K-Pop fact and likely garnered sponsorship and advertising deals with all sorts of confectionary brands.

You had only found out during your adventures as his manager, rifling through his kitchen drawers trying to find his goddamn phone that he misplaced and you stumbled upon his stash of candy.

It really was a disgusting amount, something you'd expect a gaggle of grade schoolers at Halloween to hoard, not Diego goddamn Kang.

And then you also found out if he's not quiet and haughty in the car, making the atmosphere awkward, he likes to comment on your driving.

Who even sits in the passenger seat next to their 'chauffeur' anyway? He complains about you braking too suddenly and not accelerating fast enough. How you drive like an 80 year old with cataracts, and you're too slow when the light changes to green.

The turn in your relationship happened when you snapped at him to shut the fuck up after losing the final shred of your sanity on a three hour drive.

DG, to your dismay, didn’t miraculously lose his hearing and turns to you as you silently berate yourself for voicing the quiet thoughts out loud.

Although, you're in the deep end now. You're gonna get fired anyway, so if he says anything else you might as well give him a flick on the forehead or a pinch or maybe a punch to the face-

Instead, he laughs.

It's nothing like the laugh you have heard on TV and in interviews. The rehearsed and manicured 'haha' or cool chuckle that suits his shiny persona. It's kinda goofy and a lot endearing.

What's even more endearing is the way he does actually shut the fuck up for the rest of the journey. You like him a lot more after that.

So. You digress.

The candy is a way to keep the sweet toothed maniac quiet. Even if it doesn't work, at least it's harder to make out what insults he's slinging with a lollipop rattling around his mouth.

However, he has never ever shared any with you. Any of the candy that you stock, and pay for.

(That you technically claim back on company expenses, but you're trying to be self righteous here.)

Ever.

In all the months of working with him, he gobbles away happily even if your stomach is growling and you refuse to take any yourself out of principle.

Until-

"Here."

"Huh?"

Taking advantage of your response and open mouth, DG leans into your personal space and feeds you some chewy strawberry something or another (which coincidentally are his least favourite), fingers lingering on your lips for a fraction of a second.

Three things happen in quick succession.

The burst of sugar hits your tongue.

You nearly choke.

You narrowly avoid swerving.

"Careful now," DG grins when you get the car and yourself under control, and glance at him with a scowl.

Good. That proves you're not completely immune to his charms.

.

.

That bastard has now taken it upon himself to feed you candy at every opportunity.

You wonder if he's doing some sort of Pavlov experiment. The sweetness trying to erase any sourness you feel towards him.

It sort of works, and you consider biting his fingers off one of these days.

You hear the crinkling of wrappers, one for him that he pops into his mouth, and one for you that he gives without asking.

You angle your head towards him, and his fingers graze your lips every time.

Neither of you comment on the change but the intimacy drives you a little crazy.

.

.

And DG too.

Because intimacy works both ways and damnit his little gesture to keep the pretty blush on your face has backfired.

The only form of intimacy he knows comes from discreet hookups and low key links. Not someone who is around day in, day out. Or anyone that goes deeper than one night stands and booty calls.

You're there, you're always there. Of course you are, you're his manager.

But today, he feels under the microscope with you standing a couple metres away and keen eyes watching the camera monitor.

It's a no nothing day. Standard schedule where he shoots a fragrance commercial and he exits a pool all wet and sultry, white t-shirt clinging to his muscled body.

Then another scene where he writhes around slightly on a sunbed and eye-fucks the camera.

How it sells a fragrance, he never knows. The mystery of showbiz.

"Cut! More powder!" The director shouts out, the crew springing into action and DG knows exactly why.

He feels strangely embarrassed and flustered, which has manifested into his cheeks being flushed, and god he can't even remember the last time he has been like this.

It’s out of character and he needs to get his head together.

As the make up artist hurriedly dabs on some foundation, you make your way over to him.

"Are you sick?" you ask, concerned and reaching out to feel his forehead with the back of your hand.

"I'm fine," He says, turning away from your attentiveness and staring at a point in the distance.

.

.

With most people, if DG wants them out of sight, they stay out of sight.

But as his manager, and a very competent one at that, it’s harder to get you to leave.

Not that DG wants you to either, don’t get him wrong. 

The only constants he has around him are people who want something from him. And yes, he knows you’re only in his company because you work with him. However, he really can’t doubt the concern he always sees in your eyes. The compassion and empathy even when he makes you want to scream and tear your hair out.

His standoffish demeanour is not new to anyone. It’s part of his appeal to be quite honest. 

Yet he feels bad over the next couple weeks as he turns it up to eleven and tries to create some distance. He registers the hurt on your face as he is extra short with his answers and behaviour.

.

.

Pandering to overinflated celebrity egos and the insane Korean work ethic often leads to after hour shoots and dinner delayed until past midnight.

Honestly, this wreaks havoc on your sleep schedule and your skin.

"Here." You retrieve DG's takeout from the paper bag.

A double portion of delicious fried chicken with a side of kimchi and pickles. It's a change of pace from what most idols order, yet he doesn't give two shits about calories or sodium intake and to add insult to injury, somehow manages to keep his trim figure.

You lament your soggy salad sitting at the bottom. As if it’s not sad enough right now - once you arrive home, the lettuce will be wilting and room temperature and you will eat it in your dimly lit apartment with nothing to keep you company except the sound of the TV.

DG notices you turning to leave his penthouse, and his mouth moves before his brain can.

"Aren't you staying?"

"What?" You double take at the question.

DG's company is usually worse than your lonely meal for one. 

He’s annoying and you frequently want to slap him, but how he has been with you lately has been troubling and you actually feel a sense of relief at his offer.

(You had wondered if you might have been getting sacked up until this moment.)

Nevertheless, in all your time working alongside, you have never had a proper meal one on one together. Nothing more than you driving with one hand and the other hastily shoving a burger into your mouth as he looks on in disgust.

You would have dwelled on this more, wondering what's changed, what’s happened, but then-

"I'll share." DG nudges the box towards you, and the delicious scent of deep fried, battered goodness wafts along with it it

All your misgivings and your salad is forgotten.

.

.

Almost.

No, you were wrong.

Eating with DG, without any distractions such as traffic to navigate or other boisterous colleagues around, is unnerving. Disarming.

His haughtiness remains, but how haughty can someone be when munching on a drumstick.

All frostiness from the past weeks melts away as you both eat your way through his chicken.

He’s talking more tonight than you have heard in a while.

You find him funny, and really quite bitchy. Which you did know all along except it's much funnier now his slanderous comments aren't directed at you.

And has he always looked at you with such a piercing gaze? So intensely focused on what you have to say. Even if you're just complaining about your boss, blurring your lines of professionalism, he gives you his full attention.

You really can't remember the last time you have been in each other's company like this. 

You loathe to admit that even with what an asshole he is, DG's shine hasn’t dulled enough for you that you don't understand the appeal.

.

.

Leaning forward, DG whispers into your ear.

To anyone else, it looks like an over-affectionate idol with their manager. If they could hear his words, "I'm going to kill you," they would think otherwise.

Ok, so this one is your fault.

The good times have to come to an end and maybe you should have been more careful with his pride and joy - some ridiculously overpriced and over-specced vehicle.

Taking advantage of the clear blue Seoul skies, the pink haired menace was the one who drove you today in his fancy imported sports car, but the speed limits and the rest of the traffic was not on his side.

Already running late, even for him, he parked somewhere convenient and illegal then passed you the keys, leaving you stranded on the sidewalk, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, as he strode off to meet his music producer and choreographer and left you to park his baby elsewhere.

Why he entrusted you with it, you're not sure.

You would have done it anyway though, because when else are you going to have an opportunity to drive a supercar, if your boss didn't call at that moment. Questioning your expenses and DG's schedule and confusing you about the fitting at a fashion house and hair styling appointment that you knew like the back of your hand but when someone is so confidently incorrect, you start to doubt yourself.

By the time you got off the phone after pacing up and down the street and checking and double checking DG's timetable, you finally make your way back to the car-

And see it in the middle of being compounded.

You had begged and pleaded with the two men who were having none of it and you left, tail between your legs, to beg and plead with the other man who you knew would also have none of it.

Damn, you hate it when you prove yourself right in these instances.

You know DG won't really kill you, but he will likely make your life hell for the next couple weeks.

.

.

A normal person being pissed off at you would probably result in the silent treatment until tempers cool down.

DG does the opposite. Sort of.

He takes pleasure in making things as awkward for you as possible, until you're squirming in your seat trying to stay professional, thinking about your job and your rent and your bills; or torn between wanting the ground to swallow you up.

Around other people, your boss, your colleagues, his colleagues, he sidles up to you all smiles and soft looks. Slips purposely into banmal, and then oopsy, pretends that he didn't mean to be so informal with you around others.

Gossip soon stirs about your and DG's close relationship, if there's something else going on. Only you can see the mischief in his eyes and the malice in his smile and you think about yanking him by the ear and demanding to know what he is playing at.

Alone, he denies any sort of miscreant behaviour. Barely listening to you complaining and snapping at him. Ending with him outright ignoring you and you fume even harder.

This time, you're not sure the punishment even fits the crime. 

Any guilt soon dissipates when his car is returned in perfect condition within a couple days but his performance lasts for weeks.

.

.

Teasing you has always been fun for DG - when your cheeks dust angrily with pink and your eyes burn with fire.

The equivalent of a boy pulling a girl’s pigtails in the school yard.

.

.

Meetings with HNH Group usually do not involve you. If it does, at most you are waiting in the car.

Luckily, there are also an assortment of cafes and restaurants within a stone's throw and it gives you some time to debrief and catch a breather from following DG's hectic schedule.

The downside is you're never sure if a two hour meeting will be condensed to fifteen minutes or if a quick catch up with Charles Choi and other Executives turns into an all nighter.

There's been days where you have ordered a meal, then had to abandon it with a sigh and a longing look as you spot DG striding out of the building looking pissed off that you're not already there, or stayed in the vehicle with the engine running and your stomach rumbling as short appointments overshoot.

Maybe this is another consequence from DG being petty and irate with you for getting his car towed - you're left snoozing at the steering wheel of your runaround, the idol standard-issue luxury minivan, waiting for his return.

It's far too late in the evening for anywhere to be open, only the fluorescent lights of convenience stores and glare of the HNH logo illuminates the streets.

DG opens the sliding door, climbs into the back and slams it hard enough to jerk you awake and rattle the entire van.

He’s sitting by himself in the back, which is odd enough in itself.

As you blink away the dregs of sleep, in the rearview mirror, you notice the stiffness in his shoulders and the tightness in his jaw. His eyes stare vacantly out the window. DG is clearly upset about something, enough to crack through his aloof veneer.

"Are you ok?" You don't get a response, not even a passing glance.

Obviously something has gone wrong with the HNH Group meeting and the stress has manifested.

You wrack your brains thinking of something that might cheer up this asshole and you think of the only thing that improves your mood when you're on the verge of a breakdown.

(Usually due to the aforementioned asshole in your current presence). 

"Tteokbokki and beer?" You offer. It’s past your bedtime but a sulky DG for the rest of the week will also ruin your week too.

DG briefly looks at you before going back to staring at the window. It’s not a no.

You don’t get home until past 4am that night. 

At your favourite late night hole-in-the-wall, you eat far more tteokbokki than DG. On second thoughts, you don’t remember him eating any at all. You’re talking and downing beers to fill the silence, trying to perk up this silly celebrity. Loose lipped and spilling far more details than you would if you were sober, with him seated opposite and sipping on a soda. 

As the night ticks along, he thaws and a small smile settles on his face watching you gesticulate and ramble about your life.

You don’t get home until past 4am that night-

With DG driving, piggybacking you up to your apartment, and tucking you into bed.

.

.

DG can’t stop thinking of the weight of you on his back, arms slung over his shoulders, legs at his waist and his hands gripping your thighs.

You slurring drunkenly into his ear as he climbs the stairs in your building. It’s mostly nonsense. He can’t make out your words but remembers your breath tickling his skin.

And when he wraps your duvet around you, the brief moment of lucidity in your eyes as you look at him, softer than you ever have, you tell him, “Thanks Diego.”

Diego.

.

.

Nothing changes between the two of you after this. Not really.

You still find him an enormous thorn in your side. Incredibly stuck up and haughty and you continue to want to throttle him on a weekly basis but you are immensely grateful for him not leaving you a passed out heap on the sidewalk.

You’re in the middle of chastising him once again, dragging him out of bed as he is running late and being an absolute dick about it. Taking it easy as if he has all the time in the world. 

Well of course he does. He’s not the one that will be getting an earful from your boss or on the receiving end of the production crew’s complaints, as if trying to manhandle and cart this manchild around is easy.

“Diego Kang, I swear to fucking god-”

"James." He says, interrupting you as he picks out and pulls an eye-wateringly expensive jumper over his head.

"What?"

"Call me James when it's just us.” He checks out his outfit in the mirror, seemingly satisfied with it, before moving onto his hair. “James Lee. That's my real name."

DG, or James Lee, keeps his eyes on his reflection. Inspecting his non-existent roots, styling his fringe to make it fall just so and applying a liberal amount of hair product.

Nonchalant and casual even as he offers something desperately personal about himself.

"James," you say, trying out the sound for yourself. A name that seems at odds with his loud K-Pop shell but you imagine a time before the fame and the celebrity and the pink hair and it somehow fits.

"James," you repeat, and receive a small smile in return. Then it drops as you add, “If you don’t get your ass in the car in the next five minutes I will kill you.”

.

.

“James,” you think to yourself before you drift off to sleep that night. 

How peculiar.

“James, James, James.”

.

.

Celebrities these days are multi-hyphenates.

DG is an Idol-CEO-Actor, or at least trying to add the last one onto his resume. On looks alone, he would have already gotten his foot through the door. Add on his reputation and popularity, he is drowning in offers.

What you personally dislike more with K-dramas scenes though, is how long things take. How much it revolves around other actors and their managers whereas DG being in the studio or filming a music video is pretty much all him.

This K-drama is supposed to be the next big thing. 

With the biggest names attached, including DG who is making a cameo. The cameo that was also scheduled to be filmed five hours ago but you have both just been lurking in his dressing room since.

Along with some measly snacks and refreshments, which the crew has been kind enough to provide. 

However, the snacks are all but gone (thanks to you) and the refreshments are dwindling and there is no end in sight.

DG, or James, as you have started to call him in your head, is on his phone. He’s always on his phone. Scrolling through news articles, responding to important emails and messages.

There’s only so much news or celebrity gossip you can take. You have exhausted your own social media feeds and you have spent far too much money on your gacha games and the guilt has set in.

You twiddle your thumbs on the sofa next to him as he takes no notice of your presence and you decide to rest your eyes. 

Why not anyway? DG doesn’t need anything right now, work won’t be interrupting you, and there’s nothing for you to do. Just for a minute or five. Until someone from the production team knocks on the door and announces that it’s time for his scene.

DG side-eyes you when he notices your breath start to slow and deepen. Falling asleep on the job, really?

Then you let out a snore before smacking your lips together a couple times and he holds back a snort. He reasons that he should let you have some time to rest. After all, you’re the one that drives him around, his life is in your hands everyday and tiredness kills.

He’s on his phone for a few more minutes, reading through more emails on PTJ Entertainment and out of the corner of his eye he notices you drooping.

Body slowly slumping to slouch over him, until your head makes contact with his shoulder and you’re snoozing happily on your newfound pillow.

It’s equal parts inappropriate and cute.

Ugh, DG is 99% sure you’re drooling on him and the wardrobe department isn’t going to be happy when he returns the outfit.

Either way, that’s not going to be his problem. He adjusts minutely, makes it just a touch more comfortable for you and continues to scroll.

.

.

You wake up to a wetness by your mouth, and to your horror, DG smirking down at you.

.

.

Despite none of this being your fault, you apologise to everyone about having to reschedule DG’s music video shoot due to the previous day’s K-drama delays.

To your relief, the music video goes swimmingly and without a hitch, and the production is wrapped up on time. 

You’ll happily bet that his new song will go straight to No.1. If not, then at least the sensual music video will guarantee DG remains top of mind for weeks. 

You’re updating your boss and even she seems to be pleased.

"This is just work." DG interrupts as you're mid call.

You look up at him, brows furrowed.

Holding your hand to your phone to mute the speaker, you whisper, "I know."

"Good," and he walks away leaving you as confused as ever.

It's not the first time you have seen him shoot an MV, which thank the heavens is so much more efficient than bloody k-dramas, and also not the first time that there's been scenes that emulate an intimate moment. Lips nearly brushing together. Hands roaming bodies under fake rain.

Even if DG notices that you're watching the scene, eyes glazed over and bored, he still felt the urge to explain to you that there's nothing between you and the leading lady in the video.

Once out of sight of everyone, he facepalms himself for his ridiculousness.

.

.

You’re right, and you absolutely love it when you’re right.

The song goes straight to No.1 and holds that position for weeks, fending off competition from boy bands and girl groups and other solo artists. Apparently it’s going to be the song of the summer.

The music video also breaks records for being the most watched within 24 hours.

DG only reviews it once for post-production checks and finds it just fine.

There’s something he can’t quite put his finger on that seems off with it.

He wonders what it would look like if it was you starring opposite him.

.

.

“Where on earth is he?” You grit your teeth and grip harder onto the umbrella that is threatening to be swept away by the wind.

And another thing with being DG’s manager: it’s fine if he’s late but not if it’s you.

(Although to be fair, this instance of him being late is likely due to this particular music producer he’s meeting with enjoying the sound of his own voice.)

You were running late exactly one time in the past, during the first couple days of managing him, when the skies opened and drenched the earth. 

Heavens forbid DG’s perfect, beautiful, flawless hair is ruined by the rain. 

It’s not like he looked like a drowned rat. The paparazzi caught him in a wet t-shirt, fabric clinging to his abs and his pink hair slicked back stylishly. Even the goddamn raindrops were running fashionably down his high cheekbones and dripping off his pout.

For the next week, the tabloids and internet forums went wild with how hot he looked. 

(Who knows, maybe that was the inspiration for his fragrance commercial.)

Nevertheless, DG was displeased and it made its way back to your boss how displeased he was.

Ever since, you have been the unfortunate soul waiting in all manners of weather for him. Rain storms, blistering sun, freezing snow.

Today, it’s your favourite. Rain. You shiver against the elements trying to take shelter under the building entrance canopy, the wind whipping the downpour every which way and you’re getting soaked regardless of how you angle your umbrella.

“Hurry up, DG.”

You check the time over and over. He would be early to his next appointment if he exited the building now. 

…On time.

…On time if the traffic was in your favour.

…Late, but not terribly so.

…Fashionably late.

… Late enough to piss everyone off in the room.

Shit. Just as you begin to fret, wondering if something has happened to him-

Clicks and flashes from cameras alert you to his royal highness finally making an appearance, ready to exit the studio and making his way over to the car.

He materialises by your side, and you mutter a familiar phrase to him. 

“You’re late.” 

It’s a mantra you’re tired of repeating, but he relishes if the amused grin is any indication.

Without a word, he takes off his trench coat and drapes it around your shoulders. His right hand covers yours over the umbrella handle, left wrapping around your waist as he guides you through the throng of reporters and fans.

“What are you doing?” You hiss under your breath. 

You can imagine the optics now from the papers and your boss. It looks… Well. Not terrible but not the best.

“You’re soaked,” is all DG provides, accompanied with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. 

He opens the driver’s door for you before he climbs into the passenger’s side.

.

.

Thank goodness for your gift of the gab.

He’s being a gentleman, you tell everyone that would listen. Isn’t this what Korea wants? An idol with manners and who looks after everyone? Is empathetic and caring?

Think how well it would resonate with the female demographic, who wants a boyfriend like this! The older boomer demographic, who thinks none of the young ‘uns have any manners anymore!

Your boss isn’t convinced until the advertising offers for umbrella companies roll in.

.

.

Truth be told, DG doesn’t know what possessed him to do that. Especially in front of cameras.

Though, it’s not like he could just let you get even more drenched could he? You’re standing there, looking pitiful and he was just going to let you hold the umbrella over him when he should be the one taking care of you-

Hold on.

DG frowns at himself.

Damn.

.

.

James Lee has never looked after anyone besides himself. You need to look after yourself if you are to survive this dog eat dog world. To make it atop the Pre-Generation, the First Generation and now the Second.

He had unfathomably high expectations of himself (that he managed to achieve) and low expectations for relationships (that hadn’t been proven wrong yet).

People have flitted in and out of the chapters of his life, no-one staying around for long. Definitely no-one staying around long enough to know him, for him to grow comfortable with. 

Perhaps it has been the forced closeness that has caused him to let his guard down. Cabin fever, in a sense.

But James Lee, Diego Kang, has himself also been around long enough to know there’s more to you and he wants more of you.

.

.

Finding reasons to spend time together isn’t difficult. Actually, finding reasons to spend time apart would be much harder.

You both get on with your jobs and your duties, even as the closeness grows day by day.

And every time when you’re alone and you call him James, his heart grows fonder.

.

.

Out of all the seats available in his apartment, James lounges next to you, long legs draping over yours.

It's another night in together.

These seem to be happening with increasing frequency. DG at least used to keep up appearances, networking with his fellow celebrities.

Parties where you used to look at him with distaste as starlets surrounded him, award shows that he couldn't care less about as you hung around in the background.

Now he prefers to stay in with you, using work as a thin excuse. Studying lyrics that he has already memorised, going over dances that are long ingrained in him.

"You're not going to her party?" You ask, you were sure this fan-favourite and DG were an item or had history. At the very least, the who's who of the industry always attended her gatherings.

"No," his eyes continue roving over the lines.

Then when you thought the conversation was done, he looks over the top of his paper, eyes sparkling with playfulness, "I prefer being here with you."

Oh. Your breath catches in your throat.

You think you might never breathe normally again.

.

.

No, that’s a lie. Any opportunities for rose-tinted glasses has long passed by. You both know each other too well for that.

You breathe perfectly fine. Actually, this morning you are taking deep breaths to try and centre yourself. 

It’s not working. 

“You’re always fucking late,” you snap, giving in to your anger.

Sometimes you think it is your fault for not watching over DG 24/7. That instead of going back home, you should just live with him so you can shake him awake when he is supposed to get up instead of when he wants to.

And does it hurt him to look the least bit contrite at making your life a misery? 

Why does he have to look so smug with a lollipop stick hanging out his mouth? Seriously, between all the rushing around this morning, when did he find time to look for goddamn candy?

“For fuck’s sake, James.” You’re speed walking towards his front door, looking at the Maps app on your phone and miss his smile at you snarling his name. 

You’re already running behind and every route to the recording studio is red due to roadworks or an accident or just plain ol’ congestion. “Shit!”

Your finger jabs at the elevator button multiple times.

“It’s not going to get there any quicker if you do that,” DG speaks lowly into your ear and you get the urge to pinch him.

Instead of prodding some more at the button, you turn around and prod him in the chest.

“You’re going to get me fired one of these days,” You growl. “It’s fine for you, Diego goddamn Kang, the star who is pretty much untouchable. I’m not. I’m replaceable. There’s a million people who would take my job-”

DG snatches your hand, holds it still. “You’re not replaceable.” Then adds with an infuriating grin, “So what if we’re late.”

The minivan is skipped, and his answer to your problem is his other pride and joy. A motorbike that looks far too aggressive and a complete death trap.

“I’m not getting on that,” you say as DG hands you leathers that materialised from god-knows-where and a spare helmet.

“Fine,” he says, shrugging and throwing a leg over. “I don’t think your boss will be happy.”

“Fuck!”

.

.

If this was any other situation, you would be acutely aware of yourself pressed up against DG’s back. Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

Except all you can focus on is that you’re going to fucking die. You think you might be screaming.

“Stop screaming!” His disembodied voice calls out. Oh. Turns out you are.

For some reason, DG had thought the helmets with built in speakers and mic would be better for communication. Fun, even. Frankly, you’re just giving him a headache.

(Not to mention the fact that he bought a spare helmet at all. And leathers that he thought would be exactly your size.

He had never rode with anyone before and you certainly had never expressed any interest. Yet he passed by a motorcycle store when he had rare time to spare, and visited on a whim.

If he dwelled on this anymore, DG is sure his headache would turn into a full blown migraine.)

Later that night, when the ringing in his ears finally subside, he will still think about the way you held him.

.

.

When public opinion is on your side, then that’s fantastic. Amazing. You tend to get away with all sorts of things.

When it’s not, the truth can become muddied and there’s mental gymnastics from all sides painting you as the villain.

Fortunately, public opinion generally works in DG’s favour, especially in the case of his stalker who got sentenced for more jail time than if she was harassing a normal person, but not long enough to account for all the distress she has caused.

Such is the criminal justice system.

Her date of release looms large and near. DG, despite his talent and fighting prowess, realises certain traumas can’t be erased.

He grows on edge. Skittish. Snaps at any and everything. It’s noted by journalists. Other managers gives you questioning looks

You don’t miss his change in demeanour. To you, the reason behind it is obvious. 

You’ve heard about this case, everyone has. It dominated headlines for almost a month: the crazy sasaeng fan who believed herself to be DG’s girlfriend before moving onto another poor soul and was finally arrested.

As he spirals, nothing you do or say to him manages to get more than a nod or a frown. You try to offer that she had fixated on someone else before she was arrested, hoping that was a small consolation to him. And though he managed a weak smile, the black cloud still hangs over him.

In the end, you pack your bags and arrive at DG’s one evening. Instead of letting yourself in like you usually would, you ring the buzzer, smile into the door camera and tell him “It’s me!”

The door swings open to reveal DG looking perplexed (and worse for wear). Head tilting, curious and inquisitive when he sees your suitcase and carrier bags full of snacks.

“I’m staying for a while.”

“According to who?”

You barge past him anyway with a grin.

.

.

The date of his stalker’s release arrives and passes without drama.

You miss your home comforts but it makes you happy to see DG’s mood genuinely improve as the days go on.

The luxurious oversized mattress, fancy spa shower, and jacuzzi bathtub also helps to make your stay a bit more bearable.

Not to mention each morning DG actually cooks breakfast for you. Turns out he’s not bad at all at playing a househusband, and it’s also maddening how he manages to get up each day before you when he hasn’t got any place to be.

“Thanks James,” you say, when he presents you with a home cooked meal and his smile grows a bit more each day.

.

.

Peace doesn’t last.

Blurry photos of you both leaving and entering DG’s apartment at all hours of the day and night make the front page of certain news sites.

Headlines scream with leading questions. 

“Relationship beyond Manager and Idol?”

“How a Manager seduced their Idol.” 

“Who is this mystery person that has tamed DG?”

Why anyone deemed it newsworthy is beyond you. You’ve been to his apartment a million times. 

Yes, you suppose the closeness of DG and yourself in the photos can look a little suspect. 

In this particular one, it looks like you have your hand caressing his chest when in actual fact you were shoving him away for a dismissive comment he made.

And the other photo, of his hand on your wrist, was actually him dragging you away when he spotted a herd of fans in the distance.

More pictures unveil themselves.

A snapshot of you driving and DG feeding you candy.

You and DG, whispering intimately in your ear as his supercar is being towed away in the background.

You red faced and drunk as DG piggybacks you outside your building.

His jacket wrapped around you, hand on your waist and angling the umbrella over you.

Him smiling down at you (ok, you admit that you didn’t realise how soft that looks to other people.)

Finally an exceptionally pixelated image of you both on his bike, that could be anyone really.

Unfortunately, your opinion is in the minority as the articles are inundated with comments and furious, tearful fans shrieking that their idol is betraying them. 

Simply unhinged.

.

.

The speculation grows. You’re damned if you do deny anything, damned if you don’t. Your talent agency puts out an official statement.

To your ire, the statement is ‘no comment’ rather than anything more definitive. You glare at James when you find out, suspecting he has something to do with this.

He gives you a shrug, and a familiar look of mischief.

To his credit, he doesn’t leave you completely to fend for yourself. You stay off social media for your sanity, and when the paparazzi hounds you, he's the one with his arm around you, cutting a path through the crowd and shielding you.

It adds fuel to the fire. Does nothing to help your case. 

Still, you can’t help feeling safe and secure with his hand guiding you - holding onto your waist, round your shoulder, or simply - 

Your hand in his.

.

.

Outside of the conference room, where DG is wrapping up a press release for his newest album and nothing else, a reporter slinks out and approaches you.

You’re used to being on the other side of the conversation. Part of the staff, herding DG through camera flashes and questions being thrown at him though there was always some sort of camaraderie. Both parties just trying to do their job with deadlines and targets to hit.

This time you just feel a weariness as you see this person making a beeline towards you.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” They say, holding out their hand for a shake which you take with reluctance.

“Hi.”

A voice recorder is thrusted into your face, and you automatically take a step back. “Hope you don’t mind, but I just have a couple questions for you.”

“Um...”

“There’s been lots of sightings of you and DG together-”

You open your mouth to argue-

“Can you confirm your relationship with him?”

A vacant smile settles onto your face. It’s a practised expression where you follow all the cues to be polite and professional even as internally you wish to be anywhere but here. “I’m his manager.”

“Are you two together? Romantically?”

“I’m his manager.” You repeat through gritted teeth, and you’re surprised to hear your voice calm and collected.

“Is that a no? Or-”

“What even is this question?” You scoff, ignoring the way your cheeks heat, and refusing to partake in this circus a moment longer. “This is over.”

You manage to at least catch them looking apologetic, before you stride off into a corner to take a deep breath.

.

.

DG, much more adept and experienced at fending off questions, had finished the conference early and caught the entire exchange, watching you both with a bemused look.

Walking towards you with quiet, measured footsteps, his hand settles onto your lower back as he murmurs your name.

He bites back a laugh at your small, startled jolt.

DG tilts his head to signal ‘this way’. You give him a look but follow him regardless. Trailing behind, moving far away from other prying eyes. 

Up a flight of stairs, through multiple fire doors, turning left then right then another right then maybe a left. It doesn’t matter. You’re hopefully lost and decide to just put your faith in this wretched idol.

He finally seems to find what he’s looking for as he reaches an empty corridor; stopping mid-step and you collide into his back.

“Ack!” You exclaim, hitting the solid wall of muscle.

He lets out a huff of laughter and whirls around to face you, noting how cute your look of surprise is.

How strange though, that this is his current position. But is it really unexpected that the person that has been by his side for months has finally worked their way into his heart and has somehow learned to read him when no-one else could?

If he really thinks about it, yes actually, it is unexpected. No-one else has managed to grow close to him before. As James Lee, as Diego Kang. Birds of a feather or opposites attract or everything in between, no-one has got him like you do. 

There’s still so much more to tell and show you but��� First things first.

Fidgeting, you shift your weight from one foot to another, growing self-conscious waiting for DG to talk, only to find him staring intently at your face. Impatient, you give in and speak first.

“What is it?”

“...”

“Diego-”

“James.” He cuts in abruptly, “It’s just us right now. Please.”

You blink in shock at the please and correct yourself at his insistence, lowering your voice so it doesn’t echo down the empty hallway. “James, are you ok?”

“Better than ever,” he says, a smirk now pulling at his lips.

You register his change in mood and narrow your eyes, wondering where this is going. “Why are we here?”

“When the reporter asked if we were together, you said you’re my manager.”

“I am your manager.”

“But you are interested in me.”

It’s not a question. DG, no James, says it like a fact and there’s no doubt in your mind or his. You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. Open it once more-

What.

You feel some cogs in your brain misfiring and all you can manage is a feeble, “Huh?”

“You told them you’re my manager, but didn’t say no to being with me.”

“...”

“So. What do you think?”

“Of what?”

“Us.”

“You like me. Tell me that I’m wrong.”

You take a step back. “...”

Another step. “...”

“Tell me you don’t want this.”

And your back hits the wall with an oomph.

DG slaps his hand on the wall beside your head, bends at the waist and leans his weight forward until he’s eye level with you. “Tell me and I promise I’ll stop.”

“...”

You’re cornered and he searches your face for a response.“Y/N?”

“...”

Fuck. Fuck!

How on earth are you supposed to respond when he looks at you like this. When his face is millimetres from yours and his breath is on your skin and his dark eyes pierces into your soul, pupils blown deliciously wide.

With his stupid pink hair and his fringe flopping, framing his face and his high cheekbones.

The stupid canines of his poking out that gives him so much character and is so hot it hurts when he flashes it accompanied with an arched brow and an arrogant smile.

His stupid pout and his stupid lips, that you know is constantly moisturised with a fancy overpriced lip balm to make it look kissable for the cameras.

And Jesus Christ, you hate to admit it but they do. They 100% do because somewhere in the back of your brain you always knew they look kissable but it has been often clouded by just simply how annoying and bratty you found him.

Except right now you don’t find him annoying or bratty at all.

Even as he’s confessing his feelings with complete confidence, no unease, no anxiety or doubts, because he always had a way of worming under your skin and he knows exactly how to push your buttons.

Damn it all.

“Kiss me,” you tell James, and he isn’t surprised at all by your reaction, face lighting up at your confirmation.

He shifts. 

Hand coming up to cup your cheek. He rubs his thumb twice over your skin, savouring you any way he can before tilting your face towards his. His lips at first brushes against your forehead. Leaves a trail down your nose, peppers both cheeks and then your chin. 

He draws back once, takes in your sweet face and gives you a smile so soft it makes your heart hurt.

Then finally, after wanting this for so long, presses his lips against yours.

Diego Kang, James Lee, tastes like candy and sugar.

[fixyourwritinghabits]

How to Handle Critique

I’ve got to admit, I wish I was one of those beatific saints that could take critique with a grateful smile. Instead, I am constantly suppressing a horrible little gremlin at the back of my head hissing at anything from legit plot critiques to grammar corrections. I’m well aware I used that comma wrong, GOD.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m very good at suppressing that gremlin, but the little bastard is still there. He exists because even though your brain knows critique can help, it also knows you worked damn hard on the thing being critiqued, and goddamnit, isn’t that enough???

Anyway, here are some tips on getting that gremlin to shut the hell up.

It is okay to be upset. You worked really hard on this thing, and now someone’s gone and pointed out all the things that suck about it. You cannot control how you feel about one thing or another, but you can allow yourself to feel that way and let it pass through you. Let your critique partner you’re taking time to reflect on it, and go for a walk. Do something else. Let those feelings pass through you before you get back to the page.

Give yourself time. Don’t feel like you need to correct things right away (unless they are minimal grammar tweaks). Some pieces of feedback might take awhile to sink in, especially when you’ve got a whole novel to wrestle through. Set it aside, think about something else for a week or so, and get back to it when you’ve reset.

Get a second opinion and/or ducky friend. It can be very hard to tell the difference between good and bad feedback sometimes. Someone who means very well could give feedback that just doesn’t work for you, and someone who doesn’t give two shits could have spotted that fatal flaw right away. You can bring in a real third party or just make use of the old rubber duck technique, where you talk through the issue with a friend or a Naruto poster telling you to Believe it. Working it out out-loud is a really effective technique to figure out what needs fixing and what doesn’t.

Guide critique-givers toward the feedback you want. I, a person who prefers straightforward fantasy and sci-fi, cannot give the fine-tooth points on how a romance novel should work. However, I can give feedback on what works for me and what doesn’t story-wise. Giving your beta reader or critique partner a list of questions to look for will help avoid vague feedback based on how they don’t like the genre. There are many ways to do this, but consider using the following as a base to tailor your own questions:

Did you get a good sense of the setting? Did the worldbuilding make sense to you?

Was this story clear? Where there any parts that seemed confusing?

What characters did you like and why? What characters didn’t you like?

Did any parts of the story feel slow or repetitive?

Did the beginning draw you in? Did the middle keep you engaged? Did the ending feel satisfying?

If you were to write [insert plot point here], what would you do differently?

Again, all of the above questions are up for debate depending on your goal, but we are rarely taught how to give good feedback, and a guided feedback session would work better for you than a free-for-all.

Figure out what kind of advice doesn’t work for you. It is really hard to give good feedback sometimes, even with guided questions. It can also be really hard to figure out why some feedback doesn’t click with you, and that’s a matter of digging deep to figure out what you really want. You may lean toward characters who are horrible fuck-ups, but your partner prefers more steady characters who always strive to do the right thing. Your characters, therefore, may never click with this person, no matter how much they want to help you. And that’s okay! Figuring out where your critique partner is coming from can help you figure out what parts of their feedback isn’t working for you. Sometimes the only thing you can do is thank them and move on, but you might also want to guide them to focus more on the plot or the worldbuilding when looking at your work.

And last, don’t focus on grammar. It’s great if they point that out, but if you end up changing everything, trying to fix that first is a waste of your time. Grammar tweaks last, plot points first.

And, I dunno, give yourself a treat to get that horrible little mind gremlin something else to focus on. Sometimes patting those bad feelings on the head and sending them away can help way more than ignoring them.

[bridgeicesbeforeroadif]

Bridge Ices Before Road!

Links: DEMO-PATREON-FORUM

Updated 10/29/24

~Summary~

Was there anything that could get between you and a gold medal?

Well, yes. A lot of things. There’s your family, including your annoying younger sibling. Moving back home with them will be tough, but it allows you to focus on your gains. There are competitions to win, and you have to stay in peak condition all the while. You also have your mother breathing down your neck to make sure nothing jeopardizes your chances at success. Your father is more hands-off. He almost always has half of his mind on work, even when he’s at home.

Your coach will guide you through the ups and downs of skating, as they’ve never let you down before. They remind you of your father a bit, never able to fully turn off part of their brain that thinks about work. You hope they remember to relax, and let you do the same.

Your childhood friend-turned-rival is always one step ahead of you these days. They beat you out as part of the top couple in the pairs free skate last year, and since then you haven’t been able to top their performances. You used to be friends, but now there was a fire in their eyes when they looked at you. Will you be able to mend this friendship?

Even worse, you run into an old bully of yours (that you might secretly have had a crush on since forever ago) who has just been appointed the captain of the local hockey team. He plays at your local rink now, and that means you’ll be seeing each other more than you’d like.

You find a friend in a fellow skater who becomes something of a pen-pal to you. They reach out over social media, and there’s an instant connection. They’re a total sweetheart, and you can’t wait to meet them at the first event.

 Finding your place again in your old hometown might sound tough, but nothing is tougher than being an Olympic athlete. You have to juggle training along with all that, but you try not to let it get you down. After all, skating is your passion!

Don't let the creepy figure outside your bedroom at night get you down. If you ignore it, it will be fine. It was just your imagination... right? Draw the curtains, drink some warm milk, and put on some music to drown out the haunting song whistled into the gaps in your windows. Tonight, you escape into your dreams knowing all the exits are locked up tight and there's no way in. It's all in your head.

But remember, escaping isn’t always an option.

~Features~

Customize your MC! Name, sexuality, appearance, hair, eyes, clothing, and more! (MC is genderlocked female)

Find friendship or romance in the least likely places! Each route has its own ups and downs with tailored story-telling.

Get stalked by a really big fan. No, I mean like a REALLY big fan. They know things about you that no one else does! Will you get away? Or will you be unable to stop their villainous plot?

Win (or lose) against the best skaters in the country– and the world!

~Romance Options~

Dallas Doverman

 male/6’0/20yo

 The hockey team captain. He bullied you in elementary and middle school. You can select whether or not you had a crush on him. They certainly had one on you, and that’s why they picked on you so much, not that you knew. Nowadays, instead of helping his dad around at the skate rental and pulling your pigtails, he plays ice hockey with the big boys. He was the youngest on the team, but still made captain in such a short time.

Dallas is tall and broad. His straight black hair is longer on top and rests above his ears, trimmed short on the sides. He’s grown a lot and lost that old baby fat that clung to his cheeks. A dark beard forms on his face, but doesn’t fully block out his skin.

Vincenzo/Valentina Ciolfi

 selectable m or f/5’8 or 5’5/18yo

 They were once your friend. Then, you went to Boxcroft and they didn’t. It was a shock to everyone, V included.  They swore to get better and become your superior someday. You hadn’t expected it to affect your relationship, but it did. You drifted apart, their hostility ever-growing and there was nothing you could do about it. 

With dewy, caramel skin and shoulder-length golden brown and almost blonde locs kept in a low ponytail, V just screams “over it.” They did not care enough to do anything to their hair or pick out a nice outfit. They do that for competitions, and that’s enough.

Argo/Allegra Papandreou

 Selectable m or f/5’10 or 5’6/28yo

 Your coach. They were just like you, hailed as a prodigy until they graduated school, then they stopped being a rising star and became a plateauing one. You followed their career almost religiously, and always wondered what changed. They only started coaching for you. Before that, they worked in accounting, the business for which they got their degree. You couldn’t believe that was what happened to the Starchild of Skating in the 2010’s. They saw real talent in you at a young age and changed career paths. You hope you weren’t a mistake.

Dark brown hair falls in waves over Argo’s ears. Anita wears hers long, down to her waist. They are leanly muscled, but toned all over. Even after years of being out of the game, they had not let their body grow flabby or let it fall out of use. They look as ripped as they did in their teens when they stole the show at Nationals when they were your age.

Bernhard Wagner

 male/6’5/20yo

 Someone that will eventually face you at the Olympics, you think. He’s friendlier than a competitor has any right to be and reached out to you in your private messages on Blipsta. He always speaks in a really cute way, with all kinds of emojis. He complimented your technique and you got to talking. He made it so easy to open up to him.

You don’t know what Bernhard looks like, not really. He did tell you that he’s tall and has blonde hair, but you kind of expected that. You guess you just have to wait to meet him.

[loz-furbies]

Zelda ages based on when their games came out. Welcome to the team EoW Zelda!

Characters and design thoughts under cut:

For starters, I did a similar Zelda piece a few years ago and ran into the problem that I can't really draw anything else than anime teen girls, which is kind of a problem in a drawing where half the characters are above 20 and their age differences are the whole point. And in addition almost everyone is supposed to be royalty with very similar clothes too. But in my defense, in general it can be pretty hard to tell the ages of 25 to 40 year old anime women anyway.

I needed a reference for the body proportions in order to even get started, so I quickly thought "who is an anime woman who doesn't look like a teenager", and used Yor's character sheet for assistance. The younger characters' proportions are a little inconsistent, since I couldn't choose if I would look at realistic growth chart or go with the anime look (where teens and children are often shorter than they would be in real life) so the result is this weird hybrid.

Four Swords (December 2, 2022) & Four Swords Adventures (March 18, 2004) - Chronologically they are different Zeldas even though they use the same promo art/character design, so I used the promo art design for the original FS Zelda and drew the FSA Zelda based on her sprite. There's not much to these designs, they have very little going on in terms of story or personality to use as inspiration and their character design doesn't offer much anything original when compared to the other more well known Zeldas either. Their only distinct element is the big red hair bow, but I thought it would look too childish when they're supposed to be in their twenties here.

Minish Cap (November 4, 2004) - There's not a lot MC Zelda that I could use for inspiration. But then I remembered that a while ago I wrote about how the pointy hat Queen Ambi wears should be used more often, so I thought I should put my money where my mouth is and draw it here, since Zelda does wear a red cap for a couple seconds in MC. In general the MC Zelda and both FS Zeldas are at a little awkward age for this picture, since they're too old for youthful child designs but not really old enough for more mature queenly designs either.

Skyward Sword (November 18, 2011) - Her design is based on her concept design, which I assume is meant to be her casual look and not the ceremonial costume she wears in the game.

Ocarina of Time (November 21, 1998) - I decided that age-wise she makes the cut of when I start using updos. Why do the Zeldas have such similar canon hairstyles anyway, it was surprisingly boring to work with them. Still not sure about the curls though, my fancy dress design artbook that I used for inspiration had so many cute curly hairstyles but I couldn't really use any here because I worried the characters would become unrecognisable. But since OoT Zelda had some curls in her "sideburns" she fell victim here.

Hyrule Warriors (August 14, 2014) - HW Zelda has a distinct enough design from the other Zeldas that it gives a lot of elements to work with, though her age here limits it a little since she's too young for bikini armour. Also because HW is a spin off, I also considered including the Cadence of Hyrule Zelda, but that led to the realisation that it would have opened the doors to CDI Zelda as well. Which I guess would have been fine, but this is already a pretty wide drawing full of adults, so while a Cadence of Hyrule Zelda would have been easy to fit on the front row, I couldn't justify adding even more adults just for the CDI games. So only HW is included because I've played it and actually like it.

Zelda 1 (February 21, 1986) - The original Zelda is at an age where it's a little awkward how there's little difference between her (38 years old) and OoT Zelda (25). But I couldn't think of any anime that would help me as reference here, and I don't think she's old enough to have that "this character is getting old" wrinkle under her eye (you know the one).

Echoes of Wisdom (September 26, 2024) - I think she looks a bit too old here to be a zero-days-old newborn but work with me here.

Breath of the Wild (March 3, 2017) - She's actually at the age where her mum died, poor girl. She's very refreshing to work with since her look is so different from the other Zeldas.

A Link to the Past (November 21, 1991) & A Link between Worlds (November 22, 2013) - Originally I also had the Oracles Zelda in this since she does have a unique design, but then again I consider the Oracles Link to be the same as in aLttP which ought to apply to Zelda as well, plus the design isn't unique in any interesting way and is just a combination of the OoT & aLttP designs, so in the end I just gave the Oracles Zelda sprite's hair buns to aLbW Zelda. Overall having to use the essentially same design for both aLttP and aLbW Zelda wasn't much fun, especially when neither really offers anything notable in terms of story or personality, but at least they're pretty far apart when it comes to age.

Twilight Princess (November 19, 2006) - I haven't played her game so I don't know a lot about her (other than reading the manga which didn't give me anything to work with either) and she's also close to her canon age (?) here so she ended up looking pretty similar to her canon design.

Spirit Tracks (December 7, 2009) - This was a tough one because technically ST Zelda does have a lot of elements to her story and character that could work for a redesign, but not really for the purposes of this picture. Anything train related is more of Link's thing, and anything ghost related doesn't really fit either since she's not supposed to be a ghost at this age. And as for the Phantom, I got the impression that while she learned to appreciate it, she didn't exactly like using it, and that personality-wise she would prefer not to go on another similar adventure. So In the end I just replaced the regular armour parts many Zeldas have in their designs with the Phantom armour and used the ghost palette for the rest of her look, and I kind of like the result. Her personality looks a little out of character though but I couldn't resist the opportunity to draw this with Grandma Tetra.

Wind Waker (December 13, 2002) - I haven't played WW so I'm not sure how accurate this is, but drawing her with the pirate design definitely added some much needed variety to this picture. I really like her twirly hairstyle in canon, but I also really wanted to draw her with short hair, so it had to go. Maybe ST Zelda can style her hair in a twirl when she gets older to compensate?

The Adventure of Link (January 14, 1987) - Really don't know what happened here, not particularly happy with the end result. I prefer to draw the Zelda 2 Zelda with her sprite design because just reusing the OG Zelda design is boring, but I really should have kept it closer to that since now she's practically unrecognisable.

[pressureplus]

Ok ok hear me out.. what if, you did a part two of “Reflection” but the reader finally gets to read Sebastian’s document? And kinda sees how similar they look. It’s kinda dumb because it wouldn’t really much to write about but it’s just a thought 😭

No no, don't apologize. I can work with anything as long as its got 1 sentence or three descriptive words and a vibe! I can easily make you a part two!

Doppelganger

Pairing: Sebastian Solace x Fem!Reader

Au: Classic

Warnings: N/A

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟ ◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

At last you purchased that damn document of his. It had sat on his desk almost teasingly out of your hands. A previous attempt to grab it had ended with his hand pressed over the classified file and a smile. His words spoken slow, as though you were stupid, as he explained that you certainly didn’t have enough for that. Now you could finally touch it all you want. A part of you was feeling a bit sassy when you snatched it right off his desk proudly. The thousand data pieces you just sold to him being shuffled away. You ignored that, for the most part, more focused on finally getting your hands around the classified information you’d been curious about. Finally popping open the file to see what it is he’s been leaving on his desk, you’re met with tons of information. A few pictures falling out that you don’t quite manage to catch.

You ignore them, taking a seat in Sebastian’s shop as he moves around the room, shuffling different pieces of paperwork and chips into places. His hands reaching up for the vents above his head and tugging out a few spare pieces of equipment. You can hear him opening the packs her wanders around with, attaching things to the straps around his body. You choose to ignore that for now. Instead choosing to read the file in front of you. Your eyes scan over the first line, catching onto three things at once. His technical experiment name, his codename, and finally his legal name. Your eyes scanned each individual word quietly. The shuffling in the background not particularly drawing any of your attention. There’s that shoot to kill statement you’ve heard a thousand times before. You’re starting to understand why he’s so aggressive. You’d be pretty pissed too if you were an experiment gone wrong, especially if you hadn’t even done the crime you were accused of.

At last you shut the file, eyes being drawn back to the images now laying on the ground. You scoop them both up. In your hands is an image of current Sebastian, larger and aggressive. He looks damn near ready to shoot the camera. On the other image…you. No wait, not you? His jawline is a bit sharper and he’s got a scar on his face but he looks so much like you. Honestly, it’s a bit shaking. A mugshot that isn’t yours but looks so much like you. The more you stare at it the more begins to make sense to you. The dots connecting on why his reaction to your face was so aggressive. Why he tends to almost stare a little too long. You thought it was because he found you ugly, or because he was trying to grieve the death of a loved one. In some ways, you suppose, he is. He’ll never have this face again. He’ll never be able to see himself properly in the mirror and he certainly wasn’t the innocent man accused of a crime he didn’t commit anymore. How many people had he killed trying to get what was necessary to escape? How human was he anymore, without his face, without his body. Was it human desperation, or animal?

“You never told me you were so pretty.” You joke as Sebastian jolts. It seems he’d gotten so wrapped up in adjusting things that he hadn’t even realized you were still in here. His eyes flick from your face down to your hands. You turn the picture of him around, pointing at it. This only seems to make him mildly uncomfortable as he looks away with a huff.

“Could you not have opened that anywhere else?”

“Sorry…it’s just…you really are handsome.”

“I was, I guess. That was a long time ago now quite obviously.” He slithers closer, scooping up his file and taking the pictures back. He’s careful to push them back into the titled document before shutting it. Then and only then does he hand the folder back to you.

“You still are, maybe you look a little different now, but you’re still very pretty.”

“That’s not a funny thing to joke about.”

“I’m being serious, Sebastian. You’re pretty with or without a human face. Even if this one isn’t really ideal…I still think you look great.”

“Easy for you to say, you’ve still got yours intact.”

“If it’s too painful to look at, I can fix that by wearing my helmet all the time? I just want you to be comfortable. I want you to know that even if you’re not human anymore that doesn’t make you…a monster.” He hesitates, the words sinking into his skin. He’s quiet for a good while before sighing. His hand coming up to his face to drag downward, a display of his exhaustion.

“Just…get out. Take your folder, your batteries, and go back to getting that crystal.”

[krirebr]

In LBAL when Bambi starts settling and coming into the ~loving Curtis’s job of it all ~ will Curtis give her a new nickname?

Oh, I love this question! And I had some thoughts. I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Mob enforcer!Curtis Everett x female reader (from Luck Be a Lady)

Word Count: ~650

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

Warnings: Mob AU, references to smut, references to violence, references to criminal activity, light angst All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

You're at the club the first time it occurs to you. You've actually gotten Curtis out on the dance floor, a rare break from holding court with Andy in the VIP section. He's got a beer in one hand, the other snaked around your pelvis from behind, holding you tight as he grinds against your back. "Bambi," he growls into your ear.

You pause your movement as the thought hits you, just for a moment. Bambi. That babe in the woods. Is that really who you are anymore? You look around at the club that's become a second home, the now-familiar guards that pepper the perimeter, the VIP section up above that houses the most feared man on the coast, a man that some days you would go as far as to call a friend. You see the world so much more clearly now. You understand how it all works. The person you were the first time he called you that feels so far away.

But then Curtis's hand drifts a little lower. His grinds become a little firmer. His breathing gets a little heavier. All thoughts about anything but how his body feels against yours fly out of your head.

The next time you think of it, you're kneeling on the bathroom floor in the home you share with Curtis, bandaging up his hand as he sits on the closed toilet seat. He'd split his knuckles open on some thug's cheekbone earlier in the night. He's debriefing with Andy on speaker phone, strategizing next steps. Neither of them are concerned about how much you might overhear. Some scared little Bambi wouldn't do this, would she?

You're collapsed on the bed, Curtis breathing heavily above you, holding himself up only enough to make sure you aren't crushed, as you both come down from your orgasms. He tucks his head into your neck and breathes out, "Bambi," into your skin.

It's only because your brain hasn't fully come back online yet that you ask, "Why do you still call me that?"

He pauses his nuzzling and slowly draws back so he can look you in the eye. "Huh?"

"Bambi. Why do you–" You take a breath. You don't know why you're suddenly so emotional, but this feels important. "Is that how you still see me? You said, that first night, that I was just getting my legs under me. Haven't I done that now? Haven't I shown you? I belong here now, don't I? Haven't I proven that?"

He looks down at you, confused. "What else am I supposed to call you?"

"I don't know, my actual name, maybe?"

He immediately scowls at that and you let out an irritated huff in response. He isn't taking you seriously.

But he clearly sees your annoyance and sobers. He's quiet as he searches your face, gathers his words. "Bambi," he starts, "is what I named you. I did it to show everyone, including you, that you were mine. I did it to show you that you do belong here, with me, wherever I am. It's not something for you to outgrow, or to prove. It's my name for you, because you're mine, only mine. You'll never belong to anyone else, be called anything else. Just my Bambi. Forever."

He carefully leans down to place the gentlest kiss on your forehead, then shifts his weight onto one forearm so that he can use his other hand to stroke your cheek. The look in his eyes is so serious that you don't dare doubt him. As always, it takes your breath away. It isn't just the words he said, but the ones he didn't, too. This name, the act of giving it to you, was a promise, not just that you'd always belong to him, but that he'd belong to you, too. How could you ever want to be called something else?

Tag list

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[stepinthyme]

The Red Means I Love You

Alice Wu Gulliver x Necromancer!Reader

Your girlfriend told you she'd be gone to finish some buisness, and you feel her death happen. You refuse to let her go.

Word Count: 1k

Content: second person, no use of Y/N, ressurection, kissing, fluff, blood and gore, Alice is naked but that is not the focus here. Reader is refered to as "girlfriend" at one point, but otherwise this could be read as gender neutral

A/N: If no one will feed me, I will feed MYSELF. I may cross post this to ao3 in the morning, but I needed to get this out of my head while it was all still fresh. This is very heavily inspired by Marcille's ressurection of Falin from Dungeon Meshi, but fuck it, if Billy's allowed to ressurect Tommy by putting his soul into another kid's dead body, then theres gotta be at least one other person able to do necromancy, and why not do lesbianism. Alice is probably a little ooc but I did this in like an hour, cut me some slack.

Today, running the butcher’s was very slow, predictable for the sleepy little metropolitan area of Eastview and Westview. It was run of the mill and average, what everyone in the town basically forced it to be ever since the scarlet witch scared half the people within a three mile radius.

You were just finishing the last of closing procedures and headed into your apartment above the shop, making a quick dinner and settling in for a simple night watching tv when you could feel it. The moment Alice's life was snuffed out. No, more like drained out of her, in a drawn out action. She had told you she was just going to finish some family related business, that she'd be back before the night was over. She'd be back before you knew it. Kissed you on the cheek and everything like she did when she'd head off to work.

Before you had even really processed anything else, you were already setting up the ritual, drawing out a sigil with chalk, placing candles in the appropriate places, scouring your cabinets for all the assorted offerings needed.

You and Alice had met because you were outcast witches. She had distanced herself from the craft after the death of her mother. And you were known as the disgrace of all green witchcraft. You were an odd duo, but you were happy so long as you were together. She had asked you a few times how you had earned your title, and you always laughed it off.

She was going to finally learn why you were called that very quickly.

You were grateful for your day job as a butcher, as you used magic to carry large cuts of cow and lamb, bones and all from the commerical freezer to the living room. plopping them haphazardly onto the sigil. It wasn't her body, but it would do in a pinch. You would deal with any consequences later. You lit the candles and got onto your knees, placing your hands on the sigil as you began the incantation you had done at least a dozen times. Your voice almost seemed to echo through the room as forbidden magics are called upon.

In a basement a couple miles away, death reaches out for a soul, only to see her violently yanked away from her grasp, disappearing from sight.

You continue to shout as the meat and bone fuse together, almost melting as it reformed itself into a human shape, features slowly refining itself to resemble the soul now bound to it. The last touches are added as your girlfriend, albeit covered in blood and naked, now lies in the middle of the circle. You nearly collapse, but you stare anxiously, hoping, praying, that it worked.

Alice's eyes snap open as she bolts upright, gasping for air. You release a breath you didn't realize you were holding as the tears finally roll down your face and pull her into a tight hug.

“Alice! Alice, I thought I lost you, I..”

You continue to squeeze her, kissing various spots on her face, not caring about the copper taste of the blood. Alice seemed to be finally coming out of shellshock as her hands found their way to tangle in your hair. Her eyes met yours.

“Is… is this real? Am I really here?”

“Yes Alice, you’re really here, I promise. You're here. I'm here.”

Without much warning, you were pulled in for a deep kiss. If you didn't know any better, you'd have thought she hadn't seen you in months with how desperate it was. Your tongues danced with no clear rhythm as you tried to get enough of each other, only stopping when you both needed air. Alice let out a huffy laugh of disbelief.

“How did you… how did you even do this? I was dead. I saw death.”

You glance away, picking at some of the melted wax on one of the candles, suddenly conscious of what you had done, how much of an overreach it might have been.

“It's. A long story, trust me. I understand if you don't want to be around me anymore after this, I just-” Alice gently takes your hands in hers, rubbing circles with her thumbs.

“Hey, hey. It's okay. Look at me?” You meet her gaze once more, her warm eyes looking softly at you.

“It's okay. What happened was weird, yes. But I think quite literally breaking the laws of life and death is maybe the most romantic thing a girlfriend has done for me. Just don't make a habit of it, okay?” You can't help but laugh at that.

“Only if you don't make a habit of it. What even happened?” Alice paused at that.

“It’s also a long story. I’ll tell you after I get cleaned up. You should probably too, considering” she gestures to your now bloodsoaked clothes, and you nod.

“I’ll take care of the cleaning in here while you shower, and I'll meet you in the bedroom later after I get washed up. If you're still awake by then, we can exchange stories. Otherwise that can wait till morning. Alright?” She nods, placing one last kiss to your forehead before attempting to get up and then immediately falling over. You stand up, offering a hand to her.

“Need help?” She takes it, and you help pull her up, resulting in a much more successful attempt to stand than the last one.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one protecting you.” You can't help but giggle at the remark.

“Everyone needs help once and a while. The usual doting can wait for later.”

You walk with her to the bathroom to make sure she doesn't fall again before even making it to the tub, before heading back to dig through the supply closet. You pull out the cleaning supplies and head back to the living room area, and the now giant stain of blood and chalk on your floor. Necromancy is a bitch, but it's all worth it now that you have Alice back with you. Whatever happens next, the two of you can sort it out together.

[genshin-side-piece]

Tell Me You Are Mine

Hopefully he'll leave me alone now.

Sequel to : Love Me Tender & Love Me True

Warnings: Yandere Content, Dark themes, Implied Kidnapping, Implied Captivity, Implied Stalking, Somnophilia, Non-Consensual Touching, Sexual themes, not smut (sorry),Not Fluff, Uncomfortable themes, not a portrayal of Stockholm Syndrome, but can be interpreted that way, my bad writing, anything else I missed, 18+, Minors DNI

“Good afternoon.” As if by instinct, your jaw tightened at the sound of his soft voice. A swift glance out of the window told you he was early. Way early. Normally, it was closer to dinner when Neuvillette made his presence felt.0 The golden light of the setting sun seemed to herald his return. The second it began to peak through the soft sheer curtains that hung on all the windows, you made every attempt to hide. Drawing room, breakfast room, the back corridor that led to the servants quarters. It didn’t matter. He always found you. Even after you slipped your little wardens or convinced them to give you privacy, he still found you within minutes of his arrival. It was almost like he had a sixth sense in that regard.

As of late, you had taken advantage of the mild weather, opting for one of the more out of the way spaces so that you might enjoy your novels in peace. You had read the one that was currently in your hand a hundred times before today. It was one of the few pieces of fiction you were permitted to read, therefore it brought you the greatest joy you could muster. The escapism was a much needed break from the monotony you faced on a day to day basis. Which was why his gentle voice breaking your train of thought at the best part was nothing short of annoying. Especially when his presence was neither expected or invited. “I see that with the change in season, you’ve adopted a new spot. This room does keep the afternoon light longer than the drawing room. With the days becoming shorter, I imagine it is exemplary for reading before dinner.” You tried not to visibly roll your eyes as you made every attempt to ignore him. The faster this was over, the faster you could enjoy your solitude before you were forced to perform the abhorrent ritual that was dinner. “I wonder if you are at a stopping point. I have something I wish to show you.” There was an unusual giddiness that his calm voice generally lacked. He was uncharacteristically excited about something. That generally meant one thing. “A present, of sorts.” A heavy sigh was your only reaction. He had already tried to shower you in presents as a lame attempt at an apology. Aside from the book in your hand, all the others had fallen flat. The only time he got to see them was when you felt he was in need of punishment. Where you forced him to see and be near the version of you that he so desperately wanted, the version that you would never let him have. “Please, I have been working on it for quite some time. Will you let me show you?” The sheer hope in his voice grated on your nerves. Every instinct in you said no. Mentally you wanted to crush that hope he had. If you did, then perhaps he might finally see there was nothing to gain in keeping you here beyond your mutual misery. Once he realized that, then he might grant you the one thing you so desperately wanted, which was to let you go. “Is it not something you can leave on the table for me?” You didn’t bother to take your eyes away from the page you had been reading. Instead, you made a half hearted gesture in the general direction of the rest of the room. “I am afraid not.” Gods above you hated he sounded pleased, but you supposed he got something he wanted from the brief interaction. You had avoided speaking to him for weeks now. “This gift has a bit more permanence to it.” You furrowed your brow in confusion. Permanence? Another sigh escaped you, this one smaller than the last. You couldn’t deny that after months of trying, he finally didn’t something that made you want to know more. 

With zero flourish you closed your book, giving him what he truly wanted, which was your full attention. The soft smile he offered you as a reward for your compliance was no less annoying than his voice. “I will need to escort you to it, but afterwards you are free to go there on your own.” He toyed with his fingers for a moment, a tick you had noticed whenever he was nervous. Your eyes narrowed at it, momentarily focusing on his hands, questioning the action. On closer inspection of Neuvillette you noticed he was as rigid as a board. His frame lacked the somewhat relaxed countenance his normal posture tended to have. From your vantage point, you could see that small beads of sweat had begun to form on his brow, while his eyes swirled with what you could only guess were the emotions he refused to acknowledge or show. Neuvillette was always so calm, so collected. He never exercised anything but absolute control over himself around you. The only time he had come close to losing that control was when someone had dared to threaten one of the melusines. The weather had seemed to match the fury that filled him as the storms lasted for days. 

Now was nothing like that time. His mood, his posture, even the slight shakiness in his speech was nothing short of bizarre. You blinked, a realization washing over you. God, it couldn’t be, could it? Was he nervous? Another look at him told you all you needed to know. His handsome face was strained, struggling to hold the disarming smile he was wearing. The sweat on his brow was growing by the second. He actually broke eye contact with you long enough, to allow his smile to fall into a slight frown. What made his present state so curious was that he never got nervous when giving you something. It was often left for you in your room or he would drop it on a table nearby and wait for you to open it. Why was this different? “Will you allow me to escort you?” The expectation in his voice grew. He sounded almost desperate for you to say yes, for you to take down the invisible barrier between you long enough for him to get close to you. Based on his proximity to you, he had already broken it, but given that he had you cornered there wasn’t much you could do other than say no. “Please?”

Again it was a chance to hurt him beyond all measure. To just absolutely crush him, possibly once and for all. The longing in his eyes alone would make it worth it, but for once, your better judgment granted him a reprieve. While Neuvillette was many things to you, the one thing he was not, was intentionally cruel. He had never been abusive, nor had he ever raised his hands to you to bring you harm. Even at your worst, when you could do nothing but scream at him, he just took it. He never interrupted, never raised an objection to a single thing you said. He just let you rage at him until the anger that had possessed you left your body, reducing you to a quivering, sobbing mess. Then he would still be there; a glass of cold water and handkerchief in hand, ready to comfort you should you wish him to.

His compassion for your situation, despite being the cause of it, was the only reason you bit your tongue now. Over the many months you had been with him, you had come to the realization that while you loathed his actions, you did not necessarily loathe him. At least not entirely. You were still angry. You still sought your petty revenge. You still denied him all that you could, but crushing his hope, crushing him felt needlessly cruel. His motives had come from a decent place, as had his actions. At the time he had believed something horrible had happened to you. With a serial killer lurking, you could make yourself understand it. In some way it was almost flattering. The Iudex of Fontaine cared enough for you that he came to personally rescue you from harm. What you resented was not what he had done before, it was what he did now. You despised being kept, but your abhor at your own situation was not a good enough reason to harm him like that. Deep down, you knew it would not bring you the outcome you desired, nor would it bring anyone any satisfaction. If anything, it may make things worse for both you and the nation as a whole. Living with a kind man was easy, you often shuddered to think what kind of man Neuvillette could be if he wished to see someone suffer. Given his place in the world, it wouldn’t be difficult at all if he wished that upon you. His little friends were all too happy to tell you about the caverns and caves and oubliettes that lurked in the darkness beneath the waves. It would be nothing for him to disconnect from your world completely and send you to live in eternal darkness for the rest of your days. Your entire body involuntarily grew cold at just the thought. 

It was easy to forget Neuvillette was dangerous. His calm nature and gentile manners were a clever mask for the power that laid just beneath the surface. You had heard the rumors, same as all the rest. It was all the melusines had talked about for days. They had fretted and fawned over the events that had taken place. Neuvillette had recently had to suppress an outburst in court. The offender had managed to land a blow, but it had only been by luck. Not even a blink of an eye later and the individual in question had been subdued thanks to Neuvillette’s strength. The entire interaction had lasted seconds. You knew based on your own experiences with him that he wouldn’t even need that for you. It was another sobering reminder that his treatment of you was a choice. He chose to love you, just as he chose to be gentle with you. But you knew, even gentle people had their limits. You briefly wondered where his actually were, if rejecting him now would push him past the point of no return. You silently worried if you could weather that kind of storm. 

Reconsidering your options, you took a second look at the current situation. Unlike past gifts that were left for you, this one was different. He had arrived unexpectedly, nervous and hopeful, with something he could not simply hand you. Neuvillette had to escort you. It possessed permanence. To say that you were cautiously intrigued more than you were worried was not an understatement. It was impossible for you to imagine what it could be. “Petit?” The intrusion of his voice, distracted you from your thoughts. You looked at him again, his nervous feelings were clear as day now. The smile had fallen in favor of pursed lips and concerned eyes. “Will you walk with me?”  “Will it take long?” You did your best to sound disinterested, quickly using your book as an excuse. “I was at the best part.” A breathy chuckle escaped Neuvillette’s lips, followed by what felt like a sigh of relief. “Not long at all petit chou. In fact, bring it with you. I believe it may come in handy.” That statement only served to encourage your curiosity further.

The walk was a quiet one. Neuvillette either wasn’t in the mood for small talk or thanks to the situation, he had been rendered silent thanks to his nerves. You found that fact irksome. The one time you wanted him to speak to you, to tell you what was going on, he wouldn’t. Neuvillette was stalwart in his silence. The only sound that passed between you was the sound of his robes moving in time with his body as he silently led you to wherever you were going. His home in comparison to yours was quite large, but in reality not so big that you wouldn’t be able to reach a set of locked double doors within a few minutes. You noted there wasn’t anything particularly special about them. The only thing unique to them was that they were on the north side of the house, a place you rarely ventured as Neuvillette’s office and chambers were located on this side. It made complete sense the object in question was on this side. If it possessed any sort of permanence, then it was logical that he would keep it close. 

There was no fanfare when he unlocked the doors before you. No music. No confetti. No shouts or utterances of the word surprise. Just an open door and second set of doors, that led to a walled garden. To what you gathered later was his extreme pleasure, your jaw hit the floor. 

It was a peace offering between you and him. A cage within a cage really. The stone walls were far too smooth and far too tall for you to scale, but that didn’t detract from the meaning behind his gift. Neuvillette was expanding your privileges, offering you a semblance of freedom in a world where you had none. Here, you would have the feeling of the sun and the wind and rain on your skin. You could hear the sounds of the court, albeit at a distance. You could even detect the faintest scent of the sea as it hung in the air. All the things you had lost the day he had taken you. All the things you had yearned for since being locked behind the heavy stone walls of his home. After the first few weeks of being here, you hadn’t asked for them to be returned to you. Neuvillette had made it clear that they wouldn’t be. His personal matra to you was that the outside world was dangerous. You were not safe. He had done his best to protect you from afar, but it had not been good enough. Your trip outside the city had triggered him to the point that he felt the only solution for his dilemma was to keep you in a place where you could be monitored full time. If you wanted sun or rain, then you could gaze at them through the filtered light of the windows. If you wished to smell the sea, then you would have to be near him to do so. As of that moment, you would never be in the outside world again. It had absolutely crushed you. “I know it is quite late in the year to gift this to you. I offer my apologies for that oversight. The meulsines and I were in agreement that it should be nothing short of perfect. Some of the flowers were also quite difficult to grow. It was insisted upon that as many of them as possible were to be in bloom when this was presented to you.” He hesitated. “I do hope you like it.” 

The trepidation in his voice pulled your attention back to him. There was a pang of guilt for how you had treated his gifts in the past. Your lack of appreciation where he was concerned had made the act offering anything to you, gift or otherwise, a challenging one. It was another sobering reminder that Neuvillette himself wasn’t a bad man. His intent towards you had not and was not malicious. Everything he had ever done for you had come from a place of admiration, of love. Even now, as he stared at you, almost bracing himself for the negative reaction you were sure to have, he still looked at you like the moon and the stars hung by your hands. For the first time since arriving, you felt cracks form in the ice around your heart. “It’s-” You paused, allowing yourself a moment to take the entire space in again. “It’s wonderful.” You bowed your head slightly, doing your best to hide the genuine happiness that was bubbling up from inside of you. It was wonderful. You would never deny that. Outside of letting you go, this was the best thing he could ever give you. “Thank you.” Your downcast eyes missed the look of utter relief that washed it’s way across his face. “I am glad then.” There was a breathy laugh that followed that. “Cosanzeana has been so worried over the flowers. She cultivated many of them, just for you. It will be a great comfort to her to know that you like them.” You nodded, bringing your eyes up to meet his once again. “This is not just for today. Going forward, it is reserved solely for your own use. No one will trouble you here unless it is for an emergency or we are preparing to eat.” You didn't know what to say to that. What could you say? Your own place? Your own private place? Better still, you could use it whenever you wished. You felt as if you had witnessed a miracle. While the garden certainly wasn’t the freedom you desired, it was a giant step towards achieving it. Allowing you this was a sign of trust. One that you were sure to take complete advantage of as time went on. “I only ask that you be mindful of the weather, especially when winter arrives. It would be most disagreeable if you caught a chill due to overexposure to the elements.” You nodded, silently agreeing with that sentiment. Becoming ill would be incredibly disagreeable considering he and the meulsines would be the ones to take care of you should you become that way.  He had already gotten close enough as it was. Giving him a legitimate reason to be so near you, to touch you, was something you couldn’t bear. “If you are content, then I shall take my leave until this evening.”

“Monsieur.” You thickly swallowed, watching him pause as you called after him. The look in his eyes made you falter slightly. They were brimming with adoration. Instinctively you knew he was pleased as punch that this had gone as well as it had. That he had done something to make you happy. Even if it was only for a few moments, he had managed to pull a genuine smile out of you. It had been the point of all of his gifts. He wanted to make you forget that for that moment he wasn’t your keeper. That you weren’t a captive. He wanted to paint the illusion for himself that you were both happy. Up until now, you had resisted. All the fine things he had presented you did little to achieve the lie he wanted. They did nothing to change the circumstances in which you lived. Clothes would never open the locks that kept you here. Jewelry could never help you get away from the walls that surrounded you. Only the book in your hand had given you even the slightest hint of escape. It was why it was your favorite and you imagined that now, like your book, this too would become a favorite. That should have been enough in your eyes. He gave you a garden, you would use it on the days that the weather would permit. That should be the end of it. Your conscience, though, disagreed. Maybe it was your own guilt for how you had acted, but in your mind a step deserved to be met with a step. The use of the space didn’t seem like a proper thank you. Even if it would bring you his unwanted attention, in this instance, you decided to make an exception and go one step further. “We have a while before dinner. Perhaps-” You gently sighed as he continued to stare at you with those eyes of his. Damn them for being so beautiful. Damn him for being as he was. Damn yourself for making you say what you were about to say. “The weather has been very nice as of late. It seems a shame to enjoy it alone. Would you care to sit with me?” His normally pale skin flushed. Neuvillette looked as if you could knock his lithe frame over with a feather.

“I-” He cleared his throat, the blush on his cheeks growing as he visibly fought his own surprise at the invitation. “I had thought of catching up on some work before dinner.” You raised your eyebrows almost stunned for a moment. He wasn’t going to refuse, was he? Surely he couldn’t. Not when you knew the invitation alone was something he yearned for. Briefly, you considered he would be well within his right. You had given him a rare chance to pay you back for your behavior for the last few months. To your surprisingly great relief though, he did not. “But I believe it can wait until after we eat.” The spirit of peace between you continued, with Neuvillette accepting your olive branch, just as graciously as you had accepted his. “I would be all too happy to join you mon petit.”

[ikeromantic]

Ikesen Boys React to Tattooed MC pt 1

This was an ask from @otomedad that I just had to write. I did some reading up on the history of tattooing in Japan and there was so much that I found super interesting. So! Here goes, starting with Nobunaga, Hideyoshi, and Masamune! Approx. 1500 words.

Nobunaga

“What’s this, fireball?”

You feel Nobunaga’s breath tickle your shoulder blade, his lips so close they almost brush your skin. For a moment, you don’t know what he means. It’s hard to think when parts of you are being ‘claimed’, afterall. But you smile as the memory comes back to you. Sitting on a stool, arms braced on the counter in front of you, with the buzz of the tattoo gun in your ear. “You like my koi?”

His fingers brush the inked design, tracing the outline of the leaping fish. “It is very well done.” He does not sound pleased, though he’s trying to hide it.

“You don’t.” A slight pout draws your lips out and down. 

Nobunaga stills behind you, so motionless that you don’t even feel him breathing. Just as you are about to break the silence, he wraps his arms around you, pulling your back against his chest. “It is part of you, so it is beautiful.” His chin rests on your shoulder, just above the tattoo in question. “Why did you receive this mark?”

There is an unexpected tension in his voice, and you laugh to ease it before explaining. “I got it after I graduated from design. It represents my struggles, and my determination.” You turn your head to kiss his cheek. 

He regards you with a serious expression, tense despite your affection. 

“Do you really hate it?” You can’t help how vulnerable you feel as you meet his carnelian gaze.

“I told you. It is beautiful, as you are. But . . .” He pauses, a slight grimace crossing his expression. “I do not like that someone marked you. Someone else claimed this -” He leans back to spread his hand over the koi. “Every part of you is mine.”

“Are you jealous of my tattoo artist?” You grin, unable to hold back. “You know I picked the design and the colors and everything, right? He was just some guy with a good flash book . . .”

Nobunaga’s frown does not ease, though you know that he’s aware this is ridiculous. 

You snuggle back against him. “Alright, alright. I understand. If you could do tattoos, I’d get one from you, ok?”

Something mischievous flickers in his gaze and a slight smile turns up the corners of his mouth. “Yes. This is acceptable.”

You aren’t sure what he’s accepting. Nobunaga can’t do tattoos, right? Right? Whatever questions you have disappear as his lips find that sensitive spot at the back of your neck. 

Hideyoshi

You roll up your sleeves to start working on the kitchen’s herb garden. The day is warm and sunny, promising a hot afternoon. It’s a good thing you’re starting early. 

About an hour into the weeding, Hideyoshi stops by with a tray of cool water and a wide straw hat. He kneels beside you. “You know it’s bad for your skin to be exposed to sunlight for so long. Even in the morning, you can’t -” He stops midword, his mouth hanging open.

“Hm?” You look up, dusting your hands off. Before you can ask anything else, Hideyoshi grabs your elbow.

“What is this?” 

You realize he’s pointing at the serpent tattoo on your forearm. The snake curls over itself in a complex circle, with the head pointing at your wrist and the tale toward your elbow. “Oh! Erm,” you give an embarrassed laugh. “That.”

“I knew you couldn’t be trusted.” Hideyoshi holds your arm up, inspecting it. “A thief. I should have guessed. What prefecture is this? Where are you really from?” The questions come lightning fast, his usual gentle lecturing tone replaced with a hard, brittleness that does not suit him at all.

“A thief? Are you serious right now?” You try to yank your arm back, going from bewildered to angry. 

Hideyoshi pulls you up to standing. “If you won’t answer my questions, maybe you’ll answer Mitsuhide’s.” He glares at you. “I can’t believe I - I called you my sister!” 

You take a breath, trying to hold in the tears suddenly threatening at the corners of your eyes. Sister. Why was this man so infuriating? First putting you in the sis-zone, and now accusing you. As if you hadn’t shared so many sweet moments. Almost-kisses. Holding hands. “Why are you freaking out about my tattoo?”

“It marks you as a criminal.” He sighs, looking away. “If you’ll come clean with me, maybe we can -”

“Come clean? Hideyoshi, I told you I’m not from here. In my ah, my village, people get tattoos because they like the way they look.” You wiggle your arm in his grasp. “This one means the cycle of life. Birth and death. Look at it!”

Hideyoshi slowly turns back to examine the mark on your arm. “It is . . . very finely done for a - a punishment.” He purses his lips. “And I do not know of a prefecture that uses a snake . . .”

You nod emphatically. “Exactly. And you know me. Hideyoshi?” Your tone brings his gaze to your face. 

He studies you for a moment. Then his grip loosens on your arm, the pad of his thumb stroking your inked flesh. “I may have, um, jumped to conclusions. My apologies.” A breath, then, “Sis.”

“Thanks.” You take your arm back, feelings still hurt. 

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. Then he drapes an arm over your shoulder, pulling you to his side. “Let me apologize properly, after work tonight. Stop by after your bath and I’ll rub some oil on your arms and legs.” Hideyoshi’s cheeks hold a faint heat. “A brother should care for his sister when she’s working so hard.”

You know he knows there’s nothing brotherly in the touches you share, but you nod in acquiescence. Then you pull away. “The garden won’t weed itself,” you say.

He grins. “I suppose not.” Hideyoshi’s hand takes yours before you can take a step. “It’s nice. Your tattoo. Once I really looked at it.”

“Thanks,” you smile back, feeling a little better. “I’m looking forward to my massage tonight.” You give him a cheeky wink. 

Masamune

You splash to the river’s surface, sputtering from the water in your mouth and nose. Masamune laughs beside you, his strong arm holding you up above the roiling surface of the water as the current pushes you both downstream.

“Maybe next time we should look for a bridge,” you shout to be heard over the river.

“Nah. Where’s the fun in that?” Masamune’s blue eye gleams with unfettered joy as he pulls you toward the opposite shore. 

Once you hit the bank and crawl out, you flop back onto the grassy hillside. “Fun? Not drowning is fun. And now I’m soaked.” You glance over to see Masamune already stripping down, laying his clothes out to dry. 

He grins when he sees your expression. “What’s the matter, kitten? Tiger got your tongue?”

“Pffft.” You sit up, ignoring the way your face heats. You shrug out of your kimono, very aware of how thin your linen underclothes are. Especially now that they are wet and clinging to your skin. 

Masamune’s appreciative look does not help. He grins unapologetically. “I should come out this way more often. Great view.”

You throw a clump of grass at him and jump up to run. He chases you, laughing, and catches you pretty quickly. 

His laughter stops with a sharp inhale. “Are you hurt?”

You realize that he’s noticed the ink on your side, a tiger in the midst of peonies. The red, pink, and orange probably look like a wound beneath the opaque cloth. “No, nothing like that.” You carefully tug the linen up to show him your tattoo. 

“Wow.” His eye is wide as he takes in the art piece. “Gorgeous.” His calloused finger brushes the skin on your side, sending a shiver across your belly and up your ribcage. “It’s like a painting.”

“Thanks.” You feel more than a little self conscious, but also gratified by his reaction. “It’s supposed to be, like, fragility and strength? Together?” You find yourself a little tongue tied, too focused on his warm hand touching you. 

Masamune finally looks up, catching your gaze. “It fits you, kitten. Strong and fragile.” His expression is more serious than you’re used to. A deeper emotion moves in the depths of his blue eye. 

The urge to kiss him is strong, but you resist. You tug the cloth back down and step away, heart beating frantically. Masamune likes to flirt, you think, that’s all. You wrack your brain for a witty comment and come up empty. 

He smiles, drops his hands. “Our clothes should dry out soon, and then we can continue on.”

“The temple better be awesome. You’ve talked it up too much to take anything less than.” Your destination is safer ground, you think, jumping right into the new topic.

Masamune laughs. “There’s not another like it anywhere.” Something about the way he says it makes you wonder if he means the temple you’re traveling to or something else. 

“Worth the trip then?”

He catches a bit of your damp hair and twirls it around a finger. “I’d say this trip is already worth it.”

[dengswei]

I LOVE this set and i was wondering if you could pls explain how you did the text, including how you added texture to the ripped text and the highlighting/circling/etc of words? thank you for posting your beautiful gifs 😊

thank you!! 🥺 & of course! (photopea tutorial)

the majority of the texture for the ripped paper effect i can't really take credit for it's on the paper it's self all i did was make the paper white (because the texture was yellow) and used curves to darken the texture), i got the texture from one of photopea's templates but it seems their whole template section has changed drastically and no longer has like anything i used to see before ???? so i'll just share both versions here:

(original & my edited version)

for the ripped parts i just played around with this brush set in the plugins

once i decided which of the paper brushes to use i had a new layer and used it where i wanted, so top left in the gif above, i clip masked the paper texture (and the adjustment layers as well) onto it so you get that ripped effect (if you don't like or want to add to that you can always use the brush tool again (or the erasure tool) set as the paper brush to add or remove sections i did this a lot when i realised certain words i wanted to show weren't on there (also changing the size of the paper brush when wanting to add a little bit or take a little bit away was a massive help)

i also always add a drop shadow to my paper textures, the settings i used is mostly the same EXCEPT for the angle for all of the ripped paper (it's also my text drop shadow settings) because depending on how the ripped paper looks you might have to change the angle

also i know in the screenshot below it's on but make sure the use global angle is off if you're going to have multiple different angles of drop shadow in your one gif (so if you want your paper texture on 125° but anything else on 60° the global angle needs to be off but if you want them the same then you can keep that on, which is why it's on for me because the angle is the same for both the text & the ripped paper) (and by text this isn't the text on the ripped paper, there isn't any drop shadow on the text itself there, just to clarify this was for my "ripped paper text tutorial by dengswei" text)

as you can see i also clipped my "handwriting" text to the paper layer this is so it stayed on the paper rather then going onto the gif itself (and it saved the fiddly part of masking it away & it felt more authentic this way too)

i found for me it was easier to seperate the text line by line so i knew exactly which part of the text was on which and if i wanted to change anything either it being a typo, changing the paper texture, or wanting a different word on a different line it was easier that way because it didn't end up messing up all of the text (though you don't have to do it that way, it's just what worked for me here)

font i used was: vag-handwritten (a default photopea font)

all of the next part needs to be above the text on your ripped paper:

for the highlighting, circles, and the lines it's pretty much all the same, i chose the colour which matched the gif (so say purple), for the highlight used the rectangle select & colour fill tools and set that to multiply & then played around with opacity (for most of my highlighting it's set to 50%), for the circles it was the same except the circle shape tool (no fill just stroke) set to purple, set to multiply, with 100% opacity (i found the circles looked better with 100% on some gifs depending on what colour i used), & then duplicated it once or twice and then just moved each circle to where i thought it looked best & the double lines is also the same using the line tool, set to multiply, & playing around with the opacity, & positioning them where i like

for the squiggly lines, the hearts, the 3 small doodle lines at either side of a word, & any other doodles i had on there i doodled them myself with my drawing tablet (you probably don't have to use a drawing tablet i just found it easier that way) using the free pen tool and then did the same thing set it to multiply and played with the opacity

if the colour you choose looks too dark or too light with it set to multiply either try a lighter/darker colour, try out something else like lighten, or screen, or increase/decrease the opacity more (i found i had this issue with the yellow being hard to see on the white paper so i used a darker yellow and kept everything at 100% opacity rather than 50%)

hope that helps! and please if anything is confusing or you want to ask any more don't hesitate to ask i know i ramble on a bit and it can sometimes get a bit confusing 🤣 or if there was anything i missed feel free to ask again 🥰

[merumis]

your son is watching tv upstairs. something bright and slow that he’s been into recently; you caught one episode a few days ago, watched as the alphabet painted its way across the screen in satisfying reds and blues. it reminds you a lot of the things you watched as a kid—soft music and sweet-voiced narrators.

the sound of a xylophone leaking from television speakers floats its way down your staircase, just loud enough that you can hear it.

you’re sitting at the kitchen counter—scrawling a grocery list underneath the one your husband has already started. fruit snacks, gallon bags, paper towels—not the trader joe’s ones. just above yours, two items of iwaizumi’s catch your eye: dark chocolate, silken tofu. he’s making mousse—the protein kind, obviously, but the one that melts on your tongue and then bites the back of it in that sweetly bitter sort of way.

there’s sets of drawn-on papers to your left. you’ve been waiting to put a couple on the fridge. your son is particularly proud of one, put it right on the top and smiled at you all wide while he did it. a woman in red crayon labeled mom, a man in blue labeled dad, and then a proud, smiling boy in orange between them, labeled me! in all big letters and exclamations.

you run a thumb over the top of it, feel the waxy residue collect on your skin, and then slide the corner of the paper between your fingers. you stand from the stool you were using and, with the drawing, make your way over to the fridge—pinning it with a red postcard magnet that iwaizumi’s mother got you from her most recent vacation.

there’s a jingle of keys at the front door. you turn at the sound, catching the soft swing of the door and the little routine iwaizumi’s made for himself at the end of the work day; key’s hung on their ring, wallet and work badge in the bowl by the door, shoes kicked off onto their shelf. his eyes catch yours and he smiles, softly—more like a greeting than anything else.

“didn’t know if you’d be home yet,” he says, and makes his way over to the kitchen. he slides into the stool you’d been using previously, stretching out his neck and back as he settles in. you lean back against the fridge.

“yeah,” you reply, “got out early, so i picked up the monster.” you gesture upstairs with a pointed finger. “figured he’d rather be at home than daycare.”

he nods, and then taps his fingers out against the counter. there’s this weird beat as he settles, the tap tap of his fingers filling out bits of silence. “either of you eaten yet?” he asks.

“no,” you say, “figured we’d wait for you.”

it’s then that your son comes tumbling downstairs playfully begging for dinner. he says something about hearing dad’s car, and then that he heard his keys, and he runs over and wraps himself around iwaizumi’s leg.

iwaizumi gets this big smile on his face—grabbing your son and pulling him up onto his lap. they exchange something that you don’t pay much attention to. you’re turned already, opening the fridge and scanning what’s in it.

“we could do tacos…” you start, “stir fry, vodka sauce-“

“why don’t we go out?” iwaizumi asks, and you can hear your son’s excitement at the idea, a little symphony—or cacophony, perhaps—of different restaurants he wants to go to filling the air of the kitchen.

“yeah,” you say, “that sounds good—let’s do that.”

iwaizumi lifts your son off his lap, telling him to go clean up himself and his room before you can leave, and he rushes up the staircase again, taking them two at a time.

the two of you have been doing this dance now for a while, you know. you’re pretty sure you both know. pieces of half-conversations spliced between interruptions and affection towards your son; quarter-baked commitments and yes’s that always sound more like maybe’s.

last night, he fell asleep first and you watched the rise and fall of his chest. you traced your fingertips along his shoulders and chest, wrinkling the cotton of his t-shirt between your skin and his.

you could’ve been twenty-one again—your bedroom soaked in the stench of rum and tequila and neither of you caring. him half-asleep, answering questions with closed eyes and mumbled sentences, his laughter warm as it brushed against your cheeks.

instead, you stilled your breath against him. you worried about waking him up, about what he would say if he knew you were up like this—if he would even say anything at all.

you still watch him now. a beat of anxiety hitting as you lean against the fridge. he’s playing with his hands, working his fingers against his palm up to his wrists.

“we need to-” you start, and you aren’t sure you can bring yourself to say the rest of it.

“talk,” iwaizumi says. he sighs. “i know.”

you walk over to the other end of the counter. when you rest your elbows on it, your knuckles brush up against his. you both inch towards each other until your fingers are flush against his.

“i love you.” you say, and you feel your throat start to tighten.

“i know,” iwaizumi replies. it’s quiet, not quite mumbled but just barely more than it.

“but i don’t think we-“ you begin, and you hang your head. you take your hands away from iwaizumi’s, propping yourself up on them, rubbing at your forehead, your temples, your eyes. “i don’t know.” you sigh. “i don’t know if we’re good for-" another breath, you catch iwaizumi's gaze for a second. for the first time in a while, you see the way he's aged in the past few years; sprinkled in grey hairs, the beginning of crow's feet. "i don't know."

you had an argument last week—as you do almost every Friday now, when you work from home and he makes his way back early. you couldn't name the topic of this fight, or really any of them, if you tried. you know you made a snarky comment, and he made one back, and that devolved into both of you yelling across the couch.

you got into an argument last night, too. prior to the late night gazing—because even with the fights, you always insisted on sleeping together. even now. but last night, you were arguing about work, his work and then yours, and maybe the groceries and where your son was going to school next year. you can't remember all the details—you don't particularly want to, either—and the day after it all becomes an abomination of anger anyway.

you're still looking at each other. you keep biting your lip between both sets of teeth, and you can see the way he's clenching his jaw.

"i know," he says for the third time tonight. he sounds so young when he says it, like you're in college and in love and you've just told him you're taking an internship across the country for the summer.

you hear your son upstairs, moving something around his room to clean up for dinner. he's not the best at keeping things clean, but when he does it, he's meticulous about it. you think he gets it from his father.

"i want it to be different," you say. "i don't want this." he shakes his head, gives you that tight-lipped smile.

"i know you don't," he replies, "i don't either, but-"

"but," you repeat.

your eyes flick to the stairs. you can still hear him cleaning up there, but you can't help but worry. when you settle your gaze on iwaizumi again, he's reaching a hand towards you. his fingers wrap around yours, his thumb pressing against the base of your knuckles.

"i won't grow to hate you," he says, "i won't do it. And if we stay married, i don't know how much longer that'll last."

you feel your face heat up, your throat tighten, tears prick at the corners of your eyes. you nod, silently, gripping his hand a little tighter.

"i know." you swallow something down, though you're not sure you could put a name to whatever it was. it feels like a jumble of everything inside of you. "me too."

you push yourself up and off the counter. neither of you say anything as you cross the threshold towards him. you wrap your arms around him, press your lips against his hairline. he raises an arm in front of you, reaching up to pull you closer by your shoulder.

"so this is it?" your voice is thick—hoarse—and still mumbled into his hair.

"yeah," your husband replies. you hear the crack in his voice. "yeah this is it."

your son yells from upstairs. he's ready to go, he says, and he's decided that you're going to his favorite mexican place. despite it all, you laugh into iwaizumi, and when your son comes tumbling down the stairs, you both compose yourselves.

you pull your son into you by the top of his head, ruffling his hair in the process. you can feel iwaizumi's arm around your waist—delicate and cautious and barely there in the first place.

and somewhere, in your chest or in your ribcage itself, you're not sure, you feel something that seems an awful lot like relief. even if it's small.

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐓

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

genre: smut, office romance

word count: 5k

summary: a week after walking in on your boyfriend fucking someone else, Max gives you the day off. You leave, unaware that you dropped your watch. Much to your surprise, he brings it to you. Your relationship with him escalates in the following days.

warnings: office sex, rough sex, praise kink, dirty talk, use of 'sir' & 'good girl', piv, dom/sub dynamics, very mild degradation (he calls you his cocksleeve like once), dumbification if you squint, soft!max at times

a/n: I drafted this months ago and only now I finally finished the fic, I have no idea why I waited this long especially since I'd written most of it back then but other wips got in the way--sorry Max lmaodvdf this is my first time writing for you and I hope I did you justice 🖤 I rewatched his scenes and I'm still so horny for this man it's making me look stupid

Max’s office is the nicest one of everyone who works in this building, albeit a bit darker. There’s a succulent on his desk that reminds you of a translucent star and you can’t seem to draw your eyes away from it. His voice is smooth and melodic but you aren’t really listening. Your hand moves over to your watch, feeling the coolness of metal underneath your fingertips. It’s nice. 

It’s safe to say that you’re not really paying attention to anything. 

Your eyes are wet still, a sting every time you dare to blink. It’s been a week since you found your boyfriend screwing someone else on the couch in the living room. The image still lingers in your head, taunting you. 

While you stared, unblinking as they scrambled for their clothes, all you could think of how happy you were that they didn’t use the bedroom. 

Now that the relationship is over it’s easier to see the red flags. The way he belittled you, your passions, the things that you enjoyed. Your body, your cooking, anything you did was never enough for him. It was an open invitation to mock you for who you were. And that was the least of it, he never touched you, and you had to beg him for sex— not in the fun kind if you might add. You feel so fucking stupid for trying to make him happy.

“You’re not listening are you?” 

You flinch upon hearing the question, eyes finally snapping away from the succulent and turning to Max. You didn’t mean to be so obvious about it. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. . . Great, another person you couldn’t make happy no matter what you did. 

“You’ve been like this all week. Is there something going on? You can take leave if you need to, you’re not really much use like this anyway” 

His words sting but you can’t really blame him for it. Though you did find it funny that as an immortal he was so pressed for time. 

“Sorry,” you say and he looks at you, really looks at you. Brown eyes move from your eyes to your lips, his own tongue darting out to wet his own. “I’ll do better just some... personal stuff going on,”

“Family?” 

“Shitty breakup.” 

“Oh.”

Max appreciates bluntness. You figured that one out on your first day here. He isn’t a fan of keeping anything that might affect your work bottled up. He doesn't like the guessing game either. If there’s something wrong he wants to know and if he can he’ll fix it. Not that he can really fix a broken heart. 

He suddenly stands up, making his way around the desk. He lends against the edge, hands on his lap. Instictecly you curl your fingers around the armrests. Max is pretty docile for the most part, unless he’s hungry. But the way he’s looking down at you, brows relaxed and a faint smile tugging at his lips, it makes your heart drop. He’s a walking corpse but his eyes are more alive compared to most people you’ve met. 

“I’m sure you’ll be happier without commitment wearing you down,” he says, voice dropping, barely above a whisper. You shudder and fail to see the way his fingers twitch. “Don’t think about it, relax, sweetheart.” 

And you do. It’s like warm water dancing over your skin. Your shoulders slump, your body limply sinking into the chair. A lazy smile spreads across your lips and he smiles back, teeth winking at you between his plush lips. “That’s it. You’re not feeling anything  now, are you?” 

You giggle, shaking your head. Even your heartbeat slows, the tips of your fingers tingling with pleasure—

You blink, pinching your brows, you slowly roll your shoulders and hear your bones crack. Max is gazing at you with utmost curiosity, thumbs drumming silently.

Then it hits you. The fucker is using his powers. Fucking vampires. 

“Stop it,” you hiss, your body relaxed but mind racing. He rolls his eyes and waves his hand as a sign of dismissal. The tension that had disappeared from your muscles return at full force, and you jolt. “You shouldn’t do that,” 

“I was trying to help,” he answers without a care in his tone. He buttons his vest and gestures with his head to the door. “Take the rest of the day off. Sort yourself. See you tomorrow, sweetheart.” 

“But—” 

“Just go. It’s fine,” when you fail to look convinced, he pouts and draws a cross over his chest. Ironic. “I swear. Now go, take the day off, collect your thoughts or whatever you need to do,” 

You leave without pointing out the irony of him making a cross over his non-beating heart. You’ve worked long enough to know that if the boss wants you to take the time off, you take the time off. 

Max drags his palm over his face, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he hops off the desk and turns to look at the empty seat you left behind. He’s not sure if he should be condoning this kind of behavior. He doesn’t want people barging in here asking to leave with the most minuscule of problems. But it isn’t typical of you to be distracted so he decided that you earned it. 

He’s curious about what kind of man would be stupid enough to leave you, let alone make you look that sad. Not that it’s any of his business. 

Max is amidst turning on his heel when he sees it. A small sparkle on the carpeted floor. Cocking an eyebrow, he leans over with his hands in his pockets. A watch? 

That’s right you had a watch when you came in, you were playing with it while he was going over the weekly sales. You must’ve dropped it. Looking almost bored, he scoops it off the floor and stares at it. He sees your initials written on the back, a pretty, delicate little accessory. 

Surely you would miss it. He knows your address due to dragging your drunk self back home after an office party— so maybe he should bring it to you. Max sighs and flips the watch over. He has time to make a quick stop. 

He leaves the office with the watch snug in his pocket. It really isn’t his style to be nice, or remorseful, but he does feel a tad guilty using his powers on you. He genuinely did think he was doing some good. It did look like you were feeling better until you broke out of the trance. 

Max steps into the elevator. The tedious music loud and scratching his ears as always. 

Taking a day off isn’t going as smoothly as you had hoped. 

Initially, you thought you would binge your favorite shows and eat a bucket of ice cream. Instead, you ended up staring blankly at the ceiling, arm dangling out from the side of the bed. It’s a shitty feeling. Your heart feels heavy and uncomfortable. Maybe Max taking away the pain wasn’t so bad after all? 

There’s a loud knock on the door and you jump. Every bone in your body aches, your heart beating fast as you head to the living room. You’re praying to every god you know that it’s not your ex. You don’t want to deal with him. Especially not today. 

You take a deep, calming, breath. It’s okay. He wouldn’t just show up now, would he? Stupidly enough you don’t look through the peephole before yanking the door open, the person that lurks on the other side takes you by surprise completely. 

It’s Max. 

What the hell? 

“Hiii,” he says with a smug grin. He lifts something to your line of vision and it takes you a moment to recognize your watch. “Found this, thought you might miss it.” 

Blinking, you open your palms and he drops it. It feels like a dream. “Uh…thanks,” 

“You’re welcome,” he peers over your shoulder, looking into the dimly lit apartment. “So how’s your day off going?” 

“Not as fun as I hoped,” you give him a bittersweet smile. His eyes meet yours, and you see your reflection in them, so bright. “Do you want to come inside?” 

A shudder climbs your spine when something dark crosses his face, eyes becoming sharper. Your stomach churns and you swallow, fingers tightening around the watch. 

“Would love to” he chirps, practically jumping over the threshold. “Thank you for the invite, much obliged.” 

“You really can’t come in without being invited?” you ask, closing the door with a push of your heel. 

“Nope,” he answers, emphasizing on the p. “Why do you think I left you at the door after the party? You were too drunk to say ��come in’ I basically had to push you through the door just so you could crawl the rest of the way to your bedroom,” 

“I honestly thought you were just being an asshole,” 

He scoffs, “I am an asshole. Just not to the people I like,” 

He drops down to the couch, which in return makes your stomach sink. You really need to burn it, you don’t think you can have it in your apartment anymore. You sit across from him, placing the watch neatly on top of the coffee table. “I wasn’t aware you liked me,” 

“Let’s say tolerate. I like your work ethic.” 

“Thank you?” you answer, unsure.

“You’re very much welcome.” 

You’re not sure why you invited him inside. He doesn’t drink coffee unless it’s morning, and he doesn’t really like to eat as far as you could tell. The silence is deafening and uncomfortable. You part your lips to ask if he would like tea or anything else but he beats you to it, gaze fixated on you. 

“So, how did it happen?” 

Your throat goes dry, “What?” 

“The break-up,” he shrugs and leans back into the couch, you internally cringe. “Do you want me to break his neck or something?” 

“What—No!” you’re horrified but can’t ignore the way warmth blossoms in your chest. You’re highly aware that he’s joking, however, it’s still a nice thought that someone actually cares enough to get pissed about it. “Where did that even come from?” 

“I don’t know, I’m not sure I like seeing you so sad. It’s unnerving.” 

“Sorry that my misfortune is bothering you,” you answer, crossing your arms. “He cheated on me, and I’m only now realizing how shitty he was.” 

“Ouch.” 

“Yeah,” 

“So I do need to break his neck then?” 

You laugh. 

You aren’t expecting it, but here you are rubbing tears from your eyes as you laugh with your whole body. There’s just something about the way he said it; as if it was the most normal thing to do. He seems to enjoy the way you laugh. Smiling wide and bright, watching you with fond eyes. 

After minutes, your laughter starts to die down, softening into breathless giggles. You’re surprised to find that Max is still smiling at you, no smugness, no cockiness, just an earnest smile. 

“Thank I really needed that,” you say, heat building at the base of your spine. “Sorry if I worried you. It’s been a bit rough lately.” 

“We can’t all be perfect every second,” he grins, he flattens his palms over his thighs, moving them up and down. Your breath hitches, eyes involuntarily dropping to his crotch. You’re flustered all of a sudden. He tilts his head, tongue poking out of his cheek as he gives you an open-mouthed smirk. “See something you like, sweetheart?” 

Your eyes snap to his face, cheeks burning, “Nope. Not—Not at all,” 

He leans forward, placing his elbows on his thighs. There’s a table in between but you feel as if he’s a breath away. You swallow, goosebumps rousing over your skin. 

“You know I can smell it right?” he purrs. “I can smell the arousal gathering between your legs. I can hear the way your heart is beating… That asshole had no idea how to fuck you properly did he?” 

Your pussy bottoms out at his words. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction that he’s right, you don’t want him to know how badly you want him inside. For him to whisper praises into your ear as you squirm around his cock. You lick your lips. He’s not using his powers, you can tell. Yet you still want to blame it on the fact that he’s doing something to make you feel so hot and bothered. But it’s not him, just you. 

You’re not sure when you started to have the hots for your boss, but clearly, there was something there. Lurking in the darkness of your mind.

“Look at you,” he coos, eyes raking over your body. “So sweet and afraid. Let me be the first one to say that he didn’t deserve you. Not in the slightest,” 

“Max…” you warn. 

“Yeah…?” he mimics your tone, smile somehow wider. “Would you want to get coffee before work tomorrow morning?” 

The question catches you by surprise. You observe him for a brief moment, he seems dead serious—at least the amount of serious Max Phillips can be. 

You nod.

Your first early morning coffee date with Max goes exactly how you expect it to go. You pay for both coffees as a thank you. He found it unnecessary but grumbled a thanks anyway. He talks a lot about work; about sales, about his time in Romania. But mostly work. You do appreciate the distraction though so you don’t complain. You pitch in, telling him ways the company could improve but also adding that you want to quit one day and do something better with your life. 

The following mornings follow the same pattern. Mostly conversations about work, and sipping coffee. That is until Tuesday rolls around. It’s an especially cold morning and you find yourself huddling closer to him as the two of you sat on the bench. He doesn’t really seem bothered by the cold, which makes sense since he’s cold-blooded. 

Max’s eyes drop to your trembling fingers that were curled helplessly around the coffee cup. You notice his frown, his gaze lifts back up to meet your eyes. “Do you want to go inside?” 

“No, I’m good. Besides it’s too early to start working.” 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “We do get here early don’t we.” 

“I mean…we don’t have to. But I have been enjoying our mornings.” 

“So have I,” he chews on his bottom lip, instinctively moving closer to you when he feels a shudder crawling up your spine. “It sucks that I can’t really warm you up—being undead and all— This would be the perfect moment to hold your hands.” 

Funnily enough, he does manage to warm you up. You look down at your hands, the cup only half full, you place it to the side. Max truly had been a balm to your broken heart these past couple of days. He never got overly flirtatious again as he did in your apartment, some part of you is disappointed that he didn’t. 

“You can—” you lick your lips, the wetness furthering the chill. “You can still do that. If you want to.” 

“Yeah?” he moves his jaw, eyes dropping to your lips. “You’ll be colder.” 

“I think it might be worth the risk.” 

Max brings your hands to his lips, brushing your knuckles and kissing each finger individually. You shudder. He wasn’t wrong, he was awfully cold. But you weren’t wrong either, it’s worth it. Hundred percent. His mouth moves over the back of your hand in the shape of waves, the pit in your stomach rolling, and butterflies fluttering in your chest. His eyes meet yours and you’re mesmerized by him. His eyebrows raise, lips kissing the curve of your wrist, laying a path to the inside, he drags his teeth over the skin right above the vein. 

A sudden fear spikes from your feet to your neck. He wouldn’t, would he? 

“Are you afraid of me?” the question is whispered with a breath into your skin. Everywhere except the tip of your nose is warm. He looks at you with heavy eyelids, lashes kissing his cheeks every time he blinks. 

You don’t have an answer, but you know what he needs to hear. 

“I’m not.” 

Before you can blink his lips mold into yours. He traces the seam of your mouth with his tongue eagerly, and you part your lips, allowing him to taste and dominate. With both hands he holds your wrists firmly, pulling you close until you’re basically flush against him. Max inhales as he presses deeper, licking the inside of your mouth and swallowing your whines. 

He breaks away from you with a smile, you see the flash of fangs.

You gently knock on the already open door. Max is positively exhausted. His eyes snap from his computer to you, he sighs and signals you to enter with two fingers. You close the door when you enter. 

“Are we still good for dinner?” you ask, feeling slightly foolish now that you were standing in the middle of his office. 

“Sorry baby, not today. These assholes managed to mix everything up, need to fix all that so I’m going to be here late,” 

You try very hard not to look disappointed. You already know you failed when you feel your bottom lip starting to quiver. You ball your hands into weak fists, pushing your nails into your skin. He notices, a moment of worry crosses his face. 

Tonight wasn’t really a date, or anything important. It was just dinner. 

Then why are you so upset?

You neither move away nor lean in as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. “What’s wrong?” he murmurs, and you exhale at the way you can feel his chest move underneath you. 

“Nothing, just—Don’t worry about it. I’m just being clingy. I know you’re busy,” 

“Clingy? Oh, sweetheart,” he rolls his chair back and slaps his thigh. “Come, sit on my lap.” 

“Uh…” your eyes flit between his spread legs and his face. “Excuse me?” 

“Just get your gorgeous self over here.” 

Swallowing, your legs move on their own. Your heart does somersaults in your chest. His smile never falters as you slowly lower yourself down, feeling his frame under you. Your insides clench. Your arms shake. You feel his breath on your neck when he guides your arms around his neck. He presses his lips where your neck and chest meet, heat coils in your stomach. 

“Max…” 

“You could never be too clingy,” he murmurs. “And even if you were I would love it. I’m actually really happy you came over, I was starting to think this thing between us was going nowhere.” 

“You want it…to go somewhere?” 

“Of course, I fucking do,” he snaps, looking up, glaring at you. “Do you think I come here that early just to drink coffee—I like spending time with you.” 

You feel yourself start to tremble as his hands move up your thighs and cup your ass. He squeezes gently and you gasp, your skin prickling under his touch. His lips move away from your neck, pressing soft kisses up your jaw until he reaches your ear.

"I want to take this further," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "I want to fuck you, sweetheart. Bend you over this table and make you scream my name because I’m sure haven’t been screaming anything for a while."

His hands move around your body, tracing the line of your spine and the curves of your hips. His touch is gentle and yet rough at the same time, your heart beats faster with each passing second. You melt into him, wanting more, wanting him.

“I want to feel your wet cunt around my cock,” he groans, dragging his teeth down the column of your neck. His voice drops an octave. “Let me fuck you sweet thing.”

You pause for a moment, and then you nod, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Yes," you whisper. "Yes, I want this too."

Max smiles, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips, and he pulls you in for a long, deep kiss. He nips at your bottom lip before pulling it and slipping his tongue into your mouth. Pulling you closer—inhaling you—he cups your head from both sides, and groans into your mouth. You feel the growing wetness between your legs, your body having a mind of its own, you grind down on him, shuddering as you feel the hard length under his pants. 

“Needy,” he tuts, gripping you by the neck. You hiss when he yanks you back, the rest of your body falling still. “You’ll take what I give you. Is that clear?” 

“Yes—” you bite the inside of your cheek. “Yes, sir.” 

Your cheeks burn as his eyes widen momentarily. Then he closes them, taking a steady breath, he cocks his head to the side. A soft hum echoes in his throat. 

“I like that,” he purrs, opening his eyes. “Say that again.” 

“Please, sir.” you choke out.

Max's grip tightens as he bends you over the office table. You gasp, your skin hot as he shoves your pants down to your knees. While you kick them off, you hear a zipper, feel the weight of his cock on the top of your ass. Your face is directly staring at the door— If someone were to waltz in, the first sight to greet them would see you taking your boss’s cock. However, you can hardly care when his warm breath fans your neck, his breathing uneven and rushed. 

He slips his hands down and cups your ass, kneading and squeezing as he shoves you further against the cold desk. 

"You look so sexy like this," he growls, his cock pushing against your ass as he presses himself against you. His hands move up your body, and he starts tugging at the buttons of your shirt, loosening them one by one. His lips brush against your ear and you shiver in anticipation as his hot breath tickles your skin.

"Say. It." 

It’s a threat and some wicked part of you is tempted to exhaust his patience. His hands move down your body, and his fingers start to tease your nipples as he traces circles around them. Then, when you don’t answer, he pinches them harshly. 

Your body jerks at the sharp pain, an acute moan rips from your throat. 

“Fuck me, sir. Please.” 

“You sound so good like this, begging for my cock,” he purrs. “I’m going to go easy on you today sweetheart, but don’t expect me to always be so nice.” 

He slides his hands lower, and his fingers slip between your legs, teasing and caressing your wetness. Your eyes roll back as his fingers start to penetrate you, and you grind downs in search of more. Wanting him deeper, wanting more of him. 

“So fucking wet,” he coos, he pulls out his fingers, smearing wet streaks across your hips. He nudges his cock between your folds and rocks his hips, the catches against your clit and a loud moan rips from your throat. “That’s my girl, and you thought I didn’t want this. What kind of idiot wouldn’t want this pretty cunt? Hmm?” 

“Max, please. . .” 

You hear the growl that rattles his chest. Closing his eyes, he cocks his head to the side, tongue tracing the edges of his fangs. “I really love hearing you beg,” he groans. “And the blood rush in your veins.” 

Your breath catches in your throat—and in one smooth thrust, he slips inside of you. You clutch the edges of the desk, your eyes rolling back into your skull. Suddenly the rest of the world blurs and it’s just you and him. He stretches you perfectly, his length deep enough to hit all the right spots. His hands smooth a path up your spine. You practically purr at the feeling. You whimper, and when you do, his lips are on your neck in an instant. His body a cool, yet comfortable, blanket on top of you. 

“Good girl. Look at you, being so obedient,” he licks the salt off your skin. “You feel so good, baby. The perfect cocksleeve for the boss.” 

“Oh god—” you choke out. You have no idea how to respond to that, but your body sure does. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing him tight. His breath hitches. You feel him straighten behind you, his hands press you down from the waist and you can’t help the small squeal that parts your lips. 

He’s restraining himself. You can tell by the way his hips twitches, eager to bury more of himself into you. His nails bite into your skin and instinctively you raise your hips. “Maaax,” you moan. “Fuck me, please. I can take it.” 

“You can, can’t you?” he mutters, sounding almost impressed. “My perfect girl. You’ll take everything I’ll give you?” 

You breathe out, “Yes—” 

And he gives you everything. 

Every thrust knocks the air from your lungs. Somewhere on the desk your arm hits a stack of papers and they fly everywhere, making a mess on the floor. Max doesn’t stop. He jackhammers into you, splitting you into two. It never felt this intense before. Never. You struggle to breathe and with every snap of his hips, you feel slick dripping down your thighs. Max groans as he wraps his fingers around your neck, pulling you up. Your breasts sway with every stroke, your nipples aching from how hard they are. His one hand remains on your throat as the other moves to your chest, kneading the soft mound in his palm. 

“Wouldn’t be fun if someone walked in right now?” he teases, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Seeing you getting absolutely railed—kinda wish I had a mirror so I could see how cock drunk you look, sweetheart.” 

Fuck, is all you can think and you desperately want to voice it out, tell him how good it feels. His voice, his breath, his teeth, his cock— But all you can do is whimper helplessly, hoping that the sound is enough to convey how much you’re enjoying this. 

“So stupid for me, I love it. You want me to make you come?” 

Another whimper. You nod helplessly, forcing yourself back to meet the movement of his hips. He hums as his hand slides between your legs, he draws wet circles around your clit, and your entire body clenches. You can barely hear him from the blood rush in your ears but you think he mumbles ‘oh shit’. Max continues to play with the sensitive bundle of nerves, with fast strokes he mumbles profanities against your skin. 

You come with his name on your lips. Your body convulses, muscles clenching and unclenching over and over as you gush all around his cock. It feels never-ending. He grinds his hips, burying himself deeper, throbbing inside. You hiss as your second orgasm washes over you, fluttering and twitching, your body goes limp. You're fairly certain if Max wasn’t holding you up, you’d collapse. 

Much to your surprise, Max slowly lays you on top of the desk and the office ceiling comes into view. He’s still pulsing between your legs. He smiles down at you, slides his fingers between your lips—the same fingers he made you come with—and leans in to shove his tongue alongside them. You part your lips wide, the taste of yourself and him making your head spin. You moan around his tongue and fingers. He pulls back with a smile.

“Where do you want me, sweetheart?” he asks, cupping your face with the same hand. 

“You can come inside,” you answer in a daze, then quickly add. “You can’t get me pregnant right?” 

He shakes his head and you smile, “Go ahead then.” 

It doesn’t take him long. He buries his face into the crook of your neck and takes deep inhales of your scent as he spills inside of you. You thread your fingers through his soft locks and gently tug on them. He groans. 

“That’s nice,” he hums, pressing his lips over your clavicle. “I wanna spend an eternity between your legs.” 

“Should I be scared that you actually can do that?” you say with a soft chuckle, he looks down at you, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. He wiggles his brows. 

“Maybe.” 

Max slowly pulls out, and when he stands, he watches the mess pour between your legs. His pupils eat away the color of his eyes and you shudder at how hungry he looks. 

Suddenly shy, you avert your gaze as you try to collect yourself, “Sorry about messing up your schedule. I’ll see you later.” 

“And where do you think you’re going?” 

He grabs your wrists and pulls you into an embrace. You hadn’t realized how tense you were until you feel yourself melting into him. 

“Fuck work,” he says, his hand resting over the small of your back. “I’ll get it done later. Let’s go home so I can at least spend tonight between your legs.” 

You grin into his chest, happy that he can’t see how ecstatic you look. He probably knows how excited you are anyway. 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

[thattimdrakeguy]

TIM DRAKE NEEDS OUR HELP

I need people NEED THEM, oh baby, oh goodness do I NEED people who don't know much about Tim Drake to stop talking about the Boy Himself: Tim Drake.

Presented: An accurate depiction of an 18-year-old Tim. The over-sized T-Shirt that helps his already lean body make him look skinnier (therefore people would underestimate him, which is part of his personal fighting technique) worn for comfort over anything else adds to it greatly. He does not normally dress fancy, as is sometimes assumed of him. Wearing some of the Robin colors also help.

If you do not know what he looks like, that is fine, that is actually UNDERSTANDABLE. Like what am I to do, pretend I don't know why people don't know what he looks like? After over a decade of him mostly looking like a generic white guy super hero?

Y'all gotta realize, people did not care about Tim for a very long time, because he was basically the D-List Robin since he stopped being the main one. So they never did their research. He wouldn't even be written right. And his relationships and details of his character could change drastically between writing changes. It was awful.

So those that don't know, please try to learn why people sometimes say what they do about Tim. It's not all true, but in this case, it is true. And when we get to see what he's supposed to look like in a real comic, it's very exciting for us, because we don't normally get that excitement anymore.

I know, it's sad just to be happy to see our fav look like themselves, but it's the spot we're in.

Presented: Canon Proof of Tim's appearance, set when Tim was only months away from being EIGHTEEN-YEARS-OLD, he was still being confused for being TWELVE-YEARS-OLD. Showing how he does look for his age.

Like he's SUPPOSED to be VERY SHORT, he's supposed to look lean to the point of seeming skinny in his street clothes, people are supposed to underestimate him (which is why his appearance works so damn well), he's supposed to have a soft 'cute' look to him, especially young looking even for his age as you can see above, that is part of him, one of of his gags is that he's confused to be twelve even when he was nearing eighteen. HE PURPOSELY LOOKS LIKE THAT. It is an ACTIVE choice. It is not a weird thing people just randomly do, it is a purposeful character design choice, made for the character, for him to stand out, and be different from the other characters with.

It is NOT a fanon thing people made to infantilize him. That is just what he looks like. And it is exactly what some real people look like. It is ACTUALLY part of him. It is a CANON part of him. That is brought up so much, because people keep thinking it isn't CANON, when it is CANON.

Presented: A horrible drawing of Tim Drake, during an era that made a lot of people have misconceptions of the character we're only lately getting away from. But some people still believe to be the more accurate Tim, based on when they started reading. DO NOT DO THIS.

All because a lot of artists don't care to draw him right, doesn't mean his appearance miraculously changed within the canon. Or at least it shouldn't have, considering that'd be weird, and take an aspect of the character that made him unique go away. Which is not fun for any character to have them done to them.

So when ever an artist does DRAW him like that, can we gang together and say "HEY, GOOD JOB ARTIST, FOR ACTUALLY LOOKING UP WHAT TIM LOOKS LIKE"

Presented: ANOTHER VERY GOOD TIM. See how he's shorter than his friends (Bart's leaning), has a soft 'cute' face, leaner physique (looking skinny, but not scrawny like he isn't athletic), thick middle parted hair. These are the components of a well drawn Tim that people desire to see more. It will look different based on the art style of course. But these are what makes Tim's appearance suit what we know of Tim, and has been clearly established no matter his age. Here, he is presumably around 17-years-old. Possibly not even a year younger than he currently is.

Because seeing people who see him look different, when it's the right difference, and complain, because they are not aware Tim isn't supposed to look buff and tall and masculine, just because a lot of artists didn't care about who is ultimately at this point a D-List Super Hero...isn't really fair to the people who DO CARE ABOUT IT.

Presented: Something I'm definitely gonna delete from my device soon enough, but added for the sake of the post.

If you wouldn't take away from Dick's ass, don't take away Tim's appearance, please.

We know Tim is different, and that's why we love him the way we do so much.

[judasofsuburbia]

Jonathan Byers might be the stupidest person on the planet. Because why...WHY did he ask Steve Harrington to model for his photography final? Why did he think he would ever be able to focus enough to capture what he needs to? Why did he wait until the last week of the semester and now, there's no time to ask anyone else and he doesn't want to hurt Steve's feelings—

“Hey,” Steve says, interrupting Jonathan's thought spiral. “Is this where you want me?” 

Jonathan looks up from his clipboard and camera to see Steve standing on top of the stool. Jonathan had sent him away with a costume he borrowed from the drama department and hadn't heard him come back in.

Steve is dressed in a toga. The crossbody strap is smaller than it would be on anyone else across his broad, hairy chest. The end of the toga rests delicately on his upper thighs, an inch away from being too short. Steve has quaffed his beautiful hair up and a plastic, golden crown of leaves sits amongst the brunette locks.

All of the moisture in Jonathan's mouth evaporates as he takes in Steve in this, what should have been, almost ridiculous outfit. Instead, Steve is absolutely striking in it and Jonathan is going to lose his mind before he even gets the lights set up.

“Uh, yeah, just hold there,” Jonathan croaks so he clears his throat. “I still have some things to set up.”

“Cool,” Steve replies simply. He shifts from foot to foot, tied up in lacy sandals. He looks around the studio that Jonathan has set up and smiles.

“Excited to see you do your thing,” Steve says. Jonathan trips over a cable.

“What?”

Steve glances over his shoulder and his face is so genuine when he says, “I wanna see you in the zone, you know?”

Jonathan blinks and ducks his head. “In the zone,” he repeats lamely.

“Yeah,” Steve smiles. “I mean, I've seen you take pictures before but never all done up like this. And this concept is really cool, I hope I can do it justice.“

Jonathan's assignment was to take from an existing piece of art, something not photography related, and recreate it. He's always been fascinated by the coliseums and marble statues of Greece, all the Gods and warriors of that time. As he was researching, the only thing that came to his mind was “Steve, Steve, Steve” and before he could even think twice, he shot him a text asking for his help. 

“You will, man,” Jonathan barely speaks above a mumble. 

Steve hums a song Jonathan doesn't know in the silence that follows. Jonathan finishes setting up all the lights and drawing the curtains of the room. He tries to pull up the screen behind Steve but can't get it to sit on the designated pole.

Steve reaches over him, his stomach resting on Jonathan's shoulder, and hooks the screen into place. Jonathan glances up at Steve's towering figure and swallows dryly. His muscular arm is bulging, his head is cast in the light from behind them like an angel. 

Steve winks and says, “You can put me to work, Byers. I don't mind.”

Jonathan's not sure that the thing that tumbles out of his lips is a laugh, per se, more like a weak, nasally huff of air. But he can't focus on that right now because he needs to stop breathing in Steve's cologne. He escapes to the other side of the room.

“You're going to be doing plenty today, I promise,” Jonathan responds while he sets up a little table next to his camera for his notes. “Why don't we start with you sitting?”

Steve sits on the stool with his legs spread, not even realizing that he's near exposing himself through the skirt. Jonathan squeaks and Steve glances down. 

“Oh shit,” Steve says, crossing his ankles. “Not used to that happening.”

“It's fine, I didn't see anything,” Jonathan mumbles, writing down nothing on his clipboard of notes. 

“I didn't go full commando under here,” Steve clarifies with a small laugh. “I'm just glad I wore white boxers today--”

And yeah, Jonathan didn't need that image either. He starts adjusting his camera on the tripod and says, “Sorry, I should have been more clear about your costume.”

“Nah man, it's alright. I kinda dig it. If we shoot outside, I'm sure the breeze will feel so good.”

Outside? No, Jonathan can't see Steve basking in the sun like this. He wouldn't survive that.

“Gonna have to settle for the AC, I'm afraid,” Jonathan says with a fumbling laugh. “Okay, first shot. I'm thinking you tilt your legs to the side, almost like you're lounging on the stool. Then pop the shoulder closer to the wall up while keeping the other down. Look up at the ceiling.”

Steve follows his instructions but he tilts his whole head up instead of just his eyes. 

“Chin down a bit, look with the eyes.”

“Like this?” Steve asks, voice innocent though it runs hot through Jonathan's ears.

Jonathan looks through his viewfinder to see Steve absolutely glowing. His brown eyes holding so much casual emotion that it tugs at Jonathan's heart. 

“Mhm. Perfect,” Jonathan captures a few shots like that before directing him to the next shot. And the one after.

Steve nails it over and over again, looking exactly like the ethereal Gods and tragic heroes Jonathan read about. Jonathan keeps telling him he's doing amazing, that he looks amazing. He can see Steve try to fight off his smile for the sake of not ruining the shot. Jonathan wonders if he could shoot that smile someday just for the sake of letting him be happy.

“You're going to give me a big head,” Steve says when they take a break. 

“Please,” Jonathan scoffs. “You already have one.”

Steve pouts playfully when he's done sipping his water. “I'm better than I was.”

Jonathan shakes his head with a fond smile. He looks at Steve directly and says, “Yeah, you are.”

Steve's lips part in surprise but then he quickly tilts his head away, sipping more water. Steve tsks. “Compliment after compliment, Byers. I should be your model more often.”

Jonathan's cheeks burn hot. “Yeah, yeah, tell your friends. C'mon, let's get back to it.”

The new few shots require Steve to show off his muscles which had to have been an idea of a deliriously horny Jonathan Byers. He could kill that guy.

“Okay, hold your hands up and behind your head. Then, uh,” Jonathan stammers, “Flex your arms for me.”

Steve raises his eyebrows but he does flex. It's not that Steve Harrington is absolutely shredded; rather, he has the toned muscles of a casual jock. He just cares about his body and his strength. It doesn't make it any less debilitating to witness. 

“G-good, that's good,” Jonathan mumbles.

“You good, Byers?” Steve asks. His smirk grows less subtle every fleeting second it takes for Jonathan to respond. “Wishing for someone more buff?”

“No,” Jonathan defends immediately. “No, uh, no, you're good. Great, even.” 

“What should I do with my face?” Steve asks.

“Keep it smug like that,” Jonathan says, a little bite to his words that comes from the roaring zoo currently in his stomach.

“Smug,” Steve scoffs, voice still teasing. “Just trying to figure you out.”

Jonathan ignores that, he does not need to be figured out today and especially not by Steve Harrington.

He takes the shot and instructs Steve to hold one arm up to the side while the other pretends to hold something. Steve stands awkwardly, clenching and unclenching the fist that's supposed to be acting right now. 

“Can you show me?” Steve asks. 

“Sure,” Jonathan says. He rounds the camera and is about to demonstrate making an “O” with his fist but Steve holds out his hand and Jonathan doesn't think before he takes it. He shapes Steve's fingers gently and places his arm outstretched to his side. Steve just watches him. 

“Should I actually hold something?” Steve asks.

“No, I'm gonna edit something in later,” Jonathan explains, awkwardly dropping Steve's hand because he realizes he's still holding it. 

“Like what?”

“I can't decide if it's going to be a sword or a lightning bolt. Armor, maybe,” Jonathan shrugs then looks up at Steve who is beaming at him.

“You can do that?” 

“Y-yeah. Photoshop and all.” 

“That's so fucking sick,” Steve exclaims. “You're gonna send these to me, right?”

“Yeah, if you want,” Jonathan says.

“Of course, I want,” Steve assures. ”Not only because you're making me into some Greek god but also because it's your art and it's fucking cool.“

“Thanks,” Jonathan breathes.

Steve reaches the posed hand up and pinches Jonathan's chin. Jonathan can feel every nerve vibrate as Steve's fingers fall away too soon. Steve gives him a curious look but returns his hand to the pose. Jonathan shuffles back behind the camera and continues shooting the pictures.

Steve showcases different smolders that make Jonathan's stomach tighten but he keeps pressing the button, keeps seeing how far Steve will go without his instruction. 

“What if I shot my arm back like I'm about to throw it?” Steve asks, demonstrating his point. 

Jonathan's eyes trail up his torso to the arm in question and he swallows. “Mhm. That looks really good.”

Steve's lips turn upward and he whispers, “So do you, Byers.”

Jonathan's whole body freezes. His finger trembles over the button but his mind is so blank that he can't tell it to push. Steve keeps glancing at him but Jonathan's not registering it. 

Steve coughs awkwardly and mumbles, “Just tell me to fuck off, man.”

That gets Jonathan's brain back online. “What?”

Steve jumps, not realizing that Jonathan was actually listening. He drops his stance and rolls his shoulders back, bones popping as he does. He sighs and says meekly, “If you don't like me flirting with you, just tell me to stop and I will.”

Flirting? Flirting. 

“You're flirting with me?” Jonathan asks, exasperated. 

“I was trying to,” Steve explains, a sheepish look on his face. “But it's obvious you're not into it so--”

“Wait…no, hold on, I honestly thought you were messing with me,” Jonathan admits, walking around the camera again. Steve steps down from the stool to be at eye level with him and Jonathan swoons a little in their new proximity. 

“I do love messing with you,” Steve confirms. “But no, Byers, I’ve been flustered all day having you stare at me and do your hot artist thing. That’s not a joke.”

“Really?” Jonathan whispers, his skin flushed. 

“Really,” Steve whispers back.

"I am into it," Jonathan responds quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Put you into a toga because I'm so into it--" Jonathan doesn't finish this sentence because Steve is kissing him and he would much rather be kissing Steve than talking.

With the curtains drawn and the studio booked for the rest of the afternoon, Jonathan finds himself in Steve's lap with Steve's tongue in his mouth. He decides about two seconds in that he's got enough pictures for the day.

[linkyu]

tell me about your defense contract pleage

Oh boy!

To be fair, it's nothing grandiose, like, it wasn't about "a new missile blueprint" or whatever, but, just thinking about what it could have become? yeesh.

So, let's go.

For context, this is taking place in the early 2010s, where I was working as a dev and manager for a company that mostly did space stuff, but they had some defence and security contracts too.

One day we got a new contract though, which was... a weird one. It was state-auctioned, meaning that this was basically a homeland contract, but the main sponsor was Philip Morris. Yeah. The American cigarette company.

Why? Because the contract was essentially a crackdown on "illegal cigarette sales", but it was sold as a more general "war on drugs" contract.

For those unaware (because chances are, like me, you are a non-smoker), cigarette contraband is very much a thing. At the time, ~15% of cigarettes were sold illegally here (read: they were smuggled in and sold on the street).

And Phillip Morris wanted to stop that. After all, they're only a small company worth uhhh... oh JFC. Just a paltry 150 billion dollars. They need those extra dollars, you understand?

Anyway. So they sponsored a contract to the state, promising that "the technology used for this can be used to stop drug deals too". Also that "the state would benefit from the cigarettes part as well because smaller black market means more official sales means a higher tax revenue" (that has actually been proven true during the 2020 quarantine).

Anyway, here was the plan:

Phase 1 was to train a neural network and plug it in directly to the city's video-surveillance system, in order to detect illegal transactions as soon as they occur. Big brother who?

Phase 2 was to then track the people involved in said transaction throughout the city, based on their appearance and gait. You ever seen the Plainsight sheep counting video? Imagine something like this but with people. That data would then be relayed to police officers in the area.

So yeah, an automated CCTV-based tracking system. Because that's not setting a scary precedent.

So what do you do when you're in that position? Let me tell you. If you're thrust unknowingly, or against your will, into a project like this,

Note. The following is not a legal advice. In fact it's not even good advice. Do not attempt any of this unless you know you can't get caught, or that even if you are caught, the consequences are acceptable. Above all else, always have a backup plan if and when it backfires. Also don't do anything that can get you sued. Be reasonable.

Let me introduce you to the world of Corporate Sabotage! It's a funny form of striking, very effective in office environments.

Here's what I did:

First of all was the training data. We had extensive footage, but it needed to be marked manually for the training. Basically, just cropping the clips around the "transaction" and drawing some boxes on top of the "criminals". I was in charge of several batches of those. It helped that I was fast at it since I had video editing experience already. Well, let's just say that a good deal of those markings were... not very accurate.

Also, did you know that some video encodings are very slow to process by OpenCV, to the point of sometimes crashing? I'm sure the software is better at it nowadays though. So I did that to another portion of the data.

Unfortunately the training model itself was handled by a different company, so I couldn't do more about this.

Or could I?

I was the main person communicating with them, after all.

Enter: Miscommunication Master

In short (because this is already way too long), I became the most rigid person in the project. Like insisting on sharing the training data only on our own secure shared drive, which they didn't have access to yet. Or tracking down every single bug in the program and making weekly reports on those, which bogged down progress. Or asking for things to be done but without pointing at anyone in particular, so that no one actually did the thing. You know, classic manager incompetence. Except I couldn't be faulted, because after all, I was just "really serious about the security aspect of this project. And you don't want the state to learn that we've mishandled the data security of the project, do you, Jeff?"

A thousand little jabs like this, to slow down and delay the project.

At the end of it, after a full year on this project, we had.... a neural network full of false positives and a semi-working visualizer.

They said the project needed to be wrapped up in the next three months.

I said "damn, good luck with that! By the way my contract is up next month and I'm not renewing."

Last I heard, that city still doesn't have anything installed on their CCTV.

tl;dr: I used corporate sabotage to prevent automated surveillance to be implemented in a city--

hey hold on

wait

what

HEY ACTUALLY I DID SOME EXTRA RESEARCH TO SEE IF PHILLIP MORRIS TRIED THIS SHIT WITH ANOTHER COMPANY SINCE THEN AND WHAT THE FUCK

HUH??????

well what the fuck was all that even about then if they already own most of the black market???