#but. FINALLY… I MANAGED TO DRAW SOMETHING!!!!!

[aervera]

Only Yours Today

synopsis. when nanami unexpectedly calls in sick just to spend the day with you contents. sfw, tooth-rotting fluff, nanami being a gentleman and a sweetheart. notes. i want a day-off from college. but i can't since last semester and everything is hectic

MASTERLIST

you wake to the smell of coffee and the sound of your favorite kettle whistling.

your first instinct is to panic—because nanami never leaves for work without waking you first. he’s religious about routine, almost obnoxiously so. 7:00 a.m. sharp, every weekday. a kiss on your forehead, a brush of his knuckles down your jaw, then the sound of the front door closing softly behind him.

except he’s… here?

you sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. the sun is barely peeking through the gauzy curtains, painting the room in soft gold. there’s the familiar creak of floorboards, then the quiet click of your bedroom door opening.

nanami steps in with a tray balanced in one hand and that subtle smile that always manages to wreck you.

“good morning, y/n,” he says, voice warm, deep, and freshly brewed like the mug in his hand.

you blink at him, confused but already melting. “…are you working from home?”

he sets the tray on your lap—coffee, lightly sweetened just how you like it, and toast with the edges cut off.

“i called in sick,” he says casually, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. “so i’m all yours today.”

you stare at him.

then blink.

“wait, what?”

“i said—”

“you called in sick?”

he nods once, then takes off his glasses to wipe them with the edge of your blanket like he does when he’s pretending to be nonchalant.

“you never call in sick,” you say, still stunned. “you went to work the day you had the flu. you showed up to a meeting after a night mission with three broken ribs.”

“that was reckless,” he agrees simply.

“exactly—so why now?”

nanami finally meets your gaze, his expression gentling as he walks over to your side of the bed.

“because you looked tired last night,” he murmurs, “and i wanted to give you something soft to wake up to today. so… me.”

your breath catches.

because he says it without fanfare, without performance. just a truth he’s already accepted.

you shake your head slowly, dazed. “you’re unbelievable.”

“i’m aware,” he replies smoothly. “but you’re the one who keeps me.”

breakfast happens slowly, in the warmth of rumpled sheets and half-lidded smiles. nanami sips his coffee while reading the news off his phone, one hand casually resting on your thigh under the blanket like it belongs there. (it does.)

afterward, you get up to brush your teeth, but he follows you into the bathroom like a shadow. you arch a brow when he wordlessly picks up your toothbrush, dabs on paste, and hands it to you.

“you’re hovering,” you mumble, toothpaste foaming slightly.

“i’m staying,” he corrects. “different.”

you snort.

but you don’t ask him to leave.

by 10 a.m., the two of you are on the couch, feet tangled, a fuzzy blanket over both your legs. there’s an old documentary playing—nanami’s choice, something about 19th-century trade policies—and you’re pretending to watch, but you’re really just watching him.

his hand rests on your ankle, thumb lazily drawing circles.

there’s no urgency in his touch. no demand. just quiet affection, like he has nowhere else to be—and more importantly, no one else he’d rather be with.

you sigh, nuzzling your cheek against the pillow. “i still can’t believe you called in sick. they’ll riot at the office.”

“they’ll survive.”

“you’re the backbone of the entire team.”

“i am.” he glances over at you. “but you are the backbone of me. and i happen to think today, i need my spine more than they do.”

you blink slowly.

“you’re weirdly poetic when you’re not sleep-deprived.”

“i am always poetic. you just don’t listen before your morning coffee.”

you both laugh.

it’s light and easy, the kind of laughter that only happens when the rest of the world is far away.

around noon, you both go for a walk. nanami holds your hand like it’s a habit, not a choice—thumb brushing over your knuckles as he listens to you ramble about the weird dream you had last night (something about a baby panda that spoke fluent french and asked you for tax advice).

he listens, fully and attentively, nodding like it’s the most important topic in the world.

at one point, he pauses near a small corner café. “would you like to go in?”

you grin. “only if we sit by the window and pretend we’re strangers falling in love for the first time.”

he hums, amused. “you want a day off and a meet-cute?”

“i want it all.”

nanami chuckles. “you always have.”

and you always will—especially when he looks at you like this, like your world is the one he’s happiest orbiting.

you return home in the early afternoon with croissants and coffee and a single tiny flower he plucked from the hedge when he thought you weren’t looking.

you catch him slipping it into your cup holder and he just shrugs, all deadpan. “i didn’t have a vase.”

you press your face into his coat, laughing.

back inside, he rolls up his sleeves again—domestic deity style—and makes you both lunch. it’s something warm and simple, but he plates it like a michelin-star chef because that’s who he is: always composed, always precise, even in love.

“i’ve noticed,” he says quietly as you eat beside him at the dining table, “that when i’m home with you, i feel less like a man dragging his feet through obligation. and more like someone who’s… content.”

you tilt your head. “you’re never obligated to stay.”

he looks at you, serious. “no. but i want to. which is rarer.”

later, you nap in his lap.

he’s seated on the armchair, legs stretched out, a book in one hand and you curled against his chest like you were carved to fit there. his free hand strokes through your hair in slow, absent motions.

he doesn’t say a word.

but you feel it in every quiet sigh, in every slight shift of his fingers against your scalp.

he chose this day. he chose you.

you wake up just as the sun begins to dip behind the skyline, golden-orange light painting his features.

“hey,” you whisper, voice still hoarse with sleep. “still here?”

his hand rests on your back, palm warm and grounding. “always.”

as evening settles in, you both lie on the bed, tangled beneath soft sheets, your head on his chest, his heartbeat steady in your ear.

you whisper, “do you ever regret days like this?”

“never,” he says instantly.

“even when you’re falling behind on emails and half your company probably hates me right now?”

nanami shifts slightly so he can look at you fully. “no one hates you.”

“i might’ve stolen their favorite employee.”

“they’ll manage.” his thumb brushes your cheek. “you need to understand, y/n—i didn’t call in sick because i was burnt out. i called in because i wanted to be here. with you. no spreadsheets. no deadlines. just… this.”

you don’t respond with words.

instead, you tilt your chin up and press your lips to his—softly, slowly, the kind of kiss that speaks of deep affection, quiet promises, and something warm blooming in the silence between breaths.

he kisses you back just as gently.

no rush.

no need to ask for more.

this is enough.

by nightfall, you’re brushing your teeth side by side again, and nanami’s reflection catches yours in the mirror. he watches you like you’re the sunrise at midnight—like you’re something rare and real that he never wants to miss.

you spit out your toothpaste. “you’re staring.”

“i’m allowed.”

“because you’re sick?”

“because i’m in love.”

you freeze, toothbrush halfway to the sink.

then slowly, you glance at him. “you love me?”

nanami places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you gently toward him until you’re standing face-to-face.

“i think i’ve loved you since the first time you made fun of my tie pattern,” he says softly. “but yes—i do.”

your chest tightens in the best way.

you whisper, “i love you too.”

he leans in, brushing his nose against yours. “good. because i plan to call in sick a little more often.”

you grin. “scandalous.”

“i prefer the term intentional.”

that night, he holds you close beneath the blankets, one arm wrapped around your waist, his breath slow and even against your neck.

and just before you fall asleep, you hear him murmur:

“being yours is the only thing that ever made me feel like i wasn’t wasting time.”

you smile into the dark, your heart full.

because today, time didn’t feel wasted.

it felt like love.

[not-quite-normal]

What was it like for kpop, to be one lead of many, with so many animators on the team? I've heard Sony film turnarounds are shorter than other studios- was there a struggle to maintain a certain style, or keep things consistent, especially over a relatively short timeframe? I noticed being on 2s/1s was also something that fluctuated- were there sensibility differences between each lead? How involved was the animation director with style calls? Was there a style guide/how detailed?

Thank you I've just been siloed to kids TV for so long I'm deeply curious about the feature engine (and differences between productions)

- Vancouver TV chap ⚛️

great questions!

it's funny you mention shorter turnarounds because this was the second longest i've worked on a movie at sony, at 1.5 years. we only had four anim teams total (plus a crowds team), with one supervisor and two leads to a team. the sups were in charge of creative management, which made it easier to keep the style more consistent between the teams. the leads helped keep an eye out for style consistency too. the biggest struggle came from the freedom that we have to design the faces, because although we had a lot of control over the shapes, that made it very easy for the characters to go off model. we had some character experts on the crew that we could call on to give us draw-overs or rig poses for particularly tough shots (library poses only got us so far and needed to be very specific sometimes).

the idea of using 1s vs 2s on this one was to vary it up based on what the shot needed, either could be used as long as the shot didn't feel too soft or too strobey. this wasn't policed as much towards the end of production though as shots were being done faster and faster haha, most shots just ended up on twos. could have used more ones, personally. it's sometimes hard to tell if a shot is too strobey until it goes through lighting.

the animation director, or HOCA (head of character animation) has a huge say in the style! it's all a big collaboration between the directors, animation, and all the other departments on how to work together to create the final image. there's a ton of back and forth that the HOCA is heavily involved with, and is in charge of maintaining that consistent look. we experimented with a lot of design work in anim, and he directed us towards more specific ideas before presenting them to the directors.

this being an original IP, the only style guides we had were drawings and concept art. it took us a long time and a lot of experimentation to discover what was "on model" for each of the characters, with a lot of drawover help from the art team at SPA. we also took a lot of inspiration from live action reference like k dramas and the voice actors. once we knew more about the characters, we built the libraries and more in-depth style guides from there!

[allwaswell16]

A masterpost of Soccer Aid 2025 One Direction fics for @himynameiszayn and anyone else looking for fics inspired by Soccer Aid! (If other Soccer Aid fics get posted, I'll add to this list.)

⚽ Don't Shoot 'til He Scores by larry_hiatus / @emilarry (E, 9k)

With Louis off playing a charity football game, Harry has been tasked with a little game of his own back in his bed—he gets to touch himself, but only when Louis gets the ball.

⚽ I want him - One Shot by tolovelikelarry (NR, 5k)

At Soccer Aid 2025, football-enthusiast Louis Tomlinson immediately draws the attention of suave entrepreneur Harry Styles. And Louis can’t help but be intrigued in return—there’s something about Harry’s quiet confidence that suggests he wants Louis all to himself. From the moment their hands first met, it was clear: neither was about to let the other slip away. But after that first lingering glance across the pitch, will they actually manage to find each other once the final whistle blows?

⚽ The Gods Wish They Believed In Us by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28 (E, 4k)

Harry smirks, resting his hands on the mat below him and leaning backwards. “I think I know how I could encourage you to get done with your workout a bit quicker.”

Harry’s not wearing a shirt, which isn’t an uncommon occurrence. Just a tiny pair of cherry red gym shorts cling to his muscular hips. Although the term gym might be a bit generous. They’re so small they would barely be appropriate for the beach.

Not that Louis is complaining, mind you. It’s just an observation.

(Or the one where Louis is struggling to find motivation to finish his workout. Harry has an unconventional and effective way to encourage him).

⚽ Off the pitch: Into bed (no rest for the wicked) by Louis_loves_28 (E, 3k)

Tired from footy training, Louis' ready to call it a day and hit the couch.

But Harry - hot under the collar from all the pics flooding the socials of his boy in blue - has other ideas.

Sweaty strips, holding poses, troublesome cramps and no one's even talking about the footy any more...

⚽ desire defined by sunflowersue / @sunflower-sue (E, 2k)

what happens after socceraid

⚽ Oral Support by lyrasbutterfly (M, 2k)

“You said you needed some oral-” Harry laughs and shakes his head at his slip up “I mean moral support and i just wanted to take care of you” Louis huffs out a laugh “you lured me into the locker room for some head” Harry's hand moves closer up Louis’s thigh “Not just head, oral support”

Or Louis goes into the locker room to unwind from Soccer Aid and Harry gives him oral I mean moral support

⚽ they can try but they’ll never touch us by Anonymous (E, 2k)

It’s so hard for Harry to keep Louis off his mind when pictures keep dropping of his husband hot and sweaty on the field.

⚽ Just A Taste by @berzerkshires (E, 1k)

Louis always showered before he and Harry got down & dirty. With Louis at practice for Soccer Aid, Harry planned to catch Louis when he didn't have a chance to get clean.

⚽ Just A Taste - Part 2 by @berzerkshires (E, 1k)

When Louis comes home late after getting back from Soccer Aid, he expects Harry to be sleeping but is pleasantly surprised he isn't.

[sparrows4bats]

Damian only shows his art to those he trusts for years.

His art is so deeply personal that he can't bear for it to be perceived, much less gifted to others.

Dick gets his first painting during his time as Damians Batman.

Steph gets hers after the bounce house.

Alfred commissions him so he has new art for the house. His favourite is a family portrait he keeps in his bedroom.

Duke gets gifted sketches of Signal and Gotham in the sunrise

Cass gets given beautiful moments of ballet dancers.

Bruce is given portraits of his parents.

Damian paints Tim's photographs.

Jason gets artfully designed bookmarks.

Barbara has lovely landscapes and shots of the city she protects from behind her desk.

Other get given bits and piece Damians thinks they might enjoy.

But Jon Kent has an almost constant supply and access to Damians doodles.

He is Damians' creativity buddy and sounding board. Damian draws manga and comics while Jon write stories for them.

There's only one sketchbook he doesn't get to see, the one Damian keeps locked in his desk.

Jon has asked before, but Damian always shuts him down, saying it's private, and Jon respects that even if he is curious. If the magical girl ocs were fine, what is in that particular book?

Until one day Damian is kidnapped, and he has to go through his room for clues to who took him, and even if he feels weird about it, he opens the forbidden sketchbook.

He is expecting secrets, trauma, and the parts of himself that Damian hates.

What he finds is hundreds of sketches of Jon himself.

Each one is so full of detail and so lovingly drawn that feels like he is being burned.

Every freckle is correct, Damian drew close ups of his dimples, and his scars.

Seeing himself through Damians eyes is so intimate it feels like holding his very heart.

So Jon puts the book back where he found it without the other bats noticing.

When they find and rescue Damian, Jon knows he has to tell him but how?

Jon thinks of the sketches he wasn't supposed to see, and something in him melts even while he drowns in guilt.

So one night he confronts Damian when he best friend asks him about colour palettes.

"I saw your secret sketchbook, and I am so sorry!" Jon shouts and braces himself for Damians' anger. It doesn't come.

"What?" Damian sounds scared, and that is so much worse.

"When you were missing your Dad and brothers made me go through your room! Day I'm so sorry!"

"Did they see it too?" Damian shrinks in on himself, and Jon wants to hug him so badly.

"No! I put it back straight after I realised what it was, I swear!"

Damian huffs and looks away.

"So you know?"

Jon gulps, "know what?"

"That I'm in love you." Damian looks for Jons reaction and seeing his face starts to get up to leave. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable Jonathan. I shall depart."

Jon grabs his arm. "No! Day don't leave! I'm sorry! I just need a second. Please."

Damian stops but doesn't turn around. "I do not want your pity."

"It's not pity! Damian, I love you! I have for years and I'm just sorry I saw before you were ready to show me!" Jon is getting desperate now. He can't lose Damian. He doesn't think he will survive it.

"Really? You're not just saying that to spare me?"

Jon is horrified and spins Damian to be able to see his face. "Damian, what the hell! Why would I lie about this?!"

Damian has tears in his eyes when he finally meets Jon gaze. "I don't know, it just feels impossible for you to love someone like me."

"It's impossible not to love you! Believe me, I tried! I was terrified it would destroy our friendship, and I wanted to have some of you even if it wasn't in the way I wanted."

Damian sighs and slowly kisses him. When he pulls back, he laughs a little.

"We are both idiots."

Jon grins and wipes the tear that manages to escape. "Yeah, we are, but at least we figured it out eventually. I love you, Damian. Truly and completely."

"I love you too." Then Damian kisses him again.

Jon has the sketch Damian draws of Jon asleep beside him the next morning framed.

[dead-dolphins]

okay, i’m going to post the gladiator eren headcanon,

if it's not your thing, feel free to skip it. no hard feelings. i'm just sharing something i enjoy, and i totally understand the difference between fiction and real life etc etc. hope that makes sense!

okay so. gladiator eren. it’s honestly been my dream concept forever. i can just see him: wild hair tied back, dirt and sweat on his skin, those carved abs glistening under the sun, the way the fabric of that skirt barely holds onto his hips while he stands in the middle of an arena, victorious... god, so hot.

but beyond the aesthetics, i’ve been building this whole au in my head. so, as you know, gladiators were often war slaves, captured and forced to fight for the entertainment of others. they didn’t fight by choice, they were trained, displayed like weapons, and thrown into arenas to survive or die. the ones who managed to win enough battles could sometimes earn money and buy their freedom, though that was rare. most didn’t live long enough. but a few, the strongest and most cunning, made it out.

so in this version, eren is one of those gladiators. a war slave, captured and forced into servitude under none other than willy tybur. tybur sees eren’s strength and potential from the start, and quickly realises how much profit he can make from him in the arena. and he’s right, eren becomes a star. brutal, relentless, and brilliant in the ring. match after match, he earns victories and draws crowds. tybur places bets, wins fortunes, and eren becomes his golden prize.

but eren has a plan. every drop of blood spilled is a step closer to buying his own freedom. and he's close. after years of fighting, he’s finally earned enough to make his escape, to reclaim his life.

but tybur isn’t about to let his most valuable asset walk away so easily. of course not.

so, he makes a move. right before eren is about to seal the deal, tybur presents him with mikasa, another slave, newly acquired, and placed under eren’s "care." tybur presents her to eren like a gift, but it’s not generosity. it’s a trap. he tells eren that she now belongs to him, that he can do whatever he wants with her. but if he wants to leave, if he truly wants to walk out of this life, he’ll have to pay for her freedom too.

eren is furious. not just because his escape has been stolen from him, but because he understands exactly what’s being done. this isn’t about ownership. this is control. tybur knows eren won’t leave someone behind, not when he’s been in that place himself. and especially not mikasa, who stands in front of him not as a stranger, but as something hauntingly familiar. maybe he doesn’t know her, not yet — but there's something in her that reminds him of a past life... (a childhood friend???)

so eren takes her under his protection. he doesn’t speak much at first, doesn’t even look at her. the frustration is eating him alive. he was so close. and now he has to fight again, bleed again, for two. he resents the situation, but he never once resents mikasa. deep down, he knows it’s not her fault, and more than that, he knows what kind of fate awaits her if he ever lets his guard down.

and yeaaaaah i want it to be so kinky and hot. gladiators slept in cells, just imagine the nasty cell sex??

aaaaah goodbye. i will dissapear for a couple of hours!!

[nyc-tophile]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 | Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x fem!reader

After a desperate fight for your life in the snow, Steve rescues you and Bucky, bringing you both back to the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Steve explains that you and Bucky need to go into hiding before Hydra finds you again. Now, as you’re sent to a safe house in the mountains, you have to sit down with Bucky and explain everything.

Warnings: OOC Winter Soldier, fluff, kind of sad coming down to the end, reader comforting Bucky, mentions of torture.

Author’s Note: I'm not sure how I feel about this, as I wrote it while half asleep. I love you all, though, so I managed to finish it. ENJOYYYYY <3<3<3

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟒 | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟔

Morning came quietly. Soft light slipped through the small window of the med room, painting pale stripes across the walls. You stirred, the unfamiliar smell of antiseptic and clean sheets reminding you that you weren’t in your bed. The ache in your leg was still there, but duller now.

The room was still except for the soft hum of machinery and the faint creak of a chair. You turned your head and spotted Bucky, seated near the door. He hadn’t moved; his posture was rigid, eyes fixed on the floor like he was lost in thought, or lost somewhere far beyond the walls of the base.

Before you could say anything, the door opened quietly. Steve stepped in, the smell of coffee and something warm trailing in with him. He looked tired, but there was a small smile on his face when he saw you awake.

“Hey,” he said softly, crossing the room. “You’re up. How’re you feeling?”

You shifted, testing the stiffness in your leg. “Sore. But better.”

Steve handed you a steaming cup and set a tray with food on the bedside table, simple, but it smelled better than anything you’d had in days. He passed another cup to Bucky, who took it slowly, his fingers curling around it like it was an anchor.

“Figured you could both use this,” Steve said, sitting down at the foot of your bed. His voice was calm, but you could hear the worry just beneath it. “We’ve got time to breathe now. Just for a little while.”

The room settled into a quiet stillness again. The kind that felt like the eye of a storm, peaceful, but not for long.

Steve took a sip of his coffee, his gaze shifting between you and Bucky. His expression softened, but there was a seriousness behind his eyes that made your chest tighten.

“We’ve got to be careful,” he began, voice low. “You and Bucky need to lay low for a while. Hydra’s not done coming after either of you. We’re setting up a safe house, somewhere quiet. Somewhere off the grid. S.H.I.E.L.D. will be close enough to help if anything goes south, but not so close that it draws attention.”

You nodded slowly, glancing at Bucky. He hadn’t said much, but his grip on the coffee cup had tightened. His knuckles had gone white.

Steve noticed it too. His gaze softened as he looked at Bucky, the weight of everything they’d been through etched in the lines around his eyes.

“We’ll figure this out,” you said, eyes looking at Bucky, “But you need to trust us.”

Bucky finally spoke, his voice rough like he hadn’t used it in days. “Where?”

“There’s a cabin,” Steve said. “Up in the mountains. An old friend of mine used to use it for missions that went off the books. It’s stocked, isolated. No one’s gonna find you there.”

You swallowed hard, the reality of it sinking in. The running, the hiding. The fact that Hydra wasn’t going to give up. Not this time.

Bucky set his cup down, his eyes meeting yours for the briefest moment. There was fear there, but also determination.

“When do we leave?” you asked.

Steve didn’t hesitate. “Tonight.”

The three of you sat in heavy silence for a beat longer, the sound of the wind outside filling the space where words failed. Then, with a nod, Steve rose, the leader again, ready to do whatever it took to protect the people he cared about.

“Pack light, only what you need. I’ll handle the rest.” Steve finished.

The room remained quiet except for the soft sounds of distant footsteps, the murmur of voices, and the low hum of equipment coming to life for the day. Morning light spilled across the floor, warmer now, but the tension between the three of you kept the air heavy.

Steve glanced toward the window, as if gauging how much time you had before leaving. “We’ve got a few hours before we move,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. ��We’ll leave tonight, when it’s safer. Less chance of being spotted.”

You nodded, the thought of waiting both a relief and a weight. The idea of one last day in relative safety was comforting, but it also gave your mind time to race, to worry about what came next.

Bucky stayed by the wall, silent, but his eyes were sharper now, more present. He seemed to sense your unease and crossed the room to stand closer, not saying anything — just there. It helped.

Steve set his empty cup down, his expression softening as he looked at the two of you. “Get some rest while you can. Eat something. We’ll need to be ready tonight.”

He hesitated for a beat, like there was more he wanted to say, but instead he gave a small, reassuring nod and turned for the door. “I’ll check in on transport and supplies. We’ll be ready.”

The door clicked quietly shut behind him, leaving you and Bucky in the soft, quiet hush of morning. He glanced at you but didn’t say anything.

A sigh escaped you as you lay back down, your eyes fixed on the ceiling’s dull, cracked paint. The ache in your leg pulsed beneath the sheets, a dull reminder of how close you’d come to losing everything. The quiet in the room was heavy, almost too heavy, like the calm before a storm no one could stop.

Your eyes found Bucky, his eyes flicked up, meeting yours for just a moment, tired, guarded, but maybe a little hopeful. No words came, but that small connection was enough to steady your racing heart.

-----

The day stretched ahead, slow and heavy with waiting. Around lunchtime, Steve returned quietly, carrying a bag with food for both you and Bucky. Alongside it, he set down two packed duffel bags carefully on the floor beside your bed.

“These are packed with everything you’ll need for the safe house,” he said, his eyes shifting between you and Bucky.

Your eyes met Bucky’s. He didn’t say anything, just glanced down at the bag by his feet. “I’ll be driving you guys, but I won’t be able to stay,” Steve said.

“How are we supposed to contact you if something happens?” you asked, reaching for the fork beside the bowl of mac and cheese.

“Burner phones,” Steve replied, pulling his phone from his pocket. “There’s one in each bag. You can use them anytime, just be careful with them.”

You nodded, mentally kicking yourself, you should have known that.

“Since it’s already four, I’ll come back around eight-thirty for you guys,” Steve said, standing up and stretching his legs.

He lingered for a second, like he wanted to say more but decided against it. Then he gave a small nod, more to Bucky than to you, and walked out without another word. The door clicked shut behind him.

The room fell silent again, save for the quiet hum of the air conditioner and the clink of your fork against the bowl. Bucky hadn’t touched his food. You glanced at him, he was still staring at the floor, knuckles resting on his knees, his jaw set like he was bracing for impact.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

He didn’t answer right away. Then he nodded. You let the silence stretch, not wanting to push.

-----

Before you knew it, it was already eight. You glanced at the clock, then leaned over to grab the duffle bag at the edge of the bed. Bucky was sitting in the corner, eyes closed, completely still.

You moved as quietly as possible, swinging your legs off the bed and setting the bag beside you. Unzipping it, you rummaged through until you found some sweats and a plain t-shirt.

As you stood up, a soft groan escaped your lips. You couldn't help but glance back at Bucky, his eyes were still shut, head down, hair falling over his face.

You moved slowly, opening the door, moving to close it behind you as you looked around before walking down the hallway looking for a bathroom.

The hallway was dim and quiet, lit only by the sterile glow of overhead lights. You walked slowly, muscles stiff, leg aching more than you let on.

You found the bathroom at the end of the hall, slipping inside and locking the door behind you. For a moment, you just stood there, gripping the edge of the sink, staring at your reflection.

The person in the mirror looked like you, but worn down, eyes tired, skin pale under the harsh fluorescent lights. The bruises had started to fade, but the tiredness behind your eyes hadn’t. You splashed cold water on your face, the coldness of it grounding you, reminding you that you were still here. Still alive.

You took your time getting dressed, pulling on the sweats and shirt. Tonight, everything would change again, a new place, a new routine, and a fragile, unspoken partnership with someone who barely seemed to recognize himself.

When you returned to the room, Bucky was standing now, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, staring out the small window. He didn’t turn when you came in.

“Nice view?” you asked lightly, closing the door behind you.

His shoulders tensed slightly, then relaxed. “Just clouds,” he said, voice quiet. “But... yeah.”

You sat back on the edge of the bed, watching him. The light caught the edge of his metal arm, dim but reflective, like a weapon waiting to be drawn. 

A knock sounded at the door.

Steve’s voice came through. “It’s time.”

You both stood in silence, grabbing your bags. The air in the room felt heavier now, but not with dread. With the possibility.

The walk through the base was silent.

You, Bucky, and Steve moved silently, heads down, footsteps quiet. There was a tension in Steve’s jaw, in the way his eyes kept scanning every hallway like he expected something to go wrong. You understood.

When you reached the garage, Steve typed in a code, and the heavy metal doors groaned open, revealing a plain black truck tucked into the shadows. No markings. No weapons in view. Just a plain vehicle that could camouflage in a sea of vehicles.

Steve opened the back door and looked at Bucky first. “You good to ride up front?”

Bucky gave the faintest nod and slid in without a word. His duffel sat in his lap, like it was something precious. You climbed into the back, settling in with a sharp inhale as your injured leg stretched out along the seat. Steve shut the doors and walked around to the driver’s side.

The engine started quietly. No roar, no drama. Just a low, steady hum.

As you pulled out of the compound, no one spoke. You watched trees blur past in the dark, frost glinting off their branches like tiny daggers. The farther you got from S.H.I.E.L.D., the quieter the world became, and the city faded behind you.

-----

As the hours passed in near silence, occasionally broken by the soft shuffle of Bucky adjusting his seat and the occasional sigh from Steve, Steve said quietly, “You’re not alone up there. Not really. There’s a contact nearby, an old S.H.I.E.L.D. safe route through the woods. If something happens, follow the river downstream. It'll lead you to a logging road. Someone will be watching it.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. In front of you, Bucky didn’t react.

Eventually, Steve pulled off onto an unmarked trail that twisted up into the mountains. The road narrowed, the trees crowding close on either side. When the truck finally rolled to a stop, the cabin appeared like a ghost out of the dark, a simple, wooden structure tucked deep in the trees.

“This is it,” Steve said quietly.

You all got out without a word. The cold bit hard, and your limp had returned, worse now after sitting so long. Bucky grabbed both bags before you could reach for yours and started toward the door. He didn’t say anything, but you caught the smallest glance back.

Steve followed you up the steps. The porch creaked under your weight. The cabin was silent, dark, but remote.

Steve unlocked the door and flicked on the lights.

It was simple. One main room with a small couch, a fireplace, and a tiny kitchen. One door to the bedroom. Another to the bath. Wood walls, worn furniture, and the scent of dust and pine.

You stepped inside, letting the warmth of the space chase the cold from your skin. Bucky stood near the fireplace, scanning the room like it might still be a trap.

Steve lingered at the doorway, his face unreadable.

“I’ll check the surroundings. You’ve got about two weeks’ worth of supplies here: food, medicine, basic gear. There’s a satellite radio, but don’t use it unless it’s life or death. I’ll check in when I can.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

Steve hesitated again, then his eyes settled on Bucky.

“Take care of each other,” he said, and you knew he meant more than just survival.

He stepped back into the dark and shut the door behind him. A moment later, the truck pulled away, its headlights disappearing into the trees. You were alone now.

-----

You sat on the couch, your eyes fixed on the fire flickering in front of you, your hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea. Across from you, Bucky sat quietly, his gaze distant and lost in thought.

“Hey,” you said softly, setting your cup down on the side table. “You okay?”

His voice came out low, uncertain. “I don’t know.”

You gave a small nod. “Fair.”

Shifting slightly, you turned fully toward him. “Do you… Remember anything? About your past? Anything at all?”

Bucky’s voice was hesitant, almost fragile. “Sometimes. Bits and pieces. It’s all… jumbled.”

You took a steadying breath, keeping your voice gentle but clear. “After the train… after Hydra found you, things got dark. They experimented on you, tried to erase who you were, and turned you into the Winter Soldier. A weapon.”

Your mind flashed to the videos you’d seen, him strapped down, screaming in pain as they whipped his mind.

Leaning forward slightly, you spoke gently. “Steve was your best friend. More than that, he was family. He never stopped looking for you. Never stopped believing you could come back.”

For a moment, a flicker of something passed through Bucky’s eyes, hope, maybe, or the distant echo of a memory.

“He talked about you all the time,” you added softly. “Every chance he got, it was always about you.”

You met his eyes, steady and calm. “It’s okay to be scared, Bucky. What they did to you was cruel. But that’s not who you are anymore. You’re here now, with us. And you’re safe.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find solid ground. “I don’t know who I am,” he admitted quietly.

You shook your head softly, a sad smile tugging at your lips. “You’re Bucky Barnes. Steve’s best friend, a good man who’s been through hell but is still fighting to come back. And you’re not alone in this. We’re going to figure it out together.”

“Steve won’t let you down. He’ll be with you through everything, me too. Just trust us. We’ll help you find your memories again. We’ll get you back to being Bucky Barnes, not the Winter Soldier.”

Bucky’s gaze dropped, his fingers tightening around the edge of the couch cushion. The weight of your words seemed to settle over him, a fragile hope threading through the uncertainty.

“I want to believe that,” he said softly, voice rough like it hadn’t been used in a long time. “But it’s hard. Feels like I’m lost and I don’t know if I’ll ever find my way.”

You nodded slowly, understanding all too well the battle raging inside him. “It’s okay to feel that way. You’re not expected to have all the answers right now. What matters is that you’re here with us. And every day, little by little, things will get better.”

He looked up, eyes searching yours again. “And if I can’t?”

You gave him a steady look, soft but firm. “Then we’ll keep trying. Together. You’re not alone anymore, Bucky.”

The fire crackled beside you, the room warm despite the chill outside. In that quiet moment, you could almost feel the weight on his shoulders lighten, just a little.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

You smiled gently. “No need to thank me. Just focus on being here now. We’ve got a long road ahead, but we’ll be with you all the way.”

He nodded once, slowly, and for the first time in a while, there was something like peace in his eyes.

join my тαgℓιѕт -

@avgdestitute, @chimchoom, @xoxo-moonlight

[dendroseelie]

had a not-so-good day a couple days back, so this is something for me and for anybody else who isn't having a good day

alhaitham hears the sniffles before he sees you. there's an ache, deep in his chest, that awakens at the sound. his footsteps hurry as he makes his way through the seemingly endless bookshelves - something he usually wouldn't complain about - of the library.

he finds you, in the least visited corner full of accounting books. your back is turned to him, face buried in the shelves pretending to look for a very particular book.

“y/n,” alhaitham's voice is unbelievably soft. your name is called out with such tenderness that it immediately feels as though he's reaching out into your ribs to take your heart in his hands.

for a moment, you don't turn around - truly contemplating how terribly you'd break apart at the sight of the man you loved so much. you're sure you look terrible as you finally turn around, eyes already wet, nose pink and another sniffle making its way through.

you swallow deeply, as if willing to stomach all of the hurt, the disappointment and anxieties that kept spilling out of you.

you don't trust yourself with your words at the moment — a watery greeting is all you can manage. “hi.”

alhaitham steps closer, movements gentle even in the hurry to get to you. his hand reaches for the book in yours, fishing it out of your grip to place somewhere behind him on the grand oak table, he doesn't particularly take note. then he draws you towards him. you look away, afraid of what will become of you if you let him look at you at that.

but he knows you so well. his nimble fingers grab your chin, and ever-so-softly he raises it to meet your gaze. to most, alhaitham's gaze is sharp, calculating and detached - like an extremely smart scholar beyond one's intellect. but when alhaitham looks at you, his eyes are palpably softer - anyone could see it. you see it too, you'd be stupid not to.

that does it for you. a sob heaves its way through your lungs and alhaitham pulls you into his chest. his fingers are immediately in your hair.

“hey...” you can feel him press a kiss to the top of your head.

your shoulders, previously taut and strained, sink. as you weep into alhaitham's chest, it feels like a weight lifting off of your ribs — as if the ship has reached its home and anchored.

“it'll be okay,” he whispers into your hair. “even if it feels insurmountable right now, it'll be alright. we'll figure it out, together.”

and though it doesn't immediately make all your anxieties fade to dust, you feel safe. protected. within his arms, no one could hurt you. and anything that went wrong, you knew that the man holding you would help you rebuild it even if your own hands shook.

i know that this man is the kindest and most patient with his partner, i know

[szilverer]

BREAKING NM NEWS!!

a while ago i saw this pin and produced the sketch. now coloured this anime shipbait poster ass thing to commemorate my ghostie's getting their first ever nat20 on their edcard rolls.

Big Things were always set to happen the first time either rolled a nat 1 or nat 20, so... this means they're Aware of their Feelies now. still laughing my fucking ass off at these circumstances however RNG continues to be one of the biggest nm fans.

so, context that led to this latest groundbreaking development in TL;DR format:

rei gets invited to a wedding. edward finds out

they argue abt their weird fucking marriage

he's forbidden from attending, as expected, but it still pisses him off incredibly. he stays home nicely though drinking wine til he passes out instead

rei attends but is haunted by the conses of their own quences regarding matters of love and couples

they end up dreaming of the orphanage the very next day again and finally puts 2+2 together about Some Things

well .

more context!! context for the context god!!:

two days prior. we receive an invitation to a extravagant wedding. the literal next card draw was poor fucking edward i kid you not. he knew.

these two argued badly (read: in a non-fun way) like they hadn't in quite a while. it's less about the event itself and more what it represents. this particular kind of thing – romantic partnership that isn't there despite both still clinging to the "marriage" word – really triggers edward. and when he gets tilted he gets really antsy & full of violent thoughts about wanting to ruin things for his terrible horrible spouse somehow.

here's the thing: reisz has always been putting quite the work in making sure he still Is. which means that although

the guy in question can technically manage to sneak out when they're not looking just fine. He doesn't because he feels compelled to stay in the Orphanage, and the sheer reality of the Is after so long in the mirror makes him feel nauseous and smothered to almost an incapacitating degree. But he can.

i rolled again to decide the outcome. first was how much he was okay with complying. he got a whopping 2. (if it was a nat 1 I'd have to bite the bullet and say he actually went to commit a faux pas of some sort and this would set their relationship back really hard LOL.) then whether he actually complied. got a 18. he was a good boy despite it all

rei goes to the wedding and does have a great time But. it's a marriage. there's couples everywhere in the afterparty. there's love mentioned all the time. they didn't feel like courting anyone bc they kept uncomfortably being reminded of the fucking guy on their basement. also known as their husband lmfao

it's not that they wanted him there, or anyone to know; but the concept of bringing someone along to go to an event, the fantasy of having an actual partner they could lock arms with and take a walk around town; all these silly things they loved doing & that they gave up on when they removed themself from the dating pool and chose to keep him...

it was a little lonely.

the next day, on rei's 16th (or 17th) edcard draw (fuck i lost count), their subconscious yeets them on the Orphanage again and. 20. the day finally arrived. the Realization comes like a trout jumping out of the water straight to their face:

- they really miss doing actual couple things

- they ? are okay with the idea of doing these with him ?¿

- they DID wish they could have him there .

- they DO feel kinda ??something about the things he said in the argument

- whenever they think too much about love or romance or company they end up drawing an edcard dreaming about their husband. this was a pattern.

maybe they actually like him?

huh.

ok.

what do they do now?

(and the answer so far has been: literally nothing . this got them so destabilized they started working on the railway board again. cheers!)

anywho og pics below :3c

[tamayula-journal]

I mentioned this briefly on Twitter too, but here’s some rambling about my longform comic-making process.

Now that I’ve completed a total of four full-length chapters, I’ve started to get the hang of things… but even when I "cut corners" by using CSP’s 3D dolls and perspective rulers, I’ve realized it still takes me about four hours per page. That means the latest chapter alone took roughly 80 hours to finish 🤣🤣🤣

As a result, I ended up injuring the joints in my dominant elbow and fingers, constantly feeling dizzy from sleep deprivation, and my brain’s been so fried that I’ve been mentally fuzzy even during day-to-day life. The physical toll was much bigger than I expected 😂 I’ve come to the hard realization that if I keep working like this, I’m definitely going to burn out or get seriously hurt. So I’m now reflecting on my unhealthy pace and trying to figure out a more body-friendly, efficient workflow going forward.

As for both Sebastian×Sakurako and Ominis×MC, I still have over ten chapters left for each couple before they finally become mutual and start dating—the main emotional climax and “first milestone” of their story arcs. Ideally I want to reach that point within the next year, but honestly, at this pace, I’ll collapse long before I get there. So not only do I need to find a better way to work, but I also need to rethink my entire release plan.

I’m starting to consider things like… maybe I’ll skip detailed emotional build-up and only draw the key, impactful scenes in digest-style format. Or maybe I’ll pause the Sebastian×Sakurako storyline and focus only on Ominis×MC for now…

The whole reason I started drawing longform comics in the first place was because I can’t write novels in English. I figured that if I wanted people in the fandom to know my ships, I’d have no choice but to draw it all out in manga form. (I’ve actually tried writing in Japanese and translating with ChatGPT, but despite all that effort, I realized there are still too many barriers—writing good English prose just isn’t something I can manage right now.)

But if drawing one chapter takes me 80 hours, maybe I’d be better off spending that time studying English instead—so that someday I’ll be able to write English fanfics. And honestly, that skill would benefit me outside of fandom too 😂

For now, I’m practicing daily croquis sketching with pen and paper to improve my overall drawing speed and reduce how long it takes me to draw comics. But before I dive into the next chapter of Ominis×MC, I seriously need to rethink a lot of things—try new approaches, improve my process, and experiment until I find something that works better.

[snowbellewells]

Birthday Fic for @kmomof4: "Dreams that You Wish Will Come True" {Part Three} *Story Now Complete*

Oh goodness, the day is finally here! Poor Krystal @kmomof4 had to wait almost until her next birthday for her gift to be finished, but here is the last chapter to this Reverse Cinderella CS AU. I had a lot of fun with this one, and I really enjoyed trying to tie this up with a big fairy tale happy ending bow! I hope all of you reading it will enjoy and let me know what you think.

Without further adieu, here is Part Three...

Summary: Granted a night to seek adventure and dreams, young Killian Jones meets young Princess Emma at her birthday ball. Though the moment is filled with all the excitement and magic of the best fairy tales, it is over too soon and he must leave before the dream is shattered. Will they find each other again?

A Reverse Cinderella AU for (@kmomof4) Krystal's Birthday

You can also read from the beginning here on Tumblr, or on AO3, if that is your preference...

Part Three

When Killian managed to escape the palace, slipping through the wide front gates with a deep sigh of relief, he could see the carriage in which he had arrived waiting for him, Liam beckoning him frantically from the window. He had no time to mourn leaving the stunning princess - who had seemed to wish he would stay - or the marvelous evening he had enjoyed. He did not know the exact consequences which would be visited on him if he missed his given deadline, but he did not relish finding out, particularly in front of an entire ball’s audience as witnesses. Her Royal Highness Emma of Misthaven had beguiled him completely, more than he would have even imagined possible, and he would have remained there beside her on that balcony, or holding her in his arms as they danced, forever if it were possible, but it was simply not to be.

It was only as he was seated and they were speeding away from the castle that Killian delved his hand into his pocket, fishing for the ring that had once belonged to their mother so he could return it to Liam’s care. But to his surprised dismay, his fingers brushed only the inside of his pockets, not a smooth curve of metal. Withdrawing his hand with a sinking feeling, Killian looked to his elder sibling forlornly, knowing his brother would immediately sense something was not right.

“What is it, Little Brother?” Liam spoke up right on cue, concern evident in the crack of his voice. “I realize you had to leave the party early, but your face suddenly looks as if something much worse has happened.”

It was a testament to just how upset Killian was that the customary instinct to correct his brother’s annoying choice of moniker didn’t even whisper in his mind. Drawing in a resigned breath, it was all Killian could do to meet Liam’s eye, though determined to give him at least that much. Instead, he pulled both pockets inside out to demonstrate the proof of his words. “Liam, forgive me, but Mother’s ring is no longer here. I didn’t take it out. I felt its presence at my side often throughout the night, and yet… now…it is gone.”

Both of the Jones brothers seemed sunk in painful silence after that, not sure what - if any - words there were to offer after such an irreversible finding. The ring was not intrinsically of value, but it was priceless as a physical tie to the woman who bore them and loved them both with all she had until life was taken from her much too soon. Liam looked out the window, wondering how to ease this pain and how to ease Killian’s obvious guilt for something that was not his fault at all, just an unfortunate loss which could have happened to anyone. A muscle worked in his jaw, causing Killian to incorrectly assumer anger or irritation as he snuck glances at Liam, causing him to berate himself even further. He tried to replay the events of the evening - difficult because his focus had narrowed to little beyond the Princess Emma once she’d spoken to him - desperate to come up with any moment, any place, the ring might have been lost. And still he came up with nothing.

Killian had already been saddened by having to leave the beautiful young woman who had needed only moments to steal his heart, but his spirits had sunken lower still with the loss of the irreplaceable keepsake with which Liam had entrusted him. As the carriage slowed upon the cobblestone streets leading down to the docks, the wheels rolled to a halt and Liam reached out to grasp his forearm tightly; a grasp firm, but far from being harsh or painful. His brother’s eyes were stormy slate, almost gray instead of their normal slightly darker blue than his own. Yet, Killian finally realized, they held a hurt, yes, but none of the recrimination or blame he had assumed. 

“Brother, it wasn’t your fault,” Liam rasped, holding his gaze steadily in a bid to convey his seriousness. “You did nothing wrong. The ring is gone, aye, but naught can be done about it now. These things happen, and we shall simply have to go on without it.”

Killian blinked, nonplussed, uncertain that he had heard Liam correctly. “But y-you kept it safe all this time… a-and the first time you trusted me with it, I - I lost it… The one thing we still had of Mother’s,” Killian stammered, eyes falling to his lap.

“Yes, but Killian,” Liam soothed, calloused forefinger curling under his chin to tip Killian’s face up to meet his own once more, “it was an accident - one that could have happened to me just as easily, or to anyone, for that matter. Besides, it is still just a thing, precious as it was to us for being hers. It isn’t her; holding onto it won’t bring her back. We still have our memories, with or without the talisman to accompany them.”

Killian was speechless and overcome at those words, and at the certain knowledge that Liam meant them sincerely. Finally, he managed to nod his understanding and swallowed hard, though he was unable to force any words past the lump in his throat. Leaning over where their knees nearly met between the facing carriage seats, he threw his arms around his brother’s neck, embracing him tightly. “Thank you,” he finally managed wetly against Liam’s shoulder.

To which Liam merely hummed lowly, returned his embrace and patted his back until they parted, much calmer and more at ease.

Stepping down the cobblestone byway, Killian barely took note of the horse and driver clattering off - brought by magic and obviously returning the same way. He looked down to the end of the dock. Through the misty lantern-lit dim of earliest morning, he could see where their ship bobbed gently in her berth. No matter what he had experienced this night - the magical, enthralling moments he could never have dreamed if they hadn’t been true, the panicked flight as the clock struck midnight, and the horrible loss of their family token, the first charming blush of love and the aching pull of tearing himself from her - he had come full circle back to where he’d begun. He would never forget the magical meeting, the chance to dance with the princess herself; yet, it had not truly changed anything, now that it was over. He would still board the ship again, working side-by-side with his brother until they were free, and he would simply have to treasure what he remembered of the marvelous night he had been gifted. For one night, he could have almost imagined he was a prince to match her in a happily ever after. And that would have to be enough for him.

~~~~*~~~~

Though Killian would not have thought it possible in the immediate aftermath, and he had been loathe to open his eyes to the familiar bunk and crowded quarters the morning following Princess Emma’s birthday ball, life did rather quickly settle back into its familiar rhythm. It certainly wasn’t the fine clothing, rich food, and orchestral music he had experienced for those few fleeting hours at the royal palace, nor would climbing up to the crow’s nest for lookout duty or the well-rehearsed way he and Cook wove and slipped around each other in the limited galley space to prepare and serve the crew’s meals be anything equal to the unforgettable whirl of the dances he had shared with his blonde siren that night. But, though there was an ache in his chest, a void he had not known existed until meeting her, Killian Jones was much too busy, worked much too hard from dawn until dark to dwell, or grow truly miserable. He wished he had not been forced to leave the way he had, that he could have at least taken time to explain to the princess, but he tried to be comforted by the fact that she surely was not suffering for it; Princess Emma must have forgotten all about him before the week was out. He was a nobody with whom she had shared barely an hour, and with all the other suitors and friends and family by which she was surrounded, she would obviously be right as rain in no time.

As if they had never met.

If only that weren’t the opposite of comfort to him.

And if only he truly believed it.

Occasionally, on quiet night when his duties were completed and he could slip away without being noticed, Killian sat on deck, looking up at the stars silently, thinking even their heavenly glow could not match the sparkle of her green eyes. It was some tiny solace that, as far removed as he was from her, if Emma looked up to the sky as well, they would be gazing at the very same stars.

He simply could not relinquish the small flare of hope that had been ignited inside by either the incredible night, or the magic of his fairy godmother, or some strange amalgamation of the two. Sometimes, he even swore he heard Nova’s small, musical voice whispering in his ear amidst the quiet sky and the gentle lapping of waves against the hull, telling him not to give up, his story was not over yet.

Killian Jones, well out to sea and far away from the happenings of Misthaven and the talk of those who lived there, had no way of knowing that far from being forgotten, his princess thought of him every day. She tried valiantly to conceal her emotions, to appear normal and unfazed by the fact that the young man to whom she had given her undivided attention and favor had fled from her ball - and her - and seemingly disappeared. The ones who knew her best were hardly fooled, but they allowed Emma her brave face. After all, she was still searching for him.

When Will had first shown her the antique ring on the worn chain and told her it had been in the pocket of the young man who’d captured her heart, Emma had taken it as a sign. The fact that she held in her possession an item that was obviously dear to him had been some encouragement to her in the immediate aftermath of Killian’s hasty exit. She had been certain he would quickly return looking for the trinket. Her plan had not been to hold the ring ransom of course, but to hand it over gladly once he explained to her what had gone wrong, why he’d left her with such speed, and she hoped to ascertain the truth in his eyes or his voice to understand if it had all been in her head, or if what she had felt between them was still there.

However, days, and then weeks, then nearly a month, had passed with no sign of Killian, no appearance made to claim what was rightfully his. Emma vacillated between wanting to box Will’s ears for picking Killian’s pockets in the first place and taking from him something that she could just feel had great sentimental value, and then wanting to squeeze him about the waist until his breath caught, thankful she had something to hold onto, to remind her that Killian and that whole night, those precious moments in his arms and together on the balcony, had not been a fictitious mirage. She would admit to no one that she slept with the ring beneath her pillow each night, her fingers tangled in the chain, but she did just that. It dangled from her grasp as she stared up at the moon and stars from her balcony, wondering where he might be under those same constellations, and she often fell asleep wondering if she would ever see the mysterious young man of her dreams again.

At first, when Killian had failed to return, Princess Emma had been stymied. She was clever and determined, and though hardly spoiled, she was beloved and honored by all of those around her; rarely did her wishes and plans fail to come to fruition. It was not until she finally broke down and spoke to her father when they were alone in his study one afternoon that a new course of action began to take shape.

After reluctantly admitting that she wanted to go searching for the young gentleman she had met at the ball (a fact her father had long since surmised but was prudent enough not to mention) and explaining how they had seemingly been interrupted by the ticking of time itself, the King suggested a plan that Emma could enthusiastically approve. It was ingenious in seeming perfectly natural for her to do anyway as she matured and her royal duties as heir to the throne increased. In fact, Emma wondered how she had not come up with it herself.

From there on out, whenever her father went to inspect a ship of their fleet, offer a sailor a promotion, or christen a new ship, she would accompany him. No one would find it at all odd for the princess to do so; in fact it might add to the occasion, and she meanwhile could look for her sailor in particular.

Unfortunately, just as Killian had no way of knowing Emma was seeking him so earnestly, she had no way of knowing that his ship was not part of their Misthavian fleet, and no matter how many she boarded she would not find him there. She had taken up her father’s idea with unfettered enthusiasm, but as several more months passed with no further luck than before she couldn’t help being disheartened. It would seem that somehow this one special person who had touched her soul had somehow sailed beyond her reach - somewhere she might never find him.

It might have carried on that way interminably if Killian’s fairy godmother had not once again used a touch of her magic to intervene. While Silver’s ship was hardly a law-abiding vessel of any kingdom, there was little chance of her charge being united with the young princess, whom she as a fairy could see was his True Love. And Nova was tired of waiting; this young man had already been twisted and pulled by the vagaries of Fate for entirely too long. The fact that he had been so surprised by her initial appearance proved that. She was called upon to be his benefactress, and now that she had begun the job, Nova was not ready to give up.

It was simple enough for a clever and determined being with magic to effect a small but troubling leak in the hull of the pirate ship - one that necessitated their entering the nearest port - conveniently, as Nova had intended, Misthaven’s - and docking for repairs. Easier still to make certain that the shipwright Silver sent his first mate to see had difficulty locating the needed materials, ensuring the ship and its crew would remain long enough for her youthful sailor to be reunited with his match.

Once the fairy had accomplished her part, she did not even have to provide a nudge on the other side as she had anticipated. It would seem that True Love carried within itself a powerful type of kismet. Barely had Captain Silver and most of his crew disembarked and dispersed throughout the village - to taverns, market stalls, and beyond - than a commotion alerted those few left aboard to an entourage of some sort approaching along the docks.

Killian was below deck when the heavily arrayed and armored phalanx neared his ship’s berth and paused to look up. He had scrubbing in the galley to do and a mess of potatoes to peel and slice for dinner besides. So it was only an older sailor and Liam, left aboard as lookouts, who actually saw the visitors were King David, the Princess, and a number of castle guards, now formally requesting permission to come aboard. Neither sailor was prepared to deny the monarch, regardless of the fact that they were hardly a ship of his loyal fleet, nor strictly under his domain.

Once the King planted his feet solidly on the bare planks of the ship, he faced the two men with one hand resting confidently on the pommel of his sword and his discerning eyes seeming to drill through Liam uncomfortably. “Are you all who are left on the vessel? And what is your purpose within our port? You are not from here, that much is obvious.”

Before either Liam or his befuddled compatriot could decide how best to answer that second query, the princess stepped to King David’s side with quiet dignity, laying a soft hand upon her father’s forearm as though giving a calming reminder. She did not speak aloud, but the look shared between father and daughter spoke volumes, and coupled with a slight shake of her head, the King seemed to pause and mentally draw back, ceding center stage to his daughter.

“Greetings,” the Princess began, her voice calm and measured, but carrying a low, husky warmth that Liam could immediately admit was intriguing. “Thank you for your hospitality. We realize, of course, that this is an open port as long as no malfeasance is occurring or harm is coming to any of our subjects via a visitor’s presence; therefore, you have extended us a courtesy in allowing us to board.”

Liam’s eyes shot back to the king and his gathered attachment, as the monarch flinched slightly but held himself in check, and many of those armed and at the ready to defend him seemed to fidget restlessly. It had to be clear that they were neither a naval nor a merchant vessel, and none on the deck seemed at ease with the other contingent’s presence except for the Princess standing in the middle of them all.

Her eyes were knowing, and her mouth bore an almost bemused upward quirk at the corner of her full, pink lips. He could swear she was practically winking at him, as if to convey that she knew who they were, but was not about to let it concern or thwart her mission. “Let us simply agree that lectures on moral sea trading practice and fealty to kingdom and crown are not the purpose for our visit,” she assured, her voice steady and strong, but also nonthreatening; a true feat since her words confirmed that she understood what they were normally about on the Merry Rogue.

She stepped nearer still to Liam, every movement poised and graceful as the Queen she would one day become, and peered up into his face, searching his eyes as if she saw something within their depths that she recognized. 

Nonplussed by both her words and bearing, as well as her mere presence altogether, Liam simply dipped his chin in an obliging nod to acknowledge her words. “Understood,” he agreed simply. “And if that be the case, then what do you ask of us, your Highness?”

Beneath her placid surface, the Princess’ eyes flickered with a pained emotion as she drew in a deep breath, then leaned closer to confide quietly. “I am hoping to find someone who means a great deal to me,” she admitted at a volume that quite possibly only he could hear. “I’ve been seeking him for months now, on each new ship christened, at every ball since, whenever we offer promotions or awards to our sailors…” She trailed off and swallowed hard before continuing once more. “I have used any capacity available to me as princess to search, but in truth, I did not step aboard this ship today as a royal, but merely as a person trying to follow her heart. When we neared your ship’s berth, I had a feeling, a pull in my gut which I couldn’t ignore. And so,” here she pulled herself to her full height again, straightening and squaring her shoulders as if to ready herself for any response, then repeated the question her father had asked, but in a tone of desperate hope. “Are there any others on board this ship at present?”

Liam’s heart had begun to race as she spoke, realizing more with each moment that passed that the beauty standing before him was as taken with his younger brother as Killian had been with her. He had known the princess on sight, but had been wary, uncertain of the royals’ purpose at first and intent on keeping Killian from further pain or risk if he could. Seeing now that his brother’s silent yearning - obvious despite Killian’s dogged efforts to carry on with life - had not been in vain, nor was it one-sided, Liam could not keep a wide grin from stretching across his face ridiculously, nearly bowled over by the miraculous turn of events.

“Just one other, Princess,” he replied. “My brother is below in the galley. Allow me to fetch him for you.” Liam knew that his voice had trembled audibly with emotion, nerves and excitement, but was powerless to stop it. Moving to the open hatch, he called down the stairs. “Killian! You’re needed topside, Little Brother!”

They could all hear the rattle and clang of dishes banging below and then a playfully exasperated call in answer, “That’s younger brother!” in a tone that clearly said it had been repeated often before it was followed by the added, “I’ll be there in a moment! Hold on!”

They waited wordlessly, but it was hard to decide who was more anxious for him to appear - Liam or the Princess. Both gave each other nervous smiles, fidgeting and shuffling their feet, and neither was willing to look away from the open hatch and the steps leading below deck.

When a dark, ruffled head of hair appeared in the opening, followed by the familiar blue-eyed face and crooked smile, then shoulders and torso as Killian climbed the ladder fully, Princess Emma drew in a sharp breath, her eyes widening and going teary-bright as she saw him before her at last. After all her searching and beginning to wonder if he could be found, there he stood - not a figment of her imagination at all, thankfully. Emma glanced quickly over her shoulder at her Papa, as though confirming that he saw Killian too.

King David merely nodded, a gentle look on his regal face now, pleased for her and seeming to urge her forward, to do whatever she had come to do.

That seemed to steady Misthaven’s hair to the throne once more. Emma wet her lips nervously with the tip of her tongue, her eyes roving over his features avidly, even as her fingers twisted together where she clasped her hands before her. No shrinking violet, even in this clearly pivotal moment, however, she drew a step nearer still and finally addressed him directly. “Killian, you’re really here. I began to fear you’d vanished off the face of the Earth.”

She gave him a playful grin along with those shaky words, but Killian’s heart stuttered at the sincerity he heard beneath her attempt at brave jest. She had questions, rightfully so, and unbelievable as it seemed, self doubts as well unless his senses misjudged things. In truth, he was still trying to recover from the surprise at seeing her there on a ship fit for rogues and scoundrels, not royalty, and his heart tried to beat from his chest at the very idea that she would have sought him out after his flight from the ball. He was hardly worthy of her undivided attention then, much less her extended effort after the fact. Huskily, Killian managed to at least say something, knowing he needed to speak and not just stare at her mutely in an attempt to drink in her image. “Aye, it’s me, Princess. Killian Jones at your service.” He sketched a quick bow with those words, then winced at the awkwardness of the hasty gesture.

The princess gave a huff of humor and wry self-deprecation at his response. “It would have been helpful to have that last name before now,” she sighed, shaking her head.

Killian didn’t know how to answer that, still baffled to find her standing before him in all her glowing, golden beauty, much less that she would have remembered even the first name he had carefully given her or try to seek him out with it.

Princess Emma seemed to shake herself from that frustration quickly, waving her hand as if to bat away her own words. “Nevermind,” she pressed on, meeting his gaze earnestly, “in any case, I have something I need to give you.”

Reaching into the small pouch that rested at her hip, Emma drew out a blessedly recognizable circle of metal on a heavy chain - the missing ring that Killian had believed he’d lost. Almost breathlessly, Killian reached out to take the treasured piece of jewelry from her, opening his hand and clasping his fingers closed around it as the chain slid from her grip and the comforting weight landed on his palm. “Thank you,” he stammered, dazed with the turn of events yet again. “I cannot tell you how much it means to have this back… It- it belonged to my mother.”

Emma’s eyes went soft and misty, as if she could somehow discern the loss behind that statement. The small grin she was giving him wobbled a bit, but she nodded before adding, “Well, it was the least I could do after my ne’er-do-well friend picked it from your pocket. Before you shower me with too much gratitude, I believe I owe you an apology.”

Here, she bowed her head, suddenly appearing as bashful as he had felt from the start. Unable to stop himself, or consider the impropriety of his actions, Killian leaned forward, tipping her chin up with gentle fingers so he could meet her glistening jade eyes once more. “No please, don’t worry about that, your Highness. Truly, I am in your debt.”

At his words, her smile grew, blooming across her face like sunshine after rain. Neither of them spoke for some time as they gazed at each other breathlessly. None of those scattered around them moved or spoke either, as if unwilling to shatter a moment in which the very air seemed to waver with a charge of energy or magic, some force that could not be denied.

When Princess Emma spoke again, she seemed to be gathering her courage once more before nervously chewing her lower lip and reaching out to clasp his hand in both of her smaller ones. “I have one more confession to make,” she admitted in barely more than a whisper.

Killian didn’t know where the cheekiness that somehow overtook him just then came from, but he tilted his head, arching one brow curiously as he did, before rasping, “You mean beyond theft, Milady? Why what else could it be?” He wanted to bite off his own tongue as soon as the flippant retort was uttered, but then quickly changed his mind upon seeing the flush that rose up the princess’ cheeks and the intrigued spark that flickered across her expression. He nearly laughed aloud before her next words utterly floored him and stunned him to silence.

“Yes, something else,” she recovered, seeming determined to say whatever else she had in mind. Gathering a breath that visibly filled her lungs and then letting it out in a whoosh of air, she pressed their joined hands tightly and plunged ahead. “Right now, I stand before you, not as a princess and future ruler, but as a woman - young though I might be - who has been unable to forget you since the night we met. I might have held your family heirloom unintentionally, but it would seem you have held onto my heart.” She paused just briefly there, pinning him with the hope in her eyes as his mouth fell open, all words completely gone, just as she asked for a response. “Killian Jones, will you stay in Misthaven and allow us to discover what might be here between us? Is it possible you might feel the same?”

Killian’s mouth opened and closed fruitlessly without any sound coming out. Panicked, he began to hope she could somehow see the pounding of his heart beneath his shirt where it seemed to be attempting to beat right out of his chest. Of course, he felt the same!  But in that moment he couldn’t summon the words to tell her so…

His worries that she might see his floundering and change her mind, and the racing whirl of his scattered thoughts, was interrupted by a strong nudge in his back from Liam, nearly causing him to fall forward at Emma’s feet. “Well, answer her, Brother!” Liam urged jovially, his voice brimming with happiness and humor. “Heaven knows you’ve been miserable missing her, don’t leave the lady in suspense now that she’s here before you again!”

Flicking a quick, embarrassed look over his shoulder, Killian noticed the genuine pride in him and excited joy for his good fortune shining from his elder brother’s face, just as it had that night they had presented him with clothing and a way to the ball. Turning back to face Emma once more, he noted her spotless white gown and the ermine stole about her shoulders, the shining curls of her hair and her perfect face. He didn’t want to think about the stains that were undoubtedly scattered over his patched and threadbare clothes, nor the smudges and cuts that must be visible on his face and hands from hard work and long days in the wind and sun. He wanted to tell her how much he had thought of her as well, but he simply wasn’t sure he had the right…

Just as she had before, Emma tilted her head, studying his face, still hopeful, though anxious as well, and then her eyes softened. It was as if once more she had read his thoughts and knew exactly what he was thinking and feeling, and she understood him in a way he had never experienced before. Stepping so close that their noses nearly brushed and she could speak for his ears alone, she prodded tenderly. “It’s alright, Killian. Just tell me the truth.”

Meeting her gaze fully, Killian could only be honest, deserving of the gift she was offering or not. Reaching out tenderly, he brushed a curl back over her shoulder, trembling at the nerve it took him to do so. “Aye, Princess, I feel the same. I would love nothing more than to remain by your side. I am the furthest thing from a prince or nobleman, but if you truly want to continue our acquaintance, I am happy to do as you wish.”

Her beaming face seemed like a vision from a dream, almost blinding him. They stood grinning at each other for several long seconds before the Princess reached out, caught the edges of his collar and pulled him the last few inches to her so their lips could meet. The moment they did, shocks ran through Killian, colors bursting behind his eyes. Everyone on the deck of the Rogue felt the wave of power that radiated out from the two young people caught up in their first kiss. Killian and Emma jolted back a step, and all who were present seemed to reel and barely stay on their feet.

Killian struggled to grasp what had happened as he heard the King let out a whoop of recognition from behind them. Just before he surged forward to gather both his daughter and her chosen consort up in an exuberant embrace, Princess Emma’s eyes widened in shock as she stared at him. Looking down, Killian found that his appearance had been transformed. Gone were the work clothes of a servant, and in their place was the finery he had worn the night of the ball, as if returned by magic. From head to toe, he looked as though he had been put right back in that very moment. 

Caught up in the King’s strong arms and pressed warmly to his Princess’ side, Killian was stunned once again when he heard the man huskily whisper to his daughter. “True Love’s Kiss, Pumpkin. You’ve found your own.”

It was almost more than Killian could fathom, but as his mind steadied, he knew. He could feel in it his bones, and in his own heart. His eyes returned to Emma and neither of them could bring themselves to look away. The pleasant warmth and sense of rightness, of home at last, that enveloped him then was only strengthened by a moment’s echo of what sounded like tinkling fairy laughter in his ear.

~~~~*~~~~

Six months later, when Killian Jones and Princess Emma of Misthaven stood on the balcony of the palace to announce their engagement to the people, no one gathered there could remember a more joyous or perfect occasion. Killian was announced as a lieutenant of the Queen’s Royal Navy, to which he and Liam had both been enlisted almost as soon as he and Emma were reunited, free at last from the service of Captain Silver in which they had been trapped since their youth. Laughter rang out as the King’s footman, standing next to Lieutenant Jones’ side pretended to take the engagement ring for the Princess from the sailor’s own pocket and presented it to him with a winking bow so Killian could place it on her finger. None of the assembled crowd below could know the secret significance of the gesture or the role Will Scarlet had inadvertently played in their finding one another again. Nor would they realize that the ring was Killian and Liam’s mother’s, the same one Emma had returned to him that day - now a symbol not just of his past and the family he had lost, but of their future and the family they would create together. Her parents and his brother stood with them proudly, her mother beaming even as she dashed away happy tears, and both King David and Liam chests puffed with pride at how far the two young people they loved most had come. 

It was the beginning of something special, another True Love Story for the ages. A happily ever after if ever there was one. And all of those gathered to witness the kiss they shared after Killian placed the ring on the Princess’ finger agreed that no two people could cherish it more. 

Tagging a few who might be interested: @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @apiratewhopines

@spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @jonesfandomfanatic @myfearless-love

@anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @xarandomdreamx @stahlop @eastwesthomeisbest @motherkatereloyshipper

@belovedcreation @goforlaunchcee @laianely @undercaffinatednightmare @caught-in-the-filter @4getfulimaginator2022

@gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @linda8084 @lfh1226-linda @resident-of-storybrooke @scientificapricot

@xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @grimmswan @ultraluckycatnd

@ohmakemeahercules @everything-person @kday426 @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly

[liliputkalin]

#fucki t#i saw it around the evening but i thought that if i start tagging i would lose the time i needed to make the final assignments#its almost 2:30 am lets see

sorry for ruining your sleep <3/j hope it was worth it <33

#first of all DUDE SERIOUSLY?? ? ? ? YOU JUST WENT AND DREW TWO PICTURES BC YOU STRUGGLED WITH ONE ?? ? ? IDK HOW IT WORKS BUT YAAAAYYY !!!#CRYING WHAT THE FUCK#No i think the first one is my fav so lets start with the second#okay i looked closer at the second one and now im not so sure which i like more augh well nvm ! looking at these colors. theres probably so#some blending mode business is going on (which is socool theyre so difficult to me personally i can never make those work) all in all it#looks like postcard paper? or some yelowwed paper buut if blue color faded instead of red

Its called gradient maps and they are my best friends <3 I love using them when I cant come up with a pallete,,,, also used posterization a lot, it makes such funky textures!! and the colors that come out are soooo cool,,,

#my main focus is the wd (kelp cant keep track of names) and it has this one blue repeating throughout the whole thing + some purples + peac#+ thiss orangish grey?? it looks really orange in this context i dont even know what it is and Green. you could literally colorpick rainbow#from it . bro managed to sit his ass on it lets pray for his pants <3 DAMn colorwizardry again on his arms goddamn it ! ! AW HES SMILING#like his dreads here . tbh whenever i make a kelp sketch page (oka that happened at least two times) i try drawing him from the back just#just cuz im still not sure. but this looks legit mb ill use it as a ref lol ! using noxs drawing for the front and yours for the back lol#whose oc is that ToT also his hand is so cute here i cant <3 dying from this purpl#also thank you for giving him oversize goddamn hed actually like it a lot. like now thinking about it. in modern au hed need a hoodie#a hoodie 1.5 times bigger than him. and a tshirt with sleeves falling lower than his elbows... . i recently tried to figure out his adult#version design and im shifting my focus now. . . my idea was like sd-scaled almost-knight but no he needs to be a dementor with 14 layers#the wd is smiling <3 i like how you always make them so Long and so roller-coaster shaped theyre literally a крендель also the air perspect#perspective is peak it almost fades into sky color ! now thinking about it wds are perfect dragons for stuff like that cuz theyre so long

I actually wanted to make him come out of a cave or something but it just didnt work :( so flying under stones it was,, I glad I got the back view ok :33

#textre brus . . . OR WAIT NO ITS NOT THIS HATCHING IS MADE BY HAND 0_0 WOAHG.. . . idk something about this mountain thingie is#just so cool. this hatching is just right also i like how wds body ended up significantly lighter than it due to the air perspective. this#this may be the least intuitive composition desidion for me actually wait. so instead of making the mountain rly light you lightened the wd#you go girl this is fire . its like chessboard. does it make sense#anyway a little moment of appreciation for the green on the little mountain closer to camera bc 1. it is awesome 2. looking at your brain#under microscope. IT EVEN CONTINUES UNDERWATER GIRL HOW oh this is made w a texture brush i found it >:)#tho mb its all a texture brush just its so small i dont see </3#im running out of tags so just know im just sitting here zooming in and out

>:3333

#part two what do you mean ive been sitting here for an hour i need to wake at 7 . okey speeding up guys#аа кто такие фиксики большой большой секрет or idk what theyre trying to say w this hand gesture but they both look like theyre having fun

They'r saying hi <333

#no actually three of them look like theyre having fun and zhora looks like he knows hes the most strong and majestic creature on earth#like he took a biiiig breath and is about to make a super powerful wing flap#the way this wing is folded is honestly amazing zhora has never been this powerful and i reallllllly like the lil hatching under his wing#i generally like your hatching a loooot DAMN ON THE BELLY TOO LOOK GUYS#the crown (tubes?? ? idk what to call those i think those are a sort of receptors for chemicals and electricity) being purple here#is amazing. still love the 'thunderdrums are colored like tropical toads' hc ANd still havent researched the toads to choose smth for him#hes a chameleon you dont get it/j also wd is darkgreen + light green for the crown and zhora is orange with rather dark purple for the crow

I think they're supposed to be external gills in canon but i love your take on them as the tubes. they look so neat that way!!

#i just find it sweet. in actual plotline they dont interact a lot i believe i have like 1 little story for them and thats it#but i think aqu would find him cute :) i like their face here theyre joyful for once BUT IM already impatient to go for the first pic bc#bc its just amazing im dying from this compo !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!! and colors !!!!!!!! like its not as experimental as 2 but its ve#very readable. come on you know it is ! everything here serves composition dark lord and cunt#aqu is fucking amazing. and adorable. sorry i liked the backview more but iddkdidk it makes me feel feelings#almost. almsot makes me think about whatever their story is. they unlike kelp dont really have one bc theyre ME but maybe. maybe

👀🤲🤲🤲🤲 story? story of aqu???

#their purple is amazing and the way the vest is shaded w lasso is amazing and the pose is amazing and the sleeves are amazing#waving their stupid little hand <3 kelp what are you saying their ass is Not Listening OH WAIT I GOT IT THEYRE COMMUNICATING THROUGH#HAND GESTURES. I GOT IT I GOT IT !!! kelp yu lk need headphones too bc the second zhora opens his mouth youre having a panic attack#a man who gets flashbacks from loud dragon noises is forced to hang out with thunderdrums and screaming death(deathS >:)))) )#bc the life is unfair. aw his nosee !!!!!!!! hes so cute i cant im dying ! helmet tho. .. . . . OH MY FUCKING GOD WDS FACE.. 0_0#ITS GIVING... . I GENUINELY MEAN IT AS A COMPLIMENT PLS IT MAY SOUND WEIRD BUT ITS GIVING MOBILE GAMES LOADING SCREEN VIBES#LIKE ONE OF THOSE GAMES WHERE THE PLOT AND LORE IS EPIC AH BUT THE GAMEPLAY IS BORING SHIT THEY WOULD KILL FOR THIS FACE#THIS FACE ON THEIR LOADING SCREEN OR EVEN THEIR ICON TBH!!! idk i think its the reflection in the eye that got me#so wow. and the nosehorn is cool too this faceshape is generally peak#a little mwah to their wings theyre very volumous. AND ZHORA'S WINGS OMG THE SPOTS!!! ZHORA'S LEFT WING NHHH#thats so cool. same brush as the sky. the most random brush in the world why does it work so well#its here in the waves too ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh#the waves........................................#the wavessssssssssssssssss.............................................#exciting piece

my reaction to all of that ^

btw the night pic was done on 90% lasso tool <3 i only used a scetter brush for stars <333 went a little insane honestly once i got the understanding for lasso tool...

@tanasha-not-yet

hey. its yo boisssssss!!!

[starkittnd93]

Based off of a thing I said a little earlier, I think they’d get along if they met!

[eydilily]

Ranchers' faces when they realize the ranch is on fire (happy alternative: when they find the chickens survived)

oh ranchers...

theyre just a lil silly !

[duckngk]

stobotnik week day 2 - yearning and dependency

[ofgrenvde]

"You know what's funny about therapy bonuses?" Duke said, peering toward Boyd with a slight smirk. "Pretty sure he's gonna bill me overtime for emotional trauma after this." He turned back to Rhea, that thumb still tracing patterns across her knuckles like it had a mind of its own. "And yeah, we're definitely wired wrong. Normal people don't end up having heart-to-hearts in broken elevators." Her offer to let him whisper in her ear made something warm unfurl in his chest, dangerous and tempting. Getting that close to her again would be playing with fire, but honestly? He'd been thinking about fire for weeks now. "Tempting, but Boyd's already traumatized enough for one day." There was something in her eyes though, that curiosity that cut right through all his usual deflections. She wasn't asking for the easy answer or the version of himself he showed everyone else. He was quiet for a moment, thumb still moving against her skin while he figured out how to put it into words. This wasn't territory he usually let people into, but sitting here in the dark with her hand in his, it felt right somehow. Like maybe she'd actually understand instead of just filing it away as another piece of information about him. "There's this kid back in Chicago," he said finally, voice dropping lower. "My nephew, Deshawn. Eight years old, thinks his uncle Duke works construction."

The irony of it hit him every time he thought about it. All this mess, all the careful territory management and late-night meetings, and what really mattered to him was some kid's crayon drawings. "Every month I send money for school stuff, new bikes, whatever he needs. His dad thinks it's insurance money from some accident I had." Duke's laugh was soft, almost self-deprecating. "Kid sends me these drawings sometimes. Stick figures of our whole family, and there I am right next to his parents like I'm just another normal guy." He met her eyes in the dim light, something vulnerable flickering there that he rarely let show. "That's what keeps me going. Knowing somewhere out there, there's this kid who thinks I'm worth drawing in crayon." His voice got quieter, more honest. "Stupid as it sounds, I'd rather be his favorite uncle than run half this city." He’d never confessed this to anyone before, but it felt great to admit it. "There's your answer. What about you? What's the thing that keeps you moving when everything else feels like it's falling apart?"

Rhea’s lips twitched into a small, almost reluctant smile as Duke’s thumb brushed over her knuckles, a simple touch that carried more weight than either of them wanted to admit. “Yeah, chaos does have a way of making the ‘normal’ feel like a bad rerun,” she murmured, her voice low, carrying a hint of wry humour. “Maybe we’re just wired to shake things up… or get shaken up.” Her eyes flicked toward Boyd, noticing his near-invisible attempt to disappear into the corner. “Boyd’s got the patience of a saint—or maybe just a really good poker face,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “Though, therapy sessions weren’t in the job description, I’m sure.” She caught Duke’s glance and the tension in his voice about those ribs. “Ribs heal,” she said softly, “but the rest… yeah, that stuff lingers longer. It’s like carrying around a secret weight nobody sees, and you can’t just pop a painkiller for it.”

When he talked about invisible scars, Rhea met his gaze steadily. “Exactly,” she said. “The wounds you carry inside, the ones that don’t leave a mark on your skin—they’re the ones that make you question every step, every choice.” There was a flicker of something raw and honest in her eyes, the kind of thing she rarely let show. “The kind that makes you tough… but also damn tired.” Her hand squeezed his back, a silent gesture that said more than words could. “We’re not off the hook,” she agreed, a small spark lighting her voice. “And I’m glad you’ve got questions. Maybe this isn’t just about killing time in a broken elevator after all.” She glanced toward Boyd again, offering a half-smile. “Tell him he’s earned his therapy bonus. We’re gonna need it.”

She looked at him thoughtfully, still holding his hand but now with a quieter curiosity in her voice. “Duke... what’s the one thing about your life—something nobody sees or expects—that actually keeps you going? Not the family business, not the tough exterior. I mean, what’s the part of you that you don’t let anyone else touch?” She glanced back at the other man again and lowered her voice, "you can whisper it in my ear if you'd like." Was she tempting fate that way? Allowing him to get that close to her skin once more? Perhaps.Her eyes searched his face, waiting to see if he’d guard the answer or let it slip. It wasn’t just idle curiosity. It was the kind of question that peeled back the surface, the kind that made two people realize maybe they weren’t just tangled in chaos—but maybe they were starting to understand each other.

[drawloverlala]

Haappy Rockman Day! 💙