#I wanted to do something before art fight

[iceunhie]

art of the fan!

premise: wherein jiaoqiu’s fan does half the work and reaps twice the effect.

warnings: gn!reader, 1.4k words, potential jiaoqiu ooc, written before his release. use of petnames and suffixes. please read the terminology guide below to understand their use in the plot, very ‘walk him like a dog’ core, though in this case fox would be more appropriate, haha.

a/n: guess who’s back with a oneshot (⁠ ⁠；⁠∀⁠；⁠) here is my humble offering to the jiaoqiu nation, i did my best

jiaoqiu—for some reason— has made it his life’s mission to perpetually get under your skin.

recently, he has employed shady methods, most particularly instilling almost unfair use of his fan in order to get away with things he normally can't, poking at the strings in your heart like how a stick hits a hornet’s nest.

“yi sheng, is there a purpose for this?” you exclaim, with the foxian man sighing in faux disappointment. the sarcastic way of addressing his title does make his face spasm—but unfortunately for you, today, it seems it does little to dampen his mischief.

you are in the humiliating position of being in the sly man’s lap; aggrieved that your current predicament warrants unfair treatment that borders on harassment (an exaggeration, jiaoqiu has never been improper to that extent).

not to mention, his fan is aimed at your chin, making you look up at him while he applies ointment to a rather nasty bruise around your lip, with the gall to hum as he does so.

“ah, ah. don't move.” he holds the feathered fan under your chin, eyes ever closed while a placid smile graces his face, retaining his signature cunning. jiaoqiu has lost his mind. you keep to yourself, ignoring the heat in your cheeks that had made an appearance since earlier—because why else would he do this? (and why in the name of aeons would you let him? something must be wrong with your brain today.) “if you do not let me do this, that unsightly bruise might fester, you know.”

“you’re too close.”

“well, you were too far.”

“i am sitting on your lap, yi sheng. how close do you want us to be?” you roll your eyes, earning jiaoqiu a poke at your face, followed by his hand squishing at the fat on your cheeks. “hey, lwet goh of me…”

“still with the formalities... surely now you can address me by my name, can you?” jiaoqiu coaxes, like saying it might wash away all the fatigue in the world, because every inch of his being, from the tips of his ears to the veins in his heart and the wisps of his soul, his yearning and pining echoes and resounds in the cavity of his chest that holds only you, you, you.

what, jiaoqiu wonders, would it take for him to be the sole beholder of your brilliance? his hands holding yours, gripping faithfully and unfalteringly, your fates bound by knots; crimson in nature, entwined forevermore? his eyes soften because of course they do—for you mold him into a being devoted to commemorating your existence into his flesh, your voice settling in the marrow of his bones.

you falter, your heartbeat loud. jiaoqiu notices. of course he does. “yi sheng—”

“jiaoqiu.”

“yi—”

“qiu-er.”

“....” he can hear your heart thundering in your chest—thump, thump—and it has never occurred to him to praise his foxian senses until now. his smile widens, a fang poking out with the white of his teeth. “i'm waiting, baobei.” your face glows with warmth, and jiaoqiu fights the urge to swallow you up whole right then and there.

(he resists it often when it comes to you.)

“you’re so stubborn!” you say after much deliberation, rejection flat and heavy. jiaoqiu deflates, just a bit, and petulantly rubs ointment on the other bruises littering your face. (his ears show his displeasure, drooping down, comically flat against his head.)

“hmph. and you’re too stingy.”

“all the more reason not to, then!”

still not enough, huh? jiaoqiu wonders if he'll ever get you to crack; if you'll ever mirror the expression of his adoration—swishing tail and perked up ears aside. still, his touch is gentle, like the embers of a fire hugging you for warmth, a blazing sensation in which all the greed in the world falls short compared to his need to touch you, to perceive you. “will i ever hear my name on your lips? you seem to have no issue addressing others so casually.”

“and who exactly are these others?” you raise a brow at him. jiaoqiu shrugs, nonchalant. as though it didn't bother him (he's seething).

you note that he speaks with contempt, bitterness filtering his soft-spoken words. his tail wags rapidly. pfft, so… so childish! (and a little cute, but you don't say it for obvious reasons.)

“well, for starters, the madam general, the dozing general, yunli, the herbalists near the red fox theater, the stair sweepers....”

“wait, wait, that's too many! and the stair sweepers, really?!”

“i’ll avoid answering further questions.”

“you look like you've swallowed vinegar, laoshi.” you croon, biting where you can at the weakened fox you've made, defiantly lowering your chin still held captive by jiaoqiu’s fan. “besides, i merely do it to cut all at one stroke. after all, it is you, yi sheng—” you relish in jiaoqiu’s expression when you get eerily close, noses almost touching, “that insisted i ought to call you by that title, did you not? who knew you were so easy to displease.”

his face constricts, and his hands lower, one hand gripping firm at your waist, and jiaoqiu reels away from you, hiding his face behind his fan as his cheeks tint themselves scarlet. his pride would not allow him to refute, and you knew that very well. “that...”

because you know him. know his ticks, his tells—jiaoqiu does not know if that is love. but his willingness to drop his guard, to let you slip by his foxy exterior—to allow you to burrow and fuse yourself into the tapestry of his being, that of which the fibers of his soul accept and wholeheartedly make room for you; constricting his breath, perceiving you. (he doesn't know if you're in love with him yet, but he is. maybe he always will be.)

your lips quirk up instead, the apples of your cheeks forming while smile lines grace your features, that of which he cannot look away from, cannot close his eyes from; for what use is closing one’s eyes when his sight was granted to him to behold you?

jiaoqiu’s saving grace is that you were kinder for your own good. if he could keep that kindness to himself, then….

“as expected, it's so weird when you're silent,” you laugh, and jiaoqiu’s stare rushes to behold you, the echo of your joy forming his heart anew. “jiaoqiu. there, you petulant fox. happy now?”

and the way he looks at you—his pupils expanding, eyes wide, jiaoqiu loves. the entire universe could crumble and turn to ashes this instant, and he would not look away.

“...i’m not.” you look at him with playful scorn. really, after all this trouble, your eyes seem to say. he chuckles dryly, forcing himself to laugh, because jiaoqiu wants to keep this euphoria and let it sink into his ears, his lungs and his brain. he wants to bottle the sound of your voice forming his name and setting his body ablaze like golden starlight in a place no one can hear but him.

“not what?” facing you, holding you, he can't even begin to breathe. jiaoqiu thinks this might be love, sprouting from his eyes and filling the corners of his veins, circulating fully, wholly, and utterly.

“i’m not happy at all.” he speaks your name like the growing embers of a wildfire, burning his throat and letting jiaoqiu dare to perceive you. “it’s lacking. it will always be lacking.”

and because you were you, you know exactly where to fan the flames. “ever the cunning one, aren't you, qiu-er?”

jiaoqiu thinks it's time you had enough of your fun. again, he's never had reason to praise his senses—but when he hears the deafening beats that increase as he looks at you even more—he thinks that maybe being a foxian is a decision fate was wise in undertaking.

he dips his head low, and before you can question why his fan covered your faces, a soft sensation floods your senses, warming you to the core when you feel the plush of his lips on yours. you feel his smile against your mouth, and the teasing bite down your lower lip makes your eyes turn to saucers.

this sly fox…!

pulling away, jiaoqiu hides his face behind his fan again, almost gloating when he takes in your aghast expression. “well, it's not so lacking anymore, i suppose.”

you glare. “that ointment of yours is useless now that you've kissed it away, you know.”

jiaoqiu brings the hand by your side to his lips, kissing your knuckles, devoting himself to every atom that comprises you, every cell that unravels and ties itself to create you; and he’ll adore you, chasing and basking in the warm daylight you bestow him.

“i can always kiss it better, anyway.” he ruffles your hair, the smile in his eyes mischievous and utterly unfair, because it's sincere, and blinding ....and jiaoqiu is already uncaring of the rapid wag of his tail. “didn’t you say it yourself? i am cunning, after all.”

BONUS: how to tame a foxian in one go!

“baobei, you certainly know how to leave someone breathless.”

“don’t follow me.”

“you’re not denying it though.”

“qiu’er, you’ll be demoted back to yi sheng.”

“huh?! thats cruel! wait, i said i’m sorry—!”

— terminology guide.

· [ 事半功倍 / half the work, twice the effect ] — (an idiom) the right approach leads to the desired/better results; jiaoqiu wanted reader to call him by his name affectionately, and the right ‘approach’ refers to making use of both the fan and the opportunity to kiss reader (which he got and more with minimal effort)

· [ 一刀切 / to cut all at one stroke ] — (idiom) one solution or ‘one size fits all’, reference to how reader doesn't want to refer to jiaoqiu as his name nor do they want to be mistaken to be in a relationship with him (playfully), so they refer to him as yi sheng ( 医生 ) so people don't get confused and see how jiaoqiu absolutely hates it (menace)

other: bao bei ‹ 宝贝 | baby/babe › , -er ‹ friendly and affectionate suffix often used in a teasing way › , yi sheng ‹ 医生 | doctor › laoshi ‹ 老师/老師 | teacher, used often in a certain part of china. used formally for instructors and teachers* ›

*as for why reader refers to jiaoqiu as laoshi aka teacher, jiaoqiu is a counselor (based on given canon information) and they use it to rile him up (since they use it sarcastically—because jiaoqiu was basically ordering them/instructing them to stay still while treating them ^^; hope this makes sense !

tidbit note: when reader says ‘consumed vinegar’ it is a funny way to show that he's jealous, because vinegar is sour (just like jiaoqiu's mood!)

note: hello! i apologize for being so late and so inconsistent with my posts, life has been busy lately with my job. as recompense, have a oneshot… lol. also, this fic wouldn't have happened without the lovely consultation of my friend and mootie @lowkeyren who helped me with making sure i was using the appropriate terms of affectionate address for reader and jiaoqiu, haha. can you tell i loved playing around with his character? even though he isn't out yet TT personally, i think i quite like the dynamic between reader and jiaoqiu; although this may be ooc in some point in time. he just gives off the vibe of a teasing smug bastard… who is a pathetic mess for his lover. or is it just me?? well, who knows…

@ ICEUNHIE: do not plagiarize, repost or steal my work.

[poppy-metal]

poppyyyyy i’m gonna cry not the thing i sent you being turned into an au and i have no more ideas for it 😭😭 this is hell. all i have to offer is this ( https://pin.it/4XElozLiD ) is nepo brats wedding dress in my head and it was one of those ones that’s shot by vogue and like sponsored by harry winston and they have a breakfast at tiffany’s themed rehearsal dinner like just a massive networking event essentially that she only agreed to bc she REALLY wanted artashi to see and react and bust down her door to beg for her back. also love the idea of a shitty marriage, i imagine it’s like when blair got married in gossip girl and she thought everything was perfect (on the outside at least) and then when they had their first dance he essentially was like “play your fucking part and this will be so much easier for you” and she was like oooooh shit what did i do 😐 called tashi in tears and she charters her a plane and lets her stay at their penthouse for a few days…..i wanna sit on their couch in a big gown with tears streaming down my face and have them take care of me even tho they’re pissed :( doesn’t mean they wanna see me hurt this badly :( need to try to apologize through sobs and have art say we’ll talk about this in the morning as tashi brushes hair off my forehead and pauses like she’s gonna kiss it :(

OR you could have her freeze up after he pops her little perfect marriage delusion and have her go along with it for months, maybe there’s a fan account that follows your every move that tashi checks daily on a burner. she notices the dwindling amount of times you’re seen with friends, essentially the only time you’re seen now is with that man by your side. over the months your personality snuffs out entirely, looking to him before you speak, smiling along to whatever he says. people make jokes about how your PR team finally broke you. one day art is standing in the corner of their living room, face twisted up, doesn’t look up when tashi makes an inquisitive sound. walks over to her and turns his phone around to show her a photo of you walking hand in hand with your husband into a restaurant, faint bruises up your arm, hair covering your eye intentionally. she stares at the phone with no reaction. finishes getting ready to go, says she forgot something as they get in their car and runs upstairs and barely makes it to the bathroom before she throws up. you’ve changed assistants by now but she finds their information within the hour, loosely threatens them with telling her where you’ll be for the rest of the day, rolls her eyes hard when she hears a “they” instead of “you”. doesn’t change anything she has planned. she makes a call to her legal team after hanging up with your assistant because there’s no way your husband will let you out of this without a fight, one that she’s prepared to hold your hand through the entire way. she shoots her husband a text and lets him know to get the guest bedroom ready.

AUR.

i think..... both can happen. you run to tashi as soon as the wedding is over - still in your dress, though its ripped in places - show up on her doorstep because you know the code to the gate - shivering in the cold and when the door opens tashi is looks so soft. like she'd just gotten ready for bed. hair a little damp and curling at the ends. a pale peach robe tied around her waist. she's beautiful.

she doesn't look happy to see you. "what are you doing here?" said so coldly. like you're not welcome. and why would you be? its so different to face her anger through miles and miles of distance. all you've wanted for months was for her to just - notice you. give you attention. you'd even say sorry, take the blame, take every word back, if she'd asked. but she's looking at you like you're an annoying reporter. a nuisance shown up at her door.

you break down in tears. full body sobs that have you kneeling at her door, at her feet, head in your hands as you shake with all your bottled up emotions. "i messed up." you choke - "i - i - i - its all wrong - tashi - "

you can't speak through your tears, heaving through wet flem in your throat. she'd have every right to toss you out. you wondered how pitiful you looked right now, crumpled like this. still in your wedding dress. your new husband probably buried in some other woman for the night. he wouldn't miss you. you didn't want to go to your new home with him.

you feel warmth at your elbows. tashi's hands, cupping you. "come on." her tone isn't warm, but its lost its chill. she tugs you up. "come in - you'll get fucking pneumonia out here."

she brings you in - one hand at the small of your back to guide you. you sniffle. look around. her home still looks the same. familiar. you're brought to their big expansive kitchen - where art had been scrolling through his phone in sweats and a simple cotton shirt - finishing off a bowl of fruit - when you come into view his fork pauses in the bowl. his expression is completely unreadable. but its not very welcoming.

he looks at tashi, dismissing you. you try not to flinch.

"what's this about?"

tashi leaves you at the kitchen island to open the fridge. she fishes out a bottle of water and brings it over to you. "drink this." she tells you. to art she simply shrugs. "dont know." and she looks at you. "what's this about?"

you struggle to open the bottle. your hands trembling. after a few failed attempts art rolls his eyes, yanks the water from you and opens it with one twist of his wrist around the cap. quick and easy. he slides it back over to you and looks at you blankly.

under both their stares you feel the weight of all the months between you. all the shit you talked about them on social media. the things you'd said.... your bottom lip wobbles. eyes filling with tears. "im sorry." you say, softly. you cant think of what else to say. "im - im sorry for coming - i- ill go."

tashi reaches out. you're startled by how strong her grip is on your arm. her nails almost dig into your flesh. you welcome the sting. a show of emotion. even if its anger. her claws coming out.

"no." she snaps. "you dont get to show up here after the shitshow you've made of this year - in your fucking wedding dress - sniveling like some sort of damsel at our home and then just leave." she points to a stool. "sit. explain why you came."

her tone leaves no room for argument. you find your ass in the stool before you even realize you'd made the conscious decision to move there. like a doll on her strings. it'd always been easy to take her orders.

you try to explain but you're pitiful at it. you keep crying when you bring up your husband - the way he'd treated you. how trapped you feel. how you came here because - despite everything, this was your safe space - you'd never seen it any differently. and you knew, no matter what, tashi would answer the door when she saw it was you on the other side.

they're quiet after that. art works his jaw like hes rolling thoughts around in his head, but his distrust is obvious. you know if he'd been the one to see you at the door, he'd have never answered. that knowledge hurts deeply - to know he's completely detached himself from you. that you'd lost him. his care and his love.

you wondered if you'd be thrown out regardless but tashi rubs at her temple. suddenly looking very worn out and tired. "this is a fucking mess." she says and your stomach twists. you were always complicating things for them. being a burden. she drops her hand. looks down at you like you're a puzzle with a few pieces missing.

you guys are the missing piece, you think.

"you can stay the night." she finally settles on, shares a look with art who looks like he wants to say something about that but she silences him. "we'll talk more about this in the morning. you need..... you need to get out of that god awful dress. and too sleep."

art watches tashi guide you to their guest room with a frown. he doesn't like this. tashi is such a strong front on the outside, but she was alot more vulnerable than people realized. and you'd really hurt her. you'd hurt both of them, but arts feelings..... they didn't matter here. at least, not to him. he could shove down the heartbreak and the anger and the betrayal and everything else he felt about you to make room for the world of hurt tashi was going through. he had to be strong for her. and you being here - showing back up - pouring salt in an open wound - god. you were such a selfish fucking brat. always had been. he used to find it endearing. now he just wanted to throttle you.

in the guest room - tashi helps you out of the dress. her knuckles skim down your spine when she unzips you. kneeling down to help you out of your heels. you hiss when she turns your foot - assessing the blisters. "jesus." she huffs. stands and gets you some of her things to wear. a soft tank top and some shorts. arts boxers, actually. you flush when you put them on, under tashi's watchful gaze. she points to the bed when you're done, a silent command.

you sink down onto the comforter. bite your lip when she comes back into the room with a jar of ointment for your feet. "here -" she sits next to you, and a waft of her scent hits your nose. sophisticated and clean. she props your foot on her lap as she gently rubs the cream into the abused skin. you swallow, as you watch her. this gentleness. you'd missed it.

all your life you'd been 'taken care of' but only in the most clinical of ways. you had all the money you could want, maids to pamper you if you wanted, but it was nothing compared to being...... treated like a human. being cared for by someone who actually cares about you intimately.

"stop doing that." tashi says. she doesn't look up from her work.

"doing what?"

"looking at me like that." she tells you. she finishes and cups the lid back on the jar, and she looks at you. brown eyes.... sad. "we're not - " she breathes. shakes her head. "you can't look at me like that."

you scoot closer to her on the bed. she doesn't move away. "its the way I've always looked at you." you tell her.

she glances at you. glances down where your - her - shirt has slipped off your shoulder and its bare. so close to her mouth. she'd pressed alot of kisses there. left alot of marks.

"things have changed." she tells you. "you know that - you're responsible for it."

you place a hand on her thigh, just under her robe. lean in. "i know and im sorry." you slip to the floor then, on your knees before her. "i didn't mean any of it." you tell her, looking up at her. "i miss you, tashi. i miss art. i miss - us. i - i want you back."

tashi looks down at you. her hand comes out and she catches a strand of your hair between her fingers. rubs it. "you're married."

"I'll leave him."

her eyebrows jump. "you've been a very bad girl to me and my husband."

the way she says it.... bad girl. familiar warmth pools between your legs.

"i know." you whisper. "and im sorry." you lean more forward, and her legs slide open - her robe inching up her thighs. she watches you. heat in her eyes. she still wants you. yes. "let me make it up to you - to you both - i will - you know i can."

she studies you for some time. then she parts her legs wider. "show me, then. show me how sorry you are."

you dont have to be told twice - ducking your head down - diving between her soft thighs - you moan when you discover she's not wearing any panties. your mouth finding her pussy already wet and slick.

more wet than usual - but when you pull back - her hand comes down - tangles in your hair to keep you pressed against her bare cunt. you look up and meet her eyes as you allow your tongue to investigate - "that's it." she purrs. "you know what to do with that tongue -"

you gasp when you part her folds - a warm flood of salty fluid pouring into your mouth. a zap goes through your body at the realization.

arts cum.

she sees you realize it and bites her bottom lip. rocks herself into your face. "he's been so pent up lately." she tells you, hooks one of her long legs over your shoulder. "and its your fault - so -"

her nails dig into your scalp - "clean it up."

you do. whimpering into her pussy as you tongue the remaints of her husbands cum, scooping it into your mouth and swallowing greedily. you missed his taste so much. you wish he was here, pushing you into her pussy. slipping a hand down your shorts to pet through your wet slit. he'd make you eat every last drop before he sank a finger inside.

when everything is gone, tashi adjusts her grip. using you now. rubbing her clit against your nose and working her hips against your mouth exactly how she likes it. "fuck." she pants. she looks down at you and both her hands cup your cheeks. her thumbs rub into the skin. "pretty girl -" she breathes, and you whine, "this is what - fuck - what your mouth should be doing - instead of running off online -"

her grip turns vicious - her movements more forceful. properly fucking your face with her pussy. you just lay your tongue out and take it.

"you're such a goddamm brat." she hisses and her clit pulses as she starts to cum. "but - god, i missed you. yes -"

you lap up everything she gives you. eagerly. her hands carding through your hair as she comes down. she sits up, detaching your lips from between her legs and you look at eachother, lost in a moment together.

her fingers trace your wet mouth. and you part your lips for her instantly. looking up at her like shes a goddess - because she is. she strokes across your tongue with her fingers. your eyes flutter as you start to suck around the digits. mouth blessedly full. you bob your head up and down them, taking her past the knuckle.

your teeth catch on her wedding band and her breath hitches when you swirl your tongue around it. her mouth parted in wonder - like she cant believe you're really here again.

this is where you should be. always. at either her or arts feet. taking some part of them inside you. its what you're meant for. not money and wealth and jewelry but this. this, this, this.

tashi pulls her fingers back suddenly. her ring clicks against the back of your teeth.

her face shudders. closes off.

"that -" she licks her lips. "that shouldn't have happened." she stands, and you fall back on your ass. look up at her dumbfounded.

"tashi -"

"a mistake." she retightens the sash around her waist. rubs a hand down her face. looks down at you. winces. "don't cry."

but how can you not?

"but we just.... you said -"

"do you really think head is enough of an apology?" she tells you, and that tone is back. the cold one. she crosses her arms. "god, you've dragged my name through the mud. the damage you've done to arts career - we had to take a break, did you know that? he missed matches that could have changed his life. all of that, on hold, because you decided to throw a tantrum because what -" she laughs. "- you couldn't handle a break up? grow up."

she shakes her head. lips pressed tightly together. she cant look at you. if she sees your watery eyes she'll fold again. take you into her arms and forgert the past year entirely. fall back into bed with you and make you cum over and over until you were nothing but the shaking mess she missed seeing. god, she'd just cheated on art. fantastic.

"I'll help you get a divorce if thats what you want." she tells you, already walking away. "but after that? we're done. for good, this time."

the click of the door sounds like a bullet in your ears. you stay kneeled on the floor for a long, long time.

and the next morning - when tashi goes to wake you up. she finds the room empty but a note left on the bed. she almost doesn't want to read it. art is in the kitchen - making breakfast for four. because as mad as he pretends to be for her sake, he still thinks about you. cares about you. misses you as much as she does. it'll break him to learn about what she'd let happen - but only because he didn't get a chance to feel you one last time himself.

tashi was really the selfish one.

she picked up the note. read it.

i want you to know meeting you in that coffee shop was the best thing to ever happen to me. I'm a spoiled rotten brat, i know. but you taught me to be more. you let me into your life. gave me another person to love in art, and you both took care of me and treated me better than i deserved. im truly sorry for how things ended. and im sorry for how i acted after. i was hurt. i thought you didn't care about me. that maybe you never did. and i lashed out. im sorry. im taking back all my statements in an interview next week. i hope it can restore some of the damage I've done to you and art. you're two of the most wonderful people I've ever met. and im lucky to have fallen in love with both of you. im not divorcing my husband. i think maybe i can try to make it work. you dont need to worry about me, either of you, you've done enough of that. I'll be fine. love - your tinkerbell.

the note flutters to the ground limply. art calls that breakfast is ready.

tashi isn't hungry.

[late-draft]

Hello, Dema here!

First off—I have fallen desperately in love with your artworks. You have a very particular style, strong and fluid all the same, and I can't help but admire the way you draw and how you approach character design.

And talking about character design...

I saw your post about Zuko's bold design in S1 when compared to what we got in S3 and—as much as I love S3-Zuko—I completely agree with you. Something I've always loved about Zuko in S1 is just how striking he was, how much of a presence he had, even when he was being tossed around by a twelve-year-old. That being said, I love Zuko, I love him in armor and pointy shoes and with a ponytail, and I loved your alternative design for him.

What do you think about his S2 character design? How does it flow with the story beats and his overall character arc? Much has been said about the Hair-Growth-Means-Character-Growth (and I find it interesting, also, that he cut his hair again before joining the Gaang), but I'd like to know your opinion on how that translates to character design and how the decisions made in the show could be either good or bad in that regard.

Sorry about the long ask! I've just been thinking about this a lot, lately, and would like to know what you think. Hope you have a good day ❤️

AAAA Dema hii!!! I'm so happy I got a message from you, I didn't expect it!!

I'm super glad to hear, I'll wear it as a badge of honour and I must tell you that I also love your art, you wonderfully do volume and the shading done through a contrast of sharp and soft areas! Super solid anatomy too and I'd be lying if I said I didn't look up to your art!

Yess the character designs in the show actually are rather strong, I like a good balance between memorable and functional. Zuko is just *chef kiss* but, considering just how many appearance changes he goes through, some are bound to be weaker than the starting one. That said, I'm gonna go through a few of his S2 looks and make this reply long, ha!

The starting one when he ends up huddling with uncle Iroh with other poor refugees, fits extremely well for the narrative at the moment. It's actually one of my least liked looks for him, and that's great!! It's precisely how it should be, because he's also arguably at one of his two lowest moral points in the story - he basically lost almost all hope, no clear goal, nothing to fight for, he's desperate precisely because of the lack of orientation and thus his morals degrade and sink veeery low. He gets on my nerves so goddamn much in this period LMAO I want to beat him up, he looks like a recovering drug addict... annoying, entitled whiny jerk stealing food and anything shiny for his uncle, but even then he just does not cross the moral event horizon. Excellent characterization. He just looks atrocious and it's great because it fits this low point.

Next he gets the standard boyish square of a hair, no notes here...

But theeeen, he arrives at one of my favourite looks of his, and it's not just because the clothes fit him very nicely (I've seen fandom say they look too big for him which, maybe?? But it doesn't look like he's swimming in them to me) And a thing I've noticed which, maybe it was just an accident on design part but I'm not sure considering they colour coded the entire cave scene; in this part his clothes match the shape of Katara's, first one in bottom then the one in top. The collar is the same haf-circle design but I don't know, maybe there was a limited pool of clothes designs guide which they cycled through. Or, he really is meant to come close but miss Katara by a beat, like sine and cosine chasing each other.

But besides this outfit fitting the inconspicuous Earth Kingdom customer service persona, it also (perhaps inadvertently) does this VERY cool thing:

It makes his shape look closed off and guarded, supposedly non-threatening. It's most visible in his fight against Jet, whose shape is open and goes in many directions like an aggressive star. But then look at what Zuko's shape does:

When he attacks, it opens up to reveal the hidden aspect, again the aggressive star shape shows up! The same thing happens in "Zuko alone" episode but I think it's most clearly visible in this fight against Jet because here he has a direct contrast and comparing with Jet. I think this is an example where the outfit, whose similar design exists irl, overlaps with a great visual metaphor and enhances the narrative at that moment in story. He's still that combative firebender but he has to keep that aspect concealed most of the time. Plus it just looks badass as hell!!

Animators really knocked it out of the park with many frames. I think Jun was too early and missed his better hairstyle, but Katara was just in time.

I agree it's super funny how his hair in the Beach is awfully long, covers his face to an uncomfortable degree and then he apparently shortens it before joining the Gaang, insane behaviour Truly an "I'm so angry and depressed I won't show my face nor be capable of seeing anything because there's nothing nice to see in my life" look...

I guess all his appearances in S2 cover his mental states, but only one of them is extremely Extra (the tea server, doesn't even take the apron off and goes to fight) and I don't see any spot where a similar tier design could be shoved in, narratively speaking. So all in all, S2 did as much as S2 could have. More tea server arc please though, the Guru episode really feels like it skipped 800 km of plot and everything that happened in it is so crammed and pretty sus in terms of character behaviour.

[artdcnaldson]

Nah, cause I can see Olympic Reader planting a fake pregnancy on Arts mind just because

Oh she would do a Lot of things to keep him around.

You stop responding to him for a week, then two, until he finally breaks and shows up at your door worried something happened. Did someone find out? Do you regret everything and hate him? Did he manipulate you into this? Was he thinking that it was you corrupting him the entire time while it was the other way around?

And you just pull out big watery eyes and tells him that you’re sorry that you didn’t mean for it to happen and you guess your IUD failed because you took a test and it was positive and oh no what are we going to do :(((( Art is surprisingly stoic about it, holds you on the couch while you put on the waterworks, pets your hair, kisses your forehead and tells you he’s going to be there with you for whatever you choose.

You’re practically fighting a beaming smile until he mentions that he’ll finally just admit everything to Tashi, that he can’t hide this from her anymore. Which sucks, because you wanted to milk this a little longer before you make up a lie about not being pregnant anymore.

Or. You know. You could just use “pregnancy hormones” as an excuse to fuck you raw some more— lay on your back for thirty minutes so gravity works with you. You know it’s a ticking clock before he tells Tashi finally, so you really have to put in some fucking work.

[emporiannee]

more additions to the xianxia au!

once again, idea dump under the cut:

Madara:

A prodigal talent who excels at fighting. He has both skill and luck so he's expected to ascend as a matter of course.

Unexpectedly, he has no charisma. When the Uchiha follow him into battle it's because he's the strongest and is their recognized leader. He sucks at actually inspiring people to follow him outside of that.

i think he probably does ascend sometime in the AU, but even in heaven amongst many other great heroes and warriors, he still picks fights and gets himself nearly banished sometimes. He's just got that kind of hubris lol

He likes to collect weapons imbued with special powers. Since he's already capable with regular weapons, he's looking for new challenges (perhaps like something from a dragon's treasury?)

I think he should also be good with animals. When i imagined him doing archery, I imagined he would do well on horseback. I think his falconry hobby also carries over from canon. If he ever gets to go on a long adventure i think he'd go on a quest looking for cool new weapons and mystical creatures.

Hikaku:

A scholar and Madara's (and Izuna's) tutor. In this AU, i imagine him a little older than Madara.

He's talented in divination and magic. His martial arts aren't bad either. He makes many specialized talismans and charms for his clansmen.

His role as the brother's tutor probably gives him gray hairs. Izuna up and left one day. Madara's attitude is bad and he doesn't kneel before gods unless it's literally his own ancestors so Hikaku is worried even if Madara is able to ascend (more accurately, he's worried about how the heavens will end up.)

To keep himself calm he took up transcribing buddhist sutras (this is important to me bc i think hikaku's 'good end' would be either he dies peacefully like a normal person or he becomes a bodhisattva bc if he ascends to godhood, i think he ends up with a job like ling wen from tgcf and that would be tragic for him lmao. Although, there might be a place for him in a more Journey to the West type heaven where maybe he ends up tending to fruit trees for alchemy reasons or something.)

Mito:

jesus h christ i struggled with her designs. sry queen, it's still kinda iffy. I wanted her to be a dragon but it was difficult to design her with horns while keeping her usual design intact and not too cluttered. It did not help because i also wanted her to wear fancy jewlery

This is because I wanted her to be the the princess of the south sea palace. While i characterized the senju/east sea by a wood element affinity and their trove of treasures and weapons, I think the south sea for this au would be characterized by monsoons and typhoons. It protects and isolates them, not unlike Uzushio. It also makes them pretty wealthy since the people and merchants in the area try to appease them for protection from disasters.

i wanted her to be a diviner/astrologer with a talent for talisman-making similar to Hikaku. However, the area of her work is still very different. Her talismans aren't meant for human use and she doesn't divine for individuals either

I think it'd be fun if she was still 'betrothed' to Hashirama. But dragon's age very slowly and in this AU I wanted them to act like it so neither of them are rushing to get married.

she probably gets along well with tobirama. She very graciously refrains from calling him younger brother because he's sensetive about his age.

[ananxiousgenz]

hey guys how are we feeling about more cowboy au??? it's 4am and this is the last thing i'm posting before i go to sleep lmaooo

@percymawce-arts (along with @ellamenop and @izel-reblogs bc i saw your tags before and figured y'all would want more lol)

When he opened his eyes again, constellations were twinkling like fireflies in the navy blue sky above him, and the last blue-gray remnants of sunlight lingered on the western horizon. He could see the faint traces of firelight blossoming up past his feet, several yards away from where he was laid out on the ground and smell some sort of food cooking over it. His side was still in a dull, throbbing pain, blood slowly weeping out of it and into the ground. He could die here. Such a beautiful place to leave behind, John thought through the mist clouding his mind. 

Then the mist turned into a prairie fire as something poked into his injured side.

He screamed through his teeth . There was something in his mouth keeping his teeth from grinding together, something tough and leathery. He slowly realized it was a belt, folded and wedged into his mouth to keep him from cracking his teeth open.

“Ah, shit, sorry, sorry, sorry!” a distant voice said. It sounded vaguely familiar, a foreign accent he was almost sure he knew. He couldn’t tell from where.

John spit out the belt, pushed himself up, and tried to scramble away, but found weight on top of his hips, pressing him down to the ground. He collapsed again, moaning in pain from the effort.

“Jesus fucking Christ, would you stop moving? I have to take the bullet out of your stomach, and I can’t do that if you keep squirming.”

“It hurts,” John said thickly. “It hurts so much…”

“I know, I know. It’s going to be alright. Just let me get the bullet out, then I can cauterize the wound and bandage it up, okay?”

Through the tears blurring his eyes, John saw the man pinning him down was none other than the Sheriff whose partner he had killed hours earlier. Confusion settled over his mind like a blanket. Why was he here? Why was he helping him?

The Sheriff was a sharp, thin man, with a pointed nose and angular jaw but kind dark eyes, and wavy auburn hair that was slightly disheveled. His shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a chest coated with scars, and the corner of a bandage over his left shoulder, a red stained hole in his shirt over the same spot. From where you shot him. John blinked a few times to clear his sight and tried to fit the pieces of this strange puzzle together.

“But I- you… you’re helping me?” he asked, voice soft and far more vulnerable than he wanted it to be.

The Sheriff nodded. “I’m trying to. But you need to work with me, okay? I need you to stay still while I get the bullet out.”

John hated that he felt so weak, that he had to entrust his safety and his life to that of a stranger who, for all he knew, wanted him dead. But what other options did he have? He was too weak to fight, and in even less condition to run. He needed help, for the time being. So he nodded his head, and tried to stay as still as possible as this man wedged the belt back between his teeth.

The Sheriff placed a pair of sharp metal tweezers back into the wound. Tears began to stream from John’s eyes the moment they made contact. He couldn’t help the pained whimper that escaped his throat.

“Shhhhh, sh sh sh,” the Sheriff murmured. “I know, I know it hurts. I’m so sorry. Just a second longer…”

John nodded and gritted his teeth against the leather belt. The tweezers tapped against the bullet, lodged deep in his guts, and he let out a small yelp in anticipation of the pain.

“Ah, okay, there it is. Give me a second.”

The tweezers closed around the bullet. And it was agonizing. It was fucking agonizing. Despite his will, another scream was building in his throat as the Sheriff slowly, gently pulled the bullet out of John's wound.

“Almost… almost… there! Got it!”

There was a small plink of metal bouncing off metal as the bullet made contact with a tray at the man’s side. John let out a small whimper as his body went limp. His breathing was hoarse and ragged now, the stress and tension melting away as a new wave of dull pain washed over him.

“Okay. Alright. Shit. Fuck. How am I supposed to clean this out? Mine wasn’t bad, but yours has been through the dirt,” the Sheriff muttered to himself.

“Chew-pon-iv…” John said between ragged breaths.

“What?”

“Lizard tail. A decoction. In my saddlebag. On… on the left side. The corked bottle. It… it'll smell peppery. Strong.”

The Sheriff nodded, stood from where he had been straddling John, and walked over in Akke’s direction, spurs gently clinking as he moved. John was suddenly conscious of the lack of weight on his body, and he realized he could move again. Even with the waves of pain wracking his body, his mind snapped into clear focus.

The Shoshone camp. The Sheriff’s purpose here. Larson’s mission. 

John realized, with a hard swallow, that he had failed. His aim had been to injure the Sheriff enough that he could take him to Larson without a fight. But now here he was, barely strong enough to ride Akke, completely at the mercy of a man he barely knew. At this rate, he would be dragged back to town to be left with some stupid doctor while the Shoshone camp was decimated. He couldn't take the Sheriff prisoner in this state.

But maybe he could kill him.

His shotgun and revolver were too far away. The Sheriff had made the smart choice to disarm him before attempting to treat his wounds. But… he wiggled his right ankle, knocking it against the inside of his boot. Yes! It was still there! A small, bone-handled knife tucked away in the side of his boot. Not big enough to appear as any serious threat, but certainly sharp enough to cause some damage. And if placed correctly- temple, throat, lungs, heart- then John could kill him in one strike.

John breathed in and out shakily.

By the time the Sheriff had retrieved the small bottle of chew-pon-iv from Akke’s saddlebag, John had stumbled to his feet despite the shooting pains in his side, knife in a death grip in his left hand. The Sheriff looked… bewildered. John wasn’t sure what emotions he was expecting to cross his face, but confusion and concern were not one of them.

“Might I ask what you’re doing?”

“I,” John said, trying to breathe through the pain, “am going to kill you.”

The Sheriff raised an eyebrow. “Well, you certainly did an excellent job of that before.”

“That was a mistake. A mistake I intend to correct.”

“Mmm. I’m sure. I look forward to seeing you try.”

John coughed, then hissed through his teeth at the jolt it brought. He could feel his temper rising up through his chest and face. “You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough. I know you’re a fairly good shot, and that you were hired to kill myself and my Deputy. I know you were only successful in one of those murders. I also know that you’re in a bit too much pain to try anything right now, so why don’t you lie back down and tell me how I can clean out your wound with this?” the Sheriff asked, holding up the bottle and shaking it lightly.

John didn’t respond, just glared daggers at the man standing across the campfire from him, who in turn, sighed, walked up to him, and pushed him back onto the ground. John was furious. He was about to try standing again, but dizziness hit him like a stampede, and he stayed put. The Sheriff sat down on the ground beside him, moving his shirt out of the way to pour the decoction over the bullet wound.  John hissed.

The Sheriff sighed. “Look, I’m trying to help, alright? Despite the fact that you clearly want me dead. Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot. Let’s just start over again. My name is Lester. Arthur Lester. I’m the Sheriff of Mountain City.”

“I know that,” John spat, fire and venom burning behind every word. “I know all about you and your kind. That’s why I need to kill you.”

The Sheriff- Arthur- looked confused again. “What in God’s name are you talking about?”

“The Shoshone camp.”

Arthur tilted his head slightly. “The what?”

John let out a frustrated huff.  “Jesus fucking Christ, the Shoshone camp! The one a few days from here? The one you and your precious Deputy were sent to destroy?”

There was a silence in the conversation, interrupted only by the chirping of distant crickets and the crackle-pops of the fire. Arthur simply stared, but John could see wheels beginning to click into place behind his eyes.

“Wait. You mean- oh. Oh! You think we were going to destroy an Indian encampment? Is that what you were told?”

“Yes, god-fucking-dammit!”

“I see.” Arthur stared in the direction of the fire for a moment, before throwing some metal coins into the hot coals at its edges. There were more gears turning behind those dark eyes, but the nature of them was something John couldn’t say. He began to get the sense that for all his tricks and cleverness, Arthur could still run laps around him.

"It's not true. Parker and I were heading to investigate a stagecoach that was due in Mountain City several days ago that never showed up. It had a large amount of money with it, and some women and children from what we understood. I never even knew there was a Shoshone encampment in this direction."

John was silent as he processed this information. There was a war happening in his mind now, one side saying that Larson lied about his assignments and one saying that this man was lying to spare his rotten, murdering neck. John didn't know which to believe.

After a long moment, Arthur raised his head again and stared out across the plains. “Can I ask who told you that? Or are you not permitted to tell me?”

“I don’t-” John sighed, finally letting his head hit the ground as he stared at the sky overhead. “I don’t know his real name. All I know is that he calls himself ‘The King’.”

“You know, you’re a terrible liar.”

“How do you know I’m lying?”

“I can hear it in your voice. It caught in your throat when you said the word ‘don’t’.”

John rolled his eyes. “I didn’t realize this had turned into a fucking interrogation.”

“I’m a sheriff. It’s my job to know when people aren’t telling the truth.”

“And you can decipher that from voice alone?”

“Well, I can’t exactly decipher it any other way, now that you killed my partner!”

“What do you-” John’s pain-addled mind finally put the pieces together. The lack of focus in Arthur’s eyes, his panic at losing his Deputy, the lack of eye contact during their conversation, his shock when John said he’d been shot…

Arthur Lester, Sheriff of Mountain City, was blind.

“Oh fucking hell,” John breathed, eyes wide in shock.

“Finally caught on, did you?” Arthur said softly, mouth twisted into a sour shape.

“I’m so-”

“If you say you’re sorry, I promise you, I will shoot you here and now and leave your body behind for the vultures. I don’t need pity.”

John bobbed his head. He had felt the same way when Yellow tried to ask about his past at the boarding school, the first time they met. The only difference between that conversation and this was that one had ended with Yellow getting a black eye.

“How did it happen? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“It, um. An eye infection. When I was a teenager. Doctors discovered it too late, and by the time they started giving me medication to treat it, my eyesight was already…” Arthur gently moved his hand through the air and whistled, mimicking a leaf being blown by the wind. 

“Damn.”

“Yeah. But that’s besides the point. What’s your story? I don’t even know your name,” Arthur said with a sheepish smile. “Not to mention, you’ve still got an open bullet wound in your side I need to close up.”

Almost in response to Arthur’s words, John’s side spasmed with pain. “Yeah, that’s true,” he muttered through gritted teeth as he sat up and turned to face the man next to him. “You can call me John. John Doe.”

“John Doe. That’s a curious name,” Arthur said, holding his hand out for a shake, which John returned swiftly and firmly.

“I didn’t have any say in the matter, unfortunately. The boarding school chose it for me. I don’t… I can’t remember what my name was before.”

“Ah. I see,” Arthur replied, in a way that made John suspect he had just received confirmation for something he had been thinking about for a while. He waited for John to continue.

John was silent for a moment. He still didn't know who to trust. Larson or the law? Regardless of sides, this strange man had showed him compassion when he was vulnerable and shared an important piece of his story. John decided it was only fair that he shared a little of his own in return.

"About my... employer." John cleared his throat and looked at the sky again. "His real name is Larson. He runs a sort of gang of people like me. Native kids who got shipped off to boarding school and are now too white to go back to our tribes but still too Native to exist in white society.

"He.... offered us a purpose. Something we could do to help our peoples, even if we couldn't go home to them. All we had to do was kill who he asked, rob when he asked, and we would be saving their lives. I guess we thought we were heroes or something."

Arthur's brow was furrowed in thought. "Not Wallace Larson? He's a wanted man, John! Parker and I were trying to track him down for years."

"I don't know his first name. Only the last."

A thoughtful pause stretched between them until a particularly loud pop from the fire seemed to startle Arthur out of his reverie.

“Oh, I think the coins should be hot enough now. Could you, uh…”

“Of course.” John craned his neck to see into the coals. “There’s one resting near the edge of your boot. Slightly to the left. Yes, right there. You’ve got it in the tweezers now.”

“Right. You might want to put the belt back in your mouth, John. This is going to hurt.”

[halcyonmirage]

Finally gonna try to join art fight this year-! Been wanting to for ages, but always got busy. This time...I fear some personal irl stuff might come up, but I'm willing to take the gamble and participate as much as I can regardless. Gotta speedrun another on of these references for at least one more character before I can call it all done... But for now, Ravi is first- With a new outfit he's not used to yet. Dude needs to dress up a little more stylish to draw attention on the job, but...he hates doing that... This...Really isn't that different from his whole wardrobe of tank tops, jeans, and leather jackets... But at least it's SOMETHING different- Anyway, I'll be on Art fight under the name HalcyonMirage-! Fight me if you dare- >:0 Go team seafoam-!

[superbellsubways]

a late pride thing with this guy

[crabsnpersimmons]

This one goes out to all the slow burn enjoyers, the dense Y/Ns, and the soft robo jesters that suffer in silence!

Inspired by @bamsara's “Solar Lunacy” fic.

If you feel like reading my ramblings and want to experience more heartbreak for fictional jester blorbos, check under the cut where I detail all the planning behind the frames!

so i heard this song for the first time in a while and the opening lyrics immediately made me think of moon, so i was daydreaming some scenes and then i decided to thumbnail some ideas:

and it all went downhill from there as everything became a metaphor and a parallel to each other, which i will now go into detail on!

you thought the animatic itself was sad?

*writing muse laughs maniacally* IT'S ALL A METAPHOR

Frame 1. "turn down the lights" We start with a back view on Moon. The lights are out, the Moon is out, but we do not see his face. The music and the greyscale atmosphere are enough to establish the weight of the moment and the weight on Moon’s mind.

Frame 2. "turn down the bed" We cut to a shot of Moon's body, kneeling on the ground of the daycare, like a padded cell. Moon’s hands are twitching with the effects of the glitch, with purple sparks coming from his hands. We still do not see his face.

Frame 3. "turn down these voices inside my head" Cut to an extreme close up on the dark half of Moon’s face. Now we see his face, but only a portion of it. His left eye is wide open, red and glitching out. The voices in his head can refer to the glitch but also his repressed feelings. Or maybe it could be Sun's voice in their shared headspace.

Frame 4. "lay down with me" Y/N's hand enters the frame from the upper right corner, lowering down to meet Moon where he kneels on the ground. Only a corner of Moon's face appears on the bottom left corner of the frame, his starry nightcap beginning to cover his glitched left eye.

Frame 5. "tell me no lies" An full shot of Moon on the floor and Y/N standing in front of him with their hand stretched towards him. A light spills out from behind Y/N, creating a boundary between them.

Now we see more of Moon. It is only when Y/N enters the frame—enters his world—that Moon’s body is shown in its entirely. When Y/N is here, he is no longer fragmented. He is whole.

Frame 6. "just hold me close" pspspspsps Playfully, Moon extends his own hand, beckoning Y/N to come closer, to join him. His right hand crossed over his body as he uses the playful gesture to hide his true feelings—to put distance between him and Y/N. His hat continues to cover his glitching left eye. He doesn’t want to worry Y/N.

Frame 7. "don't patronize" In response, Y/N’s hand pats Moon on the head, returning his playfulness. Moon looks surprised by the action. Moon, notably, does not lower his hand—perhaps he has forgotten it or perhaps his invitation is still open.

Frames 8-9. "don't patronize me" Moon rotates his faceplate so Y/N’s hand is touching the side of his faceplate, a more intimate gesture than a head pat. However, his hat is in the way. At this angle, his starry nightcap fully covers his glitchy eye and the dark side of his face, hiding his defect and acting as a veil between him and Y/N. A self-imposed boundary. So close, yet thinly separated. It's better this way. It's safer this way.

The lyrics are broken up by Y/N's arm, both to illustrate how the song is sung ("patronize" is drawn out and "me" is briefly added in before the chorus starts) but also to show how Y/N interrupts Moon's resolve, highlighting the irony between the visuals and the lyrics. Demanding not to be patronized, yet Moon happily accepts this play at intimacy. Don't patronize me, I am weak for it.

This is also the only instance where the red light of Moon's eyes glow and tint the surfaces around it. Visually, it makes it look like Moon is blushing (heavily inspired by @restinsodaroni's art). But also, in this moment of honesty, Moon's intrinsic light spills out, colouring the greyscale world. In this brief moment of honesty, Moon touches the world with his own colours, his own light.

(and this is also where i forgot to clean up the shading on Y/N's arm, but it's okay it doesn't need to be perfect it simply needs to be. And Moon will still love Y/N even if they are a continuity error.)

Frame 10. "'cause I can't make you love me if you don't" A parallel to a frame 4, Y/N retrieves their hand away and immediately Moon is reduced to the corner of his faceplate in the frame. Only now his glitched eye is fully covered by his hat.

The lyrics here (and in the next frame) in particular grow lighter to emphasize Moon's diminishing resolve and agency.

From here on out, the lyrics here are broken up, carrying on this theme of fragmentation. Y/N is pulling away, Moon is breaking up, the words are breaking up. Everything is coming apart.

Frame 11. "you can't make your heart feel something it won't" Y/N turns to leave. The lyrics, broken up as before, highlight the irony of the situation. Y/N, a human, can’t feel something they simply don’t feel. Whereas, Moon, the machine, feels something his code never intended him to feel.

Frame 12. "here in the dark in these final hours" Another full shot that parallels frame 5, as Y/N steps towards the light and Moon leans forward into the space Y/N once occupied. Y/N is leaving—that which makes him whole is leaving. And he is only capable of making it to the boundary where the light cuts into the darkness. The "final hours" suggest it might be the end of Y/N’s shift, or perhaps this scene takes place right before the glitch takes over—the final hours that Y/N has with the true Moon. Either way, time is running out—and only Moon knows it.

There is a contrasting display of body language here. Moon is on the floor leaning towards Y/N with his hand still left out. Whereas Y/N is turned away, walking away, and has already slipped their hand away and into their pocket. Y/N is closed off while Moon is limply open. Y/N is actively moving while Moon is on the floor, waiting, hoping, for that which he lacks the agency to reach for himself.

Frame 13. "I will lay down my heart" A close up on Moon’s hand, rising up again, perhaps to beckon Y/N back once more. This is a slight parallel to Y/N's hand reaching out to Moon. While Y/N can freely reach out and touch Moon, Moon cannot. He can't enter the light and more importantly he can't risk potentially harming his relationship with Y/N—be it through the glitch or by his feelings. He can only lay down his heart—put aside his feelings or hope that someone will pick up his pieces and make him whole.

Frame 14. "and I'll feel the power" Still on a close up on Moon’s hand, now clenched in slightly. This initially was going to have the glitch effects. However, I felt it more meaningful for it to be left without. Leave it up for interpretation why Moon pauses his hand. What is the power that he alone feels and stays his hand?

Frame 15. "but you won't, no, you won't" A parallel to frame 1, a view of on Moon's back with his hand stretched out towards the light, and Y/N walking into the light spilling through the open daycare door.

The placement of the lyrics suggest two different “you won’t”—Y/N who won’t realize Moon’s feelings, and Moon who won’t dare speak them into reality.

Another note on the parallel to frame 1, this time we also see Y/N's back, but it is notably different from our view of Moon's back. With Moon, we literally see inside him through the hole for his loop. However, Y/N is shrouded in shadow, just a solid, obscure silhouette against the bright light of a world Moon—and Sun for that matter—are closed off from. We don’t see into Y/N, just as the Daycare Attendant doesn't have any vantage point of Y/N's life beyond their time at the PizzaPlex. (The unfortunate reality of a being a character made for the purpose of being a vessel for the reader.)

Frame 16. "'cause I can't make you love me" We finally cut to face Moon head-on, frozen in place with his hand stretched out, unable to cross the boundary into the light. His eyes have gone dark. Where we began by seeing bits and parts of Moon, and never seeing his full face—now we, the viewer, see the full Moon, open and vulnerable—unbeknownst to Y/N.

Frame 17. "if you don't" But in the dark, behind closed doors, there is no one to perceive him—no one to receive him. The light dwindles as the daycare doors are closed. Moon stays frozen where he kneels. It is no longer the glitch that plagues him, but a far deeper dread.

But a lone streak of light peaks through the gap in the daycare doors. Perhaps that is just enough. A silver lining. A frail hope. A single, ethereal thread out of darkness and into light.

Thanks for reading and watching!

We'll be back to our regularly scheduled fun and games shortly!

[x-letsbreaksomerules-x]

“He ordered me to kill them. So I did. I killed them all.”

[kelocitta]

"But if we dont get reblogs and likes than why bother creating at all" Did you never doodle in your notebook in class. Did you never have a notebook of cringe doodles you never wanted people to see but got filled anyway. Was this never something you did because it was a tool of personal comfort.

[show-tunes]

So long to this wretched form

[lokh]

beginning to notice a certain trend with recent favorite characters...

for reference this is what anji is talking about

[nem0-nee]

doodle dump from ?!?!!?!!?

[Saga in the 3rd pic belongs to rev; inspired from this post]

Spring break is about to end, so I'm distracting myself with the silly :^))

[ravinoforre]

Took all my courage to respond to the below post on Twitter (after once again deleting it in fear first lmao), but since *this* is the site I'd decided to use as my dumping ground for cringe, it's only fair to post the same here too.

First doodle is one I've posted here before, the other two have been in hiding a while.

huhuhghhhh

[fatedroses]

A bit of community service work to repay his third chance leads to Hien witnessing Zenos' own special brand of weird.