#but. part of the fun of making stuff is getting to share it

[tofupixel]

Hi! I'm really trying to get into the art industry with pixel art, but i have no idea how to break into the space. If you don't mind telling, how did you first get into the industry with pixel art, and do you have any tips on how others could to?

hi there

so first things first you really need a portfolio. (or at least if you don't have that, a really strong body of work through your social media or something. that ppl can look at and assess your work)

for me i just got a lot of followers, i really believed that if you just get good enough and put yourself out there you can't go wrong. and getting lots of followers was part of that plan (and it worked out!)

then once you have a lot of followers, you can say "hey i am looking for work" and people will see it.

if you find this difficult i can make a seperate post with some tips for how to grow. it kind of came naturally / fun to me so im happy to share

also you may need to make some Connections. i spent a lot of time on twitch, streaming, watching / talking to other pixel artists, and now i have lots of pixel artist/industry friends. so if someone needs a pixel artist and they think i'd be a good fit, they send the job to me. i also run an art community. in general, if you are active in the community, and nice, you can make a lot of real good friends who would be happy to help you out!

also, if you want to work on games you need to know what kind of stuff you want to do. like tilesets, character animations, etc, and they need to be visible to someone looking to hire you (or in the portfolio)

if you can't find a job to help you get those pieces in your portfolio, you can just make them in your free time. that's what i did :'-3

you don't need to have credits on released games to get hired, but if you don't, you need a strong portfolio / body of work to back you up.

i also had my portfolio reviewed by a couple of working pixel artists, and they told me my blind spots so i could fill in the gaps

for my recent job on marvel: cosmic invasion i saw their job post on twitter and submitted my portfolio via email. (BTW it helps to be following studios so you dont miss out on opportunities like this- again- be part of the community. chucklefish also post on their socials about jobs)

and i knew a couple people already working on the marvel game so they gave me a chance even though they'd already actually filled the position.

lmk if you have any more questions or if u are interested in social media maxxing for visibility

GL

edit:

heres my portfolio actually. i wouldn't say my portfolio is very good to be honest, a lot of my game stuff is outdated because i'm too busy to update it, but obviously i have a very large body of work on my socials so it kinda doesn't matter! ymmv!

[drill-bits]

i was wondering what your approach to drawing mechs is like and how you go about adding color & making your colors look well together? its honestly such an awesome part of your art.

I really adore how loose and energetic your art looks while retaining an anatomical and detailed look.

For colors, I honestly google palettes w colors i wanna use or I take them from pieces/screen shots i find or take (and mix and match). I then color based on value and saturation or whatever looks nice.

For my drawing… my goal w the art I make on this blog is to draw as quickly as I can. It’s just for fun and to share a silly idea, and to hopefully stay inspired to work on it.

I keep care to make important stuff like faces, hands, and silhouettes as clear as possible, so I spend time on those, but otherwise speed through it. I just get it to a place where you ca n Get The Idea that there’s an arm here, and you can fill in the blanks (especially w all the details mecha has)

You’ have to pay me money to do all that fuckin detail lol

[jollyparaphernalia]

I like your kingswap AU, but some part of me can't help but feel like something's been lost in the blorbofication of our beloved monarch. I think it'd be interesting to see some of his more villainous traits get reintegrated over time as he gets further into the loops.

His ability to be casually cruel towards others if they endanger his goals/those he wants to protect, his disregarding of other people's feelings or autonomy if he thinks he knows better.

Could be fun to explore!

Oh, this is intentional! I very specifically wanted to put Clovis' 'best foot' forward (or at least the funniest one with him being an anxious dog) as I yap about this AU stuff. I think it's really important to highlight the best/more positive parts to the guy, as a reflection back to the King. Think of it...like the conversation about the Emotion keys in ISAT, and the conversation about how strong emotions are ultimately temporary - both good feelings, and the worst ones. I don't think the King is entirely his bad points, if that makes sense? Yeah he's VERY capable of being monstrous, yet he also accepts the flower and goes 'hell yeah, best victor wins, lets make this a fight worth remembering'. So, with Clovis, while he's technically not the actual King, i'm being very intentional with how I want to show him off, if that makes sense? Highlighting some aspects and downplaying some. Like, sure, Clovis isn't ACTUALLY the ISAT King but goddamnit if i'm not intentional with my AU and get the character themes and voice correct and keep what made them appealing I Will Die.

But you make a fantastic point, so I'll share some thoughts on Clovis' worsts parts.

(If you didn't catch the bad behavior soon enough, this guy would totally be an insufferable rules lawyer in your Table Top RPG campaign)

Despite his party dynamics being silly and nuanced, and everyone picking him up like a dog from behind a dumpster, Clovis is actually very outwardly unnerving to a lot of folks who don't come baked with that Vaugardian sensibility to Not Ask Questions. He can be very particular about how he wants to approach things, and can be very 'i've done this before, my way is best' - this sort of behavior is downplayed with the Party because 1) He's actively searched them out and has pledged himself to Mirabelles cause, so she (and the party) are sort of the boss, so he feels he shouldn't cause a fuss if it's not something that he knows he's an expert in, 2) His strict sense of knightly sensibilities and code keeps him generally polite (and awkward) with most folks, and 3) They were nice to him so if they think him insufferable and not useful He Will Die.

When things get intense and serious, so does Clovis. Isabeau affectionately calls it 'locking in' (but also recognizing when Clovis is getting fixated on 'i think i'm right listen to me' and goes 'oh shit thats what I used to do lets diffuse') and Mirabelle thinks Clovis is 'the good kind of scary' (since you know, Knights and justice and doing the right thing).

Needless to say, when you add the loops into this equation, a situation where Clovis gains intimate knowledge of how everything works in the House, and companions which are repeating things to the point of no longer being meaningful, paired with the frustrations of nothing working...Oh boy. Not to mention, Clovis' greatest potential ally in this scenario, the person who shares the hell that is the loops...is also the person with the most baggage regarding Clovis' familiar appearance and mannerisms. So once those frustrations bubble up...

Needless to say, Clovis has an...interesting dynamic with Loop because of all of this. Clovis isn't sure he likes the ability to scare his Star-guide.

(...there is...one other person here that shares the loops with Clovis...but it's Complicated. We'll talk about THAT later.)

[ageingfangirl2]

Imagine Being Bonten's Receptionist (Bonten x F Reader) - Tokyo Revengers

PART 13: A NIGHT ON THE TOWN

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE

You were hesitant at first — your friend practically has to drag you out of your apartment with promises of "no pressure, just good music and dumb drinks." It’s the first time in a long while you’ve worn something bold, something that makes you feel pretty rather than just put-together. Your friend hypes you up while they take a couple selfies in front of a mirror, your lips are painted and your eyes lined just enough to hide the tiredness beneath from long hours at work and ex boyfriend issues.

In the first photo, they’re smiling wide. In the second, they’re pulling dramatic model faces, and in the third, you’re laughing for real — caught mid-snort, completely unguarded. Your friend posts them with the caption:

“Finally got them out of the cave. Girls’ night. They deserves it.”

You meet up with a few other girls, mutual friends or people you vaguely remember from uni. The group energy is loud and fast, the kind that sweeps you up whether you’re ready or not. They take a while deciding where to go — rooftop bar, dance club, low-key lounge — but they settle on a downtown spot that promises neon lights and just enough space to dance without being swallowed by the crowd.

At the bar, you sip your drink slowly, fingers curled around the glass while your friend pulls you into conversation and inside jokes. For the first hour or two, you don’t even think about work or your ex. The music pulses. You let your hair down, laugh at stories, and dance a little. Nothing too wild — but enough to feel like you’re taking your life back, one night at a time.

Back at Bonten HQ, things are unusually quiet. Mikey’s half-dozing in his chair, Sanzu’s pacing like he’s looking for something to ruin, and Kakucho is focused on reports. Your absence is noticeable — not in a loud way, but in the subtle way that things just don’t click right without you.

Koko’s the first to see the post.

He doesn’t follow you on social media, but your friend tagged you in the selfies. His phone buzzes with the notification. Curiosity gets the better of him, and the moment he sees the photo — you laughing, dressed up, with that same guarded joy he thought was gone — he pauses.

‘...They went out.’

He doesn’t say it aloud. Just stares at the screen for a second longer than he should. Then he shares it with Ran, who immediately whistles and grins.

‘Damn,’ Ran mutters, tilting the phone toward Rindou, ‘She cleans up real nice. Maybe we should've dragged her out ourselves.’

‘We would’ve scared off every guy within a ten-mile radius,’ Rindou replies dryly, but he smirks too.

Takeomi walks past just in time to catch the edge of the conversation and frowns, ‘What are you all drooling over now?’

‘Relax,’ Ran says, ‘they are out with friends. Just... normal people stuff.’

Takeomi glances at the screen and raises a brow, ‘Good. They need it. They deserve a break from all this.’ But the way his eyes linger betrays a flicker of worry — he’s seen what happens when women like you run into the wrong kind of people in bars.

Sanzu, on the other hand, hears about it from someone else — one of their low-level guys catches sight of you out at the bar while passing through and mentions it in passing.

He perks up fast, ‘Wait. They’re out?’

‘With a group of girls. Looks like they’re just having fun,’ the low level grunt replies.

‘...Good,’ Sanzu says, smiling crookedly. But there’s a flicker of something sharp in his gaze. He doesn’t like not knowing who’s around you. Who’s watching you. Who might be waiting.

He texts Kakucho one sentence: SHE’S OUT. KEEP AN EYE ON THE FEED.

Mochi doesn’t say anything when he sees the photo that Ran showed him, but he glances at it longer than anyone else. His arms are crossed, eyes cool, unreadable.

‘They’re smiling again,’ he says eventually, ‘That’s what matters.’

He walks off after that, but Koko swears he hears him mutter something like ‘If anyone ruins it for them…’ under his breath.

Later that night, Kakucho quietly pulls up your post on his phone in the break room. He zooms in on the photo — not because he’s creepy, but because he’s looking for signs. A weird glance, someone in the background, anything out of place. There’s nothing.

You really are just... having fun. He exhales, relieved. Sends you a message, something lowkey:

Kakucho: Hope you’re having a good time. Let me know if you need a ride home.

No response yet. But you read it. That’s enough.

And Mikey? He doesn’t have socials. But eventually, Sanzu tells him.

‘They’re out. Dressed up, laughing. With normal people,’ Sanzu rattles off.

Mikey’s quiet for a long time, his expression unreadable, ‘They’ve earned it,’ he says finally, before closing his eyes again, ‘Let them have tonight.’

But deep down, every single one of them — even the most relaxed — is on edge. Not because they don’t trust you. Because they know exactly how dark the world gets when people see someone healing and think they can ruin it. And if anyone tries to ruin your night...Well. It won’t end well.

The first part of the night is good — better than you expected. The bar is loud, the drinks are sweet, and for the first time in a long while, you’re not constantly glancing over your shoulder or waiting for the next emotional landmine to go off. Your friends are loud and affectionate, pulling you onto the dance floor, hyping you up in the bathroom, laughing over bad shots and inside jokes. You even forget, for a few moments, that you’re life was on the line not to long ago.

By midnight, they’ve decided to go club hopping — your friend's idea, naturally. They pile into a couple rideshares and head toward a busier stretchier of the city.

You’re a little buzzed but lucid, your cheeks warm, your heart light. Somewhere along the shuffle into the next club — a darker, louder place with thumping bass and packed bodies — you get separated.

It’s subtle. A stop to use the bathroom. One friend distracted by a guy at the bar. Another disappearing into the crowd. Your phone's still in your clutch, but service inside the building is spotty at best, and the longer you stay in one spot, the more you realise... you’re alone.

It’s not dangerous, not immediately. No one’s bothering you. But the music feels too loud now. The lights too sharp. The press of bodies unfamiliar and the air suffocating. And it creeps in — that gnawing anxiety. That awareness. That voice that whispers: Someone could be watching. You turn toward the entrance, phone in hand, trying to call one of your friends. No answer. You send a quick message to the group chat:

you guys okay? I got separated. by the front.

No response. No little typing dots.

You hug your arms close around your chest, slipping into the corner near the exit, trying to act like you’re just checking messages — not panicking. Not reverting to that old version of yourself. Not the one who had to look over your shoulder for a man who once swore he loved you.

You’re fine. It’s nothing. It’s just a packed club. You’re okay. Still...your thumb hovers over your contacts again. Not the police. Not your friend. Bonten. Just in case.

[strigimorphaes]

did you see the insta reel of mathias vacek pretending to bite anders’ finger. do we have any thoughts about mads sharing his twink journalist boyfriend with his team (hashtag lovertrek)

You know what, I haven't thought about it but now im thinking. so with established healthy mads/anders thats reeeaaalllly good, just introduce your twink journalist bf to the team bus and have him passed around??? hot as hell. And also like, Mads as captain, what's-mine-is-yours and maybe a bit of objectification in it too, like Anders becomes a prize to have fun with that the team can earn...

BUT I was also struck by the idea of unrequited mads/anders where like... Mads has said in interviews that he's straight so it's easy for my brain to jump to a scenario where he really likes Anders but is unable to reciporate Anders' feelings, and he jokes around but the crush is just There between them...

So...

The club is humid and the lights are dim. Anders is sweating like the riders were when they were going up those mountains. Heavy droplets run down his back between his shoulder blades. The music is loud, but he only hears the bass thumping like his pulse in the back of his skull. There’s a warm, wide hand om his thigh, fingers digging into the seam of his pants. Sticky bodies on either side of him at the corner table. His head spins when he inhales the scent of them. He’s drunk, but they’re plastered. When he opens his eyes and looks up, he sees only Mads standing right in front of him, between his spread thighs. It was Mads' stupid idea. His invitation to the afterparty. His bets with his teammates, him telling them they have to do what he says, so kiss Anders. And the Lidl-Trek guys like having their fun with one of the journalists after being subjected to their questions and schedules for so long. Anders knows he’s the butt of the joke, that they think it’s ridiculous that he gets so red in the face, so flustered. Visibly frustrated, though they can't know it's because it’s so much like one of his fantasies and yet not enough.

His body’s liquified on the inside, nerves and desire sloshing around when Mathias grabs his chin and presses their mouths together. It’s duty for him, dry, but with a brief moment of parted lips. Anders is searching for an answer in it, finding nothing, and he looks at Mads not knowing what it means for them. Carlos grabs him by the hair, then, and Carlos likes it, kisses slow and steady like he’s actually into men, Anders can feel it, and on the other side of the table, Daan leans in, saying, “Pass him here next,” in a voice that makes Anders melt even more as they laugh at him.

“I need some fresh air,” Anders gasps, trying to extricate himself from the hands on his hips. “Please.”

A friendly pat on the shoulder. A push to his lower back. He staggers onto the dancefloor and finds it in himself to get a weak grip on Mads’ upper arm and pull him along.

Outside, it’s dusk. It’s a loud street, but Mads doesn’t look like he notices. He’s in a sweat-stained purple T-shirt with a bottle of beer held loosely in one hand, relaxed the way only someone who has accomplished all his goals can be. Confident and at ease.

“You’re mean to me,” Anders says, aware of how red he must be in his face, his cheeks hot to the touch. He leans on the wall next to Mads. His face is red, too, but just from the temperature and the alcohol in his system. Even so, doesn't look too different from when he’s at the finish line. Anders feels privileged that he gets to see Mads close up both as a professional athlete and like this. Few are so lucky.

“You’re staring again,” Mads says. He gently pinches Anders’ cheek – “You’re so fucking lovestruck that it looks dumb.”

“There’s just amore infinito in the air,” Anders jokes, though he knows it sounds hollow. He knows that Mads knows about his stupid, years-long crush. Mads finds it flattering in his own way. It's another sort of admiration, the stuff his ego thrives on. And, Anders thinks, it’s not like with women where Mads has got to dress up and win them over. Anders is already helpless. He'll take whatever Mads shows him. He always has.

“Amore, yeah," Mads says. "Would that make you happier?”

"What?"

"Because I can kiss you too, if it’d make you feel better.”

“You’re drunk,” Anders tells him, stern, but maybe it doesn’t sound entirely right when he has started slurring his words, too. And when he leans in because he's losing his balance. And when he knows it won’t get better or worse if Mads kisses him. It’ll just be another one of those moments, like when he accidentally touched Mads’ thigh through the skinsuit or when he came into the team bus to find Mads naked, like when they were younger and sat in the grass and Anders said he might like men, or like when their eyes met the first time Mads wore his engagement ring. Moments that burn. It's unbearable except when it isn't. The kiss is brief.

“You can tell them to keep going once we get back inside,” Anders says, and Mads nods. Anders will imagine that all their hands are Mads'.

[everwhovian]

Hyung, not Appa | Hwang Brothers | [ao3]

Jun-ho was In-ho’s little brother first. But when In-ho becomes ‘Appa’ to someone else, Jun-ho starts to feel like there’s no space left for him – quieter visits, missed glances, and a name that doesn’t belong to him. Jun-ho tries to be good. To understand. Until he can’t. And all that hurt spills out in one breathless moment: “I wish you were my appa.”

Jun-ho had never met anyone like Yuna.

She was funny. Not the kind of funny adults usually were – weird or loud or trying too hard – but actually funny.

She made up voices for cartoon characters and never told him he was being too much. She listened when he talked, even when it was about stuff like what would happen if jelly beans were currency or whether ghosts got bored.

She was cool, too. Not in a cold way, but in the warm, hoodie-sharing, lets-you-stay-up-an-extra-hour way. She didn’t make fun of the way he still liked picture books sometimes. She just smiled and said, “Show me your favorite page.”

So when In-ho brought her around more, Jun-ho didn’t mind. Not even when she started sleeping over. Not even when Eomma raised her eyebrows and said something about “closing the door” and “setting an example.”

Jun-ho liked Yuna.

He loved her, maybe. The same way he loved his favorite pen and his brother’s laugh when he wasn’t pretending to be grumpy.

So when In-ho sat him down one day, all serious and slow, and said, “Yuna’s going to have a baby,” Jun-ho’s first reaction wasn’t confusion.

It was awe.

“A baby?”

In-ho smiled – kind of nervous, kind of not. “Yeah. You’re gonna be an uncle.”

Jun-ho’s eyes went huge. “Me?”

“Yeah. You.”

“Will it be weird?”

“Maybe a little.”

“But cool?”

In-ho nodded. “Yeah. Definitely cool.”

Jun-ho thought so too.

He got to hold his nephew in the hospital. The baby smelled like lotion and newness and something kind of milky and warm. His nose was small, like a little bean. His fingers curled around Jun-ho’s pinky without even trying.

In-ho smoothed back the tiny hat on the baby’s head. “His name’s Seo-jun. We picked it because we wanted part of your name in his.”

“You named him after me,” Jun-ho said, stunned.

Jun-ho looked at the baby again. He was so small. Wrinkly. Kind of red. But he had little fingers that still curled around Jun-ho’s pinky like a sleepy cat and a nose that scrunched up like he was trying to sneeze and forget it at the same time.

“Yeah,” In-ho said, crouched beside him, “you’re family. That won’t change.”

Jun-ho grinned so hard it made his face warm. “Does this mean I get to teach him stuff?”

Yuna smiled from the hospital bed, her eyes soft with sleep. “When he’s bigger, yeah. All the stuff you know.”

“I know a lot,” Jun-ho said proudly. “Like how to draw on eggs without cracking them.”

In-ho ruffled his hair. “That’ll come in handy.”

And in that moment, it felt good. Safe. Like nothing had changed except there was more love now. More people to share things with.

But things did change.

Slowly. Quietly. Like a leak in a balloon.

It wasn’t anything obvious at first.

Just that his hyung wasn’t home as much.

He’d gotten a new apartment with Yuna, one that was “too far to walk” and “not quite ready for sleepovers yet.” Eomma smiled when she said it, but Jun-ho could tell she missed him too.

They visited, sometimes.

Jun-ho sat on the bus and stared out the window, stomach flipping with something that wasn’t nerves but wasn’t not-nerves either. The apartment was nice. It smelled like warm laundry and baby powder and soft things. But it wasn’t home. It didn’t sound like it. Didn’t feel like it.

And everything was quiet – except when it wasn’t. When Seo-jun cried, it was like the whole apartment got smaller.

Sometimes Jun-ho talked, and no one answered right away. Sometimes he showed them a drawing and In-ho said “That’s great, bud,” without looking up from the bottle he was shaking or the baby he was bouncing.

It didn’t feel bad, exactly.

Just… different.

Everything was about the baby.

Which made sense. Babies needed a lot of things. Bottles. Wipes. Cuddles. Rocking. But Jun-ho wasn’t used to being in the background. He didn’t know how to shrink that way.

In-ho bounced Seo-jun while Yuna sat on the floor with a pillow in her lap. Eomma offered to help with laundry. Jun-ho stood in the doorway, holding the coloring book he’d brought in his backpack.

No one asked to see it.

They weren’t being mean. They were just... busy.

“Jun-ho, can you hand me that blanket?” Yuna asked, smiling but not really looking at him.

He passed it over and nodded, then sat on the floor and started coloring by himself. When he finished the page, he didn’t show it to anyone.

And then one day, it happened.

He was sitting on the rug again, watching the baby blink up at the ceiling fan. He’d brought his favorite car to roll along the coffee table edge. It made a tiny click each time it hit the seam between wood panels. Click. Click. Click.

And Yuna leaned over the baby and said gently, “Look, Seo-jun. Appa’s getting your bottle.”

Jun-ho froze.

His fingers clenched around the little car, wheels spinning in his palm.

Appa.

She’d said Appa.

His stomach twisted. His ears buzzed. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t what she was supposed to say.

That was Hyung.

Hyung, who let him ride on his shoulders and carried him home when he fell asleep on the bus and once helped him build a volcano for science class even though it exploded too early.

Hyung, who used to check his homework and make his rice just right and let him cry into his hoodie when he got too overwhelmed at school.

Now he was Appa.

For someone else.

And for the first time, Jun-ho didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to see the baby. He didn’t want to play or draw or sit on the couch with a blanket while they cooed over someone who wasn’t him.

He just wanted to go home.

He didn’t say anything. Not right away.

But when they asked him if he wanted to hold Seo-jun again, he shook his head.

He didn’t want to.

Not anymore.

He didn’t say anything on the bus ride home.

He just stared out the window again, the world rolling past like it didn’t notice him.

When Eomma asked if he had fun, he nodded. Said “Yeah.”

But inside, it felt like something had shifted. Just a little.

Like there was less space for him now, even if no one had said so out loud.

Jun-ho still smiled sometimes when he saw In-ho. Still let Yuna ruffle his hair. Still packed his backpack with crayons and stickers in case the baby needed entertainment.

But more and more, he started holding back.

He spoke less. Stayed close to Eomma when they visited. Pretended to be tired, or full, or busy when they asked if he wanted to hold the baby. When In-ho passed him the bottle one afternoon and said, “Want to help feed him?” Jun-ho just shook his head and said, “I’ll spill it.”

He stopped bringing his drawings.

He started sitting by the door instead of the couch.

And whenever In-ho laughed – the big kind of laugh, the real kind – and it was because of something Seo-jun did, Jun-ho’s stomach tightened.

Jealousy wasn’t something he could name yet. He didn’t know that was what it was. He only knew it made his chest feel too small, like the inside of him was curled up tight and couldn’t stretch out.

He didn’t want to feel that way. He loved In-ho. He even liked the baby, sometimes, when he wasn’t crying. But it was like... everything was getting smaller. And he didn’t know how to ask for space that didn’t exist anymore.

One weekend, In-ho picked him up from school early. That part was exciting. He was leaning against the car, waving, already smiling in that relaxed way that meant something good was coming.

“We’re having a hyung-and-Jun-ho day,” he said as Jun-ho climbed into the front seat. “Just you and me. Yuna says we deserve it.”

Jun-ho had beamed. His cheeks hurt from grinning. They were going to the museum. The one with the big dinosaur bones and the blinking planetarium. He’d even packed his sketchpad.

But halfway there, In-ho’s phone buzzed. His brow furrowed when he checked it.

Jun-ho watched the muscles in his brother’s jaw shift as he read the message.

Then In-ho sighed.

“I’m sorry, bud,” he said gently. “Yuna’s not feeling great. The baby’s being fussy. She asked if I could keep him for a few hours so she can rest.”

“Oh,” Jun-ho said. “Okay.”

“It’ll still be fun,” In-ho promised. “We’ll just bring him along.”

But when Jun-ho saw the stroller in the backseat – when he saw the car seat already clipped in – it hit harder than he expected. The day hadn’t even started, and it already felt like it was slipping away from him.

At home, Eomma was waiting by the door when they pulled up. She greeted them both and leaned in to take Seo-jun, who had just started to stir. In-ho climbed out, unbuckled the baby, and handed him over with the kind of practiced ease Jun-ho had never known before.

“There you go,” he murmured. “Appa’s right here.”

Jun-ho flinched.

His feet froze on the sidewalk, hands curling into fists at his sides.

The warmth from earlier – gone. His smile – gone.

He stared at the pavement.

“Hey,” In-ho said, catching sight of him, voice gentler now. “What’s wrong?”

Jun-ho shrugged. Didn’t look up. His ears were hot.

“Jun-ho,” In-ho said again, stepping closer. He crouched down slowly until they were eye level. “Talk to me. Please.”

Jun-ho’s lips wobbled.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled.

“You’re not.”

Jun-ho blinked fast. Too fast. He could feel the burn already building in the corners of his eyes, and he didn’t want to cry. Not now. Not in front of everyone.

But In-ho didn’t stop. Didn’t let him retreat.

And Jun-ho broke.

“I said I’m fine –” he tried again, but it cracked in the middle. A sharp, shaky breath followed. His arms folded tight over his chest, shoulders rising.

“It’s not fair,” he whispered.

In-ho tilted his head. “What’s not?”

And then the words came. Quiet at first. Then louder. Looser. Like a storm that had been building for days.

“It’s not fair that he gets you.”

In-ho blinked. “What?”

“He gets you all the time!” Jun-ho cried. “You’re his appa. You live with him. You feed him. You carry him everywhere. But I was first! I was your brother first!”

His chest heaved with every word now, his voice cracking like ice under weight.

“I know you’re not my appa… but you used to be mine! And now he gets you and I get... I don’t know what I get. It’s like you left and no one told me.”

He scrubbed angrily at his cheeks, but the tears kept coming.

“I don’t want him to go away. I just want – I just want you back.”

In-ho didn’t speak.

He didn’t say ‘Don’t cry’ or ‘That’s not true’ or ‘You’ll understand someday.’

He just reached out and pulled Jun-ho into his arms.

And Jun-ho collapsed against him, face buried in his jacket, sobs quiet and hiccupping.

“I miss you,” he whispered. “I miss you all the time.”

“I know,” In-ho said, his own voice tight now. “I know, bud.”

His hand rubbed gently up and down Jun-ho’s back, slow and steady. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

“You said it wouldn’t change,” Jun-ho mumbled.

“It shouldn’t have,” In-ho said softly. “You’re right. You were my little brother first.”

Jun-ho sniffled.

In-ho didn’t say anything for a long time.

He just held Jun-ho close, crouched on the sidewalk like the rest of the world could wait. Jun-ho’s breathing started to slow again, each inhale a little steadier than the one before. His fingers clung to the fabric of In-ho’s jacket like he didn’t trust it to stay.

“I’m sorry,” In-ho murmured again. “For not noticing sooner.”

Jun-ho nodded against his chest.

“You still are my little brother,” In-ho said. “That hasn’t changed. It never will.”

Jun-ho didn’t answer right away. His head stayed tucked under In-ho’s chin, his voice barely more than the hush of wind through leaves when he finally whispered –

“I wish you were my appa.”

In-ho froze.

The words were so quiet, so careful, he almost thought he imagined them.

But Jun-ho meant them. Every syllable.

Not because he didn’t love Eomma. Not because he didn’t know the difference.

But because Hyung was the one who showed up. Who packed his lunches and helped with homework. Who chased monsters from closets and sat beside him at school plays. Who knew all his weird thoughts and liked them anyway.

He didn’t look up after saying it.

He just stayed there. Still. Waiting.

In-ho’s heart cracked wide open.

He lowered his head, pressing a hand gently to the back of Jun-ho’s head.

“I’ll be whatever you need,” he said softly. “For as long as you need me.”

And Jun-ho leaned in again – just a little – and let himself believe it.

[arturodelisle]

Arturo was in his element. Sure, car mechanics were more specific to his interests, but all of it related to each other. That was part of what made it all so fascinating. How people went from wheels to cars and further. He loved learning everything about it, he loved getting to work with it, and he loved getting to discuss it. Which he almost never got to do.

He knew to most people it was boring, he knew even people who were interested did not want to hear every single little thing in such hyper specific detail. He remembered how some of the boys used to tease him as a teenager, making remarks on how droning on about the insides of cars was never going to get him laid.

To Arturo though, he wanted to share this information with her, because that's what felt like the right thing to do. He also was indulging in a bit of pride; This was his area of expertise and he knew this might cause Sofia to see him as very intelligent. Worth more than what he perceived his scrappy appearance led on. Not to mention the reputation the Lost Boys had collectively. Granted, that required people remembering he was one of them.

Regardless, Arturo did his best to focus on the bicycle and explaining all the inner workings of everything, providing some historical fun facts, and absolutely not focus on the way Sofia leaned down beside him. He was absolutely not going to focus on the way her delicate hands pointed at things, and how soft they looked. He was not going to think about how beautiful her eyes were, or how cute her round, cheerful face was. The way her cheeks rose with her smile...the curve and shape of her lips....or the way her blouse fell on her chest now that she had leaned over right beside him.

"So that should do it." Art said looking up. Not realizing just how close she was to him. "Should be a good as new." He stood up and was about to regretfully send her on her way home, when he decided to just go for it, knowing it would fail. Knowing she'd certainly think this was unprofessional and weird. Still...

"If you want, no pressure but I can give you my phone number? Then if you have any more uh, bike related questions...or car ones....or school ones...or...anything you could text me. Or call me, some stuff is just easier to say than type." Arturo smiled. "Can't really fix a car over text. Or talk about family court cases."

He looked down at her lips briefly, before bringing his eyes back up to meet her own.

.

"Oh?" Sofia furrowed her brow. She did not know they were that close to other towns or cities. In her mind, Redwood Hollow was away from everything else. Each time Guinevere left it felt like a great journey she would embark on, with her big bags and tight itineraries, leaving her usual list of instructions behind.

It meant nothing, it barely was a thought fully formed in Sofia's mind, but she pictured herself working on a future project with Arturo, out of town. Away from the Orchard House. Away from everything she had grown to know so intimately. It sounded so exhilarating.

She nodded in silence. She knew she would never understand, as much as she tried. Still, or perhaps just because of it, Sofia knew that she had been right when she had decided to dedicate her life to this line of work. It was the only thing she felt she could do with her time and skills, to make them worth something, to make some sort of change in people's lives, however small. It wouldn't be easy, of course, but she wouldn't have it any other way. She liked to think that Arturo felt the same.

Sofia leaned down and paid attention, and yet no matter how much effort she put into following what Arturo was saying, every minute or so her eyes, otherwise fixed on the parts he was pointing at and explaining, would end up staring less at the part than at Arturo's hands themselves. They were stained with grease and oil, but as he moved them and gestured, she could clearly see the subtle trace of the tendons, the veins, even the delicate movement of the knuckles under the skin. The nails were short and neat. The wrists were strong, the hands were strong. He held and gripped the chain stay when explaining to her how the chain worked, and for a moment she lost her train of thought. At one point he glanced at her and explained something about the brakes, and after he looked back down at the bike she kept staring at him, at his soft-looking hair, at the puppy-dog brown eyes that were so focused, down at the way his neck tensed and relaxed when he turned his head, down at his arms...

[laughinglynx]

.

[somnimagus]

My page for @kairizine. It was such a huge honor to be part of this wonderful book with everyone, I had so much fun!

[id in alt!]

[thebuginyourwalls]

Pamela and her husband (monster form)

[wantbytaemin]

I want to hear about your fave recent scientific discoveries, Ana!!

what do i know abt science though LMAOFIODJF

[loderlied]

sharing some thoughts about deactivating here because it’s been difficult pondering idk.

[professorjirt]

and what if I posted my very bad Bilbo art. what then.

[clumsypuppy]

if escape rooms as team building exercises became popular im not sure if id be more excited or terrified

[accursedthing]

Tbh I kind of hate those "NOT the same person. ARE the same person" Kingdom Hearts memes, not cause there's no humor to them but because most of the explanations for these things aren't actually that difficult, it's just possession or clones or spiritual connections most of the time, which are pretty common in fantasy stories (some of them like the Nobodies are kind of a can of worms but also not hard to understand in context and ANY fantasy story with multiple installments is going to have stuff like that), and yet people who aren't familiar with the series use these images all the time to support the running idea that Kingdom Hearts is like. Impossible to follow and makes no sense. Which I, of course, don't like because at its core it's just people calling a thing I like stupid. And I WILL take it too seriously because I have the kind of autism that makes you deranged about Kingdom Hearts

[chipjrwibignaturals]

theoretically i can draw or write but the issue is i am genuinely sated just by Thinkin My Thoughts like 75% of the time and most of my desire to CREATE it is more just.... thats the only way to Share The Thought