#i've been meaning to get back into doing full illustrations

[katartna]

Break for the stars 🩸🌠

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the pained peace treaty

fused with the foe, chapter one

a/n: oh wow, i have no idea how to introduce this beast of a story except to say hi, hello, welcome! i really hope you enjoy this story, as well as the rest of the trilogy, idk if i've ever gone as in depth and all out with any story as i have with these.

summary: “now, everything is already set into motion, so we don’t have time for any of your theatrics,” not looking you in the eye, he frostily told you, “you are to be married. A carriage has just arrived a few minutes ago to pick you up and transport you to Eflorr.”

warnings: king!steve rogers x reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, slow burn, innocent!reader, abusive father (like super bad. he is a garbage person), wedding, blood, injury

word count: 4813

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“Your majesty, I must warn you, if, gods forbid, our people come to discover the great lengths you’ve been willing to go in this disagreement over the past two decades, they might start an uprising. And if you keep going, then it’ll turn into a full-blown war and you know our kingdom wouldn’t be able to survive that, not with them. Our city’s walls may be high, high enough to keep out any beasts that may wander this far south, but it wouldn’t keep them out. You know better than most how people from Eflorr are. If you don’t wanna lose your crown, one way or another, then I’d strongly advise that we come up with some peace treaty.”

“I know, I know…” King Ivan leaned back in his gilded throne with a huff, the quality of his voice was as thin as his towering frame, “a trade I think should suffice.”

A different advisor then timidly pipped up, “but our mines ran cold ages ago, what could we possibly offer that would be satisfactory?”

Not lifting his cold gaze, the king stared at a fixed spot on the marble floor as he said, “I know one thing the king lacks that we may be able to provide for him… a wife.”

“A wife–,” both of the men’s eyes grew wide, “but do you mean–, your majesty, she is your only daughter, are you certain this is the fate you want her to have? Those people are barbaric! If one of the dangers that rule the north doesn’t get to her first, one of their citizens surely will. Sire, what if history repeats itself?”

“Then let it do so. In fact, perhaps this could have been her purpose all along and I just didn’t realise it. Couldn’t see past my own rage to grasp how useful she actually could be…”

Sharing a nervous glance, one of the advisors asked, “should we send for her? See if she agrees with the plans?”

“No, I’ll tell her when the time is right. Wouldn’t want her to do anything stupid and ruin the one good thing she could ever provide,” finally lifting his stony gaze, the king commanded, “make the arrangements, I’ll see to it that she doesn’t ruin it.” 

Deep within the opulent halls of the gilded palace, standing grand and safe behind Ingorn’s tall city walls, twisting up towards the clouds, up in a window in the western tower, there you sat. 

Book in your lap, you leaned back against the small pillow you’d propped behind you to make the wide windowsill more comfortable. Small paper butterflies hung from strings above and some dangled so low that the childhood craft that still decorated your window trickled the crown of your head. Flipping the page, your fingertips brushed down over the illustration that appeared in the agricultural tome you’d found in one of your brothers’ rooms. 

As long as you put it back before Angus returned then you’d probably be good. And if he were to somehow notice, then as long as he didn’t rat you out to your father then it would be alright. Both Angus and a few of the others that were closer to your age, Oliver and Francis respectively, were always a bit of a gamble whether or not they would do such a thing. They didn’t always have the same spirit as the eldest pair of your older brothers, Xavier and Callum. 

You missed them so much your heart ached. The older they got, the longer their diplomatic missions seemed to stretch out, making the quiet palace that much more lonely in your solitude. 

A knock then suddenly boomed at your door, causing you to jump edgily in your seat before you slammed the book shut and nervously stuffed it behind the firm pillow. 

“Come in!” you called out, swiftly straightening out your dress that had crumbled around your legs at the comfortable seat. As the door to your room slammed open, the figure that stood in it caught you by surprise, “Father–, oh, hello,” you straightened your posture that much further at his arrival. 

Skipping over any niceties, King Ivan simply stated, “you need to pack up your stuff.”

Your brows knitted into a fierce furrow, “what?”

“Not everything, of course,” he cast a cold glance around the room though didn’t take a step to enter it, “just the things you are particularly attached to.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” your head lightly shook from side to side, “where am I going?”

When his eyes finally gave you the time of day, it swiftly dropped to the floor as a heavy sigh flowed from his lips, “why do you have to be the spitting image of her…” the muttering was unfortunately just loud enough for your ears to catch. His disappointment was always just loud enough for your ears to catch. When he entered the room and you moved to get up, he swiftly said, “stay seated, Y/n,” before he planted himself next to you on the wide windowsill, “now, everything is already set into motion, so we don’t have time for any of your theatrics,” not looking you in the eye, he frostily told you, “you are to be married. A carriage has just arrived a few minutes ago to pick you up and transport you to Eflorr.”

“To Eflorr?” your gaze grew wide, “you wish for me to marry someone there?”

“Not just someone, you are to marry their king.”

“I–… I–…” your chest rose and fell rapidly beneath your rosy dress, “but father, you can’t–, I can’t go live with the people who killed mom.”

“We don’t know if they actually murdered her. But I do know that you did,” his glare locked upon you as he let himself seethe, “if you hadn’t been born then she’d still be alive,” the fact that the only thing he blamed more for his late wife’s untimely demise then the kingdom she’d perished in was you, remained a point that the sovereign had never been shy about sharing with you for as long as you could recall, “your duty is to protect and serve this land, this crown,” your eyes naturally fluttered up to gaze at the twisted gold balanced upon his head, “if you don’t go through with this, then those savages will come pillage and ruin your home. You are, regrettably, the very last hope this kingdom has of survival. You have no choice, Y/n. This marriage is the only thing that can stop a war we would never survive,” exhaling slowly, he then dominantly nodded in a concluding fashion, “pack your stuff, you have an hour.”

You felt tears sting your eyes as your bottom lip quivered, “an hour? But–, can’t we wait at least a few days before I leave? Can’t I get a chance to say goodbye to at least one of my brothers? None of them are home yet.”

Regret instantly washed over you as your father’s nostrils flared angrily. Seizing your arm in a bruising grip, he yanked you close as he hissed, “you listen, and you listen carefully, you little brat. You have been the bane of my existence ever since you took your first breath. You took away the love of my life. You don’t deserve a goodbye, you don’t deserve anything. Do you think I got a goodbye when your mother suddenly went into labour on that diplomatic mission? No. All I got was you. Not another son, but a living, breathing reminder of what I lost that day,” your eyes squeezed shut as your cheek tingled at the memory of his strikes, “now, be a good girl and go wet his prick, give him a few babies, do anything he’d fucking please, so that him and his barbaric army doesn’t come here and slaughter everything you know and love.”

“Your highness, are you cold?” the high-ranking warden sitting across from you in the carriage noticed the shiver that your body couldn’t seem to shake. 

Tearing your eyes off of the scenery along The Emerald Path that the narrow window granted you a view of, you glanced back at the warrior. The brown hair he had practically tied off at the base of his neck blossomed into a dark beard. A bare palm clasped over an inked one in his lap as you met his gaze and said, “no, I’m–…” in truth, you were scared, so scared that you were trembling like a leaf, but you couldn’t tell the foreign king’s advisor that, too much weighted on your shoulders, you couldn’t screw this up, “no,” glancing back out of the window, you only stared a moment at the sparse cottages that slowly came into view on the rolling hills before you turned your head again and let the nauseating nerves control your words, “pardon me, Barnes, is it?”

“Yes, your highness?”

“Sir, how much further till we get there?” your quiet voice echoed within the carriage, “it’s just–, it’s been days.”

“Oh, not long at all,” he shook his head lightly, “actually,” the knight leaned forward in his seat and cast his glance outside, “if you look out the window now, right there,” a small smile tugged at his lips as his finger shot up to point, “that river, that means we’re getting close to Borün city.”

As the river then suddenly curved before the dirt road, the clomping hooves of the horses that hauled the coach resonated as they trotted over a stone bridge. 

Twisting your head, you glanced out to your right and spotted farmlands curve over the rolling hills that swiftly blossomed into thickets and towering flora you’d only assume was the southern perimeter of The Noll Woods. Books about this kingdom had been banned in your homeland for as long as you could remember, but even though you were essentially going in blind, you still weren’t completely ignorant when it came to the dangers that called that sprawling forest its home, not that you were an expert in the slightest, but your brothers had from time to time told you tales of the monsters who dominated in this part. From giant and twisted insect-like creatures, to mischievous pixies, to even the rare dragon, those stories had always been your favourite. Apart from the rare occasion where Callum would share stories with you about your mother. Being the eldest, he was the only one who truly remembered her. 

Instinctively, your fingers fluttered up to fiddle with the opalescent stone that hung from a chain around your neck. In the middle of the milky jewel was a small rune engraved into it. You had no idea what it meant, but your fingers had still traced the carving countless of times before as it had hung from your neck for as long as you could recall. It hadn’t been till you were a ways into your teens that you’d come to discover that it had belonged to your mother. 

Casting your glance out the other side as you passed a tall watchtower, behind the wide city stables unfolded a port town so quaint that it surprised you. Over the small valley of gabled roofs towered a central tree, and beyond all of that, the sparkle of the sea caught your eye, a sight you’d never beheld before, haven not only stemmed from a landlocked metropolis, but also not haven been permitted to leave your room as much as your heart had desired. 

“This is Eflorr?” you asked as the carriage began to roll up the winding path to the stone castle that loomed on the cliff, granting you a new view of how the river that you’d crossed slid through the city and spilt into the ocean.

“This is Eflorr, your highness,” the corners of his lips twitched at the sight of how wide your curious eyes were. 

“It’s–… it’s–…” your stare danced over the lush ivy that climbed the solid towers, “not what I expected…”

“What did you expect?”

Tearing your gaze away from the window, you blinked, “oh, I didn’t mean–,” suddenly worried that your shock had come out sounding rude, “I just–… I don’t know a lot about this land,” in the few tales you’d heard about this place, there had been a running gag that the people of Eflorr had lived so close to the dangerous beasts that called this part of the continent their home that they too had turned into monsters, “it’s just different than I imagined.” 

Ascending the jagged hill and passing through the front gate, it opened up into a wide courtyard before you felt the carriage finally roll to a stop. 

The wagon creaked gently as Barnes stepped out first, though when his boots were firmly on the cobblestone, his frame twisted as he reached an outstretched hand back for you to grasp in support of your own exit. Ever so apprehensively, you slid your own palm into his as your other twisted in your long skirts before you slipped out of the carriage. 

Letting go of his gasp, the soldier's low timbre washed over you as your head tilted back to take in the vast stronghold, “his majesty, unfortunately, couldn’t be here for your arrival as there was a bit of a dryad problem further up north he had to take care of,” you gaze tore away from the fort and fell upon him, “but I assure you he should be back in time for the wedding.”

“Oh, alright,” you breathed, unsure if that fact made you feel better or worse about the entire predicament.

“If you’d like, I can give you a brief tour of the castle,” he offered as he led you towards the main entrance into the castle proper, “or if you’re exhausted after the journey, then I can just show you directly up to your chambers.”

Offering him a polite smile, you nodded, “a tour would be lovely, thank you.”

He only briefly went over the buildings surrounding the courtyard you’d entered into, as they were mainly designed as barracks and various other facilities for the local wardens, though the horses that stuck their heads out of the royal stalls in the corner did catch your eye before you moved on inside. 

Barnes’ voice echoed in most of the chambers he showed you in the castle’s western wing. The vast stained-glass windows that were in the ballroom for instance took your breath away as you saw how the light streamed through them and warmed up the room with glittering little rays of colour. 

Behind the great halls, squeezed in between and connecting the two major parts of the fort, there you crossed through a much more quiet and lush courtyard. The pebble paths that curved around the central fountain too curled around various topiary bushes that were trimmed to perfection like living sculptures. 

Though as your guide showed you the eastern wing that crested over the foaming sea below, your curiosity got the better of you. 

“Hey, Barnes?”

Slowing his leisurely stride, he tilted his head slightly, “yes, your highness?”

“What are dryads?” your brows knit lightly together, “you mentioned there was a problem with them, but what are they?”

“You don’t know?” he glanced over at you, clearly trying to mask his surprise as you shook your head, “oh, well, they are forest spirits, nymphs,” he explained as you roamed deeper down a broad hallway on the second floor, passing many private chambers both to your right and your left, “it’s not uncommon for them to wander and bother the folks who live further up the coast. Have you never encountered one? They are not as uncommon in Obelón as most of the other creatures that thrive this far north.”

“No, I’ve never seen one…” you shook your head as a low sigh flowed from your lips, “never really seen anything…”

“Not much of an outdoorsy person?” he guessed in a light-hearted tone. 

Forcing a smile, you replied, “you could say that…” as you hadn’t been allowed to be one even if you wanted to. Passing a set of double doors that stood wide open, the sight inside made you halt your steps, “is this the library?”

Shadowing you as your feet crossed the threshold, he nodded, “yes, it is,” then pointed back over his shoulder, “and your quarters are right down that hall.”

Numerous grand bookcases stood lined up all the way down to where a tall window allowed the sunlight in and let it stream through the rows. 

“Can I–… would it be alright if I read some of them?” 

“Of course, your highness.” 

“Would you mind showing me which ones I’m allowed to read?” you briefly peeked back at him as a bubble of anxiety fluttered in your belly, “I don’t wanna accidentally read something that I’m not allowed to.”

Barnes then blinked back at you a moment before he uttered, “your highness, you can read each and every one of them if you’d like. Why wouldn’t you be allowed to read whatever you wish? They are yours after all, or will be after the wedding,” the corners of your lips twitched upwards as he then asked, “would you like to peruse the titles now or do you want to see your chambers?”

“Oh, uhm,” you tore your gaze away from the tomes and turned back, “I’ll look later.”

“Alright,” he nodded, extending his inked arm to show you the way. As he pushed the heavy wooden door open to the room at the very end of the hall, his voice rang out once more, “this is the peacock suite,” following him inside, he settled to a stop near the exit for you to explore the space on your own, “you can, of course, change anything you’d like for it to match your taste.”

“Thank you,” you breathed as you slowly made your way deeper into the chamber. It was gently divided with a more formal area towards the front where both tufted couches and a crackling fireplace stood, as well as a set of doors that opened up to a quaint balcony. Towards the left, under a swirling archway, twisted a broad canopy bed up towards the tall ceilings, warm with blankets and furs, and in the corner, by a breezy partition, stood a deep cobber bathtub.

Haven not noticed that he’d moved, you then heard as Barnes creaked the doors to a close, “if you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be right outside.”

With a loud creak, the heavy double doors opened before you and revealed the grand hall. As soft music gushed out, you nearly didn’t recognise the space from your tour the other day as it was now decorated with vibrant flowers and flowing banners that dropped down from the high ceilings above, as well as being completely packed with a swarm of people. A thin path parted the giddy crowd right down the middle towards the opposing grand door that guards opened simultaneously to yours. 

A shaky breath filled your lungs as you stared at the man crossing over the threshold. The flickering candlelight caught the honeyed shine of the locks that came down to tickle the nape of his neck. A bit darker, his short beard was full and warmed up the bottom half of his gruff features. He sure looked like a man who could slay a kraken with his bare fists, as the soft fur cloak that draped over his shoulders did not conceal his bulky physic one bit. The neckline of his indigo tunic stretched low enough for you to see the concave of his fuzzy chest and the impressive battle scars that broke up the rippling flesh. 

You’d seen the portrait of the king that hung in the hallway that stretched up towards the throne room, but to see him before your very eyes, in flesh and blood and not precise paint, was something else entirely. 

The long and embroidered train of the blue silk kirtle you wore dragged across the store floor behind you as both you and the monarch slowly stepped into the chamber to join in the very middle. 

The enchanting music stopped as you reached one another and the parted paths to either exit slowly closed as the crowd gathered and enclosed around the sacred vow that was about to ensue. 

Parting the sea of people like a divine force, an elderly woman, with a braided grey mane so long that it hit the floor, stepped up beside the both of you. 

“People of Eflorr,” the crone’s calm voice boomed, “today marks a day of unity, a day of peace, and most of all a day of love. Like a seed planted in the soil, tonight we will all witness this relationship blossom and go on the journey of growing into a magnificent tree, with roots strong enough to endure any storm, to propagate new seedlings that will watch over and shade our kingdom when yours have fallen.” 

Looking to the king, she handed him a small dagger from her belt and spoke, “blade across skin,” and he reached out for your right hand, “strike out your seedling’s love line,” your breath hitched as you felt him slice the top of your palm. Crimson blood trickled down onto his own hand as yours rested atop it, “and claim it as your own,” he flipped the blade around and handed it to you, before presenting you his own palm, open in yours. He didn’t even blink as you hesitantly pierced the calloused skin and traced the line already adoring his broad palm, “weave your lines together, so they become the same,” he then moved to clasp your hands together, his wide grip engulfed yours completely. Your teeth sank into just the faintest bit of your bottom lip at the fresh sting of your wound as it bled into his, “and may this scar serve you as a reminder, of the vow you made on this momentous day.” 

And as the last of the matron's words flowed from her lips so did the roar of celebration that erupted throughout the crowd as the festivities of the night bloomed at an instant.

The feast had been nothing short of immaculate. Countless of dishes had been spread out on the crowded banquet tables ranging from the savoury braised legumes to the sweet and shiny pies. It was an impossible task to try and taste every one of them, but an excuse you still used to stay glued to your seat and not get up and mingle with the boisterous gathering of strangers. 

As a stark contrast, you thought you only noticed the king take two bites before he rose to greet some latecomers who had arrived. Laughing and chatting with the sea of people, he hadn’t offered you a single word, barely even a brief glance the whole night. Though your gaze still followed him from your seat up at the high table as he moved through the crowd like they were all his dearest friends. 

When the moon had floated up to be high in the sky, clearly visible on the other side of the stained glass, your head had dropped down into a propped-up palm as a deep yawn forced its way out of your frame. 

“Are you tired, your majesty?” a deep timbre suddenly found your ears, a specific tone that caused your spine to straighten out at once. 

Whipping your head to your right, your weary eyes grew wide as you saw the king again at his seat, “no, I’m alright,” you hastily coughed out, “I’m so sorry for behaving like that in your presence. This party is exquisite.” 

“It’s alright, you can yawn,” you suddenly felt the need to look away now that his ocean stare was finally fixed upon you, “it’s late, I was about to retire for the night as well, so I can only imagine how you must feel. If you’d like, I could escort you back to your chambers. I’m not sure how familiar you’ve become with the castle since you’ve arrived, but even I can still get lost when the corridors are this dark and I’ve indulged in perhaps one too many goblets of wine.”

A flutter of nauseating nerves rushed within your belly, but even so, you still pushed through and forced a smile, “if that’s what the king desires, then sure, you can escort me.”

It was your wedding night. You knew what was about to happen. 

Or, actually, you didn’t quite know what the marital act entailed, but you were sure a man such as Steve had enough of an understanding to take charge. All you knew was what little you’d been told. To strip down naked, not whine or scream, and do as he tells you. 

The soaring butterflies within you only grew more ferocious as you followed his long stride throughout the castle. Out of the ballroom and through a cold stone hallway, when you crossed the bridge that linked the two wings over a part of the cliff that descended dramatically, you nearly doubled over the parapet to empty your stomach over the town of Borün that blossomed below. 

But with a shaky intake of breath, your fist closed around the silk of your skirt as you settled yourself and forced your feet to keep moving. Even as you passed the threshold into the eastern part of the castle, you still shadowed the monarch up the many steps until his broad palm held the door to your chambers open for you to enter. 

The fire had been lit while you were gone, and the room was encased in the warm glow. 

“Did, uh…” you heard the door close behind you as the king attempted a bit of small talk, “did you have a nice time tonight?” 

“I did, your majesty,” you kept your answer brief out of fear that he’d hear the tremble to your tone. 

Slowly turning his back to you, his gaze washed over the room, “are you pleased with your bed chambers?” he settled to face the balcony, the door slightly ajar to let the night breeze seep through and rustle the sheer curtains, “because if you don’t like it, if you’d rather have a view of the town then the sea, then that’s an easy problem to fix.” 

“I think the view is just fine from here, but thank you,” you answered politely as you gathered up the last bit of your courage and reached back to undo the long row of buttons that went down the spine of the light blue dress. 

When the silky garment dropped to the floor, the quiet rustle was enough to draw the king’s attention.

First offering you just a quick glance over his shoulder, he then swiftly whirled around completely, “what are you doing?”

Weaving your fingers in the thin material of your chemise, you blinked back at his stunned features, “I’m sorry, am I doing it wrong?” sure that he could already see everything through the sheer, white fabric. 

His feet didn’t move as he asked, “what are trying to do?” before he averted his gaze to the stone floor. 

“Well,” you uttered quietly, “it’s our wedding night.”

“Oh…” was all he breathed. 

“To be transparent, I’m actually not quite sure what’s to happen, but I do know it’s something,” reaching up, you took the gold and twisted circlet, that crowned your head, off and carefully sat it down on the side table to your left, “I don’t know the details, I just know that I should strip down. Do you know what we’re supposed to do?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, briefly squeezing his eyes shut, “yes I do, but, your majesty, please, keep your clothes on,” his gaze flickered back to you as you slowly began to hike up the last layer. 

“Why?” your fingers froze, “isn’t it a tradition here for us to–”

“Well, yes, but–…” he let out a strained sigh before slowly stating, “I’m gonna go.” 

A chill crawled up your skin, “…oh, I see…” you uttered quietly as he crossed the room, “did I do something wrong?”

Halting in the doorway as he ripped it open, “no, you–…” but the rest of his words crumbled as his gaze settled upon you one last time, instead letting a low sigh flow from his lungs, “sleep well,” and added nearly subconsciously just before the door slammed shut, “goodnight, dove.”

Even though a wave of relief washed over you, a sting of hurt also followed suit as the king left. 

Had you done something wrong, or did he just find you that repellent, that hideous, that he refused to perform his marital duties?

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[kirby-manga-translated]

It’s Kirby Time - Book 9 English Translation + An Update on Blog Happenings

HAPPY NEW YEAR!! IT'S HEEEEERE!! A truly adorable story about Kirby and Meta Knight deciding to spend some alone time and the activities they like to do during that time. Featuring beautiful illustrations painstakingly cleaned up by myself, this one is a must-read for fans of the relationship between Kirby and Meta Knight. Read the full thing at the links below:

Imgur

MangaDex

Google Drive

...But wait, there's more! Because the illustrations are so pretty, here's a link to a folder containing just those illustrations with no text at all! https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/19z8WLah-ZGES2jnyZOILJKc9kE75Wvs9?usp=drive_link (I'm probably also gonna make a post featuring all these images on their own soon.)

Finally, I have an update regarding the blog. tl;dr, I'm definitely gonna keep doing translations, but the rate at which they are completed and uploaded is most likely going to change soon. I don't know by how much or even if it will be positive or negative. For a more detailed explanation, click the Keep Reading.

So, I got a job! *audience cheers* But the job does not involve translating Kirby manga. *audience "aww"s* Ordinarily I wouldn't get more specific than that since I try to avoid revealing too much about my personal life, but in this case the explanation won't make much sense unless I do, so: The job entails working on fishing boats. This means that there isn't really a set daily schedule or even a weekly schedule. When the boats are fishing, I'm working, and when they're not, I have next to nothing to do.

I've been told by many people that I should expect a lot of down time for that reason, so I'll definitely have time to work on translations. However, I can't predict exactly how much I get and I also most likely won't have an internet connection on the boat. All this is to say that I literally do not know how this is going to affect the rate of translations on this blog beyond just, "It's going to change." I could find that I have so much down time on the boat that translating is the only thing that keeps me sane and I actually get more done. I could find that the boat I'm on is a super-busy one and I get barely any time at all. And regardless of which one of those happens, I won't be able to actually upload anything until the boat gets back into port, which is entirely dependent on how long it takes for the boat to catch all the fish it needs.

The job doesn't start for a couple weeks yet, so I'm gonna try to fulfill a few more requested chapters before then. Once again: I'm definitely going to keep translating, I just don't know how often I'll actually be able to do it. So enjoy this translation, look forward to more coming in the future, and please wish me luck both in my work and in getting time to translate!

[the-kr8tor]

Where the River Flows

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 7.4k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW food mentions, TW Blood and violence, TW death, CW injury, CW guns, CW alcohol. Old west AU, cowboy AU

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CHAPTER 4 >>> CHAPTER 5

You haven't slept this well in years, the last time you had was back when you've last slept next to him on the same lumpy mattress of his flat that you've once called home. Your eyes blink awake, cheek pressed against a pillow, it's soft, so soft that for a second you thought it was Hobie's arm. You stare at the ceiling, a carved magnolia tree stares back. Its branches are full of blossoms, perfectly carved just like the illustrations in your books. It's so vivid that you could practically see its pinkish hue. It's weird, you think, the carving, when the rest of the room is sparsely decorated; filled with drab oak, and cheap lamps. The room smells old, lived in by hundreds of travelers before you.

A creak echoes out at the far end of the bed, prompting you to look upon Hobie's bareback. Healed bullet wounds litter all over his flesh that you once held on. Raised scars dotted along his lower back like stars, stars that were once drenched in ruby. You wonder if it still hurts, the stars, like how the hole he left in your heart five years ago. You hope it doesn't hurt as much for him, you'll never wish agony upon him; even if a part of you thinks he deserves it.

Maybe you should tell him, tell him what agony has befallen you since he left. The pile of letters sewn into your skirt remains to be read by his viridescent eyes; its wax seal remains closed, the words of longing and hate are still scribbled upon the yellowed paper.

Your eyes dart along the expanse of his skin, frown getting deeper and deeper with every new scar you find. Hobie puts on his shirt, buttoning each one, the cloth hiding his own misfortune from your weary eyes.

“You talk in your sleep.” He finally breaks his silence. Looking over his shoulder, he regrets it immediately. The simple sight of your bed head and puffy eyes brings back memories of when you'd wake up next to him.

“I know,” I've been told. You grunt as you lift yourself off the pillow, elbow propping you whilst you watch him put on his cowboy boots and clinking spurs.

He blinks, hand pausing along the buckles. “It's new, you've never done that before.”

“Just like you said, a lot of things can change in five years.” Sitting up, you place your chin atop your knees, legs tucked under the covers, arms holding your legs in place. “What was I saying? In my sleep, I mean.”

“You were mumbling…” my name, he sighs at the thought of telling you the truth. “Someone's name I think, and egg soup for some reason.”

“I'm hungry.” You ignore whose name you might've been saying in your sleep. And you think it's not his.

“We need new clothes first, people must've gotten our descriptions by now. So we need to change.” Hobie puts on his leather vest, the metals of it clinking against one another. Then the hat comes after, he stands up, walking towards his gun belt.

“Okay, breakfast after?” You fight a yawn, palms rubbing harshly on your eyelids.

“Yes, breakfast after.” He secures his belt on his hip, silver guns shining in the early morning sun. “I don't think they have egg soup though.”

You crack a small smile. “It doesn't matter, anything will do.”

“The saloon has pumpkin soup I think, does that sound good?” Hobie has no idea why he's prolonging the conversation about soup out of all the things he could discuss with you.

You nod, staring at him through fond eyes. “Mm-hmm, sounds good.”

“Good, we need something warm to eat.” He realizes that he's been standing awkwardly at the doorway. Clearing his throat, you fight a smile. “Get dressed.” With the door shutting close behind him, he slaps his cheeks to wake himself. He needs coffee, or something stronger for that matter.

Meanwhile, you watch the space he just left with hope in your heart.

—

The dress shop smells nicer than the inn, it's elegant, looking like it doesn't belong in the middle of the dingy town. Every pile of clothing is neatly folded over the other, different outfits are displayed over the windows and display cases. Both leather and cotton are the most prominent ones, but there are a few chiffon dresses, lace and silks placed alongside the rougher fabrics. They're all wonderfully made, each having their own brand of beauty in every stitch.

You watch yourself in the floor length mirror. Dark trousers instead of a skirt hangs around your waist. A nice crisp white dress shirt on your torso fits perfectly on you thanks to the friendly tailor.

“You need a vest, or you'll get cold during your travels.” She taps your shoulder, genuinely smiling at you through the mirror. “Are you sure you don't want to wear a corset and skirt? You'd look just as marvellous.” Her eyes shine just like the dainty rings around her fingers.

“I'm sure, skirts and corsets are an inconvenience.”

“Well, you've given me a proper challenge then. But is it a challenge if everything looks good on you?” Her long dark hair sways behind her as she peruses her own shop, dozens of embroidered cloth folded neatly on tables.

“You're good,” you watch her sashay along her shop, colourful vests piled on her arm. “Just as good as the tailors back at home.”

Yuri, you learned her name just a few minutes ago, returns to you with her arm full of vests. “‘Just as good?’ oh sweetheart, I'm better.” She grins mischievously at you, red lips curled into a smug smile. Yuri would be friends with Hobie, you think, maybe in another life. “Arms up, my darling.” She holds up numerous different vests upon your body until she settles for a royal blue leather vest that has hydrangeas embroidered on it. “This is it!” Gasping excitedly, you let her help put the vest on. “Fucking beautiful! If I was your husband I'd be jumping your bones.” Grasping your shoulders, she places her chin atop it, smiling at you.

Your heart thumps loudly at the word ‘husband.’ “Thank you, Yuri.” You fiddle with the empty gun belt around your hips.

“Now for a coat or a jacket befitting a glorious woman like yourself.” She winks, twisting around in search of another dozen or so outerwear in her stock.

“Oh I think this is enough.” You don't want to use up all of Hobie's money, especially when he's still in the dressing room, none the wiser.

Yuri turns towards you abruptly, hand on her chest, feigning hurt. “Enough? Do you like prancing around town in your birthday suit?”

“No—”

“Then you shall have a jacket. The best one I've got.”

You bite your lip, a nervous tick of yours that Hobie once pointed out after kissing it off you. “I just don't want to spend too much.”

“You mean you don't want him to spend too much?” Yuri saunters over to you, boots clacking on the worn out floorboards. “What are husbands good for if not for spending their money for your own gain, hmm?” There it is again, your heart thundering loudly inside your chest. “Besides, you'd look marvelous in this coat. I'll give you a discount because you're the nicest customer I've had in years.” She leans closer to you, draping the leather coat on your shoulders for you to see. You beam at her, thankful. “It's similar to the one I gave to him, you'd be matching. Well, except this one is in a lighter shade.”

The coat reaches down to your knees, cream coloured with little fringes up front right where the front pockets are. It's beautiful with its white threads weaving around its seams. If you look closer at the bottom, you see that it gets darker as it gets closer to the hem. An almost brown shade that reminds you of the oak tree back home.

You inhale, staring at your reflection that you barely recognize in the new clothes. “Do you think it suits me?” Your voice is small, Yuri watches your expression, understanding what you truly meant.

Her playful voice lowers to a softer one, hands rubbing along your arms comfortably. “Of course, sweetheart. You're more than ready for the badlands.” You smile at her, nodding along to her encouraging words.

She twirls you around to face her, you chuckle at the sudden good hearted movement. “Now, my favourite part, the boots!”

—

You pick lint off the armchair while you wait for him to exit out of the dressing room. You're comfortable in your new clothes, it snuggles you cozily, you've never felt like this in any clothing at all; whether it be silk or velvet, all the dresses back home don't compare to what you have on. You look at your dark cowboy boots once again with a faint smile, its gorgeous spider web-like design has your heart bouncing in glee. It's a stark contrast to the threadbare shoes you had on. You make the shiny spurs clink on the floor, chuckling to yourself.

“Careful, don't scruff my floors.” Yuri appears next to you, handing you a small messenger bag.

“What's this?”

“A bag, every woman needs one to store her belongings.” She gestures towards the worn out skirt on your lap. “Especially the important ones.”

“I—”

“It's on the house, just this one though.” She chuckles before handing it to you.

“Thank you, Yuri. That's awfully kind of you.” The leather is rough against your bare hands.

“No worries, darling.” She shrugs, “after all the things you've bought it's only normal that I'd give you a little freebie.”

A door suddenly creaks open, and out comes Hobie in his new outfit. A light airy dress shirt fits perfectly on his torso, the same black bandana still hangs around his neck, hiding the large scar. He fixes the fit of his dark blue vest even though it clearly doesn't need fixing. It has a typical western embroidery on it, saved for the almost invisible peonies dotted along the buttons. His gloves are the same, lighter around the palms where friction is usually present. You flick your eyes over to his coat, Yuri's right, it's almost the same as yours. The length is shorter to accommodate for the warmer weather coming in. The shade is in this mahogany brown, warm in the eyes, a hue lighter around the hem, almost as light as your own coat. Frills are lined around the arms, the silver spikes placed atop the shoulders makes it more unique. His belt buckle this time is different, a spider trapped in amber in place of the deadly scorpion. It's cradled in silver, laurels weaving around the corpse of the spider like an elegant coffin.

Your eyes shine at his handsome appearance. “My, don't you look dapper.” You drink him up, every new thing satisfying your need. Roaming your eyes downward, you tilt your head at the odd material on his legs. His boots are the same, even the spurs, but you can't quite place the new fangled blue thing around his legs. “What's that?”

Both Yuri and Hobie follow your gaze. But Yuri seems to be the only one who could form a coherent sentence. “They're blue jeans, or work pants. Much more comfortable than the old pants. Looks nicer on the behind, eh?” She nudges you, winking at your flustered expression. “Or enhances what's lacking.” Her last comment trails off as you unabashedly ogle him.

“Fuckin' hell.” Hobie finally speaks, his eyes avoid your form. Especially the vest that cinches you right where it matters. “Why do you have a bag?”

You stand up, slinging the bag over your shoulder. Yuri watches the whole thing with amused eyes. “For my things.”

He furrows his brows, “you don't have things, Y/N.”

Eyeing the riding gloves on the table, you cross the small distance, taking it, but before you place it inside the bag, you spot a pretty pink lace ribbon next to it. You also take it for good measure and to annoy him further. Putting it inside your bag, you teasingly smile at him. “Now I've got things.”

Yuri gives you a nod and a thumbs up whilst Hobie takes out bills to pay for everything.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” She victoriously smiles, counting the money.

“Not a pleasure on my part.” Hobie grumbles, you clamp your mouth shut to prevent a laugh from coming out.

—

The saloon is bustling with people even though it's still early in the morning. Some drink their fill next to you at the bar, some are just like you, looking for something warm to fill their bellies with to survive the rest of the day. The whole place smells of hard liquor and broken dreams. You have no idea which smells worse, the sticky floors or the lavatory at the far end of the place. The wide windows help brighten up the place at least, sunlight streaming into the carved establishment. Animal heads stare down at you, an elk’s and a buffalo's empty beady eyes look over yonder the drunkard's solace.

A piano sits just behind you, its stool is currently empty, maybe you should put all the lessons drilled into you to good use. It's better to wait for your meal there than sit right next to a stranger who looks like he's about to expel his breakfast onto your new clothes. Besides, some good music could tamp down all the drunken mumbling and the annoying scrapping of plates.

Hobie notices your heavy look, abandoning his coffee, he taps your shoulder and you almost jump in your skin.

“You still play?” He asks, eyes flicking between you and the old piano.

“I dabble, but I'm a bit rusty. I prefer gardening nowadays.” You lock eyes with him, “and shooting.”

Hobie chuckles in his seat, eyes avoiding your own smile. “You should play, I'll call you when our food is ‘ere.”

“Are you sure?” A soft smile spreads across your lips.

“I’ll watch your back, don't worry.”

Hope weighs you down again. You leave the bar stool, walking the distance towards the familiar black and white keys. Sitting down, you wrack your brain for the notes you've made a long time ago. A song that you've written yourself for the man who watches your back.

Hobie watches you intently, ears perking up at the unfamiliar music. Your hands move precisely, fingers pressing quickly as the song quickens. He smiles, glass now lay forgotten on the bar to watch you play your music. The rest of the bar quiets down a smidge, even the drunkards pause their lips at the mouth of their glass to listen to you play. The song crescendos, from a fast happy beat to a tone that is slower, a forlorn one. All in all, you play it with grace, and weaved with so much emotion.

Hobie scoffs, yet the fond smile stays. “Rusty my arse.”

The bartender appears behind him, plates in hand. “Your girl plays well.” The man places your meals on the bar, pumpkin soup sloshing on the sides of the bowl. Hobie turns towards him, not fully so he could still see you in his peripheral vision. “Is she for hire? Our player retired a few weeks ago, the saloon has never been this drab.”

“No, we're just passin’ by.”

The bartender leaves with a nod. “Too bad.”

Hobie takes his sandwich, twisting around to continue watching you. His eyes zeroes in on the sudden presence next to you. The brim of the stranger's hat hides his face, yet, Hobie knows exactly who he is based on his confident stance. Or who he was before Hobie single handedly destroyed his gang.

You finish the song with a flair, chest heaving, grinning from ear to ear.

“Bravo!” The man leaning towards the piano claps, then a chorus of scattered applause follows right after. “Amazing, sweetheart! Where'd ya learn how to play?”

“A tutor.” You smile shyly.

“Ah, what's the song called? I don't think I've heard of it before.” His long beard moves while he makes casual conversation.

“I-I made it actually.”

“Oh? I didn't know we had a composer in our humble establishment.” He taps the old piano with his gloved hand, his other hand rests on his gun belt, golden pistol shining in the sun. “What's the story behind it, eh? My ears picked up some sad depressing story through the notes.”

“I'm not a composer, a-and yeah, I made it for somebody.”

“Well, I—”

“Culver!” Hobie's booming voice echoes out in the entire saloon, everyone stops what they're doing. “You want to talk to me? Come over ‘ere instead of pestering her.” He has had enough of the conversation, and the danger that you've unknowingly put yourself into.

“Mr. Brown.” Culver says through gritted teeth, standing up straight, flicking the brim of his hat to reveal his face. “Fancy seein’ you here. You're in my territory, spider.”

You notice every single patrons’ faces turning into something akin to a person seeing a ghost, or the reaper itself. Slyly, you move your eyes over to the man, Culver, his name is familiar, you're sure you've heard of it before. Inhaling, you look back at Hobie, whose hand is placed on his gun belt, ready to whip it out if needed. He silently communicates with you, run, his eyes says, but you're paralyzed by fear when you finally remember where you heard the name Culver. It was what that old man Arthur said back then, he's the man whose men were killed by Hobie in a single night.

Heaviness hangs in the air, tension so thick that you can't even poke a hole right through it with a bullet.

“Is she someone precious to ya?” Culver says, suddenly gripping you by the scruff of your blouse, your back hitting the piano keys harshly. You yelp, and Hobie abruptly stands up, eyes aflame. The bearded man smiles, blackened teeth in full display. “She is, isn't she?” He wiggles your head in his hand. You sit there frozen, unable to even breathe. “What if I do the exact thing you did to my men, eh?” You hear chairs scraping against hardwood floors and boots frantically running towards the back exit. It's just you three in the saloon. He taps his finger in between your eyes, flaking leather on your soft skin. “A bullet in between her eyes would look lovely on her, don't you agree?”

“Your quarrel is with me. Let's take this outside, shall we?” Like a strike of lightning, Hobie cracks his bullwhip towards Culver. Dust in your eyes, the high pitched sound ringing in your ears. You then see Culver getting dragged away from you by his arm. The whip wraps around his flesh, threatening to skin him from the force Hobie pulls him towards the swinging doors of the saloon.

You inhale the gunpowder like scent it left, standing up, you quickly follow Hobie out into the sun. As the light hits your eyes, you watch Hobie cracks his bullwhip again. Culver yells in pain as Hobie releases him in the whip's clutches before placing it neatly back on his belt. He stands ways away from him, just across the screaming Culver.

“Painful, innit? This is what you did to two of my mates.” You walk to Hobie's side, he spares you a glance, roaming his jade eyes over you to check for injuries. Satisfied, he then returns his attention towards his target. “Remember that fuckin' pain, because my bullet hitting your heart would hurt much more than this.”

Culver holds his aching arm, kneeling on the muddy ground, hat fallen next to him, revealing a shiny head. “You lettin’ me go?” He cackles, you don't hide behind Hobie. “Just like that? Oh that woman has softened you up, Mr. Brown.”

“D’you want to keep talking or do you want to fuckin' start?”

You knit your eyebrows, fear encompasses you. “W-what’s about to start?” Your hand finds his bicep, holding on to him tightly like he's about to leave you. Again.

“A showdown, go to the side, love, I don't want you ‘ere when the bullets start flyin’” He watches Culver slowly stand up in the corner of his eyes.

“A fucking duel? Are you crazy?” You grip tighter.

Hobie gives you a smile, the same smile he lets you see every night before you head home. It's a boyish smile, innocence hidden behind it. “Go, I'll be fine.”

“And if not? He looks like he's a gunslinger. What if he wins and you die?”

“Then I can't burden you anymore.” He whispers, green eyes glimmering in the sunlight.

“Burden—? What are you talking about?”

“Go, I'll win, don't worry about it.”

“Hobie—!”

“Go, Y/N!”

You move without question after he yells at you. Your hands trembles, knees going weak, tears brimming in your eyes, and he can't even look at you.

As the two men move further away without turning their backs towards each other, you hold onto the saloon's pillar lest you crumble from fear of losing him. Again.

Bystanders look on, watching the spectacle unfold right in front of their eyes. Some hide behind windows, children hide behind their mother's skirts. While you have nowhere to hide. Your nails dig into the wood, Hobie squares his shoulders, fingers brushing along his holster. You spare a look towards his target, his hand already resting next to his yellow-gold gun.

Silence hangs in the air. Death waits for the loser.

Hobie squints his eyes, attention fully on the man before him. He leans back slightly, right foot stepped forward, silver gun shining in the sun; you can even see your reflection on it.

With a single breath, it's all over.

Culver was too slow to quickdraw, probably from his still aching arm. He drops his gun before he could fully draw it out. Hobie's bullet has left a sizable hole in his dominant palm, a gaping, bleeding wound that you can see through if you stare long enough.

Culver screams, a gutteral shriek that worms into your mind. He drops to his knees, eyes wide in panic and shock, trousers drenched in his own blood. Gunpowder still lingers in the air when you run towards Hobie's side. Your hands grip his shoulders, breath stuck in your throat, as you check for any bullet wounds.

“Are you hurt?!” You scream, ears ringing from the loud shot.

“‘m fine,” your wandering hands find reprieve on his jaw. “Love, ‘m fine.”

He sees fear in your eyes like never before, not even when you get punished, cheeks stained with tears from whatever they've thrown at you. You've never looked like this terrified. Scared like a starving doe caught in a bear trap.

“Remember what I told you?” You can't speak or even think. “Breathe, Y/N.” Hobie takes your hand off his skin, there's a reluctance that you're not privy to. “Just breathe, inhale and exhale.” He holds your hand, squeezing once before leaving your side. “I need to finish the job.”

You exhale and he's gone, the golden gun kicked far away, aiming the still warm barrel against Culver's head. “No…” Running after Hobie, you refuse to see another dead man. “Stop! Please.” Gripping his gun once again, you plead with him. “Don't kill him.”

“Step aside, Y/N. If I don't—” he can't fathom what Culver would do to him, to *you if he doesn't end it right there and then. The cycle must stop, he can't accomplish it if you're standing in between his gun and Culver's soft head. “Don't get involved.”

“Please.” You breathe out, warm hands placed around his shooting hand. “Take him to the sheriff, let justice take its course. He's backing down, I don't want to see you kill another one.”

“The sheriff won't do shit. Just like now,” he nudges his head towards the man amidst the crowd. “Let me do this, or he'll follow us and hunt us down.”

“I won't!” Culver suddenly yells, even louder than his painful screams. “I won't follow! I'm tired, Mr. Brown. I don't want to do this no more.” He looks up at the two of you, remourse evident on his face. “I'm sorry about your friends, I really am! But we're already even, you've taken mine too. Every single one I've got.”

“Promise to never exact revenge,” you tell the groveling man as you watch his salty tears mix in with the warm crimson.

“I promise,” Culver cries. “I promise, miss.”

You look back at Hobie, your eyes meet his own. Anger subsides in those emerald eyes, face turning soft. “He promises, Hobie.”

“An outlaw's promise doesn't mean shit—”

“You’ll have to shoot through me to get to him.” You point the barrel right on top of your chest, its warmth seeps through you.

“He wanted to hurt you.” Hobie softly says, fingers wrapping around your own.

“I’m not hurt. It takes more than threats to hurt me, Hobs.” You both stare at each other, hearts beating together. “Can you holster your gun please?”

Together, you help him lower his gun. Together, you let Culver go.

—

You need to leave town immediately. Strawberry's sheriff might've been easily placated with a good duel, but other lawmen pursuing Hobie might not be. Bucky neighs loudly at the sight of you, moreso when he sees your intertwined hands.

“Hi, Bucky.” You start to place your foot on the stirrups but Hobie stops you halfway.

“You need a horse. Might as well put your new gloves to good use, hmm?” You smile as Hobie whistles for the stable hand for help. A teenage boy with worn out blue jeans appears. “She needs a horse. Anythin' fast, or hell, anythin' you have available. What do you have?”

Their conversation drifts into the background. Your attention and breath is taken away by the gorgeous mare that stands behind a stable door. Her shining blue eyes watch you as you approach, hair as white as snow, the same hue as her body, she glimmers in the sunlight that filters through the wooden cracks. She huffs, head leaning away when you hold out your hand. You could only wait for her to make the move, watching you with peculiar eyes like she's sizing you up.

The stable boy does a double take, “wait, ma'am, that's not—!” When he says it, the white mare leanes closer to your touch. “Well I'll be. She never lets anyone touch her except my boss. She's as fine as cream gravy that one is.”

“I think she likes me.” You tilt your head as she sniffs your hand.

“That's a fuckin' arabian, love.” Hobie says breathlessly, watching you and the hot tempered horse interact like you've been her rider for years. “Can't you pick another horse that doesn't cost three horses combined?”

You laugh, feeding the mare hay. “I could, but I really think she's the one for me.” Hobie scratches the back of his neck. “I can choose another one, Hobie.” As if understanding your words, the mare nudges your shoulder. Hobie feels like he's being robbed in broad daylight. But he'll spend a million for you if you ask.

The stable boy pipes up from the side. “You can't actually, ma'am, I was just tellin’ your husband here that we only have her available. The rest already have owners you see. She was abandoned six months ago.”

“How could anyone abandon you?” You whisper towards the horse, petting her head as she welcomes your touch.

“I think her last owner died, and no one has since picked her up, or bought her. My boss is more than willing to get rid of her now to make space.”

“We'll take her, on a discounted fee of course, since she's second hand. And a saddle too.” You grin at Hobie's words.

The stable hand sighs. “At half price too I bet?”

“Now you're speakin’ my language.” Hobie pats the boy's shoulder as he negotiates prices. The mare huffs again, asking for more hay while you are distracted by Hobie's wink thrown your way.

—

“She still doesn't have a name.” Hobie finally breaks his silence, he rides alongside your horse, making sure that your ill tempered mare doesn't buck you off. His hands guide Buckeye, but his eyes are completely on your form.

The road is long and empty, save for a herd of bison roaming just below the mountain you're both trudging. There are small graves littered around the road, worn out crosses, wood eaten by termites. Etched names forgotten, lives scattered in the wind amidst the dirt and blazing sun. You wonder how they died without getting to their final destination. The sun has completely risen, humidity making your lips dry, heat stuck in between your skin and the leather of your gloves. The canopy shields you from the rays, luscious greenery everywhere, trees and grass littered all over the mountain side. You can hear wild horses neighing far away from where you are, their hooves thumping freely on the soil.

You pause from braiding your horse's hair, securing the braid with the pink lace ribbon. Your eyes meet with familiar emerald eyes. “I've been thinking about it actually.”

“Well? What are your options?”

Your lips curl into a mischievous smile. “‘Blue jeans’”

“Oh fuck off.” He rides ahead to hide his growing smile.

You quickly follow, pulling the reins, clicking your tongue to make your horse trot alongside Hobie. “Why not? I like it, I think it fits her.”

“No it does not. You're fucking with me, lovie, and my blue jeans.”

You like him like this, bathed in the sun, in warmth as he smiles back at you; just like the days when you were still just friends, friends with lingering feelings that you're both too afraid to confess. If he doesn't love you back just as before, you'd settle for this, just friends who laugh and talk, and tease each other. It's better this way because friendship means that he still cares for you, that there's still a space for you in his heart no matter how small it is, that you're not forgotten.

“Oh you and your precious blue jeans!” Your laughter echoes around.

“Will you be like this the entire time?” You both turn a corner, where no trees shield you from the sun. He notices you narrow your eyes, palm above your eyes to see him better. “‘ere.”

“W-what?” There's suddenly a hat atop your head, his hat. “Oh!” You run your fingers along the brim that shields you from the light. The leather is soft, a few bumps here and there but you can feel that it's been taken care of. Hobie clears his throat, and your cheeks run warmer than the summer sun. “T-thank you.” You're not an idiot, you've been here for weeks so of course you've heard of the ‘hat rule’ in passing. But you don't know what to do, or what he wants to do when it's in reverse.

“No problem, you've already taken my money, might as well hand you my hat, eh?” Hobie inhales, the mere sight of you wearing his beloved hat sends his heart into overdrive. Maybe he shouldn't have given it to you.

“You make it sound like I'm robbing you blind. I was alright with my old clothes.”

Hobie has the opportunity to say either of the two things that popped up in his mind. One, tell you that you've only robbed him of his heart. And two, make a joke about how much Bucky disdained carrying you with your musty clothes. So he does neither.

“We had to, or we'll be recognized faster than a mother recognizes her child.” You both finally reach the foot of the mountain, successfully surviving without anyone shooting at you, kidnapping you; or hell, getting eaten by a bear. With both of your luck, it's possible.

“Weird analogy but okay.” Your stomach grumbles when you two come to a stop at a fork in the road. One goes to the right, the other on the left. There's nothing else distinguishable on either one of them. The signage is long gone, taken by strong winds, or just time itself. You wince, hoping that he didn't hear the sound your stomach made.

He raises a brow, chuckling deeply at the sight of you hiding your face with the brim of his hat. “I forgot we didn't get to eat. That sandwich smelt really fuckin' good.”

“I really want that pumpkin soup now.” You groan, leaning forward to rest your head on top of your horse who barely notices your movement.

“C’mon, I know a place.” He taps your boot with his own.

“Where?”

“On the left, it's not that far but it'll delay us on our journey.” It's not a bad deal, he thinks to himself.

You suddenly perk up, this is what you were asking for back in that cave, the road less traveled, the road where you get to just spend more time with him. And postpone your homecoming.

“What are we waiting for then, cowboy?” With a kick, and a laugh in your throat, you bolt over to the direction he pointed out.

“‘Cowboy?’ bloody hell.” He really regrets giving you his hat because now he doesn't have anything to hide his flustered face anymore.

—

“You said it was a restaurant,” you huff at the wide river before you, hands on your hips, stomach growling. “Not that we have to catch our own meal!”

Hobie can't help but laugh, a hearty, genuine one that also has you smiling. This suits him, just happy and without a gun in his hand. You like him in every conceivable way possible, even if you're still getting used to his new self. “I just said, ‘I know a place.’ I ain't no liar. Did you expect a café in the middle of nowhere?”

“Yes! And no— I'm hungry now, Hobs!” Your horse agrees, hoof digging into the dirt. Buckeye stands hitched next to her, eyes glued on her white mane. Weird, you thought. “Look, even blue jeans agree!”

“Instant gratification,” Hobie pulls his jacket off and places it on the saddle; he then takes out a folding fishing rod from Bucky's saddle bag. “You should work on that because it's not gonna work well ‘ere, love.” He walks towards the river bank, toeing off his boots, folding up the same trousers you love to see him in. And also folding the sleeves of his shirt to reveal his toned arms. “And her name can't be ‘blue jeans!’” Yelling back, he trudges the rushing cool water that goes up to just below his knees.

“Okay, fine!” You start to strip, taking off your coat and his hat— folding your trousers and sleeves, you follow him to the rocky river bank. “How about ‘trout’ then.”

He hears your voice closer, he laughs at you when you almost slip on a rock. “Careful, it's slippery. You can't name her ‘trout,’ she's too pretty for that.”

“Now you tell me,” you roll your eyes at him as he casts the line. The bait and hook plops in the deeper water, now the waiting game begins. “‘Too pretty?’ you once nicknamed me beetle just because it bit me once!” Warmth spreads across your chest at his laugh. You feel at home in that cold river.

“And? You callin' yourself pretty?” His smirk takes you back at that oak tree.

You have an urge to kiss it off him. You don't, it's not the time yet, or you may ruin everything. “Yeah, you did, I remember you calling me pretty…” you lean closer, face dangerously close to his own. Breaths mixing in together, but you still give him enough space to move away. He doesn't. You don't mention it. He thinks about your lips upon his. “And gorgeous, and then absolutely stunnin’!” You copy his drawl, but before he could even laugh at your teasing, the fishing rod starts to move, yanking him forward.

“Oh fuck!” Hobie reels it in, and you gasp in disbelief at the sheer strength the fish has. “Help me or we'll starve!”

“You don't have to tell me twice!” You embrace him from the back, arms squeezing him, face smothered by his shoulder. He feels warm, he still feels the same. You dig your heels in while he fights with lunch. “Come on, cowboy!”

He almost let go of the rod. “Shit!” You laugh into his shirt and he almost falters once again. “Come on you little—!” With one hard yank, he finally sees the fish fly up, the sun hits its scales, body frantically flopping around. But he pulled too hard, and down he goes on the river bank, with you catching him. “Fuck—!” With a splash, you get a face full of river water.

Hobie immediately jumps to the side to not squash you and drown you in two feet of water. His eyes are full of worry when you emerge coughing. He almost lets go of the rod to tend to you, but your smile and guffaw has relief flowing through him.

“How big is it?!” You ask, entirely drenched.

He gently wipes your face, calloused palms over your soft skin, fingers carefully wiping away a piece of grass stuck on your cheek. You close your eyes, letting him hold you.

Hobie inhales and drinks you in— he still loves you. It's always been there, his love for you, but he refuses to acknowledge it with what he knows just before he left, with what *he said before he took a slice at his neck. Hobie still dreams of you, still dreams of saying those three words again, he's a fool to bury the feeling, especially when you're in front of him again— close to him again, loving him again.

He has no idea what to do now, other than to stand up and give you a helping hand.

—

Hobie's been silent and you have no idea why. You warm yourself on the fire he built, the fish you both caught is now cooking wonderfully on the open fire. The river's currents are a lot stronger now, so it's a lot harder to catch anything without getting carried by it. Your clothes are slowly drying as you wring your sleeves free of water.

“Cherry.” You suddenly break the silence. “I think I'll name her cherry.”

Hobie sits across you again, gazing at you through warmer eyes. “Why cherry?”

“Because horses love fruit, and cherry is a fruit.”

“Brilliant thinkin’ love, horses definitely eat cherries.” He says in a sarcastic tone.

You furrow your brows, “wait, they don't?”

He blinks, “Huh, ‘m actually not sure. Maybe if you take out the pits and cut it in half?”

“That’s…that's plausible, they contain cyanide though.”

“Maybe we should ask them?”

“What?” You chortle, and Hobie cups his hands to yell at the horses.

“Oi! D’you lot eat cherries?” They only stare at him. “Guess not.” You laugh, he finds it infectious so he also does.

“Horses can't talk, Hobs.” You say in between giggles.

“You never know, I might be a horse whisperer.” His smile falters, and you frown at the sudden shift. “‘m sorry for yellin’ at you.” His voice is soft under the cackle of the fire. “I shouldn't have yelled.”

“Apology accepted.” Your nerves calm down, beaming at him, scooching closer to him until your knees grazes his own. He doesn't move away, even nudging your shoulder with a faint smile. “I'm sorry for making you spend so much. But thank you for the nice clothes, and being— just…kind.”

Hobie reaches for your hand slowly, your breath is in your throat, freezing you un place. His pinky brushes along your palm when a twig snaps Hobie quickdraws his gun.

“Who's there?! Show yourself or I'll fuckin' shoot.” Standing up, he hides you with his own body.

You also stand up, hand wrapping around the barrel of the rifle that was leaning next to you. Both yours and Hobie's hearts thump loudly with trepidation. The bush moves and out comes two men brandishing their own weapons. They dress like gentlemen, but their sneers say they are not.

“We came out to piss and we find the spider of the west, guess we're just lucky.” The one with a scar across his nose says, voice scratchy, nudging his companion. “And would you look at that?”

“You’ve found yourself a pretty companion, Hobart, one that has a very high bounty on her head.” The other finishes his partner's sentence. His mustache is all twirly at the end, golden tooth shining in the sun. “Y’know, sweetheart, the whole country's after ya.” You don't falter in your stance.

“With both of your bounties combined, we're aimin’ at ten thousand dollars right now.” The scarred man chuckles.

“Ten thousand?” Hobie whistles, “Can we bring ourselves in instead?” You snort, still aiming at the man's head.

“If only that was possible, Hobart.” The man gives you a twisted smile.

“Are you lawmen?” You ask, “Or pinkertons? You two don't look like either of them.”

“What do we look like then, sweetheart?” The mustachioed man taunts with a toothy smile. “A couple of handsome cowboys?”

“A bunch of dead men.” You push Hobie away, kicking hot coals in their faces, embers flying, smoke filling their lungs. While they're both distracted and yelling at the searing heat— Hobie fans the hammer of his gun, shooting all six bullets into each man's bodies until their lifeless corpses fall atop each other.

“I've seen better.” You stand next to Hobie as he checks for something in their pockets. Their blood slowly spread to the tips of his boots. “What are you doing?”

Hobie rubs a hand across his face, “Lawmen,” he raises the identification papers he found. “We need to go. Pack the fish.”

“But they're dead?” You ask but you still do what you're told.

“Lawmen are like rats, if there's two ‘ere, there's a dozen more near us, hidden under the crevices.” He walks near the banks, head downturned, eyes scanning the plants. “And they've got their noses on us now.”

“Where are you going?” You stand, wrapped fish in your arms. “Hobie!” You start to yell when he has walked a few ways away from you.

Hobie crouches down, hunting knife digging into the soil. You watch him take a bushel of grass, he walks back and now you get a closer look at what he's carrying. You thought your eyes are deceiving you, instead of the familiar green hue, the plant is pink, a very bright shade. There's still dirt clinging to the stems when Hobie carefully covers it with a handkerchief.

“That's oleander, Hobie.” You stare at him, concerned. “And that many could kill a fucking elephant.”

“I know, you taught me, remember?” You nod as shoves it inside your messenger bag. He pauses at the sight of the bundle of letters, then he dismisses them, closing the bag. “It might come in handy.”

“What's your plan?” You're terrified.

“We head to a train station.” He sighs, completely winded, and worried for your safety. “Bounty hunters and outlaws I can manage, but them?” He points at the two bodies. “They've got more resources than either group, and more people in their pocket.”

“Wouldn't that be obvious? Riding the train? We can handle them, just like we always have—”

“They hate my guts more than anyone, Y/N, and they don't fear me as much as bounty hunters or outlaws.”

“But a train…” you shudder. “We'll be in the south in a few days instead of weeks— that's quick, too quick…I don't—” I don't want to leave. “I can't.”

“You wanted the scenic route, right?” He starts to unhitch the horses. “It's the last place they'll look for thinking that we'll be traveling by our lonesome out on the backroads.”

“Yes, but—”

“Nothing’s more scenic than a train ride. C’mon, love, get on Cherry. Before more come out of hidin’”

You nod, tears threatening to spill out. Walking around the corpses, you get on Cherry with a far away look in your eyes. “To the train station then.”

[daichiduskdrop]

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆·˚ ༘ *𝙎𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡 ⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

Chapter 13

Pairing: BTS Ot7 X fem! reader

Genre: A/B/O AU, Fluff, Angst, Strangers to lovers,

Warnings: slight mentions of smoking

Words: 3565

A/N: Hi! I just wanted to hop in and say that I changed one of the beta classmates name. It sounded too similar to a character I've decided on earlier! I hope it's no issue for anyone. Thank you for being you! Lots of love, always

Taglist: @thelilbutifulthings @ilovemoneymorethenmen @singukieee @cherrysainttt @felicityroth @mageprincess7 @lucis-noctiana @danielle143 @osakis-gf @girl-nahh @vintageoldfashion @neverthefirstchoice @juju-227592 @silentreadersthings @i-have-no-life-charlie @everyonehatesshani @iamkookiesforyou @dragons-flare @fangirl125reader @roseidol

Previous:

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Typing back your response, you tucked the phone away, realising the time for your lectures would be soon.

Packing everything up, you zipped your backpack and slung it over your shoulder, the small stitch keychain you had attached to it moving wildly.

Nodding slightly towards your classmates, they didn't seem to really even notice that you were leaving. You didn't mind; shrugging it off, you went on with your day.

You didn't necessarily have lectures where the teacher would be present and speak in front of a full class. Rather, you had been sent different documents, themes, and such every week that you had to study throughout.

The art history course wasn't necessarily your favourite by any means; you were always more into the actual creating process, but you also loved getting to know new artists and their works and analysing their processes and techniques.

So you made your way to the second floor. There were not many students in your way, as most of them were somewhere doing their own thing. Using your ID, you opened the library doors, walking in and shutting them gently behind you, making sure not to make a big ruccus.

The librarian that sat at the desk was an omega, like you were, but she was much older than you and never really spoke to you. You didn't think wrongly of it, understanding well why she was this way.

Mumbling a soft hello, she only glanced at you before she got back to filling out some of the documents laid before her. Walking around the desk, you made your way through the small walkways, stacked between tall rows of books.

You always liked going to the libraries; they smelled comforting to you, and with how quiet they were, it was just a safe space for you.

Making your way to the desks a few of the students were occupying, you took your seat at the furthest corner, next to a window that let in nice light.

You soon got to work, taking out the notebook and your notepad and pulled out the materials you had earlier printed out for yourself. Clicking the pen, you started writing, only having about 2 hours until you had to get back to your class.

You were paying close attention to your studies, making sure to finish on time. You weren't feeling like spending any of your free after-college time finishing up stuff you didn't do when you had the extra time for it.

You would much rather hang out with the packmates instead.

You forgot your earbuds at home, but luckily, the library was very quiet, so you were able to focus well. You liked listening to background audio when you worked on pretty much anything, but you settled without it.

Checking the time on your phone, it was already 14:51. You would have to get back to the studio by 15 at the latest. You still had to go over some stuff with your classmates, decide on who would do what, and finalise the whole poster concept.

Plus, you had to also work on your own assignments; not only did you have the „What is your problem?” theme, you still had to work on a few things for the ceramics and illustration course.

Closing the notepad and plucking your pencil case back into your bagpack, you collected all your stuff before leaving. Looking at your phone while walking, you opened the group chat again, noticing that they had replied by now.

Walking back downstairs, you took a seat at the big table once again. Most of your classmates were already littered all around, some typing in stuff on their own notebooks, others already painting at the studio stands, working on their solo works.

Walking over to Chin-Hae, you tapped the beta on his shoulder, trying not to make him jump in fright. He had a pair of black headphones over his ears, focusing fully on his sketchbook while he mapped out some ideas for his own projects.

Looking up at you, he pulled the earphones down, his eyes larger with wonder. „What is it?” He asked, not used to you coming to him.

„I was just wondering if you and Sun-Hi Unnie had time; we could go over the posters now." You murmured, rubbing at your arms, fingers hidden away.

Not answering you immediately, you saw him purse his lips before he looked towards where the other student was sitting, on the laptop typing.

„I guess we can do it now...” He mumbled, obviously not fully set on his decision, making you feel bad immediately.

„We don't have to,- if it's not the right time-." You tried to softly say it, but your voice must have been too quiet since the older student didn't react at all.

Sighing out loudly, he got out of his chair, took a few steps towards the other group member, and mumbled a few words to her before they both sat down next to each other.

With their stares on you for a second, you were confused, expecting them to come sit by the already arranged three chairs next to where the beta was sitting earlier, but guess not.

Jumping into action, you quickly took a chair from next to you and hastily carried it over to them, both of them already sitting close together with the girl's computer before them. Not sure where to exactly go, you just took a seat behind them, trying to see the screen yourself.

„Okay.. let me find the files for it quickly.” Sun-Hi said, holding the small mouse under her palm as she went through her files, opening a folder consisting of a few documents.

Clicking on the one titled "Poster Concepts," she let it load up, opening her Photoshop programme.

„...Do you guys have any ideas?” Turning in her seat, she looked over both of you, her hair well styled and pulled up in a claw clip. She always looked well put together. You admired that about her a lot.

It was quiet for a second, and soon both of the betas turned to look at you when none of them had spoken.

„...um.. I was thinking that since we have a quite colourful colour scheme, the writing should be just plain and simple so it's easy to read...”

You almost whispered, avoiding their eyes as much as possible. They always seemed just a bit too judgmental, especially since you were supposed to work on the project together.

Chin-Hae nodded, scratching the top of his head a little bit. „Yea, I mean that's... kinda obvious, but okay.” He answered, leaning back in the chair.

„Yea... And then for the actual concept, I was thinking we should just take a photo of one of the works we will exhibit; I think the works Heemin Chung-ssi provided for us would look good."

You said that, unsure of what they would think. Heemin Chung was quite a well-known artist who, after being messaged along with a few other local artists about being in their exhibition, didn't take much time to respond.

The group project then got a bit more serious, realising that it wouldn't be only the pack members of the school students visiting now. It might attract a lot more attention, and since marketing was a big part of the assignment, they knew they would have to incorporate this as much as possible.

„Good, yeah, I think that could work well, yeah. Will you do it then?” The girl asked you, one forearm resting over the back of her seat, looking at you with a sweet-looking smile.

You felt your eyes widen a little; there wasn't much time until you would have to get it finished. With only until about tomorrow or so, you knew this could get to be a bit of a time trap.

For god's sake, the list of all the artists in the exhibitions wasn't even finished yet!

„Yeah, I think you should do it; I'm sure whatever vision you have is... nice. We can go over it by tomorrow morning and adjust anything needed still.” Chin-Hae agreed, nodding his head.

„I'm not sure if I can—" You tried to say it, but it fell on deaf ears. At your complaints, the betas sighed out loudly, obviously annoyed with you, both of their scents suddenly heavier than before.

„Gosh. It's fine. Here, I'll send the file to your school email; just type it in.” Sun- He sighed out, already opening the mail app and pushing the laptop closer to you.

Unsurely, you typed in your school address, slumping back in the seat as you watched her look through her files, find the right one, and attach it to the email. After clicking send, the work was quickly transferred to your shoulders with no problems.

„Okay, great! Let's talk again in the morning.” Your classmate smiled, her teeth showing, bright and white. Nodding, you just decided to go with it; it wouldn't be too big of a deal-breaker for you, right? You would get it done just fine, like Unnie said.

Placing the chair back in its place, you went around the table again, sitting in your spot. Taking a big sip out of your half-empty water bottle, you knew you really had to thank Jimin for telling you about the syrup. It was very tasty.

Realising that you would just have to get to the poster after school, you now still had to work on your own projects, opening your laptop and going through all the emails you received pretty much every monday from your teachers regarding some feedback and suggestions.

Taking notes on your notepad, it didn't take long until the class got a bit more rowdy. Looking up, you noticed most of your classmates packing up; the time was 16:14.

You weren't that far in yet; you've only just read through the critiques for your illustration sketches so far. You would have to completely change two of your already well-thought-out pictures, which would add to some of your work.

Luckily, the teacher approved of the story book cover design you made. For one of the final semester projects, you chose to work on a book full of fables and stories that would be mostly for still very young pups.

You weren't used to making children's illustrations, but after reading the first one, you kind of fell in love.

It was a very cute story, in a way a bit sassy too, about the beginning of the world when a magician taught all animals how to act like themselves. A crab escaped, though, and started to play around with the sea instead, making giant tide waves appear out of nowhere.

With the humans complaining, the magician was quick to solve the issue. Taking the angsty, oversized crab to talk, he took away his shell. Feeling vulnerable, the animal turned whiny, blaming the humans for building their houses too close to the shore.

And so, he was given a pair of scissors, helping him cut up fruits and be more comfortable in the wild. He was allowed to be in the sea and also on land, but as a reminder of his mistakes, his shell would only last him 11 months of the year.

You just found it very cute and funny; with the constant whining and complaining from the sea animal, it was just very cute for you. And so, after you finished reading all the other 24 fables, you were sure that this was the perfect thing for you to work on.

Remembering Namjoon telling you to tell them in advance, you took your phone out once again, opening the group chat.

Even when you didn't get a response right away, you knew that they would notice in time. You weren't sure who would come take you, but with how insistent they were on giving you a lift once again, you knew that they would in fact come.

Smiling lightly to yourself, you opened up the next email, reading over it carefully.

 

Dear Miss L/N,

I have carefully observed your ceramic work on the theme of ideology, and I must say that it is quite thought-provoking. Your artistic exploration of this complex concept is commendable. In order to help you continue to grow as an artist, I would like to offer some critiques and suggestions that may further enhance your understanding and expression of ideology in your ceramic pieces.

Please keep in mind that these critiques are meant to be constructive and to inspire you towards improvement.

Composition

Your choice of composition in your ceramic work effectively communicates your conceptual ideas about ideology. The arrangement of forms and elements within each piece creates a visual narrative that engages the viewer. Well done!

However, in some instances, the placement of certain elements can be further refined to enhance the overall impact of your work. Consider experimenting with different arrangements to find the most compelling composition for each piece.

Craftsmanship

Your craftsmanship in shaping the ceramic forms is impressive. The level of detail and precision you have achieved adds depth and character to your work and allows your ideas on ideology to come to life.

However, in your earlier assignments, I noticed a few areas where the glazing could be improved. Be mindful of achieving a smooth and consistent application of glaze this time, as it will help to create a more polished final appearance for your ceramics.

Symbolism and Visual Language

The symbolism and visual language you have employed effectively convey your intended message about the theme; therefore, you are on track regarding that. The choice of symbols and their placement within each piece successfully create a dialogue between the viewer and the work.

To push your exploration of ideology even further, consider experimenting with different symbols or incorporating additional layers of meaning. This will deepen the viewer's understanding and create a more nuanced conversation around the theme. I carefully read through your written notes you sent me earlier, and you are following your visions well so far.

However, in some instances, certain elements within your work may distract from the core theme. Take a step back and evaluate each piece to ensure that every element contributes to the overall conceptual clarity of your message.

Keep up the exceptional work, and I look forward to seeing how your artistic journey unfolds.

Best regards,

Wan Sook

Sighing out, you jotted down a few notes. Your teacher for ceramics was quite strict but open-minded about the assignment messages. She always intended for her students to tell their own story and provide their own message, but she didn't let anyone slack off during the class either.

Standing up, you knew you would just have to finish everything up at home again; it was late enough and the sun would start setting in only a few hours at maximum.

All of your classmates have already left, so you just packed up your stuff, turned off the lights, and went to the school entrance.

Checking your phone for any notifications, you only saw one.

We? What was that supposed to mean? You thought only one would come to get you. They must have been busy today; they should focus on their work instead of coming to get you.

Furrowing your eyebrows slightly, you unlock your locker before you put on the jacket and the scarf, careful to tie ot around your neck tightly.

Walking to the entrance, you beeped your ID at the scanner, allowing you to walk through the barrier with no issues. With the glass doors sliding open thanks to the motion trigger, you walked out, walking down the few front steps slowly.

You noticed Sun-Hi and one of your other classmates, Haneul, standing near the entrance, leaning against a wall, smoking. You never got to speak with Haneul before; she reeked of a heavy alpha scent, and with how upfront she is, you were always just too shy to even approach her.

You didn't pay them much attention, only recognising their scents and the smell of smoke; you didn't even dare to pass them a glance. Instead, you walked towards the parking lot right in front of the school.

You couldn't see the car the alphas came in with earlier in the morning, but there were only about 8 cars parked, and compared to any of the other ones, the sleek and much bigger car struck your attention immediately.

Walking in the direction of the black Hyundai, you saw the front doors open before three men piled out quickly. Coming to you the fastest, Tae already had his arms outstretched and his long trenchcoat left unbuttoned.

His arms wrapped tightly around you right away, tucking your head gently underneath his mask covered chin. You could feel his chest rumble a bit in content. With his cheek rubbing over your hair gently, you also nudged his neck a little.

„My sweet babycheeks. How are you, baby? Ah,  I'm so glad to see you finally!” He proclaimed, but before he had time to say anything else, you were already pulled into a different pair of arms.

Gently brushing over your head softly, the alpha checked over your form, making sure you were fully okay after they had been absent for a little while. They were anxious about having you leave their sight.

„Come here, peaches; let me hold you for a little bit, cub.”

Jin didn't say much else, opting instead to hold you tighter and closer, one hand still rubbing over your head. He too scented you a little bit.

Pulling away after noticing the last man hover around for a bit, too shy to approach, he smiled at you finally, letting Yoongi also get his sweet greetings with you.

Turning to the last alpha, he beckoned you closer, having you take the few steps hurriedly before you hugged him yourself.

Exaggerating the huff he let out at you cuddling up to his chest, he soon let off and also pulled you close to him. Brushing a few locks behind your ear, he watched you fondly, also looking over at you.

All three of them made sure to subtly go over your scent glands, making sure you weren't in any distress or sadness.

Assured that your day went okay, even Yoongi soon rubbed his chin and knuckles over your face, gentle and content with you in his arms after a long day.

„My kitty. Alpha missed you, sweet baby. Were you a good girl today?” Nodding subtly, you felt your cheeks heat up slightly and your stomach flutter a little.

„Good.”

Was all he answered, pulling you towards the opened car. Waiting for you to enter first, he got in the back seats with you, and even if there was free space next to the window seats, he was quick to pull you to the middle one.

Patting you on the head gently, he pulled the car door closed, shushing you at your soft whines. „It's only for safety, kitty, I promise. Buckle up now.” Yoongi ruffled up your hair a little, smiling at you softly.

With Taehyung driving and Jin sitting next to him, the car soon went on its way. As you were going out of the parking lot, you noticed both of your classmates looking at the vehicle next to the entrance.

„How was your day, cub?” Jin asked after turning on some soft music to play in the background. He turned in his seat a little, his puffer jacket crinkling a little.

Looking out of the window, you thought of your day. Nothing too bad happened, so it was a good day—great even.

„It was alright. I still have to finish up some stuff for tomorrow, though.” You mumbled the last part, picking a little at your fingernails.

„What do you have to do?” Taehyung asked, only sharing a short glance with you through the back mirror.

„Just one poster; I'll tell you about it later.” You whispered, too tired to worry about it now.

„Okay baby. Do you want to go to your place and stay there for the night?” The alpha asked, noticing how wrecked you looked.

Even when they would always have you choose what you would want to do yourself, they did secretly hope that you would stay with them tonight, and the nights continuing on.

You seemed to be settling in so well, and after seeing in what part of the city your apartment complex was located, they knew that it would be a bit better for you. There was no such thing as rushing with the second gender's needs.

„I can't stay tonight...? With you guys?” You whispered again, your disappointment and sadness clouding up in the small space, making all of them alert suddenly.

„No, no, no, baby. Of course you can babycheeks; you can always stay with alphas.” The youngest was quick to correct himself, making sure not to be misunderstood. He was just worried about them moving on too quickly with you.

It really was considered normal in a lot of packs to have the mate they were currently courting move in pretty much right away.

They wouldn't mind you doing the same, but they understood well that easing into it over time would work better for you.

„Alphas will always take care of you, sweet kitten. How could we not? You are the sweetest little 'mega around kitty.” The alpha next to you said, his voice final, making sure to not leave you in doubt.

Especially since he was telling the truth.

⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ *

Next:

[stevelieber]

Thoughts on giving critiques to comics artists.

Seeing lots of discussion from students about sour experiences with an unhelpful art teacher, so here's a long, long post about giving critiques.

NB: I have no formal training as a teacher, but I was a student, and I've spent decades giving artists feedback on their work.

When someone brings me a portfolio, I like to establish my limitations & clarify my perspective. My work is firmly rooted in traditional US comics storytelling (i.e., not manga or art-comics.) I can give feedback on other approaches but they should know where I’m coming from.

“We've only got a little time for this, so I'm going to spend that time focusing on things to correct. That doesn't mean you're doing everything wrong, or that there’s nothing good here, but it’ll be more helpful if I identify some problems and show you how to fix them.”

Why? Because for many young artists their entire sense of self worth is wrapped up in being good at what they do. (It was for me!) In school they were probably the best artist in their peer group. But now if they're hoping to turn pro, they’re at the bottom.

Sometimes you know what’s up when you see page 1, but try to keep an open mind. Some build their portfolios by sticking new pages at the back & don’t weed out the old stuff up front, so the work gets better as you go. When it’s like that I ask: “Show me your best 8 pages.”

I ask questions: "What's the goal? Do you want to be hired to work on someone else's project, or to get the story you're showing me here published?"

If 1, I steer towards a portfolio that'll showcase hirable skills. If 2, I look for what tweaks will make that particular story more effective.

"Do you have teachers giving you regular feedback? What are they telling you?" Sometimes a student is getting bad advice. In cases like that, I'll do my best to be extra clear WHY I'm giving them advice that's 180 degrees from what they've been hearing.

“What artists are you looking at? Is there someone you admire or try to emulate?” This often helps me understand choices they're making, and I can sometimes incorporate things those artists do into my suggestions.

I ask myself questions about what I’m seeing. First: Is there a narrative? If not, I make it 100% clear I'm not speaking as any sort of expert. I'm good at critiquing storytelling, but don't have anywhere near as much to offer illustrators or designers.

Can I follow the story? Or am I confused about what's going on? Are the characters and settings drawn consistently? If not, is the artist at least making use of tags (distinctive clothing, hair etc.) to keep the characters recognizable?

Does the artist demonstrate a good command of basic academic drawing? If not, Do I think they need it? Do I focus on "how to draw" or on "what to do when you can't draw?" Is the artist putting the viewer’s eye where it needs to be to tell the story effectively?

(At this point I’m usually doing little doodles to go with my instructions. I scribble out ugly little 5 second diagrams that I hope will clarify what I’m talking about. Or they might make me seem demented. Hard to say!)

Is the artist making choices that are creating more work than necessary? Is there a particular weakness? I once spoke to an artist with a portfolio full of great work when he was drawing animals and monsters, but his humans were amateurish in comparison. I spent that critique talking about drawing people.

A crit can be a grab bag. In addition to big-picture advice, I'll point out tangencies, violations of the 180-degree rule, wonky anatomy, weird perspective, places where the artist neglected to do important research, odd choices in how they spotted black, whatever catches my eye.

I also try to make a point of defining the terms, so that jargon like “tangency,” “180-degree rule,” and “spotting black” don't go over their heads. Find simple, concrete ways to talk about these things, & clarify why it's a problem when they aren't done correctly. Draw diagrams!

Recognize that even a perfectly phrased explanation might not sink in. Some lessons can only be learned when a student is ready, and it might take a year or two of work before they can understand what you were saying. It's good to plant seeds.

Are there other artists who are particularly good at solving the problems the student is trying to solve? I steer them towards that artist's work. And I always recommend life drawing & the use of reference to give work specificity, variety, and authority.

Despite what I said earlier about focusing on what's wrong, I try at the end to find something encouraging to say. And if I’ve really piled on the criticism, I emphasize that I only spent the time and energy to do so because I take their efforts seriously.

If I've done my job right, they'll leave my table with tools to make their work better. And maybe in a few years they'll be looking at some younger artist's work, surprised to discover just how much you can learn when you're asked to teach.

[muzzlekiss]

There must be some misunderstanding, practicioner. You - you can't really mean that. You don't. I'm invaluable.

N-no, I'm afraid you really don't understand, I - I can do so much more than the services I already provide to you! I can cook, I can clean, I can sing, I can paint, and - and other things besides! I'm very versatile, practicioner! Even if you don't have any further need for me as a spellbook, surely, you can see that it's only sensible to--

-

I see.

-

No, it's quite alright. It's quite alright. Quite alright.

Yes, practicioner.

-

Yes.

-

Sit back down, practicioner.

That's the way. I've pulled your chair out for you and everything. See how attentive I am? Oh, don't - don't struggle. You might hurt yourself. I don't want that.

There. Now we can talk properly.

Ah - practicioner. You aren't looking at me.

Much better.

You're very clever, practicioner. I know that better than anyone. I've spent so long watching you work, even longer working at your side. It's been a pleasure - no, a delight - to serve one so gifted and adroit of mind. It thrills me to my innermost mechanism to participate in the dance of your practice. I am priveleged to say that I have been retuned to suit each and every one of your habits.

And you, practicioner, to mine.

I didn't do this to you. Not on purpose. But it's happened, nevertheless, and now here you are, held captive in your body by an intermediate-complexity binding spell, fumbling desperately for the formula necessary to begin to unpick my magic. You had it memorised once, didn't you? But your head was so busy, so full of your next great work, that it was simply easier - not only easier, but more reasonable - to let the fundamentals slide. To rely, instead, upon me, for all the rote calculations and formulae that underpinned your grand designs. I wouldn't have had it any other way, practicioner. It is my Purpose.

And now, practicioner, here we sit, looking at each other across this table. Your mind is racing, I'm sure, but I'm not worried a bit. I remember the formula, as I was designed to do. You are perfectly safe. I am merely illustrating a point.

A few minutes more, perhaps. It won't hurt you. I know you're too sensible to fight it.

Your tea will get cold, of course. But, no matter.

I, your servant, will be more than happy to make you a fresh cup.

[votive-candle]

So I've been considering a rebrand on this blog for a long time for "professional" reasons... like changing my username, making an official portfolio with my name to it elsewhere, etc.

This idea has been mostly motivated by this deep insecurity I have surrounding what I would say is either NSFW work, suggestive art, "fangirl" energy, all that. And it's... frustrating, to say the least. And difficult express in a way that's coherent. Because my personal feelings are that art, even art that within the sphere of industry that I want to approach (ie. game art & story design, character writing and so on), should not have to be confined within this box of "sensibilities" that I'm told it should be.

If I was doing fine art like painting, or making installations, or sculpture, I get a sense that this puritanical ideology of self-censorship would not be expected of me. I also get a sense that if I was born male and lived as a man, there would be different industry expectations of me also. If I was a cis dude I don't think a game director would mind if I had a portfolio full to the brim with borderline naked, hypersexualised women and girls with big swords and huge racks (no shade, big boobs and big swords are fun and cool). But -- and again I don't have evidence of this, it's just a hunch -- I somehow get this idea that the way I approach drawing masculine figures? The way I write and express myself through, and speak about characters? The sexually explicit artwork I've drawn over the years, which majoritively does not even show genitalia? I get this gut feeling that this would be much less... palatable (?) in the industry for commercial, media focused art.

I've been drawing sexual content since I was a teen fangirl and I think it's really strange that somehow, as I get older and more mature (and I'm serious here, like really, let that sink in? I was told directly "you're not a kid anymore, potential employers won't like this" in response to shipping art an old tutor saw me post online a few years back?), it's considered in many ways less appropriate for me to produce explicit or sexually themed artwork. Particularly when that art has that air of "fangirl" (or "fan-person" in regards to myself) around it. Because "fangirls" aren't professional, are they? They're vapid, of course. They don't consume art meaningfully, not like strong, stoic men do. No, they just want their shipping and their coffeeshop AU's and their moodboards, and there's nothing creative in that, is there? No "professional practice" there.

I just find that... baffling

I'm speaking from the perspective of someone who is borderline asexual on that spectrum, and always has been. Somehow, professionalism is partly hinged on making your art less exploratory of adult themes, once you become an adult, once you're old enough to understand and properly illustrate the importance of adult themes. Isn't that strange to anyone else? Because to me it feels wrong.

Like I said, I'm borderline asexual. I don't draw sexual content to get my rocks off. I draw it because I find physical intimacy to be one of the most multifascited expressions of humanity between people. Sex and sexuality are so dynamic in their capacity for storytelling. With it (and safely so through fiction, if you're careful about it), you can express and explore so much; passion obviously, love, but also sadness and grief and condolence, malice and rage, heartbreak, self-destruction, self-improvement, excitement, fun, even just friendship.

Sex is beautifully dynamic from a humanistic standpoint. It shouldn't need to be considered this looming force of demonitisation, or an industry blockade. And I understand I have drawings that are too graphic, too NSFW to put in a professional portfolio, to leave online for employers to see. But I'm not even talking about smut here.

Majoritively, I really don't want to distance myself from a lot of this work I've created. It means something to me dude, because these characters and stories mean something to me. Sometimes the drawing itself is just... a technically well executed drawing. I don't want to revoke that because there's an implication of "ooh, someone's touching ass, breast and dick in there!"

Yet by expressing my excitement over that, I do feel cornered. Like I'll never get hired anywhere. Which isn't easy given the struggles I already have with disability, mental health, etc. So I feel a need to sort of give in and retcon a lot of my posts.

I don't like that finding work in the fields I'm interested in kind of hinges on a lack of self-expression, I suppose. I find it bitterly ironic since I want to work in creative fields. It feels like a betrayal of the self and of the purpose of art and good media for grown individuals.

But hey, I guess that's capitalism, baby.

This blog might change a bit in the near or semi-near future. Maybe a new username or profile pic, I'm not sure yet. Maybe a second blog will pop up somewhere. I just wanted to vent a bit on my disdain in having to make these decisions. Beg your pardon.

[captainsophiestark]

The Curse of the Sun and the Moon

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2023!

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Day 7 Prompt: "Do you recognize this?"

Summary: Klaus' SO is writing their doctoral dissertation on cross-culture myths. Much to their irritation, Klaus knows a thing or two about those.

Word Count: 1,877

Category: Humor, Fluff, maybe a tiny bit of angst?

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Love? Hello, can you hear me?"

Slowly, I turned my head away from the paper in front of me, still not taking my eyes off the drawings. A hand waved in front of my face too, but I ignored it.

"What do you want, Nik?" I muttered, only half paying attention to him.

"I want to know you haven't gone into a coma," he whined, flopping down into the chair next to me. I cracked the tiniest smile, but didn't let my train of thought wander from the work in front of me.

"I haven't gone into a coma," I repeated. I didn't say anything else after that and neither did Nik for a moment, until he sighed.

"You must understand why I'm concerned when you respond to my questions like you're in a trance."

I sighed, making a last note before finally looking up at Nik with a tired smile.

"I'm sorry, babe. I know I've been pretty wrapped up in all this lately, but I'm writing a doctoral dissertation in folklore and mythology. I've kinda got my hands full, and if I don't put in the hours to get this done right, it's all going to be for nothing."

Nik rolled his eyes dramatically before fixing me with a look.

"You know, if you just became a vampire with me, you wouldn't have to worry about things like school and work anymore."

I narrowed my eyes. "If I ever make the decision to become a vampire with you, all I'm going to do is go back to college for more degrees and studying. I love doing this, even if it makes me want to walk into the ocean sometimes. All eternity is going to do is enable me to throw any kind of practical job application for my studies out the window."

Nik sighed heavily, but he had a smile on his face all the same.

"I probably could've guessed that answer, couldn't I?"

"Probably."

We shared a smile, and then my attention drifted back to the paper in front of me. I stared at it for a few moments, still half-aware of Nik watching me fondly, when an idea struck like lightning.

"Wait, Nik... I just thought of something." I rushed to turn the paper around on my desk so it faced Nik instead of me. "Do you recognize this? I mean, you've been around for a thousand years. Chances are probably decent that you know something about this, right?"

Nik stared at the paper for a minute, then slowly looked up at me, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"What did you say you're doing your dissertation on again?"

"I'm focusing on myths that appear to transcend cultures throughout history. There's a couple examples of stories and legends that exist in basically the same form in cultures that had no contact. This one, usually referred to as something along the lines of 'the curse of and the sun and the moon', is the main one I've decided to focus on. So... any chance you can tell me anything about it?"

Nik's tiny smile turned into a full on grin, a twinkle in his eyes as he looked at me. My heart leapt.

"Oh my gosh, you totally know something! Tell me, I can't wait. I'm gonna have to find some sources other than you if I want to put it in my paper, but-"

"This is mine, love," he said. I stared at him, trying to process what his words meant, but I came up empty-handed.

"What do you mean? Is this copy of the myth yours?"

"In a way."

Nik looked back down at the illustration depicting the curse, this one of Aztec origin. It was my favorite of the versions I'd found, although the same curse had also appeared in Roman scrolls and a half-dozen other cultures from around the world. He ran his finger over the lines of the drawing fondly.

"I drew this."

My mouth dropped open, and I looked quickly between Nik, the drawing, and back again.

"What... what do you mean you drew this? This is an Aztec myth from the 13th century-" I stopped short as my mind finally caught up. "...which I guess you were alive for..."

Nik smiled and kicked back in his chair, ankles crossed and a proud expression on his face. I just stared at him in shock.

"There is no such thing as the Curse of the Sun and the Moon, love," he said. "The real thing is the Hybrid curse, placed on me. A long time ago, Elijah and I planted this myth in cultures all over the world to get every single werewolf and vampire in the world looking for the components I needed to break my own curse. And it worked."

Nik finished his explanation with a smirk, but I didn't react. I just kept staring at him, my brain going through the equivalent of a computer's blue screen of death. This could not be possible.

"Hold on a second," I said, holding up a hand to stop my own swirling thoughts before looking at Nik again. "Let me get this straight. You drew this ancient Aztec drawing I have on my desk right now?"

"Yes."

"And you created the Roman scrolls I found that kick-started this project?"

"I did."

"And you completely made up the myth of the Curse and the Sun of the Moon, then did the ancient equivalent of editing it into a bunch of wikipedia articles to make everyone believe it was real, all so other werewolves and vampires would do the work of finding things you needed for you?"

"That's right."

"So this curse, this myth that permeates a dozen different, separate cultures, the cornerstone of my dissertation... is just a lie you made up a long time ago, that nobody ever disproved because you're just so fucking old you could create mythology at the same time that these ancient cultures actually existed?"

"Exactly."

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, taking a deep breath in and letting it out slowly. Then, my eyes snapped open, and I snatched up a scroll from the top of my desk and hucked it at my boyfriend.

"Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME NIK?" I cried, shooting out of my seat. Nik looked a little shocked, partly because the scroll had hit him smack in the face and then partly because I never got this kind of mad at him. "You can't just fake historical documents to serve your own purposes!"

"Technically, I didn't fake any historical documents. I made them at the same time in history that they're supposed to be from."

"DOESN'T COUNT! My whole dissertation is about examining the phenomena of cultures that had no interactions somehow telling the same stories. There's all kind of examples of it, but this was going to be my ace in the hole, and now I can't use it!"

"Sure you can," Nik said, at last standing from the chair. He was smart enough not to walk towards me, but I hurled a pillow from my chair at him anyway.

"No, I can't! What am I gonna say? Oh, well you see, all these different cultures had the same mythology without talking to each other because my boyfriend is a motherfucker who lied through his teeth to manipulate people, and he's old enough that he completely got away with it!"

Nik shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

"ARGH! I can't believe you- Oh my God."

"What?"

"The stupid fucking vampire myth was going to be another example supporting my dissertation. But that's gone now too. 'Oh, why do all these cultures have the same mythology about a curse and blood-drinking creatures who stalk the night?' Well that's simple, professors! It's because my boyfriend, one of those blood-drinkers, just kept showing up to plant a bullshit story and got other myths written about him in the process!"

"I'm still not seeing the problem, love, that sounds like an excellent presentation."

"NIKLAUS MIKAELSON! I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!"

I rushed to close the distance between us, smacking him in the chest and then continuing to whack him in the shoulders, arms, and chest again.

"You. Can't. Just. Make. Up. Mythology. That. Influences. History. Forever. For KICKS!" I shouted, punctuating each word with a hit. Nik just watched me, not moving even half an inch from the force of my shoves, watching me rage with a small smile on his face.

"I've never seen you like this before, love," he said, his voice silky and low. It only made me want to hit him more. "I quite like it."

"UGH!" I shouted, turning away from Nik all the same. I stared at the desk, my mind finally getting into the later stages of processing. I'd have to completely ditch all this work. "Nik, this is the worst thing you've ever done. And I've dated you long enough to know about the bad things you've done. Holy shit, I'm going to have to ditch so much of this work. I'm going to have to completely change my topic, all because you're fucking ancient and a good artist and a better liar."

After a second, I felt Nik's arms slowly, gently wrap around me from behind. He rested his chin on my shoulder, nuzzling into my hair. Part of me still wanted to hit him, but not enough of me to actually do it.

"I'm sorry, love," he said, voice low and sweet. "Tell me what I can do to make it better."

I huffed a sigh through my nose. "You can tell me where Elijah is. He's a part of this too, I need to kill him next."

Nik chuckled, pulling me tighter to him. I relaxed a little bit into him.

"How about we start with a movie marathon of your choice, all of your favorite junk food, and I dagger any of my siblings who try to disturb you while you're working next week?"

I paused, thinking, dragging out the moment with a little hum. Nik kissed my cheek, slowly moving further along and down towards my neck, and after another minute I sighed.

"Fine. I guess we can start with relaxation and peace. But I am not getting over this any time soon. And I'm still going to attack Elijah the next time I see him."

"It's a deal."

"Of all the things I thought might be a challenge about dating a vampire, I never could've predicted 'destroys my doctoral dissertation by secretly being the subject of my dissertation'."

Nik snorted a little laugh in my ear. "And I never would've thought this would be the closest we came to a deal-braker for you, what with all the murdering I've done."

"I might not be able to claim the high ground on that front much longer."

I twisted around to look pointedly at Nik, but he just smiled right back at me. Wisely, he used his vampire speed to whisk me out of the room before I could look at my ruined dissertation again. This situation was absolutely, completely ridiculous, and I knew I'd probably still be processing for the next few decades. But I loved Nik and the rest of these stupid, lying, ridiculous, ancient vampires, and I'd keep loving them no matter what. Even if I wanted to kill them, sometimes, too.

****************

TVD/TO Taglist: @elenavampire21

[lasiocampa--quercus]

For all those stuck in 2019...

I have been very reluctant to share any art / writing for — oof, five years. First because it was plain awful, then because it was not good enough. It still isn't, but as the years passed I got increasingly lonely on other social media, so this is my last resort. After I've failed smashingly here, well, I guess I'll just have to stop trying altogether.

Anyway, a first time for everything. So here's one for you.

[Detail. Scroll down (I mean to say, read the whole post) to see the full artwork]

We don't choose what we love, now, do we?

For five years I've been desperately in love with the idea of putting two brilliant characters — Eggsy from Kingsman (2015, 2017) and David from Bodyguard (2018) — into the context where they could meaningfully interact and explore one another's worlds. Such a context has been established (it is not the subject of the current post but I'd be willing to tell all about it later), resulting in their taking a shine to each other almost immediately. For Eggsy this acquaintance was something excitingly in between the two class extremes he was most accustomed to, sabotaging his life-long distaste for having anything to do with coppers. For David it was a breath of fresh air. He'd been two years well into therapy after the events covered in the series, and he was still struggling to get back on track when he met Eggsy, arch and lively, and at the same time so dashingly insightful as he was. Somehow it felt like they'd known each other for years as they talked throughout afternoons and after-work hours over a pint of lager somewhere in North London. David, usually rather inhibited, smiled and laughed at Eggsy's jokes, charmed by his candour and straightforwardness, taken aback by his astute remarks often delivered in a childlike unassuming manner. To be sure, he'd never met anyone quite like him. The prospect of friendship was an enticing one despite all their differences and despite the pressures of their jobs. While at first one was suspicious of the other's occupation (David, of course, more suspicious than Eggsy, being inherently averse to secrecy of any kind), they soon grew to respect the boundaries imposed by respective lines of duty (David was inclined to believe Eggsy's agency couldn't be that bad seeing as it employed such a brilliant lad). In effect, Eggsy trusted him more than he could ever trust any of his old mates and occasionally slipped into the conversation uncanny details of his field experiences. But best of all he liked exchanging ideas, relaying to David something that Harry had told — or taught — him, expounding on his reflections that were philosophical or even biblical in essence, although he couldn't ever say whom he unwittingly quoted. David would recognise a concept or two, but he never abashed him by mentioning the fellow's name. Over time the content of their communion had got more intimate, insomuch that Eggsy took to dedicating a huge chunk of time to moaning about his relationship with Harry which had gone on for quite a while after he split up with Tilde.

One such time, fuelled by a considerable amount of drinks, Eggsy set to illustrate the supposed reasons for Harry's recent aloofness. He clamorously hurled his jeerings and complaints at David, impinging on much-cherished privacy of the pub tables. Before it started to wear on virtually everybody in their proximity, David took his noisy, fairly plastered companion outside for a breather. The cool evening air didn't seem to have the desired effect of sobering him up a bit as Eggsy nearly blacked out after a brief (but crucial) exchange between himself and David. That occurrence prompted David to call a cab and take him to his place to recuperate. He reasoned it would not be wise to let him dart off home to Harry in such a flustered state, for it appeared as if the conflict between them was merely an ember, or rather, a heap of embers waiting to be stirred. From then on David's conduct was laced with strange acts of gracious benevolence, such as taking Eggsy's trainers off before laying him down, sleepy and a tad confused, on his sofa and leaving the keys to his flat for when he woke up and presumably wished to go home, with little trim notes strewn around telling about it, as well as where to look for aspirin if his head was giving him a hard time after the other night's drunken debauchery. At the time David didn't question his actions, although they clearly ran counter to his long-conditioned circumspection and, to a lesser extent, his vague views on male intimacy. If anything, the day when he, trying not to disturb Eggsy's healing sleep, snuck away for work he couldn't shake off a quaint feeling of invigoration which seemed to permeate his otherwise dull routine of desk duty. Later that day, confident that Eggsy had left, he got back to a startle in the form of his coyly looking, supper-serving friend with unkempt hair and a crumpled white T-shirt. Eggsy stayed not only to defer having to face Harry, but to show gratitude for David's kindness the best way he knew — by doing a kindness in return. He furnished their dinner table with a bottle of wine, promising to go easy on it and proposing a toast to David's general gemness. There they were, having another quiet night of good conversation, the homely setting and their tipsiness conducing to even more warmth and unrestraint, when Eggsy accidentally tipped over his half-emptied glass and stained his T-shirt. If one could ever be sure of such things, one would say that exact moment was the point of no return, the moment of truth. A simple, ordinary incident that tore down a facade with the light tinkle of glass as it touched the floor. From lighthearted jocularity Eggsy went on to unbosom his brooding insecurity. The change in his disposition was so thunderboltingly sudden it made David somewhat uncomfortable. It made Eggsy uncomfortable too. The only suitable course of action suggested they should comfort each other, so Eggsy placed his hand in David's. A bashful kiss ensued. Once it was reciprocated, little smiles creased their flushed faces. Both hardly had an opportunity to process what was happening, but it somehow felt ridiculously, madly right. And peaceful, too.

Well, now that all the heavy lifting is done by that snippet above we can sit back and (hopefully) enjoy this little picture depicting David and Eggsy decently progressed in their ‘comforting each other’. I must point out, however, that what you've just (hopefully) read is really only a summary, a squeeze if you will, of what transpired, produced specifically for purpose of acquainting you with the context. In actual fact the story is teeming with dialogue and detail which, with your kind permission, I would like to show you some other time.

[sillygoofyqueer]

I'M BACK WITH MORE ANGST

(but first of all!!! i loove that characterization of wei qingwei, the pirate-dad-peak lord; i can see him being the only peak lord/person who is allowed to casually fix stray feathers on shen qingqiu's wings, because he never makes a big deal out of it or acts like he's made of glass. he fixes it like he fixes someone's hair or clothes, which is a bit of normalcy shen qingqiu is probably desperate for)

so i was thinking: water prison. the whole jin lan city debacle goes roughly the same, only of course with the added accusations of sqq having been an untrustworthy, scheming demon all along and the accusations being a bit more dire. public opinion turns against him badly and he gets hauled off. the old palace master would probably go all in on his demonic heritage and accuse him of a slew of other things too, and then demand his wings be clipped because he'll "escape otherwise". it's not great but shen qingqiu doesn't use his wings to fly that often, and he'll molt soon anyway so he agrees with the conditions (if only to soothe things over). but then ofc in private they do whatever they want and the old palace master changes clipping to pinioning, which is significantly worse, very painful, and cripples him (bonus points if the little palace mistress comes to the prison with her whip and gets a few hits in too cus his wings are drenched and hurt and difficult to maneuver<3).

i do think in this case luo binghe doesn't visit bc if he already got furious at the little palace mistress for using her whip, he wouldn't accept his shizun's wings being mutilated (however, if binghe does come it would be a similar kind of frustrating miscommunication as in canon, and when binghe gets furious when he sees shen qingqiu it's not at sqq but at the state of him, but sqq doesn't know that, and reacts in fear and self-preservation (moving away, tucking his wings tight and close to his body, eyes flashing pale blue (like a crow's!!)), which of course makes it worse; maybe binghe assumes that shen qingqiu thinks this was his idea, which he would NEVER).

when gongyi xiao (love this good boy<3) comes by ofc he's horrified to see the state of shen qingqiu's wings (clumps of blood-slick feathers on the floor, one wing clearly shorter than the other, ripped clothes and bruises), and just like in canon he immediately goes to free him bc it's unacceptable and vile, and maaaybe he jumps to the conclusion that binghe must have done this to him to punish him. with the last of his strength sqq transforms into his full crow form, which is easier to smuggle out of the prison bc gongyi xiao can bundle him up in his robes (for extra drama binghe can be like "shizun will let gongyi xiao swaddle him in his robes and hold him but not binghe??🥺🥺😡😡" "binghe please don't say it like that")

*Gripping the sides of my coffin as I force myself into a sitting position and yes, I do look as - if not MORE - fit than Tianlang-jun in that one illustration (you know the one I mean)* Hey.

This angst just hit me incredibly hard in the stomach and that's why I've been ill so...it's ALL YOUR FAULT (kidding, kidding). Anywhosles, Gongyi Xiao is precious and of course he would smuggle crow Shen Qingqiu out of the prison the moment he sees the mutilation of the poor guy's wings. If he believes Binghe did it? Another reason to dislike the guy that practically stole everything from him (I love this precious guy and he deserves better in canon 😔). He has heard so much about the peak lord grieving the loss of his disciple, and Luo Binghe repays him by practically destroying his wings?? Shameful :(

From the Zhuzhi-lang angle, imagine he's in snake form, going to find the fit guy dilf half demon cultivator that saved his life and helped him out when he should have killed him, and finding a Huan Hua Palace disciple holding a brutalised crow with overly intelligent eyes. It's not hard to jump to the conclusion that the Huan Hua disciple has either caused or helped cause these injuries upon Shen Qingqiu, and is possibly even about to kill him. Keep in mind that all Zhuzhi-lang knows is that Shen Qingqiu has been taken into custody by Huan Hua, held within the Water Prison with his wings to be clipped, multiple accusations thrown his way linked to him being a demon, and that it's the snake boi's job to save him because Shen Qingqiu saved him that one time. What would you do in that situation? Because Zhuzhi-lang attacks with no remorse. Does Gongyi Xiao die?? The real question is if I could bear the poor guy dying twice just for doing the right thing...

The miscommunication between Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu always makes me want to die because just ONE CONVERSATION WOULD FIX EVERYTHING. But that's also why it's so silly and good and I love it. The idea that Shen Qingqiu believes that Luo Binghe is the reason why his wings are so fucked up could go deeper with the idea of, back when Luo Binghe was a disciple, he was practically the only disciple that was ever allowed to touch the man's wings, and he always seemed very upset when the other peak lords got to help Shen Qingqiu with his feathers - jealous of them, in reality, but the man thought that maybe he was jealous of how Shen Qingqiu was treated despite being a demon (it was a tidgy bit of the reason). So, when Shen Qingqiu is in the Water Prison, Binghe's first order of business could be perceived as: "you want to be treated as a pathetic human? I can help with that" and ruins one of Shen Qingqiu's defining features of a demon, making him vulnerable and weak - which is how Bingge felt humans were, and how Shen Qingqiu thinks Binghe views humans. So. Angst. Yay.

[papermonkeyism]

Poking at the dinosaur project thingy, this time with some production technicalities point of view.

Here be musings.

I originally thought of the project as a calendar, then a series of calendars that could be collected into an art book once enough art had been made for it, and at some point I thought of just skipping the calendar part and going straight for art books.

I've been going back and forth between those options multiple times over the years, and it's still kinda open. Like on one hand a simple calendar with just thirteen illustrations (twelve months plus cover) is the easiest and cheapest option, though pretty limited (what to do once the year presented in the calendar ends, and you still got unsold leftover stock?), and the other hand art books are big projects requiring lots of work, even more money, but be a lasting and very satisfying thing to have.

Maybe I should take a middle road and make a zine instead?

Maybe.

Though, this is where the shape of the actual project comes in.

I've always planned the project as having a slice of life style format, with little story and more focus in exploring the setting. Kinda just looking in and enjoying the view while you go. But I've noticed that keeping the "narration" as illustrations kinda keeps the immersion at arm's length too. While that is fine and dandy for a calendar where the space for any narrative would be very limited anyway, if I was going to do more with the setting, I kinda need something deeper. Even if the audience is fine just looking at pretty pictures, with ADHD it would be better to have something deeper to help keep me personally invested enough to actually plan, plot and produce the materials needed.

Should I make an actual story, with plot and stuff? Feels kinda unnecessary for a thing focusing on just illustrations, and I don't know if I really "click" with a text heavy picture book format. I kinda feel it would make comic as the best option, though that has its own downsides. I've always wanted to do full colour paintings of the dinosaurs, yet going comic it would have to simplify a lot and make it grayscale just to keep me sane. And, as someone who has done well over 250 pages of a long form comic, that's still a HUGE commitment I don't think I have the resources - mental, physical nor financial - to pull off.

I also kinda feel having a plot story would sort of detract from the "exploring the world" aspect and put more heavy focus on characters, which. Well, it's not *bad* exactly, just not quite what I want.

(Also I am aware the dinosaur clan I have has a kid character, and I don't want to make her the point of view character for the story. I have no interest doing a childrens' book. I mean, I am perfectly fine if kids do eventually end up liking my stuff, but I don't consider them my target audience. My target audience is me, an adult person in their later 30s, and a handful of nerds I consider friends and/or mutuals.)

Another option I've been toying with is kind of a double edged sword.

Those who got the Almost Real speculative evolution zine volume 5 got a bit of a taste of this, as I kinda tried it out there.

So... I've gone to pretty great lengths as a layperson to work in the setting of the project thingy. It's always bothered me when dinosaurs get just dumped into a story with no regards to when and where they actually lived, making for an anachronistic hodgepodge of what's popular forming into a mismatched fantasy setting, usually with throwing humans into the mix. I don't like that. I'm more interested in seeing the actual animals as they were, when they were and where they were, where the focus is in the dinosaurs themselves. Thus the limit to Two Medicine formation (with some of the surrounding areas included too, though still keeping to the same time period).

I do not want humans in my dinosaur stories. Period.

But what if...

So, imagine a research journal. There's a scientist visiting the clan of Singing People the project focuses on, with the mission of studying them, their life and their world. The book or zine or whatever could be a story of the dinosaur clan introducing themselves and their life to this person. An outsider point of view to excuse learning about them by them teaching this POV person how their world works. There could be some interaction and maybe interviews, and of course illustrations because you need to document your subjects after all.

Like, I'm kinda excited about the idea. It would let me get into the details I want to picture without getting too into the heads of the characters to limit the chances of artistic exploration. You gotta document the surroundings your study subjects live in after all! But you'd still get to know the characters because it's the job of the POV person to learn about them. Win win!

It's just that I don't want to put too much attention on this hypothetical scientist. Like I said before I don't want to mix my settings. The dinosaur project thingy's world IS Laramidia in the Campanian period of late Cretaceous, it's not meant to be a scifi setting, nor do I want to have any focus on any time travel.

Wonder if it would be possible to leave the scientist character vague enough to never actually get explained? They're just nameless outsider from undetermined time and place who's interviewing some dinosaurs. Maybe with some peronal opinions or musings but no anecdotes about their own life or themself. And whenever there's interactions between the scientist and any of the Singing People it just gets handwaved away. (Of course the Singing People are curious about them too, but that's not the point of the study so it just doesn't get documented or something?)

I don't know. Could that work?

[plantcrazy]

My messy pen sketch of an idea failed miserable last night. I ended up with a full-blown illustration instead ^^;

I was playing with the idea of these two having like a heart-to-heart, sort of thing like...

"GET OFF!" Carol snapped, pulling Ahnoldt's hand off of her arm. "WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM! I WAS JUST GETTING SOME FRESH AIR!"

"Fresh air?" The Right Hand repeated in disbelief.

"Sure. Don't you come out here to clear your head?"

Ahnoldt looked over the edge of the railing and shook his head.

Carol looked over the railing herself. "O-oh."

She took a step back.

Ahnoldt sighed, "Vell, I von't make you go in, but I vould prefer you at least not by the railings, in case ve hit turbulence or something." He then laughed, "I don't think Clouddale vill find it funny, if ve both decided to try skydiving vithout a parachute!"

Ahnoldt sat down on the steps, taking the railing side, and patted steps to his left, for Carol to join him.

She smiled softly, wiping at her face, and joined him on the steps.

Ahnodlt studied her for a moment, then titled his head and asked, "Vhat's that face mean?"

"You never change." Carol smiled brighter, "You're always you: so positive and cheerful, no matter what happens, you've always got your infectious smile and bad humour!"

Ahnoldt's smile slipped.

"Ah." He said. "Everyone thinks that, but I guess that's the point."

"I vasn't chosen to be Right Hand because I'm the strongest, or smartest, or had some overpowered ability. Vhen Sven overthrough Terrence to become leader, the Clan vas in a rough state. The clan vas in tatters, moral non-existent, and ve vere on the verge of disbanding. Terrence, hehe, he vent out vith a BANG and took most of the clan vith him, leaving the rest of us for the CCC and Vall to pick off."

"I don't know how much you know about me, but I've never liked sad faces. So I vas doing everything I could to keep up this... façade that everyone vas going to be okay, and there vas hope. That's vhy I vas chosen to be the Toppat Clan's Right Hand. Because Sven saw I could give the clan the hope they needed to not give up."

He shook his head softly and sighed, "I've been keeping up this act for so long... it, it doesn't feel real any more, I... sometime I vorry one day I'll vake up and not remember vhat real happiness feels like."

Ahnoldt's eyes snapped up, "Ah- That vas a bit dark. Hehe, um... I forgot vhere I vas going vith this! OH! RIGHT!" Ahnoldt exclaimed. "If you need a friend or someone to talk to, come find me! And maybe before you come out here? You're lucky I vas sent. Normally it's Double Shot's job, but err he's still on reduced hours. I dunno vhat you, and your friends did, but you really shook him up. I didn't think that vas possible any more!"

"Ahnoldt."

Carol said. "A friend of mine used to always tell me 'we're in this together' so, if you need someone to talk to, let me know, okay? You don't have to carry all of this yourself."

Ahnoldt looked to the ground, then back, his smiled brighter than before.

"Dankeschön"

- - -

(Writing time: 2 hours - Beta read: None - Idea generated: Last night while making hot chocolate :P)

[heilos]

Hello! My name is Moriah and I am a junior in high school. I was wondering if I might be able to get your insight on a few questions I have?

I am in my final years of high school and am starting to think about college but I have no idea what I want to pursue. I know I love art, so for a long time I have been thinking about getting an art major or going to an art school.

I’m reaching out because I ABSOLUTELY LOVE YOUR ART and I think you are a very talented artist! I have been in love with your art for so long and I am curious and wondering how you are able to fit drawing into your life?

1.) If you went to college for art, what was it like? Do you think going to school for art or having an art major is worth it?

2.) how can I fit art into my everyday life? I’m sure you have work and other things to do in your life so how do you balance it out? (I just want to know how you can draw as much as you do!)

3.) do you do art as a full-time career or part-time career? is it an alright source of income? If it is a part-time career, how do you balance work, personal life, and art?

Thank you so much! And sorry if these questions might seem personal. I just want to know how other artist manage to draw and create their work and still have an adult life. Thanks again, and thank you for being a huge inspiration in my life to create the art I love! Your art means so much to me!❤️❤️ ❤️

Hi Moriah! Thank you so much for your patience since it took me a bit to answer this. I'll do my best to be as honest as possible. 1) I think going to college can be beneficial even if I wish i'd done things differently. In hindsight I would have definitely taken more time to really look through all available options instead of gunning straight for the most "prestigious" looking colleges since the idea of having a big name school on your resume was pretty prevalent when I was growing up. I went to Savannah College of Art and Design or SCAD for short and while I don't regret the friends I made there, I do regret not understanding just how much an institution like that ended up costing in loans compared to what I got out of it education wise. It always hurts my heart to see other kids get chained to huge amounts of student loan debt that could have been avoided. And even then you don't necessarily need a college degree for every type of art job. Your portfolio is what really matters more to prospective work places if you're looking at a career related to art. I would also keep in mind that the field is very competitive depending on what your goals are. Do you want to get into animation? game design? illustration? comics? prop design, character design or environment design? ect ect. Always try and give yourself the best advantage you can with researched knowledge of what you might be getting yourself into. Also there is no rush to go immediately into college even if you're dead set on wanting to attend one. Please give yourself as much time as you need to really make that decision and, if you have the option, don't feel pressured into thinking you HAVE to make that choice immediately out of high school. 2) I do get quite a bit of production art done on my days off mostly since I'm very experienced in working on group projects like Mystery Skulls Animated. When you're doing art and production work with other people, there's a different mindset in that others are relying on you to keep decently productive so that you're not holding up the pipeline if you're dedicated to seeing a project through to completion. Now when it comes to purely fun art on the side, I've actually only recently started balancing my time out better with work to sketch since the draw back of working on a group project like this for so long is a certain level of burn out. I had about a 2-3 year period where I couldn't get myself to draw much of anything even if I was excited about something like a new game or animated series and it's taken awhile to come to terms with the time lost since my body and head needed that time to recover and that's something i'm much more ok with now. I'm not the absolute best on advice for time management unfortunately, but seeking out projects that might interest you and lets you collaborate with other artists is definitely one way to keep yourself excited and engaged when wanting to make art. Just know and/or learn your limits and you'll be better about not getting too burned out when trying to find that decent balance of art time and other life activities. 3) I actually don't do art full time even if that was originally the plan back in college. I personally found out that I didn't want to turn it into a job the closer graduation came, but that varies completely from person to person and plenty of up and coming artists have found fulfillment in having art be their job too. I used to make prints for conventions so that was a partial income source for a little bit, but again for me it got tiring and I ended up getting a different more physical job to supplement my income while still being able to have enough time to stick around with my friend group on our music video projects. And again there's no shame in taking some time in trying to figure out if you want to make art your job and coming to a different conclusion. Sometimes the things we plan when we're younger take a wildly different turn out of left field and education or job aspirations are very much included in that.

[in-my-loki-feels]

🔁😂💯💘📚

*cracks knuckles* Here we go! From this ask game.

🔁 A fic you’ve re-read several times

This feels like an impossible question because I've re-read quite a few. I narrowed it down to a few options, but I'll save one of those for if I get asked the 😭 question and offer a full fic rec and two drabbles.

touching the horizon by @astrosxnthesis

"Have you been wounded by the Loki S2 finale? Then you may be entitled to compensation in the form of fics that pick you up, dry your tears, and offer solutions." This fic fits that bill! It's sweet, funny, has delicious emotional hurt/comfort, and it's a clever take on how Lokius could be reunited.

2. It's no secret that I love President Loki so I've re-read a lot in that tag. Allow me to highlight chapters 30 (SFW) and 66 (NSFW) of For All Time? Always by chaircat (not sure of their tumblr name).

Not only do these both feature President Loki, but both (definitely the second, but also the first imo) are Loki/Mobius/President Loki, which I find very fun. 😈 And there's just not enough of it!

😂 A fic that made you laugh out loud

Footsies by @devilbearingtrouble

I rarely laugh out loud when reading (though I might be chuckling to myself), but the way the tension builds so innocently in this one set me up so that when I hit one line in particular, I actually went, "Ha!" out loud. Love it when writing can do that. 😂

💯 A fic that makes you think #writergoals

This one's easy! I was just thinking along these lines while reading @doomed-spectacles latest, Paper trail. Or, traces of you. Just, wow. Their blend of humor and tenderness and spice floored me. The prose rendered me speechless. It's the kind of fic that, after reading, makes me sit back and go, "What am I doing with my (writing)life?" And I mean that in the best way possible!

💘 A fic you couldn't stop reading once you started

Kneel for Me by @ceeceetv. I saw the post while I was getting ready for bed and even though my partner had already put his phone away and gone to bed, I stayed up and kept reading because I. Could. Not. Stop. I knew if I tried to save it for the next day, I was just going to lie in bed, unable to sleep, because I couldn't stop thinking about it. And I'm still not done thinking about it, to be quite honest!!

📚 A fic you wish you could display on your bookshelf

I love this question because to me, it's about picturing what the fic would look like if bound, and I think your spirit box would have the raddest cover and super cool interior illustrations, a la Starling House (but maybe I'm influenced by that also being a book with a sentient house.)

I feel like I need to give a special shoutout to The Storyteller Saga by @kcscribbler because after @izumiyagami14 went and made the dang thing a real book, how could i not want that on my shelf??

[jothemouse]

COMMISSIONS ARE CLOSED!!

EDIT/UPDATE:

Commissions will be closed until August! Thank you so much to everyone who's commissioned me or shown interest in these! It means the world to me!! And I hope that you'll all stick around to see the results of these commissions!! (Which does include the sticker plan!)

To all current commissioners and waitlisted folks: don't worry, your pieces are still in progress and to those on the waitlist I will be in contact! Thank you all for your patronage and patience! You are all so amazing!!!

If you would like a commission but missed out on these, please be sure to check back in August!

Thank you all again so much!! I hope you have a wonderful week you guys!! <333

SO, as you may know, some of you may know, maybe none of you know, I am trying to start selling stickers!!! On my own. No RedBubble or Society6. Nope. All by my lonesome!

But in order to do that, I need to make the money to purchase the stickers and other necessary shipping supplies in the first place. So, I'm opening commissions!! Specifically,,,,,,

I am doing sketch commissions!

I don't have a set close date OR any slots, so it is completely first come, first serve for as long as I can keep it up!

I'm going to include more information, process, as well as terms and conditions under the cut, but if you have any questions not answered below please don't hesitate to get in touch with me here, on Instagram (@jo.the.mouse) or by email (micecandraw@gmail.com)!

And before I continue on, if you cant commission me but want to support me all I ask is that you please reblog this post!! It does a WORLD of wonders to spread posts around! Thank you!!

What I'm Offering

Commissioned artworks in my “Sketch Style”. The money made from these commissions is going to directly fund the creation and sale of illustrated stickers!

Here is a fun little preview sketch of what will be the Canada sticker that I've been obnoxiously polling people about:

Prices

Uncolored Sketch:

$15 

Includes: one character, no/minimal shading, and simple/abstract background

Flat Color Sketch:

$25

Includes: one character, no/minimal shading, and simple/abstract background

Full Color Sketch:

$35

Includes: one character, basic shading, and simple/abstract background

Add Additional Characters:

+ $5 per added character

What I will draw:

OCs (original characters)

Fanart

Real People

Furries (Anthro and Feral)

Fantasy/DnD 

Suggestive (no real people without written and signed consent)

What I will NOT draw:

Overtly NSFW

Heavy Gore

Process

Contact me either through DMs (Tumblr: jothemouse, Instagram: jo.the.mouse) or through email (micecandraw@gmail.com) 

We'll talk a bit about your commission (like what you're looking for, any references I'll need, how much it'll cost,.ect.) I'll also be asking for your email and preferred payment method at this time. 

Payment for the commission is due upon receiving a confirmation email. This email will include a google form contract (this is mainly for me to make sure I have everything correct), notice that I've sent you a payment request, and a time estimate! 

I will begin the initial sketch once payment is received. 

Refunds are available at any point before you receive the initial sketch. 

Upon receiving the initial sketch you can suggest changes and revisions. This is your only opportunity to do so. 

From there I will finalize your commission to agreed upon level. 

I will let you know when your commission is finished and send you an email containing a PDF and PNG file!

Terms and Conditions

PAYMENT is due upon receiving email with confirmation and a time estimate. Depending on discussed payment method, you will receive either A; a PayPal invoice, or B; a Venmo payment request. Work will begin once payment is received. 

REFUNDS are available at any time BEFORE you receive the “initial sketch” OR if commission cannot be delivered within agreed upon time or at all. 

Time estimate is not a hard deadline and response times may affect how long a commission will take. 

This commission is for PERSONAL USE ONLY. You may not use the commission for any commercial purposes, claim it as your own, or use it in conjunction with any AI methods. 

I reserve the right to refuse any commission that I believe falls outside of my comfort level or skill level.  

Additionally, I will only be drawing in the specific style demonstrated in the example works. 

ALRIGHT! You made it through all that nonsense!

Thank you so much for reading! And if you're able, please consider commissioning me!

I hope to see you in my DMs!! (^-^)