#if i use no other colors i can edit it into looking half decent but not ideal. so no good for trueforms

[enchantedanimal]

All of the QSMP eggs as dragons!

Now for my design notes/headcanons! (There's a lot lol)

- The color pallettes are (for the most part) based off of their parent/parents. In lore terms, l'd imagine that more time they spent around their parents before they hatched, the more their color developed to mimic them. It would usually be used as a survival strategy with their dragon parents, however sometimes their personality overcomes this and they develop their own color.

- Being dragonets, none of them can fly due to their currently underdeveloped wings.

- Tilin's yellow spots would make Quackity think that Wilbur was supposed to be the other parent.

- Tallulah's colors/features are close to that of a duck. It would likely be a coincidence, but it'd be enough to Quackity to feel like the island was mocking him.

- Tallulah's "hair" is feathers. She's the only one with feathers, and it may either be a cause or effect of her being left in the attic (possibly being mistaken to be an egg from a different species and not a dragon, or the coldness of the attic caused feathers to form).

- Tallulah and Tilin have the same colored eyes since Quackity once said that she reminds him of Tilin.

- Chayanne has fins bc he likes doing mlg water bucket clutches and fishing with Missa.

- Chayanne's tail fin, Leonarda's ear, and Richarlyson's wing are ripped in a spot due to loosing a life. Bobby lost one of his after I designed him but one of his horns would be chipped, and forgot Ramón only had one as well so let's just pretend he's got a scar on his left leg lol.

- Its kinda subtle, but Chayanne has protruding bottom canines, similar to my (and many others') Techno design.

- Fun fact that usually in my style I have the neck spines start from the top of the head. Ramon is purposely "bald".

- Ngl I don't have much to say about Trump bc he died so quick (rip) and I never saw much about him; but his hat is too big for his head.

- Bobby is a wyvern bc it's easier to slap everyone with his wings. He also headbutts and slaps ppl with his tail (those hurt more).

- Bobby's colors are less based after his parents, but the orange/blue complementary colors are kinda more of a nod to Jaiden being an artist (which doesn't make a whole lot of sense now idk my brain just defaulted to that), but feel they match his personality as well. Also his scleras (part of eye that's not the iris/pupil) are black unlike the rest who's are normal.

- Leonarda has a tiny mushroom pin on her hat and their back has mushroom-like spots for the hat she always wears.

- People keep saying that Leo somehow looks like Foolish which is funny bc that wasn't even intentional- in fact was worried that she would be one of the only ones who didn't resemble her parents enough. I did try to make her slightly taller but I'm going to guess that it's the jawline lol

- [Edit bc I just thought of it] Leo's wings are bigger bc they've grown faster due to using them more to glide off of Foolish's/Veg's builds

- Dapper is built to be more bipedal than quadrupedal (their dewclaws on their back feet act more like a normal toe for better traction/ stabilization). This makes it easier to grab (or steal) things for their collection. And hold a taser.

- Richarlyson is based after an iguana! thought it would fit well (it's kinda hard to base him off of 5 different people lol)

- Had to go off of a secondhand info + auto translations (I can understand a decent amount of Spanish but have no idea when it comes to Portuguese so this could be off) but think there was something about Richarlyson having a bad leg both in and out of rp, and think maybe Cellbit said something about him having a prosthetic for it and I thought that was so so cool! It's based semi loosely off of a dog hind leg prosthetic and a human running one; probably wouldn't actually be functional but tried to keep the general shape of the leg.

- Richas and his dads cover it in stickers :)

- Juanaflippa's tail and probably the lower half of her front legs (which aren't visible) are semi transparent from Charlie (yellow comes from Mariana), and it shifts around a bit! It looks more like slime than it feels like it. I've been calling her Bananaflippa endearingly

- Gegg intentionally looks like Juanaflippa a bit (but he's way more slimy)

- Gegg's inventory basically consists of him absorbing random things which are sometimes visible (he is so full of avocado toast). He's like Bob from Monsters vs Aliens or smth idk haven't seen that movie in forever.

There some smaller less exciting details and other headcanons I have for them (such as extra accessories they'd have like Tallulah wearing sweaters) but that's about it! Feel free to ask about anything I like talking about them lol

[dissociativepouter]

FAMILY VIDEO. EDDIE MUNSON.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: soooo much fluff, eddie being an idiot in love at first sight, swearing, drug mention, slight sibling rivalry, maybe ooc eddie?? i tried my best leave me alone, made eddie a one-time senior because it's easier for my little pea brain to write, i hate reading the word 'y/n' in fics so i don't use it here

synopsis: your job at the local video store is dreadful, made slightly more tolerable by your coworkers, robin and steve, and sometimes a joint or two. but when none of the three are there to accompany you on your closing shift one evening, your only source of entertainment is the frizzy-haired, cigarette-smelling, admittedly-cute guy who walks in with a flyer for his band's gig on satuday, and who also happens to be the captain and founder of your brother's stupid dnd club.

a/n: i've never written anything specifically for the internet before soooo bear with me here. also! i originally posted this with reader as a wheeler, but after getting a few comments letting me know that making reader a wheeler/henderson/harrington etc, i would be excluding readers of color and making it difficult to self-insert in the story. so i made some edits and i really hope this is better!!!

you stood leaning against the counter, mindlessly dropping a slinky between your hands, phone tucked between your ear and shoulder.

“yes, ma’am, i understand. i know. but the goonies isn’t available right now, someone took it out.” you begrudgingly explained to the middle aged mom yelling at you over the phone. “i’m sorry, ma’am, you’ll have to wait. okay. okay, have a–”

the mom hung up, and you slammed the phone back onto the receiver. “fuckin’ psycho.” you mumbled, turning back to pay the rest of your attention to the multi-colored plastic slinky, pulling it apart and pushing it back together. you was about to lurch back onto your feet and turn the sign on the door to read ‘closed’ when you heard the godforsaken ring of the bell above said door, signaling that a customer was afoot.

fifteen minutes before closing.

you rolled your eyes and continued playing with the slinky, not making eye contact with whoever walked in while letting them know in your best (weakest) customer service voice, “we close in fifteen minutes, you’re not gonna find anything.”

“not looking for a movie.” assured a voice you hadn’t heard before. you turned your head to see the frizzy-haired, puppy-eyed, leather-jacket-adorned boy stalking up to the counter holding a crumpled paper. you inhaled a breath that you would unintentionally hold for the next few seconds. he seemed to stop or slow in his tracks when you looked at him. he was caught off guard. you didn’t blame him, you’d never met as far as you could remember. he was cute. in an arrogant, smartass, i-wanna-kiss-you-just-so-you-shut-the-fuck-up way.

“um… hi, there.” he greeted awkwardly, taken aback, as he leaned against the other side of the counter. the smell of stale pot and leather wafted your way. he smiled crookedly.

“...hi. can i help you?” you weren’t having any of it.

“yeah, i was wondering if i could get this on the thingy over there?” he handed you the paper across the counter as he nodded towards the general direction of the corkboard on the wall covered in advertisements, his rings clinking against the wood, still smiling. so smug. you put the slinky down and took the paper from his hand, breaking eye contact to skim the text.

“corroded coffin?” you questioned, half-judging him, raising an eyebrow.

“‘s my band.” he smiled a dopey smirk, twisting one of his rings with his finger.

“yeah, i see that.” you nodded, looking back at the paper, taking it with two hands now and leaning back against the counter, then looking back up at him. “i don’t know. you any good?”

“we’re… decent,” he scratched the back of his neck. you laughed. “you like metal?”

you shrugged. “a little.”

“yeah, well, not to brag, but we usually get a crowd of about four old drunk dudes.” he knocked a short beat on the counter, cheeks flushing. you laughed harder.

“impressive!” you joked.

“i know,” he added as he came down from laughing. “i’m try’na get people to come see us, but i don’t think they care that much.” he scrunched his face like he was delivering bad news.

“i can’t say i blame them.”

he clutched his chest dramatically. “how dare you?”

“not my fault!”

“yeah, yeah.” he shook his head, looking around the room for a moment before turning back to you.

“i’ve never seen you around here. you look familiar, though.” he furrowed his brows, scanning your face. you shrugged.

“i don’t go out that often.”

“is that right?” he tilted his head. something about him. he had this charisma, this charm that almost outweighed how so obviously lame he was. like he didn’t know how to flirt in any way whatsoever, but it… worked? “that sucks.” he pouted, bringing a piece of his curly, overgrown hair to his mouth to cover his smile.

you felt your cheeks warm up, looking down at the floor, catching a glimpse of his shirt in the process. hellfire club. that’s your brother’s nerd thing.

you nodded at the shirt. “hey, hellfire club. that’s the thing my brother’s in.”

“oh shit, who’s your brother?” his metaphorical puppy ears perked.

“chris.”

“oh my god, williams?” he smiled, eyes widening, pushing away from the counter by his hands then pulling back in. “you’re his sister?” disbelief twisted his expression.

you nodded, laughing again at his excitement. “yeah, unfortunately.” you could feel the sizzling feeling of frustration dissolve in your chest with every smile he gave.

he clapped before pointing frantically at you, his head lolling to the side, stepping back in realization. “that’s who you look like! i knew i’ve seen that face somewhere. wow, that’s crazy.” he mindlessly stalked a few feet from the counter then came back, resting his forearms back on the wood.

you giggled, shaking your head. “ew, no, i do not look like him.”

“oh, no, you definitely don’t.” he shook his head, smiling. “that kid could never.”

you chewed your cheek, your neck growing hotter. “what’s your name?”

“eddie. munson.” did he really just stutter over his own name?

you gave him your name.

“thought so.” he smiled, dropping his hand back onto the counter.

you kept eye contact for what felt like hours but what was only a few seconds before you broke the silence.

“so you go to hawkins, then?”

“yeah, unfortunately.” he repeated your words.

“senior?”

“yup.” he popped the p, nodding.

“same.”

“that’s weird. i’ve heard a lot about you, but i’ve never seen you.”

“oh? you’ve heard about me?” you tilted your head.

“yeah, the infamous williams sister. he likes to complain about you a lot.”

“of course he does.” you rolled your eyes at the anecdote.

“says you’ve been – his words, by the way, not mine – an ‘absolute heinous bitch’ since your weed dealer left town.” he pulled his mouth into a nervous, bracing expression, pulling his hair back towards his mouth.

“did he actually say that?”

he nodded.

“that fucker. i’m gonna kill him.”

“well, is it true?”

“what, that i’m a heinous bitch?” you raised an eyebrow.

“no!” he laughed. “you’re definitely a little scary, but no. that your dealer left?”

you laughed too, a funny sensation running down your spine at the knowledge that he found you scary.

“yeah, it’s true. why? do you know someone?”

“what makes you think i know someone?” he asked, mock-surprised.

“i know you know someone. because you reek of weed.”

he leaned his head close to his shoulder and inhaled. “shit.” he flushed, dropping his head onto the counter, embarrassed.

you giggled. “did i guess right?”

he smirked devilishly. “yeah, i do. i’ll give you his address if you want.”

you nodded, ripping a piece of paper from the notebook on the counter then grabbing a pen from the cup and handing both to him. “yes, please. i haven’t had a smoke in weeks, it’s been hell.”

“oh, poor you.” he spoke with his eyes to the paper, scribbling an address in almost incomprehensible writing. you rolled your eyes as he slid it back to you tauntingly, finally locking eyes again. those eyes. “go there tomorrow. 6 p.m.”

“got it.” you pushed the paper into your back pocket after reading his almost illegible handwriting. forest hills trailer park, third trailer on the left.

“i gotta say, i did not expect chris’ sister to be so…” he opened his palm in front of him and circled you in the air, looking specifically at your necklaces, your band t-shirt, your jacket. “the way you are.”

“‘the way i am?’ what the hell’s that supposed to mean?” you questioned in mock offense, unable to stifle your smile.

“just– i don’t know.” he dropped his hand back on the counter, giving up. “cool. or whatever.”

“cool or whatever.” you raised an eyebrow.

“shut up. you know what i mean.” he dropped his head back down, embarrassed again.

you laughed harder. “no, i don’t think i do.”

he looked up and scanned you again, then covered his face with his hands.

you chuckled, then looked at the clock. 4:58 pm.

“shit. i have to lock up now, we close in, like, two minutes.”

“oh,” he looked disappointed, not mocking this time. “okay.”

“i’ll put this up on the board for you, though?” you looked back at the ad for his concert once more. may 10th.

“yeah, thanks.” he turned away for the door before stopping in his tracks and turning again, snapping his fingers. “hey! do you need a ride home, actually?”

you chuckled at the obvious searching for any excuse to spend just a little bit more time together.

“nah, i’ve got my bike,” you pointed to the parking lot where your dark purple bike was resting on the rack.

he looked over to it, then chewed his cheek, nodding. “oh. alright. well, i’ll see you… i don’t know when i’ll see you, actually.” he ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up further, searching for something to do with his hands.

“how about i come to your show?” you tried to reassure him that he’d see you again, but it was mostly just reassuring yourself that you’d see him again.

“really?” his eyes brightened.

“yeah, why not?”

“okay. okay, i’ll practice extra hard, then.”

“you better, ‘cause i’m gonna leave early if you sound like shit.”

“challenge accepted.” he raised his eyebrows through his bangs, his rings clinking against the metal of the door handle.

“bye, munson.” you giggled. he’s so dumb, it’s adorable. you couldn’t remember what it was you were so upset about when he first walked in. “hey, by the way, you know the corkboards are public, right? you didn’t need to ask to put your paper on it.”

he flushed harder at the sound of his name in your mouth, turning around with his back to the door, looking you in the eyes one more time. “i know.”

and before you could even be shocked, he was already out the door, hollering, “say hi to chris for me!”

“wow.” you whispered to yourself, shaking your head and chuckling in disbelief as you watched him stalk over to his beat-up, dark red 1969 pontiac firebird.

this guy’s gonna be the death of you.

[timetravelingpenguin1066]

Hi there! I saw the screen recording you did for the Aemond gifset (superb work, by the way) and I was wondering if you would be open into doing a step-by-step tutorial on how you played with the colors (what was the graph on the right side of the window?) and how you manipulated the color palette when saving the gifs? No pressure! Was just curious :) Thank you!

Hi there, nonny! Step by step below the cut here.

I don't keep the psd files of my gifs, mostly because I don't have the storage space to do that, so I've made a different gifset of the same scene, so it should be much the same, if not better.

I believe this:

is the graph you were asking about? This is the histogram. I don't believe it has any practical usage in gifmaking. If any other gifmaker here has a different opinion, please share it. (I'm doing a photography degree, photoshop is my next unit so I'll know more about it soon)

Right, step by step. Hold your horses, this is long:

Step 1: get the clip. Some gifmakers use screen caps to make gifs. I do not know how to make them or how to use them and I find my own method works. If another gifmaker could add on how you make your screen caps, and if it is better than my own method, please add it. 😊

Where you get the clip from is a question. YouTube, somewhere else... as long as it's saved as a MP4 file on you computer/laptop, it doesn't matter. What does matter is the quality of your clips. A lot of people use 4K (super high quality) clips. I find those to be slow and arduous and may have been responsible for the fall of my old, decrepit laptop. HD or UHD are likely enough for some decent quality.

Step 2: Get the clip in the software (I use Adobe Photoshop. For some softwares, you might have to clip the clip i.e. make it shorter before just dumping it in) In Photoshop go to File > Import > Video Frames to Layers and a window will come up. Move the sliders until you have approximately what you want (don't worry about being exact. Just as long as you have what you need.) (Don't forget to click Limit to every 2 frames)

Step 3: Once the clip has opened and your ready to start, crop out any black/white edges. Then cut out the frames you don't want

Step 4: We are now ready to begin editing!! 🥳🥳🥳 Editing tends to just be a huge pile of trial and error. I have an order to things, but I often have to go back and adjust my first layers later.

I like to start with the Brightness/Contrast, for obvious reasons (I like to SEE what I'm doing *cough cough* HBO *cough cough*

The I adjust the Hue/Saturation, where I reduce the saturation of each individual colour. That reduction tends to be useful when I make further adjustments in effort to 'fix' as much of the shit colour grading as I can.

The next step is a combination of a Photo Filter (set to the default warming filter) and a Vibrance adjustment layer.

Next the where most of the magic happens. The Colour Balance allows me to adjust the colours in the shadows, midtones and highlights. The aim of this is to attempt to restore some colour. It can look a little weird when editing.

Finally is the Levels. This is a final brightness edit where I add most of my contrast.

Video featuring both sets here. Pause as needed to see the adjustments

Then, change the frame delay to 0.1, or whatever suits your fancy, but 0.1 is the most natural. Then, Click the button in the bottom left corner of the timeline which Converts to Video Timeline, then select all the layers, right click and Convert for Smart Filters.

After this is sharpening, cropping and then exporting. Either File > Export > Save for Web (Legacy) or Alt + Shift + Ctrl + S

Here I change the size. (Usually adjust the height to 540px. Width depends on how I've cropped it. I my source clip excluding black edges was in the ratio 16:9, 540px is usually half that)

If you are uploading gifs to Tumblr, keep an eye of the file size. Tumblr doesn't allow for file sizes about 10MB, although for me it's always been more like 9.5MB. If that number is too high and you have made the gif as short as possible (no more the 50 frames if possible) and you have reduced the size (my limit tends to be about 480px height dependant on my crop ratio), then you change the number of the colours from 256 to NO LESS THAN 200. (lower than this may considerably reduce your quality)

Then you press Undo or Ctrl + Z a few times until you have all of your frames again and then repeat.

And all that can take half an hour or more. Hope this answers the question as well.

[bizarrelittlemew]

IDA do you have any advice or pointers for gif-making? yours are always so high quality with such great colors! i just started trying to make gifs and i feel like I'm constantly struggling with the export settings trying to make it look decent without being a gigantic file 😭

hiii and thank you so much 💗💗💗

I'm not really sure what to say since I've mostly learned by trial and error, so I guess the biggest piece of advice would be practice!!

I'm sure there are loads of gif tutorials out there and I may make my own one day but here are some tips I can give related to quality (I use Photoshop so these are probably specific to that):

The higher quality video you have to begin with, the easier it will be to make the gifs look great. I go for 1080p or higher (if possible)

When you import video frames to layers, be aware of duplicate frames as they will make the gif look choppy, it's a framerate issue - I use a very simple video editing software to cut out the scenes I want to gif, but if you have a more advanced one, you should be able to adjust the framerate so PS won't create duplicate frames. idk I'm not an expert on this exact thing I just delete the duplicates manually

For tumblr posts, the full width is 540px, half is 268px, go for these to avoid tumblr compressing the gifs

I usually set the frame time delay between 0.06-0.09 seconds since always prefer them a bit slower, which allows for seeing more detail. I check the speed by going into File -> Export -> Save for Web (Legacy) and clicking the Preview, because just playing the gif in PS will usually have lag

After wrangling frames, cropping and resizing etc., I convert to video timeline and convert all the frames to one Smart Object before sharpening and coloring. I use Smart Sharpen and Gaussian Blur filters with different settings, making copies of the smart layer and playing around with the opacity settings (I have this process recorded/automated as an action, but often have to adjust afterwards based on the clip). There are many different ways to do this and probably some tutorials too.

As for coloring, I don't use any automated processes, but just play around with adjustment and color fill layers. A gif with my usual sharpening and relatively simple coloring may have layers looking like this:

I think this is where the practice mostly comes in, because you'll discover new things with every gif you make. it's also the most fun part for me :) again, there are a lot of tutorials out there, and some scenes require more adjustments than others (especially dark scenes). really, Selective Color and Curves may be the most important adjustment layers (to me at least lmao)

As for file size, these are my usual export settings:

reducing the number of colors will always reduce the file size, but I'd usually rather trim the length (or split it into two gifs) or the image size (cropping a bit more off the height). Going for 40-80 frames is usually reasonable, and you can do more for very static gifs or smaller image sizes!

I hope some of this is useful, good luck and happy giffing 💗💗💗

[bonefall]

Tangleburr, Deerfoot, and their Parents

EDIT 2: On 1/30/2023 This post was changed to be accurate to the current version of the rewrite.

So here they are! Lizardstripe, her mate Mudclaw (renamed to Mudfoot in my rewrite because I don’t like major characters having name repeats), Tangleburr, and Deerfoot.

Info below

So in general, I give ShadowClan cats big eyes and very long whiskers, plus a lot of facial hair. Mudfoot and Deerfoot both have a classic ‘shadowstache,‘ a bundle of short whiskers around the mouth. I also wanted Lizardstripe to have green eyes because I always see Tangleburr with that color, and she got a bit of an overbite (which Deerfoot inherited) because there’s not enough cool dentition in Warriors.

Lizardstripe

She’s very, very different from canon. Instead of being just a sour, abusive mother, Lizardstripe is one of Bluestar’s oldest friends and used to sneak out to hang out with her friend group, the Forget-Me-Nots.

Lizardstripe was the first Forget-Me-Not to die, taken out in a battle over the Mothermouth moorland, before Brokenstar took power.

She was a young mother, not ready for the experience nor particularly happy about it, but she did still love her children. When she was bored, she would go on ‘exercises‘ and bring her kittens along, resulting in them being in Yellowfang’s den a lot for scrapes and dings.

She agreed to nurse Raggedstar’s motherless son for him when he still needed milk, but didn’t raise the little guy.

Mudclaw Mudfoot

Wasn’t the best mate, but a decent father. He was particularly close to Deerfoot, passing on many of his skills.

He was one of the best builders the camp had ever seen. They used to joke that he could out-dig a badger and still come back with a rabbit. He died of greencough and general weakness during the last winter of Raggedstar’s reign, shortly after which all three of his kits started to drift apart.

Deerfoot

Inspired by a red stag, I wanted him to look noble, but not in a ThunderClan way. His brow whiskers are thick and brush back like antlers, with a big bushy ‘stache (he’s proud of it. Tangle makes fun of it) and dark paws like hooves.

While he supported Brokenstar at first, it quickly becomes clear that him and Runningnose are bending the code to fit their needs. But, he got the same smarts that his brother Runny did, and learned quickly to shut up and get sneaky. Sure, he’s loyal, sure, he follows orders... to the letter. And the rules didn’t say anything about sneaking a few mice to the exiles. Mice full of herbs. Birds full of messages. Frogs full of rebellion.

He’s principled and honorable. He can have a fair amount of the good old ShadowClan dark humor in his fangs, but he gets tired of nonsense very quickly. He honestly regrets a lot of the things he said as a kit, and gets frustrated that Tangleburr never seemed to grow out of being a bully. After one too many comments that went to far, he stopped talking to her entirely.

They had just begun to reconcile when TigerClan took power, and Tangleburr became a fast loyalist. Deerfoot organized the rebels, just as he’d done before, resisting tyranny at every step. After helping the half-Clan cats escape, he was the only one captured and put on trial. He refused to name his co-conspirators and was brutally executed.

Jaggedtooth, Mosspelt, Dawnflower, and Reedwhisker, just some of the cats who owe their lives to him.

Tangleburr

DUMB! AS!! ROCKS!!!

I needed her to look like the funny little guy she is. She’s a little fluffy. A little chunky. She’s got this little tail and these big teeth and she’s always grinning. Her whiskers twist over each other, tangling at times. Sooo many appearances of her make her brown and white so I decided she needed ALL of the colors. Heterochromia also.

“Think before you speak“ but Tangleburr has never had a thought in her life. She’s all emotion. Swat first and ask questions later. She never has a good idea of boundaries or what the appropriate thing to say is.

In contrast to Deerfoot, Tangleburr was a loud and proud supporter of Brokenstar’s leadership up to the bitter end. She was ready to take over the entire forest, with no regard for how much space ShadowClan could actually use, or the suffering of other clans. After all, they’d never have peace as long as there were borders to battle over. She happily ate up every excuse and loophole Runningnose came up with-- she felt lucky to have such a smart brother and powerful leader!

As you’d expect, this caused a lot of tension between her and Deerfoot. When he cut her off, she blamed him at first for being stuck up all the time. Later, when they reconcile, she comes to realize that she was destroying the clan she loved, and that she’d lost so many clanmates while she’d been gone. When Deerfoot died, Tangleburr was distraught and could only think to keep him alive with her actions

She started asking herself what Deerfoot would have done, letting her paws be guided by his actions. This lead to a strong connection with StarClan (for a warrior, at least) and she became a good friend of Tawnypaw’s. She’s “No good at saying good, wise stuff, but I got two ears and one mouth! If you want a listener, I mean. Yeah.”

I’ve kind of fallen in love with her. Her son is Talonclaw; being saved from the vicious kittypets to help fix the family tree.

[youredreamingofroo]

hey rooo 😝 4-6 for the editing questions!

gatekeeping this post under the cut, it got lengthy 🤧🤧

4: If you can remember, why did you start editing?

Okay, so this may be a little off topic, but it still talks about editing LMFAO but I started editing mainly cuz one day I saw Minimooberrys renders and was like WOW okay, I want to learn to do THAT and editing, so she was a MASSIVE inspiration for me to start, not only that but I also watch solitasims and lovvvvvveeeddddd her stuff, and wanted to do what she did but mix in editing :) (I think that answers the question, idk I guess like, I've always wanted to edit, but more importantly the want to learn how to render and also do storytelling in TS4 helped motivate me to start editing if that's a better answer)

5: if you caption your edits, what do you decide to put in the caption?

I tend to keep the caption relatively clean (tags are where you get my reaction and shit LMAOO), if you take Leo and Roos posts for example, they're song related, so I'll put some lyrics that I think correlate to them and the scenes placed in the post ("and then you looked right back and caught my stare"), or sometimes scenes not necessarily mentioned in the post, but can be heavily implied or just assume occur ("It's really nice to talk to you, it's really nice to hold your hands," which implies that they talk a lot and that they do hold hands a lot, whether it be romantic or platonic 🤧). There's other situations where I don't have a song (tbf the Reo posts were the first posts where I did put songs agsiabs), like the valentines day prep posts, I just put "valentines day preparations: [sim perspective]", or like in earlier NSB posts, I just put prev / next cuz idfk what to put in the caption. With more recent posts, ive been trying to caption the posts with something related to the characters (like cataleyas drowning post, where it basically lays out the metaphor for the post, which is "too much love from the wrong person").

6: give us a quick breakdown of your editing process

WOW okay, LMAOO well, I'm gonna have to whip out my laptop for this one

For Cas shots: Usually i put cas shots together, so first thing I do is import the images I want to use in a 6000 by 3000 canvas (to preface: I do all my CAS ss in the dimensions 3000 by 3000), and I usually choose from a few mental presets, two headshots and a body shot, two head shots and a half body shot, three body shots, and theres more to list but im not gonna do all that LMFAO so after that, I place them in their positions and then erase the black background (which DOES get tedious when two screenshots sorta overlap and have to make sure theres no black left around the sim), after that incredibly tedious and unnecessarily long process, sometimes I play around with flipping the character around (in the case of two head shots and one body/half body shot, I make the headshots face toward each other, so basically headshot > body shot < headshot- if that makes sense), although that can be placed anywhere in the editing process sometimes I do it earlier on or later on doesnt really matter lmao. Around this point, its just final touches, looking for weird shadows (which is USUALLY more prominent in blender renders, but it can happen), places where shadows look a little too sharp, and cleaning up those spots. For the VERY VERY final touches, I use sharpen and depending on the shot, contrast or saturation, I sometimes use the hue tool to make a certain color brighter or a different color, however I avoid the latter because it creates a weird effect on the picture, the sharpen tool is important for this part, because I tend to make the sharpen effect stronger on closer shots (head shots), or i dont change settings that much for decently faraway shots (half body shots) and i try to make full body shots to not have SUPER strong sharpen, but i tend to go on the lower end for full body shots aisuhdg

For in game screenshots: This is a bit different, so I import the screenshot that I'm using into a 3840 by 2160 canvas (the size the screenshot was taken with), depending on the shot i may add text, the font i use is Walter Turncoat (in most instances, they vary for different posts lmao), I make sure to color the text depending on whos talking or whats going on, a good example is in the catty drowning post and VDAY prep post, I dont do "[character]: [text]", i like the element of figuring out whos speaking (EVEN if it can be frustrating for me), i try not to make it too challenging to figure out, around my level of reading comprehension (/j), so like Catty is pink, calico is yellow, etc etc. I dont use as much sharpen with these shots since theyre clean as is. A lot of my shots like Gifs are pre-planned and thus is a different story, but in short I usually just edit the gif frames as usual and then put them together later. I also have a custom set of black bars to put around my screenshots bc even tho i do use reshades black bars, sometimes bloom or DOF messes with them, and have to put a clean set above them. I dont really know what to say that is quick, I guess for more "complex" shots, like with moodlets or text messages, i just get the assets online and then edit them for myself 😭

and LASTLY, for renders: Trying to keep this short, I usually just do what I do for the aforementioned shots, but like I said in the CAS shots, weird and sharp shadows are more prominent and I just edit those to make them cleaner and then also just add sharpen and make it brighter or more contrast-y idk 🤧

[notdogice]

Time for the biggest batch of Pony Town cos': The Deltarune Edition! I started making these ones around late 2021 (possibly November) and I tried to make them as sprite accurate as I could so these ones are a lot more timeless regardless of how I change the way I stylize certain ponies.

Spamton G. Spamton. The very first one of my Deltarune cos', and probably the most iconic. I call him the Big Haired Big Shot. Spamton's head to body ratio is already bonkers in his sprite, so I tried to recreate that effect in PT. For the hair, I actually used one of my other ponies, Carlos, as the inspiration. He can also do the hands together thing he does in Deltarune.

Spamton Neo. Yup, it works for Neo as well. I was kind of worried that this wouldn't work, but it does! Works best when flying, but it's pretty funny seeing him lie down.

Kris. Yeah not much to say for Kris, but they're literally the easiest Deltarune cos you can do. Their eyes are closed, but I do have the pupils colored for expression sake whilst still being accurate.

Kris (DW). I fucking love this cos. It was fun to figure out how I should do the scarf and pauldron. It's on of my favourites of this set. Also has the eye thing like the light world counterpart.

Susie. Yeah LW Susie wasn't fun, especially after doing her DW counter part.

Susie (DW). FUCK YEAH SHE ROCKS. Only real gripe is with her hair.

Ralsei. Cute, but kind of ugly. One thing I've noticed is that people really don't try to do with the hat with horns when they do the hatted Ralsei.

Ralsei (No hat). Getting the goat horns just right because it is possible to do so. Definately experiamental with this one.

Berdly. Very smug indeed. Lovely.

Berdly (DW). You know, as I did more of these cos', I had gotten better at recogizing which options would work best with what I was trying to acheive. DW Berdly is a key example of this as getting his armor right used things I've done for Kris and Queen. Yeah these aren't in order how I made them, but I just want to keep things organized.

Noelle. Fun fact: Noelle is the only lightner that I had did their LW sprite before their DW. Yup. I did the more complicated designs first. Really the onlt thing about Noelle that I had really tried to figure out was her antlers. Yeah PT has antlers, but I wasn't really satisfied with them, they didn't seem Noelley enough.

Noelle (DW). To be honest, Noelle is easy to make in PT. I could've went with the shirt with hood option, but none of color options fit with what I was trying to do. Plus you wouldn't really notice that it's not there unless you move the head.

Lancer. Lancer's head is a hell of a pain to do. I'm not very satisfied with what I got, but it's the only thing that looks half decent with this style. He's extra round when he sits. Kind of took that idea of using the wings from someone else's Lancer, but I haven't seen anyone else but that person and I do it so it isn't a popular thing people do for Lancer, but it should honestly.

Queen. People have pointed out how I managed to give her that Megamind look, and I really appreciate it. I'm kind of surprised to see that she's the fourth Deltarune cos I made when I thought she was one of the later middle cos'. Her eyes do work like Kris' does. Another unique thing about this Queen cos is that I used the customizable mark to fix the curve between her top and bottom half.

Rouxls Kaard. One of my later ones as I holded off from doing him thinking he'd be a tough on to figure out. He was just like his puzzles. Like most of his detail in his sprite is in the one area where you can't see it on a pony.

Jevil. Ah Jevil, the first Deltarune character to appear in one of my dreams... He ran a fish taco stand. Uh other than that, one of my favoutie area on this cos is his ears. like they are so sprite accurate and very pretty. Everything else is standard fair with the others.

C Round. People love it whenever I switch to this cos, and whenever they put a crown on it...

K Round. You get this! Man it was tough figuring how to do the checker just right, but the results speak for itself. One of my favouties of the set. I've seen a few other's tries of making this character in PT, but they seem to get similar results to mine.

Rudin. A rare cos indeed. Actually I don't think I've ever seen another Rudin cos on PT. A shame really, I like Rudin's design.

Rudin Ranger. You thought regualr ol' Rudin was rare? Feast your eyes on this! Both of them are very pretty.

Hathy. It was the mouth I struggled the most with on. I do not have Head Hathy, I was too frustrated with this one.

Tasque. Meow. Another easy one to do, but doesn't get as much love as a certain...

Tasque Manager. Someone called my Tasque Manager cute a few weeks back. She was a fun one to make, but her tail breaks when she sits.

Maus. Not too difficult to make this Maus. This is also my newest Deltarune cos.

Since I have the room for them, here are some bonus Undertale cos' I have!

Frisk. I've been playing PT since 2017 and it took me until 2022 to make a Frisk cos. I still haven't made a Sans yet either which is surprising as I got into Undertale before I got into PT.

Asgore. My first UT cos, and it was Asgore of all people. Like seriously, you don't get to see Asgore cos' all to often if ever. This could probably be blamed by the fact that you don't get to spend that much time with him outside of his battle and most of what you learn about him is through everyone else experience with him.

Mettaton EX. The hardest thing I had to do with this cos was finding his his overworld sprite for his colors. Like everything else just using things I have done for other cos' like using the mask like how I did with K Round and Frieza. I guess I did have to think about hair options, but that is a given when it comes to making anything in PT. Anyway, that's the last of the set.

[artoni-arts]

sparks in the ashes; chapter 2

. previous . index . next .

what u should know;

@tiesthatbind-tf verse, quintesson-era [late 1920s]

last chapter victor got a couple new visitors and decided he'd deal with stuff in the morning because he was too tired for this shit (TM)

cw; I have no idea how to write French [aside from Google translate], or an ESL, short of what little I've seen/researched/attempted insomuch I can speak a bit of Spanish and tried to think how I'd talk if I was switching in to that. The speaker in question is fluent in both languages, at least. However, if someone wants to offer some editing in that regard, I would sincerely appreciate it! also there's a bit of child manhandling? not sure if considered abuse but better safe than sorry. she's not hurt, other than her feelings YOU SILENCE SADIE??? YOU DRAG HER OUT OF CONVERSATION?? SHAME!!!!

--------------------

He awoke to a smell that was both strange and familiar; for a long few moments, he couldn't place it at all. But when he did, Victor pushed himself up in alarm, red eyes flaring in surprise.

A few feet away, another man startled with the makeshift tray he'd been carrying - not enough to drop it, but enough to jostle the contents just a bit. "Pardon," he murmured, clearly apologetic. "Je ne- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said a bit more slowly as he switched in to English.

"No, it's- it's all right," Victor said automatically, swinging his legs off the bed. He hadn't changed out of his clothing from last night, and felt an apology of his own bubbling up - manners died hard, it seemed - before he caught sight of what was on that tray. Eyes widened once more as he took in the spread, which almost looked...real, for lack of a better word.

The man must have seen his expression, because his voice took on an amused tone. "I have a talent with their technology," he explained, setting the tray down on the nearby table. "I thought a breakfast would be the least we could offer, after all your family has done for us."

Victor was already getting to his feet, momentarily pushing aside the 'family' comment. "'Us'?" he repeated, belatedly remembering the woman. Still, best to be sure. "How many are you?" he asked, already reaching for the - good lord, was that tea? He hadn't had a decent tea in what felt like ages, and as he took a sip, he couldn't help but half-close his eyes in a moment of appreciation. If the other was still amused, he hid it well. Now that he wasn't exhausted, though, Victor could get a better look at the man; French, obviously, sporting a full beard, Victor still judged them around the same age. His skin was a bit lighter than Victor's own, hair still what could pass as a natural brown. Slicked back, he didn't seem like much of a laborer, and Victor wondered just how he had gotten mixed up in the chaos of yesterday.

"Just two," came the answer. He brought a hand to his chest and bowed his head slightly, offering a slight smile. "Je m'appelle Aillard - the woman is Pravda, and she is content to remain in the other room until you are ready to speak. Shall I give you some time?" he continued, arching a brow just slightly - and Victor was reminded of just how disheveled he must look, a bit of color coming to his cheeks.

"Ah- yes, please. Make yourselves at home," he added, words sounding piddling even to his own words - but they must have been the right ones, for Aillard's face brightened.

"Merci, monsieur...?"

A clear enough prompt. "Victor." he said, offering his hand after another moment.

It was taken in a firm grip, surprisingly so given how the other man seemed more of a scholar than anything - but his smile remained warm. "Thank you, Victor." Another one of those tilt-of-the-head-nods - more of a pleasant acknowledgement rather than anything remotely subservient like the bows one gave to try and placate a Quintesson - and he quickly exited, closing the door behind him and leaving Victor to try and push the thought of the squiddies back out of his mind.

Not hard to do, looking over the food - were those eggs? He prodded them with a fork, realizing they couldn't be, but - the texture seemed almost identical, to say nothing of the sausage, the greens. And while, as he ate, he realized that no, they weren't quite the same, they were leagues beyond anything he'd ever gotten out of that bloody machine - apparently, he simply didn't know how to work it right.

By the time he'd finished, lingering over the tea for just a few more moments, he felt far more grounded than he had in...years, perhaps. Steady, stable, ready to take on whatever the day would throw at him - which was likely for the best, he solemnly thought to himself as he took in the final few sips of tea, considering what he was about to face. Two strangers brought in to his home, and if he had to guess, with ties to the Underground - which meant he either had to politely evict them and pretend he'd never seen them, or risk...

Actually, no, he didn't want to think about that right now, either. Instead, he cleaned himself up, dressed in some clean clothes (with the dirty ones set off to the side, the children had a habit of taking care of such things but he never expected it), and with a final breath to prepare himself - stepped in to the main room.

Aillard and - Pravda? - were in quiet conversation, a language neither English nor French that Victor didn't quite recognize. The woman was busy fussing over Aillard's upper arm, which Victor remembered seeing a bandage upon - right now, it had been stripped off, and the burns could be clearly seen. A near-hit with a weapon, Victor assumed, where Pravda...

Pravda seemed far, far better than she had been last night. He blinked, the lack of visible injury stunning to him - oh, there were some scratches and bruises, but for a woman who'd been passed out on his couch being tended to by Sadie, that seemed, well, inhuman to recover so fast. Which...made sense, if she was a worker. Her blue eyes abruptly pulled away from Aillard's, narrowing slightly as they spotted Victor; she offered a short nod of greeting, which Victor returned with his lips pressed in to a thin line as he looked around.

Speaking (well, thinking) of Sadie, where was she...?

"The young ones said something about scouting about," Aillard offered, looking over his shoulder at Victor. "They seem to be quite self-sufficient." He sounded impressed.

Victor, however, sighed as he looked towards the door. "They'd better be - only one of them is even 'mine'," he explained...before wondering if that was too much to share. A certain wariness was coming over him; trusting strange children in his home was one thing, but these two...

These two were different. Pravda, for her part, seemed to have a glint in her eye as she filed that away before clearing her throat to speak.

"They are good children," she slowly said, and Victor finally placed the accent - Russian. With how slowly she spoke, perhaps she didn't speak English all that well.

"We only asked for a place to shelter," Aillard elaborated, studying Victor. "When they brought us here, we could hardly say no. I am...very sorry for any inconvenience we've caused you." And, to his credit, he did sound quite contrite. Perhaps he did understand just what all this could mean.

Perhaps it made no difference. Victor made a gesture, not so much dismissing the apology as the inconvenience. "I would say 'teach me how to operate the food-maker and all is forgiven," he began, moving to take a seat at the small dining table. Aillard and Pravda took the cue and moved to join him, leaving but one seat empty. "But I must admit, I'd like to know just how you ended up needing shelter in the first place. Neither of you are from London," he continued, the words more a statement than a question; a statement Aillard nodded to confirm.

"Non. We were imported." As Aillard seemed the one more inclined to speak, Pravda seemed to be the one sizing up Victor and his reactions; she no doubt could tell the way he stiffened.

"Both of you? I had thought it only labor."

"For the most part." There was something in those words, something evasive - but Victor had no reason to push other than his own curiosity, and he supposed the two of them had more than enough reason to watch what they said. "There was an...ah...comment devrais-je dire cela?..." Aillard paused, briefly traded a few words with Pravda, and then went on- "A 'breakout', if you will, and we were caught up in it."

Perhaps even started it, Victor thought, keeping his face as blank as possible. "You weren't able to find a way to stay put?" he neutrally asked, evoking a snort of derision from Pravda. Or at least took advantage of it.

Aillard, for his own part, shrugged. "In the heat of the moment, you tend to act on instinct - ours was to run. And from what we saw, there were others involved, too, on the outside. A local cell?" He tilted his head in query.

"The Underground," Victor affirmed, dearly wishing for another cup of tea so he could at least occupy his hands. "They're the most organized around here, anyway. If I had to guess," he slowly continued, testing the waters, "they were working with whomever organized the escape. Perhaps even creating a diversion." Aillard's face remained neutral - but Pravda looked away. Ah, Victor thought, though he wasn't pleased by the 'affirmation'. So you do know more about it.

"Quoi qu’il en soit, it may be best for us to get in to contact with them, so we could shelter with them instead of imposing on you."

Now it was Victor's turn to look away - but this time, towards the opening door, where Sadie was peeking through before offering a sheepish smile for interrupting. Victor was quiet as he watched her enter, and when he did speak, his voice was a murmur. "I say this with all respect, Aillard - as much as I would love to see the last of you, I wonder what it means for the rest of London." He turned back just in time to catch sight of Pravda's fingers curling in to loose fists.

Aillard himself didn't seem bothered at all. "No offense taken," he assured. "I cannot see the future," and was it just Victor's imagination, or was there a hint of irony there? "but I can tell you we have no interest in making trouble for its people."

"Are you looking to leave the city?"

There was the briefest of hesitations, which said far more than the words that followed; "In time." But that, too, said much. Victor glanced back at Sadie, who was pulling out the fourth chair to seat herself- giving Victor himself a defiant look as if to dare him to shoo him off. He let out a breath, reaching up to rub his forehead in frustration.

"We are wasting our time," Pravda abruptly said, voice tight as she got to her feet. "We will find our own way."

"Pravda." Aillard raised a hand to touch her arm, but she pulled it away, glaring at Victor.

"This man is one of the Quintesson's tools. He will not help us."

Now, it was Sadie's turn to pipe up; "He's not a tool! I'm sure he'll help, right?" Her eyes were shining gold just a bit in indignation as they looked towards Victor, who abruptly found every reason to study Aillard's own reactions to this. He was hard to read, well-guarded in face - but his eyes, a similar blue hue to Pravda's, moved to meet Victor's. Was that a hint of pleading in them?

Further thought was interrupted by Pravda placing a palm on the table, leaning over it aggressively. "Help the Кальмары, I think - you are one of their guards, are you not?"

His back stiffened, but before he could retort, Sadie was placing her own hands on the table - with enough force for a slap! to sound through the room, and even Pravda blinked at the fire in the girl. "So what!?" she demanded. "He's doing the best he can! Yeah, he knows a couple Underground blokes, but he hasn't turned them in, so there!"

"Sadie!" A quick hiss and a tug on her jacket to pull her back in to her seat. "Mind your mouth!"

"It's true, and they should know it!" She jutted out her chin at him. "You don't like the squiddies, you've said so yourself!"

"Are you telling us this man," Pravda jerked her chin at Victor, "would not turn us in if he thought it would save himself trouble?"

The thought hadn't even occurred to Victor, and part of that must have shown on his face, for Aillard's brow arched as tilted his head in curiosity. Nonetheless, Sadie stuck her tongue out at Pravda. "Nuh-uh! He- mmph!"

"That's more than enough," Victor didn't-quite-hiss, hand over her mouth as he pulled her out of her seat. "Sadie, you have no business at this table, and I will thank you to keep out of ours for the moment!" She glared up at him, fighting his grip, and he returned that glare with his own as he wrestled her to the door of the other room. The girl fought him, of course, but she also seemed surprised - never had Victor treated her this way, and there was no small amount of betrayal in her eyes as he pushed her past the door.

"Vic-" The door slammed in her face, and Victor pressed his back against it, exhaling heavily and trying, at least for the moment, to ignore both Pravda and Aillard. He was having only so much success, keenly aware of the awkwardness of the situation - and the realization that he'd more-or-less, for the first time since meeting her, laid hands upon Sadie. He'd even trapped her in his room for what? An attempt to save face?

Aillard cleared his throat, catching Victor's attention. "I think," he slowly said, "it would be best if Pravda and I left now. You have our thanks for the shelter - with luck, this will be the last you see of us."

Perhaps the man hadn't meant to throw the words back in Victor's face, but they felt like a slap that stole his breath. Unable to speak, he nodded dumbly, helpless to do anything but watch as Pravda reached to pick up a heavy knapsack, slinging it across her shoulder effortlessly as she nodded for Aillard to proceed. The man offered her a smile, offered Victor a nod, and without another word, strode for the door.

As they passed, Pravda met Victor's gaze; there was something in her own that Victor couldn't read, but that made him feel even smaller. Disappointment? No, but something similar, he thought, trying not to visibly wilt before she turned away to follow Aillard out.

When the door shut behind them, he let out the breath he'd been holding - then turned, fumbling briefly with the door to his own room before managing to open it, "Sadie, I'm sor-"

There was no one inside. Over his bed, the small window that led to the outside was cracked open, and Victor nearly fell to his knees in despair. It wasn't the first time Sadie had left - or entered - in such a manner, but knowing there was a lockdown in place and he'd more or less chased her in to it...

What have I done?

-------------------------------

"Do you think he will keep our trust?"

Aillard considered Pravda's words for a moment, half-closing his eyes in thought. "...Je pense," he said after another moment, glancing back towards the building they'd left behind. They hadn't spoken in the halls, well aware of how voices carried, and even now, their voices were low. He was well aware of the lockdown that the Quintessons had put in to place, and so they stuck to the shadows, ensuring there was no movement on the streets (or those terrible cameras, though he had a feeling no sights of them from such would make it to a hostile observer) before moving to the next. "He seemed...stupéfait, I think, when you brought it up."

They could have spoken only in French - but Pravda had asked him to help her with English, as she understood more than she spoke. So, the more they spoke it together, the more comfortable she would be in it - he was just lucky she spoke French, he supposed, though not quite as well as he spoke Russian. There was something to be said about picking things up easily.

Pravda adjusted the knapsack over her shoulder, which Aillard couldn't so much as lift an inch off the ground had he given it a try. She scanned the roads, then let out a huff of air. "Perhaps. He did nothing to stop us leaving, but I cannot trust him," she admitted, and Aillard reached to squeeze her shoulder.

"I did not say I trusted him, my friend." She gave him a bit of a smile at that, before a low whistle cut through the air to catch their attention. The two looked about, Pravda making a sound of surprise as she apparently spotted whatever it was - as Aillard followed his gaze, he was somehow unsurprised to see it was the girl from before. Sadie, he recalled, as she beckoned them across the road. A final glance to ensure their safety, and Pravda led the way, ducking her head as she trotted to catch up with the fille.

"Were you not being punished?" she questioned, voice still low. Sadie scowled, crossing her arms as she jutted her chin in a familiar manner.

"He's not the boss of me," she shot back. "But're you going to cause problems for him?"

"So long as he does not for us."

Pravda was blunt as always, and Aillard sighed before kneeling before the girl to meet her gaze. "I hope not," he clarified, watching the shift in expression in her face. "All we want is to find our friend safe and sound."

"Your friend?" Sadie looked from Aillard to Pravda, her brow crinkling at their silence. But Aillard could tell she was clever; a moment later, she confirmed it by saying, "With the Underground, right? I can take you to some of them, if they haven't been found out."

Clever, and helpful. Aillard bowed his head. "I would be in your debt, my young friend. But is it safe for you to be outside?"

"No." That was certainly one of the flattest tones Aillard had heard, and Pravda snorted in what could have been amusement. Truth be told, it reminded him of some of the deadpans line she'd delivered. "But it never is," Sadie went on to explain, moving to the edge of the shadow to peek about. "So let's go and stop being outside as soon as we can."

A brief shared glance - are you sure about this? I think so, yes, and we also don't have much other options, and they were following their new guide through the labyrinth that was an occupied London.

[csmeaner]

Design Shitting: Who Needs a Face? Edition

Warning for eye-based horror.

Xynthii are a long-lived closed species. Somehow. Despite the odds they limp slowly to their inexorable death like all species do.

The main feature of Xynthii they have no face. Instead, they have a single eye in the center of their face, surrounded by the toothiest...circular saw of a grin you've ever seen. Some of them have a bit of a decora charm, but most, uh.

Still not convinced this isn't some adult baby shit. Luckily, the color palette may blind you sufficiently enough so that you don't notice. guppie-vibes(/)art(/)Lisa-Frank-inspo-IceKitty-Xynthii-CLOSED-899701473

boobs arent same size even it's almost impressive the amount of patterns stuck on this thing and still somehow read better than a Waschmittelpulver design probably because instead of the same pattern over the whole thing there's about 7 different patterns going on here

$38 for this clusterfuck is $38 too many. From the obnoxious color palette to the obnoxious clutter all over the body, I can't see why anyone would find this thing charming in even an ugly way. It also looks very sticky. guppie-vibes(/)art(/)CLOSED-Skittle-Xynthii-888426082

they sure shown their skills by doing this in traditional and still coming up with the same rainbowpuke look. thanks to it being traditional the colors muddled together and it really shows it's not very good with how crowded everything is. also where the hell are the tongues. if you look at this from a distance it could give you a headache with how busy it is and no place to rest your eyes

This one is almost passable. The gigantic turd that's supposedly an unconnected tail ruins it. guppie-vibes(/)art(/)Lisa-Frank-inspired-Xynthii-CLOSED-887718583

they really have an aesthetic going on and while i do dig it ngl these are just too fucking much. took me a second to see there's two tails even with how they're placed because it's all high saturated with things overlapping each other so it's very hard to read like i can't even shit on the eye/mouth thing because i have to fucking find it in the first place everything else is so fucking overpowering it's just overly detailed barbies

You know what, Mod Shit? Let's take a look at a few customs. Maybe clients have better design sense than the actual admins of the species. Hey, happens all the time.

What the fucking fuck. How would you even use this character? obscenebarbie(/)art(/)XyNunuke-Hybrid-Custom-Dice-Bunny-883874880

the fuck are these my fucking guy why are they attached like that why does one get a normal face and the other an ugly xynthii one. it's not even fucking a one-off apparently because there's a huge folder full of the same shit it gives the exast same vibe as creepy porcelain dolls yet with the added bonus of conjoined twins profiting

Love the introduction of diversity in a species where most of the characters look dead, but maybe almost pitch-black wasn't the best idea. Look at the poor thing. It's eye-mouth is floating in the void. obscenebarbie(/)art(/)Xynthii-Aesthetic-Moodboard-Custom-DeadlyHemloq-869594371

not even with more monochrome designs can they somehow make unreadable garbage the wings even have spikes that doesn't feel it'd work anymore. what is even the lore of these i tried but i could not find a speck of it much despite the species being like 7 years old

Yeah, not gonna be able to parse this one's face...thing. obscenebarbie(/)art(/)Xynthii-Aesthetic-Moodboard-Custom-Kaeilia-865437227

what an eyesore it feels like it just didn't hit the bullseye in every way from the hair to the weird braids to the goddamn game controller tail on a chain. feels somehow overly tryhard with the cutie mark glitter on the hips yet lazy at the same time with the vector lines on the tongue

A lot of the customs are actually half-decent. It also helps that most of them seem to be from the actual owner of the species. The recent adopts were from one of the cofounders. Definitely not a species that's to everyone's taste.

I feel like I need some eyedrops now.

i looked them up and just the trait sheets lowered my lifespan. you can see it here because there's so fucking many of them all poorly made but here's what one looks like

[roxyandelsewhere]

while I look for pens that let me do more proper trueforms, I drew part of what I think purgatory should have been. might do more in the future

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Promotion: Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader

synopsis: You don't ever make it to the convention. At all.

wc: 2.4k

tw: NSFW

masterlist

"Hey, y/n, are you coming out to lunch with us?" You turn your chair around to face your co-workers, all of them gathering their things to leave for the day. A half-day, right.

You'd completely forgotten about the half-day your boss offered as a reward for meeting every single editing deadline for a month straight. And now you were knee-deep in a manuscript, your mind completely focused on the task on the computer in front of you.

"I think I'll stay here and work on this for a little while. You all enjoy yourselves!" Your co-workers wave goodbye, chattering about their weekend plans as you turn back around, shifting the feedback sheet from your desk and onto the printer.

You dive back into your work - frowning as you come across a massive plot hole - the door to your boss's office flies open. You jump a little, startled by the sudden movement, and watch Nanami Kento adjust his clear frames before sliding them back on his handsome face.

"Y/n, could I speak to you for a moment? I'm sorry to interrupt your workflow, but this is urgent," he begins, and you stand from your desk, saving the work you've done before walking into his office. As you take a seat in the only other chair in the room, you cross your legs at the ankle, waiting for Nanami to take his place at his desk.

"Did you not want to take the half-day?" The blonde man wonders, sitting in his chair and unbuttoning his jacket.

"No, I really want to get as much work done as possible before the weekend."

"Big plans?" His brow lifts, and you inhale sharply, wondering what he's implying.

"No," you admit, looking down at your fingers and feeling your cheeks heat up. "I like to rest on my days off, is all."

"I won't keep you long, then. One of our managing editors - Hisoka - is leaving at the end of next week. You've been working very hard on making sure manuscripts are done right, clients are satisfied, and book deals go smoothly that I was wondering if you'd be willing to accept her position and her spot at the conference next week." A promotion? And a spot a the Editor's Conference?

"Sir, I'm flattered by your consideration--"

"Then it's done. I'll send over the paperwork on Monday morning, and I'll make sure you're settled in your new position by Friday." Nanami begins typing at his computer, and you stare at him, open-mouthed. "What's wrong?"

"I mean, this is all so sudden, I..." you trail off as Nanami frowns at you, his confusion evident. "Thank you, sir."

"You're the most qualified for the position, so I think you'll do just fine." He smiles as you stand to leave, giving him a slight bow.

"I'll do my best."

_____________________________________________________________

You shift nervously as the taxi takes both you and your boss from the train station to your hotel, where you hope the assistant booked you a decent room so you can get some rest before the big day tomorrow. Nanami is checking his phone, reading through emails before the taxi stops, letting you both out on the sidewalk in front of the ritzy hotel in the moonlight.

"I'll check-in for both of us," Nanami murmurs, and you go to sit in the lobby area while he speaks with the receptionist. Before long, you can hear a slight disagreement break out, and you turn your head to watch your boss approach you slowly, head bowed a little.

"What's wrong?" you wonder, clutching your bag close.

"Takada booked us only one room instead of two. I think she might have gotten the idea that since Hisoka left, that I would just be going."

"Well," you begin, standing. "Surely we can get another room."

"There isn't any room," he mutters, rubbing his eyes. "All of the hotels in the area are booked." You deflate, wondering what to do next. Nanami watches you carefully, picking up his briefcase before you reply,

"Well, I guess we have no choice, then."

He escorts you up to the elevator and swipes his keycard, pressing the highest floor before clearing his throat. You feel sweat pooling under your arms as you think about possibly sharing a bed with your boss. Yes, he's handsome as hell. But... sleeping in the same bed as a co-worker is... wrong. Right?

When the door to the suite opens, you look around at the lavish furnishings and beautiful view it affords you.

"I'll take the couch," Nanami announces, sighing as he drops his luggage beside the less than appealing couch.

"It looks uncomfortable," you state, and he takes off his glasses.

"I'm not going to assume you're comfortable with me sharing a bed with you, so I'm offering it to you by default."

"I'm sure we can both fit," you offer, and he glances up at you curiously. "Don't worry, it'll be fine." Nanami thinks for a moment, then moves his things into the bedroom, placing them on the other side of the king-sized bed. "And I promise I won't tell anyone," you tease, but he just gives you a blank look that makes you look away, cringing internally. Cool it with the jokes, you tell yourself.

As Nanami takes a shower, you pull out the various items you have to sleep in, groaning at your selection. There were only short, frilly things, instead of what you normally brought - baggy t-shirts and sweatpants. Why did you choose to bring these of all things?

Grumbling, you walk over to the mini-fridge and pull out a small bottle of Moët, tossing it back for courage. You feel the champagne hit your system moments later- and you wonder how you made it through college at this point.

The sound of the shower shutting off makes you squeak, and you throw on the silk slip before climbing into bed and facing away from the bathroom door. When Nanami emerges, you hear him shift around before climbing under the sheets, and muttering,

"Good night, y/n."

"Good night, sir."

_____________________________________________________________

Your arm is on someone's chest when you awake. You moan, lifting your head and coming face to face with your boss - who is already awake.

"Oh!" you shift off of Nanami, heart beating wildly. "I am so sorry, sir, I--"

"No, it's fine," Nanami chuckles. "It's not every morning that I wake up with a beautiful woman in my bed. Or have her talk about me in her sleep."

"Huh?" you stop, feeling your stomach drop.

"You said some... interesting things about me while you were asleep. If I had known you were a sleeptalker, I would have--"

"What did I say?" you whisper, frightened.

"Oh, nothing," Nanami chuckles, getting out of the bed and stretching. "Just something about how you found me good-looking and how you wanted to--"

You look away from him, rubbing your face in embarrassment. "I am so, so sorry, Mr. Nanami, it must have been the Moët I had before bed."

"Oh, I'm not upset. I just wish you would've said something sooner, y/n." You turn back to him, your eyes widening. "I find you attractive, too. But I had to be sure you weren't just dreaming before I said anything to you." He climbs back onto the bed, touching your face with a tender hand.

You instinctively lean into his palm, and he tilts your chin up, leaning forward. His lips ghost over yours before pressing against your cheek, and you moan. "Is this okay?" Nanami wonders, and you nod, feeling goosebumps run across your skin.

"Yes," you reply, and he leans forward again. This time, he kisses you gently, hands drifting from your face to your hips, where they play with the edges of your slip.

"Do you know how hard it was to sleep with you next to me?" he breathes, kissing down your neck. "Your beautiful hands fluttering from my face to my chest..." He cups your breasts over your slip and thumbs your nipples repeatedly, making you shudder.

"Nanami..." you exhale, and he removes one of the spaghetti straps of your slip slowly. "Sir, I--" He stops, replacing your strap quickly.

"I'm sorry, I'm not supposed to do this," The blonde man shakes his head, closing his eyes. Your breath hitches, but he doesn't move away from you, still. "I shouldn't--"

"Please," you interrupt him, grabbing his wrist. "Please." At your appeals, his lips crash into yours again and you tangle your fingers into his hair.

"Tell me when you want to stop," he urges you, hands running up your slip and gripping your bare thighs. But you allow him to lay you across the bed, tongues tangling as he undresses you with care.

"I need you," you breathe, and Nanami hums in response.

"We'll be late to the conference," he notes, but you shake your head. "We might not even make it the first day." But he makes no move to stop, again, rolling your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. "You alright with that?" The only thing you can do is moan as your body writhes underneath his grip, his hands orchestrating the symphonic melodies coming from your throat.

Nanami blinks slowly, leaning down to capture one of the buds between his lips. He sucks and pulls with precision, and your mind goes blank, not even registering that the color of the ceiling. All you know are the sensations you're feeling right now.

"How do you feel?" Nanami wonders, a hand sliding down to your core. As his fingers slide between your folds, you whisper,

"It feels good." He presses a finger into you before adding another, hovering above you as he strokes your g-spot.

"You're so beautiful," Nanami moans, eyes roaming over your exposed body as he drives you to madness, adding his thumb on your clit. You want to let go, you want to cum, but the fear of your boss seeing you in this way is just-- "It's okay," Nanami whispers, pressing his lips to your ear. "I promise I won't tell anyone."

"Oh my god," you shudder, his fingers being coated with your slick and cum liberally. Nanami croons at the way your hips jerk into his palm while you squirt all over his hand. You pant heavily once it's over, and he removes his shirt, revealing a body you've only dreamed about. His muscles are just as defined as you thought, and as he removes his pants dutifully, you watch his thick cock spring free.

"Can I?" he wonders, pumping his cock with his slick covered hand. You spread your legs a little more, inviting him to fuck you just like you've wanted for so long.

All those days he walked by your desk with his sleeves pushed up around his arms... all those times he stopped to speak with you about your day... and all those times you watched him give a presentation, imaging his lips rolling across your skin during the meetings... You would faint if you knew just how close you could get to him in one morning.

As Nanami sinks into you, you exhale deeply, and he grips your leg, leaning down and pressing himself onto you carefully. Your arm winds around his back and he stares at you as he pumps into you, his warm breath caressing your face. "Is that good?"

"So good," you whine, curling your nails into his skin. "Nanami, I--"

"Kento," the man whispers against your skin. "Please, call me Kento."

"Kento," you instantly moan, and he presses a kiss to your throat, picking up his speed. His free hand snakes behind your back, lifting you up a little as he fucks you. His breathing becomes ragged as his cock strokes your insides, pulling sounds out of you that you never considered being in your lexicon.

The smacking sounds and wetness between your thighs are enough to bring you to the edge, but Nanami slows his strokes, making them long and deep. Your orgasm abates, but you don't mind. Being beholden to Nanami is heaven.

"I'm going to make you feel some things," he warns, and you open your mouth to reply, but he continues. "You might not like being edged, but I want you to feel this next orgasm in your soul." Edged? He picks up his speed once more, knocking the thought right out of your head as you're jostled back and forth on the sheets. You can't really think rationally, anyways. Why bother?

"Mmmm," you grunt, face scrunching together as you feel another orgasm building again. And you think maybe he'll let you cum, but he slows down again, sweat dripping from his face onto your chest. "Kento, I can't take it!" you pant, but your boss nods.

"Just one more, y/n." You oblige, toes curling painfully as he quickens his thrusts and pulls you up and leans back, pumping into you from below. The sensation is remarkably different, you note, and his dick curves into you perfectly as he continues thrusting. You gasp, fingers curling into his shoulders as you feel the same orgasm building. "Ken--"

He slows down again, and you cry out, thighs quivering with the need for release. "Hold on to me," Nanami breathes, smoothing his hands down your arms and taking your fingers in his. "I'm going to let you cum this time." You tuck your face in between the crook of his neck and shoulder, moaning obscenely as he fucks you back to the brink of insanity. But this time, when your thighs clench and your hips stiffen, he keeps going, squeezing your hands carefully.

"Kento, oh my fucking god," you shout, losing yourself in the intensity of the orgasm. You might have blacked out if it wasn't for Nanami holding you against him and his hips stuttering violently as he came inside of you.

"That's it," your boss moans loudly. "That's my girl..." You're so overwhelmed that you don't register where he stops and where you begin. Everything is hazy, and you wonder if this is what it's like to be fuck drunk. You feel something being pulled over you and the way Kento holds you close, whispering sweet nothings to you as you try to keep awake, but your whole body surrenders to the finality of the moment, to the peace, and you fall asleep in his arms.

[wheninitalyy]

Jealous Benny Watts imagine

A/N - hiii ! I have been having a writer’s block with ,,France is no escape” so here’s a simple imagine. I got a (anonymous) request for a jealous Benny Watts story so I said, screw it even if I wasn't going to do requests, because this actually was refreshing to write. I’m not very satisfied with how this turned out because I felt like I couldn't get enough detail in- but I didn't want it to be too long.

A bit of context : the reader has known Benny for around a year and they have been rather close friends, there has never been any romance in their relationship. You can view this as either platonic or romantic.

(also this is gender neutral again because they didn't specify if they wanted the reader with any specific gender or pronouns)

Pairing : Benny Watts x reader

Word count : 2260

Warnings : swearing, that’s basically it :]

-   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -

I pulled my shirt over my head as I sat down in front of my vanity.

I’ve had a miserable morning. 

My morning started off with the ringing sound of my smoke detector—which was wrongfully going off—so I had to stumble out of bed to run and turn it off. 

After a bit of fidgeting and bothering the stupid ringing machine on my wall, I decided to try and cheer my morning up with some breakfast.

I hit my hip harshly against the corner of the counter while I was making myself eggs and then burnt my eggs on the stove. 

No wonder I don’t wake up early.

The frown stuck on my face no matter what I looked at.

I pulled myself out of my chair, hissing from the pain that has seemed to spread farther than just my hip. 

I walked over to the window and peeked through the curtains; it was barely light outside. 

The scent of damp concrete from the New York rain was paired with the wet autumn leaves that scattered my little corner of this large city.

I was rudely awakened before sunrise with no reasoning to be up.

I am recently unemployed and can’t seem to find a job that uses my skills, I had the money to keep up my rent and bills for a couple months but after that I may as well be asking my parents for money... again. 

I jumped at the sound of the phone, “Jesus Christ,” I mumbled as I put a hand on my chest stopping my ghost from jumping out of my body.

I grabbed the phone that sat on my withering nightstand, I cleared my throat and spoke.

“Hello?” I answered,

“You’re up early,” the man laughed,

“Yes, yes I am. What do you need Benny?” I asked him, I wasn’t exactly the friendliest this morning, but this was not new treatment for Benny.

“Fancy a morning walk?” 

“Now?” I looked at the vanity mirror behind me, an irritated half-dressed zombie looked back at me. 

“It is morning, isn’t it? Anyway, be ready in ten- I’m on my way out,” he hung up abruptly.

I pulled the phone away from my ear, “Fuckin’ Benny,” I growled dropping the phone back onto the stand. 

A knocking came from the front door as I fumbled shoving my last-minute toast in my mouth and grabbing my coat. 

I rushed to the door and unlocked it; Benny stood on the other side playing with his house keys.

The tall man in front of me looked up and smiled, Benny dressed himself in his multiple shades and fabrics of dark clothing. His leather hat sat on his dirty-blonde waves of hair; his trench coat ended at his knees.

“Woah... you look terrible,” he joked and slipped his keys into his pocket,

I mumbled an inaudible insult through the toast I was holding in my mouth, he sighed and pulled me outside. 

Benny, slim yet strong, barely let me lock the door behind me before he tugged me down the stairs outside of my small apartment. 

“You’re so pushy,” I told him and let out my first laugh of today.

He held my hand as he guided me down the stairs and down the sidewalk. 

Benny always held my hand when we were together- when we were with friends, when we walked together, when he introduced me to chess reporters and interviewers.

His hands were always cold, always boney, and the metal of his rings always rubbed rather uncomfortably against my fingers, but I didn’t mind it so much anymore.

“So- you know how I was going to do that interview with Chess Review?” he asked me, glancing over. I let out a quiet ‘mhm’ and sped up my pace to keep up with his large steps, my hip was in pain, but I kept quiet and just tried to keep up. 

“Well, we are going to the interview right now,” my eyes widened,

“We are what?” 

  It didn’t matter how much I protested Benny having me tag along to his interviews, because here I sat in a diner at 6:45 AM with Benny and an author for one of the most read Chess magazines.

  I pulled my mind away from their conversation after a while of hearing the same average interviewing questions-

How are you feeling about this up-and-coming tournament?

Is there anyone you are nervous about playing?

Any new love interests in your life?

I watched the traffic out the diner’s window, the people walking past, the leaves and city trash carried by the weak wind.

“I think that’s all I’ll need for today… oh sorry, who’s this?” the reporter asked Benny.

I glanced over to Benny and then to the reporter.

“Uh, yeah- this is Y/N,” Benny introduced me, I felt weak, so I simply smiled.

“Not very talkative, huh?” the reporter joked, I looked the man dead in the eyes almost amused by his behavior.

“You want to talk? How about you ask better questions while you have a US Chess Champion in front of you?” I straightened out, “Like what’s your thoughts on what high school chess players are being taught? And do you plan to play in France next year against Borgov?” I turned to the man—who was dressed in a dull colored suit—and smiled, a bit proud of myself.

Benny held back a laugh as the reporter sat speechless for a moment… he reporter smiled and then burst into a laughter that caught the whole diner’s attention.

Unlike most interviews, we planned to meet for dinner with the reporter—who’s name I learned was Henry—due to what I said.

Benny agreed only because he got to choose the place and he seemed to be interested by the reporter and his ability to feel less like an obsessed interviewer and more of a ‘friend’ which I believe he took back those words later in the night.

  “You ready?” Benny asked me, I had spent the rest of the morning and afternoon with him in his apartment.

I straightened my dress-shirt and sighed, I turned around and checked my back in the mirror for any imperfections in my outfit.

After we left the diner, Benny had me grab a new pair of clothes for the dinner on our way to his apartment. And thank goodness I grabbed new clothes since my jeans had been rubbing against my hip just a bit too roughly.

Benny opened the door to his room, where he offered me to get dressed in instead of his small bathroom.

“You look nice,” he complimented me, I whipped my head in his direction and smiled.

“You too, is that a new hat?” I teased him. He never changes, and I’ve never even seen him dress to impress once.

He snorted and walked up beside me, “This might be weird,” I paused and turned to face him. “Do you think I could get an editor position at Chess Review if I… charmed Henry?” I asked him.

He stared at me, he never seemed to be afraid of eye-contact.

“Charmed?” he questioned,

“Not like that- I mean,” I sighed as he smiled, “You’re the worst,” I straightened his coat as he stood in front of me.

“Let’s get going before Henry writes me out to be known to ditch dinners,” Benny joked and pulled me to the door.

  Henry greeted us both with a hug when we arrived at the restaurant.

Benny picked a downtown restaurant, not too well-known, not too sketchy.

The place was lit up in strings of lights of all colors giving the place almost a festive feel, the place was Italian as far as I could tell.

60s pop music played quietly behind the laughter and chatter of the guests, everyone wore their coats indoors because of the random breezes that came from the open windows and doors.

  I pushed a couple strands of hair behind my ear as I listened to Henry enthuse about some writing class he went to; he was quite the writer as well as a decent reporter.

“So, what does it take to get an editing job there?” I asked Henry,

“Oh? Looking, are we?” he laughed quietly, “You might be in luck, one of our editors is moving to our branch in California. Need a reference from a trusted, handsome, reporter?” he smiled and leaned back in his chair.

“I might,” I took a sip of my drink,

“Let’s say I get you an interview- could I ask you to dinner some time?” he flirted, I almost choked on my drink.

I whipped my mouth with my napkin and smiled nervously, I looked at Benny who rested his head on his hand. Benny was staring at me, his eyes told me to decline but if I declined, I wouldn’t be sure I would get this interview.

“Ask me when you get that interview,” I told Henry looking away from Benny’s judging gaze.

He chuckled, “That’s fair, you have your priorities,” he didn’t seem to take it as a no, but he didn’t flirt again.

  I thought the night ended nicely, Henry said he would work on getting me an interview with Chess Review and he asked Benny a lot of more relevant questions that he should’ve asked this morning.

Benny took his chance to offer to walk me home before Henry could, Benny seemed tense and a bit upset after Henry flirted with me, but I wasn’t going to turn down a job to make him happy.

  I shoved my hands in the pockets of my coat as I walked home, I glanced beside me at Benny who refused to let me walk home by myself at this hour even if it was a couple blocks away by now.

“Really, you can go home. I’m fine,” I told Benny, he scoffed and stopped.

“You shoulda’ turned him down, told him you weren’t interested,” Benny told me bluntly,

“Are you seriously upset about this?” I turned to him,

“Yes, yes I’m fuckin’ upset that a man tried to make a move on you while we were all at dinner,” he spat, he pulled his hat off and ran a hand through is hair.

“Benny! I turned him down!” I walked over to the stairs up to someone’s apartment, I went to sit down on the stairs and hissed in pain.

Benny’s eyes darted to me, “What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“It’s nothing! I just hit my hip against the counter this morning, it’s just bruised,” I said, stress tangled in my voice.

Benny sighed and crouched down by me, he lifted my coat and pulled my shirt out from tucked in my pants. I held my coat and shirt out of his way, and he moved my pants to look at my hip,

“What were you doin’? Dancing around and shit?” he almost laughed as he ran his thumb over my bruise,

“Could you not do that?” I held back a squeal from the feeling of his cold fingers against my hip.

He exhaled heavily due to the cold weather and helped me pull my clothes back down, he pulled me up off the stairs.

“C’mon,” his fingers found their way in between mine—which he hadn’t done on our walk back previously—as he walked me back home.

  Once we got to my door, Benny grabbed my keys from me and unlocked my door. He walked in, pulling me in after him.

Benny made himself at home as per usual as he took off his hat and coat on his way to my small kitchen.

I sat down on a stool in my kitchen as I watched him open my freezer and grab my ice-tray, he wrapped some ice in a cloth and put the tray back.

“Really?” I groaned as he handed me the cloth with ice, he nodded and gave me a look that said I didn’t want to test him.

“Fine,” I sighed.

I unzipped my coat and threw it on the counter behind me, I pulled my shirt up on the side just a bit and made my bruise visible. I hadn’t really looked at the bruise since I got it, it was all kinds of shades of purple and blue and it even looked like it hurt.

Benny suddenly pressed the cold rag against the side of my hip, “Ah!” I yelped.

Benny snickered and held the cloth against my hip as he leaned his side against the counter and faced me.

Silence filled my apartment quickly and all you could hear was distant cars and wind from outside.

“Thank you,” I filled the silence, Benny looked away from the window to me.

“You wouldn’t go to dinner with some self-absorbed asshole reporter, right?” he asked for reassurance of some kind,

“Not Henry… maybe one who wore a hat,” I paused, Benny raised an eyebrow. “He of course has to be blonde, and a trench coat would be a nice addition,” it took only seconds to see Benny realize what I was doing.

Benny pressed the ice against my hip harshly, “Ah! Okay! I’m sorry!” I laughed.

  In all the time I’ve known Benny, this was one of the first times he had actually been openly jealous. Of course, it’s not every day I get asked for dinner while he is around, but it was strange. It was strange because it felt nice, I liked thinking he didn’t want me dating others, maybe it proved my suspicions.

[blueprint-han]

desert rose — yang jeongin.

↪ “ Because love and a red rose could never be truly hid. ”

— “ You’d have never thought that one incident would’ve enlightened you of how much in love you were with your childhood best friend, but it turns out to be more of a problem when you’re threatened with a life-ending disease with no cure whatsoever. Or so you thought. ”

pairing: jeongin x reader

genre: hanahaki au; fluff, angst with a happy ending.

⇥ warnings: hanahaki disease, mentions of blood (not very graphic but enough that it’s tagged), lots of angst, also in this world the hanahaki surgery isn’t discovered yet, because it’s a fairly recent discovery, also y/n’s dad is nowhere mentioned in this fic idk take it as you like but i imagined him to pass away when y/n was 12 for some reason :((, please do not read if you triggered by topics of death or blood or disease! These themes will be prevalent though not in super explicit detail, they are still there. If I missed a warning, let me know. <3

word count: 11.09 K

type: long one-shot.

⇥ disclaimer: this fiction does not represent the activities of the real Yang Jeongin, nor is associated with JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. ♡

part of: the @bystay​ skznta event, written for @stayndays​ !!

song: inspired from Desert Rose by Lolo Zouaï <3 No relation to the fic but it did inspire the ~vibes~.

↯ note: I’m gonna be honest this tired me out so much that I’m glad I finished it, it took me longer than I expected and it got longer than I expected, but nonetheless, here you go shayna! Hi!! It’s me! Your secret santa! Sorry I couldn’t send you that many asks because my uni is a bitch™, and I wish I could’ve made this better, but I guess this will have to do for now. I hope you like it, and I loved being your santa! 🥺 I hope we can interact more in the future, and this isn’t edited so pls go easy on me （＞人＜；）eiury2y4er okay happy reading! <3 love you shayna! <3 I wish I could give this more editing time :( but... i hope u still like it!  ⇥ dawn.☀️

Jeongin’s eyes are really pretty.

The first time you'd made this miniscule observation was during your summer vacation road trip when the sun shined a tad bit overly bright, and Jeongin’s umbrella had a hole in it. The exact details of how it ended up torn don’t matter, but the way Jeongin’s eyes seemed to shimmer in the harsh noon sun almost made it seem worth it.

You remember it clearly — He’d smiled brightly when his eyes met yours, eyes crinkling into tiny little half-moons before his expression turned neutral. At that moment, you were lost into the abyss that was his midnight black orbs. They seemed to hold glimmering stars in them, ones that outshone the specks of white in the night sky.

Looking back, you didn’t think of it much, opting to shake your head off it’s daze before running to where Jeongin stood, throwing a bottle of water into his backpack and laughing at some corny jokes the rest of the group cracked.

Jeongin was a friend — a good friend. In fact, you could call him your best friend, though it had never been verbalized. You couldn’t remember exactly when or how you’d gotten closer to him — it just happened, like everything important in this world did. Like how Jeongin says “It was fate, Y/N, fate” in that old-man-philosopher voice to get you to laugh (Of course it would never work, but you’d still laugh, because anything to see him give you that bright, toothy grin and that little scrunch of his nose in acknowledgement).

The memory of how it all started  is as clear as the sky, as pure as the pigment of a rose.

“Don’t stray too far away, alright? Meet me back here in two hours.” The instructor screams, and all the students chime in with a collective “Yes, ma’am!”. 

 “Good, now go collect your flowers.”

A flower-picking expedition isn’t a common event in a school field trip, at least in your school. You’re more used to the normal visits to the ice cream factory, or the butterfly park (which, to be fair, had some pretty flowers, if only you could pick them) or another affiliated school. Nevertheless, you don’t complain, because the prospect of your school giving you a chance to collect all the pretty flowers you could spot here had you on top of the clouds.

You’re allowed to go alone or in groups of two, and of course, Jeongin has you by the arm the moment your teacher had screamed “Disperse!” at the top of her lungs (P.E teachers had a thing for screaming, apparently). Ignoring the teasing glances the other boys made towards the both of you, you set sail on your path, scanning all the bushes for any wild and unique flowers you could find.

“Oh look, there’s one!” You pointed out after a good four-minute-walk, almost stumbling in your one-inch-too-tight-shoes and ignoring Jeongin’s giggle at your antics. You beckoned him over to where you were standing and he obliged, tucking his sweater paws into his pockets before walking over to where you were staring at the pretty flower.

So, flowers. They’d always fascinated you. You’d developed said fascination ever since you were six. Something about the sheer way the petals were arranged, the various ranges of coloring — vivid, gradient, muted — the beauty of something so delicate and intricate always drew you in. You found yourself examining a flower for hours, and surprisingly, you never grew tired of it. They’d helped you through a lot when you felt particularly down, too. Perfect distraction — snuggling against Jeongin’s arm and playing with the flower he’d always pick out for every visit, surrounded by calming; almost numbing silence along with the sound of his steady breathing, maybe sometimes his heartbeat too when he’d get overly affectionate. Flowers in a way, in every way, were your escape. You loved them. 

“Hmmm.” Jeongin hummed over the sounds of the leaves susurrating and rustling on the ground, the wind enveloping you like a cold, yet oddly comfortable blanket. He fixed his round glasses over his nose, quickly flipping through his encyclopedia. No one really questioned him as to why he carried it wherever he went — but just like you, he had a vivid fascination for flowers too. It was something the both of you fit like a glove on, and you were beyond grateful to meet someone who could click with you so well.

“This is wolfsbane, we can’t pick it.” He said, shaking his head. “It’s poisonous, the whole plant is.”

“Oh…” You pouted, staring at the flower once more. You took in the sight of lush, violet petals, the way they wrapped around the centre and had almost no smell.

“Hey.” He touched your hand worriedly. “You didn’t touch them, right?”

“No, I didn’t. I know better than to touch plants without knowing what they are.”

“Good.” There you could see it again. That lovely, bright smile, one more of relief this time. When you looked into his eyes, you seemed lost — you could capture every flutter of his lashes against his cheeks, count every lustrous star that was laid in his eyes. “That’s good, the poison can be absorbed easily through your skin.”

“Yeah.” You let yourself smile at him, hands dropping down to fiddle with the hem of your frock. 

“Come on, I wanna get some shots for my book. Plus some flowers.” Pulling at your hand, he led you amidst the varying degrees of green and the damp smell of grass for a good distance, before halting in front of a bush. You knew what he’s referencing to by ‘shots’. The camera that hangs around his back, ready to immortalize the memory into his SD card, or rather make a polaroid (or a painting, if he’s being artistic) and tape it to his notebook along with the pressed flower.

“Look!”

Trip a step back, and you yelp at the sudden intrusion to your pace, pouting at Jeongin before looking in the direction he had his eyes fixated on. “Roses.” You giggle, kneeling in front of the bush and hissing when you feel the damp coldness of the grassy floor seep into your knees. “They’re pretty.” 

You can barely hear the sound of students walking past you — the moment seems almost captivating — nothing heard, nothing felt except the whirring of the wind, and the fresh smell of various plants mixed together, it carries.

This part of the garden seems particularly shady and cool, and some of the roses haven’t bloomed yet. A few rosebuds, a few half-bloomed roses, and two fully bloomed, deep red roses, sitting nicely against the green foliage.

Jeongin kneels before you, and you turn to smile at him, chortling at the way his glasses are about to fall over his nose again. You ruffle his black hair gently before fixing the glasses up his nose. 

“You might wanna get a chain attached to that thing. You know those strings that go around your neck and to your glasses to hold them in place?”

Jeongin chuckles. “It’s alright. I don’t like my glasses anyways.”

“Whyyy…?” You whine, poking his arm playfully before directing your focus back on the rose. “You look so adorable with them.”

Your friend feels a smile tug at his lips, leaning in to pinch your cheeks lightly. “You’re adorable.” He says, before focusing on the rose, (thankfully) oblivious to the way your cheeks feel warm after his action.

“Here, let me pick them out and then we can press them into our journals.” Yes. The both of you have matching journals, owing to your near obsession with flowers. You oft share them with each other and get fascinated by how the other views the flower, how they delicately craft words into how the little gift of nature meant to them. It’s a heartwarming tradition — one of the main reasons you follow it till date. 

Jeongin pulls out a pair of scissors from his satchel, and albeit with a lot of force (and the adorable nose scrunch™, manages to cut off a decent amount of stem with the fully bloomed flower, carefully bringing it to his nose to smell it before doing the same to the other one. And all the while, you silently watch.

“Here, this one is more fresh.” It’s so surprising how he can just say that by looking at the flower. Then again, you know him better than anyone, so it’s not surprising at all. He looks at you with dreamy, fluttering eyes and that precious smile on his face, his hair falling perfectly on his forehead. You want to reach out and fix the stray hairs back into position, but you hold back, swallowing the lump in your throat when you look into his pretty, pretty eyes. Trying your damnedest to not get mesmerized, lost in them once again.

It doesn’t seem like a very, very special moment. And to you at that time, it wasn’t special. You simply ignored the heat that crept up your face at his silent gesture, nodding sporadically and ignoring the way you tensed up more when your fingers touched, barely.

Your heart suddenly thumped against your chest with renewed vigour, and you could tell Jeongin was close to noticing it too. 

“T-thank you, that's very sweet.” Fixing the frills of your frock, you smooth them over before looking further and deeper into the garden.

“Lend me a hand, please.”

You once again, ignore the way your heart flutters at his statement, silently extending your hand and covering up your sudden emotion with a smile. His hand feels soft, warm in your hold, fingertips slightly rough from when he used to play the violin. You like it, though.

“Here.” He places the rose carefully in your palm, making sure no thorns prick the delicate skin of your palm, and you can’t help but smile at the tiny reassurance. A nod of approval and you tuck the flower away neatly into your satchel, almost like a valuable present he’d given you, oblivious to the way Jeongin’s eyes twinkled at your action, his smile beaming.

My god, who would’ve known this flower could’ve brought you so, so much trouble?

It had started simple, almost unnoticeable. Just little glances towards Jeongin when he’d come over to watch a movie, getting lost in the way his hair looked exceptionally soft to touch, silently drifting off into space as you admired him from the backseat during class — sure, you were supposed to be focusing on the lesson and taking notes, but something about the way the rim of Jeongin’s sunglasses caught the sunlight and created a lens flare effect was breathtaking to watch.

That, combined with his beauty, his personality. It was too much, too much to handle.

You found yourself waiting to get a glimpse of him, even a tiny glance of his smile would be enough to make your day — to make your heart flutter. 

He was pretty.

You suppose it’s because being Jeongin’s best friend meant you already knew about the kind and empathetic man he was — but for the love of god, you could not stop your heart from fluttering when you heard his name, let alone looked at him and his mind-numbingly pretty smile, his dazzling eyes that always seemed to keep you off the ground.

Oh my, was this love?

You didn’t believe it. You didn’t agree, couldn’t accept that this was love. Maybe it was just your way of showing appreciation for him, for everything he’d done for you? Yes. That was probably it. 

Love wasn’t something you’d experienced — how could you jump to the conclusion? 

But you couldn’t pin the feeling you were feeling to another word — though you were desperate. The way your heart beat faster around him, the way you started noticing all the tiny details that made you fall for him even more, and for what? Just because he happened to give you a fresher, more lusciously colored rose after choosing them on his own? 

Jeongin had noticed it too — it was hard not to when you’d start fiddling with your thumbs, twirling your hair, and the way heat would rush to your face when he did as little as smile at you — you’d fallen for him — and while he was ever-the-oblivious to realise the implications of your actions, he did know that something was wrong.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Jeongin asks rather dully, seeming kind of worried about your current state. You’re resting your head against his lap, but Jeongin can feel the warmth of your cheek through the thin material of his shorts — and not the regular kind. The kind of heat one would radiate when they’d either been overly flustered. Or possibly a fever.

He rests a single palm against your cheek and your eyes flutter shut, and there it is again. The butterflies in your stomach, the fuzzies in your head, and the tingling that shot up to your fingertips. “Are you sick? Is that why you’re oddly quiet today? You haven’t said or eaten anything.”

“Ah, no, I’m alright.” You try to hide the dizziness in your voice, snuggling in his hold before fluttering your eyes close. Thankfully, Jeongin doesn’t question it. 

“Alright, we won’t talk about it if you don’t want to.” Even though you aren’t facing him right now, you can feel him smile in melancholy. 

“Hey Y/N?” 

“Yes?”

“You know I’m here for you, right?”

Oh, you knew.

Sometimes you wish you didn’t — maybe that would’ve prevented it from ending this way.

It’s such a common scenario — in movies, in books, in media. Two best friends falling in love with each other, confessing their love in the warm and intimate setting of the night sky, over gentle touches and lingering kisses. You’ve always had an attachment to those kinds of movies or books — because for you, that kind of love was special in it’s own way.

Those little ways the lead characters had of showing each other their undying love, those subtle acts were so special, so special in their own way. Those books had shown you how heartwarming, how vulnerable yet rigid, strong that relationship could be. It was such a pretty world to explore, to fantasize. You kind of felt that you and Jeongin were the protagonists of those books, those movies.

Except, you had no happy ending.

The books failed to show how painful it was to swallow, to digest the fact that you could be nothing more than friends. Sure, there had been some moments where the main leads would be sad, but it was nothing compared to this, this suffocation in your chest that slowly built up, day by day, minute by minute, second by second.

It was hard.

The first prick in your chest hadn’t been entirely painful. It was barely noticeable even. Simply a tiny jolt of pain when you bent forward to grab your books from your locker. It had only been a slight jab, like when you’d accidentally poke yourself in the rib with the edge of your hardcover diary while picking it up. Nothing too hard.

Then came the slight feeling of breathlessness. You found yourself unable to run a full round in P.E (when you could easily do so beforehand), having to stop in between to catch your breath. You figured it could’ve been your dust allergy because the P.E room wasn’t cleaned that often, so it made sense. Somewhat. Still sceptical, but nonetheless, you covered up your random outbursts of coughs with any and every excuse you could find when your parents questioned you about it.

It was hard, but you figured it was just a matter of winter passing by, and soon you’d be alright.

Would you, though? You couldn’t bring yourself to accept that there was in fact something wrong happening to you, pushing behind that feeling of paranoia every time with a smile on your face and a hold of your breath, wishing for the pain to ebb away.

Who would’ve thought that a sudden infatuation would have led to your demise?

Jeongin can hear the noises.

Those loud, dragged out wisps of air that you borderline struggle to take in and expel out, Jeongin can hear them.

He can feel your struggle. It’s not easy for him to look at you like this, curled up into a ball and ignoring the rampant burn in your chest. The movie isn’t even the main focus right now. Jeongin has something to say, and he’s had enough of watching you struggle. He’s rather here to persuade you to go to the fucking doctor, and get some sort of diagnosis instead of beating around the bush.

Strange. Jeongin feels oddly affectionate today, when usually you’re the one to initiate such gestures. All he wants to do is pull you into his arms and rock you back and forth until you fall asleep, because you seriously seem like you need it.

“Y/N,” he calls, watching you lift your head up from where it’s rested against your knees. You don’t reply, because right now, your throat seems like a barren desert and all you can seem to let out is a croak.

Jeongin sighs and rolls his eyes as if in deep thought, turning on the couch to face you before touching the tops of your cheeks with his hands — they seem overly feverous. 

“What’s going on?” He asks sternly.

“What d-do you mean?” You manage to get out, feeling your chest hurt more and more with each syllable that leaves past your lips in a croaked voice. It felt like someone was repeatedly stabbing your chest with the sharp edge of the knife, the burn in your throat and lungs getting too much to handle. You can’t even tear your focus from the fiery sensation to revel in the feeling of Jeongin’s soft palms cupping your cheeks.

“Y/N, you’ve been acting weird ever since the expedition.” Worry is laced throughout his tone, mixed in with a dash of sorrow to give rise to the most heartbreaking sound you’ve ever heard. Though you know otherwise, it almost seems as though Jeongin is disappointed in you.

“You’ve been getting more and more sick—” he raises a hand to stop you from contradicting his statement. You only look at him with mellow eyes, knowing that what he says is right. You’ve been ignoring your health for too long. 

You can’t help it, either. While you have an inkling of what might’ve happened, you’re too stubborn to accept it, let along your unrequited love for your best friend, who seems ever-the-oblivious.

“—and you can’t tell me it’s the winter allergy, love. I know you more than that to believe it.”

Shaking your head in dismay, you turn around to get up. You can’t be having this conversation right now, not with the faintest taste of blood lingering at the edge of your throat — you can’t be showing yourself like this in front of him — broken down, vulnerable, confused of your own feelings, having no idea of what you should be doing.

Your mother had pointed it out too, at this point. They suggested going to the doctor, and you outright refused. You didn’t want your suspicion to come to life. It couldn’t- it couldn’t be this way-

“Y/N!”

Jeongin grabs your hands to stop you in your position and turns you around.

And that’s a wrong move.

Your whole chest tightens, and the thorns that stab against your chest has never been more painful. You cry out loudly, only causing them to dig deeper into your skin and almost bleed. Jeongin’s eyes widen in shock at your sudden, unexpected reaction and only tightens his grasp on your hands.

Which again, is a very wrong move, because the following bouts of coughs that take over you shake you up from the core. Jeongin feels blanked out looking at how much you’re suffering right now, so much that he doesn’t feel the wet, yet light flutter on the back of his hand.

When Jeongin snaps back in from his momentary daze, he’s borderline horrified.

He’s convinced, completely certain that there’s nothing more terrifying, heartbreaking, scarring — he could go on and on — than what he just saw. He can almost feel his heart break into a million tiny shards, but he knows that it’s nowhere equivalent to the pain you’re going through.

Well, looks like your suspicion did come to life.

Because what Jeongin sees is, gah, he feels horrified. There’s blood dripping down your lip, staining the skin below garnet red. Your eyes are tinted pinkish-red too, most likely from the exertion that came along with the horrendous amount of coughs that took over you.

Red, red everywhere. Jeongin had previously thought of red as one of the most beautiful, and most interesting colors ever — a symbolism of love, nothing but the pure love he felt towards you.

But now, all he could think of was how much he was tormented by the mere sight of the color.

When his eyes, still blown wide in shock, trail down to his lap, the mere sight of what’s littered on it leaves him in tears.

Red petals, everywhere. All over the back of his hands, all over your lap, all over his lap.

Jeongin could probably spend ages, ages sobbing and whimpering about the sheer pain the sight in front of him brought. It tormented him beyond imagination. This should be a dream — Jeongin wants to wake up any second now, anywhere, in your lap, in his own bed, just anything to save his heart from seeing you this way.

Yet when you cough again, the pain in his heart tells otherwise.

“Y/N!” He chokes out a cry, and from there, he acts quick. He could cry about this later — he needs to find you some help, and now. 

You feel numb. As numb as you possibly can when you see the tears in Jeongin’s eyes, though your sight is clouded by your own tears. You’re numb to the blood dripping down your chin and pooling in your lap, you’re numb to the feeling of those bloody petals littered all over the couch. 

“We need to get you to the hospital, quick.” He gets up, wiping his eyes that are surprisingly, surprisingly overflowing with tears. You barely feel the handkerchief quickly wiping against your mouth, causing you to snap from your trance and look at him. The numbness doesn’t fade yet.

You doubt it ever will.

You’re not sure that the events after the incident go super quickly or as slow as a snail, and you’re not in any state to care about it either. Jeongin had called your mother when he drove you to the hospital — albeit over the sound of your repetitive and raucous coughs — and now your mom’s standing next to him outside, nervously prancing back and forth as he waits for the doctors to come out.

The hospital corridor is moderately lit — perfect setting for Jeongin’s mood right now. There’s no sound except for the occasional encounter when a nurse or doctor happens to walk past them. The hanahaki treatment section of the hospital isn’t the most crowded place — surprisingly enough, the doctors had immediately known what had happened to you.

Your mother can’t bring herself to thank Jeongin for dragging you to the hospital — she’s too paranoid. Your daughter coughing up blood and — Jeongin hadn’t mentioned it to her — flower petals over a movie night isn't the best news you’d want to receive when her friend calls you; so Jeongin understands why your mother is overly quiet.

He doesn’t try to reassure her either. It’s hard to do so when she’s gonna find out her daughter houses a wedding bouquet in her chest — and Jeongin isn’t that oblivious to not know what’s going on, especially standing in the hanahaki department of the clinic. His mother, not so much. All she can do is silently sob and mutter prayers repeatedly, hoping her daughter would be alright. Jeongin feels his heart break more when he sees your mom like this, and he knows he’s not gonna last at this rate, when he’s allowed to enter your room.

At this point, he can’t get past his own brain screaming a million different things at the same time, none of them coherent enough to make sense. He’s a mess right now — red eyes puffy and swollen, hair completely disheveled and half of his sweatshirt hanging out of where it was  neatly tucked in.

Two hands at his heart, and that’s when he notices the red rose petal stuck to the back of his hand, probably from when you’d coughed all over it. It’s fairly large in size — Jeongin examines it, in a slightly successful attempt at trying to distract from the feeling of anxiety that builds up inside bit by bit. It’s a deep, dark red color, exactly like the rose he’d given you that day, at the trip.

The boy sighs to himself before pulling the petal off his hand, eyes widening when the blood underneath it tints the skin it runs across. 

That’s when a lump forms in his throat, but he isn’t given time to cry, because soon enough, the sound of a door opening clicks through his ears, and Jeongin’s head snaps up.

He can see you from where he’s standing, and his whole world freezes in front of his eyes.

The flowers inside your chest had grown moderately large — that’s what the doctor said, at least. You’d been hiding your disease for two months, and it wasn’t until the end that Jeongin caught on — you’d been too stubborn to accept your fate. Maybe this was how it was supposed to end, after all. 

You couldn’t accept it then, but you did now. Did it seriously make a difference?

Jeongin had seen your scan, and what he saw would’ve truly been pretty, if not for the fact that these flowers could be the cause for your imminent death. The roses had almost fully bloomed — and the thorns were pricklier than ever. Jeongin could almost feel them stab against his skin, and he didn’t even have the disease. It was confusing — things were too confusing right now.

You couldn’t speak much, the painkillers you were on were making you drowsy and causing you to quickly fall asleep. Even if you weren’t asleep, it wouldn’t have made a difference.

Numbness ran through your veins. You couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything after what had happened.

Jeongin and your mother hadn’t spoken to you after the doctor had shown them your scan, and they preferred to not break the news to you either, figuring that you were pretty shaken up from the incident already.

The doctor said he could give you two weeks before the flowers filled your lungs completely and blocked your throat.

And Jeongin is devastated.

When the effect of your painkillers wear off and you open your eyes, you feel a soft sensation brushing against your thumb, slowly turning to look at your best friend — tears streaked all over his face, eyes ridden with dark circles and red and puffy, his voice sounded nasal as he silently cried, eyesight focused on the floor.

“J-Jeongin…?” You mumble past your oxygen mask, surprisingly not noticing it’s presence until right now,

He perks up at the painful call, lifting his head to gaze into your eyes. He looks worse than you look right now, if you’re to be honest. You doubt he’s even brushed his teeth or had breakfast. The hospital room is pretty dim just like the exterior, but the sunlight coming from the open window is enough to light up the whole room, enough to at least see your friend’s features clearly.

“You’re awake.” he says as a matter-of-fact and you nod, gently taking off the contraption placed against your nose. Jeongin flinches like he wants to stop you. But then freezes when you try to slowly get up.

Turns out that’s a wrong move, because you can soon feel the thorns of the garden you have in your lungs prick against your skin, making you gasp and shriek in agony. Jeongin jerks up and places a hand on your back, and the other across your stomach — and gently maneuvers you into an awkward but comfortable position, before lifting the top of the bed into a reclining position before laying you down onto it.

“Careful, love.”

Your chest tightens at the actions once again, yet you try not to cough like you did the last time. Surprisingly biting on your tongue works to rid the feeling of suffocation, or at least distracts from it.

“Where’s m-mom?”

“She went to pick up some of your essentials, plus a few clothes.”

“D-did she eat? Did you eat?”

Jeongin smiles at your concern. It’s something he’s found endearing about you — how you always seem to put others first, even though you’re in a worse situation. Though the habit isn’t healthy, Jeongin can’t seem to get over how thoughtful one would have to be to act that way all the time. You’re so innocent, so kind — you’re one of a kind, at least for him.

“What?” You chuckle, noticing Jeongin’s lingering stare on you.

Your friend only beams, taking your hand in his once again. “I forced her to eat something because of her medication, so you don’t have to worry. I ate along with her too, though the canteen’s food doesn’t taste that well.” 

A soft giggle leaves your lips and quickly morphs into a set of coughs, more petals fluttering all over your lap and hands. When Jeongin stands up to call a doctor, you lift a hand to stop him, gesturing for him to sit down.

It isn’t as intense as the first time, but there’s still a tiny bit of blood dripping from the corner of your mouth, which Jeongin quickly goes to wipe off with his thumb. You flinch at the warm touch, sighing to yourself before dropping your gaze to your lap.

“So…” You start. “What did the doctor say?”

“What?”

Jeongin seems visibly tense at your question, kind of like he was dreading it. Which he was. He knows enough about this to know that patients usually don’t like knowing, and in fact can be traumatised by knowing that their apparent death would be in two weeks.

Jeongin in fact has no idea how he’s so calm. He should be sobbing, trashing, looking for a way to hold you back. He shouldn’t be so calm.

He figures he’s just accepted fate. He’s relishing what could be his last moments with you.

You don’t reply, and Jeongin knows he’ll have to make something up.

“They said it’s just a regular allerg-”

“Jeongin.”

The boy freezes.

“Don’t lie to me.” Your voice is laid with so much pain, Jeongin wants to reach out and crush every problem you have into his fist. He wants all your sorrow and worry to dissolve, and right now, he just feels helpless. He feels powerless.

“How many days do I have left?” You ask, sniffling before wiping your tears away. “Just tell me already, Jeongin-”

Jeongin’s grip tightens against your hand as he whispers — “Two weeks.” 

The words are only let out as a soft mumble, as though Jeongin himself is questioning the statement the doctors put forth. Really, in two weeks? Would you really be gone? Would he seriously never see more of your smiles, your loving gaze, those times when you’d get overly shy of his compliments, those times when you’d silently smile at him from afar?

Was this the end?

“Two weeks.” You repeat. Your voice honestly sounds like a croaking frog, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

“Hey Y/N…?” Jeongin hesitantly calls.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?” He puts his other hand on yours. “Two questions, actually.”

“Mhm?”

“This disease you have… hana-”

“Hanahaki.”

“Yeah, that.” A hand runs against the back of his neck and he continues. “Be honest, did you know that- that you had this disease before I found out?”

“Jeongin…” You’re about to shake your head, but then you remember the deadline. The deadline by which, you’re no longer going to be here, no longer going to be able to cuddle Jeongin during movie dates, no longer be able to even look at him from afar, or close for that matter. In other words, you didn’t want to end your days with him based on a lie.

Therefore you sigh, breathing out a ‘yes’ as your shoulders droop down.

You can hear Jeongin’s shaky sigh too.

“W-why?” He clenches your hand tightly, sadness mixing in with what you can only call disappointment. “How could you be so selfish?”

It's too late to take back those words now.

“Wh-what?” You raise your eyebrows, feeling scared at his sudden question. “Jeongin, I wanted to be sure-”

Oh who are you kidding? Jeongin and you both know that you’d hidden it because you didn’t want to accept it. It’s too late to change that now.

And Jeongin seems to know that too.

“Don’t- Y/N.” His breath morphs into sharp inhales, as though he’s downright angry at your actions — you know he has every reason to be — still, it doesn’t ease the pain in your heart. Or maybe that’s just the flowers.

“Do you think this is a joke?” His sobs grow louder in fervour, and you feel yourself break at the sight. The room is so, so quiet that you can hear his faint mumbles. You can hear the cries his heart screams in agony, letting you go is painful for him. The thought, rather the sound, only makes the plant in your heart grow further.

“Y/N- did you not think of your mother? Of me? Did you not think of what would have happened if you left us? You think it’s gonna be easy on the both of us? On everyone?” His gaze stern and his voice stable, you don’t get affected by his words, but you do understand what he means — and maybe wish that you could’ve reversed your actions.

“How could you, Y/N?” He gets up from where he’s seated beside your hospital bed. “How could you think that this would be the most appropriate action?”

Jeongin knows he’s angry. Jeongin knows you’re going through a lot. But he’s too.

He’s not angry at you, not at himself, but fate. He’s mad that this is your fate, that you have to go away so soon. He’s mad that he can’t do anything to help you, in any manner.

You don’t say a word, which only causes Jeongin to sigh — disappointedly, again — and walk to where his coat is hung against the edge of his bed, picking it off and pulling it over him in a hurry. Every cell in you wants to scream at him, apologize for what you did, but your voice feels small, almost like you can’t force it out of your throat.

He goes towards the door that leads to the corridor, stopping for a second before turning to look at you.

“Are you gonna tell me, at least, who this person is?”

“W-what?” Things are too confusing right now.

“Hanahaki comes with unrequited love, Y/N. Are you gonna tell me who didn’t return your love?”

“You didn’t” You want to say. But then again, you stay quiet, not being able to handle the intensity of the moment.

Jeongin wants for two seconds, then sighs and shakes his head. “Whatever, I guess.”

And then he leaves.

In the next week, your health goes down drastically. More of petals expelled out of your lungs, more blood dripping from between your lips, more of your mother’s horrified expression as she runs away from the room while the doctors tend to your coughs. More sobs from your mother when she thinks you’re asleep, more melancholic smiles when you’re awake.

But you feel so empty.

Every piece of you feels like it’s being ripped apart. You can’t even sit up without someone’s help, of such intensity is the pain. The pain of knowing that your love would never be returned. 

The pain of knowing that you hurt the person you loved truly.

You were put on your oxygen mask 24/7, and instructed to not take it off whatsoever. Your medication stopped taking it’s usual effect, and if anyone saw you the way you were outside the current circumstances, they’d have assumed that you haven't slept for 8 days and were going to crumble into the earth any second.

“Honey?”

You gasp at the sudden intrusion to your thoughts, turning around to see your mother, sitting next to you and holding your hand with her own. You hum as a response, clearly unable to respond more than a mere mumble.

“Did you and Jeongin fight?”

A pang of guilt floods through your nerves at the mention of your friend’s name. He’d come to visit you only once in the past week. Perhaps even he couldn’t handle the fact that your death certificate was ready to be signed soon, and was trying to not be tormented by the fact. Or perhaps he was just angry.

“W-why?” You croak.

“I convinced him to come stay here while I go pick up a fresh change of clothes, but it took me quite a bit of arguing.”

You feel sad for her. She’s clearly paranoid — you can hear it in her voice, the shake lingers throughout. Yet she holds it in, trying not to let you worry about it.

You don’t answer her question. The last thing you need is for her to get mad at you too, though you doubt it. Your mom has never been the kind to yell at you for anything — provided, you’ve never given her a reason either.

“Do you think he’s mad because I didn’t tell him about the person who didn’t return m-my l-lo-ve…?” your throat goes dry towards the end and your mother quickly hands you a glass of water. You chug it down and sigh in relief, breath still short.

“Is that person him?” Your mother questions with her gentle, soothing voice one that can make you relax on the first listen. There’s no use lying to her, you figure. She knows you too well to do that, plus, like you said, you couldn’t bring yourself to end your days with her on a lie.

“Yeah…”

“Oh sweetheart,” She brushes some of your hair off your face, sitting down again before drumming her fingers against the back of your hand gently. “I don’t think he could be mad at you.”

“But he is. Didn’t y-you see? He didn’t bother to meet me as much after our argument. He’c c-clearly mad.”

“Hmmm,” Your mother ponders. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope. I have known him for a while, dear. He’s been with you for more than five years. Maybe he’s having trouble taking this in? Just like…” Your mother stops after that, but you know the completion.

Just like her.

“I’m sorry, mom.”

You simply don’t get it. You should be scared. You should be sad and devastated that your end was going to come soon.  You should be thrashing around and crying and wailing in despair — you just don’t have  the energy to even bother about your end. It’s depressing, but you know there’s no way you could avoid the inevitable, or get your lover to return your love.

Love wasn’t supposed to be something forced, it had to happen naturally. And if Jeongin didn’t develop it naturally, you just had to learn to live with it. Or not.

“Don’t be, darling. Everyone deserves to love, just like how they deserve it back. I wish it could’ve ended differently.”

“It’s alright mom. He loves me too… just not on the way I love him.”

You sniffle as a single tear runs down your chin, though you and your mom aren’t given enough time to speak more when you hear a familiar voice at the door. 

“Hey Mrs. L/N.” Jeongin says, shrugging off his half snow-covered coat before hanging it onto the bedside. Did he seriously walk in the snow? All the way here?

“Hello, Jeongin dear.” Your mother stands up, picking her coat before moving to fish the car keys from her purse. “Thank you for watching over Y/N while I’m gone, darling.”

“It’s no problem, Mrs. L/N.”

“Oh, so formal.” Your mom chuckles, though in her despaired state. “Y/N, you get some sleep, it’s about midnight dear.” She leans over to kiss your forehead while Jeongin excuses himself to the washroom, and you nod. 

“Good night mom.”

“Good night, and don’t worry about him. He’ll talk to you eventually.”

Oh, how reassuring. “Mhm.” You smile, closing your eyes to drift into slumber before Jeongin returns, because the last thing you need right now is to feel sad and cry over how you’d hurt him.

By the time the sound of the door clicking resounds through the space, you’re already asleep.

 It’s way past midnight. Jeongin shouldn’t be up. 

Somehow, he still finds himself seated next to your bed, staring fondly at your calm features as you finally get the rest you’ve needed for the past few days. 

Oh, he wouldn’t be able to compare your sheer beauty to even that of the moon; even when you’re in such a fragile and vulnerable state. Your eyelashes are still and unmoving where they sit against your skin, your breath is calm and slightly wavering as you struggle to breathe slightly. 

His hand slips into your own gently, and his heart melts when you shift, tightening your grasp on his warm skin before falling into a slumber again.

Why was he mad in the first place? Jeongin feels dumb for acting so quickly on his emotions, especially when you’re in a bad place at the moment. He wants to wake you up and apologize, but he can’t, because you’re sound asleep — and that’s a good thing, since seep comes so scarcely to you these days.

Then, a single tear falls from his eyes. His thoughts traverse to the dream he had the previous night — you, cold, dead in his arms. Him, sobbing, trying to wake you up but you’re really gone. He can’t even hear your mother’s cries from behind him, because he’s devastated to know that you’ve left him. The dream had woken him up in a cold sweat — it was then he realised that he’d committed a mistake, and agreed to come visit you, because you had about 5 days left.

His thoughts then traverse to the conversation you had with your mother, while he was standing outside in the cold hospital corridor, curiously listening.

“Is that person him?” “Yeah…”

When he heard those words, countess, infinite thoughts crashed at his head; all at once. Nothing made any sense. The reality of the situation was dawning on him too quickly, and Jeongin was having a hard time processing it. 

You loved him? He was the person who didn’t return your love?

“Why didn’t you tell me, Y/N?” He mumbles in confusion — so much confusion, so much hurt — he wanted time to just stop for awhile and give him a fair chance to analyze the situation.

But, once all the initial thoughts were out of the way, only one question remained:

Was he the reason you were going to die?

Jeongin felt like a murderer — like he’d just stabbed you in cold blood. He knows it is’t like that — just like you’d said, love should come natural. So why did Jeongin feel so bad? WHy did he feel like he was the one at fault?

A fond smile crosses his lips when he remembers the book where you keep all your flowers safely. Who would have thought your fondness for flowers would morph into the reason for your demise?

Quiet, hushed in the midnight wind, Jeongin gently brings out the rose he’d picked from his satchel. It’s almost relieving to see a rose in it’s true glory, without scattered petals or blood covering the flower. A part of him grows sad that you won’t be able to gush over flowers together anymore, he won’t be able to see your smile anymore. It hurts him. It stabs his heart over and over again, and Jeongin is pained — almost like he’s being put to death slowly — he wants the pain to end, but only suffers and suffers.

The stem has already been cut and the thorns have been thrown out. Jeongin leans over to tuck the flower behind your ear, fingers brushing against the almost cold skin at the back of your ear before letting another tear slip from his eye, running down his cheek and falling on your palm.

A strange, oh-so-strange feeling creeps up on him. It’s like… a fluttering in his heart? Jeongin can’t quite place it — heck, he doesn’t try to make sense of it. There are more important things to look at, right now. He suddenly has the urge to pull you into his arms and gently murmur sweet words into your ear — seems odd for a situation like this, but oh well, feelings are feelings.

He pats your hand gently and smiles, before moving to sleep on the smaller bed in front of your own. Not allowed to go far, though, because your grip on his hands tighten almost immediately, and Jeongin tightens to look into your eyes, sparkly and slightly droopy from the intrusion of sleep.

“Y/N, go to-”

“Stay.” You mumble, feeling your voice choke as the petals threaten to spill out for what seems like the millionth time. Yet, you manage to spill out another, “Please?”

Jeongin feels like he’s about to cry. Your expression is so, so hopeful, he can’t bring himself to deny. He wouldn’t in the first place, because who was he to deny what could be his friend’s last wish?

A sob bubbles up his throat, but he swallows it down, smiling with melancholy before following your weak pull on his hand, genty climbing on your bed before slotting himself between you and the steel grill that prevented patients from falling down. He gently tucks his hand under you and pulls you close to himself, tensing up for a second when you wrap an arm around his own, gently rubbing on it before drifting off to sleep. You want to cherish this moment — this could be the last time before you could never see him again. Fuck your medication for making you so drowsy. Or not, because you were certain you would start crying, and that would certainly not end well.

The whole room falls silent for two seconds, and you fall asleep almost immediately. 

And then, Jeongin releases all his tears, and everything comes crashing down on him. He breaks apart.

The world was too cruel to you. He was cruel to you. He can’t believe that in less than a week, you’d be gone. Gone from earth. Flowers had lost all their beauty for him, the moment he saw you coughing them up on that couch during movie night.

He wanted to do anything. He wanted any small sign to show that you would stay with him. He was in so much pain, he couldn’t accept your fate. He wanted to grab your hand and pull you to himself, keep you close, he couldn’t let go, he couldn’t give you up, he couldn’t —

“I love you.” You mumble unconsciously in your sleep, and Jeongin loses it then and there. His throat feels dry as tears flow and flow and don’t cease no matter what. His body shakes like a sobbing child, but thankfully you’re knocked out from the effect of your medication. He hasn’t cried this hard in a while, guess there’s a first time for everything. The three words pierce his heart, and they suddenly hold more meaning than anything — Jeongin wants to hear those words on a loop; he feels strangely ecstatic when you say them.

And so, with a shaky voice and a sorrowful tone, Jeongin replies after pressing a kiss to your forehead — “I-I love you, t-too.”

His eyes flutter shut and he basks in your arms just one last time, holding you close to himself as he finally, finally finds himself at peace, next to you.

When your mother finds you both snuggled up and asleep together, a smile crosses her lips. A hopeful smile.

“Are you ready for your scan, Y/N?”

You feel oddly light today — one would say it’s because your body was close to shutting down completely, but your throat felt a bit, a tiny bit clearer and less barren than a fucking desert. Nevertheless, the scan does make you nervous. This would make clear how long the flowers would take to reach your throat — the doctor’s estimation was about three days, which seemed way too short for Jeongin.

Oh, how embarrassing it was when the nurses, all giggly and mushy-eyed, found you snuggled with Jeongin like a teddy bear at the early hours of the morning, waking you and Jeongin up and only cracking up more at your bewildered expressions when you find yourself tangled with each other.

Before the scan, Jeongin had held your hand softly, leaning down to press another kiss to your forehead. You’d shyly smiled, nodding before letting the nurse drag you to the scanning room.

The details of the scan itself aren’t important, it went pretty well — as decent as a scan could possibly go. You’re able to cooperate with your nurses pretty feasibly, you feel the sudden urge to get out of your wheelchair and try walking. Sure, you can still feel the choked feeling in your throat and the burn in your lungs, but somehow, it’s just a tiny bit lesser than usual. Maybe it’s because your painkillers are working more effectively. Maybe.

Jeongin’s waiting for you outside when you’re led out of the room, and he smiles when he sees you.

You don’t even remember what you’d said the previous night. All you remember was passing out while Jeongin was in the washroom, and then waking up to him cuddled up, warm and snug next to you. His features were clear and calm as the ocean on a sunny day, a small smile on his lips, as though he was dreaming about something happy. You hope he did, because that boy deserves the happiness.

“You seem energetic today.” Jeongin says, taking note of your perky demeanour, that only causes you to giggle slightly. 

Sure, you don’t remember the happenings of last night, but he does — and he’d promised himself to cherish every last second. Because in the end, it’s all he can do — for leading you to this state, for getting mad at you and wasting precious time in which he could’ve stayed with you. He’d promised to not let you live your last moment sad and desolated.

“I feel light, for some reason.” You mumble with a broken voice as Jeongin takes the wheelchair from the nurse, listening to what she has to say before bowing and nodding, leading you back to your room.

“What did she say?” You ask, fiddling with your thumbs.

“She said your scan results would come in an hour.” 

“Oh… alright.”

For some reason, you’re too joyous today, after the little surprise you got as soon as your eyes opened. You can’t seem to bother about the end— you want to live in this moment, right now.

When you come back to the room, Jeongin lifts you up bridal style, causing you to gasp before placing you down onto the bed. The nurse waiting there quickly fixes your IV and helps you sit into a comfortable position (though it’s hard when thorns keep pricking at your ribs) before bowing to the both of you, and leaving.

Your mother has once again left to go fix up the house, leaving you in the trust of your best friend. You aren’t complaining though, especially when Jeongin sits down beside your bed, taking your hand in his before playing with your nimble fingers — just like always.

He looks gorgeous today. After a lot of nagging from your mother, he’d used the hospital bathroom to wash his face and comb his hair neatly, and you’re happy about that because he looks fresher and happier than ever. You want him to be smiling and happy, even when you leave, because… did you need a reason? You just wanted him to be happy and content with his life.

The thought invokes an angsty feeling of melancholy, but you brush it away, trying to focus on Jeongin and the silence that drops on the both of you like a warm blanket. You smile softly at him, gently letting go of his hand before tucking a few strands of his hair behind his ear, almost melting when Jeongin’s eyes flutter close.

“Hey Jeongin?” You call, grabbing his hand once again and interlacing the fingers together.

“Yeah?”

“When I… leave,” You notice the twitch in his expression, but nonetheless, continue. “Will you bring me flowers every week?” 

You remember the red rose you’d found tucked behind your ear when you woke up — it had dried up a bit, but nonetheless, it was one of the prettiest objects you’d ever seen — even though there was a whole bouquet of them spewing out your mouth every two seconds.

“I will.” Jeongin sniffles. The thought of having to visit your grave every week to bring you flowers is immensely saddening, but Jeongin agrees anyways. He agrees, for you.

It’s the least he can do.

It’s funny how you say “leave”, like you’re going to your hometown for a month-long vacation and not actually like you’re going to be buried any time soon. Jeongin thinks it’s because you don’t want him to get too sad over his loss — a stupid thing to wish — Jeongin knows this loss is going to affect him in more ways than one.

“Jeongin, d-don’t cry…” You cup his cheek, gently brushing your thumb against his cheek and wiping away the tears that fall, one by one. Jeongin shakes his head, placing his palm on your hand and smiling at you.

“Can you do me another favor?”

“As many as you’d like Y/N.” He says. He’ll do anything you want — it’s your last wish after all.

“Bury me with my flower journal, please?” It may seem like a weird claim to bury oneself with a dusty old book, but Jeongin understands the significance — you want to hold onto those memories you made with him while writing it together, while picking flowers together and all those happy moments you exchanged.

Jeongin tries not to let his voice break again. “I will.”

You beam at his acceptance. Jeongin feels the slight thump of his heart against his chest, and a warm feeling envelopes him from inside. He’s suddenly overcome with an urge to press delicate kisses on your eyelids, though he tries to shoo it away, because it isn’t the main point of focus right now.

But soon your mother walks in, and it’s all small talk and deep conversations with her at the same time. You have breakfast, persuade (more like force) Jeongin to scarf down his meal and giggle about some random jokes thrown here and there, until the doctor comes in. Both Jeongin and your mother stand up, bowing and wishing good morning while you do too. Wish, not stand up. You’re basically tied to the bed at this point.

“Mrs L/N, I’d have had a word with you in private, but I think Miss Y/N needs to hear this too.” 

“What is it, doctor?”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and Jeongin’s grip on your hand tightens, thumb rubbing over your skin to soothe your obvious tension. The doctor slides the transparent, firm sheet off it’s envelope before letting the sunlight hit the back of it, in order to enable a clearer viewing.

“This is… the most unusual case I’ve ever seen, but —” He points to a junction on the scan. “The flowers have actually reduced in amount, and they've separated from the windpipe by a whole two inches. See?” He points at the edges of the lungs and at the windpipe, but you understand what he means. The flowers are there, no doubt, but it’s almost like — a whole stem of them just disappeared into thin air.

Of course this could’ve been because you coughed them up, but the coughed up flowers go instantly, or so you’ve heard. There’s confusion written on all of your faces right now.

“Is that why I was feeling lighter and easier to breathe today? Because the flowers withered off and gave more space for air?” You ask in your low voice, and your doctor nods.

“Seems like it. Do you have your previous scan?” Your mother hands it to him quickly after a great deal of fishing out of her purse.

He places the earlier scan behind the newer one, and suddenly, you can see what he means. It’s almost like they shrunk — you don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but nonetheless, you’re happy you can breathe a bit more.

“What does this mean, though?” Jeongin asks, bewildered at the strange news. The room is so quiet and the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife, and you can see both your mother and Jeongin waiting for the doctor’s words.

“It means that we’ll take another scan tomorrow, a deeper one. And check if the flowers are actually collecting somewhere else, or just disappearing. And if they are disappearing…” He trails off, and you giggle when Jeongin and your mother lean forward in anticipation, though curious yourself.

“She’ll be home by Christmas. Or even earlier, if the recovery speed is fast.”

“Y-You mean… I can be cured?” Your voice shakes with hope, and the doctor smiles sweetly at you, before nodding.

“Yes dear, you’ll be the first patient who’s walked out of this place cured from hanahaki.”

At that moment, it almost feels like every flower inside your chest wilts out — you feel so light, so ecstatic. You’re over the clouds at the news, and don’t even hear your mother’s cries of thankfulness before the doctor heads out.

“Y/N!” Jeongin exclaims, ignoring the fluttering feeling in his heart and the burn in his cheeks when he cups your own. “You’re gonna come home!”

You shake with soft sobs, and smile at Jeongin.

“I’m gonna come home.” Provided the scan tomorrow showed a positive result, but you don’t bother to mention that part.

And the next day, when your scan results come back, a huge smile adorns your face, and your mother is in tears. Happy tears.

The sunshine is overly bright today, leaving you squinting for sight, especially when you’re seated in a garden out in the open, book in one hand and the other one resting against the cool, moist grass. The air holds a musky forest scent, and you revel in the feeling of the shivers the cold air that cuts through skin brings.

The park is relatively empty for the morning — you’re glad it is, because it brings on a sense of calmness that you seem to like. The surroundings are just perfect — you don’t want anyone to disrupt your mood right now.

So yeah. The story ends that way. You recover, bit by bit, though it takes a whole bunch of time. There were times when you still had to cough out those petals, but you couldn’t be happier — it felt as though you were spitting out those vicious thorns that had tormented and threatened your life. The doctors had no idea how you’d managed to recover — but this was an interesting case to put into their portfolio, so they weren’t complaining.

And oh, you had Jeongin to help you through all of it, of course. 

It had taken you two weeks to be discharged from the hospital and be able to finally walk again, but when you did it — you felt like a whole new person, in a whole new world. Sure, you had to hold onto your mother or Jeongin wherever you went for the first week or so — it was almost like your legs had turned jelly.

When you returned home, Jeongin insisted that he take you to the garden every day, and when you complained that you couldn’t walk, he’d lifted you into his arms (bridal style, again) and carried you all the way there, and then given you a piggyback ride you all the way back home.

Eventually, you ended up telling him the truth — that the unrequited love that caused everything was because of how you’d fallen for him. You figured he deserved it, especially when he’d stuck with you the whole time without any hesitation and helped you whenever he could — he was truly one of the nicest, kindest people you’d ever met.

Of course, you were surprised when Jeongin only smiled and told you that he knew what you were talking about, and then proceeded to narrate how he’d overheard you in the hospital. Giggles left his lips when you gave him that meme-worthy look, making him shake his head before slinging and arm over his shoulder.

Surprisingly, that night ended just like the books — lovey-dovey confessions exchanged in the warm and intimate setting of the night sky, over shy smiles and lingering kisses. The both of you finally gave in to each other.

Huh, so maybe you were wrong about them — books — after all.

So when, your love was returned in the end, every flower in your chest had finally disappeared, and you couldn’t have been happier.

“You know when I brought you here I wanted you to help me pick flowers and not read a book?”

You laugh at the voice that comes from behind, closing the book shut before placing it on the side while Jeongin takes a seat beside you, hissing at the slight coldness of the grass. Ah, what a romantic scenario — green and colorful flowers as far as the eye could see, a book that you’ve been trying to finish but have never been able to because your boyfriend keeps interrupting you with his random outbursts of affection, and said person sitting right next to you.

“Well, you keep interrupting me all the time!” You chuckle, sliding a hand behind his shoulder before pulling him down to lie on your lap, and Jeongin complies. A sigh of content leaves his lips when he feels your fingers comb through his hair to rid them of any tangles — Jeongin feels stupid to not realise how much he loves you. It feels nice to call you his, feels nice to be able to say I love you, in all of it’s true meaning.

“What, I can’t cuddle my girlfriend now? Come on,” He takes your other hand in his, turning onto his back to look up at you before pressing his lips to the back of your hand. You feel the heat creep up your cheeks when he calls you his girlfriend, still not being able to take it in without growing immensely shy.

“You crybaby, fine. I’ll read the book later only because I love you and you give exceptionally nice cuddles.”

“Hmm, good.” He mumbles sleepily, eyes fluttering shut in calmness when he feels your fingers brush away any stray locks of hair that may get into his eyes. The reaction to your touch is so immediate these days, Jeongin thinks it’s a part of his routine now. Spend at least an hour admiring you in all of your happy, healthy glory.

Meanwhile, you’re sitting there, admiring his features in silence. His hair has grown longer now — Jeongin refuses to cut it no matter your endless verbalizations of how his original haircut looked better — and a small part of you has grown fond of this look too. His warm skin, and his sparkly eyes when he looks up at you, the bright, loving smile that he displays before getting out of your lap, kissing you on your lips to break you out of your focus.

The action only makes you more shy, and Jeongin laughs, cooing at your behavior before standing up, dusting his clothes off the dirt and extending his hand for you.

“Lend me a hand, will you?”

The line seems vaguely familiar and you’re overcome with a sense of deja vu, but nonetheless, you give him your hand, standing up before picking up your satchel and handing him his own.

“Now are you gonna pick a rose for me or do I have to do it myself again?” Jeongin raises an eyebrow and smirks, and you frown, slapping his arm before walking off to check all the flowers in their bushes.

“Hey, wait for me! Y/N!”

When he reaches you, he slides a hand into your own, interlacing the fingers before looking at you lovingly.

“I love you.” You both say at the same time, giggling at each other soon after — perhaps at how well you knew each other to time the confession so well.

So, this is how it ends. While you do think that things could’ve been handled differently, you’re glad that everything went the way it went, because in the end, you’d found him, he’d found you, you’d discovered your feelings together. You loved each other.

Because love and a red rose could never be truly hid.

but what if she had never recovered?

taglist: @inkidz​ @stayverse​ @districtninewriters​ @kpopscape​ @skzwritersclub​ + @sunoo-luvs​ @sleepylixie​ @rae-blogging​ @happiestgirlontheeastcoast @guerillrah​ @p2q3r4​ @baby-innie​ (Please send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my taglist!) *oh holy lord pls let this show up in the tags*

[leftski-art]

First off- Love your art. Big, hard yet somehow soft and warm. I can't really explain but I feel like all your characters smell great and give serotonine-filled hugs.

I would just love to know your drawing process. All your lines and colors are so clean, so straight, so nice. How do sketches look? Whats the walkthrough. Tell me your secrets. I beg of you.

Thank you! It’s a running joke among my D&D group that my characters give the best hugs, so I’d say your feeling is right ^^

Secrets can be found below 👀

The tools I use are as follows

a small Wacom Intuos tablet

Clip Studio Paint (sketch, lineart, flat colours, shading)

Photoshop (textures, backgrounds and lighting effects, colour correction, abusing the Liquify tool to try to fix anatomy mistakes)

Sketches

My sketches usually look something like this and involve a lot of scribbling and experimentation and use of the Transform tool until I end up with something I like. I kinda just feel out the shapes as I go and am constantly redoing and adjusting things.

The different colours are just so I can differentiate between the different elements and it doesn't all just become a giant scribbly mess when I'm trying to line it after.

Lines

As for my lineart, half of it is just a result of practice. I've been doing lineart + cell shading as my main style for over ten years now so I like to think I've managed to acquire some decent line control in that time.

The other half is a good stabilizer and pen pressure settings on the brushes I use.

Before Clip Studio Paint, I used Paint Tool SAI for my lineart because I could never get line results I was happy with in Photoshop, but not only does CSP have phenomenal stabilizer settings, its vector layers feature (which automatically turns your lines into vector shapes regardless of the brush you use!) has also made the process way easier by allowing me to edit and adjust my lines after the fact.

The one tip I can share when it comes to lineart is to take advantage of momentum. I never draw directly on my lineart layer; I make a new layer above it, draw on that one, and then merge it down every few minutes. This lets me use momentum to carry my brush strokes and then erase the parts that overlap without worrying about messing up the stuff I already have, resulting in smoother lines than if I had tried to precisely draw a straight line the entire time.

In the example above, the green line is on its own layer and can be easily erased without damaging the black lines around it.

I also tend to use a smaller brush for interior/detail lines and thicker ones for the outer edges of a shape just because I think it looks nice.

Process in General

Honestly, my process is just a lot of trial and error. I draw a line, undo it, draw a line, undo it. I sketch several hairstyles or outfits on different layers and then swap between them like some weird dress up game until I decide which to keep. I experiment with adjusting the hue and saturation of flat colours until I find something I like. I’m a very “make it up as I go” kind of artist, and really, creator in general; and rarely is the finished piece the result of any sort of plan.

That being said, I do have a general order in which I do things:

Sketch a bunch of random things until I find something I like

Merge all sketch layers and reduce the layer opacity until it’s very faint

Make a lineart layer above, then a layer to actually draw on above that

Draw the lineart using the techniques mentioned above (I often jump around and line different sections randomly), fixing any wonky parts of the sketch as I go

Make a separate layer below the finished lineart for each differently-coloured element (eg: hair layer, skin layer, pants layer, etc.) and fill with fill bucket*

Tweak each layer’s colour until vaguely happy with it

Make a layer below all other layers, select the entire interior of the lineart, fill it with black to fill any tiny gaps left by the fill bucket

Make a layer above all other layers, set it to multiply, draw shadows with a light grey-blue-purple colour (I shade one element at a time by selecting the area and then drawing within that selection on the shading layer)

Repeat step 7 with a layer set to Overlay and a light-medium grey for highlights

Open the image in Photoshop and apply gradients, patterns, lighting etc.

Notice all the mistakes it’s too late to fix and start second guessing the entire piece, say “screw it”, save it as a .png, and post anyway!

And I think that’s about it.

Sorry if that was confusing, I’m not sure how much previous knowledge of these programs you have or how much detail I should go into, but I hope maybe some of it was interesting and/or educational lol

I also have a short process video here that shows the steps one at a time that might help you visualise it better

- - - - - - -

*In case anyone’s brave enough to try using this as a tutorial and isn’t sure what I mean here:

CSP lets you set the lineart layer as a reference layer and still fill the colour on a different layer as though the lines were present on that layer. In other programs you may have to select the area you want to colour on the lineart layer manually with the magic wand tool and then move to the corresponding colour layer before filling it in.

If you use a program where you have to select the area manually, you may want to keep all your tiny detailed lines on a separate lineart layer just so you don’t have to spend time selecting all the small gaps between them. Alternatively, you could just fill it by hand with a brush.

[roger-that-cap]

meet me in the gardens

knight!natasha x noble!fem!reader

summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say not to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected yoru knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either. 

warnings: actually none but a misunderstanding and the lack of editing that i think u guys may or may not be used to at this point

word count: 5.3k

part two!!

The knight before you was the opposite of a man. She was so opposite in fact, that you had to actively make yourself not appear like you were shocked. You knew that the twins were having to try even harder to keep composure.

She was without a doubt, one of the prettiest people you had ever seen before. Being a lady, you had seen so many handsome young men and gorgeous young women, but there wasn’t one who’s fairness struck you like this woman’s. Her eyes were an unfamiliar shade of blue, and you knew that they were the kind of eyes that were made for surveillance and observation, and if you looked hard enough, maybe a window to her thoughts. She had pink lips that were set into a genuine yet thin smile, almost like she wasn’t used to wordless pleasantries at all. Her hair was cropped just above her shoulders and it shined a brilliant red that you had rarely ever seen. Despite the powerful and extremely potent energy that she was giving off, she was short, shorter than you, but something told you that she was strong. Stronger than anyone knew quite yet, but you could feel it. But, you were still confused, regardless of how she had rendered you breathless for the quickest of seconds.

The problem wasn’t that she was a woman. There wasn’t even really a problem at all. It was just the fact that a woman was a knight. You had never seen anything like it in your entire life, and you had never even thought of the possibility of that happening. At all. You had to fight tooth and nail to keep property that you hardly even wanted, all because you were a woman. Because you weren’t pregnant with a son who could carry his hypothetical father’s name. Because you were a woman without the heir to your late husband’s fortunes, you were seen as nothing, for a long time. And now, there were women who were becoming knights?

You were more impressed than confused.

You felt another pinch from Pietro, this time a little harder. You breathed in through your nose, a welcoming smile on your face as you grappled for words.

“Hello,” you said, public voice still working hard as you internally scrambled for words. You were looking the red headed woman right in her eyes, the eyes that were so intense that if you hadn’t been in rooms where extreme business had gone down, you would have melted. You tried to remember the standard greeting. “Welcome to my keep. I hope that I can accommodate you during your stay, and that you are successful in your search for what it is that you are looking for.” You knew the words were off by a bit, but you saw the coachman nod in approval that you didn’t really care to have.

The knight took a step forward, and the sound of a heavy footstep crashing against your well-kept grass made you shiver. The trampled grass had nothing on the way that you reacted to hearing her voice. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Mirellis. I sincerely thank you for allowing me into your home.”

It was hardly your home, and you could tell that the two of you had already gotten off on the wrong foot. You knew it was because of your shameless staring. “May I be graced with knowing your name?”

If possible, she stood up a little straighter. “I am Natasha Romanoff, My Lady.”

If you were hearing correctly, you heard the slight awkwardness in her last two words. Only people with titles of their own called other lords and ladies “my lady”, and lower born people were to call them “milady”. She must have been lowborn, just like you. “It is my deepest pleasure to meet you, Natasha. May I show you around my keep?”

“Typically,” the coachman cut in, and you furrowed your brows at the way he interrupted the stop-and-start flow of the conversation. “It isn’t the lord—sorry—lady of the house’s job to do that.”

Wanda opened her mouth, highly defensive of you and ready to go because it was a fight she could afford to pick. A servant and a coachman were on the same level. She would face no punishment for talking back to the man. However, you reached to your right and squeezed her hand twice.

“Well, I am the lady of the house, and I would like to show my new guest her accommodations.” The man narrowed his eyes slightly at you, and it became obvious to everyone that he clearly wasn’t expecting back talk from you.

You knew that everyone thought widows were these gentle, sad women. The type that cried themselves to sleep and wished to meet their husbands again in the afterlife. The type that listened at anything that a man uttered simply because he was a man, or because they didn’t have the energy to entertain an arguement or to correct them. Especially ladies. But you were not supposed to be a lady. You wore fancy dresses and had gold and had a small castle to yourself, but part of you would always be that girl who beat up the boys who lived a few acres away for talking about your hair and then rolled in mud with them, laughing about it the very next day.

Even through the glances that were thrown between the five of you standing there, you continued. “My staff has worked so hard on making sure it was nice for her. I’d like to show off their diligence now.” It wasn’t a question.

“Do as you please, milady.”

You resisted the urge to nod smugly. “Thank you.” You watched him climb back onto his chair and quirked a brow. The coachman always stayed for dinner. It was considered offensive if they did not, both to the knight and to the lord or lady. “Did you not want to stay for the meal, good sir?”

“I must get back, milady. If that is alright with you.”

You knew you should utter something lengthy that you didn’t mean at all, but the most you could get out after his blatant rudeness was a quick “safe travels.” There was a long stretch of awkward silence as you watched him leave, arms hanging at your sides as the trotting sound of horses carried him away.

“Goodness, was he rude.”

“Pietro.” Wanda hissed, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. You whirled around to look at the knight— Natasha— and saw that she was already looking at you with blatant curiosity.

“Would it be alright with you if I took you around myself?” You asked, and she nodded her head. “Well, I’m sure you’re hungry. Would you like to eat first?”

You were beginning to realize very quickly that the woman was the staring type. Her eyes, no, her entire face and persona was so demanding and intense. It was hard to even be provoked by her shameless staring and possible judgement, because at least she was open with it. The more you looked at her, though, the more you knew that you would never understand what was happening behind her eyes. “I would like to see.”

“Then you will see,” you stated, and gave Wanda a look. She knew immediately what it meant, and she walked off to tell the chefs to expect you in an hour or so. “We can start with the outside area and make our way in.”

She was very much the staring type. Not even just at faces or people in general, but with everything. You noticed that when anything caught her eye, she looked at it for a few seconds in silence and then moved on, like she heard them speak something unknown to everyone else and took the time to listen.

“These are the training grounds,” you said after walking to the back half of the castle, where the grass was still trained to grow with strength and hardly a thing was out of place. The training grounds were for young squires in the area or kids that just wanted to play fight. You had made the area yourself, and it was one of your favorite parts of your home. You liked being able to look outside and see children playing freely, and the sound of laughter was something that everyone needed in life. “You’re free to use them in any way you see fit, of course.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“You’ll run into aspiring knights here and there, but they are good children.” Your voice was fond as you spoke of them, and then took a right. “And just down here, we have the gardens.”

And gardens, they were. They were the only thing in the castle that was actually yours while your husband was alive. When you had arrived, the patch of land was so disgraced that it would have been insulting to call it a garden. The flowers were droopy, the soil was dry, and the vibrant colors that were once there had been sucked away. Your husband didn’t care about the area, and neither did anyone else, so you adopted it. You had built it from the ground up and made it into what it was; a huge and gorgeous garden full of colors, with ivy hanging from rails in what looked like an unruly manner and bushes full of roses and begonias and everything in between. It was caged off by golden rails, but the rails were hardly binding. They were so wrapped with leaves that it looked like they grew with the garden.

“This is my favorite part of the keep,” you stated softly, walking down it. You had expanded it so that it went down and into the forest, the rails forming a path. You walked down it every so often yourself, deep into the woods where no one would bother you, where you could look at the stars above in peace.

“Is it yours?”

“What?” You asked, tearing your eyes from a particular bush to see her looking up at the ivy.

“This garden,” she said, and you realized that you were strolling closer and closer to the woods. You stopped walking, but didn’t make any move to go and meet her. “Do you tend to it?”

“It’s mine,” you answered, not even bothering to take the subtle pride out of your voice. “It’s my project. I started it when I got here, and now it’s flourishing.”

“Where did you learn how to garden?”

It was no secret that typically, ladies did not get their hands dirty, even if the activity was simple planting. They were supposed to stay inside and knit or something like that. Ladies could go outside to look at gardens, but they had staff to plant for them. So, did Natasha not know that you weren’t born with a title? “When I was a girl,” you answered vaguely.

“Your Lord Father allowed you?”

My father was no lord. “Yours allowed you to wield a sword?” The sound of armor clanking brought you out of your slight hostility, and you sighed. “I apologize.”

“It’s quite alright.” The harshness in her voice told you that she was offended by what you said, and she turned around once she realized that the two of you were nearing the tree line.

You walked around with Natasha, giving her the rest of the tour halfheartedly and only speaking when absolutely necessary. It was clear that the two of you clearly weren’t clicking as well as you hoped to, and while that was tragic, you weren’t going to kiss anyone’s feet to get in their good graces.

“I’m sure you’re hungry by now.” The second you stepped on the wood floors of the inside of your keep, the warmth hit you. Your shoes clicked on the material as you walked ahead of her, not looking back or waiting for an answer. “I’ll show you the kitchens, and then the dining hall.”

The dining hall was known for its size. It was huge, and the ceiling was high. Everything that was said echoed, and the lighting provided by strategically placed candles made the hall have an elegant, almost eerie feeling to it. The staff was already bustling around, plating food and pouring wine. Wanda and Pietro were already there, their harsh and bickering whispers hitting your ears until they heard you approaching.

“Oh, please, sit.” Wanda did so immediately, and Pietro walked around the table to pull out your chair, which sat at the head of it.

You cringed when Pietro sat down. He had been dethroned from his seat at your left hand, because it was courteous of you to give up that seat for your new night. That was one tradition that you wouldn’t break, simply because it would be seen as disrespectful. “You can sit right there, Lady Natasha.” You saw her lip twitch.

In all honesty, you had no idea what to call her formally. You two certainly weren’t close enough to address each other by first name, and you doubted she even knew it. But she wasn’t a man, and male knights were called “Sir”. She wasn’t a “Sir”. You didn’t want to offend her further by calling her it.

The first half of the dinner was in awkward silence. Wanda kept giving you glances, and you frowned at the way she was looking at you- like you had clearly messed something up. You sighed through your nose when you heard Pietro clear his throat, a sound that meant that he was about to run his mouth.

“So, my lady knight, what do you think of the castle?”

The red head didn't even realize she was being addressed until she looked up and saw you and everyone else looking at her expectantly. “It’s very nice.” You waited a bit, listening to hear whatever empty compliments that she would give for the sake of being polite. Ten seconds passed, and there was nothing.

You chuckled. “Thank you,” you answered just as shortly, holding back the urge to laugh much louder than was appropriate.

“So, where are you from?”

“The slums.” You nod in acknowledgment, and guilt. Sometimes you repressed the images of people living from coin to coin. But silly you, silly everyone. For there to have been people on the top, there had to be people at the bottom. And those who lived at the bottom lived in what were called “the slums”. “I don’t know if you would know anything about that, My Lady.”

Wanda made a noise that told you that the bold knight’s words were clearly meant to wound you, and Pietro’s brows shot upwards so quickly that you barely saw the movement happen. You stared at your plate, jaw dropped open in surprise and mortification.

You were fuming on the inside. How the hell would she know who you were? What you dealt with? How your husband was as cruel as he was disgusting? How you grew up a poor farmer’s daughter? She didn’t know, and that was what kept you grounded. How could she have known?

Before you could get in your right mind to utter a threat that you were sure that your late husband had said in your presence at least once, you nodded your head and took it in stride. You stood up from the table and didn’t look at her or the confused look she shot you after looking at your painfully unfinished plate.

“Wanda will show you to your chambers, Lady Natasha. I hope you enjoy your first dinner of many here at my castle, and I hope that tonight begins your yearlong journey to wisdom.” And with that, you turned on your heels after taking your plate shamelessly, heels clacking against the polished floor once again, silence filling the hall until long after you left.

§§

By the third day Natasha was there and the second that you had been blatantly avoiding her, you were starting to feel bad for fueling the fire between you two. She was to stay under your roof and do what she had to for a full year, and you antagonized her. You gave the sacred act of showing a knight to their room to someone else, and you understood Natasha’s lack of speech towards you to be a consequence of that.

But that was fine. You certainly didn’t need for the girl to like you. It would have made things much easier and smoother, but it wasn’t a necessity. Your job was to give her food, water, shelter, and time to find herself and her purpose as a knight. Nothing said that the two of you had to be as thick as thieves.

But that also didn’t mean that you would actively pass on befriending her. You decided after a long time of sitting at the polished wooden desk that had become yours that you would be her friend should fate allow it, and if not, there was no harm to it. But you weren’t going to chase her, no matter how wonderfully her bright hair would work as an object to follow.

A soft calling of your name happened seconds before Wanda opened the door. You greeted her informally and grinned at her, until you saw the look on her face and the sealed paper in her hand. Immediately, your joyful expression left and you sighed.

“Who is it this time?” Wanda shut the door behind her after your question, and you gave her a look. “It can’t be Lord Rumlow again.”

Brock Rumlow was not a good man. No man who had power was a good man, but he was one of the worst. He had gone through two wives in the past three years, and the second one was found with stab wounds in the forest. How he had gotten out of being tried for her murder was beyond you, and it made you sick to your stomach every time you thought about it. Now, he set his sights on you, a widow sitting on plenty of money and land. He had been sending you letters, flowers, gold, dresses, anything that a narcissistic man would think that another human being would like simply because the things were tangible. And the letters always said the same old thing; to marry him. And he wasn’t ever really asking.

“It’s him,” Wanda confirmed, her tone telling you that she felt the same way you did towards the vile man.

“I want to burn it,” you said, and immediately, Wanda crossed the room to put the note in the fire, waiting for your final say. “Let me read what this imbecile has asked for now. I wonder what beautiful horse or jewel he’ll offer for my hand, this time.”

You took the letter from Wanda gently and gave her a small smile, and she urged you to open it, just as nervous to see what was inside as you were. You stared at his seal for a few seconds, eyeing the red wax with a three headed serpent engraved with disdain before tearing it right open. You did the rest without ceremony, your eyes narrowed as you found the messy and unbothered handwriting that you would recognize from anywhere.

Lady of Riverstone,

I take it that my other letters may have been lost to the wind. I apologize for not reaching you earlier. But, if you have been getting my letters, then my main offer stands the same. I would be honored for you to take my name and stand under my veil, and for you to become my wife. Marriage to me would give you a great deal of benefits, and I have listed them down below. I would like an answer within two fortnights, and if I don’t get one, I’ll send another letter.

It was all more of the same, more of the same offers and then a little more, vague threats, and monotonous language that he hardly knew how to use correctly. You read with a neutral expression, even though Wanda was shocked reading all of the things he was offering. He signed it off like he did every other letter.

Lord Rumlow, of Serpent’s Keep.

“He offered you two tons of gold to send your father?”

“Do you notice how he’s never called me Lady Mirellis?” You asked, sipping the chalice of water that constantly sat at your desk, and got refilled whenever someone walked by and saw it nearing empty. “Or by my name?”

“I have.”

“It’s always ‘Lady of Riverstone’,” you sighed, shaking your head. “If he wants the land, he should just go on and say that. It’s much more respectable for him to be honest with me. Maybe I would have said yes already.”

Wanda made a face. “You’re lying, now.”

“Well, of course I am. I've never seen him, and all he wants is a woman to beat around. I’m not that woman, no woman is. Do you think I want to find myself dead within a half year of being wed?” There was a sharp knock on your door.

“He wouldn’t kill you. He wouldn’t gain these assets after your death,” Wanda said softly, understanding that you were about to finish the conversation. “He must be truly desperate to pay ou two tons of gold. That could help nearly anyone out of a pickle, and it would certainly pay off some things back at the farm.”

You knew that. But the truth was… you held a certain amount of irrational and rational disdain for your family. You knew that some of it was warranted just off of the way humans worked in general, but others weren’t. You knew for a fact that a part of you would always be bitter about the way that no one fought hard enough for you not to be taken from your home. You knew that a part of you would be bitter because they took the money that your late husband had offered them, like you were the fattest, most desirable pig in the pen. And there would forever, and ever, be a part of you—if not all of you— that would be angry about your wedding night.

Half of your family showed. The other half came, took you to a back room, and cried. They cried on your night of terror, and you comforted them. It was the one time where you truly needed your mother and her maternal instincts, the one time you needed your brother to teach you some moves that could hurt a man if you needed them. And they either weren’t where you needed them, or weren’t what you needed them. Both truths hurt the same.

“My family doesn’t need money,” you settled on saying, swallowing the burning that came with thinking about the people you shared blood with. “If they needed it, they would ask.”

“Your father is a proud man, he wouldn’t set that pride aside. Especially not to ask one of his own daughters for money.”

“Well, let that be their problem,” you said, although your harsh words weren’t as impactful because of the tremor in them. “I won’t marry Lord Rumlow.”

Wanda leaned forward a bit, and she took both of your hands in hers as the knocking grew louder. She looked you in the eyes, just the way one true friend looked at another. With the same ferocity in her voice as the time when she assured you that no one was going to force you to give up your rights to ladyship, her next words were no louder than a whisper. “And no one will make you.”

Your eyes almost grew watery as you held her hands, feeling the purity of the bond you shared with her surging. “Thank you.” You looked towards the door and let her hands go, uttering a soft command.

Pietro stood there with his arms crossed and a flushed look on his face. He cocked his head to the side at the sight of you and Wanda hovering over a broken open letter, and took a few steps forward. It was upside down, so you turned it his way so that he could read it easier, and the second he recognized the handwriting, he groaned.

“I think I can assume what this is,” he rolled his eyes, and he picked it up and walked over to the fire. When you’d said nothing, he tossed it in and the three of you watched it burn. “I came to tell you that our little knight is strange.”

“How so?”

“Well, she's writing.”

You furrowed your brows. “Writing?” You repeated, remembering her saying that she grew up poor. Most commoners had no idea how to read or write. You only learned because you had to learn when you married a lord. And even if knights had the ability to read and write, they hardly did. Words had very little value to a man who could wield a sword.

But Natasha Romanoff was no man.

“What on earth would she be writing about?” Wanda asked, leaning against the desk. “I wonder if she’s required to write a review on her treatment.”

Pietro gave a short but genuine laugh. “She’s probably writing down terrible things about you to give to the king after she returns home,” he joked, and Wanda cracked a smile, but you couldn’t find it in you to laugh.

“I couldn’t care less about a review of my hospitality or lack therefore of,” you drawled.

Wanda rolled her eyes. “Yes, you do, because you’re a kind person.”

“But she is not.” You felt bad for saying the words that you said not even seconds after.

“We don’t know that,” Wanda reasoned softly. “Actually, I happen to know that she’s quite nice. And she’s level headed and very smart, from what I can see. She’s no man with a little praise under his belt, that’s for sure.”

“So, she’s not boastful.” You said. “That’s good. But I don’t see her and I sharing more interactions than what we need to.”

“With all due respect, Lady Y/N,” Pietro said, leaning forward with that characteristic smirk of his plastered over his face. “You are very dramatic. You always have been.”

You could hardly even pretend to be offended. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” Wanda said quietly, though not fearfully at all. “You are always dramatic, and then things work out.”

Wanda was right. She very much was, actually. Things like the river nearly drying up and crops rotting too quickly and other things that were completely out of your hands terrified you. The things that you couldn’t control made you irrational and erratic, and that was probably your worst fault. You did the same with things you could change, only with worrying. Something as simple as an apology could fix something, but you would sit on giving the apology for hours, sometimes even days.

That night, when it seemed like everyone else was fast asleep and dreaming sweet little images, you put on slippers and walked right outsides, your guards not even asking you where you were going. You walked right out of the side doors and into the garden, humming quietly to yourself as you walked through the entrance of it with your pails of water.

It was quiet besides the noise of bugs chirping, and the occasional flap of wings from birds above. Even your humming had tapered off, and it felt like you could have been able to hear things from miles away. You smiled in the crisp air as you bent over to water a rose bush, a soft affirmation towards the red flowers when you saw how pretty they looked in the moonlight. When you stood back up and turned your head around, you gasped in fright and tumbled towards the ground.

“Shit,” a hand caught your arm and the other was on your shoulder as your chest heaved, adrenaline rushing from being so frightened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you saw me.” It took you a second to see the face of the woman speaking in the moonlight, but when you saw it was the knight, you sighed.

You were set back on two feet, and then Natasha took a step backwards. “Why are you out here?”

She shrugged. “It’s pretty.” There was a stretch of silence as you waited for her to say something, anything else. “It’s safe.”

A part of you was angered by that statement. Yes, the gardens were safe. Of course they were, they were your safety! They were your place that you went to when you felt like nothing was in your control, like your own decisions weren’t yours. Nothing could hurt you in the gardens, and plants couldn’t talk. They held every secret that you could ever tell, they held every tear that you never shed in front of another, and they saw every emotion that you were too stoic to show in front of others. They were the one place that you could get peace. And now the knight has ruined it.

But on the other hand, you were proud of yourself for creating something that someone else can admire. You created something that someone else could be free in, and in a way, that was amazing. And that hand was outweighing the other.

So, you said, “I’m glad it feels that way.” You cleared your throat softly when you realized that you were speaking to her the way you spoke to the twins. “I created it as my own safe space, so I’m glad someone else thinks of it that way, too.”

There was a short yet heavy silence between you and Natasha, and then you saw her turn to face you, her eyes burning a hole into the side of your face. “I know you’re not very excited to have me here, but I’m here. So we can at least try to be cordial.”

“Is that not what we’re being?” You asked, not even taking your eyes off of the moon. “I thought we were even being a little friendly.”

“It would be nice if it lasted.” Natasha muttered, and you nodded your head.

“I don’t know if I offended you with the question about whether or not your father approved your knighthood,” you said, sighing. “I assume that I did. And if you carry around that offense, then I apologize. I don’t like talking about my own father, but you couldn’t have known that.”

“You do not need to be forgiven,” she states. “I apologize, as well.”

“And it’s not that I don’t want you here,” you started, already cursing yourself for going into what she had said not even a full minute earlier. You were tense as she waited for you to continue, but you just shrugged and sighed. “Just know that that’s not it.” Something reached toward you out of the corner of your eye, and you finally turned your head to look at her.

She was… she was nothing short of gorgeous. You were taller than her, so you looked down at her just a little bit. Her red hair looked more brown than anything, and her blue eyes were pale and still as beautiful as they were during the day. There was the smallest hint of a smile on her face, nervous almost, as you looked down at the arm that was reached out your way. The moon was shedding you both its white light, and it primarily rested right where her arm was extended, her palm lord and turned to the side.

She wanted to shake hands with you. Shaking hands was seen as archaic, and knights certainly didn’t touch ladies unless they were assisting them. But, you knew by now that Natasha was not the typical knight. One of her fingers twitched, and you realized that she was just waiting there, her hand hanging in the air, like a gavel ready to drop at any moment. And quickly, almost enough to make the other woman startle, you took her right hand in your own and shook it twice, keeping your eyes right on hers.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

                                                       ******

hiiii guys! still establishing things here with this chapter, but when things kick off, they are going full speed. i already love this fic, and i can’t wait to put all my ideas down for it as the finished product! i hope you guys liked it, and if you did, please show her some love! i have a little taglist building up, so here it goes!

@normanijauregui​ @fayhar​ @8plasma​ @procrastinatingsapphictrash​ 

@slut-for-nat​ @dontmindmejustreading @swords-are-cool​

@200605chaeng​ @thescottishavenger @antidaytime​ @jenny-song​ @madamevirgo​ @natasha-danvers​ @drdarcy-lewis​ @blackxwidowsxwife​ 

[jimintopia]

prettiest of them all (1)

genre: college!au, s2l!au, fluff, angst?

pairing: jimin x reader

summary: you're nothing special, just an ordinary girl who's just trying to get through college... but an angelic boy with honey colored eyes thinks you're the most beautiful flower he's ever laid his eyes on.

word count: 1.5k

chapter warnings: swearing (mostly jungkook lmao)

a/n: oh gosh i'm so nervous,, this started out as a tiny drabble i wrote out on the back of my bio notebook in january and two weeks ago i sorta revived the idea lmao. i hope you enjoy this little series of mine!

this fic was made possible by @latetaektalk (thank you so much for those helpful tips! i spent a lot of time formatting and reformatting this post and editing the fic, and your advice helped a lot with that!) and @chimchiekookie (thank you for your encouragement and kind words! you gave me the courage to post, tysm kira). also, to @yuvi-with-luv and @meiadore for just being! i love u crackheads; oKAY that was really long so i'll let you get to the fic oops haha

[series masterlist - main masterlist - next]

(1) only time will tell.

College is not easy. But sharing an apartment with Jeon Jungkook is an entirely new level of difficulty.

“Goodness,” you mutter, stepping around the books and pens scattered on the floor of the living room, your roommate’s half-asleep body slumped across the couch. You can’t even get to the kitchen without tripping over something of his. “Couldn’t you have cleaned up before dozing off? What an idiot.”

“I heard that,” he mumbles drowsily, yawning. “The idiot is clearly you, Y/N. Who the fuck signs up for an eight A.M. lecture on Mondays? Something’s obviously wrong with you.”

That earns him an apple to the head, before you remember it’s supposed to be your to-go breakfast and quickly scramble to retrieve it.

“It’s mandatory,” you tell him. “Can’t graduate without taking it, so I might as well suffer. Psychology majors go to hell anyway, so I signed up knowing what I was getting myself into.” You give your best friend a once-over as he stretches, still on the couch. “You have fun sleeping in, Jeon, but by the time I get back I want you showered and ready for a proper brunch. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he rolls his eyes, but you know he enjoys your routine outings as much as you do. Ever since you met in your second year of high school, it became a little tradition of yours to regularly meet up for lunch on the weekends — and that turned into basically each mealtime once you got to college. “Just go, you’re going to be late. Those tiny legs of yours are gonna have a hard time running all the way to 808. We’re not even on campus.”

“Excuse you?! I’m 5’6”!”

“Y/N,” he sighs, shaking his head pitifully. “That’s like, four inches shorter than me. But nice try.”

Both of you exchange an annoyed glare, but deep down, you’re having your fun bantering with him. It’s a trademark of your relationship, one of the many things you appreciate him for. No one you have met so far could match your sharp tongue as well as Jungkook.

“I do not have time to argue with you right now, Kook.” You glance at the clock, quickly slipping your feet into battered sneakers. “There are leftovers in the fridge — by the way, remember to lock the door if you don’t want Taehyung to visit unannounced again — and I left a carton of banana milk on the bottom shelf, right next to the ketchup. Oh! I did your laundry last night; there’s a pile in your room that you just need to fold and put away. Anything else I’m forgetting?”

“You just dumped my clothes in my room? On the floor?”

You narrow your eyes at him playfully. “Wrong answer, Jeon.”

“Oh, fine.” Jungkook rolls his eyes, ruffling your hair affectionately. “Thank you, Y/N. Now please just go already.”

“Dumbass,” you return, grinning. “I’ll be back soon. I'll bring Taehyung over if I run into him!”

He’s already closed your front door, but you can still hear his shout of protest from the other side, causing you to burst into incessant giggles: “Don’t you fucking dare!”

By some kind of miracle, you actually get to the lecture hall approximately a minute early. You and Jungkook don’t live on campus, but your apartment is pretty close — walking gets you to class in ten minutes, and if you run, you’ll arrive much quicker.

“Yeoreum!” you greet your friend with a whisper as you walk in, tossing your apple core into the small trash can. “You’re actually early for once!”

“Blame Hoseok,” she grumbles as you sit down next to her. “Dumbass woke me up at five in the morning to go run with him, Y/N. Five o’clock. The asshole’s dead to me from now on.”

“That sucks,” you sympathize, but you know she’ll always give in to her twin brother — the two of them are inseparable, as much as she likes to complain about him. “But hey, at least you got your coffee fix!”

Yeoreum lifts the half-empty cup before taking a long sip, a small smile adorning her features. “Also courtesy of Hoseok,” she admits. “He causes a lot of arguments, but at least he knows how to solve them. I like to think I’ve trained him well.”

“I wish I had a sibling,” you sigh wistfully. “A brother, maybe. Or a sister, I wouldn’t really mind. It must be nice always having someone else who understands you.”

“Y/N, you live with Jungkook,” she points out. “He’s basically the brother you’ve wanted your entire life. He has been since we were fifteen.”

“I know, but it’s different. I didn’t grow up with him. Plus, he’s more annoying than a sibling could ever be.”

“And he’s hot as hell.”

“Yeoreum,” you scold quietly, bringing out your laptop for the start of the lecture. “You think everyone you meet is hot. Regardless of whether they’re actually a decent human being or not. That’s probably why you always end up dating assholes who don’t deserve you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waves you off, not quite meeting your eyes. “Chill, Y/N, I’m not interested. The boy’s just insanely attractive. Can’t I call someone attractive without wanting to get with them?”

You lean over to say something to her, but the entire class quiets down suddenly, so silent that you could hear even the softest whisper.

Professor Ahn strides in with an authoritative air, several books in her arms, followed by a boy whom you’ve never seen in this class before. A new student, perhaps? Or maybe he just transferred departments. You never know — it’s certainly not too late to switch out.

The professor tells him something quickly and he nods, before jogging up the stairs and hastily sliding into the seat right next to you. In fact, it all happens so quickly that you’re still buffering, trying to process what just happened. Instinctively, you move a little closer to Yeoreum.

“Goddamn,” she breathes, eyes wide in surprise. “Y/N, he’s so fine.”

Okay, so that was a bad choice. But the thing is, she’s not wrong.

The guy doesn’t speak to or look at you once during the entire lecture, totally dedicated to typing up everything Professor Ahn is saying — but you can’t help but check him out from the corner of your eye every few minutes. The blond hair is, surprisingly, a very good look on him, and the way the corner of his mouth is always turned upward makes you incredibly curious. What the hell is there to be happy about such an early class?

Ten minutes before you can finally get out of that stuffy hall, there’s a light tap on your right shoulder, startling you. You turn your head around so fast your vision nearly blurs, taking a second to steady again. “Huh?”

The new guy is tentatively smiling at you, like he’s gauging your response. “Hi,” he says, a little hesitant. “Um — do you have a black pen I can borrow? Mine just gave up on me mid-word and I didn’t bring any extra.” You glance over to his side of the bench: sure enough, the last few letters of the word ‘extension’ are so faded out, you can barely see them.

All of your pens are either blue or red, but Yeoreum quickly passes you one of her black-ink fountain pens under the bench, nodding at you in silent understanding. “Here,” you offer it to him, watching the adorable way his face lights up when you hand it to him.

“Thank you! You’re a lifesaver,” he says, quickly scribbling something down. “I can’t fathom using any ink color other than black, it just… doesn’t make sense to me.”

Well, you could type up a whole argument against that, but you hold your tongue for the time being. Instead, you peek over at his notebook curiously, trying to see what he’s so engrossed in writing down. You catch sight of a name printed neatly on the top left corner of the page, and you squint so you can see it better.

Park Jimin. You let it rest in your mind for a moment. It’s a beautiful name, and though you don’t know exactly what it means, you’re sure it would roll right off your tongue if you were to say it aloud.

“I’m Jimin,” he says, right on cue as he returns the pen and you not-so-discreetly pass it to Yeoreum again. “What about you?”

“Y/N.” For some reason, you’re struggling both to find something to say and maintain some kind of calm. You don’t know why he’s making your heart beat faster, only that he is.

“That’s a nice name.” Jimin smiles, and it’s breathtaking. His eyes form little crescents as he beams at you — you! — and for just one second, you can’t think of anything else. A silly crush, you chide yourself, averting your gaze from his face. A few days and it’ll leave on its own.

You want to be right, and you might be wrong, but you have no idea, no way of knowing what the future holds. It’s like they always say — only time will tell.

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