#might sketch some more winter doodles later

[chestnutisland]

I sometimes like to HC Eighteen can regulate her temperature.

[soldrawzz]

"Fox Chase" - A Super Short Moomin FanFic

A friend of mine and I were chatting on instagram when we came across an ADORABLE little video of a red fox kit prancing in some wildflowers (fox zoomies, so cute!) It got me thinking and in a spur-of-the-moment move I wrote a super short Moomin Valley oneshot Fic. My friend encouraged me to share it here for others to read. I'd like to invite anyone who feels compelled to doodle/draw/sketch for this lil fic idea to go ahead and do so (I might try as well at some point). Be sure to share it with me if you do so I can see what amazing stuff you came up with!! HAPPY SPRING EVERYONE!!

FIC BELOW

Moomintroll awoke earlier than usual. A whisper called out through his dreams from deep inside him; Something Needed To Be Seen. Rather than roll over and sleep away the feeling he rose from his bed, stretched with a yawn and peeked tired eyes out his foggy window into the early morning light. The sun hadn't quite made it over the mountain peaks yet. The valley was blanketed in a thick fog, obscuring most in view beyond the forest tree line. The whisper grew stronger within, compelling him to abandon the cozy warmth of his room and walk out into the stirring world.

Something Needed To Be Witnessed.

With a sigh Moomin pried open his window, stepped over the frosted ledge and slid down the makeshift ladder, landing with a gentle 'thump' upon the dewy grass. Away he marched across the bridge, glancing sideways to greet his blurred reflection and off he went into the beckoning woods.

At first he wandered aimlessly, admiring the shifts and swirls of the fog as he stumbled over logs, tiptoed around melting patches of snow, until the tug from inside drew his attention to a small animal trail. The trail was only slightly overgrown with dormant weeds; he was certain he hadn't seen it before winter and surely wouldn't have otherwise noticed if not for the nagging feeling demanding he follow it, sooner rather than later. Onto the path he stepped, pace hastened until a ways away Moomin found himself led to a clearing along the hillside. A gentle breeze rustled the early spring flowers ready in waiting for the mist to clear, to meet the rising sun. Still more the feeling called to him, Witness Me, See Me. Moomintroll stepped into the clearing and the world fell silent. The early birds roosted and waited, the trees stood tall, still. He forced himself to breathe, slow, deliberate breaths despite every fiber of his being screaming to hold it in for fear of drowning out the now bellowing call; Watch, See, Observe.

Moomin crouched low to the ground, the grass tickling his chest and chin as he met the moist earth, and waited. Sunbeams broke through the clouds, drifting lazily above the clearing. The fog began to clear in patches as the steam from the heated earth forced it up and away. The purple and pink flowers began to pop into life, opening bit by bit to the inviting warmth of the greeting sun. Still Moomintroll waited, waited. Watching...

A rustle in the trees, A Call, A Cry, A Whistle, A Tune. A song grew in his heart, familiar and longing, loving. He knew now what was coming before he saw but still he waited as his mind and heart caught up with his line of sight. In the distance, across the meadow a small green figure approached the field. Soft footsteps, barely audible, made their way to the edge of the clearing and halted mere inches from the buds.

The figure slid something heavy off his shoulders, dropped it beside his feet and proceeded to remove a pair of old, time worn boots. He then removed a tall green hat from his head and placed it up against the trunk of an adjacent tree. Moomin clasped his hand over his mouth as the figure stepped cautiously into the clearing, carefully weaving between patches of pink and purple, head whipping back and forth like a deer screening the horizon for signs of threat or disturbance in the otherwise tranquil meadow. The coast was clear. Moomintroll was not spotted. He observed as the pull in his heart, the humming voice in his head began to bellow to Watch, To See. His urge to rush upon his friend only just outweighed by his curiosity at the site of Snufkin gingerly sneaking his way to the center of the field. The boy in the tattered green cloak took one more look around before glancing upward to the sky, almost directly into the sun, standing firm and rooted, as if to dare the sun to beam down on him with all it's might. He took in a deep, audible breath, held it. The voice within Moomin suddenly went quiet and he looked on in puzzlement...

The boy raised his arms above his head, stepped forward a few inches with a single toe and with a shout as high as a whistle and jolly as an elf, Snufkin rolled! Cartwheeled into the flowers! He leapt and bounced and ran in a circle, bounded back to chase a tail that was not there. He doubled back and ran from one end of the clearing to the other, laughter like blue bells tinkling in the morning sun. And the world breathed! The birds chirped, the trees swayed, the breeze whipped Snufkin's hair about his face, tugged at the snowy tufts of Moomin's fur as he stared in bewilderment through the tickling grass.

Moomin stifled a startled laugh, the call in his heart returning in full force, changing it's tune. Join Me, Come, Let's Play! And Snufkin danced on in the Spring-filled meadow, relishing the sun and singing back to the breeze, to the trees, to the birds and the bees. A newfound courage overtook Moomintroll, drove him to leap into the clearing and cartwheel into his friend.

Snufkin fell to his knees with a gasp, and stared down the troll in shock. He panted, winded, eyes wide and frenzied; Moomin's own bashful but hopeful. The boy lifted himself from the ground, brushed off his coat with a long sigh. Moomin looked around confused as the silence between them seemed to still the breeze and a cloud passed over the sun, it's shadow engulfing the entire pasture and accentuating the last of the mist that still clung to the treetops. Where did the voice go? What happened to the song?

"Well then..." Snufkin finally spoke after a long pause. "Best get ready." His voice was stern, scratchy from lack of use. How long had it been since they'd seen each other? Spoken to one another? As Moomin glanced up the clouds cleared, the sun returned, willing away the last of the fog to feed the hungry needles of the pine trees. A small hand reached out to the troll. Moomin, shyly, took the hand and hoisted himself up, dusted off his portly belly and made to apologize for disturbing his friend's (very odd) ritual....

"To the boulder and back!" Snufkin roared and OFF like a bullet he ran to the far end of the field. Moomin nearly toppled again in his bewilderment. Chase! Chase! Run, Tag, You're It! The voice rang out and without a second though he dashed away after his friend, never to overcome him, for how could he really? A wild spirit like Snufkin couldn't be caught, couldn't be tamed, but to be invited into the revelry when the song beckoned them, how could Moomintroll resist the chase? Spring had finally come. Welcome Home, a mirthful voice rang out, and Moomintroll couldn't tell whether or not it was his own.

(The End)

[trashasaurusrex]

I still remember that amazing Elsa fanart of yours. ╥﹏╥ The one where she's wearing a magnificent midnight blue winter gear and fluffy coat... do you perhaps plan to draw her again in the future? I mean, I know that Frozen fandom is mostly dead buuut Frozen 3 has been announced, the hype is going to be revived... so maybe? at some point? *puppy eyes*

Hey there! Ahhh I'm glad you liked my Elsa art 💜

I have some sketches of her that I've been meaning to post, might do so later on today. I doodle Frozen stuff occasionally for practice, so there might be more in the future!

[sproutmole-supremacy]

I posted 205 times in 2022

That's 205 more posts than 2021!

25 posts created (12%)

180 posts reblogged (88%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@some-mari-thoughts

@ksenya-and-the-artistic-cucumber

@oyasumicloseyoureyes

@winters-sketches

@mozzaremi

I tagged 161 of my posts in 2022

Only 21% of my posts had no tags

#omori - 15 posts

#sprout draws - 15 posts

#omori kel - 15 posts

#omori basil - 12 posts

#sprout talks - 12 posts

#cactiflower - 10 posts

#oh my god - 6 posts

#sprout thinks (for once) - 6 posts

#kel x basil - 5 posts

#omori mari - 5 posts

Longest Tag: 126 characters

#i find the idea of calling it eclipse (which sounds kinda dark and gloomy in a way???) just because sunnys not there kinda sad

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Quick and dirty Cactiflower for (late) Halloween!!!! I am now obsessed with the idea of Witchy Omori andjdjwisjsiw i just want to draw cute people in witch outfits

48 notes - Posted November 2, 2022

#4

Here is the BIRTHDAY BOY!!!!!

I’m so sorry for my favourite boy’s day whdisnsksjajsj but yea!!!!

63 notes - Posted November 16, 2022

#3

Collection of Cactiflower doodles I’ve been working on!!! I think they’re so adorable together

67 notes - Posted October 22, 2022

#2

See the full post

68 notes - Posted October 6, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I might be stating the blindingly obvious here but:

If this entry was in September, then Mari must have died in October, probably a little later than that. You know whose birthday would have come directly after?

Kel, who was born on 11th November.

Kel, whose older brother was so severely depressed that he probably didn’t have the energy to wish him a happy birthday, forget attending a birthday party

Kel, whose two best friends were so overwhelmed by guilt that they locked themselves away

Kel, whose other friend cut herself off from the group because she already thought they weren’t mourning Mari hard enough

Which means that Kel probably spent his 12th birthday all by himself.

See the full post

1,007 notes - Posted October 8, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

Oh my God it’s so funny that my most popular post is the most depressing one, I’m wheezing

[alexandria-is-my-firstname]

@mushroomwithsomeink

After years of searching Rose and Mia's location, I think Ethan would rather hide himself and watch over Rose and Mia from the distance so he wouldn't ruin their peace, til' one fateful day,,,

Ethan caught Rose's attention, and luckily, no one was around. To make it extra, Rose was always aware of Ethan watching her and Mia all this time though not aware of Ethan being her dad yet knew he's no threat. The silly idea of Rose calling Ethan Fairy-Godmother kinda felt right in a way, referencing Aurora calling Maleficent her Fairy-Godmother from Maleficent 2014,,,

And so, Ethan embraces the title of Fairy-Godmother and Rose would secretly visit Ethan to learn about the mold and have daughter-and-father bonding (Rose being Ethan's Beasty, replaced by Jellybean, and Ethan being Rose's Fairy-Godmother). Ethan trains Rose on her mold abilities and show non-threatening simple things she could do, like growing a rose for example. In a whim, Rose created a mold rose crown for Ethan,,,

Ethan with tentacles on his head is his boss form, here's the link to the sketch(s):

Rose would later on doodle her adventures of her and Ethan, catching Mia's attention. At first, Mia feels uncomfortable about Rose's Fairy-Godmother doodles knowing from the event of RE8 (Mother Miranda & co.) but soon isn't bothered by it knowing Rose is still a kid and might as well have wild imaginations and created an imaginary friend. Dunno about Chris, perhaps he also saw Rose's doodles and felt a disturbance in the force, causing him to question the mold child and increasing reinforcements but I think he'd think that Rose's Fairy-Godmother isn't just an imaginary friend, it's Rose communicating with whoever's mind was stuck in the mold's hivemind. To prevent Rose from turning into a horror movie little girl, Chris makes sure Rose isn't effected by the hivemind's influence by mentoring her and be dad number 2.

How Ethan avoided Chris' men is by using each abilities of the 4 Lords, specifically Donna Beneviento and Heisenburger; Ethan uses Donna's hallucination spores to hide himself when roaming near Chris' men and jack their weapons and camera by using Heisenburger's magneto abilities. As Rose grows up, she eventually learns about her Fairy-Godmother - Ethan - being her dad but she as well would visit Ethan less due to her tests.

The part where Rose choked the driver dude and said she'd show whatever Chris doesn't know, she's referring to her old training with Ethan (it wasn't much dangerous but I think the true danger is Rose's creativity on how she uses her mold abilities, ain't explaining, just imagine her reconstructing weapons to her own liking),,,

Some plotful events later,,,

Either Ethan was found by the Connection, a new infection relative or the BSAA themselves, this resulted Ethan to go on a wild goose chase,,,

Rose would find a weaken Ethan and bring him to her safe haven, her and Mia's home, resulting the awaited renunion between Mia and Ethan,,,

Mia's reaction of Ethan being alive indeed emotionally horrified her, but for Ethan's monstrous form, I think she feels very guilty knowing by her experience of being infected by Evelyne from the event of RE7 - feeling and thinking that Ethan must've felt so much pain enduring the infection. Both Mia and Ethan would sob in their renunion and I guess also embrace Rose in a hug knowing the three are together again,,,

Damn,,, I dumped alot of shoob here, never knew one question would result me dumping a sort of headcanon continuation of the Father's story. I honestly wanted to draw more of Ethan and Rose's adventures but the cuteness would give me diabetes and kill me. I guess that's it for now.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Do You Tree What I Tree?

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: T Word Count: 8730

For @justmattycakes​! Happy holidays!!! Massive thanks to @spiderman-homecomeme for organizing this Spideychelle Secret Santa!

Summary: Home from their various colleges for winter break, MJ and her friends make a day out of going to cut down their own Christmas trees. Being alone in the woods—just her, Peter, and an axe—seems like the perfect opportunity to admit that her feelings for her friend have changed.

“Wine and cider!” Peter announces, jabbing a finger at the car window as they pass a rustic-looking roadside sign.

MJ smirks to herself. His touch will probably leave a smudge on the glass, which Flash will painstakingly wipe clean later. She likes Flash much more now than she did in high school—they all do—but she likes to build up a little vindictiveness towards him in advance, for when he inevitably says or does something douchey.

“Whine inside her, is that what you’d do if you could actually get a girlfriend?” Flash asks immediately. Sweet justification for MJ, though she rolls her eyes.

Flash is driving, but Betty trusts his skill enough to smack his arm from the passenger seat, then turn to smile back at Peter.

“That sounds nice. We should definitely stop on the way back.”

“Yeah,” Ned pipes up. “Maybe they’ll have a fireplace too, where we can thaw our fingers.”

“Babe, I won’t let your fingers get cold.”

“Aw, babe,” he croons, reaching over his girlfriend’s shoulder where she sits in front of him to tangle their fingers together.

“Back to your intense lack of dateability,” Flash persists. MJ swears his original asshole persona comes out so much more whenever he slides behind the wheel of his dad’s Cadillac Escalade. “Are you having a lonely winter, Parker? With only your cold lab bench to keep you warm?”

Next to MJ, Peter sighs and mutters, “Same old Flash.” She thinks he says it only to himself, but he darts a look at her and they share a smile.

“Well, I don’t have your L.A. weather,” he allows, artfully changing topic.

Flash will talk for an hour straight about the numerous perks of attending UCLA, including the constant sunshine, the short-shorts, and the absence of his current listeners. The last they all recognize to be a blatant lie, but they like him enough to let him get away with it. MJ has a special sympathy for Flash in those moments; she’s still growing from the girl she was when they were all at Midtown together, when she found it so much easier to edge away from other people or, when she did interact, to speak defensively, insultingly, and with liberal use of the middle finger. Her communication skills have flourished with not being able to see these people in person every day. She’s actually amazed with how she’s clung to them, certain she’d failed to develop the kind of solid relationships people were supposed to form in high school and that she’d just stagger forward through her fine art degree (PoliSci minor) with a wild hope of connecting to other humans through the doodles that she’s developed into graceful sketches, from sketches to oil paintings with sweep and verve.

The five of them are in their second year at their respective centres of learning now and it feels really nice to gather after living by too-brief text exchanges, missed calls, and videocalls that somebody’s roommate inevitably arrives home in the middle of, loud and invasive. When MJ’s speaking to Ned or Flash, they can push through. They have the boisterousness and, in Ned’s case, natural good nature, to conduct two separate conversations at the same time. Betty prefers to hang up and try at a better time, when they can speak uninterrupted. Peter’s different from all of the above. MJ always sees how he blushes, as though he’s being caught talking to her. It makes her flush in return. There’s no reason for them not to be as close as either of them are with any of the others, but conversations with him make her feel different. Without meaning to, their voices lower and they wander away from whatever topic they start with; on some nights, into the most intimate tracks of their inner lives. She gets why he feels caught to be interrupted because it’s disorienting for her too, being dragged back to the larger world, hearing a voice other than his in her ear. She likes traditional phone calls with him the best because she can lie in bed with her phone pressed to her ear and he doesn’t have to know.

“Are we almost there?” Ned says when Flash pauses in his rhapsodizing of Venice Beach.

MJ, sitting in the middle of the backseat, watches her friend unlock her phone and check the map.

“Yes. Under two miles to go.”

“And we’re super sure about this place?” Ned checks.

“Mhmm. A friend of a friend in my French workshop went last year and got the most spectacular Fraser fir,” Betty assures him. “I saw it at her Christmas party. That’s the one you couldn’t go to because you got the flu, remember?”

“Ugh,” he agrees.

“We passed a tree farm awhile ago,” Peter ventures. “That wasn’t it?”

“Betty told me the owners of that farm own this lot too. It’s cheaper to get your tree here because they don’t tend the lot in the same way,” MJ informs him. She likes the look on his face when he listens. She likes the feel of his leg bumping against hers as they traverse the uneven gravel sideroad.

“Yeah, I think I’ll be making up the cost difference paying for a paint job. I can hear the stone chips!” Flash complains. As if he’s ever paid for so much as a tank of gas.

“It’s an adventure, moron,” she says.

“I wasn’t prepared for stone chips.”

“I told you everything in an email last week, when we were planning this,” Betty calmly reminds him. “We should all be prepared.”

It isn’t visible to her right now, but MJ knows her friend has a shiny, compact saw at her feet, tucked into a neat black case, looking bizarrely like a tennis racket. Her own axe is trapped beneath Peter’s shoe so it doesn’t slide forward under Flash’s seat and slice the soles off his shoes. It’s quite sharp. She made sure.

“Listen,” Flash demands, “I’m the transport. Someone else can take care of the less significant details.”

“That is so fucking dumb,” Peter mumbles.

“What?”

“I said, I hope your feet don’t go numb,” he says more loudly. MJ turns her head, like she’s trying to follow the gentle backwards sweep of falling snow with her eyes when she’s really trying to hide her smile from Flash’s suspicious gaze in the rear-view mirror. “Did you wear waterproof boots and warm socks?”

“Of course. About to make winter my bitch.”

Betty twists to catch MJ’s eye.

“You wanna take this one?”

“Go for it.”

While Betty educates Flash on why that is not an acceptable thing for him to say—not with two of his female friends in the car, or ever—MJ drums her fingers on her knees. Her mittens are piled in her lap for now; despite her natural inclination to insult Flash’s ride, it heats up nicely. Plus, she’s tucked between Peter and Ned. She glances to her right to check on the latter and finds him huffing a warm breath on the window. He traces his finger through the resulting condensation, drawing a heart and writing ‘B+N’ in the middle. MJ glances at Peter and he’s already looking at her.

“So, tree?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I’ve been told to keep it under six feet. A measuring tape and a ladder might’ve been helpful, but there wouldn’t have been anyplace to put the ladder once we got the trees on the roof of this thing.” She smacks the SUV’s ceiling and Flash goes, “HEY!”

“You can just choose a taller one,” Peter suggests, “and then cut it shorter.”

“I feel bad about the waste though. It’s a living thing.”

“I can help you with that.”

“Oh yeah?” MJ’s genuinely curious. She knows May prioritizes Hanukkah customs to keep Peter’s connection to both his ethnoreligious traditions and his lost love ones strong, so she doesn’t know how a Christmas tree fits into that.

“Right before you guys picked me up, May had an idea. She thought it might be nice just to get some pine branches for, like, generic winter decorating and to make the apartment smell good.”

“That’s a really good idea.”

“Yeah. I was gonna grab scraps from where other trees had been cut down, but I can get them off whatever tree you pick instead. Or you can. You have the axe.”

“I’ll give you a turn with it if you help me drag my tree back to the car,” MJ bargains with a smile.

“I can definitely help.”

Of course he can. He could probably carry a dozen trees if he felt like it. Over his head. With all the roots and clumps of frozen earth still attached. But the thought of him hauling the tree back with her rather than for her is something she appreciates. As she nods, she gets the fluttery feeling she’s been experiencing more and more whenever he’s called her this term. Their calls have gotten longer. A younger version of herself would be amazed at the way she can now talk for hours without noticing the time slipping past. And it never feels wasted. Actually, when they aren’t talking, MJ misses Peter. She can’t completely put it into words and so she hasn’t. What she’s done, besides continue to answer every time he calls, is offer him a chance to swing the axe she brought. Romantically, there’s room for improvement.

Their overlapping winter breaks are going to end in another week and she’s scared the calls, as treasured as they’ve become to her, won’t be enough.

“There!” Betty cries. She flings her arm across the dash to point.

“That’s the woods,” Flash says, brushing her off.

“No, that’s the driveway! You’re going to pass it!”

The jarring, inelegant jerk of the wheel as he takes Betty’s directions at the last moment tips Ned into MJ and MJ into Peter. They all groan in discomfort, but Flash seems supremely pleased with himself as he straightens the tires. Off the gravel, their passage between the trees is muffled by the packed snow on the laneway other cars have driven over. There’s a dusting on top as today’s thin flurry continues to fall. As she sits up straight following Flash’s terrible Baby Driver impression, MJ feels Peter’s hand on her back, through her coat, and her face gets hot. Unable to meet his eyes in thanks, she leans towards Ned instead and the two of them stare out at the picturesque scene where low drifts spill over the ground and every pine, spruce, and fir—all dusted in white—looks like the perfect Christmas tree.

“Hats on,” Betty instructs as Flash pulls to a stop next to a pickup truck with a tarp already laid out in its bed, awaiting a tree. “Shoelace check. Gloves and mitts secure.”

“You sound like you’re prepping us to jump out of an airplane,” Flash laughs.

He swings his door open while Betty’s trying to get back into her winterwear checklist with the rest of them, letting in a gust of cold air that disturbs the warmth MJ’s hoarded as well as Betty’s good temper. She reaches across the center console and shoves Flash with both hands, pushing him straight out of the vehicle with a “WHOA!”

Betty’s nonchalant as she flips her mirror down and adjusts the positioning of her pompom hat before stepping out of the SUV herself. Peter and Ned pile out, laughing, and MJ climbs out Peter’s side. Flash is next to the car, brushing himself off.

“I’m going to get sick,” he pouts.

“Say cheese!” Ned encourages, snapping a picture as Betty runs into shot to pose next to her victim, cupping his face between her gloved hands.

“Maybe this’ll make him change his mind about the cider place,” MJ notes to Peter hopefully.

“I feel like we’d be stopping there no matter what,” he muses. “It was either making Flash fear hypothermia or Betty sneaking back to the car first and tampering with his brake line or something.”

“So, which way looks good, babe?” Ned asks his girlfriend.

As she told them, this lot isn’t the manicured family attraction the last place was. There aren’t any employees standing around—easily spotted even as they drove past the tree farm down the road in their orange crossing-guard-style vests—or a map marking which areas are which type of tree. There’s just sort of a main track that’s been tramped down by passing feet leading between trees. It’s easy to see for a ways, but beyond that, the forest grows denser. MJ knows Betty did her homework and can identify tree varieties, and she doesn’t actually care which type she gets. She’s here for the experience, and for the idiot next to her who gives her a thrill every time the nylon sleeves of their winter coats rush against each other.

“Hmm,” Betty says, and strides forward through the narrow entrance. From there, things fan out. She taps her bow saw, now loose, against the side of her leg. “Well, what would everyone like to do?”

“I’m going wherever you are,” Ned vows. She shoots him a soft smile.

“Me too,” Flash decides. “You’ll get us in and out of here fast so we can get warm. Not like Parker, who’ll probably get lost in the first five minutes.”

“What?” Peter asks, insulted. “Will not.”

“Oh yeah? How’s your sense of direction without that robot lady in your head?”

“Karen is not a robot lady, she’s an AI.”

“Same diff.”

“It is not. A robot lady is like what they have on The Jetsons.”

“Whatever. Point is, without your GPS, I don’t trust you.”

“Well,” Peter counters, “we can just look at our phones.”

“Already tried that,” Flash informs him. “I don’t get a signal out here.”

Regardless, the rest of them check.

“That’s alright,” Betty persists, trying to be chipper to maintain group morale, MJ’s sure. “It’s daylight, the snow’s not coming down hard, and nobody’s going off alone. Now, Flash, Ned, and I are going that way.” She points, then glances from MJ to Peter. “Do you guys want to stick with us, or…?”

MJ opens her mouth and looks to Peter, shuffling beside her and doing some sort of best-friend telepathy with Ned, based on the stupid, scrunched up looks on their faces. Is he going to say something? He’ll probably want to stay with Ned. It’ll be weird if she speaks up for both of them. But if she doesn’t, when are they going to talk, just the two of them? Since they’ve all been back in the city, everything’s been done in a group—buying presents for friends and relatives, going skating, getting hot chocolate, attending Flash’s ugly holiday t-shirt party (L.A.-themed, so no sweaters allowed). The woods though. The woods are quiet and friendly and private. Snow muffles sound, fresh air and cold wake her up and fill her lungs until they burn with everything she’d say to Peter if she just had this opportunity. No Ned and Betty hanging back to offer encouraging looks, no Flash to ruin everything with a terribly timed innuendo. MJ just needs Peter. Just her and Peter. Please, dork, she thinks, don’t say Ned.

The words come from her.

“I think Peter and I’ll go that way,” she declares, nodding sharply in a direction that isn’t Betty’s.

“Yeah,” Peter adds.

Oh, thank god, MJ thinks.

“He’s gonna get you lost,” Flash warns. He’s already stamping his feet like he’s freezing to death on the spot, though the cold isn’t that bad with the tree cover. “Then he’ll go nuts in the woods.”

“I have an axe,” MJ reminds him flatly. She glances at Peter. “Bring it.”

Peter snorts a laugh.

“No one will be re-enacting anything that remotely resembles The Shining,” Betty instructs. “Meet back here in, how long, do you think?”

“Depends,” Flash says. “How long should we wait before declaring those two missing and sending out a search party, of which I will not be a member, but will be happy to direct from the comfort of the Escalade with a hot drink in my hand and my feet against the heating vent.”

“Dude, don’t do that,” Ned pleads. “You’ll make the whole car smell like your feet.”

“My ride, my rules.”

“Should we just…?” Peter asks MJ. She nods.

“Let’s go.”

“Ok, um, an hour!” Betty decides.

Peter gives her a thumbs up and the two of them follow the path as it diverges, then cut away again, wading through ankle-deep snow where no other tree-hunter has walked today. The sound of Flash goading the other two fades. MJ stops for a minute and turns to watch them march into the trees. She takes a deep breath in and out.

“You good?” Peter asks.

“Yeah.” She hefts the axe onto her shoulder to look more lumberjack-esque (and so she doesn’t slice it into her calf as she walks). “Come on.”

Despite promises to share, she refuses to surrender the tool any sooner than she must. Soon enough, she’s huffing, face passing through damp clouds of her own breath and chilling her flushed cheeks and frozen nose. Balancing her temperature out here is a tricky thing; as long as they keep moving, as they are, she stays warm, but with Peter crunching along in the snow beside her, she’s too warm. MJ bites her mitt between her teeth and unzips her coat a little to let the brisk air circulate around the back of her sweaty neck.

“You’re not gonna catch cold?” Peter asks solicitously.

She shakes her head.

“Ok,” he says, “but it’d be just like you to get sick and say nothing about it while Flash complains all the way home that he is sick when nothing’s wrong with him.”

“The only thing he’s suffering through is his body’s natural rejection of us. He spent too many years thinking he was better than we are just to end up right here, hacking down Christmas trees together.”

“Probably caroling,” Peter guesses.

“Probably. He claims his favourite holiday song is the instrumental version of ‘Carol of the Bells,’ but that has to be a lie.”

“My money’s on something super cheesy.”

“Mine too,” MJ agrees with a grin.

Gradually, she slows, taking in the pine trees around them. Her guesstimation is that some of these go up to ten or twelve feet, but there are shorter options tucked in between. Younger, or those that maybe didn’t get as much light as they grew. She wipes the back of her mittened hand across her forehead, pushing her slipping fleece headband back where it’s been sliding forward.

“So,” she asks, “any of this look good to you?”

She lowers her gaze to find Peter hastily averting his from her face.

“That one?” he says, pointing to a tree at random.

“Peter, that one’s longer than Flash’s SUV.”

“Oh. Right. Um, ok…”

Focusing now, she watches his upturned face and the serious expression that sinks into it, the way snow’s been sinking into her hair. Maybe Betty was right about wearing a hat, though Betty’s hair is also significantly flatter than hers and thus more conducive to hat-wearing. Well, it’ll be fine. They aren’t stranded or anything and the snow’s not getting to them as much as it was when they had to walk across the clearing to reach this stand of trees. They’re sheltered here. As MJ hoped, it’s quiet.

Instead of asking Peter how much of his remaining holiday he’d like to spend with her, or how he feels when she forces him to hang up the phone first (he must notice), or why, exactly, he was so quick to agree to go off into the woods with her when he could just as easily have insisted they all stay together, she criticizes the first tree he takes genuine interest in.

“Crooked.”

“Too dense.”

“Too sparse.”

“Weird empty area.”

“I swear to god, something moved in there, Peter. I do not want a fucking National Lampoon Christmas, ok? My mom will freak out if I bring a live squirrel into our home.”

He’s laughing at her when they finally spot one that looks pretty good: shorter but not squat, full but with soft, long needles rather than nasty ones bent on treating them both to non-consensual acupuncture if they stand too close. It doesn’t look sickly or as though it’s currently inhabited by birds or rodents.

“So young,” MJ does note, assessing its size in comparison to a taller tree a yard away. “Oh well.” She raises the axe and adjusts her grip.

Peter goes scrambling backwards, almost slipping, then tries to pretend he was only calmly moving out of the way, that he is not afraid of the radius of her swing. When he starts babbling about how quickly his body could probably heal from an axe wound (though, with all the crazy shit he gets up to, that’s actually not something he’s experienced yet), she finally laughs at him.

“Relax,” she says. “You can just hold the branches up at the bottom while I chop through the trunk.”

Fearless—and even more determined to prove it now that she’s given Peter a scare—MJ drops to the snow and wriggles under the tree, as close as she thinks she should be while still being able to swing the axe. Peter’s hand makes her jump. She whips her head around, nearly getting a clump of needles in the eye, but he’s only skimming her coat by accident as he gathers the lowest branches away from her. As she asked. Right, he’s not touching her on purpose and he’s not even doing the not-touching activity on purpose but because she told him to. He’s trying to help. Frustrating.

She props herself up on her elbow and takes an awkward whack at the tree. The blade sinks into the bark like it’s supposed to, but it’s still somehow surprising to feel the give. MJ takes a few more tentative swings and the axe sinks deeper, requiring some force to yank it out again. She grunts and hears Peter crouch down behind her.

“Is it going ok? Can I do anything?”

“Umm, maybe be prepared to pull the top of the tree in the other direction so it doesn’t fall on my head. I think I’m almost halfway.”

“Yes, please don’t make it fall on your head,” he requests.

“It won’t as long as you do your job,” she promises gruffly, hewing in once more.

“Do you think this would be easier with a saw?” Peter’s voice is higher now, coming from the other side of the tree. Though the branches fell when he changed position, she can feel them only resting lightly on her as he holds the top of the tree away. Probably standing on his toes.

“Don’t say anything against my axe.”

“I’m not! I was just thinking out loud!”

“A saw,” MJ informs him with another swing, “is not as badass.”

“Good point.”

But is he just agreeing because the tree’s starting to topple and the final swings to break through it take her blade closer to his shins as he dances out of the way? Maybe.

She clambers out and, with the tree now on an angle, is able to chop from an upright position, down on a diagonal until she buries her axe in the snow, then yanks it free.

“Oh, you can lay it down,” MJ tells Peter when she realizes he’s standing there with his arms full of tree, face hidden as he keeps his head pulled back from the branches.

He does so gently and then they stand there in triumph. MJ hurls her axe into the ground.

“Would you quit that?” Peter requests, jumpy.

She grins.

“Sorry. Just really feeling this.”

“I can tell.”

They took their time making their selection and can do one of two things next: either trim the branches for Peter to take home to May right here or drag the tree back to Flash’s SUV and perform the necessary amputations there. They do neither. MJ shrugs her shoulders and flexes her fingers inside her mittens, exorcising the tension of gripping the axe’s handle. She turns, glancing casually around, but really looking for something invisible—a reason to stay. A rational delay before rejoining the others.

“Hold still,” Peter says, as she’s looking back the way they came. The way she thinks they came. They stomped around this area, circling every tree, for a while, so the footprints are a little confused.

“What? If you try to tell me there’s a squirrel in my hair, I’m not going to believe you.”

He smiles softly.

“No squirrel, just snow.”

She stares at her friend warily as he approaches, then sweeps snow from her headband. That’s when she realizes one side of her coat is soaked from lying on the ground. It can’t get through though, it’s just the outer layer. Still, Peter walks a complete circle around her, wiping snow away.

“There,” he says.

MJ sighs.

“Peter…”

“Yeah?”

His face is so open as he looks at her, flakes flying around and between them. Her heart squeezes almost painfully because there have been so many days of not seeing his face without the assistance of a screen. Now that he’s here, it’s too much.

“Umm… how many branches do you think May wants?”

MJ crouches and puts her back to him, feigning being deep in concentration over the fresh Christmas corpse splayed out in the snow. She feels like a detective at a crime scene. Peter exhales heavily behind her, then drops to her level.

“More is probably better, right? She’ll probably take some in to work or try to give them to the neighbours anyway.”

“True.” They both reach for the axe. “Go ahead,” MJ says, quickly withdrawing her hand.

Peter shaves off what he thinks May might like—plus at least an armload more—in quick slices and snips.

“Jeeze, this thing is sharp.”

“I know,” she says proudly.

“I want one. For the suit, I mean. You think that could work?”

“Well, you already have a bunch of less probable-sounding features, so why not a spider with an axe made of webs?”

“Ned’s gonna be so excited when I tell him.”

“I’m excited,” she says, maybe a little too forcefully. It’s not a competition. She doesn’t think he’s already forgotten about her. There’s just some kind of glitch in her brain-to-mouth connection that no Spidey tech could possibly fix.

“I think we’re ahead of schedule,” Peter tells her.

He pulls out his phone to check the time while MJ cleaves into the fallen tree’s trunk, cutting it down to a size more suited to transport and her family’s apartment.

“We could do this in two trips,” he presses. “Take the tree and come back for the branches? Or vice versa?”

“I think we can manage it in one.”

She glances at him and he looks mildly frantic.

“Or two,” MJ amends. “Two would be better.”

Are they finally going to talk? That has to be the reason for Peter stretching this out, doesn’t it? But he moves quickly to grip the lowest branches of the tree, down where MJ severed it, and she grabs those on the opposite side of the trunk. After a jerk to get it going, they slide the tree smoothly over the snow, leaving a fine trail of needles. It occurs to her, as they walk, that she was worried about this part on the way in here, that the tree might pick up dirt from where others have walked, but the ground looks fresh and sparkling in the sun. That’s not familiar.

“Peter? Are we going the right way?”

“What? Yeah. Aren’t we? We have to be. Because the sun was…”

He gestures very unconvincingly overhead and her heart plummets in her chest. For once, not because she’s scared of saying something about her feelings for him and hearing they aren’t reciprocated, but because what Peter’s not saying directly is that they might be lost. And the worst part of that scenario is Flash being right. No, no, no, Peter will not make Flash right, not today.

“It’s been snowing,” she reviews. Stupid and obvious, but facts are soothing to her. “How much do you think it’s snowed? Not that much, right? It can’t have. We must’ve just started walking the wrong way.”

“Definitely. Ok, let’s turn around.”

So, they swing the tree with them and strike out in the opposite direction, not going very quickly as they navigate the trees. They pass the stump they lately created and MJ plucks her axe from the snow on the way past. It just makes her feel better, having it.

Unfortunately, this way isn’t correct either.

“Alright,” she says slowly. “What the fuck.”

“Let’s leave the tree for a minute.”

They set it down. She realizes she’s sweating.

“How could we be lost? How could you be lost?”

“There aren’t exactly landmarks,” Peter says. “It’s just… trees.”

“Maybe we should’ve gone to a place with signposts and neat little rows.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

He wanders over to her, watching her with careful eyes.

“I wasn’t this cold when I called today an adventure.”

“Maybe you should zip your coat back up.”

But she’s too warm and uncomfortable to do that just to challenge how he’s calling her bluff.

“Are you scared?” he asks. “You don’t need to be scared. I think we did a lot of circling. We didn’t walk too far in any one direction. I could climb a tree and look around?”

“Climb a tree? One of these trees? The ones covered in snow with the thin branches and the spiky needles?”

“Hey,” Peter jokes, hitting her arm with his elbow, “you’re supposed to be cheering me on.”

“I…” She closes her mouth. He frowns.

“Is something wrong?”

“We’re lost and Flash is going to gloat.”

“Besides that.”

“You’re trying really hard to get us out of here.” That should be a compliment, a commendation, but it sounds accusing as it leaves her mouth. MJ feels on-edge, heart beating all wrong.

“…Should I not be?”

God, she’s being strange. She can feel herself being strange. Everything’s aligning to buy her more time and she’s panicking trying to work out what to do with it. The snow is falling softly all around and she’s auditioning to play the most awkward protagonist in the history of Hallmark holiday movies.

“Are you looking forward to going back?” MJ asks abruptly.

“To the car?”

“To school. In January.”

“Umm, kinda? I mean, it’s going well. But you know that, we talked about this stuff the other day when you and Ned were over at May’s.”

“Yeah.” She’s thinking, staring down at her cut tree, debating how to mention that there’s one thing they didn’t talk about, that she couldn’t bring up, because she felt strange about doing it with Ned there. She goes to continue, unsure of her phrasing, but ready to push onward, when Peter answers, looking thoughtfully up at the pale-grey snow clouds.

“It’s really nice to be home, but I also don’t like living in the past.”

He glances at her to see what she thinks. She’s noticed that he does that a lot, when they’re on a video call. Sometimes, she teases him about it—the way he makes certain assertions sound like questions because he wants her input, values her opinion, thinks of her as wiser than him (she is) though he’s the genius playing around at the upper end of the grading curve in all of his classes.

“Sorry, what were you gonna say?” he asks, spotting the unfinished thought in her expression, how she holds her eyebrows a little too tightly together.

MJ shakes her head.

“It’s nice to have you home.” As Peter’s beginning to smile, swaying slightly towards her, she rambles on, “It’s nice to have everyone home. I mean, I could go longer between having to see Flash in person, but what can you do, right? It’s worth it to have Ned home. And Betty. And you.”

She swallows.

“There!” he shouts, pointing past her. She squints.

“What is it?”

“Our tracks.”

Trusting his superior eyesight, MJ troops after him. Sure enough, their deep treads from earlier are still faintly present—now gentle indents as the snowfall works to even everything out again.

“But we don’t have to hurry back,” Peter says. She avoids his eyes.

“Except we probably do, now that we’ve wasted time being lost.”

“We were never actually lost.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself so you can sleep at night, Spider-Man. Help me with the tree.”

He does, then hightails it back to collect May’s branches once MJ’s in the clearing with only the little trail left between her and the makeshift parking lot. She pulls her bounty along and through the gap, suddenly back with the rest of her friends.

“Did you manage to lose Parker out there?” Flash asks immediately. “Nice. Up top.”

She rolls her eyes instead of meeting his hand in a high five.

“He just had to go back for something,” MJ explains, expressly for the benefit of Ned and Betty.

“What’d he do, drop some of you guys’ sexual tension in the woods?”

Flushing with the sting in the air and self-consciousness, she walks past Flash. Just close enough to drag the tree over his feet and make him start whining about getting dirt on his blindingly-white designer snow boots. When his complaints cut off, she knows she’s in trouble. It’s like the sudden silence in a horror movie that you just know means nothing good.

“Never mind,” Flash says loudly. “Sexual tension present and accounted for.”

MJ whirls around to see Peter’s arrived and is staring at her with a pleading look on his face. Or he was, until Flash’s words sunk in. Surely, Peter’s fast enough to snatch his keys, toss them to Betty, and have them all climb into the SUV and wheel outta here, leaving Flash behind? But during the holidays? She’d feel bad. He’s lucky.

“Can we just get the trees loaded?” Peter asks, moving to help MJ pull hers closer to demonstrate that it’s not so much a question for Flash as a demand for him to shut the hell up. Flash probably doesn’t understand. He’d need tact for that.

“Fine. And not a scratch on the Escalade,” Flash commands.

He opens the trunk to reveal a set of carefully folded tarps; they’re too ratty to actually belong to him, so MJ’s betting that they’re Betty’s or Ned’s. Those two went on a big, romantic camping trip together right after high school graduation, so these could be remnants. The first tarp crinkles in Peter’s hands as he pulls it out and unfolds it. Beneath the second—removed by Ned—there’s a Burberry blanket protecting the SUV from the tarps. Honestly. Momentarily forgetting about their awkward moment in the forest, MJ catches Peter’s eye and nods at the blanket. The two of them start laughing and soon, Betty and Ned have spotted them and are laughing too. Flash is perplexed, which, as always, is when he gets grouchy and defensive.

“Can we pick up the pace, people?” he requests. “I need a hot drink and an even hotter fire. I can barely feel my fingers.”

“Wait.” MJ frowns and pauses in assisting Peter with dragging the longest tarp onto the roof of the SUV. “I have a tree, Ned and Betty each have trees… Flash, where’s your tree?”

She turns her head and notices Ned just cutting off a gesture of slicing a hand across his throat to insist on her not finishing that question. Betty sighs and explains.

“Flash’s service came back while we were out there.”

“Dude,” Peter huffs, stretching to reach and finish tugging the tarp into place, “you had service? You could’ve texted us to see if we were, I don’t know, lost.”

“This should come as no surprise to you, Parker,” Flash says snootily, “but I had other priorities.”

“Oh yeah?” MJ questions suspiciously.

“He went online and bought an artificial tree,” Betty says with a roll of her eyes.

“Sacrilege.”

“More like brilliance,” Flash corrects. “It has snow-encrusted branches, pre-strung lights, and the thing isn’t gonna die in a week, so it’s better for the environment.”

“Isn’t it plastic?” MJ checks in a slow voice, waiting for him to catch on.

“Yeah.”

“Then the process used to produce it created harmful emissions and when you find it next year and decide to throw it out because you’re no longer ‘feelin’ it’ or whatever excuse you have, it’ll go straight in the trash and from there to one of the many, many local and international landfills that house our city’s waste.”

“You’re pretty judgy for a girl who just fucking murdered a tree.”

“I did my research,” MJ counters easily. “This is a sustainably managed forest. They maintain the trees, protect new growth and transplant saplings every spring to ensure the health of not only the cash crop, but the forest as a whole. Pre-light that, dickhead.”

Feeling flustered, she goes to give Betty and Ned a hand with positioning their tree on the roof. MJ stands on the ledge offered by the open trunk and stabilizes the tree while the others guide it into position.

“Tension,” she hears Flash diagnose under his breath. He’s smart enough to not meet her eye when she glares down at him.

They encounter a small problem while loading the second tree: both Betty and Ned have selected especially full specimens. Side by side, they take up the entire roof, and MJ’s tree is still on the ground with Peter’s mountain of branches, waiting to be slung onboard.

“I don’t think it’ll fit,” Ned says after jumping into the air twice to take a look at the available space (none).

“Neither do I,” she agrees. “Guess it’s going in the trunk.”

“In the trunk?” Flash is there in a, well, flash. He slipped into the driver’s seat, ostensibly to doublecheck their route home, but really to start his seat-warmer and turn the Christmas radio station back on. His distress is juxtaposed against a jazzy rendition of ‘Winter Wonderland.’

“Yeah. There’s nowhere else.”

“Guys, please. Are you trying to get back at me for the sexual tension comment? It’s forgotten. I lied. No tension here. Cut the act and tell me that thing’s going on the roof with the others.”

“While ‘that thing’ is a capitalist nexus, it’s also a precious symbol of everything I love about Christmas,” MJ says firmly, “and it’s going in the trunk of this SUV.”

“Guys?” Flash glances at the other three, but nobody sides with him.

“Don’t worry, Flash,” Betty says kindly. “We won’t use the second tarp to go on top of the roof trees, we’ll line the trunk with it instead. There won’t be any needles, I promise.”

That is definitely not a promise she can make, and MJ’s sure her friend is aware, but she’s taking a shortcut to winning this standoff and MJ admires that. The placating seems to wash over Flash like the spirit of Christmas over Scrooge McDuck. Suddenly, he’s smiling.

“Yeah. We can do that. Of course. But.” Oh no. The smile’s warping. Flash is about to be an asshole again, MJ can see it coming fast on the horizon. “The tree’s going to take up more space than just the trunk.”

MJ peers into the SUV. Shit. He’s probably right.

“Oh,” says Betty, not getting the issue, “well, we can fold the seats down, right? The tree isn’t that tall. Come on, guys, we’ve had real problems. This is nothing!”

She beams at them and Ned wraps an arm around her, hugging her to his side.

“We’ll lose a seat in the back,” MJ says.

She’s profoundly annoyed by the satisfaction on Flash’s face as she’s the one to say the words, point out the obvious. Isn’t she always? It feels like her role in this friend group and she never minds that, never has until this very situation and its inevitable conclusion.

“Somebody’s gotta sit on somebody else’s lap,” Flash singsongs. “And it’s not me because I’m the driver!”

The other four look at each other.

“Betty,” Ned begins, “you and I could…”

“But she needs to be in the front to navigate,” Flash irritatingly points out, “and before you say it, you shouldn’t double up in the front. It’s not safe.”

Maybe they can back over him when they steal his ride and drive out of here, MJ theorizes. She sighs. Loudly. Vexedly.

“I’ll sit on Peter.”

She proceeds to make eye contact with none of them, just fishes a sloppy coil of rope out of the back and works with Betty to feed it over the trees and through the windows. Some cold air will blow into the SUV, but that won’t matter so much to her, she guesses, since she’ll have the benefit of Peter’s body heat. Who needs a seat-warmer when you can have an actual human lap? Ugh, no, not funny, but she tried to consider it in a way that doesn’t make her want to volunteer to sit in the trunk with her tree.

Finally, they lift her tree and Peter’s branches inside, position them, and shut the trunk. Flash is whistling ‘Carol of the Bells’ as he practically skips to the driver’s seat. Betty, far more compassionate, gives MJ a reassuring look before she gets in. Then Peter climbs into the back, taking the middle seat, and glances at her, lingering in the snow. She groans to herself and folds into the car as Ned gives her an encouraging pat on the back.

Maneuvering is awkward. Peter cranes his neck back like his whole body is leaning to make room for her, but it’s not possible—he’s already pressed back against the seat. She sits. He rustles beneath and behind her. Before she can panic and insist on walking home, Ned gets in and slams the door closed (Flash complains).

“Uh,” Peter starts, “do you wanna shift forward so I can buckle my—”

“Absolutely not. If we’re sharing a seat, we’re sharing a seatbelt. I don’t want to end this excursion by flying through the windshield when Flash swerves the car off the road because he sees a snowdrift that looks like a butt or something.”

“Hey! I’m an excellent driver,” he complains, starting the car.

“I could just, like, hold onto you?” Peter offers.

MJ’s heartbeat rockets. She presses the top of her head to the ceiling to ground herself.

“No. We’re using the seatbelt.”

Peter stretches it away from the seat and holds it for her to grab; she passes it back for him to fasten. The second it clicks into place, Flash throws the SUV into reverse and hits the gas. Peter must move his head away from behind hers because MJ’s genuinely surprised not to feel his nose break against the back of her skull.

“Excellent driver, huh?” she questions flatly.

“There was ice.”

“Sure there was.”

Flash winks at her in the rear-view mirror and instead of siding with her, MJ catches Ned chuckling.

“I’m sorry, but it’s funny. You guys look ridiculous seatbelted together,” he says.

But she doesn’t feel so much ridiculous as confused and on alert, swaying with Flash’s accelerations and decelerations (thankfully minor compared to how he started off). Every time, Peter’s hands jump to grab her: shoulders, waist, legs. Once, he grabs her hands and even though she still has her mittens on, dripping melting snow onto the seat on one side and the tree branch she’s clutching on the other, it’s startling.

“Sit still,” Peter tells her when she jerks out of his hold.

“You sit still.”

He laughs.

“I can’t go anywhere—you’re sitting on me.”

“Then try having less bony legs,” she suggests, though they both know the nerd has more muscle mass in one of his legs than the rest of the SUV’s occupants have in their entire bodies combined.

“Right up here!” Betty directs. “We have to pay.”

MJ sags gratefully into Peter, relaxed for the first moment of the short drive from the lot to the tree farm. She tenses up again when they pull in and Betty offers to be the one to hop out and pay for their trees. There is no reprieve from Peter’s lap. She hands over her cash to her friend with a sigh and listens while the trees are removed from the roof, shaken by a machine to rid them of loose needles, and replaced for transport home. When the trunk opens and the tree farm guy slides MJ’s little tree free, she shivers at the cold air blowing in.

“Take off your mitts and put your hands by the vent,” Peter suggests.

MJ looks around and sees that the only vent she can reach is the one their feet are bracketing, down by the floor. She fights the grip of the seatbelt to bend forward. Ah. Hot air on her freezing fingers, plus, she’s out of the draft coming through the open trunk.

“This is better. Thanks, dork.”

She glances back and spots the stricken look on her friend’s face as he watches her, still seated on his lap, but now bent over. MJ sits swiftly upright.

“I’m actually not that cold,” she says, spine rigid beneath her coat and her sweaters.

Peter sighs and, while Ned’s looking out the window to watch her tree get vibrated and wrapped, tentatively offers MJ his hands. If Ned notices that they’re holding hands when the SUV is completely repacked and they’re on their way to the place with the wine and cider, he doesn’t say a word about it. It’s shared body heat. It’s a survival tactic. That’s what MJ tells herself as she finds her and Peter’s fingers moving gently from a perfunctory clasp to intertwining.

They stay that way until Flash pulls off the road at the cider spot, which turns out to be an apple orchard. Well, more than just the orchard; there’s a whole barn here, but fancy, with a designated lot and possibly a restaurant inside.

“This is so cute!” Betty says.

MJ concentrates on shaking her hands out of Peter’s before Flash puts the SUV in park and turns around to see them.

The two of them are the last out of the car and she’s stiff with the silence, listening to their friends laugh and gripe about the cold (Flash) as they wait with Ned’s door open. Before MJ can push through her thoughts and fears to say anything, Peter’s arm comes around her. Her eyes widen. …And he unbuckles the seatbelt. Probably just because she was taking too long. She slips over into Ned’s vacant seat and is about to scramble out when Peter catches her hand. MJ turns.

“Will you tell them we’ll meet them inside?” he requests.

Heart hammering, she relays the message, then looks on as Ned and Betty hustle Flash through the doors before can make another of his unwelcome comments or otherwise interfere.

“I think we really need to talk,” Peter says, after MJ pulls the door closed to preserve what little heat is left in the vehicle.

“We talk all the time,” she argues. She thinks, Yes, please talk to me.

“About a lot of stuff. You know, most stuff.” He wedges his fingers under the edge of his hat to run them nervously through his hair.

“That’s a generalization, but a fair one.”

“But, you know, lately, I’ve been, uh, wishing that we could talk about…”

“…even more stuff?” MJ guesses, hopes.

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

“You know, our schools aren’t that far apart,” he says, like it’s the first time he’s realizing this.

She smiles wryly.

“I’m aware. That’s why I came out for Thanksgiving first year when you couldn’t make it back to Queens. Even if we did eat take-out shrimp Pad Thai instead of homecooked turkey.”

“And,” Peter adds, “it’s why I showed up at your dorm to help you study for that midterm you were stressing about in October.”

“And why I picked up when you called me every night,” MJ says, quieter. He smiles softly.

“I was talking about the distance.”

Summoning her courage, she looks him right in the eye and lets her still-uncovered hand sneak back over his.

“What distance?”

“You’re my best friend,” Peter starts. “You and Ned.” MJ frowns. Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit, she’s misjudged this, seriously misjudged this.

“Oh. Well. Great. Cool.”

“No, MJ!” he says quickly, noticing the look on her face. He flips his hand under hers so their palms meet. “I’m definitely in love with you, I just mean… Well, oops, I guess I said it.”

She’s pretty impressed with her own control over her facial features—maintaining a slightly-happier-than-neutral expression—when half of her brain is setting off fireworks that seem to be landing and fizzing around on the other half. He’s in love with her. Definitely.

“For as fast as your mind works, your mouth always manages to get ahead of it,” she observes.

Peter’s expression goes from tortured and fumbling to sharp and decisive.

“That’s good advice.”

“What? That wasn’t advi—”

He darts forward and kisses her, hand emphatically clutching hers. There’s a humorous smack when their mouths separate.

“Oh my god,” Peter says, “I forgot to ask if it was ok to do that.”

MJ smirks.

“My only complaint is that you beat me to it when I’ve been trying to figure out how to do that all day.”

“I did wonder,” he admits with a small smile.

“And you couldn’t have helped me out?” she asks, exasperated.

“A big part of being friends with you is knowing you rarely need help. You’re good, like, ninety percent of the time.”

“What do you do the other ten percent?”

Peter shrugs.

“Kiss you and ask if you have plans for New Year’s? By the way, do you have plans for New Year’s?”

He tries to adopt a casual expression but now that MJ thinks about it, she can’t recall the last time her friend looked at her with anything like mild interest. He can’t pull it off anymore, if he ever could. Apparently, she wasn’t always watching that well, because she clearly didn’t know everything.

Peter loves her. He loves her.

“I have a feeling I’ll probably be available,” she tells him. “I have a bad habit of trying to be where you are.”

“I love that about you.”

MJ kisses him quickly, then shoves him away, nearly into the pine tree resting on his other side. Whoops. It’s just that she can feel how easy it would be to get caught up in this moment, and they’re still in the back of Flash’s SUV. People are waiting for them. She takes a deep breath and gives Peter a searching look.

“If we walk in there like this—” She shakes their clasped hands. “—what do I say?”

“Tell them your hands were cold.”

“I… I don’t want to hide it, I just…”

“I know. It’s ok. It’s new.”

“Yeah.”

Peter nods sympathetically. He’s her friend first; he’s not going to push her to speak before she’s ready. (He probably knows he couldn’t if he wanted to.)

She hauls the door open and they stride through the snowy parking lot together. The sun’s already struggling to come out and flakes whip high into the air, catching in the light. They step inside the building to see brightness streaming through the windows, their trio of friends crowded around a table. Flash seems to be making Ned sprinkle cinnamon into his hot apple cider while he films it—presumably to post for the enjoyment of the Flash Mob. (That’s still going. He has a shocking number of followers.) Betty turns and her gaze slips down to their joined hands. She smiles.

MJ has the excuse ready. When Flash and Ned glance over, she’s prepared to tell them her hands were cold.

She opens her mouth.

“Peter’s my boyfriend now.”

[softjeon]

Falling for you | Pt. 3

• Pairing: Jimin x Namjoon • Genre: fluff, nsfw-content | Rating: Mature | Christmas!AU / Curse!AU • Words: 12k | AO3 • Disclaimer: mentioning of blood, accidents, alcohol

written with @cassiavioletblue​

↳  Everyone told him that love was the highest aim, that it was what completes you and made you happy…but he was never lucky like that. It just took a piece of him and left scars on his heart every time. He was done with that. He had given up on love a long time ago so he should stick to it or else not only he would be affected.

« previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter »

It was a beautiful winter evening; a crisp cold breeze blew around him when he hurried into the massive building again, shaking himself as if he could get rid of the cold like that. With a smile, and a nod towards the doorman, Jungkook went up to Namjoon’s apartment. In his head, he went through their ‘to-do-list’ again, making sure he wouldn’t forget a thing.

“Merry Christmas!” He yelled happily, when the metal doors opened, and he walked in with an even bigger smile. “Or almost Christmas!”

Namjoon just looked up briefly, not really bothered by Jungkook's vocal proclamation of his love for Christmas because he was used to it. “What’s up with you, you don’t even have your reindeer antlers on yet.” He commented dryly - which was not something he had made up. Jungkook did actually own a pair of small, velveteen, light brown antlers that were fixed on a small headband that was decorated further with bits and pieces of dried wintery flowers and moss. 

The headband easily vanished under his fluffy hair and so it looked as if the antlers and flowers were sprouting from his head. He’s head business partners who didn’t know Jungkook do a double take on him and then carefully ask if he was a hired actor in some winter play.

“I knew you liked that one!” Jungkook laughed happily, as he joined Namjoon at the kitchen table. “I should get you a pair as well. You’d look so cute in it.” Placing a few folders in front of Namjoon, he leaned his chin on his hand, blinking at his boss dreamily. “Reaaaally cute.” He cooed, before adding a little more seriously. “Those are the ideas from your team for the summer designs.” They were always two steps ahead of the others and while it was Christmas they were already planning their summer releases, the decorations for the stores or the color schemes. Namjoon was a perfectionist.

When Namjoon took the folders without even looking at them, but kept doodling on his tablet, Jungkook leaned in a little more. “What are you drawing?”

“Nothing!” Namjoon flipped the tablet shut so quickly he hit himself on the hand with it. Initially he had started a design for a new couch, but his mind had used ‘couch’ as cue to wander into different territory… like how Jimin had fallen asleep in his arms completely and how he had wished he could stay like this all night but had to get up because of the driver and the fact that he just couldn’t stay there without having been invited by Jimin before. So, he had moved carefully to the side, inch by inch until he could place Jimin down softly and then had walked into the bathroom on his tiptoes to get rid of the waste and get a soft, damp towel to clean Jimin up. Jimin was apparently a heavy sleeper because he hadn’t even woken up, just sighed comfortably and curled a little tighter on the couch. Namjoon had placed the blanket that they had been laying on in the beginning but had fallen down somewhen over Jimin’s body, amazed by the fact that he could wrap Jimin up in it completely. The younger had looked so soft and tiny curled up there on the couch that Namjoon had leaned down and stolen one last, sweet kiss.

Then he had left the apartment with heated cheeks….

Somehow his hand had started to transfer those memories onto the screen, and he had started to draw a person onto the sketch of his couch - luckily not detailed enough for it to be recognized as Jimin.

Jungkook leaned back, confusion written all over his face when Namjoon reacted like that. The other always shared ideas with him. When Namjoon got up, he hurried after him, a million and one questions on his mind. And he couldn’t wait to squeeze the answers out of his boss or snatch his tablet away. There was definitely not ‘nothing’.

…

Jimin took a deep breath but no matter how many times he did, his heart didn’t seem to calm down. He had spent twenty minutes worrying and wrecking his mind whether he had a fever dream or if it really happened – but the bruises around his hips (and his shin, from where he had slipped) showed the truth.

He had slept with Kim Namjoon.

The Kim Namjoon.

His boss.

Hayoung’s Boss.

A curse slipped from him when he pushed down the button of the elevator. He still had a job to do and even though it was only a couple more days, Jimin was really worried. Couldn’t he just stick with the invitation for the Christmas party? Or spending Christmas together? Why didn’t he just marry him right away? Jimin groaned, hating his thoughts for spiraling so fast, making him even more nervous.

What if this was just a onetime thing for Namjoon? No big deal, where he just moved on? Jimin bit his lip. The ring of the elevator sound signaling that he was on his level. When he walked in, he could hear faint noises coming from Namjoon’s office and Jimin’s heart skipped a beat. Quickly, he turned around, putting his own belongings aside to get out the cleaning supplies.

“Oh, I need your signature for the check.” Jungkook’s voice startled Jimin effectively and he hit his head on the cupboard lightly, when the younger one came out of the office, followed by Namjoon. Neither hadn’t seen him yet. “It’s for the Christmas party. I booked a karaoke machine and ordered all kinds of Christmas shaped cookies. You should really come this year. It will be even better than last year!”

“I actually might...” Namjoon murmured, trying to ease himself into it and hoping that Jungkook wouldn’t yell at him in surprise right away. He was focused on holding Jungkook clipboard with the check while singing and walking at the same time that he only saw Jimin when they were pretty close. He froze up. He hadn’t expected to have Jungkook by his side when he’d see Jimin again. Should he pretend that nothing happened so that Jimin and he had the option to talk later in peace? Did Jimin even want to talk about it?

Jungkook, always quick to pick up on mood changes of his boss eyed him warily. What was even more suspicious though was that Jimin behaved strangely as well. “Is... everything okay?”

Jimin was all ears, when Jungkook made it sound as if Namjoon hadn’t been at the Christmas party the years before, remembering their conversation in the elevator. He was still rubbing the back of his head, when they both stared at each other, a little too long for it to seem normal.

“H-hi,” He finally managed to say. “I’m cleaning the floors!” Jimin was about to smack himself hard for that stupid statement, when all of them knew he was there to clean. His cheeks were red and hot, and he quickly turned around to fill up the bucket with water, glad for some distraction.

“Yeah...that’s...kind of obvious?” Jungkook looked back to his boss who seemed still securely rooted to the floor and back to Jimin who was blushing brightly. “Oh! Uhm, boss, I’m really sorry but I just remembered that I forgot something on the second floor. I’ll catch up with you later?” He patted Namjoon on the back, hoping it would encourage him to do something other than standing around silently and then he hurried back to the elevator. It was really difficult to fight the instinct to look over his shoulder to see what they were doing or to hide in the next office to listen in on them.

“So, is this your first year or…” Jimin filled the water up with some soap to clean. “The Christmas party…” His voice was quiet, a little unsure as he turned around to look at Namjoon – only for a few seconds before he averted his gaze again. Taking the filled bucket, he placed it on the kitchen floor, glad that there was his job that he still needed to do and kept him busy.

The Christmas party. That’s what Jimin was curious about. Namjoon wasn’t quite sure if he felt disappointed or relieved that they weren’t talking about what had happened between them. “It’s not the first year, no, Jungkook organizes them every year.” He answered vaguely, leaving his part in it deliberately out of it.

“You said that” Jimin leaned his head aside, “I just wondered if you were going for the first time this year. He made it sound like that and…” He looked down, shrugging his shoulders, “And it made me curious if you want to go for a different reason this year.”

“It’s... yeah, I kind of... I haven’t been there before. Thought I’d let my people have a fun night without their boss, but... Jungkook’s been asking me to come so often now I figured I should attend at least once.” He carefully straightened his tie because lying made him nervous and he needed to do something with his hands.

“Oh,” Jimin had expected a different answer. Something to do with him and Jimin gave him a quick smile before they were back to staring at each other like before. There was the kitchen counter between them, enough space to not feel closed in but Jimin felt it, nonetheless. His heart was racing. “D-do you want to…like talk about what happened?” He awkwardly held onto the stick of the mop.

Namjoon swallowed hard and his heart stumbled as it skipped a beat. “Only if you want to talk about it. I mean... I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, we can... talk here or in my office or we can just...” He didn’t want to pretend it never happened because it did and he was so glad that it happened he would deal with ten times the awkwardness just to be able to remember the taste of Jimin’s lips and the feel of the younger’s skin against his. “Whatever you need...” He finished quietly, careful that no one who wasn’t supposed to hear them could accidentally overhear what they were saying.

Jimin breathed out, putting the cleaning supplies aside, as he stepped a little closer to Namjoon. He looked up at him with a shy smile. “I liked it,” It rolled quickly over his tongue, making his cheeks blush even more. “D-did you like it?” Jimin pushed a string of hair out of his face and behind his ear. “It’s only a few more days until Christmas and...when Hayoung is back...I know we talked about Christmas and the party, but....I’m not sure if it was just us joking because of the situation or because…” Jimin didn’t dare to ask if there was more, if Namjoon felt the tingling feeling inside his stomach too and if he wanted to explore what else there was. He really wanted to know, the curiosity making his heart flutter.

“So, you’d still want to cook for me on Christmas?” If Jimin’s would have been sex then he had no reason to still try and get to know him. A comfortable warmth spread through him at the thought of not being alone on Christmas and even better, spending it with someone who’s company he’d immensely enjoyed so far. “Yes, I liked it a lot. I’d like to repeat it some time. After dinner maybe.” And in a bedroom, staying the night, cuddling... there was so much he suddenly wanted.

“For you?” Jimin raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he pouted his lips. “I thought I’d be cooking with you.” He blushed at Namjoon’s words. It sounded like a date and a lot more than two people just spending time together. And he couldn’t wait to do so.

“Oh, well.. then I have to warn you, I’m not used to people standing in my kitchen while I’m there, I might accidentally run into you.” Or pour something over Jimin’s shirt so that he would have to undress. “Do you have a special menu that you like to make on Christmas? Then I’ll make sure to get all the ingredients.” At the moment his refrigerator was pretty empty.

“I’ll think of something tasty,” Jimin winked, soothing over Namjoon’s arm fleetingly before turning back around to get his supplies. He still had a lot to clean.

…

Downstairs, Yoongi walked in the office complex with confidence, not even answering the security who asked for his name or who he was there for. His gaze fell onto the numbers appearing on the board over the elevator and he smiled. When the metal doors opened, Yoongi didn’t step aside but walked in without looking up, bumping right into someone.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Jungkook immediately apologized out of reflex even though the other had run straight into him without looking. When he finally did Jungkook was sure he had never seen him at the company before. He would have definitely remembered a face like that, soft and pale but with eyes so dark and burning they reminded him of coals after a bonfire when the glimmering heat still lingered. He shook himself out of his daydreams, a little confused as to why he had lost his focus. “May I help you? This is Kim design. I don’t think you’ve got an appointment here.” He would know because he would have put it into Namjoon’s schedule.

“Oh, you may…” Yoongi’s eyes changed from surprise to a pleasant expression. The young man he had bumped into was the prettiest human he’d ever seen. And his voice sounded like honey, the sweetest tone he ever heard. “Oh, I sure have an appointment.” He smiled pointing at Jungkook’s book that seemed to be a calendar. When the younger lifted it, still adamant on not knowing about an appointment, he tapped the cover twice, leaning in just a little. “Are you trying to tell me Mr. Kim forgot our appointment and isn’t here? I’m pretty sure we have an appointment. Why don’t you look?”

Jungkook swallowed down his remark that there was no way he had an appointment because otherwise he would know - but he had learned pretty early on that smiling and doing what Namjoon’s business partners wanted was the better decision if he didn’t want a grown man in a suit yelling at him. Not that the other was wearing a suit...

He carefully eyed the man’s clothes, something dark and shimmering hidden under his coat that looked pretty interesting. Too bad he would have to send the other away in a moment. As requested he opened his calendar with a smile, opening the page for today and pointing at the space for right now. “As you see there’s..” His voice faltered. There was an entry. In black ink. For right this moment. Jungkook stared at it in total disbelief. He could have sworn that the space had been empty five minutes ago and he also knew that he had never ever heard the name Min Yoongi before. But apparently he must have because it was written in his own handwriting. “I’m… I’m... so sorry Mister Min, I didn’t... I must have confused the dates...” He stuttered, still staring onto the page as if he couldn’t trust his own eyes.

“I know, I know it’s pretty late for an appointment but I’m a busy man.” Yoongi grinned, pushing down a button, then another one before pressing almost every single one of them – because he wasn’t quite sure which floor his office was and also he loved peeking.

He hooked his arm under Jungkook’s almost gasping out loud, when he felt the muscles strain against the suit, but he could restrain himself from groping the younger more. “You can call me, Yoongi or love. Babe is fine, too. Whatever you prefer.” He winked at the startled Jungkook, nudging him slightly. “Relax. If you keep me company until Namjoon arrives I’m sure I’ll have a great time, Jungkook.”

Jungkook tensed up right away. Yoongi wouldn’t be the first businessman to try and flirt with him like that but he could always count on Namjoon to make sure that people who overstepped the line would not stay with the company. “I’d like to keep it professional, Mr. Min as I’m sure Mr. Kim would prefer.” He furrowed his brows when he realized that Yoongi knew his name without him mentioning it. He must have told the other when they had spoken about his appointment? It made him feel crazy that he really couldn't remember it at all!

Yoongi furrowed his brows, giving Jungkook a little more distance. “Oh, no…I’m not really a business partner like that.” He chuckled softly, reaching into the pocket inside his jacket. “I’m more of a… consultant. I help Namjoon with decisions on his business or his life. Whatever he needs me for.” He was happy with his quick lie, taking out what seemed to be a simple stack of cards. “You really don’t have to be professional with me or have to be afraid.” When the doors opened again and they arrived at the office, Yoongi began to shuffle his cards delicately. “Tell me Jungkook, do you believe in magic?” He turned around with a warm smile, walking a few steps backwards.

Jungkook definitely knew one thing: Yoongi was…special. He had never heard of Namjoon asking someone for advice about his business and he was pretty sure Namjoon would never let someone mess with his personal life and yet there Yoongi was, talking about Namjoon as if he knew him inside and out, joking around and playing with cards. “I.-. I like the thought of it being true..-” he confessed before he could stop himself. Somehow the words poured out of him without his permission so he quickly added. “I can distinguish between dreams and reality of course!”

Yoongi hummed, drumming his fingers on his cards. “That’s good.” He walked ahead as if he knew right where he needed to be, just taking the route down to the biggest office he could find before walking in and letting his instincts lead him. There was a conference table right beside Namjoon’s office desk, so Yoongi took a seat, motioning for Jungkook to follow him. “You can call him, if you want…” His eyes were piercing right through the youngers and yet, they were warm and inviting, placing the cards out in front of them.

Jungkook hesitated, drawn in by the beautiful cards. He had placed them front down on the table as if he were ready to pick one, like a fortune teller ready to tell him his future. “What do you need them for if I may ask?” The backside of the cards was decorated with intricate symbols, some highlighted in a shimmering golden color.

“I need them to answer your questions.” Yoongi leaned his head aside, liking how the younger was intrigued, finally following him, and sitting down at the other end. “Or usually Namjoons, but he isn’t here right now.” He sighed deeply, letting his fingertips hover over the cards. “Do you want to try?”

“You help Namjoon make choices by using your cards?” Now he was hooked. “He never told me any of that! How long do you two know each other?” He leaned forward reaching out but then withdrawing his hand. He had heard that touching the cards just for fun before actually asking a question would mess them up. “I’d really like to... but I don’t have any questions at the moment. At least none that the cards can answer.”

“I help in many ways.” He winked, before Jungkook hesitation made him raise an eyebrow. Leaning his chin on his hands, he locked his eyes with the younger. “Tell me your questions if you’re comfortable with them. Maybe I can answer them anyways.” Yoongi didn’t even mind that Jungkook had completely forgotten to call Namjoon, yet. He enjoyed their encounter way too much.

Jungkook chuckled, “I can but I don’t think you can answer them. I’d like to know if the Christmas party will work out and everyone will have a nice time. I would like to know if Kim design will have a great year again next year and if Namjoon will finally be able to take a bit more time for himself instead of working all the time. I’d like to see him smile more often...” Did he really tell all that to a man he had just met for the first time? His cheeks blushed as he kept his eyes trained down on the cards.

“You really care about him, hm. He really is lucky to have you because he needs more people like you.” Yoongi began to mindlessly push the cards around, sorting them differently, putting a few back into the stack of cards. “I can ensure you; your Christmas party will be amazing. I heard Namjoon talking about it. He really wants to come this year, I think. Do you feel like he’s changing?”

“I do. And I really hope he does.” Jungkook cocked his head, “Not really changing, no, but there is something different about him. I think he might have finally found something else to put his heart onto and instead of being completely consumed by his work he starts to see past it. There are so many more reasons to get up in the morning than just because your work schedule tells you to. I feel like he’s finally starting to get a glimpse of that.”

“You are right,” Yoongi nodded, adding the reason ‘Jeon Jungkook’ as another one on his own list, because that man was the sweetest, kindest person he’d ever talked to. He could feel the warmth and passion radiate from him, the positivity that was surrounding him. He wanted nothing but to make all the people around him happy and Yoongi could feel it resonating within him. But there was something else that made him worried.

“You said he found something…you’re not really talking about a hobby, right?” He didn’t really look at Jungkook, as he turned around three of them. There was a wheel of fortune, but it was reversed, and it was making Yoongi bite his lip, while his eyes flickered to the next card. All of them seemed to be upside down; the second card was showing a hermit and the last one was the chariot. “Oh…”

“What is it?” Jungkook leaned over to get a better look at what Yoongi had picked. To him all the cards looked really pretty but he knew that they could all have different meanings, a pretty picture didn’t necessarily mean a good thing and the other way round.

“I’m not sure what they are referring to exactly…it’s not clear, but this one…” He pointed at the wheel of fortune. “Turned upside down like this, it means someone is losing control. And this one, the hermit, it kind of stands for isolation and loneliness. While the chariot emphasizes the lack of control again. It seems as if Namjoon is quite directionless. Or he will be.” He took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, mumbling something about him telling Namjoon so as he shook his head.

Jungkook shook his head in denial, getting out of his chair. “It’s not fair to read Namjoon’s cards when he isn’t even there and I’m sure the reading would be way better if he was present. Or there was a mistake. Namjoon is fine. I’ll… I’ll get him for you now. Sorry for stalling.” With that he went out the door to call Namjoon - and explain to him why he had an appointment that late that he hadn’t told him about before.

Yoongi looked after the younger, sighing softly as a smile stole it’s way on his lips. He turned around another card, the smile turning brighter when it showed the symbol of the sun. Flipping the card back around, he pushed it towards where Jungkook sat before and began to collect the rest.

…

Carrying the laundry, Jimin crossed the living room again, when his eyes flickered over to Namjoon who was deeply immersed in his work at the kitchen table. When their eyes met, he accidentally stumbled over the end of a rug, giggling the embarrassment away before vanishing into the laundry room.

Just when he was gone the telephone rang and Namjoon picked it up automatically. On the other side of the line was Jungkook, explaining very sheepishly that there had been a mishap and he had forgotten to tell him about the appointment his consultant had made. Namjoon was quiet for a moment. “My what?” There was absolutely no one that deserved that title. He had consultants when he tried working with different materials or when he was trying a new marketing strategy but right now there was no one like that who he needed to meet up with.

“Your consultant? Or...or friend I think. Yoongi?” Jungkook sounded small, the mistake still nagging him and Namjoon’s bewildered reaction aiding further to make him contrite.

“Yoongi… he’s at the company? With an appointment? Right now? And you... you talked to him?” He felt like he had ants running all over his skin. This was the third time Yoongi showed up when normally he only came by like once a month at most. Had he told anything to Jungkook? About the start of the company? “Okay, you can.. you can get off early tonight. I’ll be there in a second.” As much as he hated the thought of leaving Yoongi alone at the company he figured that the other could walk to wherever he wanted anyways with his magic and he rather kept Jungkook away from him. Who knew what kind of deal Yoongi would try to make with the younger.

Opening up the dishwasher, Jimin began to sort the clothes, quietly humming a song to himself. He was lightly dancing, singing a little louder. Leaning back down, he got out another shirt, when Namjoon’s sudden enthusiasm to get up and to his office startled him effectively and he shot up, hitting the back of his head on the edge of the cupboard. He yelped in pain, blinking his eyes because for a moment he saw nothing but a few spots dancing around in front of him.

“Jimin?” Namjoon froze at the younger’s outcry of pain. “Are you alright?” When he didn't get an answer right away he immediately went into the laundry room where he saw Jimin rub the back of his head. “Did you hit your head? I have to get back to the office, but I can get you some ice first. Please don’t hurt yourself again while I’m gone, can you do that?” He teased him a little.

Jimin hummed in response, the pain too evident on the back of his head. “I’ll try not to.” He wondered why Namjoon had to run to the office out of a sudden again but promised that he wouldn’t hurt himself anymore. He was almost done with cleaning anyways, although he had hoped to stall his time a little at the end with Namjoon.

Only when Jimin was taken care of did Namjoon call himself a car. On the ride he was fidgety, trying to calm himself down and not rack his brain about why Yoongi was there, what he might want and what he could possibly do to make him comply.

Yoongi was bored out of his mind, staring at the wall as he swirled around in Namjoon’s chair. He had tried out every single one in his office but this one turned the smoothest.

That's how Namjoon found him.

He was a little out of breath because he had walked as fast as he could to get there (without actually running because running would mean he was desperate and Yoongi might see him with his… third eye or something) “Are you having fun? I hope you didn’t make Jungkook ask me here just because you wanted a new chair.”

“Oh, there you are!” Yoongi came to a halt, motioning for Namjoon to take a seat as if it was his office and not the other way around. “We had an appointment, right? It said so in his calendar. That’s why I’m here…” Leaning over the desk, he let his gaze wander around. “I really like what you made out of our deal, Namjoon. Are you happy with it?”

“You can’t fool me, Yoongi. And please don’t mess with Jungkook again, the poor boy will double check every appointment now and blame himself for it when we both know that it wasn’t his fault he had no idea of that ‘magical appointment’. If you want to talk to me you can just call me.” He took a breath, trying to find a hook in Yoongi’s statement but there was none. “Yes, thank you, I’m happy. Why, do you want to terminate our contract?” He had often wondered how or when it would end - and what would be the consequences. It wasn’t like he was being lazy and letting Yoongi do all the work in his company so even without magical help he should be fine... right?

“Where would be the fun in that?” Yoongi pursed his lips, getting up to look at the designs that were hanging on the pinboard of Namjoon’s office. “I just wondered…you really made a lot of what I gave you. You build an entire empire and dare I say, I couldn’t be any prouder.” Yoongi turned around waving Namjoon off, “Oh no, please. I’m fine. I don’t need to terminate anything. I’m just feeling sentimental this Christmas.” The witch sighed deeply, taking out the three cards he had picked earlier and giving them to Namjoon. “They were turned upside down. I like you, Namjoon and sometimes I worry…if this is really what you wanted.” He patted the other’s shoulder, passing by him.

Namjoon took the cards. There were pictures on it, and he knew that they were probably tarot cards but other than that he had no idea what they were supposed to mean. He only realized that Yoongi wasn’t just walking around in the room than out when there was silence. He turned and Yoongi was nowhere to be seen.

“Wh…wait! What does that mean? What do you want? Did you just call me here to give me those cards? Am I supposed to do something with them? I’m not magic!”

A/N: Happy third Advent! We hope you enjoy this little story until now :) 

Subscribed:  @chimknj​ @dancelinestan @whatarelarryfeels @hinikkihere @dayonyl @an-artist-confession @hungline​ @cz3ri @breadcaaat @krystle1990 @mini-coop25 @jeonsdear​ @starlightstae @p-ixelite @lissachan504​ @wise-bts-collector @nochuukookie @h-e-l-p-m-e-p-l-e-a-s-e @absque-nocte @violetrose120 @fusselkuchen​ @gelsavitichi @minsugasnerd @yoonqiful​ @thenameoftherain​ @tobi-love @banaani-mins @writeasifwordsarepaintbrushes​ @nomimits7 @laur-zipan @mytokyos @eenabannana @vannilacake​ @aden2610 @dirkstrider98 @yesiamhangry @miss-understand-ing @eufori4a @yuusilverscar​ @cookied-dreams @beautyindiversity​ @smitssharon02​ @yoonminos​ @guukminssi​ @freakingpotter @oraclegazes @uhgoodish @checkered-seokjin​ @bangtan-role-play @naturaljeon​ @ @queen-aradia​ @krystle1990​ @prdshobi @samros95 @holynamtiddies​

↳ If you want to be tagged in new updates you can now sign up in my subscription list here

[captainsuke]

Yusuf should be asleep, he should be wrapped around his husband's body, taking strength from the warmth he's never quite felt anywhere else.

Instead he's in the kitchen, the cool metal grip on his pistol warmed by his hand wrapped white knuckled around it.

He'd heard a noise.

He'd dreamed he'd heard a noise.

It doesn't matter. It's late and the little cottage they are currently calling home is empty, except for his sleeping husband, and Joe, standing vigil in the dark.

(rest of fic under the cut for all you ao3 haters)

There's a small gap between window and wall, and the wind flows through it with a whispering wail. Once all houses creaked and swayed and whistled with the wind, little leaks with pots that were emptied in the morning, a row of fine dust along the window sills and under the doors gifted from a night of wild wind. Now these things are considered nuisances, problems to be torn down and rebuilt new and unremarkable. His heart feels heavy tonight, the feeling of long years catching up on him and curling it's fingers around his soul.

Joe looks out the window of his and Nicky's little Maltese cottage, the moon shines bright enough behind shifting clouds that even the slivers of light allow Joe to see the branches of the apple tree in the front garden sway with the cool night's breeze. Many summers ago they'd laid in the shade of that tree, eating the sweetly tart fruit until they'd made themselves sick. He has a sketch - or eight - of the passing shadows dappling Nicky's face as he'd laid back, full and content.

A memory stacked upon another memory from the days they'd done the same with Andromache, years and years ago, four, five hundred years ago, filling their bellies with overripe apricots after several long hard years of fighting and barely being able to tell if they had even made a difference, let alone actually helped anyone. Even now Joe can close his eyes and see Qýuhn's hair blowing free in the cooling winds coming up along the Peloponnese peninsula. Andromache's fingers sticky with pasteli, her cheeks rosy where she laid them on Qýuhn's thigh. Nicolò, sunbleached and glowing in the golden of light of a Mediterranean sunset.

He remembers retelling the apple story when they'd all met up again, Booker with his ever present flask, Andy sharing long drinks from it, all them tired but smiling, leaning heavily of the heavenly taste of crisp apples and the folly of gorging on enough fresh fruit to upset their stomachs. Because it made Booker laugh. Because it gave them all something to laugh about, to distract themselves from the weather turning and Sèbastien's eyes growing cagey as the winter's teeth started to bite.

Nicky had stoked the cottage's fire til they'd been sweating in front of the tiny hearth, toasty and ridiculous in their undergarments, with thick woolen socks on their feet in respect for the wild weather that battered at the windows. He'd felt happy that they'd managed to turn that haunted look to smiling eyes that crinkled at the edges. Had that moment meant something? Anything? Nothing? Was the glow in his eyes merely momentary? A trick of light and the gleam of drunken eyes?

Would this be the rest of his days? Questioning every moment, desperately searching for where he went wrong, where he should have noticed Booker's pain. Looking for the moment that had been Sèbastien's last straw.

It's funny, Joe can joke, he can laugh, he can make vague reference and yell angry accusing words, he can recite a bit of original poem he's writing as he speaks, but he can't work out how to open his mouth and say the words why did you hurt me?

He's always horribly envied Nicky's ability to put his hurt away, to shelve it for later, or never if he feels it best. Even as he's pulled his hair out in frustration as his other half willfully tears himself to pieces in an effort to find a way to please everyone.

Oh, he knows they're both different shades of Not Dealing Well, both of them like a purpose to distract themselves.

Foolishly, stupidly, for a wild moment Joe wishes for someone else to try for them, to attack them, just so he can slip back into the head space of being a unit, a simple moving part in a machine much larger than himself, Nicky and him working hand in hand, two halves of a whole.

He desperately wishes for that feeling, for anything other than devastated, tearing, hating hurt that sits on his lungs like peine forte et dure, each time he feels like the worst of the pain has occurred he remembers some other occasion, some other memory now colored by betrayal.

He can forgive, he can sympathize, he can hold his brother close and cry for the losses he's suffered.

But anger stabs through at the thought of him not returning that empathy. Like he and all the kin before Booker haven't suffered days of death and nights of death. Day after day, month after month of unimaginable loss, not knowing how to stop it, how to help it, just enduring as time pass uncaring of the pain felt.

He's held Nicky as he begged for the end, for them to finally (please, please, please) be released from the unrelenting years of horrors, just as Nicky has pulled him close while he cried, screamed, wailed for even the slightest chance of reprieve. From the widow with dead eyes and fevered blush, burying her last child and going back to work at the sick houses, for the children with nothing – nothing - yet who could still muster a smile, for Nicky spitting blood, choking, drowning, dying, then coming back to do it all over again. Never ending and relentless.

This is stupid.

He is being stupid.

Awake in the middle of the night, stalking around their Malta house gun in hand, the most unnatural state of himself, but unable to rest, convinced that if he relaxed, if his guard dropped for a moment, he would lose it all.

He places the gun on the table, sits down, there's no peace or answers to be found in an old cottage kitchen by the sea at midnight.

All there is, is the long shadows of moonlight between furniture, the evening dishes neatly washed and drying on the sink, a glass full of pens on the table, Joe's gun now sitting atop Nicky's latest writing attempt. Never long, never complicated, Joe found himself devastated by each small letter his husband left for him, even the three thousand that merely read I love you ♥♥♥♥, he held each one to equal esteem, though Nicky barely seemed to remember writing them, he would just smile and say I was thinking of you.

you unmake me.

you remake me.

everyday

Doodled across cheap lined notepaper, tucked under his dinner plate. They'd shared that meal just a few hours ago, Nicky's eyes had been tired but he'd kissed Joe's curls with a soft smile as he'd served dinner.

A meal that had taken more than half the day to create because if Nicky had the time he found peace in simmering oil and tomatoes, in adding all the extra ingredients that might make an Italian swear but had delighted them so when they'd first tasted them, that now they'd add them to whatever meal they could.

It'd been less than a week and Nicky was already on first name basis with the halal butcher a few blocks away, and many a day they stroll the streets, collecting fresh produce from the little garden markets, stopping by Zakaria's so he could wrap the evening meal with a only my finest cut for my favorite customers and a wink, despite having claimed the same to the little Italian grandmother before them, blushing and waving her hands in a flustered, delighted stop motion.

Joe closes his eyes, feeling suddenly overwhelmed, like his heart would be beat out of his chest, fall out onto the floorboards that they'd sanded and placed lovingly when they'd first started rebuilding this little cottage. Nicky could live his life with just Yusuf and the sea and be happy, but Joe needed people, needed to see people living their lives no matter how mundane. No matter how out of sorts he's been since they arrived, exhausted and devastated from London, Nicky hadn't forgotten that.

And so Nicolò knows the butcher by name, and, in turn, Zakaria's fisherman boyfriend, who stocks the butcher shop with the freshest of catches and shies away from company, with deep sad eyes and ankle bones that jut out like he needs a Nonna to fuss over him.

And so he's befriended the old ladies from the markets who give him unsolicited advice on his roses, on his apple tree, on the lush green vine that flowers bright bursts of color, on how to keep That Nice Young Man He's Always With happy.

And so each of these people is a friend of Joe's as well.

Joe takes one last long look out the window. Daring anyone who might be out there to take the moment. To give him a reprieve from his thoughts.

But the apple trees branches are the only thing moving. Wind rustling leaves the only sounds to be heard over the soft ebbing crash of waves in the distance.

There's no respite to be found tonight, he thinks as he put his pistol away. Part of him aches to remain armed, to keep vigilant, because last time, last time, but he won't walk into their bedroom with a loaded gun in hand. Not tonight when he feels like his very soul has been twisted, not when he still feels as if unseen eyes are watching him.

As Joe closes the bedroom door behind him, eyes open slow but sharp, immediately awake, perhaps awake before Joe came in. His Nicky is a light sleeper, more prone to 3 or 4 hours sleep before waking alert and ready to face the living hours,.

Nicky's eyes go soft, the faintest of gentle smiles curling his lips as he focuses on Yusuf.

“Where are you, my love?” he asks with quiet rasping voice of someone newly woken.

He doesn't know, he feels adrift, but Nicky's hand moves, reaches out and Joe crosses the room to take it as the lifeline he needs.

“What do you need?” His voice is steady and calm and ready to promise anything in his power to Joe.

And Joe feels his heart constrict, he can't live without this man, he thinks wildly

(a flash, a dagger in the dark, Nicolò on the ground, a halo of his blood, his beautiful skull, his precious brains scattered across the floor without second thought)

he wants to know Andy's okay, he wants her and Nile here immediately so he can see for himself that they're safe, he wants Qýuhn in his arms so much it physically aches. He wants her dark humor and her sharp eyes. He wants to hear her screech like stepped on cat whenever something delighted her. He wants Booker snorting into his wine at some stupid joke, he wants to know he's alive, that he hasn't thrown himself into another stupid situation.

In the morning, he thinks, in the morning he'll speak to Nile, her occasional furtive texting isn't quite as secretive as she perhaps thinks but none of them had felt the need to tell her to stop.

In the morning, he can wait til morning to soothe the lies and worries that his anxiety haunts him with. Til then, he threads his hands tighter with Nicky's, lets him pull Joe to bed, lets him rearrange them til he's flat on his back with Joe's head is resting on his chest, Nicolò's heartbeat in his ear.

He keeps a hold of Joe's hand, brings it up to his lips, presses a kiss to where they're joined, then curls it close to Joe and his chest, as if shielding it against the rest of the world.

“You, just you.” Joe tells the darkness.

“You have me,” Nicolò says, his breath, his lips, his jaw moving against Joe's curls.

“What do you need?” He asks again, free hand coming to rest, cradling Joe's head, gently gently he feels fingers move lightly in tiny soft circles.

“Tell me something.”

Joe pulls their joined hands close, presses his own kiss against Nicky's long fingers, holds it close enough for his breath to warm skin “Please. Tell me something good.”

It's a hard ask, he knows, he knows, every good moment of their lives can be tied to a bad one, the past could be a minefield with no directions or signs. But Nicolò rarely shied from a challenge.

“Did I ever tell you of the time Qýuhn demanded to know my intentions with you?”

“But she loved you!” He mumbles against their joined hands.

“Yes she did, but she loved your heart just as fiercely.” Nicky's chest moves against Joe's cheek as he snorts, amused, “We'd had to have been intimate for almost a year by this time, but she had me feeling like a sham of a man standing before the most beautiful man's guardian, offering a pauper's dowery.”

Joe starts shifting to argue but the hand on his head keeps him still, gentle but firm.

“It was good. To be reminded that you had someone else who would fight for your happiness, that my love for you was visible enough to be challenged, a reminder that we both still had family even if it looked very different to what we'd been born with. It'd been nice to know no matter how much I felt I didn't deserve, I'd been ready to fight for the right to let that be your decision.”

“You do deserve me,” the gentle circles on his scalp are making him sleepy but he puts a token argument, the principle of no one was allowed talk shit about Nicky, not even Nicky, one he was always ready to defend.

“Hush, you asked for a story, this is my story.”

“Scusi, scusi,” he kisses Nicky's hand again, “tell your story, tell me how you convinced me that Qýuhn you were worthy of my hand in marriage.”

He swears he can hear Nicky smile in the dark.

“I didn't, Andromache came in and declared they should leave us to make our mistakes and then stab which ever of us was most in the wrong.”

Joe can't help but laugh. “Qýuhn like that?”

He feels Nicky's soft laughter vibrate through his skin, he wants to die like this, in a moment like this, just the two of them entwined.

“No, she called Andy soulless and unromantic, they went outside to spar. We didn't see them again til morning, and Qýuhn never mentioned it again, so maybe Andy had a little romance in her.”

“How have I never head of this story?”

Nicky's answering chuckle is a delight.

“You came back and we had the house to ourselves for the entire night.” The hand on Joe's head flexes, like he wants to hold Joe as tight as he is can but its as much as their position allows. “It was a good day. We were loved, we are loved.”

He wants to crawl inside Nicolò, live forever embraced by his heart, to feel every lung full of breath press against him

“Sleep my love,” Nicky says leaning low to press his cheek against Joe's curls, to place an unaimed kiss to his forehead.

Sleep.

Nicky’s heartbeat is a sure and steady thing against his ear

(a monitor screaming as his lives hand falls limp against restraints)

Joe squeezes his eyes tightly shut then forces himself to relax, to hear the beat that's been by his side for a thousand years. He thinks of crinkles at the sides of Qýuhn's eyes when she grinned, the way she'd look to Joe when she found something fun to share.

He thinks of the way Booker's face grew soft in the late of the night when the game had long ended and everyone had gone to sleep and it was just the two of them, keeping the sleepless night company.

He thinks of the glow of Nile's face when they walked the halls of the National Museum, her excited but obviously knowledgeable commentary, how he itches to draw the lines of her joy over and over til he gets it just right.

He thinks of Andy in Marrakesh, the feel of her ribs reverberating with the force of her laugh as he swung her around. She's mother, weird aunt, odd stranger, honored elder, pain in the ass know-it-all older sister and so many more things he can not think to name, but she's theirs, and it's going to take a lot more than mortality to take her from them.

He swears it.

Finally he thinks of Nicky.

Nicky with long hair in his face, of the ever changing color his eyes across the firelight, of the weight of his body passed out, sated atop Yusuf, of the weight of his body lifeless as Joe pulled him somewhere to revive safely. The heaviness of his gaze and the weightlessness of even his smallest smile. Of his hands as they held Joe together, the gentleness of his touch as he put him back together. Of the unique light in his eyes, the fire that burns brightest when his sword is out. He thinks of words freely given when speech was hardest, he thinks of the uncountable I love you's, the innumerable languages he's learnt just to speak them and hear them back.

He thinks of hot blood spattered across his face and the way Nicolòs eyes would fight to meet his own when the end was coming. He thinks of the tightening of hands before they became unbearably limp. He thinks of the bad deaths, of eyelashes glued together with tears as hes gasped alive and the watery smile that followed. He thinks of Nicky moving, his sword swinging, on broken ankle, spitting blood and still moving.

His head, his heart, his life is full, and sometimes it feels like he'll drown with all that's in it.

Nicky's hand moves from his head, moves to stroke down his spine, long and slow in repetition.

Sleep he says again, his own voice thick at the edge of sleep himself.

Joe hugs a small breath, then slows his breathing to match the deep level breathing of Nicolò asleep. He thinks about the first time they slept like this, arms around each other, tangled and holding tight. He thinks of the countless times he's rubbed his nose against the back of Nicky's neck as he tried to catch just a little more sleep time.

There's a heaviness growing in his limbs as he half dreams of Nicky as he wraps himself around and burrows himself closer to Nicky. Slowly, steadily and then suddenly all at once, the sense memory of nine hundred years in this man's arms lulls him into sleep.

[elecman108]

Man, I forgot to post 90% of my art here for the past while. I’m gonna do an art dump in this post under the cut. Enjoy the bonk emoji if you don’t click the read more, and man am I dumb and forgetful lmao.

Includes: OCs getting names, a Sonic impression, a D&D map, homosexual energies, a sheep floating in the astral sea, a birthday drawing I already posted, Hex Maniac Ender, D&D Characters, D&D Characters as Miis in Miitopia, Little Hater Axel, local Demon in the consciousness of my D&D character yelling at him, illegal plants, a necromancer being cute, an actual event that happened in a D&D game two days ago, and Mermay drawing.

That’s everything in here as a TL;DR, I guess. Enjoy your day!

I’m gonna try and sort of have them in chronological order, oldest first, but I may end up putting them in the wrong order. If I do... Whoops, I guess?

[04/14/21] - This isn’t really new art, but I started to work on giving the four OCs of mine without a full name full names... I have not finished this bit, though. So Hunter and Akira have full names, and Warlock and Assassin only have temporary names. This may end up like Seven where I put in their names as a temporary name (7th OC I’d made at that time) and it just kind of... sticks. Lmao.

[04/20/21] - Alone on a Friday Night? God, you’re pathetic. I didn’t colour this one because it was a half-attempt at a meme image I still like it, though, so I might end up colouring it. It’s gonna appear again whenever I do my “unfinished drawings art dump” at some point probably in... June? I know I said I’d post them last month but forget it, lmao, it’ll happen eventually.

[04/20/21] - A D&D Map! This was to help me visualize the layout of my D&D character’s ship he used to be on. Also for my DM if they ever put us aboard the ship. The little fella in the corner is just there to vibe. This map is made of free to use assets from This Website, so while I’m gonna say DONT USE MY MAP WITHOUT PERMISSION, feel free to make your own!

[04/26/21] - Lesbian Day of Visibility drawing of yours truly, the disapointment! That’s... really all I have to say about this, honestly. It was just for that one day and that was it, lmao. I mean, I accidentally lined it in dark pink, so.. .That’s different, I guess?

[04/30/21] - Do Astral Seas dream of Ensorcled Sheep? Does the City know what Sheepleb is going to do? What crimes he may commit? Who knows! This was fan art of Critical Role ep. 134 if I remember correctly, right at the end when they jumped into the portal into the astral sea and Caleb was a sheep. Using my knowledge of the German language, I knew the word for “shit”, and had to use it.

[05/07/21] - This was already posted, but it’s going in here to dilinuate that it was drawn at this point. Also, aside from playing Miitopia, this is all I have to show for myself until the 12th.

[05/12/21] - Hex Maniac Ender challenges you to a Pokemon Battle! WIll you win against my team? My sis, who loves fairy types, pointed out to me that there’s a fairy girl and hex maniac duo, so I’d be the hex maniac. I spent... Over a week drawing this, because I basically had to redraw the Hex Maniac art from scratch in a higher quality size, and then draw myself over it. So... You can excuse the low-effort background for once. It was basically this, and then my birthday doodle from May 1st to May 12th, and then I took a break to draw up several D&D characters quickly for fullbody references.

[05/12/21] - Remember this art I made several months ago? I finally added my other two completed characters! I have three more named but without character sheet D&D characters, so for now this is just Kara, Axel, Golden Shadow, Kau, Cecillia, and Miri. Kress, Tempest, and Melia will have to wait until I make character sheets for them to be posted, and... For when I probably make more D&D characters. I have at least 9 additional, incomplete character ideas floating around, so... I’m never gonna be done this art, huh?

[05/12/21] - Speaking of D&D characters, did you know I’ve been making them as Miis in Miitopia? So here is their finished full body art next to their Miitopia self! Some of them look a little off (Golden Shadow, Cecillia) because of limitations of the editor and shading issues, some of them look a little off (Kau, Kress) because this is a human face canvas that I’m using to make a non-human face, and some of them (Melia, Axel) look REALLY GOOD. Common traits among my D&D characters include green eyes and tall. You wanna know why? Because I am tall and... despite having red eyes, I do have green eyes under the coloured contacts.

[05/15/21] - More D&D stuff! This is based around my D&D group’s current Rime of the Frostmaiden campaign where our Goliath Fighter, Nioh, ends up getting a little bit of hate for being cocky, and our little (well over 6′) hater, Axel, is just a man full of irritation. These are the tallest two characters of the group at the moment. Someone send help. Nioh belongs to one of the other D&D players, Axel (and his stupid additude) belongs to me.

[05/15/21] - This is what me playing D&D feels like. Me, the demon entity trapped inside the head of my D&D character, yelling at them to do things while the dice decide that they’re gonna get bopped a hundred times by a yeti and somehow still survive. This is also a reference to our first or second game where I just ran off like sixty feet to one side of the battle map to fight a Crag Cat and was just in Gay Baby Jail until like two turns later when I could run back to the others. I also drew him not in his winter gear even though this is a bit from when we were atop Kelvin’s Carin in an icy cave, so maybe that’s why he’s at low HP.

[05/15/21] - Melia has good gardening tips, such as Use A Mars Mii Trap To Hide A Body Because They Are Endangered And It Is Illegal To Dig Them Up. I love her a lot, because she’s the youngest of four, all four sisters based around the different seasons. She’s based around Autumn, so she’s all orange and yellow and brown and is so cute. Also she’s Chaotic Neutral, as if she didn’t need to be mildly more threatening.

[05/15/21] - Cecillia is my Tiefling gal who lived in a very northern town plagued by cold weather and snow, and Axel is my Pirate guy who spent most of his time further south on the high seas and warmer weather. So, naturally... I’ll use the guy more acclimatized to the hotter weather in the campaign where we spend 99% of it in the snow. She uses Tarot Cards as her spell focus, and I decided to sneak my other D&D characters onto her Tarot cards so naturally, Axel is The Hanged Man, given his backstory and personality. She’s a very cheerful and friendly Tiefling Necromancer of the Hexblade, so she’d for sure take care of those around her to ensure their success. Especially if they’re on her Tarot Cards, and their spirit comes to her aid when she asks for them.

[05/16/21] - Content Warning; Ryma thinks too much into local stupid moron’s lack of knowing how to answer a question and thinks too much into the reputation of Pirates. Poor Axel, man doesn’t know how to socialize with people who aren’t pirates and is used to being hostile towards everyone, so when he’s asked a question that his answer to is “uhh... no?”, he panics and ends up making a mistake that leads him to think that Ryma can read his mind. Ryma belongs to another of the D&D players. I guess me drawing all those spicy Cow Costumed OCs earlier just brought me to drawing Axel being a bottom in this, huh?

[05/16/21] - It’s Mermay, which means more OC drawings! Here’s Theo after drinking some potion that turned him into a mermaid, and Seven, tiredly, collecting his stupid boyfriend so that Lailah can fix the fact he’s turned into a mermaid. Mer!Theo is based around his sword’s colours of indigo-purple with red accents, which looks a little weird since Theo is the Blue one of the group, but... it looks cool, I guess. Seven’s just the same outfit as always, just no gloves this time.

--

And that’s it for the art dump! This was, frankly, MASSIVE. I’ll try and remember to upload both on Twitter and Tumblr at the same time, but... Ah... I have been drawing a fair bit. Just mostly sketches and linework that I haven’t finished and may not actually finish. If they’re not completed, I’ll dump them all into something at the end of the month or whatever. Maybe you’ll get the old sketch of the Axel face in panel 3 because in the sketch phase it was an Ahegao face, in the clean sketch it was a lip bite, and in the linework and final it’s just horny face. lmao.

Top ten things I have to remember for drawing: AXEL HAS A SCAR AND GREEN EYES. I remember his eye colour now, but if you look at his fullbody ref, he’s got brown eyes. And, naturally, I keep forgetting to put in his scar. He has more, but most of them are located in areas covered by his clothes. So if I ever draw him shirtless I guess I’ll have to place them somewhere.

Also maybe finish the reference sheets I have left to finish so I can post more of them, since I have two “Pets” completed (Roko and Mona’s nameless pet), but I have to do up Hunter, Warlock, Assassin, Akira, Myuut, and Stella. I’m betting when I do complete two more, it’ll be Hunter and Akira. Those two are the most fun to draw, at least.

[yespolkadotkitty]

Tinderbox, pt 6

Part V here

Fuck. He’d left his jumper behind.

“Sweater, Dad,” Faye would remind him. Thank Christ she wasn’t here to see him leaving a relative stranger’s apartment at seven-thirty a.m after some steaming hot sex. He hadn’t been inside Rosie and yet, last night and this morning had blown his mind.

One of the hardest things he’d ever done was leave her standing there, skin still half-damp and warm from their shower, hair waving around her face, looking infinitely kissable.

It was cold outside, Winter hanging onto New York by its teeth, not quite done eating. Marshall walked briskly to his precinct, ignoring the subway. He needed the exercise, needed to get the sexy brunette out of his system before the team update in an hour’s time.

He still couldn’t believe how well he’d slept beside her on that lumpy futon. At some point he’d woken in the wee hours to her curled up next to him, the curve of her ass snuggled into him, trustingly. He’d breathed in the scent of her hair and drifted back into sleep, content. That was mostly unknown to him - he rarely fell back asleep if he woke from a restless dream.

No dreams when he’d slept beside Rosie.

His chirping phone had been a message from the precinct. They had a sketch of the infamous “Whiskers” - so dubbed because he’d left a crayon drawing of a simplistic cat’s face with whiskers at each crime scene.

Marshall huffed angrily as he thought it over. The media could be his best tool and worst enemy - often multiple times in a single day. But when they got a hold of something, they gnawed it like a dog with a favourite bone, and Whiskers was the current media favourite.

For a change, he - or she - wasn’t the usual flavour of criminal the media favoured. Whiskers had only burgled houses and apartments so far. Not that burglary could be ignored, but Marshall far preferred it to having the evidence techs scrape the remains of someone off the cold, bloody pavement.

Apparently one of the beat officers had gotten lucky, meeting someone who claimed to have seen a white man, mid-thirties, leaving the building where later, missing items and a cat doodle had been reported.

Marshall quickened his pace, wanting to find out more, and feeling the cold due to having left his jumper behind.

He wished he’d swallowed his pride and asked Rosie for her number. Both to get the garment back and to see her again.

Unbidden, an image of her naked save for his jumper, which would swallow her, pushed itself to the front of his mind. It’d smell of her, bergamot and sugar; addictive and heady.

And deep down he’d been afraid that if he’d allowed himself one more taste, he might have tumbled back into bed with her and prayed never to surface.

He swung angrily into the precinct, hoping he didn’t look like hell or smell too much like women’s shower gel. His colleagues would have a field day.

****

Rosie left for work earlier than usual and stopped by Police Plaza, Marshall’s cosy, moss green sweater in a bag. Had she considered keeping it, sleeping in it, stuffing her pillow inside it and cuddling it all day so she smelled like him?

Yeah. Multiple times.

She’d dithered over what to do for a whole half hour, before getting sick of herself. Grow up, Rosie, she’d chastised herself. She’d scrabbled around in a draw, finally finding a napkin from her deli. She’d scribbled you forgot this, R x on the napkin and stuffed it inside the garment, refusing to think about it further.

She scooped her hair into a bun, fussed over Salami and fed him half a can of tuna, his favourite treat, then caught the subway. The air knived into her lungs, icy cold. The ride was crowded, people in suits jostling with the rhythm of the carriage. She was hot and bothered by the time the train stopped where she needed to go. Checking her watch, she climbed the steps and pushed through the doors.

The Plaza was the only place she could think of to return the sweater. She didn’t know which precinct Marshall worked at, and she didn’t know if asking for that information over the phone was allowed.

And she also didn’t want to turn up at his precinct like a stalker, or a weirdo who didn’t understand that him leaving without her number probably meant that he didn’t want to see her again. It splintered her heart, thinking that, but it was what it was. I am a big girl, she told herself. I’ve survived much worse than this.

The officer on duty at the reception desk smiled as Rosie approached with the bag.

“Morning ma’am, how can I help you?”

Rosie smiled back, trying to fight the instinct to hold on to a piece of the man who’d rocked her world last night, and again this morning.

“I, ah, have this sweater that belongs to Detective Walter Marshall. I’m… not sure which precinct he works out of, so I thought I’d, er, drop it here.”

The officer worked to keep her face bland, but Rosie caught the tamped down amusement in her voice when she replied, “Sure, ma’am, I’ll make sure he gets it.” She held her hands out for the bag.

Rosie hesitated for a split second. Should she take out the napkin? He’d know it was from her.

But she couldn’t bring herself to remove it. He’d see it and think of her, and after what they’d shared, was it wrong for her to want him to remember her, now and then, perhaps during a quiet moment at the end of a long day?

She let the bag go, thanked the officer, and walked out of Police Plaza and out of Detective Walter Marshall’s life.

*****

Work passed slowly. Had he collected the sweater? Would they even deliver it today?

Rosie blew out a breath as she delivered sandwiches to customers in the deli, half missing Marshall terribly, and half wishing she’d never invited him in.

It was a relief when Rachael walked in. An FBI profiler who often worked with the NYPD, Rachael had become a regular in the two months Rosie had worked at the deli. She always ordered two sandwiches; one chopped cheese and one roast beef on rye, extra tomatoes. Over the weeks, she’d stay, have a coffee while the sandwiches were made. If her visits coincided with Rosie’s break, they’d occasionally chat.

Having a female friend was nice. Rosie missed her sister, but Dahlia would never leave their small home town. She was a home bird through and through, but phone calls only did so much. She’d missed the company of her sister and Midwestern friends when she’d upped sticks and left Dylan.

Without knowing it, Rachael was one of the high points of her day, so she was glad of a little lull when the gorgeous brunette came in, wearing a sharp suit and smelling floral.

“Hey, Rosie.”

“Rachael!”

Rosie moved out from behind the counter to greet the other woman. Rachael always looked so put together, razor sharp in her well cut blazer and high ponytail. “How’re things?”

Rachael shrugged. “A million miles a minute, as usual. But, can’t complain. Profiling keeps things interesting, you know? Get to work different cases.”

“I bet it is interesting,” Rosie replied, genuinely wanting to know more.

Rachael tilted her head to one side. Rosie knew that look. Rachael had been an NYPD therapist in a past life and it showed. “Something’s different about you.”

Panic scrambled up Rosie’s spine. “Really?”

“For sure. You look sort of… glowy. You feeling all right?”

Rosie smoothed a hand down her apron. “Had an eventful evening,” she managed, hoping the vagueness wasn’t indicative of the fact she’d had the best orgasms of her life to date.

“Wanna talk about it?”

God, did she ever. “Um…. maybe later?”

“Sure.” Concern creased Rachael’s face. Fortunately, at that moment a few men pushed through the doors, and Rosie went back to business.

“Your usual?”

Rachael smiled, recognising that she wasn’t going to get anything out of Rosie right now. “Sure, thanks. And a coffee while you make it? No hurry.” She tugged a smooth, square-edge business card from her pocket and pressed it into Rosie’s hand. “If you want to talk. About anything.”

Thanks to my beta, lovely @ly–canthrope​ 

Tagging: @brokenthelovely​ @mary-ann84​ @pinkzsugar​ @boiled-onionrings​ @dr-kayleigh-dh​ @leapingoveroblivion​

[fairyhaven13]

Lately I’ve been getting really into a series on the subreddit, nosleep, called How to Survive Camping! The first chapter is here, if anyone is interested in reading it: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/clp5h4/how_to_survive_camping/

It’s super good, it’s about a camp manager, Kate, who tries to keep her camp safe for both the campers, and the folklore and fae living in the woods. There’s so much research put into each chapter’s Nonhuman of the Week, and the story ramps up and up and up until you’re on the edge of your seat, wondering how Kate will survive the latest disaster. The one thing is, if you’re going to comment, make sure you do so in-character, because the rule on nosleep is “everything is real, even if it isn’t,” so the bots delete comments that are too meta.

Anyway, the author gave me permission to doodle some of the denizens of her woods! So I’ve been sketching most of the day, and the pictures are a little messy because they’re mostly quick practices of each character, but I’m pretty proud of them. I might do more later that are cleaner and more “finished,” but I wanted to show off what I have so far. It’s another long post, so it’s under the cut.

Top right is Kate, the camp manager. I tried to put a little leafy logo on her shirt. Kate does what she thinks is best for the camp, even if it’s occasionally at the expense of a camper or a denizen. It means that she’s not always the nicest person, but it’s nice to have an author that isn’t a Mary Sue who everyone loves--you can tell Kate is trying her best, and that’s what’s interesting.

Top left is the Man with the Skull Cup. He looks different for everyone who sees him, and this is what he looks like for Kate. He always has a skull-shaped cup with him, and likes to ask people to take a sip from it. If you refuse, he kills you, as fae are wont to do, and if you sip, you puke most of the day, but end up fine. He seems to favor Kate for some reason.

Bottom is the Fairy on the Deer. His deer is gigantic, and I thought about making him smaller to show that, but he’s supposed to be a powerful fairy, so he’s probably pretty big, too. Kate says he’s hard to make out, but that he’s very bright and shiny. He gets very offended if you call his deer a horse.

Top is The Man with No Shadow. I tried for a sinister expression, and added a sketch on the side to show his face better. The Man with No Shadow hates Kate. If you talk to him, and he talks to you, then he will control you, and you will not be you anymore.

Bottom is the Dancers. No one knows if they’re fairies, and they refuse to answer. They love to dance, and get offended if you interrupt them or are rude in general, and they’re pretty vicious when angry. They also love crazy parties and tend to dress in clothes that don’t make sense. To show that, I put the left one in a French-silk top and hula skirt, the middle one in a marching band shirt and leggings, and the right one in a tux jacket and Daisy Duke shorts.

Here we have Kate facing off against the Not-Brother. Explaining anything about him is a spoiler, but it’s mentioned multiple times throughout the series that Kate has a shotgun and knows how to use it.

Bottom is the Man with the Skull Cup going diving, looking for something important in the middle of winter.

Living mountain of detritus coming through, move it or lose it! And by lose it, I mean the Thing in the Dark gets SUPER ticked if you look at it going by, and will eat you alive. If you’re polite, though, it’s pretty polite back. Just don’t try to see its face.

Then there’s the Lady with Too Many Eyes, just enjoying a cup of tea. I put her in crocs because she seems like the type of granny to unironically love crocs. I bet her tea tastes like a loving hug.

[mcrmadness]

Finally at my parents house I had all three: I was bored, remembered about my old art AND had motivation and time for start browsing my old art.

My mom has boxes full of our old art in her clothes closet and it’s like, full of stuff. I wonder where did I get my mild hoarding habits :DD So anyway, yesterday I just had this moment when I remembered about that box and made my way to the top of that closet (it’s very tiny and has small stairs and the boxes are at the back) and finally, again after years, I got to take a look at my old, old artwork :D

There’s everything from between the ages 7 and 13, I think. I have my “best” old arkwork here at home, I have put them in folders back when I still lived with my parents but that box is mostly drawings that I had no place to store so my mom brought in these boxes for each of us and we would then put all the old drawings there. There were lots of drawings I didn’t remember about anymore but also lots of drawings I did remember. I didn’t browse all of that yet - I’m gonna continue from that tomorrow - but I found lots and lots and lots of stuff that was me desperately trying to create something that would become comic book characters. I know for sure I created my first comic book characters when I was about 9 or 10 years old and I found papers ABOUT these characters and I thought I already had all that here. Since I have all of my “comic book history” saved. I have all the notebooks with those comics here, but didn’t realize I had so much more back at my parents’ house. (And there’s also lots and lots of dinosaur drawings. Most of them seems to have text at the back - I drew them for my dad with a little one-phrase story of what’s happening. It was usually always a dinosaur parent and their kid(s) wandering to somewhere to eat and drink. I might have grown up with the Land Before Time movies...)

Also, to quote my brother: “I see why you like The Sims games.” because I kept creating families. I even created some random cat-anthropomorphic family (I’d quess I was 8-9 years old based on my drawing style) and there were probably 10 papers of that family alone, of them dressed up in summer clothes and winter clothes. Them as a bit older. Then again bit older. And then much older. And I think eventually there were even a new generation in the last papers.

The most interesting one was probably the stuff I did at the last year of that art school I went to as a hobby once a week after school, I attended it for about 5-7 years. The reason for why I wanted to take a look at that box was because I remembered I had some of my old artwork and “sketchbooks” from the art school there and I was curious to know if I really learn a thing in there because the only things I remember from art school is that I had troubles staying in the class because of my concentration problems. I’d have rather been running around the hallways and investigating places with my cousin (who sometimes had to kinda hold me back by saying that we really can’t do that since we’re supposed to do arts here).

I just checked that diploma I got from the art school and it seems that I did in total 4 school years (240 hours) of that at first - this is dated to 2003 when I was 12. And I continued it the next year but it was a differen’t group, it was about drawing and painting, whereas these first 4 years were about the basics of art in general. I don’t remember if I finished with the 5th year or if I already started the 6th, I just remember I was in junior high and I was starting to lose my interest towards the art school. I think it was the 5th year because that year I got more into horses and started my new horse hobby (that eventually led into me becoming a professional equine groomer many years later).

BUT ANYWAY, I noticed I am very good at analyzing my art and handwriting and could use that to track the art to correct years as I didn’t often have any dates written on stuff, but just based on my comic style (as I just had to include these doodles _everywhere!), I was able to tell that “yes, I drew this one when I was 12, for sure!” And I was right. I estimated that this one acrylic painting I did was from when I was about 11 or 12 or so, and I found the “sketchbook”  and I actually had written quite a nice story there. Very cliché, but I really liked the writing style, especially for it being written by someone who was only 11-12 at the time. The sketchbook’s cover said IV which means it was tha last year of the basic education aka I indeed was 11-12 when I did all that.

Then my brother found some huge drawing that had drawings that looked like something I used to draw, I didn’t even remember about them anymore but I told him that those look exacty like what I did when I was 12 or 13. He also found some huge unfinished drawing that was done with charcoal and I didn’t recognize it, I had no memory of it so I said it’s probably something by my mom because I doubt I had such good drawing skills back then. Then I found a sketch book for that course and based on the comics again, I said it’s probably from when I was 12 or 13. And then I found the sketch of that CHARCOAL DRAWING. So it IS mine, after all? I don’t remember doing it at all, but it looks actually really good and I can’t believe it’s me who has drawn that. I also found a painting and the sketch for that painting from the sketchbook, and I couldn’t say if I used oil paints or acrylics on that. Somehow I have a feeling that it was oil paint but really the only thing I remember from that is how we built the frames on our own and stapled the fabric on it to really do the whole painting from scratch, like literally. The painting itself is not that good - I have never really been a painter. I’m more of a drawer - pencils, colored pencils and fineliners are my thing. I like details and small pictures, and paintings were always so big and huge things and hard to come up with anything because my details still were too small for painting. I like when I have full control over things I do and I could never achieve that with paint, I just never really understood how to work with that - watercolors, acrylic or oil - and I ended up actually hating that because I always only made a mess, and I kinda got an overdose from all that painting because I never really liked it but it felt like it was the only thing we ever did, or that we did that a lot more often than just regular drawing.

I also found some drawing I had done with pencils and I don’t know if it was for regular school or the art school, and it had no year or class number on it, it looked actually pretty good and I really liked how I had worked with the shadows. The human character looked like it didn’t belong into the picture, without him I’d have guessed it was from when I was maybe even 13 but with him I’d say I was rather 11. But it’s so weird because I had drawn there a tiny abandoned house, and the whole drawing was very abstract with some sort of weird cloud, and all that looked so much more “professional” than the human figure. So I have no idea when or where or what was that for, but I’d love to know what was the story behind that. It looked like some serious assignment.

Anyhow, I think I will take out that box tomorrow (or actually today as it’s 7am and I should be sleeping already) because my dad asked if we can browse the drawings together, and that could be lots of fun too. I really want to bring the box to home eventually. There’s so much interesting stuff and lots of memories in those drawings, and I think I might want to take photos of some of the most interesting ones.

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Notes and Quotes from ‘Art of Trollhunters’ book

Jim’s nose was almost SUPER beaky.

Confirmation putting Gunmar’s eye in the Amulet was indeed what gave Jim a helmet.

One of the concepts for Jim’s helmet looks like the helmet Claire got.

Messy-haired Claire without hair clips.

Claire was almost a redhead.

Toby was almost wearing a puffy-sleeved blue winter coat all the time - in California, poor kid! The setting might be why the design was cut.

I like the crystal-y design for Toby’s armour where a plate on the back pops off (don’t worry, there’s more armour underneath it!) and becomes a shield.

Draal’s design started out as concept art for Changeling!Steve. THAT explains the parallels between Steve and Draal, both visual (blue palette, yellow hair/yellowish horns, top-heavy ‘buff’ silhouette) and narrative (introduced as a bully character, sees Jim as a rival after the opening episodes, later becomes ally to brunet kid a third of his size, has a thing for super-tall girls who can kick his ass). Considering what happened to Draal I’m honestly a little worried about Steve’s chances to survive the TOA trilogy.

Useful references for how Draal’s prosthetic arm is put together!

Some of the concept art for Gunmar’s horn design looks like the design they ultimately went with for Usurna’s horns.

Ron Perlman, voice of Bular, says Gunmar has “been imprisoned for four hundred years”.

The temple where Angor Rot was imprisoned was in Ranthambore, India.

Guillermo del Toro was clear from early days that Blinky’s “dark, evil brother” should be named ‘Dick’ - ‘Dictatious’ came from the writers’ room.

Usurna’s purple crest is actually a crown, not part of her horns? Which “mimics her natural, glowing carvings.”

Rodrigo Blaas, executive producer and voice of the gnomes: “I always thought that the Gnome voice came from mixing two very weird things: a flamenco singer and baby talk.”

Eli in a striped shirt actually resembles some of the concept art for Jim.

I’m going to keep calling the Nyalagroth a Nyarlagroth, because that’s what it sounds like when the characters SAY it, and I’ve already got the tag, and it’s previously been written as Nyarlagroth in other books (and I know I complain about the novels a lot but they ARE a useful source for “how to spell this character’s name” when your TV keeps dimming or changing the screen when you try to pause the credits).

The book mentions Nana ‘protecting her Toby-Pie and his Trollhunting secret’, which makes me wonder [a] if she secretly knew for longer than we thought she did, and [b] if this foreshadows another scene of that, besides the one of her bludgeoning Detective Scott unconscious.

Vendel describes Stalklings as “one of the only species of troll impervious to the effects on sunlight” (emphasis mine), but the book describes them as “the only trolls that can venture into sunlight” (again, emphasis mine), so I guess this one is up to fanfic writers to decide for themselves.

Morgana’s palette deliberately invokes the sun, on the artists’ part, probably to emphasize how dangerous she is to the trolls.

I kind of like the designs where Merlin has a ponytail but that might be more because I like cloaks and capes. His armour is “rooted in technology”? The Amulet implies that he’s an inventor ...

I was initially surprised at the quote describing Morgana as “the series’ first female villain”, but then I remembered she was introduced (via flashback to when Angor got his soul) before Usurna was, and a whole season before Usurna was revealed to be a villain.

Those little tray-carrying bar trolls do not, now that I can get a good look at one, look as much like Not Enrique as I’d previously assumed. The bar trolls have longer fingers and differently structured legs and feet. I had noticed the horn and eye differences but thought that could be ‘age’ or ‘side effect of Not Enrique being made into a Changeling’.

Not only did Nomura used to have four arms, but Bagdwella did too?!

Concept art for Jim’s house looks like it’s from when they were still working with the original novel, where he lived with his paranoid dad and his mom was the one to walk out.

There’s a horn sharpening stall somewhere in Trollmarket! Or at least a concept design for one.

I like the two-headed troll with the linked nose rings.

In the Troll Pub concept pages there’s a troll dressed like Elvis and carrying a guitar.

Art director Alfonso Blaas is married to a geologist and she found a ton of useful reference images whenever they needed new minerals for characters or locations.

Okay, the Quagawump swamps supposedly are underground, which does not explain the trees. I’m probably going to stick with my theory that they go underwater and burrow into the mud during the daytime.

Neat concept sketches for Gunmar’s fight with Orlagk as portrayed on Killahead Bridge.

Interesting lore about how the Darklands fit into troll history.

There’s a bigger version of that picture of Bular sitting on Gunmar’s throne in the Darklands but no information provided. I’m guessing it’s from an early concept stage. Maybe Bular was going to have a fantasy sequence about becoming the next Gumm-Gumm king, or a bad dream of being trapped in the Darklands with the rest of them and unable to orchestrate their escape.

Very useful reference images for Jim’s shield and glaives!

Note to self, dig up trollish alphabet an look up what it says on the handle of the Shadow Staff. (If it’s trollish.)

The Staff of Avalon - and, by extension, Merlin’s tomb - are in the Ardennes Mountains. The emerald mounted at the top of the staff is supposed to spin.

Good refs for everybody’s weapons, really. Angor’s knife’s hilt is yet another thing shaped like a face. Nomura’s khopesh are referred to as ‘scythe swords’, perhaps because the person writing that blurb doesn’t know the word ‘khopesh’.

It finally occurs to me to wonder, how and why was that crank key that operates a mechanism in the Darklands lying around Blinky’s library for Kanjigar to give to Claire? Are those cranks part of common-but-outdated troll tech, like skeleton keys?

A Fetch is supposedly “the size of an average dinner plate” - I believe that’s about a foot in diameter.

Ah, good, there’s a key to trollish runes on page 186. The Shadow Staff inscription reads “skath”, probably connecting to it being called the “Skathe-Hrun” or however that’s spelled, I’m pretty sure I missed an umlaut. The runes on the little flaps that open on the back of the Amulet of Daylight to let the Trollhunter put in different power stones, however, still don’t seem to match up with trollish runes, no matter what angle I look at them from - at first I’d thought Merlin just wrote his name in a circle there because one of them kind of looks like an ‘M’ and his name is six letters long.

The Gyre is described as “part rollercoaster and part hamster wheel.”

The little doodle of Dictatious over the title for the ‘Afterword by Mark Hamill’ is precious.

It amuses Mark Hamill that he gets typecast as villains when he does voice acting - “How do you get typecast in animation?” - and he has a lot of fun with those parts.

I was supposed to be asleep twenty minutes ago so I’m going to go do that now.

[thisweekingundamwing]

This Week in Gundam Wing 4-10 August 2019

Here’s this week’s roundup!

Remember to give your content creators some love! And join in on the events at the bottom!

~Mod Hel (I almost completely forgot I needed to do this!)

Fanfiction/Snippets/AU Ideas:

Amberly

Knife in Hand (Ch. 29-30) https://archiveofourown.org/works/6068848/chapters/47722984

Trowa Barton/Duo Maxwell

Trowa Barton, Duo Maxwell, Heero Yuy, Zechs Merquise, Chang Wufei, Relena Peacecraft, Quatre Raberba Winner, Dorothy Catalonia, Howard (Gundam Wing), Original Characters

Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Consent Issues, Organized Crime, Assassination, child trafficking, Past Abuse, Federal Agents, Abuse of Power, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Gender Issues

Part 1 of the The Broker's Porch series

Have a recap of the previous conversation, future planning, and some shameless, shameless smut. Duo is exploring his sexuality, and whoooo boy is it hot. It’s an important milestone, not only for Duo, but for the relationship he has with Trowa.

@bobo-is-tha-bomb​

The Circus https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139331

Trowa Barton/Dorothy Catalonia

Trowa Barton, Dorothy Catalonia, Catherine Bloom, Quatre Raberba Winner

Romance, One-Shot, citrus, Mild Adult Situations

Dorothy always enjoyed watching decent men stumble over their own feet after she had given them a small smile, only to reject them the next instant. But Trowa wouldn't stumble over his own feet. Oh no… he would devour her instead.

The Bodyguard (Ch. 6-12) https://archiveofourown.org/works/19924237/chapters/47378779

Heero Yuy/Reader

Heero Yuy, Reader, Relena Peacecraft

Romance, Drama, Violence, Mild Sexual Content

When death threats start to get serious, Preventer sends an Agent to protect you. But this man might be more dangerous to you than any death threat.

@disturbed02girl​

https://terrablaze514.tumblr.com/post/186819332852/i-am-so-amused-with-this-photo-i-think-wu-is

Not only is this an angsty, psychological ficlet starring Heero and Wufei, but it's part of a fun thread by @disturbed02girl. A fill in the blanks game.

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/186817425709/i-am-so-amused-with-this-photo-i-think-wu-is

https://helmistress.tumblr.com/post/186820295309/i-am-so-amused-with-this-photo-i-think-wu-is

@janaverse​

Where are we now https://janaverse.tumblr.com/post/186844816033/where-are-we-now

written for this prompt: “I saw you staring at each other, I just wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage.” 

summary: duo is finally back, but things are far from okay and trowa is invested

pairings: friendships all around and hints of future 1+2+1 / 1X2X1… once we make it past the angst

warnings: some angst

note: this was supposed to be light and fluffy, but it took a completely different direction - much to my surprise.   I will most definitely be writing more in this universe; some in the future and some in the past. for now, I think it stands fine on its own.

ShenLong1

Bound, Bonded and Betrayed (Ch. 81) https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9726683/81/Bound-Bonded-and-Betrayed

Heero is the eldest son of the King of Colonia. His 21st birthday is approaching and as tradition dictates his betrothed is soon to arrive. However he is also bound by tradition to select his own personal slave. The events that unfold lead him down a path that not only tests his sanity but his humanity and love as well.

Rated: Fiction M - English - Drama/Romance - Heero Y., Duo M. 

@terrablaze514​

Freedom Fighters Snippet Saturday https://terrablaze514.tumblr.com/post/186921274347/disclaimer-i-dont-own-these-characters-rated

Yep! It's a sneak peek into the "Freedom Fighters" AU series. Can't wait to get ahead with it! Rated T for implied loss of parents, more warnings in later chapters. Basically, Quatre wants his friends to move in with him. If only that was easy.

Fanart/Gunpla/Photo Manips:

@christianmswanson​

https://christianmswanson.tumblr.com/post/185648891959/his-gundam-was-a-learning-process-i-learned-how

XXXG-OIH Heavyarms, model (gunpla)

@duointherain​

https://duointherain.tumblr.com/post/186836294119

Duo Maxwell

@gundayum​

https://gundayum.tumblr.com/post/186850063166/here-have-some-doodles-first-one-is-duos

Duo and his Daughter, Heero

@okamidensetsu​

https://okamidensetsu.tumblr.com/post/186891399650/some-things-i-got-from-a-few-months-ago-time-to

Some gunpla of Wing Zero’s in there. >_>

@sweetloots​

https://sweetloots.tumblr.com/post/186793430817/this-month-on-patreon-im-revisiting-a-sketch-i

Relena and a puppers!

Photosets/Gifsets/Screenshots/Manga Pages:

@disturbed02girl​

https://disturbed02girl.tumblr.com/post/186874179510/pilot-introductions-wufei-and-duo

Character Introductions: WuFei & Duo

Head Canons:

@robo-rad​

https://robo-rad.tumblr.com/post/186865591018/preventer-agent-agent-barton-is-so-cool-i-saw

A series of Preventer Duoisms.

@incorrectgundamwingquotes, @gwkimmy

Fandom Discourse:

@terrablaze514​

https://terrablaze514.tumblr.com/post/186773533917/on-discord-theres-debate-that-the-fashion

Fashion Week discussion. Basically, pinpointing whether or not the Gundam characters like what they're wearing, and how they feel being snapped by paparazzi without warning. This is Part 1.

Crunchyroll Article

How Gundam Wing Became a Global Phenomenon https://www.crunchyroll.com/anime-feature/2019/08/05/how-gundam-wing-became-a-global-phenomenon

Quotes:

@incorrectgundamwingquotes​

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/186873974593/during-mariemaias-rebellion-wufei-sometimes

WuFei & Trowa

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/186878412080/heero-whats-your-status-duo-fucked-up-about

Heero & Duo

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/186854850841/sally-this-says-your-blood-pressure-is-420-over

Sally & Duo

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/186861150121/duo-you-actually-care-about-me-wufei-of-course

Duo & WuFei

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/186869112188/duo-how-the-fuck-do-people-stay-motivated-their

Duo & WuFei

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/186888819849/quatre-heero-youre-losing-a-lot-of-blood

Quatre & Heero

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/186901236058/duo-yall-ever-just-hear-something-that-like

Duo & Trowa

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/186915471846/duo-what-language-do-they-speak-at-the-center-of

Duo, WuFei, & Quatre

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/186783634408/on-a-preventers-mission-duo-we-need-to-get

Duo & Zechs

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/186782819334/heero-is-that-really-yesessary-quatre-in-a

Heero, Quatre, & Duo

Calendar Events:

@gundamzine​

Rhythm Generation: Shooting Stars, Celebrating 25 Years of Gundam Wing

Meet the Mods https://gundamzine.tumblr.com/post/186886285283/head-mod-lifeaftermeteor-brittany-has-been-a

Zine Content https://gundamzine.tumblr.com/post/186791784139/rhythm-generation-shooting-stars-is-an-unofficial

@gundam-wing-bingo

Gundam Wingo is a go!

Come and sign up for a card here: https://gundam-wing-bingo.tumblr.com/post/185466400076/gundam-wing-bingo

@gwcocktailfriday

Cocktail Fridays!

Post responses on Friday, during Happy Hour between 3 & 5 pm in your own timezone.

Here’s the prompt for Friday, August 16th! https://gwcocktailfriday.tumblr.com/post/186909330458/cocktail-friday-post-responses-on-friday-august

For those going to Pillowfort, find us here.

If anyone has ideas for prompts, PLEASE send them in! Our ask box is always open.

In need of Fall and Winter prompts!

@thisweekingundamevents

Gundam Wing Unorthodox Undercover Work Mini Bang

Mine Bang Timeline https://thisweekingundamevents.tumblr.com/post/186718109915/unorthodox-undercover-mini-bang

Writer/Beta Reader Teams have been set!  https://thisweekingundamevents.tumblr.com/post/186758249465/gwuuwmb-writerbeta-teams (Please, if there is a problem, get back to me before the 17th!)

[azahwrote]

16

This is my first blog post, titled Sixteen. Ironic. I have a blackhead mask on my nose and chin. Today is the first of January, 2018. Less than 24 hours ago was new year’s eve, which I had spent asleep in regards to a couple episodes of KUWTK. The time right now is 3 pm and I’ve just reminded myself to take the meat out of the freezer before my mother comes home. The sun is asleep and it seems that the clouds can’t hold the rain any longer. It’s humid and the skin above my brows is drenched in droplets of sweat, unready for another acne attack. It will rain, and when it does, I will turn my jazz tunes on.

The non-sense on your screen are of a sixteen year old girl who prefers to remain unnamed. She starts a blog to excuse herself from doing her winter-break homework. Tragic. She has exactly eight days to analyze one-hundred-and-five questions of subjects she mostly hates, and yet, here she is – her face mask too dry and her limbs plastered with mosquito bites. Almost unattractive and not her best appearance, but naturalistic and at a boiling state of peace procrastinating procrastination around herself.

The rain has poured. She turns on her jazz music like she even likes jazz. These are one of the things she does to keep her out of her comfort zone, and to make herself seem and feel more aesthetic and dreamy.

Two nights later, she wishes she had finished this excerpt from her never-ending afternoon thoughts. She wishes she had spent more time doing the things she likes and things she’s good at. It has been a trick she uses to delay her performance in completing homework – if you can’t bring yourself to finish your homework, then at least do something that’ll benefit you. You see, this confused teenage high-schooler hopes that her doodles, sketches, paintings, photography, short videos and poetry might bring her somewhere someday and that all the procrastination she does now will contribute to her bright future as a creative director or so. But, boy, is she wrong. Even after spending half of her life snapping shots and editing pictures for the gram, her notifications will remain dry as always. Don’t get her wrong, she appreciates the occasional I love your work dm’s and the OMG QUEEN comments from her friends, but she still feels her creative self can go further in the gram business than just occasional compliments and believes she has great visionary potential to help her start her creative-directing career. Nonetheless, regardless of the fact that she cant even pass 200 likes on Instagram, in her heart are still hopes of well recognition and endless requests of endorsements from well-known brands to supply all her with all her basic needs until she turns 25, at least. Sometimes she almost feels underrated for her multi-talented presence and the art she showcases on her feed. Some part of her is always ready to let go off her efforts and give up, because she knows there is obviously more to life than being a public figure on Instagram and #ad posts to keep her wardrobe exclusive and free, and that a creative career doesn’t start from Instagram.

This particular sixteen-years-old dumpling has bigger dreams than just being an Instagram public figure, obviously. She dreams to be a successful and independent daughter by the age of 23, applying her creative skills in a job she loves, freshly graduated from a reputable university, living in a small modern apartment in a big city while visiting her parents often. Her job preference is not a nine-to-five job in a cubicle doing analytics, it is a job where she can create, illustrate, communicate, and design, a job which takes her all over the world with a different destination every week (only because she’s never had a different destination every week, realistically she would be exhausted and spend more time catching up sleep and getting high on jetlags). In short, she desires the things Margaret Zhang seems to be doing on her updated Instagram feed and her ShineByThree blog, like creative consulting high-end brands, creating short-film ads for Chanel and Louis Vuitton, freelance writing for Elle, etc.

Other than sketching, photography and all that artsy creative stuff, this procrastinating blogger-to-be likes languages too. Her multicultural background of being raised in two countries, three cities and six different schools for the past 12 years guided her through an unceasing journey exploring all the different culture and picking up different foreign vocabulary every time entering a friend’s house. A constant voyage through culture has given her numerous friends from different corners of Earth, yet very little connection. That is her problem. An anonymous figure is great at making friends as she is outgoing, carefree and lit, but she is horrible at keeping connections and messaging her friends every evening to make sure they’re in touch which is why even after six school replacements, she only receives “omg girl lets skype i have some TEA” messages from exactly three people – along with another three responsive contacts on Snapchat. She feels she has enough friends to keep her updated on juicy dramas going on in her last home, but not enough connections and conversations to expand her friends circle and update her chances of doing things other creative sixteen-years-olds do, like creative collaborations and experimental projects, or just as simple as going to the movies.

At this age, you could classify this teenage frame we’ve been talking about to be quite…antisocial. She stays home on weekends and doesn’t get invited to parties, but she’s still happy. It’s what she prefers anyway. After having moved to a new juvenile delinquency of a society one-and-a-half year ago, her disappointment at the lack of manners and etiquette of the community in her surroundings have helped matured her perspectives and advanced the prudential quality of her response to life. The people in her current school think she is an awkward outsider, which in this case, she is – because she has absolutely no idea on how to end this blog post which resulted on her going on and on when she should’ve stopped on the third paragraph making this waaaaaay more of a rant than a first blog post. It feels awkward, like she had just met someone and she’s muddling on how to greet them, a hug or a handshake? So, uhhhh, thank you for reading. Good morning.

[comicteaparty]

October 19th-October 25th, 2019 Creator Babble Archive

The archive for the Creator Babble chat that occurred from October 19th, 2019 to October 25th, 2019.  The chat focused on the following question:

Describe your design process for new characters.  How do you go about it?

Holmeaa - working on WAYFINDERS

Ohooh it is my time! First I draw a bunch of quick drawings of body and face We are a small team, so then we had discussions, we knew how they looked in general, sallly had to be small with curls etc. Then when the body was chosen it was time to draw outfits. Since we are doing a whole world we had to find out about what kind of clothing generally people would wear, what accessories, what does nobels and rich wear, contra poor, what is religious garments. Then the faces had to be chosen and drawn again. Then when all elements was in place, it was time for colors. For Lani, I did like 30 different versions of colors, ans combination before we found the right one. For side characters there has been only a few sketches, and since we knew the whole class system with clothing, it was easier to pick and match compared to place in society. Then thinking about the role the person have in society. Next is designing scientist, and that's going to be fun!

Line up if the finished designs of the main(edited)

Face exploration

[IMAGE]

=

More final clothing design

[IMAGE]

Color exploration

[IMAGE]

spacerocketbunny

Oh damn I love all this! I never thought of actually mapping out all the different classes religious/ non religious formal/ casual etc. That's so smart! And these designs are so cute ahhhh

Holmeaa - working on WAYFINDERS

aaw thanks! It was very important for us that it was clear to see! Since the man Andrée is a nobel, and Sallly was part of a crime gang, and Lani is a tempelgirl, and we do have a lot of different social groups

The Q - working on WAYFINDERS

And their homeland is very northern/Viking inspired. I'm very excited to show the other country in the story, which has a much more Mediterranean flavor!

Also yes @Holmeaa - working on WAYFINDERS is super impressive!

Holmeaa - working on WAYFINDERS

Aaaaaaaw you are too sweet!

AntiBunny

Process? Not so much a process as an idea forms in my subconscious and then like Athena rises fully formed in armor from my head. After that they will go through a few revisions. Usually they get simplified a bit, I try to make them a bit more iconic, and easier to draw repeatedly of course.

In AntiBunny http://antibunny.net/ this resulted in some of the earlier character designs being a tad inconsistent, for instance a character in a T-Shirt interacting with a character in a long winter coat.

Since then I've been trying to come up with more consistent seasonal outfit designs. With Book 2 I think I've gotten a lot more consistent with the outfits all making it very clear that it's summer.

So short version is that it starts out with them forming organically from loose ideas, then getting refined and redesigned over time. Not exactly the most scientific approach I know.

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

For new major characters in Phantomarine (http://www.phantomarine.com/) I usually try to design a character and draw them at least 5 times before I have them show up in the comic. Their initial design usually pops into my head pretty quickly, but I do a bunch of test drawings to A) see what looks best and B) isolate things that might be difficult to replicate, and simplify them as much as I can. For new minor characters, my process is way more haphazard - and I’ll admit I fall back on a lot of similar face and body shapes when designing incidental crowd characters or random one-line characters.

But the area I’ve had the most fun jumping into - and didn’t expect to even try out - was costume design. I imagined my characters staying in their main outfits for the entire story, but was encouraged to design wardrobes for each, just as a fun exercise at first. And now, I see outfit-swaps as ways to get out of drawing ruts - and it’s more fun for the readers, too! Makes total sense that characters would switch clothes over a longer story, so when I started doing it, it was not only a “OF COURSE!” moment, but a huge relief in terms of being allowed to try new designs. I’m really looking forward to drawing my characters in all sorts of different ways now.(edited)

The Q - working on WAYFINDERS

THem color schemes though!

MJ Massey

I need to get better about this. I usually slap dash throw characters together, especially background characters, but based on their character traits, I have an idea of how I want them to look.

For my main characters, I start drawing them a couple times, mostly just doodles and then like a concept art or two to really get the hang of them, but I find that drawing them in the comic is what gets them under my fingers the best

Emily and Chester were the ones I designed first, as the two mains I wanted to make sure they would play off each other well. With Emily, the key thing was to make sure she wasn't too cute or attractive--she's supposed to be kind of plain looking and a little drab

Chester, in contrast, is soft and playful looking while Emily is more angular and sharp

Cronaj

For Whispers of the Past, my characters have gone through several redesigns over the years, as I spent time planning the comic, getting better at drawing, and discovering the deeper personalities of my characters. As it is my first comic, I wasn't very organized in my initial process. Since my art style is not very cartoony, I don't use the same stylistic cues to help the readers tell the characters apart, and instead, I rely on a lot of subtle features to tell them apart, such as Agatha's thick eyebrows and full lips:

Or Izrekiel's round under-eye, or his round face:

Some of these reference sheets are more complete than others, and some are older or newer depending on how much help I needed when adjusting each character's designs to my evolving style.

Desnik

I usually start with writing them before I totally know what they look like. Sometimes they wind up with props that I need to work into the design as the story gets rewritten.

Deo101 (Millennium)

For me I generally have a solid idea in my mind before I start drawing. I draw that idea, refine it a bit, and then I draw them about 10-100 more times, depending how much they'll show up. For background characters i pretty much design them right then and there, but for major and minor named characters, i need to get comfortable with them and really test how they react to things. I also will paint my main characters, because I find that forcing myself to fully realize what the character would look like realistically really helps me be more informed when I'm simplifying them later! I tend to focus pretty strongly on color, and tend to monochrome designs. There is also some research involved, where i make moodboards once i get the initial design down so I can refine things! A lot, i know.