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#since in official art his eyes are more grey
mirokuna-hime · 8 months
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My unpopular opinion of the day is that making Chuuyas eyes blue was absolutely the right decision for the anime.
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sitp-recs · 11 days
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Happy St Patrick’s Day! I’m lucky to be friends with two amazing Irish creators and I thought I’d do a short rec list to celebrate them today. These fics (and art!) are great fun and full of references to the Irish language, landscape and traditions. It was really cool to learn more about the Irish culture through them, and I hope you enjoy them as much as I did:
🍀 The Matchmaker by @maesterchill (T, 368 words)
Seamus has had it up to feckin' here with Harry and Malfoy. It's time to take matters into his own hands.
🍀 Is tú mo Rogha [Art] by @maesterchill (G)
Malfoy in a boat—a tiny thing, hide stretched over wood, the sweet elegant curve of the prow beckoning them forward, behind them nothing but the rocky rise of a small island, ahead of them nothing but sea the same grey as Malfoy’s eyes.
🍀 Last Offices by @tackytigerfic (M, 7k)
It didn't seem fair that Malfoy was dead, and Harry was supposed to just keep on living without him. He had lost enough people to know that he probably would keep on going—his stubborn heart was still beating, after all, even though it felt like it was going to break. But first, he had to get through the laying out of the dead—those old Pureblood funeral rites—even if every time he touched Malfoy's too-cold body, he was reminded of how things used to be, and how things might have been.
🍀 Offer Up Our Hearts by @tackytigerfic (M, 23k)
Harry Potter has a very nice life, thank you very much. He's a top Curse-Breaker with a lucrative Ministry contract, and exciting prospects ahead. Sometimes he does wish that he had time to pursue something official with Draco Malfoy - they're half in love with each other, after all, and a great team (in and out of bed), though Draco is still one of the most infuriating people he knows. And when Draco asks Harry to accompany him on a diplomatic mission to the mysterious Sidhe fairies in Ireland, Harry agrees to lend his expertise. Especially since the Sidhe diplomat is a handsome fairy prince who's also in love with Draco.
🍀 Wild - orphaned (E, 93k)
“No,” Harry said, by way of greeting. Malfoy’s blonde head rose slowly, carelessly. “Get out.” “I feel as though we’ve already established this, Potter,” Malfoy responded. “And I feel that what we established was that you telling me to get out of places really doesn’t make me more likely to vacate them.”
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Please go in depth on how you think wanderer isn't much of a red flag as he is now! I agree with you for sure, but I love hearing people's takes on him! Personally, I think scaramouche would definitely be a huge red flag, but I think as he is now, he'd definitely be really loving and caring towards his s/o
OF COURSE I CAN DO THAT!!!!
Scaramouche himself is definitely a very big red flag. From his ties with the fatui, murderous/abusive (to his subordinates) behaviour and as well as his rude manner of speech. He definitely isn’t the most pleasant person you’d want to date.
but Wanderer on the other hand is completely different. And because of this he is a much bigger green flag than Scaramouche and im genuinely so sick of people grouping them in together when he even said himself in game that he doesn’t want to be anymore.
So im gonna go over his green flags (more under the cut!)
1. Animals like him – He likes animals.
Wanderer is actually portrayed with animals in a lot of his official art (or aranaras), specifically birds and cats
His 2023 and 2024 birthday arts are literally just him chilling with animals. In 2023 he’s chilling with a bird and in 2024 he’s with a bunch of cats.
It’s not like he hates it either. sure it may seem like he does sometimes but he really doesn’t
-In his character demo he may have swatted the bird away when it came back at the end, but at the beginning he was completely fine with having it on him as he was walking. He probably only swatted it away because it was flying in his face when he was already annoyed with having to fight those fatui.
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These two images are just him chilling with birds. The second one he even lets on his hand and HES SMILING he literally loves animals like they’re bffs in that picture ITS SO CUTE 😭😭
You can’t even argue that he’s only soft towards animals when he’s alone because of the scenario in his 2024 birthday art where the traveler meets him in the tree when he’s cuddling with the cats. It’s not like he’s even embarrassed or annoyed about them being there he’s just chilling with them!!!!! Sure he did tell the tabby cat off for playing with his vision BUT HE CALLED THEM FLUFFBALLS BEFOREHAND!!!! THATS A WORD THAT WOULDVE NEVER COME OUT OF SCARAMOUCHE’S MOUTH EVER!!!!! AND HE EVEN PROMISED TO PLAY WITH THE CATS LATER!!!!!! The white and grey cat also just lounging on his leg knocked out completely defenceless is also a sign. cats are usually very alert when they try and sleep unless they’re CERTAIN that they’re safe. and look me in my eyes and try to tell me that that cat isn’t feeling 100% safe sleeping on his leg.
This isn’t even his only appearance with cats minus him being portrayed as a cat. he has a chibi birthday art from 2023 that’s just him and a cat hanging out with a birthday present
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The second piece of dialogue might make him look mad but the art literally proves it otherwise he’s just confused LMAO there is not a single angry wrinkle on his face nope NOTHING!!!!
2. His development with the Traveler
Wanderer’s attitude stayed around the same since he regained him memories, but it isn’t as bad as when he was Scaramouche. It’s very evident from how he talks to the Traveler before going to Irminsul and while they’re there for some time and then how he talks after regaining his memories. It’s much softer and he isn’t biting as much. Hell, he even asks the Traveler to give him a new name when he could’ve asked Nahida to or waited awhile before asking.
In his voicelines he’s still the same. Though the birthday one is something I’d like to focus on the most.
“Give me your hand. Heh, there's no need to be nervous. I'm just taking you to a vantage point.”
“How is it? The scenery here should be quite breathtaking. There's no need to thank me — I see little point in it.”
Wanderer went out of his way to do that for the Traveler on their birthday. He could’ve just barked that he doesn’t need to do anything for their birthday or that he doesn’t care or that they’re still enemies so he doesn’t need to celebrate it but he still does something nice for the Traveler regardless!!!Him initiating physical contact just to take them to a vantage point and reassuring the Traveler because they’re nervous is something he CHOOSES to do.
Now, I’ve always thought that he was flying the Traveler to the vantage point, but now that im rereading the line it literally doesn’t even mention him flying so LMAO
BUT ITS STILL SWEET IN BOTH WAYS
-He’s going out of his way to FLY the Traveler to the vantage point. And if he’d have to fly them there then obviously there’d be more physical contact than hand holding. That means he’s completely fine with having the Traveler in his personal space like that, so obviously he trusts them a lot more now to a certain degree!!!
-If he’s not flying to the vantage point, he’s still initiating physical contact with the Traveler even though he doesn’t have to.
LIKE OMG?????
In his birthday art scenarios, he’s completely fine with the Traveler hanging out with him. HE EVEN ASKS THEM TO STAY WITH HIM FOR A WHILE IN THE 2023 ONE IF THEY DONT MIND!!!!!
I feel like the 2023 one does a good job with explaining him and the Travelers enemies to friends (to lovers— GUNSHOTS) pipeline. He calls them meeting on his birthday a coincidence and gets ready to leave, but he’s completely fine with the Traveler not wanting to leave!!!! And when he asks them to stick around with him that’s clearly showing what he wanted the WHOLE GODDAMN TIME!!!!!!!
The 2024 chibi art scenario one is just them enjoying each other’s company. His regular birthday art for this year is kind of the same too. It shows how now neither of them dislike the other’s company, they’re fine with each other and they dont complain about it, no nothing!!!!!!
His Teapot lines are (OBVIOUSLY) the best examples of how he is when he fully trusts someone though.
Here’s a list of the things he does that are a complete 180 to how many people expected him to be:
-He apologises more often
-Criticises himself for criticising the empty spots in your teapot
-Perfectly fine with chatting whenever
-Despite saying to the Traveler that they should start the conversation because he has nothing fun or positive to share, he still dominates the conversation by talking about his tea preferences and how he came to like drinking tea in the first place
-Perfectly fine with sharing a meal with the Traveler that they prepared just for him
His goodnight line is really sweet too. Thanking the Traveler for looking out for him and telling them to go get rest. Like that’s so sweet 😭😭😭😭
I really do hope that he gets more plot relevancy in an event or in another archon quest because I really want to see more of his relationship with the Traveler now. They’re just so UGHHHHHH 😭😭😭😭😭😭
3. His behaviour towards other people
It’s not even just the Traveler that he’s nice to. He’s nice to other characters too!!!!
In A Parade of Providence he’s shown being nice to Layla and Tighnari
-He helps Layla by offering her advice when he overhears about her anxiety to participate in the swiftflies
-Gives the Traveler a water-skin to give to Tighnari because he fainted in the desert. Despite providing snarky comments about how fragile humans are to extreme environments he still goes out of his way to help Tighnari when he could’ve ignored what was going on to win.
I really hope we get some more interactions with Wanderer and the Sumeru cast because wtf!!!!! Why not!!!!!
In his 2024 birthday letter he mentions that his classmates surprised him for his birthday with a cake. And instead of being mostly annoyed about how they disturbed his peace and quiet, he’s more concerned about why they would even want to celebrate his birthday in the first place which is actually sad 💔
Wanderer doesn’t even seem to hate participating in events and things with other people either. In his 2023 birthday letter he mentions that he was dragged into a cooking interest group by a couple of students, and despite the fact that he could’ve just left or told them he didn’t want to participate or scared them off, he still participated in cooking with them.
As well as learning from an old merchant how to sew and stitch to recreate the tiny doll the boy from his past had made him. It specifically mentions that he went to visit Treasures Street to learn how to make toys, so this wasn’t just some run in he had, he CHOSE to learn how to make a doll so he could recreate that one. He even takes it with him while he travels and it notes how it feels like a travel companion to him 😭😭 AND THE ENDING PART OF THE TINY DOLL STORY
“"From today, you shall wander together with me."”
“He said softly, placing it in his pocket.”
LIKE THATS SO SWEET 😭😭😭😭
SO!!!! How would all of this impact him having a romantic relationship??
If you manage to become friends with him, it’s definitely going to take awhile to break down his walls. But in that time he’s definitely going to be snarky, but not outright rude to you. He’ll probably just get more annoyed if anything about being bothered a bit more frequent than he’d like, though he’d probably never say that towards you.
As you break down those walls though, he’s definitely going to soften overtime and he won’t mind your company. At some point he’ll probably be actively seeking it out.
And when you get together with him. He’s definitely gonna be loving and caring towards you!!!! Honestly I think his love languages are Physical Touch and Quality Time so he’s definitely going to seek those out from you, preferably mushing the two together.
Overall, in the beginning he’s probably going to be more tsundere-ish (ew… im never using that term again after this…) towards you but eventually with enough dedication from you he’ll break down his walls and let you in and show you his softer side.
And that’s why I think that Wanderer is more of a green flag than a red flag
Thank you for coming to my ted talk it’s 2am and I have therapy in the morning so uh whoops!!!!
If anyone wants to add anything please feel free too!!! It’s always nice hearing what other people have to say (as long as ur not rude about it)
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the-fiction-witch · 3 months
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Idiot
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Media The Artful Dodger
Character Jack Dawkins
Couple Jack X Reader
Rating Adorable
Requested:
 can u do a story where they are about to do the duel with Sneed and Jack when they are about to fight and then Fagin goes instead. Well instead of Fagin doing it can u make y/n do it instead and like Jack gets really upset and thinks she's going to get shot but then doesn't and Sneed gets shot instead? And then after Jack confesses his love for her ❤️. 
I walked out to the coast to meet Sneed for this stupid duel, prepared to fight with him and having freshly refreshed my sword skills in preparation. 
"You're an idiot," Y/n said as she followed along as my second I was going to bring Fagin but as usual he had disappeared when I needed him, so I brought Y/n along really any excuse to spend more time with her, Maybe all the adrenaline with cause me to actually tell the damn girl I like her. But I'd been trying to do that for the last three years and still hadn't gotten anywhere.
"I know," I rolled my eyes, she'd been on this since I told her.
"you're going to die."
"I'm not going to die."
"Yes, you are."
"No, I'm not. I spent ten years in the navy I'm a master with a sword."
"And what if he doesn't pick swords as the weapon?"
"He challenged me, simple duel rules Challender picks location and time, Accused picks weapons."
"And if Sneed ignores that?"
"He won't. He's a gentleman."
"So are you and you'd cheat him out of choosing if you'd challenged him." 
She did have a point there, "Well he's more a gentleman than I am." 
"And what if he does let you pick and it turns out he's great with a sword."
"I already know he isn't and I am, hence why I shall pick swords." 
"and if he hurts you?"
"He won't hurt me,"
"what if he does?"
"He won't, I will merely scratch the pompous git and this will be over"
"And if he does scratch you?"
"Then I'm a doctor I can fix it."
"if you live, I'm gonna kill you." 
"I know y/n," I sighed, "What will you do if I win?"
"I'll kick your blonde butt for going through with it." 
"And if I lose?"
"I'll kick your blonde butt for not listening to me." She said, 
I stopped for a moment knowing just over this hill was the spot where Sneed and I would Duel, for a moment I did think of all she had said, she was right I was being an idiot but I wasn't going to let him win. 
"You alright?"
"Yeah," I nodded forcing my feelings away, for a moment I wanted to tell her how I felt about her, how even as I looked at her in her grey dress, the hem dirty and torn, her straggly hair pulled back with a bow, her arms crossed over her chest, she looked infuriated with me but still m,y heart fluttered for her. "If I win, Would you kiss me?" I asked, 
She chuckled, "Funny Jack." She rolled her eyes walking on but I held her arm stopping her and forcing her to turn back to me, 
"If I lose, will you kiss me?"
"If you lose, you'll be dead, and the only thing you shall receive from my lips is me telling you I told you so." She said heading up the hill, 
"Well, I am rather ... mostly grateful to have known you Y/n"
"Likewise Jack, life will never be the same without you, you utter idiotic fuckwit." 
I sighed but followed her and soon enough we arrived where Sneed stood with his second some, slimy guy and a priest. "Since when does a priest officiate a duel?"
"Who else is there?" She asked,
"Good point."
"Ahh finally arrived Dawkins. we had a bet you'd be late." Sneed smirked,
"I wouldn't be late, If you hadn't picked somewhere quiet to out of my way." I sighed, 
He ignored me "Miss," He slyly smiled at y/n bowing his head slightly like a gentleman.
"Eyes front Sneed or I'll blacken one." She warned him, 
"Now shall we get on then?" The priest asks, 
"Yes, I think we should." Sneed Smirked,
"Gentlemen are you prepared to settle this amicably," The priest asked and both I and sneed nodded "Wonderful, Now. That being the case, seconds. Ensure the weapons are loaded," he said opening the case to reveal two pistols,
"Uhh... I thought the accused chose the weapons." I spoke up, "The challenged picks the weapons that was always the rule." I said panic setting in, 
"That's Cambridge rules Dawkins, not down here." He smirked,
Ohhh fuck! fuck! fuck!
Y/n and his slimy man took the pistols checked them over and loaded them
"Ten paces each, tun and fire on my signal. All clear? Then let us proceed with the festive Proceedings." He said heading over to the duelling spot with Sneed smirking behind him, 
For a moment my feet were glued to the floor I couldn't move them even if I wanted to, my heart felt like it was racing and slowing at the same time, I felt... utterly empty unsure how I was going to get out of this, even if there was a way out of this. I began to walk over but -
"Ohh for-" She began as she grabbed my jacket and pulled my lips to hers, I was overjoyed fireworks going off in my stomach but I had no time to hold her or even kiss her back before she pulled back, "You absolute idiot."
I wanted to stay and kiss her forever but I walked and stood where I had pistol in hand Sneed's back to mine, 
"One," The priest began forcing me to take my first step I listened as he counted down a million things flashing through my mind, 
"Two" I could run?... I'd never get that far.
"Three" I could turn and shoot him before the count... I'd be arrested for that. 
"Four" I could try and shoot him!.. he'll shoot me first.
"Five" He's gonna shoot me... I can only pray he only gets my arm or my leg something I can deal with
"Six" No he's gonna get my chest or my head just to be a cunt about it
"Seven" I'm really gonna die... and I never told y/n! 
"Eight" She kissed me! and I never even told her I liked her!
"Nine" So this is it... the life I've lived. In a few seconds, It will all be over... at least I'll die having kissed y/n, god knows I'd have wanted more but, I Guess I'll be happy. and I die savouring her kiss
"Ten!" 
I turned on my heels as quick as I could pointing my pistol and so did he but -
"Cease this immediately!" The Governor yelled, 
Quickly we both looked over as he came over the hill, I saw everyone standing watching y/n with a hand over her face but she peeked out when she heard his shout
"I was told... rather unsportingly, that this town cannot survive without its two surgeons. Lower your weapons." He demanded, I waited until Sneed lowered his but when he did I lowered my own "Good, Now In circumstances such as these, the seconds must assume their place." 
"What!" I yelled,
"No this is not how I want to view a duel." the Slimy man complained, 
"I will not be duelling bloody anybody!" Y/n complained, 
"You can't, she can't she- she's a woman she can't duel," I said, 
"Well given the circumstances we shall allow it."
"I'm from a good family dating back to 1256." He complained, 
"Why should I die because he's an idiot. This can't be allowed!" she complained, 
"I revoke my allegations," Sneed said,
"I apologise unreservedly," I told him, 
"It's too late," The priest said,
"Honour must be served." The governor demanded, 
Sneed handed his pistol over but... I couldn't I can't do this to her, it's not fair, it's not fair, she'll die! 
The priest forced the pistol from my hand and gave it to her,
"Jack?" She pleaded But he forced her to walk "I am never! not going to be angry with you. I swear to god Jack I will haunt your every waking moment! I will be the face in your nightmares and I swear! you will have nothing but nightmares for the rest of your miserable life you idiotic little shit!" She yelled as she walked to the point 
"One," Oh my god
 "Two," this is really happening
 "three," She's gonna get shot and it's all my fault
"Four" I can only hope he hits her arm, her leg, her foot something I can save her!
"five." I'm never gonna see her again
"Six," But- I I never told her I love her!
"Seven," She'll die never knowing how I felt about her
"Eight," I'd sell my soul just to kiss her... just one more time
"Nine" Oh gods no not Y/n! I can't watch! 
Tears filled my eyes so much I could barely even see but I didn't want to see
"Ten!" 
And I heard two shots. 
The Shots echoed through the sky but I heard only one scream, Sneed dropped to the ground having been shot in the thigh, in fact... given the angle, she had shot him, his second so useless he fired into the air nowhere even here her.  I was so relieved she was okay. 
I rushed over and hugged her as tight as I could, she hugged me too dropping the pistol, I sniffled and tried desperately not to cry into her shoulder, "I was so scared I was gonna lose you." 
"yeah. well... How do you think I felt you idiot." She laughed, 
"You're right. I am so so sorry, that you had to do this... and for not listening to you." 
"It's okay, you're forgiven." She smiled, "So? I shot Sneed that mean I win?"
"I mean technically you were dueling with that guy, but... I do appreciate you shooting Sneed."
"So? do I win or not?"
"I'm gonna say you win."
"Good, So? do I get a kiss if I win?"
"I think you definitely deserve a kiss." I smiled pulling her into a sweet an soft kiss, I felt so happy when I kissed her, like nothing else mattered in this world but the two of us, "I'm in love with you."
"What?"
"I'm in love with you, I have loved you since the first day I met you, and I was the biggest Idiot in the world for never telling you, It dawned on me... as I walked that, I could have died and never told you how I felt, if you had died I'd never have seen you again and never did I tell you how much I adore you." 
She smiled widely and stroked a tear from my cheek "Awww, Yeah Jack. I love you too you big dumb idiot" she smiled rubbing her nose on mine
"I'm your big dumb idiot" I smiled rubbing back 
"Yeah, But I love you" she smiled pulling us into another sweet kiss. 
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squipedmew · 11 months
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well, since the Dream SMP has officially come to a close, I thought I’d share what I’ve been up to for the past 2 years - making character designs for every single one of the characters!
 I really wanted every character to look distinct, with really distinct color pallets, unique weapons for each and every character - basically like each one of them could be the protagonist of a wildly different story from one another. Feel free to steal them (with credit) if you want!
I kinda dropped off working on it in late 2022, so I think I missed a few characters, as well as going back and re-doing some of the oldest ones (that’s why some of them are more detailed - those are the 2023 versions)
As strange as it is for me to say this, DSMP had such a big impact on me, especially over COVID. I haven’t had a piece of media fill me with such a passion to create art and improve probably since Undertale all the way back in 2015, if you can believe it. I owe a lot of my art improvement to this silly little Minecraft series, and though I may have lost touch with it near the end, it will always hold a special place in my heart. 
o7 you crazy, wacky, depressing, stupid, unsatisfying, joyful, hilarious, and amazing series. I wish everyone involved in it the best!
(A few extra designs under the cut!)
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This is a 2020 Pogtopia Wilbur I made, and if I were to draw it now, I probably wouldn’t change a thing. This design fucking slaps imo, I’m still super proud of it. 
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Exile Era Tommy. Wilbur’s old Pogtopia coat has been passed around so many times between so many different interpretations of characters, so I thought it made more sense for Tommy to take the L’Manberg era coat from Wilbur, since that was the version of him he idolized (This is an old version of Wilbur’s coat btw)
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Post Dream-Getting-Sent-To-Prison Tommy! I wanted to emphasize how Tommy was trying to move past his trauma, so he shaved off the grey streak he got from the Withers in the L’Manberg explosions (I gave him the grey streaks before Revival canonized it - don’t ask me why)
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Las Nevadas Quackity. It’s basically a 1 to 1 for his skin, save for the really ugly blue patches and hoodie I gave him. If I were to do it again, I would def change that. 
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Snowchester Tubbo. Also still holds up, though I’m not 100% on the pants. This was kinda before goat Tubbo got super canonized, so I just decided to have the eyes. The scars are from the execution. 
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Revivbur. He looks pretty good for a dead bitch - though I messed up the L’Manberg flag colors on the bandanna on his ankle. Guess he’s french now. 
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Team Rocket era Niki! She took custody of Wilbur’s Pogtopia coat, albiet cutting off the parts that were covered in blood and soot (which was most of it) I also made her a fire-born like Sapnap, though you can’t see from his design - her hair is on fire when she feels strong emotions, and she’s basically going through it 24/7 during this part. 
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Syndicate Niki! She’s calmed down and is no longer on fire, but her hair is still pink from all those weeks of constant rage and sadness. Also dressed more appropriately for the snow. 
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Dream Post Prison. Mask no longer has invisibility enchantments, so he doesn’t bother hiding his face. Gotta wonder how it’s staying on though. Get this man some moisturizer. 
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cuckoo-on-a-string · 8 months
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Promises Five: The Hunt
Dark!Morpheus x (female)reader, fantasy/medieval AU, 18+
Master List
Dream of the Endless had been promised a bride.
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A/N: I'll offer song recs to folks who are interested in asks! Still dealing with some mental health issues, but pushing through. HOLY SHIT THE NEXT CHAPTER. 0,0 Liking is sweet, commenting is divine. Talk to the lonely hermit, people. Her dog is tired of her shit.
The hounds sang after the hinds, and their masters followed them under the trees.
In the distance, the high castle sat like a toy house from which all the dolls had escaped, spreading their games and pageantry through the forest with bells and horns to warn away the deer and fox. Huntsmen released other deer, fox, and fowl from prearranged cages out of sight of the king and his swarm of courtiers, so the dolls could play pretend at feats of skill.
The bard kept to the back, holding a tight rein on her grey mare – who didn’t understand why she couldn’t stop and graze if the bard insisted on moving so slowly – in the company of the ladies Alder. Eilwyn, who’d visited the bard’s chamber two nights past, glimmered and glowed, illuminated like a piece of art in the dappled sunlight and the eyes of a few dozen would-be suitors. Officially, no one could pay court until the Endless had his pick. Unofficially, Eilwyn had received six declarations of love, five bad poems about her eyes, one good poem about her hair, and an uninspired puzzle box containing a gaudy necklace without a single gem of value.
Eilwyn loved it all, of course.
But as the younger woman amused herself snaring hearts for her collection, the bard conversed with the Dowager Alder, Eilwyn’s grandmother.
“The city lights are unbearable,” the elder Alder insisted. “My eyes are bad enough as it is, but when every street and tavern glows like the moon, I can hardly make out the planets with my telescope, let alone the fainter stars. With the travel time, I’ll lose whole weeks of work, and gods know if I’ll be alive to note my calculations this time next year.”
Manly shouts and howling dogs suggested something ahead had died, or was about to. The bard wondered how many of these fools in their fine furs would discover the material cost of bloodsport when they couldn’t scrub the stains from their velvets in the morning.
“You say that every year.”
The Elder Alder, on her aged palfrey, squinted at the green canopy shielding her beloved sky and tutted.
“And one year I’ll be right, like I always am in the end.”
The woman was an astronomer, a mathematical magician, and the idea of death hadn’t scared her since the bard first met her as a young maid. The wheel of the heavens moved before her, and it would move after, and that was well enough if she could just understand the damn thing before she shuffled off this mortal coil. She’d written books, and papers, and more books, and the bard wondered if Death would really hold off until the universe held no more mysteries. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Of course, Lady Alder.”
Arthritis had long-since gnarled the lady’s hands, and they twisted over the saddle pommel and a hank of her horse’s main like knobby cypress knees, straining with the roll and sway of her palfrey’s gait.
“How far is the damned camp?”
Another lady – one of the fools hoping to wed her daughter to the Endless riding very far ahead near the king – seized the reins of her precious child’s horse and passed the odd trio. She did not look to the side. She did not look at anything. She lifted her nose far too high. And she nearly trotted over her own servants in passing.
The bard waved, and the daughter gawked with wide eyes as she was spirited away from poor influences and dangerous words. Really, any damage was already done, and fleeing the scene of battle only showed weakness. What kind of lesson would the girl really learn besides the fact that her mother enjoyed making a spectacle of her piety? Parents really had the strangest ideas about children.
“Grandmother!” Eilwyn exclaimed, clearly delighted.
The bard, equally delighted, couldn’t help herself. “Such language from so fair a lady. Shocking.”
The Dowager shifted in her saddle, face puckered in discomfort. “Hush, the both of you.”
Oh, if only she could. She laughed to imagine how much pain and trouble might’ve been saved. And how many adventures missed. They never would’ve been friends at all if the bard kept her own counsel.
“You expect a bard to hold her tongue?”
“The sun will freeze first.” The Dowager made a point of staring down her granddaughter, though, and her granddaughter made a point of smiling very prettily in reply. A lord several lengths ahead called for Lady Eilwyn’s attention, and she brokered an armistice by riding out of her grandmother’s line of sight entirely, leaving the two old companions to fight their own wars.
“My old bones are not made for riding.”
A jolt of pity seared the bard’s belly like the pain after eating a rotten fish. She’d rather purge it and be done, but the prickling discomfort would only grow with age. There was no course but to swallow it down and imagine it hurt much less than it would in time.
“Why didn’t you take the coach then? It could’ve brought you in comfort.”
Swollen knuckles flexing, the lady scoffed. “With the rest of the invalids? Don’t insult me.”
“But it’s so much fun, old friend.”
“Old,” Lady Alder muttered. “Yes. I am that.”
The bard shifted in her own saddle, wondering if she could stomach any of the inevitable banquet awaiting them.
“That wasn’t the word I’d hoped you’d echo.”
An eye sharper than any hawk’s pinned her from the side, and she felt like a child caught sulking. “If you need reassurance as to that, then you are not half so clever as you make yourself out to be.”
She seized on the opportunity for levity and smiled with all her teeth. “You’ve known me for a fool many years, have you not?”
“Aye, but a clever one.” The lady considered. “Most days.”
“Such praise you give me.”
“You fished for it so often the lake is empty.”
“Unfair but not untrue.”
The lady hummed her affirmation, welcoming in a moment of calm as they road in the wake of the hunt’s chaos.
Ahead, those most eager to prove themselves brought down smaller prey on their way to the day’s camp. Once all had a chance to refresh themselves with wine as their horses grazed, most would sally out again in the name of dead beasts. Dusk would bring them back, and they’d spend the night drinking, feasting, and debauching one another just outside the safe ring of torchlight, pretending to be very daring and wild for fucking someone in a bush.  A bit more hunting in the morning for those who could still sit straight in the saddle, and then all would return bloody and victorious to the castle.
The bard struggled to understand those who found the prospect of a royal hunt… thrilling. None worried to go home hungry, and the creatures they met in the wood came hobbled, with teeth filed and tusks blunted.
Rushing down a winding stair risked greater peril.
Bored by the day’s excitement, she let her thoughts spin out in wider and wider passes, circling the crux of the drama.
What did the King of Dreams dream of?
Revenge, she suspected. Vengeance on the king that may boil over on the land he ruled, and she must guide her favorites out of the flood’s path. Those practical answers satisfied the part of her that always craved a direction, a purpose, the next challenge to conquer, but the Dream King’s retribution sat like a wax seal over a longer letter. She would very much like to read that letter, even if it was dangerous, and unwise, and entirely reckless.
The Prince of Stories must have depths unfathomable, millennia upon eon of secrets and experiences carved into his bones. She wanted to dismiss her curiosity as nothing but interest in a vision of her future. Would she be like him in another thousand years? No. She’d still be human, and he was Endless. All the lifetimes of the Earth couldn’t teach her to understand one such as him.
But that didn’t mean she had no desire to try.
From farther up the line, a runner came jogging, peering up at the faces of the mounted company. He looked from one to another, seeking the right address to receive his message. The bard paused, recognizing the Everard house colors on servant’s tabard. Her horse stamped, whickering around the bit as her rider leaned out of the saddle to catch the young man’s eye. He saw her and darted to her side quick as an arrow.
“Is all well?” the bard asked.
“My lady Alis Everard and my lord Tomas Everard request you ride with them.”
The bard looked to Lady Alder. She hardly needed her friend’s permission, and none of the Alders were the sort to cherish grudges over perceived slights. But the bard didn’t want to leave her to ride alone, either. She needed good conversation and someone who cared enough to notice if she swayed on her horse.
“Oh, go tend to your nervous foal.” Lady Alder waved her off. “My own proud filly will see you pass and return to keep me amused. We favor different arts, but she has a sharp enough eye to see trouble riding by.”
“Thank you.” The bard pulled out of the column of riders, careful to avoid the servant at her side. “I’ll see you at the camp.”
Whatever Lady Alder replied was lost to the wind. Finally given her head, the bard’s mare leapt into a canter, her hooves thumping a second heartbeat that rattled up and through her rider. Old loam and the sharp green scent of freshly broken twigs gathered around her like a cloak as she moved just left of the path, removed from the rock and dust of the road.
The bard knew what colors to look for, and she let all definition blur as she moved past lords, ladies, knights, and their scores of attendants. They all looked so strange and out of place in the tunnel of green woods, dressed to stand out in a part of the world where blending in more often preserved life.
Near the front of the cavalcade, she found the Everards. Alis stared with wide eyes as the bard pulled even with her, mare prancing and snorting in frustration as her run came to an end. Her dramatic entrance pulled other eyes, and the king – only a few riders ahead – glanced back with frustrated disgust. Perhaps she should apologize that she wasn’t a stag. For all of the ruckus she’d heard from afar, she saw precious few carcasses dangling from the hunters’ belts.
“Thank you for coming in such haste,” Lord Everard said. Stifled amusement plucked at his lips, trying to lift them into a broad, laughing gale. It would be bad manners to laugh too loudly too near the king over a jest to which he wasn’t party, but Everard clearly struggled.
She answered with the grin he’d tried to school away. “Best way to travel. Now, what is the matter?”
Lord Everard gestured to his daughter, and she in turn tried to sink into the mud of the forest track. She hunched low, like she could melt into her boots. Her complexion had gone pale, despite the flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck, and her gloves creaked as her dainty hands squeezed into fists. The bard let the merriment fade, looking and listening beyond the girl’s silence.
Alis’s doe eyes flicked towards the shadow who rode beside her king, and the bard understood.
Dream of the Endless wore his customary black, with the blood-red ruby shining on his breast like a heart he’d ripped from his prey. His nightmare mount had teeth where it ought to have eyes, and it laughed with a man’s voice. He carried a raven on his shoulder rather than a hawk on his glove, and anyone who hadn’t met his sister may mistake him for an aspect of Death. Or something worse, perhaps.
Lord of Nightmares indeed.
“He frightens me,” Alis whispered, leaning close. “I’ve had nothing but bad dreams since I came to the castle.”
As she should. A glance at her father confirmed he thought the same. Just because he’d been forced to bring his child to this storm didn’t mean he didn’t fear the lightning. He had too much sense for this farce and too big a heart to let the girl suffer. If his wife were not busy running the estate, she’d be here to shelter and comfort their little girl, but in her absence, he must ask the bard to fill the role, and she gladly pulled Alis’s attention from bad dreams to simpler truths.
“And you’ve never had a nightmare before?” She didn’t chide. She reminded. Even in the security of her own bed in her own home, the girl had touched the darker shores of the Dreaming. Its king would not reach out to swallow her now, even though he prowled so near in the Waking. “Alis, believe me, you are safe.”
Alis pulled her spine straight, taking a deep, intentional breath that shuddered on the way in and trembled on the way out.
“Do you promise?”
“I promise that if I’m wrong, I’ll find a convenient sword to fall on, and you can say you told me so. Does that make you feel better?”
“A little.” Realizing what she’d said, Alis blanched and rushed to add, “But only because I know you’d come back!”
This time her father did laugh, and the bard reached to reassure her with an honest to gods giggle, when chaos erupted at the front. The king and his companions came to a dead stop, and without warning or order, those who rode behind struggled to halt in time. Rearing horses and shouts of alarm rolled down the line like a breaker, and in the wave of confusion that followed, the bard once again left the road to circle forward.
They’d reached the camp.
A glory of golden stitching over swaths of emerald, the vast tents might cover an entire town, and smoke rising with the smells of rosemary and stewed venison hinted at the delights within.
The display paled behind the entity waiting at the edge of the woods, however.
Golden eyes like licks of flame from the sun’s heart smiled over ruby lips. Welcoming and menacing and all-too pleased with themselves.
Power perfumed the air, like honeysuckle and ambergris, clashing with the winter-cold snap of Dream’s clear displeasure. The King of Dreams had lost the veneer of humanity, and he set himself against the intruder like the deepest hour of the night resisting the dawn.
Few creatures could stand up to the king’s guest. Even fewer commanded the presence of function beyond personification. The bard did not know who the stranger was, but she knew what they were.
Another fucking Endless.
Every inch screamed of passion, romance, obsession. Golden hair and loose-fit silks that flowed like water into a garment that was neither tunic nor gown inspired sensual curiosities. They rode a unicorn, a bay mount with cloven hooves, a lion’s tail, and a goat’s beard. The russet horn glinted with flecks of gold, like treasure winking through a smear of blood.
The King of Dreams sneered, lip curling as he shared a frigid greeting.
“Sibling.”
The Endless in their path laughed, bright as bells and smooth brandy. It sounded to the bard’s ears like trouble. “I hope you don’t mind if I join in your hunt. Big brother.”
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adore-laur · 2 months
Text
BULLSEYE: PART TWO
— last part unfortunately due to lack of inspiration (ends on a cliffhanger btw)
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| The Girl | 
Port ships stationed on choppy waters blare their horns outside Shyla's apartment window. The pane is coated with dispersed rain droplets from the thunderstorm that just faded. 
In the foyer, cardboard boxes stuffed to the brim collect dust as remaining possessions slowly trickle out of their previous positions and into them. The cupboard above the kitchen sink is now empty of hand-painted mugs and colorful bendy straws. Secondhand art pieces have been taken down from the plastered walls of her bedroom. Flowers once quenched in vases are now wilted and ready to be thrown away, the dying petals symbolizing the approaching absence of their caretaker. 
There's nothing else to be said or done. The moving truck will arrive tomorrow, and Shyla will finally detach herself from her poisonous living situation. No more nights being woken up by someone drunkenly stumbling through the front door. No more petty arguments over whose turn it is to wash the dishes, resulting in her doing the chore anyway. No more staring at the ceiling while her friends engage in plans she wasn't invited to. 
It's a fresh start. Onwards to greener grass. 
Perched on the windowsill, Shyla overlooks the gloomy scenery of her hometown. Dull roads, dull buildings, and even duller personalities; it's all so uninspiring to her. The city may look like a seaside harbor of dreams to tourists, but she has lived in the façade her whole life. She knows everyone will eventually become sick of the monotony. 
It seems like everyone has gotten sick of her. People are dwindling out of her life, and while most of the reasonings feel like her fault, she's still finding herself so lonely that she thinks she should've just kept her friends around to keep a tiny piece of her social life intact. Alas, she chose to distance herself from the only friends she had left. She doesn't feel too regretful since they never gave her the time of day. They probably aren't too affected by what happened. 
Shyla was habituated to being walked over like a doormat and thrown around like a rag doll. Emotional bruises from the mental abuse tainted her soul, and it led her to believe that she was completely blindsided by their spiteful ways of showing what she thought was friendship. Now, moving forward, she knows better than to ignore the warning signs. It's as if a switch flipped the night she called them after they left her stranded in an unfamiliar place. 
The flip switched because of Harry. When he told her to screw her friends when she wanted to say goodbye to them at the pub. When he told her he could clearly see how terribly they treated her. How unsettled he was when they left without her. How he tried to convince her to stay with him. It's worth wondering if things would be different if she hadn't said no. 
It doesn't help that Shyla has been failing miserably at not thinking about him. His dimpled smile. His gentle hands. His leather jacket she took off just so she could feel his warm skin as they danced to Dolly. She was convinced she'd forget about him as soon as she woke up in her bed, but he was the first thought clouding her mind before her eyes fluttered open. 
It's been over a week since she left Lurgashall. Her ex-friends are returning to Portsmouth tomorrow, and she'll only have to suffer one night with the girl she lives with before she officially moves out. Her belongings will be moved into a hotel room until she can find an affordable apartment. She would have stayed with her aunt, but she thinks she'd go insane being stuck in a house with a blood relative. It feels backwards to think that way, but her aunt isn't necessarily the most easygoing person. 
Lost in her thoughts, Shyla waits for the hours to pass by. The grey Monday skies make time move slower than usual. She can't think of anything else to do since most of everything is already packed, the hotel reservation is booked, and her body is ready to get the hell out of the apartment. 
A rhythmic knock on the front door halts her brooding. With a heavy sigh, she stands and walks over to the door, putting on a fake smile for the unexpected visitor. Briefly looking through the peephole, she's surprised to see the postman, Edgar, with a satchel full of mail slung over his shoulder. She unlocks the chain and cracks open the door, her mind scrambling at what could possibly be here for her, considering she already got her weekly mail from the lobby. 
"Delivery from... Lurgashall, West Sussex," Edgar says slowly, reading from the envelope. "Not sure where that is. There's no name, and I was told it's fragile, so I didn't want to just drop it in your parcel locker." 
Shyla feels her heart drop to her stomach. It can't be. But who else would write to her from a place she spent no more than a day in? Well, the three stooges are still there, but she knows for a fact that they would never go out of their way and send her something, especially a handwritten letter. 
Her mouth opens and closes as she attempts to speak through her jumbled thoughts about what it could be. "I—um, thanks. Thank you. I think I know who it's from. Have a nice day, Edgar." 
He waves goodbye and strolls down the hallway as Shyla closes the door and puts her back against it. The thick envelope feels like a metaphorical anchor in her hand, pulling her down until she slides to the floor. 
What she's holding has been touched by Harry. He pushed the lead onto the paper, sealed it, and sent it to her address. He thought of her. Shyla releases a breath she didn't realize she was holding and bravely glances down. She assumes he got her address when she wrote her information on the waiver the day she went horseback riding. The front of the envelope is blank except for the return address with no name and a horseshoe stamp in the top right corner. 
When she flips it over, she gasps and holds it against her chest as if she's in a period drama and just got a letter from her lover off at war. However, she feels her reaction is appropriate because a sketch is on the envelope's seal. It's a minimalistic style that resembles Harry's tattoo sketches of hands reaching out to touch one another. She doesn't know what it insinuates, but the mere fact that he had drawn it makes her shake with anticipation. 
Shyla inhales deeply before carefully ripping the seal open. She immediately sees something wrapped in bubble wrap, the cause of such a chunky envelope; it must be why Edgar said it was fragile. She takes it out and begins unwrapping it.
What lies in her palm is a pink dart. 
Shyla squeezes her eyes shut and leans her head against the door, the cold surface juxtaposing the blazing object between her fingers. Why must he pull her back in so easily with a simple gesture? How does he know how to make her feel things she hasn't even discovered yet? 
She opens her eyes and takes out the neatly folded paper inside the envelope. Skimming over the words, she notices Harry's handwriting is messy but eligible nonetheless. 
Shyla, 
I haven't heard from you since you left, and I can't help but feel that I'm the reason why. I hope you're doing well. Did you make it back to Portsmouth safely? Have you found another place to stay yet? 
Do you think of me like I've been thinking of you? 
Your name plays like a record in my head, falling from my lips with constant yearning. Your touch is engraved on my skin, leaving a burning, physical ache. I want to swim in the melted honey of your eyes. I long for one more taste of your lips. I need to hear the softness in which you speak your persuasive words. 
Please talk to me. Or if you never want to hear from me again, just tell me. Let me down gently, and I will try to move on. If not, you know where to find me. I will wait for you. 
Also, I believe we have a game of darts to finish. 
Yours regardless, 
Harry 
Shyla reads the words repeatedly until she can't make them out anymore due to tears blurring her vision. Why hasn't she called him? How could she think she could forget about a man with such a kind soul? She can't leave him hanging. He doesn't deserve that. 
She runs her fingers over the graphite like she did in his cabin with his sketches. He's the only one who has scratched deeper than the surface of who she is. He's the only one who has cared enough about how people treat her. He's the only one to have spoken up about it and convinced her to break away from that toxic part of her life she's been holding on to for far too long. 
She needs to see him again. 
After folding the letter, she rushes to grab her car keys and wallet. A trip to the post office will surely pass the time and help ease the ache clawing at her heart. 
—— 
| The Boy | 
Another shift at the ranch moves by like molasses since no reservations are booked for the day. Warbler birds chirp incessantly under the afternoon sun as the dusty roads absorb the heat. The room is stale, with dust particles floating around in the natural light. The wood floors creak with any sudden movement, and the papers tacked onto the wall flutter when the wind picks up, the front door propped open like always. 
Harry's father is in the outlying pasture next to the ranch, giving a customer an equestrian lesson. Harry was left to run the front desk by himself in case anyone comes by, but he doubts that will happen. It's Wednesday; he's sure everyone would rather be inside enjoying air conditioning on such a humid day. 
Sitting behind the counter, he twirls a pen between his fingers and wishes time would pass faster. It's muggy out, causing his forehead to sweat as he looks out the window for any sign of life to bring him a distraction. He'll usually bring his sketchbook, but on days with his father around, he wants to avoid him walking in on him drawing tattoo ideas. He can't imagine how he'd react. 
Harry is hungover. It's no surprise, though; he's been at the pub every night for the past week, always staying within the bar area in case the phone rings. He hasn't been playing darts, the memory of brown skin and soft whispers invading his mind to the point where even if he did play, he would be too distracted to do any good. A local always ends up having to drive him home. He then wakes up with a pounding headache and internally debates about not going to work so he doesn't snap at someone, especially his father. 
The cycle slowly demolishes any relish for life he has left in him. He can't sleep. When he manages to get a couple of hours, his dreams aren't pleasant anymore. Some nights, he doesn't even dream at all.         
When he's not at the pub or the ranch, he's in his cabin all alone. But he doesn't find solace in that loneliness anymore. Now, he just walks around aimlessly, trying to find something to numb his thoughts — drinking, sketching, reading. He'll read a sappy romance novel to try and feel anything, but the lovesick words on the pages only make him crave what he experienced with Shyla. 
After another uneventful hour of twiddling his thumbs and ignoring the magnitude of his unhappiness, Harry hears the postal truck stop at the mailbox by the front porch. He sputters his lips and walks out the door. It's probably bills or business forms his father takes care of. 
He opens the wooden flap and sees only one letter today. A small white envelope with pretty cursive written on the front stands out against the dark interior of the mailbox. He gently takes it out and brings it closer to his face. It has his name in the middle, and there's a sticker in the corner with an address from Portsmouth. Can it be…?
Harry has to kneel so he doesn't pass out from shock. She got his letter. She wrote back. 
He glances over his shoulder to ensure his father isn't lurking around before he tears the seal open. He removes and unfolds the creased paper inside, his eyes immediately taking in her delicate and slanted handwriting. It makes sense for it to look like that. 
The ink is bold against the white paper. Harry looks up at the sky and swallows harshly before reading the words that could either break his heart or make him the happiest man in Lurgashall. 
Harry, 
I got your letter and the dart. Stealing business property, are we? 
That's not the point. The point is that I want to see you again. I'm an idiot to think I could just ignore you. I'm sorry if it came across that I never wanted to speak to you again. I've been stressed and busy. 
To answer your question, I'm staying at a hotel until I find somewhere to live. As for your other question, I've also been thinking about you. I miss your hands. I miss how easy it is to talk to you. I miss dancing together. 
I'm in the middle of moving right now, but I should be situated by next week. If you'll have me, I'd love to come back to Lurgashall and meet somewhere. Does next Monday work for you? 
If so, get ready for me to kick your ass in darts. 
Love, 
Shyla 
Harry grips the letter like it's his life source, reading the words I want to see you again over and over until his eyes hurt from the closeness in which he's viewing the paper. He slams the mailbox shut and strides back into the ranch, stumbling behind the counter to take out several cardboard boxes kept under it. The junk gets tossed onto the floor and makes a clatter. He finally finds the box that stores envelopes, and he's never moved faster to grab one.
Shyla, 
Monday is perfect. Guess what? Karaoke night at the pub is on that day. It must be your psychology degree coming in handy. Wait... is that what psychology is? I left school at an early age, so go easy on me. Anyway, I'll wait for you at the pub at 9 PM. 
I'm glad you're moving to a new place. It'll be good for you. I can't wait to see you again.
Don't forget to bring your lucky pink dart. Otherwise, I'm not sure there will be any ass-kicking involved on your end. Please drive safely. 
Take care, 
Harry 
He sets the pen down and rests his forehead on the counter, breathing a disbelieving laugh. He shakes his head before standing straight and tucking the letter in the envelope. As he walks out the back door to the stables, he licks the seal and keeps his footsteps quiet. His father can't see him from where he is far out in the pasture, so Harry sneakily mounts his horse and rides to the village's post office to send the letter as soon as possible. No way is he waiting for the mail to come tomorrow. 
As he passes the pond and the willow tree's drooping branches, his heart feels like it's been healed by her simple words on a crinkly piece of paper. 
—— 
| The Girl | 
It's the following Monday, and Shyla is five minutes away from Lurgashall. She drives through the night to get to the pub. She had written back and said she'd meet him at his suggested time. 
Her suitcase and duffel bag are in the trunk, clunking against the interior as she drives on a bumpy stretch of road. The highways drastically transformed into vacant backroads surrounded by expansive fields. She doesn't know how long she'll be staying, so she packed a bunch of clothes and other essential items she might need. The boxes at her old apartment had been moved into a new complex in Portsmouth. She wasn't looking for anything fancy, just a simple one-bedroom place she could eventually make into her own.
Shyla turns down the volume of a Fleetwood Mac song playing through the car's speakers as she enters the pub's gravel parking lot. She gets hit with déjà vu when she remembers how excited she was to come last time, only to have the night end horribly. This time around, she's walking in by herself and will be around someone who listens and cares. 
Tonight, it'll just be her and Harry. 
He mentioned karaoke night in his letter, so she assumes it will be lively inside. Before opening the car door, she checks herself in the rear-view mirror to ensure she looks presentable. She's makeup-less just in case it's humid in the small room. She wears high-waisted jeans with a few rips and a grey crop top. 
Shyla takes a deep breath and mentally prepares herself to see him again. It's been about two weeks, and she wonders if things will be awkward between them. It's easy to write letters and prepare what you want to say beforehand, but when it's face-to-face, there's a hypercritical pressure to say the right thing.
After fixing her hair, she finally gains the courage to leave her car. She locks it and begins walking to the wooden door as her shoes crunch the gravel beneath them, and it's what she focuses on instead of the nervousness twisting her stomach into knots. She can hear muffled chatter and music that only gets louder when she finally opens the final barrier between her and Harry. 
Once she passes the threshold, she's instantly consumed with the same feeling she had the last time; overwhelmed but comfortably so. She has missed the ambiance of the pub even though she's only been to it once before. Everyone is too preoccupied with themselves to see her arrive, and she's thankful for the lack of perception the people here partake in. Her eyes dance around the room, searching for Harry, first looking at the dartboard in the corner to see if he's already playing a game. He's not there, so she looks behind the bar to see if he might be serving drinks tonight. 
As she scans the preoccupied stools for his curly head of hair, it doesn't even register in her mind that the music playing is coming from the karaoke stage set up in the back. She eventually homes in on a beautiful voice singing along to an instrumental.
Shyla stands on her tiptoes to look over the crowd of people in front of her. That voice is calling to her. She politely excuses herself several times while navigating through the bodies until she's at the front. Her breath catches in her throat when she finally has a clear view of the makeshift stage. 
Harry.
Her jaw drops in shock as she watches him. He sits on a stool, his legs spread casually, and holds a wired microphone in his hand while he sings along to the instrumental of "Ain't No Sunshine" by Bill Withers. He wears see-through yellow sunglasses, a yellow graphic tee, and velvet brown pants. His face is screwed up as he vocalizes on top of the violins and smooth beat of the song, his voice the perfect mixture of raspy yet smooth. The way the notes and vibratos flow from his throat seems effortless. 
Shyla is awestruck. She can't stop looking at him. It's like they're the only two people in the room as everything else becomes static noise. A few pub patrons admire Harry along with her, while the rest discourse and drink elsewhere. She thinks she could listen to his voice for the rest of her life. She thinks Dolly Parton's voice is like honey, but Harry's is like a silky stream of liquid gold that melts and aligns in the crevices of her soul just right. 
Shyla's hand raises to her chest, feeling her heart pound strongly. Harry's voice fades as the song ends, and claps and whistles are thrown his way. She joins in, still not able to process what she just witnessed. Harry's hands come together in a silent gesture of gratitude before he bows his head shyly. His eyes rove the room until they land on hers. His body is frozen in the motion of getting off the stool, but then he blinks once and smiles wider than Shyla has ever seen. He offers a small wave before handing the microphone to the person next in line. He jerks his head toward the back door, and Shyla snaps out of her reverie, beginning to follow him out while wiping her sweaty palms against her jeans. 
Once outside, they stand facing each other under the red glow of the exit sign. No one is around except crickets chirping in the tall weeds growing around the pub. It's a little chilly, and Shyla shivers as she rubs her hands up and down her arms to create circulation. Harry holds up one finger as a signal to wait before returning inside. 
Shyla slaps her face several times while she waits, trying to remain calm. She can't believe it's happening. She looks at the streetlamps that illuminate the fields behind the pub and hopes everything goes well tonight. 
Moments later, Harry comes out holding his brown leather jacket. He hands it to her.
"Thank you. I didn't realize it would be this cold," Shyla says quietly as she engulfs her body in the garment. It smells like the cologne he wore when they played darts. 
"Yeah, it gets nippy here at night." He sets his sunglasses on the top of his head and sighs happily. "Hi. You're really here." 
Shyla giggles and admires his now clearly visible eyes. "I'm here. It's nice to see you again, Harry. You look really good." 
"You're absolutely beautiful," he says, gazing across her face and body. "I didn't know if you'd actually come back." 
"I know. I'm so sorry I didn't call or write—" 
"Shy," he interrupts softly. "I understand, okay? I didn't know you were busy with moving, so I just stupidly assumed you were done with me. You were going through shit and needed some time for yourself. Don't worry about it." 
"Well, I'm glad you wrote to me. Otherwise, I would've thought you were done with me too." 
"Why would you think that?" He steps closer and cradles Shyla's cheeks, tilting her head up. "You haven't left my mind. I've been feeling miserable about how we left things." 
"Same here," she says. "Can we… maybe go to your cabin to talk more? Only if it's okay with you. It's just that it's cold, and someone could see us and—" 
Harry's mouth is on hers instantly, stopping her nervous rambling. Shyla melts into him just as he pulls back too quickly for her liking, her bottom lip snapping back in place. Her gaze darts between his eyes as he rubs his thumb along her cheek. 
"Sorry. I should've asked—" 
Shyla cuts him off, this time with her lips against his. Harry hums lowly as his brows furrow, tilting her head more for better access. He kisses her deeply, and Shyla's hands crawl under his shirt to feel his warm, soft skin under her fingertips. They graze the trail of coarse hair under his belly button, causing his stomach to twitch and then relax. She switches to kissing his top lip and notices that there's not as much hair above it since the last time she saw him. 
They finally run out of breath and part. Shyla removes her greedy hand from under his shirt, and Harry removes his hands from her cheeks. 
"Let's go to my place," he whispers, his mouth glistening. 
"Yes," she replies pleadingly. "I can drive us. I have my luggage in my car, and we can listen to music on the way. There's actually a song I wanted to introduce you to." 
Harry smiles. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's hope you're better at steering a car than a horse." 
Shyla playfully scrunches her nose at him before they both start walking around the pub to get to her car. The headlights flash as she presses the unlock button, and she gets in the driver's seat. Harry smoothly slides into the passenger side. She twists the key in the ignition, and her Bluetooth automatically connects and plays a song. They both jolt at the loud volume, and Shyla embarrassingly turns it down before grabbing her phone to scroll through her playlist. In her peripheral, she sees Harry reach over to buckle her seatbelt while she finds the song. 
"So, I know you like Dolly Parton and Shania Twain. Country isn't my favorite genre, but for some reason, women artists just hit different, you know?"
Harry leans his elbow on the console and nods with an intrigued expression. 
"There's this one song that I've loved since I was a kid," she continues. "Like, it's one of the first memories I can remember with my mom because she would always play it in the car. It's called "This Kiss" by Faith Hill, and it's one of the best songs ever created." 
"The name rings a bell. Play it. Let's see if the lyrics come back to me." 
Shyla excitedly shifts in her seat and presses play before reversing out of the parking lot. She turns the volume up and grooves her head to the beginning instrumental, smiling when Harry does the same. She begins singing as she drives along the empty roads. 
When the euphoric chorus hits, she shouts the lyrics. Something about being around Harry brings out fortuitous bursts of confidence. 
"This kiss, this kiss!" Harry joins in as they both point at each other. "Unstoppable!" 
When the key change comes, they're at a stop sign with no one else on the streets. They lean their heads against the headrests and look at each other during the final chorus. Harry grabs Shyla's face, squishing her cheeks and mouthing the lyrics with his lips brushing against hers. 
She doesn't want to keep driving; she wants to stay in this moment forever. 
They continue singing all the way to his cabin. Harry gives her directions, and the song ends just as she slows down on his long driveway weaving through the woods. She parks under the balcony and shuts the car off, the absence of music creating a deafening silence. She turns to Harry and notices the rings on his fingers. His hands are incredibly attractive.
She shakes her head to eliminate the dangerous thought as Harry says, "I'll grab your stuff. You can go inside and get comfortable. The door is unlocked."
"Oh, thank you. Sorry if they're heavy. I didn't know how much to pack." 
"Not to brag, but I can carry a sixty-pound saddle with one hand. I think I'll be able to handle it," Harry teases while stepping out of the car.
She scoffs lightheartedly and begins walking up the stairs to the balcony. She gets hit with a second wave of déjà vu when she passes the jacuzzi, her skin growing hot when she recalls what they did in it. She'll never look at one the same way again.
Making her way through the door and turning the light switch on, Shyla smiles at the immediate comfort she receives from his home. It makes her feel safe. Harry eventually comes in with her suitcase rolling behind him and her duffel bag slung on his shoulder. 
"I'm so tired," Shyla says as she flops on his couch. 
"Well, my bed is more comfortable," he replies, walking up the stairs to his loft. "Please shut the lights off before you come up." 
She doesn't hesitate to slip her shoes off and set his leather jacket on the arm of the couch. Shyla hasn't been in his room yet, and Harry seems to be inviting her, so she smiles giddily and follows him. 
The string lights wrapped around the railing make the room more visible as Shyla takes in his quilted blanket-covered bed. There's one window in the middle of the back wall and a wooden bathtub in the corner. She also notices that he has an intricately carved dresser with a retro record player and a stack of vinyl on it. 
"I picked some out for us before you got here, but if you're too tired, we don't have to dance tonight," Harry says, folding the quilt back. 
"I think it'd be good for us to get some sleep," Shyla replies while sitting on his bed. 
"Agreed. Um, I can… take the couch," he mumbles as he begins searching through the drawers. 
"Why?" Did she misread the situation? Or is he just being a gentleman? 
"I-I just didn't know if you'd be comfortable sleeping together. It's been two weeks and—" 
"Harry, I rode your thigh the night I met you," she says boldly. "I wouldn't come all this way just to be away from you." 
His hands tighten around the shirt he picked out. "Really?" 
She pats the bed and scoots over so she's closer to the wall. "Yes. Come over here." 
"Okay," he murmurs while taking off his shoes. "I don't even wear a shirt to bed, so I don't know why I'm looking for one. I got nervous." He rubs his forehead and puts the garment back in the top drawer before shutting it. 
"Don't be nervous. We've got time to reacquaint ourselves." 
"Right." Harry shuts the lights off and climbs into bed, taking his shirt off. "Are you going to sleep in those clothes?" 
"If I get up to change, I'll lose my tiredness." 
"Wow. Sleeping in jeans is when you know you've hit rock bottom," he says as he slides under the covers. He takes his pants off before turning on his side to face her. 
"If rock bottom is here, then I don't want to leave," she mumbles against his pillow. 
It's silent for a brief moment before he whispers, "Please be here when I wake up."
Her eyes search for him in the dark. "I promise. Goodnight, Harry. Sweet dreams." 
He inches closer to place a blind kiss on her face. "Night, Shy." 
—— 
| The Boy | 
There's a heavy knocking on the door downstairs. Why is it so loud? What time is it? Is it part of a residual dream?
Harry grumbles and squints his eyes against the sunlight beaming through the window. He feels something resting against his chest, and when he looks down, he sees Shyla's cheek pressed against where his heart is. Slow breaths leave her parted lips as she sleeps peacefully.
A relieved sigh escapes him. Thank goodness she didn't leave. 
She apparently can't hear the knocking, and since he doesn't want it to wake her up, he gently slides out from under her to confront whoever it is. He tucks her in, closes the curtains, and then puts on his pants from yesterday. Heading downstairs with soft footsteps, he yawns as he walks toward the persistent pounding. 
When he opens the door, he comes face-to-face with his father. He looks angrier than usual. Maybe because— oh, fuck. He completely forgot he had work today. 
"I expect a phenomenal excuse, boy," says his father. Harry instinctively shrinks into himself. "You were supposed to be at work an hour ago. It's seven already." 
There's no way he can tell him about Shyla. He can't know she's here with him, sleeping in his bed. His father would go berserk. 
"I got really drunk last night and passed out here. I forgot to set my alarm," he lies, scratching his head. 
"That's the best you've got? I can easily count how many times you've come to work hungover. Why is today the day you don't feel up to it, huh? For heaven's sake, you—" 
"Dad," he says with a groan. He really doesn't want to deal with his explosive nature this early. "It won't happen again. I'll come right now, okay? I'll work overtime today." 
His father shakes his head disappointedly. "You're lucky there's no one waiting for a tour. Get a move on. Otherwise, you're not getting paid today." 
Harry nods and rubs his tired eyes. "Okay. Give me ten minutes." 
"You probably reek of whiskey. Take a shower and fix your piss-poor mood." 
He has to bite his tongue so as not to talk back. He wants to tell him that if he just drove him to work, he'd be there faster. Alas, his father has never been a logical man. 
Without another word, his father slams the door shut, shaking the picture frames on the walls. Harry chews on the inside of his cheek to stop the irritation from taking over his body. He kicks the door before making some coffee. 
While it's brewing, he returns to the loft to check on Shyla. She's still lying down, but her eyes are now open. She must have heard everything. 
"Shyla, I'm so sorry," he murmurs as he finds an outfit. "I forgot I have work this morning, and now my father's pissed." 
She smiles and sits up against the headboard. "That's okay. Sorry for distracting you." 
"It's not your fault at all." He glances back at her tired eyes as he jumps into a pair of blue jeans. He then throws on a plain white shirt and shoves his feet into his boots.
"Still. It's our first day together again, and you have to leave." 
"That's on me. I should've had you come when I wasn't working, but it was karaoke night, and I wanted to see you as soon as possible. I feel terrible." 
"Hey, don't worry about it." Shyla sits at the edge of the bed. "I can stay here, right?" 
He sits beside her and admires how the morning sun strikes her skin. "Of course. You can make yourself something to eat. And, um, I've got books and records you can look through," he says meekly, hoping his cabin doesn't appear dull. 
"I'm sure I'll find something. Just know I'll be here when you get back." 
"Okay. I'll try to get out of working overtime. I'm sure it won't be too busy today.
She nods. "I'll walk you out." 
He watches her stretch, her shirt riding up to show a sliver of smooth skin. Then they go downstairs, Harry grabbing his filled coffee mug before he opens the front door. They lean against the frame and face each other. 
Harry clears his throat and says, "You should pick out some records for us to dance to tonight."
"I'd like that." Shyla runs a hand through her hair. "Have a good shift, okay? Don't let your father get in your head." 
"I won't." He gives her a soft smile and moves closer. "Maybe we can go to the pub and finish that game of darts." 
She wraps her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek sweetly. "That sounds perfect. I'll see you soon." 
He blushes and looks at the ground. Should he kiss her? Maybe a hug would be safer? He's overthinking everything. 
"Bye," he blurts. 
"Bye, Harry." 
He exhales and decides to just go for it. Slowly, he places his palm on her cheek just as Shyla looks up at him with those brown eyes that melt him. He kisses her. It's an innocent kiss, nothing more than a long caress of her bottom lip. After breaking away, he rests his forehead against hers, and they both smile like fools. 
He leaves with one last kiss before heading out. Walking down the driveway, he feels elated, knowing he gets more time with her when he arrives home. 
—— 
| The Boy & The Girl | 
Shyla spends the next eight hours getting acquainted with Harry's cabin. She observes every nook and cranny, not in a nosy way, but just because she genuinely wants to see everything that makes him who he is. She still doesn't know much about him and plans to ask him questions tonight without distractions. 
It's now four in the evening, and the sun still shines through the gaps of the tall pine trees outside. She made breakfast and lunch, looked through his book collection, and picked out some records. Now, she sits on his couch and waits for him. The sun will set soon, and she's looking forward to going to the pub later so they can finish their game of darts. 
Just as she's about to skim another book, she hears what sounds like hooves walking on gravel outside the windows she opened earlier. She goes to the one by the front door and sees Harry riding a horse as he chews on a Twizzler—not just any horse, but the same one she rode when she went horseback riding. 
Harry smirks at her confused expression. He also notices that she's changed out of her clothes from last night and into leggings and a white low-cut top with a string halter around her neck. He pulls back on the reigns and steadily dismounts Quake. He decided to bring the horse Shyla would be most comfortable with, not wanting to scare her by bringing his stallion.
Shyla walks over to them with uneasy steps, and he beckons her closer. "Uber's here," he says, grabbing Quake's purple bridle and guiding him toward her. 
"I think Lurgashall should have a horse and carriage ride share company," Shyla says as she timidly pets Quake. 
He laughs. "Let's ride to the pub." 
Shyla quirks an eyebrow. "What do you mean ride?" 
"On Quake. I mean, I did bring him all the way here. He told me he likes you." 
She pretends to mull it over as Harry drapes his arms around her shoulders and brings her in for a hug. He whispers, "You can hold onto me the entire time. I won't let you get hurt. Let's go inside and get ready, yeah?" 
Shyla nods and returns to the cabin as Harry ties Quake to a post. He then follows her to his loft, wiping sweat off his neck with his shirt. He sees Shyla place her suitcase on the bed, stuffed with many garments.
"Why don't you pick out an outfit for me to wear tonight?" he murmurs as he squeezes her upper arms. 
"Are we dressing casually or formally for our incredibly serious dart competition?"
"Hmm... we should be fancy. Did you pack anything like that?" 
"I might have brought a dress," she says, pressing her ass back against him. When she moves away, she hears his dissatisfied sigh. It's fun riling him up.
"Well, while you get ready, I'm going to give Quake a snack." Harry points to his dresser full of outfits, ranging from tattered sweatshirts to crisp button-ups. "Pick out anything you want. Make it good." 
Shyla hums an affirmation as he heads down the stairs. She begins sifting through his drawers, going through shorts, boxers, and different shades of jeans. When she gets to the bottom drawer, she moves some frayed sweaters around and stumbles upon something unlike his other clothing: a black leather jacket and pants. 
She touches the textured material, removes it from the drawer, and places it on his bed. She could never be confident enough to wear leather, but she has a feeling Harry could pull it off. Where could he have possibly worn this before? It almost looks unused. 
When Harry returns, he stops when he sees what Shyla laid out for him. He clears his throat and slowly walks toward the bed. 
"That's what you want me to wear?" he asks, picking up the pristine jacket. 
"Yes," she says hesitantly. "Is it too much? I can find something else if—" 
"Shyla." Her mouth snaps shut at his low tone. "You want me to wear this with no shirt on underneath and my tits out for everyone to see? Are you sure you can handle that?" 
She swallows and nods her head. "You look really good in leather." 
"Yeah? Leather it is, then." 
He begins taking off his clothes, and Shyla distracts herself by looking through her bag to find the dress she packed. She pulls out her black suede heels and silver slip dress she brought in case they went anywhere fancy. The hem falls to her mid-thigh, and the scooped neckline is loose around her cleavage. Before she zips her bag, she remembers that she brought the pink dart with her. It's in the mesh pocket of her bag, and she slyly takes it without him seeing it and puts it in her bra. She then goes to the bathroom to change. 
Once her dress and shoes are on, Shyla splashes her face with cold water and wanders toward his bookcase while she waits, her fingers running along the spines. She still needs to look through all of them. Based on the titles and covers, many of them seem to be in the romance genre, and it tugs at her heartstrings knowing that Harry reads such vulnerable stories in his cabin all alone. 
While reading the back of a book titled Emma, she suddenly hears heavy footsteps descending the stairs, the heels clicking against the wood. When she turns around, she gasps at the sight before her. 
Harry is in his full leather get-up, which fits him perfectly. He has on black heeled dress shoes to match. But most shocking to Shyla is his hair; it's been pushed back from his face, with no curls hanging over his forehead or a significant part down the middle. 
"Ready?" he asks with a smile as he tugs the lapels of his jacket. 
"Holy shit, you look hot," she says, ogling every inch of him. 
He admires her outfit, his tongue running across his teeth. "You look breathtaking. Trying to get me off my A-game tonight?" 
She shrugs playfully and grabs her phone as Harry leads them out the front door. He unties Quake and keeps the rope secure through his belt loops, then mounts him, careful not to rip or ruin his leather. He waves Shyla over. She ambles to Quake. He offers his hand so she can balance more easily, then watches her lift her leg over to sit behind him on the saddle. 
Shyla's hands immediately circle around his waist under his jacket and rest on his exposed stomach. Harry turns his head to smile at her, leaning in for a quick kiss before gently kicking Quake to get him to start trekking down the driveway. 
"This is actually really nice." 
"Atta girl." Harry reaches his hand back to squeeze her thigh. "Wasn't so bad, huh?" 
"As long as we don't start galloping. Don't even try to be funny," Shyla warns, grabbing his hand on her leg. 
A comfortable silence persists throughout the journey. There's no need to talk when the nature around them is a beautiful point of interest. Shyla never feels like she has to fill in empty conversations with Harry since being in each other's presence is enough. 
After about ten minutes, they arrive at the pub. Harry stops Quake around the back of the building and ties him to the fence post. He usually asks for a clean bucket to bring fresh water out for him during the night. He swings his leg over to dismount, then helps Shyla off with his hands on her waist. 
"Ready to lose?" Harry teases in her ear as he interlocks their fingers and guides her through the back door.
"You have to go easy on me. Dumb down your skills so it's a fair game." 
"What happened to being so confident about kicking my ass?"
"I wasn't serious," she mumbles with a small smile as they walk toward the familiar dart board in the corner. No one is playing, and only a few locals are in the room. Some eat appetizers at the bar, and others sit at tables, talking and enjoying the music. 
"I may or may not have told everyone that I needed the dartboard for tonight," he tells her as he grabs chalk to write their names. It doesn't go unnoticed that he writes 'Shy' on the board.
Shyla comes behind him and whispers, "I brought the pink dart." 
Harry tilts his head to look at her, glancing down at her lips. "Best get to using it," he says lowly, jerking his chin to the dart board. 
Shyla smirks and reaches inside the cups of her bra. Harry's eyes trail downwards, and they watch her every move. He inhales sharply when her cleavage is exposed, and she walks behind the white line before he can say anything. 
"Are we playing 305 again?" 
"Yes. Wait, no. Huh? You mean 301?" 
"What? I swear it was 305." Shyla confusedly shakes her head as she tries to replicate the professional stance Harry showed her last time. "Maybe I was thinking of Pitbull. You know, Mr. 305." 
"Right. Mr. Worldwide and all that," he says from his place next to the dartboard. He then smiles mischievously. "Elbow bent, dale." 
She furrows her eyebrows and tries not to laugh. "What did you just say?" 
"Isn't that what Pitbull says? It means darling, right?" 
Did he fuck that up? Why is she laughing? He was just trying to be romantic. 
Shyla snorts. "No, it doesn't. It means give it or go ahead, Harry. Querida means darling." She bends her elbow and brings the dart up to her line of sight. "Also, please move. I don't want to accidentally hit you." 
"I trust you, darling." He smoothly recovers from the embarrassment as he fully leans against the board and crosses his ankles, making Shyla more worried that she might hit him. 
"You have a death wish speaking to me like that when I'm trying to focus." Shyla places weight on her front foot and snaps her wrist forward to throw the dart. It hits the six on the right side of the board, and she pouts at the low number. Harry shakes his head in faux disappointment as he writes her score down. 
"You distracted me! You can't just stand next to the board looking like that and expect me to do well." 
"Switch." Harry dismisses the compliment and gestures for them to trade places. Shyla stands next to the board as he places himself behind the line. While he stances up, she decides to delve into some teasing. 
When Harry glances at her, she slightly lifts the hem of her dress, exposing bare brown skin that he can't get enough of. He clears his throat and looks back at the board, focusing on the bullseye. He closes one eye and throws the dart. 
He scoffs when it lands on the seventeen. She's going to pay for that. 
"Aw, that's too bad," Shyla says sarcastically. She sways her hips as she walks over to the digital jukebox against the opposite wall and types in a song she wants to play. 
"My Kind of Lady" by Supertramp starts, and Shyla shimmies her way back to Harry. They both forget about their ongoing game and join each other to dance. She can't get over how he looks in his outfit, his stomach muscles flexing with each sway and his tattoos looking more tempting than usual. 
Harry dips her when the saxophone solo plays and kisses her neck before smoothly bringing her back up to his chest. They dance in their little corner of the pub, not caring who's watching. It's just like Shyla felt yesterday when Harry was singing karaoke: in their bubble, feeling like the only ones in the world. 
They eventually got back to finishing the game. Harry won by a mile. Shyla told him that she didn't want to drink tonight when he offered to buy shots, and he agreed because he thought back to when she left and how he drowned himself in whiskey every night until he passed out. He's sick of alcohol, and he also doesn't want to have Shyla be a part of riding a horse drunk. 
A little after seven, the pub got crowded, and they decided to leave. Harry told Shyla on the way back that they didn't need to bring Quake back to the stables because he has his own area around the back of his cabin for the nights, and he's too drunk to go to the ranch. Shyla and Harry walk inside after he's tied up and given water and hay. Harry flicks the light switch on, illuminating the safe space he can now share with Shyla. 
"Did you pick out something for us to listen to?" he asks as they head up to his loft. 
"I did," she replies while taking her heels off. "Can we dance some more? I'm not tired yet." 
He nods and smiles, walking to the small record player on his dresser. He sees that she's picked out two of his vinyls when he was at work. He looks through them, finding Super Trouper by ABBA and Eat to the Beat by Blondie. 
"What should we start with?" He glances back and admires how much shorter she is without her heels. 
"Something slow. After that, I want to play you a song I listened to when I was younger." 
"Of course." He steps out of the way so she can play a record. "Show me all the music you like. It's one of the best ways to get to know someone." 
Shyla's face heats as she takes the ABBA record out and places it on the turntable. "Um, I don't know how to make it play a specific song." 
He stands beside her. "This one is ancient, so you have to do it manually. What song did you want?" 
"Track four, please," she says shyly. 
Harry kneels and gently sets the needle against the specific groove. It scratches before a slow, sultry electric guitar crepitates through. He stands and smiles when he recognizes the song: "Andante, Andante." 
Shyla closes the distance between them and repeats the intimate action she did when they first danced. She takes off his black leather jacket and leaves his inked upper half exposed, then wraps her arms around his waist as Harry cradles her head into his chest with both hands. He thinks he could hold her forever in his loft, skin igniting like a never-ending flame. He has never felt this content, her soft breathing synchronizing with his own, their bodies swaying.
"Do you work tomorrow?" Shyla asks against his collarbone, feeling his heart beat melodically. 
He moves one of his hands to run his knuckles up and down her spine. "I have the next two days off. Did you have something you wanted to do?" 
"I don't know. You'll have to show me around Lurgashall." 
"I'd be happy to, Shy. We'll think of something." He clears his throat before asking the question he's wanted to know the answer to since she arrived: "How long are you going to stay?" How long are you willing to stay?
Shyla's breath hitches as she looks at him. "I'm honestly not sure. I just wanted to see you. Do you need me gone by a certain time?" 
"No, you can stay however long you'd like," he says with a kiss on her forehead. "I just don't know if you'd want to stay for a while. I know you have a new apartment and everything, but... shit, I don't know what I'm saying. I want you around." 
"I want to be around you too. We can talk about it tomorrow, though. Let's just dance for now." 
They continue slow dancing. Harry hopes she'll stay longer than a day, but he fears she'll become bored of the place—or worse, bored of him. 
When the song fades, Shyla pulls away to put the other record on to show Harry the song she mentioned. She removes the sleeve and black vinyl, takes the needle off the record, and puts it back where it belongs. 
"Let me teach you how to play something," Harry says.
"Okay. Track four." She laughs softly and sets the record on the turntable. "Again." 
"They're the best, in my opinion. Track four on Fleetwood Mac's self-titled album is "Rhiannon." It's such a good fuckin' song." 
"We should dance to that album tomorrow." 
"Absolutely," he says without hesitation. Anyway, what we'll do is raise the cue lever so we can move the arm." He grabs Shyla's hand and moves it to where it's needed. She raises the lever, and the arm picks up, hovering in the air. "Skipping tracks on vinyl can cause them to be scratched, but I'll let it slide for you." 
He pinches her hip, then maneuvers her hand to where he assumes the fourth track is. There's a loud crackle before the beginning of Blondie's instrumental "Shayla" starts. 
Shyla smiles at the nostalgia that suddenly hits her. "You know how I love Blondie? When I was younger, I pretended my name was Shayla to act like this song was about me." 
Harry rolls his lips inward to hold his laughter but eventually sputters a breathy chuckle at her confession. 
"Stop laughing!" she says, playfully hitting his arm. 
He captures her hand and pulls her back into his chest. "No, it's cute. It can't be worse than pretending songs I don't even relate to are about me. I used to dream about being Rosanna or Fernando. How incredible would it be to leave such an impact on someone that they write an entire song about missing you." 
Shyla laughs as they twirl around his loft. "I can't believe you can sing and didn't tell me." 
He shrugs, wanting to avoid further flattery. "Mediocre at best." 
"I think you're fantastic at it. You could be a star one day." 
"I don't know if singing in front of twenty people in a rundown pub would get me anywhere." 
"You won't get anywhere with that pessimistic attitude." 
Harry just shakes his head with a grin and leans in for a kiss. Shyla hums into his mouth, feeling his warm lips envelop her own. His kisses, she's come to realize, are always led with purpose. They're never too often and surprise her when she least expects it. So delicate and addictive, leaving her wanting more. 
He leans back just enough so their lips brush against one another. He stares into her eyes, drowning in her brown irises that lighten every time she smiles. 
"Let me paint your nails," Shyla whispers. 
His eyebrows furrow at the sudden topic change. "What?" 
"I brought some nail polish. We can listen to more music, and I can paint your nails." 
"My father would kill me." 
"We can take it off before you go to work. Screw your dad. Do something for yourself." 
Harry tosses the idea around in his head. He can't say no when she looks at him with such promise. Her eyes could persuade him to do anything. "Okay," he says eventually. "Just make sure it'll come off easily." 
"Have you ever painted your nails before?" 
"No." Is he missing out? Should he have painted his nails before? He's never seen anyone in town partake in it. 
Shyla pats the bed and leans over the edge to unzip her duffel bag. "Then I'm glad to be your first. Come sit by me." 
She digs until she finds the six bottles of nail polish she packed in a small makeup pouch. Harry sits beside her and nervously wipes his sweaty palms against the sheets. He wants to slap himself to get the image of his father's face out of his head. He needs to stop worrying about doing things that he wouldn't like. He has over a hundred tattoos; polish on his nails is nothing. 
"What color do you want?" Shyla asks, splaying the bottles across her palms. 
"Um, I don't know what would look good on me." He's been so used to wearing neutral colors that he doesn't know where to start. 
"How about smiley faces. Kind of like that yellow shirt you were wearing earlier." 
He shrugs, knowing she can make anything look good on him if the outfit she picked out is any indication. "Sure. Whatever you want." 
Shyla starts shaking the yellow and black bottles to stir the polish, then motions for Harry's hand. She takes his right one when he slowly extends it. She can tell he's hesitant because of his father, but she would never force him to do anything he's uncomfortable with. 
"Are you sure this is okay?" She rubs her thumb along his knuckles to soothe his noticeable anxiety. "You don't have to. I won't be upset." 
"It's fine. My father never really sees me outside of work." Harry awkwardly clears his throat. 
She just nods and begins applying the first coat on his thumb. His nails are surprisingly clean, considering he works at a ranch. "I'm sorry for saying this, but your father's a dick," she tells him, moving to paint his pointer finger. 
Harry laughs through his nose. "You hit the bullseye with that assumption. Shame you couldn't hit an actual one at the pub." 
She scoffs and sits crosslegged next to him for a more accessible angle. "Excuse me? Where did that come from? I insult your father, and then you insult me?" 
"I'm joking, Shy. You're right; he's a total dick. I don't know how my mother dealt with him for all those years." 
When she finishes another nail, Harry mimics her position so they face each other. They both fall into silence when his mother is mentioned. Shyla doesn't want to pry. 
However, Harry feels the need to jump over that hurdle since he's falling for Shyla and knows that if he doesn't open up soon, she'll slip right through his fingers. 
"She passed away from a stroke," he says, keeping his eyes focused on the strokes of the tiny brush. "It happened out of nowhere. One day, she was completely fine, and the next, she was on a stretcher. She was already gone when they got to the hospital." He swallows roughly and rubs at his throat with his free hand to stop the pain from crawling up his throat. 
"She chewed tobacco and smoked cigarettes," he continues in a thick voice. "She started when I was probably around seven or eight. It was every day, too. Just an awful addiction that eventually caught up to her, you know? I should've expected it to happen, but the thing with death is that you never see it coming. Anyway, it flipped my world upside down. One day, I woke up and didn't have a mother anymore." 
Shyla stops and stares at him with sorrowful eyes. Unfortunately, she can relate, but she keeps quiet and lets him proceed.
"I still talk to her. When I get lonely, I sit in bed or in the bathtub and talk to her about everything. Mostly about how my own father acts like he despises me." 
"Do you really feel like he hates you, or is he just projecting his repressed emotions onto you?" 
Harry lets out a humorless laugh. "God, I can't even tell anymore. He's always been strict and closed off since I was young, but ever since my mother passed, he's been unbearable to be around. It's like he sucks the life out of everyone." 
"He wasn't very friendly when I met him," Shyla confesses. When we went to the stables, he told us if you were cranky, we should let him know so he could talk to you." 
Harry's eyebrows raise. "Sounds about right. He thinks I've got anger issues. I don't, at least not anymore. I was barely hanging on the first couple of years without my mother. I didn't want to see anybody or go anywhere. I was eighteen and had just moved into this cabin because I couldn't handle living with my father during all of that. It may sound cruel to just leave him to grieve by himself, but he's stubborn and would probably tell me to fuck off if I had tried to comfort him." 
Shyla nods understandingly as she puts the last coat of polish on his delicate pinky. She then screws the cap on and brings Harry's hands up to her mouth so she can blow on his fingernails. 
"I'm sorry," she whispers. That's never easy, especially when you're eighteen and still trying to figure out life and expect to rely on your parents. I hope you're okay now. It's normal to still have those days where you want to cry over something that happened long ago. I still do." 
"I'm doing well," he says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. What about you?" 
Shyla opens the black nail polish to apply smiley faces over the yellow. Focusing on the tiny details, she exhales, thinking about where to start. 
"I haven't told anyone this since I went to therapy ages ago. I still cry over my parents. It's funny because I can't even remember how I felt as a kid when they died. I think I blocked it all out. I mean, I couldn't even tie my own shoes yet. I had no grasp on emotions or death. I was four when my grandma picked me up from daycare and told me that they had been in an accident. All I know is that it wasn't fun growing up and not having my parents there to teach me things." 
She sighs and pinches her eyes shut for a second. "For some reason, at the time, it didn't really affect me until I got older. Like, twelve or thirteen was when I started getting really angsty, for lack of better words. Everything caught up to me, and it crushed me that I didn't have a mom or dad to watch me grow up." 
"Did you have any other family?" 
"I stayed with my grandma for about five years before she passed away. Then, I moved in with my aunt until I was about nineteen. Almost ten years of living with her was a journey, to say the least. She's not bad, just stagnant. Never really let me go out of the house to do things. She was trying to keep me safe, but it got old. Then, I finally went to university and found what I wanted to do there. I realized I loved psychology, and I'm hoping to get my degree within the next year. 
Harry watches Shyla finish the last smiley face on his thumb before setting the polish back in her bag. 
"Come here." He pulls her into his lap, careful not to smudge the polish, wrapping his arms around her body. "I can't even begin to fathom what that was like. I'm so sorry you had to grow up like that. I'm always here to listen, okay?" 
"I know." She hugs him back. "I'll always listen to you too. It's so easy with you. I would have never imagined I'd be talking about this after so long of keeping it inside." 
"I never had anyone to talk to until you came here." Harry's voice wavers before he swallows. There's something about you that makes me want to live differently, not be afraid of being vulnerable." 
Shyla melts at his confession. "Tell me something else." 
"Like what?" 
"Like... your tattoos. You have so many. There has to be stories behind each one." 
"Pick one out, and I'll tell you."
Shyla smiles as her eyes rove over his exposed skin, trying to find one that intrigues her the most. They're all so specific; she has no idea what they could symbolize. 
"The one behind your ear. I just noticed it. Your hair is usually covering it." 
Harry tilts his head to the side so she can see it better. "It's an orchid. My mom and I would pick them by the creek during summer. I have a lot of little tattoos that remind me of her." 
Shyla admires the minimalistic black ink of the flower along the curve of his ear. "Did you sketch it yourself?" 
He nods. "I went out to the creek one day and brought my sketchbook. I did all sorts of flower styles, big and small. I decided on it behind my ear because she would always kiss me there before I went to bed." 
She feels tears build in her waterline as her fingers trace the lines of the tattoo. "It's so beautiful." 
"Thank you," he says, tilting his head back toward her. "I tattooed it myself in the bathroom mirror." 
"Is it difficult to tattoo yourself?" Shyla can't imagine the skill needed to permanently ink something on your skin. 
"It gets easier with practice. I have a few on my arm that are rubbish from when I first started." 
"Did they hurt?" 
Harry tenses and clears his throat. "Depends. The ones above my knees hurt a bit." 
"Oh. I don't have any, so I wouldn't know. I'm too scared of the pain." 
"It's not a bad pain," he mumbles, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. 
"What?" 
"It's... not a bad pain," he admits sheepishly. "Sometimes it feels really good." 
"Seriously?" she asks with shock. "How? It's literally a needle going through your skin!" 
"Pain kink, Shyla." He doesn't want to awkwardly beat around the bush anymore. He might as well just get it out of the way. 
She gapes at him, absorbing the simple yet complex words he just spoke. "Pain kink. Cool. Hey, listen, that's your thing. I don't find feeling like I'm being stabbed to be pleasurable, but I won't judge you for it. You can do whatever—" 
"Tattoo me," he interrupts. 
"Excuse me? Are the fumes from the polish going to your head? Harry, don't you need a literal license to do that?" 
"How many more times do I have to say I trust you, Shy? C'mon, I'll teach you. You can do a small one." 
Shyla mulls over everything that could go wrong. Her hands would shake, and she could do a disastrous job. She's not particularly proficient at art, so anything she'd draw would no doubt end up looking like a shitty elementary school art project. She also doesn't want to hurt him, but that's obviously been punted out of the equation, given what he just admitted. 
She sighs, realizing she has to live a little more. There's nothing wrong with doing something out of her comfort zone, especially with Harry. "Okay. You trust me, and I trust you. But don't be upset when it looks like the scum of the earth." 
Harry fondly kisses her cheek and then pats her hip to remove her from his lap. "Thank you. Follow me. I've got my own makeshift studio around back." 
He picks her up bridal style, not wanting her bare feet to step on anything that could be a hazard in the grass outside. He carefully goes downstairs and kicks the back door open with the toe of his boot. Out there, which is an area Shyla has yet to explore, is a lovely, open lawn with a wooden picnic table and a couple of chairs in front of a fire pit. However, what catches her eye is a covered wagon she's seen on Western TV shows before, just like the ones oxen or cattle pull. 
The canvas material lights up when Harry flicks a hidden switch. He strides toward the three steps that lead up the open doorway, setting Shyla down in the process. 
When she walks inside first, her eyes don't know where to land. There's a wooden table at the back with scattered tattoo supplies—ink containers, cotton balls, a half-empty bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a pair of black surgical gloves. She immediately takes note of the daunting tattoo gun, the metal shining under the low light and intimidating her greatly. 
"It's nothing fancy, but it's just for me," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "And now you. No one else knows about this." 
"I hope you'll invite me in here again after the terrible job I'm about to do," she says self-consciously under her breath. 
"Oh, shut it," he murmurs in a fun-loving tone. He brushes past her and organizes the space a little before taking a new pair of surgical gloves and dangling them tauntingly in front of her. A wicked smirk grows on his face. 
The pit of Shyla's stomach churns at the thought of inking Harry's skin with no experience whatsoever. She blows out a nervous breath and takes the thin gloves from him, stalling by putting them on very slowly. Harry opens a black ink bottle and removes new, sterilized needles from a package. 
Shyla sits in one of two rolling chairs and watches him assemble the tattoo gun with ease. Then he takes a piece of gum from a stray packet on the table, setting it on his tongue as he loads the canister with ink. His jaw flexes with each chew, and she's transfixed by his expertise. 
"Start thinking of something to ink on me," he says, plopping down in the chair beside her. 
Shyla tilts her head and brainstorms what she could permanently tattoo on Harry's beautiful skin. Everything she's coming up with seems too embarrassing to say aloud; a horse that would most likely look like an entirely different animal, a lyric that would definitely be illegible, a dart that would... hold on a second. A dart! That couldn't be too hard, right? 
"Um, a dart? Maybe? You probably already have that somewhere on you." 
"I don't, actually. That's perfect. A tiny, simple one that you can do freehand." 
Shyla's eyes widen. Freehand? She doesn't even think she could do it if Harry guided her hand the entire time. 
"Where do you want it?" she asks apprehensively, rolling her chair closer to him. 
Harry shrugs. "Wherever. I don't care." 
"Okay, how about somewhere on your wrist?" She points to his left one, observing the other tattoos there — an anchor, a clover, and a lock. "I can do something tiny near your other ones." 
"Wherever you want, Shy," he reiterates softly. 
Readily setting his left wrist on the table, he opens the rubbing alcohol and splashes a couple of drops onto a cotton ball. He then sterilizes his entire wrist so whatever patch of skin she picks is safe to prick with a needle. 
"All right. It'll be so tiny. Microscopic, even. And simplistic." Shyla swallows thickly, her hands sweating under the tight gloves. "That's what I'm comfortable with." 
Harry offers her a hopeful smile, then turns the tattoo gun on, its loud buzzing instantly filling the confined space. "Hold your hand around the canister," he instructs, grabbing her hand and maneuvering it to the correct position. "Rest it diagonally against my skin and push down so the needle goes through. Not too deep, but still, make sure it's in there. My skin should resist when you pull it out. Only go a few centimeters before taking it out and continuing." 
Shyla exhales slowly and focuses on an empty patch of skin where she can tattoo the dart. 
"Hey," he says over the buzzing. "It'll be fine. I'll help wipe any excess ink off. If you need me to step in, just let me know, okay?"
She nods and leans forward to shift the gun closer to his wrist. She stretches his skin until it's taut, delicately tracing a short line with the needle. She pulls back quickly and looks at Harry with anxiousness wavering in her gaze. 
He laughs and wipes the liquid ink off, then squeezes her knee. "Keep going," he says hoarsely, feeling the pain rush through his bloodstream. "Stick the needle in for a bit longer. It feels good to me, I promise."
Shyla shifts in her seat and clenches her thighs together. Harry's eyes flutter shut as he comfortably leans back. She goes back at it, then realizes she has no clue how to draw a dart by memory. She wings it, pressing the needle down once again and creating an amateur triangle above the line she drew to represent the tip of a dart. 
When she lingers just a little too long, Harry can't subdue the groan of pleasure that crawls its way up his throat. He blinks up at the wagon covering, his pupils dilating from the addictive pain. 
Shyla thinks his groan is caused by her hurting him, so she removes the needle and blurts, "Sorry! I'm almost—" 
"Keep going," he says, patting her thigh in encouragement. "Please, baby." 
Baby. He's too worked up to notice what he just uttered, but Shyla notices, and she wants to get this goddamn tattoo done so they can head back to his cabin and fuck the tension away. She finishes it by adding two minuscule lines coming out of the straight line. It looks like a toddler did it, but she doesn't care. Harry is so tense, jaw tightened as he chews his gum, and her heart is pounding. 
Harry exhales when she manages to shut the gun off by herself. He lazily wipes the excess ink off, then swiftly pulls her into his lap. He grabs the aftercare ointment and rips the cap off with his teeth before applying a layer over his new tattoo. He then tears some plastic wrap off and hurriedly covers the area, finishing it with gauze. 
He'll clean up later. Right now, he needs Shyla. 
She straddles his legs and takes the gloves off, feeling his cock already hard underneath the leather. He groans again, this time from the pressure of her core against him. The dress she's wearing bunches up around her hips, her underwear entirely exposed. She begins rocking against him as his bandaged wrist pushes on her lower back to guide her, and any movement from his wrist causes a burst of pleasurable pain to shoot throughout his arm. 
"Cabin," he commands gruffly as he lifts her and walks out of the wagon. He blindly shuts the light off, then makes a beeline through the back door and straight up to his loft. 
He gently tosses her on the bed and crawls between her legs, his forearms beside her. "Is this okay?" he asks, his mouth resting against her spread legs. 
"Yes," she whines, sitting up to take her dress off. 
Harry helps lift it over her head, then tosses it over the edge of the bed. Her strapless bra and underwear remain, and he takes his time, leaving kisses up her thighs. He presses his nose into the damp spot forming on her underwear, placing an open-mouthed kiss over it. He moans at the taste of her arousal through the thin fabric before gripping his hands around her upper thighs as Shyla arches her back on the bed. 
"Be a good girl and stay still," he says while looking up. He sees her eyebrows furrowed, silently begging for him to give her what she wants. 
"Rip them off. I don't care, just please," she says, grabbing a fistful of his hair. She pulls it, hoping that his love for pain isn't just with tattoos. 
His reaction to her eagerness and the pulling has him biting marks into her thigh. He then kneels to remove her underwear down her legs. She's already dripping down her entrance, so Harry reaches into the nightstand drawer to grab one of the condoms that he stored up when he found out she was going to visit. He felt some shame about it, especially when the cashier gave him a knowing look as if to say: It's about time. 
Harry gets off the bed to pull his leather pants and boxers down, then takes his shoes off. He opens the package and rolls the condom over his length, moving to crawl over her body. He notices that Shyla has taken her bra off as he lines up with her entrance and swallows his nerves down. 
"Before you ask, I want to do this. I trust you, H." 
The nickname makes him whimper, and his cock throbs. He takes his right hand down to it and guides it up and down Shyla's wetness, getting her used to the feeling. He looks at her one more time to ensure she's ready, and when she nods in a frenzied way, he pushes his tip in. He opens his mouth at the tightness, morning at how well she fits. Like she was made for him. He pushes in slowly until he's all the way in. Shyla gasps at the way he fills her, clenching around him as he thrusts in steady, long movements. His left hand holds onto the top of the headboard, and his other slips under her waist. 
"You feel amazing," he mumbles in the crook of her neck. The bed creaks with each thrust, Shyla's first moan leaving her mouth when he hits deep. 
"I can feel you... right here," she says, touching her lower stomach. She can quite literally see and feel his cock nudging the skin there from how deep he's going. 
"Yeah?" He spurs her on, continuing to thrust in extensive motions through her tight walls. 
He doesn't think he'll last long, not having been intimate with someone in so long, but he wants to make it worth it for her. Shyla lifts her hips to meet his, placing her arms around his neck. She whispers breathy moans in his ear, and Harry is getting close to his climax just from her sounds alone. 
"I'm close," he says through kisses on her neck. 
"Let me be on top." He doesn't dispute this, simply flipping over so that he's on his back. Kiss me. I'm almost there." 
Harry kisses her, quieting her moans as she unravels. She grinds on top of him, holding his shoulders tightly. Harry comes when she clenches around him, his hips stuttering as he rides it out with quick thrusts. He spills into the condom, and his face grows red at how quickly he lets go. Shyla orgasms with him, lifting her hips off him when she gets sensitive. They're both breathing heavily as he rolls the condom off and disposes of it. His hand rests on his stomach, and Shyla flops next to him.  
Eventually, Harry sits up and opens the window to allow the summer breeze in. 
Just as he gets comfortable in his bed again, a sudden and startling noise comes from downstairs. He and Shyla freeze and stare at each other with confused expressions. He holds his pointer finger up, mutely telling Shyla to stay put, then quickly slips into his boxers and a random pair of jeans before slowly walking down the stairs. Shyla covers herself with his sheets and watches from afar, her heart hammering from the unexpected interruption. 
Harry cautiously stops on the middle step when the noise becomes clearer. There's raucous knocking on the front door, and it sounds like the person on the other side is furious. 
—— 
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thebestofoneshots · 3 months
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Hey You!
Ok I was just infatuated with your sneak peak for GC Ch. 25 omg. I had to look at it over and over again since yesterday. Really I love your AI art for this series. This is exactly how I picture the boys in my head. Sirius' hair I'm dying. I've already spent my time using AI to create portraits of them, and it was just rubbish. Maybe I'm not advanced enough to use it properly. But I just had a look at you last art again and I just have to ask you! I have so many questions. Which tools do you use to create it? Do you rework the pics with other software like Photoshop or something? And most important, and propably the most improper question: what do you tell the AI to do exactly? You don't have to answer this one. I don't want to steal your style or anything, I'd just like to know how you get them pictured so accurate you know? And how much time do you spend in average to be satisfied with a picture to publish it for GC?
Yeah I hope I'm not rude asking you this, but I'm a big fan of your work 😭
Have a nice week! 🤍
I find it hilarious I got this question just when I was fighting with AI to do what I wanted it to do lol.
There are a lot of questions, so I'll try to be as detailed as possible. I talked about the AIs I used on this post. But basically, I recommend Bing's Image Creator that's powered by Dall-e 3.
I do rework the pics, not always, but AI always seems to confuse hair colours, gives Sirius a sandy brown and Remus black, so I do find myself switching that often (I use things like picsart, facelab, procreate and makeup+ for this). I have also done some face altering things here and there, especially when the faces don't look exactly like I want them to, for example in this one:
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I wasn't quite satisfied with Sirius' face so I altered the features a little more so that they looked exactly like they looked in my head. This minor alterations I find myself doing rather often on the pictures that will be the official ones.
Now the time I spend until I'm satisfied varies, sometimes the AI image is perfect and I use it straight, sometimes I have try a few times over and over until I get the exact result I want, and that takes much more time. Maybe like 30-40 minutes to get the image and the side (aesthetic) pics I add to the sides.
Now, the most important question, what do I say? Again it varies, sometimes I find myself tweaking and altering things arounf until I get exactly what I want. For this image in particular I said something like this:
16 year old Remus Lupin (sandy blond hair, golden-brown eyes, scars on his face, handsome)holding back a 16 Sirius Black 16 year old Sirius black (long curly hair, delicate & soft features, pretty and handosme, grey-blue eyes). Remus has his hand in Sirius shoulder, they both look tense, like they want to stop a fight. Defense against the dark arts classroom. realistic art.
I remember I changed it later, to Hogwarts classroom and students standing behind but, once I get the basics of the composition I tweak things around until I have exactly what I want.
Now I find AI has some issues with side profiles, maybe I haven't cracked it yet, but I spent all my energy on Bing trying to get the right composition for an image for next week's episode and it was not cooperating with me.
I asked for this:
16 year old Remus Lupin (sandy brown hair, golden-brown eyes, scars on his face, handsome) and young Sirius black (long curly hair, delicate & soft features, pretty and handosme, grey-blue eyes, gryffindor). Remus covers Sirius mouth with his hand and he is pressing his chest onto Sirius’, they’re front to front (we see their profiles), foreheads almost touching . Restricted section of the library. they’re hiding from someone. realistic art.
And kept getting Remus standing behind Sirius:
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Don't get me wrong, I loved most of this, they look amazing! But it wasn't exactly my vision. Even wasted $15 usd on DALL·E hoping it would make it better but I was very disappointed (Bing is so much better and FREE).
Eventually, I got one image that did exactly what I wanted and I'm currently reworking it to make it exactly what I want, we'll see how it goes in the end.
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But yeah, I've spent almost all day working on this (using my free time at work), and only one out of all worked, so time spent on it really, really varies.
Hope you find this helpful darling, and if you managed to get the image I've struggling with to work, it'd be really cool if you shared it with me.
Read Gilded Constellations
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macncherries · 10 months
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trigun stampede character studies because i like them a normal amount (I literally cannot stop thinking about them. i wake up and I think about them. i go to sleep and I think about them) some of this is a combination of both trigun and trigun stampede as well as headcanons! drabbles about that under the cut
i took the original canon designs from trigun stampede as a basis. i kept their outfits relatively the same and their hairstyles + accessories match that of stampedes. edited wolfwoods outfit slightly by making his grey shirt deeper cut to mimick that of 1998 trigun's. as for faces, because all of my faces have a slight pinch of realism, I had to determine their face shapes and feature shapes based on cannon and headcannon. i huge differentiation not put into trigun stampede is vash's face shape! in the original trigun movie (2010) you can see their differences better as well as when the anime begins to reach further out into the 2000s and the style changes.
vash has canonically droopy eyes! imo, it wasn't really put into the stampede version and they kind of went for typical bubbly eyes instead. considering this, I had to balance the bubbly eyes with the droop so I added a droopy bottom lid to the eye while keeping the top one rather happy and crescent-shaped. additionally, in all of the official art for the 1998 version, vash's eyes stick out a lot. they tend to use high contrast to highlight his blue eyes a lot in the original so I decided to purposely give him extra shiny eyes since they seem to catch the light so often. woflwoods eye shape changed quite a lot. I prefer stampedes version a lot more; with thin eyelids on top + bottom and a slight droop right before the end. I also accentuated the length of the last eyelash more because while its there in stampede, it's not enough :3
other face changes include their noses. in stampede, pretty much everyone has the same face shape depending on gender/age. but in the original trigun, and while its more obvious as the style develops, wolfwood does have that big angular nose with a slight bump. i did not change the nose shape at all and referred to that specifically when deciding his. vash's on the other hand tends to fluctuate, and because it was 1998 it is kind of hard to tell but his nose is definitely more pointy than ANYONE else's. so taking that into account I gave him a very sharp straight nose but with a button-ish shape at the end to define it more because his nose shape stood out to me more than just a simple straight nose.
some details changed were the lack of facial hair on wolfwood. in 1998 he had some stubble and it also just seemed fitting to give him more hair in general because of that. feel like it would grow back too fast and he'd just give up trying to shave. i jus think he's a hairy dude. as for vash, even if he IS hairy, he's also blonde, so any of those thin hairs like whats on arms and legs would shine in the sunlight and basically go invisible (before T i had those blonde leg hairs and it didn't matter how much i let them grow out, they're invisible) nonetheless, he got a little hair in places its more concentrated. darkened his happy trail too since he's got a little bit of brown and blonde hair i thought it was valid enough decision-making.
i also adopted the more gruesome scar types seen in the manga panel in 1998. in stampede its more stylized, which isn't bad, but I prefer more obvious ones as well as showing the differentiation in healing/age depending on the scar. finding references for all the scars vash has was really difficult (he canonically has one on his butt, lol) so I had to bullshit some of the lower half ones (like on the knees) but I think its fitting enough.
some things entirely based on headcannons:
wolfwood
trans'd his gender. because i can. no other reason :)
the scars he's got because of that are;
hysterectomy (two small, symmetrical scars above the v-line)
double incision (mastectomy)
phalloplasty (not shown, its under the burger.)
skin graft from phallo (kind of visible. please note that irl skin graft scars on the thigh can be practically indetectable, but I decided to do a more stylized version for this to make it more apparent. i went with a thigh graft instead of arm because grafting from your arm restricts mobility for a short period of time which obviously, he would need, considering his weapon. thigh is also less visible under normal circumstances and we additionally never see wolfwoods bare thigh in either canon universes so I am allowed to be delusional :3)
no adams apple (while you can get surgery for this, its relatively uncommon and is invasive for little to no benefit, its like, an inch of cartilage.)
long face + his jaw shape (the jaw shape KIND OF appears in stampede, but not really, so I accentuated it more.)
eye bags (no real reason. i just think he deserves them :3)
wide mouth (again, KIND OF in stampede because vash tends to smile more vertically and he smiles more horizontally, so i accentuated that factor)
painted nails (because i can.)
body shape edited a little bit from canon. i made him more bulky and rectangular but still kept a sinched waist in his outfit as compensation. the bulk isn't really pure muscle mass; he's just kinda built like that
wolfwood is subject to change. im considering giving him slightly longer hair in the back(because I can) and his necklace choker from his prototype version back (because. I can.) p.s. if you want to see without the censor please dm me! these are just character studies so I don't really see any point in keeping them under wraps.
vash
all scars below the groin area i had to make up. i think its realistic for his knees to be banged tf up because that's easy to scar considering how reckless he is. everything else I just decided accordingly with aesthetical balance.
plump bottom lip (he deserves it :3 he's cute :3)
painted nails (because I can.)
jaw shape (he has more circular proportions in stampede but in trigun he's very angular so I wanted to find a balance for that. he's babygirl but still not entirely feminine.)
circular chin (I wanted him to have a puffy circular chin from the side to compliment the lower lip.)
eyelashes (hes kinda got it in the 1998 version but they're not very consistent so I just gave him some top eyelashes to accentuate it :3)
side note: i refuse to transgender vash. i wont do it. ive seen so many people trans his gender and it makes me sad bc they either do it because they ship him with his fucking brother or they do it because he's too babygirl for you COWARDS who equate that to being AFAB. shame on you. real mfs KNOW he's cunty babygirl and give him a horse cawk. thank you for your time.
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sugarwithtea · 2 years
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paris in the rain || pjm [1]
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pairing : bookstore owner!jimin x fem!reader
genre : angst, fluff, eventual smut, strangers to friends to lovers.
rating : pg-15
series summary : you hadn't expected to run into jimin, an unusually charming guy in the midst of love and peace, in paris. but here you were, falling for a man covered in the smell of old parchment and wine while also recovering from the traumatic experiences of your past. your work stay in paris, which you had took on for a change of atmosphere, changes every nook of your life.
chap word count : 5.7k
chap warnings : swearing.
author's note : okay so its finally here !! ik this one has very less jimin in it but trust me its important to set the mood aagh!! i hope yall enjoy my first series and lmk what yall think about it hehe :)
playlist | m.list | taglist
sugarwithtea m.list | taglist form(permanent)
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city of love by alexi butirskiy
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m.list | next.
Walking down the street, you can't feel more ecstatic.
Work had been a bitch lately but your boss did one thing right when she gave you the task of attending some upcoming art exhibitions in Paris, and writing reviews on them for the art section of your magazine. Initially your friend Yoona was also going to accompany you, but soon the plan changed when she was assigned to visit Boseong for the tea plantation's article.
Miranda, your boss has several acquaintances in this city. One of them was going to help and guide you on your three months long stay. The breeze cut through your hair swiftly as the sun slowly started to sink beneath the horizon.
You had asked Taehyung, the said acquaintance, to meet you at the studio apartment you were going to live in, your luggage already there via helpers. Your phone buzzed to indicate a message.
Taehyung (6:02 pm) : the helpers have left and i am at the apartment.
Taehyung (6:02 pm) : it's been half an hour since i have arrived !!
Taehyung (6:03 pm) : where are you?
You (6:03 pm) : omw; I'm walking hehe.
Taehyung (6:03 pm) : seriously?
Taehyung (6:04 pm) : come quickly, it seems like it's going to rain.
You (6:04 pm) : okay, mom.
You stuff your phone back in your coat pocket and look around in awe. You had met Taehyung twice before, once when he had come to Seoul to curate some pieces for the museum he works for, and again when you both ran into each other in Japan. You were there with your company, to cover a highly anticipated gallery opening, and him as a mere spectator.
Assumably, you had shown him around Seoul for a week or so, when he was there and so, he thought it would be best if he could return the favour when you were in his city. Thus, calling him a friend would be better than calling him Miranda's acquaintance.
The sky turns a weird mix of pink, golden and grey as you turn the corner to a buzzing street. The first thing that caught your eye was the head of the Eiffel tower peeking from between two buildings and lush green trees. The setting sun casted a soft lustre upon its form and the tower looked as loving as ever.
A feeling struck your heart, ever so lonely, ever so loveless, ever so gloomy. Maybe, it was one of the reasons you agreed to come here, to heal what was broken, in a way yet, unlovable.
When you glanced at the tower's iron structure, you saw what it reflected, the city's love and a hidden form of something unexpected, misery. You relate to it. An embodiment of love, filled with eternal misery.
People loved to call you friendly, a person who could attract peers and enemies alike, easily. An everlasting smile etched on your features, always announced your presence to everyone before you could officially do it. Little did they know, or noticed but never acknowledged, that your smile never reached your eyes, lingering at your cheekbones, drowning itself in the dark circles marked underneath your eyes, if ever so lightly.
Your eyes bounce off the structure and rake your surroundings, pausing on a peculiar sign, upholstered above a small shop with no exterior decorations except for a faded poster of a bestseller book and a small open sign hanging in the glass of its brown, shabby door. The shop had none of those tell-tale ground to ceiling glass windows. Instead, old, paneled walls are taking their place.
'MIMI'S DREAM'
The sign mentioned the aforementioned words in faded cursive letters.
All the other shops in the neighborhood were decorated impressively, to attract the people. They were cleaned and maintained, giving off the vintage vibes, but still fancy.
Mimi's Dream was none of the above. It was shabby, old and gave no efforts to attract people. The door was almost hidden between the glamour of the shops next to it. An odd sight, indeed, amongst the splendor of the street overlooked by the wonder of the city.
Your pace faltered as you neared it. An unmistakable scent of coffee and old parchment filled your senses and you paused right outside the door, weighing the options of stepping inside or stepping away. The only thing visible from the small glass partition on the door was a small desk pushed up against a shelf overflowing with books.
A mop of blonde hair kept on moving at the edge of the desk. The person, whose hair they were, was crouched down behind the desk, so you could only see the top of their head, which kept on shuffling here and there. Rest of the interior was mediocre, some of the shelves were dust-laden to be honest.
The option of stepping inside weighed more on your balancing pan and thus you moved forward to push open the door when a buzzing sound stopped you.
Taehyung could have not chosen a better time to call you.
He greets you with a shout in normal Taehyung manner.
"Where the fuck are you?"
"Outside Mimi's Dream."
"Outside what now?"
"It's a bookstore, Tae. What do you want?"
"You. I have places to be, Y/N. Cut the tour short and get your ass here."
He sounded livid, so fucking livid.
And, you? You were now scared for life.
In all these peculiar sights you forgot the most peculiar man ever. Him waiting for you, at your apartment had slipped your mind completely. You mumble a small 'sorry' and dash from the place towards your apartment as the gray clouds started covering the sky above you.
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It was a mess.
Your apartment was a mess.
And amidst the mess, was standing Taehyung, his hair equally messy and eyes shooting daggers at you. Even though the daggers were blocked by the numerous cardboard boxes standing tall between him and the door, with him visible only slightly, his fury was well translated to you.
You picked up the small boxes at your feet, set them aside and started heading towards death personified. He was not even speaking anything, just looking at you with the expression your mom gave you when she found out you tried smoking weed. Your mom had also stared at you wordlessly, Taehyung putting you in a similar situation.
As you stood in front of him, face to face, your eyes cast down, though, he squinted his eyes at you and opened his mouth to tell you off. But, he stopped midway, snapped his mouth shut, shook his head and turned around, realizing you were already quite the disappointment for him to sour his tongue up with the words he was going to say.
Even though you knew the reason for his anger, you couldn't stop your mouth from acting up.
"What?" you spat as he faced his back to you, trying to navigate his way around your dumping ground.
"Nothing. I decided that murdering you is not worth the jail time." he said and sat down on a box, giving up his thought of going deeper in your house.
"Okay I'm sorry."
"What were you even doing for a whole hour? The route from the airport is straight and like ten minutes away on foot!" he prodded and you looked everywhere but him.
What were you going to say? A poorly decorated bookstore caught your eye and you were gathering the courage to step inside it? No thanks, you'd rather save yourself from the embarrassment. Lying always seemed like the best option for you anyway, so why not go with it.
"I thought I'd take a look around the neighborhood." you murmured, your feet being the most interesting for you at that moment.
"When I was waiting for you at this shithole?"
"I said I'm sorry. I didn't know I'd get too caught up!" you knew you were being inconsiderate but the look on his face almost made you laugh out loud.
He breathed anger, trying to subdue it by taking deep breaths. One thing you knew, you needed to make it up to him later, in some way or other as this was totally your fault.
You went forward to hug him and wrapping your arms around his torso, you mumbled into his chest
"Listen, I am so sorry, genuinely. I just got distracted by this beautiful city you live in. I promise I will make it up to you later as you had to give up your time doing nothing because of me."
"How?"
"Huh?" you looked up to him, your chin on his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you tighter.
"How are you gonna make it up to me?" a sly smile on his lips.
"Um, however you ask me to."
"I am going on a date with my girlfriend next week."
"Congratulations?"
"You'll be the one paying for it."
"Fuck no." you free yourself from his grasp and take a step back.
"Well then, okay. Have fun living in this city without any friends. Have fun learning French. Have fun with loneliness." he said and started moving towards the door, his lips still set in a wide ass grin.
You fucked up pretty well this time. There was no way you were going to let him go, leaving yourself to explore this city alone. He knew that, that bastard.
The only concern now on your mind was, where were he and her girlfriend going to, for a date. Knowing Taehyung, he'll probably choose some expensive place just to annoy you.
You rush towards him and quickly hold his wrist, almost tripping over a lone object on the floor.
"I'll do it."
His eyes sparkle with mischief as he looks down at you and nods his head in a way of saying, 'told you so.'
"Where are you guys going?"
"I'll let you know in three days, by Friday."
Prick. He has planned his date a week prior. It has to be something extravagant, given his expressions. You wish you don't have to spend way more than you can, you can't afford giving up a chunk of it on an unnecessary date in your first week in the city.
"You have not yet decided, have you?" you squint your eyes at him, trying your best so that he'll slip up the answer.
"Oh you'll be surprised to know that I have it all planned out. Just not for you to know yet, darling."
"Whatever." you huff and set yourself to work, him helping you around the house to arrange your stuff and settle down quickly.
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Two hours later you plop yourself down on the couch now in your living room and not in a bubble wrap against the window.
"Food, food, food." Taehyung mumbles as he sits down beside you.
"Wait, I'm ordering something."
"No, there's a place down the street, it sells amazing fried chicken. I wanna eat that."
"So we are going there? You can't even stand properly Tae, how do you have the energy to walk down the street?"
"Not we, you."
"What?"
"They don't do deliveries, but they do pick ups."
You just cock an eyebrow at him without saying anything.
"What? Don't look at me like that. This is your house, it's your duty to feed your guest. And, I can wait here now, given that I have this whole couch to myself." and he proceeds to rest his head on the armrest and kicks his legs in your lap as you shrug them off almost immediately and stand up to collect your wallet.
You don't have the energy to argue with him and somewhere you still feel guilty for making him wait, though you should not as you're gonna pay for it, but you still do. That's why you proceed to do as he says.
"You are going to pay for all your sins." you grit through your teeth and dash out.
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The streetlights adorned the street giving it the look of a pearl necklace. 
The place Taehyung had mentioned was just five minutes away and you started trudging towards it in a slow walk as soon as you exited your building. Rounding a corner, you once again came in front of the familiar, peculiar store.
The lights outside were dim and you wanted to get a peek inside but you thought better as a previously disappointed man is already waiting for you. Still, a small smile plays on your lips as you walk past the door.
You glaze your eyes around yourself and once again delve into the feeling from before that day. You felt the hole all too well, but something told you the chatter and air of this city would help you in filling it up.
So indulged in your thoughts, you don't watch your way and bump into a wall. A soft wall. Wait, a moving wall.
Oh my god it was a person, very much alive, moving and soft.
You lose your footing and stumble back, your eyes closing for a fleeting second as you steady yourself. A soft thud follows your collision, the person dropping someone their belongings. Your face turns in a grimace as a shrill gasp leaves your mouth. The only thing then audible is a string of timid 'sorry' in a voice dipped in honey, garnished with crumbles but oh so sweet.
You open your eyes and cast your sight downwards, just to be met with a mop of blonde hair, crouching at your feet and collecting his books.
Mimi's Dream, the only thing that flashes your mind as soon as you see the all too familiar sight. He stands up, towering an inch or two above you and oh boy were you not ready for it.
He was beautiful. In a, sweep you off your feet at the first sight, kind of beautiful. His round cheeks and plump lips catch your attention. As you take his appearance in, his lips break into a shy smile, his eyes crinkling in the process.
Two crescent like eyes, with lashes dipped in night, his appearance was similar to that of a blonde Adonis. With high cheekbones and a sharp jawline, set on a pretty neck, he was too much to look at.
He handles some books in his hand and when looks at you staring at him, clears his throat, the shy smile still tugging at his lips. You soon look away and bow down, mumbling a small,
"I am sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going."
"Oh no, I am sorry. It was my fault too." he lets his voice ring in your ears softly as you meet his almost hidden eyes, due to his smile and slightly puffed, pink cheeks, due to the cold.
You let out a light chuckle with a shy it's okay and continue to stand there weirdly when he decides to break the awkward silence.
"You're a foreigner."
Your accent might have given you away or the fact that you chose to speak English instead of French for someone in Paris. Even though he looks Asian, you can never be so sure if he was brought up here or had immigrated, like you.
"Yes, I'm from Korea."
His widened eyes and the glimmer in them confirmed your assumption as he starts way too excitedly,
"Really? I am from Korea too."
Before you can even muster up a reply, a distant voice ringed in your ears.
"Jimin!" shouted a man from a few places behind you.
You swiftly turn around to look at a lean man with platinum blonde hair frayed over his forehead and lips formed into a sort of triangle. He was handsome, insanely so. You couldn't help but just stare at him. He wore printed baggy jeans and an oversized multi colored shirt, a stark contrast from the man you just bumped into.
"Yeah?" the man behind you, who you now assume is Jimin, quips with a tired voice. As if all he wanted now was to crash in his bed and not bear another second of the world moving around him.
"I'm hungry, man. Bring the books in quickly so we can eat."
"Uh, yes coming." Jimin grunts and looks at the back of your head. His stare burns the back of your head and you whip it around to look at him.
"It was nice meeting you, " he raises his eyebrows expectantly, with the softness of the freshly bloomed buds and extends a hand towards you.
"Y/N."
"Jimin." He smiles bashfully and grasps your hand in a gentle hold before letting it go and using it to better hold the books he was comically balancing with a single hand. You both giggle at the same time.
"It was nice meeting you too, Jimin." you speak and part your ways with no more words, just smiles and glances.
"Sorry once again." he calls out as you reach the corner.
"Likewise, Jimin." you quip back and turn around to find him walking backwards towards his shop, looking at you. You laugh again, "Now, go."
And with that, you disappear round the corner.
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Lately Taehyung's been a little off.
You can't put a finger on the long list of reasons you have for his grumpiness. He is what you'd like to call a drama queen, over enthusiastic and overdramatic. There could've been complications at work, he could've been low by you bailing out on him constantly, maybe there's trouble in paradise, or maybe it's just one of his moods.
It had almost been a week since your arrival and you were rushing around, trying to settle yourself and your stuff in the new city. It had been overwhelming for you initially, especially when you realised many people did not speak English, and not everything was as romanticized as the books and the movies. So you were thankful when your neighbour Lily helped you out.
It had been so hectic that you were not able to meet Taehyung for almost a week. He had been trying to come up with plans to give you a tour of the city, the museums, the landmarks, the galleries, the cafes, the clubs, everything. But you were always cancelling on him due to your weary state, resorting to watching Netflix and eating to your heart's content whenever you even got an ounce of leisure time.
As a result, the man was now in one of his dramatic moods.
You were almost settled down, almost being the key word. So you decide to ask him to hangout with you. After all, he is the only one you know in this new world.
You (10:26 am) : hi. wanna hangout later?
Taehyung (10:31 am) : did the sun rise from the west today?
You (10:33 am) : shut up or I'm taking my words back.
Taehyung (10:33 am) : okay okay, sorry.
Taehyung (10:34 am) : and yes, I'd like to hangout with you, your majesty.
You (10:34 am) : my place?
Taehyung (10:35 am) : lmao no
You (10:35 am) : yours?
Taehyung (10:36 am) : be ready at 6. i'll pick u up
You (10:36 am) : and take me to?
Taehyung (10:36 am) : hell
You (10:36 am) : bitch?????
Taehyung (10:37 am) : relax, don't you believe me?
You (10:37 am) : um, no?
Taehyung (10:37 am) : good 😂
Taehyung (10:37 am) : anyways. don't cancel tonight.
You (10:38 am) : 👍🏻😒
These were the reasons why you were always scared to agree to any of his shenanigans. Always vague and increasing your nervousness, as well as dying curiosity. But at this point, you brought this upon yourself and you have to roll on with his antiques with a grudging smile.
You set your phone down on the kitchen counter and walk to the balcony of your bedroom, past your perfectly set up living area.
Your apartment had the classic, minimalistic design. A cream couch adorned the living room with a wooden coffee table and potted plants sitting atop the stools in the corner, with varying heights. A small bookshelf was pushed up against the wall and a loveseat was placed beside the window. It was small, but lovely.
Your eyes rake the expanse of the street visible from the small balcony. It was still the start of the day and people were rushing about with their morning caffeine clutched tightly in their hand and eyes cast low. Some were the exception and occasionally glanced about to absorb their surroundings or just strike up a chat with someone they know. It was a relief to see the life in the city move similarly to the one back home, yet differently.
While trying to take in the morning view from your apartment, your eyes once again fall on a particular blonde wandering the streets with his head low and hands tucked in the pockets of his trench coat. Your eyes follow his figure as he makes his way till a corner and then turns, hiding behind the blocks of buildings.
Jimin was a stranger. You knew nothing about him but his name and the place he worked at, the bookstore. Still, he kept on visiting your mind at random hours, for reasons unknown.
Your highschool friend, Gina always used to say that you thought about absurd things, your curiosity working it's way towards topics you have no relation to, at all. She was true, ofcourse. For right now your mind was running circles around only one person, Jimin. You were charmed by his presence. You died to know more about him. You died to look at him again. And you still don't know why you gulped down your coffee hastily, changed into a presentable pair of clothes, put on your coat, grabbed your keys and left your apartment.
You might reason it as the dire need to get some books.
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The overhead bell rings as you set foot inside the shop and a smiling face looks up at you from behind the counter.
He is not Jimin.
But you are very much welcomed by him.
"Hello." he speaks in a chirpy tone and you can't stop the smile etching itself slowly on your face.
"Hey." you respond and gingerly make your way towards him.
He was dressed differently today, yet so similar, donning a black sweatshirt with a big smiley on it and his platinum blonde hair still frayed at his forehead, this time his lips in a heart shaped smile instead of a triangle. His radiance bounces off the shelves filled with books, him standing out against the vintage, old backdrop of the shop.
"Good morning. I am Hoseok."
You just smile at him without giving him your name, too lost to even return the act of kindness.
"What can I help you with?" he asks, softly, to gain your attention which he realizes he might have lost.
Your mind goes blank. You had not thought that to enter a bookstore, you'll need to have an excuse. You can't walk in there without any motive. In your panic, you say the first name that comes to your mind.
"Fitzgerald."
"Ah, classic." he says with the same, kind expression and you almost sigh with relief.
His eyes glide over your surroundings and stop at a corner which makes you whip your head towards it.
It was a mess, the shelves overflowing with old hardcovers with a passage between two such tall ones. A stack of books was placed at the end of the short partition, up against the wall with some stray pages covering the ground beside it. A wooden plaque with the sign 'Fiction' hung at the entrance.
Hoseok walks over to the corner and you follow him, spellbound by the sight in front of you.
You loved books. You loved the fact that there is a form of escapism so unreal, yet so real. The prints on paper bound by hardcovers or another layer of paper give you a sense of comfort hardly anyone could provide. The life you had lived was short compared to the ones your mind, your heart had lived. It was singular, it was just one. The ones lived by your heart were multiple, they took up small places in your existence and shaped you for the singular one you had to live. Your eyes read things your life couldn't display to you in its entirety of twenty five years. You eyes read things which taught you lessons your people couldn't teach you in the entirety of your twenty five years.
You close your eyes for a fleeting second and inhale the scent of parchment rolling off of fresh coffee. You open them with a forever smile marking your features.
"You'll definitely find him somewhere over here."
You snap out of your trance at Hoseok's words and look at him smiling at you.
"Ah, thankyou. I actually moved in recently and wanted to fill my shelves with some of my faves which I had to leave at home."
His face lights up at your words.
"How's the city treating you?"
"Like it has known me for years."
"Really?"
"No."
You both laugh at him seeing right through you at your half ass lie. Of course you have loved this city, but you are still adjusting to its glamour, to its reputation. You can't say it's been treating you like an old friend, but it is definitely trying to accommodate you well.
"It's good though. I am still navigating my way through the 'parisian' lifestyle." you make air quotes around Parisian and Hoseok snickers.
"Nothing extraordinary about that. I know you'll fit in well."
"Thank you so much." and you realize you never gave him your name.
"I am Y/N, by the way."
"Nice to meet you." he shakes your extended hand and turns towards the aisle of books in front of you.
"As I said, you must find him somewhere over here. I normally would have been able to find it out for you but Jimin recently rearranged the shelves." he says with a dent between his eyebrows and a disappointing voice, "without letting me know."
At his mention your ears perk up like a dog hearing his owner call him.
"Your co-worker?"
"More like my boss but yeah."
"Oh so this is his shop?"
"Yes, it was his grandfather's. Then his father's. And now he handles it." Hoseok looks at you with a soft glint in his eyes, as if reminiscing the days when Jimin's father used to run the store.
"Wow." is the only word you are able to conjure. This store is really vintage, it holds years of history and three generations have adored it.
"It's incredible." you look around the area in awe of it.
The interior is quite what you might have imagined it to have. The old wooden panels and worn off paint decorating its walls alluded to the overall vibe of the shop. There were numerous aisles in front of you, eac one of them had its genre mentioned on a plaque hanging at its entrance. The shelves lining the walls were adorned with statues made with alabaster or marble, displaying Greek gods and replicas of some famous pieces from the 14th century. There were blown off candles hurdled in a corner and hanging lights from the ceiling casted an incandescent glow all over the floor.
Hoseok claps his hands while looking at his desk and you immediately give him your attention.
"Okay so I'll be at the desk sorting some things out. If you need any help, just call out my name, okay?"
"Okay."
A thought suddenly strikes your mind and you turn on your heels to witness a departing Hoseok and call out to him.
"Yeah?"
"Has the name always been the same?"
He smiles and you both know the name you are talking about. A knowing look comes over his face and he raises his eyebrows a little bit.
"No, they changed it." he says and prances off casually as you wonder what might have been the shop's original name then.
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When Hoseok said you'll find Fitzgerald somewhere among these shelves, he might have not mulled over the possibility that maybe you won't. Even though the thought was impulsive when you had spoken it out loud for him, you realized you really needed Gatsby and Benjamin Button to have a place on your shelf.
You had skimmed through the shelves, rather thoroughly and had failed to locate the books sitting atop them. You did find a lot of other books which always had a corner in your heart and as you moved about the aisle with the likes of Jane Austen, Orwell, Tolstoy, you wondered if you'd even find Fitzgerald among them.
You move towards the section which displays a set of books which were not dust ridden or had slightly worn off covers like the others. These had immaculately illustrated covers which used modern graphics and you know you have ventured into an area where your quest had the highest chances of failure.
Your eye catches the faded 'Romance' scribbled onto the side of a shelf and you run a finger over it, smiling at the thought that years ago a couple would have wrote it over there, or maybe the previous owners used less expensive methods of indication for the readers.
Raking your eyes over the shelves, you quickly grab a copy of One Last Stop with your free hand as you are yet to read it.
"Hoseok?" you call out and the reply is almost immediate.
"Yeah?"
"Help me, I can't find those books." you say and a soft padding sound follows as you hear his footsteps advancing towards you. He appears beside you at the end of the aisle.
"I swear to god I am going to fire Jimin."
"Yeah well good luck with that but I really can't find Fitzgerald anywhere over here." you laugh with him and both of you start your search again.
Amidst it, you try to glance out of the door and see rain pouring heavily and partially disrupting the morning buzz of the roads and adding to the eerie, peaceful vibe of the store.
Hoseok searches through the top shelves and you go through the bottom ones, removing the books and readjusting them. A while passes and almost all the books have been readjusted but your treasure hunt still didn't have any direction.
"Now only he can help you find it." Hoseok says and plops down on the floor with crossed legs and a tired stance.
"God?" you chuckle and follow suit.
"No such luck. It's just Jimin." he sighs and looks at you with his lips curved in apology and you smile a little at him.
"I am sorry this was such a mess. I swear we are better on other days."
"I am sure about that. It's just not our day today." you say and pat his arm encouragingly.
He studies you with an unreadable expression and you feel a silence sit around the both of you, comfortable enough for you to prop your chin on your folded knees pulled to your chest.
You were alone with a stranger but the rain sounds and the calm morning gave you comfort which was hard to achieve in the rush of moving in and settling down. You close your eyes for a second and realize you'll need to head home soon. Opening them with a groan you move your legs to break the peace.
"Aren't you waiting till he returns? He will be back soon."
"I want to, but I can't. I have to run some errands."
His lips form a triangle as you stand up and pat your butt to get rid of seemingly nothing. As soon as you pick up your phone which was out on the floor, the door opens, ringing the bell violently and in walks a very drenched Jimin.
"One more hour of this rain and we'll have to use boats to navigate the city." he grumbles, rather loudly and Hoseok slowly stands up as you just stare at him wide eyed.
He is wearing the same outfit you saw him in from your balcony, except his coat and hair are wet and his face carries an annoyed expression. Hoseok walks towards him with missiles to shoot instead of words.
"Boss, can you please kindly let me know where the fuck did you keep Fitzgerald after your impromptu rearrangement?" he asks with a sickly sweet smile which soon transforms into a sour face and you suppress a giggle at the look of pure horror on Jimin's face at Hoseok's sudden outburst.
He takes a second to contemplate his words and when he realizes, you watch his eyes turn into small crescents and cheeks puff up with a smile.
"Oh I have kept them in the inventory area."
"But they were old?"
"I know." and he gives no further explanation for his odd behaviour and walks up to a door at the back of the store you were just now discovering.
You and Hoseok look at each other, then at the door he disappeared to, then again at each other, trying to make sense but failing nevertheless. He returns a minute letter with a stack of books in his hands and comes to a halt in front of Hoseok while humming an old Polish tune.
It's then that he realizes of your presence in the store and turns his head towards you. Your eye catches his movement, mainly because you were staring at only him and he locks his eyes with yours.
His face changes demeanor and the nonchalant expression morphs into that of surprise, his eyes widening and body straightening up with an amused yet joyful small smile.
Hoseok looks between him and you and before he can open his mouth to ask the obvious question, Jimin speaks up.
"Y/N?"
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blysse-and-blunder · 8 months
Text
in lieu of a bachelorette party
10pm, sunday, aug 6, 2023
we're officially in the period of the summer that has been planned out since months and months ago, in the lead up to some dear friends' wedding; time is telescoping in a very odd way! after traveling the past two weeks, my re-entry was good but hard; i came back from my trip thinking i'd be all revitalized and looking around me with new eyes, which in a way i did, but then i was also pretty wiped. i didn't really want to spend all week hibernating, but i guess it was good to recharge my batteries since i also had five different party/gathering-type things (three this weekend, including the aforementioned bachelorette).
reading can't forget to mention finishing carmen maria machado's in the dreamhouse, which was gripping and devastating and still beautiful somehow. the experience of reading it was so...i couldn't stop once i got started, you know? short fragmented chapters, some funny, some incredibly sad. every once in a while there would be a detail or an allusion to something i could relate to, punctuating the intense surreality / unreality used to talk about the abuse with a sudden concrete reality that was. striking. loved the device of the footnotes, pointing out where certain things are matching up with folklore tropes? as a form of foreshadowing and ironic, devastating commentary? inspired. that's just one detail, but it's one i can sum up.
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abrupt tonal shift and getting back to fantasy / adventure, a.k. larkwood's the unspoken name has been very engaging this week too. part one was...fresh but in a comforting sort of vein, with a young protag escaping a bad fate under the protection of a new mysterious mentor, who then helps her get an education, martial arts training, before he sends her out on a mission--reminded me of half a dozen beloved fantasy novels, with the addition of some fun details! for example, neither is actually described in much detail, but our main character and her mentor are clearly not Human; she has grey skin and tusks (my mind went right to a dnd-style orc?) and he has mobile, elongated ears, which seem to telegraph his emotions much like those in the goblin emperor and was an *immediate* delight to envision. just about a third of the way through this one now; it feels like a locked tomb book with a slightly different magic system, and i'm really enjoying it.
watching plane movies while returning home:
the battle of the sexes (2017) -- entertaining more because i didn't know the history and always enjoy the depiction of historical women's sports and sports teams; emma stone is great but has virtually no chemistry with either of her romantic counterparts, painfully straight energy overall. i was too entertained by watching steve carell and sarah silverman in their respective period hair and makeup . kudos to whoever was the tennis stunt doubles, it was legitimately fun to try and follow the games.
banshees of inisherin (2022) -- people who talk about the overdone stereotyped blarney-filled hollywood depiction of ireland in this one are missing the fact that it's an intentional (ironic?) depiction; see, the imprecision when it comes to year/time passing / calendars and whatnot. sort of waiting for godot-y in its heightened reality / absurdity. my lukewarm take is that it was definitely meant to be a play, and would have worked a lot better that way. not sure i'll watch it again, not sure i *got* it, but it will certainly live in my brain rent-free.
finished strange world (2022) as a palate cleanser-- i wanted to support it, the box office and overall reception to this was pretty disappointing but it's fine! like it's a cute kids' movie! you know, disney's first gay character, thinly veiled climate analogy lesson, absolutely gorgeous animation and colors, what's not to love.
the first three episodes of season 1 of the white lotus . hypnotizing like a train wreck, but i'll wait until i've seen more of it to give a real write-up.
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listening you ever watch a viral video and then realize you're captivated by both the cute videos of people dancing and the soundtrack? (and recognizing the background scenery, and it turns out i was right!!) anyway i went and found these two tracks courtesy of just this experience, so thanks to youtuber thoraya i guess?
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UPDATE: saw hadestown live today!!! the original broadway recording didn't prepare me for how much i would love it, how dynamic and captivating the live band and incredible ensemble would be-- and of course i was crying almost immediately, and was clutching my chest during 'wait for me' both times. but then again, the performance i saw didn't include this one instrumental track i love and had on my semester playlist all spring, so here:
playing finally got the cut-scene celebrating my community center completion in stardew, hell yeah. had two great dnd sessions; one campaign successfully defeated a monstrously-oversized jaguar and decided which faction we're going to attempt to win over first, while the other group went shopping and spent some downtime at base and gathering info on some individual plots! napoleon did exist in this world and was a gnome, and our organization assassinated him apparently??, also this just feels like a good time to mention that their resume also includes '1841 – Controlled controversy riots when “Dinosaurs” suggested as a creature alongside and separate from “Dragons” ', which sent us into absolute hysterics when the DM shared that.
making it's summer, so i crowdsourced a ratatouille recipe and could not have been happier with the outcome. saving it here for posterity!
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working on i was very diligent with RA work this week, since it feels like i always neglect it over the summer for absolutely no reason, especially since it like. pays me. but i also have been using it as productive procrastination since i'm actively dragging my heels in sending the last few students their essay feedback and grade breakdowns from the summer course. it means confronting my judgments and math and possible mistakes from earlier in july, and trying to either defend or amend them as necessary, and i just have been. napping rather than actually do it. which is silly, and also stupid since i have actual work to be doing! just get this over with, and you can be free!
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waitingonavision · 1 year
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Moisés “Mo” Bondia! Official OC Info Post
Age: 55 (his age during the film)
Gender: AMAB/male (cis); he/him pronouns
Height: 5’6” (170 cm)
Physical description: Has glasses with oval frames, medium brown skin tone, and dark curly hair (3A?) with a puff on the front right side and grey streaks on the both sides; bearded. Wide-set eyes, broad nose; he’s lightly freckled on his cheeks and has dimples.
Dresses no differently than the townspeople but does wear a Sephardic style kippah (aka a yarmulke; photo is for reference) on his head. He’s on the chubby side, with round cheeks and a little double chin.
His clothing palette consists of goldish-browns and blues.
More art and info under the cut!
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I’m still trying to tweak his clothing style...
Personality: Mostly soft-spoken but has a bit of a mischievous/joking streak; very dorky sense of humor. Patient for the most part; has a calm, deliberate way of speaking. On the guarded side–vigilant around new people, though he tries to be as open and friendly as possible. Has a poor sense of direction.
Enjoys wine (the doofy jokes really come out when drunk) and singing (but is bad at it). He is a big Jewish nerd™. His family escaped with their chumash (the Torah/Five Books of Moses), a prayer book or two, and a few other things.
His name, Bondia, means “good day” (from the Hebrew surname, Yom Tov). It’s shaped his outlook on life, despite, or because of, the trauma of his childhood–he was five when he and his parents fled the bandits (at the beginning of Encanto).
Background [cw for parental death and depression]: Moisés and his parents, Ester (mother) and Jonás (father), have been in the Encanto since its creation. His parents both passed away by the time he’s in his mid-late 20s. Because he’s really the only Jew in the Encanto, he feels like the odd one out (in that sense, he has a kinship with Bruno and, to an extent, Mirabel). The townspeople get along with him, despite his differences.
Ester’s and Jonás’ deaths occurred one after the other and hit Mo very hard, and he went through a period of depression and, just, not taking care of himself very well. He wasn’t always chubby (fairly average build in his teens and early twenties), and actually lost an unhealthy amount of weight after his parents’ deaths but eventually recovered–he’s able to sympathize with Bruno in this way. He is body confident and prefers himself chubby.
Relationship with the Madrigals and others: After the Madrigals discover Judaica among their heirlooms/possessions, Mo falls into the role of a rabbi and helps the family explore their Jewish ancestry and reclaim that part of their identity. He worries about his motivation (e.g., having more Jews around will make him less lonely, is that why he’s doing what he’s doing?) and wonders if the Madrigals, especially Bruno, are actually interested (he is/they are).
Bruno becomes Mo’s study partner. Mo helps Bruno through the conversion process, doing his best to offer support when Bruno struggles with guilt over leaving Catholicism. They are not romantically involved, though I’ve toyed with the idea of a queerplatonic relationship. (Mo is likely panromantic and maybe ace.)
He and the Padre have an odd friendship. They spar over theology and general religion a lot, getting into intense debates, yet they can be seen chatting companionably at the bar(?)/other places.
Other info: Works as the Encanto’s calligrapher. He knows Spanish and Hebrew, and maybe some Ladino (Judeo-Spanish). There are a lot of challenges to being Jewish in the Encanto, but he and eventually the Madrigals make it work.
He likes flowers and sketching landscapes.
Pokémon AU info: He has a bunch of Litwick that hang out around him (8, + 1 shiny) and provide light on Shabbat. Also trains a Bramblin that eventually evolves into a Brambleghast, a Golurk, and a Smeargle. He picks up a stray Mareep.
The Litwick are a reference to a menorah. Bramblin reminds me of the burning bush, so I gave it to Mo. Golurk seems to be based on the Golem of Prague from Jewish legend. Smeargle reflects his work as a calligrapher. And Mareep because Moses is a shepherd in the Torah.
Appearances:
my fic, “A Time for Building”
this art post/compilation of Encanto OCs by @cheetee​
other random bits of info via asks
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lokittystuckinatree · 10 months
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It’s my birthday, Pride is half over, and the Sylki fandom is half dead.
Here’s a useless meta proving Sylvie and Loki are closer to an Andrew Garfield vs. Tom Holland Spider-Man situation than “GeNdErBeNt SeLFcEsT”
🐍🐈‍⬛🐍🐈‍⬛🐍🐈‍⬛🐍🐈‍⬛🐍🐈‍⬛🐍🐈‍⬛
When Sylvie was introduced, all Loki variants presented so far resembled Tom Hiddleston. By episode five, we know the vast majority of Loki variants are not Tom Hiddleston clones, (like a Spider-Man, a Loki could be anybody,) so Sylvie likely isn’t his clone either. However, since they’re played by different actors, with vaguely similar facial features, it could still be argued that perhaps Loki and Sylvie are the same individual, just the “other sex.” (Insert iconic Loki eye roll). Today I’m demonstrating why that argument is stupid.
Skin ~ Loki’s skin tone is consistently cooler and paler than Sylvie’s, as demonstrated by earlier films. His skin is more neutral and saturated in the series, a decision by Tom Hiddleston to make Loki seem more alive and tangibly real. Still, his typical skin tone is best described as a creamy ghostly porcelain, whereas Sylvie’s is a light rosy beige. Sylvie has a rougher, less polished, more ‘human’ look, whereas sacred timeline Loki sometimes verges on the ethereal. These skin details suit their characters well.
Tom and Sophia filming season two
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Note: Sylvie’s skin seems slightly tanned in this image, while Loki looks as deathly pale as he did in the movies. Likely a difference in lighting, but I think it does a good job showing how different the two characters can look at a glance.
Hair ~ this is the strongest argument. Loki’s natural hair color is visibly darker and deeper than Sylvie’s natural hair color. Loki’s hair is raven black, and Sylvie’s hair is dark brown. Sylvie dyes her hair a muted ash blonde.
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Loki and Sylvie side by side.
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This hair color difference is suspiciously intentional, and even carries over from final concept art, official merch, and their child actors. Baby Sylvie’s hair is dark ash/golden brown in better lighting. Baby Loki’s hair is always raven black.
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Baby Sylki. (Look at these little squishies I want to boop their noses!)
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The two variants also have noticeably different hair textures. Loki’s natural curl pattern seems messier and tighter than Sylvie’s fluffy waves, even with too much greasy hair product.
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Contrast ~ Sophia and Tom’s eyes are similar shades of blue. Less is certain about the in character eye colors of Loki and Sylvie. The fandom is not in agreement whether Loki’s (and Sylvie’s) eyes are blue or green, so I tend to compromise on blue-green. Tom’s eyes appear slightly lighter than Sophia’s, so I headcanon that Loki’s eyes are lighter than Sylvie’s too. Combined with their hair and skin tone differences, Sylvie has a lower, softer, more muted contrast between her hair, skin, and eyes, compared to Loki, with their higher, clearer and more striking contrast.
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Color Season Analysis ~ Going off of that, and taking this next part with a grain of salt, as I am in no way an expert on color analysis, I would guess Loki is a winter, and Sylvie is a summer. Sylvie could be a spring, but from what I’ve seen, her hair is more ashen than yellow, and it makes sense Sylvie would lean cooler then warmer since she, as a former Loki variant, is a frost giant.
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Summers typically look best in sunny pastel colors, whereas Winters look best in jewel tones. Sure enough, when Loki and Sylvie venture outside their classic green, black, and gold, the costume department decided to dress Loki in deep jewel tones such as blue and purple (the guard turtleneck, some of their costumes in Ragnarok.)
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Another costume department chose to put Sylvie in subtle pastels (her tie die shirt.)
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Typically, cool seasons look better in silver (grey) than than gold (yellow). Coincidentally, Loki and Sylvie are both wearing gray in the pictures above. Obviously, Lokis are to gold as goths are to black. However, few people fit a color season perfectly (I’m ironically a winter in the winter and a summer in the summer,) Sylvie and Loki have fairly neutral pigmentation, and saying a Loki wouldn’t look good in gold is blasphemy.
In Summary ~ Sylki are not genderbent clones, they’re not identical twins, and though it’s near certain they don’t share much dna at all, because this is not Game of Thrones, the closest they could physically be is full siblings, and while it would be questionable, your siblings aren’t you, so it wouldn’t be selfcest.
If the multiverse was a cinematic universe, Loki and Sylvie would be two different actors playing two different adaptations of the same character by two different studios, at most. Loki and Sylvie have different personalities, different experiences, different bodies, and different lives. Honestly, they’ve lived such different lives, with Sylvie breaking away from her sacred timeline and Loki identity so young that she’s a different gender and mostly based on Sylvie Lushton, that they are possibly less the same character than any of the Spider Men variants, from Spiderverse through MCU. Likely, all the two share is a mind, heart, and soul. To me, that’s beautiful.
⚔️💚⚔️💚⚔️💚⚔️💚⚔️💚⚔️💚⚔️💚⚔️💚⚔️
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osakiharu · 2 years
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3:23PM : kazutora hanemiya
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wc : 595
notes : i was thinking about the time i saw this boy drawing a girl (this is with a gn reader !!) in this really pretty spot of a park i was in and it was so cute :(( and i’ve seen baby kazutora drawing in a few official arts being the only one who’s drawing too so i was like y’know what… that’s kazutora and i’m writing that shit. not proofread.
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“why don’t you draw me again?” you smiled from behind his sketchbook.
“no! not right now, my drawings always turn out shitty when someone know’s i’m drawing them!”
kazutora has always enjoyed drawing. ever since he was younger he’d happily scratch away at a piece of paper with a little worn down pencil he had in his school bag. they were messy, plain, simple pictures of him and his friends or a little flower he found in the park. as he got older he improved. the faces he drew became more accurate and proportional, the little anatomy studies he did got better and better each time, and he finally figured out how to draw creases in clothes without making them look out of place. kazutora kept his art to himself, hiding his sketchbook in his desk drawer until he decided to bring it with him when he met up with you one day.
you both sat in a pretty spot between two blossom trees, one pink, one white. whenever the wind blew, petals would fall down on you both like confetti and onto his book. “fuck, these fucking flowers.” kazutora mumbled as he brushed them off once again, the side of his palm turning a little grey from rubbing his drawing so much. you giggled at his frustration knowing he was probably nervous about drawing you. “calm down, tora, it’s gonna look fine!” you reassured him with a hand on his knee but he quickly moved it back to where it was on the grass next to where you were laying down. “yeah well the last time mitsuya knew i was drawing him it took me like…” he paused to look at your eyes, taking note of how they sparkle a little in the light, “thirty minutes to get his nose right, i swear!” again, you laughed at his silly excuse for apparently being ‘bad at art.’
“that doesn’t mean the whole thing turned out bad though, does it?” you picked up a few blossoms that had fallen off the tree, making a bunch between your fingers whilst listening to the scratch of kazutora’s pencil come to a stop. “you finished?” kazutora bit his lip and nodded. “‘kay, if it’s good, you can have these flowers.” you teased, holding them out to show him. “say shit like that and i won’t show you any of my drawings ever again.” he laughed at how your mouth dropped open at his empty threat, knowing thats the last thing you wanted.
the drawing wasn’t very big, the page only being a small one that already occupied a few drawings of his own hand and one of mikey in sunglasses in the corner. it didn’t matter though because your eyes still widened at how he did so well every single time. never had you come across a bad drawing in his book, all of them being so accurate and never once had you struggled to identify one of your friends. he knew how to get your hair just right, despite the blossom and wind. he didn’t miss a single detail of your pretty face, though it was be impossible for him to do so considering how much he looks at you. it was beautiful. “d’you like it? ‘m sorry it’s not on a clean page, i’m running out of space.” he spoke into your hair as your head was now leaning on his shoulder. “‘course i do, it’s great, tora!” you kissed his cheek to say thank you. you always made him feel more confident about his little talent.
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reblogs appreciated <3
@swtsuya because it’s kazutora <3
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jazzpostsstuff · 7 months
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Chapter: AXL Development Documents, Axl's MMZ Redesign
Make sure to look at the picture descriptions for each of these! They contain more information about the designs and I put them in like this to make the blog post less bloated than it already is.
Fun fact, I did redesign Axl into a MMZ character one and a half years prior to that "life-changing" Halloween art. I didn't know anything about the series yet aside from some basic concepts and I didn't understand its style much yet, but I still wanted to go an do that.
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Well, you can certainly say I tried. His character was also altered, with him becoming a pacifistic hermit that lives with a real dog in a forest (it doesn't make much sense but 14 year-old me thought differently at the time). However, you can probably see some design quirks already that ultimately got used again in his look for Chapter: AXL, a scar over the right eye and shorts with suspenders in particular. There's actually a reason for this choice of clothing though since I did see something like this in his original MMX design, and I thought it could make the design more "fresh" while staying true to what was before (even if it does look a little goofy).
Then, a year and almost a half later, I came up with the idea of making a MMZ Halloween Axl drawing as a follow-up to the MMX Halloween Axl one I did a year prior (I will probably post it on Halloween this year on my random blog). This resulted in me coming up with a redesign for Axl, starting from a clean slate.
Something curious that I've noticed while looking into the design of Zero here was that... his silhouette was mostly the same. Despite the entire body overcoming changes, you could still recognize that it was Zero thanks to the hair and the shape of the helmet, mimicking what came before through the silhouette itself. That also was the design philosophy that Keiji Inafune persued and the only advice he gave to the designing team when they were trying to design Axl for X7, and that's... a really great tip to character design/redesign as a whole.
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I was trying to follow the 'memorable silhouette' tip while remaking Axl for MMZ universe, but unfortunately I wasn't able to change his helmet much without losing the silhouette so I left it mostly as-is. Some parts of his armor do look strange (like boots for example) or too similar to what came before (the shoulderpads), the wings pack (or whatever it's called) looks really different and blocky, and the jets on his feet are a bit weird too, but I still think I did a good job reimagining this design, to the point of not changing it much in the next revisions.
I was trying to make Axl look sharper and more mature than before. I gave him a serious look, a few new scars (one on the left cheek as a reference to Grey and another over the right side of the face as a reference to Red), a blind right eye and a jacket with high collar (that doesn't close all the way because of the chest crystal). Shorts on suspenders still remained, though... which still kinda makes sense because he was supposed to still be young here, plus they help greatly with retaining the same "silhouette" as before. In addition, they actually have a functionality - Axl keeps his scythe folded behind the back and suspenders keep them safely in one place.
Oh, and yeah, this time Axl was supposed to become a grim reaper much like Red. I saw this as fitting, like he was following his old friend's footsteps, and eventually I realized it would be a great melee/middle-range weapon for him.
However, once I decided to make a full-blown game concept out of "What if Axl was in MMZ?", I chose to redesign him, to make him more in-line with the official designs (You can judge how close I came to that as I am still not sure if I am good at imitating them).
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For the longest time, I thought that I perfected his design, but eventually as I started to fool around with the sprite arting, I realized that it was difficult for me to translate all of his details into a sprite while dealing with color and size limitations (which resulted in me never finishing that sprite too *chuckle*). I ended up going around all of the characters I had and giving them redesigns if needed, removing the unnessesary details (or adding on new stuff for some that needed them to fit in better). Axl was one of them... a-a-a-and I never remade his character art. Fortunately, I still have the promo art I did a few months ago and he had that design here.
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And actually, there was one more redesign in July I did for the visual novel adaptation of Chapter: AXL (which I decided to put on hiatus for now because doing all that alone would stagnate the main project badly). It just removed the scar on his left cheek. I just thought that it wasn't necessary for now (maybe he will get it back during the story, who knows).
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wyvernslovecake · 11 months
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AOT Characters and their ASOIAF Dragons P2
What time is it? Time for more AOT dragons that's what!🐲🐉
See P1 here
Historia: Tessarion (no official art yet so here's the Shining Star dragon I got for my tenth birthday)
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The Blue Queen for our favorite queen! Her scales and cobalt flames even compliment Historia's eyes! Also Tessarion's only canonical rider Daeron was the gentlest of his three brothers and the most beloved by the people of Westeros, just like how Historia was adored by the cadets and her subjects. Also Tessarion is a nice color contrast with...
Ymir: Caraxes
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Ymir's admittedly not as bloodthirsty as Caraxes, but she's definitely fierce enough to keep up with him. Because of his deviated septum and personality, Caraxes was reviled by the other Targaryen dragons with the exception of Syrax. It reminded me of how Ymir didn't go out of her way to get close to anyone other than Historia, another golden royal. In this canon, Caraxes is also the dragon who switches riders the most. He was originally Marcel's dragon, then he bonded with Ymir, then Porco, and finally Falco, who has the hardest time controlling him since their personalities are so different.
Reiner: Vhagar
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Strong, large, and aged through battle just like the armored meow meow. Reiner probably bonded with her in a smilar manner to Aemond, clinging to her for dear life to prove that he had what it took to be a dragon rider. When he gets overwhelmed he retreats under her wing to cry into her flank. Since Cannibal is only slightly smaller than Vhagar at the time of the dance, it also compliments the Eren-Reiner rivalry well. Granny Vhagar loves her traumatized rider, and she's the closest thing Reiner has had to a decent mother figure, KARINA😒
Bertholdt: Balerion
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The Colossal Titan is considered the most lethal, so it made sense to give Bertie the Black Dread. He has the weakest connection with his dragon out of all the warriors, reflecting his guilt about being the Colossal Titan. I'm split between Armin claiming Balerion after Seasmoke's death in Shiganshina 😭😭 (Eremin matching black dragons), or Balerion being impressed that Armin was able to survive the onslaught of his black flames and following him around afterwards even though Armin really doesn't want anything to do with him. Like " you killed my rider, you little blonde bitch, you owe me a replacement! Now get on my back!😤"
Annie- Meraxes (again, no picture so check out the dinosaur that was named after her, no joke)
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She's with Annie since I thought it was appropriate that the original trio of titans had the three conqueror's dragons. Also, Meraxes was said to be larger than Vhagar, and even though Reiner dwarves Annie she is certainly stronger than him. That also means she was larger than Cannibal, hence the Eren-Annie connection. Meraxes was also the first of the dragons to be slain just like how Annie took herself out with her hardening. And Meraxes being shot in the eye with an arrow mirrors the Female Titan getting stabbed in the eyes on the 57th expedition.
Zeke- Sunfyre (low-res king)
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Golden child gets a golden dragon. Sunfyre is regarded as the most beautiful dragon to have ever lived and Zeke... well, Yelena certainly considered him a shining god. Sunfyre was also involved in a number of battles and got mangled something fierce, so that's another thing he and Zeke have in common. The Zeke-Levi vendetta is represented in Sunfyre's deadly battle with Grey Ghost, which wasn't fatal for GG in this canon although he did suffer a lot of grizzly wounds like Levi.
Pieck- Silverwing (also mia, so DND don't fail me now!)
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Tenacious as she is, Pieck is not a fighter by nature so I thought it appropriate that her dragon is the friendliest of the bunch. She was used mostly for transporation, hence the Cart Titan parallels. Silverwing refusing to fly north of the wall implicitly because of the White Walkers reminded me of Pieck's infamous perceptive skills. I guess in this canon Silverwing doesn't have the same bond with Vermithor since Erwin and Pieck never met, but maybe the dragons come across each other when Pieck returns to Shiganshina and hit it off. :)
Gabi- Moondancer (you know the drill)
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Baela Targaryen's dragon was as determined and headstrong as her rider, challenging Sunfyre and even dealing him the blows which would later give him a slow death. That just screams Gabi, especially in regards to her part in head-shotting Eren. In the event that Moondancer also falls to Sunfyre in this canon, Gabi becomes Sheepstealer's new rider 🥺😭.
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