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Saw a post about how beautiful Bruno is and I think is true

I came across the old first frame while flipping through my sketchbook and remembered that I wanted to finish it later...

“Later” was a bit long..

But I bought new liners, so it was a great reason to try them out

The sun is slowly disappearing from view, the sky a soft orange surrounded by blue.

He regrets leaving.

He regrets leaving, and this is why he’s coming back to Vesuvia, tail between his legs and flowers in his hands.

You see, this is the first time he saw this kind of flowers and their uniqueness made him think of you.

He hides his face in them, blushing.

The pumpkin bread is still hot in his bag, he knows how much you like it when it’s still warm.

Oh, how much he misses you and how he hates fighting with you.

Especially when you are right, and you are.

He admires your courage, your will to be there for the less fortunate, he adores your strength, he-

Asra cannot bear the thought of something happening to you.

He cannot bear it, but he can’t stop you either, so he ran.

You screamed at him that it is what he does best, and how could he blame you?

That’s what he always did, every time his feelings were going to spill out of him, his heart too small to contain them, he ran away.

Faust snuzzle his cheek, and he lightly scratches her chin.

She misses you, too.

He wanted to tell you, he did, but he could never find the right moment; he used to fantasize, to imagine the two of you on an endless stream of adventure, but then-

What if you didn’t want him?

What if you cared for him as a friend, when he-

When he loves you so much.

But this, this was going to end now.

Asra squares his shoulders, moves his hair out of his eyes; he will tell you, he will tell you that he loves you, tell you that he will be there for you even if you don't love him back, his heart is big enough for the both of you and if he has to look as you find your happiness elsewhere, with somebody else, he will.

He grips the flowers when the shop enters his vision, but suddenly-

His stomach drops as he walks faster, twist the knob to enter and you aren’t there.

He breathes, calms himself.

Surely you are at the palace, helping Julian find a cure, ever so selfless.

So he keeps on walking, ignores the way his skin is covered in goosebumps, the way his throat is dry, no matter how many times he tries to swallow.

Of course, everyone at the palace knows who he is, so he enters quickly, his breathing labored.

He sees a dark figure with red hair bent over a desk and his knuckles hurt, the flowers bending.

“Julian, long time no see.” He says, wills his face to smile.

“I was searching for-”

“Don’t.” Julian answers, covering his face in his hands.

“Don’t?” he repeats, his heart running in his chest, eyes wide; he doesn't recognize the uncontrolled edge in his own voice.

“I am sorry, you know that I am sorry! I’d do anything Asra, anything!”

The flowers hit the ground the moment Asra’s hands grip Julian’s clothes, their faces inches apart.

“What are you saying?” he demands, he pleas, and Julian tries to hide his face again.

“The boat went to the Lazaret a week ago. It’s too late.”

No.

No,no,no,no,no,no-

Julian’s body hits the ground while Asra runs, runs down the stairs, runs and keeps running even as his knees hit the ground, time and time again.

This isn't happening, you aren't gone because he would have known, he would have felt it deep inside his chest and his bones and his lungs, he just needs to find you and you will be there, waiting for him with that smile that makes him want to live and stay and be back for dinner because you are his home, his family, the only thing that makes sense to him.

He runs to the first boat he sees and begs the driver to take him to the Lazaret, begs him and gives him everything that he has, empties his pockets of all his little trinkets, begs until his voice is hoarse.

The boast goes on slowly and Asra grips the wood with all his might and the moment he knows that the water is shallow enough he jumps and he can sense you, you are here, in this gloomy place, you hate places like this, you hate them and you shouldn’t be here and once when he finds he’ll take you away, he’ll bring you home and he will never go away again, to without you, he will promise you this, he will kiss and cry and promise and he will-

Asra takes a step back, and then another, his head shaking violently because how can he feel like you are right in front of him when you aren’t there-

He drops to his knees.

His fingers hit the sand before he can think about it, he digs and digs and digs and his eyes are so full of tears that he can barely see, the sand moves with shades of red until he finds something, something white and curved and the sand is darker and its almost grey and the smell of burned flesh fills his lungs and the taste of acid covers his tongue as he folds, his face in the ashes of what he loves the most.

He didn't even notice how he kept screaming your name, now barely a whisper.

Asra looks at his hands, at the blood and the ash and the bones-

This will not end here.

His hands close around the ashes, around the sand, trying to hold you to his chest.

This isn’t the end; his eyes are wide open.

He will bring you back.

mootsies I need some helpies

should I create a different account to submit my drawings? I realized I reblog lots of stuff or maybe I should organize myself better???? I DONT KNOW UFJSJFKDKF please masters

❧ 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 . 𝐜𝐡 𝟏/?

⤜ a diejoni coming-of-age ballet au; no warnings atm but there will be heavy amounts of angst in future chapters.

⤜ synopsis:

Nobody knew much about Diego Brando. It was rumored that the dean of the academy had adopted him, some students said from directly off the street, like a soaking wet kitten helplessly mewling at someone’s doorstep, but Johnny knew better than to believe something like that. Or, well, maybe he did believe something like that, at first, until his brother had explained to him that Diego had been moving between foster homes and very likely could use a friend.

⤜ preview:

Dance, as a sport, filled a much different role for every single person at Elysium. For many of Johnny’s classmates, it served as a hobby, something that was taken seriously enough for a period of time, only until after graduation, when they were meant to move on to college and a “real career”. Others considered it their lifeblood, it was their reason for being and the only thing keeping them motivated day after day. Johnny always felt he fell somewhere in the middle of these two camps; he loved dance, of course, and he dreamed of pursuing it beyond schooling even as a very young boy. However, he had enough self-awareness to know that he didn’t possess as much gusto as some of his peers, and his casual, less serious approach to dance was absolutely something that would bite him in the ass. This became especially obvious as he got older and moved into intermediate level classes, watching students he’d been spending every weeknight with for the last few years slightly shift demeanors into something oddly professional, even if it was just a facade put on for the duration of class. It was during Johnny’s fifth year at the academy that a new boy had joined the ranks of his class; he’d introduced himself in a strong British accent – Diego Brando – and then he’d settled in as if he’d been a part of the group for his entire short life. Which was a feat, considering Johnny’s entire class had been dancing together since they were four and five years old, and melting into a group like that shouldn’t have been easy in the slightest for a newcomer.

⤜ read on ao3