#starstitched

Meet the Minds Behind the Magic: Marco Reus & Mats Hummels, 2028

Marco Reus – The Intuitive Mastermind

The streets never forget. And neither does he.

Date of appointment: July 1st, 2028

Designation: Omega

Strengths: Game intuition, player management, attacking creativity

Role: The visionary. The heartbeat. The coach who still looks like he could sub himself in and win the match.

Favorite trick: Drawing up “accidental” overloads that turn into masterpieces

This was done for as an art trade for a fellow Kirby fan:

I’ve been in a bit of a physical and emotional slump for a while so I’ve just been splashing around in the relaxing waters of Kirby video games and media. I’ve been a fan of the pink puff for a while, and they always makes me happy.

This was also a good exercise in masking, clip masks, texture and brush sets in Procreate.

Also a bonus sketch of Kirby with fluffy bunny feet

Whenever Mags sees Harry, the world seems to tilt, breath caught somewhere between the inhale and the exhale. It’s absurd, he knows—being a professional and all—but he can’t fight it, not when Harry lingers like a comet, streaking bright and unforgettable through the expanse of his life.

Harry's never meant to stay. He’s meant to blaze brilliantly and disappear into the horizon, leaving only the memory of light behind. And yet, here he is, lingering, orbiting closer, even with the distance that pulls them apart—stadiums, matches, lives that run parallel but never quite meet.

Maguire can’t stop the yearning that settles heavy in his chest, a longing like the pull of the tides to the moon. Harry stands there, talking to the staff, his presence commanding and warm, drawing everyone in without effort. It feels like a constant ache, watching Harry like this, close enough to touch yet impossibly far—like reaching for a star with nothing but outstretched hands and fragile hope.

But Harry, damn him, turns his head just slightly, catching Mags' gaze. And for a moment, everything else—the noise, the distance, the world—fades away. There’s a softness in Harry’s eyes, a familiarity that feels like home, and Maguire can’t help but drown in it.

He doesn’t speak; he never needs to. Not with Harry. The longing is woven into every glance, every moment that stretches too long, every smile that lingers as if to say, stay, stay, stay.

And in that instant, as Harry’s lips curve into a small, knowing smile, Mags can’t help but feel like maybe, just maybe, his comet has found its way back to him. Even if only for now.

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