#I did so many sketches of her in my sketchbook but never quite liked any enough to clean them up

[angeltannis]

Someday I will actually draw nice art of Anu Borderlands and then you will all be sorry you slept on her terrible game,

[stellar-skyy]

DANCING IN THE MOONLIGHT - Nilou x reader

i. SUMMARY: What if Nilou had an artist for a partner? ii. CONTENT WARNINGS: None! iii. NOTES: Fluff, artist!reader, gn!reader, they/them pronouns used, 1.5k words. iv. A/N: aaah i love nilou she deserves so much love. the majority of this was written in one sitting, which is surprising cause i am a big procrastinator :')

Imagine Nilou with an artist for a partner.

She met them directly after a performance. It was hardly the start of a love story; rather a random chapter in the middle of a slice-of-life novel, something that she’d never dream would change her life. It was a few words, traded between her usual thank you’s and appreciations that she received at the end of her dances.

“Miss Nilou,” A voice called out over the swarm of people. (And it was truly a crowd that day! Nilou couldn’t remember how long it had been since so many people showed up for a performance.) “Hey—excuse me, sorry—Miss Nilou!”

“Hm?” Nilou turned, wide-eyed and overwhelmed by the people surrounding her. They were all offering her such kind words; her cheeks couldn’t turn redder if she tried.

The voice that was louder than the rest came from a figure struggling to be noticed from the outskirts. Nilou excused herself from the people trying to mob her, and smiled warmly at them. “Hello. Were you there for the show?”

“Yes, I was! It was the most amazing thing I’ve seen!” The person grinned, eyes shining. Their eyes were so pretty, Nilou could have watched them all day. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it before. It was so graceful, and elegant… like something out of a work of art.”

“I appreciate your support!” Nilou giggled, her cheeks turning pink. “If you’re interested in seeing another performance, I will be here in three days.”

“I just might have to take you up on that offer. Goodby—”

That was all she heard of the person before they were swallowed up by the crowd.

Fortunately, it was far from the last time she’d see them.

Because they came to her next performance. And the one after that, and the one that followed it. Watching her with transfixed eyes; meeting her with more excited words spilling from their lips.

Short bursts of conversation after her show turned into dinner at Puspa Cafe and nights spent walking along the Bazaar with only each other for company. There, Nilou shyly asked them about themself; their family, their work. What their dreams were, and what they did to pass the time.

"I like to draw," (Name) explained, pulling a sketchbook from their bag and flipped through the pages. The drawings within were startlingly beautiful; delicate charcoal sketches of various figures, watercolour paintings made with rich and vivid pigments, and an assortment of pencil drawings of the sights of Sumeru City.

Nilou stared with stars in her eyes. "That's—that's so amazing!"

"Oh," Their eyes went wide, a nervous laugh escaping their mouth. "I'm not that amazing. I've just been practicing a while."

"You are! You have a talent, (Name)! You have to be proud of how far you've come, and the skills you've learnt!"

"Thank you, Nilou..."

She smiled at them, sunshine radiating from the warmth in her eyes. They stared back at her, traces of embarrassment and flattery still lingering in their expression. They looked simply lovely that night, as picturesque as any one of their artworks. And once Nilou had her eyes on them, she couldn't quite bring herself to look away, not when the cool glow of the streetlights fell on them at just the right angle to make their face practically glow, so breath-taking and—

Oh.

"I think..."

"Hm?"

"I think you're my favourite person." Nilou said breathlessly. (Name)'s eyes widened, their lips parting with a tiny gasp.

"Thank you," They whispered. "You're... you're mine too."

Nilou wasn’t quite sure when they became something more than friends.

It could have been the time that they went out to the edge of the Avidya Forest for a picnic, where Nilou brought her favourite pudding and an array of tiny cakes that she made the day before, when they sat by the river for hours dipping their feet into the water, how she found herself with her head in their lap by the end of the day.

It could also have been the time when Nilou excitedly begged them to let her teach them how to dance; where they stood awkwardly in the centre of the stage as she fussed around them, gently adjusting their arms and hands, leaning over their shoulder to correct their stance, and finally showing them how to sway and glide and spin across the stage.

She didn’t really care when things changed; to her, it was only important that they had. She would cherish the memories that they gave her, inscribing their smile to her memory, feeling delightfully dizzy at the thought of their arms around her. She’d wait at the end of her performances with that shining hope that they’d be there to rush up to her and spin her around in a hug. They didn’t show up for every performance, they had a job after all. But out of all of them, the ones where they were watching were her favourite.

Nilou tried not to look at the crowd when she danced. It was easier to lose herself in the movements, letting her body take over and her mind disconnect from the onlookers before her. She would close her eyes and imagine twirling around in her dark practice room, free from eyes and free from judgement.

For once, she let that go and focused on the crowd, looking across the audience between her movements. She swept her gaze across the people, scanning for the one person she wanted to see. There were many people; mothers holding their children up to see, couples holding hands and watching in excitement, passersby who were drawn in by the performance, but Nilou didn’t stop until she saw the one outline of the figure she knew all too well by this point.

They were…

They weren’t watching.

Their head was bowed, shoulders hunched over their sketchbook. In their hand, a pencil was scribbling furiously. They didn’t bother to look up at Nilou at all.

Her breath spiked sharply, and on the next beat her hands faltered in their movement. It was a tiny mistake, but she could see Mr Zubayr’s face pinch in a miniscule frown. She quickly shut her eyes again, this time to keep the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes still.

The rest of her dance passed by in a blur. She barely noticed when the audience began their applause.

“Nilou… Nilou!” That lovely, familiar voice didn’t fill her with the same bubbly excitement that it usually did. She turned anyway, plastering a smile on her face and hoping it didn’t look too fake.

“Hello, (Name).” She greeted politely. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Yes! I also made you something,” They pulled out the same leather-bound book they were holding in the middle of the show. Nilou felt a pang in her heart at the sight of it. “It’s somewhere around… here! I had to finish up the last details during the show, but I wanted to make sure it was perfect.”

The sketchbook was pushed into her hands, opened to a watercolour artwork of a beautiful woman. It was painted in the softest shades of blue, white, and red, with delicate brushstrokes that could only have been made by the most loving hand. The figure’s hands were poised gracefully above her head, one leg pointing to the side. Her head was tilted back and her eyes were closed, and there was a surprising tenderness to how her face was drawn, to show a peaceful—and undoubtedly beautiful expression.

The most surprising part though, was it was most definitely a picture of her.

It couldn’t have been made in one performance, so how long have they been working on the piece to have such detail? Nilou imagined them during the show, hunched over the sketchbook, finishing the last little details of the drawing. She thought of them looking up to see her eyes closed, expression holding the dim traces of heartbreak, looking down between the serene face in the drawing and wondering what could be wrong.

“Do you… like it?” They said nervously. Nilou looked up with a radiating smile.

“Oh, (Name),” Nilou squealed, breathless with relief. “I love it, I love it!”

“I’m glad,” (Name) breathed out.

“Thank you,” Nilou murmured. Her eyes closed slowly, the fear that she felt earlier melting down into contentment. A hand cupped her face, thumb rubbing slowly along her cheek.

“Nilou?” (Name) said softly. “Are you crying?”

Her cheeks were wet. How did she not notice before. “I—I guess I am.”

“Why? Did I do something?”

“No, it’s just—” Nilou swallowed. “I looked at you when you were in the audience. You weren’t looking. I thought… you didn’t like my dancing.”

As she spoke the words, they sounded pathetic even to her own ears. (Name)’s expression crumpled, and they used their thumb to wipe away the tears falling from her eyes. “Don’t worry,” (Name) whispered, pressing a delicate kiss to Nilou’s forehead. “I absolutely loved it.”

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

[a-strangers-thoughtss]

Summer loving had me a blast

Summer loving happened so fast

Will had been sitting in the sand, knees up to use as a makeshift table for him to set his sketchbook on. He used to do that a lot back in Lenora. He had never been big on friends, more adept to people watching.

He was similar to Jonathan that way, accept he drew people and Jonathan took pictures.

It was the summer after sophomore year, and two years or so after El had moved across the state to be with their dad for Highschool. She had always had a stronger connection to him, and Will to Joyce.

When Jonathan had left for collage he couldn’t bare to leave her alone, no matter how much it tore him up to be away from his twin.

The day had been so picture perfect, and so many gorgeous people had been roaming around, splashing in the water, sun bathing. It was the best place to find people joyful, emotions out on display for him to capture in pencil.

Something had caught his eye, a black leather jacket.

A boy looking around his age occupied it, walking slowly through the sand in sneakers, jeans, a white shirt and that leather jacket. Why he was wearing any of those things at the beach, Will did not understand. He must be insane, mentally ill.

But it would have been a completely insane lie to say that Will wasn’t drawn to him.

He was handsome, ridiculously so. He was tall and gangly, but not overly so. His face looked straight out of a marble statue, sharp, defined features. Shoulder length black hair messily spilled over his face, going in all different directions.

He was pretty too, and god, life was unfair.

Will glanced up, in the way he had learned after the time someone had caught him and angrily broke his nose, hidden and deliberate. He studied the boys face, slowly etching what he saw onto the page.

Will had just got done with a very rough sketch of his face when he looked up again.

Shit.

The boy was looking at him.

Their eyes met, and Will froze.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

This guy was most definitely not someone he wanted to mess with. Greasers like him usually had a gang of buddies just waiting for the perfect opportunity to pick on someone they deemed “different” and Will was most definitely different. He was queer and every single person who looked at him seemed to clue in pretty fast.

But now he was walking towards Will and he was frozen and unable to move, rooted to his spot on the sand.

“What you doin’?” His voice had the harshness of a greaser, but his eyes were curious.

“Uh, people watching I guess.” Wills suppressed himself a little when his voice didn’t shake. What else was he supposed to say?

“Mind if I join then?” He asked, “Bored as shit.”

All Will could do was nod a little. He hurriedly turned to the next page before the other boy plopped down next to him.

“I’m Mike by the way.”

“Will.”

They sat in silence for a long while, Will finishing up the scetch of Mike and deciding to sketch out the figure of a house on the horizon, highlighted by the setting sun. As he was erasing a line to draw a new one, Mike spoke. It was startling, Will had forgotten he was even there for a bit.

“Hate beaches. Always so sandy and overly hot.” Will snorted at that.

“Well maybe you’d like them more if you took the jacket off for five minutes. You gotta be roasting right now.” That pulled startled laughter out of Mike.

“Just missin’ my boys.”

“Got kids? Though you were close to my age, looks like I misjudged.”

“Nah, still pretty young, not quite balding.”

“Got a bit for that.” They fell into an easy banter, something Will hadn’t known he was missing. The conversation just flowed with Mike in a way that just felt so natural.

“So, what’s a pretty lady like you doin’ out here so late.” Mike asked, light and curious.

“Already told you, people watching.”

“That’s a nice picture you got there.” now Mike was pointing to the sketch of the house, outlined with bold scribbles on the page.

“Thanks, I usually just draw people.”

“Well If that’s not what you ‘usually draw’ I’d like to see what type of shit you can come up with when you’re really drawin’.” Mike said, sincerity laced through his voice. “Any of those I can have a look at?”

Will felt self conscious, but before he could really think about it, he was flipping the page back to his unfinished Mike sketch. His eyes widened and his face grew hot.

“Damn, shit, sorry. Just saw you and I had to draw you, you look so out of place.” Not the words he should have used, but he can’t take it back now.

He looked warily to Mike, whose eyes were wide.

“Damn that’s good.” Was all he said, turning to face Will. “I don’t got any money on me but If I did you bet I’d be giving you a few quarters for that.”

He was dumbfounded, but quickly moved, going to rip the page out.

“Here, have it for free, I don’t mind.” Mike looked down at it, pleased.

“Thanks man.”

There was a long pause, a moment they both just sat there, grinning awkwardly at each other.

It was broken by a loud female voice.

“Mike, it’s time to go!”

Grinning, he saluted Will, “That’s my cue to split. Gonna be here tomorrow morning, wanna hang?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Mike got up, stepping backwards as he called,

“Bye Will.” It sent sparks up his spine.

[soccerwag]

You are an introvert female Barca player. One day you forget your art work at Barca training grounds and Gavi picks it up. He looks through the pages and see a drawing of him. He than finds the name and questions around who the person is. When Pedri tells him, he decide to go look for her until it is told she left already. He then gets her address from a female Barca player, goes to her house to which the hosue keeper let’s him in and tells her she’s in her art room area. He sees her painting and dancing to bad bunny and gavi just watches and smiles as he admires all the artwork she has (some have Barca drawings with the males and female team)… you may end it how you like.

Im excited to do this one, there were others before this one but I want to write about someone new🫶🏼 I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Sorry if there are some mistakes, English isn’t my first language

You are art to me

Pairing: Gavi x Fem Reader

Summary: you had left some art work back at the training grounds. Gavi stumbles across your sketch book as he was leaving and found himself intrigued, as he was looking through it he saw a drawing of him which intrigued him to go on a hunt for the artist.

Warnings: kissing? If you consider that a warning, nothing else besides fluff.

————————————————————————

You had been at Barca for a few months now. You had gotten transferred because Barca adored your football skills. They weren’t the only skills you had though. You really enjoyed doing art, you enjoyed capturing things you found beautiful in the form of drawings and paintings. You had to admit, ever since you transferred to Barca you found yourself drawing players. How could you not? There were so many beautiful people who played there and they just caught your attention. One in particular caught your eye the most.

Pablo Gavira.

You weren’t much younger than him, maybe like 4 or 5 months. You first saw him when you went to support the men’s team play against Real Madrid. You always enjoyed watching the men play. I mean of course you enjoyed the women’s too but the men got in fights more frequently and a part of you found it entertaining. You had saw him walk out with the team for pre match training. He was wearing the home kit and he had the number 30 plastered on his back. You knew who he was but you’ve never seen him in person before and man did he look majestic.

That game was the game you drew your first drawing of him. It was a drawing of his smiling after the win against Real Madrid. He was adorable but you’d never admit that out loud. He had tons of girls roaring for him and you didn’t want to me caught up in social media drama.

Fast forward to now. You had went home for the day to finish your artwork. You knew something was missing but didn’t bother pondering over it because it must’ve not been important enough to remember to take with you.

————————————————————————

Gavi was headed off the pitch when something caught his eye. A notebook? A sketchbook? He didn’t quite know what it was till he got closer. It was left on one of the bleachers. As he approached it he concluded it was a sketchbook. He knew he shouldn’t be nosey but his curiosity got the best of him. He grabbed the sketchbook and took it with him to the locker room.

As gavi sat down on a chair he pulled out the sketchbook again. When he opened it he was already amazed. There were drawings upon drawings of players and camp nou. He was impressed to say the least. he kept flipping through the pages, taking in every detail the pencil had created until he stumbled across one picture.

A picture of him.

He was flattered but confused while also impressed. Whoever the artist was really showed off her skills for drawing. She got every detail of him. He looked around for a name. Any hint to who may have drawn it. He finally found a name at the back of the sketchbook

“Y/n Y/l”

He said to himself.

He didn’t know who you were, you were new so not many people did along with the fact you were very introverted. He decided to go ask Pedri, Pedri knew everyone from the women’s team to the men’s.

Gavi shut the book and headed back out to the field. He looked over the field and spotted pedri. Gavi then began to jog in his direction calling out for him.

“Hey hermano!” Gavi yelled towards pedri.

Pedri looked at gavi with a questionable look.

“What’s up? Is something wrong?” Pedri asked gavi, confused as to why he came back out onto the field.

“Yeah everything’s ok I just wanted to know if y/n y/l rang a bell to you.” Gavi explained.

“Yeah she’s apart of the women’s Barca team, she hasn’t been here long but she’s really popular around the world and she’s your age, why?” He explained before asking.

“Oh no reason anyways do you think she might still be here? She left something behind and I thought I’d might as well give it back.” He explained, hoping Pedri would have an answer like he always does.

“I don’t know, go check or ask alexia or someone, they’d probably have a better idea.” He told gavi.

Gavi nodded before going to find one of your teammates. He in fact did find alexia but as soon as she said you left already a frown covered Gavi’s face.

“Here let me give you her address.” Alexia said before writing it on a piece of paper.

Gavi mentally praised her for the help before heading over to your house. When he has arrived he was shocked by how big your house was. You don’t post it over social media because you don’t like the thought of people know what your house looks like in the odds some weirdo would find it. Gavi swallowed a little hard before walking up and knocking on the door. When nobody answered the first time he knocked one more time. This time a woman answered.

“Hello sir how may I help you?” The slightly elder woman asked.

“Hey is y/n home? She left something at the training grounds and I wanted to return it to her.” He said with a friendly smile across his face.

“Ahh yes, she’s in her art room, go straight down the hall then to the left.” She smiled back before letting him in.

When gavi entered he was astonished by how pretty and clean your house was. You had marble flooring that was shiny and lots of artwork covering the once bare walls. He lingered a little bit admiring your house before reaching the doorway of your art room. He heard music. Bad bunny? He thought to himself.

He opened the door and peaked in. You were to engulfed in your art and dancing that you didn’t even hear the door open. He saw you there, dancing in a pair of pajama shorts and a baggy shirt that was covered in paint. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He even giggled a little when you started pretending the paintbrush was a microphone as you sang the lyrics into it.

He leans against the doorframe, admiring you. This was the first time he’s ever even saw you and he knew, you were the most gorgeous girl he’s laid his eyes on. Minuets passed and you heard shuffling between your song change, you turned around and shrieked. You didn’t expect Pablo Gavira to be standing in your house, let alone the doorway to your art room.

“Sorry if I scared you hermosa.” He said to you with a big grin.

You stood in front of the painting you were working on. It was of him and it embarrassed you to think about the fact he probably already saw it.

“Uhh…n..no it’s ok, um how did you get in here and why?” I asked, mentally cursing myself for stuttering at the presence of a man.

“A woman let me in, I came to return this.” He said, handing out my sketchbook to me.

Fuck I hope he didn’t go through that.

“You drew a really nice photo of me, it was impressive.” He complimented me.

Fuck.

“Wow nosey much.” I responded jokingly.

“Thank you though, I knew I forgot something but didn’t bother to check what.” I told him with a thankful tone.

“Of course. What are you painting now?” He asked trying to peak over you too see.

I quickly stood even closer to it to block his view.

“Nothing…” I said with a shaky voice.

I don’t want him knowing I have like an obsession with making art of him.

He walked closer to me causing me to back up with every step he takes closer to me. He grabbed me by my waist shocking me to the point I didn’t even comprehend that he managed to move me away from the painting.

“Woah.” He said as he admired the painting of him.

“I swear I’m not some umm weirdo it’s just you’re really appealing to make art of.” I said trying to find an excuse as to why I’ve been doing so much art of him.

He turned in my direction, our faces super close now.

“No it’s ok I find it really cool if I’m being honest.” He told me. I could feel his hot breath fanning my lips.

His eyes flickered to my lips that were slightly parted then back to my eyes.

“This may sound weird but can I kiss you?” He asked me. I was in utter shock. I just starred at him before I subconsciously nodded my head. With the confirmation I felt his lips, the lips I’ve been painting and drawing since the day I first saw him play, the lips I thought about almost every night, the lips I pondered wether or not would be soft or dry, on my lips. It felt like heaven, it didn’t feel real.

I kissed him back, my arms snaking around his neck as his pulled me closer to him by my waist. We kissed for what felt like weeks until we pulled away to catch our breaths.

“I don’t know what you’re doing to me, we just met and I think I’m already hooked. You’re beautiful…” he told me.

“You’re like art to me.” He said starring into my eyes. I starred right back into his and told him one last thing before kissing him again.

“You are art to me”

[ltlemon]

i only have krita on my laptop (unless you count paint 3D??)

if i'm drawing a profile then I tend to draw the right side of a persons face (their right), but it's not necessarily harder to draw their left, i just tend to do their right more, if that makes sense? I think its bc i'm right handed.

ummm, i don't know...i guess drawing mostly people, since that's also kinda all i drew as a kid.

i'm cool and different, so for me it's crowley >:) (getting a lot better though! i'm working on filling up a sketch page w/ him rn, and some of them are quite good, i think. i might be going overboard though.)

oooh, i have so many sketchbooks filled with stuff I've never posted, i only post stuff i particularly like. so probably...20% of my art is online?

my sibling, i've absorbed a lot of their style (especially their older style) without even knowing.

watercolor artists. how do they not make it run everywhere? i think they're cryptids.

at this point...? so many. i have a playlist on spotify filled with songs I want to make animatics to. It has 42 songs. and i know i'm missing some.

quite random, but usually just named after whatevers in the file, eg; aziraphale doodles, crowley scan, tma doodles scan, usually stuff like that.

don't really have one, however i do agree about the turtlenecks for crowley, i do love drawing him specifically in a turtleneck lol

either one of my spotify playlists (if i have one for the character i'm drawing than usually that! if not, then something chill, mac de marco is always an easy bet) or the magnus archives. :)

face. 100%, no doubt. everything else is a lot harder, but i can just whip out faces, no questions asked if you wanted me to.

i...can't think of anyone.

in general? not as of right now, but i do like adding little motifs to things that vary by piece.

in the house i live in, i'm almost never anywhere else. usually in one of the chairs in the living room.

i'm not sure, most of the time things turn out better if i enjoyed working on them.

tea :)

uhm, not that much, i think, at least in recent years. i did have a set of gel pens when i was about 9/10 that constantly broke, but they were quite cheap. 5%?

i don't draw inanimate objects a lot, but the few times i have, i've found that i enjoy drawing flowers. :)

...faces. they're somewhat easy for me but i love drawing them. although a lot of people struggle with them, esp. people used to drawing objects and such. i guess drawing nothing but faces and heads since you were 4 does that to you.

probably super cartoony/stylized styles, i love them dearly, but i guess they're just not how i draw.

...people exercise?

most of the time no, they intimidate me, but sometimes i'll mess around with them for my shadow layer.

yes actually! it sounds weird but they're really helpful, since there's so many of them to choose from. plus, i find them easier to draw from than reference images specifically for artists.

anime, just in general. this came from my grandmother though, who, even though she's an art teacher, has a really hard time describing styles that aren't either a.) realism or b.) classic cartoon style. so...her middle ground is anime?

mmm, can't think of anything. (probably because i only have teeny little doodles but shhh don't think about that)

ummm, i don't know...depends? if i'm drawing the thing for the first time then yes, definitely, but if i've drawn it a lot then it really depends on the day and how i'm feeling.

nope! too fresh an internet presence for that + my adhd is so strong in ma brainhole that i honestly don't know if i could reliably finish something like that.

i feel like everything has inspired me in some way, even if it's not art-style based.

most of my stuff that gets colored, if i'm being honest. a lot of the stuff that people tend to like the most are my sketches + random doodles i barely put any effort in, so it's always a bit sad when something I actually colored, lined, and spent too much time on doesn't get any attention.

Weirdly Specific Artist Ask Game

Didn't see a lot of artist ask games, wanted to make a silly one.

(I wrote this while sick out of my mind last year and it's been collecting dust in my drafts, I might as well let it run free) 1. Art programs you have but don't use

2. Is it easier to draw someone facing left or right (or forward even)

3. What ideas come from when you were little

4. Fav character/subject that's a bitch to draw

5. Estimate of how much of your art you post online vs. the art you keep for yourself

6. Anything that might inspire you subconsciously (i.e. this horse wasn't supposed to look like the Last Unicorn but I see it)

7. A medium of art you don't work in but appreciate

8. What's an old project idea that you've lost interest in

9. What are your file name conventions

10. Favorite piece of clothing to draw

11. Do you listen to anything while drawing? If so, what

12. Easiest part of body to draw

13. A creator who you admire but whose work isn't your thing

14. Any favorite motifs

15. *Where* do you draw (don't drop your ip address this just means do you doodle at a park or smth)

16. Something you are good at but don't really have fun doing

17. Do you eat/drink when drawing? if so, what

18. An estimate of how much art supplies you've broken

19. Favorite inanimate objects to draw (food, nature, etc.)

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy

21. Art styles nothing like your own but you like anyways

22. What physical exercises do you do before drawing, if any

23. Do you use different layer modes

24. Do your references include stock images

25. Something your art has been compared to that you were NOT inspired by

26. What's a piece that got a wildly different interpretation from what you intended

27. Do you warm up before getting to the good stuff? If so, what is it you draw to warm up with

28. Any art events you have participated in the past (like zines)

29. Media you love, but doesn't inspire you artistically

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated

[zerolostwalks]

Found this little drawing while looking for sketchbook, and got to feeling nostalgic.

Meet Marha and Ulfrinn (I'm going to ramble about them below the cut)

I also found some of the art my wife (@goblinpaladinroselia) made from when were still talking about turning their story into a comic (It was going to be called Unbalanced).

I had so many doodles and dolls(back when I did digital dolling), and even story material for these two. BUt unfortunately I can't find any of it! So this is all from what I can recall so I can then save it somewhere.

Marha and Ulfrinn were unsuspecting flatmates to friends to lovers.

She's a Hare, and he's (surprise surprise a wolf). I never finished coloring that particular drawing but the tips of Ulfrinns hair and tail are supposed to be blue.

She works at a themed cafe and designs clothes. She customize or makes most of her wardrobe and even designs and makes the seasonal uniforms for the waitstaff at the cafe. She is an only child. (Another sketch of Marha by my wife!)

He collects lighters, and is the first of his siblings to move out. His family liked to sort of conform to some wolf traditions. He also wears glasses and has like zero depth perception because of an accident that severely damaged one of his eyes when he was younger. He's also got some scarring but I rarely drew that.

Somewhere there's also a family portrait featuring all five of Ulfrinn's siblings, Older Brother Valko, works construction and smokes--he gave Ulfrinn his first lighter or rather a young Ulfrinn confiscated and never returned several of Valko's lighters because he wanted him to quit smoking.

Older sister Kainda, who I unfortunately can't recall much of other than she's trying to be supportive of Ulfrinns decisions even if she doesn't fully understand them.

Older Brother Faolon who acts like a big jerk, in that stereo-typically sibling way in that he'll have Ulfrinns back when it comes down to it but all oher times he acts like a complete jackass.

Younger brother Ivailo who has been secretly working at the same cafe as Marha for months. Marha does not know Ivailo is Ulrfinns brother, Ivailo does not know Ulfrinn is Marha's flatmate. Ulfrinn has no reason to suspect any of this. Everyone is surprised when Ulfrinn visits the Cafe and finds his brother.

Younger sister Lupe. She collects knives, scares the other students at school.

The wolf siblings parents passed away when Ulfrinn, Ivailo, were just young enough to barely remember them, Lupe doesn't remember them at all, and when Valko and Kainda were barely old enough to get jobs to take care of their siblings.

[silassinclair]

“You’re my Muse”

[Billy H. x Artistic Reader] 🎨

Summary: Y/n loves Billy’s face. He’s just so handsome and gorgeous and UGH. She loves holding his face and looking into his eyes, and Billy is just like, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

FLUFFY FLUFF FLUFF

Glam metal music played softly from Billy’s stereo. The volume was turned down more than his usual listening volume because his girlfriend Y/n was doodling in her sketchbook on his bed. He absolutely adored her. She was cute seven ways to sunday. Her cute little hobby of drawing, her love for bugs, but most importantly was her weird fascination for his face.

Weird because it was only his face. Her pages were full of realistic sketches of his face at many different angles and making many different expressions. He was flattered and never questioned it, but it got to the point where she would hold his face in her hands for long minutes at a time and just stare adoringly.

Billy loves her to the moon and back but he cannot help but feel… a little weirded out by her quirky behavior, not in a bad way of course. So he finally asks, “Hey baby?”

The sound of pencil on paper stops. “Yeah Billy?” Y/n asks and crawls over to him. He was seated on the floor against the bed she was on so she leaned down and put her cheek against his, another thing she did quite often.

“Not to sound mean.” He starts, “But I gotta ask you, what is with you and always being all over my face. I know that I’m handsome and attractive and the hottest guy ever but I can’t help but feel like you have a weird fascination for my face.” He says with a light grin.

An awkward pause fills the room. Even the song on the stereo was quieting down, playing it’s last part.

“Well uh.” Y/n say straight up and scratched her neck. She knew this day would come. After all personal space is important so of course her boyfriend would question her weird actions. “I just really like your face.”

Billy turned around with a quirked up eyebrow and a smirk. “Oh I know that babe. That’s why you’re all over me after all. But I wanna know more. Give me the sweet juicy details.” His thumb brushed against her hand that he had held in his.

“To put it simply, you’re my muse Billy.” She said with a smile. Her head tilted to the side to see Billy’s facial expression change from smugness to wonder.

“Your jawline is sharp, cheekbones are prominent, and your eyes,” Y/n gently takes hold of his face. His head is turned up as her fingers trace gently against his jaw. Billy is at a loss for words, no one has EVER said anything like this to him before.

“Your eyes are absolutely stunning. I could drown in that gorgeous blue color.” She places a small peck on the space between his eyes.

“And don’t get me started on your lips.” Her thumb traces the plump bottom lip. “They’re so smooth and plump. I just wanna kiss em all day.”

At this point Billy’s face was as red and flush as the crimson paint Y/n used in her artworks. The affection was almost overwhelming. His brain simply couldn’t process how someone so sweet, cute, and humble could adore him this much. He thought men were the ones who were supposed to fluster their girlfriends, but apparently it was the other way around right now.

“I love all of you.” Y/n whispered softly and placed a light kiss on his cheek.

In the blink of an eye Billy pounced and had Y/n pinned under his body. Her arms spread limply by her sides under the soft cushion of Billy’s mattress.

“Do you really mean that?” Billy said. His tone was like a whisper. Hope in his voice wishing it were true, but he knew it was too good to be true. “All that you said, you mean it?” His golden brown locks fluttered from side to side, framing his perfect face.

The girl reached a hand up to cup the jaw of her lover above. A smile painted her face. “I meant every word, love.” That petname for him had hime weak in the knees any time she said it, which was pretty rarely. Usually she’d just call him Billy, baby, or B.

Billy leant down and trapped her lips in a heated kiss. He never wanted tor leave this moment. In between kisses Y/n giggled, her arm’s wrapped around his neck lovingly.

“Aw? Is my sweet boyfriend flustered? Or do you just really like being praised and complimented?”

A growl escaped the depths of his throat. “How could I not be a blushin’ mess when you say shit like that?” His lips traced the shell of her ear. “God I don’t deserve you baby.” His whisper sent a shiver down her spine.

She smirked and batted her lashes, “Oh and that sexy voice of yours, I could listen to it all da-”

She was cut off with a kiss. Her boyfriend’s eyes were wide and his cheeks were on fire, his bottom lip twitching too much so he bit down on it.

“Keep talking like that and I’ll show you how much I love you more.”

[theflowerofthecommonwealth]

Sole (nb or gender neutral if possible, but any will do!) being a really good artist, who draws and paints things and scenes from before the war to show their companions?

What a great idea! 💖💖💖💖 Ive always admired people who can draw and paint things really well, I can spend hours just scrolling through other peoples art on Tumblr. Sole was truly a dedicated artist, never seen without a sketchbook in hand and a new idea on their lips. Their house in Sanctuary is completely filled to the brim with drawings and paintings of prewar places and things, kept predestined thanks to Codsworth efforts. It almost looks like a gallery of some kind, with Sole allowing their companion wander through in awe. They walk over and pick up the art piece that calls out to them most, examining it carefully.

Nick Valentine: “Heh, can almost smell it through the paper.” He commented wistfully, before him a drawing of a prewar Slocum's Joe filled with smiling people eating pastries and sipping coffee, just enjoying the moment. Call it stereotypical, but the old Nick was quite fond of a good old steaming cup of coffee and a freshly baked donut right before his shift started. Cant replicate the exact feeling anymore, but this sure brings back some good memories. “You have some real talent Kid, maybe I could use your help in witnesses sketches.”

Piper Wright: “Diamond City used to look like THAT before it became inhabited by bigoted people and corrupt politicians?” She asked with a half smirk, tapping on the side of a painting of a baseball game in the place she now calls home over 200 years later. Sole had some skill, somehow she can almost hear the crowds cheering excitedly through the canvas. “Hah, still looks loud and overly cramped, guess that hasn't changed. Think my office would be right about… there.”

Codsworth: “Oh Sir/Mum, your spouse would be so proud that you managed to capture them so perfectly.” He droned sadly over the biggest painting that happened to be of Soles spouse in their wedding suit/dress, all smiling and happy. Codsworth had seen his Master spend hours creating their many works of art and even helped with some, but this one spoke the most to him and touched his metal heart. Maybe because Sole had done it purely from memory as a way to honor their fallen lover. “They'd also be proud of how far you've come and all that you have accomplished, and that you are continuing to share your gift with others.”

Preston Garvey: “So thats what Concord looked like before the bombs hit? Damn, seems unreal.” He runs his fingers along the sketch of the un-touched city drawn from a birds eye view. How the General managed to capture the city in such a way that makes it seem like a moving photo is unknown, but he is not complaining. “Someday, we will restore the town to its former glory, you'll see. Until then, this will serve a fine reminder of what can be accomplished. Thank you General... Truly.”

Curie: “Oh! A horsie!” She exclaimed happily, gazing at a large painting of a grassy field with a magnificent black horse darting through the wind that flared it's silky mane. Curie has read many books and documents that include horses in their stories or notes, but she never actually seen one in person. Soles painting made it seem so lifelike that she feels like she can reach out and stroke its shiny hair. ���It would be wonderful if we could ride such an amazing creature, you did an incredible job capturing its likeness and motion.” (Somebody get this women the finest horse in the world)

Cait: “So this is what passed as a typical family in your time?” She questioned with an unimpressed look, almost glaring at the colored drawing of a family sitting in their dining room eating breakfeast with one another. For some reason, the drawing sent a little lump in her throat when she saw the way the two parents looked at their children with such realistic and loving caring eyes. Sole did a damn good job with getting the emotion across, enough to pierce her heart. “Eh… pretty nice when you squint at it. Better than what I ever got. Well done and all that.”

Deacon: “Thats all it took to woo a girl back then? Dress up like a penguin, grab a quick bite at some fancy pants looking place, then spin her around like a top?” He asked with a wide grin, tilting his sunglasses a bit to get a better view of the colored drawing of a prewar couple dancing the evening away. Seemed very romantic, he'd almost wished to go back in time and set up something like this with Barbra. At least something close to it, she would have liked that… “You mind making one of me next? Get this gorgeous figure captured for all to see? Face would be covered of course, but still would be a fine addition to your collection.”

Danse: “This is what people would do on their free time off work? Interesting…” He commented, eyeing the painting of a prewar beach house with families swimming in the water or playing volleyball on the beach. Some of them were even just laying in the sand, asleep or watching the waves wash onto shore. They all seemed to be enjoying themselves without a care in the world, something that sadly couldn't be done anymore. But Sole did a fine enough job that he could get a good feeling on what that was once like. “It takes great skill and practice to capture something like this in great detail. Im honored you chose to show me your work, Solider.”

Hancock: “Damn. Nuka World seemed like a fine place to take the Darling and the kids, before it was infested with raiders and whatnot” He muttered in awe, practically going inside the painting of the prewar amusement park with how close he was to it. It was almost absorbing him whole, the shining of the rides and the adoring eyes of the folks. Shame the place had to go down so quickly. “Sole, you have some mighty fine talent for this sort of thing. Think maybe one day we can get a ride or two working there? That would be a trip I would gladly take.”

MacCready: “You're saying thats how the streets looked all the time? How did you even get around without running into something or someone?” He inquired, staring at a drawing of downtown Boston choked with traffic and pedestrians crowding the roads and sidewalks. It was weird to imagine the city not covered in rubble and piles of discarded trash and people just roaming around without looking over their shoulders every few minutes. “If you ask me, those people are just begging to get sniped. But thats not something they really had to be worried about back then, right?”

X6: “Must have taken great strength in the ankles to achieve such a graceful performance.” He remarked, staring straight at a painting of ballet performer dancing on stage before an audience of well dressed individuals. While he himself didn't see a good reason to spend money and time just to see someone glide across a stage in a supple manner, he could see how such an exercise could benefit ones strength and agility. Maybe he will try it one day, as part of training, of course. “Excellent work on the painting, Sir/Ma'am. A true masterpiece.” (Just imagine him doing ballet)

Strong: “Why puny human show Strong bunch of blobs and scribbles?” He points angrily at a realistic painting of an ideal Thanksgiving meal, complete with a thick and large turkey in the center. It seemed to be so real, like he could reach out and take a big chomp out of it. Yet there was no smell of fresh meat in the air. “Strong doesn't care about fake food blobs! Cant even eat them!” (He tried anyways and now there is forever a bite mark on the painting)

Dogmeat: Barks at the sight of another dog across the room, sprinting over to greet the new potential playmate or rival. He stops a few feet before them, confused on why they haven't reacted to him yet or even moved. Dogmeat had been with Sole while they were painting this very portrait of a prewar dog sitting obediently with their head tilted, but he fell asleep for most of it. The pup whines, cautiously stepping closer and taking a whiff, looking back at Sole in doggy astonishment when he realizes the other dog is a fake. “Bork?”

Moral Of the Story: If Bethesda doesn't give you enough character background or story to work with, do their job for them and make up your own to give everyone more delicious flavor. (Keep those headcanons coming y'all)

Boom! Another one down! Thank You for the request Darling!!! 💝💝💝💝

[magicalheirponsol]

[✧･ﾟ *♚*･ﾟ✧ ] Ponsol could gather that the woman did know about flower language, but hadn’t thought it through when gifting him the flower. Knowing that she didn’t have any hidden meanings behind gifting him the beautiful bloom, he did end up accepting it, placing the stem of the flower into the breast pocket of his jacket. It made for a striking accent piece, he must admit.

      ❝I see, I’ve become an accomplice due to having one. What’s done is done.❞

He was merely joking if the small smirk on his face was anything to go by. Plants was always a source of marvel and comfort for Ponsol, as he had what many would call a ‘green thumb’. In his condo, one could see a myriad of plants that he had been raising. It was an old pastime that he’d inherited from his dearly beloved mother.

With her introduction, his mind lights up with one ‘Nunnally’ in his memory bank that stood out. As it was surmised, she did strike him as familiar for a reason. Never one to pass by any opportunity to network, he had done well to play along with his charade.

      ❝Miss Nunnally, is it? A pleasure to meet you, the name is Ponsol Geripeta. The next heir apparent to DD corp. If it is friendship you seek, I may be obliged to offer my company to you on this fine day.❞

It wasn’t as though he had many plans to do anything else, as he was always quite careful about relationships with others so as not give anyone the misunderstanding that they meant anything special to him which would then give rise to expectations. If the paparazzi were to get involved, it would only become a massive headache on all accounts. While Ponsol held no reservations over using others for his own needs, he abhorred the idea of someone using him.

Hypocrital? Yes, but he’s never claimed to be a saint. For him, today was a day almost like any other, aside from the stench of romance that wafted heavily in the air, practically suffocating any onlookers, he enjoyed his hobby of people watching like any other day. It was quite fascinating to watch as people went about their days.

There were days, when he would bring out his sketchbook and would sketch drawings of the local wildlife among the plant life. A true snapshot of nature itself.

      ❝To celebrate our new budding friendship, might I invite you to join me in enjoying a cup of tea?❞

His words make her smile; perhaps even a small, almost inaudible, giggle leaves her lips. But Nunnally is not embarrassed by his words; perhaps she should be though? She herself does know the language of flowers, although she didn’t really think about the meaning of red camelias, when she was handing him the flower. 

As she was taking a seat next to him on the bench, she nods and her reply is voiced in a quite serious way: --

“I am not a particularly bold person, so no: you should not consider this red flower as any sort of declaration.” – she laughs – ���Although now, when you mention the language of flowers…” – she pauses – “I probably should not have given it to you… Or any stranger in fact... Though what’s done is done and you have accepted it…” – she leans back on the bench letting the wind play with her long hair; and then she laughs again: --

“I’ll accept a chance for a friendship…but this is also all I can offer you…” – she goes silent for a few moments enjoying the atmosphere of the park. It’s winter. It’s chilly, but it is a surprisingly warm day: --

“There’s a few blooming bushes of camellias near the pergola close the Southern entrance to the park…” – she explains herself after these few moments – “Perhaps I should not but I have taken a few…now you are having one of them…”

“It’s an amazing flower…I was taking some photos of them not so long ago, when there was still some snow. Red flowers and white snow…” – she’s probably dwelling too much on it; though she is pretty proud of how these photos turned out. He’s not a professional, but she was often said she’s good…and she does have a love for art: --

“My name is Nunnally…I’ve thought you’d like to know, if we’re going to see if we can become friends…”

“It’s seems that being alone on the Valentine’s Day is what brought us together…” – she laughs again – “At least now no-one is going to pity us…” – not that she cared; she could easily have a date on that day, but being alone was a deliberate choice – “People who are alone tend to lock themselves inside the house…” – kind of a statement; perhaps an explanation why she approached, and yet no more  clarification is given.

[promenadewithme]

May I please have prompt 62 with Simon Basset x female!reader?

Of course! Thank you for requesting!

Pairing: Simon Basset x Fem!Reader

Prompt: 62 (”She doesn’t belong with him” “Than who does she belong with?” “...with me.”)

Warnings: very slight angst with a happy ending. I'm sorry, but I just had to include him saying "I burn for you".

Word count: 1.7 k

Tell me if you want to join my tag list!

Oblivious

__________________________________________

Dearest Readers,

it has come to this author’s attention that Lady (y/n) (y/l/n) and Lord Benedict Bridgerton were seen promenading earlier this week. We all know Miss (y/l/n) to be a close friend to the Bridgertons, but will she officially become part of the family? Rest assured, if there is an engagement this author will find out.

Your’s Truly,

Lady Whistledown.

__________________________________________

YOUR P.O.V.

“This is absurd!” you exclaimed. “We were seen walking and now we’re to be married?”

“Calm down, (y/n). You know Whistledown is just a gossip, no one will remember this in a week.” said Benedict, putting down his sketchbook to look at you. 

As soon as you woke, your lady’s maid showed the infamous society papers and you all but ran to the Bridgerton estate. Benedict was, as always, in the drawing room sketching away. He had already read the paper, but thought nothing of it. He was calm, so calm it irritated you.

“Ben, you don’t understand! If people think I’m engaged to you, they will stop courting me and, unless you plan on marrying me, that is a disaster! I have to marry this season!” at this point Benedict stood up and caressed your arm in an attempt of calming you down. To anyone else, this scene would be scandalous and incredibly improper, but you and Ben have known eachother since infancy and were the best of friends, so there was nothing romantic about the gesture.

“(y/n), my dear, what is this rush? We are still young, you can see so many more seasons before being considered a spinster. You are beautiful, smart, accomplished and any man in the ton would be more that lucky to have you as his wife. If they don’t see it, it’s their loss. As for the rumors chasing them away, I believe it will do quite the opposite.” he said with a smirk.

“Whatever do you mean? If they believe I am to be married, how would it attract them?” you asked, incredulous.

“Well, not to brag, but I am a Bridgerton. If they think you caught my eye, they’d be curious to know what’s so special about you. So, don’t fret. All will be well.” With one last reassuring squeeze, he turned around and sat back down. “Now, are you going to Lady Danbury’s ball this evening?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at his sketch, not quite contempt with the shading.

“Of course I am, it’s the biggest ball of the season!” you exclaimed, sitting down on the sofa in front of him.

“Thank the heavens! If my mother tries to push eligible ladies my way, I’ll run in your direction.” he said, still sketching. Benedict stopped for a second and looked up at you “I heard a certain Duke will be there.” he stated with a smirk. You rolled your eyes and said “We all know he is bewitched by Daphne, it does not matter if he will be there.” 

“Of course it matters, you are in love with the man! And, to be completely honest, I don’t believe it is my sister who his heart belongs to. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, it’s the same way Colin looks at maps or Eloise looks at books.” He was leaning forward now, elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped.

“Like I’m an object?” you said, kidding of course and dying to change the subject. You had the tendency to get your hopes up and the last thing you wanted was to believe your friend and end up with a broken heart.

“Like you hung the moon and the stars.” he had a serious expression and your heart skipped a beat with the thought that Simon would ever look at you that way, but you knew it would never happen. So you waved your hand, smiled and said “I think all the charcoal and paint is going straight to your brain, Mr. Bridgerton. I expect to see your hands all clean if you are to dance with me to trick your poor mama.” Standing up, you curtsied mockingly and said your goodbyes before walking out the door. 

SIMON'S P.O.V.

Simon woke with news from Lady Whistledown. He was never one to believe in gossip, but Daphne was always talking about the society papers during their fake courting, so his curiosity got the best of him. What he did not expect was to read (y/n)'s name.

He had sworn to himself that he would never marry, but arriving at the beginning of the season he couldn't help but be smitten by you. He tried to fight it, but every time you smiled he saw himself smiling along, every time you wore his favourite colour he forgot how to breathe, and every time he saw you with Benedict Bridgerton he couldn't control his jealousy.

He confided in Daphne about it and she guaranteed (y/n) and the second Bridgerton son were just close friends, but Lady Whistledown seems to think differently. To be married? Was this true? If so, he knew it was for the best. He would be able to keep his promise to himself, but he could not help the ache in his heart as he dressed for the day.

(Y/N)'S P.O.V.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, pleased with the outcome. Your lady's maid had weaved delicate flowers in your hair, that was pulled up loosely and you wore your newest dress, long white gloves and the family diamonds. Madame Delacroix really outdid herself this time. It was your favourite colour, with princess sleeves, only slightly puffed, and had embroidered tulle at the hem and bottom part of the skirt. You looked truly beautiful.

"(y/n), it's time to-" your mother paused at the door and looked at you. She smiled softly at your reflection. "You look so beautiful, my dear... Do you think a certain Lord might like it too?" she said smiling softly.

"It is not the Lord's attention I want, mama. You know Ben is just a friend" you said, playing with the skirt of your dress.

"I know, sweetheart, I just don't want you do get hurt. All I want is for you to be happy and what better than to marry your best friend?" she hugged you from behind and kissed your cheek, still looking at your reflection.

"To marry the one you love..."

SIMON'S P.O.V.

"You really have outdone yourself, Lady Danbury." Simon said, looking down at the woman who practically raised him. She was wearing a white gown, a tiara and long white gloves, radiant as always, leaning on her cane.

"I always do, my boy. Now, look at that! Your beloved has arrived." she declared with a small smirk.

"I have already spoken to Daphne" he said, nodding in the Bridgerton family direction, however his heart was beating out of his chest as he turned to look at (y/n). It seemed impossible, but she was even more beautiful than the last time he saw her. Simon looked away before he was caught staring.

"We both know I'm not speaking of the Bridgerton girl. You are not as discreet in your brooding as you like to think." he looked at you again, but you were already speaking to Benedict, who was leading you to the dance floor. "What is bothering you, boy?"

Simon stared at the pair dancing for a moment before responding. "She does not belong with him."

"Than who does she belong with?" (y/n) was laughing at something Benedict said and Simon could not bare the view anymore.

"...With me." he mumbled before heading to the gardens.

(Y/N)'S P.O.V.

The song finished and you curtsied, smiling at your best friend. The smile slowly turned into a frown as you saw Simon walking out, into the gardens.

"Go after him." Benedict whispered.

"What? We would be unchaperoned, it would be scandalous!" you answered, only loud enough for him to hear.

"I'll stand at the door and make sure no one sees. Go!" you smiled and wished you could hug you best friend. "Thank you, Ben." you said as you went into the garden after the man you love. The weather was pleasant and the garden was completely empty, with only the Duke passing back and forth close to the bushes.

"Simon?" he stopped in his tracks, looking surprised as he gazed back at you and stepped closer.

"What are you doing here, if we were to be caught unchaperoned yo-" you stopped the nervous man by saying "Benedict is at the door, no one will see."

"Of course he is." he mumbled, but you heard.

"What does that mean?" you asked, not understanding his sudden dislike for the lord.

"It means he is always around, always with you." he spat out.

"Well, he is my best friend." you could not believe what he was saying. "What do you have against him?" you questioned.

"Are you truly to be married?" he demanded, ignoring your question.

"What?" you replied, completely incredulous.

"Please don't." he murmured.

"Simon, I-" you tried to answer but he cut you off.

"Before you say anything, please listen to me. Don't marry him, please." he paused for a second, adjusting his posture. "I love you. You..." he shook his head. "You don't even know what you do to me. Ever since I can remember, I have promised myself I would never fall victim to love, would never marry, would not let my family name carry on. Then came you."

Simon took a step closer and continued to speak. "You changed my plans, awoke desires I never knew I had, you have stolen my heart and my soul... I burn for you." he took your gloved hands in his, caressing them softly. "Don't marry him, marry me." he gazed into your eyes, waiting your answer.

"Simon... It was never my plan to marry Benedict, I was completely honest when I said he is nothing but a friend." you smiled up at him before saying "you are the one I love, always have been."

Simon grinned before pulling you into a passionate kiss, one hand on your back and the other behind your neck. It was a good thing Benedict was at the door, if anyone saw this scene and the rumours reached Lady Whistledown... You didn't even want to think about the ruin it would bring upon your family.

When you and Simon finally parted you managed to mumble "We truly have been oblivious, haven't we? I thought you were in love with Daphne." he chuckled.

"And I thought you to be with Benedict. Good thing you followed me out here, my love." he said, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

"From now on, it's all I'll ever do."

[shmothman]

Judgement | Forgiveness

Part Fourteen

Previous Chapters

AO3 Link

Tags: @veethewriter

Although Volo’s excitement about the poetry is contagious, none of the others—the Clans or anyone at Jubilife—know a thing about the old scroll that you’ve found. Kamado is impressed by it, and Laventon is excited about it (though not as excited as he is about all the data you gathered on Toxicroak’s biology), but neither they nor Adaman or Irida know who might have written the poetry, why it was buried, or if there might be more.

You’d like to find Cogita and ask her, but you haven’t seen her around since she told you about the Incarnate Forces. You’ll have to make a trip to the Ancient Retreat soon, but for now, you’re stumped. 

Nevertheless, in the following days, you return to the Crimson Mirelands, scouring the area around the bog with Ursaluna, but all she finds are chunks of ore and the occasional star piece. If there are any more verses of poetry, they aren’t buried near the first, that’s for sure.

With a sigh, you dismount her saddle, though you make sure to give her plenty of treats for her hard work sniffing out treasure today, and you turn to head back to the Bogbound Camp to rendezvous with Laventon, who’s been doing research of his own today.

“Any luck on your search?” Laventon asks as you approach. He’s sitting on a large rock near the campsite, smiling wide as a Hippopotas rolls around at his feet. Beside him is his sketchbook, and you can see he’s filled the entire page with sketches and observations of the pokemon, as well as its evolved form, Hippowdon. 

It makes you happy to see him interacting with pokemon without fear. Things really have changed since you arrived; not just for the Survey Corps, but for many in the village as well.

You shake your head, though the playful Hippopotas makes you smile as it shakes itself, sending sand flying everywhere. Laventon dusts it from his white coat, though it gets stuck in the fibers of his woolen waistcoat beneath. 

“Ah,” he says sadly. “That’s a shame! I had so hoped you would find more.”

“Yeah, me too,” you agree; then you drop your bag and sit beside him with a sigh. The wild Hippopotas gives you a curious glance, but quickly goes back to playing, and you watch as a second one peeks out from behind the rocks, coming to join its friend. 

“It would be magnificent to learn more about the people who lived here before us,” Laventon continues, “though I’m certainly no archeologist or ethnologist.”

You hum in agreement, drawing your knees to your chest to rest your chin on them. 

“It’s a shame what happened with that Volo fellow,” he says, and your heart nearly stops, eyes going wide and stomach dropping. “I never spent much time with the man, but he seemed quite the historian.”

Your mouth is dry, and you’re lost for words. 

Laventon looks at you, suddenly panicked. “Ah,” he says. “Please, forgive me. He was... a friend of yours, was he not?”

Yeah, that’s one word for it. You worry at your lip. 

On one hand, this whole business is probably better kept secret, for Volo’s safety and yours. But on the other... Laventon has always been so kind to you, so trusting. And you truly do trust him in return. 

You choose your words carefully, flicking bits of sand from your pants, not meeting his eyes. “Laventon,” you say. “Do you think that banishment was the right course of action?”

Laventon tilts his head, considering. “Well...” he says. “It’s... certainly a harsh punishment. I don’t know if it’s ever the only option, unless someone poses a true danger to everyone else. And... he did apologize, after all. But...” he shrugs. “In the end, it isn’t my decision.”

You swallow thickly.

“Still,” he says. “It was wrong of them to banish you. After all that, I find it rather hard to accept of anyone.”

That... might be the most opinionated thing you’ve ever heard Laventon say; he’s usually so... tactful. His support, even if he doesn’t know the true situation, means the world to you.

When your eyes begin to water, Laventon grows rather anxious, but before he can work himself into a tizzy, you shake your head, giving him a sad smile. 

“If I tell you something, can you keep it a secret for me?” You ask.

Laventon looks nervously around, but there’s no one else within listening distance. He lowers his voice anyway. “Is something the matter?”

You shake your head. “When I was gone from the village, helping that Togekiss... that was Volo’s Togekiss.”

He blinks. “...Oh,” he says. 

And the story spills from you like water from a broken dam, all the things you’ve been keeping inside—everything but the feelings you don’t want to acknowledge, the confusion sitting deep in your heart. You tell Laventon of the Distortion World and of Giratina, of the freezing cold of the Avalanche Slopes, of the fact that Volo’s pokemon all love him so dearly. Of the fact that you believe he truly regrets his actions. And when you’re done, eyes stinging, Laventon sits back and gives a sigh.

“Oh, my dear,” he says softly. “I’m sorry you’ve had to carry this alone.”

And that makes you cry.

“Oh, no,” he says, fretting with his hands. “Please don’t cry—”

But your sniffling subsides quickly, and you give a self-conscious laugh. “Sorry,” you say. “Didn’t realize that was, uh. Weighing on me like that.”

“No need for apologies,” he says kindly, and pats you rather awkwardly on the back. “But... if you need advice, I’m sorry to say I’m not much good in that respect.”

“No, no. I just... needed to tell someone, I think. I’ll... I’ll be able to figure things out.”

Laventon gives you a smile. “Well. If nothing else, don’t underestimate the effects you’ve had on the people of Jubilife. If it weren’t for you, the pokedex would still be nothing but a pipe dream; not to mention all the people you’ve convinced to work with pokemon instead of fearing them.”

You smile back, and the two of you watch the Hippopotas at your feet in silence for a while.

In any case, the worst that could happen now would be banishment.

And it’s not like you haven’t been through that before.

---

The Ancient Retreat is quiet and cozy, tucked into the forest of the Coronet foothills, and the leaves on the trees are beginning to change for the autumn, yellows and oranges and reds mixed in amongst the green of the woodlands. As you cross the stream that marks the boundary of Cogita’s cottage, you see her at her table, sipping tea, in her usual long black dress and wide brimmed hat, and she smiles softly as you approach. 

“My little lost one,” she says when you’re close enough to hear her. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Have you come to hear more about the Incarnate Forces?”

“Hello Cogita,” you say, already digging through your pack for your carefully wrapped treasure. You’re too curious for chitchat. “Actually, I came to ask you about this.”

When you take out the pyxis, Cogita lets out a soft “oh,” and when you open the box and take the scroll from within, her eyes go wide—though it’s only for a moment, her expression quickly replaced by that enigmatic smile she always wears. 

“Ah,” she says, as you hand her the scroll. She carefully unrolls it with her delicately gloved hands and slowly looks it over. “You found some old verse, did you?”

Your eyes light up as you slide into the seat opposite her. “So you know what it is?”

She re-rolls the parchment and hands it gingerly back to you. There is a faraway look in her eyes, as if she’s in a whole different time as she rests her chin on her hands and sighs. “I had almost forg—er, that is... I was once told of a traveling poet.”

She pauses, and you wait.

“Someone who traveled all of Hisui, with a partner by their side. They wrote many verses, and left many behind, hoping that one day they might be found again. I suppose you have made their long ago wish come true, my dear lost one.” 

“Many?” You ask, growing excited. “Ursaluna and I looked all over the bog, we couldn’t find any more after this one.”

Cogita hums dreamily. “As I recall, they buried them all across the region. Scattered them to the winds.”

“Do you know where more are?” You ask, hopeful.

She sighs. “It’s been quite a long time since I... heard about this poet. I’m afraid I don’t have much more I can tell you.”

Your expression falls, but you recover quickly. “Well... it’s great to know that there are more out there! Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to find more, with Ursaluna’s help.”

“Yes,” Cogita smiles. “Perhaps you will be.”

It’s quiet for a moment as Cogita sips her tea. Then, she perks up. “Ah, forgive me, I have not even offered you anything to drink. And you’ve come such a long way to visit me.”

You try to wave her off, but she insists, heading into her cottage—and you are getting a bit thirsty. In truth, it’s a bit of a long trek to make without staying the night, and Cogita knows this. She’s always been a gracious host, with many stories to share until the evening comes.

You think of the many nights Volo must have spent at the retreat, the endless questions you’re sure he had for her. The excitement he’ll surely feel when you tell him there are more verses to be found. 

Maybe he can help you look for them. Despite everything, you have many fond memories from when you were searching for the plates together. Of course, those memories are colored by the hindsight that he hadn’t been honest with you... but you’ve both made the decision to move past that, so wouldn’t it be nice to try again? To start over?

Wouldn’t he be so happy to be able to dedicate his time to searching for more historical artifacts?

Cogita returns with a fresh pot of tea, a loaf of bread, and a bowl of preserves, and your stomach growls.

“Help yourself,” she laughs, and you do.

“Oh!” You say around a mouthful of bread, remembering you have another reason to be here. “I brought you your order from the clothier, too!”

“Ah,” she smiles. “That Anthe is simply a sorceress with a needle and thread. Thank you, my dear.”

And the afternoon passes peacefully, with the calls of wild pokemon all around you, the scent of Cogita’s gardens, and the easy conversation of someone who’s lived through and seen so much.

---

This time, Volo is expecting you—you sent a letter with your Staraptor a few days prior—and when you knock on his door in the late morning hours, he’s there to answer with an excited smile, his hair tied up beneath his hat, his long bangs hanging over one eye.

He’s so much more lively with a mystery on his hands.

“Come in, come in,” he says, ushering you out of the cold. It’s snowing again, but not terribly hard, although your hat is already covered in a fine layer of powder. As always, the warmth of his stove is welcome, and you both sit down beside it.

“So,” he asks, hardly hiding his impatience as you take off your coat and hat and set them by the stove to dry. “Did you find anything else from the site where you found the poetry?”

He looks rather crestfallen when you shake your head, but you quickly say, “but I talked to Cogita about it.”

Volo perks up again. “And?” He says. “Did she know anything?”

You nod. “She said that she thinks there's more, scattered around all of Hisui.”

“Really?” He asks. 

“Which means that there are probably some in the Icelands, too.”

He grins—really and truly grins—and your heart skips a beat. Or two. Or three. 

“Well,” he says, “what are we waiting for? We have to find them!”

Logistically, of course, Volo knows that you won’t be able to find anything without Ursaluna’s help—you told him as much the last time you saw him—but it still makes your heart flutter when he says ‘we.’ That he might want you to be a part of this, even if you didn’t have to be.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” you laugh, but then you look down, avoiding his gaze. You can’t help but feel that your plan is risky, even if the only real risk is to your own heart. “I was thinking... we could take Ursaluna searching, together. The Icelands are huge, but if we search it in small sections over time... I’m sure we can find something.”

“Yes,” he says, and you’re surprised by the gentleness in his voice. “Yes, that sounds like a great plan.”

You look up again, finding yourself rather flustered by the soft look in his gray eyes. 

He reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. “I, uh, know you’re probably rather busy with the pokedex and whatnot... but...”

“I want to dedicate my time to this, too,” you assure him. “Besides, I can do both at the same time. We’ll run into lots of pokemon while we search. And, um. Laventon can cover for me, if I need him to.”

He blinks. “The professor?”

“Yeah. I... told him what’s going on. The truth, I mean.”

Volo looks nervous, but you continue quickly. “But we can trust him. At least, I trust him.” You bite your lip, considering, and the rest of your words come out in a rush. “And he thinks that banishment is too harsh a punishment for you.”

Volo’s brows furrow, and he looks at the ground. It’s quiet for a long moment.

“...Oh,” he finally says. “He does?”

“He does. And, you know, obviously, so do I.”

“W-well then,” Volo says, though he’s a bit shaken now. “Shall we find a map and plot our course?”

You grin. It must be a little bit of weight off of him, to hear that there’s at least one more person who might be willing to give Volo another chance—at least, you hope that’s what he’s feeling. And you’d wager that Laventon’s not the only one. 

You told him that he still has a future, and you firmly believe that’s true. This—searching for historical artifacts together—could be a step in the right direction for him, could be the start of a new path, one that’s actually fulfilling.

There are plenty of people who will certainly hold his past actions against him for the rest of his life, that much is true. He cannot escape the consequences of his actions, especially not if he wants to remain in Hisui. But you don’t think he won’t ever be able to move past his mistakes.

“We shall,” you say, and you rifle through your bag for a map.

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Chapter 4: Unexpected (Bonding)

Prev

AO3

Bruce Wayne felt lost. This wasn’t an unusual feeling for him, but he wasn’t particularly fond of the events that led to him feeling lost. First, he found out he had a daughter. Yet another child that he hadn’t known of their existence. Then, he acted as Batman. He researched the girl and found that her school situation was...less than ideal. As was the supervillain situation in Paris. The girl- his daughter- had been targeted several times. Sometimes the Akuma went after her from the start. Other times, she was unfortunate enough to be in its line of sight when it was on a rampage. Any way you looked at it, she was in danger. No, the biggest mistake in researching her came with the phone number for the bakery run by her parents. Two lovely people who had raised her and taught her right from wrong. Something he hadn’t done. Their phone call was what left him feeling lost. They hadn’t demanded that he stay away from his daughter- from Marinette. No, on the contrary, they thought it was a great idea for the two to bond. Especially once Bruce had mentioned his other children. 

“Marinette was distraught when the only information we could give her about her birth father was his name.” Sabine had said, adding to Bruce’s confusion. 

“You had my name but didn’t reach out?” Bruce asked, trying (and failing) to figure out the situation. 

“We didn’t have much to go on. Just your name and that you were American and worked in business. Bridgette didn’t give any specifics, and back then it didn’t really matter. I assumed Bruce Wayne was a common enough name, especially in the US.” Sabine replied simply. The rest of their conversation had gone similarly, with Bruce growing more and more lost until the end. They hadn’t even suggested a DNA test (though he was planning on asking Marinette, just so that they could be completely certain). They just wanted Marinette happy. Even if it meant meeting and bonding with the man who hadn’t known about her existence. 

---

Marinette Dupain Cheng was not having an easy week. No, her week was sucky. In fact it was beyond sucky, it was shitty. So many things were happening at the same time, and she was just grateful that she wasn’t currently in Paris, since she was certain she’d be akumatized. From being attacked by the Joker for simply looking like a Wayne, to meeting Batman who was just as angry in person, and then figuring out Bruce Wayne really was her dad and accidentally calling him Batman, to fighting an Akuma by herself (one that she could barely handle) and then to top it all off, Adrien is Chat Noir. And Adrien has a crush on her, as Marinette. And apparently has for at least a month. Oh and now he knows that she’s Ladybug and so last night was filled with her Chat Blanc nightmares all over again. The cherry on the top of this mess was the fact that the class was practically ignoring her. She was sure they weren’t doing it intentionally and that they were just kinda distracted by Lila’s tall tales of Gotham. Tales that include her dating one of Bruce Wayne’s sons. She wouldn’t clarify which one, which was probably for the best. They two closest to their age were 12 and 19. Neither a great option for the 15 year old Italian. A shrill ringing tugs Marinette out of her thoughts. Glancing down at the unknown number attempting to call her, Marinette silently prayed that this would turn her shitty week around. 

“Hello?” She answers, wincing slightly at the way her voice sounds after a night filled with screaming and crying from nightmares. 

“Is this Marinette Dupain Cheng?” A deep voice asks. Marinette frowns. 

“Um, yes?”

“Good. This is Bruce Wayne and well, I’m not sure how to-”

“You’re my dad.” She blurts out, face instantly heating up. “Oh crap, I mean, um-”

“Well yes. I do believe I may be your father. I was in contact with your parents earlier, to ask about boundaries and such. Your mother says that you had shown interest in meeting me and seeing how we’re similar?” He says, the question clear in his voice. Marinette opens her mouth to respond, then frowns. 

“Just like that? We’re gonna meet, just like that?” She asks, hoping that her distrustful tone doesn’t push the man away. 

“I’ll admit that I was going to ask if you would mind a paternity test. After speaking with your mother, I have no doubts, but I thought it might make you feel better. And of course, if you would prefer to just act as though I didn’t speak to your parents and go on with your trip, we can do that as well. I just- I was caught off guard, if I’m being honest.” Bruce Wayne- her father- says. 

“I’ll do it. I- I would like to get to know you. I can’t have a relationship with Bridgette, but if my parents are okay with it, I do want a relationship with you.” Marinette admits, holding her breath as she waits for an answer. There’s silence on the other end for a long moment, but just as Marinette’s about to apologize and tell him he can go and pretend she doesn’t exist, he answers. His voice a little softer this time. 

“I would like that.” 

---

The paternity test came out positive, to no one’s surprise. Bruce had given Marinette the option of meeting somewhere more public (like a restaurant or museum) to bond, or coming over to the manor. Not quite ready to deal with the possibility of paparazzi and the rumors (no matter how true they may be) that would stem from a public visit, Marinette agreed to going to the manor for dinner. Which is how she ended up sitting in silence in a town car with a man who seemed like he knew more than he was letting on. 

“So, you’re the one who raised Mr. Wayne?” Marinette asks, not quite ready to call the man “Dad” or any variation of the word. The man nods and she meets his eyes in the rearview mirror. 

“Indeed, Miss. I am Alfred Pennyworth.” The man, Monsieur Pennyworth, says calmly. She tries not to let the frustration that she feels building show on her face. She feels like she should know this man, like there’s something important that she’s just barely missing. 

“Have we met before?” Marinette finally asks, racking her brain as she tries to figure out why this man is so familiar to her. 

“I don’t believe so, Miss Dupain Cheng.” He says, and for the first time since meeting him, it doesn’t feel like he’s all knowing. Instead, it feels like he’s just as confused as she is. Drat. She opens her mouth to question him more, when the huge manor becomes visible in the distance. Eyes widening, Marinette forgets everything else and turns her attention to the beautiful architecture. The giant fence and metal gates do little to hide the massive house. Sections of the house rise above others, almost as if there are towers. Dozens of windows are visible, as is the giant fountain at the front of the house. Ripping her sketchbook out of her bag, Marinette immediately starts sketching out the ideas that attack her mind. Dresses and suits and skirts, all using the architecture in front of her for the basic shapes of the outfits. As the car goes past the gate and the gardens come into view, Marinette can’t hold back her shocked gasp. Shaped hedges and flowers, hundreds of different colored flowers, and trees and- it was beautiful. Almost too perfect. Like something that belonged in a movie. She jumps slightly as the car door is opened, Alfred standing on the other side with an eyebrow quirked up. Right. She was actually getting out of the car. And going into this massive house. And spending time with her biological- nope. She can’t do this. She can’t- 

“Miss Dupain Cheng, if it makes you feel any better, Master Bruce seems to have run into some traffic on his way back from the office. You’ll have a few minutes to gather your bearings inside before he arrives.” Alfred says softly. Relief washes over her and she nods, finally moving to get out of the car. 

“Thank you, Alfred.” She says, smiling at the man. He nods back at her before leading her up the steps to the door. He opens it and then steps back, allowing her to take a tentative step into the house. Her previous panic is pushed aside as she realizes the inside is just as gorgeous as the outside. Immediately turning back to her sketchbook, she tunes out the world around her and just stands in the foyer, scribbling furiously into her sketchbook. 

“Um, hi?” A voice says, making Marinette yelp and jump, eyes scanning her surroundings until they fall on a guy. A pretty tall guy. 

“Hi.” She says softly, also confused as to who this guy was. Not her- dad-biological father-other part of her DNA-father-Mr. Wayne- not anyone she had ever met, that’s for sure. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Dick Grayson.” The man says, extending his hand, a smile on his face. Anyone else probably would have thought the smile was sincere, but Marinette had always been good at reading emotions. And she could tell that he was wary of her. Why would he- oh. Grayson. As in, Richard Grayson, as in this man was her brother. Or, well, maybe he wouldn’t want to be. Maybe he would think that she’s ridiculous or that she’s just here to get money or here to try and pull apart Mr. Wayne’s family or maybe he would think that she was trying to take his place and she would never but maybe he would hate her and- She takes in a deep breath, trying desperately to ground herself and wishing she’d taken up Adrien’s earlier offer of him coming with. 

“I’m Marinette. Marinette Dupain Cheng.” She finally says, reaching out and shaking his hand. He nods, obviously still confused. So Mr. Wayne hadn’t mentioned her. Did he hate her? Did he ask her here to have her sign a NDA? Did he not want anything to do with her? Of course he wouldn’t, he obviously already had a family. A family that he chose, not one that he had by accident. His name was on her birth certificate, surely he would have found her sooner if he actually wanted anything to do with her? He chose Dick Grayson to be his son. He wanted him. He didn’t want Marinette. He-

“Ah, Marinette. I see you’ve met Dick.” The last voice she needed to hear says calmly as he walks through the door. Marinette swallows back the thickness in her throat, the one that tells her the tears will be starting soon. 

“Uh, yes. Mr. Wayne. Um, hi.” She says, flinching slightly when he winces. What did she do wrong this time? Was he really going to tell her to take a hike? If he didn’t hate her before, he surely did now. 

“Bruce, what’s going-” Dick starts to ask but is cut off by screaming voices getting closer to them.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Demon Spawn?” 

“Not my fault your blocking skills are subpar, Todd.”

“Sub- you almost stabbed me, you little shit!”

“Almost, yes. But I didn’t. I’m sure Father will be pleased with my restraint.” 

“You little fu-” “Boys!” Mr. Wayne finally yells as the two screaming walk into view. Both freeze and the younger one’s eyes instantly fall on Marinette, narrowing as he takes a defensive position. 

“Another one, Bruce, really?” The older one asks, making Marinette flinch back. Of course. Two more of his sons-her brothers- who he chose. Another two that he wanted. Not like her, someone he was going to be forced to know. Unless he told her tonight that he never wanted to speak to her again and made her sign a paper saying that she would never contact him again and then they would never have to worry about seeing her again and- oh this is a lot. 

“What were you two doing?” Mr. Wayne finally asks, and that’s when Marinette sees the weapons in their hands. And the blood on the older man’s shirt. The man turns slightly so that that part of his shirt is hidden when he notices her staring. 

“Uh, bonding?” He says, not at all convincing. 

“Who is that, Father?” The younger boy asks, the utter distaste clear on both his face and in his tone. And this is it. This is where he’s going to say that she’s no one, she’s nothing, and then he’s going to make her sign that stupid piece of paper and the last chance she has at knowing one of her biological parents is going to fly out the window. Poof. And then she’ll be so embarrassed, she won’t be able to go back on the trip and then she’ll have to change her name but she can’t completely run away yet because of stupid Hawkmoth and-

“This is Marinette, my daughter.” Well that was unexpected.

Next

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[well-its-not-human-anymore]

Hi! Could I get HC from the guys? 👀 How they would always react to catching the reader seeing them "badly", in addition to the fact that he usually avoids them, but with his brothers it is incredible and they feel bad because they think they do not like him.  But she actually likes them and she looks at them like that because she "studies" them to draw them and she is too clumsy and shy to talk to them, that's why she ends up avoiding them. Until finally he catches her drawing them with lots of hearts or maybe they'll find her notebook with lots of portraits of them.

It's kind of funny because when I study people to draw them, they think that I look at them with hatred xd maybe I should increase my glasses prescription

God, glasses are such a pain in the ass but I have to wear them. If I don't anyone within my near vicinity doesn't have a face. But why they gotta get dirty so easily???? Makes me wanna explode or something

TMNT Headcanons

The boys w/ a quiet reader who is fine with his brothers but acts cold around him and stares a lot

Michaelangelo

mikey couldn't describe his disappointment upon realizing that you didn't want to be friends with him

well, you never actually said that to him

but he was pretty sure it was the case

you'd never made an effort to be friends with him

stared at him an awful lot though, but there was always something off about your gaze when you looked at him

like you were sizing him up, scrutinizing him, like he was an opponent

it kinda worried him

to add to that, you didn't even attempt to look embarrassed when he caught you staring

you'd just stare harder

on your end it was quite the opposite

you always found the brothers fascinating and you LOVED studying their anatomy, you'd confessed this to Donnie early on and he happily indulged in your questions

and you loved how easily you got along with the boys

well, except for Mikey

but it wasn't for a lack of trying

whenever the orange sporting turtle came around your normally flamboyant personality crept back into its little corner and hid

any words of excitement that had previously been with you died in your throat

for the longest time you didn't understand it

and you hated not understanding things, so you turned to your only outlet

that's how you ended up with an entire sketchbook full of the youngest brother in vastly different styles and poses

you had a separate book for the others, none of them as detailed as this

and when you stared to analyze you'd fallen into a habit of not looking away when caught

by your logic, if you stared back hard enough he'd look away first or just assume you'd zoned out

he didn't

and on one hectic day you'd left your sketchbook open on the kitchen table in your rush to get to work

you hadn't even noticed the slip up until Leo texted you to let you know during your shift

instant panic

in truth, Mikey was the one who discovered the book upon waking up from his nap and he'd spent the next three hours analyzing every drawing

when you finally dropped in after work to grab your book the turtle was waiting for you with it in hand

he'd asked you if you hated him

you told him no and accepted your sketchbook from him

he was relieved and screaming excitedly, just in his head

"Do you maybe wanna hang out sometime?"

You sighed in relief and nodded

"If you're cool with it- you don't think I'm weird do you?"

"I mean- you are talking to a turtle..."

you lightly shoved his chest and smiled, although it faded within a second

"Oh hush, 10 o'clock tomorrow? I'll bring snacks."

he was so stunned he could only shoot you finger guns in approval

Donatello

Donnie genuinely couldn't understand your unease around him

he'd followed all the proper expectations of holding a conversation

he was polite and engaging

so why wouldn't you talk to him?

this boy has read so many social blogs to try and figure out what he was doing wrong and he just couldn't put his finger on it

you were fine with the rest of his brothers, you'd stay up for hours laughing and gaming with them

you'd even sat still long enough to listen to Leo explain some old Japanese myth that he'd read about in a book

but with him it was always a quick, cordial greetings and farewells with bland small talk in between

Donnie had picked up pretty quickly that you weren't interested in any sort of interaction with him

and he convinced himself that that was okay

but that didn't explain the staring

he'd caught you in the act several times, eyes narrowed and locked on him

especially when you were alone with him in a room or just in the lair

the poor turtle just couldn't put his finger on it

then he caught you drawing, he noticed early on that you always carried a small sketchbook on your person but he didn't think much of it

and it wasn't so much that he caught you drawing, in fact, he wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't snapped at him while he was trying to do a sudoku puzzle

"Damn it Donnie! Stop moving! If I fuck this arm up one more time I'm gonna decompose!"

he'd quickly moved back into the position he was in prior

"sorry?"

but you'd gone silent again, occasionally glancing up from your work and running your eyes along his frame before looking down again

nearly twenty minutes later Donnie had finished the puzzle and it seemed as though you had finished your drawing

"Uh- can I ask what are you-"

"I'm drawing you but you kept moving your arm and making me mess up. You always do that when I draw you so every damn picture I have of you stays a sketch because you always come out looking like a fucking octopus."

He just stared

"Sorry, I uh- I didn't mean to explode on you like that. I'm just- I'm really bad at talking to you okay? It's so easy with everyone else but you've just gotta be so damn smart all the time and I worry that you'll think I'm boring so I just... don't talk to you?"

Donnie is stunned™

You refuse to show him the drawing until you can complete the line art and color it

But at least he knows that you don't hate him

Leonardo

To be completely honest Leo didn't mind that you were distant from him

You created an aura of calm when you were around and you always managed to distract his brothers while you were present

And he enjoyed the alone time

But after a few months that calm acceptance turned into jealousy

Not that he would ever admit it

He would just push it off and ignore it, that usually seemed to work

So why wasn't it?

And your obvious staring problem didn't help at all

Leo didn't spend much time considering his appearance but something about your gaze made him self conscious

And he hated that with a passion

Why was it that you could hold entire debates with his siblings? Even his dad for gods sake. You'd have hour long conversations on almost everything but whenever he tried to say hello you'd make up some lame ass excuse and scamper away

He just wanted an explanation

It appeared that the answer resided in your sketchbook

You'd left it open on the couch when Raph had called you away to spar with him

Leo very delicately flipped through the pages, careful not to disturb some of the polaroid pictures of his brothers

He was admittedly surprised to find pictures of himself among the pages

One of him in a handstand, another of him meditating, there was even one of him mid sneeze that you'd recreated with pencil and paper

The image of his eyes was the most startling, but the book held no polaroid of his eyes

You drew them from memory

And he was shocked when you returned to the room and didn't immediately panic

But that might have been because he didn't try to withhold your book from you

"It took me three months to color them, your eyes. I could never get the shade of blue just right."

"I'm gonna be honest with you y/n, I really thought you didn't like me."

You had the nerve to roll your eyes and follow it with a laugh

"I don't. I mean- I do but no, you just remind me a lot of myself and I haven't exactly figured out why yet. I thought that maybe if I drew you it'd be easier to figure you out..."

"Well did it help?"

You grinned

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

Raphael

If there was one thing Raph hated it was not understanding something that was right in front of him

which is ironic, as a much younger version of himself probably couldn't care less

and a part of him wishes he didn't care about it so much

he wishes that your blatant avoidance of him didn't upset him

but shit, it got under his skin better than any needle ever could

was it too much to ask for you to just tell him what he said or did wrong?

was he asking too much of you?

but on the same scale you'd never shown obvious dislike towards him, you were never rude and you sure as hell didn't talk shit about him to his brothers

you got along great with them

in fact it was getting more difficult to remember a time before you became a part of his family

he'd become so used to your presence that it no longer put him off when he found you hanging around the lair

but in another sense he was certain that you hadn't spoken more than three sentences to him in your time knowing him or his family

so what was the reason

several months in he finally caught onto the staring, your narrow, glassy gaze locked onto his body and refusing to look away

he stared right back at you

this annoyed you for several reasons

because within five seconds your very peaceful drawing session had turned into a staring contest and your eyes were getting VERY dry

then you exhaled in a half-sigh and looked back down at your paper

"Huh, I guess your head is more of an oblong shape..."

he took offense to this

"What tha' hell is that supposed t'mean?"

now your eyes held more of an amused silent judgement, you begrudgingly held up your sketchbook

"I'm drawing you, you fucking walnut."

"Oh..."

now you rolled you eyes and tossed the book to him, he nearly dropped it and fumbled with the pages

your annoyance was quickly growing

"Careful with that."

He flipped through the pages at a snails pace, assumingly because he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing

you had some real talent

when he looked back up at you he was wearing that crooked smile

"and here I was thinkin' that my eyes were just green."

Hope I was able to get this down pretty well! I really enjoyed writing this one! Thanks for the patience!

-Mars 🌠

[justcourttee]

Adrien asks mari out and she says i would of been so happy in the past but now its too little to late. She's engaged to Damian but they haven't announced it yet

Bittersweet

It had been a while since Adrien had found himself in Gotham City. Too many years to count on his hand. Yet when he received an invite from Marinette he didn’t hesitate to hop on the next flight to attend her gala.

He had no idea that she had created a partnership with Wayne Enterprises, in fact, he had no idea they were interested in the fashion world at all. Then again, why should he be surprised? When Marinette put her mind to something, nothing would get in her way.

Ever since he had taken over his father’s company, Adrien hadn’t had much time to keep up with his old school friends but it hadn’t stopped them from trying to keep him in the loop. From what he could gather, Alya and Nino would also be attending, Rose and Juleka too. It would be nice to see them all again, especially Marinette.

Stepping out from the warmth of his hotel room and into the cool streets, Adrien couldn’t help but let his mind drift to thoughts of her.

It took Marinette moving to the States for him to realize how much he was in love with her. It was something he never wanted to admit seeing how much he adored Ladybug, but as she disappeared from his grasps, he was left to face his true feelings.

Glancing at his phone, Adrien confirmed that he was mere minutes away from the address she had listed. The gala was still a few days away, but Marinette asked if he had wanted to meet up for a late-night coffee, a Gotham specialty. Even her scarf that she had gifted him ages ago couldn’t hide the red on his cheeks as he imagined the perfect date with the girl of his dreams.

He paused, reaching the door of Deja Brew, his heart beating a million miles a minute. Somewhere in this late-night shop was his best friend. How would she react to seeing him again? Would she be as excited as he was? Would she feel the same way as she did?

Taking a deep breath, he pushed through the door, his eyes glancing through the scattered exhausted customers until they landed on her. She still hadn’t noticed his presence, her nose buried into her sketchbook, her coffee still steaming beside her seemingly untouched.

She was early.

The thought almost drew a laugh as he approached the counter to place his order. Of course she would have finally picked up some time management skills by now. Marinette was 27 and slowly making a name for herself as the future of the fashion industry. That wasn’t something accomplished by constant tardiness.

He picked up his cup, placing a ten into the tip jar, the hostess’ raised eyebrows making him smile. He could already hear his father scolding him. After all, that wasn’t the way to becoming a billionaire. You only make money by holding onto it.

Honestly, Adrien didn’t understand why he had to be a billionaire. His father said it would raise the bar for their line, but it just wasn’t in Adrien’s heart to hoard all of the money unnecessarily. Maybe the Waynes offered Marinette the same advice. Maybe they had something they could relate to together.

“Excuse me ma’am, is this seat taken?”

His heart had finally slowed down but as her eyes slowly peeked up at him under her lashes, it immediately began somersaulting once more.

“Oh Gods, Adrien!” She was out of her seat before he even had the chance to set down his coffee, her arms flung around his neck. He hoped and prayed she couldn’t feel his chest threatening to explode. “You should have said something! I’ve gotten into the bad habit of zoning out in public places.”

Her smile was blinding as she unwound herself, slipping back into her seat, motioning for him to sit as well.

“How was the flight? Did you fly private or first class?”

Adrien gasped, his hand covering his chest as if she had shot him.

“I only flew business thank you very much.” Marinette’s look of mock disbelief earned a small chuckle.

“That must have been so hard for you. I really am sorry you went through so much trouble for my sake.”

“You know, I would go through so much more for you Marinette.”

Her smile faltered for a moment, so quick that if he hadn’t been staring so hard at her, he might have missed it. Did his statement make her uncomfortable? He had only meant it jokingly with the truth laced in, but he was sure his eyes gave him away. They always softened when it came to her.

Marinette cleared her voice, her true smile shining once more as if the falter never happened in the first place.

“You’ve missed so much, I don’t even know where to start.”

“How about from the beginning?” She nodded as she dove into her move to the States and how she began as an intern for the CEO, Tim Drake, years ago and slowly worked her way up to personal assistant.

She recounted how Tim found her sketchbook at work one day and showed it to his father. Together they agreed that she was their way into the fashion industry, an investment that could open the door to many more jobs for the Gotham citizens.

It took two years, but she finally had a full line that was presented at Bruce’s first fashion show.

“So many big names were there Adrien! I really thought I was gonna faint!”

His smile became softer and softer as she recounted meeting the rest of the Waynes and finally after six long years, she had made enough of a name for herself to be holding her own official Gala, the Wayne’s simply a sponsor.

“That’s amazing Marinette, you’re amazing.”

She beamed proudly, her smile pulling at his heart.

“I couldn’t have done it without them. They are genuine and kind people and they are pretty much family.” Something glistened in her eyes as she spoke of them. It could have been obvious to anyone, Marinette cared so deeply for these people.

It was Adrien’s turn to falter as an ugly thought passed.

She’s so comfortable here, she would never want to come back to Paris with me.

He was shocked with himself. This was no time for jealousy. His best friend, the love of his life, was excitedly telling him about a future she had built for herself and the only thing he could think was that it was an obstacle keeping her from him?

Adrien desperately wanted to smack his own forehead, but for Marinette’s sake he straightened out his smile instead.

“I’m so sorry. I’ve only been talking about myself! What’s new with you? How’s your dad’s business? Do you have anyone you’re seeing?”

His eyebrow raised at the last question. She asked the question he so desperately wanted to ask her. And she did it so casually, equating it to his work and social life. Did that mean she was also fishing for his response?

“Nothing much. Dad wants to move from a multi-million dollar business to a multi-billion dollar business so he’s been pretty aggressive about money lately. He didn’t even want me flying over here for the gala.”

Marinette snorted much to his amusement. She knew how his dad was and how petty he could be as well.

“And as for your last question,” he paused watching her face carefully. “No, I am not seeing anyone.”

He waited for the reaction, any reaction really. But none came. Instead, she simply nodded as if she expected as much. Maybe he had read into it too much. She really could’ve just been asking for the sake of catching up. Should he ask too? Was that what she was leading up to?

Adrien cleared his throat before taking a long draw from his cup. This was so nerve wracking. She looked so content, so grown. This was a Marinette who had grown leaps and bounds while he was still stuck in this high school romance that was quite possibly one-sided.

“Well, I hate to cut it short but it’s going to be a long day tomorrow and Damian will be here any moment to pick me up.”

She slid out of her seat so effortlessly, her sketch book snapping shut before it disappeared into a bag that he hadn’t even noticed. Her smile was just as warm as he remembered, but something was missing from the girl he loved.

“Your eyes.” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Marinette’s smile faltered as she tentatively reached up to touch her eyelid, confusion etching it’s way into her face.

“Is there something near my eyes Adrien?”

“No, no, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. I just-” Adrien bit his lip, trying to string his thoughts together before he sounded even more like an idiot. “You used to stare at me with such soft look. I’m sorry I never noticed, but once I did, it was all I could see. Yet now-”

He trailed off as her lips drew into an o, her hand moving slowly from her eye to her lips, trying to hide her shock.

“-now, I can still feel the love in them, love directed at me, but it’s not the same love is it?”

She looked like she wanted to say something, but she couldn't find the right words. He knew she was trying to explain that he was wrong, but couldn’t bring herself to lie. It was the only confirmation he needed.

He slid out of the booth, his hand grasping the scarf slipping from his neck.

“Marinette, I was so excited when you invited me out tonight. In fact, I thought of it as a date.” She tried to reach out, but Adrien took a step back, tears brimming in his eyes. “I don’t blame you at all, please don’t think I’m saying all this to make you feel guilty. I just had to get it off my chest.”

Adrien blinked hard, trying to spill the tears clouding his vision. This was harder to say than he thought. Her eyes were so distracting, the sympathy oozing toward him in waves.

“I love you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I know you’ve made your life here and I would never dream of taking that from you. Hell, if you asked me to, I would drop everything to be at your side in an instance. Is there any chance at all that after the gala ends, we could give this a shot? Just one real date. Not some deluded fantasy I created in my head, but something we both consent to.”

He flinched when her hand finally made contact with his upper arm.

“Adrien, I love you. I really do. But you were right when you said my eyes had changed. That soft look is meant for someone else now. He and I had tried to keep our relationship quiet, but tomorrow at the gala, I was going to announce my engagement to Damian.”

Adrien couldn’t help the small sob that left his mouth. He was painfully aware of the few scattered glances all directed toward him, but he couldn’t help it. He felt Marinette pulling his head down until it laid resting on her shoulder, her small arms wrapping around his figure. It was embarrassing how hard he cried, unable to hold back his sobs any longer.

“I’m so sorry Adrien, I had no idea your feelings had changed. You were always chasing after a dream when we were younger and when I left Paris, I had finally decided that there wasn’t a chance after all between us.”

He knew she meant her words as a comfort, a promise that at one point, she would have gladly accepted his offer. Why couldn’t he have seen it earlier? Why was he so blinded by a partner who never even revealed herself right to the end? He had someone who trusted and loved him with all of their being and he ignored their feelings for a what if.

Adrien slowly pulled himself from her grasp, his smile shaky. He took a moment to use the end of his scarf to dry his soaked face.

“I’m glad you told me that Marinette. I really am. And I hope you and Damian have a long and prosperous life together.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth forming the wait, but he was already out of the door, running. It was a cowards move, one he would mull over all night. But it was too painful to look into the eyes of one you love and only find pity reflecting in them.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“So you came?”

Adrien turned, his smile bittersweet as he embraced Alya, his fist connecting with Nino’s outstretched hand.

“How could I not support her? She’s worked so hard to make this a reality. My feelings can take a backburner for one night.”Their eyes all trailed to the center of the room where she stood, her arm threaded through with the man he assumed to be Damian Wayne. “Besides, you can tell. She loves that man beside her more than anything in this world.”

The glint of the ring on her finger caused an aching in his heart. Despite it all, he really did wish the Wayne boy no ill will. If he was who Marinette chose to spend the rest of her life with, then Adrien trusted her decision.

“I’ve never seen her smile so bright. And to think, I used to believe her smile was at its maximum blindlingness.” Nino’s chuckle earned a small chuckle from Adrien as well.

There was no denying it.

Marinette was where she belonged. The only thing left was for him to support her in any way that he could. And that was exactly what he planned to do.

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[zenith-impact]

i don’t know if you’re still accepting may prompt requests, so if you aren’t, just ignore this!

could i get either memory lane + xiao or albedo + homecoming? i adore your writing btw!! you’re probably my favorite genshin author as of rn. i hope you have a great/day night— oh, and happy anniversary to you and your husband!! 💞

Thank you so much ☆ ～('▽^人) Reading that really made my day!

I went ahead and did both prompts! Albedo's half will be under the cut. Thank you for the request!

The rain drizzles off of the roof of the inn, catching the light from the sun as it slips gently out of the sky. A rainbow curves in the distance, but it too is starting to fade. Some, like the people standing on the balcony below, might call a day such as this beautiful. Others, like the guests curled up by the fire or locked up in their rooms might call it a bother. For Xiao, it was a time to reminisce. A time to think on the centuries he's lived and piece together the small things that keep him going. The voices in his head retreat, leaving only the sound of the water plopping against the wood. His skin is covered in droplets but he ignores them, preferring to stare into the horizon.

Memories were difficult for Xiao. Not because he has a bad memory, but because he doesn’t have very many good ones. Meeting Rex Lapis was a shining beacon in a sea of violence and chaos. Darkness is often the only thing he sees. A haze in which he is disconnected from the pain he suffered in his early years. Other times his memories are crystal clear- something the voices that plague him make sure of. He reflects on all of this, ignoring the rain as it seeps into his skin. He is an adepti. The cold doesn't bother him, nor will it ever.

And yet, as he tries to focus on the karmic debt he holds, he finds his mind drifting back to you. The moments you share are much more recent. They are events that he never thought he'd experience. Memories that he never imagined would be his own. Laughter that makes his heart race. The gentle caress of fingers on his battle hardened skin and scars. The feeling of your hand in his, squeezing as you tell him another story of the life he has become a part of.

Years ago, he almost rejected you. Now, he can't imagine a world without you in his life.

"Xiao?"

He looks down, realizing that the balcony is now empty save for you and the towel in your hand. The rain has ceased as the sun dips below the horizon, giving way to the full moon. You are as captivating as ever, drawing his attention like a moth to a flame. "Why are you here?" He says.

You smile. "Because you are."

He huffs as he hops off the rooftop. "And if I wasn't?"

"Then I would have waited for you."

"For how long?"

"As long as it took."

Satisfied, he leans on the railing overlooking the Dihua Marsh. You join him, still smiling. "I can fix that you know."

"Fix what?"

You gesture to him in a dramatic fashion. "All of that."

"Are you implying I need fixing?"

You roll your eyes. "I'd just be drying you off, silly."

"I do not need your help," He says, though his dripping hair betrays him as water slithers down his face.

"Please," you say, holding out the towel. Your Hydro vision glitters, taunting him. "Water is my specialty."

Xiao huffs, crossing his arms. "Do what you will." You were moving before he even finished his sentence, dropping the towel on his head with little fanfare. He glares at you, but you just laugh as you massage his scalp. He feels the water seeping into the towel, drying his hair in record time. You leave it there as you take a step back, drawing a circle in the air with your finger. Water rises off his body and clothes, gathering in a ball in front of him. You reach your hands out, directing the ball to float between them as you draw more in. The dampness on his skin fades. His clothes return to their normal softness. The last of the drops that cling to his mask slip away. You grin, mesmerized by your own handiwork.

Xiao's expression softens as he watches you, committing every detail of this moment to memory. The way your eyes glisten. The way your skin and muscles move with every small flick of your wrist or twist of your arm. The way the clothes fold and stretch with your body. The rising moon that fills the background with silver light and accentuates everything about you. The grin you give him as you make the water disappear. "Come on " you say, looping your arm in his. "Let's get out of the cold." With that, you guide him back to the room that has become your second home. Xiao follows, his heart yearning for you every step of the way.

Of all the memories Xiao has tucked away over the years, he decides that you will always be his favorite.

Albedo liked to think he was good at managing his stress. Experiments often went awry and he was always there to calm everybody down and get it under control. His time on Dragonspine was inherently stressful but he never let it get to him as it was just another experiment but in colder weather. Oftentimes he didn't even acknowledge things that should have been stressful to begin with. He doesn't have the same worries as someone like Sucrose or Timaeus. Albedo simply focuses on the task at hand and gets it all done.

But today was the day you were coming home after nearly two months away, and Albedo felt nothing but sheer anxiety.

"Albedo?" Sucrose said, peering over her notes. At first he said nothing, staring down at his sketchbook without actually seeing anything. He swore he heard his name, but his brain doesn't connect the dots. It wasn't until Sucrose cleared her throat and tried again that he was actually able to listen. "Albedo!"

"Yes?" He said, glancing up at her. His posture was rigid. His hand was tight on the pencil. His eyes felt the urge to dart around the room as the rest of him wished he could pace to relieve some stress. It is an uncomfortable position to be in, and Albedo couldn't help but feel bad as worry flickered across Sucrose's face.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Albedo sighs. “They are coming home today.” Sucrose nods, her expression flickering to understanding.

“Why does that worry you?”

“It’s been so long…”

“Two months isn’t very long.” Sucrose puts a finger to her chin in thought. “Actually… this is the first time that they’ve left Mondstadt, isn’t it? Usually its you that has to go on these excursions.”

“That is the most common scenario in our relationship, yes.”

“But they’ve started coming with you,” Sucrose said.

Albedo nodded. “During our last two investigations.”

“But you had work to do for the Knights.”

“Yes.”

“Are you worried they won’t come back?”

He ponders this. He is not worried that you ran away or something like that. Your entire life is in Mondstadt. Not just your relationship with him, but your family, all of your friends, your livelihood… you weren’t the kind of person to abandon everything on a whim. You’d even been slightly nervous about the trip, as it was rare for you to leave the city without him or your family by your side. You were a capable person, yes, and you’d trained for years to defend yourself. Anything life threw at you, Albedo was confident you could handle. So, he said, “No I’m not.”

“Are you worried they don’t love you anymore?”

Albedo froze at that statement, but quickly parsed through it. The two of you had been together for quite some time now, and he had long since gotten over his fear of losing you. He couldn’t think of any glaring holes in your relationship. You had left for this excursion on the best of terms with both of you taking a few days off before the event to enjoy your time together. You had even expressed sincere regret that you could not take him with you. So, once again, he said, “No I’m not.”

“Then what is there to worry about?”

Albedo didn’t know, yet his stress didn’t dissipate. Sucrose seemed to notice this, for she just tilted her head and smiled. “You’re worried about seeing them again.”

“I… don’t follow.”

“It’s been so long,” She said, putting her notes down on the table. “You probably want everything to be perfect.” She sat at the seat next to him, reaching for her own pencil. “You probably imagine them running through the gates of Mondstadt and straight into your waiting arms. Maybe you’re even holding flowers or a nice gift. Maybe you’ve planned the perfect dinner or cleaned the house. Maybe you just want to spend time with them, just the two of you.”

“None of that is inherently stressful.”

“But the idea that things might not be perfect is to you,” She said. “But you know them. They’ll want to return to life as seamlessly as possible. No fanfare. No worries. No problem.” She pointed the end of her pencil at Albedo. “You just want them to know how much you love them.”

Albedo glanced down at his sketchbook where an unfinished drawing of you lay. It was one of his slowest drawings to date as he worked between his experiments, only committing to paper what he was absolutely certain was perfect from his memories. He’d started it the day you left, reflecting on everything that made you, well, you. He’d taken multiple pages just sketching your eyes, your hands, your feet. He’d spent an entire day working on the various ways you might mess with your hair during the excursion and imagined the clothes he knew you took with you. But even now, the day you were meant to come home, his image wasn’t quite done. He needed to see you again. Commit another version of your form to his memory so that the image was as perfect as you were.

“Perfection,” He muttered.

“Don’t worry about that,” Sucrose said. “Just be yourself.”

Albedo turned back to his drawing and got to work, pulling on the images that filled his mind on a daily basis. He drew the gates of Mondstadt, open and inviting. He drew the dandelions floating in the wind outside and the grass just on the edges. In the center, he finished his sketch of you - bright eyed and smiling like you always did. He picked apart every detail down to the laces on your shoes. The more he drew, the more his anxiety slipped away. This was his comfort zone. This was what reminded him of the person he was waiting for.

“Albedo?”

He rose at the sound of your voice, sketchbook in hand as he rushed to meet you, his stress finally forgotten.

[rosalineandrosemary]

he reached for the sun, and the sun took his hand.

Ao3

There are benches both inside and outside of their school, even without counting the cafeteria, but they’re all encompassed by the hustle and bustle of their school. And so, when Marinette starts walking away from the school after the lunch bells ring, Felix follows like a moth to a flame. She walks past her house, waving at her maman through the windows of the bakery, and he waves too, stiffly. Her maman smiles at them, and points to the display cases to ask if they want anything. Marinette shakes her head and raises the bag she’s holding, to which Mme. Cheng nods, and they keep walking.

Marinette stops them at one of the benches in the park, and sits down in the shade. He sits down without prompting, and Marinette beams at him, a smile that could challenge the sun. He freezes and looks away, trying to hide the warmth growing in his cheeks, and pulls his lunch out of his bag. 

“Did you hear what Lila was saying in class today? Talking about her latest trips to far off places but all the images she showed you can find online with five minutes of searching. Like, it’s nice to sit by you during class, but sometimes I wish I could still sit by Alya in the seat we earned, you know?” 

He hummed in agreement, perfectly content to let her talk while he ate his lunch, but she instead let the statement hang in the air before pulling out her own lunch. 

The silence was companionable, broken only by remnants of conversation from other small student groups and the laughter of some of the playing children. Around halfway through their allotted lunch time, Marinette puts away her containers with a content noise and a full body wiggle before pulling her sketchbook from the confines of her backpack. “Do you mind if I sketch? I have a couple ideas for some outfits that I really want to get down!”

“Feel free.”

“Thanks, Fe!” She smiles again and he’s lost in it, left staring even after she’s turned away. It’s as if her smile is burned into his eyes, an entoptic phenomenon that steals his breath from his lungs. By the time he pries his eyes away, Marinette is already immersed in her designs, her tongue poking out from between her lips. He reaches into his bag to pull out his book, but none of the words stick in his mind, eyes trailing back to stare at Marinette’s quiet joy. 

Eventually he gives up, placing his book back in his bag and sitting there, staring into his own personal sun, sitting right next to him. The ice in his chest is melting into a pooling ocean and it feels like he’s about to overflow with it, surface tension being the only thing keeping his feelings from spilling out and he can’t bear to stare at her for any longer. 

He tears his eyes away, trying to turn the water back into ice, to freeze the feelings back in his chest and keep it contained, but there’s too much water and too many feelings and even if he can turn some of them into icebergs it doesn’t change the amount of water and finally everything comes spilling out. 

“It hurts to look at you sometimes, Marinette.” His words, soft as they may be, break the silence between them. She turns to look at him, endlessly blue eyes piercing into his skin, eyebrows furrowing with worry, an expression he’s seen time and time again: when he gets too close to akuma fights, when the bags under his eyes are darker and he forgoes his usual coffee order for something with more caffeine, or when she’s worrying about other people and he gets to watch the all-consuming flames of her care. 

“Felix?” Her voice is soft and confused, and it takes everything within him to not turn to look at her, to not let the words freeze on his tongue, to not shove everything he’s feeling back underneath his infamous “ice prince” persona that she so carefully took apart. 

He watches her out of his periphery, continuing to stare ahead and try to figure out how to melt the ice in his chest that he had tried so hard to freeze. He can’t take this back now. He can’t leave her with just that phrase, not with the twists and turns and dark corners all throughout her brain. “You’re incandescent, a sun of your own volition, and I fear that I am forever just going to be orbiting you at a distance.” He tightens his grip around the strap of his bag, white knuckled and shaking softly, before releasing it and stretching out his fingers. Felix sees her move, place her hands down on the bench, moving to get up, to stare him in the eyes. Her mouth is opening, an indignant cry of his name on her lips, and he feels like he’s going to burn from the inside out. 

“Please,” he croaks, voice unsteady. “Please, let me finish, Marinette.” His tone is worrying her even further, and so are his words. It’s written plain on her face, a book she never chose to lock. Her emotions are her strength and it’s awe-inspiring to see from inside his several layers of ice, carefully frozen to keep everything locked inside. She continues to melt it with ease, leaving him scrambling, but he needs to tell her.

 “Try as I might, I can’t keep this in any longer. I feel as though I am bursting at the seams, combusting. You melted the walls and pillars of ice I formed for years, nosing your way into every nook and cranny of my being, and I believe I have fallen for you.” Marinette lets out a soft gasp and he turns away, lacing his fingers around the strap of his bag once again. 

He can’t bear to see the look on her face when she rejects him. Disgust? Horror? Her quiet kind of upset, where her eyes fill with tears and she tries to stifle it, to push away her own feelings over and over again? 

He keeps talking, a desperate bid to keep himself away from the truth for as long as he can. “I apologize for the hastiness of my confession, and I hope I didn’t upset you too much. I’m sorry if I did, I truly had no intention to, but I understand if you reject me and I’d even understand if you never wished to see me again, I just wished to--”

“Felix.” Her voice stops him in his tracks, body tensing. “Felix, do you mind if I touch you?” Her voice is soft and her words kind but he flinches regardless, giving a jerky nod. He didn’t expect her to want to touch him, not after he ruined their friendship, but he tensed further as he thought of all the power contained in her body and prepared for backlash. He knew, intrinsically, that someone as kind as Marinette could never hurt someone maliciously, but that knowledge fell into the chasm of fear in his chest, and all he could hope was that she would choose to spare him, even a little. 

One of her hands enters his line of sight and he flinches, closing his eyes, before her warm hand is placed softly on his cheek, slowly turning his head to face in her direction. “Felix, I could never be upset with you for that.” Her tone is impossibly tender, her hand is still cupping his cheek, and he exhales slowly before opening his eyes. 

There are tears dripping down her cheeks, rolling down to the beaming smile stretched across her lips, and she raises her other hand to hold his face like he’s something precious. “I adore you, did you know that?” She smiles even brighter, looking him in the eyes before continuing. 

“Each pen has a specific place in your pencil case, and you change which pen you use each school period. You take your coffee with cream and sugar even though you say it’s black when anyone asks. You pretend you’re made of ice because it’s everything you’ve known, but you still care even if it’s not in your best interests. Everything about you is something to love, and I do. And you’re here. Despite everything, you’re here, not orbiting some foreign sun or wasting away in a cavern of ice. You’re right here, with me, and I am holding your face in my hands and you are beautiful.” She’s still crying, tears catching the sunlight, and she presses her forehead to his but it’s just warm. Nothing burns and she is so close and she’s not a sun, she’s simply Marinette, and he loves her more than anything he’s ever known. 

“Thank you, Marinette.” Those words, choked out his throat, try to compact everything he’s feeling into one simple statement. The love, the awe, the feeling of reaching something he never thought he would be able to reach, the pure joy filling in every gap where fear laid just moments before, like the sun rising over Paris. But instead of being that sun, Marinette is here and she is right in front of him and she is watching the sky turn pink and the darkness retreat and it may be noon but he thinks this is the prettiest sunrise he has ever seen. 

“There’s nothing to thank me for, Felix.” He smiles at her, leaning against one of her hands, placing his own on top of hers. He feels ridiculous holding his own face but she brightens impossibly more and there is blush flaring on his cheeks and he tries to look away but she’s still right there.

“Well then, how about saying I love you instead?” He tries to put confidence in his voice, but he is putty in her hands and she can tell, her smile turning from something big and beaming to something small but so fond it almost makes his chest ache. 

“I love you too, Felix.” And she locks eyes with him and looks down and he tries to nod but forgets that she’s that close and bumps heads with her instead. 

Marinette laughs and it’s joyful and he just stares at her and hopes that she can see the fondness building in his chest when he looks at her. She stops laughing and her cheeks flush to a pink color that he thinks could be his favorite color. Every part of her is his favorite color. The blue color of her hair in the light, the blue color of her eyes, the color of the faint freckles on her cheeks and the pink of her blush and he’s staring again, he knows he is, but she just smiles and places her forehead back against his. 

“Can I kiss you?” She whispers it, like they’re in their own little world, and he presses forward and kisses her first. Her lips are soft and she tastes like a fruit flavor he can’t quite recall, not with her hands on his face and her lips on his.

There aren’t fireworks, or sparks. There’s no burning or fire or hurting. There’s just him and there’s Marinette and a feeling of home and rightness like everything he’s ever wanted. 

He breaks away first, offers another whispered “I love you” against her lips before she pulls away too, far enough away that he can actually see things beyond her eyes and her cheeks and her hair. 

She moves one of her hands and he lifts his so she can take it back, and she puts on a mock-serious face that can’t hide the joy in her eyes. 

“If you ever talk about yourself that way again I’m going to fight you.” She waggles one finger at him, lips curling to conceal her laughter, and he raises his eyebrows even as he melts further into her remaining hand.

“You’re going to fight me?” 

“Yes! With love and affection and pets.” He doesn't get a chance to ask what she means by pets before her nails are scratching through his hair, and he wished he could deny the way that his eyes flutter shut at the feeling.

“You make a formidable opponent, my dear.” She giggles, moving to scratch behind his ear before the alarm goes off, telling them that they have to make their way back to school if they don’t want to be late.

She reaches her hand out to him and he takes it, lacing his fingers between hers.