#I haven’t done a portrait in so long

[baerryjj]

Loretta, knight of my heart the Haligtree 🗡💫

[docium-creative]

Marker Self(deprecation) ･:*+.\(( °ω° ))/.:+

[starscelly]

ok while the vibes are high and amazing.

[jolalibrary]

under the stars

joel miller x f!reader | masterlist

summary: joel finds that you become a thing of unnatural order, all ethereal as the moonlight kisses your curves.

wordcount: 3.7k warnings: post outbreak. smut. oral sex (m receiving). tying joel up with rope. cutting joel free with a knife. p in v. jo's spelling. feelings, but joel-feelings. softer!joel an: i've had this in my head for so long, getting it down on a page has been the whole wonderful, exciting and exhausting thing. i could sing forever about the moon. thank you to the most wonderful, and amazing @swiftispunk who i threw this at last night and made me feel like i am a goddess of the moon.

Joel had learnt early on that you liked the night.

You’d handed it to him in puzzle pieces—flecks of information that he’d eventually be able to make a portrait out of. First, you’d handed him a story, then a statement and then a feeling.

The only times you didn’t like the night was when it was silent.

No wind in the trees, each branch crunching sounding for miles. You didn’t tell him with your words, but rather your body—frame closer, practically against him.

When he’d seen the abandoned train yard coming into view, he’d already considered it. The night had been closing in, the last embers of daylight casting shadows larger shadows across the tall, wiry grass.

“Ever stayed in a train?”

“Can’t say I have.”

He wonders a lot about the things you haven’t done. If you had a list of things you had hoped to tick off from a list before the world went to shit. Whether you had made a new one when you woke up one day and realised it was kill or be killed.

In another life, he wonders if you’d have been a nurse, a doctor, a baker or a typist—because there’s something about your hands. A soothingness about them wasted on holding a gun or slitting a hole in a person from jaw to pelvis. It’s something which passes over you more when the sun goes down. The sharpness in you fading, as though you truly become the thing you were always supposed to be when shrouded in night and the moon comes out to greet you.

He supposes the night is the constant. The unchanged force that arrived and vanished each day—a fixed point, a welcomed relief. Things don’t appear any more threatening in the dark, no more than the world was before.

Yet, Joel finds that you become a thing of unnatural order, all ethereal as the moonlight kisses your curves. It highlights the lines that bend, and illuminates the sheen which coats your skin as you stare back at him in gratitude, as though the way he makes you feel good can make up for all you were robbed of. He hopes to, not by being the thing you lie next to, but the thing which keeps you safe. A protector, a wall of muscle, bone and flesh that would rip if it meant keeping you whole.

It wouldn’t even matter if it were day or night.

Before it all happened, he’d never have considered that the night was more alive than the day. But he’d witnessed how it was. How the darkness provided by the sky was a gift, the moon licking shadows that added an illusion of safety, one he had used to his advantage.

Your words coaxing him, whispered, all hushed, we can take them—won’t even see us coming. You had been right. Staring up at the sky as you caught your breath, stars inside your eyes and a soul full of darkness.

As he glances over, you’re doing it now.

Peering up through the open hatch of the train roof, cross-legged, dragging his jacket further around your body as you stare, and stare, and stare.

Transfixed, lost. Kidnapped by memories, most likely, ones he won’t rip you from just yet.

He wonders if you had ever wished on them, ever stared up at them with hopefulness swimming in your eyes—their twinkle swirling in the pools of your gaze. Joel wonders whether you’d pleaded for something so hard under the night sky that your nails cut into your palms, only for everything to be robbed from you all the same. Had you ever seen a shooting star, and had you prayed on it for a future that included a white dress or a picket fence?

“Don’t they look so pretty, Joel?”

It falls from you like a whisper, almost innocent—far removed from the killer he knows you can be. From the gutless, powerful soul he sees rip through people when they make you spill crimson and try to take what isn’t theirs.

It’s almost easy, he thinks, to tell you that there’s something prettier next to him. Someone who could rival the prettiest of nights and the most gorgeous of days. Something that could have been fragile, but instead is strong, chaos imagined, all wrapped inside eyes he sees when he dreams.

Head tilting, you meet his gaze, and it’s too much—too strong. It's intoxicating. Feeling drunk off it—that feeling of normalcy you make him want.

“You ever had your cock sucked under the stars?”

You know he has.

Know that under leafless branches and an almost full moon you’d taken him in your mouth. All warm, welcoming—his fingers knotted on the back of your head, biting back each hiss, each grunt as he felt teardrops on the crease of his thighs and hips.

It doesn’t matter what his answer is, you’re already facing him, knees digging into the train floor. Your fingers already working his belt—a glimmer in your eye that has him half-hard already.

Because if lust had a look, he swears it would be you.

That look in your eyes always does something to him. It’s more than just being alive, it’s a glint, a spark of something that he swears would have had rows of people to their knees. Right now, it’s all for him. Only his.

A possessiveness rings through him at the thought; rising up in him when he lingers on it, that he has this with you—has this unlabelled thing where he sees all the shards of you, has met each part which makes you whole.

“I want you to try not touching,” you say, tongue dragging across your bottom lip, mouth close to his.

He wants to taste your request. Breathe it in. Have it merge with his insides, all because of the look that accompanies it. One that makes his jaw tighten, almost tick.

“You think you can do it, Miller? Think you can refrain from touching me until I say so.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Sure.”

The latter catches on his teeth as the cool air brushes over his weeping cock once you free him from his clothing. Your head tilting, holding his stare as you lick a stripe up your palm, before wrapping it around him, pumping him. Tightening your fingers, murmuring about how hard he is for you, how thick he feels in your hand.

“We’ll see,” you smirk, pausing your ministrations, and lowering your head. "Fuck, your cock is perfect, Miller."

A retort brewed, ready to fire, shoot, land. Then, your mouth wraps around him.

Just the tip at first, pausing, all tentative. Your lashes close to your brows as you stare up at him—the moon painting you in a light which he swears he never thought possible. Because it only highlights the appetite you have for him, the starvation to take more of him.

It makes his fingers twitch at his side. Forces his thighs to tense under the need to grasp the back of your head. He refrains, even if it’s a battle he’s prepared to lose. In time.

For now, he wants more of this. Enjoy more of you licking the head of his cock, from humming around him, testing yourself as you try to take more of him, and more, and more—

A groan vibrates around him, making his eyes flutter closed. The battle having appeared sooner, slammed into him as you took more of him. Moaning sweetly around him, tongue swirling around the head when you come up before the tip hits the back of your throat all over again.

Joel doesn’t think of consequences, he just thinks of the need to feel himself in your throat. Letting his fingers move, slide around, brushing up your neck as you take as much of him as you can, mouth so stuffed—

“Hands, Miller.”

He groans, your tongue sliding up the base of him, lips hovering at the head before you trace your lips with him—those perfect, fucking lips—wiping him over you, smearing him.

“I’ll tie your hands down.”

His cock twitches, and you must notice from the way your brow arches, lifting up from him, bottom lip smothered in spit.

Joel finds most of the time, you have heavenly eyes and a hellish smile. A thing which shouldn’t remain, should have been stolen, ripped from you. Right now, you’re nothing but wickedness and darkness.

“Oh, Miller,” you say, voice lower, his name falling like silk. “Do you want me to tie you down? Stop you from touching me.”

He does.

A thing he doesn’t dare deny. His own eyes having caught sight of some frayed rope earlier, pointing it out, instructing—watching in awe as you move swiftly, boots hammering against the train floor, thudding and thudding until you’re on your knees either side of his, holding in both palms.

“Lie down.”

Your instruction carries weight, your body shifting as he lies down, your body crawling up him.

“Do it like—”

“You showed me?” you smirk. “I know how to keep you down, Miller.”

You lean back onto your knees, jean-covered cunt on his chest. Fuck what he’d do to move his hands from waiting for the circles of the knot you’re going to make—and pull you down to his mouth. Lets his breath puff warm air into the worn fabric, forcing it against your likely soaked core. Watch your lashes flutter as you try to make your identical loops, and see if you can think of overlapping them—whether you even make the knot, or let it fall to the wayside as you plead for his mouth, his tongue, his fucking teeth, before he manages to wriggle your clothing down your thighs.

He doesn’t find out, because he doesn’t move. Shadows disguise your expression, all except your smirk as you slide his wrists through the old rope—the frays tickling, brushing over his skin and hair, before with a pull, you tighten it—applying traction.

“Above your head,” you instruct.

You hinge at the hips, falling into the line of the moonlight. And, there’s a little gruffness to your voice, matching the pools of lust currently trying to swallow him whole—readying themselves to consume him, devour him. He doesn’t mind. He never fucking does.

Joel would willingly die in your eyes if he could—in the pair which sees him, all of him. Not afraid of the way he’s worn, the grief he carries, and the array of stories left in scars.

Best looking man I’ve ever killed for.

Only man you’ve killed for.

Fine. Best looking man I’ve laid my eyes on.

He’d succumb to you if you asked. More so, when you slide back down. The seam of your jeans brushing down his cock—the friction pleasant, warranted, needed.

He’s about to ask you to remove them. To bring yourself back up, allow him a taste, something to tide him over, reward you. He’d maybe even beg.

But, he swears your mouth is heaven. That he must have died mere moments ago. Each scrape of your teeth makes him hiss; each hollowing of your cheek makes him want to coat your tongue in his release. His fingers knot around the rope which binds him, hearing it trying to snap under the weight of his own frustration.

It cutting, grazing into flesh, especially as you take so much of him—further than you did before. Barely two fingers worth of him not down your throat, your eyes staring at him, holding his gaze, almost commanding it.

He pulls instinctually, wanting to grab the back of your head, hold you, stroke your neck, cheek—

But, then he ruts his hips into your mouth. Forcing a gag, a cough to arise from your perfect mouth.

“Careful,” he warns, as if it wasn't his doing. His eyes spot them, little streaks of tears which stain your cheeks, all quickly, tumbling and falling to his thighs. “Y’good for me. Fuckin’ perfect, in fact. But, be careful.”

Your tongue licks up the length of him, balls tightening as you graze your teeth over the underside—before he’s enveloped by you again, all warm, inviting, and then your throat squeezes around him.

He’s falling into it, the pool of pleasure—swimming it, bathed to the neck in it under stars and an almost full moon.

He’s sure your mouth is the meaning behind paradise and torture—both perfect and vicious—and he groans, at it. At the way, you swallow around him.

And he can’t take it.

Can’t handle it—

Wants nothing more than to come down your throat and make you taste him until morning.

Cause this is different than last time, and not because it's not a trunk his back is against. But, rather, because you're moon-soaked, kissed by the night. You're a thing he swears glows in the dark, leads a man to shore from choppy waters or could force a man to walk off a cliff.

You're pretty.

It's why he also wants to bury his cock inside you. Wants to feel you squeeze him, grasp for him, whine for him. You make him want, make him desire to possess you. Even if he'll never try to cage you, never tie you down, the thought, the wish, the desire is there. Just the same as how he wants to have you on top of him, under him, even bent over for him. Anything. Everything. All of it, all of you, all—

Mouth lifting off, your eyes glimmer, something there, growing behind your eyes. Spit tying you to him, a bead beginning at the tip of his leaking cock and ending at your swollen, puffed bottom lip.

Then you sneer. Devilishly, all fucking cunningly. “What did you think earlier, Miller?”

Hand taking him, wrapping it around as it moves in fluid motions. Grip how he likes it, a teasing speed that leaves him hovering there, so close to seeing a galaxy of his own and covering your face in his gratitude.

“Miller,” you mutter. "What, did you, think earlier?"

His throat goes dry, bone dry. Like those times when he hadn’t drunk for hours. And he pulls at the rope, wishing to tear himself free and silence your questioning by pushing you down, cheek to the side, sliding his cock inside you until you’re drunk on him, unable to think, ask.

He can feel his skin bruising, marks lacerating against flesh as he grunts at your knot. One he taught you, made you practice—something he knows you must remember from the wink you suddenly shoot him. And he knows from the smirk that cuts across your beautiful face, that the only way he’s going to get any release—is by telling you. Spilling the thing which should die in his throat, blacken, melt down into other things he’ll maybe one day tell you.

“If you want to come—“

Jaw gritting, he swears he could grind his teeth to dust.

Your hand remains poised, but not moving. His name leaves like a spell, but he knows it's draped in poison. Can tell from how it contaminates the air and makes him curse under its potency.

"Joel."

“Fine. I thought—thought y’prettier than the stars. Prettiest—fuck—” Your head dips, sliding the tip of your tongue along his slit, “—thing I’ve ever seen.”

Lifting up from him, bottom lip sliding across your upper lip—painting that in a mixture of his pre-come and your spit too—you slowly smile. “Wasn’t so hard now was it?”

Gritting his teeth, your breath ghosting over his mouth, eyes locked on him. Burying something light, warm, fucking lovely in his soul.

“Cut. Me. Free.”

Tilting your head, he sees your brow lift.

“Now.”

You blink, a thousand universes swirling in your eyes before you move for your knife. “Now?”

“Fuckin’ now, baby.”

You don't blink at the name, you just press the blade against his skin, so close to veins. Yet, he trusts you. More than he thought he would another person, another soul that wasn’t bound to his by blood.

Each slice of the blade against the rope cut through the air, his strangled breaths fading, even as his cock twitched, pleading for release. His eyes just remained on you—the maths of how he’d move you already calculated—watching the vein in your neck, the way spidery shadows cast on your face from your tear-stained lashes.

He felt the rope go slack before your knife stopped, moving in a flash, knife clattering as he flipped you onto your back. Hovering above, likely lit up by the stars and the moon—leering down on you, watching your chest rise and fall.

“So, you think I’m pretty?”

He growls, the button popped on your jeans before he rips them down as much as he can, moving enough to let you kick yourself free, before he plunges his tongue in your open mouth. Tasting, taking, robbing you of the words that you just spoke, the ones which made you cocky. Even if they were true.

But, he wasn’t good—was an animal, a thing carved from grief and the end of days. But then, you were in your own right too. Something that gnashed, scratched, and buried the softer parts of you deep under layers that had taken him months to unearth. To even find, locate.

The animal in you is what made him want to devour, but it was the softness that made him stand in front of you when branches crunched. It was the latter that made him want to pin you down against stiff surfaces and have you feel good, feel adored.

Taking his cock in hand, he drags the head against your soaked folds. Your slick coating him, sliding up and down, watching you, studying you—a sight full of stars, twinkling, pleading. Nails digging into his hips, an order, a demand.

In one thrust, he slides deep into you. Makes you his, like he does whenever you ask him to, when he can, each chance he can get. Never tiring of it, of you.

A thing he could say, fill your pretty little head with it and then fuck it outta you.

“Thinking about how much you like me, Miller?” you whisper, fingers moving up to scratch at his curls, to wrap them around your fingers. “Or, is it more than like, is that what it is?”

A tug, a swallowed groan. His mouth is on yours again—different than before.

A change, a thing the two of you never used to do, but one you do more frequently. Another thing he doesn’t hate. The change happened, and he realised he didn’t want to go back to the time before it. Not when your tongue plunged in his mouth feels good. When you lick at the back of his teeth, flooding his mouth with the taste of salt and remnants of the canned food from earlier.

“Thinking about how y’the most frustrating thing I’ve ever had under me.”

“Would you have it any other way?”

Buried to the hilt, fingers clasped around the space just above your collarbone, he stares into your eyes—wondering if the stars are ever jealous they never get to live in them.

No, he growls.

Your mouth falling open, a moan there, building on your tongue as he hits that spot—knows it, can tell from the way you lightly gasped. It is further evidenced by the way you grasp his hips, almost pinching when he drops onto his forearm above your head, freeing a hand.

“I do like fuckin’ y’under the stars.”

What began as a narrowing of your eyes, ended with a widening. The way it plays out could make him surrender to you every time, render him useless, even heal a shard of him that he thought was long since ruined.

Then, your mouth drops open, a moan emerging—rearing its head in an almost whine-filled cry, as he sticks a finger in, rolling it over your tongue, coating the pad of him in your spit before he slides his hand between your bodies.

And he knows you won’t last long. Not from the way you're clamping down, from the sounds you make—all beautiful, each rich, and fucking sweet. It’s why he drops his voice low, mouth to your ear, grunting your name, that you’re perfect, prettier than a sky full of stars—all the while drawing quick circles on your bundle of nerves, his hips maintaining a constant speed.

“Close, m’close,” you cry out, back arched into him, fingers finding refuge in his hair, face pinned by your forearms.

I know, he thinks, feeling you reach your pinnacle, hovering, hanging, before he delivers one quick thrust and you’re hurtling, spasming. Your body twists as your walls clench around him, coming on his cock, unravelling entirely as he picks up his speed, as he removes his hand from between you for leverage as he fucks into you. Just a few more, knees throbbing even through the pleasure, before his hips stutter, and he’s spilling inside of you, your name cutting into the air, scratching into it, marking it with each letter that makes it up.

Even before he collapses beside you, before breaths are caught, and your head finds that spot on his shoulder, that it’s coming. A look or your tone, that hint of gentleness you otherwise keep bottled up.

So he waits. Listen to the way your heart calms in your chest and your head feels heavy on his bone.

“Your secret is safe with me, Miller,” you whisper, not turning to look at him, just staring through the open hole of the train. “I won’t tell a soul you have a heart.”

Snorting, he swallows. “No one would believe ya if y’did.”

You hum, letting out a gentle breath.

And he just swallows the good he had almost whispered. Because if no one knows, it’s a thing people won’t try to take. And he can’t let you lose another thing, not when he’s sure the whole part of what remains of his heart, belongs to you.

an: hope you liked this. i am a whore for the moon and the stars.

[lady-of-tearshed]

Rude awakening

A/N: Here's a little treat while you wait for the Azriel fic that's coming this week.

Summary: Eris has to, once again, bring Lucien along with him on the long-awaited date planned with you. He can't help but wonder how having a child with you would look like...

Word count: 961

Warnings: Based on true event 🤣 maybe like slight angst.

The house had been cleaned and now smells delightful, you were wearing the pretty red dress Eris had gifted you on your last birthday, and you managed to do your hair and makeup perfectly… Everything was perfect for your long-awaited planned date. You and Eris haven’t been able to have much time together in the last few years, Beron delegated more and more responsibilities to his heir and eldest son since Lucien's birth.

 Adorable little Lulu brought a lot of tension between the High Lord of Autumn and his mate unconsciously. The eldest of now six brothers felt a huge sense of responsibility towards the new addition to the Vanserra family. His other brothers couldn’t care less about the youngling. No one would have thought that Eris Vanserra, older than the toddler by a little more than a century, would be the first one to rush to little Lucien and cover his ears, taking him out of the house on a fun adventure he would tell him when a fight would burst inside the Forest House. 

Beron was supposed to be out on duty in Summer Court for the week, which assured you and Eris to be able to enjoy a peaceful date at your little cabin you called your house without him worrying about Lucien’s safety, since the little one would be safely tucked in his mother’s arms back at home. 

You basically run to open the door when a soft knock resonates on the wooden surface. No words can describe the surprise, and just very slight disappointment, when Eris shows up with an overjoyed Lucien sitting on his shoulders. “Y/N! Y/N!” Lucien squirms on Eris's shoulders, making him groan in annoyance when his sibling tugs on his dark auburn hair. 

Lucien leans little grabby hands down to you, motioning you to pick him up into your arms. Eris leans forward slowly, leaving a quick peck on your lips, as you pick up Lucien from his shoulders. You spin the toddler in your arms which makes him burst into laughter. You kiss his pink cheeks before putting him down on the ground. “Hi, Lulu.” As soon as the youngling's feet hit the ground, he rushes to the living room and stares at your fish tank, like he always does when Eris brings him with him here. 

You move from the door to let Eris walk into the house. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed as he takes in the sight of you. He wipes a hand on his hand and you can clearly sense his stress and annoyance. You stroke his forearm slowly and move his hand from his face. He grins sadly down at you and kisses your lips slowly, sighing against them while he enjoys the taste he had missed for far too long. “Y/N… I’m so sorry… He came back earlier from Summer Court and-” 

“It’s fine, Eris. Really. You don’t have to explain yet…” You whisper and give him one last quick peck before pulling away reluctantly from his strong and warm embrace. You both didn’t want Lucien to know about the reason he and Eris needed to head out of the Forest House for at least a few hours.

—

The two of them are sitting down at the table, and you hum a song softly while scrubbing the dishes from the dinner the three of you just shared. Eris and Lucien were both drawing a portrait of each other, with the crucial rule of not looking at the other contestant's paper before their ‘masterpiece’ was done. You dry your hands on the towel and look over Lucien's shoulder at his… interesting portrait of his older brother. “Oh! I forgot something.” Lucien then turns his head to you and frowns. “Hey! No peeking!” “I’m not a contestant though…” You can’t help but giggle at the youngling's serious face. “Oh. Yeah. You’re right.” He says before sticking his tongue back out, concentrating on his drawing. 

You walk around the table and lean over Eris' shoulder to stare at his drawing. The portrait was a picture-perfect representation of Lucien. “Wow… It’s pretty.” You whisper, and kiss the shell of his ear, making his cheek heat slightly at your praise. “You should see the ones I draw of you…” You purr seductively into his neck. “Oh yeah? Guess you’ll need to bring them over so I can judge that by myself. Next date, maybe?” He smile and looks at Lucien's serious face, concentrating on his drawing. “Gods… makes me want to have kids with you when the three of us spend time like that…” 

You chuckle and quickly lean to capture his lips, but Lucien's voice stops you from doing so. “Done!” He shouts and lifts his paper in the air. He slides down his chair and runs to Eris to wave the paper inches from his face. He scrunch his nose and slightly move the paper away from his face to take a good look at the drawing. You clasp your hand on your mouth to prevent a wave of laughter from exploding. You just realized what ‘something’ Lucien had told you he almost forgot to add on Eris' portrait… 

Eris' finger drags to the corner of his brow and frowns. “Is it that noticeable..?” “Well, I can see it’s on your face! Mama says we have pimples when we stress too much, that’s why I have none!” Lucien speaks up, smiling brightly. 

It’s all too much to contain your laughter. You burst into laughter, holding your painful stomach, unable to stop laughing at Lucien’s innocence and pure honesty. “What did you say about wanting children now, Er?” He only rolls his eyes and thanks his little brother for the drawing.

A/N: Yeah. It happened. We brought my boyfriend's half-sister to the restaurant for her 8th birthday (they have an 11 years age gap), and they were having a drawing contest on paper aprons while we waited for our meals. She drew him with literally the ONLY pimple he had. 🤣 And I was like, "Lol. THAT'S what having kids is like!!"

[melzula]

The Necklace

pairing: Zuko x Princess!reader

notes: apologies for how long this took me! this piece is a request and though it is part of the fire lilies series i think it can also be read as a stand alone

summary: Zuko asks Sokka for help with an important task

~ part of the fire lilies series ~

It was a busy day in the Southern Water Tribe as preparations for the upcoming Lunar Festival began. In two days your people would carry out the longstanding tradition of honoring the moon spirit for blessing the tribes with water bending, and as Chief you had much to do to ensure everything went smoothly.

Nine years have passed since the war ended, and in that time the South has completed its era of reconstruction and is now a strong and unified nation able to hold its own alongside the other countries. Resources are plentiful, commerce is high, the number of water benders in the tribe grows each year, and your people are happy.

As you had set out to do, you’d created the harbor to allow those from other nations to visit your home and learn about your culture. This not only led to a boom in your economy, but it also brought great pride to the South as you shared your culture and gifts with those curious to learn about your history. Your relationship with the Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom strengthened as a result, and you were happy to see everyone getting along. The next step to maintaining progress was establishing embassies in the other nations, and construction in the Fire Nation was already underway. You’d accomplished many things so far in your time as Chief, but you know most of it wouldn’t have been possible without the help of your friends.

Hakoda and Malina had been a great help in modernizing the tribe, and once their work was done Malina found herself returning to the North after an amicable split from the advisor. On the other hand, Hakoda had recently stepped down from his position, deciding it was time to retire and allow the next generation the chance to lead the South into the future. And so that led you to where you are now, discussing the perfect layout for the festival grounds with your newly appointed advisor.

“I think the game booths would look best set up along the perimeter of the courtyard to leave room for the merchant stands in the center,” Sokka notes thoughtfully as you look over his roughly drawn map of the proposed layout. “If everything looks good to you we can begin setting up immediately to have it ready in time for the first day of the festival.”

“I think it looks great, Sokka! You know, you’re a natural at this whole advisor thing,” you compliment with a teasing nudge to his side. Having Sokka step in for his father was the obvious choice when it came time to pick a new advisor. The water tribe boy had always been a shoulder for you to lean on and a person you could go to for guidance, and you can’t even count how many times he’s kept you out of harms way. No one was more qualified for the job than him, and it filled you with joy to be running the tribe alongside one of your closest friends.

“I really am, aren’t I?” He agrees with a proud grin, prompting you to regret inflating his ego so much. “Hey, is Zuko still coming by for the festival?”

“He is! I just received a letter from him yesterday promising his arrival,” you sigh wistfully as your eyes turn towards the portrait of the Fire Lord on your desk. “We haven’t had much time to see each other lately, so I’m excited to finally spend time with him.”

“You guys are pretty good at this whole long distance thing,” he notes thoughtfully, “you make it seem so easy.”

“I think it helps that we’re both always kept so busy running our own nations, but it doesn’t make me miss him any less. Now that things have calmed down I just hope we’ll be able to sneak away and visit each other more often.”

“I’ll do everything in my power to make it happen,” Sokka vows earnestly while placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “As advisor, it’s my job to make your job easier, and that’s just what I’m going to do.”

“Thanks, Sokka,” you reply with a careful smile before returning your attention to the plans laid out before you. “Now, is there any way we can make space for a seal jerky stand?”

~~~

Zuko’s stomach was in knots.

The harbor was fast approaching as his ship began to close the distance between the sea and the shore, and in just a short amount time he’d be back in the South. With time he’d begun to feel like less of an outsider to the tribe’s people, they’d come to accept him as an ally rather than a threat after helping their Chief time and again, and so how his arrival would be perceived wasn’t on his list of worries. This trip to the Water Tribe would be different, maybe even life changing if all went according to plan, but there was no way to know for sure until he got there.

Sokka is waiting at the edge of the harbor when Zuko finally disembarks from the ship and sets foot on the wooden docks. The Fire Lord isn’t able to say anything before his friend immediately tackles his figure in a strong bear hug.

“Zuko, it’s so good to see you, buddy!” He exclaims before pulling away to get a good look at his friend. “Your hair got longer!”

“So did yours,” Zuko replies with a light chuckle before surveying his gaze along the docks.

As if reading his mind, Sokka explains, “Y/n’s teaching a healing class right now so she sent me in her place. I’ll be taking you back to the palace so you can settle in and get ready for dinner with her and her mother.”

“I see,” the fire bender notes quietly, almost relieved by the fact that you’ll be preoccupied for the next hour or so. It makes his current task much easier.

Noticing the preoccupied look on his friend’s face as the two begin to venture towards the palace, the water tribe boy places a comforting hand on Zuko’s shoulder and asks, “Everything okay? You have a weird look on your face and you don’t seem as excited as you should be to see y/n later.”

“I am excited, I just also happen to be nervous,” he corrects before letting out an anxious sigh. His features turning serious, Zuko stops in his tracks and shifts to face Sokka head on. "I have a favor to ask you, an important one, but before that I need to tell you something, and you have to keep it to yourself.”

"Of course, Zuko, anything."

“Now that there is peace among nations and things are finally falling into place, I think it’s time I propose to y/n,” the Fire Lord declares with a bashful smile and a blush spreading across his face. “I came on this trip not only to enjoy the festival but to also ask her mother for her blessing.”

Shock is written all over Sokka’s face as his mouth hangs open in surprise at his friend’s confession. However, his dumbfounded look is soon replaced with one of joy as he lifts Zuko up off the ground in a tight hug.

“I can’t believe it! My best friends are going to get married! This is great news!” He exclaims much to Zuko’s dismay. With a scowl, the fire bender worms his way out of the hug and gives the water tribe boy a pointed look.

“Keep your voice down!” He scolds while looking around frantically to make sure no one has overheard them. “I don’t want her to find out and ruin the surprise. I also don’t exactly know how our people are going to react to this marriage, so I’d like to keep it private for now.”

“Sorry, you’re right. My lips are sealed,” Sokka solemnly swears, but his giddy grin remains glued to his face. “Can I at least see the ring?”

“That’s the thing,” he says whilst awkwardly grasping the back of his neck. Almost sheepish, Zuko admits, “there is no ring. I want to do it the right way by making her a betrothal necklace, but I have no idea where to start. Can you help me?”

“You’re asking me for help?” Sokka retorts emotionally, his eyes almost immediately welling with tears. Quick to brush them away, he sniffles and rests a firm hand on the Fire Lord’s shoulder. “Buddy, I am going to help you make the greatest betrothal necklace in the history of the Southern Water Tribe.”

“Thank you, Sokka. I knew I could count on you,” he affirms with a careful smile, and though one of his tasks has been completed, Zuko knows he still has a lot of work cut out for him before this trip is over.

Spirits help him.

~~~

You let out a quiet hum as you clean up after the day’s healing class. A grunt leaves your lips as you hoist one of the practice mannequins over your shoulder and work to set it into the closet. Master Pakku retired as your co-instructor a few years back to enjoy married life with Kana, and so it was now on you to prepare, run, and organize class. You managed fairly well on your own, but it was times like these where you missed having someone to help- the mannequins did start to get heavy after a while.

You’re too busy trying to shove the last practice doll into the closet to notice someone has joined you, so you can’t help but jump in alarm when a voice asks, “Need a hand?”

You turn with a start, but your fear immediately morphs into pure joy when you see your boyfriend standing before you. He opens his arms to you with a smile and you immediately throw yourself into his embrace, hugging him so tightly that the wind is nearly knocked out of him.

“Zuko, you’re here!” You exclaim with glee before reaching up to pepper his face with kisses. “I’m so happy to see you, I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, Princess,” he chuckles, his cheeks growing red as a result of your assault. “I know we were supposed to meet for dinner, but I couldn’t wait to see you. Sokka told me you’d be here.”

“I’m glad you came,” you admit with a smile before allowing Zuko to put away the last mannequin for you. With the practice room finally tidy and organized, you take Zuko’s hand and begin your trek towards the palace.

“How is festival planning going?”

“It’s going wonderfully! The crew I hired will begin set up tomorrow so that the merchants can begin preparing their stands. I’m aiming to make it our best lunar festival yet!”

“With you in charge, I’m sure it’ll be perfect,” Zuko compliments. There are guards waiting at the doors when you arrive, and after giving you both a curt nod you’re allowed passage into the palace. The familiar icy architecture greets him with a chill, but the Fire Lord gladly welcomes the feeling.

Your mother waits at the end of the hallway for you both with a smile and immediately envelopes Zuko in a hug when you reach her.

“Zuko, it’s so nice to see you again! I’m thrilled you’re joining us for dinner.”

“Thank you, Kira. It’s an honor to be your dinner guest,” he replies with a careful smile.

“I’m going to get freshened up before we eat, but you two go ahead and get seated without me,” you inform both of them before departing to your room. You turn down the hall and disappear into your bedroom, effectively leaving Zuko alone with your mother.

“Come, the dining room is this way,” your mother instructs him as she guides the boy to his seat. A wave of nerves suddenly washes over Zuko as he realizes the perfect opportunity to speak to your mother about his proposal is now before him. With you gone, it’s his only chance to have a moment alone with the woman. This conversation could make or break your relationship, and this thought weighs heavily as he seats himself across from her.

“Are you feeling alright, Zuko? You look flushed,” she points out with a concerned look. Harshly swallowing down his nerves, the fire bender decides it’s now or never.

“I’m fine, but… there is actually something I’d like to speak with you about.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” the woman assures him with a comforting smile and her undivided attention. “What is it that’s on your mind?”

“Well,” he begins, anxiously grasping at the back of his neck, “first I want to start by saying I never really apologized for taking away your only daughter all those years ago, but I’d like to do so now. It was a rash decision based upon the fear of never getting to see her again, and I thought running away together was the only option. However, I never once stopped to think about how that would affect you and your people. I was separated from my own mother once, and so I can only imagine the pain you must have felt worrying about her whereabouts and if she was happy. And truthfully, she wasn’t. But I’ve spent every day since trying to make it up to her.”

The room is silent but the air is void of any tension. Though an array of emotions wash across your mother’s face at Zuko’s confession, there is no hint of malice or resentment. Rather, her eyes are understanding and her lips hold an unwaveringly careful smile as she takes in his words and his disquieted nature.

“I won’t sugarcoat things and say that it wasn’t hard having my only child leave my home,” she notes thoughtfully much to his dismay. Sensing his apprehension, she is quick to continue on, “but I know that in the grand scheme of things it was for the best. Y/n wouldn’t be the water bender or Chief she is today if she had never left the South. I hold no grudges and I certainly don’t blame you for the choices she made.”

“I appreciate your kindness and openness,” he says with a respectful bow of his head, “it makes this next part less terrifying.”

Intrigued by his wording, your mother raises a brow and asks, “What will be less terrifying?”

Taking in a deep breath, Zuko meets your mother’s gaze with eyes full of sincerity and passion. It really is now or never.

“I came on this trip not only for the lunar festival but also with the intention of crafting a betrothal necklace for y/n. I know there is no future for me without her in it, and I want to spend the rest of my life making her happy. I don’t know for certain the implications a marriage between us has on the future of our nations, but I do know that I will do whatever I must to be with her. However, before I propose, I wanted to get your blessing. I’d like to do things the right way this time, and I want you to know my intentions.”

Kira is silent for a long time, her face full of shock but still unreadable to a tense Zuko who waits with bated breath for a response. For a moment he fears that perhaps he’s misspoke, that he is unworthy of asking such a request and has offended the matriarch, but then her shocked expression morphs into one of joy, and Zuko immediately feels the tension in his shoulders dissipate at the sight of her smile.

“I knew this day would one day come, and I can’t tell you how I thrilled I am to know you’d like to marry my daughter,” she exclaims gleefully, her eyes shiny with tears that she works hard to keep at bay. “You have proven yourself time and time again to be a good man, Zuko, and I know you will make a wonderful husband for my y/n. You absolutely have my blessing.”

“Thank you, Kira,” he exhales gratefully as he rises from his seat and meets the woman across the table with a tight hug. A tremendous weight has now been lifted off of his shoulders, and he is one step closer to marrying the love of his life. “I promise to love and honor y/n for as long as I live.”

“I have no doubt in my mind about that.”

“Wow, what did I miss?” Your curious voice interrupts as you stumble upon their embrace, a confused smile displayed across your features. Your mother gives Zuko’s side a squeeze before releasing him back to you.

“I was just expressing my gratitude to the man that has proven time and time again to be the perfect partner for my daughter,” she expresses with a jovial glint in her eyes that you aren’t quick enough to detect. Zuko is grateful you’re completely oblivious to their previous conversation, and he hopes it will continue to stay that way until he’s ready to propose.

“He’s more than perfect,” you compliment before pressing a chaste kiss to his warm cheek, making his heart melt in the way you’ve always done since you were children.

He can’t wait to spend forever with you.

~~~

The lunar festival goes off without a hitch.

The royal plaza is filled to the brim with people enjoying the food and festivities as they pay homage to their beloved moon spirit and her gifts. You’re absolutely thrilled to see your hard work in action, and Zuko is enamored by the joy that spreads itself across his face. Every smile that curls upon your lips makes him weak in the knees, and he’d love to simply sit and admire your radiance all night if he could.

But of course, Sokka had other plans.

While you’d been wrapped up in a conversation with your old friend Kai and his new fiancé, the water tribe boy took it upon himself to sneak Zuko away to the rocky shores in search of the perfect stone.

“Before you can make the necklace, you have to pick a rock that speaks to you.”

“Speaks to me?” Zuko retorts with furrowed brows. “It’s a rock.”

“It’s not just a rock, Zuko,” Sokka rebuttals defensively to an annoyed Fire Lord. “It’s a symbol of your love for y/n! If you want to do this the right way then you have to find a stone that calls to your heart the same way she does.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” he mutters sheepishly in response, his cheeks tinting red at the intimacy of it all. He knew crafting a necklace would be a great responsibility, but he didn’t expect it to be so personal.

Surveying the vast expanse of rocks at his disposal, Zuko carefully scrutinizes each and every one. He wants the stone to be perfect because you deserve to have the perfect betrothal necklace, but the thought of not being able to find the right one makes him anxious. If it’s not the right one, then what will that mean for your marriage?

Nothing his friend’s obvious apprehension, Sokka places a comforting hand on his shoulder and explains, “Don’t stress about it too much, Zuko. Just trust your gut.”

“Easy for you to say,” Zuko scoffs in irritation, “you’re not the one dealing with the pressure of making the perfect betrothal necklace.”

“No, but I am dealing with the pressure of helping you make the perfect betrothal necklace,” he counters with a prideful grin, and while usually a comment like that would provoke an irate response from Zuko, the Prince was much too enamored by a rock sticking out of the sand to craft a proper comeback.

The moonlight almost seemed to shine down upon the rock as if beckoning him to grab it. The stone was cool in his palm, smooth to the touch and almost perfectly free of any ragged edges or scrapes. It sat daintily in his hand, delicate despite its toughness, and it reminded him of you.

“This is the one,” he utters in quiet awe before looking up at the moon. Eyes gleaming, he smiles and murmurs a “thank you.”

“You’re one step closer to the perfect necklace, buddy,” Sokka congratulates with a hearty pat on the back before guiding the Fire Lord back to the village. “You just need to add the finishing touches.”

The two wind up back inside Sokka’s hut with an array of tools sprawled out amongst them. After discussing multiple options and looking through various crudely drawn sketches by Sokka, Zuko settled upon a carving that he felt best encapsulated the nature of your relationship- a carving that displayed not only your differences but also your strengths and unity.

Attaching the stone to the blue silk ribbon, the two boys sit back in silence to admire Zuko’s creation.

“You think this is the best betrothal necklace the water tribe’s ever seen?” He jokes quietly in an attempt to mask his nerves. Now that the work is done reality has begun to set in for Zuko, and he realizes now the only thing left to do is actually propose.

“The best,” Sokka replies quietly, the emotion evident in his voice despite how hard he tries to hide it. He sniffles and wipes away the tears that threaten to spill before looking to his companion with a smile. “She’s going to love it.”

| zuko tags: @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @taeeemin @livelaughlovekuni @lovialy @alexatiu @heartfully10 @creationcitystreet-em

| fire lilies tags: @emberislandplayers @kikaninchen-2 @music-geek19 @thia-aep @thyunnamed @haylaansmi @nataliahaslosthershit @idkdude776 @aangsupremacy @thirstyforsometea @ihaveaproblem98 @brown-eyed-thang @xapham @misnmatchedsox @chewymoustachio @that-bucket-hat-gal @kyomihann @kaylove12 @kiwihoee @freggietale @moon-spirit-yue @bubblegum-bee-otch @cipheress-to-k-pop @potato87123

[sourtomatola]

Blood and feathers AU by @missterious-figure

CW: Blood and yandere behavior, fear, yeah.

1500+ words

You stood outside the door. You stared at the Image of a Moon on the front of the fancy wood. You winced at the smudge right below it. You knew exactly what that smudge was. It was there ever since the very first time Moon had killed. He had demanded it not be cleaned off, seeming to find it like a right of passage or something. You wished you could understand him.

 You swallowed and looked down at the doorknob, hesitating as long as your boss would let you. You were only given limited time with Moon because the boss was aware of how much Moon seemed to like you, growing clingier with every visit. If you stayed too long, someone would have to come get you. It’s embarrassing and terrifying every time. Moon has cooperated begrudgingly to give you up, but you’re just waiting for the day he doesn’t.

After a couple shaky breaths, you knocked softly before entering. The room had all the lights off, making your grateful that, for the moment, you didn’t have to see much of the mess you knew would be in here. Moon was a slob who didn’t care about the mess he tended to make after a kill. He had multiple tonight, which always makes him clingier to you.

You walked across the light ray that lay across the floor like a beam of safety. You knew it wasn’t, but it still made you feel safer. “Moon? I’m…here for your usual wellness check…” You called softly.

You squinted through the dark before flinching at the sound of fluttering feathers. Your eyes searched the dark before pinpointing glowing red eyes that blinked at you mischievously.

“You’ll have to turn on the lights, little Quill.” He rumbled.

You cringed at his nickname for you and felt the wall for the light switch. Your hand brushed past a painting, the one you knew was the hotel owner. He for some reason insisted all employees have a portrait of him, the egotistical prick. Your hand brushed past a wet spot on the painting, making your breath hitch. Feeling it more, it seemed like there was only one drop of…something. Next to the drop, practically attached to it, was the tell-tale fraying of canvas ripped with a very sharp claw.

You let out an exasperated breath as you squinted at the fray. “Moon! You cut the boss’s portrait again!” You huffed as you hear a mischievous giggle in the dark. “You know he hates that!”

“He shouldn’t give me something so tacky then.” He mused.

He had cut the throat of the portrait. Chin to sternum, His favorite way to kill you hear. Quite cruel considering he tends to miss the arteries and just goes for the windpipe first. It looked like he had blood on his claws when he cut the portrait. That explains the remaining residue thats now smeared around from your fingers touching it. He must have done this minutes before you came in since the blood was wet. Possibly did it just for the occasion of you showing up.

“Alright Moon, turn on the lights already, you’re freaking me out.” You grumbled and continued searching for the switch, accidentally smearing the blood off your finger and onto the wall. You could never remember where it was, and it was placed too far in to make sense. It was sensored, but Moon kept taping paper over it to block out the movement that would activate it. He’s so dramatic.

“Just don’t want to ruin the surprise~” He cooed in your ear, making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. He moves so quietly; you hadn’t even heard the fluttering of feathers in the dark.

“S-surprise??” You squeaked nervously. You never liked Moon’s surprises. They usually involved corpses, or holding you hostage.

Scaly wet claws gently grabbed your wrists from behind you. You instinctively pulled your hands closer to your chest and backed up right into a feathery torso. You gasped and moved away from his rumbling chest, dark giggling erupting from his mouth.

“M-moon??” You whimpered.

“Don’t get excited yet, I haven’t even shown you the surprise yet~” He giggled and started pushing you along. You stumbled slightly and tried to keep up with his tall steps and he pushed your arms forward as he walked.  His dangerous talons dug into you slightly, but he must have been being as gentle as he could as he didn’t draw blood yet. He led you deeper into the room and straight to the back where the bathroom was.

That was not a good sign.

He flicked on the switch in the bathroom and you quickly closed your eyes from the sudden bright lights. You winced as you started to open your eyes, but the moment you saw a severed hand, you quickly shut them again.

“No no dear, I brought you gifts! Please appreciate them!” He encouraged you. You flinched as you felt his rough palm on your cheek. In your desperation for a distraction, you noted he definitely needed his claws thoroughly cleaned and lotioned. As Usual. You were always scraping blood off between his scales and claws.

He nudged you again. “My Quill…my surprise…” He prodded, starting to sound pouty.

You slowly opened your eyes and let out a shaky breath, your eyes going wide at the horrific mess in the tub. Several severed hands of many different shades and sizes. No doubt all of them from tonight’s victims. The fact that not all of them had doubles, and the size of the pile was not comforting. One hand was obviously a woman’s, perfectly manicured with a very flashy ring on her finger.

“Boss-man hates cheaters.” Moon whispered in your ear and pushed you closer. “He said I could pick off a souvenir…or two. I was thinking of you and wanted to bring you all I could! Just for you~”

You tried to dig your heels into the linoleum, but the blood on the floor made it slippery, making you fall back into Moon’s arms. He giggled and cradled you gently, letting you lean into him without choice on your part. Every movement seemed to make your feet slicker. He nuzzled your face with his own, trilling happily before picking off the ring from the feminine hand. He grabbed your hand next and slipped it onto your finger. You held your breath, as if expecting him to next take your hand off and add it to the pile. He nuzzled your head affectionately while you stood in stunned silence.

After a few moments of nothing else happening, your shaking hand moved down to your hip where your walkie-talkie was. You brought it from your belt to your face, barely having the strength to push the button down. You hardly heard the static, being unable to take your eyes off the horrific pile of hands in the tub.

“C…c-clean up…requested…C-code M…” You stuttered out, amazed that you could even remember the code required for the right clean-up crew.

You heard radioed confirmation before the walkie talkie fell from your hands and your finally turned away from the mess. You tried to get out but instead ran into Moon. His feathers puffed out pridefully, letting your burry yourself in them to hide and find comfort.

“Aw, little Quill…”  He chittered and trilled in your ear as he held you close. “I’m glad you like the gift~”

You nudged into him more, trying to push past him to escape, but he held you firm. “Where are you going? You still haven’t given me my wellness check.”

“I ju- I n-need a m-minute…” Your whole body shook, making you weak as you fought to not melt into his arms.

“Aw, don’t worry, you can hold onto me. No need to get upset.” He said and picked you up with ease, holding down your arms and pressing you into his chest. He brought you to his nest of blankets and pillows, that were thankfully clean.

He fluffed up his feathers again and snuggled you, successfully keeping you warm and feeling safe. Or, you would feel that way if you didn’t know him personally. Or having just seen his good work.

You felt his neon blue tongue start to preen your hair, not asking or giving you a choice in the matter. He lapped at your scaled in attempts to affectionately clean and take care of you. You squirmed, but that was the only thing you could do against him.

“I like it when you let me look after you.” He cooed as he moved his tail around to cover you protectively like a blanket. “I’ve gotten quite excited over tonight’s haul…would you stay with me tonight? Sleep in my bed and let me wake up to your cute face?” He asked softly.

“M-moon you know m-management w-wont-“

“Shhhhh, I don’t need their permission to keep you. Never have. I’ve humored them this long, but it’s about time I…put my foot down.” He said as he languidly stretched a single leg next to yours, stretching out the vicious talons suggestively.

You swallowed fearfully, finding yourself fiddling with the new ring on your finger. You wanted to throw it off, your mind not letting you forget where it came from. Moon wouldn’t take kindly to that. You’ll just wait for management to confiscate it.

“T-the boss-“

“Owns you, and Me…you might as well say we’re birds of a feather~” He giggled as he nuzzled into your neck, letting his long crest feathers droop around your shoulders.

This is going to be a long night.

[yergink]

to me, the most telling line about izzy’s character comes from his deathbed speech. it’s when he tells ed that blackbeard was the both of them.

now, i am not operating under the assumption that this is true, but it’s important to note that izzy believes it is. and this specific belief being textually confirmed by canon explains so much about him.

the way izzy treats ed makes infinitely more sense to me when read through the idea that his imposition of toxic masculine ideals onto ed are a lot less about ed specifically and more about izzy’s view of the intersection between him, ed, and the idea of blackbeard—a figure who does not really exist in the way izzy perceives him.

the question of “why is izzy so obsessed with what ed does, anyway?” isn’t answered by love or loyalty grown out of a once-decent partnership turned sour, but by izzy’s near character-defining selfishness. because what he’s done is grafted his personal self-image and ambition onto ed’s back, and begun to scrutinize the two of them like they’re the same person, as if he has the right to do so, and he’s doing it under the curtain of his own hangups and biases.

this is why he sneers about how people need to call ed by “blackbeard” or “captain” in s1 in the same manner he sneeringly corrects his own name and title. because izzy sees them as equally disrespectful to him. and i maintain this is the same reason he takes credit for stabbing the portrait in 2x03—it’s instinct for him to defend ed’s image, because izzy sees a sleight against the image of blackbeard as a sleight against himself, too. because he believes himself to be a piece of the legend. if blackbeard seems a fool, then what does that say about his first mate?

we talk about ed viewing izzy as a father figure, but i haven’t seen much talk about the way izzy, like a toxic parent, is attempting to live vicariously through ed. i haven’t really seen any mention of how izzy’s outbursts over ed’s behavior feel so reminiscent of the way an insecure parent scolds their child because of what they imagine the way their child acts says about them.

ed himself matters much less to izzy than what the icon of ed-as-blackbeard stands for, and—more importantly—how it stands to benefit izzy.

we see in s1 that izzy makes a shit captain, but he revels in holding power over others (i was going to put a list of examples here to back up the point, but it got too long. view any ep of s1 with izzy in it for an example). if being blackbeard’s first mate is the best he’ll get, then he’ll claw onto that position with both hands.

him giving up that lust for power, humbling himself, and accepting community instead (in taking the unicorn leg when, up until then, he'd been very much rejecting any offer of help), is an important point of his arc, but you need to understand just how astronomically selfish izzy was beforehand to fully appreciate it.

bottom line, any reading of izzy that discounts how in s1 he’s an extremely “the king’s evil chancellor vying for the throne”-type character is maybe missing something.

[hello-sweetheart]

Fame and Fortune

Do you dream of glory? Crowds of thousands all adoring beneath you. The roaring cheers echoing in the arena. Countless of small white lights held up like beacons creating a sea of waving stars all for you. Breathless exhilaration has your chest heaving, skin glistening and damn. To feel like a god: never ending, eternal.

What would you be willing to do to get it?

What are you willing to sacrifice for fame?

Who are you prepared to lose?

Could the love of millions be worth the love of one?

——

[Backstage: Corroded Coffin Global Tour-Los Angeles, Ca]

Eddie is pacing, more than just pre-show nerves numb his hands. His cigarette burns quickly, ash falling on the carpeted floor, but no amount of nicotine filled lungs will fix this. Gareth, his drummer and long time friend, is watching him pace, eyes pleading.

“Is it worth it, Eddie?

We all got what we wanted; why are we miserable? You can’t lie to me, we all feel it. I see it in everyone, even you! You haven’t been the same since—“ He receives a withering glare from the frontman and sighs, speaking softer.

“I miss mom and my little sister. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them… I’m no longer drawn in her crayon family portraits, did you know that? Does Anne even remember me, anymore?

How can you keep going like this and expect us to do the same? I’m grateful—I really am—for you. You got us where we are now, a fantasy that we never even dreamed would become reality. It was amazing, I’m glad I got to experience it all with you, but I’m tired. I’m so tired guys.

I just want to go home.”

The long drag he takes burns his throat,

“Look, we’re all tired, I get it. Really, I do, this tour has been… particularly grueling I’ll admit, but come on. This is our last show, the big finale! We’ll give them all we got and then we’ll be able to take a break to freshen up before doing what we do best: creating kick ass music.

Like always. You’ll feel better after this, we always do after the last show—“

Gareth cuts him off, his patience clearly stretched thin.

“No, Eddie, listen to me! It’s different this time. I’m happy with the money we’ve made, we all have enough to live comfortably and I’ve been thinking that, you know, it’s time to settle down. I can’t do that if I’m always working. This, the band, it doesn’t… it doesn’t make me happy anymore.”

Jeff stands and his imposing figure makes Eddie pause from wearing a path into the floor.

“He’s not the only one, man. Im sorry, but its killing me. We don’t expect you to give it up either, you can keep the band name, find new members, keep signing… But for us? We can’t keep going, man. This is the end of the line.”

‘Not him too. Fuck. Fuck!’

“No! What am I—I’ve given up too much for this, you can’t just, fucking, bail on me!” This band, playing with his friends, it’s become his entire world. He’s lost too much to get here.

“Woah, woah, hey! No one fucking told you to and you know it. We’ve always had your back no matter what, but anything you chose to do is on you. Not us. The least you could do is extend us the same fucking curtesy and respect the fact that we’re fucking done with this bullshit.”

His gaze is venom as he looks at band, Grant and ‘Freak’ silent but agreeing with the rest. They refuse to meet his gaze.

“Fine. Do whatever you want.” He turns and leaves. They’ll be starting in 15 minutes.

Fucking cowards. Ungrateful bastards.

A memory plays in his head. Brief and intrusive. The voice of someone long gone from his life rings in his mind.

“I’ve missed you, Ed. Are you done at the studio, yet? When are you coming home?”

“Steve, this is important. You know this. I’ll be pulling a few more all nighters here—this album has to be perfect, baby.”

A crackling sigh is barely audible through the phone.

“I know, I know. I’m just being selfish. I’m sorry. Miss waking up to you next to me.”

“Miss you too, baby. You’re my world you know. Love you more than anything.”

“More than music?” It’s a timid question.

“Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he’s the only one to laugh into the receiver.

“Right… night, Eddie.”

“Wait, Stev—“ fuck. It was only joke. Whatever, he’ll apologize tomorrow.

Right now, he has music history in the making.

[moxfirefly]

Greetings and salutations. I bring you a little nugget of something that’s been on my noggin for a while. I haven’t had the pleasure to experiment too much with AU’s so here I bring you two segments of just that.

Rated Mature.

So please enjoy and let me know if maybe y’all want more?

It was that scar.

You hadn’t been necessarily subtle about it. You’d stared, wondered what could’ve gone wrong to have a man nearly lose an eye.

You liked making up stories of strangers, what their backstory and futures could be just on looks alone.

But when blue eyes had met your own, looked up from the local news paper, you felt as if he’d heard your mental fictions.

He was pretty.

Blue eyes, strong features and built.

Because mutants tended to be built, imposing, rough, dangerous.

But there was a softness to Blue Eyes here.

Somewhere between restarting your brain and the soft rattling of him pushing his mug towards your outstretched hand, you had finally poured a re-fill of a lemony scented tea he had ordered twenty minutes ago.

The cafe was a passion project, something you’d done on impulse when you hopped on a plane to run away from New York and its hollowness and move to Osaka.

To run away from the bad memories…

A bad guy.

“Are you alright?” Oh? He spoke English.

You nodded, dipped the kettle and refilled his mug. “Sorry, mornings aren’t really my thing.” You chuckled to lighten the mood, watched the corner of his mouth lift as he reached for the mug.

“Working in a cafe must’ve been a tough option.” His lips pressed to the ceramic, a large hand holding it as he softly blew.

The peak of a finger missing an inch to it making you squint.

Just how many scars could one individual have?

But he had looked at you again, piercing blue eyes gaging your thoughts, somehow digging into what your story was. Maybe he had made up his own.

You should’ve known, should’ve seen the tattoos peaking from the cuff of his dress shirt, the roughness to his demeanor.

You should’ve sensed the danger.

________

You ran from danger back in New York only to somehow find yourself enchanted by something far worse.

Because Leonardo (he had introduced himself at long last) screamed dangerous.

But he kept coming back to the cafe, each day he stayed just a little bit longer, his small talk became more of a lighthearted interrogation.

And those damn eyes of his never seemed to not follow you around the counter as you prepared and brewed for the patrons of the morning. His eyes were watchful, something kind of protective to them. Whenever the bell for the door ran he’d always cast a careful backwards glance.

Anticipating something?

He seemed to travel on the edge of a knife, waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop.

And you wanted to ignore the obvious, the setting, the place, the fresh cuts and bruises on his hands. You wanted the fantasy to remain just that.

Because deep down you knew that he ran in that lifestyle.

Yakuza.

It rang like an alarm in your brain, warning sirens to not get involved, to not find yourself in the fire pit.

One afternoon as he remained during your closing, he had stood up and adjusted the cuff of his suit.

“Do you wanna have dinner with me tonight?”

It was a simple question, a razors edge to it, the anticipation mixing with water running from the sink. You had stopped, hand sopping wet from washing mugs and glasses.

You stared at him, watching those calculating eyes of his gage your reaction.

That little voice told you to say no, desperately to just let this be a fleeting thing. Let Leonardo be a fantasy, don’t jump into that dark ocean and let the current sweep you away.

“Yes…I’d like that.”

‘These violent delights…’

It felt more like a light version of Wack-a-Mole. Gently but intentionally shoving all these screaming adolescents and young adults away from the object of their desire.

You waved and smiled, signed what you could when several high glossy portraits of yourself were shoved into your eyesight. A massive arm wrapped around your shoulders and tugged you into hard scales and you caught the warning glare Raph had shot to a handsy guy.

‘Just get her to the hotel entrance’ That was all Raph was thinking, if he could haul ass with you through this sea of screaming fans in the next sixty seconds he’d pat himself on the shell.

So he held you closer, pushed through and as gently and professionally as he could pushed through the doable doors.

Hotel security could keep everyone at bay, your poor assistance somehow alive and inside as well moved quickly to the front desk to check you in.

“Never get tired of that shit?” he asked you with a smirk, making sure to keep your body covered by his much larger form.

“Just part of the job description, some of them can be endearing.” You adjusted your sunglasses, shooting a thanks to your assistant when they jogged back towards you with a room card.

“Y/N you have an interview tomorrow at 9am so there’s a 7am wake up call for hair and makeup to get up to your room. After that it’s the photo shoot at noon and finally the concert at MSG, I’ll be here early to get everything started.” They were an efficient assistant sometimes doubling more like a parent.

“She got time to sleep somewhere in there peepsqueak?” Raph was already escorting you towards the elevator. Your assistant rolled their eyes.

“Be nice Raphie, they keep the order, I just do the fun stuff.” You waved back as you climbed into the elevator with Raph.

In the quiet steel and glass you took a minute to sigh and stretch. While it was fun it could be pretty exhausting running around from show to show. You felt your phone vibrate, the work one, and allowed yourself the luxury of not dealing with it. Closing your eyes briefly you centered yourself.

“Ya good?” Raph’s voice, the soft one he only reserved for you, mixed with the ping of each floor.

“A little stiff, but I’m alright. What about you?” You watched Raph huff a little laugh, incredulous to assume that this was enough to even remotely tire him out. When the doors open he stepped out first to make sure the halls were empty before alerting you to follow suit.

“You know you can chill out now, clock out technically.” You opened the door to your latest hotel suit and watched Raph go in and do his usual perimeter walk.

One time some obsessed fan had hidden in the suit you had stayed in, and while it hadn’t been a violent situation it had spooked you and angered Raph enough to always check the room before letting you settle in.

“Looks clear, although C- for not having those chocolates on the bed.” Man he kinda wanted something sweet.

He smiled at your laugh watching you plop on the chase lounge near the window.

He could feel his own phone, not the work one, vibrate in the pocket of his jeans.

“Do you want to stay?” Came your voice, light and floaty like an inviting drink.

Raph knew this wasn’t exactly right, but it hadn’t been right the last fourteen hotels ago.

You turned to study him, a flirtatious smile spreading across your beautiful lips.

Those lips had been around his dick last night on the limo ride to some after party.

Something in the jittery electric feel of his legs, urging him to move, to put an end to this not so professional relationship.

“Raphie?” You asked, jacket coming off, heels being kicked off, skin inviting him.

He ran the back of his palm across his mouth, caught the faint scent of you from just this morning (where he had fingered you in the shower of the last hotel).

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

He swallowed the nerves, swallowed it and let it simmer in the pit of his stomach.

[thehistoriangirl]

hi!! i love your fics, they make my day 🩷

may i request a mel x reader where reader is an insecure artist?

thank you!

Hello Anon, thank you so much! I'm sorry this one took so long 😭😭 I struggled a little with how to write it, but I hope you enjoy it 🥺

In Seek of Perfection

Mel x gn!Artist! Reader---1.3K----SFW

The floor was covered in half-finished sketches whose edges peeked shadows of charcoal; a lonely lamp filling the studio with a dimmed golden hue.

One of them caught her attention among the dozen paper balls thrown everywhere.

Still, Mel was careful not to disturb the quiet space with the echo of her heels.

“Not hungry yet?” she said, leaning over your shoulder to see a blank page in front of you, your fingers stained with black juggling with a pencil. The bowl of fruits at the other side of the working table the same since the morning. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

“No, not hung—” Yet your stomach betrayed you, a growling sound interrupting your sentence.

You sighed. “I just… I haven’t done any work today either. And the exhibit is going to be in six months. I need to submit something.”

Mel let go of your shoulders, and you felt how the weight started pressing down on them again. She walked in front of your desk to grab the stool where a wooden box sat atop, filled with unused pastels.

"You know you'd still have my support even if you don't submit anything to this year's Salon," Mel told you, settling the box aside as she took a seat with her hands crossed over her lap. The Medarda ring shone with a reminder. Your duty. Your role.

The artist, and her, the muse.

“Progress’ restless, just like this city,” you muttered. “You know what happens to those who get left behind.”

You’d seen more than your fair share of colleagues erased from the galleries and classrooms when their patrons moved on to the next shiny thing. Once their mastery had slipped just like the rest of their bright ideas.

Sure, the bonds tangled between you two ran deeper than simple portraits of Councilor Medarda she could hang up in the foyer of her house to show her influence and status in this city that had become her home. Just like it was yours, now.

“Art isn’t business. It shouldn’t be rushed.”

You fidgeted with the edge of your blank canvas, taking the newspaper you had hidden once the headline creating a ball of anxiety and envy to get caught in the middle of your throat.

Yazmine LaGarc opened a solo exhibit in one of Councilor Shoola’s galleries, becoming the hottest artist in Piltover, with her ceramics adorning only the wealthiest of houses. The worst part is that she was your classmate, and now, the one who once was at the top of the class has sunk to the bottom.

From your first masterpiece, you fell into a pool of mediocrity and unfinished jobs that ended up recycled or burned in the hearth, thinking that your attempt was just beginner’s luck, and an artist couldn’t be called so if they only created something fantastic by luck.

Every day you woke up without becoming the new sensation in the art world you felt like failing, with the reminder of your parents telling you to reconsider—that you were still welcomed to their merchant enterprise.

What if you were Mel’s protegee? It was a spot so desired that one day you’d be pushed aside. You weren’t worthy enough of being her favorite painter anymore. Perhaps you never were.

"You gave me an opportunity when purchase my painting at the Academic Salon. It was because of you that my name appeared in the side columns of arts during that weekend." You chuckled, such a bitter sound. "And look what I’ve become.”

Mel hummed, the sound redirecting your gaze toward hers.

“By that standard: Would you say that I’m not an artist just because I can’t paint every day that I’m not an artist?”

You blinked, feeling flustered. “No, of course not! But, well, you have a job… and… well, I don’t.”

"You work part-time at your parents' business," Mel called your name, one of her elbows propelled over the table, elegant fingers resting atop her jawline. “I decided to sponsor you because I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me. And you haven’t, but why do I feel like you’ve disappointed yourself?”

Her finger fiddled with the edge of the canvas. “You loved to do this, sitting for hours with that bad posture of yours—what happened, then? Does making not bring you joy anymore?”

Of course, she had noticed about your low productivity for the past weeks, and the lame work you'd produced the months before, results that only started raising questions in sensationalist newspapers about the so-called new art prospect. That your charm had burned out, that for the first time, Mel had committed a mistake by taking you under her patronage.

Day by day, the anger you felt toward the printed words started to drain your creative fuels, the creations bore by spite becoming absent once the disappointment settled in—so deep not even your sadness could evoke inspiration.

“Maybe this was a mistake,” you said, voice trembling. “Maybe my parents were right, and I should’ve taken the reins of the family business.”

Your vision became blurry, hot tears running down your cheeks even as you tried to furiously wipe them away. She didn’t have to see you this way, this small and pathetic.

"Have you ever wanted that?" Mel said, her voice stern. "You can always go back home, and tell them that you've made a mistake. They will take you in, and we both know it. This could end right here, back to all those days you sat on this hard wooden stool trying to create something grandiose. And yet, here you are. You are still trying." She gave you the smallest, most intimate smile. "And that's why you haven't disappointed me, why you shouldn't be disappointed with yourself."

She extended one of her hands, brushing away the tears with her thumbs before offering you one of her handkerchiefs, smelling like orange and lilies and just the faintest essence of the pigments she used to paint with, permeating in the fabric as a ghost.

“Not every painting and drawing you do will sell for millions, nor it will be praised. You can't live constantly gazing upward," Mel said, her eyes dropping to her lap to fidget with the Medarda’s family ring. "Or you'll forget about everything you have now. Everything you can take in to make art as you are right now." She called your name, the name of the self-artist burning the candle every other night to finish assignments, the one who drew and painted until your hands shook with cramps.

"I know I am pushing my hypocrisy here, but you ought to be lenient with yourself, just as you are with everyone else. With me when I must cancel my modeling sessions for my portraits." Slowly, Mel patted your cheek, the tip of your fingers playing with the tip of your ear as she sometimes did when you lay with her on the couch by the fire. “Can you try?”

From your shaking lips unable to pronounce words, you nodded.

She smiled, relieved and proud, as she had always been regarding you. From under her sleeve, Mel took out one of the sketches you discarded earlier, her hands ironing the wrinkles while pressing it atop the blank canvas.

“I like this one,” she said, pointing at a self-portrait reflected on a mirror, showing two images: one the artist, filled with rich details of decorative lines against the simple, weary face of the person reflecting in the mirror. “Art shouldn’t be all about beauty and grandiosity, my dear. Piltover’s too used to perfection, they don’t know what it takes to achieve it. Perhaps you shall show them.”

A small smile tugged the corner of your lips, feeling ashamed Mel had taken the time to observe your discarded ideas.

Mel chuckled, standing up from the seat and offering you a hand. “Well, I’d say dinner must be served already—would you like to accompany me tonight?”

[crowleysgirl56]

Wildest dreams wishes for Good Omens Season 3 which will probably not come true but I can still hope hey!

Number 39

This one is dedicated to @hikarry who posted a couple weeks ago about Crowley reacting to finding out the walls in the bookshop’s back room were painted the same colour as his eyes. It made me remember I had this wildest dream idea sitting in my drafts and inspired me to finish writing it.

I therefore present to you yet another scene in the Adventures of Crowley and Muriel. What happens when Crowley finds portraits drawn of himself by Aziraphale, and works out just why Aziraphale thinks the colour yellow is pretty. Starts out as fluff, but ends in heartbreak and angst. Enjoy!

It had been eight months since Crowley last took off his sunglasses. He only did so now in order to press his finger tips into his eyes in frustration. Confused and exhausted at what he was seeing, he pushed the glasses securely back on his face, took a long annoyed breath in, and called out for the angel.

“Muriel! Get out here!”

Muriel popped their head out from the kitchenette.

“Something the matter Mr Crowley?”

“Is something the-? You bloody well know what the matter is, now come over here!”

Muriel bounded over to Crowley, currently with his back turned to them, staring intently as the bookshelves.

“Where are they?!” He gruffly demanded.

“Where are what?” Muriel innocently replied.

“The books! What have you done with the books, where are they?!” Crowley gestured around wildly at the filled bookshelves. Muriel looked confused.

“They’re right there Mr Crowley.”

Crowley advanced on Muriel, in a slightly but not really menacing way, “Yes, I can see that. But you know what I mean.”

“I haven’t been selling them again if that’s what you mean.” The first time Crowley returned to the bookshop after Aziraphale had left he was horrified to see a stream of customers coming and going. He had personally ran down (“Ran after Muriel, ran after! There’s a difference!”) 17 different people before they returned home just to retrieve the precious possessions before they could be dogeared, spines bent, or worst of all, read on the toilet by careless humans. Afterwards he updated the opening hours sign to include an additional layer of confusion, then spent two and a half hours lecturing Muriel on the evils of capitalism and how to take care of the books properly. Muriel wouldn’t be making that mistake twice.

“Obviously. What I mean is, where are they. They’re all out of order. There’s cookbooks next to Tolstoy, and Pratchett next to Sun Tzu! Where is everything?!”

“Oh, I arranged everything by colour!” Muriel replied proudly, a shining smile spreading across their face.

“You…what?!”

“It’s much prettier this way don’t you think?”

Crowley took a step back and viewed the colours splashed across the shelves. The effect was like staring at a magic eye painting when it suddenly comes into focus. Before him was a kaleidoscope of colour, books positioned in such a way that their outward facing spines when pushed together formed a massive rainbow.

“No it’s not, change it back!” He demanded.

Muriel’s smile dropped and suddenly their eyes went as wide as a puppy’s as they implored him to reconsider.

Crowley was a demon. He was not nice. He didn’t have feelings (certainly not now!), and his one hundred percent NOT broken heart was most definitely not going to be guilted into changing his mind by some sappy eyed angel, especially one that sometimes reminded him of a certain other silver haired cream puff who’s gorgeous pouty lips would make even the coldest of glaciers melt on the spot DEFINITELY NOT!

Crowley rolled his hidden eyes, hissed and then growled a deep low sigh before caving into their pleadings. “Fffffine!”

Muriel gleefully clapped their hands in a completely not adorable or endearing way.

“At least tell me where you hid the first editions?” Crowley moaned.

“Oh that’s easy, they’re over in the brown section.”

“Brown section?”

“Yes unfortunately there’s quite a lot of those.” Muriel pointed behind him.

Crowley turned and startled at crammed shelf after shelf of “brown section”. It took up a majority of the bookshop. The different shades of browns were almost a rainbow in itself. Typical he thought to himself. S’what you get when you only collect books from a hundred years ago.

He thought he’d start with some Dickens, but when he found Dostoyevsky next to Marlow he knew he was in trouble.

“Muriel, how exactly are these books sorted?”

“Easy! First by height then by length!”

Crowley fought the urge to once again slip off his glasses and rub his hands across his face. “Naturally.” He instead murmured.

Muriel by this point had produced the yellow feather duster he remembered Ji- Gabri- Jimbriel had managed to get his hands on, and was vigorously dusting the spotless gramophone.

Pulling his gaze away from the swishing of the bright feathers he turned his attention back to the shelves. Something caught his eye. “Huh, so she did write novels” he remarked as he thumbed his fingers over a copy of Persuasion. As he pulled the book from the shelf he noticed it was wedged in particularly tight next to a rather bulky looking tome, which promptly clatter to the floor scattering delicate pages everywhere.

“Bugger!” Crowley exclaimed as he bent down to pick them up. As he collected them, his hand froze over one page as he suddenly recognised the neat and flourished handwriting.

“Muriel,” Crowley half whispered as he began carefully lifting the pages from the floor, “where did this book come from?”

Muriel turned and looked at the front cover, “Oh that was on Mr Aziraphale’s desk. It was the perfect size for that section of the shelf so I thought I’d pack it away.” Muriel was already approaching the mess, bending down to assist when Crowley shot out a hand to stop them. He turned some more pages over and was greeted with careful hand drawn images of himself. Striking and candid portraits, spread across the years of his existence. One detailed a silhouette sitting at what looked like a bar table, a silver circle of leaves upon his head. Another a simple elegant hand grasping a wine glass. Pensive, brooding, and silent profiles adorned many of he pages. But others showed the demon smiling or grinning, and in one vivid rendition with his head thrown back in laughter.

Heat spread across his cheeks as he hungrily dove into more of the scattered pages. Sketches from Scotland, Golgotha, 1941, even one of his Bildad the Shuite persona, an arrow pointing at his beard and a simple scrawled “No” next to it. A laugh escaped his throat.

Then one particular portrait stopped him in his tracks. He stared at himself as the picture seemed to stare back. Aziraphale had drawn this one without sunglasses, his face was naked, his eyes uncovered. His eyes shone back at him from the page. Aziraphale had coloured his eyes a deep golden yellow. Something about the colour struck him, and before he realised he was on his feet striding for the back room.

Hand shaking, he lifted the portrait up to the wall. The eye colour matched the walls exactly. In fact he wouldn’t have been surprised if Aziraphale had used the same paint on the walls as he did to colour the portrait. Something coiled in the pit of his stomach and radiated out up his spine.

“Mr Crowley are you alright” Muriel asked quietly behind him. He turned and stared at them, when the feather duster they still held came into focus. The yellow feather duster. A conjured memory, only a few short months ago struck him like a train. “My car is not yellow, change it back” “but it’s pretty!” echoed across his mind. Other images surfaced, a yellow band wrapped around a fuzzy top hat, the splash of yellow through a tartan bow tie, a bunch of daffodils displayed on a work desk, and image after image of Aziraphale’s radiant smile. A smile morphing into quiet and confused distress as glasses were placed firmly back in place hiding his eyes away when last they spoke.

Everything came crashing down on him like a tonne of bricks. A dawning realisation rolled over his skin making him shiver. The failed confession. The agony of watching his angel get in that elevator. He was sure he’d gotten it wrong, all those months ago. But he hadn’t. He was right! So why did that make him feel all the more worse? He dropped the pages and silently made his way to the door.

“Wait! Mr Crowley, where are going?!” Muriel fretted, as Crowley reached the entrance.

He paused and with one hand on the handle, half turned back towards Muriel. His throat felt constricted, and drew in a shaky breath as he answered thickly, “I just…need some time…I’ll be back in a little while.”

If Muriel made any further protest he didn’t hear them. He found himself in the Bentley, hands gripping the wheel. He glanced at the back seat half expecting to see the yellow tulips he had once prepared to give to an angel. Long discarded in a local garden. A hesitant hand touched his sunglasses, trembled there a moment, then dropped. Swallowing heavily, he resolutely put the Bentley into gear and drove off. He wasn’t sure where to. But for now the open road seemed the best place to be.

[ukrieger-official]

Okay so hehehehe, it’s time to announce the winners.

I wanna say it was REALLY hard to pick the winners because all the entries were so good in different ways, all stood out to me and were done beautifully and I appreciate the effort so much, thank you 🤍

I am sorry it took so damn long to announce the winners but I’m too soft sometimes and wanted to wait for everyone to be done lol

Anyway I really want everyone to be a good sport about who did and didn’t win, please be nice to those who did win!

THE WINNERS ARE:

@certifiedperkaholic (first one)

@schtubawl (second one)

__

Both of your lovely arts just POPPED and it’s hard to explain why but I think both just feel like Rich and his personality radiates off both of them. I love the accurate details, the art style (oh you know how I love aesthetic art styles) the colours and all are accurate. I love the backgrounds on both, they’re AMAZING. THE MIRROS TOO LIKE AAAAUUUUGHHHH YAS SLAY

Sometimes art just hits the right place in my soul and brain and they both did!

So for the prizes here’s what I said:

I DID add that you could have my social media, but thats up to you. I already talk to @schtubawl on discord. I changed that being the prize because I don’t wanna seem like my friendship is inaccessible to anyone lol

Do message me though if you’d like my discord or something else ^^

For the free commissions, you both get those of course. We can discuss it more is messages after Christmas is over! Ill let you know when I’m free! I’m waiting to get a new iPad and pencil too, so if you give me extra time to get those too then that would be perfect. ProCreate has been so slow lately because my old ipad is shit lmfao and the nib keeps falling off my pen hahaha

For now I will link you to that crazy Rich quotes lol

In the meantime if you haven’t already, maybe think about what you’d like to commission me! One character, full body, some kind of full body coloured visual reference is required because Im unable to draw based on a description. If you want a portrait then let me know! We can talk about it more later :3

ANYWAY GOD SO MUCH TYPING BUT THANKS EVERYONE FOR JOINING AND HAVE FUN AT CHRISTMAS 🎄

[exorcqism]

﹆₊ 画家‧₊˚ THE BLOOD PAINTER, KAMO CHOSO

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ﹆₊ 概要 ‧₊˚ art; the painter‘s hidden identity is made known. wc, 3.42K. dark mode recommended.

␥ note. i’m back with this storyyyy. getting near the good part which also means the end but not just yet sooo just keep reading. hope ya enjoyyyy and reblog to support meee.

␥ tags. artist!choso, college AU, possible nsfw, female anatomy, smoking, etc. lmk if i missed anything

␥ misc. masterlist AO3 PART THREE

the art class was bustling with students, the scent of paint and clay wafting through the air. choso sat at his usual spot stealing glances from you. the professor announced a small project; drawing and painting your partners. but there was a twist—only two colors could be used.

choso’s heart raced as ideas began to flood his mind. everyone scattered around to their new seats and the male instantly scooted next to you. he smiled at you. it was something about that shy smile he gave you before he quietly asking if he could draw you.

“let me draw you first,” you smiled. “i don’t want you getting caught up with me and i completely forget to draw you.”

“oh, i don’t know…i’m not really good with posing or anything. and i’m not able to sit still for very long.” choso warned but you only smacked your lips as if the boy was spewing nonsense right out of his teeth.

“quit doubting yourself. you got nice style and your face would literally be perfect on a magazine cover maybe even in the art show that’s coming up.”

“art show?” choso raised a brow. for someone that loved art contests and taking trips to museums just to stare at the portrait hanging on the white walls encased in an embezzled gold frame, he seemed surprised about this information.

“yeah. don’t know how you haven’t heard about it but i was thinking of putting my painting of you in once it was finished.” you looked down at your blank canvas that was resting flat on the table just as it did when you first arrived to class.

“oh, no, you shouldn’t—i mean..you can if you want to it’s your painting but…i really don’t like being the center of attention. i don’t really like being stared at.” choso explained. he bit down on his lower lip and he sighed.

“come on, it’ll be a powerful piece.” you beamed. “i feel like it’ll really make an impact on the audience. and i promise i won’t use your name if you don’t want me to.”

choso hummed, his lips pursed before speaking again. “um…well if you think so highly of the piece then i guess i can’t say no. just promise you won’t tell anybody it’s me.”

“sure. now just hold still for me.” you say with a smile.

classes finally end for the day and the two of you made progress on your art pieces. you decided to ask choso to spend the rest of the day together, to which he agreed to without hesitation.

you both gathered your items and headed out into the bustling city of tokyo. the sun is setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. you and choso arrive at a cozy cafe and settled into a booth by a large window, surrounded by the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

the two of you had been there for a good thirty minutes talking about whatever came to mind, bouncing from topic to topic and bookmarking whatever part of the conversation you thought was interesting for another time.

“so, choso, you’ve always been into art?”

“yeah, well, i’ve always had a creative side, but i never really pursued it until recently. art helps me express things that are hard to put into words, you know?”

you nod. you never seen his art before and you just wondered how he had done things. your eyes travel over to the tote bag that was sitting flatly beside choso’s thigh. you fixed your lips to speak but a camera flash went off. you were pretty used to his off guard photos ever since the two of you started to hang out more often.

“can i see?” you leaned your body over the polished wood table before choso lowered his camera.

“not yet.” he answered. “mmm…i’ll show you when the project is complete. until then, i’ll have to hold off on showing you.”

you pout but you could understand why choso was being a bit selfish with his crafts. instead of begging to see a photo of yourself, which you prayed you didn’t blink in, you pointed to his bag.

“why don’t you finish your sketch? i mean, we have a lot of privacy right now and we don’t have any classes tomorrow. i also wanna watch you paint. its something about watching an artist in action is just so satisfying.” you say.

choso, lost in the depths of his own world, takes a sip of his green tea when he hears your unexpected statement. he recently started drinking it a bit more since that was the only thing he actually liked besides ice water.

feeling a surge of nervousness and excitement, choso shifts in his seat. painting in front of someone, especially you, made him feel vulnerable in a way he isn’t used to.

“i’m not sure…” choso looks down at his cup half filled with tea, which still had smoke billowing from it because of how hot it was. “i’ve never painted with someone else in the room before. it’s a pretty personal process for me.”

“c’mon, please? just for a minute.” you pleaded, clasping your hands and intertwining your fingers to be dramatic. choso chuckled at your silly behavior and simply sighed.

“let’s head back to the school and you can watch me work in my room, fair?” choso looks at you, awaiting an answer. of course, you agree.

back at jujutsu tech, you and choso were settling in, slipping your shoes off once you entered the room and placing your bags together against the wall.

you were amazed at how much space he had and how organized he was. the books on the bookshelves were all in size and color order and so were the cute little jars of paint that were on another shelf but you noticed that there was no red paint.

the desk was neatly organized also with choso’s laptop and ipad with its stylus side by side, charging. there was a mug with a bunch of pencils and pens and another cylinder item that looked handmade and painted with brushes in them. you assumed choso made it.

there was an easel in the corner of the room by the large windows that had blinds that would be shortly opened to let in some of the remaining light as the sun set. choso grabbed a few brushes and the rolling chair that sat at his desk and pulled it over in front of the easel and sat down. the male then reached for the canvas that had the drawing of you from his bag and placed it onto the easel. he looked pretty prepared now.

“you mind filling me a cup of clean water from the faucet?”

the question snaps you out of your awe-stricken mind and you nod. you went to the kitchen area and grabbed a cup that didn’t look like it would be used any time soon and filled it with water then brought it back to choso. he directs you to place the cup on the desk before thanking you for the simple gesture.

you noticed choso had his eyes closed now, taking a few breaths before removing the bandage on his nose and trashing it. you saw how blood shot from the black mark running over the bridge of his nose and onto the palette that was in his lap.

choso picks up one of the brushes and dipped it into the crimson liquid that had also been running down his face and began to paint. once the brush hits the canvas, all his nerves seem to dissipate, replaced by the familiar focus that comes with creating.

as choso dips his brush into the blood-infused paint, the room falls silent. the only sounds are the soft scrapes of the brush against the canvas and the occasional drips of paint.

you watched as colors of red and black filled the canvas. you weren’t familiar with the meanings of specific colors but the way you were drawn on his canvas as royalty, you could see sophistication and passion. choso put the brush down and rolled up his sleeves and began to use his fingers to paint. smearing the colors together with his knuckles.

your eyes sparkled, entranced, as choso’s knuckles danced across the canvas, blending the deep reds into the black that was present. the male was aware that he was in need of a palette knife but he’s never gotten the time to buy any.

“the way you use blood for your art is actually unique.” you spoke, breaking the silence. “i guess it adds depth and richness that’s hard to describe. it looks like the painting is alive almost.”

you were seeing it with your own eyes, his art style was hauntingly beautiful. you never seen anything like it. this whole scenario made you wonder if blood was often used when he painted or was this just a perfect coincidence. you slouch in your chair, in thought once again.

“blood has always been a part of me. a part of everyone, i should say. but mine is a curse and a blessing. incorporating it into my art feels natural to me. it’s like i’m putting a part of myself into each piece.” choso murmured.

“um…you know, i never heard you talk about your parents much, only your brothers. they must be really proud of you…you being all smart and artistic and such.” you say softly.

choso’s hand freezes mid stroke, his expression darkening. he sets down his brush and turns to face you. you see how that empty expression of his appeared onto his face again.

“my parents…they’re not in the picture. my mom isn’t alive and my dad was never proud of me. he only saw me as a tool, a weapon to be wielded. i’m happy he left me behind…”

your expression softens. on the outside, choso looked like he had it all. he was attractive, smart, talented, hell if he wasn’t the smartest guy around he probably would’ve gotten in just for being attractive and talented. he seemed perfect. but in reality, he was living in a fucked up world holding on to his creations for comfort.

“i’m so sorry, choso. i probably shouldn’t have brought that up and make you relive painful memories. but despite your past, you managed to create something beautiful out of the darkness. that takes a lot of courage and strength.”

choso nods, his gaze returning to the painting. he picks up his brush once again, lost in thought. he exhaled from his nose. though the topic did hit a nerve, he felt like he could trust you.

“it’s…fine i guess. it was a while ago. my brothers were the ones who helped me escape that life. we all live for each other and nothing can make me change that narrative. they’re my family and we’ve been through a lot together.”

“they must be really important to you, huh? you see them often?” you query. choso nodded again.

“as much as i can. i don’t really have the funds to constantly take train rides back and forth from my house to here and vice versa. we try to stay in touch, the most i can do is call them each night. yuji and eso are busy with their own business and you know they have to keep kechizu close because he’s pretty childlike and clings to eso like he’s his savior.”

you noticed the small smile on his face as he spoke of his brothers. him being the eldest, you would’ve expected him to severely despise his brothers but it seemed like he couldn’t even say the word ‘hate’ when talking about them. it was actually pretty sweet.

as the evening comes to an end, you find yourself standing outside of choso’s room and he’s leaning against the doorframe, his sleeves still rolled up, revealing thin strips of stitches along his forearm.

“what happened to your arm?” you point, making choso break his gaze and follow your finger to where you had been pointing. he only shrugged.

“a stupid accident. nothing too much to worry about.” he answered, rubbing the brand new bandage he had over his nose. his cheeks were still a little red from the blood that had been running down his face earlier.

“you should keep your bandage off. that mark is a part of who you are, and you know i accept that.” you say. choso is taken aback by your words, his hand instinctively touching the bandage again.

“it’s…not easy. people have always been afraid of me because of what what i am. it’s just easier to keep it hidden.”

“but you don’t have to hide from me. i see you, choso, for who you are, not what you are. you’re a human just like any other person here. and i think your mark is pretty cool, actually.”

choso couldn’t help but smile at your words. maybe—just maybe you had a point. maybe it was time for him to change his ways. get out of his comfort zone a little.

“um…yeah, thanks. i’ll think about it. goodnight.”

“goodnight, choso.”

“and this one would be called ‘the blood painter’.” the announcer spoke as the crowd followed around. it was perfect. better than anything else being displayed. choso stood in front of the painted canvas, staring at his own face looking down at his own partially painted portrait with a crimson liquid dripping from his nose and onto the canvas. there was a white cup filled with tea, which had been leaking from the sides as if it were overfilled.

his hair flopped down into his face before lifting a hand to brush it back with his fingers. he was awestruck. how could you have painted something like this with almost no experience. he could’ve sworn you said you were horrible at this kind of thing…maybe his memory was faulty.

“it’s perfect….” you hear him mumble as he stepped closer to the portrait. he was so tempted to touch it but he abided by the rules of not touching or taking any photos of the paintings being displayed. “how did you do this? you couldn’t have—no, you did…but this is so different from your drawing.”

“it was only a sketch. a way to get your features and everything properly. but a few days ago when we hung out, i thought i’d make something more expressive.” you grinned.

“i’m impressed.” choso’s eyes sparkled. “it’s like you captured my soul onto the canvas. i mean, i’ve seen art that expresses the soul of another person but this one is—wow.”

the male looked at you and his cheeks flushed a little. “maybe i got a little too excited. you did a nice job on your painting. hopefully you got a passing grade on it.”

you smiled at choso’s excitement and love for the art you made of him. you both knew it was simply for an assignment that would be graded then tucked away forever or thrown into a nearby dumpster but this was a sentimental thing. it was like a piece that needed to be preserved.

as you both stood in the middle of the large crowds, you two could hear people praising the painting for its raw emotion and style. one patron mentioned that it gave off a bit of a edgy feeling despite the cozy looking background.

choso was a bit surprised and delighted by the positive reactions, he felt a sense of pride in his portrait and the artist that created it—you. he turned to you with a smile on his face.

“i never thought my own portrait would have an impact like this.” choso said shifting his weight onto one leg. “see, now i kinda regret not letting you reveal my name.”

“you’re okay. it’ll make you a mystery man like the mona lisa…well she’s a real person but you get it, don’t you?” you chuckle lightly and choso does just that right along with you.

“i get it. but i’ll never be as known as she is. i’ll only be a mystery man that’s occasionally seen in shibuya.” he said. you threw your arm over choso’s shoulder and waved your hand dismissively.

“sure you will. one thing will lead to another. when you start seriously pursuing art and get your name out there, people will realize that you’re this man in the picture.” you pointed to the portrait, lightly tapping your nail against it as it created a hollow sound. you knew that you weren’t supposed to touch anything but you didn’t seem to care that much. you even went out your way to take a quick picture of it—it was surprisingly clear.

“they’ll call you signore kamo.” you added.

“you know italian?” choso raised a brow, a bit surprised by your pronunciation and how casually you said that word.

“nope, i googled it.” you smile innocently. choso released a breath as if he had been holding it for a while and returned a soft smile to you.

the art show ends and you and choso found yourselves walking close by each other on the sidewalk. the streetlights and neon lights from buildings illuminating your way as you walked back to the university. choso saw that you were on the left of him, closer to the street so he stoped to trade places with you.

“what was that for?” you ask as you put your hands down into your pocket. you had a feeling on exactly why choso did what he did but you just wanted to hear it from his mouth.

“well, just in case something happens, i’ll be hit first and you won’t have to worry about getting hurt.” choso stated, glancing at the street littered with parked cars. your instincts seemed to be correct but your lips involuntarily stretched into a smile anyway and you felt your face heat up a bit.

upon arriving back to the dorms, the two of you stood in the commons, your shadows stretching long in the dim light. since quiet hours were approaching, it was about time the two of you part ways once again until tomorrow. you turn to face each other, a mixture of contentment and longing in your eyes.

“i guess this is where we call it a day. thank you again for everything.” choso says and you nod.

“of course.” you beamed. “i had a really nice time with you today. and don’t forget that you don’t have to hide who you are around me. your true self is beautiful.”

“i’ll remember it.” choso replied before being caught off guard by your sudden hug. you flung your body into him and squeezed his sides a bit. his violet eyes widened as he contemplated on leaving you to cling onto him or hug you back. no one besides his brothers had ever given him a hug.

slowly and awkwardly his arms snaked around your body, finally returning a hug back to you. you both lingered there for a moment, holding on to each other before breaking away.

“hey, dinner on friday?” you ask.

“it’s a date.” choso replied, only making your smile grow. you both say your goodbyes and wave to each other before walking off in the opposite direction to head off to your rooms for the night.

but then another guy came along.

“hey, you got a second?” kashimo whispered. choso never interacted with the guy much but they’ve spoken enough to know how one another looked and each other’s names. sighing, choso obliged.

“i noticed the way you talked to that girl over there just a few seconds ago. you seriously scored.” the cyan haired male smirked at choso. “obviously, there’s something special between you two. maybe i could offer you some advice on that front?”

choso’s eyes narrowed, and as usual, his defensive walls go back up. he was never really comfortable with talking about his personal life, especially with someone he didn’t know all that well.

“i don’t need help with my love life, kashimo. i’m handling it perfectly fine.” choso crossed his arms. kashimo would put his hands up in a placating gesture.

“no pressure. i’m just saying that sometimes it’s easier to open up to someone who isn’t directly involved, you know? sit with me at lunch tomorrow. we can discuss this later.” the other lightly punches choso’s shoulder before heading out of the entrance doors.

“he’s weird.” choso muttered.

⠀© vmpiires | like, reblog & follow.

[onceuponastory]

last stroke of midnight - bucky barnes x reader

Plot: When a stroke of luck and a little bit of magic allows her to attend Prince James' royal ball, Y/N soon realises that they’ve met before. Pairing: Prince!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings: Mentions of Y/N’s stepfamily belittling and degrading her, her parents dying, and her doubting herself. Classic Cinderella story stuff. Also, a little bit of angst bc it’s me. As always, if I miss any triggers, please let me know! Notes: My final entry for @buckybarnesevents Into an Alternate June-iverse Connect Four event! My final square was Fairytale, and I realised I haven’t written a Cinderella inspired story before, so here we are! This can also tie into the Royalty square I had, but I’ve used that already.

Not beta’d, so any mistakes are my own.

Slowly, Y/N makes her way down the hallway, the sound of her heels against the tiles reverberating around the room. Various elaborate portraits and other pieces of artwork stare down at her. Unsurprisingly, the royal palace is ornately decorated, ready for the hundreds of guests attending tonight. Y/N has never seen somewhere so beautifully decorated in all her life. When she reaches the end of the hallway, two heavy oak doors stand before her, the muffled sound of music and laughter from the ball seeping through. That’s how her life seems to be nowadays. On the outside, looking in. It’s still a wonder that she was invited to this ball in the first place. But Prince James ordered every maiden in the kingdom to be present, and who was she to deny a Prince’s wish?

Of course, if her stepfamily had it their way, she’d still be at home, finishing her chores. Honestly, she thought her dream of attending the ball was as ruined as the dress they tore up to force her to stay home. It was only then that Y/N learnt she had a fairy godmother of her own, who gave her a gorgeous new dress, a pumpkin carriage and a pair of glass slippers, making her look like a true princess. And now, Y/N is standing in the royal palace, surrounded by various noblemen and women, and royalty from all over the world.

And she’s never felt so out of place. She’s still waiting to wake up, for this happy dream to be over in the blink of an eye. Even now, she can hear her stepfamily screaming in her ears, forcing her to do all the household chores, as they have done every day since her father died. Treating her like a servant, rather than a human being. For so long, Y/N thought that was what the rest of her life was destined to be. Living as Cinderella, their idea of a nickname for her, rather than Y/N. Since her stepsisters took over her bedroom, Y/N has nowhere else to sleep at night other than on the cold tiles by the dying light of the fire. And each day, she wakes up covered in soot, which inspired the name.

Their voices and laughter still echo in her mind, even now. Belittling her and labelling her a mere servant with no potential. Especially for even thinking that she could attend a royal ball, Prince’s invitation or not. But here she is, at the royal ball. Wearing a gorgeous ball gown that shimmers like the stars whenever she walks, and a pair of glass slippers that somehow perfectly fit her feet.

Finally, she has a chance to do something else, to be someone else, even if it's just for a night… and she’s terrified to take it. What if they see right through her? Realise that she doesn’t belong here, that she never did? Warily, Y/N holds her hand out, her fingers tracing along the ornate, carved detailing on the door. But she’s made it this far. Surely that must mean something.

Suddenly, the doors burst open, and Y/N gasps. “I apologise, I wasn’t-” Apologising for everything is simply second nature to her now. At least, it is when you live with people like her stepmother and stepsisters.

“Ma’am.” The guard bows to her, gesturing for her to enter the ballroom. She steps back for a moment, taking a breath for courage as her heart pounds through her chest. Yet, her feet start moving without a second thought, leading her into the ballroom. She glides through the room, past everyone’s watchful eyes. Y/N can hear them whispering, wondering who she is, and she has to tune them out before she becomes too panicked and flees.

Until suddenly, the crowd parts like the sea, and Prince James steps forward, right towards her. The second she looks into his silvery blue eyes, she recognises him right away. “Hello again.” He chuckles. “I’m thrilled to see you made it.”

Of course, Y/N could never know that she was the entire reason he suggested inviting everyone in the kingdom to this ball. Since he first saw her, Prince James couldn't get her out of his mind and yearned to see her again. And the ball his parents insisted he throw to find a suitable wife seemed like the perfect opportunity to find her again. The sparkles on her dress twinkle in the light, and he can’t stop smiling the more he looks at her. She looks beautiful.

And yet, Prince James could never know that the main reason Y/N is attending this ball is for the hopes of seeing him again. Although, she had no idea he was the Prince in question.

The two first met when Y/N was at the market with her stepsisters, being bossed around once again. Thankfully, they soon stopped bothering her and went to visit the local dressmaker, granting Y/N some precious alone time. Once they left, she took some time to walk around the stalls and take in everything on offer. Just taking some time to do nothing. As the sun warmed her skin and the cool breeze blew through her hair, Y/N finally felt at peace again. She wasn’t Cinderella, at the constant beck and call of her stepfamily. For a few blissful moments, she was Y/N again.

Soon, she found a stall selling fresh fruits and vegetables, and her stomach began to rumble. That morning, like most others, she was preoccupied completing the other chores and making sure her stepfamily were fed. And that meant she hadn’t thought about feeding herself. All the food on offer looked so enticing, and she just couldn’t resist. She rifled around in her pockets to find the few coins that she had managed to hide away, hoping it would be enough for something to eat. As she did so, a voice cut in.

“No, please. Allow me.” She had turned to see a face with a pair of gorgeous silvery blue eyes smiling back at her. Before she could protest, he paid for some apples and handed them to her.

“T-Thank you, sir.” She smiled, gazing over at him. It had been so long since someone treated her with kindness that Y/N swore she could’ve broken down into tears right then.

“Please, don’t worry about it. I couldn’t leave a lady like yourself in distress.” Y/N giggled at that, her cheeks burning slightly. As they started walking together, Y/N glanced over at the kind stranger, her gaze tracing over every inch of his face. As she did, a feeling of warmth settled in her stomach. Of course, a large part of that was because of his kind gesture, but Y/N found herself attracted to him from that very moment. With the way his eyes sparkled whenever he laughed, and the way he smiled at her… falling in love with him was very easy to do.

They spoke for a while, as close as friends, despite only meeting a few minutes ago. “Forgive me if this sounds rude, sir, but I haven’t seen you at the market before.” The man laughed, adjusting the hood of his cloak.

“Is it that obvious?”

“A little.”

“Well, I thought it would be a pleasant change from my normal life. Getting out in the fresh air, meeting new people.” He explained. “And….” He looked over at her, smiling softly. “I’m glad I came.” Her cheeks burned, and her heart felt like it was doing backflips in her chest.

“I’m glad you did too.” She smiled. But before they could talk for much longer, the voices of her stepsisters filled the air, calling her and pulling her out of her brief moment of happiness. Sighing, her body slumped in disappointment. The handsome stranger raised a brow, concerned by her sudden change in emotion.

“Is everything alright?” He had asked, instinctively placing a reassuring hand on her forearm. For a moment, she considered telling him the truth about her life. But as her stepsisters got even louder, she realised she couldn’t possibly drag him into this, or let him hear the things they say about her. It’s bad enough that she gets to hear it day in, day out.

“I’m sorry. I better go.” She sighed. When she saw the man’s face fall, she regretted her choice even more. But she didn’t have a choice. “Hopefully, I’ll see you again, sir. Thank you again for the apples.”

And here he is once more, standing in front of her in all his royal finery, looking like a completely different person. He’s still just as handsome as he was that day, his eyes still sparkling. And of course, she’s sure that she looks a lot more different than she did that day, too.

“You’re a Prince?” She gasps. “The Prince?” Embarrassment flows through her veins, and her heartbeat rises. How could she have been so stupid, so naïve to not realise that she was speaking to the Crown Prince? The bitter venom of her stepmother’s words flows through her veins once more.

“You foolish child! To think the Prince would even want you, a servant girl, at his ball-”

“It’s quite alright. Please, do not worry.” He reassures her, placing a soft hand on her forearm and pulling her out of her spiralling thoughts. Just like he did that day at the market. As he does so, Y/N feels herself beginning to calm down once more. And a familiar warm feeling settles in her stomach. “I’m sorry. I should have been honest.”

Even after the complete bombshell that's just been dumped on her, she is glad to be reunited with him, too. She and Prince James stare into each other's eyes for a little while longer, each feeling their hearts beat faster and faster. For a moment, the crowds fade away, leaving just the two of them together. Despite all her anxieties from earlier that night, Y/N feels so at ease around the Prince. For the first time in a long while, she even finds herself smiling. It isn’t until the music starts playing again that they remember where they are. And the crowd is still watching them. Clearing his throat, he stands up straighter. “May I have this dance?” And once more, Y/N’s feet move forward without even thinking about it.

“Of course.” Nodding, she slips her hand into his, whilst he rests his on the small of her back. As his fingers brush along her spine, she gasps. Being in his arms feels so right, so comfortable. Every time his touch brushes against her, it feels like a spark of electricity throughout her entire body. She’s never felt so alive.

Despite how long it’s been since Y/N danced, being with Prince James makes her feel so at ease that she easily matches his steps. As they dance together, moving gracefully throughout the room, Prince James twirls her under his arms, spinning her around the room. Y/N honestly feels like she’s floating. For a moment, she forgets all her worries, and it’s as if she and the Prince are the only people in the room once more. In fact, it feels like they’re the only people in the universe right now. The fact that her stepmother and stepsisters are here, and are no doubt watching her with the Prince doesn’t even cross her mind. She could stay here for the rest of her life, in his arms.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After spending most of the night dancing together, Prince James soon invites Y/N out into the palace gardens for some peace, and to relax after dancing for so long. The cool night air hits her skin, and Y/N takes a breath. All thoughts of the time limit on her night, and her fairy godmother’s warnings seem to have slipped her mind.

“I must say, you are a wonderful dancer.” Y/N chuckles.

“Thank you very much, Prince James. Although, I did have wonderful company.” Prince James grins, blushing furiously.

“Please allow me to introduce myself. Properly, this time. My full, official name is Prince James Buchanan Barnes. Personally, I think it’s too fancy of a name, so my close friends and family call me Bucky.” Immediately, she drops into a curtsey. “Please, don’t feel the need to do that. It’s alright.” He chuckles. She’s still amazed by his refusal to treat her like she’s any different to him, or a different class, like she’s been used to people doing most of her life. In fact, he looks at her like she’s the most important person in the world. And it’s making her even more smitten.

“I just can’t believe I didn’t realise you were a Prince when we first met, Your Highness.”

“Please, call me Bucky.” He smiles. Y/N chuckles, and her cheeks burn even more. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth when we first met. The truth is, I enjoy going out into the kingdom and meeting the people. It’s surprising how easy it is to be undetected when you wear a cloak.” He laughs. Oh, she knows that very well. “And besides, I’m sure you understand. Wanting to get away from it all.” His words confuse her for a moment… until the penny drops.

He thinks she’s the same as him. A royal, disguising herself in order to escape her life. Of course, she looks the part right now, but it’s all fake, just pretend for the night. Her head swirls, her smile dropping. Is that why he wanted to speak to her alone? Because he thought she was something different, something special? If he knew the truth, who she really was, he’d never want to see her again. Embarrassment rushes through her, chilling her veins as her stomach churns.

“Is something the matter? Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No. I’m alright.” She lies. Her mind screams at her to tell him the truth, that compared to him, she’s a nobody, just a simple servant girl. He’s been so compassionate towards her already tonight, surely he’d understand. But she can’t bring herself to tell him. This night has been so wonderful already, and she can’t ruin it now. She just wants one good night with the man she’s falling in love with. At least after tonight, she’ll never see him again. He won’t know anything else about her.

And that hurts deep in her soul, more than anything in the world. The universe seems to be set on constantly taking away every ounce of happiness in her life. First it took her parents, and then her freedom. And now, it’s taking Prince Bucky. But like she said, this is how it has to be. She couldn’t bear him seeing the truth, or seeing him letting her go.

“These gardens really are beautiful.” She says, hoping to steer the conversation away from anything to do with her.

“Well, that’s my mother’s pride and joy.” He chuckles.

“My mother loved flowers too.” She nods, thinking back to the flowers that used to adorn their garden, vibrant hues of pinks and purples. The bees and butterflies that filled the air, flying past as Y/N played with her parents. Life was so much simpler back then, so happy. She’d give anything to return to that time, when she had no worries or stepfamily. Although, being with Bucky is making her feel just as happy as she did back then.

“Well, she must have been a wonderful woman then.” 

“She was. She really was.” 

“And you’re right, they are beautiful. In fact… there’s a lot of beautiful things here tonight.” He smiles, and Y/N’s cheeks burn even deeper this time.

“Thank you.” She murmurs, a small smile tugging at her lips. “This has truly been such a wonderful night. And I never want it to end.”

“Then stay with me. Just a little longer” Bucky smiles, stepping closer. Y/N gasps, shaking her head in disbelief.

“I wish I could, but I can’t.” When he sees the tears shining in her eyes, Bucky’s brow furrows, noticing how panicked the woman is becoming. He sighs, not meaning to come across as so forceful, or to scare her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t. Not at all. You’ve been nothing but wonderfully kind to me all night.” She sighs. “It’s just… a lot to explain, Your Highness.” When he hears her call him by his official title again, it registers a feeling deep within in his gut. At the market, when her face fell as soon as she heard people calling for her, he wondered what was wrong. And now, seeing her so distressed, things are starting to make sense. Whoever this woman is, she seems to be hiding from someone. Or something.

“If anything is wrong, I can help you with whatever it is you need.” Y/N chuckles, sniffling slightly.

“I wish you could.” She’s worried enough about the possibility of her stepmother finding out she went to the ball in the first place, let alone her knowing she spent the whole night with the Prince. But if she did, Y/N would take full blame for it. It would break her heart if Bucky was hurt by her actions. Y/N steps closer to him, gently taking his hands. “But the fact you even offered means more to me than you could ever know.” Bucky looks into her eyes once more, gently cupping her cheek. Even though he only met this woman recently, he already feels like he knows her better than anyone else in the entire kingdom, even his closest advisors. He’s falling more and more in love with her with every waking moment. And he wants to make sure she’s alright. He has to.

Suddenly, a sound pierces through the air. The sound of clock chimes. Immediately, Y/N’s blood runs cold.

“What time is it?”

“It’s midnight.” Everything hits her all at once, like a bucket of cold water has been dumped over her, chilling every part of her. Her fairy godmother’s warnings ring out in her mind once more.

“At the last stroke of midnight, everything will be as it once was.”

“I’m so sorry, but I have to go. Thank you for a lovely evening!” She gasps, breaking free from Bucky’s grasp and rushing back towards the palace, to her carriage before the chimes finish. As she runs through the gardens, dodging people left and right, she can hear Bucky calling after her, trying to get her to stop. And every fibre of her being wants to turn back and tell him the truth. She knows he could protect her if she needed, that he would in a heartbeat.

But she can’t take that risk.

When she reaches the steps leading up towards the palace, Y/N runs down them, adrenaline rushing through her veins. In her haste, she can feel her shoes slipping off, but she has no time to stop them. When the first slipper falls off, Y/N doesn’t go back for it, too worried about Bucky seeing the truth to care about a shoe of all things. She slips the other one off, clasping it in her hands as she finishes her descent of the stairs and climbs back into her carriage.

As it sets off, whisking her back to her ordinary life, Y/N glances out of the window. Bucky stands on the stairs, watching her go. And Y/N feels her stomach twisting, and regret fills her veins.

“I’m sorry Bucky.” She whispers.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The carriage only makes it a few miles away from the palace before collapsing completely, turned back into a pumpkin. And so, Y/N begins the long walk home, still clutching her remaining glass slipper. The waltz she and Bucky danced to replays in her head, and she hums along to the tune, moving through the steps in her head.

“It was wonderful.” She sighs to herself. “Better than I could’ve ever dreamt it.”

When she’s only a few yards away from home, the sound of hooves approaches, and Y/N ducks out of the way behind a wall. Peeking out, she glimpses them as they pass. Almost immediately, she notices the royal crest on the saddle. The feeling of hope builds in her gut once more, and she smiles. Bucky’s looking for her. He wants to find her again.

But just as soon as the hope rises, her anxieties sink in once more.

He’s not looking for her, some poor orphaned servant girl with no dowry to her name. He’s looking for the girl he thought she was. The princess, the wonderful dance partner. The girl who doesn’t exist. Sighing sadly, Y/N glances down at her remaining glass slipper, still glinting in the moonlight. A permanent reminder of the wonderful night she had…and what she lost.

But like she said, it’s better this way.

Isn’t it?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Your Highness.” The Captain of the Royal Guard pants, rushing into the room. “We looked everywhere, but there’s no sign of the mystery maiden. It appears she’s disappeared out of sight.”

Bucky sighs, nodding. “Thank you for trying, Captain.” He murmurs. He can still see the look on her face as she ran, the fear that something would happen if she didn’t leave immediately. It still makes his heart sink, even now. Nervously, he begins to tap his foot. Something is wrong with this woman, something in her life must be causing her great pain. He wants to find her again and to help her more than anything. The slipper sits atop his desk, sparkling in the candlelight. He picks it up once more, his fingers tracing around the heel. “A shoe made of glass.” He chuckles. “What a wonderfully strange woman.”

“Your Highness?” The Captain asks.

“Tomorrow morning, we commence a kingdom wide search for the maiden who fits this glass slipper.” He states. “No stone will be left unturned. Do you understand?” The Captain nods. “Good. Ready your men for the morning.” As the man departs, Bucky holds the slipper close to his chest, as if he was holding her that closely. “I will make this right.” He whispers. “I promise.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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[awkwardauthorwrites]

In the Middle - Ominis' Ending

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: In the Middle - Ominis’ Ending

Warnings: read this first so this makes more sense

Y/N slipped through the doors that lead to the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower, knowing she would always find the man she was looking for here - that she would always find both of them here. It wasn’t long until she found the familiar mop of brown hair walking in her direction, a charming smile falling on his face as he noticed her. Sebastian turned to say goodbye to the Ravenclaw student he was walking with and made his way in her direction, his arm winding around her waist to pull her into a hug as she neared. 

“Hey you. Done avoiding us?”

“For now.” Y/N pulled away and offered him a sheepish smile, her eyes darting over to the group of students who were sitting nearby. “Can we go somewhere to talk?”

“Depends. Will I like where this is going?”

“Sebastian.” She let out a quiet sigh and shook her head, but the smile was evident on her face. 

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled and titled his head to the left, signalling she should follow him. Y/N thought he would lead her to the Undercroft but instead he led her up a flight of stairs and towards Professor Fig’s old classroom. His position teaching Magical Theory had been filled the following year, but Y/N still avoided the class as best as she could. Sebastian gently pushed her along until they were sitting in the alcove across from the classroom and glared at the figure in the portrait until he left the frame with a loud, disgruntled sigh. “You have my undivided attention.”

“I’m sorry for avoiding you both.”

“It’s fine,” he shrugged nonchalantly and leant back in his seat. “We dropped a lot on you. Anyone would need a moment to think after that.” His eyes roamed over her, taking note of how she was avoiding his gaze and instead focused on her fingers which were currently being twisted together anxiously. “You’ve picked him, haven’t you?”

“What? How - ” Y/N looked up at him in surprise before exhaling slowly. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising, you walnut?” Sebastian chuckled and came to sit next to her, his shoulder pressed against hers for comfort. “What we said in the Undercroft stands. You’re my best friend - you both are - and you’ll both continue to be after this. I won’t let this come between us.” He reached over to squeeze her hand gently.

“You’re my best friend too. I…I won’t blame you if you need some time.”

“Don’t be daft,” he nudged her with his shoulder. “Who else is going to put up with all my shit?” Y/N laughed quietly at his words, her eyes darting to the side as a couple of students left the Magical Theory classroom. “Have you told him yet?”

“No,” Y/N watched Ominis as he walked out of the men’s bathrooms, unaware of their presence. “I thought it would be fair to speak to you first.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Sebastian rolled his eyes at her before letting out a low whistle. Ominis stopped in his tracks and turned slowly, a frown of confusion on his face. “Over here, Ominis.”

“Hello, Sebastian.” He walked in their direction, the wand guiding him towards the archway for the alcove. “I should have known it was you that whistled; only you would summon me like a dog.” Y/N laughed at his dry comment and watched as he turned in her direction, a breathtaking smile coming over his features when he realised she was there too. “Hello, love.”

“Hi.” Y/N felt her stomach flip pleasantly at the term of endearment, ignoring Sebastian as he playfully pretended to retch. 

“I’ll leave you two alone, now.” Sebastian clapped Ominis on the shoulder and sent Y/N a cheeky wink as he stood up and walked away, his hands tucked into his pockets as he whistled a cheerful tune.

“Subtle.” Ominis’ lip twitched as Sebastian walked away, his heart thumping as he heard Y/N laugh quietly. “How have you been?”

“Oh, you know. Same old drama, different day.”

“Oh?” he smiled slyly and leant against the pillar for the archway and crossed his arms over his chest. “Anything good?” 

“Would you believe both of my best friends admitted to having feelings for me?”

“Well, can you blame them?” Ominis played along. 

“No, I suppose not,” Y/N faked a sigh, a smile playing on the corners of her mouth as she openly stared at the man in front of her. “I’m pretty remarkable.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.” They both chuckled quietly, a comfortable silence falling over them as Ominis shifted so that he sat beside her on the bench. “Have you made a decision?” 

“I have.”

“I see.” He pocketed his wand and turned his head in her direction, his features void of any emotion. “And you’ve told Sebastian already?”

“It was only fair,” Y/N murmured, reaching out to brush the back of his hand. He turned it over without a thought and caught her fingers in his and tangled them together.  “I didn’t want him to find out through the rumour mill that I had chosen you.”

“Me?” Ominis’ cloudy blue eyes met hers with startling precision, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “I thought…”

“You thought I’d choose Sebastian?”

“I mean…well, yes.”

“Ominis Gaunt, for someone who takes so much pride in their intelligence you can be really thick sometimes.” Y/N leant over to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, knowing very well that he did not like public displays of affection. “How could you not tell that I am completely entranced by you?”

“It’s not every day a beautiful woman would pick me over my best friend,” he said quietly, his fingers tightening around hers fractionally. Y/N felt her heart crack in her chest at how despondent he sounded and gently ran her finger over his cheekbone, tracing the beauty marks as she turned his head to face her again.

“Their loss.”

“Are you sure? Would you be able to handle…” Ominis trailed off and gestured to his face, his cheeks tinged pink.

“You better not be about to ask me if I can handle you being blind.”

“It’s not easy to deal with.”

“Maybe not,” Y/N shrugged and turned her body so that she was facing him completely. “Believe it or not, being able to see was not on my list when I made my decision.”

“You made a list?”

“Metaphorically, yes,” she rolled her eyes and let go of his hand to cup his face. “I want to be with you, Ominis. I don’t care that you can’t see.”

“Really?”

“Do you want me to shout it from the rooftops?”

“As entertaining as that would be,” Ominis paused to chuckle and raised his hand to touch Y/N’s face. He trailed his fingers down her cheek gently and traced his thumb over her lips. “Is there anyone around us?”

“No.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please.” Y/N felt her heart thud in her chest as he leant in and pressed his lips to hers briefly before pulling away and resting his forehead on hers. 

“You have the most beautiful soul I have ever had the pleasure of knowing,” he murmured before leaning in to kiss her again. Ominis decided he would speak to Sebastian later, in private, to ensure he didn’t harbour any resentment towards Y/N’s choice. The three of them had some things to discuss on how they would proceed from here, but that could all be done at a time when Y/N wasn’t running her hands through Ominis’ hair in a way that set every nerve of his alight. He reluctantly pulled away from her and took her hand in his, pulling her to her feet so he could walk her to their next class with a wide smile on his face that he couldn’t quite seem to shake.