#I literally change my way of shading coloring and outlining like every time

[vee-bee-s]

🔥

[ptergwen]

hii, i love your writing so i was wondering if you could do something where the reader is a celebrity and she receives a package from a promotion brand and they send her lingerie and Tom is all excited :)

thank you babes!! i made this fluffy cuz yeah

being a well known face in hollywood, you’re asked to do a lot of red carpets and photoshoots for high end companies. things sell when they have your name on them. you also get to enjoy the perks of it, your house filled with free swag from each event. you’ve filmed makeup commercials, louboutin ads, anything you can think of except for lingerie.

it’s not that you didn’t want to. you’ve just been waiting for one specific brand to reach out, one that your fellow actresses and favorite artists are all ambassadors for. savage x fenty, of course. besides the fact that you’d be working with rihanna, you love the message of inclusivity she pushes. getting to be one of the beautiful women who represents that would mean everything to you.

plus, the stuff is really cute. tom was practically foaming at the mouth when you told him you got added to the promo list. he’d been a little offended at first that rihanna didn’t choose him after his tribute in lip sync battle. really though, he was over the moon for you. himself as well, to be honest.

they’re sending you a box today, this way you can try on their newest items and post yourself in them. as the supportive boyfriend he is, tom offered to take the pictures for your instagram. he’s so obvious.

“babe, it’s here!” you shout from the front door, your package held tight in both hands. “coming!” tom calls back. his footsteps are loud and fast as he makes his way to you in literal seconds. the eagerness of it makes you laugh to yourself. “you’re more excited than i am,” you joke, tom pressing a kiss to your lips in response. he’s out of breath, so it doesn’t last long.

“open it up, let’s see,” tom pants out with a goofy smile. you drum your fingers over the box, smirking wickedly at him. “upstairs.” “god, you’re gonna be the death of me one day,” he groans, you leading the way and him following behind. once you’re both sat on the bed, you put the package in your lap so both of you can see.

“time for the big reveal. you ready?” you smile at tom over your shoulder. “more than,” he hums, brushing your hair to the side and peppering the back of your neck in tickling kisses. while he does that and you try not to let it distract you, you pull open the pink parcel. your eyes go wide at what’s inside, holding it up to get a better look.

it’s a long sleeve slip made entirely of see-through lace, in a deep shade of purple with a cutout near the middle. there’s another set under the dress, but you’ll save that one just for tom. you want to surprise him with it later.

“fuck.” tom’s voice is a whisper, his arms tightening around your waist. “fucking hell.” he’s bought you lingerie on a few occasions, some for your every day wear, others for the bedroom. none have been like this. it’s so grand, so different from anything else that’s out there. you knew you made the right choice promoting fenty.

“do you like it?” you ask lowly and lean your head back on his shoulder. you’re both gazing at the material, tom giving your waist a gentle squeeze. “i’ll answer that when it’s on you,” he hums, a lopsided grin crossing his features. “what about you, hm?” “yeah, it’s really pretty. i love the color,” you smile back at him. “i’m gonna go try it on.”

tom takes his phone out of his pocket and waves it around. “let me set up for the shoot, then.” “you do that,” you laugh, pecking his cheek before you get up from the bed. his hand grabbing yours stops you. “y/n/n?” you turn around again. “yeah?” “i’m proud of you. know you’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” he speaks softly while playing with your fingers.

“‘s not easy to put yourself out there, either. all the young girls that look up to you, they’re lucky to have someone so strong.” hearing tom’s words of encouragement, you could seriously cry. he makes you feel so conifident in everything you do, and you’re eternally grateful for it and him. “thank you so much, baby. you really think i’m, like, a role model?” you wonder with a hopeful smile. “i’ve always tried to be.”

“you are, and there’s millions of people who would agree with me,” tom assures you and holds your intertwined hands to his chest. you’re so moved by him, you can hardly think of what to say. “i love you,” you settle on, using your free hand to cup his cheek. “i love you too, sweetheart. here,” he hands you the slip dress, biting back another smile.

while you change into your lingerie, tom messes with his camera settings, taking a few test pictures. he snaps one of the wall you’re doing your makeshift photoshoot in front of. the next one he gets, you’re suddenly in the frame, a blur of purple and big grins. tom puts down his phone so he can see you in real time. his tongue runs across his lower lip as he gives you a once over, eyes twinkling in admiration.

“wow,” he breathes out, you doing a little strut over to him. he’s still on the bed with you now in front of him. “i guess you do like it,” you tease and spin around so he can have a three-sixty view. nodding, he sets his hands on your hips, the thin material barely separating his warm palms from your skin. “i love it.” tom uses his index finger to trace the outline of the cutout.

“angel, you’re so gorgeous,” he murmurs, an arm wrapping around your almost bare back. “wrong brand,” you joke in reference to victoria’s secret. his hands run up and down your sides carefully, like you’re a work of art only he gets to touch. you are a work of art in his eyes. “i mean it, you look so beautiful in this.” he’s licking his lips again. “and, all the time.”

“thanks, tommy. you’re a really good hype-man, you know,” you beam at him, putting your hands on top of his. “i’ve been told.” tom dips his head down and leaves a kiss on your exposed belly button. it makes you giggle, your nose scrunching up. “my pretty girl. my gorgeous girl,” he mumbles as he kisses your hip, then your other one. you take his face in both your hands.

“shouldn’t we save this for after the pictures?” you suggest, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. you’ll never get them done if you don’t stop tom while he’s ahead. “mm, i guess so,” he concurs and nudges your stomach with his nose. “we’ll do those, then i wanna do... a few other things.”

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

do you have any opinions/headcanons about hotch with tattoos? would he have a few tattoos or like a full sleeve? and would they be the classic black and white ink tattoos or would there be colour? maybe even just a dash of colour for a specific tattoo, and if so which tattoo? what would the tattoos mean, if anything?

<33

I have been thinking about Hotch with tattoos non-stop lately, and it's all @goobzoop 's fault and I love them for it. Because I know it's been brought up a few times that although we all know Hotch is straight-laced and professional and realistically probably doesn't have any tattoos at all, or if he does they are lettering/minimalist with very specific meanings. But MY hc is that when he was younger, he head a rebellious streak a mile wide and he would most definitely be in a tattoo shop the moment he was old enough to get one. Just to spite his father, and to get something for himself.

I've had a lot of thoughts over the past few months about what he would have and where they would be on his body, and right now -- I can't think of them at all. Except for this one discussion I had where I imagined he had American Traditional Swallows on his hips on either side because that was such a cliché trendy thing during the 90's and he fucking would, but I also think he connects with some kind of bird imagery in a way as his first tattoo, because he was going to break away from this family's legacy and start a life all his own and never, ever have to go back. (Okay, apparently I remembered a little).

But every hc has been decimated by @goobzoop 's photo edits of Hotch with full tattoo sleeves on both arms. Y'all... I'm foaming at the mouth about this. In my head it fits and LET ME TELL YOU WHY

For those of you who are not aware of tattoo culture/history, there is a well known tradition of having tattoos precisely placed on the body so that they do not appear when wearing business attire. Made most famous by the Yakuza, (basically the Japanese mafia), who could have entire body suits tattooed onto their person (tattoos that cover every inch of their body), but the tattoos themselves stop right before the cuffs of their shirt sleeves, the collars of their suit jackets. So when dressed for work or in public no one would be any wiser to what lay beneath the layers of their tailored black clothing.

Hotch wears a full suit every day, rain or shine, winter or summer, Montana or Florida. Once he becomes Unit Chief, after Gideon leaves, he doesn't spend as much time outside work with his team. So the chances of them seeing him in anything else drops exponentially. How are they to know that, over the years, his original smattering of tattoos has grown and grown and grown until they completely covered his arms and shoulders. One in particular over his heart after Haley's death.

They would stop right before the cuffs of his dress shirts, nearly in a precise line as if the artist measured it and made a 'do not cross' line to guide by. And I think you also hit the nail on the head about the styles of tattoos he would have. Black and grey, 100%, some small pops of color here and there but nothing too bright or noticeable. He prefers heavy outlined styles: American Traditional, Illustrative, Letterwork, Japanese Traditional. Things that are prominent and withstand the test of time, less likely to warp and fade with age. And there's so many of them, they aren't a single planned piece but a collection that he's built upon for years. Goes to the same artist so it flows beautifully along the different planes and musculature of his body. And every singe one has meaning to him, and him alone. He probably has a few he would tell the meaning behind, if someone asked, but most are as private as he is, and you would have to be someone very close to him in a very intimate setting in order to get a fuller list of each image's story.

This is his thing. His one thing that's his and his alone. If you've never gotten a tattoo before, know that they are addicting. Whenever I get one I always end up getting two or three more within the following months. Hotch has just fallen into that cycle for years and years and just never gotten out of it.

But the idea that has me quite literally going feral? The image of the day he slips:

It's hot as hell. Humid as all get out. They are on a Florida case and Florida is the worst, everywhere they turn it's dead end after dead end and they are running out of time with the latest victim that's been abducted. The air conditioning is broken in the conference room they've been assigned, the rest of the precinct isn't any better, and it's over 100 degrees in the shade outside. His suit is drenched, he can't think straight he's burning up so much. Half the team left to grab food just to escape that room. So he takes off his jacket, his tie, unbuttoning the collar and then his cuffs. Rolling the sleeves up to his elbows and alleviating some of the stifling heat.

I'm biased so Reid sees the tattoos first, completely blanketing every inch of skin above Hotch's wrists, so beautifully and artfully condensed it almost looks like an under shirt -- and he has a mild bi/gay panic moment -- but ultimately doesn't say anything. Just... stares a lot. To the point he's not getting much work done, and Hotch has to sigh because he's not having this conversation and Reid probably doesn't want to either. They have an absurdly short talk about it that probably goes like this: "I have tattoos." "...I can see that." "Good. Glad that's out of the way. Can you start a Jeopardy Surface on the whereabouts of the latest victim, or did you have questions?" "No, sir." "Right answer."

The rest of the team would have words to say I'm sure, might tease him a bit about it, but he doesn't care. They're a part of his body and they are his and the fact the team has learned of their existence doesn't change a thing about that. The more condensed and intricate his collection gets, the more proud he is of them, to the point in season 7 where he's running the FBI triathlon in that black athletic tank top? Oh yeah, they can see everything.

Other than that, when on the job, he sticks to his suits.

Although he does get a little smug every time he surprises someone when he rolls up his sleeves.

--

@goobzoop 's photo edits HERE and HERE !!! They've done some Reid ones too 💕💕💕 I am inspired.

Thank you for the ask love 😘

[tubbietommo]

MY TOP 10 F1 HELMETS OF 2020 (AS A GRAPHIC DESIGNER)

With finally that dumb rule about amount of helmet changes out of our system, I’ve been enjoying seeing all these different helmets this season. There have been beauties, some that I’m still thinking about till this day and there have been some uglies.. some also which I’ve been thinking about till this day and literally thinking: WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!?!? to the drivers that wore them. 

As I’m getting my official graphic design ‘papers’ I wanted to give my opinion about my top 10 helmets of this year: 

10: Daniil Kvyat Abu Dhabi helmet

This is his last helmet and honestly I’m a fan of this one. It’s a pretty simple design and usually I’m not a big fan of the colour red being used in a helmet. Mostly because I find that colour a bit overdone in helmets. But it being sparkly makes it extremely beautiful and it’s the first Alpha Tauri helmet that I’ve seen that match fully with that big ass logo on there. With most of the Alpha Tauri helmets I feel like the helmets designs have two parts to it, the design and the big ass logo. But with this one I find it matching extremly well. Good job on that, love it.

9: Pierre AustrianGP helmet (fan made)

Oof, the front and the upper part of this helmet is just so fun. I’m a big fan of using a dark background with a very bright color scheme combined and I love the fact that this was a competition where fans could design Pierre’s helmet and that a beautiful design was chosen. I would have loved it even more if the alpha tauri logo wasn’t there. Especially that big. It would have looked so cool and given me an 80′s disco vibe if the whole colourful design was fully around the helmet, without the logo. But I guess with this one I just pretend the logo isn’t there. It's still so good though.

8: Sebastian Vettel Abu Dhabi (ferrari tribute) helmet.

Now I wasn’t sure which helmet of Seb I liked more, this helmet or the Styrian helmet. I decided on this helmet, because it’s such a Seb helmet and reminded me of one of his Red Bull helmet (which is prettier than this one tbh). But also because I think there’s a special concept to this helmet. This obviously could be wrong but to me this helmet is a bit of ‘self reflect’ for Seb. You obviously have the achievements with Ferrari on there and his famous quote ‘grazie ragazzi and the helmet has a bit of a mirror effect. but the colours to me that especially are being used in the number 5 tells me his F1 adventure (past and future). The colours start (in the number 5) with the Redbull colours, than goes into the red(Ferrari) which blends in with a little pink and goes straight to the green(AM). So I really like this little detail even if it wasn’t on purpose, which sorry but I am convinced it is. 

7: The pink Hulkenberg helmet

I’m not gonna lie, I kind of had forgotten about this helmet, but as I’ve been looking back at these helmets this one has been really catching my eyes and is so well done. I find Pink a very hard colour to work with anyway, definitley the bright pink that just screams at you. And the fact that the bright pink isn’t overpowering with the pastel pink and white makes this helmet just nice to look at. The things that needs to grab your attention, grabs your attention and the fact that it has stripes going vertically over the helmet is one of my favourite design choices you can do with helmets so I absolutely love that. If a driver is doing a pink helmet, then this is what I love to see. Very beautiful. 

6: Jack Aitken Abu Dhabi helmet

Now this one I was pleasent surprised by. Lets just put it this way: It’s a busy helmet well done. This is also a helmet that is just nice to look at it. Using these kinds of shapes that go from small once to big once is not easy to make it not look messy and the way they've done the white spaces inbetween the shapes is really well done. It looks like a puzzle that fits well and I have nothing bad to say about this. The color scheme with this one is just amazing. Really really love this one.

5: Lewis Hamilton purple helmet (bahrain)

I haven’t been a fan of Lewis’s helmets before BUT LET ME TELL YOU, this season he has really been bringing it. I am in love with the use of purple. Such an underrated color in this sport. And why? I have no clue. Purple is creative, magic, rich colour. How has it not been used more? It looks so good on this helmet, especially the Bahrein one with the glitter. Very pretty, good job Lewis. Finally! I have nothing bad to say about this helmet. The stars for his champions, the blm message on it. A good helmet right here. 

4: George’s Abu Dhabi GP helmet

I guess a lot of drivers saved their best helmet for last... When I saw this helmet for the first time I was legit in love with it. I love that this helmet is for Frank and Claire and showing the success of Williams which haven’t been showed the last couple of years. But the use of the two dark blue shades with the white lines is complimenting all three colours so beautifully. I really hope George keeps those three colours and make a different kind of design as his main helmet because this looks beautiful to me. I wouldn’t even know anything bad to say about this helmet. Love it.

3: Alex’s Abu Dhabi GP Helmet

Now this one might come as a surprise and I don’t think anyone would’ve picked this one out as a number three BUT HEAR ME OUT. I’m absolutely OBSESSED with the cartoonish design that’s going on with this and it stands out a lot more compared to all the other Red Bull helmets that have been designed since 2015. To me they’ve been all looking kind of the same but this one to me is just so unique while still being a very RedBull helmet. The black outlining makes all of the colours pop out so much more and just the whole cartoon vibe is just right up my alley. If I were to design helmets, the whole cartoon vibe would be what I do and I think that’s one of the main reasons why this helmets speaks to me so much. Like I absolutely love it.

2: Seb’s Tuscan GP helmet

This was the hardest decision, because to me this is a clear number one. I have something with old designs coming back. And I LOVED Seb’s 2019 Monza helmet which was a love letter to the old helmets and I LOVE this helmet for the same reason, but even more so of how creative this is. Obviously it was the 1000GP for Ferrari so there was the inspiration. But I’m just obsessed with the way the old side looks. How they used an old drawing of the old racing car and made it really work. Like it almost looks like an old world map but to a racing driver. I’m obsessed with this side. But also I’m obsessed with the way it goes from the old side to the new with the old looking colours to the vibrant almost neon ‘now’ colours... is just amazing. I probably would’ve loved it even more (if that was possible lmao) if the old side was all around the helmet, but you just have to love this concept. For a 1000gp celebration it’s so good and well thought while still keeping your main design helmet in there. I would love to have this helmet. So cool.

1: Sebastian Vettel diversity helmet

Is it really a surprise that this one is on number one though? Now I’m gonna be honest with you, even though I absolutely love this design, it’s the combination of the design and the extremly strong message this helmet brings to the table that makes this helmet a number one of the season. This helmet is so special I will be thinking about this helmet in probably 10 years still. Now let me talk about the design. The stripes of rainbow where usually the German flag is (which I said before) something I’m obsessed with. I really love a helmet that has stripes going vertically over the helmet. I don’t think a lot of drivers use that and obviously Seb’s Ferrari helmet is known for that design and is so iconic. Your eyes will go straight to the vertically stripes, which in this case are the rainbow colours. But that’s not all. On the side you have all these unique illustrated people. Every character on there is differently that you almost could say you could ‘find yourself’ in there. It really shows the message of this helmet. What I also love and probably is a detail that is a forgotten detail, is how the number five slowly fades with the background. I’m very curious if that’s just a design choice, but I almost would think there’s a concept in that alone. Overall this is just a mind blowing helmet. I have nothing bad to say about it. It’s a beautiful design with an amazing message that should be talked more about in this sport.

[dutchforstrangers]

Digiweek 2021 Day 7 - Home | Shades of red; a Taikoura fanfiction

Chapter 7/7. Purple shimmers & orange-red glow

Chapters [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

A/N: It's the last day of @digiweek. Officially it's a 'Free day' but I went with the other given word 'Home'. It's a short epilogue chapter, but I'm full with ideas (outlining, dialogues, scenarios) covering up the time gaps between the chapters. So this won't be the end of Shades of Red!

Of course it's the 1st of August meaning it's Odaiba Memorial Day, so I did a little DigiweekxO.D.M. mash up. So through this way I want to wish all of you a happy August 1st! For the readers who sticked with me till the end: thank you! It's been a blast :3

Characters: Taichi Yagami (Koushiro Izumi & Sora Takenouchi and others in the background) Genre: Family, romance, friendship Rating: K Wordcount: 742

Art by @seventeenlovesthree

Every first of August they reunited in the parc of Odaiba. Cooling down the Summer’s heat underneath the trees, the shadows making all of them focus on each other. It had always been nice to see everyone together. Especially after each and everyone of them grew older, right into adulthood.

Right now everyone was at a point in his, her or their life where they achieved something. Being it job-related or family-related, a huge achievement or a smaller one. They had both literally and figuratively grown bigger and older and things had changed, but being here all together on the first of August made them relive the past as if not that much had changed. It wasn’t like they were holding on to the past, not at all. It had just always been nice to see familiar faces, because those faces were the only thing that never changed.

To Taichi the biggest change were the feelings. His feelings. And his idea of home.

Taichi smiled to himself, feeling the pressure in his arms move a little. Worriedly his eyes shifted from overlooking the parc to the little bundle in his arms. The most recent change was only one month old. He could feel all different kinds of feelings immediately flow through him upon looking down.

In his arms rested a little girl. The tiny hands clenched into fists, pumping in the air. Her small legs gently kicked nothing in particular. The sounds coming out of her little mouth were not a surprise to Taichi anymore, but his worried look was still in place. He tilted his head, a caring smile appeared on his lips while rocking the little girl in his arms. The shush-sound he eventually made, not ever shifting his gaze away from the baby girl, made her open her eyes. His brown eyes met her brown eyes. Though it was a different shade of brown, but to Taichi beautiful all the same. He smiled, bringing the little girl up while lowering his own head, nuzzling his nose into her short, soft and fluffy baby hair.

Unlike his own brown hair, the little girl’s hair was more a darker red with a tendency towards a brown shade with a purple shimmer to it. He always described it as a soft and bright maroon color, the perfect mix between the little girl’s mommy and daddy. That thought alone made Taichi smile even wider.

“Daddy daddy! Look what I’ve found!” came a voice making him shift his eyes up from the little girl to the toddler in front of him. The energetic boy proudly pointed to his head where an orange-esque flower sparkled up his brownish colored spikey hair. “Auntie Kari stuck it in my hair. Do you like it daddy?”

The flower complimented his little boy’s hair. It was less spiky and a lighter brown than Taichi’s own hair. The sunshine made his son’s hair glow a natural orange-red, making it look more auburn like his mother’s hair.

“Handsome boy,” Taichi smiled. “You should show mommy the treasure you have found! She loves flowers.”

The boy nodded, giving his little sister in Taichi’s arm a small peck on the forehead before he ran to his mother to show her the flower as well. Taichi followed the little boy all the way to where his mommy stood.

And his second daddy.

Love filled Taichi’s whole being, seeing his life partners standing there arm in arm. Smiling, laughing, beaming. Sora’s head resting on Koushiro’s shoulder while talking and listening to Yamato, Mimi and Jyou. The way both Sora and Koushiro shifted their attention to the little boy who desperately wanted to show his parents the flower he had found, full of care and love to give, made Taichi’s heart flutter a little more. It confirmed his founded happiness.

Had Hikari never told him about the concept of polyamory, he would have never thought anything like that existed. So he felt grateful for her support. Actually for all of his friend’s supports. He felt on top of the world with Koushiro on one and Sora on his other side. He felt something indescribable beyond love seeing the two joyful and beautiful children the three of them were raising together. A bit unusual, but it completed him in every way. So Taichi didn’t care.

He felt happy with every shade of red in his life. But he only felt at home with their four reds especially.

[emsartwork]

i forgot to add: how do design ????!?!??????

So I’m not expert but this is how I think of character design! (also sry if you were asking about clothing/outfit design thats a little different)

under the cut because this is long im so sorry

So in my opinion there are three really important aspects for character design!

AESTHETIC: obviously everybody’s aesthetic is different, but this is more about what vibe the character has, what makes them THEM design wise. 

INTENTION: who is the character supposed to be? this can range from their personality, their back story, their occupation, or their role in the story, but the design need to fit that intention.

COHESION: does the design go well together? or do certain aspects clash too much? obviously you can have disjointed parts of a character design, and if those serve a purpose then thats fine, but if its so disjointed its distracting from the character as a whole you might need to tweak things. 

AESTHETIC: the contrasting part of the design (white flowers in dark hair, dark trim on dress, and dark shoes) provide interest to the eye. The mixing of round and sharp shapes also keeps the design from feeling “boring” even though its relatively simple. 

INTENTION: so what role would this little doodle character have? according to her design elements, shes cute and friendly with her round shapes (bouncy balls, babies, etc), but could have a sharp/fast/active or even dangerous edge to her with the triangles (arrows, knives etc). of course the design doesn’t limit her possible roles. She could be a bubbly younger sister who teases the older protagonist, or maybe she’s the villain hiding in plain sight. the shape this character design doesn’t really have is squares(think bricks and rocks), which communicates that she might not be really strong, steady, or reliable. 

COHESION: repeating the curves across her whole design builds cohesion, it communicates that “yes, these are all part of the same character”, it also allows the eye to “rest” on a familiar shape or line. 

NOW LETS LOOK AT SOME DESIGNS

(Boku no Hero Academia) so both of these characters are super heroes, but have vastly different design elements. so lets analyze them.

OCHAKO(the pink one) is all rounds, with a few pointed shapes in hair mostly, but a little on her costume as well. Her personality is cute, bubbly, and friendly which perfectly suits her soft and bouncy design. Howevre she also has a very slight edge to her, which is seen her determination and drive to improve herself over the course of the anime. 

KIRISHIMA(the red one) at first glance, seems to be super pointy!! shapes that are usually seen on villains or really dangerous characters, but while he IS sharp(literally sometimes) and sometimes aggressive, he is also made of squares, which perfectly suits his loyal “i gotchu bro” attitude towards most of the other characters in the anime.  

ISSUE AREAS: so the only problems i have with Ochako and Kirishima’s designs is that their costumes each have one area that clashes a little too much for my taste. With Ochako, the belt over the color blocking stripes down her crotch are......questionable taste wise. I think the design would be better if the pink chest ended above the belt in a shallow v. not only would this mirror the triangle aspects of her hair, it would fit the belt outline, and continue the trend her costume has of being “grounded” or “heavy”. Kirishima has those.... gears??? around his shoulders??? and while the gear teeth are technically squares, the gear shape itself is a circle, which is a shape that isn’t present anywhere else in his design. I think changing the gears to something similar to his boots or his mask/headgear would create a more cohesive design(also the gears just look hard to move in)

These two characters are presented as individuals so their costumes don’t have to match at all even though they are still seen as “connected” because of the art style for the face, hair, and body. 

In a group giving the outfits cohesive motifs is an easy way to present a strong team image! In Yuki Yuna is a Hero, the girls all have colored lines(usually princess seam placement), armor or fabric hip accents, covered arms, and similar flower shapes in their hair. The Aesthetic of each girl is strong in a monochrome signature color, but not over whelming as the black+white connects them even in color so they aren’t out of place. 

Speaking of color! if your characters are all similar looking (like same body for all of them) you can communicate their personality and aesthetic just with color! (only gonna talk about a few of the ponies) Pinkie Pie (the really pink one) is energetic and playful, so her color scheme is a variation of the primary colors(happy, child like), and have one of the more saturated colors(high energy, intense) of these characters in a large quantity. Apple Jack (the orange one) is a down to earth farm girl, and her color palette is accordingly, mostly earth tones, its also warm analogous colors, which makes her appear un-complicated and warm personality wise. the pop of red is a nice touch to add interest, but notice that its uses sparingly in her cutie mark and tail accessory. Rarity on the other hand is elegant and fussy, her high contrast scheme of white and dark blue/purples gives her more visual interest and is something that makes her appear more “complex” in addition to the gradient thats included in her hair. the colors are also all cool colors, bringing to mind cool glass or water which both have connotations of grace and beauty.

however all the characters here are unified by their colors being on the pastel side, which is also important for a cohesive cast.

another, short, note on color; making the color/line/shading of your figure different from the background can help them stand out, this is used ESPECIALLY in children’s media, but can be applied to any illustration or animation as needed.

Color can also help your characters “read” quickly on screen, the powerpuff girls are a prime example, of having a distinct color blocking and silhouette. even the color blobs at the top and my crappy hand silhouettes STILL read as the characters despite being broken down into abstract elements. I also really enjoy the thick outline in the powerpuff girls, it really makes the characters pop to the foreground even though they have pretty simple designs and are often in a colorful setting.

Also, for a lot of animation, silhouette is INCREDIBLY important for your characters, some designers sketch silhouettes and then design the particulars its so important to nail the shape. These examples from Coraline are some of my favorites (though Laika wins in my heart every time no matter what lmao) because the simple shapes are SO CLEAR and indicative of the character, you literally don’t need to have watched the movie to know these are each different characters with different personalities and roles. 

silhouette can also help tell the story. In Kubo and the two strings (another Laika film) the above three characters are sisters. One has chosen to leave her home in the heavens to live on earth, and the other two stay in their roles as “heavenly” warriors. This is even shown through their designs, the two sisters are weighted on top and their cloaks don’t even touch the ground, while the first woman has trailing, heavy sleeves, hair, and robes all grounding her and emphasizing her connection with the earth.

another example of shape/silhouette reflecting the story, In The Croods, the family of cavemen are for the most part very top heavy, with large torsos and arms, usually in a more hunched over position, while the newcomer, Guy, is bottom heavy with thin arms and stands more upright. In the plot, the family represents the old ways, the strength and rules that have helped them survive, they look like very stereotypical “cavemen”, while Guy resembles the modern man, and appropriately is associated with new ideas and forward thinking.

MORE SHAPES, in DC super hero girls each girl has a distinct personality emulated by her shape language. Zatana is dramatic curves and edges, Super girl is hard, straight edges against curves, giving her a solid muscular shape. Wonder Woman, though also strong, is taller and leaner, lending to a confident leader type. Green Lantern is slim, her lines all flow into each other giving her a go with the flow look. Bumble Bee is, of course, tiny, but her boots and gauntlets add weight and strength to her otherwise small frame. Batgirl is lanky and has a lot of pointed style lines, reminding the viewer of a skinny cat (ironic what with cat woman i know) or weasel which mirrors her preferred “sneaky” crime fighting style.  (also yes this was just an excuse for me to gush abt how much i love the dcshg designs shut up)

so in my opinion, Cartoon Saloon’s The Secret of Kells is PERFECT in aesthetic, intention, and cohesion. Kells focuses very strongly on creating silhouette WITHIN the larger figure shape via color and line, most of the characters pictured here have no neck, the one who does, Brendan, is the main character and the use of negative space that cuts into his shape is used to draw attention to him. Kells is also very strongly inspired by Medieval Illuminated manuscripts (namely, the book of kells lmao). The characters still manage to stand out against outrageously detailed backgrounds via their simple shapes and strong color blocking. 

Aisling, a secondary but very important character, is not human, and has a totally different shape language from the rest of the characters. She is thin and pointy, while most of the others are round or square. Aisling also has the most negative space making up her silhouette, compare the triangles made by her arms and legs in the above picture to the figures in the first image where everybody’s body is self contained with no negative space. She is also very different color wise, very pale and cool colored, as opposed to the warm saturated colors of the human characters. (yes this was another excuse to gush abt one of my fave pieces of media deal with it)

hopefully that wasn’t too rambley and actually helps? if yall have more specific design questions lemma know lol

[werezmastarbucks]

boston

honeymoon masterlist

word count: 2538

music: savage streets by perturbator, you’ll only be safe with me by tuff turf, dark all day by gunship

You stood on one knee, feeling Kai’s fingers under your belt as he held you. You shoved out of the window half way, and yelled,

“I’m good!”

He pushed the gas pedal into the floor, and the car roared angrily, tearing through the night mist.

The black shadows surrounded you, floating out of the metal and brick twilight of the street so suddenly fear shot through you like lightning. You held up your shotgun and aimed, trying to balance with your hip on the frame of the window. Falling out of the window would mean imminent death: zombies were everywhere. They were waiting on the corners, in the windows of the buildings, hiding in the shade, behind the smelly dumpsters and in the middle of the road. As the city lights died out, and the car raced deeper into the district, golden and silver changed into cold blue and electric, the colors of docks and warehouses.

“I got them!”

“Shoot!” Kai yelled.

You exhaled and did not inhale, because the best snipers don’t breathe when shooting. As the monster truck passed by the cluster of black silhouettes, you fired three rounds into them, scaring the gathering and hitting one of them. Then you fell back into your seat and pulled your hair away from your face. It will be a bitch to try and brush after. The car drove out into the narrow quay where black water lay like glistening dirty skin, and Kai’s face was yellow in the passing bleak lights.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, poiting at the figure on the roof on the left. He slowed down a little, and you looked back to make sure nobody’s following you. You set the shotgun on your right.

“It’s Jeepers Creepers”.

“Wha... Y/N. What is Jeepers fucking Creepers doing at our zombie apocalypse?”

“I don’t know, Kai”, you snarled, “maybe he launched it. How am I supposed to know?”

“You’re driving me crazy”.

“I am afraid of Jeepers Creepers, okay? He’s gonna be the final boss”.

“I’m gonna tear his balls off”, Kai mumbled.

“He’ll take yours. That’s what he does”, you reminded him.

Kai snored.

“Get up. There’s more. They must have circled the parking lot. Look”.

Right in the middle of the road, where yellow fog was floating in the air like phantom veil, and the asphalt glistened, sweaty after 10PM rain, the black shadows barricaded the road. Kai stopped the car, and the low grumble slowly faded into the quiet, monotnous howl of the city. Somewhere, trains were moving to and fro on the rails, colliding with each other, creating noise. The factories were working, sending black smoke into the opaque sky, clogged by unwilling cigarrette clouds. The river itself, it seemed, hummed something very low, like a deadly lullaby. This world was a hostile and lonesome place. The only warm thing in here was Kai’s body sitting next to you, radiating humanity. You jerked your shotgun. You knew he was seeing exactly the same thing as you did - a bunch of zombies swaying slowly in your direction. He turned up the music a little.

“Ready?”

“Yeah”.

“Aim better or else we’re gonna drive in circles all night”.

“Don’t tell me how to kill zombies, Kai”.

He mimicked you, starting the car.

Next night, it was his turn, and you did the same thing, racing through the night city, crashing into cardbox fortresses and blowing up the glass forts, shooting the heads off the zombies, until you both have had enough of that zombie apocalypse world. It has been some time until you got tired.

(To get into the right mood, you have occupied the Columbus Movie Theatre for like a week, rewatching zombie movies. Turned out, you can’t just walk into a movie theatre and find all the zombie films piled up neatly in the movie room - or whatever it’s called. You have argued about them again and again, Kai insisting on Evil Dead being immortal classic, but the Day of the Dead was his all-time favorite. You nearly got into a fistfight with him over the Return of the Living Dead.

“Of course”, he puffed and laughed out, condescending as hell.

“What’s that laugh?!” you demanded. Kai shrugged.

“It’s such a girly thing. Return of the Living Dead. The third part is also your favorite, isn’t it?”

And he gave you the nastiest look. You narrowed your eyes.

“You bigot. You absolute fuckface. The first one is my favorite”.

He was enjoying himself too much, obviously agitated by the topic, not entirely there.

“Okay, okay”.

“But for the record, yes, I do think that the third part is the best love story I’ve ever seen on screen. It’s incredible”.

Kai nodded, the smile never leaving his face.

“She managed to fight off her cannibalistic instinct not to hurt the person she loved. She tore herself with needles and hooks to fight the urge to kill him and actually managed to keep him safe although she was literally a flesh eating zombie. How cool is that?”

Kai sighed and looked you in the eye.

“Very cool’, he said, with the tone that screamed ‘you’re silly and I adore you’.

“What other movies came out this year?”

“Not many, it’s only May”, he replied, digging deep into the box with films.

“Is Dream Lover out yet?”

“Yep”.

“We should watch it”.

“Later”, Kai said, throwing a film across the room and allowing it to crash into pieces. You hoped to hell it wasn’t Dream Lover.

“And Freddie Krueger?”

“No, not yet”.

“Damn it”, you looked over his shoulder.

“No Freddie Krueger!” he announced, “that’s it, she draws the line at Freddie. We’re leaving now”.

You laughed.

In the dark movie room, you could choose any row, any seats. You nested against each other, honoring the sacred cinema theatre tradition to gently touch in the twilight. While the action unfolded on screen, you had to shove popcorn into Kai’s mouth because it was the only way you could make him stop talking. When you ran out of popcorn, you had to shut him up with your mouth. It was a great week.)

You looked around the street and then, at Kai. How lucky he was, to find himself in this wretched place with someone as willing to play zombies as you were. You should do it more often. Maybe you should act out Mist next, somewhere in Houston.

You pulled your backpack up, and your eyes darted towards the black tower, ominous, insidious without any light, like a gigantic grave stone. Before Parker cut all the electricity, it was the Hancock Tower, now, it was just Tower. And the path to it lay through the dangerous city filled with brain craving monsters, bloodthirsty, dumb and ferocious, and you were running out of bullets. Besides, earlier on, you fell through one of the cardboard box forteresses and bruised your knee so badly, together with your left hand which you landed on. This adventure would be the death of you.

Kai twitched.

“I hear something”, he said, cocking his gun. You stood behind him, one-handed, unable to shoot. You closed your eyes. Lo, if they attack from all directions, you won’t be any help. A wounded companion is worse than an enemy in this world. You wondered if Kai would leave you alone to be eaten and stall them, or whether he’d shoot you in the head first, to spare you.

He walked on a little, entering a small square, and the black outlines of hairless, clotheless humans frightened you like you weren’t the one who had put them there ten hours earlier. They spooked you every time.

Kai shot three times, hitting each mannequin with one bullet.

“On the roof!” you pointed, turning back. You bowed as he threw up his shotgun, and fired. Heavy plastic body hopped and rolled down, falling on the ground. Kai could see in the dark so well you had to remind yourself he was human. Sometimes you would forget that fact completely. He was so different from everybody else.

He led you towards the tower where you stabbed one of the zombies in the throat. He was good at shooting, but you were very gifted with stabbing. You never missed.

“God damn”, Kai panted, as the mannequin swayed and collapsed on the asphalt just next to the glass door he was holding for you, “you saved my life”.

He took you in the movie gesture, pulling you into a long kiss. Your wrist started swelling and you had to take off your electronic watch temporarily. In the bleak room, it shone with green thin neon light from the bedside table while you had sex on the matrass.

In the middle of the night something fell off the roof, and scared the hell out of you - for real this time. You did not put anything on the top of the Tower since it was your fort. In the morning you came up on the top, while Kai went down and examined the object. Turned out, on the tenth of May, 1994, one single bag filled with files and staplers fell off the roof of the Hancock Tower. There was no way of knowing why.

“Wake up”.

You opened your eyes and rubbed your neck, aching from sleeping on the single mattrass on the floor. You looked out of the window. It has just stopped raining, which meant it was already close to midnight. In the dystopian Boston, you have switched to night regime of living completely because in the daylight, mannequins randomly standing in the streets looked simply stupid.

“The Titans”, he said. Kai’s face was so close to yours, you could feel the words on your skin. His eyes shone nervously.

“What Titans? It’s zombie apocalypse, Kai”.

He frowned.

“And what was Jeepers Creepers doing there then?”

“Oh my god”, you groaned, “let go of it already! You killed him like a week ago”.

“Come on, see for yourself”, he pulled you up, and you walked to the window, and gasped, instantly feeling for Kai’s hand. It couldn’t be happening.

That’s it! This madness finally drove you... mad.

There was an actual silhouette, the one you didn’t put there, and possibly couldn’t. The one that could not be put there for the life of you. The one of proportions too great for anyone to put it in the middle of the city, one foot on the right side of the river, and the other, on the left.

“What the fuck!” you yelled, your fright real as ever. Kai grinned happily, but then his face changed back to the philosophical expression of impending doom.

“This is it, Y/N. The zombies... and that dude... were just omens, but that’s it. The sky people have come to destroy us. It’s the end“.

“Seriously, Kai, how did you put it up... there?”

The sky was blackish-bordeaux, like usual. The river was seen just fine from here, from the top floor of the Tower. You had a pretty good look on the gloomy city and all its post-war industrial charm. The figure was so big it stood almost above the Tower itself; he reminded you of the Colossus of Rhodos, the Bronze Man, or one of the mythical golden gods of ancient times. You could actually feel your heart trying to break the hell out of your ribcage in a desperate attempt to kill itself. You couldn’t breathe for a second, mortified by the size of that thing. It was one of the deepest nightmares of your childhood, one of the visions haunting you from when you were little and kept dreaming about the end of the world.

You told Kai about those, and he now used them against you, but you appreciated the performance. It was all almost like art. It was horrifying and great, but you hated it.

“He came down from the clouds”, Kai said quietly, like a dispassionate narrator. Who already knows what’s coming, and doesn’t give a shit, because he’s already dead.

“To press the earth into the core of the planet, and make all life perish. He shall walk the land... waging his wrath on all that breathes. Including you and me”.

You made an effort to turn away, mesmerized by the statue, and looked at Kai.

“How much magic have you wasted on it?”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t break the character, it takes me a lot of concentration”.

“Sorry”, you whispered.

“How do you feel about facing the end of the world with me?” he asked.

It was a damn good question. Parker really did ask all the right questions. After all the time in post-apocalyptic Boston, surrounded by enemy, living in a dark den and barely seeing the sun, it was very easy to actually sense the end coming. You clutched your own elbows, thinking. Strangely, you weren’t scared anymore.

A part of his face was in the shadow. He blinked the way you’ve only ever seen Kai blink, just a little, as if he didn’t want to lose visual even for a split second.

“I’m okay with it. I have lived a fine life, in my totalitarian city, guarded by robots and...”

“...zombies...”

“Hunted down by Harrison Ford...”

“You just jumble together all the movies, it’s actually insane, stop it”.

“But now as Cthulhu has sent its warriors...” (Kai rolled his eyes), “I’m ready to go”.

A lonely honk of a train cut through the distance making you feel melancholic. The trains were just crawling there day and night, filling the air with their lonesome cries occasionally. It would make any reasonable person go crazy, too.

“What will be the last thing you do before you die?” he whispered, his nose almost touching yours. You gave in, hot slow lava crawling up your body. You took Kai’s waist, trying to feel his ribs through three layers of clothing.

“You”.

He probably wore three or four shirts just to see you go nuts as you tried to undress him every time. His street jacket goes, then, a pullover, then a shirt, then another shirt, and you groan with anger as he chuckles at you, his hands snaking under your clothes at once. Your skin went shivering, covered with goose bumps under his fingers, like by magic.

As he pushed you against the wall, the gigantic Titan started melting above the river, looming shadow stepping away from the city, which was flattering. Kai’s whole mind was directed at you now.

You thought about how one loves at the brink of extinction; is it passionate, like when Kai grabbed your shoulder, your hair, pounding you into the floor, or is it gentle and thoughtful, like when you only moved your hips slowly, pressed against each other like two halves of Oreo, or is it impatient, breathless and vile, like when he was fucking you against the wall, talking all the way through your whimpering?

It took the end of the world for you to end up on his dick.

[sxvxrxssnape]

Snolidays/Snapemas: Day 2

Chestnuts & Christmas Cards // pre-PS/the years between. Minerva & Severus friendship aka Minerva McGonagall’s personal mission to make Sev love Christmas part 2. 

Yesterday’s snowfall had turned to ice overnight. It crunched underneath their boots, leaving behind a trail of sunken footfalls as they crossed the stone bridge and moved towards the tall, wrought iron gates that secured the ancient school. 

The wind wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but Severus still took a moment to adjust his hat, pulling it down over his ears to keep his hair from flitting about in his face. Beside him, Minerva had her hands tucked into the pockets of her woolen cloak and together they made their way towards the waiting carriage that would take them into Hogsmeade. 

Hogsmeade was a special little town that sat nestled between crashing ocean waves and giant boulders, an endless expanse of pine trees, and the outline of an antiquated castle perched high above the cliff sides. It was home to a quaint collection of little shops and taverns, and judging by its newly renovated state, a smattering of wizards who seemed to love Christmas just as much as the deputy headmistress standing beside him. 

“December literally just started.” Severus groaned, as he stepped out of the carriage and looked around the main street that stretched out before them. 

Bundles of garland and red ribbon decorated every light post and rows of twinkling lights and colorful baubles hung from all the nearby trees. Even the air smelled festive and Severus’ lips thinned as he made out the scent of warm cinnamon and ginger - out of contempt or poorly hidden delight, he would never confirm.

Minerva chuckled softly beside him as he eyed the snow-covered rooftops with their dripping icicles that couldn’t be intentional - it was the weather’s doing, for Merlin’s sake - but still seemed intentional against the decorated storefronts that it made him think of gingerbread.

“You don’t have to look so put out,” Minerva teased, leading the way further into what he was now seriously debating was even Hogsmeade at all, “If you want, we can start decorating the castle as soon as we return. I’m sure Albus won’t mind.” 

Severus glared at her in return,

“I’ve changed my mind,” he decided, as they passed the stone statue of the town’s founder confirming this to, in fact, be Hogsmeade and not an asinine Christmas village Minerva had secretly tricked him into going to, “I can just owl-order the things I need, from the safety of the castle.”

Regardless, he continued towards the waiting apothecary because he could not - would not - owl order potion ingredients. He couldn’t trust the shopkeeper (or the blasted school owls for that matter) to fully understand why it was so important for his bicorn horns to be the exact shade of pale yellow he needed or the fragility of bursting mushrooms. 

And contrary to his current attitude, Severus Snape didn’t hate Christmas. He could appreciate a finely decorated tree and he found himself looking forward, and dare he say, a little excited about the upcoming staff holiday party. He wasn’t the bitter, old man inside that Minerva seemed to think he was, all bah-humbug and scowls when it came to anything remotely festive, he just didn’t understand the point of overdoing it and turning the whole town into a fragrant - wonderful smelling - gingerbread village two days into December. 

For Merlin’s sake, he was only twenty-five. That wasn’t enough time for him to turn resentful of the holidays, even if almost every single year had been...less than stellar, by all accounts. It wasn’t like he had never tried to have a good Christmas either, but after so many spectacularly failed attempts, he had decided he was better off not celebrating it at all. 

In fact, he had been quite content the last four Christmases working at Hogwarts and only acknowledging the aforementioned holiday party and maybe the changes to the menu, because yeah, he might feel a little indifferent towards the holiday but he also wasn’t a heathen who didn’t gladly indulge in rum-spiked eggnog and fresh baked gingersnaps. 

Severus shook his head, trying to dislodge the sudden influx of thoughts. His inner dialogue was beginning to sound a little bitter, even to himself.

“Coffee?” he asked loudly, speaking over the first syllable of whatever Minerva had been about to say, no doubt inferring something too close to accurate about his innermost thoughts from the look on her face, and stopping in front of the smiling wizard standing behind a market stall. 

“Afternoon,” the portly man tipped his head at the two, gesturing towards a charmed menu that was currently rewriting itself with the daily special. “What can I get you two?”

They ordered the special at Minerva’s insistence, and handed over a pair of sickles each before continuing on their quest. The coffee was strong and hot, tasting of dark chocolate and peppermint and Severus grimaced at the realization that she had inadvertently (advertently?) found another thing for him to like about Christmas. 

Minerva one, Severus zero. 

He shook his head again; he wasn’t trying to hate Christmas. He didn’t hate Christmas! He was just stubborn to a fault and after Min’s declaration that she would make this year the best yet, a small part of his mind was determined to rebel against it. 

Their time inside the apothecary was quick. The shopkeeper was used to Severus’ particularities and kept to herself as he sifted through bins of precariously piled ingredients and filled his basket with perfectly selected bicorn, jobberknoll feathers, and no less than thirteen jars of things he definitely hadn’t come here for. 

After he paid - and thank Merlin he had secured a position that provided room and board - Minerva led them into the paper and quill shop next door. She had a Hogwarts-sized order of parchment and spare quills to put in, so Severus went to browse the new display that had been erected in front of the store window. Red fabric was spread over the round table laden with gaudy, ribbon-trimmed quills and pots of glitter-infused calligraphy ink. He reached for one of the plastic-wrapped bundles stacked in the center, adorned with all sorts of festive symbolism and sighed as he realized what they were. 

“You should purchase some,” Minerva suggested, coming up behind him and making him jump. He hated when people snuck up behind him. It had once meant certain death and while the threat of an evil, megalomaniacal wizard behind his shoulder was no longer tangible, the sharp tendrils of fear that spiked into his chest had yet to go away. 

He forced himself to relax. 

“Christmas is all about spreading cheer, you know.” Minerva continued, thankfully ignoring the way his breath had seized, but clearly not unaware of it given the way she took a step back and appraised him carefully. “By making others happy, you make yourself happy. Perhaps you’ll benefit from it.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Are you implying that all my traumatic childhood Christmases can be attributed to the fact that I’ve never sent out Christmas cards?” he asked dryly. 

“Yes.” Minerva deadpanned. 

He blinked, taken aback by her frankness before he noticed the glint in her eye that indicated she was mostly joking. He looked down at the packages of cards and selected one with a more wintery scene - painted snowflakes and white-dusted evergreens over the eclectic mix of colorful baubles - with a look of feigned resignation, “I guess I’m sending Christmas cards this year.”

“Excellent.” 

They left the stationary store after that and headed for the Three Broomsticks. It was a new part of their routine that Severus had found himself looking forward to - Hogsmeade trips used to be rather anxiety-inducing, lonely and quite dull affairs without anyone to quip with, but now they promised good company and a quiet meal away from the bustle of students. Part of it was due to the genuine friendship they were forming, but another part of it was self-serving - for both of them. 

They were both aware of it, they just elected not to mention their unique combination of post-war trauma and newly created grief that kept them confined to the safety of the castle and feeling more than a little discombobulated in the small town just outside of it. 

The Three Broomsticks was nestled in the midpoint of Hogsmeade, a cozy-looking tavern made from polished wood and frosted windows, that boasted a warm bed and a strong drink to any desiring witch or wizard. The inside was just as quaint and rustic looking, but now it displayed a cascade of twinkling lights and a modestly decorated tree next to the wiped down bar. 

“Afternoon, Rosmerta!” Minerva called out to the barmaid and landlady who was topping off a stein of butterbeer with a healthy splash of firewhiskey for a waiting gentleman. They took their seats at a small table in the corner that Severus had long since dubbed their table and shrugged out of their cloaks.

“Afternoon, you two.” Madam Rosmerta greeted them as she approached them. Her strawberry blonde curls were gathered at the top of her head in a loose bun pinned in place by her wand and Severus internalized a scowl at that. He had seen a few witches - and wizards - use their wand for a quick updo, but he had yet to figure out how it was done and he absolutely refused to ask for help. She was carrying two ceramic mugs filled to the brim with a deep burgundy drink.

“Mulled wine,” she announced, setting them down and Severus noted the orange slice and cinnamon stick steeping in the red wine. “Made it last night.” 

“I really do believe the drinks are the best part of the holiday season.” Severus mumbled, picking up the warm cup and taking a long sip. 

“Come now, they can’t be the best part.” Rosmerta scolded, summoning a menu from the bar and setting it down on the table. “There’s so much more to Christmas than just good wine!”

“Nothing worthwhile.” Severus said simply, picking up the menu and skimming it. He always ordered the same thing, found comfort in stability, but he also couldn’t resist holiday menus when the time arrived. 

Minerva looked apologetic as she ushered the barmaid away after a quick scan of the menu and turned to glare at the now scowling potions professor. “Severus!”

“So, do you have a list you’re working from?” Severus asked mildly, picking up his wine and focusing intently on the red-tinted pulp of the orange floating in his drink. “Or are you simply making things up on the spot?”

“Pardon?”

“Your mission to make this year the best Christmas ever.” he specified. “Are you working from a list? Is there a schedule we’re following and can I be made privy to it, so I can plan my potion brewing around it?” He picked up the package of cards. “Or are you just forcing me to take part in things as they come up?”

Minerva eyed him carefully, picking up her own cup. “A little bit of both.”

“Do I get to hear what you do have planned?”

“Some of the classic activities I suppose - decorating the tree, going to look at the lights, maybe visiting Christmastown, baking cookies, go caroling -”

“Caroling?!”

“- maybe decorate a gingerbread house.”

Madam Rosmerta returned before Severus could say anything else, guiding bowls of butternut squash soup and a plate of cheese toasties onto the table with her wand. “There you go, dears.” she smiled, setting down a smaller plate piled with iced gingersnaps. “These are on the house - first bake of the holiday season. Should help get those spirits up.” She sent Severus a pointed look that he deftly ignored and Minerva glared at him again.

“If you’re going to glower at me every time we go out this month, I might just stop going out with you.” he bristled, picking up a toastie and dipping the corner into his soup. 

“Maybe you should stop being so bitter then.” Minerva returned.

“What, because it’s Christmas?” he asked, pausing to take a bite. “Oh, such a joyous time of year! Look how absolutely delighted I am to share a room with wine-drunk wizards,” he gestured a hand towards the bar, where a pair of cherry-faced dwellers were singing the words to A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love, “and a goddamn tree!”

“Severus!” Minerva admonished again and this time, Severus hunched his shoulders at the tone. He had gone too far, he could tell from the way her face had smoothed out entirely, giving her a look of cold indifference. 

“I’m sorry.” he muttered, swirling his spoon through his soup. 

Minerva didn’t say anything and they ate their food in awkward silence. At one point, a pitcher floated over to their table and refilled their mugs before making its way back to the bar. When they were done, Severus eyed the gingersnaps and wondered if it would be considered poor etiquette to reach over and help himself. The mood at the table didn’t feel particularly deserving of cookies. 

Then again, he had once attended dinners at the Malfoy’s with The Dark Lord sitting at the forefront and the ambience of those days didn’t stop anyone from helping themselves to an extra piece of focaccia bread. He winced; it felt wrong to compare past - genuinely traumatic - dinner events to the silence before him. Minerva wasn’t an enemy, he was simply a bastard. 

“I don’t hate Christmas,” he finally broke the silence. “I just find myself wondering over the point when every Christmas I’ve tried to celebrate properly has ended in disaster. I’m perfectly content with not bothering over it anymore. The lights are pretty and the food is good, and I look forward to watching Rolanda drink everyone under the table later this month, but I’ve stopped putting merit in the holidays. It’s less disappointing that way.”

Minerva pushed the plate of cookies towards him, like some sort of reward for  opening up. Which, he supposed, it sort of was. She picked one up and took a bite and only then did he grab one too.

“I don’t get why you’re so determined to fix that.” he added, shrugging. 

He bit into the cookie, savouring the meld of flavors - ginger, molasses, warm vanilla. He couldn’t imagine a more perfect gingersnap and he found himself raising the cookie in a gesture of appreciation as he made eye contact with Rosmerta. 

“Elphinstone loved Christmas.” she said simply, taking another bite of her cookie and shrugging as if she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell of emotional manipulation by invoking the name of her dead husband over a plate of cookies on what had started as a pleasant Monday afternoon of running errands after class. 

“I-” Severus began, but then stopped. 

“We weren’t married for long, I know, but I knew him for 23 years.” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. Her eyes seemed a little faraway now. “We would always make the most of his vacation days - see the lights, visit the Christmas market, decorate the tree, roast chestnuts and drink hot cocoa. He loved carolling, had a good voice for it.” 

Severus looked down at his cookie, scraping at the white icing with his thumbnail and effectively crumbling away the hand piped snowflake. 

“I’m not making you celebrate Christmas with me because I’m lonely.” she clarified, eyeing him sternly. “If you don’t want to do anything else on this list, I won’t make you. I just don’t want you going through life thinking it’s all bad and that good things can’t happen to you.”

“I don’t -” 

“Yes, you do.” Minerva scolded. “Don’t think I don’t see you wallowing every time you catch sight of yet another reminder that this is supposed to be the happiest time of the year. You don’t have to be the cheeriest person to ever walk the earth, for Merlin’s sake, Severus, but you’re letting bitterness take a hold of you and I won’t stand for it.” 

Severus tried to scowl back, but Minerva could see right through him. 

“Do you know why I accompany you to Hogsmeade?” she asked and Severus grimaced. They weren’t supposed to talk about it; this was one of those stones better left unturned things. 

“Don’t say it please.” he whispered, feeling dread curling in his stomach. He hated to think himself as weak and his inability to enter Hogsmeade alone - any bustling wizard town, at that - was only utter proof that he was. 

“Your paranoia is valid.” Minerva said quietly, saying as little as possible and yet too much at the same time. “Don’t be ashamed of having trauma, but don’t let it turn you into a bitter, shriveled up, old bastard either.”

“Are we still talking about Christmas?” he asked ruefully. 

“You know we aren’t.”

Their empty plates and half-filled mugs suddenly got up and floated away only to return as a pair of traveling paper cups topped with more wine and a splash of something stronger. They nodded their thanks at Rosmerta and shrugged back into their cloaks. They kept a tab at the Three Broomsticks, so paying wasn’t a concern as they exited the building and headed towards the castle in silent agreement to skip the carriage ride. 

“So, roasted chestnuts?” Severus brought up, as they crunched over the dirty ice that coated the path back home. “Like, in the song? That’s a thing?” 

Minerva nodded. 

“Can we do that, then?” he asked casually, trying to make amends. “I noticed the apothecary had a basket full of them. Perhaps we could return and pick some up.”

“Already taken care of.” Minerva replied, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small burlap sack bursting with its lumpy contents. “You were too busy holding jars of lacewing flies to the light you never even noticed.”

“Roasted chestnuts then.” Severus nodded, ignoring the jab towards his particularness. “And uh, thank you for accompanying me to Hogsmeade,” he added, trying to sound indifferent to it, like it wasn’t such a difficult thing to admit aloud. “I know it's hard for you too.” 

The witch smiled softly, as if being reminded of her - what, only three months now? - deceased husband and her old life living in the small town was a pleasant memory. And perhaps for her, it was. Perhaps he was letting grief turn him bitter. What did the deaths of his only friends and both his parents have to do with Christmas? Years had passed since both and yet the newly-created widow walking besides him was coping far better than he could ever hope to. 

“I think we should talk about Christmas present shopping.” 

“I was just going to -”

“And don’t say you were going to owl-order them.” Minerva interrupted, narrowing her eyes at him. “There’s nothing personal about circling a few things in a catalogue.”

“What do you propose then?”

“We’ll go gift shopping together. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Minerva confirmed, taking a sip of her drink. “It’s too early in the month for most people, so Diagon Alley won’t be crowded at all, let alone on a Tuesday. Shouldn’t make you too uncomfortable, yes?”

Severus offered a smile at the unexpected accommodation and nodded. He cradled his paper cup of mulled wine close to his chest, feeling a warmth that came from more than just the hot drink. 

--

a/n: oops maybe got carried away with this one? it would mean the world to me if you told me what you think of this bc im v proud of it. 

[iwantitiwriteit]

Slow Burn: Act I - Part 6

The Museum

Pairing: Chris Evans x Famous!Reader

Summary: You and Chris enjoy a day at the museum as the first act of your newfound clean slate.

Warnings: pure Fluff for once, the usual silly antics

Notes: Back to our regularly scheduled fanfic-ing. Hope y’all didn’t mid that mid-series break; I literally forgot how to write. But it was fun getting back in the groove of fluff! P.S. I miss museums. Read the previous part here and check this part’s moodboard + music.

Chris’ pace is quick as he walks the city sidewalk, evading puddles in his path. Sprinkling now, he doesn’t want to test his luck walking leisurely as he normally would. Normally, he’d take the time to gawk at the beauty and bustle of his city. But not today.

Today is a rainy Monday in Boston, perfect for your indoor date. Except, this is not a date. That’s what Chris told himself. That’s what he told his friend and brother… then himself again, especially now as a reminder to slow down his increasingly speeding heartbeat with each step. He’s only late for a friendly hang out with you, not for a date. 

“Chris! Slow down!” Chris’ mother yelled from behind him. Oh yeah, and Ma. He stopped momentarily for Lisa to catch up. With a smile, he offered his mother his arm to take, and they walked together at a more acceptable pace to their destination. “Well somebody’s eager to see a certain somebody else,” Lisa teased, her son’s nervous and excited energy not going unnoticed by her maternal eye.

“Just… just don’t want to miss any part of the tour, is all,” he says, ears tipped red.

“Uh-huh…”

A few more paces, and the mother-son pair arrived at the MassArt Art Museum. Inside, they’re greeted by high ceilings and white walls like blank canvases. Grandiose, multi textured sculptures add a plethora of color to the space, some stand tall from the floors, others hang low and ceilings. The bright colors and lights could easily make you forget the dreary Fall day outside, the inside of the museum matching the inside of Chris’ chest.

Chris is shrugging off his raincoat when his mother goes to check them in. “She’s probably already in the crowd over there,” she points in the direction of a large group. “Go ahead and look for her; I’ll find you in a bit.”

The tour group with a median age of about 78 is already eagerly gathered in the lobby around a museum tour guide. Chris scans the crowd, large than he anticipated, probably about 100 if he were to guess, but can’t seem to spot you. He decides to remain in the back of the group, figuring he’ll find you once the tour gets moving. Chris tunes into the addressing tour guide for the time being.

“Once we’re in the exhibit, I want everyone to remember…”

“On your left.”

Chris side-glances down to his left side to be met by your profile staring straight ahead in the same direction he was just a moment ago. He took in your kinky-curly fro, a little shrunken and and slightly frizzed than usual because of the humidity, but it worked for you. Your face is fresh and free of makeup, a look you seemed to like to sport, and he thinks to himself that he likes it on you, too. After a moment of no response from Chris, your eyes flutter up to him. He’s met with your smirking face, but you then turn your attention back to the tour guide. You both pretend to listen.

“Really? ‘On your left?’” Chris finally says.

“What’s the matter? Captain Amer—“

“Shhshsh!” Chris hovers his thick pointer fingers, over yours and his mouths to signal you to stop your thought.

You brought your chin all the way into your neck as a natural instinct to retreat the offending phalange in your face. You push his hand out of the way before harshly whispering. “You gotta not!”

“YOU gotta not!” He harshly whispers back. You quirk your brow and slightly roll your neck at him. In a less anxious whisper he says, “Keeping a low profile, thank you.” Then it all makes sense. The cap, the hoodie, the shrunken stature and a standing in the back.

“Oh… my bad.” You deflate, once again returning your gaze to the speaking tour guide. You truly hadn’t thought of the repercussions of mentioning his Marvel movie moniker.

You’ve not had to deal with that level of notoriety… not yet, anyway. The level where a blown cover in public could mean the dissension of fans and paps alike. The level where you needed a cover in the first place. Sure, you get recognized every now and again, but you’re by no means at mega star, shades and hoodies, constantly looking over your shoulder status.

And you loved that. You could sympathize with Chris. You’ve seen how crazy it can get, and it definitely is worth protecting yourself from.

Chris has been trying to keep his attention ahead, but he glances at you every few seconds. He senses the air around you change. There’s a ballet of expressions dancing across your face. You knitted your brows together, released and raised them, with your eyes and lips following suit in similarly stressed movements and shapes. You’re deep in thought.

“You alright over there? Museum guidelines aren’t that moving.”

“I really didn’t mean anything by it. I just was trying to poke fun at you, not blow up your spot.”

Chris sighs and smiles at your sentiment. “It’s alright,” He bumps your shoulder when he sees you’re still distraught. He gets a smile out of you. “Hey, you know what would help? If you stopped staring at me. Would draw less attention.”

“Uh, puh-lease! You wish I was staring. Nice try at projecting, though.”

Chris quirked a confused brow, turning to you. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what took you so long to answer me a minute ago?” Shit, Chris thought. “That’s what I thought,” you sassed.

“I wasn’t staring at you per say. There’s a lil somethin’ in your hair…”

“What? What is it?!” You delicately touch around your curls searching for the offending object.

“Here lemme help,” Chris says as he stands to his full height over you. You look up at him with those darling eyes of yours, and he looks down at you, breath caught in his throat. Just a second later, he comes back to earth as he’s plucking something weightless from your hair. He slowly brings his hand down from your head to show you what he’s retrieved. “It’s just a little… piece… of stupid,” and he boops your nose.

“You know what!” You say in a loud whisper while you enjoy hitting his arm as retaliation.

Chris feigns hurt with a gasp. “That was mean,” he’s pouting trying to suppress his smile. He pokes out his elbow towards you. “Kiss it, make it better.”

“Ugh!” You shove him away, turning your head away from him, biting back your smile. You're failing miserably when you look back to him, and he’s wearing a boyish grin himself. “You are absolutely—“

“SHHHHH!!!!” You jump and Chris clutches his chest, both of you wide-eyed and taken aback by an old man that’s turned around to shush you two.“If you two are gonna flirt, do it quietly!”

You and Chris start to stumble over your words while talking over each other.

“No, whaaa? Flirt… Huh?”

“We weren’t, like…”

“Yeah, that’s not— um…”

“Totally not what’s—“

“Not like this is a date,” Chris blurts out with a nervous chuckle then freezes in place. It’s one of those *unfortunate* moments when his mouth moved faster than his brain. He stares straight ahead, not daring to look at you. If he had, he would have seen you had a matching stunned look from his blab.

“They’re sorry, Mr. Abara,” you both feel a hand on your shoulders as Lisa comes up behind you to intervene.“They’ll be on their best behavior from here on out, right?” She nods in a prompting manner, you and Chris following her lead.

“We’re sorry,” You mumble.

“It was her fault…” Chris says, earning him smack on the shoulder from his mom. “What?! It was!”

Mr. Abara turns around with a ‘hmph’, causing you and Chris giggle like teenagers at the grumpy old man. Lisa clears her throat and you and Chris straighten up.

“You two can’t help but draw attention to yourselves, huh?”

Before either of you could refute, the tour guide is ushering your group to the showroom for your day at the museum to really begin.

——————————————————————————

The exhibition was amazing to say the least. You’d never heard of the artist before, but you were astounded by her unique use of color, texture, and light in her work. And she was a sista? You were definitely going to keep her in mind for upcoming projects you had.

However incredible the artwork was, you’re not too sure how it compared to the entertainment that was the social show.

Your trio strolled together, taking in the majesty of the first few pieces. After a while Chris starts to linger behind you and Lisa for a bit. He admires the way you and his mom get along, walking arm-in-arm looking at the art.

The tour guide has everyone gather around a specific piece. “This one is my absolute favorite! It’s called ‘Mother Earth’. Do be shy; you can get close, but do not touch.”

When you step up to the piece, Chris is also does from the other side. He smiles and offers a quaint wave as if it’s your first time meeting. You reciprocate, and both proceed to lean in to the art for inspection.

“Wow,” you say as you marvel at the depth of blackness that outlines gaps for open air to breeze through. The piece has incredible curvature that makes the inanimate object look as if it were ready to continue dancing any minute now. All it needed was the right song or magic words to bring it back to life. You move around the pedestal to look at it’s other sides, Chris moving at the same rate across from you, equally as intrigued. There’s glints of gold, silver, emerald, and jade that add to its enchantment. “You ever see something so mysterious and beautiful and wonder, ‘Where did you come from?’”

“Yeah,” you move slightly, and your now eye to eye with Chris through one of the spaces within the sculpture. His Cerulean orbs pierce through to you thoughtfully, endearingly, making you wonder what he is thinking. “Yeah, I have.” Surely he’s not talking about…

“Alright people!” The tour guide shouts with a clap. “Let’s keep it moving!”

You stand up straight, while Chris glides over to you, hands his pockets, bouncing on his toes. You both have found the ground to be particularly interesting as you walk alongside each other to view the next piece of art. Standing before it, there’s not much of intellect input you can give with Chris’ presence fuzzing your brain. The silence is kind of enjoyable between you two, though. The pressure to fill the air with witty quips is at bay at this moment, and it's nice.

After a while, you both tentatively turn towards each other. Chris goes to say something, you’re sure it’ll be his analysis of what the artist’s intent is, but he doesn’t start his thought. Instead, his arm is being linked by some elderly woman.

“Uh, hello?”

“Hiya, Handsome,” she purrs, causing Chris to chuckle and rub the back of his neck. She leans her head on his shoulder and places her free, wrinkly hand on his chest. “So tell me what you think of this piece?” She says coyly.

“Umm…” Chris looks at you for help, but you are none. You just smirk and motion your head towards the art, urging him to answer her question. “Well, I think it’s speaking to the unique experience and intersectionality of being both black and a woman in the Diaspora. There are nods to the many hardships, horror, and passed down trauma that black women have and continue to endure, yet it so often turn into the most beautiful fruit, works worthy of high regard and praise by graceful, powerful women who are also deserving of such, tenfold.”

“Wow…” you and the ogling old-timer say simultaneously. He shyly looks at the ground and you shake off the spell of his summation. I’m not REALLY about to give this man points for stating basic YET ignored facts, am I? I’ll put a pin in this, but damn will I look at him differently.

“Y’know,” Chris’ amorous aged arm-candy starts, “I love a man who knows some BIG words and is not afraid to use ‘em!” she punctuates with a growl.

It takes everything in you not to laugh at Chris’ bugged out eyes and rosy face. You think you might’ve even seen a drop of sweat form on his brow. “Oh, okay…” he says as he tries to subtly pry the woman off of him. He looks to you for salvation again, but you’re already making your way to the next piece, waving at Chris over your shoulder, “I’ll leave y’all to it,” you laugh.

——————————————————————————

The tour’s come to an end and museum goers are starting to trickle out, some staying for the cheap hors d’oeuvres that are laid out. Chris managed to get his new lady friend off of him (might or might not have taken a few minutes of hiding in the bathroom), and he’s now flicking through his pictures of the day on his phone. There’s some of you and his mom smiling nicely at one another, him taking selfies with some of the work he considers posting later to shout out the artist, and some blurry ones of you, Chris, and Lisa, taken by a shakey hand museum goer.

The pictures that stop his swift swiping are of you admiring paintings on the wall. There’s nothing particularly special about these paintings; they were in the Baroque hall outside of the featured exhibit. You however, are thee something special. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but the way you fill the frame and effortlessly draw him in is magical to him. His favorite one from the set is the one with your back to the camera. Your silhouette has become iconic to him; standing out amongst the tired and basic. Holding your own in his brain.

“Just go talk to her. It’s better— less creepy— than staring at her picture.” Chris looks to his side to find Mr. Abara walking by extremely slowly passed.

“Oh, hey, Mr. Abara. Like I said before, it’s not—“

“What’re you scared, son?”

“Um… no, it’s… it’s just not like that.”

“Not like what?”

“Not… not like that,”

Mr. Abara nods slowly. “Sure it’s not.” Chris is thinks he hears Mr. Abara mumble something about not being born yesterday, but he’s already walking in your direction at the snack table.

When he arrives, you’re picking through the repulsive options. “Why the hell would they find this acceptable to give to old people?” You mumble under your breath. “I get their on they’re way out, but—”

“Talking to ourselves, are we?” Chris speaks up, causing you to yelp and jump out of your skin. His booming laugh and your screech cause some of the older museum goers to give you to the stank eye. “Oops, might’ve given some of ‘em a heart attack.”

“Might’ve given me a heart attack!”

“I realized something,” Chris changes the subject, picking up a grape to eat.

You sigh as your heart rate comes down. “What’s that?”

“That this is the first time we’re seeing each other in the daytime and without alcohol in our systems.”

You ponder on it for a second, “Really?” you question him and he nods.

“Huh, that’s… that’s a damn shame,” you laugh a little, and he does too.

“Sure is,” he agrees, popping another grape into his mouth.

“So, how do you like me sober and in natural lighting?” You jokingly ask him, motioning down your figure for added dramatics.

He sizes you up, eyes languidly travelling up your frame. The heat rises to your face just as his gaze does. He locks in on your eyes for just as second longer than what would be deemed an innocent look before saying, “Eh, you’re alright I guess,” nonchalantly, while going for another grape.

You shake your head at him slowly, a smug smile creeping on to your lips. “You just don’t wanna give me my props, huh? Whatever.”

The two of you laugh and chat for a while while waiting for Lisa. You’re interrupted by someone calling Chris’ name in the distance. You thought it was Lisa at first, relieved that you could call it day because your stomach was growling. However when you and Chris looked in the voice’s direction, you were more interested in staying a little while longer.

“Ooooh Handsome!!” Chris’ aged admirer chirped across the room. She must’ve been looking for him because her eyes were squinted and she moved her head from left to right in search of her unrequited beau.

“He’s right—”

“Don’t you dare!” Chris chides, his firm tone fluttering your stomach just a little. “We gotta go!”

He’s panicking over a lustful lady twice his age and you’re amused greatly, but you had no time to appreciate it as Chris put his hand on your lower back to lead you out of the museum. “Wait, what about your mom?” You tried to protest.

“She’ll find her way!”

“There you are!” Chris’ Boomer bugaboo exclaims.

“Go! Go! Go!”

——————————————————————————

“Well, this is my stop!” Lisa says as you all pull up to the youth theater where she works. She turns to you in the backseat. “Thank you for joining me today! Next time I’ll leave my son at home since he thinks he can leave me in the museum.”

“Hey! You didn’t see the look in that woman’s eyes! You would’ve ran like hell, too,” Chris exclaims from the driver’s seat.

“My poor baby,” Lisa pinches his cheeks as  she facetiously dotes and Chris rolls his eyes, eliciting a giggle from you. She pulls him close to her mouth to whisper something you can’t hear. You turn to look outside your window, your way of giving them privacy. 

“Are you threatening me, Ma?” You hear Chris humorously say.

“Threatening, mothering. Tomato, tahmato. Just do it. I’ll see you later, honey,” and with that Lisa leaves for work.

Chris drops his head, shaking it and laughing to himself.

“What is it?” You ask.

“Uh… my mom wants me to ask if you’d like to get some lunch. Since that museum food was shit and all.”

You arch a brow and contemplate the offer. You still weren’t so sure about hanging out with him solo. But I mean, I COULD eat.

Sensing your hesitation, Chris says, “It’s cool if… you don’t want to, I get it—“

“Sure,” you cut him off, unbuckling your seatbelt to climb over the front console to the passenger seat. You sit with a huff, and adjust your clothes. You looked over at him, and he’s got a look of slight disbelief. Unsure if it’s from you saying ‘yes’ or climbing into his front seat, you ask, “What?”

“Nothing, nothing…” he smiles at you. You look down at your lap, unable to meet his eyes. He lets his eyes linger on your shy form for a few seconds before clearing his throat, and asking, “So, uh, what kinda food do you want?”

“I’m down for anything.”

Chris amusedly huffs.“You women always say that, then when we men try to stick it in—“

“WOW, really?!” You swat at his arm and realize how buff he is because he didn’t even flinch. You try not to give in to your urge to laugh, but it’s hard when Chris is failing miserably and holding in his. You shouldn’t find it funny, but you kind of do. You let out a small laugh and roll your eyes at him. “You are absolutely childish.”

“No, not absolutely. I think I’ve prove to have some level of intellect today.” 

“If you’re talking about your dissertation earlier, verdicts still out on if you get a cookie.”

“S’long as there’s a trial,” he says with a heartwarming smile that you mirror. “And I was kidding, by the way, with the-- I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of pervert. You set it up for the joke, and I —”

“You don’t have to explain. I can take a joke.”

“Ok…cool.”

“Ok, cool,” you mimic him. “So what are we gonna eat?”

“You like pizza?”

“Who doesn’t like pizza?” you retort.

“True. Well, there’s this place, a true local staple ‘cos it’s the BEST pizza in Boston! Probably the whole world!” Gushes about this place.

“Not in the whole world!” you mock him. “Do they have vegan options?” He blinks at you. “What now?” you ask with a shrug.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re a vegan? Uggghhh!!!” Chris dramatically puts his head on the steering wheel.

You laugh at his antics. “Is that a deal breaker for you?”

He scoffs, then looks out his window, trying to avoid you seeing his cheeks turn red. You smirk to yourself knowing damn well you just made him blush. Still looking out his window at the rainy Boston day, “No real pizza place is gonna have ‘vegan options’,” he finishes with a Valley girl accent.

“First of all, it’s scary how good you are at that voice, and secondly, I beg to differ! You’ve clearly never been to Mellow Mushroom. Best pizza there is, AND there’s vegan options. I mean what did you get up to when you were in Atlanta?”

“Oh sweethaht,” he stresses his Boston accent, “you’re not ready for those stories…” he chuckles looking at you sideways through his lashes with a smirk, hoping you’d get the joke. He finds you trying to suppress a laugh, shaking your head then turning to look out the windshield, make him laugh in that mischievous way you’ve come to be fond of

“I know a place we could go to eat” you offer.

“Yeah? What kind of food?”

“Um… I don’t think I’ll tell you. It’s a surprise.”

“You’re lucky I’m in a ‘surprise’ kind of mood.”

You put the address in his car’s built in GPS, and you guys are on your way to lunch. But just before he pulls off, he looks at you with that boyish smile of his and sparkling blue eyes. You were re-applying your lip gloss in his overhead mirror. You turned mid-gloss glide, the wand still on your bottom lip. “What now?!”

Chris' gaze lingers on your lips before he looks up to your own sparkling eyes. “Nothing…” he said though you knew it was something; your heart didn’t flutter delightfully for no reason. “Nothing at all.”

Part 7 coming soon! What’d you think?

[gryfon-spanish-werewolf]

About the frozen fandom ask :

🎨, ✍️, and 👗

P.s remember to get enough sleep~

@like-redhead-probably I got enough sleep I swear ;-; actually I overslept TBH

🎨- Favorite fanart(s)/ artist(s)?

I’m gonna limit my answers to those who are currently active in the fandom otherwise we will be here all day xD. Anyone who has seen my tags knows this  to be true. My favorite fan artists are:

@giuliaciulia89 - because asdfghjklssh have you SEEN her line art?? And her expressions?? And how she does shading and color (with markers!! Traditional Art YO!!) literally is just... takes my breath away. Her recent Hogwarts Elsanna commission was absolutely delightful, but I am always delighted to see her original content as well such as her 101 Dalmatians au and her All For One And All For Love Three Musketeers au. It has so many mysteries, I’m very intrigued. Watching her process is very relaxing as well, like *sketch, sketch, sketch* and suddenly WHOA, there’s like, a whole concept outlines in no time at all. Incredible

@zero-kiba - because while much more active on Deviantart, I am ALWAYS extremely gay for Copper! That’s been going on 5 WHOLE YEARS Y’ALL! I stayed up until the sun started creeping through my windows catching up on every single page that I’d missed out after about 2017 when I started working full time. Zero-kiba’s work is BOMBASTICALLY expressive and really hits that mark between UTTERLY badass and heart-meltingly soft. Also do yourselves a favor and read their other works too! Tip of the Iceberg is Copper characters in a comedy setting, The Realm is 65 pounds of concentrated whoop-ass, and The Whole Shebang?? Gay has hell. Really gay. I cannot stress that enough (also it’s a little self plug - I help make that one alongside Zero-Kiba, daughterofhel and giuliaciulia89)

@ice-bjorn - because like.... do I even need to....expand?? Y’all have seen my tags. Ice-bjorn’s got the kind of content that just pulls you up short. Doing something? Concentrating? Not anymore you’re not! Ice-bjorn posted new art and you’re gonna FEEL ABOUT IT for the current conceivable future! Unbelievably emotive, you can see all the hard work that goes into each piece (including writing!!). I’ve gone OFF in my tags so many times about their stuff and I aLWAYS anticipate doing it again XD I can’t possibly pick a favorite piece, but this one gives me the warm fuzzies (Edit: although I did link another further down)

@jabs-wocks - because they constantly surprise me. One day ADORABLE! Next day ANGSTY. Next time? New style?? New type of coloring?? Always has a great sense of humor and unique ideas. Also, such an enabler xD Always makes me want to make something in turn <3 Like, remember when I went OFF with that angsty piece of Anna drowning after the dam collapses? Or when I nearly ditched my (already very long) project to idea bomb on about their Skadi!Elsa piece? Yeah, I love their work very much

 @gracepago0314 - because I’m a long time fan from when they had a different username! Great style, strong short comics, and WOW have they come a long way! They already had such a strong aesthetic, but seeing their work at the top of 2020 was such a treat because it was SUCH a change! I loved seeing what I recognized about their unique style and getting to see all the ways they’ve improved and expanded! Also that reincarnation au goes straight for the heart ;-;

✍️- Favorite fanfic(s)/ author(s)?

Limiting my answer to the same for the same reasons. Many of my favorite authors are no longer active, but my heart is very big, and I am always making room for new stories and writers to love!

@fruipit - because every time I get an email from ao3 that they’ve updated I go ballistic. Every story I have ever read (or reread... many times) by them is just SO INCREDIBLE. Their writing makes me make bad decisions: like fighting sleep to make it through one last chapter xD Their work makes me ask questions, their stories flows like a needle and thread, their diction makes me believe. I have nothing but the highest praise for Fruipit’s work, they’ve been writing for years and continue to pick at that gentle thing called wonder. Choosing a favorite work of theirs is GENUINELY DIFFICULT, but I love Risky Business, Koselig, and When Spring Comes very much. Tiny Hearts is a riot tho xD Oh wait and Who Dares Wins! .....Look just... go read Fruipit, you won’t regret it xD

@arendellesfirstwinter - because after years and years they just bang out one badass story after another. Their most recent (and with the dawn, what comes then?) has reduced me to tears twice. No. Three times, I reread a chapter. Their writing is exceptionally raw and pointed, but they are never angsty for angst sake. Their prose has the kind of weight one gets from having a huge amount of intent and care for what they create, and the characters they foster along the way <3

@daughterofhel - because I enjoy the simple pleasures of comedy. Literally just makes me laugh. Her dialogue SLAPS. Her world building is effortless (well, it’s not, she works very hard but it FEELS effortless, which is quite the trick xD). Her stories just WORK, her scenes are so alive and colorful and I adore how she makes characters interact even under the most RIDICULOUS prompts xD Exceptionally creative and silly, I guarantee she will surprise you for the better

@themountainsays - because every story idea is completely fascinating. Even if it’s not like, written yet? Just idea bombing or musing? Totally cool, I love reading them because you can feel the excitement behind them. Or the spite xD. Ara’s writing is also almost lyrical, it’s lovely to read, and honestly? Read out loud too! I’m a huge fan of spoken poetry/spoken stories and Ara’s always gives me that vibe. I’m behind (orz) on Creatures of the Arctic, but it’s SO FUN, I’m always keen on updates :D

@theseerasures - because I adore their frohana stuff. So freaking much. Kristanna + Icebros with so much tenderness that I just stare at my screen and go “holy hell someone MADE that.” Reading their work is like... being given a soft blanket to wrap yourself in, receiving a mug of hot chocolate, and then being told “Okay, now here’s a story that’s going to make you feel feelings really hard,” and you kind of nod back like, “Okay, seems fair.” Idk man they just get me real good, every time. For years.

👗- Favorite outfit? One you’d like to see?

Picking a favorite is hard! But please for the love of god: bring Anna’s military-esque jacket/dress to the silver screen. Holy hell. I’m such a sucker for how absolutely DASHING Elsa and Anna look in masculine/military dress. @giuliaciulia89 and @ice-bjorn both here and here get me xD But I also love their highly feminine outfits? Anna’s coronation dress in F1 is a fav and of course Elsa’s ice-dress is iconic, but my absolute favorites? I don’t know, they’re all so beautiful...

Oh! You know what else I’d want? Casual wear. They’re always dressed up for adventure! Or a fancy party! Let the crew relax more! More day-to-day, more cozy pjs! Kristoff in a big oversized shirt, Elsa in Fifth-Spirit inspired sleepwear, Anna in clothes made by their new Northudran family - complete with little hexagons but like, lined with soft reindeer fur <3. I’d love to see them when the world isn’t falling down around their ears, for more than 5 minutes, please ;-;

Thanks again for asking!! I know this is a few days late but I hope my jabbering made up for it ^_^

[fairmoephelia]

All My Love’s Wrapped in Shades of Red

im late but this is my writing for beauyasha week day five!! the prompt was healing, please enjoy yasha healing beau and beau doing a little healing for yasha too, though less literally.

slight warning: both beau and yasha admit to getting into fights and getting hurt to make themselves feel better. it’s acknlowedged as an unhealthy coping mechanism but if that bothers you please be careful reading

fic below the cut!

By the time Beau returned to the Xhorhaus, the sky had long since darkened in the slight way it did in Rosohna to indicate nighttime. Everyone was no doubt asleep, she had told them she would be out late and even answered a message from Caleb saying she was fine. No reason to stay up and worry, and thank Ioun for that.

She didn’t need any of them seeing her right now, her right eye throbbed with a forming bruise and blossoms of red and pink pain bloomed across her torso. There were no dark colors yet but she was sure that would change by morning. Maybe she could force herself to wake up early and find Caduceus, spare herself a lecture from the others. He would most likely give her one of his own, but at least it would just be one. Her head ached from being punched so much and couldn’t handle listening to a scolding.

She closed the door to the Xhorhaus slowly behind her. careful not to let it creak and—

“Beau?”

She turned on her heel, squinting in the dark to see the shadowed outline of Yasha. Shit.

She was dressed in what counted as pajamas for her but Beau could tell by the slight darkness surrounding her eyes, normally covered by smokey makeup, she hadn’t slept much that night. “I know you said you would be out late but…” she trailed off, approaching Beau. “Are you hurt?” She asked, though Beau hardly needed to answer as she got close enough to see the damage. She raised her hand and rested it against Beau’s forehead, the sting of the cut there, still sluggishly bleeding, vanished into magic warmth. “I’m sorry, my healing isn’t much. We should get Jester or Caduceus,”

“No!” Beau protested, before lowering her voice. “Don’t wake anyone up. I’m good, none of the injuries are even that bad,” she insisted.

Yasha’s brow furrowed and she looked like she wanted to argue but decided against it, “Okay,” she said reluctantly, “at least let me help you clean up,”

Beau nodded, too tired to properly argue against anything else, following Yasha to sit in the living area of the Xhorhaus. She leaned back on the couch, fighting to keep awake with only the ebb and flow of her pain to concentrate on. She knew what she had done wasn’t smart, but seeing her father had made it difficult not to fall back into old habits. It was far too easy to imagine all those faces she was smashing in were his. But he was living comfortably at the estate with her mother, who still couldn’t muster an opinion to save her life, and her baby brother, who was what they’d wanted all along. She couldn’t bring herself to be mad at the kid even if she wanted to though, she wasn’t that shitty a person.

Yasha returned, having left to get a washcloth and a small basin of water, along with some pink, bottled shit that looked right out of Caduceus or Jester’s healer’s kit. “Caduceus gave me this, he said it would help with cuts and bruises, keep them from getting infected.” She kneeled by the side of the couch, wetting the cloth with both water and the pink paste, “Is starting with your face okay?”

Beau just nodded and Yasha set to work, hands that Beau knew could be delicate but was still surprised to feel cleaning away the blood and grime from her fights. She worked in silence, the only interruption being Beau’s occasional hisses of pain that she couldn’t suppress, after which Yasha would always look at her with those concerned eyes, until she reached Beau’s torso. “Did you go to a fight club?” She asked suddenly.

Beau gave a noncommittal grunt and Yasha sighed, shaking her head. “You should have brought one of us with you, Jester or Fjord” her voice dropped slightly, “…me. You let yourself get hurt,”

Beau felt a flash of anger pulse at the base of her skull, pulling back from Yasha’s careful touch. “You’re one to talk. I only did the same thing you did,”

“That was completely different, I wasn’t—“

“You let her win, we all saw it happen. Do you think we’re stupid? You let her win, you let her hurt you!” She paused, sucking in a shaky breath. She didn’t want to wake the rest of the group, “Why would you do that? Why would you let someone hurt you?” Truthfully, Beau thought she knew the answer to that but she couldn’t help the way her voice came out, questioning and desperate.

Yasha stared at her with wide eyes, breath heavy like Beau’s words and physically hurt her. “I have to do something,” she said, quietly, like she was afraid of hearing her own words. Or maybe just afraid of Beau hearing them, “I know it wasn’t me. That I didn’t— I didn’t have control, but it was still my body, my hands. And there’s so much I don’t remember, from before. Maybe I wasn’t under his control, maybe I did all that willingly.”

“That was before, you can’t judge yourself on your past. Especially one you can’t remember,” Beau said.

“All those people…” Yasha whispered and Beau could hear the pain in her voice, choking her like it wanted to kill her and she might let it. “I can’t just not take responsibility,”

“This isn’t taking responsibility, this is torturing yourself, Yasha. I get it,” she said, leaning closer to her, able to meet her at eye level thanks to Yasha kneeling next to the couch. “I haven’t been through what you have but I know the feeling of hurting and wanting to get it out. Have something physical to show for it, but you can’t do that. It’s not healthy.” She knew she was being hypocritical, she was the one covered in bruises, after all. But she couldn’t bring herself to care as she thought of Yasha throwing herself in the path of something strong enough to actually take her down.

“I don’t know how you can forgive me like this,” Yasha said, her voice clouded with disbelief, “every Cobalt Soul member I struck reminded me of you and then I hurt you, Beau. I almost killed you and I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had.” There were tears in her eyes, beginning to slide over her cheeks. “I’ve lost too many people who are important to be to lose you too, please,”

Beau leaned forward, ignoring the way it pulled at her bruises and wrapped her arms around Yasha’s broad shoulders, wiping her tears away gently with the pads of her fingers. 

“I won’t do it again,” she promised, how could she not? With Yasha laying her heart out in front of her, “But, it’s not just you, okay? Who worries about people. I can’t lose you either. I care about you, I love you.”

“Beau, I didn’t know you felt—“

Beau cut her off, now wasn’t the time, not with her bruised and Yasha in tears. Though, she supposed, there was hardly a better way to describe their relationship than that. “We’ll stay safe for each other. Can you do that?”

“If you can do it, I definitely can.” Yasha said, lightening the mood and reminding Beau of how they used to interact and spar together.

She let out a surprised noise, “Oh, you wanna get competitive?”

Yasha laughed, genuinely laughed, and Beau felt that maybe they would be alright.

[annoyinglyjovialbird]

Voltron: Next Generation

A Portentous Warning: I

Word Count: 2994

A/N: May Allura have blessed you all with a happy and safe new year!

"Schedule has been finalized," Shiro announced, using his robotic arm as a console to the large screen in the Coeus's bridge. To his right and in Liz and Cake's chairs were the former Paladins. To his left, the current Paladins were either sitting in their chair or on the step next to them. Kova was leaning on the banister around her console, looking bored. 

"Yay," Caleb said unenthusiastically, earning him a punch to the knee from Liz. 

"Starting today, the adults will take over breakfast and dinner shifts every other day. The teens will have a lunch shift today, then switch off tomorrow." The incredibly detailed schedule was, well, incredibly detailed. The adults, marked as solidly blue, were boxed in until lunchtime, where the teens, marked as red, were boxed in. Small spaces of purple showed the shift change between the two groups. Kova scoffed as she looked it over, a small smile on her face. 

"Colonel, I mean no disrespect," Liz began. "But—"

"Why shifts?" Pidge asked, earning her a glare from the Green Paladin. "Why not full days?" 

"Shiro, I'm gonna be honest," Hunk said. "This is stupid." Shiro stared at the teens, who were either smiling or laughing softly. "They're doing a great job already." 

"Hunk!" Keith and Pidge stared at him. 

"What?" 

"Chef Garrett, the concern is," Kova said, meeting Keith's eyes. "We're just kids." Her smile rivaled Keith's glare. 

"Permission to continue?" Liz asked, looking at the Shirogane teens. Both nodded before she looked back to their dad.

"Granted. What's on your mind?" 

"Colonel, what if they have the whole day today, and we can have the whole day tomorrow?" Shiro pouted for only a second but changed the schedule accordingly. The schedule had one day solidly blue, the other solidly red, with purple outlining sleep schedules. Kenny, marked by an ugly brown, had a separate schedule with varying shades of green and khaki in various time slots. 

"Uh, Colonel, I'm gonna need a color code chart for that." Speak of the devil. Kenny had arrived. He was cleaning his glasses with the hem of his shirt, so he was squinting to look at the screen. Even half-blind, he could see the random colors on the screen. 

"You're late." Shiro was annoyed. 

"You're brown." Kova was bored again. 

"Sorry, I had to give Vatos a bath," Kenny said, putting his glasses back on. "And why?" 

"Yellow looks white and orange looks red, probably." Kova shrugged, lolling her head to stare at Shiro. He was muttering something about the teen being a know-it-all, but took down the screen and sent it to the consoles. 

"Jax, I need you to take Blue and Yellow on another recon," Shiro said, approaching the podium. Kova stood straight at the nickname, looking straight ahead. "Ken will take over from there." 

"Yes, sir." Kova nodded her head and turned to Allie and Cake. "Let's go." The two stood from their seats, gone before the former Paladins could ask why. 

"Griffin, Sec, you're on babysitting duty." 

"Yes, Colonel." 

"Hooray." 

"Sec." 

"Going!" As Caleb lazily left the bridge, Shiro turned to the other adults. 

"Keith, you can take Caleb's chair," Shiro said, smiling. "Let me show you how to run the ship." 

————————

"Y'know, I never expected to be out here again," Cake said, looking at the stars from the stray meteorite he found himself on. The stars were either too bright or too dim, but there was no denying they were there. 

"What?" Kova replied. "Cutting and harvesting scrap metal?" She was about two levels above Cake's head, using her bayard to bat a small piece out of her way. Many of the pieces were unusable, too small to have a purpose. 

"No." Cake jumped from the meteorite to a large sheet of twisted metal. "I was raised on my Balmera until I was, like, ten." 

"The stars certainly look different." Allie's voice was almost wistful. She was leaning on a tall post, splintered in half so it could rest under Allie's elbow. 

"Aw, homesick babies." 

"C'mon, Cap." Cake found a steep decline in the twisted metal. "You can't say you don't miss Earth."  

"I'm also a trained soldier, Cake." Kova watched Cake slide down the piece from above, smiling. "I put others over myself." 

"You weren't always," Kenny said, breaking through the silence. "You were a little kid with hopes and dreams."

"Yeah, forever ago."

"If you weren't a soldier, what would you be?" Allie had managed to find Cake nearly falling into space, only to jump onto a nearby rock. "I never asked my question." Silence followed. Cake managed to climb onto the small rock, giving Allie a thumbs up. She shook her head in response. 

"I don't know," Kova said, her voice almost a whisper. "An astrologist, maybe? Maybe a farmer."

"C'mon, Kova." 

"I'm serious!" Kova continued to absentmindedly bat away space junk. "I don't know how I did, but I lived in spite, and I don't plan on stopping." 

"Ouch." Kenny teased, smiling. "That hurt my feelings." 

"Why do you live in spite?" Pidge asked. Kova jumped at the voice, but she opened up her arm piece to show where her voice had echoed. Only the bridge on the Coeus showed any connection between the trio and the crew onboard. 

"Nice to see you figured out the connections," Kova said, deactivating her bayard and jumping to a level below. "Now if you can figure out suit tracking." 

"What?" Kova smiled proudly at Pidge's confusion, landing on a twisted piece of scrap metal harmlessly. "The suits don't have tracking." 

"They do now." 

"How's the recon going?" Hunk asked, interrupting the fight that was sure to break out between Kova and Pidge. 

"Wonderfully." Kova looked around the trash nebula the trio was in. "We have found absolutely nothing." 

"Nothing?" 

"Nothing. Everything is either too small or too big." Kova had jumped off another ledge, landing next to Allie with Cake just within eyesight. "Clear to return?" 

"Y—" Hunk began to say when Shiro cut him off with a headshake. 

"You're cleared. Return to your Lions." Kenny gave the order, returning to adjusting something in the engine room. It hadn't been fifteen minutes when Kova came back online. 

"Uh, sending a transmission to the Coeus." The four adults watched as the massive screen came on, showing a video feed from the Black Lion. Three figures were approaching the Lions, and fast. Silver in color, they were about twelve feet tall with handguns, literal handguns, brandished. "Oh, no." 

"Activating particle barrier!" Kenny said, slamming a button. "Five minutes to activation and counting." 

"Do you need the other Lions' assistance?" 

"Negative. We got this." Kova closed the transmission channel and stared at the three bots. "On me, split. Ready?" The other two Paladins nodded, readying themselves as a united front. The bots were feet away when Kova's signal came. "Split!" The Black Lion ducked down, letting the centermost bot fly overhead. The Blue Lion darted up and to the left, nicking the bot's flat head. Yellow took a unique approach, ramming its head into the bot at full-force. 

"Not what she meant!" 

"Not what I meant!" The girls shouted at the same time, preparing themselves to take another attack from their attackers. 

"Well, now we have two to deal with." Allie's bot had made a quick turn, following Blue. Allie, in a panic, had ordered her Lion to attack. Blue did that. Blue raised its tail until it was over its head and fired a shot, causing the bot to explode. 

"I have a laser tail?!" Allie exclaimed, looking over her systems. 

Amateurs, Keith thought but said nothing. 

"On me!" The other two Lions converged, with Black activating its dual-sided jaw blade. As the last bot sped towards the three Lions, the Lions once again split, with the blade cutting through the bot in a clean cut. It exploded as the Black Lion deactivated its jaw blade. 

"What were those?" Pidge asked. 

"Warning shots," Kova answered, turning on transmissions from the Lion to the Coeus. "Coeus, review for trackers." 

"I got it," Shiro said when Pidge turned to him for help. From her screen, she took note of what Shiro opened to scan the Lions with. The Black Lion had a tracker on its right hind leg. The Yellow Lion had one on its forehead. The Blue Lion had one on its tail, but unlike the others that glowed green, the tracker on Blue showed red. The laser must have rendered it inactive. "Two green on Yellow and Black. One red on Blue." 

"Quiznack." Kova motioned the Lion to rest away from the Coeus. "We'll wait for the barrier to deactivate. Until then, we'll remove the trackers." 

Eventually, the particle barrier deactivated itself, the teens got rid of the trackers, and they were able to continue sailing through space.  

———————

"I'm very upset." It was all Curtis said. The teens looked on with matching looks of 'What are you doing to do about it?' while the adults looked at Curtis like he was a savior of some sort. It was the first weekly meeting all of the Paladins, former and current, were able to attend. 

"Kids, I don't think I need to remind you what happened the last time you were responsible for a toddler." 

"We gave him a bath! He was fine!" 

"You didn't do the laundry." Curtis rolled his eyes, meeting Shiro's. "Takashi."

"It was the best idea at the time," Shiro said, stepping between Kova and Curtis. "And besides, we're working on a plan." 

"It better be a good one." He muttered, shaking his head. "Keith, Pidge, and Hunk. It's good to see you all alive." 

"Alive." 

"I read your reports over the past few weeks. May I say, Kova, you're getting better at notes." A silent fist pump came from Kova as Curtis continued. "Wish you would've told me about the prisoners sooner, but at least we know now." 

"What's going on at the Garrison?" Kova asked. Curtis's face fell, glancing over the faces looking at him. The five teens were the first front of the defense. They had to know. 

"Well, besides every student at the Garrison making speculations as to who has which Lion, the LDP preparing for war, the council demanding to know why we're repairing an abandoned sub-floor, and Cyrus on school break," Curtis shrugged. "There isn't much to tell."

"The LDP is what?" Kova demanded. Caleb stood from his chair. The other teens either straightened their backs or widened their eyes. Kenny had walked in after laying Vatos down for a nap. 

"But only Captain Holt has that authority!" Kenny said, descending the staircase to be in full view of the small drone that served as a camera. 

"And both Commander and Captain Holt had given the order, based on the declaration." 

"What declaration?" Kova said again, eyes hard. Curtis sighed, pulling out his phone. He pulled up a video and showed it to the teens. 

Yorak, in all his evil glory, stood in the middle of the frame. His dark hair was slicked back, showing off the long scars on his cheeks. His eyes flickered dangerously as a smirk grew across his face. His dark armor was on full display, showing off the violet Y in the middle of his chest plate. Soldiers stood behind him, guns in hand. Then he spoke. 

"My name is Yorak, and I am Emperor of the Fire of Purification. You may remember my sabotaged transmission from before with my pesky younger sister deciding to rebel. No matter. This is an official declaration of war. My sister chose her side. So will I. I will take and claim every planet in the galaxy until every planet is purged from the hate and distrust my fellow hybrids have had to suffer and endure over the past thirty years. If the only way to purify it is to burn every village, city, and planet to the ground, I will not hesitate to do so. You've seen what I've done to the Unilu space mall. I can and will do worse. Your move, Voltron." He said the last word with a mocking tone. Every word sent Kova's blood boiling and chills down her spine. 

"Woah, that's your bad guy?" 

"Sister?" Pidge asked. “Who’s his sister?” She had turned around to stare at Kova, who had stood straight like a pin. 

“He’s delusional,” Keith said, noticing Kova’s change in demeanor. He placed his hands on Pidge’s shoulders. “It’s okay.” 

"Alright, before someone kills someone," Curtis said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "The Holts gave the order. The LDP is preparing for war, but they've been given orders to shut their mouths or immediate expulsion." 

"You sure know how to threaten teenagers, Commander," Liz said, slouching on the step. 

"I had a lot of practice." Curtis stretched his arms, yawning. He shook his head and returned to the crew of the Coeus. "I can't order the LDP to stop without telling the Holts about you guys. As far as they know, Kenny is in space with you guys lightyears away and trying to return to Earth." 

"Commander, what about access to files?" 

"Only those who know what files were opened when are allowed to look in those files," Curtis said sternly. "The original crew of the Coeus was given authorization and only the current Paladins and Kenny are authorized to look in the files. Am I clear?" 

"Yes, Commander." The teens sat straight if they weren’t before as they spoke. 

"Wait, so we're going to be told who the enemy is and that's it?" Hunk  looked up at Curtis, hoping for more. 

"Yes," Curtis nodded his head. "I'm sorry, Hunk, but until you return to Earth, I can't reinstate your clearance. Besides, the Paladins can give you everything you need without disclosing classified information." 

"Is that all?" Shiro asked. Curtis nodded his head, said his goodbyes and the transmission ended. "Kova, go blow off some steam. Caleb, supervise." 

"Can I kidnap Liz and Cake for the engine room?" Kenny asked Shiro. He nodded, and Kenny led the way with Liz and Cake on his heels. 

"Allie, grab your first-aid kit. Kova might need it." Allie nodded her head, head bowed as she left the bridge. 

“What happened before we got here?” Pidge asked. Shiro took a heavy breath. With his robotic arm, Shiro opened the last transmission. 

Yorak stood behind a railing, wearing an armoured suit similar to the one in his latest transmission, with a billowing cape magically attached to his shoulders. His voice bordered on jovial, proud of what he had done. Over his shoulder, Kova looked shocked and angry. Her light brown eyes flicked across the room she was in before zeroing in on Yorak talking. Behind her, likely holding her hands together, was a light purple alien. He’d could’ve been mistaken for Galra if it wasn’t for the fluffy dark turquoise hair coming from his head. His ears were pointed, lined with matching fur and pink inner ears. Aquamarine irises followed something off-screen, and when his turn came, he stepped forward to reveal his outfit. It matched Yorak’s, with the exception of the cape. Kova took the opportunity to shove the two aside, make her own statement, and cut the feed. 

Before anyone could speak their thoughts into words, Shiro switched the video to a live camera feed from the training room below. 

Kova had removed her lavender sweater, throwing it in a far alcove. Only her dark head of hair was visible, but from the way her arms were moving and the way her braid moved, she was angry. Yelling something. She pointedly glared at the balcony where Caleb was setting up a bot. A bot, maybe as tall as her, fell to the floor, activating itself. Before it fully turned on, it took an angry spinning kick to the head. It fell on its back, slowly standing up. In an onslaught of beatings, the training bot took hit after hit from Kova, until there was nowhere else it could go. Another bot appeared on the floor, brandishing a sword. It approached Kova from behind, sword raised. With one last punch to the first bot's face, Kova spun around with a blade in her hand. A long curved sword came from Kova's bayard. With both hands on the hilt, Kova pushed the bot back until it was far enough to let her swing. With one swing, Kova freed the bot from its movement mechanism. It didn't have legs, but rather a large wheel that righted itself when the bot fell over. 

"Fast, ruthless, smart," Hunk counted on his fingers. "No wonder he thinks she’s his sister.”

“He called her out,” Pidge said. Shiro turned to face his friends. “I’d be mad, too.”

“It doesn’t help that she’s half-Galra,” Keith said, watching Shiro nod his head as he deactivated the screen. “Yorak’s threat made the division real.”

“Follow the other hybrids,” Keith said. “Or follow your destiny.” 

"Poor kid." Hunk shook his head. As the weight of the mission ahead of the teens finally sank in, Shiro hoped, prayed to Allura, that Keith and Pidge would get it. Their little girl wasn't so little anymore. No. She was currently showing her temper against poor bots who hadn't done a thing to her. 

It took almost an hour, but Kova ran out of steam. Her knuckles were bruised and bloody, hands still curled into fists. Her hands shook as Allie tried to apply disinfectant. She had never seen Kova so angry. The other Paladins were having dinner while Allie tended to Kova's wounds. Kova took deep breaths as she tried not to flinch, wince, and open her fists. [:D]

"Do you," Allie said softly. "Do you want to talk about it?" Her bright blue eyes briefly met Kova's amber ones. As Kova's eyes darted back to her lap, she nodded her head. 

“He called me out,” Kova said. “You know what it’s like for hybrids right now. Follow the hybrid leader of Voltron or follow the hybrid of the Fire. It’s a choice no one wants to make.” Allie waited, letting the words come to Kova. No words came. 

"That doesn't explain why you were angry." Her voice was soft. Kova's hands had unfurled themselves, letting Allie better treat them. Kova looked up at Allie again, sorting through her thoughts. 

Why was she angry? There was no time to answer as the Coeus shook. 

[cryptidkieren]

come around (1/6)

ayy waddup its ya boy back at it again with good omens fic

i wrote literally the entire outline and the first couple chapters before my power randomly went out????? so i had to start from scratch rip

heres the ao3 link if you want it :)

edit: so i adjusted the tags a bit and it completely erased the body of the post???? i love being on tungle.com :)

-----

It first began, as these things were wont to do, on a quiet winter morning. This one happened to be in Aziraphale’s bookshop.

The angel had been enjoying his morning, flipping the sign on the door to ‘Open!’ somewhere around 10. The warm light of his gas lamps combined with the smell of old books still put him at ease, even after all these years. Snow was falling softly outside, muffling the chaotic noise of London a bit and bringing with it that impatient sense of the incoming holidays that December promised. He still hadn’t heard anything from the Head Office, not since Adam Young ordered both Heaven and Hell to leave them alone over 6 months before.

Aziraphale blinked in surprise, tea cup resting against his bottom lip.

There stood Crowley, wrapped in too many layers to be comfortable, snow and malice swirling around his feet as he clomped- yes, clomped into the shop. The heavy black boots he wore were packed with already melting snow, making small puddles on the hardwood under him.

“Do shut the door, Crowley, or are you trying to heat all of London?” Aziraphale set his cup back down on the tray beside him, lips twitching as he tried to fight off a grin.

“Anything to end this bloody weather, angel!” The demon waved a gloved hand carelessly at the heavy door, forcing it to close if it knew what was good for it. “I am sick to death of the cold! I might actually be sick! Can demons even get sick? If not, then I am definitely one of a kind!”

Aziraphale chuckled as he got up from his comfortable spot, allowing Crowley to rant and shuck his numerous layers onto the floor. “I swear, you get more prickly every winter, my dear.” The angel snapped his fingers and the scattered outerwear was miraculous hung up on the coat peg by the door.

Crowley glared at him, his dark shades slightly fogged and fiery hair a right state from his designer beanie. “I swear this is my punishment from the bust Armageddon. God is torturing me with this cold front, knowing I’m going to freeze my bollocks off and die!”

The angel snorted, cheeks heating slightly, and covered his mouth. How dramatic. He stepped up to unwind the crimson knit scarf hanging around the demon’s neck. “It’s only the first snowfall of the year, dear. I have no idea why you don’t retire to the south during winter at this point, to be honest. Greece is wonderful this time of year, and I know how you love to make fun of tourists at the Parthenon.” Aziraphale smiled at him, turning to hook the scarf on the coat peg with the demon’s jacket.

It was quiet for a moment. Aziraphale turned back to the other, an eyebrow raised in question. He willed it back down to a normal elevation; he had been spending too much time with Crowley.

The demon in question just stared at him, lips pursed and brows drawn behind his glasses. “You haven’t left your bookshop for that long since you opened it.”

“Um,” Aziraphale blinked, quite confused with the sudden topic change. “I-I suppose that’s true. How is it relevant, though?”

The angel could only as Crowley opened his mouth, paused, and let out a rush of air as he raked a hand through his already messy hair, turning to look out the frosted window. “I guess it isn’t.” He seemed… Dejected?

Oh!

“Crowley-”

Something in Aziraphale’s voice must have caught his attention, for he whipped back around to stare at the other, back ramrod straight and shoulders tight. He looked like he was ready for a fight.

It broke the angel’s heart.

“Crowley, darling,” he said, catching the way the occult being twitched at the endearment. He frowned, not wanting to make his friend uncomfortable. “I-I mean, my boy, this isn’t like Alpha Centauri. If you wanted to go on holiday during the winter, you can always ask. I could never imagine having a problem following you across the world.”

Aziraphale caught up with his own words only moments after they escaped, causing his face to flame and panic to set his heart racing. After 6,000 years, he finally let the cat out of the bag and now Crowley was going to hate him or be disgusted by him or quietly pretend it hadn’t happened and he didn’t know which one would be worse-

Time seemed to slow to a standstill as he watched Crowley open his mouth, obviously about to deliver Aziraphale’s death sentence, when the bell above the door rang out and broke the moment.

They both turned to watch as an elderly woman hobbled in from the cold, snow melting in her silver curly hair. Her lilac colored coat was promptly hung up next to one of Crowley’s, standing out against the all the black. She looked around for a moment, leaning a bit on her wooden cane, before spotting them and smiling politely.

“Good morning, gentlemen! Are one of you the proprietor of this shop?”

“Ah,” Aziraphale choked, clearing his throat slightly as he took a step away from the demon. He valiantly swallowed his terror and slapped on his customer service smile. “That would be me, madam. How may I help you?”

“Oh, I was looking for a book,” she said, hobbling over to him on her cane. Crowley politely moved away from them, towards the counter with the old fashioned register that was barely used.

“Obviously,” the demon muttered, though not very quietly.

The customer narrowed her eyes in his direction, as if she were thinking of hitting him with her cane.

“What kind of book?” Aziraphale jumped in. After all, he didn’t want violence to break out in his shop. He had a feeling Crowley wouldn’t come away unscathed.

The woman turned to him again, making the demon let out a breath audible from across the room. She smirked. “It’s an old book, of course. My great grandmother used to read it to me when I was little, and I wanted to start that tradition up with my newborn grandson.”

The angel smiled warmly, feeling the love pouring out of the elderly woman. One of the perks to being an angel was the ability to feel good things everywhere, like love, which this woman seemed to have an abundance of. “Of course, madam. Would you happen to have the title or the author?”

Here, the woman sighed mournfully. “‘Fraid not, dearie. My memory isn’t what it used to be. I can remember bits and pieces, though, would that help?”

Even a demon couldn’t say no to her hopeful, pleading face. Good thing he wasn’t, as the angel jumped at the chance to help.

“Worth a shot, right?” Aziraphale smiled widely, ushering her over to his chair with the untouched tea service. A little twitch of his fingers and the pot was steaming once more. He sat on the small floor pouf decorated with little bow ties tucked under the chair, something Crowley once got him as a gag gift. “Please, make yourself comfortable and tell me what you remember.”

He listened as the elderly woman described her book and sipped her tea, smiling as he made notes on a little notepad from his pocket. He admired the woman’s dedication to details, such as the texture of the pages and the style of the front cover.

Of course, he also noticed how Crowley leaned against the counter behind her, watching them with his chin in his hand. His eyes were unreadable behind his spectacles, but the small smile on his lips was easier to define.

Aziraphale ducked his head again, hiding his own smile.

When the woman finished her description, the angel straightened up and checked his notes. It sounded familiar enough…

“Oh!” he grinned, swiftly rising from his own seat before helping the old woman to her feet. “I think I know where that is!”

His enthusiasm was contagious, apparently, as even Crowley grinned and moved out of the way when the angel came bustling around the counter. He headed towards a case in the North wing, already picturing where the novel would be housed.

Aziraphale grinned as he looked up at the top shelf of the case. There it was, sitting amongst its brethren, just as he thought it would be! As he reached up, he immediately encountered a problem: it was inches out of reach.

The angel frowned, straining and stretching his arm, trying to make up the distance. He contemplated performing a miracle to get it down, but the woman was watching him with barely contained amusement.

He dropped back to his heels, toes and side aching a bit, as he stared up at the offending novel. The angel heard a huff of laughter behind him before a darkly clad arm suddenly invaded his eyesight. “Honestly, angel, I’m going to buy you a step ladder one of these days.”

The heavy book was dropped into Aziraphale’s hands. He blinked at it for a moment before his felt his entire face grow warm. Wrinkling his nose at the smirking demon, he thanked him primly before turning back to his customer.

Before he could even start, the woman chuckled, deepening her wrinkles. “My wife used to do things like that for me too, bless her soul.” Her bittersweet expression only touched on the sudden feeling of melancholic love she pushed out from her soul, causing Aziraphale’s breath to stutter in his lungs.

It also didn’t help that her insinuation made his cooling face reignite with embarrassment.

“Oh! He’s not- We’re not- I mean-”

Crowley fled then, heading towards the back room with bright red ears . Aziraphale caught a glimpse of his hand over his mouth before he disappeared and the angel felt his stomach drop out.

Oh. Alright. Disgust was the answer to that question, then.

“Don’t worry, love,” Aziraphale’s quiet breakdown was interrupted by the elderly woman, whom he had quite forgotten about as his heart was breaking. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Your young man seems to love you very much.”

The angel smiled tightly at the woman, feeling his face flush further against his will. He quickly brought the book to the register, intent on getting her out as soon as possible. As he was writing out the necessary information for his records, the older woman placed a hand on his own, effectively capturing his attention.

“Listen, my dear, if you two really aren't together, then you're both blind.” The woman raised an eyebrow at the angel, a kind smile on her lips. “It’s obvious to just about anyone with eyes that you love each other, and time isn't forever. If I could go back and be with my wife sooner, I would, because there was already so much wasted time before we both had to buck up and have a little faith.”

She patted his hand, then, grinning mischievously. Hers was dark and soft against his own, heavily lined though he had lived so much longer than her. “Have courage, my dear. As the kids say, you only live once.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Aziraphale bit his lip, ducking his head as the customer withdrew her hand. He finished cashing her out (at an extraordinarily discounted price, to boot) and helped her back into her coat. As she left the shop, the bell ringing happily above her, the angel sighed deeply as his earlier panic reared its ugly head again. He would rather face all of Heaven alone than go find Crowley at that moment.

Aziraphale steeled himself and determinedly made his way to the back room. It was cramped, the space not really made for what he used it for, but it was comfortable. The small kitchenette shoved in the corner was rarely used, while the tattered sofa and threadbare armchair dominated most of the space.

Crowley himself was lounging on the sofa, a glass of something amber in his hands despite the early hour.

“What a lovely woman,” Aziraphale said with a smile and a shake of his head. He moved to the kitchenette, determined to make himself a cup of tea the human way to soothe his simmering anxiety.

“Sure, lovely, right,” he muttered, draining his glass in one go. The angel tutted reproachfully.

“Isn’t it a bit early for that, Crowley?” He sat in the armchair with a contented sigh, sipping delicately on his too hot tea.

He didn’t have to see the demon’s eyes to know he was rolling them. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, etcetera etcetera.” He then reached for the crystal bottle on the table between them to refill his glass.

It grew quiet then, Aziraphale occasionally sipping from his cup while Crowley stared into his as if it held answers he was searching for. The old clock on the wall ticked away, the only noise in the room.

The angel took the time to ponder on what the old woman said. ‘Have courage.’ He felt his heart ache something fierce, a well of yearning opening up in him. He wished he had courage.

But courage couldn’t make Crowley love him. His expression as he made a break for it earlier was proof enough of that.

His mounting inner turmoil was then interrupted by the being who caused it.

“Tempt you to a spot of lunch, angel?”

Aziraphale smiled at him, feeling brittle, as he set down his cup. “It’s barely gone half past ten, Crowley. They’re not serving lunch anywhere at the moment.”

The demon huffed, sitting forward to set his own glass down next to the angel’s. He looked at Aziraphale over his sunglasses, golden eyes sparkling in the lamp light, as a mischievous smirk settled on his face. “Brunch, then. I know how you adore those little pie things in that café in Athens.”

“Oh, their spinach and feta pites are to die for,” Aziraphale moaned, already craving the dish. A sudden choking noise made him turn back to the demon.

Crowley’s glasses had slid down his pointy nose, allowing him to stare openly at the angel. Two spots of color sat high on his cheeks. He didn’t appear to be breathing.

“Crowley? Are you alright, my dear?”

He seemed to snap out of whatever trance held him then, jerking back as he roughly pushed his dark glasses back up. The color on his cheeks seemed to be spreading.

“I’m fine, I’m good,” Crowley said roughly. He jumped up from the sofa then, giving the angel a start. “Race you to Greece!”

And he was gone, the bell at the front tinkling behind him.

Aziraphale shook his head with a small chuckle. He rose from his own seat at a more leisurely pace, snapping his fingers to clean the glasses and send them back to their cupboard.

“What a cheat.”

Then he chased after his demon, feeling content enough.

-----

[next chapter]

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #7 - Forgiven

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

this is actually a scene i’ve wanted to write for these two for some time now, so here we go 

For the first night in twenty years, the sun was setting over a free Ala Mhigo.

The sky over Loch Seld was as bright a blaze of glory as she remembered it, staring out over the darkening outline of the wind-carved hills from the secluded remains of the overgrown garden. If she shut her eyes, if she blocked out the happy shouts from within and without the city, she could almost pretend she was sixteen years old again, young and arrogant and invincible.

Almost–but not quite. She wasn’t that girl anymore, hadn’t been for a very long time now. Too much had changed, for better or worse.

She sighed, wrapped her arms around her knees, and hugged them to her chest. It hurt that she couldn’t feel the joy they did. And there was every reason to celebrate.

She thought about the shimmer of happy tears in Lyse’s bright blue eyes when she sang. The sound of all of those voices, that rolling broad lilt she’d always associated with the simpler, better parts of her girlhood, lifted to the heavens singing a song with a tune she knew but lyrics she had never learned. And she had felt… utterly alone. It had been the final realization that this wasn’t her home anymore than any other part of the Empire had been. And it wasn’t anyone’s fault, hers or theirs.

She’d been a child when she was brought here but she had still been a colonizer. A symbol of their oppression.

While she’d been full glad to lend them her strength, this was not her victory. It was theirs, and she knew it. So she’d made her excuses to a confused and very concerned Lyse and gone out for a walk.

She had gone to the old palace district, unsure what to expect, and had found only empty buildings, dark and silent. There were precisely two people she would have wanted to see, and one of them was long gone, and the other- … she still didn’t know what had happened to L'haiya. Didn’t know if she had passed away in the last decade, or if she had been killed in the fighting, or if she had remained in Ala Mhigo at all.

Is it really asking too much, Aurelia thought, staring through the bars of the familiar wrought-iron gate, wanting to feel like I belong somewhere?

Like I have a home?

She had let herself in.

The gate had been unlocked and the house as empty as all the rest, either abandoned or looted. She didn’t even know if anyone had lived here since she’d left over a decade ago, and she didn’t stop to look. 

She meandered through the area that had once been the drawing room, leaving footprints in the dust that had gathered on the floor, and passed through the galley kitchen to the back door on her way. The koi were gone and the fountain was dry and filled only with weeds, but she had paid that no mind. Even lonely and abandoned, this place was familiar and more importantly, quiet. 

So when she heard the sound of something atop the street-facing side of the wall and the Echo did not raise the alarm, she didn’t react.

“You know, you are a surprisingly difficult woman to find when you do not wish to be found.”

Aurelia blinked. Straddling the stone wall, next to her old zelkova tree, was one Nero Scaeva, his eyes hidden by a pair of ridiculous-looking shades which he was already removing. He carried a bottle in one hand, and he raised it with a toothy, boyish grin flashed in her direction.

“There is quite the party going on in the city limits. Without as well, I daresay. The Reach is chaos.” Without waiting for her response he swung his long legs over the wall and let himself drop the last two fulms. There was a flat thud as his feet gracelessly hit the ground. “Were I you, I should be enjoying the fruits of my labors. Perhaps dancing a merry jig upon Zenos yae Galvus’ newly dug grave, may he forever rest upon stinging nettles.”

She winced at that, and did not reply. Nero seemed to take notice of her discomfort, for his smile faded somewhat.

“May I sit?” he asked.

“If you like.”

She heard his footsteps in the grass, then a soft grunt as he sat down at her side. He placed the bottle in his hand on the lip of the stone fountain so he’d have both hands free to work the laces of his plated jackboots loose. Aurelia watched, somewhat bemused, as he kicked them off, then removed the heavy leather vest and outer doublet. There was something familiar about the attire she couldn’t quite place; maybe he’d actually thought to disguise himself. She had to admit it probably wasn’t the worst idea he would have had, given the current mood of the city’s smallfolk.

“Much better.” Carelessly he tossed the glasses on top of the pile he’d made, rolled up the sleeves of his linen undershirt to the elbow, and reached for the bottle he’d set aside. “…You’re not a temperance sort, are you?”

“Hardly.”

“Excellent, because I am not about to let a Suhd Viandja go to waste.” That ridiculous grin was back. “And I’ve not yet sunk so low as to drink the entire bottle by myself.”

Aurelia took the bottle from him and stared at the label. She almost asked Nero how he’d gotten his hands on a wine this rare and expensive and decided it was probably best if she just didn’t ask at all. After a moment she passed it back. “The thought is appreciated but I don’t- I’m not interested right now. Maybe later.”

A shrug. “Then I suppose you have the privilege of watching as I guzzle a ten million gil rosé like a fifty-gil Ilsabardian posca.”

“Nero, I’m really not-”

“I don’t allow Garlond to engage in his ridiculous self-pitying nonsense and I’m certainly not going to give you a pass for same. Talk to me.”

Aurelia glared at him. He gazed steadily back, and she was the first to look away, busying herself with pulling up enough of the weeds around her that she had a comfortable place to sit and tossing the uprooted places into the fountain behind her. Knowing perfectly well she was stalling for time.

Once she realized that he was not leaving her alone, and was in fact more than willing to wait her out, she let out a sigh. Try as she might, Zenos’ dying words wouldn’t leave her. They fluttered about the dark chambers of her mind like restless ghosts that could not be bestilled.

“He said we were alike.”

“Hm?”

“Zenos. He said we were alike.” She clenched her fists at the memory and felt the sting of her nails digging into her palms. “He asked me to accept him-”

“What did he know about you?”

“What?”

“Did he know anything about you? Anything at all? Other than the bits everyone in the civilized world knows?”

“Scaeva-”

“Did he even know your name?”

“Implying that you ever care to use it.”

“Funnily enough, we do not happen to be discussing me at present. Thus your point, while valid, is not germane.”

“All right, well, if this line of questioning is quite finished-”

Those bright blue eyes rolled practically into the back of his head. “The man faced you on the battlefield… what, a brace of times? And had the astonishing arrogance to declare you a kindred spirit simply because you lasted longer than ten seconds? I would advise that you take his words with a grain of salt. Possibly an entire pillar.”

“But what if he was right?” Instead of the measured response she’d expected, he began to laugh. She swatted his forearm with a fierce scowl, but he didn’t stop; he just leaned back, bracing his weight against his hands, and his laughter echoed against the darkened windows and dirt-caked stones of the old house. “What- why are you laughing? I’m being serious!”

“I know you are, sweetling,” he gasped, “that’s why I’m laughing.”

“Great. Bloody terrific,” Aurelia huffed. She rolled away and let herself flop onto the grass, pouting at him. “I’m glad you find my existential crisis so godsdamned amusing.”

“Before you returned to Gyr Abania,” he managed between chuckles, the bastard, “you rang me over that long-distance receiver prototype we put together while very deep in your cups, and was it for some dire emergency or news that these Doman friends of yours had been captured? No, no it was not. You rang me to cry over a stray kitten you and your friends found in some Kugane alleyway.”

Her face colored. She (vaguely) remembered that.

“In my defense, I didn’t realize just how strong Hingan rice wine could actua-”

“Literal crying. Actual tears. I compromised a castrum’s signal tower so that the eikon-slayer could drunk-dial me from Othard in the middle of the night to sob across two thousand malms of ocean and continent about ‘toe beans,’ whatever the hells that is.”

“…Are you trying to be funny?”

“I’m always funny.”

“That’s debatable,” she grumbled.

“At any rate, my point being, and yes, I did have a point– crossing blades with a madman doesn’t have to hold some greater underlying meaning about man’s conscious embrace of our inherently violent nature, or whatever tiresome and self-aggrandizing monologue he chose to inflict upon you.” Nero paused mid-speech to uncork the bottle, raise it to his lips, and tilt it back for a long draught before he continued. “Meanwhile, you are sitting here consumed by guilt because you’ve taken some absurd notion that he might have had a point. The very fact it worries you should tell you he was wrong.”

“I just… I don’t want that to… is that really how everyone looks at me?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Certain.”

(This is who we are! This is all we are!)

“I’m not a beast." Her voice cracked like cermet fired in an industrial kiln overlong, brittle and harsh.

"I know,” Nero said quietly.

“I’m not like him.”

“I know you’re not.”

“…I think I feel in the mood for a drink after all, if you’ve enough to share.”

He smiled. “I believe I can spare a glass or two.”

Aurelia sat up, leaned against the fountain, and took the bottle. The warm weight of his arm had settled across her shoulders, but it was not unwelcome. 

Despite the fact it was a warm night and she was still sticky with sweat, she leaned into him as she tilted the bottle back, resting against his side. A warm body was certainly more comfortable than unyielding masonwork, and she could feel the fingers that had been draped over her shoulder idly toying with a stray bit of her hair.

For a long time she was content to just sit like this, the two of them watching the last light of the sun fade from the sky, admiring the fantastic colors it had left in its wake. A flock of white water-birds took flight at the sudden sound of thumping and the whistle of exploding fireworks overhead, fired from the Porta Praetoria cannons across the loch. They rose aloft as one on soft wings beyond the walls of the city, calling to each other as they fled the sounds of jubilant humanity.

“Aurelia?" Her name, so very rarely spoken by him, pulled her attention away from the fireworks. Nero was still staring at a fixed point in the sky, platinum blond hair haloed in scarlet-streaked blue and encroaching twilight, and she realized he was very pointedly not looking at her. "I assume you’ll be staying in Gyr Abania for some time?”

“Are we making small talk or are you actually asking me to stay?”

“…You know perfectly well what I think of small talk,” he said testily. “Perhaps instead of answering my question with a question, a simple 'yes’ or 'no’ might suffice.”

“Then say what you meant to say and stop dancing about it.”

There was a trembling pause between them. He sighed.

“By the seven hells, woman.” His voice was perfectly even, but she saw the tension in his body. He’d already steeled himself for the rejection he clearly expected was imminent. “I am operating upon the hope that at the very least, after all these months, I might have done something to finally earn your forgiveness for what passed between us in Mor Dhona.”

She gave him a long and unflinching stare. And then, right as his eyes began to shift nervously away from her face, she kissed him. His mouth was soft and warm and he tasted of ridiculously expensive wine. It was quite nice so she decided she really ought to kiss him again, just to seal the memory of it in her mind’s eye. When the second wasn’t enough she kissed him a third time.

The hand that had been stroking her hair paused in surprise, then cupped the back of her head as he responded in kind, small featherlight touches of his lips that ran together like water.

“Far be it from me to object, mind you,” he murmured against her mouth as she pressed her brow against his, “but what’s this all of a sudden?”

“I can stop if you like." 

She felt the soft huff of his breath against her mouth as he laughed mid-kiss. Her fingers teased at his thick curls, gave them a light tug, nails scraping very lightly along the back of his neck- and she heard that laugh catch in his throat, a soft, ragged and quite undignified sound that vibrated against her lips.

"Consider yourself forgiven.”

[bluesakurablossom]

A Work of Art Leo x Reader (NSFW)

Here you go! Hope you love it! @internally---screaming

It would be almost hard to believe that you were an introvert. You weren’t really all into going out every weekend to go to some crazy party or go out to the clubs, you would much rather be curled up on the couch of your small apartment  with your sketch pad with your favorite drink beside you. You loved to draw, it was your favorite pass time. Ever since you were a little girl, you drew whatever interested you or loved the most. The colored pencils were scattered besides you at your feet as you were finishing up your latest creation. You had to admit it was turning out better than you expected. Taking the jade colored pencil you gently shaded in around the dark blue and crystal blue making the eyes pop beautifully. 

After some time you outlined the drawing with black and it was finally done. You smiled with a red blush coming to your cheeks. He looked perfect just like he does in real life. You had drew your boyfriend of one year Leonardo. Being in a relationship with Leo has certainly been the best, you would see each other almost everyday when you could and even when it got busy he would always make the effort to leaving a rose and note on your window to let you know he was thinking of you. How could anyone think differently of him than what you see in him? He wasn’t monstrous, freaky or dangerous, he was none of those. He was handsome, intelligent, loving and sweet, and so gentle. He treated you like a princess ever since coming to be together as a couple. You remembered your first date when he took you to the top of the Statue of Liberty for a picnic and that’s when you had your first kiss. It was so magical and so sweet, you never wanted it to end. You didn’t think that you would end up with Leo, thinking he didn’t want to be with a quiet person like you, but it turns out you were the one he has been looking for a long time. Your love for each other just started to blossom after you both started to hang out together when he introduced to meditation, reading and Ninjitsu and sure enough you both became boyfriend and girlfriend after just three months.

He was just the best boyfriend in the world and you were sure grateful and blessed to be his. But he had no idea that you loved drawing, it was something you were too shy to show. You wanted to show him, but you were worried about his reaction since pretty much now your sketchpad was full of drawings of him. You hoped to one day get the courage to where you would be able to show him. As you wrote at the bottom of the drawing, you wrote in black pen in cursive. 

“A true masterpiece of a man, and he is all mine”

Soon as you finished, you heard your phone vibrate beside you and you smiled to see your boyfriends name pop up on the screen. “Hey you :)”

“Hey yourself handsome ;)”

“What are you up to? Did you want to hang out tonight?”

“Sure! Sounds great! I’ll prep us a movie :)”

“Great...be there in 10 :) <3″

You set your phone down and you got up from the couch wanting to get more comfortable clothes, so you went into your bedroom to change leaving everything on the table. You got changed into your favorite sweats and you were pulling your hair up into a messy bun, that’s when you heard his voice. “Y/N” I am here”, he called out

You suddenly remembered that you had left the sketchpad open on the coffee table and felt your stomach drop. Oh no, why didn’t you shut it when you were literally just right there? You gulped as you walked out of the bedroom feeling your heart banging out of your chest as you saw Leo holding your sketchpad in his hands and staring right down at the drawing. “Oh hey Leo, didn’t hear you come in, sorry about the mess, here let me take that”, you said, trying to take the sketchpad

But he turned to you with a giant smile on his face. “Did you draw this Y/N?”. he asked, curiously “You really think a masterpiece?”

You blushed rubbing your arm giving him a coy smile. “Y-yeah its true, I do”, you said, turning so red you felt hot

“Well I certainly had no idea that I was that appealing”, he said 

“Are you kidding me? Its true Leonardo, you are a masterpiece, I could just stare at you all day without blinking”, you said, actually feeling confident for once “You really do make quite a good inspiration for a sketch”

He set the sketchpad down beside him before he took your face into his hands giving you a deep passionate kiss, making you stumble back in surprise but you melted immediately into it just like you always do. Your arms wrapped around each others bodies as he pushed you to the wall pushing up to where only your tip toes touched the ground before you managed to jump wrapping your legs around his hips. The sound of lips reconnecting again and again dancing seductively was the only sound that could be heard apart from the deep moans that were escaping from you both. “I love it, I absolutely loved it, your artwork amazes me”, he said, softly “Now I think I should show you a little secret of mine, my own artwork”

You felt yourself getting excited as you were brought off the wall and brought into the bedroom as he kicked the door shut. He set you down carefully as he gave you a gentle kiss. “Strip”, he commanded “Then lay on the bed with your hands above your head”

“Y-yes sir”, you said, as you slowly started to shed your clothes til you were completely naked in front of him. You quickly slid back to the headboard of the bed putting your arms up. He climbed just as quickly over you keeping you pinned with his weight as he grabbed from behind the bed the black and blue cuffs that he would use for your intimate moments. Securing your wrists to the bedposts he let his warm smooth hand run down your breasts rolling over each one down your belly as they both carefully smoothed over your thighs, making you shudder and gasp softly. “A perfect canvas for me”, he said, softly “Wait here and don’t move”

He left the bedroom for a moment and your mind was wondering on what he would do next as you tugged on your restraints. He came back a few moments later and he brought in your glass jars of paints on a tray that you had. You had no idea how he managed to find them as he set them down on the bed with a few paint brushes beside them. “What are you doing Leo?”, you asked, barely above a whisper

“Just relax and let me do my work”, he said, softly as he sat down on top of you carefully

He took a paint brush from the tray and he dipped it into one of the jars revealing black paint on the brush. He moved the brush over your collarbone, the coldness of the paint made you shiver all over. He gave the side of your butt a firm but gentle tap. “Stay still”, he whispered

You had to hold your breath as you tried to keep yourself from moving even an inch, you didn’t want to disobey him on what he was doing. He moved the brush again along your collarbone as the gentle strokes and patterns he was creating made it pleasuring when you got over the coldness of the paint. Soon as he finished swirling the brush towards your shoulder, he dipped the brush again into the paint and barely painted on your breasts causing goosebumps to form, making you whimper softly. “Its really starting to come together now”, he said, softly, moving the brush around your nipple, before leaning down to give it a gentle kiss

This was so much, as much as you wanted to move you just couldn’t you didn’t want to ruin his work. He moved to your other breast, making a beautiful pattern just like he did with the other and giving the other nipple a kiss. “Now for the landscape”, he said, moving the brush down your belly letting the brush do streaks and strokes off you making you giggle, curse for you being ticklish there

“Stay still dove, you will ruin it”, he said, pushing his hand down over your lower abdomen as he let the brush swirl around your navel, making your head fall back with a moan

You were not sure on how much more you could take. The desire was becoming too much, even though this was a different kind of foreplay, it sure was a huge turn on to you. He scooted down the bed as he painted along your thighs, which gave you the break he needed from him painting on your belly. You thought he would be finished after he painted your left thigh, but he surprised you when he started to gently let the brush paint above your aching wet sex that was begging for attention. You shivered and let shaky moans escape your lips as he repeatedly stroke the brush over your sex making it so hard to not lift your hips up. “Now its complete”, he said, sitting back adirming his work

It was of one of his favorite Japanese paintings he had seen in the books that he had managed to paint on your body, you made it look even more beautiful. Your body was the perfect canvas for him to create a work of art. “Finally”, you said, softly

“Oh but that was only the beginning”, he said 

You looked at him confused for a second till you felt his finger gently stroke along your sex before sliding up into you, making you groan deep as it went in and out of you. “You were this way for so long my tenshi, you really are wet”, he said

“Please Leo, please I want you inside of me”, you said, begging looking at him desperate 

“Well for being good and staying still I shall give you that desire”, he said, sliding off the bed and undressing himself till he revealed his erection, till he got himself back up on the bed “How badly do you want this?”

“So much, please, I need you so bad, I want you Leonardo”, you said “I can’t take it much longer”

He smiled and he gave your cheek a gentle stroke and forehead a kiss as he slowly slid himself inside of you, making you feel complete pulling your legs above his thighs to get a perfect view of his work on you. You groaned softly as he began a slow and soft pace as he watched you take him in. “Look at you, a beautiful piece of art, the detail your body shows this work is beyond what words can describe”, he said, softly

“Faster, faster please”, you begged

He started to pick up the pace faster as your breasts begin to bounce up and down. “The way the design shows a meaning of true beauty, perfection, and wonder”, he said, as he repeatedly thrusts in and out of you

You knew his words were not only that of his artwork but that of you. A wide smile game to your face as your eyes shut tightly as your orgasm built up fast, making the blood rush throughout your body. “So enriched detail that its too hard to look away”, he said, as he groaned softly picking up faster and faster

“Oh shit, Leo I am about to cum”, you said, with a cry of pleasure 

“It just needs one more thing”, he said, as he picked up faster and harder making you groan and cry out as he dug himself deeper and deeper inside of you hitting your core repeatedly. You were so close, so very close. Till finally it was too much and you screamed as you finally released feeling your inside squirt out of you. You gasped as you tried to catch your breath and Leo let you free from the restraints as his hand ran through your hair combing it softly. “Now its a true masterpiece”, he said, giving you a gentle kiss to help you relax

You sure thought this was a very interesting art lesson, Da Vinci here himself was living up to the name. You couldn’t wait for the next one. 

[barnesnmrnoble]

The Fallen Leaf

(GIF not mine. Credit to owners.)

Main Masterlist - Steve Rogers Masterlist

There is a tree in New York, standing y’all in the depths of the greenery of Central Park. It’s a tree that represents the life and death of the city. With each new life brought into the world, a new leaf blossoms from a it’s branches but with each death that befalls the city a leaf floats and falls to the ground signifying its end.

Every Saturday, Steve watches her smile grow somber, her eyes become glassy with tears unshed and watches as her feet carry her away to the city. He never knows where she goes and never dares ask in fear of watching her already dampened smile fade to nothing. Until one day he can’t handle it any longer and follows her.

Word Count: 3168

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death and blood, car accident

A/n:  It’s been a minute since I’ve been able to post, school and finals have been kicking my ass so hopefully this is the start of me coming back. There should also be a new chapter of Lost in Time in the coming days! I hope you all enjoy! If you do, leave a like and a reblog or comment! I’d love to hear what you think and honestly I’m human and I need the validation. (This was based of a @writing-prompt-s post )

Read on AO3!

There is a tree, standing tall in the depths of the thick greenery of Central Park. It’s larger than life, standing high above the rest of the forest that surrounds it, from the ground looking up, it almost competes with the skyscrapers that line the blue sky. Though it’s not blue today, it’s never blue when she leaves her home for this. It’s dark and dreary, grey clouds rolling in over the city. It’s a reflection of how she feels on these days.

She remembers when she first learned of the tree, her mother sitting her down on a bench nearby it, overlooking the lake in front of her. Her mother held her newborn baby in her arms, gently calming him when he stirred in his sleep. He was only days old, but already had the biggest personality, just like her own. The wind blew around them, almost drowning out her voice when she quietly asked her mother to hold her new baby brother. Her mother had smiled at her, handing her the small infant, keeping her hands underneath her daughter’s. Her mother leaned down to push a wind blown stray hair away from her eyes, smiling as she retold the story her own parents had taught her at this age. She recited it as if it was a fairy tale straight from a story book she had on the bookshelf at home.

It had been centuries ago, when the city had started to come to life. Statues and monuments locals saw each day as they walked into their jobs, had been created then. Stories that would be known until the end of time, started here. A man, whose name she couldn’t remember no matter how many times she’d  told and been told the story --which admittedly wasn’t very often-- had come to the green space in the city. He found solace in the quietness of the forest, found peace from the world. He’d found a place to rest, a clearing in the trees, and in the middle sat a small sapling, no taller than his hip. It’s color was more potent than what he’d seen, greens of every shade covered the few leaves it had. The man pulled a small brown cloth pouch from his clothing, dipping his fingers into the soft mineral powder inside. The powder gleamed against the sun’s bright rays of light, as the man brought it from the pouch and sprinkled it around the tree.

Her mother continues to stroke her hair and finishes her telling of the story with a flourish, “And the rest, as they say, is history.” She smiles up to her mother, fascination running around her brain like a herd of wild horses. But, she can’t help but pause for a moment, her mother had told her an amazing fairy tale of the tree that grew taller than the rest in the middle of the city, but never once did she mention its significance. When she asked to know more about the tree, to know why leaves of varying shades and colors grew from its branches her mother only grabbed her small hand in hers and lead her to the edge of the clearing. “You’ll understand soon, but you must see it.”

It had truly been magical, that day, hearing the stories told from generation to generation had set her mind aflurry, her imagination running wild. Her mother had taken her to see the tree up close, leaves of every color and shade scattered across branches that never seemed to end. If she’d been counting the branches, she was sure to end in the thousands before giving up.  Some leaves had fallen from their branches, dispersed on the ground beneath it, stretching out several feet from its base and covering large roots that measured larger than herself. Her small feet carried her to the edge of where the leaves lay peacefully on the ground, she didn’t dare go further, wouldn’t have even if she hadn’t had her mother still holding her hand. It felt wrong, a deep seeding feeling of disrespect if she crossed the imaginary line in front of her.

____________ . _______________ . ____________ . ___________

She wrapped her scarf around her neck, the soft navy blue one Steve had gifted her a while back, and stroked her fingers over the fabric savoring the comfort it brought her.  It was silly, really. To think a scarf of soft fabric could bring her so much comfort on a day that was so hard, but it was what it represented to her that brought her the feeling of a warm embrace, when the cold around her chilled her to her bones. It was the representation of family, of a shoulder to lean on, open arms to fall into when the world pushed too hard, it was the representation of all that she had lost and then gained once again. She never knew a scarf could represent so much to her.

The clouds that rolled in over the sky were dark and dreary, a nipping wind biting at those who dared walk out in the world. The wind slammed against her cheeks the moment she opened the door and slid into the hustle and bustle of the city. It felt like small pricks against her skin, the ever changing pattern of the wind switching the pins from on side of her face to the other every few steps she took. She blended into the crowd around her, just another face, another set of feet moving from point a to point b, at least until she slid from the bulk of the crowd taking a side street into the park. She walked along the path she always took, a back way to avoid the people she just didn’t have the energy to be around and to bask in the nature around her.

The trees were still bare, a few leaves poking through the cold to find the sun. The winter had started to subside and make way for the spring, letting leaves grow in bunches, grass regain its beautiful green hue, and flower bloom underneath her feet. She loved it here. Her mind wandered with her feet, carrying her to the place she always found herself on these days, the tree of the city.

No matter the time of year, winter, spring, summer, or fall, the leaves of the tree always grew against their branches. It was never failing in its beauty or its life. Before she even had realized she’d taken the backpath, her feet slowed to a stop against the outermost edge of the leaves, the imaginary line forced a stop to her feet. She reached into her coat and pulled out the small picture frame she usually kept hidden away from prying eyes. The dark and worn frame, whose paint had been chipped and rubbed away by her loss and anxiously twiddling thumbs, slid to the end of her grasp and escaped the downpour of her tears. Her delicate fingers traced over the outline of the purple colored leaf and over the letters engraved forever on its skin.

Her brother’s name stared at her through the glass frame under her thumbs, twisting the grip on her heart, one that refused to let up, and hadn’t for two years. It had been a dreary Saturday morning, much like today or really everyday she walked the lone path to the tree. She’d still been living at her old apartment down in Brooklyn, her life as an avenger hadn’t started yet, she was still months out from that part of her life. Her brother had come home from University for the weekend and managed to squeeze in just enough time to have lunch with her before he had to get back, it’d been the first time she’d seen him in months.

But he never showed up.

It was a call she never wished to get, a feeling she would never wish on the worst of people. It had quite literally felt like her heart had been torn from her chest and buried six feet under for no hope of ever finding it again. “Your brother’s been in an accident.” She could hear the helplessness and fear that laced her mother’s voice, she could hear her own sobs permeating the soft air of the diner she’d been waiting for him at. She didn’t care for the odd looks she received for her wailing sobs, or the angry stares she got for “ruining” someone’s dinner. She didn’t care.

Her brothers car was a mangled mess when she passed the awful wreck. She wished she could’ve avoided it, put off seeing horrors no one should ever face, but it was the only way to the hospital. Her stomach churned and threaten to let the bile she’d been struggling to hold down up as she passed the car. She could see blood streaking the inside of the car, a gaping hole where they’d had to cut him from the vehicle.

They waited for hours in the hospital, sitting in awful and uncomfortable chairs that made it impossible it find a position to sit in that didn’t make her back ache. Her hand never left her mother’s, both holding onto each other as if it was the only thing holding them together. Though in reality, it was the only thing holding them together.

The world became darker with each passing moment of agonizing waiting, wondering, hoping, and praying. It became a macabre world of black and white, a world of muted feelings to the point of total numbness. The blank wall in front of her eyes became a seemingly interesting story being told, her eyes never wavering from the spot they’d fixated on hours upon hours ago. Distantly she heard talking, people milling about in the hospital, each one feeling much different from the last. Nurses and doctors held somber looks, though some held smiles as they came out a child’s room, or a room from which someone was still living, still breathing, where they were recovering.

One somber face stood out from the rest. It overrode every feeling of numbness in her until she felt everything all at once, letting it quite literally knock her out of her chair. His eyes were tearful, his gait slow and heartbroken. His shoes were covered in blood, his scrubs he wore didn’t look much better, streaks of red striping what once was a sky blue top into a painful red nightmare. She didn’t need to be told, she didn’t, nor did she want to hear the words spoken out into the world, because if they were that would prove their truthfulness and that wasn’t a truth she was or ever would be willing to come to terms with.

Her baby brother was gone.

The pain settled deep within her heart, never once letting her forget that day, or the feelings of guilt and sadness that she felt everyday when she opened her eyes in the morning. She’d thrown herself into work, isolated herself from friends and family, barely ate and when she did it was nothing more than a birds meal. She even begun a new job, on top of her regular job. She had to, sitting at home and wallowing in the pain was doing nothing for her so she did what she knew and kept herself distracted. Eventually leading her into the arms of the avengers, where her anger and guilt could be used as the driving motion to do some good in the world, just what her brother would’ve wanted for her.

It had taken her several months before she could even bring herself to face the tree that had once held her brothers leaf high on the branches that reached upwards until they touched the blue of the sky. Little by little she brought up her courage and pushed away the pain until the one day she stepped past the imaginary line her feet always stopped her at. She’d sifted through so many leaves, sat for hours and hours until she found the jagged edges of the purple leaf, his favorite color, that held his name. And so, every Saturday she slid out of compound at the early hours of the morning to commemorate him and his life. She went early enough to beat the crowds that lingered around the tree, mostly of those who tried to find their own leaves, they were too cheerful for her. And early enough to avoid or arouse suspicion from that of her teammates. But in a building full of trained soldiers, assassins and geniuses, one was bound to see her slip from the gates with fresh tears already making their way down her cheeks.

Steve had seen her a few months ago, slip from her room and quietly out of the compound, he’d made to ask her where she was headed but as soon as he saw her somber smile and glassy eyes, he just opened his arms for her to seek comfort in. And she did, she never told him anything more than a cop-out answer of “it’s a long story.” or “I’m okay, just a hard week.” but he was never one to push it, it wasn’t his place and he wouldn’t be able to handle it if he was the reason her smiled dampened even more than it already was.

It had been months of her tearful gaze and isolation and Steve couldn’t handle the continuing struggle he could see for her to keep her smile from fading until there was nothing and he snapped. She always left, every Saturday in the early mornings, so Steve was awake just before he knew she’d slide from her room and away for the day and followed her.

He followed her down the backpath she took through the deepest parts of the park, her feet slow moving across the dirt packed path. He listened with a heart heavier than lead as she cried with each step she took, she radiated the pain she felt outwards pushing an invisible force down onto Steve that made each step harder than the last as they rounded the last corner to the open clearing that perfectly framed the tree. He’d seen the tree before, mourned over the leafs on the ground etched with names of his past life, but it had taken him time to even make it as far as the clearing. His fear of seeing those names and coming to terms with the lives and deaths of the people he loved most winning out over his need to have the closure.

He remembered seeing the tree back in the 40s, he’d drawn it countless times in his sketchbook. Though never once did he think his drawings did it’s unmatched beauty any sort of justice. To him, he would never be able to capture the emotions, the happy, the sad, the rejoicing, and the mourning done at the base of this tree, no color palette could ever capture the unique colors that scattered the mass amounts of branches that would’ve taken years to finish drawing. Still he tried, spending many a days out sketching in the warmth of the sun and the coolness he felt when it started to fall beneath the horizon. When his mother had passed, Steve had spent less time in the clearing, pushing it away because it held the memories of his mother, the one woman in his life that meant more to him than anything, because nothing else could compare to her sweet, compassionate personality.

Her feet paused at the outermost edge of the clearing, never crossing the line from the dirt path to the soft green grass the spread from the base of the tree. He watched her grab something from the inside of her coat, her weight shifting from foot to foot and her shoulders slumping even more than they already had. Steve couldn’t handle it, he loved seeing her infectious smile and had since she’d started with the avengers. She’d been a breath of fresh air, she was amazingly capable at what she did-- he couldn’t even counted on his fingers how many times she’d saved his ass-- but even more than that she had helped everyone come down from their minds. Without her, the avengers would probably never have eaten or learned how to cook for themselves, they wouldn’t have days where they could just be people and play games and be the family they really were.

“You know, I came here after I lost Bucky. I stood right where you are, to afraid to cross into the clearing, because if I did and I found the leaf with his name on it, it would mean he was really gone, confirming just what I’d seen on the train. I never moved past that line.” His voice came from behind her, sending her jumping away from where she stood. His hand reached out and grabbed her hand, he laced their fingers together and pulled her into his arms. He didn’t need words, he needed her to know no matter what was going on, she had someone to come to. It was a small gesture but it was just what she needed.

His heart broke with her sobs, his arms gripping onto her waist and holding her steady and she collapsed in his arms and took them both to the ground. They sat in the dirt for hours, some just watching those who showed up to admire the tree, to those who mourned along with them, some just relishing in the comfort of having each other. She told stories of her brother, of the silly games they played, of the crazy pranks they pulled on each other, of the day and the accident that took his life. Each story yanked on Steve’s heart strings until they were stretched farther than a rubber band, he was so close to breaking and letting his tears spill over, to letting his resolve snap into pieces like a rubber band stretched to far.

Part of him did snap, he let silent tears fall, trying and failing to quell his shudders of the sobs he quieted. Her heart so hurt, so closed off from a tragedy he’d never wish on the worst of his enemies. To lose someone so close to you, to not even be able to say goodbye, to see them happy and alive one last time, Steve couldn’t imagine it. She was strong, stronger than anyone knew because despite the horrors she’d lived through, the tragedy she faced, she carried on, pushed past the pain to do her job and do to it well. But more than that she never forgot to take the time to mourn her loss, to remember the life of her brother and to remember what brought her to where she was.

He bent his head down pressing a delicate kiss to her forehead and once again hugging her tight to his body.

“Let’s go home.”