#I think I need to do more chalk brush sketches

[noogit9000]

…Hello?

Anyway I am very excited for @strawbubbysugar’s So(u)l rewrite if you can’t tell

[pien-art]

-FAQ-

Hello! I've gained a whole bunch of followers lately and I've been getting a lot of questions about commissions, what my setup is, what brushes I use, etc, so I thought I'd make a post about it to answer everyone's questions at once !

Putting them under the cut <3

Commissions:

Commission prices are listed in my pinned post. You can send me a private message about your commission idea and we can get to talking :) It is helpful to have enough references handy (character, outfit, descriptions etc)

I am generally a fast drawer but I also have a job and a physical disability so there might be moments I can't work on your commission. But that is never longer than a few days at most.

Payment is upfront, the full amount and via paypal only. I know this might seem a bit scary but unfortunately there are a lot of people who end up not paying for commissions and I want to avoid that.

During the process I will send you frequent updates and will ask for input, to see if it is going in the direction you want. You can ask for changes during the sketching progress but once I've started on line-art and coloring, no big changes will happen. (You can for example ask for a different color for a shirt etc, but not for a different prop or pose or expression)

When it is completed, I will send the drawing to you via email. The drawing will remain mine and it is not to be sold or profited of by the person who commissioned me. If the commission is for something commercial/for selling, that needs to be discussed. I prefer to do drawings only for personal use!

For more questions, my dms/asks are open :)

How long have I been doing digital art:

I've been drawing digitally for about 5 years now i think? But before that I've been drawing and painting traditionally literally since the moment I could pick up a pencil.

Set-up:

It's just me and my ipad and apple pencil laying on my bed. I wouldn't even know where to begin for those whole multi-monitor/screen setups ;-; I draw only with Procreate

Brushes:

I tend to play with different brushes from time to time to get different textures, but generally i use the same few for most of my drawings/styles. My favorite one is the Peppermint Brush, for sketching. I use it in every drawing i make! I always sketch with it, and often do the line-art with it as well! And it makes for a nice textured brush for rendering as well! (i used it for a lot of rendering of the armor in this drawing)

The (procreate) brushes i use a lot are

for medieval style: inking - Ink Bleed (for line-art) artistic - Quoll (for coloring)

for general style: calligraphy - Chalk (coloring/rendering) sketching - Peppermint (line-art/sketching)

for realism: calligraphy - Shale Brush (full rendering) Also using the shale brush for smudging and erasing when drawing realistic

for lineart: smooth pencil from this pack by Heygiudi

How/why do you choose a base color:

I tend to look at a few different things when deciding on a base color/color palette.

the overall color of the reference pic

the color i associate with who or what i am drawing

the feeling/vibe i want to give off with that drawing

color has a BIG impact on the vibe of a drawing, so it is something i keep in mind when im drawing.

Using a color as a base to start, helps a lot with my drawing process. It helps me pick out other colors so they match better. It helps me get light/dark values right. And the chalk brush i use, has gaps between the strokes, so the base color will always come through a little. Having the same color come through in the entire drawing, helps pull all the colors together if that makes sense? I always start with a solid base color when i am painting traditionally as well!

Advice:

PRACTICE!!! just keep drawing and practice. I know this is such generic advice but truly practice is The Way. Learn from other artists but don't compare yourself to them. Everyone's artistic journey is different and there's no "good" or "bad". And most importantly make sure that you have fun when you're making stuff :3

I also learn a lot by studying art I admire and love. Figuring out what it is I like about it. (for example, the line thickness or the shapes or texture etc), and try to incorporate that in my own style in a way that is not directly copying or stealing.

[blakbonnet]

ARTIST OF THE WEEK @midearthlingart ✨

This week's AOTW is Laz aka midearthling, and any AOTW event intending to bring classic ofmd art back into circulation would be incomplete without them <3 She agreed to answer a few questions for me and shared some great tips for beginners:

- Which do you use to draw (app/digital or traditional)?

I think everything posted here is digital, done mainly on Procreate, although I have started using Art Studio Pro more recently and I really like it (also an iPad app but available on other machines afaik!). I do like to doodle and do studies in my sketchbook though, I think it's good to keep me sharp and for a change of pace! And sometimes ideas come easier that way. But any completed pieces tend to be digital.

- Fave brushes/pencils/mediums (links/screenshots?)

On procreate I'm partial to using jingsketch basic’s flat brush, it’s so versatile for sketching and painting! Other brushes in my regular rotation are the default chalk and 6b brushes from procreate. I also have a soft ‘photoshop’ brush that I use to flat in colours, and a round brush I downloaded that I often use for sketching too; unfortunately I can’t remember where I got either of those ones but I’m pretty sure they were free! Sometimes I use random texture brushes, and the default watercolours in procreate.

- Your favourite piece you've drawn?

I go through phases of really loving some pieces and then hating them again (I often dislike my own art!) One of the best things I ever drew is a very nsfw comic so I unfortunately can’t share it on tumblr lmao. But in its stead, I think this and this have a special place in my heart.

- Who's harder to draw: Ed or Stede?

Honestly it just depends on the day! Both can be difficult to capture for different reasons; oddly I think for me I don’t have Ed’s face pinned down as much as I do with Stede’s. I’ve drawn them so much at this point I can bang them out without reference most of the time, but every now and again I’ll have a difficult angle and need to reference again! Stede’s nose is my absolute favourite to draw though.

- One essential tip for beginner artists?

Keep going! References and 3D models are your friend! It’s okay to make studies of other people’s works in order to learn (just don’t share and try to pass it off as your own!) Tracing photos to learn is also fine too, these are all just tools to help you hone your skill.

- Why OFMD? 🥹

It did something to my brain! I remember watching it back in March 2022 when there were only 6 episodes out at the time, I binged in one go and then the very next day watched all of them again. It just felt so cosy! I watched initially when I heard about it because I already loved Rhys and Taika’s works so needless to say it was hook, line and sinker from me from the start—I did not stand a chance! When it turned out to be a queer, middle-aged love story I knew it would be special to me forever.

[cheapsweets]

The resolute Ilyecham

My response to this weeks Bestiary Posting challenge, from The Maniculum!

I've been vaguelly considering how to tackle this one all week (and trying to avoid seeing others' interpretations as much as possible). Again, we have a lot of behaviours, but nothing in terms of a physical description... Did the author just thing 'everyone knows what birds look like', was this just a bird that the reader was expected to be familiar with, or were they all like 'I'm not describing yet another bird... :p'?

It's a pen and ink drawing (dark sepia ink, and a sailor fude nib) over a pencil sketch; the fude nib is interesting as it's meant to give the impression of using a brush - the nib is bent to allow transition from thin to thick lines - I've got a lot of practice to go to get that transition right though (I'm tempted to try an actual brush pen for next week's challenge...)!

This time, I actually used some references! Well, I briefly glanced at some, anyhow... I feel like it has made a difference, particularly in terms of the anatomy (though there are several things I'd go back and change if I was doing this over), but I still need to work a bit more on consistency (and maybe not tackling any too-awkward perpectives...!). I had a lot of fun with this one :)

Reasoning below the cut...

"The Ilyecham is a bird armed rather with spirit than with claws, having great courage in its small body. [Etymology redacted]. For it greedily seizes other birds. [Etymology redacted.]" - So, carnivorous bird, emphasis away from it's claws... I had to double check this, but falcons kill prey with their beak (a sharply projecting 'tomial tooth' on their upper beak), whereas hawks use their claws. I tried to show this, but it's such a small details it might not be obvious. Did you know that falcons are more closely related to passerines (perching birds, like sparrows) than they are to hawks/eagles? I always find that absolutely mind-blowing :)

"It is said that the Ilyecham is lacking in parental care towards its young, for when it sees that they are able and trying to fly, it does not feed them but beats them with its wings, throws them from the nest and forces them from a tender age to catch prey for themselves lest, when they are fully grown, they should become lazy." - Hey, chalk up another one to that old adage 'birds are jerks'... I'm starting to think that bestiary authors were not the biggest birb fans... In the top right of the picture, we have a mama ilyecham pushing the baby out of the nest with her wing. Time to find your own way in the world, baby bird! I tried to distinguish the younger bird's plumage with a different pattern (spotted/dotted); the adult plumage was inspired by goshawks (I know, hawk vs falcon), more because it would show up as distinctive in black and white than any other reason.

As an aside, I really struggled with how to draw a slightly stylised bird nest!

"It takes care lest in their childhood they grow idle, or are given up to pleasure, or grow weak from inactivity, or learn to expect food rather than to seek it for themselves, or abandon their natural vigour. Ilyechams stop bothering to feed their young in order to make them bold enough to seize food for themselves." - Hang on, this is going to be some kind of inspirational virtuous animal thing, isn't is... :p I can imagine some medieval scribe writing 'and so, the ilyecham represents the cardinal virtue of fortitude' or something...

"It is the custom of Ilyechams in the wild to spread their wings when the south wind blows, so that their limbs are warmed by the wind to release their old feathers. When there is no wind, they create a breeze by spreading their wings to face the rays of the sun and beating them; and thus, as the pores of their body open, either their old plumage falls out, or new feathers grow in." - In the top left, we have an ilyecham spreading its wings, facing towards the sun, and doing just that! The feathers blowing away were fun to draw!

[simonwimon]

idk if someone already asked but what program do u use to draw??? also i really love the way you do the lines!! what brush do u use??

no worries! i haven't answered this question in at Leeeaast a few years anyways :P nowadays i use clip studio paint, and almost all of the brushes i use are stuff i've grabbed off the asset store! (with edits, naturally). i'd put this under a readmore but every time i did tumblr broke the formatting orz

my absolute Favorite brush - something i'd recommend to Anyone regardless of what they're using it for - is this highlighter brush! i've been using it for almost 2 years now! whether it's sketches, outlines, or paintings - it adds a nice Chunky feeling with the square brush shape & a texture that i adore on top of that.

anything i post that has a Cleaner outline than normal is probably a result of this brush! i Love the sketchier feel of my other brushes, but when i need something well-defined and solid, this is my go-to brush. the weight & feel of it reminds me of the old bic pens i would doodle with in the margins of my homework back in highschool :P

the first brush from this set is one i use to compliment the brush i just listed - it's made by the same creator, so it has the same feel, but it's a LOT better at Suggesting things rather than Defining them, if that makes sense! i use it a lot when i'm drawing wrinkles, folds in clothing, blush lines, crosshatching - really, anything that should Be There, but isn't meant to be the center of attention. also good for loose sketches!

this brush is very new to me! total disclosure, you have to pay for this now, but i downloaded it when it was free. i mostly use this brush for sketching, but i think it also works REALLY well for painting! my usual approach to blending colors is to lay down a base, slap another color on top of it, and eyedrop the blend between them to go over the transition point with - and i think this brush lends Really well to that. reminds me of working with chalk pastels irl :P

then there's this one specific brush i've been OBSESSED with lately. you can see it in a good bit of my recent art, if you know how to look for it, and i think it's something i'm going to be using for a long time! it has a specific weight and Oomph to it that i just Loooove so much

when it comes to post-painting, i-need-to-add-more-Crunch-to-this-drawing, this noise set is where i go first! this isn't a situation where i can just say "yeah slap one of these down on overlay at 30%" or whatever - you have to experiment! every time i use one of these i end up spending 30 minutes going through The Whole List of blending modes to see which one works best & then spend Another 30 minutes fiddling with the opacity. and then spend Another 30 minutes fiddling with the luminosity & saturation of the layer. there's so many colors available that i can just drag & drop & delete until i find what color scheme works best!

honorable mention - this set also costs money, but it's one of my favorite ways to make a plain color background have More Flavor. LOVE that it has a clean version of the shape and then a second version where it's got a Chunky border! plus making this post made me realize the creator added more shapes since the last time i downloaded it yaaAAAYY

[laylaglobalproject]

Week 8

W/C Monday 29th April -

In this week it was really about finalising and planning for the final hand in. We gathered some final visuals that lace realised she needed for the map, as well as adding to the spatial and the final powerpoint. We also had Niamh continuing with the multiplayer mechanism and lace began finalising the movement of each of the characters.

I worked on the extra few visuals that Lace needed, I did a birds-eye view of the playground so that on the map the perspective was more accurate. I used a combination of games that people had commonly mentioned in the questionnaire. Some of these being hula hooping, ball games and hopscotch. I again used photoshop for the larger features of the illustration and then transferred this simple drawing into procreate and using the iPad, filled in the smaller details, like the games and the textures. I found that procreate allows for finer details as there is a wider range of paintbrush tools that you can use, such as regular paintbrush shapes, spray paints, chalk effects, and even more natural shaped brushes like leaf shapes, and grass prints. I used the circle accuracy to make hole hoops to lay on the floor and the chalk brushes to paint on the hopscotch, this was a personal choice as I remember using chalk on the ground to created hopscotch tracks when I was younger. I added textures to the ground with the spray paint brushes to give the floor a rougher, gravel like texture and I trimmed the outside of the play area with grass and textured greenery. I liked this visual best out of all of the drawing so far, I can definitely say that my confidence in using digital software to produce hand drawings has increased. It is something I was really unfamiliar with before started this course as I came from a more traditional fine art background, so it is nice that I can see certain skills improving, especially with creative technologies.

I also needed to do visuals for the actual school building and the library, Liz ended up doing the main school building, using the school of art outline that Niamh had previously created. She used lots of colour which created a really nice and positive kind of energy to the design. I created quite a simple building design, taking inspiration from the school of art building in Birmingham,, I wanted it to look quite traditional with the cartoon like art style that, I think, keeps th game quite fun and playful. The building that I had created we decided could be the library, it made sense that this building was more traditional, I think, as it seems a more studious. I again used a mixture of Adobe Photoshop and procreate for this task. I was able to do most of it on photoshop as this allowed for some cleaner lines and shapes, whereas sometime with procreate, because it is like drawing freehand, it can look slightly rough. I instead just used procreate for smaller sketch lines that added some texture and depth to the drawings, as well as the greenery around the buildings. This again is where the larger variety of brush types becomes useful.

The final visual I made this week was the games section. I had obviously made the playground concept art to begin with which then developed further into the birds-eye view drawing with more detail. I then had to create a home page for the actual game play. We had created a poll on the figma for the kind of game that we should have in the playground. It had to be multiplayer so that we could have each of us play it against another player. We listed a few of the games that people mention in the questionnaire and left the poll on the figma for quite a few weeks prior, so that we could get as many answers as possible and therefore more accurate feedback. The game that we decided on was noughts and crosses. This is a two player game that we would have run while on the "playground" part of the map. We were working it in so that it could be played with two players at the same time. The whole world acting as a portal to one another via the game structure. There is many opportunities for contact through the game, and we though that this actual two player game feature would be a perfect fit for both the brief but also the theme of the game.

This week we also discussed spatial with the students in Kyiv. We each have our own portal which is like our virtual gallery space, and so we just wanted to introduce them to it and discuss how it works and the kinds of things that we are going to uploading in there. Me and Niamh spoke from our group, just discussing what we think we will upload. I think it'd be nice for the Ukrainian students if we can upload the work that they sent to us too se they can see that we have used their design ideas and visuals. We though that the structure for our portal would be, inspiration art, concept art, development and then potentially a video tour of the game playing in the spatial portal, with a communal link to the actual game itself.

As well as introducing them to spatial, we also mentioned possible run throughs of the game and when we were hoping we could actually trial it. Now all of the artwork had been done for cut scenes, the map and the locations, it was just a case of coding the movement mechanisms, transitions and the multiplayer function. We asked when the students would be free and if they'd be interested, to which we got a few responses via the telegram group chat, with a few Ukrainian students that said they'd be happy to take part in the first dry run of the game.

[jishyucks]

Walls, Brawls, & Sudden Rainfalls (Teaser) ‣ hrj

‣ pairing: renjun x reader

‣ genre: enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, slow burn, college au

‣ teaser wc: 1.9k

‣ final wc: expected to be 15k+ (could be more), currently 12k

‣ summary: Your first impression of Huang Renjun wasn’t the greatest. In fact, the first two encounters you did have with him were enough for you to conclude that he was just some cold-blooded boy who genuinely didn’t care about anyone else but himself. That was, of course, before the (damn) universe brings you both together to work on the local daycare’s mural.

↳ Alternatively where first impressions blind the fact that you two actually fit quite well together.

‣ warnings? (so far): Brief mention of underage drinking, Renjun and reader argue really childishly lots, when I meant slow burn, I really did mean slow burn ‣ an: I've never done teasers for my longer fics, but maybe I do want one for this because I've worked a little too hard on this one, so pls enjoy!

“Chalk, white paint, string, ruler,” Renjun mumbles, taking the supplies up into his arms. 

You grab the paint brushes, “Why do we need half of what you just said?”

Renjun’s walking out of the room, paying almost no mind to you and your question. 

“Huang Renjun,” you say firmly, “Can you answer my question?” You both are outside at this point, “Or… or else I’ll chuck this brush at you!” Although it was a joke, you subconsciously knew you would if he seriously didn’t open his mouth within the next minute.

“So I can draw a grid?” He speaks to you as if you were stupid.

Oh, he’s going to get it, you think, but your thoughts and your body think and do different things. Your body decides to stay grounded where you were, “And why would we need a grid?”

Renjun huffs and turns to his bag. He fishes out the draft you both had made last week, only there’s a graph lightly drawn over it, “So we can replicate the picture onto the wall.” Renjun thought this over the past few days. If he and you wanted to mural to turn out exactly how you both had drawn it, eyeing it wouldn’t be the best to go about it. Hell, even drawing out a rough sketch of it could be difficult through eyeing it. 

“Can’t we just free-hand it?” You’re not understanding why Renjun wants to make the job more difficult than it was. There were only two of you. If there were maybe four of you working on the mural, then sure, go ahead and draw a graph, but there were only two of you.

Renjun shakes his head, “I think it’s worth it to draw the graph, that way there’s no chance of messing up.” He fiddles mindlessly with the string he’s been holding. You can tell by the expression on his face that he’s serious about this. You want to tell him that, ‘bro, this is a mural for a daycare, it doesn’t need to be one-hundred-percent perfect,’ but Renjun looks like he’s ready to fight for what he wants. 

“Fine, let’s draw the graph,” you say. 

Renjun looks at you confused. Why’d you back down so quick? “Huh?” 

“But you do it all on your own.” 

Ah… There it is.

“I’ll just sit here and wait for you to finish.”

Renjun wants to laugh out loud, not because the situation was funny, but because he can’t believe you’re actually saying what you just said. “Are you serious?”

You sit down at a nearby bench and nod, “Why would I be joking? You sure do act like you know what you want to do… so, go ahead. Do it.” A spiteful smile rises upon your lips and you wave for him to go on with his task. Being the stubborn boy he was, Renjun gives you one firm look before turning towards the small ladder. He drags it towards the right end of the wall and begins preparing the materials.

You watch him out of curiosity, wanting to know how he’ll manage to do it all on his own. You want to see if he’ll ask for your help, or end up wanting to free-hand the rough sketch in end. But as you do observe Renjun, it’s clear that he’s not going to ask for help or give up.

Renjun measures out string that’s about the height of the wall, 3 metres tall, and then the length, which was nearly 4 and a half metres long. Grabbing measuring tape, Renjun uses the ladder to measure and divide the wall into foot-by-foot squares, marking the corners of the squares with dark chalk lines. The job’s going to take long, that’s for sure, and watching him move up and down the ladder, while he tries his best to keep his marks aligned, you can’t help but feel bad for making him do it on his own. 

But then again, he wasn’t asking for help. 

Renjun on the other hand is struggling and he hopes you don’t see it. Yes, two hands were enough for the daily tasks he has grown accustomed to, but two hands weren’t enough to do this very task efficiently. There’s a voice at the very back of his brain that was itching him to ask you for help, but as always, Renjun and his stubborn ass refuse to do so, even if he’s on the edge of falling off of the ladder. 

“Can you hand me the black paint?” Renjun asks about forty-five minutes later. His hairline is drenched from sweat and the lack of expression on his face reveals how tired he was, “Please.” He hopes that you’d at least help with this. 

Without another word between the two of you, you stand up and pick up the bucket of black paint. You quickly plop it down next to the foot of the ladder before looking up at him, “Are you done with the graph?” You try your best to sound disinterested, eyes moving across the wall.

Renjun blinks down at you, “Does it look finished?”

There’s a caring instinct in you that notices the exhausted look in Renjun’s eyes. His eyelids are drooping, and he’s sniffling from the constant moving he’s been doing. Renjun’s sweating profusely from the sun beating down on the both of you, and you’re brought to wonder if he was prepared to be worked up to this degree. 

When your eyes meet his, you’re instantly pulled from your thoughts and you remember that you’re not supposed to give a single fuck about Huang Renjun, even if he’s working his ass off like this. He looks like he’s waiting for you to answer or leave to go sit back down. But a rogue idea somehow assembles itself in your head and you decide to just go with it. You roll your eyes, “Well, I’m going to the washroom if you aren’t.”

“Whatever.” He gives you one last glare before turning to the black paint and the string. 

You start making your way to the front door of the building, sending Renjun sneaky glances. The second he’s paying you no attention, both direct and peripheral, you make a break for it and start sprinting towards the centre of campus. There was no doubt that you look like a madman right now, zooming past students who were still on campus despite the day of the week, but you didn’t care. If you want to pull this off, then you need to do this quick—and quick means running like you were in a life or death situation.

Finally reaching your destination, you decide to take a breather, hands on your knees and everything. Your mind wanders back to the day you applied for the gig, getting deja vu from the exhaustion you’re feeling right now. 

Once you finally are able to catch your breath, you make your way into the building and sigh at the air conditioning. 

“Y/N! Hi! The usual?” The Starbucks worker, one you’ve obviously seen plenty of times, looks at you in an odd way but goes with the flow nonetheless. She’s smiling at you, finger hovering over the screen in front of her as she waits for a response.

You nod and add, “Add an iced matcha latte to that too. Make it venti, please.” She nods and continues on with the usual routine. 

You left as quickly as you came, although this time, you’re sprinting with a bit more caution, not wanting to spill the drinks you’ve used your own money for. You can’t help but wonder what Renjun was thinking right now—what were you doing in the washroom for so long? 

The two drinks you were holding in both of your hands said it all, though there was still no explanation why you decided to sacrifice some of your time and money for Renjun. It was just the nice person instinct inside of you that decided to do so. 

You’ll complain about it to yourself later.

When you finally return from your little mission, you’re lucky enough to arrive when Renjun’s distracted with the graph. You notice he’s done the vertical lines within the time you were gone.

“That was a long washroom break,” Renjun muttered rather loudly. He’s pressing the paint-soaked string against the wall, face angled slightly to the side in focus, “I was beginning to think you ditched me.”

You shoot him a glare behind his back and contemplate whether you should throw the drink that you bought for him at him. Instead, you say nothing and put the drink down next to his things, making sure it was in a spot that was safe from the surroundings. 

Renjun looks back at you, instantly noticing that you were now holding an entire Starbucks drink in your hand, completely missing the one sitting by his things. “Didn’t know they had a Starbucks in the washroom.” His tone is dripping with sarcasm and hints of irritation. He still can’t believe he’s actually been working on the graph for almost two hours on his own. 

“Oh yeah, they just opened one a week ago,” you shoot back. You plop into your previous place and sit there, taking out your phone to distract you from Renjun. 

You don’t realize how much time has passed when you see a pair of feet stop in front of you. You’re brought to look up at the owner, “What do you want?”

“I want a break.” Renjun answers flatly, “I’m done with the graph. Now work on transferring it.” He holds out the same draft he had shown you earlier, waiting for you to take it. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to show his shoulders and he’s using a small towel, that was originally supposed to be for the paintbrushes, to wipe his forehead. 

“Sure” was all you said before snatching the draft from his fingertips. 

All the hard work was done for you. Transferring it was easy. 

Gathering the supplies you needed, chalk, paintbrushes, and white paint, you get going on transmitting the draft onto the wall. The moment you start the rough sketch of the mural, you feel a wave of nostalgia hit you, remembering the countless activity books you completed as a kid. You can distinctly recall the pages where one side displayed a cute drawing of an animal or character of some sort, overlaid by a graph, while the page next to it shows an empty graph in which you were instructed to redraw the completed picture. This was exactly like that, only bigger and not for leisure. 

Your delight in starting distracts you easily from Renjun, who you unknowingly finally notices the drink you had gotten him not even thirty minutes earlier. Although he’s a bit puzzled by the drink, remembering damn well that he never got the drink himself, he lets his line of sight drift to your half-finished drink sitting by your things. When realization begins settling in, he does one more thing to confirm his thoughts.

Twisting the drink in his grasp, Renjun faces the sticker label towards him, eyes instantly finding what he was looking for. 

*Y/N*

His eyes flicker up to you, standing firmly at the top of the step ladder, unaware of the fact that his eyes have widened and the corners of his mouth have climbed higher on his face. Despite the fact he’s thankful and a bit sorry that he was giving you attitude the second you got back from your ‘washroom break,’ the larger part of Renjun that’s still certainly irritated with you doesn’t say thank you.

Not out loud at least.

[helloalycia]

The Wrong Lifetime – Three // Wanda Maximoff

chapter two | story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad | chapter four

author’s note: i have nothing to say except enjoy!

Chewing on my bottom lip, I looked over the shelves at the different kinds of stationary the shop had to offer. I needed a new notebook and some ink since I'd ran low at home, so I decided to come into town to have a look.

A brown leather-bound notebook caught my eye and I picked it up, flicking through the pages. Sadly, they were too thin for my liking, so I replaced it and kept looking.

Moments like this were one of the few luxuries I had to myself, where my mother wasn't nattering in my ear about finding a husband and learning to do something useful other than writing, or where my brother wasn't overshadowing me in everything he did, making me feel even worse about myself. No, moments like this, I could just be.

"Y/N? Is that you?"

And there goes my moment.

Plastering a smile on my lips, I spun around and was surprised to see Wanda approaching me with an equally surprised expression on her face. She really was everywhere, wasn't she?

"Wanda, hello," I greeted as she stopped by my side. "It's good to see you."

She looked good, considering I hadn't seen her for a few days. Maybe once when she'd popped in to say hello to everybody before her date with my brother, but that was hardly a meeting. Now, she looked cheery, eyes sparkling with their usual excitement.

"You, too," she said softly, a smile creeping on her lips. Her eyes fell to my hands, where I was holding some ink. "Don't you have servants to do that for you?"

"Don't you have servants to do that for you?" I countered lightheartedly, eyes flickering to the vast amount of paintbrushes and paint in her arms.

She narrowed her eyes in a playful manner. "Touché."

Rolling my eyes in good nature, I asked, "So, what made you decide to go shopping?"

"I needed some new supplies," she quipped with an adorable smile, lifting her arms which were filled with said supplies.

"And you didn't think a basket would help?" I joked, before turning to grab a stray basket beside the shelves and helping her to put everything in it.

She chuckled, accepting my help, and answered, "Truthfully, I only came for the paint, but then I saw some new brushes I wanted to try, and then there were some new colours in stock and, well, before I knew it–"

"This happened," I finished for her with amusement, handing her the filled basket.

She took the basket from my hands and nodded. "Exactly. I would have sent my servant to get the paint, but last time I did, she came back with the wrong one."

"Oh, the scandal," I teased.

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and it was refreshing to see the shoe on the other foot. I guess I could see the fun in it now – no wonder she teased me often. Plus, she looked cute when she was caught off guard.

"What about you?" she countered, attempting to take the attention off her.

Content smile on my lips, I watched her. "What about me?"

She gave me an isn't it obvious? look. "I told you why I was here. What about you?"

I shrugged, looking back to the shelves. "I just needed some things... and I may or may not get excited when buying stationary."

Her melodious laughter filled the air. "Of course."

"I just don't know which to get," I told her, motioning to the notebooks. "There's so many options!"

She hummed with amusement, stepping by my side closely and reaching out to get a better look. I was acutely aware of her shoulder pressed to mine and tried to stop thinking about it, but obviously, once I told myself to stop thinking about it, it was all I could think about.

"How about this one?" she suggested, picking up a notebook wrapped in a burgundy-coloured sleeve. She was probably biased since it was her favourite colour.

I took it from her grasp as she held it towards me, feeling tingles at the tips of my fingers when they grazed her hand. God, I needed to get a grip.

Before I could look at the notebook properly, I noticed a smudge on her hand, subconsciously grabbing it before she pulled away. Flipping it over so I could see her palm, I saw several smudges of colour and stared with confusion.

"Paint," she explained, mildly embarrassed as she pulled away. "The stuff goes everywhere."

I hid a smile, finding it cute, before looking to the notebook again.

"I like it, but now to see the pages," I said, flipping through them to see if they were thick enough. I hated getting a notebook with flimsy pages that ink seeped through.

"Are they to your liking, your majesty?" she teased, and I looked up to see her tilting her head and watching me through her eyelashes.

"Yes, they are actually," I retorted with a childish glare, before closing it. "Thanks."

She half-suppressed a laugh. "Good. Let's hope it gives you some... vdokhnoveniye."

She paused, scrunching her nose in thought, probably searching for the right word in English. I was too distracted by how enchanting she looked when she did that to care about her struggle to find the word.

"Vdokhnoveniye is like inspiration," she explained, eyes looking back to me after staring up in thought, "but it's something better. It's from the word vdykhat', meaning to breathe."

"So, you want me to get a good breath from this?" I asked, quirking a brow with bemusement.

"No! No." She laughed, running a hand through her curls. "It's like... when you get inspired by something so quickly, as quickly as it takes to take in a breath. Never mind, it's stupid."

"It's not," I reassured her with an appreciative look. "I get it. Thanks. I like that. Russian is definitely a fascinating language."

She seemed glad that I made sense of her ramblings and I smiled, realising there was much more to Wanda than her ability to make me a stumbling mess.

"Have you got everything?" I asked her, glancing to her basket, before quickly adding, "What am I saying? Of course you've got everything. Practically half the store is in there."

She shoved me gently. "Not nice. But yes, I have everything."

I refrained from chuckling at her dismay before leading the way to the till so we could pay. As we took turns, the cashier made conversation with both of us. I knew of him because I'd been here enough times to make a friend, but I was surprised to see Wanda was the same. I was certain I'd never seen her here before. And I'd been here a lot.

When we finished paying, we began to head outside and I decided to speak my thoughts.

"You know, it's strange to think that we've both been coming here for a while and yet we've never crossed paths," I noted. "I mean, unless we have and just didn't know who each other were then."

She shook her head casually. "Oh, no, we haven't crossed paths. I'd definitely remember a pretty face like yours."

I paused, bewildered at her words as they took time to sink in. She seemed to notice as she laughed, holding the door to the shop open for me. I walked outside and she followed after me, eyes glancing at me satisfactorily.

"So, er, what are you doing now?" I changed the subject, recovering from my momentary shock.

She settled with a smile as she answered, "I'm in the middle of adding some finishing touches to a painting I'm working on. I'll probably head back to finish it."

"Ah, the paintings that you talk about but I've never seen," I joked, relaxing under her stare. "I'm starting to believe you're lying to me, love."

She rolled her eyes, though her smile widened, revealing a dimple by the corner of her mouth. "I'm not... You can come with me if you'd like. I don't mind showing you." When her eyes met mine, she quickly added, "If you're not busy, that is."

Humour disappearing, I nodded with surprise. "Sure. I'd love to."

And that wasn't a lie. I was curious to see the Sokovian's work since she seemed to enjoy talking about art so much. Plus, I could appreciate some good art when I needed to and I wondered if hers would fit the bill.

Or at least that's what I told myself when she flashed her dazzling smile my way, making my heart explode with adoration.

—

Just like me, Wanda didn't have a dedicated place to work from because her parents didn't deem her passion an appropriate hobby for a young woman in today's day and age. So, just like I did, she worked in her room and made the most of the space she had.

As soon as we took a step inside, I was amazed by how much stuff there was. Of course there was the expected – a bed, an ottoman, a wardrobe and a desk – but it was as if that was all secondary furniture to the main focus.

Closest to the giant window on the opposite end of the room were several canvases being supported by easels, some painted and some blank. Papers with sketches of literally anything you can think of were taped to the walls, some scattered along the floor and some scrunched up entirely, missing the bin.

Her desk was filled with jars of paintbrushes, oils, pencils, chalk and any other art supply I'd probably never heard nor seen of before. The place was messy, but not dirty. Her bed was made, the sheets as crisp as could be, her books were lined up neatly, her paintbrushes all had a perfect spot. It was clean, but it was a giant mess, and it was the most beautiful mess I'd ever seen. I refused to believe art was merely a hobby for her when it seemed like her room was dedicated to it.

"This is your room?" I asked with disbelief, eyebrows raised.

Clearly mistaking my amazement for critique, she dumped her newly purchased art supplies on her bed before rushing to pick up some loose papers and canvases from the floor.

"Yes," she squeaked, attempting to kick some papers under her bed as she straightened up sheepishly. "Sorry for the mess. Believe it or not, it does follow a system."

I laughed wholeheartedly, heading further into the space to where her makeshift studio was. "Wanda, you don't need to apologise. This place is amazing."

She snickered, glancing around at everything. "You think? I'd love something more – a real studio – but of course, women aren't supposed to have hobbies apart from pleasing their husband and hosting dinners every other week."

The last part she said with a hint of bitterness, clearly repeating what she'd been told before, no doubt by her parents. I was surprised by her vulgarity, but I wasn't in disagreement. She was absolutely right and it was such a shame because women were so much more than their husband. Too bad society would never see that.

"My father only allows me this... sanctuary," she finished with a sigh, before her hand rested on her desk. "It's not much, but at least it's mine."

"Well, I love it," I told her honestly, making her smile as she looked my way. "Can I look around?"

She waved her hand. "Of course. Nothing's off limits,  but do be generous. My ego is easily bruised."

I chuckled at her joke and she flashed me another smile before grabbing her neglected art supplies. As I helped myself to looking around at her work, I heard her rustling around behind me and glanced her way, seeing her making herself comfortable on a stool before a particular canvas. I presumed it was the piece she was working on that she mentioned earlier and got back to my browsing.

She was extremely talented, not that I had any doubts to be honest. There were her bigger pieces, the extremely detailed ones, that she'd painted of grassy landscapes. Some were green full trees with falling leaves, some were cherry blossom trees with pink blossoms floating in the air, some were buildings overgrown with mother nature. I recognised none of them, but they transported me elsewhere like a nostalgic reminder of being a kid and playing in the garden with my mum. Even now, I helped her do the gardenening, but I'd never really appreciated my surroundings until I saw Wanda's work.

And those were just the huge pieces. She'd done sketches that were taped to the wall, to her desk, floating out of sketchbooks. Some were plans for bigger pieces, others were daily observations, all of her surroundings. She didn't draw people, I noticed, it was mainly scenery. But it was all stunning and it brought a smile to my lips as I imagined her producing all of this in her own little sanctuary, as she called it.

"You've been quiet for too long," she called out jokingly, after a while of me perusing her sketchbooks.

I looked up from my seat at her desk, seeing her focused on her painting, but an amused smile ghosted her lips. The sunlight from the window was hitting her perfectly at the moment, and even from where I was sat, I could see the flecks of gold shimmering in her eyes, matching the auburn streaks in her hair. The breath got knocked out of me momentarily, and I almost forgot that she'd said something.

Clearing my throat, I returned her smile. "I'm admiring your work, Wanda. You're bloody talented."

She lowered her paintbrush and gave me an incredulous look. "Tell me what you really think, Y/N."

I grinned, laughing slightly. "I am! I genuinely think this is amazing."

She pressed her lips together, still reluctant to believe me, but she nodded gratefully and returned her attention to her painting. I didn't fail to notice the pink spreading across her cheeks at the compliment, and my heart fluttered at the sight.

"Would you ever sell any of these?" I asked her, standing up and approaching her side to see what she was working on.

I noticed the addition of stray paint that had made its way to her hands and forearms and it made me smile. I don't even think she realised it was there.

She scrunched her nose up at the idea. "I've given some away to family friends because my parents made me. But no, I don't think I'd sell them." Something seemed to make her snort with amusement, then she said, "Nobody would buy them anyway."

I frowned as she sighed, her shoulders sagging at the thought. It was horrible to admit, but she was right. Female authors – questionable, but sure, they existed. Female painters? Let's just say that it was easier to be successful if you worked under a pseudonym and pretended to be a man. Which she clearly wouldn't do, or at least her parents wouldn't allow her to do. Sadly, Wanda Maximoff was in the wrong lifetime.

Hoping to cheer her up, I stood by her side and admired the strokes she made with her paintbrush. "If it's any consolation, if we were in another lifetime where I actually made money, I'd buy them."

She glanced at me, partially disbelieving my words, partially intrigued. "Seriously?"

I nodded with certainty, eyes flickering between hers and her painting. "Seriously. All of them. I'd buy every single one."

She looked away, swallowing hard, then a soft, barely noticeable smile appeared on her lips, and I was glad I'd said the right thing.

Focusing my attention on the painting again, I saw it was a stunning view of a stream, and the way she'd painted it made it seem like it was flowing off the canvas. Her last minute touches, adding white flecks of oil paint on the water, managed to bring the piece to life without any effort. I was amazed at how someone could make nothing turn into something so easily.

"Where is this?" I asked curiously, not recognising the scene, and also wondering where she'd gone for the inspiration since we lived in a busy town that didn't have water sources nearby.

She pointed to her head with the end of her paintbrush. "Up here."

"You made this up?" I asked, surprised for the millionth time since arriving.

"Uh-huh." She tilted her head to study the piece, whilst saying, "I usually paint what's in the garden. Sometimes what I see in town is good, too. But I really wanted to paint water, and apart from the constant rain we get, there is none. So, I made it up."

I was impressed at her ability to make up something like this, but also slightly confused. "Why don't you just visit Blackpool? There's a beach – water, sand, pier, everything. And it's not too far from here. You could make it a day trip."

She shrugged, distracting herself with dipping her brush on her palette. "I don't want to go by myself."

I probably should have recommended she visit with my brother. You know, the man she was engaged to? But my eagerness got the better of me, and I ended up saying, "Maybe we could go together. If you want."

She looked up, a slow smile forming on her lips. "I'd like that."

I mirrored her expression, nodding slightly. "Great. I'm sure we can arrange something. Promise."

She held my gaze for a second longer, saying, "I'll hold you to that, milaya," before looking back to her painting.

"What does that mean?" I asked suddenly, my mind clearly not controlling my words today. "You keep calling me it."

She chuckled, leaning forward to get a closer look at her work with her paintbrush. "Darling."

"Pardon?"

She shook her head, glancing at me with amusement. "No, Y/N. It means darling."

I swallowed awkwardly, certain my cheeks were as red as they felt warm. I wasn't sure what was more embarrassing – that I'd responded to her calling me darling when she hadn't, or that she'd been calling it me this whole time without me knowing. "Oh."

"Pull up a stool," she changed the subject, though my mind was still racing at her revelation. Had she called Y/B/N that? I couldn't recall. "I'll show you how to paint a little if you want."

Dazed, I did as she said whilst chewing on my lip with thought. She watched me, grinning from ear to ear, but said nothing. Was it normal for my heart to flip-flop in my chest like it was? I couldn't tell anymore. And when she grabbed my hand without saying anything, my hand felt like it was on fire with her touch.

The tip of her paintbrush swiped against my inner palm, her soft fingertips holding it up. Every area that her finger touched was burning, sending tingles up my arm and leaving me paralysed. Good thing I was sat down.

"There," she said like it was obvious. "Now you're an artist."

Blue eyes met mine excitedly and I gave her a small smile in return, hoping that these strange thoughts and reactions would disappear soon enough. Because this was definitely not appropriate.

—

My dreams were never anything worthwhile.

For someone who had a creative mind and could string sentences together to create a story I was proud of, my subconscious was the opposite. It was dry and boring and I rarely remembered my dreams unless they were scary enough to wake me up. But this time, this was a dream I was certain I'd never forget...

As with all dreams, I was unable to control what was happening. I was myself, observing from a first person point of view like it was real, but I had no control over my words or actions. Everything was predetermined, like a script I was forced to follow.

So, in this particular dream, I was sat in the back of a carriage, wearing a dress that was fancier than my usual taste. One hand was clutching my purse and the other was in someone else's hand, the person playing with my fingers soothingly.

"We're stopping now. Are you ready?"

It was Wanda. I had no idea why she was in my dream, or why she was leaning into my side comfortably, or why she was playing with my fingers like she did it all the time. I just knew that it shouldn't have been happening.

"Yeah, c'mon," I said with a smile, following my dream's script.

I intertwined our fingers and raised them to my lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. She smiled with adoration and allowed me to lead her out the carriage quickly. We were at the theatre and the first thing I thought was that my mind was creating a date similar to the one she shared with my brother. Oh, God, this wasn't good.

"Promise you've got the tickets?" she asked as we walked inside, hand in hand.

In my dream, nobody around us seemed to care that we were together, that we were two women showing affection and simply existing in a way more than friends. As wrong as I knew it was to dream of my soon-to-be sister-in-law like this, my mind was at peace, knowing I could be myself in my dream state. I didn't have to hide my identity and it was liberating.

"No, I decided to leave them at home," I answered her sarcastically, smiling.

She squeezed my hand and tugged me close, stopping me from walking any further. Her face scrunched together with a feigned annoyance.

"You don't need to be mean," she mumbled, eyes peering into mine, and my heart raced at the contact of her body pressed to mine.

Grinning, I pressed a kiss to her nose. "I've got them right here, love. Now let's go before we're late."

The dream didn't have a clear transformation. I just knew that one second I was staring at Wanda and the next I was sat beside her in the theatre, waiting for the lights to go down.

"Here," I said, passing her the programme for the show that was in my hand.

When I looked down at it, I was surprised to see a wedding ring on my left hand. Huh.

The lights dimmed when Wanda looked my way, green eyes bright in the dark. She shrugged, grabbing the programme and tossing it over her shoulder to the (thankfully) empty seat next to her.

"Looks like I missed my chance," she said, referring to the lack of light.

I opened my mouth to counter her words, but she didn't give me chance to as she pressed her lips to mine, hand raising to hold the back of my neck and pull me closer. Real me was freaking out, wondering why the hell I was allowing myself to have such thoughts about the girl who was going to marry my brother. And dream me was melting into her touch, shivering at her warmth and the way she began to suck my bottom lip.

"Wanda," I breathed out, pulling away breathlessly, but she continued to hold me close with a stifled grin.

"Isn't that why we got these tickets?" she said jokingly, eyes meeting mine.

My heart raced as she did, the simplest of glances making me weak in the knees. I was beginning to learn that her eyes were irresistibly beautiful.

"Right," I found my words, smiling in agreement as my eyes flickered to her lips.

They were painted red tonight, slightly smudged from the abrupt kiss she gave me, and I could only imagine the state of my own lips.

"We can watch the play now," she whispered, and I just about managed to tear my gaze from her lips to see the entertained look in her eyes.

I hummed in response, not trusting myself to say something comprehensible. Her lips curved into a smile and she linked our arms before settling into her seat, head leaning on my shoulder. I leaned mine on top, kissing the top of her head gently before also getting comfortable.

When I woke up, I didn't remember the rest of the dream, or know if there was a rest of the dream. I opened my eyes and found myself laying in my bed alone, tired and in the dark. It was still nighttime and my mind was foggy with fatigue. It took a moment for me to remember what I'd just dreamed. And then it hit me.

I liked my brother's fiancé.

[husbandohunter]

Moments of Despair #2 [Genshin Impact/Albedo x Reader]

Synopsis: "The alchemist who relished in his gifts only to fall from grace."

(A series of works where the boys deal with the passing of their beloved).

Diluc’s despair

Warnings: angst, tragedy, major character death and psychological horror (correct me if otherwise)

(A/n): I decided to take a slightly different approach this time. Regardless, it’s still killing my heart TwT.

---------------------------------------------------

Out of the many wonders of Teyvat, one thing Albedo loved most was how you were so different from him. 

Difference ties to the unknown, one that must be discovered. He was drawn to you the first time he had laid his eyes upon your form standing at the heights of Mondstadt's cathedral. The Sisters scolded you from below, but all you did was reply with a wink amidst their chaos before soaring into the skies and letting the wind carry your glider. Reckless they said. For him, your recklessness was intriguing. 

As the sun's light blinded his vision, everything he saw seemed like a glass barrier. For the ground was where he thrived and chalk was his core, it became the basis of Albedo's very existence. Even the geo Archon granted him a Vision of the same element to affirm his identity. The earth will forever be attached to his feet as he will keep on his stride until every last truth of Teyvat have all been realized. You, on the other hand, hailed from a place where he couldn't quite reach. What lies beyond this glass ceiling? Albedo found himself gradually holding onto a string of curiosities, a string he could touch but was not able to feel. 

'Interesting,' he thought quietly, while the breeze slip between the fingers of his outstretched hand. 

He was a character of logic, possessing sharp eyes that could pierce through the depths of the most complex formulas and a mind to predict their outcomes-  as long as alchemy was still related. All impossibilities thrown in his way only paved a path for him to become the well known genius he was now. Whether it was alchemy or  investigations with the Knights of Favonius, Albedo never failed to deliver the answers. But despite it all, he always found himself endlessly contemplating over things that were considered intangible. He wonders why you smile when there was nothing to laugh about. How could you tell between the complexities of the human heart? Albedo can't seem to put a finger on it. 

'Why? What drives you? What are you thinking?' 

The Chief Alchemist couldn't resist being fascinated by your unpredictability. It reels him in similar to a fish being baited out of the waters. However, unlike those creatures, Albedo only tightened his grip on the strings as if they were a lifeline, determined to find out what they truly felt like to the touch. 

"I can't really say it's much of an answer," you hummed, clasping both hands behind your back before declaring with a grin, "To put it simply, you just gotta follow your heart."

'Follow your heart...' What does it mean to follow your heart? 

"I'm afraid I still don't understand," he replied in a thoughtful manner. The statement never really resonated with him and it certainly weren't the words his Master taught when he was in the early stages of being created, "But it does suit you very much." 

"Really? But still bring your head with you," a playful laugh escapes and you add while pointing a finger, "At least, it's what everyone tells me these days." 

"Hm," Albedo then affirms with a nod, "I can definitely see why they would tell you that." 

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" 

The days go by and his repetitious march towards the truth remains the same. However, there was never a dull moment when you were at his side. Perhaps that was the reason why Albedo became so attracted to your aura. The way you'd follow around his experiments, eyes so full of enthusiasm at every step of the activity. Sometimes the events can get a little too out of hand in which he needs to step in and save you from getting stuck in slime condensates...constantly. Albedo grew fond of your childlike excitement even when you weren't entirely sure what was going on. He normally distanced himself from socializing as it never sparked his interest. Frankly, he was too much of a genius for mundane conversations. Your presence was rather refreshing in this case. You were an oddball, just like him, and for once the alchemist felt like he didn't need to place that glass barrier between the two worlds. 

"You seem to be in a very good mood today Mister Albedo." 

He was a man of subtle expressions yet anyone could notice the small gleam in his eyes whenever he saw you walking in the hallway. Sucrose often remarked with a giggle after she noticed her teacher holding his documents upside down. But who could blame him? Joy, fun, laughter. He was able to experience those emotions all because of you; his beloved. You were the colour to his canvas and the meaning to his flower. You were a force of nature. Like a warm breeze gracing upon the terrestrial lands, you move him. 

Thump- thump- thump- 

Strings around his world began to weave one whole picture while they also tugged inside his chest. God had finally blown the breath of life into mankind's body, it was only a matter of time before Albedo came to follow his heart too. 

-------- 

"Alright, just one more detail aaaaand done!" 

You gave a small tap using the tip of your pencil and leaned back to examine your artwork. 

Masterpiece! 

On days when Katheryne had no commissions assigned to the guild, Albedo would accompany you to the Whispering Woods and conduct his sketches there instead. He was aware of the discomfort Dragonspine brought as the temperature wasn't ideal for anyone except for him. You eventually learned that your lover was not only intelligently different from the rest but physically too. Albedo, aside from the Cavalry Captain, was mysterious in his own way. He was hard to read yet never came off as intimidating, no one knew of his origins nor they knew how he came to Mondstadt. You wondered why someone like him would have wanted to get involved with your shenanigans. Rosaria often gave warnings regarding the alchemist's 'hidden intentions' in which you'd roll your eyes in response. The Albedo you knew was far from that. He was a big brother to Klee, a man passionate about his work, he was the one golden star among the many silvers in your sky. He was your lover. 

My Albedo. 

Brushing a hand upon the drawing you made of him, you glided down the lines of his cheek before resting your finger on the mark by his neck. You gazed at it with fondness. Truly a masterpiece indeed. 

"You do realize I'm still here?" 

The paper nearly flies out of your grasp and you snatched it back to your chest, "HUH A-ALBEDO, WHEN DID YOU APPEAR???" 

"I was with you the whole time," he states. The corner of his lip tug upward ever so slightly, "You said you wanted to sketch me." 

"A-Ahahaha, so I did," you reply while scratching your head bashfully. 'I thought I was looking at a sculpture!!'  You rushed to cover your face with the sheet. It wasn't that you forgot he was there, rather, you forgot he was still a living and breathing specimen who just witnessed your little serenade. As Lisa had once said, Albedo was easy on the eyes. His graceful features made him seem almost like an oil painting that could only be found in  halls of the most prestigious households. You made sure to capture everything, every detail, every curve just like he had done with your portraits. Only now you noticed the sun already began its descent below the lakeside, dusting the landscape with hints of bright orange as it marked the day's end. If only time could slow down. But duty calls upon your next journey and there was no telling when you'd return. At the very least, a simple portrait would suffice to fill in the temporary gap of his absence. 

"Can I see it?" 

You glanced his direction while keeping the drawing close to your nose, "Are you sure about that? It might not be up to your expectations." 

"I'm sure," Albedo affirms with a straight countenance, "I can already tell you've put a great amount of effort, otherwise you wouldn't have taken this long." 

"Yeeaahh I kinda lost track of time. I guess it's only fair that you get to see the finished product," you say and shoved the drawing in front of him, "Tada! I present to you, my masterpiece!" 

Albedo takes it out of your grasp and you watched the way his eyes expanded upon sight. 

"Well? Whaddya think?" 

Words could not describe the mixture of emotions that erupted within him. Was it distinguishable or abstract? Albedo spent his time pondering between the two answers as he examined the drawing closely. Despite the lines being slightly jagged and the unevenness in the placement of his eyes, he managed to make the shape of the entire image you were trying to convey. Perhaps it was all thanks to his well trained artistic vision which gave him the ability to do so. Or maybe he was simply biased. But there wasn't a shred of doubt that this was indeed your craftsmanship. 

"You even added flowers in the background," he pointed out with amusement. 

"It's the thing you make when using your elemental burst, I couldn't fit your hand in the picture so I decided to put it somewhere empty," you informed, "Out of everything, that one took me the longest." 

"And the rabbits?" 

"They resemble Klee's bombs!" 

He lets out a chuckle, "I see." 

Albedo kept his attention downward until he was mindlessly staring at the paper in hand. This was a memory made to be carried as you moved on to your next journey and it saddens him that he could not accompany you. If only time slowed down. Albedo wanted to hold onto the memory forever, because he knew once he gave it back, he wouldn't be able to see you for an uncertain amount of time. 

"Do you really have to go?" 

His voice was barely above a whisper. Guilt crept into your heart and you gingerly layed your fingers on his gloved ones, bringing down the paper that blocked his face. A pair of teal orbs held a reflection of your image as the sun's rays casted from the side. You returned it with a reassuring grin, hoping to soothe his worries somehow, "I just need to pay a visit to my father since he's been very sick lately. I'll be fine, so don't worry too much okay?" 

Albedo turns over his palm and gave your hand a squeeze, "How long will it take?" 

"I'm not sure but it will be a while. Snezhnaya is pretty far so..." you trailed off, "But my time in Mondstadt, with Klee and with you, I will never forget! I won't even if I tried." 

When you were met with no answer, a breeze came in to fill the melancholic silence. He too will not forget and he would ensure that it was the same for you. Slowly, Albedo brought your hand up, past the center of his heart all the way to cupping his cheek. He allowed himself to indulge in your warmth, tangling the strands of his hair with your fingers while closing his eyes. Sweet flowers. You always carried the smell of sweet flowers. 

"Albedo?" You gawked, "What's the matter?" 

"...There are certain aspects where drawings can't imitate,"  he says, grip tightening ever so slightly, "How I feel against your skin, the shape of my jaw, your warmth radiating with my own. These are the things I want you to remember." 

Breath leaves your slightly parted mouth. It was unfair how straightforward Albedo could be when showing his affection. Doing as he pleases without anyone's approval to the point it would even catch you off guard since he often absorbed himself in the arts of alchemy. But during times when Albedo did choose to express his feelings, you knew they came from a place of pure genuinity. The thought made it hard for you to tear away from him, "Did you ever find out what the strings felt like then?" 

Albedo returns his gaze, long golden lashes hovering them as he smiles softly, "...I have." 

As he began to reveal his stories, the dusk sky continued to flare across the landscape with colours of passion. Red, it was the thread that had led him to you, the same string that weaved him together as a whole. Albedo lays a kiss atop of your pinky, there was a reason why Mondstadtians called him the Chalk Prince. You didn't know the intention behind his sudden affection but he knew. It was a promise, one to ensure that the thread would also have you return safely back into his arms. 

Oh how he hated the colour red. 

"Al...bedo..." 

With speed he never knew he had, Albedo scoops you into his embrace and held you close. How did everything happen so fast? He curses his mind as it proceeds to scan your injuries, drawing a conclusion where he wished to be wrong for once: 

You were beyond help. 

"Ah..haha..." you managed to laugh through bitter tears, "You don't have to say it. I know." 

His breath hitches, trying to make sense of the feeling that was slowly tearing him apart from the inside. It's not real. Of course it wasn't, it couldn't be. What other possible answer was there to explain the numbness stinging his fingers? The reason for his shaking? Everything felt so cold. Your body hardly registered to his to touch, you were losing so much blood. You were losing. He was going to lose you. 

"No," Albedo shakes his head, "We still have time. I'll go find help." 

Please, hold on. 

He forced himself to think. The ruin hunter ran off shortly after it had ambushed you, by now the Knights would eventually noticed and apprehended it on sight. They couldn't be too far. All he needed was to carry you back to safety and everyone can go home. Albedo darted his eyes all over the place, breaths becoming shallower with each passing second. Where? Where to go? Which route was best to not overexert your wounds? Think. Think. Think. Why couldn't he think? 

"A..." You watched him in your helpless state. Every part of you throbbed with pain but it pains you even more to see the renowned genius who stood atop the pedestal of elegance and grace so utterly, undoubtedly lost. This was not the goodbye you wanted, though death already had you tight in their grasps. Not yet. Using the last particle of your strength, you tried to stay alive as long as possible. Just a little bit more time. 

Albedo freezes when a trembling hand extends itself to cup around his cheek. Every single thought he had in mind vanished and was replaced by a loud ring resonating in his ears. Dreadfully, mechanically, he turns his attention to where you lay. 

"Don't cry," you whisper, "I love you, don't cry- okay?" 

Albedo grimaces, shutting his eyes closed as he allows the pent up sadness to flow out of him completely, "I can't," he said in a shaky voice, "Please. Stay." 

"I'm sorry," Your vision blurs and he hugs you even more. Drawing your final breath, you relay your most cherished words through a broken smile, "But no matter w-where I go...I won't for..ge.." 

The moment your hand fell, Albedo finally understood the difference between death and loss. 

It was...suffocating. Having the air trapped in his throat, begging to release yet it hurts to speak. The never ending stabs that pulsed within his veins rushed forth like the scraping  blizzard of Dragonspine until his whole body lost all its senses. The world was shattering. He could no longer feel your weight. He could no longer feel. 

(Y/n). 

Albedo glances at his blood stained fingers where the thread had been severed, wide eyes drowning in sorrow. What a horrible feeling. Was this a warning sent by the gods? For stepping into the boundaries of knowing too much? Ah the curse of knowledge man must bear when eating the temptatious fruit. It was the result of choosing to love you. With life, death is inevitable and with love, it will eventually bring pain. Everything had a price to pay and as an alchemist, Albedo knew that better than anyone. 

"...Meaningless..." 

But he refused to accept it. 

Cradling your corpse, he leans in and places a kiss on your forehead, lips quivering as they lingered for a second too long before gathering the strength to stand back on his feet. Nothing will stop the alchemist from reuniting with you. If the laws wished to take you away from him then he will use everything in his power to fight against those laws. 

"This is not goodbye..." Albedo said to the sleeping girl, "And it will never be." 

When the sun sinks below the plains and the stars lose their light, the sky had been replaced with a palette of darkness. It was time to go home. 

------ 

"Have you all heard about the rumours?" 

A group of knights gather in the corner as they whisper about. Sucrose stops on her tracks and hides behind a wall, clutching the book close to her chest in an attempt to stay hidden. 

"Another criminal disappeared from the dungeons? Crazy..." 

"More like creepy. I was told that place might be haunted by some dead prisoner's ghost. Even the Church is hopping onto this case." 

"Well I hope it doesn't get any worse. So many of us started going on night patrols..." 

Their voices faded out of range as the anemo user backtracks her steps carefully. Several months passed since the news of mysterious kidnappings have been announced to the public. Rumours of their whereabouts swirled around the city and much to her discomfort, Sucrose happened to catch every single one of them. There couldn't possibly be evil spirits lurking in the Favonious Headquarters right? She silently shrieks at the thought, shaking her head furiously to stop her mind from going too deep. No, I have to find him. Without wasting another minute, the anemo user sprinted towards the stairs all the way up to the second floor before stopping directly in front of her teacher's office. Despite the adrenaline that occured at the same time, she made sure to knock. 

No answer. 

"Strange, he told me he would be here today..." Sucrose muttered to herself. But suddenly she heard the sound of objects shifting from the otherside, signaling that there was indeed someone occupying the room. Without realizing, she held her breath out of anticipation. 

"Come in." 

The door creaks as she opens them, giving her enough space to slip between the gap, "Mister Albedo?" 

"You're early today," The Chief Alchemist noted from his desk, "Is there something the matter?" 

"Y-You mean you don't know? There was just another case about a person disappearing from the dungeons," Her tone became more frantic as she rambled to herself, "The kidnapper never leaves a trace and no one knows how they were able to get out. Even when we ask the guards what happened, they can't seem to remember as if...as if someone casted a spell on them!" 

"A spell?" He inquires, "I suppose that could be a possibility." 

"I think so too. I-It's the only explanation that makes sense! I mean...ghosts don't exist after all," Sucrose nervously looks down at her shoes while giving her book a squeeze, "But why? Who could be capable of such advanced techniques? No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to understand their intentions." 

"...Yes. It is a very strange occurrence indeed." 

Noticing her teacher's withdrawn attitude, Sucrose couldn't help but feel flustered at her own behaviour, "Ah my apologies Mister Albedo, I didn't mean to go off track. Have there been any progress on the investigations so far?" 

Albedo briefly glanced at the various documents splayed across his table. His reputation as an incredibly intelligent individual had reached far and wide through Mondstadt. This led to the authorities requesting his assistance regarding the recent matters, despite him specializing in the alchemical field, he was also the Captain of their Investigation Team. Although, Albedo detested partaking in things he deemed irrelevant to his research; 

"I'm afraid I would need more evidence to draw a conclusion." 

"Eh? You still need more?" 

He could not deny that the given authoritative position had provided much benefits to his own accord. 

"My expertise lies in the subject of alchemy," Albedo reasoned and proceeds to intertwine his fingers in front of his mouth, "Humans on the other hand, are very unpredictable in nature. Even the essence of their existence is hard to obtain." 

"Essence of their existence?" Sucrose repeated softly. She wanted to ask what he meant but the blank expression was evident  enough to signal his impatience. At least, that was what she thought, "Nevermind! I have something that might help," taking out a slip from her textbook, she handed it to him, "It's the report Captain Kaeya gave me. He said that the culprit might be a traitor coming from the Knights of Favonius." 

He narrows his eyes. 

"I-I think he might be right! Just think about it, we haven't found anything at all for the past few months but when we do, I sometimes feel like we're just running in circles...oh what if it's becau-" 

"Sucrose." 

"Y-Yes?!" 

Albedo calmly looks at the flustered girl, not realizing how sharp his tone was, "You're overthinking again. Perhaps it's best that you take this day off." 

"But I came here to help," she insisted, "I know it hurts to lose someone you love! Don't you understand that we're all worried about you? And Klee, she..." 

"..." 

"Please Mister Albedo, if there's anything I could do-" 

"No need," he cuts her off once again, "Your stress levels are too high. We can't go any further if you continue to act like this." 

"Oh," her ruby eyes casted to the side, "I understand..." 

"Good. Now, if you would excuse me," Albedo bid her farewell and watched as the door clicked behind her, observing every detail until he was sure that the absolute silence had returned. He picks up Kaeya's document. Such remarkable handwriting. But of course, appearances are only meant to be displayed on the surface for the Captain was a sly man, wearing a mask to shield what lies underneath. Just like his letter, they were full of innuendos and condensed meanings, orchestrated together until the truth spoke loudly to Albedo himself. 

"So, that's what he thinks." 

Perhaps the alchemist should have been a little more discreet. 

-------- 

There was a certain place in Dragonspine that no one dared to enter. But those who have, they never return. 

"Hm, no response. Now as for the next step..." 

And he was the reason why. 

Taking the sword out of the transmutation circle, Albedo turned to the snowy hill nearby and activated his alchemy. A small portion of it dissipates, revealing a trench that went so deep underground that even warmth couldn't outplay the sheer cold. It was the perfect hiding place for the evidence to lay out of sight and an environment where only he could handle. The alchemist tossed the leftover along with the others before exiting quietly, summoning back the ice to bury his victims once again. Another day, another experiment, another stain goes to his title. The path he walked upon was one littered with corpses and the sins he committed. But despite the bones crunching beneath his feet and the weight of the dead hanging on his shoulders, the alchemist was numb to it all. Like an entity floating in space with nothing to hold, he became unable to feel. 

"I'm back," When reaching the center of Starglow Cavern, Albedo puts his hand on the icicle and caressed it's hard cold surface, "Did you sleep well?" 

The girl did not respond. Her eyes were closed and her skin was as young as ever. She was frozen in time. 

"You must have." 

Albedo felt the sword beginning to shake in his grasp as it resonated with his energy. Dust particles emitted from the hilt and slowly made their climb to the side of his arm. Still, Albedo's attention did not waver, "To this day, I've been thinking about what you told me the first time we met." 

"..." 

"Follow your heart. I couldn't understand it at first but after being around your presence, I believe I can finally recognize what that term means." 

He closes his eyes as he envisioned your lively form running across the landscape. Albedo, Albedo! The sound of his name was mixed with your laughter while Klee came into the scene and caught the dandelions with you. A content smile formed on his countenance as he watched from afar, even if it was just a memory, "It's everything. The breakfast we ate together, to the nights spent camping outside, and the silly moments we shared, they bring all these colours that I never knew existed." 

"..." 

Albedo curls his fingers against the ice as he continues to lament, "Perhaps that's why I began noticing the strings around me. The closer I was to answer, the more I felt it was necessary to discover what they are. All this time, you were the answer I was searching for," Moist begins to build up in his eyes but they freeze up once reaching the corners. How cruel. Despite what he went through, he wasn't even granted the liberty to cry, "Because with you, I'm able to feel them." 

He wonders what you would think if you saw him right now. Albedo peers at his reflection casted on the crystalline surface, the frame of his face had been decorated with streaks of purple and red, spreading out like tree branches as they both fought for dominance. The teal coloured orbs you once adored were beginning to transform to a colour that reminded him of his darkest days. This was Albedo's true nature- a monster, a being that wasn't human, the essence in which you never had the chance to see. 

"I know I may not be the same as I was before," he added, "But if that is what it takes to follow your heart, will you let me feel the strings again?" 

Would you still love me the same? 

"..." 

"If so, then please understand my actions," Albedo takes a step back as he held out the sword in front of him. At last, the preparations have finally been completed. He plunges the blade to the ground with full force and the surrounding area begins to shake under the power accumulated through many, intentional sacrifices. To revive the dead was a forbidden art as it came with heavy consequences. If it weren't for Albedo's talent and quick wit, the process would have consumed him long before executing the last stage. He winces, the pain was excruciating. It was hard for him to ignore the sound of his skin cracking below his ears and all the way to his nose as they fall off in the shape of small rock-like chunks. Everything hurt so much that even death sounded like a sweet dream but Albedo couldn't afford to give up. He had already come this far, his hands completely washed with sin and his reputation already broken beyond repair, Albedo had nowhere else to go. This was his last destination. 

"Soon-" he pants between choked breaths. Soon your eyes will open. He could drown in your embrace, one that was warm and not cold. Soon he will be able revive those cherished memories from a frozen past. It was all he could think of right now. Your existence was the reason why a part of him felt whole and your death made him realize how painful it was to tear away those pieces. Albedo refused to let go of those pieces, they had already become a part of him. And if this path ended up tearing him even more, then so be it. 

"I should have stopped you the moment you were born." 

The intruder snapped him awake and he swung around to where they stood. But before Albedo could make out who it was, they lunged past him with incredible speed, kicking the sword off the ground while severing his two arms once and for all. They flew to the side, blood dyed purple trickling from the edges of his joint as he struggled to stay upright. 

"Dains...leif..." 

Dainsleif watched the alchemist fall onto his back as the light around him slowly faded away. He turned his gaze to where the objective was and noticed a girl encased within the ice. The man sighs out of relief when she shows no signs of life, he came just in time, "So this is how it ends." 

Albedo weakly stared at the blonde man. He attempted to say something but the blood caught in his mouth prevented him from that. 

"Save your breath, you won't be having any," Dainsleif remarks in a cold manner and glared at his bloodied form, "The renowned Chief Alchemist of Mondstadt and an important member of Ordo Favonious. Hmph, what an interesting turn of events. Out of everyone, I never thought you were the type to act so foolish." 

Foolish...what a foreign name to be called as. He never heard anyone tell him he was foolish. 

"Truly a pity," With a flick of a wrist, Dainsleif brought his sword to Albedo's neck. It was unbelievable how he had the endurance to go through all that pain while still breathing at this point but what is there to be expected from a monster? "Remember that all actions have consequences." 

The alchemist watched as his life flashed before him, the weight of his sins had finally caught up. He had always seen the world as a platform for his objectives and results were merely a natural cause after attempting many experiments. But death as a consequences was an unbearble realization upon his final moments. He abandoned his title, his pupil and his dearest sister. In the end, he was still unable to fulfill his duty. 

"I just..." Albedo mumbled, his words slurring together, "wanted..." 

As the ashes turn to ashes and dust becomes dust, chalk returns to the earth, forever yearning a place that can never be reached.

[thesmokingguns]

Picnic in the Park

Pairing: Axl Rose x Reader

Word Count: 2128

Fluff

Request Summary: “Axl rose meets a girl threw slash who is his childhood friend whos also an amazing painter and just is infatuated with how pretty she is and he just follows her around like a puppy.Tan skin brown hair that goes to lower back brown eyes, wears alot of cute sun dresses and is very kind”

A/N: I am catching up on requests. So if you have requested anything in the past week or so thag oiece should be coming out soon. Thanks everyone for reading

Tag list: @ayablackwood @agroupiewhore @thenobodies-inc @littlemisscare-all

Your mind was a mixture of light and dark, complimentary colors, and images burned into your mind that you wanted to paint later. If there wasn’t a brush in your hand you were taking notes with a pencil, sketching the world around it through eyes that only you saw it from. You captured everyday life like the older woman with the mesh bag she had filled with fruit or the man with his red beard, a few weeks unkept, napping in the alley to get a break from the heat. You took these people, characters of the world and had them live forever on the canvas you painted on.

Art was your passion. You loved walking around Hollywood with a set of watercolors or a notebook to sketch in and take in the lives of others. There was some sort of poetic feeling of taking a stranger from the street and importilizing them as a character in your art. You created a narrative for them that they may not be living. It was cathartic and you’d spend hours of your day people watching until you finally found the right subject.

Sketching out a bump on someone's nose that might have come from a childhood accident or from their Freshman year of college when they drunkenly fell down the front steps of the dorm, you created their unknown life story as you placed each line of their face into place. If you didn’t infuse their story into the piece it was just some colorful person without any meaning. But you wanted to give the viewer of your art a full piece. They should be able to look at your picture and understand the life that the subject lived; your art created that life.

It was crazy to think that a few years before you were in school thinking about becoming an English teacher.It was a chance meeting at a grocery store when you ran into your old friend Saul’s mother. When you had been kids the pair of you had been so close and secretly your mothers had both had fingers crossed for a wedding that never happened. The pair of you split apart the summer after senior year to set out of a life you each wanted. His mother had invited you over for dinner, which she also invited her son to, thrusting the pair of you back into each other's lives.

Oddly enough, it was like time hadn’t passed between you. The easiness of your friendship coming back without even trying and soon the pair of you were hanging out on almost a daily basis. With your schedule up helped manage his house, buying groceries, doing some cleaning, and running a few errands he never remembered. In return you had a few rooms to yourself. Slash had wanted to make sure you had time for your art as well as a space for it.

Dressing in a white floral pattern sundress you grabbed your bag that contained your art supplies. You wanted to get to the park early and set up a blanket you could spend the day sketching and painting on. You planned to soak up the sun in your skin and use the good lighting to get some new work to sell for the craft fair this weekend. As you turned to grab the picnic foods you had made the night before you saw Axl sitting at the counter. His green eyes looked up, smiling when he saw you.

“Hey, Y/N. Slash just left. I’m going to leave in a minute. I was just finishing up some lyrics.” he was always over and you thought that he was lonely in his role as lead singer. Even though Axl put on this tough guy imagine and had a reputation it was like he needed to work for that because he thought that was what rock stars were supposed to do. Whenever he was around you he seemed lost, always making extra conversation or taking the time to go walk to the coffee cafe with you and wait in line, even if he didn't want anything.

“I’m heading out for a day in the park.” you told him, moving the wax paper covered sandwiches into a small wicker basket, along with some fruit and cheese, some water, and a bottle of wine. You could feel his eyes on you, “I’m over packing and have more than enough if you want to come with me?” you let your eyes flutter up from packing the basket to look at him. “I’ll leave you alone to write because I’m just going to spend the time working on some new portraits.” It was important to you that you set up expectations. There was no need for him to feel like he was going there to entertain you or vice versa.

“I’d love to go. You don’t mind?” he asked as you finished packing up the wicker basket. You shook your head no, letting him pick up the food you had just packaged and leading you outside, “What park did you want to go to? I can drive us there.” you told him what you were thinking, getting comfortable in the convertible.

When you had moved in with Slash you had forged fast friendships with his bandmates. Even though you weren’t at every show and didn't always go backstage you had gotten close to them in different ways. On Wednesday nights you hosted a dinner party where you made them all come by so you had an excuse to cook for them. When someone had a ripped piece of clothing at a show you’d quietly take out your sewing kit, stitching patches in jeans and repairing favorite band shirts. You liked being around them all because of how animated everyone was; they were so easy to draw. You had a whole sketchbook of black and white images from the band. Your favorite subjects were Slash and Axl, mainly because they were the two you were around the most and had the most flexibility when it came to moods.

Axl had grown close to you, drawn into the caring nature you had. It was hard for him to understand that someone would do things for him without expecting anything in return. The first time that you had been out drinking with them and insisted Axl came home with you so you knew he was safe he had thought was a come on. When you helped him drink water and gave him aspirin before tucking him into bed he was shocked. Even more shocking was waking up to find his clothes washed and folded on the guest room chair and you carrying in a breakfast tray of freshly made foods. That’s just how you showed you cared about your friends. Being the mother of the group and taking care of them helped you feel like you were contributing as a friend.

Spreading out the blanket under the Weeping Willow tree. You motioned for Axl to sit as you toed off your sandals and moved to sit down. Digging through your bag you set out your sketch pad and pencils. You could see Axl out of the corner of your eye. He didn’t seem to know what to do. You pulled him down to the blanket, settling him so he could rest his back against the tree. You pulled off his shoes and socks and handed him his notebook as you went about unpacking your picnic so he could pick at food if he wanted to.

With him settled in the shade you laid down, belly first in the sun. Picking up your pencil you scanned the park until you found an older man feeding the pigeons. Your eyes followed his movements for a few minutes before you started your sketch. The feeling of the warm sun on the back of your thighs as you twirled the pencil in your hand, capturing all the features of the man.

As you drew you could feel Axl’s eyes on you. At first it was just light glances every few minutes and then it turned to heavy long looks where his eyes were watching you. Ignoring the way his stares made you blush, chalking up the pinkness in your cheeks as just sun exposure.

A hand slid over your calf, over the back of your thighs before going over your dress and laying on the flat of your back. You turned your face upward looking at Axl watching you. His eyes flickering from your art up to your face. There was a pause, curiosity and interest in what he was going to do next. Your heart is beating in your chest even though your body is frozen, wondering what he was up to.

“Do you want to take a break and eat? You’ve been working for a couple hours.” Looking past him you saw the sun had changed position in the sky and time had gotten away from you. Sitting up you handed out sandwiches, positioning yourself comfortably besides him in the shade of the tree.

Axl had been following you for most of the spring and now into summer. He's around all the time and often comes along for days like this. But you liked having him around. You thought that he needed the quiet comfortable silence between the pair of you; so much of his life was filled with noise.

“Y/N, do you like this?” He asked, peeling off the crust to his sandwich. The action seemed to be more of a need to keep his hands busy instead of a dislike for the bed.

“Do I like this? Picnics in the park?” You didn’t know exactly what he meant. Axl sometimes seemed to talk in riddles not wanting to fully play all of his cards.

“Being with me.” He didn’t look up to meet your eyes at this, almost embarrassed to be talking about it. You weren’t like Axl. There was no need to talk in riddles or have him guessing how you felt.

“Of course I like having you around, Axl. It’s nice to be able to spend time with someone I like.” He looked up, almost surprised that someone would like to be around him. “I’ve had a crush on you for a few months and it’s nice to get to know you more and find more reasons to like you.” You didn’t feel nervous telling him this. It actually felt like a relief to get it off your chest.

He put down his sandwich, wiping crumbs off on his shirt and looking at his hands to make sure that they were clean. Before you could figure out what he was going to do he had a hand in your hair, tugging you closer to him in a soft kiss. For months you had been thinking about what it would be like to kiss him on one of your lazy afternoons together and now it was happening.

Instead of letting him pull away and think about what he had just done you slid onto his lap, letting your hands wrap around him. His free hand was on your back holding you close as the pair of you made out like teenagers under the shade of the willow tree.

Finally, the pair of you pulled away, swollen plush lips and wild curious eyes watching each other. This new change between the pair of you sparkling like wonder between the pair of you. Axl was playing with a piece of your hair, wrapping the brown lock around his finger like he had been wanting to do for months.

“Does this mean we can finally start dating?” You asked, watching the way he smirked at this question. “Because I don’t know how many more times you can just casually show up without Slash catching on. And I don’t know how many more picnics I can plan without touching you.” You admitted, his lips were on your chin and up your jaw.

“Mhhh, I’ve been waiting for this for so long and now I can have you all to myself.” His voice whispered huskily to you kissing your earlobe. He pulled away to look at you again. “You have to tell Slash.” He said, making you laugh as you rolled your eyes. If that’s what it would take to have Axl you didn’t mind telling your best friend about the relationship.

“You take care of me and I’ll take care of everything else, babe.” You promised, meaning it. This was everything that you had wanted for months and now you were getting it. The man that you had started falling for was yours. It had only taken months worth of picnics to get him.

[monsterhighdiaries]

Catrine DeMew's Profile

Parents: A Werecat

Age: 17

Killer Style: While I prefurrr that my art is what attracts the monster tourist, I find that wearing just the right Scarisian fashion helps frame my clawsome artistic abilities.

Freaky Flaw: I am a purrfectionist, which makes it très difficile sometimes to finish the sketch. Even when the tourist loves the portrait, I am still wanting to run after them and ask for more time to make it purrfect.

Pet: I do not have a pet, but I love the pigeons of Scaris; they are très doux.

Favorite Activity: I love to organize my paints, brushes, chalks, inks, pens, and colored pencils. I find the process… calming.

Biggest Pet Peeve: Monsters that won't sit still while I am attempting to sketch them. It is very annoying.

Favorite Subject: Monster Anatomy. There are so many different kinds of monsters who come to Scaris, and I need to have a better idea of how they are all put together so that I can better draw them. I am the perfectionist remember?

Least Favorite Subject: Art History. I live in the city where art history is all around me. Why do I need to take a class on it?

Favorite Color: There are so many colors on the palette it is hard to pick just one. Today I think it is lavender tomorrow, qui sait?

Favorite Food: Mille-Feuille. It is three layers of the puff pastry filled with the sweet scream and the sugar powdered on top. Ah… c'est magnifique!

BFFs: I am in love with the city; she is my constant companion.

[hateswifi]

Twice Fated: Chapter Three

Ooooof imma rebel, I posted this without consulting with @salty-fang (sorry btw, just too excited and stuff)

Twice Fated: Master List

The Master: Master List

----------------------------------

It didn’t take long for her plans to change, it had only been a bit later that month, well it didn’t happen immediately, but her plans changed. She ran into him. When he said he had a photoshoot out of the country she chalked it up to a lie after she found out he was cheating. Even if he was telling her the truth, what are the chances they would end up in the same city nevermind on the same continent? She had been sketching at the Wayne Botanical Garden when she saw feet standing in front of her. When she looked up she wasn’t expecting to see the fuming blonde.

“What the hell, Marinette? What are you doing in Gotham?” He explodes, had this been a cartoon (oh wait…) there would be cliche smoke coming out of his ears.

“I’m with my Uncle, what are you doing here?” Marinette says, attempting to put space in between her and the pissed-off blond.

“You knew I would be here!”

“No! I thought you were lying to me,” Marinette screams.

“Another thing, you’re pregnant and you didn’t tell me!” Adrien says, grabbing her shoulder.

“You were sleeping with Lila during are relationship and you didn’t tell me, I just thought we weren’t telling each other things! Marinette exclaims back, trying to yank her shoulder away from him. “Please leave me alone!”

“Hey! Get your hands off my sister,” a voice came from behind the blond.

“Pft, Marinette doesn’t have any siblings,” Adrien says, turning to face the voice.

“Yes, she does, I’m Jason, her older brother,” the big man says, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Jay! I’ve been waiting for you!” Marinette says, brushing past Adrien.

“Well, I’m her boyfriend,” Adrien says, attempting to grab her again.

“We broke up!” Marinette says from behind Jason.

“You’re carrying my baby!”

“It doesn’t matter, you’re the bastard that broke her heart, you come a step closer, I break your hand,” he threatens.

“Fine! She’s not worth it! She’s worthless,” Adrien screams, storming off. As soon as he’s out of sight, Marinette crumbles to the ground letting her emotions take over, hey she’s pregnant and has pregnancy hormones, she’s allowed to cry.  

“Are you ok, Pixie?” Jason says, crouching down to be at her level.

“Yes, I’m-- thank you so much, Jason, that could’ve been so much worse,” Marinette says, wiping her tears to look up him.

“Well that jerk doesn’t deserve you, I know this isn’t much coming from a stranger, but I’m proud of you, you handled that so well. I saw the beginning and I wasn’t going to step in until he touched you because you were holding your own,” He says.

“Thank you, you don’t know how much that means,” Marinette says more tears slipping down her face.

“How about we get off the floor?” Jason asks, standing up. He holds out a hand to help her out, which she takes. They move to sit on a nearby bench. She calms down enough to the point where she’s able to talk without her voice wavering.

“So what brought you here today?” Jason asks.

“I came to design, what about you?”

“I needed to calm down,” Jason shrugs. Their conversation flows until they’re interrupted.

“Dick wanted me to make sure you didn’t murder anybody,” a voice came, interrupting Jason mid-sentence.

“The sent you to get me?” Jason shrugs. The other boy just rolls his eyes.

“You are?” the boy asks, ignoring Jason.

“No one important to you, but if you must know this is my new baby sister,” Jason says before Marinette could even think of answering. “Now, Pixie, you have my number, let me know if you need anything,” Jason says, he stands up saying goodbye before dragging, who she assumes is his brother, away. She giggles as she watches them disappear. She feels a lot better.

She grabs her stuff and heads back to the hotel where her family (Jagged, Penny, Fang, and Gina, as a refresher) are staying.

“Hi, Nonna,” she greets as she enters the room.

“Did your appointment go well?”

“That’s tomorrow, also, I was wondering if you’d come with me?” Marinette asks, taking off her shoes.

“Of course, my fairy.”

Later that night, after dinner she decided to go for a walk, which Jagged insisted she takes Fang along for, she couldn’t tell if it was because of Fang’s energy or because Fang is a freaken alligator and that’s like the best security.

It was fifteen minutes into the walk when Fang growls, she looks up and sees the vigilantes of Gotham. With their cover exposed they drop down in front of her.

“You have an alligator?” Robin asks, raising an eyebrow. “Can I pet him?”

“If he’ll let you,” Marinette shrugs.

“Where’d you get an alligator from Pixie?” Hood asks.

“Also what’s his name?” Robin asks, leaning down to try and touch him/

“This is my uncle’s alligator, Fang.”

“Fang? Wait, Robin, isn’t Jagged Stone in Gotham for a concert?” Hood asks, looking down at the boy.

“I don’t know, that’s something Nightwing would know more about that.”

“Yeah, he is,” Marinette giggles. “This is his alligator.”

“So you’re saying you’re Jagged Stone’s niece?” Hood asks.

“Isn’t that obvious?” Robin asks, he stands up, untangling himself from Fang.

“Oh my gosh, can we have a picture, I want to rub it in Red and Nightwing’s face, they love your work,” Hood asks.

“Sure!” They crouch down around Fang and take a selfie.

“Thanks for dealing with him,” Robin says as he watches Hood jump onto the roof.

“It’s no problem,” Marinette smiles.

“So your uncle had you bring an alligator, what was your boyfriend not around?”

“No,” Marinette says with a small, sad, smile.

“Do you want me to walk you home?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Marinette smiles. They walk back in a comfortable chatter. It didn’t take long for them to make it back to her hotel. She smiles and waves goodnight before disappearing into the hotel’s lobby.

“So, Pixie, huh?” Hood says, dropping behind Robin.

“What type of idiotic person would leave the girlfriend to walk around alone in Gotham?” Robin growls to himself, ignoring Jason’s remark.

“Well… nevermind,” Jason starts just to stop himself. They don’t mention it again and they continue patrolling.

The next day, Marinette gets up early, hoping to get some cof- no tea, she’s still going through coffee withdrawals, before her appointment. (I say this cuz while pregnant you’re not supposed to have too much caffeine, and idk). She leaves the hotel room and heads up the street towards the nearest cafe where she orders a green tea. As she was about to pay, she notices a boy passed at a table with his laptop open, probably a college student, so she orders a large black coffee for him. Once she grabs her stuff, she approaches the sleeping boy and puts the cup on the table.

“When’s the last time you slept?” She asks, looking down on him. He swings up at her voice, he’s now sitting up straight while looking around.

“What day is it?”

“Saturday?”

“Sunday, then,” He says, finally looking at her. “Is this coffee yours?”

“It’s a straight black coffee, and it’s yours. I bought it because you look like you’re dead,” Marinette sighs.

“Thank you,” he says before throwing the coffee back.

“Now after you finish whatever you’re doing, you have to go home and go to bed,” Marinette says, leaving the boy to do his work.

“Thank you, coffee guardian,” she hears as the door closes behind her. She just smiles and heads back to where she’s staying. “Hey, Nonna, you ready to leave?”

“Of course, my little fairy,” Nonna says, putting on her shoes.

It didn’t take long for them to get to the doctor’s office, she was told to sit in the waiting room. She was called ten minutes later.

“Is this your first ultrasound?” The technician asks, squirting a cold gel on her little baby bump.

“Yep, am I able to find out the gender today?” Marinette asks, looking over at the screen.

“If you want to.” There was an almost silence, the only sound being the sound the machine makes. “I have to get the doctor, excuse me,” The technician says, leaving Marinette and her Nonna in the room. They’re holding each others’ hands. A woman comes in with the technician a couple of minutes later. She looks at the screen and then turns to her along with turning the screen.

“Ms. Dupain-Cheng, I have good news,” The doctor smiles. “You’re having twins! You can see the first head here.” she says pointing at the blob on the screen, “and here’s the second head.”

TW: Slight Panic Attack (idk if it counts but just gotta make sure and stuff)

“Twins?” Marinette asks, paling. Her breathing starts picking up. The world seems to be getting closer and smaller. She couldn’t catch her breath as if some were stealing her air.

“Fairy, you have to breathe,” Nonna says, stroking the back of Marinette's hand.

“Ms. Dupain-Cheng, you need to calm down, practice your breathing, in… and out… You have to stay calm for your babies,” the doctor says, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Breathe in five out five with me.” The doctor says, modeling the breathing exercise.

TW: End

Marinette looks away from the screen and to where the doctor was showing her over-exaggerated breaths. Her babies, she has to be strong for them.

“Can.. Can I have a drink?” Marinette asks, finally catching her breath.

“Definitely, Denise, please,” the doctor asks the technician. She nods and leaves the room. She comes back two minutes later with a bottle of water.

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to hear the genders?” the doctor asks after Marinette took a couple of sips of water.

“Well, miss, you’re having a baby boy and a baby girl, congratulations,” the doctor says. (Make sure to leave names below.) “Also, I’m advising you from traveling anymore, we don't want any complications with the twins.”

“Ok, thank you, doctor,” Marinette smiles. After they finish the rest of the appointment, they head back to the hotel, where Marinette decides to take a nap.

She wakes to a knock at the door, she gets up to answer it with a young. “Hello?”

“My favorite knocking niece is having twins!” Jagged says, grabbing her in a hug.

“Nonna told you?”

“She also told me you can’t travel anymore,” Jagged says, seriously, he puts her down. “So I bought a penthouse off my old friend, Bruce.”

“Uncle, you didn’t have to do that!” Marinette pouting, she playfully smacks him.

“Well, now I have a permanent place here for after the tour, and you have a place to stay so you don’t have to travel,” Jagged shrugs. “Also I’m seeing Bruce tonight, it’d be rockin if you tagged along.”

“Sorry, Jagged Nonna wanted me to come with her to meet her ‘friend’” Marinette says, putting air quotes around friend.

“That’s cool, have fun!” Jagged says, turning on his heel, letting his jacket flutter behind him in the turn.

“Bye, Jagged, see you later,” Marinette waves at his back before closing the door.

It was getting close to dinner time when she decided to shower and get dressed. Her baby bump wasn’t too big so she was still able to wear the clothes that she brought. She put on a pink light blouse, black high waisted jeans, and chocolate brown ankle boots. She put her hair up in a messy bun and was about to put in earring but as soon as she touched her empty earlobe, she felt too depressed. Master Fu had taken Tikki from her after the defeat of Hawkmoth, the miraculous were brought back to the temple where she was able to be guardian if she went through the training and lived there.

She was brought out of her thoughts by, who she assumes is her Nonna, knocking at the door. “You ready?”

“Of course, Nonna,” Marinette says, leaving the bathroom.

They pull up to an old manor. She follows Nonna up the steps and stands a step behind her as she knocks. It took about a minute but the door was answered by an elderly man.

“Alfred!” Nonna exclaims, pulling him in for a hug. There was a rush of footsteps behind Alfred at Nonna’s scream.

“Gina, what are you doing here? Jagged asks, walking into the doorway.

“What are you doing here, Uncle?” Marinette says, looking beyond the older man, and her Nonna.

“This is the friend I was talking about earlier,” Jagged smiles.

“Coffee Guardian?” another voice comes. Marinette looks further behind Jagged, and who she assumes is Jagged’s friend, and see who she assumed was an half dead college student.

“You know my niece?” Jagged asks, turning away from Marinette.

“I bought him coffee earlier because I thought he would die without it,” Marinette shrugs.

“That’s true,” Tim says.

“Hold up! Remember your end of the deal? Did you sleep?” Marinette asks, raising an eyebrow. He mutters to himself. “You better sleep!”

“Yes, mum.”

“If I wasn’t pregnant, I would beat you up,” Marinette calls at his back, as he leaves to presumably make more coffee. She still could totally beat him up, if Nonna or Jagged wasn’t there, they would stop her in a heartbeat.

“Pixie! I didn’t know you were coming!” Jason says, appearing out of nowhere, he pulls her into a hug.

“And how do you know her?” Nonna asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I saved her from a blond bastard,” Jason shrugs. And last, but definitely not least, one last voice came from behind the rest of the group.

“You again,” the boy, from the time she met Jason, greets cooly.

“It would seem so,” Marinette shrugs.

“Time for dinner,” Alfred says, breaking the awkward tension.

Marinette is sat in between Jason and Damian. It’s near the end of dinner when Damian talks to her again.

“So where’s your boyfriend?” Damian mutters.

“I don't have a boyfriend,” Marinette says, rubbing the back of her neck. He whips his head up and looks past Marinette to see Jason smirking, when he sees Damian looking, he winks.

“Are you guys trying to tell me you all hid this sunshine from me?” Dick asks in disbelief.

“I've only known her a day,” Jason shrugs.

“I thought she was an angel or a hallucination,” Tim says, sipping his coffee.

“Well this sunshine is going to be in Gotham for a while, Doctor told her she can’t travel,” Jagged says.

“Awesome! I get to know the sunshine!” Dick smiles.

“I’m going to be a great brother,” Jason states.

“Cool, I’ve never had a sibling,” Marinette smiles.

“Awesome, you’re my favorite sibling.”

“What am I?” Dick pouts.

“Not my favorite,” Jason smirks.

“Well, Gotham’s dangerous, don’t go walking around alone again,” Damian says, standing up.

��Of course, Birdie,” Marinette says, standing up. “Nonna, I’m going to head to the car, I’m tired if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, just let me say goodbye,” Nonna says, oblivious to the looks from the boys around the room.

“It was nice to see you all again! I hope to see you soon!” Marinette says, leaving the dining room, she heads down the hall towards the foyer, and out to the car. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding as she got into the car. Damian might be brash, but damn the pregnancy hormones make him seem undeniably handsome, the jade green eyes she wants to get lost in, sharp jawline, olive tanned skin, and fluffy-looking hair she wouldn’t mind running her fingers through, because yes it’s totally the pregnancy hormones.

----------------------------------

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[rainbowcaleb]

throw me a lifeline

(warning: angst, those eye tattoos, and major spoilers for episode 122) (edit: also available on ao3 for easier reading!)

There’s an itch in his head he can’t shake out, a voice in his mind like an echo, and something new, terrible and new, resting on his shoulder.

Caleb was awake. (He pinched the skin around the intrusion on his shoulder. The tattoo was flat, eerily smooth like undamaged skin. The pinch was sharp, grounding. Yes, he was awake.) He looked at Beau, they looked at each other, both of their own gazes flitting to the red eyes and back. They had pried too far into the unknown, delved in the ocean without asking the right questions, and now the weight of water was crashing back in.

Fjord was scrambling forward from where he was keeping watch, his brow furrowed, questions about to spring from his lips.

Caleb held up a hand. “Wait, can you-” he gestured towards the sword and then around in the air.

Fjord shook his head, his shoulders slumped. “Not now,” he murmured. “Not yet.”

“You think we’re-” Beau pointed at her eyes, her real ones, not the red one.

Caleb nodded. “Lucien’s trust does not extend very far, it is safe to assume we are being observed.” Caleb tried to keep his sight line steady, not letting his eyes look down towards the new watchful symbol on Beau’s hand.

Fjord was shaking the others awake, pressing his fingers to his lips, hushed whispers and conversations growing like wind around them, but Beau and Caleb continued looking at one another.

With a twist of emotion in her face, Beau broke the quiet. “What can we do?”

“I don’t know.”

“What does it mean?!”

“I don’t know.” Caleb wished he had another answer.

Then there was a hand on his shoulder, on the other one, the unmarked one. “We can’t stay here!” Jester looked between her friends, anguish on her face. “What if it keeps happening? What if it gets worse?”

“Let’s kill him.” Veth was already digging through her bag for who-knows-what. “Maybe he’s the source, maybe if we get rid of him, it’ll-” her voice broke. “I don’t want you to-”

Yasha was quieter than her usual, but everyone in the room could feel the rage rolling from the tight set of her jaw and the grip on her sword.

“Wait-” Fjord looked around the room, uselessly squinting in the corners, at the ceiling, finding no peace of mind hidden there. “How can we leave? He’ll know the second the tower disappears and the cold hits him.”

“He may already know.” Caduceus said, letting the truth strike the room like ice.

“We have...our friend.” Jester looked around at them all.

Beau looked confused. “Uh, the one outside? What can he do-”

“No, no, no.” Jester went up on her tiptoes. “The floating one? He wants to help, he asked us how he can help.”

“I don’t trust him.” Beau grimaced. “But...”

“But.” Caleb met her gaze. “Beauregard, I...I don’t know what this means. I am unsure if it's in my power to…it came from the dream, Beau. Manifested from the dream.”

“If we weren’t all so exhausted…” This was a wobble in Jester’s voice. “I’m a cleric, I can heal, I can heal! And I could try, or Caduceus, but it's the middle of the night, and I just can’t. I can’t.”

“Oh, Jester-” Yasha’s rage had simmered down into the background for now, and she let go of her sword to place a hand on Jester’s arm. Yasha reached her other hand out to hold Beau’s.

“Making plans or involving other people can wait until we’re not-” Fjord glanced upwards again, nerves tensing his body like a coiled spring. He lowered his voice again. “We can’t plan anything if we stay here. Caleb, can you take us away somewhere?”

Caleb was looking down at his arms, a map of scars he knew intimately, intrusions healed but never gone, but at least he knew how and why. This tattoo, this eye, this-

“-did you hear me?”

Caleb’s head lifted. Fjord was leaning towards him, repeating his question. Caleb tried to focus. “Depends on the somewhere. There is risky, and then there is dangerous.”

“We have to go to him.” Jester’s voice was pleading, but steady. Trying to get her friends to see reason. “We need to go somewhere safer, we need help, we need his magic. And he’s smart!” Jester tacked it on almost as an afterthought, a small smile on her face. “He’s really smart. He reads all those books, Caleb you know this, you said he was super intelligent and really handsome.”

Caleb knew what she was doing and he let his face form some mimic of a smile. “We do not know where he is, all we have is a mere scrap of a description...teleporting is flirting with death. I do not think I can take us to him.”

“We may need to hurry.” Caduceus was looking out towards the center of the tower, his eyes focused on the bronze aperture in the ceiling.

“We need to leave.” Veth’s voice was sharp. “We just need to get out.”

“He can meet us halfway, I’ll call him.” Jester stood up, determination bright on her face.

“Wait, what-” Fjord said.

“If Lucien is listening right now-” Beau started.

Jester waved her fingers in the air. “Hi, mama! Checking in to say our snowy trip isn’t going as planned. We got kinda lost...and hurt, but coming home to you soon!”

Beau smiled, a real one. “Jester you mad genius.”

Jester curtsied. “Our friend will at least know something is happening.”

“Caleb-” Caduceus turned to him sharply, his usual soft demeanor gone.

He got on his knees and rushed to get the right components from his bag. “Gather close!” He didn’t glance up to see if his friends had followed orders, he kept sketching the familiar runes on the ground. “I have been gathering stones while we walked, as a precaution. I will take us backwards on our journey, far enough that they cannot quickly find us again, but not too far. It will be cold. Get ready.”

Jester’s hand was back on his shoulder. Veth’s on the other. A circle of friends holding hands around him. Caleb’s chalk snapped in his grip as he rushed through the last rune. Then whoosh.

It felt thrice as cold compared to the tower’s warmth a second ago. Everyone stepped closer together, huddling against the sudden wind.

“We’re probably still being watched.” Beau looked around, squinting against the bluster of snow, but they had been dropped in pitch black.

“Perhaps.” Caleb tugged his scarf closer around himself. “But I have bought us time.”

“Jester, has he replied?” Fjord asked.

She frowned. “No, not yet at least, maybe he’s sleeping? Should I try again?”

“Can you?”

She bit her lip. “I’m running low on spells, especially since we haven’t rested in so long.”

“You said you took us backwards,” Beau turned to Caleb. “If we tried walking to Aeor, would we be retracing our steps right back to the Tomb Takers?”

Caleb nodded, then dragged a rough hand over his face. Reckless, stupidly reckless and ambitious. It was obvious, he should have known. He knew what knowledge meant. He had seen Vess. He had seen Lucien. He had seen the trail of dead bodies. He should have known.  

“Yes.” He spat out bitterly. “We’d return right to them.”

Fjord peered out against the darkness. “Somewhere east...our friend said he’s somewhere east of here.”

“Great load of good that does,” Veth grumbled. “If he’s stuck where he is, and we’re stuck where we are, how the hell are we supposed to get help?”

Jester shot up, practically dancing on her tiptoes. “Oh!” Her expression sped through reactions, relief and confusion and happiness. “He heard me, he’s awake now, he’s…”

“What did he say?” Caleb wanted to cling to her, the hope of her message a lifeline against this chaos.

“He’s not ‘supposed‘ to leave.” Jester frowned. “He sounded really frustrated, I think there’s some story there that we don’t know and the word limit, well, he didn’t say anything more about that. But he said he will find a way to us. He needs more information. Caleb, how? What can I tell him?”

His friends looked towards him for a response, but it just felt like more eyes. More eyes. Caleb didn’t have the answer, his mind was racing, they were in the middle of snowy nowhere with no landmarks. Even the sharpest magician couldn’t find a single pebble in the ocean like this.

“Unless…”

“Unless what?” Beau asked.

Caleb hadn’t noticed he had spoken the thought aloud. It felt suddenly like the breaking of a promise, even though no such words had been exchanged between them. It was a small moment, so delicate. He had handed this to Caleb at the end of one study session, telling Caleb he had done so well, that he was learning so fast. Essek had smiled. Caleb remembered that clearly, that smile, that brush of hands as he dropped it into Caleb’s palm.

“He gave me something, a gift.” Caleb could sense a raised eyebrow and an incoming question but he rushed past that. “If you message him and remind him, he could use it as a focus to find me. To find us.”

“What is it?” Jester asked. “In case he doesn’t remember?”

“It is just a bit of obsidian.” He shrugged. “A spell component.”

There was a weight to his words that made Jester give him a long look, but Caleb didn’t explain further.

Jester ran her fingers through the air again. “Us again, mama! Very snowy outside tonight, remember that obsidian you gave Caleb? When you see us again, maybe he can give it back?” She paused, then smiled. Essek’s response was much faster that time. “He is coming. He told us to try and find a way to stay warm, it may take him some time.”

 “‘Some time’?” Beau frowned. “Bastard.”

“He did say he was going to ‘sneak out’, whatever that means.” Jester grinned. “Ooh, I can’t wait to see him, that sounds like some juicy story.”

“Can we dome it up?” Fjord looked to Caleb, but his face fell when he saw Caleb’s dark expression. “Okay guys, looks like we need to huddle.”

“Let’s move some snow,” Caduceus started sweeping at the ground with his staff. “We can at least make a little dry spot.”

It was painful work. Not because it was hard, but because in the silence of gloved hands pushing against the ice and dirt, it was too easy to get trapped in thought. Whispers from the echo of his dream still ran wildly through Caleb’s mind, unsettling him in their reminder of what now sat on his shoulder. It was part of him now, whatever it was. Embedded, ingrained, intertwined. It had not asked; it just became.

Ten minutes passed, then twenty. They risked a small fire from Caleb’s hands, pressing shoulder to shoulder to block the light and keep the heat. Another ten minutes, and Veth had begun complaining about a lack of common decency from Essek, with Beau joining in as well.

“-a lack of punctuality, put that in the column of things you can’t trust about him.” She was saying. Then she stopped. Beau looked out towards the dark. “I swear to Ioun if that’s a wolf, or yeti, or anything other than Essek, I will-”

She didn’t finish her thought. There was a voice calling on the wind.

“It’s Essek.” Caduceus smiled. “That’s him.”

It was hard to see the cloaked figure against the night sky. He carried no light and his dark cloak melded in with his surroundings. He made nearly no sound, his feet never touching the ground. It was Essek.

Jester was the first to stand up, walking towards him, then running. They didn’t know anything for sure, if he could help, but his presence felt like a new hope breaking through the storm. She tackled his side in a messy hug, forcing him to drop to the ground to stand.

“Jester!” Caleb didn’t have to see him to know he was smiling despite circumstances; he could hear it in Essek’s voice. “I apologize for the wait, it was difficult to get away. I am glad to see you're all here, you’re all...alive. I feared the worst, your messages, they were...hard to decipher.”

“Sorry I called you mama, Essek! We were afraid we were being spied on. Actually-” she looked around horrified. “Oh no, if he’s looking at us right now, he’ll see you too. He might memorize your face to scry on later, I think he can do that, he seems able to do anything.”

“Who?” Essek looked startled.

“Where are you stationed, can you take us there?” Beau stood up quickly.

“We don’t have a lot of time.” Fjord explained.

“Yes, I can.” Essek looked around at them all, quickly taking stock of their expressions and posture. “We can go right now. The fire-”

Caleb had already snuffed it out and was walking towards him. He had a sudden impulse to follow Jester’s example, to run towards Essek and pull him into a hug, craving the solid touch of the friend he had not seen in months, although he was so often in his thoughts. But he couldn’t. It was a wall he had built himself. He couldn’t.

They gathered in a circle again, holding hands despite the spell not asking of this component. It was familiar and comforting, things that seemed so lacking in this journey. Caleb reached for Essek’s hand, he would allow himself this gesture (he was only so strong against the tide of what he felt).

There was something cold and small in Essek’s palm.

“Oh,” Essek looked down when Caleb drew his hand a few inches back. “Apologies, I forgot I was still holding…”

Caleb recognized the object, as it was the other half of Caleb’s own obsidian piece. Two parts, one whole. Caleb grasped his hand, uncaring of the object between them. He tried to smile, it was a grimace, but it would do.

“Thank you.” His voice was low, a whisper. He did not know why, but he didn’t want to be overheard. Caleb squeezed his hand, letting the obsidian dig into them both, the pain grounding him to the moment. Essek did not pull away, but held on. “Thank you.” He repeated.

“Go time.” Beau said.

Essek pulled himself away from Caleb’s eyes and nodded. The swirl of magic around them blended with the snow, grey and white like a dust storm, and then they were off.

Hope and fear clamoring in their hearts.

[dragonswithjetpacks]

The Best Thing About Mornings

-dragonswithjetpacks

Summary: Astarion was used to being alone. Stalking dark and empty rooms, sleeping in his own bed, waking without a worry but his own. There was never a time he considered otherwise. Not while sunlight was fatal. But now, things are different. He can not only wake with the sun... but possibly with someone next to him... as awful as it sounds. 

Read here on Ao3.

Ferelith read over them for what felt like the hundredth time. Even then, she felt the chilling touch of apprehension slither down her spine. The lines were raised on his back, prominent against his pale skin from deep and persistent carving. Though it was her eyes that crossed them, she was still familiar with the way they felt when her fingertips slid down his back. She could almost recall in detail the way each symbol was curved just by the touch. Her hands had caressed him enough times during the night that she was certain she could now sketch the scars in her sleep. Perhaps she would have written them somewhere in her little black book if it were not for the regret she felt when she looked at them. There were times she considered that she did not deserve to touch them, to be the gentle trace where cruel instruments were used to curse his skin. Becoming intertwined with him was one thing, but to try and touch him when he was vulnerable in front of her, as he was now, was something she would never dare to do. He would not allow it, or so she assumed. It was likely he would even become cross at the mere suggestion of it. No, the only time she was permitted to feel them was when she was beneath him, engulfed in his embrace with her hands stretched wide across his back so that she could outline every word beneath her fingers. And as many times as she had seen them, read them, and felt them, she could never gather enough courage to tell him what they said. Studying them all the while knowing how oblivious he remained only added to her guilt. They bent between his shoulder blades as he shifted, his arms flexing as he slid his pants over his legs.

“You’re leaving?” she asked, tucking the sheet around her exposed upper body.

She admired his profile as he glanced over his shoulder. He held it there, unable to look at her. Her eyes slid down the shape of his nose to his slightly parted lips. He looked away, feeling her examining his face again. Astarion felt like part of her research as she was always intent at staring into him. She had picked up on his ques, knew when he was lying, and often made him feel slightly uncomfortable with a single glance. As flatted as he was to be known it such a way, it was also problematic.

“Yes,” he replied softly.

“It’s still early,” she said, laying her head on the pillow.

He rose onto his feet, pulling the rest of his breeches to his waste, pondering the idea that she was right. They had not waited very long into the night to seek each other out. And though they had tried to be quiet, he was certain there was a loud rattle as he had slammed her against the door to her room only an hour ago. The others surely knew he was there. But the insatiable feeling in the pit of his stomach told him if he was going to make it through another long night, he was going to need the fuel to do so. He reached over to a stool where his shirt had been thrown- or rather, torn off.

“You can always stay,” she suggested when he did not respond.

This time, he was brave enough to look at her. But the sight made him weak. She was embracing the pillow, the sheet wrapped around her, almost glowing in the moonlight that came from the window. Some of her dark hair flowed over her shoulder. And though she was beckoning him for another enticing round of nightly activities, her eyes looked tired. Then again, she always looked tired. He wanted to crawl back into bed. To entangle himself in her again. He knew if he did, he would be tempted to feed from her. And fighting that urge was difficult enough as it was. Still, the way her pale yellow eyes sparked with mischief when he looked at her… it made him pause as he reached for the buttons on his shirt.

“A fine offer,” he smirked. “But you know I can’t.”

“I meant the night,” she replied, causing him to stop all together. “Once you’ve finished your hunt, you’re more than welcome to make a return. If you wanted.”

An invitation left open for him to decline. In most circumstances, he was quick to turn down such an offer. Astarion was never the sort to watch the sunrise with another. One, because seeing the sun would have meant his death. And two, he was usually gone before he was able to do so. There had been one exception, and only one that had occurred recently. That was the night of the party with the tiefling refugees. And it was with Ferelith. Conscious chalked it up to a long night of drinking and spoiling one another, their minds far too busy to acknowledge the time. Then again, he did recall dozing off on the forest floor with her at his arm. It was nothing like sharing a bed, but more like ending a long and restless night as one would after festivities much like the ones they partook. He had never imagined sharing his sleeping space with another. He had never wanted to. Thinking about it, about being so close to someone willingly for that amount of time without any sort of sexual desire, almost disgusted him.

“I’m afraid I’ve pushed myself too close to starvation, darling,” he shook his head, looking for his doublet to avoid making eye contact. “I’ll likely be out all night.”

The sly yet knowing smile trickled across her face and she rolled onto her back with a sigh. Astarion glanced up to catch her full face in the moonlight. It wasn’t the decline of her offer that bothered her. It was the lie. Still, he didn’t see enough reason to be truthful about not wanting to stay. And he didn’t want to leave her lingering on that thought. He tossed his doublet onto the bed, placing both his hands on the mattress to lean over her. He avoided her face, kissing the side of her neck down to her shoulder.

“Patience, darling,” he purred into her ear. “We’ll get to have more fun soon enough.”

Ferelith’s frustration was well hidden as she turned her head, kissing him above the ear in response to the tender brush of his lips. She was aware she did not have to be vocal to show her emotions with him any longer. He knew her just as well. Besides, her stubborn nature made her agree that showing him that he caused her grief would only make her appear soft; a sentiment she wanted to avoid. It was bad enough he knew how to make her crumble into the palm of his hands. He did not need to know that her want to crumble was growing stronger with each night they spent together.

She nudged him away and when he was pleased with her reaction, he reached over to collect his doublet.

“I’ll try not to be so aggressive next time,” she said as he finished dressing.

“Oh, no, it’s quite alright,” he made his way over to his boots. “I rather enjoy your ravenous hands. Perhaps waiting will be a better option?”

“You tease me any longer than you already have and I cannot promise your safety.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed in thought and eyed her carefully. “Idle threats fall on tempted ears. You best be careful.”

“You best be careful,” she grumbled in a mocking tone as she rolled her eyes.

He stomped each foot into his boots, shooting a warning glance but a teasing grin in her direction. She bit her bottom lip with her finger tracing her chin as she knew the way she often mocked him was enough to start a small fire. It made him just angry enough to please her.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said sternly.

“Have a good hunt, love,” she slid her hands beneath the pillow behind her head, watching him as he reached for the door.

Turning the handle and stepping through, something didn’t sit right leaving her with those words. He looked back, her upper body sprawled out with that sheepish smirk planted on her face. He shook his head, wondering why he let her get into him. Her eyes were burned into his memory, her laugh echoed in his ears, and her smile haunted his every move. She was but a bad habit that gave him joy in misbehaving. And when she turned to catch him leaving, he gave her a small nod.

“Sleep well.”

Ferelith watched him disappear behind the door. He knew she wasn’t going to sleep well. She never did. She would rest for a few hours, only to get back out of bed to study or read. Or sometimes write. She didn’t need sleep like the others. And even if she did, there were only dark dreams awaiting her.

“Foolish man,” she murmured under her breath, still feeling the aggravation from before but chuckling at his attempt to make up for it.

She looked out the window into the sky littered with clouds. One crawled across the moon, only half full. A few more days and she would have to call on her patron. He had been patient and quiet as of late. But there was usually a reason for his submissiveness. She would learn of his concern when the time came to summon him. In the meantime, she would have to keep working and preparing. Her long nights with Astarion had distracted her and she still had much to do. She tucked the sheet around her as if it were robe and drug her nightstand closer. It would have to act as a desk for the night. And it was going to be a long one.

*************************************************

Astarion was careful to re-enter the inn. The front door to the bar was far too loud and he knew opening it would alarm the keeper. He did not want to deal with questions or judgmental eyes. Plus, he was certain he had gotten enough blood on his collar to raise concern. And avoiding that conversation, in general, was going to be troublesome if it happened to occur. Instead, he found an open window near the kitchen. His feet were nimble, but as he climbed onto the table under the window, he stumbled as he nearly caught the end of a spatula beneath his foot. He managed to balance himself in the window sill, just at the edge, and hopped down onto the floor before he caused any abrupt sounds. Getting to his room would be much easier, so he figured.

He walked into the small dining hall where the front door remained tightly shut. It was dimly lit and empty, giving it an odd eerie feeling when you looked into it. Rooms that were usually seen full of bustling folk completely drained and dark had a way of doing that. Astarion was admittedly used to this side of things while stalking the night. It was almost peaceful being alone. He circled around to the railing of the staircase, taking one last look behind him to ensure no one was awake and watching. As he was certain he would not be noticed, he took off up the stairs, the wooden planks creaking beneath the tips of his toes. He winced but quickened his pace. The sooner he found his bed, the better.

Rounding the corner on the second floor, he found the hallway lined with doors to be completely darkened. The only light came from the far end of the hall where a small window allowed the moon to shine through. He walked slowly toward it, looking back and forth trying to remember which door was his. He was certain it must be the last one on the left. He could not recall for certain since he had not yet stepped into it. He had been… occupied upon their arrival. In remembering the incident at Ferelith’s door, he paused as he reached it. Her lantern was off. She must have been tired of waiting for him. More than likely, she had not waited at all.

There wasn’t a second thought as he crept past it, looking down and trying to focus on reaching his room. But then something tapped him in the back of his mind. Like an impatient finger would on his shoulder. It felt so honestly real that he turned, looking back to Ferelith’s door. He listened for a moment… but heard not a thing. No stirring. No voices. No footsteps. It was odd, he swore something was making him stop. The poking subsided and he pivoted quietly to continue. He made it to the door, opening it and finding another dark and empty room. He leaned against the frame. The bed was neatly made. Nothing had been touched. And though he wasn’t entirely tired, he knew he needed to rest. But he did not want to.

He looked back down the hall. Her lantern was still off. He thought about her in bed. If she was awake just staring into the dark. No, she definitely wouldn’t be waiting for him. Surely if she was not resting, she was working. Perhaps she would have some ritual to prepare for. Or perhaps she had eaten something delightful and was relaxing with the night and some wine. She did not need a lantern for that. His eyes fell back onto his bed. His bed. This was his room. And his bed. Then why did it not feel like his at all? Why did he feel more compelled, more interested in her room than the peace and quiet he would have in his own? And why was that finger coming back to tap him? As if it were some kind of reminder. What did he have that was so important that just when he had forgotten it, it was there once again to remind him?

Ah… yes… loneliness.

There was a heavy sigh that came from his mouth as he became reacquainted with an old friend. And it was all her fault. She should have never placed the idea in his head that there was even a slight possibility of sharing a bed. Not just for entertaining purposes. But for the simple fact of being there next to him. It was not even an outright suggestion. It was the subtle mention that planted the seed. And now it had grown, branching into his thoughts. And poking him persistently. With the budding idea of feeling lonely… the curiosity of waking up with her… the urge to bed her in the morning. It was all there, bursting like early morning spring.

Ferelith had won. And though he closed his door like it was a heavy burden, he did not feel entirely defeated. For when he went to her door and opened it to see the back of her, something lifted from his shoulders. He quietly shut the door behind him. Slid his boots from his feet, unbuttoned his doublet, and began to unfasten his breeches. The sound of his clothes hitting the floor made her stir, but she had not turned around. He heard her sigh in her sleep, bringing a coy smile to his lips. He crawled into bed behind her, the warmth of her skin exciting him. She had not put anything on after he left. She felt the embrace of him at her waist, pulling her close to his chest and she subconsciously grabbed his arm. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, the side of her face and she smiled as she blinked sleepily up at him.

“Back early?” her voice was raspy as she slowly regained herself.

“I am,” he whispered. “There was a rather large pig in the market. Someone is going to be very upset to find it dead in the morning.”

“Oh,” she said softly. “Shame.”

“We can watch their despair later. It looks like there was a small bakery nearby.”

“I can get some bread,” she smiled.

“My thoughts exactly,” he kissed her shoulder affectionately. “Now, hush. I would like to get some sleep.”

Ferelith chuckled, keeping her retort to herself. She would not ask him what brought him to her that night. It was unexpected, but she would let his own reasons settle with himself. There was no doubt he was unsure why he was there. And that was alright with her. In truth, he knew the reason why he was there. And he held it tightly against him as he told those thoughts to quiet down as well. There may have been a few things he had lied about. But his need for rest was not one of them.

*************************************************

The sun had cracked just over the edge of the windowsill, bringing the room into a reddish hue. He opened his eyes, as he was still unaccustomed to feeling the sunrise at dawn. He blinked, stretching his arms out as he lay on his back. But stopped as he felt a hand on his chest. Ferelith was still next to him, her head resting on his shoulder. And there was nothing disgusting about it at all. Not like he imagined. Just her. Pressed against him. He lifted his arm gently in an attempt not to wake her. But she was used to waking at the rising sun as well, and the moment her head left his chest, she strained to open her eyes as she rolled onto her back. Astarion propped himself up on his elbows with his head against the wall, looking down to watch her awaken. She blinked several times, looking down at the foot of the bed. Something seemed strange to her as she realized he had not left like she had expected him to. She looked up at him, somewhat in disbelief. And he gave a half-shrug as if he knew. It had been too long for either of them to remember what it was like waking to someone else.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked to fill the silence.

“I did,” she replied. “And you?”

Astarion thought on it for a moment, worried about how he might respond. Surprisingly enough, he had slept fairly well. But he struggled with that fact because he had imagined he would not have been able to sleep at all. She stared as he said nothing. He looked at her, diverting his gaze away for a few seconds, then looked back. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He nodded slightly with another shrug. Ferelith, who did not seem to understand his hesitance but did not care, became utterly amused at his confusion. The grin was slow to start but her cheeks tightened with how wide it had grown. Astarion struggled to hold back his own amusement and together, they began to laugh at how foolish they seemed; two adults who hadn’t the slightest idea of how to handle the embarrassment of the situation.

“Let’s just get dressed to start,” she said, sitting up and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s not,” he leaned over her, forcing her back into the bed. 

“We’ll be late,” she looked up at him, matching his devious grin.

“I… do not care…”

After all, what was the point of waking up next to her if he could not have her the moment he woke? Perhaps… he had been wrong about sleeping next to someone. Or perhaps he had finally met someone he was willing to tolerate enough to share a bed with. Either way, the feeling of her wrapped around him made his thoughts consider that the sunrise was no longer the best thing about his mornings.

[luninosity]

Time for @whumptober2020 prompt 8!

The theme today is “Where’d everybody go?” - specific prompts: abandoned/isolation.

Content/warnings: Bucky trapped alone underground, starting to be afraid no one’ll rescue him this time; eventually Steve does, of course, though Bucky’s kind of shaken...minor warnings for some minor injury (broken legs), not too gruesome.

#

They’re in France, picking their way carefully through enemy territory, when Bucky triggers the trap.

 He’s on his own, covering Steve with his rifle as those ridiculous red-white-and-blue shoulders pick their way through an abandoned Hydra base. They’d been meant to raid the place; someone must’ve known they were coming. The self-destruct’s recent, only a couple of hours old, but impressively fireball-laced.

 Steve had wanted to search anyway, to look for anything useful to bring back, any scraps of information, any references to prisoners being held. Bucky had said nothing to that last one, though Steve’s eyes’d cut over to him; he’d only nodded.

 Hell, all the Howlies’ve been prisoners. Bucky’s no different. Not special.

 He’s here at this vantage point up on the low rise because he doesn’t trust Hydra not to’ve left a few foot soldiers behind, knowing Captain America’s on the way; someone needs to keep an eye out for threats Steve doesn’t see. Bucky’s watching the whole scene, the rubble, the dwindling flames. Might be some suspicious sparks. An evil gleam of metal coming out of the trees.

 Dum Dum says something to Morita, holding up a piece of lab equipment; they confer. Steve moves, steps behind a broken building, ducks out of sight.

 Bucky mutters a curse or two under his breath. Pushes himself up. Starts to adjust his position.

 He hears a sound. Almost a sound. A click or a catch—

 Steve, is his first thought; but it’s not Steve in danger, no, it’s the hillside vanishing under Bucky’s own feet, dropping away and dropping him—a goddamn Hydra booby trap, and he walked into it, he heard it but not fast enough, even as he dives for the too-far side of the crumbling hill—

 He falls. Fast, and hard, and far.

 He lands wrong and badly, and a series of sickening snaps burst through his body, his head. And the world goes black.

 He wakes up, gradually, agonizingly.

 He’s cold. And in pain. Those’re the first two realizations.

 He’s cold and in pain and alone in the dark—hurting and trapped and taken away from Steve and his men because of Hydra, all over again—and he can’t breathe, can’t make himself inhale, lungs not working, throat making small frantic airless sounds, heart slamming into his ribs—

 No, he shouts at himself. No. You’re Sergeant James Barnes, you’re in love with Steve Rogers, you’ve got a squad of good men and Captain America himself. You’ll get out of this. It’s not the same. Not like before.

 Memory whispers across his closed eyelids: his voice, raggedly mumbling, and a sharp needle sliding under his skin.

 He forces himself to breathe by thinking of Steve. Of himself, back home in Brooklyn, kneeling on the floor at Steve’s bedside on a vicious winter night. Counting Steve’s breaths: in and out, in and out.

 He does it for himself now. In. And out.

 He opens his eyes. Tries to look around.

 Everything’s dark and dim, nearly black. Bucky in fact has a vague sense that it should be all black, that he shouldn’t be able to make out the distant edges of mechanisms or tree roots. He thinks he might be able to see in the dark a little better than he used to.

 He chalks that up next to maybe a broken toe shouldn’t heal that fast and I haven’t gotten even a cold, not even when the rest of the Howlies caught that bug and were puking up their guts, ever since that room and that table on the list of things he hasn’t told Stevie and probably should. Sometime. No rush. Wouldn’t want Steve to worry.

 His rifle’s come down with him, which is good. The hillside appears to’ve sealed itself over above him, which is bad. He guesses Hydra doesn’t care too much about captured intruders running out of air. The idea’s most likely that—if the base was still operational—they’d come pick him up for interrogation or else simply let him die.

 He shouts, “Steve!” He doesn’t expect the sound to carry far, and it doesn’t. He’s pretty far down, twenty feet at least, and that’s an ominous metal plate up above.

 He’s avoided looking at his legs, so far.

 He catches his breath as pain washes over him. Steve knows his approximate location. Someone’ll come. Someone’ll notice the trap and release the catch and find him. Steve will find him.

 He lies very still, staring up at the blackness above, waiting. The pain comes in waves, building, cresting, ebbing.

 No one’s coming, not yet. He feels something sticky on the side of his face; he touches his temple. Blood, he thinks: a smoky smudge over his fingers in the dark.

 When Steve comes for him, he’ll need to be in shape to be rescued. It’s that thought that makes him struggle to sit up. To confront the ruin of his legs, snapped white bone and mangled flesh. The left one’s worse than the right; he’d landed harder on that one.

 He’s feeling dizzy. He closes his eyes again. Maybe some sort of splint, something—his jacket, his belt—

 It won’t be enough. It won’t be enough, because his legs are—and he’s bleeding so much—and when Steve finds him, he won’t be able to get up, he’ll be a liability—

 Bucky, alone in the dark, can’t quite force back the sob. Fingers pressed into dirt. Digging in, futilely.

 When Steve finds him—

 If. If Steve finds him. The possibility swims up out of the shadows along with  silent mocking laughter. It inquires, all friendly malice: you think he’ll guess what happened? He can’t hear you. No one can hear you.

 “Shut up,” Bucky snaps, aloud.

 Do you think, asks the dark, that you deserve a second miracle? That you have any right to be saved again? After you’ve already needed it once, sad little useless toy soldier that you are? Pathetic.

 It has Zola’s voice. Bucky bites his lip hard enough to taste blood there too, copper and iron as opened-up earth.

 The pit murmurs silkily: you think Steve will be happy to rescue you another time? Over and over? When he has better things to do, he’s meant for more, he’s Steve Rogers and you’re Bucky Barnes?

 “No.”

 It says: You know you keep dragging him down, holding him back. You know he resents you for it. How could he not, when you’re so needy, so helpless, so desperate to stay with him?

 “He doesn’t,” Bucky whispers. “Steve’s not—Steve’s not like that. Steve’s…”

 Gas, he wonders. Some hallucinogen. Some trick. Noises in the pit. Blood loss. This isn’t real. It isn’t true. Steve cares about him.

 Steve does care about him. Steve loves him, though they rarely say it—twice that Bucky can recall, never when anyone else can hear, always careful—they say it in touches, glances, Steve’s brush of fingertips over the back of Bucky’s neck or a sketch of Bucky napping in lazy summer sunshine on their old sagging sofa…

 The two times they’ve said the words, Bucky said it first. Once the night before he shipped out, the two of them entwined in bed, both of them thinking about the cold grey light of dawn. Once the first time Steve slipped into his tent after saving him the last time, and Bucky’d felt so shaken and raw and unlike himself, and he’d just needed to say it, to cling to Steve and say it as Steve held him and made him feel good and reminded him how to feel good…

 Steve had whispered it back, into his hair, holding him.

 Steve’s never said it first. Only when Bucky needs it—when Bucky needs him, needs saving…

 What if Steve doesn’t come for him now?

 Steve will want to, he believes—Steve doesn’t abandon people. Against the law of that big golden leonine heart. But that doesn’t mean Steve will come.

 Steve might not find him. Might give up. Might have to make a tactical decision, if there’re other booby traps around. Might not keep trying.

 Steve might finally, this time, at last and inevitably, consider this an acceptable if painful loss, and move on.

 Bucky’s fingers are cold. He’s cold all over. He doesn’t know how long he’s been down here, in the dark.

 He whispers, “Steve?” And then he whispers the names of his squad, he shouts their names, all of them, one by one: but no one answers. Nothing changes.

 His legs still hurt but something’s starting to feel different. He doesn’t look.

 He tries to think. To plan. If no one’s coming, what can he do? He’s got a rifle and his coat and spare ammunition and some field rations in a pouch, enough for a day, or four if he stretches them out. He knows that the pit’s mostly dirt with some metal gears and slabs, covering the roof and part of the sides, making them too slick to scale.

 It’s not an insurmountable problem, surely. He’s good at angles and aim and calculations. He can figure this out. He can get back to Steve, and go right on watching Steve’s back, and nothing has to change.

 He eyes the walls. Is digging possible? Under or around the metal?

 Hydra would’ve thought of that. Anyway, moving’s tricky.

 Shooting something, a gear or lever? Maybe. Might bring the whole place down, though.

 He pictures being covered by an avalanche of metal and dirt, being buried by it and smothered slowly by it; and then he has to stop thinking about it and make himself breathe again.

 His right knee itches. He scratches it absentmindedly.

 His fingers come away tacky with blood, and for a split second his stomach lurches and he’s afraid he might be sick, but then he makes himself stop and take it in.

 His knee looks like a knee. A little misshapen, twisted, smeared with dull red under the shreds of his pant leg, but healed over. Closed up. No bone visible at all. The shape of it shifts more as he watches: closer to normal, less bent.

 He swallows hard. Forces himself to look more.

 His lower leg’s healing too, putting itself back together. He can see it; he stares, fascinated in a gruesome way. Bones and muscles and veins knitting, repairing, weaving. Blood pumping. It’s almost pretty, in a churning awful way. The left leg’s doing it too, not fast but obviously on its way.

 So, he thinks, half-hysterically; so, I was right about the whole not getting sick part, look at that, look at me; and he laughs helplessly, and then he puts an arm over his face and lets himself cry, quietly, coming apart as his body fixes itself.

 He stops crying at some point. He curls up in the dark with his rifle, because he can do that now, he can move, though his legs feel weak and won’t hold him yet.

 How long’s it been? Minutes? Hours? Days? Enough time that he’s got ankles again. His head doesn’t hurt, either, at least not physically. It probably should. His hand had been very wet, earlier, touching there.

 He shuts his eyes and sees the table, the injections, the self-satisfied cruel curl of a smile—

 That was then. This is now. He’s not there. He’s here.

 But here is there, here is right back in a Hydra trap, here is knowing he’s been changed somehow, he’s something different somehow, and no one’ll save him and no one’s coming, because why would they? Even if they could find him, why would they want him back? Someone altered and made different, someone with this secret…even if they don’t know the secret, he’s still a problem, in need of care and rescue…

 Steve looks at him sometimes as if afraid, as if worried, as if Bucky’s fragile and damaged…and of course Steve’s right, of course Bucky’s not good enough…but that’s always been true, Bucky Barnes’ ordinary little loves of comics and science fiction and sunshine in Steve’s hair could never be enough for the real Steve, Steve who would take on the world if he could and make it better through sheer force of will…

 But Steve’s needed him, sometimes. Once or twice. A shot defending Steve’s six. A scouting mission with important information. That’s mattered, hasn’t it?

 If he can get out, he can get back to Steve. He can try to go on being useful. He can lift his rifle and protect Steve and love Steve, silently, hopelessly, and that’ll be enough, if he’s allowed that much. He’ll take it. Please. Just that. He won’t ask for more.

 He can sit up easily now. He can stand, with one hand braced on the wall of the pit. He hobbles around it, pacing, testing. He thinks the light’s dimmed even more; nighttime, maybe?

 He eyes the dirt, and the metal panes above. If he can gouge some handholds into it—

 Something shakes. Dirt moves. The metal above wobbles.

 Is someone here? The Commandos, or Hydra, or—Steve? Someone?

 Bucky sucks in air, yells, “Hey!” and scrabbles around for a rock. Throws it, hard and accurate, a fastball. It clangs off metal and drops back.

 More shaking happens. Excitement. Voices? Maybe? Indistinct, they’re hard to make out. They move away and return.

 A whole lot of dirt starts sliding in. Walls collapsing. Whatever they’re doing up there, it’s making his pit unstable.

 “You’re not helping!” Bucky yells upward. They kind of are, though. At least they’re trying.

 Metal creaks and groans. Being battered. Bending under an onslaught. More clanging sounds boom, the kind made by angry apprehensive vibranium being wielded by angry apprehensive muscles.

 The top of his pit screams and shrieks and breaks open. A metal sheet and half a tree clatter downward; Bucky swears and dives out of the way, and narrowly avoids snapping a reconstructed ankle in the process.

 A whirlwind of heroic passion plunges down through dirt to land beside him. “Bucky!”

 “Oh, hey,” Bucky manages, coughing, through dust and the strange aching sensation in his own chest. Maybe that’s only breathing. Oxygen. Fresh air. “Nice of you to drop in.”

 “Bucky—” Steve’s hands reach for him, but falter; Steve’s eyes are wide and blue and abruptly scared, raking over his body. “Bucky, don’t move, don’t—you’re hurt, you’re bleeding—how bad—” He cuts himself off to shout up, “Throw us a med kit, something, anything, but hurry—” Back to Bucky: “That’s—there’s so much—don’t try to move, Buck, don’t try to get up—your head, your legs—”

 Steve’s hands shake. Steve’s voice shakes. Steve’s face is pale, horrified, trying not to panic. “Don’t look at it, Buck, don’t look down, just look at me, keep looking at me—”

 “ ’M fine.” Bucky pushes himself up. Sees Steve’s expression snap from terrified to uncomprehending. “Really, Steve, I swear. Just kinda bled a lot.”

 “You…” Steve’s hand hovers over his shoulder. “You’re…okay? But—you look…”

 “Head wounds,” Bucky attempts, “they get messy, Steve, you know that.” His hip’s sore because he landed on that; he rubs it gingerly as the soreness drains away.

 The sky’s dark blue, not black, and speckled with stars and ringed with trees, above. Only about an hour, then. Not longer. Just a small amount of time. So small.

 A medical kit and a rope come flying down, and worried Commando faces appear at the rim of the pit. They cheer, seeing Bucky’s wave. Steve waves up too, belatedly.

 “So,” Bucky tries, “want to get out of here? Hey, how’d you know where to look?”

 “I knew you were up on that hill.” Steve’s eyebrows have that tight furrow between them, the one that means he’s trying to work something out. “And then you stopped answering. And when I got there the ground looked wrong. We guessed it was some kind of trap, just had to work out how it opened and where the weak point was. Are you sure you’re—”

 “I’m great, except for the whole bein’ dropped into a pit part.” He starts to get up; Steve dives in to steady him, arm going around him. Bucky doesn’t admit to being grateful for the touch, the anchor, the reality; he doesn’t cry, either, just says, “It’s okay, Stevie, I’m okay, let’s go before Dum Dum decides to throw anything else at us—oh, grab that med kit, we shouldn’t leave it—”

 “Bucky,” Steve starts, but then shakes his head: practicality first, getting them out first. “Come on, here, I got you…”

 They make it out, courtesy of ropes and supersoldier muscles and a shield for leverage. They make it back to their camp, gingerly: Bucky has to reassure everyone that he’s fine, that he’s not hurt, that he’s willing to joke and laugh and take goodnatured ribbing about being a sniper who can’t see a trap under his own feet. He nods and grins and takes steps on his rebuilt feet, which none of them know about, under the stars.

 He jokes along. He laughs. He accepts the teasing.

 Steve stays at his side as they walk. Steve looks at him as if wanting to say something, as if uncertain, as if not knowing how. Bucky’s never known Steve to be afraid of jumping into messy situations before. But Steve is now, because of him.

 He’s not really hungry, even though there’s Morita’s stew. He makes himself eat a few bites, being there, being part of the squad. He listens to a summary of what they’ve found—some equipment, some notes, stuff they’ll send back for study—and nods along. He wants to change; he’s wrapped in a blanket because his clothes are likely unsalvageable. Those don’t appear to be self-healing.

 He’s trying to figure out how to tell them all he’s tired and could use some rest, when Steve’s hand lands on his shoulder, and Steve says, “I know you’re okay, I just kinda think I should make sure, y’know? Want to let me take a look?”

 Bucky’s bones hurt, not physically. He’s exhausted, empty, whittled down to nothing. But it’s Steve, so he says sure, the way he always will if Steve needs reassurance.

 The Howlies, rather surprisingly, only nod and grin and elbow each other but don’t say much. Bucky’s not sure whether they’ve guessed he’s in love with Steve and they just don’t mind, or whether Steve’s impressed them all enough that they’d follow him regardless of anything. They’ve never mentioned a word about him and Steve sharing a tent.

 The firelight brushes his back, as he moves away from the heat.

 In their tent the world’s quiet and lamplit and anxious. Steve’s set out bandages and cloths, but hesitates. “You don’t…need much of this.”

 “No,” Bucky says hastily. “No, Steve, I’m good.”

 “I just…” Steve exhales. His shoulders droop a fraction. The shield’s leaning on his pack, in the corner where he’s set it down. “Can I at least…help clean this up? Some of this…” His fingers touch Bucky’s temple, Bucky’s neck.

 Bucky, who’d sort of forgotten about the head injury, has to remember; and then nods.

 A muscle in Steve’s jaw jumps; but he only finds a cloth and some water, and comes back over. “Tell me if anything hurts, okay?”

 It won’t and it will. Bucky nods again.

 Steve flinches as if the nod’s been a blow, and squares his shoulders. Picks up damp cloth, and touches it to Bucky’s temple.

 Slowly, gradually, under low golden light, the blood washes away. Under Steve’s touch. Cleaned from Bucky’s skin.

 He strips off his jacket and shirt and even pants when Steve asks to see him. He stands laid bare and exposed because Steve’s asked. He glances down and over to the side, where he’s set his torn-up boots. They’ll need stitching.

 Steve’s hand draws back. The water in the bowl’s pinker and grittier now, from red and dirt. “Bucky…”

 “I’m okay,” Bucky promises immediately. “Nothing’s hurting, Stevie, I swear.”

 “Would you tell me if it was?”

 “You asked me to, right?”

 “Yeah, but…” Steve’s eyes do that complicated wince again, some sort of tangle of summer-storm emotion. “Buck…oh, Jesus, Bucky. I can’t—I just can’t—God, I couldn’t find you and I thought—”

 “It’s okay.” Bucky puts both arms around him. “Hey, punk, I’m still here, you came and got me.”

 “How many times…” Steve’s voice cracks. “How many times do I have left? Before someday I can’t—before it’s too much, before you hate me, before I can’t save you enough and I’m not there when you need me—so much blood, Buck, when I saw you, it was—I thought you were—”

 “I know what you thought.” Bucky rubs his back, the way he’d done when they were kids, when Stevie was small enough to hold and fierce enough to punch anyone who wasn’t Bucky for trying it. “I know, Steve. But it wasn’t that, okay? It’s not.”

 “I can’t lose you,” Steve whispers. His face is buried in Bucky’s hair, words landing against Bucky’s ear. “I can’t do this without you. Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone.”

 “I won’t. I never will. I promise, Stevie. You and me, right? To the end of the line.”

 Steve lets out a broken half-sobbing sort of noise and clutches him, and then pulls back to look him square in the eyes, and says, earnest as a vow, “I love you, Bucky.”

 Bucky, shocked, can’t answer. That’s not real. Is it?

 Steve’s expression crumples. Despair tattering all flags and banners. “I love you, and—and sometimes I think—you wouldn’t even be here if not for me, you could’ve gone home, you could’ve been safe…how can you even look at me, Jesus, everything I ask of you…everything, since we were fuckin’ kids, and I know it’s not fair to you, it’s never been fair…just keep hoping maybe if I love you enough it’ll make up for at least some of the shit I’ve dragged you through, but it doesn’t, it never does, it’s not enough, is it.”

 “You…love me,” Bucky repeats.

 “You don’t believe me.”

 “I do. I just—” He can’t think. He presses fingers between his eyes. “Of course I fucking love you, Steve. I’m head over goddamn heels in love with you. I’m sorry, my head’s fucking splitting in half.”

 Steve swears, short and self-castigating. “Shit—sorry—of course you should rest, come here, lie down—you want water, something—”

 “No. But could you…” He breathes in, gathers courage. For himself, for Steve. “Stay with me? So I can touch you? Hold onto me, kinda.”

 “Oh, Buck.” Steve’s voice wobbles. “Yeah, of course—of course I will, I’m here.” And he does: stripping off his own shirt, grabbing a blanket, lying down right there with Bucky, gathering Bucky close, folding their bodies together. “This okay?”

 “Good,” Bucky answers automatically, and then thinks about that answer for a minute. Steve’s large and solid and real. Steve’s imperfect and scared and afraid of not being enough. Bucky’s also imperfect and scared and afraid of not being enough, so maybe they’re on the same page with that one, like a mirror image, sort of.

 Steve’s hands are warm against his skin. Steve’s heartbeat’s fast and concerned and audible where Bucky’s head’s come to settle against his chest. The bed’s uncomfortable in a familiar way, the way they both know. The tent’s hushed, and lamplight’s found its way into every corner, banishing shadows for the moment.

 They’re both here. Whatever else happens, whatever comes, they’re here. They’re not alone.

 He doesn’t want to be alone, to feel alone. He wants Steve here with him.

 He doesn’t mention uncannily healing injuries, or seeing in the dark, or the way he can’t quite find equilibrium, as if something’s shaken out of true, made unrecognizable deep inside. If he’s off-balance Steve can be his balance; if Steve needs an anchor Bucky can be that.

 And they won’t be alone. Right?

 He whispers, “I love you, punk. Just makin’ sure you know.” He’s got an arm around Steve’s waist, where they’re clinging to each other: still mostly dressed and. He tightens the hold. “Not going anywhere.”

 “Good,” Steve mutters into his hair. “Good…so…okay. Okay, I’m not either. You’re here and I’m here and I fucking love you. Jerk. Bucky. Don’t fucking disappear like that, ’cause I can’t—just don’t, all right?”

 “Blame Hydra and their love of dumbass supervillain booby traps. You’ll find me, anyway.”

 “Always,” Steve promises, “always, Buck, I’ll always come for you,” and Bucky holds onto him, holds him, and lets himself listen to the words.

[noroalia]

what r the main brushes you use? share the brush setting please.... also what app do u use if u dont mind me asking

i dont mind! i use paint tool sai, and im thinking of upgrading to SAI 2 sometime in the future. got it when i was 14 or so? between 2017-2020 i also used photoshop, but basically only for schoolwork (i didnt really enjoy drawing it in)

(note that i named most of these when i was like. 14-15, and i still to this day am very bad at naming things)

this is my main lineart brush!! its a bit messy but its very versatile. i find going under 7pix or above 20pix can kinda distort it a little bit (especially under 7pix!), which i find isnt ideal for lineart but it can be good for other things!

this used to be my lineart brush, and i still use it occasionally. it works good for cleaner, more dynanic works, since its a normal round brush and it can change width pretty easily. its also what i use for cellshading!

this is my combo sketch and painting brush. very soft, but doesnt take a lot to build up color with. not great for blending, and it favors the color you have selected, but that makes it good for shading and rough gradients! its what i use to get the pink/red when shading without getting the color too muddy :-]

also an older brush, not getting that much use outside of painting. also rough shading, but its very good for soft but pronounced shadows and if you need to bring in colors !!! i switch between dripdrop and this one a lot

various brushes!!! these are usually only used as details or to add texture or shade with. but fun to use either way!! chalk (2!!!) can be a bit stubborn, and softish is very transparent, but they all have their uses!!!