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theonevoice · 1 year ago

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Two halves of the same being

Ok friends, it had to happen sooner or later: I wrote a thing. I was stuck in a train station yesterday evening and this thing was screaming to be put on paper, so I did it. I wrote it all down directly as a post, over 3-4 hours of total estrangement, therefore I don't even know exactly how long it is, and it is probably encrusted with typos and titanic grammatical errors. It is also written in a language that I don't master at all, and it is my first attempt at narration since - I kid you not - the year of our lord 2006. This is really less then a draft, it's a test-drive of the storytelling side of my hyperfixated brain. If someone feels like skimming it and pointing out mistakes and things that sound wrong, I will be very grateful! Anyway, as far as fanfic genres go, I guess this would qualify as historical-minisode one shot: Aziraphale and Crowley are in Rome in 1509 and get more or less accidentally involved in the creation of a certain Renaissance masterpiece.

November 1509, Rome.

The heavy robe swooshed quietly as a white-blonde bishop entered the chapel door with a satisfied smile, like a man who had just escaped boredom for fun.

A man in a leather apron full of pockets and stained all over was standing at a cluttered table by the wall, staring gloomily at the figures sketched on a large sheet of brownish paper.

- Maestro!

The man raised his curly dark-haired head and pointed a pair of firey eyes on the newcomer. The dark circles around his eyes gave out the strange impression of a feverish man on the verge of collapsing mixed with a feral beast ready to jump at its prey. It was freezing in there, but he was wearing a shirt with sleeves rolled all the way up to his elbows, and his hairy forearms were covered in white dust and paint dribbles. He was a rather short man, but well-built and muscular, and even if the bishop was considerably taller and not thin himself, he felt that he could have easily knocked him down in one move.

- Monsignor Fell, back again...

The man didn't sound pleased, but he didn't sound displeased either. Considered his well-known temper and given the circumstances, his reaction was relatively welcoming. One could have even called it encouraging. After all, noone was ever really at ease in Rome. Especially not in that part of Rome.

- I was eager to see your progress. - Aziraphale said with a honest smile. - I hope I'm not disturbing your work. Please don't mind my presence.

They both instinctively looked up.

The enormous vault of the Sistine Chapel was looming over the empty hall as a giant shield, halfway covered in massive figures. Those bodies looked so real and heavy that they felt like they could plummet any second all the way down to the floor and crash the unfortunate bystanders. It was like a threatening storm of colors and shapes slowly covering the old starry sky.

- Not much progress to see. - Growled Michelangelo, turning back to the sketches and tossing a piece of reddish chalk on the table. - I'm bloody stuck.

Aziraphale moved his eyes across the ceiling, down to the farthest end of the vault, where the golden stars were still dimly shining on a deep blue background, on the two sides of the large ugly crack, now filled with bricks, that had scarred the old affresco when the south wall had shifted. It was a sad spectacle. He had liked the starry sky. It was beautiful.

- Stuck? How do you mean?

Aziraphale forced himself to look away from the ceiling and gently stared at the painter, who had turned his back on him and was angrily standing over his desk with his stained hands on his hips, like a severe father in front of a misbehaving child.

- I mean stuck. - The artist repeated drily, throwing an annoyed look at monsignor Fell. The bishop offered him a sympathetic smile, a strangely maternal smile that seemed to be saying that he took his worries very seriously but at the same time he was sure they were not insurmountable.

Michelangelo sighed forlornly. He didn't like priests, but he didn't mind this one. He curiously seemed very little concerned with church matters and a lot more interested in random things like paintings and statues and choir rehearsals. He had even spotted him more than once in a couple of his favourite osterie, and he meant the good ones, those small half-hidden godforsaken places that only the locals knew, ignored by travellers and definitely not visited by clergymen. And he had seen him sitting there in plain sight, amidst the common people of Rome, as if noone could tell that he was a bishop - and God knew if bishops were a hatred species in the streets of the Holy City. It was truly a miracle that he could just walk in there, eat and drink like he were any carter or boatman, and not end up robbed or stabbed or poisoned. He had even seen Teresina at the Gatto morto pour him the good wine once, the one that the innkeeper kept only for himself and his closest friends. Furthermore, he had a nice eye for drawing: in the past few weeks he had been visiting the chapel almost daily, and had dropped some genuinely good remarks. Some of them even brilliant. He relaxed his shoulders and continued with a softer tone:

- This is not working and I'm not putting this up there, con tutta la fatica che costa.

Aziraphale looked up again, this time at the wooden structure that was stretching upwards like a dark solid cobweb. It took indeed a lot of effort, to climb up there, dragging along the large cartoni with the refined lineart to transfer on the plaster, standing hours and hours arched backwards to paint over your head, seventy feet above the ground, with the colors running down the brush and dripping on your face...

- Do you mind me seeing the sketch?

The painter made a vague gesture to let him approach the table and eyed him with a certain curiosity when the bishop let out a little gasp and a peculiar nostalgic expression settled on his face. It was the sketch for the campata of the Original Sin.

Aziraphale felt a warm mix of emotions filling his chest, not all of which he dared to name. He focused on the drawing. Michelangelo was right: it was wrong, even if he could not imagine how wrong.

In the sketch, Adam and Eve were sitting at the center, under the Tree, Eve reaching up for a fruit, Adam following her movement with a concerned look. On the right half of the piece, in a stretch of desert, the confused shape of an angel was roughly outlined: he was standing all straight and rigid with his sword raised above his head and a threatening finger pointing at the first humans. The left side was mostly filled with a generic looking garden, too lush and too earthly at the same time, and the only other presence was a little, ugly dragon-like creature, with a grotesque charcoal snut, sharp teeth and a biforcated tongue sticking out.

Aziraphale at first didn't pay it much attention, but after a second he suddenly realised what he was looking at and his jaw dropped.

- Is that supposed to be the Serpent of Eden!?

He asked in a high pitched voiced, sounding somewhat scandalised.

Michelangelo frowned and pulled out his most intimidating look.

- What else should it be?

- But that's not how it looked at all!

The bishop exclaimed, entirely unfazed. "Here it comes," thought to himself the painter, letting out a huff of resigned annoyance, "another punctilious catechist who wants me to stick to some stupid half line in the Bible." But, much to his surprise, monsignor Fell did not bring up any biblical reference. He looked vaguely offended and at the same time, for some reason, deeply amused.

- And how did it look? - Michelangelo asked sarcastically, posing like someone who is interrogating an eyewitness. But the bishop didn't seem to get the hint, and instead answered with a focused face, as he were actually about to recount him old memories.

- Well, it looked... - Aziraphale paused, searching the right word. He found himself suddenly assaulted by a number of adjectives that he had not anticipated. - He looked... - his tongue ended up picking one before his mind had time to evaluate the implications - ...seductive.

- Seductive. - Michelangelo looked at him with an incredulous face and his eyebrows were all the way up to his hairline.

Aziraphale stumbled.

- I mean... He- he was the original tempter... - He tried to regroup. His thoughts were strangely tumbling in his head. - You see, in order to be effective in his... tempting, he couldn't have look like an ugly little monster. - Yes, that was reasonable, it was a logical explanation, just a sensible thing that nobody could disagree on. - He had to look... - but then again, Aziraphale felt a sense of warmth of unclear origin raising to his face, and his voice cracked in a weird way, - ...beautiful. Charming. He had to be so, so fascinating, that you couldn't help listening to him, considering his reasons... I mean, the poor, naive humans, that is. They couldn't help...

His voice trailed off mid sentence. Michelangelo was still staring at him with a certain look, but the words of the bishop were not completely absurd.

- And he didn't crawl. That was not what he was. - He finished with a sort of fond determination.

- You make it sound quite impressive, for the one who damned humanity.

- Oh but he didn't mean to! - Once again, Aziraphale ignored the astonished expression on the other's face. A deep, obscure feeling of injustice was tugging at his soul. He didn't mean to have them damned. It was an overreaction. His voiced lowered ever so slightly, sounding somewhat sad. - From his point of view, he was... freeing them. He was giving them a choice, he didn't force them. He was letting the door of their cage open to see what they would do.

- Does the Pope know that you go around spreading this sort of ideas?

- Pah, what should he know.

They both startled as that last sentence echoed in all its outrageous blasphemy on the high walls. They looked around in the empty chapel tucking their heads between their shoulders, like two kids who had just inadvertently laughed out loud during the silent bit of the mass.

A moment of embarassed silence fell in the room. But the words of monsignor Fell had already stirred the painter's imagination.

- Beautiful, you say... - He repeated, almost speaking to himself, squinting at the left corner of his sketch as a different version of the scene started emerging in his mind. - Not crawly...

The chapel door opened suddenly and a very alarmed young seminarist run inside.

- Monsignor Fell! - He cried. - I've been looking for you everywhere! The assembly started half an hour ago.

- Did it indeed?

The bishop replied, looking like someone who knew perfectly well when the assembly was scheduled and had deliberately made sure to miss it. Michelangelo found himself wondering once more where on earth had they found such a singular minister of the church, who was now tenderly smiling at the seminarist, visibly moved to pity by his distressed expression.

- Well then, I suppose I will be coming right away. - He gave one last look at the sketch as he stepped away from the table. - Thank you for your time, maestro. And forgive me for... - He hesitated, as if trying to free himself from some last string of thought that was keeping him tied there. - ...for my suggestions.

The painter watched the white-blonde head disappear beyond the door that the alarmed seminarist closed after them, and all of a sudden the vast chapel felt colder than it was moments before. In the silence he could hear that it was raining outside. He took a deep breath, felt the freezing air filling his lungs and a shiver running down his spine, but his mind was on fire: an entirely new image was coming to life, one that the pope would probably not appreciate, and that was the best part.

He decided to take the rest of the day off to work on his idea and run to the Gatto morto, where he knew that Teresina would free the little corner table near the fireplace for him, with a light good enough to draw and a wine good enough to keep himself inspired.

- Now that is quite the progress since the last time I saw it!

The man had approached him so silently that Michelangelo almost spilled his jug over the new sketches.

- What are you doing here, Antonio? Aren't you supposed to stay away from the city after the ban? Se ti prendono gli svizzeri ti fanno la festa.

- Oh come on! Do you really think anyone would notice me? - The man threw himself on the chair on the opposite side of the table and crossed his long legs, unwrapping himself from his large black cloak.

- Yes, I do. - He replied, expressively pointing at the man he knew by the name of Antonio, all clad in black, with his exotic smoked spectacles and his bright red hair brushing his shoulders.

Crowley raised his glass with a bright white smile, like he had just been complimented.

- I thought you were in Florence.

- I've just come back from a lovely visit to your dear friend.

- He's not my friend.

Crowley's smile grew even wider, and the painter suddenly felt ashamed and annoied. He had spent the last several years convincing everyone including himself that he did not consider Leonardo his rival, that he was perfectly indifferent to his achievements and was not at all vexed by people talking about him, and it had took all of ten seconds to this man to make him snap without even naming the other one.

- He is making some formidable machinery, these days. Oh, and some really masterful portraits. - His irritating grin was unbearable. - You should see them.

Draining all his will power, Michelangelo managed to keep his mouth shut and focused all his attention back on his new sketches.

- I'm busy, what do you want?

- I've come to see your progress! - Antonio said cheerfully, grabbing his drawings before he could stop him. - Quite impressive, indeed...

His expression became imperceptibly more serious as he was examining the small piece of paper where the painter had sketched a new version of the Original Sin campata. Michelangelo knew that he had not liked the first version: months before, he had come to his shop all swagger and cockiness as always, and after seeing the initial sketch of the Eden had left without saying a word and somehow had earned himself a ban from Rome. Not that it had stopped him from coming back on a whim just to mock him with news of Leonardo's incredible machinery, apparently. And after all, the swiss guard really seemed to ignore him to an impossible degree, as he were invisible. Michelangelo had a certain suspect that Antonio was having an affair or more than one with someone inside the Curia, earning the protection of a dame or two. Or a monsignore or two. Or both, whatever. Now he seemed struck by the new version of the scene.

The sketch was nothing more than a bunch of thick lines on a small piece of paper, but you could make out that the Serpent was no longer on the ground, but wrapped around the Tree, had no monstruous features but a human-like torso, and his head was towering higher than all the other characters in the scene.

Michelangelo watched him staring intentely at the drawing, with an unreadable expression on his face, until he put down the piece of paper with a careful movement.

- You're good, good job. - He said, trying to make it sound casual, but with a weird note in his voice.

- I know I'm good. - The painter said, grabbing the drawing angrily. - But this change is throwing off the entire composition. Now I have three characters in the middle and this one over here. - He muttered, pointing all disgruntled at what was supposed to be the Angel of Eden, who was sadly standing alone on the right side of the image like a piece of a column that someone had built there by mistake. A tentative detail of his profile, stern and scowling, was sketched sideways on the margin of the sheet.

- Why did you draw him so angry?

Michelangelo raised his head from his composition puzzle, not quite understanding what Antonio was talking about, until he saw his finger tapping over the profile.

- He's the Angel. - He said with a tone indicating that the implication was obvious. But the man sitting in front of him didn't seem to get the point. - He's the Angel who delivers the fucking wrath of God. He has to look angry!

- No he doesn't!

The painter straightened up in disbelief. What was with everyone that day? Why did every last person in that damn city had opinions on his work, all of a sudden?

- Oh sorry, should I make him all cheerful and smiling?

- Why would he be smiling?

- And what would he be?

Antonio took a second, and then aswered, deadly serious.

- Heartbroken.

- Why heartbroken?

- Because! - Crowley was not sure how to explain it, but he felt outraged at the idea that in all those century mankind had assumed the Angel was angry that day. - Because he was the Angel assigned to guard the garden of Eden, the first living bit of the creation! They left him there alone, to watch over the first humans, didn't give him istructions! Didn't tell him what to expect! And then he blinks and bam! they're damned, out of the garden, off you go struggling and suffering, you and all your kind for the rest of time!

Michelangelo was staring at him in utter surprise. He had known him for the kind of man who never loses his cool, and now here he was, losing it over the Book of Genesis.

- You didn't strike me as a man who would get heated over some biblical minutia.

Crowley leaned foreward, gripping his jug of wine so tightly that the painter could have sworn that he heard the glazed ceramic handle made a worrying crackling noise. The painter felt the instinctive urge to pull back on his chair.

- He was there, you see? Watching it happen, struggling to understand wether he had failed them or it was all part of God's blasting ineffable plan.

- He's the Angel of Eden! He would know the will of God!

- How would he know? - Crowley rebutted, now visibly enraged. - He's just an angel! And God doesn't speak to anyone. He's just an angel, he was there alone, scared to death... - he paused for a moment, like he had been struck by his own words, - scared to death because they were punishing the humans and making him deliver the sentence, but maybe they would punish him as well... for letting the Serpent get in.

He ended the sentence on a broken tone, and immediately after draw a small breath and gulped down his wine, all in one go.

Michelangelo wasn't sure what to make of it. Antonio didn't seem drunk, but that had been a wild rant. And yet, it could be interesting to draw an Angel of Eden that was not, for once, the usual severe messanger of death burning with God's divine rage, but a sad, sorrowful pal who had messed up his job. He thought of the merciful expression of monsignor Fell, earlier that day, when he had looked at the poor seminarist knowing that he had possibly gotten both of them into trouble by skipping the assembly.

Now he was starting to resent his composition, leaving that forlorn Angel out there, all on his own, while the others were grouped together under the Tree, as if they were having a pick nick. The humans and the tempter...

- The poor, naive humans... - he muttered, repeating the bishop's words.

- Well, - Crowley objected, apparently back to his usual composure, but still with an indefinible shadow on his brow, - they were naive only at the beginning. But after they became quite quickly aware of how the world runs.

- Well too bad, it has to be one or the other, I don't have two squares for the Eden scene.

But as he was saying that, a new image clicked in his mind, and he stared down at the piece of paper that he had been torturing for the past several hours, trying to solve his composition issue. The Tree was there, dead-center on the campata, dividing the space in two perfectly symmetrical spaces. The Serpent was already up there, in the branches: he could put the Angel there as well, and make the time flow from left to right, from happy but naive humans to desperate but aware ones, the two emissaries of Good and Evil standing in the middle as the two-faced needle on the scales of human destiny... no, not of Good and Evil, rather of Law and Chaos, of Safety and Freedom.

He raised his head with excitement and looked at the man in front of him. He was now sitting inhumanly still, and somehow Michelangelo could feel his eyes piercing through the smoked spectacles. He froze.

- Oh I know that glare. - Antonio said with a voice that he had never heard him before, a ghostly whisper, almost a hiss coming from another world. - That shine that sometimes burns in the human eyes, a spark from the forge of Creation itself...

Michelangelo felt an icey feeling gripping him from the inside, but he could not look away. He was hypnotised by invisible eyes, and even if the physical body of the man in black was still perfectly motionless, for a moment he believed he could see a different body, in a different shape, slowly swinging side to side with only his head fixed in the same spot, yellow pupils cutting through his soul like sharp knives through warm butter.

He wasn't sure how it had stopped. Next thing he knew, he was staring at Antonio who was looking at his drawings again, absorbed in his thought, with a sort of distant nostalgia in the curve of his mouth.

- I shall go. - Michelangelo said with a husky voice, as if he had been asleep for a long time. But he didn't get up.

- You shall. - Crowley repeated, looking back at him, this time with nothing strange happening. - That was a lot of inspiration to process for a human in just one day.

He launched his lanky body out of the chair with a movement that didn't seem possible, draped himself back in his heavy cloak, gave him a quick last look, and strode away, the light of the fireplace caught in his bright red hair. It was still raining outside, but there was a promise of snow in the air.

July 1510, Rome

The two corner doors of the antechamber opened at the exact same time and two hurrying figures rushed in and stopped just a split second away from running into each other.

For a moment they stood there, staring at each other, locked in place, the hem of the white robe and the flap of the black cloack swirling happily together like two puppies eager to meet again despite their owners.

- Good Lord!

Aziraphale gasped, finally stepping away from Crowley.

- Ah! What in Hell are you doing in here, dressed like that? - The demon snorted with a mocking grin, moving his gaze down Aziraphale's episcopal outfit and back up again, lingering on all the lacy bits with the most overtly suggestive motion he could perform. The short black capelet made a rather dashing contrast with the fair curls.

- I am on a diplomatic assignment. - The angel answered primly, ever so slightly blushing at the base of his neck, looking in turn at Crowley's tight fitting black attire under the cloak, all velvet and metalwork and shiny damasque. And then he lowered his voice and added, in a deliciously indignant tone, - What are you doing in here? We are on consecrated ground!

- Not quite yet. This is only an entryway and you should know damn well that nobody here is saint enough to make a single tile sacred outside the chapel.

Aziraphale tried to hoist an outraged expression, but it was hard to pretend that he didn't actually know damn well Crowley was right.

- Anyway, - the demon continued looking at the door on the other side of the entryway, - I was just passing by to take a look at the famous ceiling.

- It's not completed yet. - Aziraphale pointed out, immediately regretting it. He caught himself thinking that he didn't actually want the demon to leave. Not that he wanted his company, of course. But it would have been unpolite, with him being in the hosting party, so to speak, to send him away like that.

- I know, but I hear the last bit has made quite the impression around here.

- It has indeed! - The angel exclaimed, smiling and muffling his excited voice in a goofy way that made something twitch somewhere in the demon's chest. - The cardinals were utterly scandalised! I was going to take a look myself!

The angel moved to the door of the chapel and opened it cautiously, peeking inside.

- There's noone in there! - He whispered visibly thrilled, like the silliest conspirator who ever lived. Crowley stepped closer, thinking to himself that there was no end to the angel's childlike enjoyment of those little innocent transgressions. Not that he enjoied them too, of course. But it would be unworthy of a demon not to appreciate such evil deeds.

They both peeked out from behind the door. The chapel was empty, pleasantly crisp in contrast with the hot roman summer. A choir of cicadas was relentlessly chirping outside. The wooden structure had moved foreward since the last time Aziraphale had been there. A giant curtain was draped between the already completed campate and the ones still in progress.

Crowley managed to chart himself a path across the room, using the spare planks left on the ground as safe spots, holding his arms out to keep his balance, jumping from one board to the next and taking only a couple of quick steps on the floor when the distance was too great. Aziraphale was observing his movements from the corner of his eye and thought the demon looked like one of those large water birds that you could see flying by the river during winter, so big and yet so light and graceful.

The new part of the ceiling was hidden by the curtain. Without saying a word, they both moved to the ladder on the side of the wooden structure and climbed almost all the way up to the top. A strange expectant silence had fallen between them, and neither of the two wanted to break it. They knew exactly what they were about to see, but for some reason they were both pretending that they didn't, and the higher they climbed, the more they were steering their thoughts away from a certain shared memory that now, all of a sudden, was becoming inexplicably significant. A moment that had always been there, tucked away in their minds, but now seemed too bright to look at, too hot to touch, too heavy to handle.

They finally reached the main platform, the last large surface before the precarious scaffolding that brought the painter in reach of the ceiling, all still cluttered with buckets and rags and dried out palettes.

They stood by each other, breathing in the pungent smell of the paint, and with a synchronized movement looked up.

There it was. There they were. Their first meeting on Earth, as Michelangelo had envisioned it, channeling what the angel and the demon, unbeknownst to each other, had unintentionally lead him to imagine. He had turned the Original Sin into a backdrop, Adam and Eve into little more than extras on scene, leaving the center stage to them.

There it was. Their very first meeting as they, a recalcitrant demon who didn't mean to do anything properly bad and a doubtful angel who couldn't figure out what God wanted him to do. They were emerging from the Tree, the Wily Old Serpent stretching his beautiful androginous torso to the left, no man nor woman but both, passing Eve a fruit; the Angel of the Eastern Gate floating next to him, holding his arm out to the right, a disheartened look on his face as he used his sword not so much to threaten the humans as to direct them toward their earthly new existence.

- Look at you! - The angel smiled, - You're...

But the words died on his lips and he couldn't finish the sentence. Something heavy and mournful was tied to that part of his memory, like an iron anchor holding it under the surface of his conscience.

Aziraphale focused on the affresco, trying to distract himself with shapes and contours and brushstrokes... he felt a sudden burst of heat burning the skin of his face as he was studying the Serpent's coils spiraling up the Tree, and was startled when the demon spoke.

- He did make you sad.

The angel examined his supposed representation.

- I was sad.

- Yes, I remember.

- I felt so bad... so guilty...

Aziraphale felt Crowley's gaze settling on his face and lowered his eyes, feeling slightly overwhelmed.

- Guilty? Why? - The demon asked, with a hint of wonder in his voice.

The angels shrugged, twisting his hands and biting his lips with a tormented expression on his face.

- Because they were being punished, but I was the one who had failed them. - He looked up at the picture, but he was looking past it, rewatching a different scene. - And... and... - His eyes started stinging and watering, the effect of all that fresh paint no doubt, - And... had I spoken up for them...

He suddenly turned to look at Crowley, who was staring at him with his golden eyes wide open.

- They were only being curious... - the angel pleaded, and the effect of that paint was really terrible because an entire teardrop rolled down his cheek as he was speaking. - They only wanted to know things. And I let them be cast out and didn't say anything. - He took a short breath and his voice came out thin as a whisper - How will I be forgiven?

Crowley stood there without breathing, transfixed. His brain was struggling to process the angel's discourse, that pain for the humans, for their fault and their fall, and beyond that another pain, older, deeper, bleeding through his words like ink through thin paper. But the pain on the surface was easier to grasp and the other one was tangled in too many frightful thoughts, so the demon pretended that he had only caught the human part of that lament.

- I was the one who tempted them into that. - He said quietly after a moment of silence that could have lasted a second or a century. He felt like he was slightly suffocating. That paint smell truly was unbearable. It was even making his voice crack. - Do you still hate me?

A shocked expression darkened Aziraphale's face, and something behind his blue eyes seemed to crumble. There had to be a cloud hiding the sun, right in that moment, because up there under the vault the air became suddenly darker and colder.

- I never hated you. - He murmured. And then, with a wounded tone, - How could you think that?

The cloud moved away.

- It was my fault.

- I don't think it was.

They stood in silence again, and their confusion was so deep that a moment later none of them was able to tell anymore who had said "It was my fault" and who had replied "I don't think it was".

- We should get down, this smell is making me hazy. - Said the angel, sniffling.

- Yeah, this was enough church attending for me.

- Would you like... - Aziraphale paused, suddenly interested in a dented tin bucket who was draining all his attention, - Would you like to have lunch? I know a place.

Crowley opened his mouth and closed it again without making any sound, then opened it again and let out a couple of stumbling syllables before finally managing: - Well, I don't suppose that would hurt.

They exchanged a hesitant look and turned their eyes up at the two towering figures in the Garden of Eden one last time.

Michelangelo had given them two identical faces, the identical hair color, a shade that had been mixed somewhere in between a pale blonde and a bright red, and had put them up there, looking in opposite way but close to each other, almost hugging - the right arm of the angel almost around the serpent's waist, the right arm of the serpent almost around the angel's neck - as if they were twins, or lovers, or rather the two heads of the same chimerical creature. Two halves of the same being.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens fanfiction #go fanfic #fanfic draft #good omens fic #through the ages #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens in Rome #bishop Aziraphale #canon according to Furfur's guide

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ailingwriter · 6 months ago

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So a while back, I decided to draw a reference sheet for one of my OCs, for Reasons. And, for related Reasons, I decided to post those sketches here! There are quite a lot so I'll put them under the readmore.

A bit of an explanation, I drew this by drawing each part separately, then drawing them all together in a less precise way to get an idea for proportions. Then I drew them all together again even rougher because I decided I didn't like the color scheme.

Also, the character is robotic. Not a robot, for plot reasons, but she has a robotic/puppet design.

Her head.

The eyes should probably be bigger. I changed that in the full body sketch.

Her hair is made from a bunch of stiff plates. I have no idea how they might work in 3d space at the moment.

Normally, she does not have a mouth. When she does it's because she ripped open her face and is showing her fleshy inside. As i said, she is not a robot.

Her neck is stiff, like a doll's. It connects to a ball joint on her head.

A closer shot on her eyes. It's probably harder to see than is ideal because of the medium and the specific shades I had access to.

I couldn't really show it here, but her eyes are essentially LED displays.

Her body. Lots of detail here, not sure I'll want to keep all of it.

On the left side of her chest is a hole where her heart should be. This is for plot reasons. Also for plot reasons, there are wires that show that something was torn out of this space. It's a bit smaller than I'd like in this drawing.

On the right side of her chest is a pattern that looks like piano keys and ribs. I took this out of the later designs since I felt it made the design look too cluttered.

There is a speaker in her stomach area. This is how she makes sound. Around it is a ring of purple.

Her 'dress' is made up of a series of sharp metal slats that are essentially attached to her body by hinges and move individually. She can control what specific elevation they are at or let them hang loose.

The angularity isn't just me being inexperienced at drawing human torsos, she really is kind of angular.

Her back. Normally it would be colored the same as the rest of her torso, but I didn't bother since by the time I drew this I had changed the color scheme.

I have not decided whether the pattern are holes like on a violin or just markings.

I may want them a bit closer to the spine to get rid of negative space.

Left Arm.

Both of her forearms are disproportionately long.

Hands are hard okay.

On her left arm are a set of violin strings. I may redesign her later to have the bridge be at the elbow instead of near her hand, and to add something to act as the fingers for changing notes. At the moment, the design has the strings jutting out slightly, as opposed to...

Right arm.

The bow to the left arm's violin/viola/cello/what have you. This one sinks into her arm a bit as shown above.

Legs

Yes, her lower legs are swords. Yes the legs are supposed to be symmetrical even though I'm just now realizing they aren't.

Normally the hips are hidden under the skirt.

Proportion full body sketch.

I messed up the coloring on the skirt, but that's okay! I changed the color scheme later on. The joys of working with pencil and paper...

You can only see it here, but the neck connects to a largeish ball joint in the torso. This is a minor design element that I may change though.

I changed the size of her eyes and the hole in her chest here. The eyes are good but now I think the hole is too big.

As I said, the hips and lower legs are not visible through the skirt, I just drew them to give an idea of where they are. Even so I think I might move it up a bit?

I ended up removing the piano key ribs and am leaving that area blank for now. I forgot to color that area in though.

Hands are HARD.

Color scheme. I think this is a better color scheme. So not use the proportions though. These aren't the actual colors btw, just what I could draw with what I had on hand. The actual colors are more along the lines of the following hexcodes:

Black: 191919

White/light Gray: D5D4D4

Purple: 76209D

Brown: 422B23

#my ocs #my art #art reference #art

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necktongueteeth · 1 month ago

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“They're all fertilizing daffodils, lads.”

Rex stumbled- catching himself by leaning a hand on the tree next to him. He was gasping for air, chest heaving with wheezes. In the distance he could hear the party he’d left behind. The bass still thumping in his ears and the thrum of the people vibrating the ground he stood on.

He’d run away, why? Why did I leave? His friends were probably looking for him, though the longer he thought about it the faster their faces faded from his memory.

Copper, Damen, Reece, Tip. Conner, Damen, Reece, Tip. Copper, Damen….Reece…

Who else?

Rex collapsed on the ground. Why did he even come out tonight? This was supposed to be his last night anyway. He thought of the three pill bottles he’d left on his nightstand. He thought of the women's care razors in his drawer. He thought of the possessions he’d given away, he was in too deep now. So why the fuck did i come out tonight. When Reece called him he was turning in his overdue calculus assignment, it was funny to him that one of the last things he did was turn in homework. Maybe that's why he agreed when Reece said she’d pick him up at 8, he didn't want his calculus teacher to have his last words.

Do I actually care?

Tears were falling from Rex's eyes. He only realized because one fell on his ankle, sliding down to the frozen ground. He took a deep breath. This is fucking ridiculous. After all this you can't be crying on the forest ground in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

Rex pulled himself up, which was regrettably more difficult than he’d anticipated. He was undoubtedly drunk, if memory serves him correctly he’d thrown up all over Tip while Reece held his hair back. He was going to puke anyway but Tip had just happened to walk in front of him, trying to steal his phone back from Damen. He was trying to stop Tip from texting his ex or something.

Finally upright, Rex leaned on a tree. Trying to keep the spot from his eyes. He sniffled, wiping his face, when there was a sound. Rex froze, it was weird. It didn't sound like a person, it didn't have the weight a person usually has. He would say maybe it's a child but even children have a sort of clutter to them. This sound was light, fast, frantic.

It happened again, Rex snapped his head toward the sound.

That's not a person.

Rex pushed himself off the tree, every hair on his body was standing up. What the fuck was he looking at. It was thin, tall even when hunched over. It looked to be made of pure shadow. The edges of it licked off it and blended with its surroundings, so it looked to be moving side to side in smooth motions. It was humanoid, it had arms, scrunched up to its chest. And legs, bent at weird angles like a deer that had been hit. Its head was flicking side to side, its ears hanging low by its head and horns standing proud and branching. But the thing Rex couldn't take his eyes off of were the Things eyes- glowing white and shifting like a storm. There were no pupils, nothing to indicate there were eyes at all, but Rex knew it was looking at him. It saw him.

Rex stood frozen. The thing shook its head and huffed, never taking its eyes off of Rex. Then, there was a crack somewhere out in the woods. Both the Thing and Rex froze. Then it took off, darting in blurry zig zags into the darkness. Rex shook his head, trying to clear it like an etch-a-sketch. his vision was blurring and his stomach twisted. God he felt awful. He laughed to himself, What the fuck kind of psycheledics did Tip give me- christ. Before he could convince himself that wasn't real the crack sounded again. Closer this time. And before Rex could be reasonable at all, the panic seeped into him and he began sprinting away from the sound. In the same direction of the Thing. The wind whistled in his ears, the air stinging his eyes as he tripped and stumbled and jumped. At some point he realized he could probably stop running, he was probably close enough to civilization that he could retrace his steps and find the party. He could go back and drink another seltzer and talk Tip out of ruining his life. But his heartbeat thumping in his ears was pumping a new sort of life into him. The wind in his ears started to sound more like voices and he could feel what could either be trees or beings running next to him. He was just starting to get into the groove, instead of stumbling along he was running with purpose, vaulting over logs and ducking branches and taking turns like he was home.

Then he fell, tumbled forward. He’d caught a foot on something. He rolled into a field, landing on his back. He scrambled to a sitting position, looking back where he came from, seeing shadowy visions darting back toward the trees and hearing the voices that he thought was the wind, giggling. They had the same uncertain finish around the edges as the Thing did.

Rex was panting, mouth wide open as he stared at the woods. Then he flopped back, his back hitting the grass harshly. He stared up at the sky. There were stars, real stars, not planes he could convince himself were stars.

Rex started laughing, uncontrollable laughter. He didn't even know why. Maybe it was the sheer ridiculousness of his situation, or the fact that his friends are looking for him and he’s laying in the grass, maybe it’s the fact that he felt lighter than air. But more likely it's because he is laying in the grass, looking at actual stars, feeling life pump through his veins along with his blood. He continued laughing, the moon seemed to glow brighter, the plants bend toward him, the birds screeching with him, the wind picking up, the voices returning, howling with him. As his laughter wound down, the world around him stilled. He sat up. He could have sat there forever, he could have let the roots take hold of him and pull him into the ground. He felt like god, he felt bigger than god. He felt so significant the only truth could be that he was insignificant. He was so inevitable that all he could do was die, he could die and not have it change a speck of dust in this clearing, it wouldn't make a single blade of grass grow differently. He could die and it could crush everyone. Copper, Damen, Reece, Tip. But it wouldnt change the way the clouds blew or the makeup of the dirt or the way the stars stared down at him. And this fact made him light up. There is never purpose.

Rex laced his fingers in the dirt, content to stay here, when there was another snap. The same light, almost human, delicate snap there was before. Rex didn't turn. He knew the Thing was behind him. Only when he heard It coming closer did he turn his head. Keeping his fingers buried in the dirt. It was standing over him, tall and imposing and gentle. From this close up Rex could see sharp teeth, pushing between lips that didn't seem to be there. The body of the Thing was made of shifting shadow, it looked like if Rex tried to touch it his hand wouldn't make contact with anything but still get lost. It was swirling and blurred lines and vaguely humanoid. But that didn't mean anything. All Rex was focussing on was Its eyes. The Thing hadn't looked away from Rex the whole time.

It was like they were locked in a silent understanding. This Thing, this creature, saw him. It saw him for his teeth and his blood, his red matter and instincts, nothing more. This Thing saw Rex as an animal, because really that's all he was. Nature astray. Rex smiled. Standing up, the Thing backed up, bending over as if scared. Rex slowed his movements, Bending down to the Things level and extending a hand. They stepped toward eachother, the Thing quietly assessed Rex, examining him. Rex thought for a moment he should be scared, this thing was wild, had teeth, maybe its not too late to go back for that seltzer. He scoffed at that thought. No way he could go back. The thing reached out, unfurling arms longer than they'd looked and thin, crooked fingers. The hand slowly reached toward his own. Making contact was like nothing on earth, The thing wrapped its fingers around Rex’s wrist and suddenly he could feel everything. The blood going through his heart and into the veins into his hand, the grass brushing against the hairs on his legs. He could feel the touch of his arm through the Things fingers. It had turned his hand upward, and, creening down, gently laid its head on Rex’s palm. Rex inhaled deeply, he felt the air go through his lungs.

Then he began to change. His skin became transparent and shadowy. His eyes widened and he could see every color he could never imagine. He became outside himself. It was like leaving a world where everything mattered and entering a world where nothing exists. It seemed Rex finally looked as dead as he felt. A massive weight lifted off broken shoulders. The Thing lifted its head from Rex’s outstretched palm and darted away. It seemed to vanish under the moonlight before it reached the tree line. Rex took off in the opposite direction, where he'd originally come from. He sprinted and leapt. He could hear the voices with unreal quality now. They could no longer be mistaken for the wind. They were discordant voices, singing in keys that don't match and melodies that don't rhyme, the chaos could have been ear grating, but Rex joined them, and it sounded like beautiful music.

Me made it back to where he'd first stumbled into the woods, where he’d collapsed on the ground, where he’d first seen the Thing. And there he remained. Rex’s body lay on the ground, curled over, cold, blue, stiff. as dead as he could have been.

He smiled, standing over his own body.

If that was being alive, Im glad i killed myself.

#original character #short story #pls reblog #give feedback #first draft #tw depressing thoughts #tw death #tw spooky #vent writing #🦷

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fmp2mt · 2 years ago

Photo

Planning-

Redoing the Villain:

I had originally made the villain for this project in a previous planning, development and finalization, however, I had realized that it was unforfitting of this work, which had such a strong start, that I had to restart it from scratch to make him how I want him. For this piece, I am going to start from scratch, allowing me to rectify my past mistakes with them, such as using a better and more compatible colour pallet, a more sustainable pose for the character and to also redesign his clothing to be far less ugly.

I am doing this near the tail end of the project as I was uncertain if I would have enough time to fully finalize this idea in the lacking time I had left, but with one week left and near all admin work done, I’m striving to accomplish this work to attain a better and deserved grade in a moment of valour.

I am going to use Photoshop in the production of this image, taking a more freehand approach to this, drawing the pose till I make it feel substantial yet achievable, where I will start to try and see its dimensions through smaller, simpler shapes before adding more and more detail, caking it up till it become human, hopefully.

After this, I will go on to outlining the major strokes till a cleaner linework emerges, witch will later allow me to easily invert the selection, allowing for easier colouring by quickly and efficiently applying a base coat to the piece.

I am also wishing to make a simpler background for him, making it all art deco instead of only having a detailed border and a simple background, cluttering up less of the screen and making it easier to read.

Development:

So far, I have made a simple sketch of the character and have simplified it into cylinders to make perspective easier on myself, I also have made the background witch has probably became my most interesting art deco piece, with a flurry of diverse shapes while keeping consistent line thickness and looking visually appealing, with a more detailed planet hovering in its centre. By itself, this background could be handed off as something more, but that is not my main objective right now,

I have decided that I am going to go for pinks, purple and blues for my colour scheme as they are analogous colours, following on from one another to become appealing to the eyes. I am also going to use gradients again like in older projects, to show light getting stronger and weaker, by having a darker colour start the gradient before dissolving into a brighter saturation, leading to a cute and simple fade effect, giving the piece more depth.

I was going to introduce a third aspect to this piece, that being a small selection of grasping hands, reaching up towards Arron, who in this piece is statuette, standing tall and monolithic in front of them, however I have decided to scrap these for time and also due to how finicky they could get to draw, knowing my track record with off hands. However it would have been nice to see them, perhaps if I have even more extra time I will be able to add them and see how they turn out.

So far, this piece is turning leagues better than its previous incarnation due to simpler and more refined planning and more understandable pose, yet I still wish to incorporate foreshortening into this piece to make it more interesting, I am hoping that it turns out better like the rest of it has.

One last thing, I am going to further use shadows, I believe a major reason for the previous pieces failure was the lack of strong shadow, leaving the colours to be separate entities where shadow could have help unified them under one banner if they were either bigger or more apparent in darkness. I hope this will help lead to a better piece.

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meruz · 4 years ago

Text

once again i am answering asks in a big compilation post. included is... gotham, patrick stump, tips about drawing backgrounds, tips about drawing in general, links to my faq, and infinity train

like.... the tv series? No... I’ve drawn dc comics fanart before, though. But it’s been years since I’ve been really into it. I like jumped ship like 10 years ago when the New 52 happened LOL.

AFJHDSLKGH I’m sorry I (probably) won’t do it again??

Actually full disclosure I have a truly cringe amount of p stump drawings/photo studies in my sketchbook right now LOL. He’s just fun to draw... hats, glasses, guitar, a good shape... but I don’t think I’ll rly post those until I can hide them in another big sketchbook pdf.. probably Jan 2022. Stay tuned........ (ominous)

(ominous preview)

These are all sort of related to backgrounds/painting so I grouped them together even though they’re pretty much entirely separate questions.... ANYWAYS

a) How is it working as a BG artist? Is it hard? What show are you drawing for?

I think you’re the first person to ever ask me about my job! Being a background artist is great. It’s definitely labor intensive but I think that could describe pretty much any art job (If something were rote or easy to automate, you wouldn’t hire an artist to do it) and I hesitate to say whether its harder or easier than any other role in the animation pipeline. Plus, so much of what truly makes a job difficult varies from one production to the next, schedule, working environment, co-workers etc. But I will say that I think while BGs are generally a lot of work on the upfront, I think they’re subject to less scrutiny/revisions than something like character/props/effects design and you don’t have to pitch them to a room like boards. So I guess it’s good if you don’t like to talk to people? LOL

A lot of my previous projects + the show I’ve worked on the longest aren’t public yet so I can’t talk about em (but I assure you if/when the news does break I won’t shut up about it). But I’m currently working on Archer Season 12 LOL. I’m like 90% sure I’m allowed to say that.

b) ~~~THANK YOU!! ~~~

c) What exactly do you like to draw most [in a background]?

@kaitomiury Lots of stuff! I really like to draw clutter! Because it’s a great opportunity for environmental storytelling and also you can be kind of messy with it because the sheer mass will supersede any details LOL.

I like to draw clouds... I like to draw grass but not trees lol,,, I like to draw anything that sells perspective really easily like tiled floors and ceilings, shelves, lamp posts on a street etc.

d) Do you have any tips on how to paint (observational)?

god there’s so much to say. painting is really a whole ass discipline like someone can paint their whole life and still discover new things about it. I guess if you’re really just starting out my best advice is that habit is more important than product. especially with traditional plein air painting, I find that the procedure of going outside and setting up your paints is almost harder than the actual painting. There’s a lot of artists who say “I want to do plein air sometime!!” and then never actually get around to doing it. A lot of people just end up working from google streetview or photos on their computer.

But going outside to paint is a really good challenge because it forces you to make and commit to lighting and composition decisions really quickly. And to work through your mistakes instead of against them via undo button.

My last tip is to check out James Gurney’s youtube channel because hes probably the best and most consistent resource on observational painting out there rn. There’s lots other artists doing the same thing (off the top of my head I know a lot of the Warrior Painters group has people regularly posting plein air stuff and lightbox expo had a Jesse Schmidt lecture abt it last year) but Gurney’s probably the most prolific poster and one of the best at explaining the more technical stuff - his books are great too.

e) Do you have tips for drawing cleanly on heavypaint?

@marigoldfool UMM LOL I LIKE ONLY USE THE FILL TOOL so maybe use the fill tool? Fill and rectangle are good for edge control as opposed to the rest of the heavy paint tools which can get sort of muddles. And also I use a stylus so maybe if you’re using your finger, find a stylus that works with your device instead. That’s all I’ve got, frankly I don’t think my drawings are particularly clean lol.

f) Tips on improving backgrounds/scenes making them more dynamic practicing etc?

Ive given some tips about backgrounds/scenes before so I’m not gonna re-tread those but here’s another thing that might be helpful...

I think a good way to approach backgrounds is to think of the specific story or even mood you want to convey with the background first. Thinking “I just need to put something behind this character” is going to lead you to drawing like... a green screen tourist photo backdrop. But if you think “I need this bg to make the characters feel small” or “I need this bg to make the world feel colorful” then it gives you requirements and cues to work off of.

If I know a character needs to feel overwhelmed and small, then I know I need to create environment elements that will cage them in and corner them. If a character needs to feel triumphant/on top of the world then I know I need to let the environment open up around them. etc. If I know my focal point/ where I want to draw attention, I can build the background around that.

Also, backgrounds like figure compositions will have focal points of their own and you can draw attention to it/ the relationship the characters have with the bg element via scale or directionality or color, any number of cues. I think of it almost as a second/third character in a scene.

Not every composition is gonna have something so obvious like this but it helps me to think about these because then the characters feel connected and integrated with the environment.

Some more general art questions

a) Do you have any process/tips to start drawing character/bodies/heads?

I tried to kind of draw something to answer this but honestly this is difficult for me to answer because I don’t think I’m that great at drawing characters LOL. Ok, I think I have two tips.

1) flip your canvas often. A lot about what makes human bodies look correct and believable is symmetry and balance. Even if someone has asymmetrical features, the body will often pull and push in a way to counterbalance it. we often have inherent biases to one side or another like dominant hands dominant eyes etc. you know how right-handed artists will often favor drawing characters facing 45 degrees facing (the artist’s) left? that’s part of it. so viewing your drawing flipped even just to evaluate it helps compensate for that bias and makes you more aware of balance.

2) draw the whole figure often. I feel like a lot of beginner artists (myself included for a long time) defer to just drawing headshots or busts because it’s easier, you dont have to think about posing limbs etc. But drawing a full body allows you to better gauge proportion, perspective, body language, everything that makes a character look believable and grounded.

Like if you (me) have that issue where you draw the head too big and then have to resize it to fit the proportions of the rest of the body, it’s probably because you (I) drew the head first and are treating the body as an afterthought/attachment. Sketching out the whole figure first or even just quick drawing guides for it will help you think of it more holistically. I learned this figure drawing in charcoal at art school LOL.

oh. third mini tip - try to draw people from life often! its the best study. if you can get into a figure drawing/nude drawing class EVEN BETTER and if you have a local college/art space/museum that hosts those for free TREASURE IT AND TAKE ADVANTAGE OF IT, that’s a huge boon that a lot of artists (me again) wish they had. though if youre not so lucky and youre sitting in a park trying to creeper draw people and they keep moving.. don’t let that stop you! that’s good practice because it’s forcing you to work fast to get the important stuff down LOL. its a challenge!

b) I’ve been pretty out of energy and have had no inspiration to draw but I have the desire to. Any advice?

Dude, take a walk or something.... Or a nap? Low energy is going to effect everything else so you gotta hit that problem at its source.

If you’re looking for inspiration though, I’d recommend stuff like watching a movie, reading a book, playing video games etc. Fill up your idea bank with content and then give yourself time/space to gestate it into new concepts. Sometimes looking at other art works but sometimes it can work against you because it’s too close.

Also something that helps me is remembering that art doesn’t always have to be groundbreaking... like it’s okay to make something shitty and stupid that you don’t post online and only show to your friend. That’s all part of the process imo. If you want to hit a home run you gotta warm up first, right? Sports.

I should probably compile everytime i give tips on stuff like this but that’s getting dangerously close to being a social media artist who makes stupid boiled down art tutorials for clout which is the last thing i want to be... the thing I want to stress is that art is a whole visual language and there are widely agreed upon rules and customs but they exist in large part to be broken. Like there's an infinite number of ways to reach an infinite number of solutions and that’s actually what makes it really cool and personal for both the artist and the viewer. So when you make work you like or you find someone else’s work you like, take a step back and ask yourself what about it speaks for you, what about it works for you, what makes it effective, how to recreate that effect and how to break that effect completely, etc. And have a good time with it or else what’s the point.

for the first 2, I direct you to my FAQ

For the last one, I don’t actually believe I’ve ever addressed artwork as insp for stories/rp but I’ll say here and now yeah go ahead! As long as you’re not making profit or taking credit for my work then I’m normally ok with it. Especially anything thats private and purely recreational, that’s generally 100% green light go. I only ask that if you post it anywhere public that you please credit me.

(and I reserve the right to ask you to take it down if I see it and don’t approve of it’s use but I think that case is pretty rare.)

a) @lemuelzero101 Thank you!!! I haven’t played Life is Strange but actually that series’ vis dev artist Edouard Caplain is one of my bigger art inspirations lately so that’s a really high compliment lol. And yeah I hope we get 5-8 too...!

b) Thank you for sticking around! I’ve been thinking about Digimon and Infinity Train in tandem lately, actually. They’re a little similar? Enter a dangerous alternate world and have wacky adventures with monsters/inanimate objects that have weird powers... there’s like weird engineers and mechanisms behind the scenes... also frontier literally starts with them getting on a train. Anyways if anyone else followed me for digimon... maybe you’d like Infinity Train? LOL

c) @king-wens-king I’M GLAD MY ART JUST HAS PINOY VIBES LOL I hope you are having a good day too :^)

a, b, c, d) yessss my Watch Infinity Train agenda is working....

e) aw thank you!! i think you should watch infinity train :)

#ask #trying this new thing where i tag people in the body of the post instead

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the-lunar-library · 2 years ago

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How I Spent Years Figuring Out My Book's Cover

I don't have any experience in advertising, and my digital art skills are limited, and every article on self-publishing urges you not to do your own cover, and probably they are right. But I did my own cover, and I thought I'd share some of the process. The figuring out how it should look part, not the technical part.

For a long time, I just practiced playing around with images. These weren't finished products by any means.

This image from early 2019 was one of my favorites. It's supposed to represent my protagonist Yew, reflecting on her ruined village and, by extension, some of her choices. The set up is straightforward – tragic woman gradating into a creepy graveyard. I felt it looked very similar to other covers I'd seen, which is both a good and a bad thing. A cover should clue you in to the tone and genre, so having set symbols and moods is helpful. On the other hand, you don't want your book to look like a million other people's.

Silent-film-era actress Mary Astor is standing in for Yew. The painting is by Caspar David Friedrich. To the best of my knowledge, both images are in the public domain.

For a while, I played with collages. (Pretty much all the stock photos/art is from Pixabay, which I found to be extremely helpful.) I liked the way these gothic windows formed frames, and I wanted to include both protagonists, Eider and Yew. This never made it fully into a test cover, but I did a few versions of this image, both with just photos and also including original art.

(Please admire my stock photo Iron Stag with his candle-antlers. I worked hard affixing each little flame to each little tine.)

The background I used here (Image Source: Freestock.com) is unromantically called “Plastic Chunks” in my files.

I also really like the ceiling paintings of Jules-Edmond-Charles Lachaise, so I experimented using one as a frame.

Above is a Yew cover, and below is an Eider cover.

I can't remember where I picked the asset(s?) for this background, but I suspect it was also Freestock.

I eventually decided on having both heroines front and center, each paired with an antler from one of the two mysterious stags in the story. This focal point would be a hand-drawn piece of art with less obtrusive public domain stock stuff framing it. I wanted the picture to be intricate, feel fairy-taleish, and include different elements from the story – a snake, a diary, flowers, mirror shards, a pear, seeds, antlers, and a hand mirror.

My first sketch had the basic idea down, but it was very long and skinny and with the title as part of the drawing it felt too tattoo-y to me. Though, looking closely, I see I included Pete the mule's head (upside down, just under the word “magic”), and it's sad he didn't make the final cut.

So I made the image more of a circle and worked really hard until I was proud of it.

From there, I just had to decide on which assets to use and what colors to go for. I really liked the combination of dark desaturated reds and blues in this one, along with the very gothic doily frame. However, it also felt somewhat cluttered, maybe a better design for a poster than something that was going to have text on top of it.

There's also a lot I like about this one, the cold colors, the blending of ice and aged iron. (The original title for the novel was The Iron Claws.) But again, that border felt like it would be fighting with any text thrown over it.

I was also concerned whether the central image would look too small and muddled in thumbnail, so I did this very stripped down version. I wasn't a big fan of it, but it's interesting.

(By the way, you may have noticed that none of these share the actual dimensions of my real book cover. I hadn't even done the page layout yet at this point, and this was all very much in the testing stage.)

As it turned out, I was on the right track with the earlier gothic doily cover. Aside from the hand-drawn image, I ended up going with different assets, most notably a smaller frame, deeper colors, and additional borders along the sides. (This image also isn't in the proper scale.) I did this cover over and over again, making little adjustments until I was satisfied.

What do you think? Did I make the right call?

Here’s info on the book itself: THE PRICE AND PREY OF MAGIC

#fairy tale #indieauthor #writers on tumblr #writeblr #fantasy #book design #yew bosse #eider isarna #iron stag #the price and prey of magic #long post

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hopelesshawks · 3 years ago

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Ash and Dust Part 24- Peace

18+ Dabi x fem!reader (MINORS DNI)

Summary: You first meet Dabi on the worst night of your life after unwittingly walking into the very bar the League of Villains made infamous. That should probably be the end of the story. You stumble on the remnants of one of the most infamous terrorist groups in the history of Japan, get viciously murdered or call the cops and get them arrested, the end. Except that’s not the end of the story. It’s only the beginning.

Link to change (y/n) to your actual name (not mobile compatible)

Masterlist KoFi (Help Lulu <;3)

Everything is quiet and still beneath the waves.

The water is the perfect temperature, a hair or two above freezing just the way Touya likes it. His thoughts and apprehensions feel a lot more manageable when he’s suspended in the water this way, eyes closed as he focuses on the way the unrelenting iciness of the ocean leeches away the heat from his body.

Eventually his lungs demand he get air so he kicks up until his head breaks free of the water’s surface. Instinctively his eyes go to the beach and he finds you there waving him over, his towel thrown over your shoulder. He chuckles to himself, swimming over towards you until the water is shallow enough he can stand and walk the rest of the way. As he approaches he realizes you’re covered in paint, a familiar sight since he turned one of the many rooms in the house into a new art studio for you. He makes note of each color that stains your skin, the way he always does, noting blacks, blues, whites, and violets cover your hands and bandaged arms. A few smudges have even managed to get on your cheeks and it makes something fond well in his chest.

“Thought I still had a minute,” he says, accepting his towel as you pass it to him and moving to dry himself off.

“You do, just wanted to show you something first. C’mon,” you tell him, barely able to suppress the grin on your face as you lead him back towards the house.

He allows you to pull him, toweling himself off along the way as you go through the back door of the house and over to the other side where your studio awaits. Right before entering you turn to him, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Ok, close your eyes,” you command giddily.

“Why?” Dabi shoots back, brow arched.

You roll your eyes, although your smile doesn’t dim for even a moment.

“Just do it, will you? What I wanna show you is a surprise!”

“If this was all a long con to kill me in your studio for the art I’ll be both proud and disappointed.”

You roll your eyes again at his teasing.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Always, Doll.”

“Then shut the fuck up and close your eyes.”

He chuckles but complies, his eyes shutting as you pull him forward and into your studio. You’re so careful when you guide him, making sure he doesn’t bump into anything in the cluttered space. Once you both have crossed the room you tell him exactly where to stand, using your hands to position him properly before finally stepping away and announcing he can open his eyes.

He opens his eyes and practically stops breathing. Sure, he was expecting to see your latest painting but he wasn’t expecting this.

It’s him, suspended like he just was in the ocean only minutes earlier but in a sea of stars instead. His hair is white, just like it is now, and violet flames curl around his body in thin ribbons, illuminating the outline of his skin and clothes. You haven’t shied away from painting his scars, putting excruciating detail into each inch and he bets if he counted the staples, he’d find you’d painted in exactly as many as he actually has. It’s surreal. He knows you’ve been putting in a lot of hours in the studio to work on a piece, spent days making sketch after sketch until you finally had found it perfect, never letting him see the work. It’s staggering to realize he had been the subject of all that time and effort. He can’t help but step forward, fingers reaching out to graze the dried paint. You don’t even flinch, even though you know from experience that his touch could ruin all your hard work in an instant. Instead when he turns to you the only thing he finds is eager excitement.

Dabi remembers back when you’d accidentally walked in on him in the bath, the way he’d wondered how your skin would be stained if you’d spent all day painting him instead of his little brother. Now he got to know and standing there with a bright, proud grin stretched across your face, covered in his colors, he thinks he’s never seen a more beautiful sight.

“Do you like it?” you ask eagerly.

“I love it,” he breathes, closing the distance between you both so he can wrap you in his arms.

“I–“

Love you. He still can’t say the words. Every time he tries they feel odd and foreign on his tongue. His lips still refuse to form them even though it’s been months since he got you back. It doesn’t matter though, because your patience with him on things like this is apparently endless, smile softening as you squeeze him tightly.

“I really love it,” he tells you instead, knowing you’ll be able to translate the words.

“I love you too,” you reply, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips that he happily returns.

You may have stayed that way for hours, exchanging slow, languid kisses in the comfort of your studio, but the sound of the doorbell echoing through the house disrupts the moment. Dabi groans but you just chuckle, extricating yourself from his grip before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Time’s up, baby. I’ll let them in while you change,” you offer.

“Can’t we just cancel? I’d rather stay right here,” he groans, hand reaching out to grasp your waist and pull you back to him as he sits down on your artist chair.

“We are not cancelling when they literally are at the door right now and drove all this way,” you chide.

“You sure? Because I’m pretty sure as hosts we can.”

You roll your eyes, unwrapping the bandages from your arms now that you’re no longer working with paint. You’d learned very early on that cleaning paint out of your burns was a nightmare. It’s Touya’s sign you’re serious about not being rude. He resigns himself to giving in even before you rest your hands on his cheeks and give him That Look you always give him before convincing him to do something he dreads that’s ultimately for the best.

“I know it’s a lot and you’re worried, but Natsu says Rei and Fuyumi are super excited. This will be good,” you assure him.

“I’m not worried,” he scoffs, eyes rolling although you know him too well to be fooled.

“You are and that’s ok,” you press a kiss to his forehead before tugging him back onto his feet, “now go get changed while I answer the door.”

Touya would be lying if he said he didn’t take a little bit longer than strictly necessary to change into proper clothes. While Natsuo and Shouto had become regular fixtures in your and his life, this would be his first time speaking with his mother and sister since running away all those years ago. They’re the last bridges he needs to repair before he can really wrap his head around potentially being a Todoroki again, but you’ve been fairly confident that doing so would help with his ongoing identity crisis.

He pauses when he gets to the top of the stairs, watching from a distance the scene unfolding in the foyer. It’s more joy than the house has ever seen previously. You and what remains of his family all chat and laugh together, your smile so bright he swears it’s even illuminating where he is at the top of the stairs. You don’t shy away from the burns on your arms or act ashamed of them. It’s like you don’t even notice them anymore. He watches you fit so naturally in with his family and as you turn to look over your shoulder, reaching out and somehow beaming even brighter when you notice him at the top of the stairs, he knows you’ll help him fit back in too. If and only if that’s what he wants.

It’s certainly not perfect.

Toga is still in the wind. He still hasn’t found a solution for using his quirk without burning himself (after all, he hadn’t had a reason to bother looking for one until you walked into his life). He’s not 100% certain that he’ll be able to connect with Rei and Fuyumi the way he has slowly been learning to with his brothers.

Heck, he’s still not even sure whether he’s Dabi, Touya, or some combination of the two.

But as he descends the stairs to join you and you immediately slot yourself against him without missing a beat, letting him wrap an arm around your shoulders as your own settles around his waist, he knows he’s sure of one thing.

He’ll always have you by his side.

And at the end of the day, that’s all he needs.

A/N: I’m literally in shock that I’ve finished this series. It ended up so much longer than I thought it would be but I’m very happy with how it turned out. I actually didn’t like Dabi all that much before writing this series. Like I always thought he was a really interesting character but, like Dabi at the start of this fic, I wasn’t positive the canon version of him could fall in love. Now he’ll always have a special place in my heart. Thank all of you who have stuck with me through this entire series. I cannot thank you enough

Taglist: @thechroniclesofawriter @simpsfortodoroki @ahtsuwu @002opdestiny @larkspyrr @oikawaandkuroostan @tina-98 @vibesdontlie @clubfairy @oddball215 @myfavoriteficsandsuch @h0wab0utw3d0ntd0that @alyssa6marie @bleuchichiriq

#hopelessad #dabi x fem!reader #dabi x y/n #dabi x reader #touya todoroki x fem!reader #touya todoroki x y/n #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki #bnha dabi

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bitch-for-bo · 4 years ago

Text

His Destined Miracle (Asahi Azumane x Chubby Reader) (omegaverse)

POST timeskip

Asahi had been in love with you practically since the first time he saw you. He'd find himself taking walks around the office just to catch sight of your beautiful face and sunny, warm demeanor. He always wanted to approach you, but he'd never had the courage. All he could do was hope that he encountered a miracle. Going into a rut during a day that office was NOT a miracle to Asahi. In fact, it was one of his worst nightmares, but when you show up on his doorstep, looking like an angel from heaven, he realizes that miracles come in all different ways... and that you were his destined miracle.

ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS ALLOWED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Hey Y/N can you run these copies to the boss’s office, I have to go to the bathroom or I think I might die!!” One of your over-dramatic coworkers asked as they practically threw a stack of papers at you. They were shifting back and forth, their knees knocked as they hopped around in a little bathroom ‘dance’

“Yeah, it’s no biggie.” You replied, giggling quietly to yourself as they hobbled/ran quickly towards the restrooms.

You looked down at the stack of papers in your hands, admiring the brilliant pieces of art on each page. The boss would be very happy with these. Of course, if he was unhappy with them, he wouldn’t tell anyone, the boss was the type who if he didn’t like what he saw, he would improve it and then deny all credit. Some in the office called him a pushover, but you thought that it was sweet that he did that.

You stood from your cubicle and began to walk to the bosses office, it was on the other side of the floor but you had already been planning on getting up to stretch your legs out soon anyway, so it had worked out.

You strolled through the office, not in any particular rush to get to the boss’s office. You greeted people that you passed, you knew everyone on your floor by name and you knew at least one fact about them, if they had pets or kids, what their hobbies were. You did this so that you’d never run into someone and not be able to ask them a question about their personal life, this ‘technique’ is what had made you so popular around the office, every time you would talk to someone, they would walk away with a smile on their face.

Your naturally sunny demeanor had always been your redeeming trait. When you were young, kids would mercilessly bully you. The names they would call you, ‘fatty’ or ‘ugly cow’ along with the treatment you received for being an omega was enough to tear a young you apart. You had started being overly nice to people to make up for all of your shortcomings, you found that if you were constantly sucking up to them and making them feel better about themselves, they wouldn’t hurt you.

Unfortunately, this had led to you not only being incredibly insecure with very low self-esteem, but also a doormat for people to walk all over. You were always doing people favors, getting them coffees, paying for their snacks at vending machines, even doing their work for them. Your friends would tell you to stick up for yourselves, they would even tell people off if they treated you poorly in front of them. They had begun to practically beg you to start saying no to people, but you didn’t mind being a bit of a push-over. After all, you still thought of yourself as a worthless, fat, omega cow that couldn’t do anything right and if you could be useful to someone, even if it meant staying an extra hour to file their paperwork for them, it was worth it.

You frowned at the memories as you walked, catching sight of yourself in the large windows that overlooked the beautiful city outside. You winced. Even though your friends were constantly telling you that you were beautiful inside and out, it was still hard to look at yourself in the mirror. All of the traumatic events of your childhood had really affected you. It was almost impossible for you to look at yourself and not despise the person you saw.

You arrived at the boss’s office, giving a light knock on the closed door.

“Come in please.” You heard the soft voice call from inside. You twisted the knob, opened the door, and entered the room, gasping at the sight before you.

Hundreds of designs were strewn across the floor, tacked to the walls, and pulled up on the computer monitor, and in the middle of it all sat a six-foot-two alpha who was currently smiling shyly up at you, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment of the mess.

“Hel-”

He stopped, his eyes wide as they stared at you. Clearly, you weren’t the person he’d been expecting. He stared at you for a solid five seconds, saying nothing as his eyes were frozen on you, making you feel extremely self-conscious and a little hot under the collar.

You cleared your throat, snapping him out of his daze.

“Excuse me.” You said. As soon as you’d spoken the boss had got up onto his knees and looked around as if wondering how he would get to you without ruining his designs.

“Sorry about the mess.” He mumbled, a large blush blooming on his cheeks as he scrambled up and towards you, trying (and failing) to avoid stepping on the designs.

“Please! Don’t apologize!” You stumbled, matching his anxious energy as your face adopted a blush of its own. “I just came to give these to you!” You squeaked, your arms holding out the designs as your gaze locked on the cluttered floor.

“Oh.” The large male said gently, his shoulders relaxing. “Thank you.” He said, more confidently this time. He’d noticed that you were emitting a strongly anxious scent, and something about it must’ve scared him and made him think that he was scaring you.

“Your welcome.” You practically whispered, your eyes not daring to meet his, “Have a good day.” You rushed out before rushed back out of the room, letting the door almost slam behind you.

‘Dammit!’ you thought, mentally slapping yourself. You couldn’t believe you’d made such a fool out of yourself. You just couldn’t help it, the boss was super intimidating. Plus he was an alpha.

Being an alpha meant that, since you were an omega, you had a natural urge to submit to him, it also meant that he was incredibly intimidating, borderline scary.

Usually, it didn’t matter that you were an omega. You took scent and heat suppressants to control your natural omega tendencies. The suppressors made it to where no wolf could smell you and you couldn’t smell any wolf. People could smell the basics on you, fear, happiness, sadness, they just couldn’t smell your natural scent, the scent that gave you away as an omega. The suppressants also kept you from smelling other wolves and ‘losing control’ of your own scent as a reaction. This all meant that even if you encountered betas and alphas in your daily activities, they wouldn’t know you were an omega and you wouldn’t be able to smell their natural scents either.

The only exception to this was when an alpha was in a rut, when they were rutting their noses were strengthened tenfold and they could sniff you out in an instant., but thankfully, society had progressed to the point that ruts were an excused absence from your job. Another time that the suppressants weren’t at their full potency was during your heat. Yes, it suppressed almost all of your scent, but depending on the strength of your heats, some would still leak out. Thankfully, heats were also excusable by employers. Luckily you’d never had to leave work for heat, you’d always been able to track it and take off plenty early so you could lock yourself in your apartment and suffer through it, and you’d also been lucky enough to never encounter a rutting alpha.

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

Asahi Azumane, aka the boss, was still standing in front of his closed door. He stared at the closed door, the designs he’d been given loosely clutched in his hands.

‘Dammit!’ he thought. He couldn't believe how he’d reacted. How embarrassing!

Ever since the newest member of the floor had begun working at the studio as a financial advisor, Asahi had been incredibly infatuated. Even though he’d never held a conversation with her due to his busy schedule, he never failed to notice the way she lit up the office. Everyone liked her and got along with her. Sometimes he’d overhear people talking about her, or sometimes he’d even overhear her talking to someone, she always seemed so warm and kind that Asahi couldn’t help but be a little jealous that he’d never received the honor of ever talking to her.

When she had been the one to open the door to his office, he’d been practically incapacitated. As soon as his eyes had hit her body he’d forgotten how to talk.

As a designer he couldn’t help but admire the classy style of her outfit, the warm red-orange turtleneck tucked into a pair of brown and tan flared slacks paired with black platform boots. It took all of his willpower not to pull out a pencil and sketch it for inspiration.

And as a man, he couldn’t help but admire how the outfit fit your body perfectly. The way that it hugged your form, complementing and accentuating the curves of your figure. It was enough to take his breath away and make the alpha in him roar with the need to claim and protect such a precious sight.

Unfortunately for Asahi, as soon as the encounter with the angel began, it ended. He was beating himself up for not saying something, for not inviting you to dinner, for only staring like a lovestruck loser.

‘She probably thinks I’m a total loser...or even worse a pervert!’ he thought glumly. He sulked back over to his designs, frustrated at himself for not being bold enough to call after the beautiful girl and ask for her number.

‘Then again,’ he thought, ‘Y/N is way too out of my league, she’d reject me in a heartbeat. Or even worse! She’d say yes out of pity!’

As he continued to work on his designs, the thought of the angel that had visited him was clouding his mind, making work impossible. He just couldn’t seem to forget the shape of her lips as she spoke or the way that the perfect outfit laid on her perfect body....her perfect hips….her perfect breasts.

“Fuck” he grunted quietly, shifting uncomfortably as he realized that he’d thought himself straight into having an erection.

‘I just couldn’t help it. She’s so beautiful.’ he thought.

He tried to struggle through his… problem, but it seemed that the more he tried to ignore it, the more it persisted. It was actually to the point that he was sitting in the middle of his office, red-faced and panting with a painfully obvious tent in his pants.

“What the fuck is happening?” He grunted, feeling his canines start to lengthen and his claws emerge. Could he be going into rut already? He wasn’t due for at least another week!

Was it seeing Y/N that made him go into rut early? How? Y/N wasn’t his mate….right? No. He would’ve known if she was his mate by her scent. He had no recollection of ever smelling her, was she on suppressants, was there a chance that she could be his mate?

‘Yep.’ Asahi thought as another wave of heat and desire burst through his body, ‘I’ve started my rut early…. I need to get out of here…. Need to go home.’

He practically crawled to his desk, grasping desperately for his phone so he could call the receptionist and ask her to remove all of the females on the floor from the building. The last thing that he needed or wanted was to set off any omega’s heat by accident.

“Hello, Mr. Azumane. Is everything alright?” The receptionist asked, surprised at the call seeing as Asahi rarely called, opting to physically walk to the desk and ask. He thought that it was more polite this way, plus it gave him a chance to catch a glimpse of Y/N at her desk.

“I need all of the women on the floor to temporarily evacuate, I’ve gone into a rut.”

The receptionist on the other end, that was used to dealing with Asahi’s over-anxious personality, just laughed.

“That’s incredibly unnecessary sir. I’m sure everything will be fine if you just leave out of the back stairs, you could even leave out of the fire escape if you’re that nervous.”

Asahi sighed and nodded. It was true that he’d be wasting everyone’s time if he asked for an evacuation. It wasn’t that big of a deal.

“Ok……” he said warily. “I’ll try.”

“Great!” The receptionist replied, “I’ll make sure to get someone to bring your work to your house tomorrow so you can continue to work from home.”

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

“Right here is good. Thank you.” You said, getting out of the cab and paying the driver. YOu glanced up at the tall apartment complex as the car drove away, leaving you to fend for yourself.

You thought back to what had happened not even an hour earlier. Yui at the front desk had asked you if you would be willing to take the boss some work. She said that he was sick at home and wanted to continue to work from there. Being the people pleaser that you are, you said that it was no problem and that was how you’d wound up standing in front of Asahi Azumane’s apartment complex with a thick file full of designs and a large container of soup.

You walked into the lobby before buzzing into Asahi’s apartment. Clearly, he’d been expecting someone to come with his work seeing as he buzzed you up almost immediately.

You entered and took the elevator to his floor, the floor third from the top. When the doors opened, you were met with a small entryway that led to a single door.

“A penthouse?” you mumbled to yourself. You couldn’t be super surprised, after all, he was the boss of your floor and probably made a very comfortable salary. Still, the building hadn’t looked small from the outside, and if Asahi had a whole floor to himself that meant that his flat was at least 4,000 square feet big. You knocked on the door.

It opened.

You automatically gasped.

The scent of sandalwood and rosemary hit you like a brick wall, forcing you to stagger back on your feet.

‘Oh, shit’ you thought, ‘they told me he was sick! Not that he was in a rut!’

You began to panic in the split second that the door had been opened. You wanted to run away, but seeing as Asahi was much stronger and faster than you, you knew that you wouldn’t stand a chance.

Maybe it wasn’t a strong enough rut to enable him to smell through your suppressants? No. There was no way it was a weak rut, not when Asahi was such a powerful alpha.

In your state of panic, you failed to notice two things. The first being the fact that your wolf was screaming something at you, and the second being the large alpha, looming over you in the doorway.

Asahi’s body was heaving with heavy breath. His claws were contracted and his canines were piercing through his bottom lip, causing the taste of blood to hit his tongue as he stared at the beautiful omega in the doorway to his apartment.

‘I didn’t know Y/N was an omega’

‘Why is she here?’

‘Can she smell that I’m in rut?’

Were all questions running through the alpha’s brain, but the most important thing running through his brain was the single word that his inner wolf was practically screaming at him.

Asahi looked down at you, causing a violent shiver to wreck through your spine. You whimpered, feeling yourself grow wet with desire. His lips curled back before letting out the most deafening growl ever. A growl so loud, you were confident that people down on the sidewalks had heard.

“Mine.”

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, you gasped and suddenly the voice of your inner wolf was crystal clear. ‘Mate!’ it was howling happily. Your eyes widened as the realization hit you like a ton of bricks. Asahi was your bond mate? YOUR BOSS WAS YOUR BOND MATE!

It made you want to faint out of surprise as well as anxiety. You considered if you could make a run for it, despite already knowing it was impossible. You were glancing at your surroundings when you finally remembered that Asahi, your mate, was still standing in front of you.

You looked at his tall frame in awe, your desire growing as you practically drooled over the sheer size of the alpha. He was huge, his broad shoulders, his built chest, and if you were to take a guess, you’d say that he was huge under the belt too.

You were so distracted ogling his body that you didn’t notice the way that his claws were digging into the flesh of his palms and how his canines had pierced his bottom lip hard enough to cause a small trickle of blood down his chin.

“Azumane! You gasped, setting the papers and soup on the floor in the hall before automatically stepping forward and grazing his hands with your own, careful to avoid the razor-sharp claws.

“No.” He grunted, trying to pull his hands out of your grasp. He feared if you stayed much longer he would do something out of his control, something unforgivable. “Please…..I don’t want to hurt you.”

You could see the pain and genuine fear in his eyes. You felt your heart fill with sadness and love at the same time. You couldn’t believe how much you’d been blessed. You had been given Azumane as a mate…. A man who was gentle and kind and was always so thoughtful of others. This was the man that you were destined to spend the rest of your life with.

Suddenly all of the fears and insecurities of not being good enough for people melted away from you. As your arms left Asahi’s hands to wrap gently around his neck, tears of happiness began to run down your face.

How could you have been so stupid? All of this time happiness and love had been right down the hall from you. You had deprived yourself of a partner to laugh with, to love, all because you felt inferior to others.

“You won’t hurt me.” You whispered, one of your hands nudging his face down closer to yours. “I trust you Azumane.”

Your lips were so close to his that you could feel his slightly labored breathing. His eyes were so close that you could seemingly see into his soul. You tried to tell him with your eyes just how hopelessly in love with him you already were.

Somehow, he must’ve felt it, because soon he was sighing into a soft kiss as one of his strong hands moved to hold your head as the other glided down your body to rest on your hip.

“Asahi….” he breathed, disconnecting your lips to look into your eyes.

“Huh?” you asked, slightly dazed from the passion of the short kiss.

“Call me Asahi, my love.” He said before once again joining your mouths in another heartfelt kiss, pulling your body flush against his own strong frame.

You moaned into the embrace, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck as he carefully swept you up off of the ground and began to carry you into his bedroom.

It all seemed like a whirlwind to you, but you couldn’t imagine it any other way. This was your soulmate…. Your other half.

Asahi’s body was alight with desire as well as he felt the effects of his rut in full force. He couldn’t believe how incredibly lucky he was to receive you as his mate. You…. the girl that he’d been admiring from afar, the one that, dare he say, he was already madly in love with. You couldn’t wait to spend eternity with you in his arms. When he held you, he felt like the strongest man in the world.

“Is this okay? I don’t want to force you. I’m in rut so I want you to be 100 percent sure that this is YOU wanting me, not your hormones.” Asahi whispered as he set you down on the edge of his bed.

There was no doubt in your mind that this was what you wanted. You didn’t care that he was in rut, you knew that the lust you were feeling barely had anything to do with your omega nature. You wanted him. You wanted him so bad that it made you want to cry.

“Asahi,” You whimpered, falling back onto his bed and staring up at him with a maddening blush on your cheeks. “I want you to claim me…”

“My love….” he growled before lunging back down at you, his lips attaching to your jaw with a renewed feverish manner.

“Asahi!” you gasped as his large hands roamed your body, his long fingers dancing across your hips that had been exposed as the blouse you were wearing was torn off of you, the buttons flying across the room.

He chuckled at your surprise before resuming his onslaught of love onto your body, his lips seeking out your breasts as his hands began to work at your slacks and then at his own clothes.

As soon as you were both fully nude, he leaned back, leaving reality to dawn on you as you realized that you weren’t actually fully over your insecurities. Your hands flew up to cover your face and stomach in embarrassment, you didn’t want Asahi to see you under such bright lights.

“I-I’m sorry I jus-” You whispered in shame, your eyes locking on a wall in his bedroom as you tried to explain.

“Let me see you.” He demanded, interrupting your pathetic stuttering with his strong hands clasping around your wrists and pulling them above your head. Your eyes closed tightly in humiliation.

Asahi’s eyes hungrily drank in your body. Every curve and arch was precious to him. He was practically drooling at how soft you felt under his hard body, how pliant you would be to his will.

“Beautiful,” he murmured to himself. Making your blush darken.

He brought his head down to your chest, his tongue piking out of his mouth and leaving a hot trail between your breasts. You moaned at the feeling of the appendage dancing its way down and across your stomach, down to your hips, until finally, Asahi’s head rested between your thighs.

His hands splayed out against the smooth flesh, admiring how soft they were in his grip. He could smell your arousal, turning him on that much more as he watched slick drip out of your hole and onto the meat of your upper thighs.

“One day.” He mumbled, half to himself and half for you to hear, “I will fuck these gorgeous thighs.” He said before swooping in and kissing the upper region of your legs. Biting and sucking dark spots into the sensitive skin.

“Asahi!” Was all you could manage to cry as his hands and mouth wreaked pleasurable havoc on your mind and body. You wanted him so badly. You could feel your cunt fluttering with need as slick dripped out of it, leaving a large damp spot on Asahi’s bedsheets.

“What do you want my love?” He asked, his eyes looking up from his position from in between your thighs to meet yours. You were suddenly overwhelmed at the sight of so much affection and adoration that laid in the dark brown pools.

“I want you Asahi….” you cried, panting as he quickly climbed up your body, lining himself up with you.

Both of you were hot and ready. The feeling and scent of desire clouding the room and leaving you both in a state of reckless lust. Nothing in that moment mattered but you and him.

Asahi connected your mouths once again as he pressed into you, his cock stretching your walls further than anyone had ever stretched them before. It felt so good…. so incredibly good.

“Asahi….” you gasped as he seated himself fully inside of you, the indescribable feeling of fullness making your body shake. “Please... Give me your cock.” A low growl ripped through his chest as his restraint finally snapped and his rut took over his mind and body. His hips began to snap in and out of your body at an almost lethal pace, leaving you writhing and gasping for air as you felt his primal instincts taking over.

“Yes!” you cried, your nails driving themselves across his upper back in a pathetic attempt to keep you rooted to this world. If the sheer size of his dick wasn’t enough to split you in two, it was the lightning-fast pace that his hips were thrusting into your body at, hitting all of the deepest areas of you, making you want to scream in pleasure.

As his cock drug in and out of you, rubbing against your walls so good that it took all of your breath away, you felt the tip of his cock but against your g-spot.

“Aah! Asahi!” You screamed, your walls clenching around him as stars painted your vision in pleasure. You couldn’t believe just how good he filled you up, how he reached every single place within you, drawing out the lewdest sounds, filling the rooms with your moans and cries as his cock pounded into you.

“You’re so beautiful” He gasped as you clenched around him, he was practically rapid with pleasure. He was slamming into you as his newfound goal in life was to please you, sucking on your neck as his hands roamed and gripped your body.

You could tell that since Asahi was in rut, his end was approaching much faster than it normally would and you would be lying if you said that you weren’t on the brink of orgasm as well. Apparently, Asahi had realized the same thing and was positioning himself to where he was hitting your sweet spot with every thrust, determined to make you fall apart first.

“Asahi!” You gasped, tears running down your face as your hands gripped his strong shoulders. “Asahi, I’m gonna come….”

“Yes, my love….” He grunted, picking up his pace impossibly more before bringing his fingers down to circle your clit. He could feel you getting closer and closer with the way that you sucked him back in with each thrust. “You take me so well.”

“Yes. Only you Asahi! You fuck me so good!” You babbled, your hips circling quickly in a sad attempt to keep up with the delicious feeling of his cock inside of you. You could feel the elastic of your orgasm pulling tight in your lower stomach. You knew that Asahi wouldn’t let himself come before you.

“Please….” you begged, teary eyes staring into Asahi’s lustful ones. “Please let me cum..”

“Yes my love.” he panted out, his thrusts becoming sloppier as he felt his own end rising. “Cum for me…” He said, his lips once again joining yours as your body was thrown off of the cliff into a sea of pleasure. You cried into his kiss, your body arching off of the bed as it shook with the overwhelming force of your orgasm. You swore that you temporarily went blind with the impact.

“I’m gonna come…..” Asahi breathed against your lips.

“Please…..come inside of me.” You begged, your legs wrapping around his hips and trapping his body against yours as his hips began to stutter and his cock burst inside of you, filling you with his hot seed.

“Fuuuuckkkk.” he groaned, pitching his head back as every fiber of his benign burned in the glory of his high. He continued to lazily thrust into you, bringing you both through your peaks.

As soon as you had been able to gain your breath again, he pulled you, leaving you incredibly empty. You whined at the loss.

“I need to take care of you.” He chuckled, climbing off of the bed to retrieve a towel from his bathroom to clean your body with. He kissed and massaged you as he gently wiped all of the cum mixed with slick off of your thighs, his face burning red at the lewd evidence of your lustful activities. You giggled as his docile, shy nature slowly returned, barely being able to make eye contact with you.

As soon as he was finished, he let you pull him back down onto the bed, despite both of you still being naked and sweaty. You closed your eyes, you knew that his rut would flare up again and you wanted to catch a quick nap before the second round.

Asahi just stared at your face as you drifted off to rest. You looked like an angel to him...so pure and beautiful. He knew then that he would always protect you, even if that meant laying down his own life. You were now his reason to live, you were his muse…..

You were his.

#haikyuu x chubby reader #haikyuu smut #asahi #haikyuuxreader #haikyuu 18+#asahi x reader

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ranhaitanisgf · 4 years ago

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;; 𝖆𝖑𝖇𝖊𝖉𝖔

otherwise read as: you’re a stressed out bitch and albedo is worried

❧ masterlist

Being an assistant to the Acting Grandmaster of Monstadt is no easy task. It was your job to make sure that Jean wouldn't get overworked again, and to keep her in tip-top shape.

When the job was offered up to you, you immediately accepted; Jean was a close friend of yours, and it hurt you to see her so stressed out every day while still tending to the everyday tasks of helping the citizens of Monstadt. You were willing to take on her mountains of work to give her a break, because Barbatos knows she deserves it. [perhaps he does-]

"Are you sure about this (Y/N)? It's a lot to get through, surely I can at least help somewhat-" You rolled your eyes at her, shooting her a playful smile.

"Jean! It's finee, I got this! You just go take a break, maybe go out for lunch with Lisa? I'm sure she would be more than happy to oblige!" You winked at her, laughing at her slightly flushed face

"Well, if you're sure, then I will be taking my leave. But please let me know if you need me to come back at any moment, and I will be sure to come and help." You turned her around by her shoulders, marching her out of her office and leading her to the doorway of the library.

"Now! Go and take a break! Go on a date and romance that-"

"(Y/N)!!" You giggled at her reddening state.

"Alright, alright...LISA!! JEAN'S HERE AND SHE HAS SOMETHING TO ASK!!" You called. You saluted to Jean, who was looking at you with panicked eyes.

"(Y/N)!!"

You raced back to her office, quickly grabbing the piles of paperwork and list of commissions to do today and sprinting down the steps into the basement of the headquarters. [idk where the lab is so bear with me here]

"(Y/N)!! Get back here!!" You could hear Jean yell in the distance.

As your assistant, it is my duty to help you with your future, and that includes matchmaking. You'll forgive me when you have a girlfriend.

"Albedo!! Door!!" You yelled out into the hallway. Sure enough, just as you were about to run into the door, it opened, letting you inside before closing swiftly behind you.

Panting, you heaved the piles of paperwork onto a nearby cluttered table, accidentally knocking over a few oddities.

"I was about to visit you, but it seems you visited me first." He chuckled.

Ahhh, cute!!

"Do you mind if I do this work in here? I wouldn't want someone to walk in looking for Jean and just find me lurking about." Albedo nodded, and you sighed, sitting down in a nearby chair and rolling your neck in preparation for the time that would be needed for the mountain of paperwork in front of you.

"Did you give Jean another break today?" Albedo asked softly.

"Yup! As her trusty assistant, I gave her a date as well!" He chuckled at this, wrapping his arms loosely around you from behind and resting his chin on your head.

"And I presume that's why you ran in here full speed?" An amused tone filled his voice, and you could imagine the playful smirk on his lips.

"Yup! Now, to get this work done!" You thought that once you started, Albedo would go and work on his experiments and whatnot, but to your surprise, he stayed behind you, watching as you filled out forms and whatnot for Jean.

"Albedo?" It had been almost half an hour, and while you not were displeased that he had stayed, you were a bit confused as to why.

"Ah...nevermind." Yeah, you weren't about to risk him leaving.

After a while, he got off and moved to the chair beside you, reaching to the main table in the middle of the room and grabbing his sketchbook and a pencil. He started sketching something on the paper, and you tried to lean over to see, but he angled himself back. You frowned, pouting as you laid your head on the table, continuing to sign papers.

"(Y/N), are you almost finished?"

"Not nearly, why?" Albedo let out a long sigh, not responding to your question. You brushed it off, not thinking much of his response.

Several hours passed by, and you were almost done with the paperwork. Albedo had stayed in the lab the entire time, sketching for a majority of the time, using the time he wasn't sketching to briefly tidy up a bit.

"(Y/N), are you done yet?" He asked, shutting his sketchbook and placing it on the table.

"Almost done, I probably need like another hour. I have no idea how Jean did this all by herself before..." Your head rested in the palm of your hand, your eyebrows furrowed as you thought of how exhausted Jean must have been, especially with the Fatui in the city, as well as the Stormterror threat that had happened a few months back.

If only I had noticed sooner...

Your pen paused against the parchment as you thought of your actions in the past.

"How about you finish the rest tomorrow (Y/N), and we can maybe grab some dinner and go home?" Albedo's hand gently grabbed the pen out of yours, setting it down on the table.

"No no, I should finish it now. It has to get done at some point; besides, I'm doing this for Jean. I told her it would get done, so it's going to get done." You picked the pen back up and continued on with doing the work, rapidly scribbling across the parchment as your eyes scanned over the document.

A frown appeared on Albedo's face. You hadn't told him, but he knew you felt guilty for not noticing Jean's fatigued and stressed self before. You didn't really notice it, but you were always working just as hard as Jean, just in a different way. On top of being Jean's assistant and taking on her work, you were always helping people around Monstadt with little errands, doing extra commissions on top of the ones assigned, attending to emergencies in Monstadt, Dragonspine, and Liyue, and so on.

He was getting worried about you; he didn't want you to end up fatigued like Jean was before. The only problem was that you were quite stubborn and didn't like to listen to other people when it came to your well-being. you always said that you would take a break if you weren't feeling well, but Albedo saw right through that lie.

"(Y/N), please. I'm worried about you." You looked up at him for a moment, your eyebrows furrowed in a confused look.

"Why are you worried about me? I'm fine Albedo, really." He merely sighed in response, his gloved fingers reaching out to gently brush your darkening eyebags. You looked to the side, groaning

"You're reminding me of Jean when she kept overworking herself; she said the same thing to me. I don't want to see that happen to you (Y/N). It's not healthy to keep taking on all of the work, so please just come and rest. Do it for me?" You could see a glint of sadness and desperation in his eyes, and you nervously looked down at the documents before looking back to him.

There isn't too much, so I might be able to get the rest done tomorrow...

"Ahh, okay then, you've convinced me. Let's go." You stood up from the chair, stretching out before stacking up the papers before you left.

As you walked out of the lab with Albedo, he discarded his gloves and put them in his pocket, and laced your fingers together, enjoying the feeling of warmth from your hand. the two of you made your way to Good Hunter, quickly grabbing some food before heading home.

It was late at night, which meant that the stars were out and shining in their full glory. the moonlight poured out, spilling onto the streets with a milky glow.

"Albedo, thanks..." He looked towards you to find a most amazing sight indeed.

You shyly looked away, a red tint coloring your cheeks. As he looked at you, you slowly made eye contact with him, giving him a small smile.

His unoccupied hand shot up to cover to lower half of his face as he looked away; he could feel the intense flushing of his cheeks at the cute look you had sent him.

"Ah, it was my pleasure..."

Cute...

#albedo #albedo x reader #xreader #x reader #reader #readerinsert #oneshot #fanfic #albedo kreideprinz #albedo kreideprinz x reader #albedo kreideprinz x reader oneshot #;; hana writes genshin

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broadwayandnetflix · 4 years ago

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Slow Down - Bill Hader x Reader

Warnings: Language

Theme: Fluff + 1/4 of Angst

Summary: Hi I’ve literally been binging all of your fics and I didn’t know if you were still taking requests, but I was wondering if I could request an imagine with Bill Hader where the reader is sick and passes out at SNL and Bill helps them and takes them home

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: Ahh thank you so much for your patience @bduchrnskei I really hope you enjoy this fic and it met your prompt expectations. I absolutely loved writing this one amongst all of my evil schoolwork, but what can you do?

Living in a small-sized New York City apartment was not all that it’s cracked up to be. Whether it’s the heavy traffic and clutter of construction that never halts or the extreme temperatures during any season.

In this case, in particular, winter.

Or, more specifically, in this case, your heater broke, and it had become like an iceberg within your apartment space. As stated by your landlord, the repairmen were supposed to come on Saturday night, and as of right now, it was Thursday.

So bundling up had to do, in a way, you kind of missed the heater’s incessant rattling, as it had become a sort of a white noise these last few months.

You hadn’t been in New York City for very long, a little under a year, maybe? It wasn’t like you to pack up and move randomly to the Big Apple, but after clearing a spot as a new cast member with Saturday Night Live. It was most certainly a must.

Ever since you were little, you’d always had a knack for making others laugh or just getting to see someone smile. Saturday Night Live became your goal, and to secure it was like winning a million dollars. Even if it meant having to endure New York’s extreme seasonal changes.

This week was no different in the typical workflow; you were technically a new cast member. So the number of sketches you had been in was significantly limited. Still, you loved it nonetheless, with the lack of skits that you had been in lately allowed you to get to know your cast members more.

Specifically, your other recurring cast members like Nasim Pedrad and Jenny Slate, the three of you would often meet up for coffee on Sundays. Taking the time to decompress and discuss your favorite sketches of the week. It was nice to have a group of people you could relate to and find solace in, especially when the weeks became stressful or exhausting.

And oh boy, did your week’s become exhausting, especially on Saturdays. You shuddered at the thought of dress rehearsal as it stretched late into the night; losing sleep was worth the excitement.

You looked at the clock, it was nearing close to four in the morning, and you still had been awake at this point. Maybe it was the cold or the thousands of thoughts swirling through your mind, much like the snow accumulating outside.

Work was gonna be a bitch tomorrow.

You sneezed at the thought, sighed, and made sure to set your alarm before letting sleep take over.

You awoke with a headache and a blaring alarm that was erupting from your phone. Groaning, you shut the phone off and tried to ignore the incessant pain protruding from your forehead.

Swallowing some painkillers, you got dressed, grabbed your keys, and headed to work. Totally not picking up a coffee and a breakfast sandwich on the way.

“Why good morning Y/N!” Jenny chirped as you walked into the room, still rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“You sound oddly chipper, what happened?” you said as you put down your stuff, eyeing her curiously.

“She got some sleep, that’s what happened.” Nasim replied, nursing a cup of coffee in her hands, giving you a sleepy smile.

“Lucky duck,” you murmured, instinctively reaching for your coffee as well. It coated your throat nicely, you sighed in content.

Jenny only smirked before starting up another conversation with Nasim; you let your eyes wander across the room. Everyone in motion, working hard to make sure shit got done. That’s the thing about working at 30 Rock; no one ever really stopped moving.

One thing that you still had not gotten used to was Monday’s. The grueling and exhausting twenty-four hour stretch period of planning and concocting up sketches. It was a scary feeling, as if you could ever compare to everyone else.

Every now and then, a pitch you threw into the ball pit would get picked, the tiny butterflies in your stomach reminding you why you did what you did.

Your eyes landed on a particular figure as he strolled into the room. His hair beautifully tousled, eyes half-open, and shirt resting ever so comfortably upon his chest. You diverted your eyes quickly, only to feel yourself begin to sneeze.

Fuck, for the love of all that’s holy, please do not sneeze in front of Hader.... too late.

He looked up, meeting your widened eyes, and gave you a soft smile. It lingered for a bit until Andy swept up from behind and hugged him along by the arm. For a second, you could’ve sworn he was gonna look back, but Andy had appeared to say something.

“Bless you!” Nasim and Jenny said in unison.

You mouthed thanks and leaned back against the wall, replaying the scene over and over again.

“Thinking about Hader again?” Jenny asked, following your line of sight, as she nudged you in the side playfully.

“Jenny! Not too loud, he might hear you.” you frantically whispered, a stern look aglow in your eyes.

“Oh honey, it’s so obvious.” Nasim chimed in, Jenny nodding eagerly in response.

“Plus he’s too far away, you’re more than safe Y/N, I think it’s cute that you like him. All the more reason to make fun of you.” Jenny says quickly before she is shoved by Nasim.

“I’m joking! I’m joking! Okay maybe not fully joking.” Jenny yelps, giving you a wicked grin.

You groaned, rubbing your hands over your eyes in embarrassment. It was so bad, crushing on cast members, but man, was he handsome. Although you had denied it, a lot of your favorite sketches from the past weeks always seemed to involve Hader.

It was not like it was gonna go anywhere; you two barely spoke, and plus you’d probably be a mess if you did. Every now and then, though, you’d often find Hader sitting beside you at table reads. His laugh is always so goddamn infectious, and Jenny and Nasim eyeing you playfully like schoolgirls.

God, you were a mess, and it seemed like everyone knew it. Maybe even Hader knew; let’s hope he doesn’t.

“You know Y/N, I’ve never seen Hader as shy as he is when he’s around you. I mean the man literally sniffed my hair yesterday,” you quirk a brow, “But- but with you, he’s soft” Nasim’s voice crowds your thoughts, and you instantly look up to meet her in disbelief.

“Bullshit.” you retort, trying to ignore whatever attempt she was trying to make.

“Girl, you’ve kind of got a point. He’s not as jokey as he usually is whenever he’s around you Y/N.” Jenny adds, only to be interrupted by Lorne calling for a meeting.

Ah, how could you forget? Dress Rehearsal. While these days didn’t run as long as the others, they were equally draining and stressful. The three of you walked to Lorne’s office just in time as the rest of the cast stood beside you.

You felt yourself to begin to shiver unexpectedly, hugging yourself tightly. Since when was 30 Rock so cold? You felt Nasim look at you questioningly, and you shrugged her off.

Lorne had discussed the skits’ arrangements for the day, murmurs of excitement beginning to spread like wildfire around the room. Everyone just itches to get out and see if their sketch would succeed or bomb.

You took your seat in the audience as the sketches would come and go, meeting your cues whenever necessary. At the same time, your painkillers had seemed to wear off as your headache only seemed to get worse.

You made your way backstage to find the building’s first aid kit, only to brush past another coworker. That just so happened to be Bill Hader.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out, slowly clamping it shut; his eyes met yours in slight confusion before softening slightly.

“Woah, hey Y/N, everything okay? You were in kind of a hurry there.” he asks; you could barely meet his eyes as they searched yours for any sort of response.

“Oh,” you gulped, “Yeah I just have this crazy headache, um I was just looking for the first aid kit.” you say, shifting the balance on your one foot to the other.

His eyes widened before nodding quickly as if he was just reminded of something. The butterflies in your stomach crescendo as he quickly rested his palm upon your shoulder. You didn’t even know how to act, your body practically freezing at the contact.

“Actually to save you the trouble I have some painkillers upstairs in my dressing room. Not that I have like tons of drugs, but it’s no problem with me if that’ll help your headache.”

You quickly nod in response, trying to hide back a small smile before following him up several flights of stairs. God, you hated being so shy around Bill; it wasn’t like he was some mean old jerk; he was oh so genuine and thoughtful.

The two of you halt at a labeled Hader door; he looks back at you almost to check if you’re still there. Opening the door, he led you in, giving you a quick smirk, before crouching down and digging through the contents of his bag.

You had realized that this was the first time that you had ever been in a specific cast member’s dressing room. In particular, Hader’s room was neat and tidy, but you could see bits and pieces of his character sticking out. You couldn’t help but smile at it all, so caught up in the intricate details you didn’t even notice him get back up.

“Y/N, you good?” he asks; you focus your attention back on him quickly.

His hands outstretched, one holding a bottle of Advil and the other clamped tightly around a water bottle.

“Oh, um yeah. Thank you so much you have no idea how much I appreciate you for doing this.” you say rather quickly, but Hader doesn’t seem phased by your awkward nature.

You reach for the bottle and water, fingers gently brushing against his. The two of you looking down at the contact before parting ways.

Hader clears his throat, and you feel your stomach begin to tighten. Slipping two pills into your mouth, you unscrew the cap and down it carefully.

“You nervous about tomorrow?” he asks while placing the pill bottle back within his bag.

“A little I guess, I mean I tend to get nerves closer to the show. I’m sure at this point though, you’ve become an expert at staying calm.” you reply, his gaze falling towards the floor.

“Oh my god, I’m a wreck Y/N. This show is so stressful it eats at me every week, no matter what. I mean, clearly I’m doing something right and Lorne’s not gonna fire me, but, my anxiety gets so bad.” he says quickly. His eyes widened, and his posture became slightly tenser than before.

You couldn’t help but soften your gaze; you had no idea that he even went through this every week. Even now, with the buzzing tension in the air for tomorrow night, you couldn’t imagine what he was going through. Let alone the fact that he made the time to help you out.

“I wouldn’t have ever noticed,” he looks back up at you. “I mean, you’ve always just looked so...confident. I just can’t even begin to imagine what’s that like, every week constantly. I’m so sorry you have to go through that.” you quietly admit.

He shakes his head quickly, putting out a hand almost as if he was trying to stop you.

“No, no, it’s fine. Thank you though, it’s awfully sweet to hear that. Especially from someone like you.” Hader’s eyes filled with such warmth.

Was Hader blushing? Or were you losing it? Probably losing it.

“Oh about that headache, everything okay up in there?” he murmurs, stepping just a tad bit closer to you.

“It’s probably nothing, but I do appreciate the help.” you look back at the door, “We should probably get back? Right? Don’t wanna miss our dress.” you say quickly.

Hader nods within an instant, eyes widening at the realization of how long you two had been gone for. He led you to the door, giving you a quick smile before he ran out, murmuring something about a skit that had something to do with the guest host.

You giggle softly, heaving a contented sigh. It definitely was gonna be a long day, and you could’ve sworn that the temperature had just dropped.

Strange.

You couldn’t have stumbled into it until at least one in the morning, but sleep had been desperately calling your name. Oh, how you missed having a regular sleep schedule; it would make mornings less of a struggle.

Except this morning was different, or more so than you were used to. The headache that had arrived less than twenty-four hours earlier was now ten times worse. Your body ached, and you couldn’t decipher if the bed was too hot or too cold.

This was torture, and quite possibly the flu, not to mention, you had the show tonight, shit. You practically sprang upwards before feeling the instant aftermath of that decision settling in. It felt absolutely criminal to leave those sheets as you groaned and grimaced your way towards your kitchen cabinet. Eyes barely opened while you blindly searched for the thermometer you had kept.

One quick temperature check later, you were running a low-grade fever. Shit, shit, shit, shit. I mean, you couldn’t miss the show, right? It just didn’t seem plausible, or maybe it did?

You frantically wondered while your fingers grazed over the Google search bar whether going to work with a low-grade fever would be beneficial?

Every answer didn’t really seem to fit the unrealistic expectations that you had set for yourself. Still, one disgusting shot of Dayquil later, you were out the door.

The day went by in a haze, and the headache never really did seem to falter. It was almost like yesterday in a sense, but seeing Hader waltz into the room made you smile. He smiled back.

Of course, Jenny and Nasim knew something was up; they always did. It wasn’t like Lorne was gonna fire you for missing one show; it was the flu. Except, you had made it this far, how bad could it possibly go?

The lights were too bright, far too bright for you to even think properly, and your fever was sure burning up. Or maybe it wasn’t, you always had to ask others around for that sorta assistance. Except, this was the primary night of the week and you weren’t gonna ask a cast member to feel your forehead.

Imagine if Hader did, Y/N, please stop being a dork.

You found solace in a large water bottle, but it didn’t do much to help the way your body ached miserably. You looked like a mess, you felt like a mess, but this was the big leagues.

The last time you had checked, the previous performance of the musical guest had been underway. Which meant you had survived, but the exhaustion that had been ever-growing was begging for you to lay down.

The floor looked so good right now, yeah, just for a hot second, ugh why is everything burning up?

Slowly closing your eyes, you let yourself press up against the wall, except there wasn’t a wall right there, and down you went with a thud.

Bill had been anxious all night, of course for the show, but for you in particular. You usually always looked so put-together, but tonight something about you was just off. It was beginning to rub him the wrong way.

“Andy, do you notice anything strange about, um, Y/N over there?” he said, trying to muffle the concerned edge that rested within his voice.

“Y/N? Oh that new cast member you like?” Andy replied without much thought, earning a stern look from Hader.

“She’ll hear you, god man you sure can be loud. Whatever, she just looks kind of off man, I’m a little nervous for her.”

Andy’s gaze softened just a tad until something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.

“I mean normally I would say that she looks fine and you’re just crushing, but I don’t think that is normal.” Bill’s gaze instantly locked onto the same thing, which was you fainting onto the floor.

His body going rigid before ultimately bolting upright, he wasn’t gonna catch you in time. Still, he definitely was gonna help if he could. Although he most definitely wasn’t the only one, other stray coworkers who happened to be backstage stood, jaws dropped.

There you went, tumbling to the ground, and Bill couldn’t help but feel his heart drop. Maybe that headache was worse than you had let up. He felt guilty for not speaking up sooner, but there was nothing he could do now.

They called a medic on the site, trying to keep it discreet as possible. It was a live show; he didn’t think it would be professional if broadcasted that shit.

He tried to fill in all of the details of how you had been acting the past few hours. It felt like he couldn’t do much to help, but he didn’t wanna leave your sight. It was odd; something about you really drew him in, leaving him reaching for more.

Plus, at this point, the last thing he had to do was go on stage while they rolled the credits. Bill was optimistic that this would count as a good reason.

He watched anxiously while the medic’s placed you upon a stretcher, his feet following without much thought. They wheeled you out to a waiting ambulance; he gulped at the thought of you having to be taken to the hospital.

Surprisingly they allowed him inside the ambulance; he was so convinced he’d be forced to wait until god knows how long. The vehicle provided seats off the side, allowing him to catch his breath and try not to worry about his current state.

That is until he saw you looking back groggily at him; now, this was definitely normal, as the medic had explained. He just didn’t see it coming; you blinked a few times, looking around at your surroundings.

“Hey, saw you took a little snooze there.” he teased, his gaze never leaving yours.

The ambulance rattled slightly, and you gasped a little before focusing your attention back onto him.

“Is this an ambulance? What happened?” you sat upright, feeling ten times worse, trying to piece together precisely why you and Bill Hader, of all people, were in the ambulance?

“Y/N, you fainted. The doctor’s said you’re burning up, they’re taking you to the ER.” he explained carefully, as you groaned in frustration.

He cocked his head slightly, clearly not expecting that response.

“About that, yeah I think I have the flu, I had a low-grade fever this morning.” you admitted sheepishly, not even daring to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry what?” he exclaimed, his eyes as wide as literal saucers. “Lemme get this straight, you went to work, with the flu?” you nodded, and he ran his hands over his face.

“Listen, I didn’t wanna disappoint Lorne. I mean it’s the night of all nights.” the words came out softer than you had intended; Hader practically melted.

“Oh, did you really think that Lorne’s gonna get pissed at you for having the flu? Oh sweetie, you know your health comes first right?” his words falling ever so sweetly off his lips.

You could barely look at the man, let alone control the multitude of butterflies that jolted in your already queasy stomach. Not to mention that he even thought to tag along, you nodded, not saying a word, focusing on his blue eyes like they were a safety net. Until you closed them, letting sleep overtake you.

You awoke once more to the sounds of machines beeping, people going from room to room, and an incessant tapping of one’s shoe.

This was most definitely the emergency room, your eyes scanning its surroundings until they landed on one person in particular. He looked exhausted, more so than you did, and you felt awful given the time it was at night. In fact, it was practically morning.

“You’re still here,” he sat upright, rubbing his eyes, “Thanks for sticking it out, Bill.” you tried to give him the most genuine smile you could possibly muster.

“Of course, I mean I overheard the doctor anyway. You’re cleared to go when you wake up, and definitely have to get some rest. I already spoke to Lorne.” you gaped, but he only stood up.

“Bill, what did he say?” you whisper.

“That you should listen to the doctor, and me.” you raised a brow. “Okay maybe he didn’t say me, but you get the point?” he exclaimed as he helped you get out of the bed.

The two of you walking towards the desk in which you had to sign out some papers, the pen unsteadily perched upon your fingers. Bill’s hand holding securely upon your back, in hopes you wouldn’t stumble. In reality, just being near him set your heart aflutter.

“Now I’m taking you home, but first I was thinking I could get you some soup for home. That sound good?” you could only look at the man in pure awe.

“You don’t have to do this Bill, really, I mean you’ve already done enough.” you gulped, only to see the man give you a smirk, his eyes glinting at you mischievously.

“Soup it is.” his hand clamping against yours, he led you out of the hospital and into the cold streets of New York City.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to reach the little soup shop he’d been talking about; it was cozy and apparently open twenty-four seven. Against his offer, you paid for two soups that looked the most delicious and cupped the cups while strolling back to your place.

“How do you think you got the flu?” he asked gently, looking at you with curiosity.

You had to try not to laugh; I mean, at this point, it was your fault, you subjected yourself to the tundra in your bedroom for the past few nights.

“Well, my heater has been broken for the past few nights. I assume that’s how I got it.” a smile aglow upon your face, giggling at Hader’s shocked expression.

“It better be fixed tonight when we get to your apartment complex. That’s ridiculous, Y/N.” you kept giggling, and soon he joined in with that gorgeous laugh of his.

You enjoyed your time with Hader even though internally you felt like shit; he made it so much more bearable. The air was light between the two of you, he made it easy to open up, and you wanted to know so much about him.

God, wait till you let Nasim and Jenny know about this night. They’re so gonna flip; you just knew it. Not to mention, the big looming ‘I told you so’ that was so coming your way.

“This is it.” he came to a halt, admiring the quaint little building that you happened to call home.

“You do know I’m not leaving until that heater is back on, right?” he ordered, but underneath his serious tone, you could see the concern.

“Oh come on Hader, let’s go see.”

The two of you taking the steps at a time, your body wanting to collapse, but you couldn’t let him know. He stood beside you while you inserted your keys into the lock, twisting it, before walking inside.

“What’s that rattling noise?” Hader wondered aloud.

A huge grin meeting your lips, you looked at him in pure delight, and he soon got the memo. His eyes widening before heaving a sigh of relief, only to halt.

“You call me if you need anything okay? Get some sleep, and um, stay warm. That’s an order, you hear me?” you could see his performance wavering as he tried desperately not to laugh.

“Yes, Sir.” you saluted weakly, but he only began to break instantly.

You really did love that laugh.

Thanks, Bill, for everything, really.” you said as he turned to head to the door, stepping up on your toes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

His face instantly turned red before trying to compose himself as he walked away. You watched while he left the residence, giving you one last smile.

You awoke in a drowsy stupor that next morning to a text message from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: Want me to bring you some coffee and breakfast? - btw, this is Bill. Hope this l wasn’t too creepy. I ain’t no stalker.

Maybe: Bill: ps. How do you like your coffee?

Bill: ps.s yes or no?

You fell back on the bed with such a shit-eating grin, only to groan in response to the mistake you had just made.

You: Yes

#@broadwayandnetflix #bill hader imagine #bill hader x reader #bill hader x you #bill hader #fluff #angst #snl #Saturday Night Live #andy samberg #nasim pedrad #jenny slate #2021

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1oserjk · 5 years ago

Text

— full stop | 04

* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*. * .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.

a series.

a messy divorce, unrequited feelings, and a five year old.

* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*. * .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.

+ this isn’t a big update, it wasn’t even supposed to be a main part since i wrote this today n it’s literally 2k n i was going to put this in memories n moments but since this an event that had just happened a day later .. sry i’m putting it with the chronological list bc smthg happens at the end.

this is also the jk i talk about bc i cant get him out of my head, frankly

03 ⇋ 05

x full stop masterlist | x masterlist

* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*. * .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.

full stop | 04: over the fence

Shutting the car door after helping Yeona out, you skeptically glance at her before asking, “Do you need any help?”

Her head stubbornly shakes in between the colored plastic wrap of the flowers and the wide poster she holds close to her chest and a determined pout set on her lips. “No Mommy! I’m okay,” she says, even when she stumbles slightly on the sidewalk’s pavement.

Your fingers ghost against her back just in case, observing her nervously before you both reach the entrance of the studio. “Alright. Just be careful, okay?”

The plastic and paper rustle and it simply tells you she’s nodding back.

You reach for the door and nudge her in the right direction, finally setting your eyes forward and at the front desk where Seol is sat at. “Hi, miss!” Yeona greets, voice muffled and fully unaware of who exactly the person was behind the desk. She’s seen her a few times when you both visited through the years, but not enough to be introduced as Jungkook’s new girlfriend — which has only happened recently.

And as if that was even a thing to her yet.

Seol’s eyes widen before timidly waving at your daughter.

You offer a curt smile and a short greeting before asking, “Is Jungkook busy?”

She doesn’t seem as surprised by your sudden visit, clearly aware of the date on the calendar set out and taped down in front of her as she offers a polite smile back. “I can check for you.”

Her pointer lands on a specific paper, dragging down towards the time slots until it reaches a point. She looks back up. “He’s free for the next thirty minutes before his lunch break.”

Gently patting your hands on Yeona’s shoulder, you begin walking forward, pushing at the small gate that separates the employees from the clients and out of Yeona’s way when she walks through it.

“Thank you, miss!” She throws out, rushing towards his office without even waiting for a reply back.

“Careful, baby,” you remind, wincing at some of the reflective glitter that falls onto the black flooring.

She simply ignores it, greedy hands reaching for the doorknob, unfortunately too short and weak to properly turn it. With her struggling like this, you’re a hundred percent sure Jungkook can hear the wiggling and disruptive noises from the opposite side of the door.

It only reminds you to work on her patience some more when you get back home.

Finally reaching her, you’re the one to open the door and allow her to rush in with the abundance of gifts she’s been too excited to get the past few weeks.

“Daddy!” Yeona squeals, finding him already standing up, most likely preparing to confront the ruckus that was happening behind the door a few moments ago.

With wide eyes behind the lenses he wears today, he immediately crouches down and accepts the ecstatic little girl that sprints towards him.

You stay close by the door after gently closing it.

“Yeonie,” he chuckles after the embrace, fingers supporting the back of her head as he envelopes her further into his chest.

Yeona gasps, wiggling away all of a sudden. “Your gifts — You’re crushing them!”

“Ah,” he sheepishly replies then apologises soon after. “You got me something?”

Yeona eagerly nods. “It’s Daddy’s Day, remember?”

He holds a blank expression and you’re already assuming he has forgotten all about today and that it was just another work day with his schedule full as it always was. “Oh,” he realizes. “It is, huh.”

At this point, it doesn’t even come as a surprise with how little Jungkook truly thought about himself. It reads well when you take a solid look around at the place, his corner lamp turned on and dozens of notebooks stacked up on the table beside his tiny sofa in the corner.

Thankfully, most of his clients don’t go through this way and only reserve the open space in the minimalistic studio, where the divided black curtains are the only thing that separates them from the rest of the shop. This was just a place to plan and clutter most of Jungkook’s things before the next person would show up again, maybe even squeeze in a nap when it was needed.

His eyes finally meet yours and his lips quirk up with a certain gratefulness that fills up his eyes, and you send him a small nod.

Though, your short interaction suddenly gets disrupted when flowers get shoved at his face.

It’s too difficult to hold back a small laugh when he flinches, an eye squeezed shut as the thin veil of plastic comes dangerously close. “We got you flowers!”

“O-Oh,” he coughs out when he drowns in the scent of them, “Thank you, sweetheart.” When he can finally make a grab at them, he takes a look at the kind and softens at the sight. “Tiger Lily’s.”

“Mommy said they’re your favorite,” Yeona enthusiastically explains before pausing to double-check, “They are, aren’t they?” Her doe eyes search for his, head coming closer to observe the flowers with him.

He nods and pecks her cheek to reassure. “They are and I love them. I think I’ll draw some of them later.” He directs his eyes at you when he says, “Thank you.”

You quickly turn away, eyeing the sketches to the left of you, exactly where his messy desk is.

“And this is my card for you!”

She holds it up and even more glitter falls to the floor, but he doesn’t even seem fazed by it, eyes brightening at his little girl’s artwork.

She impatiently hops and the writing seems to be hard to read when he squints through his glasses. You slowly walk over to the both of them and hold onto Yeona’s shoulders again to make her stay still. “Baby,” you warn. “He can’t even read it with you shaking like this.”

She sheepishly smiles and giggles, looking up at you. “Sorry Mommy. Too excited.”

You hum and find Jungkook silent through all of this, eyes glassy from her small fingertips that are seen all throughout the poster. Knees bending, you hold her close as you both watch over him silently. He’s touched, and it shows when he chokes up a little and hides it with a lame cough.

Yeona eyes him worriedly, whirling towards you unsurely before you shush her with a small nod, silently letting her know that it was all okay. “Happy tears,” you whisper to her, your own eyes glossing over slightly. “He’s okay.”

“Daddy,” she timidly calls, “Do you like it?”

He looks up and nods with a smile, arms stretching out so that she can fall back into them, “I do, baby. I love it — I always love the stuff you make for me.”

She giggles into his neck and grapples on tighter.

They exchange kisses and hugs for a few more minutes and you’ve luckily snapped a few photos to send to Jungkook’s mother when you would get home.

When your knees give in eventually, you stand up, mindlessly folding a few of the blankets that were messily sprawled out onto his daybed just to keep your hands busy.

Jungkook notices.

“Uncle Jimin and Tae have been saving up some candy for the next time you would come over,” he whispers and offers to Yeona, “Want to go visit them for a minute?”

She eagerly nods, already squirming out of his arms and rushing out of the room. You barely even have the opportunity to yell at her to knock before going into any of their offices and not to disrupt if they had a client over.

“_____.”

Your head tips at your name only to find Jungkook with a fond smile. He scratches at the back of his head before standing up and thanking you again.

You nod with an awkward smile of your own and explain further, “Yeona had been keen on visiting. Sorry if you had other plans.”

He shakes his head rapidly to decline. “N-No, I didn’t.” Holding up the poster, he glances at it again. “I really needed this..”

You nod thoughtfully. “I’m glad we came by at the right time then.”

He nods and it continues to stay silent for a while. “What are you doing after this?” He suddenly asks, “M-My lunch.. It’s—“

“I’m probably going back home to call up my dad,” you quickly turn down and excuse, fingers playing with themselves.

“Oh.”

“But you’re welcome to take Yeona out,” you offer. “It’s your day after all.” But you grow weary at the thought of Seol tagging along for it. It’s why your fingers suddenly stop and land by your sides to curl against the material of your jeans.

“I would,” he starts, “But I have one last client visiting right after and I’m not sure Yeona would be patient to stay here for it. It’ll take a few hours..”

“Oh.”

“But I can visit when I’m done here?” He rushes.

You rub your arms at the brisk air that suddenly travels downwards and you blame the air conditioning he always puts at too much of a low temperature. You’ve scolded him so many times for it, completely sure he’d get a cold one of these days for being so careless. If you were to call for it, the discourse would go on and on as if it was only a few years back and you were suddenly married again. He would reason he sweats too much and you would go on to say that it was from his heavy and bulky clothes he refuses to switch up every other season.

“That’s—yeah, that’s great,” you weakly smile, completely erasing the foreboding thought before it would turn into a reminiscent den full of memories just like it.

You would have turned him down. You should have, but it would hurt you even more if he would be left alone for the rest of the day, which is why you offer something Hyejin would smack you for the next playdate you planned for the kids, “I can cook dinner.”

His head shakes. “You don’t have to..”

“No, it’s okay. Just come by when you’re finished, okay? That way you can spend time with her properly.”

He doesn’t decline. “Thank you..”

You step away before turning back and grabbing your belongings. “Happy Father’s Day, Jungkook. You should call up your dad and tell him the same,” you can’t help but add, but when you lift your head towards him, he seems thankful for the reminder.

“I will,” he affirms, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his cargo bottoms. You notice for a short while how good he looks like this. Hair washed without styling as if he just rolled around before waking up from a nap and the specks he wears every now and then like he had just thrown them on before getting up. And knowing Jungkook well — that’s probably the case. “I’ll see you later?”

Swallowing harshly, you nod. “Yeah.”

The door opens and you bite at your tongue, though it fails when you can’t help but call for him again with a small laugh weighing at the tip of your tongue, eyes pinned down at his bottom half.

“Hm?”

“Your shirt.. There’s glitter all over it.”

Looking down, he immediately notices and curses, beginning to brush off the stubborn flakes that reflect all over his black short-sleeve.

You shut the door before he can really say anything, and you quickly search for your daughter and her chocolate-smeared mouth you can already predict.

Seol hums from her seat beside Jungkook and smiles at him. “Lunch was fun.”

Jungkook’s too focused on the sketch below him, a few of the lilies taken and laid out. He thinks he’ll be able to finish tonight and give it to Yeona after dinner. “It was,” he agrees.

Her hand snakes onto his shoulder and rubs comfortingly before asking, “What are you planning to do tonight?” She’s already getting too excited at the offer she has ready, sitting at the tip of her tongue and ready to unravel.

“Ah, I’m having dinner with Yeona.”

Faltering slightly, she turns back to the same grin a second later. She should have known. It was Father’s Day after all. He has a daughter. He has a family — more or less. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” He smiles. And it’s wide and genuine, not at all directed towards her but at the paper he carefully shades at.

She nods carefully and slowly. “You seem excited.”

He finally looks up at her and he smiles again. “Yeah,” he hums thoughtfully before agreeing, “I guess I am.”

“_____ invited?” She pokes, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all.

“Kind’ve? I asked to visit after work and she said she would cook dinner.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He returns back to his sketching all too quickly.

Seol bites her lip, hand going up to support her jaw and head as she observes closely, the man she’s been dating for over two months and pining for way longer — the glint in his eye and all.

She only wonders if it was the aspect from spending time with his daughter, or having his ex-wife present in all of it too.

Either way, from the short time in dating him, she’s only seen this particular look on him once.

And that was only when he was married.

* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*. * .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.

#mine #bts #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #jeon jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jungkook #jungkook scenarios #jungkook drabble #jungkook fluff #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #full stop

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lovelylogans · 4 years ago

Text

spring cleaning

there’s a pack rat in the family. who it is will not surprise you.

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: food mentions, alcohol mentions, general messiness, jokes about hoarding

pairings: patton/virgil, offscreen logan/roman

word count: 2,412

notes: hi! this is just a quick little fic as i beta and finish off the next chapter of debutante. this is based off the gilmore girls season three episode twelve “lorelai out of water�� cold open. takes place the spring after the main storyline, after alliance but before debutante.

⁂

virgil’s phone buzzes at 10:13 am on a sunny spring sunday. he pauses just after he drops off the brunch plates for mrs. torres, babette, and east side tilly, digging around in his back pocket to squint at his recent texts.

logan sanders: Please help.

any other time, this kind of text would probably send anxiety flooding his veins like ice water. as he’s been warned, sure, he’s a little anxious that he’s misreading the situation, but he shakes that aside and snorts.

“called it,” he mutters under his breath, before he wipes his hands on his apron and types out christ, you’re folding easy this year. is that a new record?

a brief pause. then, No, the record was twenty-four minutes. To be fair, that took place when I was ten years old, we were moving into the house, and you were already going to be involved, so I perhaps I should propose that does not count against my spring cleaning record.

ah, that’s right. god, helping patton move had kind of been a nightmare. helping anyone move is a bit of a nightmare, but with patton there’s a whole new layer of shenanigans.

Another buzz. Also, I need this to be hastened along. I have a Socratic seminar in English tomorrow, and though we have settled on a tentative truce I refuse to let Dee achieve the highest grade in the class.

he shoots back i’ll be there asap.

“jean,” he calls to the counter, but jean, having been warned as well, waves him off.

“i got it, at least he waited till the we hit the between-masses lull.”

“you’re the best,” he says, hanging up his apron and ignoring mrs. torres’ hoots about his arms—he's like ninety percent sure she’s spiking her own orange juice so she can have a screwdriver with her pancakes but he hasn’t caught her with a flask in hand yet—and heads out the door.

the citizens of sideshire are fully soaking in the pleasure of a sunny spring day—it’s one of those days, where the weather’s warming up slowly, but there’s sure to be more cold snaps before they fully settle into spring, so lots of people are taking advantage of it. families are sprawled with picnic blankets in the grassy town square. the “long-haired freak” (taylor’s nickname, not his. virgil’s pretty sure his name is dave, but also, he’s not totally sure his name is dave, and as such usually avoids any complications by saying “hey, man,” whenever virgil sees him) is out hawking fruits and vegetables from his garden. lots of people are out on walks, some with earbuds or headphones on, some calling out jolly greetings to other people taking advantage of a blue sky and temperatures that are soaring above freezing.

“hey, virgil.”

“hey, felix,” virgil says, craning his neck to catch sight of—well, he guesses felix and riley are technically his tenants? but that always feels weird to say—his neighboring business owners. felix is busy making sure a promotional poster’s taped to the window. “how’re things?”

“ah, y’know, y’know,” felix says, waving their hands around. “weather’s warming up, so we’re getting into busy season. guess people want to be able to flaunt new ink in the warmer weather, y’know?”

“hey, speaking of—” virgil says.

“oh, yeah,” felix says, scratching at the half of their head that was once shaved bald but is now growing in stubbly. “you wanna have riley do one this time? they can draw up some sketches for you, if you want. or i can, if you want, but it might be a minute ‘cause i’m all hands on deck for this massive full-back piece.”

“nah, riley’ll be cool, it’s been a minute since they’ve done one for me,” virgil says. “i’ll drop by later with some reference photos, ideas and stuff.”

“i’ll make sure they’re refreshed on what your style is before the consultation,” felix says. “appreciate the business.”

“appreciate you and your spouse taking over this empty shop so taylor didn’t get a chance to,” virgil returns, as he usually does whenever felix or their riley thanks him for something. he’s really awkward about accepting gratitude, he’s working on that with emile and patton.

“god, could you imagine taylor next door,” felix says with a theatric shudder. “bad enough he runs half the town.”

“i’ll call tomorrow to make the appointment?”

felix flashes him a thumbs up, and virgil raises a hand in farewell as he continues on his way.

he ends up pushing his sleeves up to his elbows as he walks to the sanders’ house, occasionally saying hey to other residents of sideshire, or tilting his face up to the sun.

this winter’s been brutal, even worse than it usually is for the northeast, with absurd amounts of blizzards and ice. on the days where it wasn’t shoveling ridiculous amounts of snow on the whole town, the sky had been gray and overcast, and what little sun there was could barely stream weakly through the clouds.

but now, the sun sinks softly into his exposed skin, warming him without overheating him thanks to the breeze, carrying the sweet scent of tentatively blooming flowers planted by particularly audacious gardeners.

it is a perfect, lovely spring day.

by the time he gets to the cheerful yellow clapboard house, he’s taken enough deep, calming breaths to ensure that he is a calming presence. he ascends the stairs of the wraparound porch—oh, huh, looks like patton or logan’s making an attempt at being a gardener, that looks like mountain mint—and knocks lightly on the front door.

“please come in,” logan shouts, sounding exasperated, and virgil obligingly pushes the door open.

he toes off his shoes, even as he overhears patton’s voice, cajoling.

“hug-a-world! c’mon, you’ve gotta remember your hug-a-world!”

hug-a-world, virgil mouths to himself, before it comes back to him in sudden, vivid technicolor and he rounds the corner.

and, sure enough, surrounded by the detritus of the sanders home, patton and logan sit in a hastily-cleared space in the middle of their living room, patton holding a stuffed ball tight to his chest.

“of course i remember the hug-a-world,” logan says, still with that tone of exasperation, but lessened now at the sight of a beloved childhood toy.

“you can’t make me throw away your hug-a-world,” patton declares viciously, which would almost be believably threatening if he were not clutching a stuffed ball made to look like a globe to his chest, and if his curly hair was not sticking up in a configuration that virgil thinks of as chaotically unruly, and if he were not wearing a pink-and-blue sweater he usually busts out around easter, and if someone did not know patton as a person. “you learned all seven of your continents on hug-a-world!”

see, without fail, almost every year patton gets suckered into the whole concept of the spring clean. and, without fail, logan or virgil will try to point out that he does this every year, and patton insists no, really, this time for sure he’ll get rid of some of the clutter around this house, it’s about time!, and then he gets sidetracked getting attached to objects he finds that he suddenly cannot bear to get rid of, despite the fact that said objects have typically been buried away in a dark closet all the rest of the year.

which means that logan and virgil sit with him and try to point that out, and patton wavers, before he decides to keep or donate or trash it, and it seems like it’s going okay, until the next thing he touches turns out to be another thing that he suddenly cannot bear to give up.

it’s gotten a little better since that time they introduced the marie kondo method, but also, that much worse, because of course he insists that everything sparks joy!

but this is way more mess than usual. there are cardboard boxes and piles of clothes and bits and bobs that are in piles that come up to his ribs. virgil squints it at it suspiciously.

“attic,” logan says wearily, in explanation. “he got boxes out of the attic.”

oh, shit, the attic. god, that thing is stuffed to the brim with boxes, no wonder the living room looks like someone upended the odds-and-ends drawer for a giant into the house.

“but—c’mon,” patton says, in that same sweetly coaxing tone that usually makes them all throw up their hands and leave the rest of this spring cleaning mess for next year’s spring clean. he holds out the hug-a-world to logan. “hold it. marie says so.”

“marie does not realize that she has a special case with my hoarder of a father and therefore should customize the approach of sparks joy, because you have too wide a definition,” logan says, but he reaches out and takes the hug-a-world with both hands anyways.

virgil examines logan holding it, thinking suddenly of a much tinier logan with a gap in his front teeth holding the same toy in the same way, though the fabric had been much more vibrant shades of blue and green then. there had been a solid stretch of time that the hug-a-world had been the toy that logan had hugged falling asleep, back in the poolhouse. he’d taken the hug-a-world to the diner and to school and all around the inn and to the princes’ apartment and back again.

a side of logan’s mouth twitches up, and then, as if suddenly conscious of it, he forces the corners of his mouth to turn down as he stares at it.

“remember?” patton repeats, staring at logan and the hug-a-world fondly. “we used to take turns to squeeze it as tight as we could and then wherever our pinkies would end up, that’s where we were going to go together when you grew up.”

“yes,” logan says, and then loses the fight against his mouth, because it twitches up into a smile again. “many a trip to uzbekistan was planned that way.”

“look!” patton says, pointing and tilting his head. “that’s canada, then, where’d your other one get you?”

logan moves his other pinky in order to squint at the faded fabric. “i believe that’s cambodia. possibly vietnam, i was rather splitting the border.”

“why not both?” patton says pragmatically, or as pragmatically as he can sound planning a potential trip based off hugging a ball.

logan hesitates, holding the ball.

“look,” patton says. “hey, how about virgil helps clean it up, and the hug-a-world can live in your room?”

logan chews at the inside of his lip.

“if it sparks joy,” patton sing-songs.

logan heaves a sigh.

“the hug-a-world will live in my room, then,” he says, before looking to virgil. “we’ve started a pile for you right here,” and pats a pile of what mostly looks like clothes that can be either repaired, repurposed, or sneakily donated.

virgil takes a breath, and says, “i’ll crack open a window and put on some music, then. patton, you take your allergy medicine today?”

patton tilts his head to think about it.

“that’s a no,” virgil says. “i’ll grab it on the way. water, snacks? we’re gonna be here for a while.”

“are we?” logan says doubtfully, twisting to look at him.

“we are finishing spring clean this year!” patton insists. “i mean it this time!”

logan arches his eyebrows at virgil, and virgil mouths play along, and logan sighs before he turns back to the pile, pulling out an old jacket at random.

“i have never seen you wear this. it should be donated.”

“that was from raf, we can’t just toss it!” patton cries out in dismay, and virgil heads for the kitchen.

he fills up three glasses of water, chops up some celery and apples, fills up three mini ramekins with peanut butter, and sets it all on a tray, along with the round white pill that patton takes for his allergies.

he plugs in his phone and scrolls to a roman-made playlist, lowering the volume so that they’ll be able to hear each other, and proceeds to make his meandering way around the piles of Stuff as best he can without knocking anything over.

on his way, he moves to crack open the windows of the living room, allowing the floral-scented air to waft into the messy room, to hear the chirping of the birds under patton and logan’s debating.

he pushes aside a pile of old books on the coffee table and sets the tray down, mostly ignored as logan manages to triumph and tosses the jacket into a box labeled DONATE.

virgil settles down next to his pile, sitting in criss-cross-applesauce, and gosh all of the clutter of patton and logan’s lives looms over them like a mountain at this angle.

“okay,” virgil says encouragingly. “good, that’s good! raf’s old jacket will probably make some other teenager very happy to have it.”

patton sighs, staring after the jacket. “yeah, i guess.”

“this is good,” virgil says stubbornly, before tugging at a piece of fabric sticking out at random and unearthing a blanket.

“oh, i was wondering where that got off to!” patton says, delighted.

“i thought that got lost in the moving shuffle,” virgil agrees, because the last time he saw this he was pretty sure it was tossed over the back of their rented apartment couch.

“so this blanket has not been washed in at least six years,” logan says.

“well, that can be fixed!” patton points out. “i say keep.”

“we’re never going to finish,” logan groans.

“of course we’re gonna finish!” patton says.

“yeah, logan,” virgil says unconvincingly. “listen to your dad.”

patton beams at him, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek; logan rolls his eyes, before he turns his attention to the blanket.

“so, you claim keep for your room,” logan says. “you already have so many blankets.”

“well, we can always use more blankets!” patton points out. “worse comes to worse, we’ll put it in the linen closet.”

logan tilts his head, before he sighs, and places it in a pile of other fabrics that they seem to have decided to keep.

“all right, fine,” he says, then fishes out another piece of fabric. “next item—”

“look how fast we settled that!” patton says brightly.

“pretty fast,” virgil agrees dutifully.

“we’ll totally finish spring clean this year,” patton says confidently.

(they do not finish spring clean this year.)

#my post #text #my fic #my fanfiction #the sideshire files #sideshire files #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #moxiety

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thewarriorandtheking · 3 years ago

Text

Day Off

It’s been so long since I posted anything, half of you probably don’t rememer I write fanfiction...

I set myself a goal to work on writing daily...and since I didn’t feel like working on my serious stuff I decided to adapt one of my many Warrior and The King wips into a little sketch about a certain overworked King who needs a day off.

Pairing: Thorin x female oc

Warnings: None, unless you object to fluff ;-)

The Warrior and The King MasterList here

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

Kaylea Wolf shifted the coffee and cups into one hand and knocked twice on the office door before pushing it open.

Thorin Oakenshield looked up as she entered, a smile spreading across his face. “Good morning, my love.” His eyes went to the carafe she was carrying. “Ah, just the thing!”

Kaylea smiled back, thinking the King seemed very small behind the stacks of papers and ledgers littering his desk. She could see the fatigue around his eyes, the tension in the set of his shoulders. He looked more tired than she had ever seen him. She set the cups down on the half-written parchment in front of him and flipped open the pot. The dark brew from her native land, hints of chocolate and cinnamon rose from the cups. Thorin took his gratefully, savoring the first few sips.

“You always make the best coffee.”

Kaylea laughed. “I come from a nation of soldiers. Coffee is a serious business.” She gestured at the mountain of paper on his desk. “It looks like you have a full day ahead.”

“I feel like I live in this office,” Thorin tossed his quill down. “Some days I can’t even remember what the rest of Erebor looks like.”

“Is there not someone with whom you can share this burden? What about Balin? Or other members of your council,” Kaylea frowned at him. She knew he was eager to rebuild his kingdom and legacy, but he was working himself to death.

Thorin rubbed his eyes. “I admit, I am still learning how to delegate. But a lot of this: correspondence, trade agreements, contracts, I want to go over myself before they are signed. I never realized running a successful kingdom would be this much work.”

Kaylea put her hand on his beard. “I am worried for you, my king. Too much work will put you in an early grave.” An idea occurred to her. “Why not take the rest of the day off? Do something fun.”

Thorin laughed. He took her hand in his and kissed her wrist, then sat back in his chair. “Now I am reminded how little I really know about you! What is it you do for fun? Wrestle dragons? Run around the mountain twice?”

Kaylea poked his leg with her boot. “That is not fair. Anyway, I was talking about you. What does the King Under the Mountain do for fun?”

Thorin waved his hand at his cluttered desk. “I don’t remember anymore.”

“In that case, a day off is in order, your majesty,” Kaylea told him, taking hold of his braids. “You are coming with me.”

A few hours later they were in Dale, walking through the markets hand in hand. The King of Erebor was well-known here, of course. But many stepped out of their shops to watch them pass, curious about the Human who was said to have the King’s heart. The tall woman fair as an Elven lord, in her golden hair the braids that marked her as the King’s Woman. At first glance they seemed an odd pair, but everyone remarked on the affection between them. None of the merchants could remember Thorin ever smiling so much, or being in such good humor. He didn’t even haggle as fiercely as he normally did.

Ever since Thorin had reclaimed his kingdom the city had been striving to rebuild its reputation as the trading center of the north, and it was well on its way. Shops selling goods of every description lined the streets; silks from Dol Amroth, saddles from Rohan, carpets from the Southron lands, whiskey from Lossarnach, tobacco from the Shire, furs from the northern mountains. As they walked through the streets, Thorin gave a running commentary on the buildings and their history, who owned them, what their business was, and how it had changed since his grandfather’s time. As they strolled along the city wall that looked toward Erebor, Kaylea was glad to see the light coming back into Thorin’s face, he seemed to have left the exhausted bureaucrat behind.

Thorin leaned on the wall, looking at the carved gates of his city. He was silent for a long time. “I have made a good start,” he said finally. “I think my father would be proud.”

“Yes, I he would be proud, and surprised,” Kaylea followed his gaze. Even at a distance the scale of the Erebor gates was astonishing, all traces of the great battle and the long occupancy of the dragon had long ago been repaired. The carven stone towered over the mountain vale, looking almost new-made in the afternoon light. “Look at all you have accomplished in a mere sixteen years. The alliances you have built, your people prosper and more arrive every day, you have a son and heir, your city is once again a beacon in the north.”

Thorin grinned lopsidedly at her. “I have been too close to see it clearly. Thank you, my love. I needed this.”

“The day is not over yet,” Kaylea took his hand. “Where to next?”

Thorin’s eyes swept over her worn traveling clothes. “I know just the place to buy you something that is not black.” He drew her close and kissed her neck. “Then you can wear it to dinner.”

“I do as you command, my king,” Kaylea stepped back and bowed formally.

“I like the sound of that!” Thorin laughed, sliding an arm around her waist. “Let’s walk a bit further first.” He was already imaging the red dress he would buy her, and how much fun it would be to take it off.

#thewarriorandtheking #fanfiction #thorin fanfic #thorin x oc #the hobbit #tolkien fanfic #original female character #thorin oakenshield #true love #middle earth

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omniswords · 4 years ago

Text

Storm Soundtrack [Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng]

I'm so honored to have been part of @mlwriterzine , and even more honored to write about my two favorite things: Marinette's birthday, and Luka 😂 We just got permission to post our pieces, so here was mine.

Anyway, enjoy!

New York.

She was going to New York.

And she was eighteen.

Marinette had heard a lot about both of these things. That because she was eighteen, she could drive—except in New York she could have been driving at least a year ago. (Not that anyone drove in New York anyway, because it was, according to Mrs. Bourgeois, a total nightmare.) And because she was eighteen, she could drink—except in New York she’d have to wait three more years, the reason for which was beyond her, especially considering she wasn’t terribly keen on drinking in the first place. And because she was eighteen, she could play the lottery—and in that respect, at least New York was the same—but it didn’t mean much to her when she felt such a stinging guilt about getting money that she hadn’t really earned.

Somehow, it all already felt like too much, and she was only hours in. Still in the middle of her own birthday party, even. And the one thing that had not, and probably would not change, she noted grimly, was that she still didn’t know what to do when everyone gathered to sing “Happy Birthday.”

Seriously, what was she supposed to do? Sing along? Clap? Dance? Smile and wave, boys, smile and wave?

Did anyone know?

Marinette was more than relieved when the song ended—partly because it meant she didn’t have to just sit here awkwardly, and partly because it gave her a few moments of silence and darkness except for the candles on the cupcake arrangement in front of her. She gathered her hair back, closed her eyes, and at least tried to make a wish. She never knew what to wish for, either. The fact that she had friends, family, and her own health was enough of a blessing, but it was still fun to act a little mysterious if anyone asked about it. And besides, she could always say, sometime after she’d opened her gifts in the privacy of her room, that she’d gotten exactly what she wanted.

Because, well, it wasn’t a lie. She had gotten exactly what she wanted. She was happy with her best friends from middle and high school filling the apartment, with her father presenting her with a cupcake specially decorated with fondant and edible glitter, even with her grandmother coming all the way from Italy and offering to take her out for a nighttime motorcycle ride on the town. She was eighteen, and happy, and for the first time in a while, she felt like she’d really earned it.

There was a tap on her shoulder, and she jolted to attention so quickly she nearly dropped her cupcake. When she turned, though, relief flooded her at the sight of Luka standing there, with his easygoing smile and his guitar strapped to his back. His face was flushed, and his hair and clothes were starting to cling to him. It was hard to tell whether it was because of the end-of-July heat getting to him or the fact that he might have biked all the way to her house at top speed.

“Hey,” he said with a two-finger salute.

Marinette couldn’t help smiling up at him; somehow, she always forgot how tall he’d gotten over the years, how he stood proudly at almost six feet when she considered it a miracle that she’d broken past five. “You made it!” she chirped, having the foresight to set her cupcake down before she let him envelop her in a hug and kiss her on both cheeks.

“Of course I made it. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Not even for an extra shift.” He let go of her, gracing her with a wink.

Part of her wanted to laugh behind a hand, but there was too much of her that felt too guilty. This close, it wasn’t hard to catch the circles under Luka’s eyes. He’d been working himself ragged lately. He always had been, she knew; he felt like he had to earn his keep for most things the same way she did. But it seemed like it had been particularly hard on him, or like he’d been particularly hard on himself, since he graduated high school a couple of years ago. Like he wasn’t just trying to earn anymore—he was trying to provide.

Still, it never seemed like it was something he wanted to dwell on, or something he ever wanted her or anyone else to worry about. So if he dismissed it with a smile and a wink, or a message that he was just a bit tired, then what could she do about it but worry quietly?

Marinette nodded toward his guitar. “Do you want to play?” she asked. “Or do you want to put it up in my room so it’s safe?” Or do you need a nap? You definitely look like you could use a nap. Oh God, wait, I’m not inviting you like that, I promise—

“I can keep it upstairs for now,” Luka agreed—to her relief, because she wasn’t sure how much longer she could think in those circles. With a casual wave to her parents and friends, he followed her up the stairs to her room. Marinette couldn’t help a scowl and a blush when she caught the knowing grin on Alya’s face.

Really? Really?

Together, they looked for a safe place to stow away his guitar. Luka ended up tucking it in the space between her work desk and her vanity, under her loft. “I always forget how cool your room is,” he said offhand. “It’s very… you.”

“Me?” Marinette looked around, brow furrowed. None of her stuff was packed away yet—she still had a month before she was supposed to leave—but it still looked like an organized clutter of fabric, sketches, decorations that only seemed to go together if you squinted. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “It’s got your vibes. A little scattered, but mostly put together, and cozy. Safe.” If he laughed then, it was to himself, and she could barely hear it. But she felt it. And she thought she liked feeling it. He wove past her, never studying one corner or wall for too long, until his eyes landed on the skylight. “Is that how you get up to your balcony?”

“Huh? Oh… Yeah!” Marinette was halfway up the steps to her bed before she realized what she was doing, and she managed an awkward laugh. “I just climb right up, you know?”

This time, when Luka laughed, she could hear it and feel it. A rumble, a warmth in her stomach. “You must have some crazy upper body strength.” He paused, running his hand along the banister. “Say… If it wouldn’t be weird, any chance I could meet you up there after this is over?”

“After?” The question shouldn’t have stunned her as much as it did, or make her blush as much as it did; that wasn’t the summer heat she was feeling in her cheeks. “Uh, yeah! After! Sure, yes… Cool.”

Luka was still smiling, even as his voice dropped to a murmur. “Cool,” he said, though it sounded more like a breath. As he slipped past her and jogged down the stairs back to the party, Marinette couldn’t help the way her gaze lingered after him. Even if it did take a moment for it to really sink in.

Cool.

Cool, cool, cool.

Marinette was most definitely not cool.

———

The funny thing was, the more Luka seemed to change and grow into himself—taking the bac, finishing high school, kicking up his work to full-time and then some—the more most of him seemed to stay the same. He made nice with practically everyone; he let Juleka get seconds on the cupcakes before he’d even had firsts; he tapped his toes to whatever music was playing and drummed his fingers along the armrest of the couch like it was a keyboard or the neck of his guitar. And he insisted, as the party wound down and her other friends and family were leaving, on helping her parents clean the apartment so they could rest easy. “Ma may be the champion of messes and chaos at home,” he said with a casual shrug, “But she still taught me to pull my own weight as soon as I could walk.”

It sounded right, and Marinette couldn’t tell who was smiling wider: her, or her father.

Probably her.

Of course it’d be her.

He was good at pulling his weight, though, lugging around a large trash bag and wrapping up trash in the vinyl tablecloth they wouldn’t be using again. It was… sweet. Almost as sweet as the times that he would pause in the middle of some task, smile at her from across the room, and then turn right back to his work. He’d been doing that for years now, and it still made her stomach flutter—sometimes when she didn’t want it to. Most of the time, she’d started to realize, she did want it to.

“Will you be safe getting home, Luka?” Marinette’s mother called from the kitchen over the sound of rushing water. “I know you told your sister not to wait up for you.”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied, casual and calm as always as he tied off the trash bag and handed it to her father. “I just have to get my guitar from upstairs. Thank you for letting me stay.”

Marinette would swear that, on his way to the dumpster outside, her father was watching her suspiciously as she and Luka scurried up the stairs to her room, as though she wasn’t going to be on her own an entire ocean away in a matter of weeks. She understood her father, she really did, but he didn’t always have to be so… adamant, about how he’d always see her as his little girl. At least he’d had the good sense not to say so during the party. She hoped he’d have the good sense not to say anything after Luka left, too.

Luka’s guitar was tucked away right where he left it. He took it by the neck and made for the stairs that led up to her balcony. “Can we?” he asked, actually sounding halfway uncertain. “I’ve never been up there before.”

She nodded so fast she was afraid her head might come clean off, but she managed to laugh at herself with him, however nervous. She followed him up the steps, hoisting herself up onto the balcony; Luka lagged behind, not just to hand off his guitar to her, but also to toss his shoes up and climb up after them. “Didn’t wanna step on your blankets with my sneakers. Who knows what they’ve stepped in.”

Honestly, Marinette was too busy staring in awe at how easily he’d pushed himself up to care about that. Or about the heat, even this late at night, whipping across her skin. Had he always had muscles like that? And when did that snake tattoo get there?

He offered her a sheepish shrug as he closed the latch; of course he’d noticed her staring. “Boat,” was all he said in explanation as he pulled on his sneakers and tied them up again. He held out both hands for the guitar, and she gave it to him so mechanically that she’d barely realized she’d done it.

“So, um…” Now the end of July was getting to her; she had to shrug out of her flannel and tie it around her waist and put up her hair to keep it from tickling and clinging to the back of her neck. She hoped he didn’t mind, but she always got the sense he thought candid fit her best. “What’d you want to come up here for?”

Luka tilted his head. “I wanted to give you your present.” As though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Almost instantly, Marinette’s stomach lurched. A gift? For her? In private? “Luka,” she began, though her insistence sounded weak, “you know you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.” He shrugged again. “Is that okay?”

“I… Yeah, of course it’s okay. I’m not gonna tell you it’s not okay—”

He laughed under his breath; it should have flustered her, but, instead, she only felt more comfortable. Strangely so. “Okay,” he said. “Get comfy.”

Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t ask questions, no matter how much she wanted to. She only settled in her deck chair, keeping her eyes on him as she grabbed a nearby hand fan. It kept her cool, sure, but more than anything it gave her hands something to do. For some reason, they always needed that, especially when she was asked to do mostly nothing. She only fanned herself faster when he fished out a pick and readjusted his guitar in his lap, poised to play.

Oh, God.

A song. She should have known.

The summer heat meant that Luka needed some extra time to tune the guitar, but he did it with such a practiced hand that Marinette couldn’t help but be impressed, even after all these years of knowing him. With one last strum, he was ready, and already she felt it soothing the pit of her heart. “All right,” he murmured. “Here goes.”

She didn’t know whether to close her eyes and let the music flow through her, or keep her eyes open and watch it come to life in him instead. The song, low and easygoing, made the choice for her, calmed her into a half-lidded lull and slowed her hand. She heard rain in how he played, the patter of it against skylights and window panes, the rumble of a summer evening thunderstorm in the low tones. She heard it as much as she felt it in her heart. And even though her gaze caught on the way his fingers danced along the fretboard, and the way he picked at those strings, she lingered on his face much more. How he didn’t even have to look at his own instrument to know so intimately how it worked. How he chewed on his lip, so focused, that it’d probably be swollen and red by the time he was done. Maybe most importantly, how deep the circles and lines under his eyes ran into his skin.

He hadn’t been running himself ragged for work.

He’d been running himself ragged for her.

When Luka finished, soft and slow, he had a smile on his face that so easily matched his own music—that so easily disappeared when he met her eyes. “Marinette,” he said, looking frozen. “You’re crying.”

She hadn’t realized it until then, but now that he’d said something she could feel her own tears, heavy and trickling down her cheeks. Hastily, she rubbed them away with the sleeve of her sweater. “Sorry,” she whispered. “It was just… really beautiful, I don’t know what to say. It made me want to hear it all the time. It made me want to…”

To stay in Paris a little longer.

To say all the things she should have said months ago. Maybe years ago.

To hold his hand, and sit where his guitar sits, and let him wipe the tears away, and swallow up all the times he’d told her he wanted to play music that sounded just like her, and—

“Marinette?”

She shook her head and swallowed hard. Sat up straight, and moved to sit in front of him, until their bare knees bumped together in the night. She could reach for his hand, but she didn’t. “Can you play it again?”

#miraculous ladybug #lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #ml writer zine #y'all i was so excited when i got to write this #so i hope you get to enjoy it too

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