#i focus way too much on the details while sketching cause habit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wyrmy-fics · 3 years

Text

❃ Drawing Subject ❃

Kaeya X Albedo fic.

Hello again! Finally picking back up with writing after a well deserved hiatus. This was written over the course of a month or two so it’s not entirely consistent and doesn’t have a proper ending to it, but I just wanted to write about these two captains realizing how pretty they are…. 🤲 (will edit this over time probably)

Reblogs and requests are appreciated. :)

Includes: Kaeya, Albedo.

Warnings -> N/A

Type: Character ship fanfic.

Intro -

"What is this?" The tune of the calvary captains voice caught Albedo's attention, causing the latter to set down a pair of vials in response. A sheet of paper hung from between Kaeya's fingertips along with a playful grin stretched out.

"That's..." Albedo started, trying to find the proper explanation in this situation. The paper displayed a doodle with only three strokes etched in; a circle for a head, a long string across the circle... And an eyepatch attached. He cleared his throat before continuing, "Klee had requested it. I hadn't the time or proper reference to do much more."

A quiet hum filled the awkwardness in the room as Kaeya examined over the drawing once more. It left the alchemist wondering how it had come into their conversation, much less Kaeya's possession, but the train of thought was soon interrupted.

"You could have at least added the hair."

"That's your concern—?"

"It's an important detail."

"As I said, I didn't have a proper reference to grab such details. Usually I would work with my subject at hand, but—"

"Oh?" This new information peaked Kaeya's curiosity as if a lightbulb illuminated above his head. Setting the paper down to fold his arms across his chest, the captain strode closer. "Then, if you had your subject with you, would you try it again?"

The question had momentarily silenced Albedo while it processed in his mind. It was common to see such a reaction from the other over the simplest things, mostly resulting in some sort of teasing, but never for his drawings. He turned his body to mirror Kaeya's stance, "I suppose I would."

"Great. I'll be free in my office in the next hour or so. Don't keep me waiting too long, will you?"

"All I have to do is sit here, yes?"

"If you please."

The cavalry office wasn't the biggest room in the Favonius Headquarters, but without much of a cavalry to captain, the space was wide enough for one person to do as they please. Any company was welcome to fill in the empty spots and distract him from the agonizing hours of paperwork. Taking advantage of this, Albedo situated an area for him to work.

It was a sight to see; the couch was strategically positioned away from it's usual place against the wall and right in front stood a tall easle. Any type of work to such length should be handled with care, Albedo thought, much to the surprise of the other.

"I didn't know such a request would have struck something in you, Chief Alchemist. I can't say I'm complaining, though," Kaeya said, stepping in front of the couch into position.

The artist in question hadn't looked up from his preparations just yet. Setting the sketchbook in it's place along with the few charcoal pencils, he replied, "Correct me if I'm wrong, Captain, but there's no harm in taking such a thing seriously."

"Nothing to correct here," An amused huff followed his reply.

Everything was set and ready to begin - however, there was one last adjustment to be made first. Finally looking up from the easle with his chin pinched, Albedo spoke up, "If you don't mind, could you remove your boa?"

Kaeya raised an eyebrow, "You're asking me to undress now? If I had known it was that type of artwork, I would have prepared myself a little more." His teasing only resulted in a head shake of the other.

"No, that's not it... I'd like to remove any distractions from your face. But you're welcome to keep it on if you feel more comfortable that way."

That's what intrigued him the most about Albedo - no matter how much the captain tried, there was no way to completely throw the other off guard. It kept things interesting to find himself at a loss for how to gain back the upper hand. Silently accepting the favor, Kaeya reached up to unclip the feathery boa from his shoulder, bringing his cape along with it.

Without such an accessory shaping his face, it was clear to see there wasn't much else to his design. An approved nod from Albedo set them both back into their previous rhythm now that he could focus on each detail - at least in more than three strokes.

Kaeya sat himself down onto the couch and crossed his legs, draping an arm over the back of the frame to give himself a pose that could show as much as possible. "How is this?"

"That's fine," Albedo replied, turning his view back to the easle, "Make sure not to move too much."

The initial sketching process was the slowest part of this whole ordeal. Albedo's primary focus was placing in the guidelines and rough movements in order to capture the pose Kaeya was placed and work from there. Though the room fell completely quiet aside from the paper, it was comfortable between the two.

And then, it began. Detail by detail began to form over the sketch and the charcoal pencil would flip to the rubber end occasionally, letting Albedo render in what was needed. His eyes would dart back and forth from his subject and the piece so that nothing was left untouched; his gaze falling into a more serious and concentrated stare.

From Kaeya's point of view, it was a sight worth remembering. Not once had he seen the Chief Alchemist so willing, so vulnerable. Every little habit had made it's way to the surface as the captain watched with care. The way Albedo would tap the pencil on his chin while thinking of how to properly execute certain details, or the way he would hum to himself in approval after perfecting it. His mouth would twist and turn in different ways as he lost himself in the process, allowing Kaeya's own to turn upright into a small smile.

On the other hand, Albedo couldn't help but use this opportunity to completely take in the sight of the other. What fascinated him the most about the world was the fact he never properly fit in amongst other humans, since he himself was not one. The alchemists goal was to find answers and construct creations during his time in Mondstat, for the sole purpose of his master and to ease his own curiosity.

However, as anyone could have guessed, Kaeya also does not fit in with the other humans of Mond. He was human at the least, but far different than any of the other captains or civillians. What could possibly be under that eyepatch, Albedo wondered as he filled in the gold designs along the leather covering. What kind of secrets hide behind that smile, what creatures have those gloved hands fought?

And in sync, they both recognized each others beauty enveloped in vulnerability. It was the only time to notice the way their skin contrasted each others from pale to tan, forming over their bones and muscles perfectly. The braided hair that was meticulously cared for with utmost patience somehow matched the long and messy blue draped over the couch.

Was this really a request for an artist, or simply two curious individuals wanting a closer look?

The occasional small talk would happen during their session, but the majority of their time together remained in each others quiet company. As it slowly came to a close, the moments they shared were kept confidential between the two. They weren’t ashamed or forced to stay hushed about the events that took place, but there wasn’t a need to flaunt either.

Though Master Jean tends to ask where the framed drawing on Kaeya's desk came from, to which he simply responds, "It was a gift."

Thank you for reading! Not too happy with the ending and can make a part 2 if requested…? :) 💙

85 notes · View notes

enthusiastic-nimrod · 4 years

Note

Hey I'm Fred's fourth daddy anon! I sent that to you, and what felt like five minutes later you came in with that gorgeous sketch. Do you have any art tips or videos that have taught you cause I've been stuck draw trying to draw anything not resembling a lump for two years. Also yeah it was whirlwind episode, f*ck Rose, and Fred should have turned that loon in.

Hey FD Anon, thanks so much! I don’t draw a lot of “horror” art so I’m really happy with it’s progress so far!

While I do agree with you that Rose is The Worst, I think she added in an interesting dynamic and I’d be happy if she became a recurring character in the Scooby mythos at large. As for Fred not turning his dad in... I agree, but I also understand why he didn’t.

The episode went out of it’s way to show off how frightening and weird he is but Fred made it very clear that when he wasn’t wearing the mask he was a good parent, and that all of his crimes were shown as nonviolent. He didn’t seem to steal anything (unless I missed that line?) he just liked messing with people by confusing them.

As for art tips, I... honestly never expected anybody to ask for advice from me? That’s super flattering wow.

Okay, so I’m still pretty much a novice, but lemme give you some of my best tips and tricks:

1) Notice how my last sketch had a grey background? This wasn’t just for that sketch, this is how I use ALL of my digital canvases. I do this because the grey causes less strain to my eyes, and allows me to work longer and more easily. Being so close to a screen, especially a blue or white one, can make it harder to work for long periods of time.

2) If you want to do digital art, you need to learn “traditional art” (pencil and paper) first. It makes transitioning to digital more easy and it’s pretty much what any art teacher would recommend, for good reason.

3) Using one method of art not only limits you, but stops you from learning other techniques which can be incorporated into what you typically prefer. Not only that, but you can also discover a medium you really love that you never would have thought of before!

4) Whenever you get the chance, work in black and white or monochrome. This is a great way to help yourself learn about values and intensity, and just looks cool in general.

5) Piggybacking on that last point, if you’re ever worried about your shading, values, etc becoming muddled either A] take a picture and use a filter to make it black and white, or B] create another, pure white layer on top of the others and change it from “Normal” to “Hue”. Doing this can really help change your approach to coloring (black and white effect may be different for every art program).

6) If you want to get better at realistic faces, I was taught using the grid system. You have squares on your reference picture, squares on your paper, and then match up the body parts to the squares. I personally didn’t like this method, but it’s a really solid style of learning.

7) Start with the torso instead of the head. what you start with the head, the body may end up becoming wonky and having the neck stretched out at an odd angle or having a too small cranium. This is easier to fix in digital art but I suggest just remembering the importance of that rib cage (this is something I’m still training myself out of).

8) Asking for feedback can be an invaluable tool. For example, last year I had this really weird thing where I drew my eyes way too close together- I never noticed until I had it pointed out to me, and it took MONTHS to break this habit.

9) References are very useful, and one fun technique I’ve found great use in is to draw a pose, first with no reference, and then following that reference very strictly. This can be helpful when you want to see where you are developmentally.

10) Every now and then while drawing, you want to put the pencil down, prop up your paper, and walk away so that you can see the full image from a distance. If you’re working digitally, you zoom out a great deal so that the image appears smaller. This is a GREAT tool for seeing which sections of the piece need the most attention and how those smaller details hold up.

11) If you have the opportunity, you REALLY want to participate in an actual art class. Having a teacher that can see what you’re doing in real time and knows where you’re at skill-wise is an INVALUABLE thing to have- these people were specifically taught how to teach you these skills, recognize your problems and how to fix them. Don’t be afraid to talk to them and ask for advice about non-classwork art, either! You can’t receive help if you don’t ask for it.

12) Flip your canvas! I know you’ve probably heard this before, but this is one of the best ways to check for anatomy inconsistencies.

13) When it comes to youtube artists, I don’t really actively follow any, but I do know of some!

Mark Crilley: While I don’t watch his videos much now, I used to follow his videos RELIGIOUSLY. He’s got some really solid advice on how to map out comics and mangas, and he taught me the importance of silent scenes and keeping your work from getting too wordy. He mostly does the soft anime look, but he also does some pretty stellar realism.

mikeymegamega: I’m not going to lie to you, anon- this man likes his cheesecake. This guy is all about the cute anime girls, so if you’re not looking for that, skip him, but I really can’t recommend his videos on hands, feet, and faces enough.

Proko: Has a video about best drawing exorcises and is the guy you turn to when you want to know about figure drawing. He tends to focus on the more realistic anatomy, and while his videos may be long he’s got some good advice. I’d say to check out his studying anatomy correctly video, and then just kinda scroll through his pages.

Ethan Becker: THE KNIFE MAN. The first time I clicked on him I thought he was making a troll video- but then he Got Into It and my dudes, my guys, he has some CRAZY good advice. The way he words things and shows you examples in his videos are amazing and I really can’t recommend him enough. He did a video called “Fixing PROKO's LAZY Drawings“ and while you’d think it would be a bash fest his advice on shading in it is just so incredibly useful. Click on pretty much any of his videos and you’ll be entertained and learning.

I'd also suggest watching speedpaints. Even if it was unintentional, I’ve learned several really solid art hacks from speedpaint and storytime videos- so always be aware that you have an option for that.

…. Oh! And also, practice! I know you’ve probably been given this advice from everyone already, but it’s worth remembering.

Sorry if this got a bit long, I just figured I’d try to give you some good hacks- and even if you have already heard of most of these, I hope I could at the very least entertain!

#ask #response #anon #art advice #art tips #scooby doo #fred jones #professor huh #bcsd

119 notes · View notes

lov3nerdstuff · 5 years

Text

How long is forever?

*Tom Hiddleston x reader*

Parts: Oneshot

Words: 4.2k

Genre: flufffff

Imagine: You catch Tom's interest at Comic Con

Request: by @my-mind-was-lostintranslation I rly hope this is something you will enjoy 💗 I just never end up writing requests the obvious way 😂

______________________________

You had been reluctant about agreeing to come along. Reluctant about the entire idea of going to Comic Con, about buying tickets for way too much money, about your somewhat-friends wanting to randomly crash with some people they would surely meet instead of getting an overpriced hotel, about your one friend making you wear this skimpy green Loki dress because she thought it would go along nicely with your tattoos and skin color. And still, some demon had planted the seed of hope in your brain and thus you found yourself coming along, hoping to meet the only person at this convention you actually found any interest in. Tom Hiddleston.

You were dressed as one of his characters after all, even if not entirely by choice. Sure, you had seen his movies and shows and enjoyed his acting quite the deal, but what truly fascinated you about him was his own person. His character and opinions, smart thoughts and deep questions. He just seemed like a person you would love to get to know, for surely he was more interesting than any of your other acquaintances (maybe even than the friends you were here with… it was more of a community of purpose than a real friendship after all). And listening to Tom's panel was probably the closest you would get to spending time with a kindred mind.

Unfortunately your friends were more the anime and manga kind of people, definitely more than you were at least, and thus you found yourself going to Tom's panel alone. You weren't one of those girls who would sell their soul to sit in the front, or to ask questions… no, you were content sitting in the middle of the room and just letting life happen around you.

As an artist yourself, you had originally been fairly interested in the artwork you would get to see here, but all too soon you had been severely disappointed by the few artists who had even bothered to come to a rather small con like this at all. That someone like Tom was present for the day bordered on a miracle, really, considering the size of the convention. Maybe he had been in the region for shooting whatever film he was currently working on?

As you sat in the middle of the audience room, waiting for the panel to start, you found yourself mesmerized by the lightning situation on stage. It hit the objects in such a way that they just begged you to be turned into art… and you didn't have anything else to do anyway. So, thinking that you maybe just should've gone to the museum instead of this convention, you dug a black pen out of your bag, along with a small blank paper notebook and started sketching with a content sigh.

Once the panel started, having someone else talk first before Tom would come on, you went on to also sketch the portrait of the panel's host and the first guest, for listening was just easier while drawing. And when finally the time had come, and Tom was greeted on stage with thundering applause, you found yourself smiling to yourself as you flipped the page of your notebook to start on a portrait finally worth drawing.

_______________

Tom was tired. Very tired indeed, as he had been urged to come to the convention impossibly early despite having spent most of the night traveling and doing interviews. And now he was to go out onto the stage and smile and chat with people while pretending not to fall asleep any minute. It had been easy enough to smile and say hi and bye in a sinus curve of repetition while signing pretty much whatever people had brought, but now he actually was supposed to talk some sense, and avoid spoilers, and preferably also do some subtle and appealing PR for his newest movie. However all he really wanted to do was to have a nice cup of tea and get some sleep. But this was work, and this wasn't even half as bad as his tired brain made it out to be. He liked talking to people, to fans and interviewers and host, after all and this surely would be fun.

So he really only had to fake a smile for the first three seconds as he walked onto stage, for he had to smile for real from then on. It was a smaller convention, but the room was packed nonetheless. He enjoyed the fact that he could actually see the audience for once, and not only a black pit of murmurs and occasional flashing lights. It made the whole thing way more pleasant, and as he shook hands with everyone and sat down, he actually felt comfortable and ready to have a nice chat.

He answered some questions about the movie he was working on, had a couple laughs with the host, and then some time to let his eyes wander through the audience while the other guest was being interviewed. It wasn't a habit, really, but he liked to count the number of character he recognized from people's costumes. It was a good way to check if his pop culture knowledge was severely lacking or only minorly lacking currently.

His eyes flew over the audience members quickly but intently, and he found himself smiling in excitement a couple times whenever he spotted someone dressed as Loki. But otherwise, the crowd wasn't unusual in any way, to his eyes… Until they fell upon a young woman in a green sleeveless dress, scribbling something into a journal. Her eyes moved from the stage to the book, back and forth, again and again, as her hand moved quicker than Tom could begin to follow. She had drawings, tattoos, on her shoulders and arms, but Tom couldn't really tell what they depicted nor if they were real or part of the costume. But he could tell that, as his eyes moved on over the audience, they were drawn back to her within seconds, again and again. He tried ignoring her, scanning the rest of the audience part by part, but it was of no use… his eyes would always revert back to the girl.

She was still drawing, or writing maybe… Tom couldn't tell. But the tiredness in his brain was washed away more and more the longer he watched her, inspecting both her actions and her appearance.

The dress probably was supposed to be a costume of some kind, but not a particularly good or detailed one… more of a jersey dress than a costume created with effort. Nothing that would cause his mind to cling onto her so much.

Suddenly every thought was stilled in the depth of his mind, as her eyes moved back to the stage and found his own. It had been merely accidental on both ends, he could tell by her surprised look, but now that their eyes had locked, Tom found himself unable to tear his gaze away. So did she, and they remained entirely focused on each other in complete stillness.

"Tom? You still with us, buddy?" The host's amused voice came crashing into Tom's muted mind and he almost jumped a little as his eyes left hers to look at his fellows on the stage. Gosh, he had completely forgotten that he was still very much on public display… no sleep wasn't too kind on his brain.

"I'm so sorry." Tom replied with an apologetic, breathless laugh. "What did you say again?"

For the next fifteen minutes, Tom answered the fans' questions. Ever so often, his eyes would flick back to the girl in the green dress for a mere second before coming back to the person he was actually speaking to. It wasn't very polite, he knew that, but he just couldn't stop himself, couldn't stop his mind from returning to her whenever chance allowed him. Unfortunately he didn't meet her eyes again, and the intriguing, time stopping experience from before remained a singularity.

Why couldn't she be asking him a question? Tom would've loved to speak to her, for whatever reason. Maybe just to hear her voice. Maybe to find out why he couldn't stop looking at her, wondering about her…

The questions that were asked, as usual, ranged from the boring things people could just have googled to the slightly more interesting things such as his favorite book quotes. But yet again, there was nothing all too interesting, nothing Tom really had to focus on too much. It was rare that people asked him things he actually needed to think about, but maybe that was due to the brief nature of the convention. Question, answer, next. In under a minute. Yes, maybe it was Tom himself who was too demanding in the things that would interest him. Still, he was grateful for everyone who bothered to come to his panel and to ask him a question, no matter how boring the question itself was. Just seeing the joy in people's faces when he answered them would be enough on most days to make him happy indeed.

But today, it wasn't enough. He found that while it did fill him with joy to see people being happy about his answers, he couldn't quite be content as long as he still hadn't spoken to the girl. At least hear her ask a question… since real conversation was so rare at con.

"I'm afraid we're running out of time." The host declared sadly, drawing Tom out of his thoughts. "That was the last question."

A loud round of disappointed 'ooh's from the audience made Tom smile ever so slightly, until his eyes met the girl's once more, causing his features to relax into neutral curiosity.

"Any last words, Tom?" The host asked dramatically, laughing at his own exaggeration.

"Actually…" Tom started, thinking that at least this once he would actually make use of him being a celebrity and thus having the ability to do a great deal of things that weren't planned and that would thereby cause chaos for other people. But he couldn't help it. "Actually, I would like to ask a question too."

"A question? To… to someone in the audience?" The host rose his eyebrows and Tom nodded, upon which the former continued. "Uhm, well, go ahead then. A question from Tom Hiddleston, everybody!"

People clapped and cheered for a moment and Tom turned in his chair to face the audience, to face the girl he was so keen on getting to know. Her eyes were back on the journal, jumping back back forth between the item in her lap and Tom on the stage.

"My question…" Tom started, heart picking up speed rapidly. What was he doing here…? Causing Luke problems, most likely. "My question is for the girl in the green dress who has been scribbling in her notebook for the entire duration of this panel. Twelfth row from the back, right in the middle."

The spotlight that had previously been fixed on the audience microphone moved over the crowd, until it halted right on the mysterious girl Tom meant to talk to. She looked up from her notebook immediately, looking around herself in mild panic first and then staring right back at Tom like a deer in the headlights.

Tom's stomach dropped, twisting in nervousness… he hadn't meant to make her uncomfortable, hadn't thought about putting her on display like that. Gosh, he really should've put more thought into this, he usually put way too much thought into everything… but now he had to follow through with it either way. What did he want to ask again…? Her eyes fixed on his had his heart skipping multiple beats and his mind fall silent for a moment… until he remembered that everyone was staring at him expectantly. He still hadn't come up with a question.

"Alright, my question for you is…" He paused very briefly, wondering how he could find out who she was with only one single question. But then again… maybe he only had to find out if getting to know her would be worth the trouble. "How long is forever?"

_______________

Murmuring erupted in the audience room around you, and your heart beat so fast that it almost jumped out of your ribcage. Was this really happening? Everyone was looking at you… some people were even filming the whole thing. And everyone was waiting for your answer. Great… How long was forever indeed? Right now, every moment that passed with Tom looking at you felt like an own eternity. That's when it clicked in your mind.

"Sometimes, just one second." You replied loud enough to be heard all the way to the front, actually pushing yourself to get over your nervousness. Easier said than done… you felt like fainting. Luckily you were sitting already, otherwise your knees just might have given in. And when Tom started smiling at you widely a second later, your insides turned into a mushy goo of nerves and excitement and tingles.

"Thank you." He said with the most adorable expression, and you bit your bottom lip to keep from grinning. Surely, you had noticed how he'd looked at you a couple times throughout the panel, but you had thought you'd imagined it. That he had looked at everyone that way.

But when your eyes had met, it had sent a bolt of liquid lightning through your veins, flooding your body with a new kind of excitement. Then he had gone on to say he meant to ask one single question to someone in the audience, and you had been sure it wouldn't be to you. Obviously you'd been wrong about that.

Almost in a haze, you observed how the host thanked Tom and the other guest for coming, before ushering both out of sight. The lights on stage went out, the ones in the audience room brightened, and people around you started to leave as if your heart hadn't just almost exploded.

Well, that certainly had been something. Didn't happen to you every day that people wanted to quote Alice in Wonderland with you, and even less that someone actually talked to you willingly, and still even less that this someone was a person you actually wanted to talk to as well. And yet even less that the person happened to be Tom Hiddleston. You closed your eyes for a moment to calm down.

Now that the adrenaline was slowly letting you breathe normally again, you flipped your notebook shut and stuffed it into your bag together with the pen, wondering why exactly he had asked YOU, out of all people, THIS question, out of all the things he could've asked. Your friends would never believe this.

Once you felt like you could actually walk again, you rose to your feet and made your way to the exit, only to be stopped by a hand on your shoulder.

With a frown you turned around, believing you might have lost something maybe, only to find a man in a suit standing in front of you. Your frown deepened.

"Excuse me, but you're the girl Tom asked that odd question, right?" He asked politely, withdrawing his hand from your shoulder the second you turned around.

"It wasn't an odd question, it was Alice's question to the white rabbit. But yeah, that was me." You replied before you could stop yourself from being a smartass, looking at the man curiously. He wore one of those badges that gave him access to the VIP and backstage areas… obviously he belonged to the staff. The suit alone was a poor indicator of that, after all… someone in a suit at Comic Con could also just be a man in black, or whatever incarnation of the doctor or anything really. His suit looked too expensive to be a costume though.

"Would you mind coming to the VIP area with me? Tom, that nut, begged me to do whatever it takes to get you over there and I really don't want to have him running around out here himself. Who knows what mischief he may cause..." The man sighed with a small smile and you felt your cheeks heating up. Tom wanted to talk to you. For real. What?!

"Uhm… Of course, I mean… sure?" You replied insecurely, and the man in the suit sighed in relief before walking ahead and motioning for you to follow. Three minutes later you had passed on into a different hall and ventured past a couple security guards, finally coming to an area that was completely closed off to the public. You felt only minorly nervous now, and mostly curious. Without a thousand people staring at you, it was way easier to think.

The man in the suit led you towards a group of people standing in a loose circle, talking and laughing. You actually recognized most of them from movies or TV shows as you quickly went over their faces, looking around until your eyes fell upon Tom. As he saw you approaching, his eyes lit up and he smiled in your direction.

"You owe me." The man in the suit said to Tom as you came to stand in front of him at last. "Don't do anything stupid."

"I would never!" Tom replied to him with a grin, upon which he rolled his eyes.

"I'm keeping an eye on you, Hiddleston." The man grinned back as he turned to leave again.

"That's what I'm paying you for!" Tom called after him, laughing and shaking his head to himself before finally looking at you with a small smile. "Hi."

"Hey." You replied, unable to keep from smiling yourself. "Did I answer correctly?"

"Oh, you did for sure. Don't worry."

"Good." You chuckled, looking to your feet for a second and then back at the man in front of you. Gosh, he really was too handsome for his own good.

"Am I making you nervous?" He asked reluctantly, giving you an almost concerned look.

"I'm not starstruck, if that's what you mean." You replied easily, actually not feeling nervous at all for once. "I'm just wondering why I'm here."

"Because I'm curious about you." Tom smiled, and you could swear that he was blushing a little bit. It looked rather adorable and your heart skipped a beat. "What's your name?"

"I'm Y/n." You replied lightly, taking in all the small details about him that you hadn't been able to see from the distance before.

"Y/n… that's a lovely name. I'm Tom."

"Yeah, I know." You laughed, biting your lip to keep from grinning too widely. Whether he was trying to make you relaxing by humor or if he really was just a dork, you found yourself to be comfortable with him.

"Of course you do…" He laughed too, looking down to the ground and shaking his head to himself. Oh, he was definitely blushing now, and it was freaking adorable.

"You observed me during the panel, didn't you?" You asked calmly, trying to ease his embarrassment a bit by changing the topic.

"I did indeed." He gave you an apologetic smile as he motioned for you to take a seat on the couch, before sitting down across from you. "I just couldn't help it."

"And here I was, thinking I'm making things up." You chuckled.

"What were you scribbling in that notebook the entire time? If you don't mind me asking..." He inquired curiously, eyes searching and finding yours. Somehow they held the power to stop time for you and leave you feeling completely mesmerized. Tom seemed to experience a similar thing, for he only kept looking at you while you looked back at him for a second bearing your own forever. Until someone dropped something on the concrete floor very loudly, making both of you jump.

"I… I was just sketching some random objects, some people…" You finally replied as you found your words again. "Nothing special."

"So you're an artist? Here at the convention?"

"Yes, and no. I am an artist, but not in a million years famous enough to be invited to con." You laughed, taking in the sincere interest in Tom's expression. It'd been such a long time since anybody had looked at you like that...

"May I take a look at today's work?" He asked with so much hope that there was no way you could've said no to him. Whatever it was he would ask of you.

So you handed him your journal, and he flipped the pages open at your bookmark. That would be the portrait you sketched of him.

"Wow, this is amazing…" He remarked, frowning as he focused entirely on the drawing for a moment. "You did this in, what, fifteen minutes?"

"Yup." You shrugged, feeling your cheeks heat up yet again. "I mean, you're too tempting not to draw."

Tom's eyes shot up from the page to meet yours as he pulled up one eyebrow and grinned at you, while you only now registered what you had said, closing your eyes and biting your lip in embarrassment.

"I just meant that with you as a sitter, every portrait would look good." You tried to make it sound right, only to find Tom still grinning at you in amusement.

"Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself." Tom spoke softly, and your skin tingled pleasantly at the warm depth of his voice.

"Oscar Wilde, nice." You smirked at him, causing his eyes to light up yet again.

"You enjoy literature?"

"Probably just as much as art."

"Literature is art though, wouldn't you say?"

"It is indeed." You replied softly, smiling. "Maybe that's why I enjoy it so much."

For the next hour, or maybe rather hours –who could tell how much time passed when so lost in each other's captivating presence?– you and Tom stayed sitting on that couch, ignoring everything and everyone outside of your conversation. Talking to him was so much more than you had ever imagined, so utterly intriguing and captivating… You had completely fallen for him before you knew.

"Y/n…" Tom started, velvety voice wrapping around your senses like liquid sin. "I…"

He was interrupted by an assistant stepping up to the couch hastily, letting Tom know that he needed to get to his signing table ASAP, being twenty minutes late already. Your heart fell upon those words, more than you would've assumed, as it meant that you would have to leave too. That the little time you had with Tom had come to an end. But you wouldn't be so foolish as to assume that any of this would lead to anything more than a nice memory.

With a sad smile you couldn't really brighten up, you rose to your feet, urging Tom to do the same.

"It was truly lovely meeting you, Tom. A dream." You said gently as you stood right in front of him, the assistant having left to be of use elsewhere.

"It is your dream. You decide where it goes from here." He replied in the same soft quiet, looking down at you in both affection and reluctance. "I'm afraid I find it rather impossible to part from you. What are we to do about that?"

"You will go your way and I will go mine… And by tonight you won't remember my name, my face or my words anyway. I'm one in a million, a passing star in an entire universe of equals." You smiled at him with a heavy heart, meaning your words to be encouraging rather than saddening. "While you, Tom, you contain multitudes all by yourself."

"I'm your equal, Y/n…" He protested lightly, frowning with an almost shy smile. "I want to be."

"You do?" Your eyes widened as gentle a shiver ran down your spine.

"Of course." His smile widened for a moment, and his eyes flicked down to the small gap between you very briefly before he looked back to your eyes and let his fingers brush gently against yours. The minimal touch left your skin ablaze in an instant, scorching liquid heat running wildly through your veins. Your breath hitched, and his smile widened even more. "I have to go to my signing now, or Luke will have my head. But I'm refusing to let you go, and I would be the luckiest man in all those multitudes if you would wait for me here. I'm gonna be all yours once I return."

With your stomach in pleasant coils, and your heart in his hands already, you didn't even need to think before nodding with the happiest smile. "I will be here. How long does the signing take?"

"Sometimes, just a second, my dear." He grinned at you, giving your hand a light squeeze before jogging off to where the man in the suit was waiting for him with a roll of his eyes and a smirk. And as you watched Tom leaving, winking at you once more before he was out of sight, you already couldn't wait for his return.

______________________________

General Tag List:

@its-remy-not-ratatouille @wegingerangelica @thidls12333 @tomstoobeautiful @dreary-skies-stuff @averyhill4445 @wiczer @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @theweirdlunatic @caretheunicorn @kthemarsian @lady-of-lies @sadly-falling-through-wonderland @strawberrysandcream @noplacelikehome77 @theoneanna @mishaandthebrits @mygodisloki @i-am-a-mes @nonsensicalobsessions @exygon @hiddles-lobotomy @rjohnson1280 @annwhojumps @spookycatqueen @salempoe @headoverhiddleston @fanfiction-and-stress @createdfromblue @halszka-potter @thecreatiivecorner @themusingsofmany @inthemarvelvoid @from-hel-i-with-love @kinghiddlestonanddixon @scorpionchild81 @foodthatsgoodforyoursoul @crystal-28 @adefectivedetective @lokis-girl-in-mischief

If you would like to be added to my general tag list, tell me in the comments 💗✨ also, I would greatly appreciate some feedback! Hugs to all you lovely people 💚

#tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #Loki #loki of asgard #loki (marvel)#loki fanfic #loki odinson #loki #loki smut #tom hiddleston x you

555 notes · View notes

fourrarri · 4 years

Note

He’d never thought himself much good at giving gifts. At least not the traditional way. A general non-interest in materialism and a fondness for practicality that grew with his age having made a habit for him of gift giving at random to address a need rather than wait for any specific occasion. Not something that anyone ever seemed to mind but had always caused him a prickle of disquiet in him when it came to birthdays, or christmas. Anytime he was left floundering for gift ideas really. Especially when the occasion for gift giving was someone near & dear to his heart & well within means to buy whatever they wanted much less needed.

Still, he’d always loved a challenge, and Lance. . . Well, the hitman was nothing if not that no? And so much more besides, as he’d been delighted to find in the time he’d gotten to know the man thus far. Knowledge he’d put to proper use making the birthday boy’s gifts over the last month. Gifts that not only fullfilled Joel’s fondness for practicality but that he hoped would meet the other’s fondness for aesthetic beauty as well.

But perhaps above all, he hoped they’d translate how much he appreciated what Lance had been willing to share of himself with him. His openess. His history. How very genuine he always was in any response he gave him. Joel wanted to honor that. Show him somehow beyond words that he’d heard him, that he cared. That he was glad to know him. Who he’d been, was now, and if Lance was keen, who he’d become.

“I uhh--, made each of your gifts myself. Well, mostly. I didn’t actually make the packaging on these first two, just what’s inside em.”

The first of the gifts was a bottled set of massage oils. Each one had a color scheme of preserved blossoms to indicate the essential oil he’d picked for fragrance. Flowers that he’d picked himself either having found them while hiking or from various flowershops. The florals he’d then dyed, dried, arranged, glued, and set inside each bottle before adding the oils.

It was no secret that Lance not only enjoyed attention, but absolutely thrived on it. Had made it clear on a handful of occasions that he was not above demanding it, loudly. Or turning into a complete bratling when it wasn’t given to him for longer than he had patience to wait. Lance also liked to touch, to be touched. And if Joel had thought to indulge himself his fondness for ‘taking care’ whilst gifting the man something that encouraged lavish amounts of pampering and focus all on him, well. He rather doubted the other would have issue with it.

“These are massage oils infused with aloe and other essential oils for skin care and fragrance. Should come in handy the next time the sun toasts ya a bit more than you meant. Or when you’re feeling neglected.”

The second wasn’t any less playful or indulgent. They were at a glance a bit of an inside joke, one that only a very small handful of people would probaly ‘get’ if what Lance had told him was anything to go by for how many people knew how he really made money. The gift was a set of lip balms he’d made with a mix of beeswax, shea butter, vaseline, and jojoba oil. Each one had been carefully colored with a combination of powder made out of the leftover blossoms, and food coloring to add tint to them along with their protective and restorative properties.

The set itself was shaded from translucent to various nudes that ranged from natural pink to warmer spice hues. When adding the tint, he had paused, idly wondering if the addition of color to the balms would be too feminine a detail for Lance’s taste. A thought that had gone as fast as it’d come when he recalled the man’s new habit of painting his nails. How much value he placed in his appearence, how little he placed in social norms, how he was seemingly content to enjoy what he liked and not question it beyond that. How very fond he was of Lance for it.

His favorite part of this particualr gift however, was that the case for each one was a hollowed out, reforged, and repurposed rifle cartridge. This detail had probably been what’d taken the most work on his part but in the end he was more than pleased with the results, was certain Lance would be to, as evident in the smile curving his lips as he spoke.

“All that drinking and sunshine dries out your lips chéri. These should help with that, keep you kissable. Some of them are tinted to if you’re feeling flirty.”

The last was the only gift that he’d actually bothered to wrap. To hide. He’d wrapped it meticulously, kept the corners pristine. The paper was ocean blue, patterned with metallic designs. Tied with gold ribbon, topped in an immaculate bow. Inside was a simple white box, and below the lid, buried within more blue, delicate tissue paper was a driftwood picture frame. The frame scaled perfectly for the sketch portraying a memory Lance had described to him in detail from his childhood and coupled with his recall for the one picture Lance had, that he’d shown him upon asking. A picture of him in his boyhood and his mother.

The sketch had taken the whole day. Had been born from a deep rooted desire to somehow give Lance something of that day beyond what he held in his memory. To replicate the warmth he’d had in his tone when he’d spoken of Marianna, described her for him, how she’d been more of a mama to him than the one who’d actually given him life for the most part.

A fact that the man himself had seemed content with upon it’s revealing but had cracked open something hot and hurting inside his throat, in his chest. Something that felt like tears. Was tears. Tears he’d furiously blinked away, turned his face & hid when Lance seemed to nearly notice. Had fallen free once home and he’d contemplated how his friend had learned to normalize loneliness. Normalize family being something you acted out for company and performed rather than actually had. Normalize not having any pictures of them in your home for everything family photos were meant to be and never had been for him.

He hadn’t thought about it. Simply grabbed his sketch book, sat on the chaise in the corner of his living room, just beside the french doors that led out to his porch. The same ones that allowed sunlight in enough to warm him as he worked.

He’d let his hand skate across the page, pencil loose in his fingers, slowly, slowly, the shape of child Lance, the details of Marianna he’d given him coming to life. The profile of her face was hidden, back to the viewer’s sight as she turned, scanned the ocean debris at her feet, the tumble of soft sand in the churning wave line. Smile lingering at the corner of her lips. A peek of profile through her hair but only details, not her whole face. Curls tumbling down her back, the wind catching them, lifting a few stray tendrils. Pointing, reaching, directing a grinning Lance to another sea treasure she’d spotted for him to bring back home.

He wasn’t sure how many hours he’d spent on it; shading in her shadow on the sand, working to capture the gentle folds of of her sundress, capturing every detail Lance had told him about her. All he knew for certain was that it had been early noon when he’d started, and when he’d finally stopped the sun had already gone down.

He didn’t color it. Knew he wouldn’t have to explain to Lance why. How sometimes the best and worst memories looked better in black and white? In the crisp shadows of grayscale, how if you tried to bring back too much you could lose it all? That a memory was its own breed of ghost? How he knew beyoind a doubt he could never capture the blue of the ocean, the warm shade of her eyes, the soft highlights of her hair. Like trying to pin down the wind. Same as capturing her visage without a picture, he didn’t dare attempt bringing the life of color to this memory. Didn’t want to trespass any further than he potentially had.

The smile from before fades, breath catching in his throat enough it hurts to swallow around. Makes him work to force words around his words, his feelings, how little room they leave for anything else.

“Really not good at telling people about how I feel about them when it really counts. Always preffered to show them instead so---.” the words trail off, and he reaches out a hand for the last gift, pushes it within Lance’s reach as his heart begins to hammer away at the cage his ribs suddenly are.

“Not sure if it’s anything like you remember but I wanted to do something for you. Something special. And this wouldn’t leave me alone till I finished it. Ended up drawing it the same day you told me about it. Really hope I didn’t fuck up.” He elects not to tell Lance he means in general, not just the sketch itself.

“You mean----, a lot to me Lance. I don’t even have words for it and I have a few languages to choose from. Hasn’t helped. But I wanted you to know, wanted to show you. Anyways, happy birthday.”

💸 ║ ❛ ————— It always overwhelms him a bit, all these feelings towards Joel and how observing he actually is. Definitely not a man he’s ever met before. And Lance had men before that showed interest in him, tried to promise him the world but in the end the motives were completely focused on the MONEY and lifestyle of the rich and famous. And it’s not like Lance never understood, money and luxury are things he himself enjoys the most as well. But that thought just always runs around his mind; people wouldn’t give a damn about someone like him if he didn’t have all the money, the cars and the big mansion. JOEL is a different kind of man though. Lance managed to convince himself that even if there wasn’t all this money and luxury, Joel would still be there. But most importantly, Joel IS actually here, between all these nice things and in the end all he cares about is putting the smile on Lance’s face.

Lance examines all the gifts while Joel goes off explaining the details. He does listen to what he has to say very carefully but his mind is telling him things. What is it that Joel sees in him that makes him so sure he’s deserving of these things. It only makes Lance notice that he’s only good at accepting gifts as long as he knows the person didn’t really put any effort into it. But all the effort Joel put into it, Lance doesn’t wanna ruin the good moment. Ruin it with his bad thoughts punishing him for feeling grateful for something he doesn’t quite deserve. He is pretty good at shutting his mind off if things make him too vulnerable, so that’s his solution.

A bright smile forms on his lips while looking at all these nice things. Suddenly it just feels so warm inside him, almost pressuring as if there’s something he just has to let out. It’s just a feeling of genuine HAPPINESS that Joel manages to break free, and usually that feeling is archived once he’s had a few shots. No alcohol this time, there’s no need for it. Not even his mind is running to it. Blue eyes wander from all these beautiful gifts to Joel, only for a short moment though. He’s desperately trying to form a sentence in his head to not seem like a child who’s got all the presents it wished for. But talking, expressing himself is hard when he tries to not get over that spot of vulnerability.

❝ Qué digo, qué digo.. Thank you, amorcito, honestly. I really don’t know what to say. ❞ And just as he tries to fight his brain to throw out ANY WORDS, there is another gift coming. Joel seems much more nervous about it, much more emotional. Lance doesn’t wonder too long after he eventually unwrapped it and now examines this personal work. It just causes him to feel a lot of emotions, they just hit him like lightning, yet he’s QUIET for a moment. While there’s still this burst of happiness, there’s also an ache in his heart that’s not easy to handle. A picture like that doesn’t exist but when he looks at it it feels like there’s something real about it. Lance never had a picture of MARIANNA, but if he did he wouldn’t hide it away like he does with the picture of his own mother. Marianna deserves much more than what he’s able to give her. And the fact that Joel actually took the time to awake the memories in his heart does cause him to get very emotional about it. Things like that make him cry like a baby when he’s alone, so he’s really fighting some tears. He doesn’t wanna cry on his birthday.

❝ I can’t believe you did that. Man, soy demasiado emocional para esto. This is a lot. I love it. ❞ At least he got out a little bit before his emotions make his eyes all watery. Still, he fights hard not to cry over it. So the best way to hide that is to simply throw his arms around the other man’s shoulders. The hug holds on for a moment until Lance interrupts it to place a kiss on Joel’s lips. ❝ Merci, chérie. ❞

#themechaneer #💸 ║ ❛ ——— answered.#i'm crying this is so sweet ;____; <3333 #thank you so much for this!!!! <3333 #long post.

4 notes · View notes

fidelismileslucem · 4 years

Text

Know You Better

Slowly, Jack parsed through the thick file in his hands. He'd already memorized every detail between the manila folds, but it never hurt to re-review.

His new assignment was a wealthy vampire recognized for his generosity, his hand in destabilizing notorious slavery rings, and his relationship with the Queen herself. From what Jack had gathered, this 'Gabriel Reyes' was something of a confidant and adviser, and he felt it safe to say Reyes held a trusted friendship with her ladyship, one strong enough for her to come to his defense when accused of murder behind closed doors.

Evidence had recently surfaced that pointed to Reyes as the culprit behind an escalating string of murders, and the Queen, believing this to be an outside force attempting to frame Reyes, ordered an investigation.

That was part of Jack's job, determining whether or not this Reyes was a homicidal killer. The other part was keeping Reyes safe, as his personal bodyguard. If the Queen was right, that meant someone was targeting Reyes in a way that indicated they knew exactly who they were dealing with. A threat to Reyes' life would be imminent, and if he's innocent, it would be a tragic loss for both the Queen, and her kingdom.

Slavery rings were a well known cog in the machine of the Underground, and while they weren't polite topics to have over tea, everyone was aware of them. Feared them.

Men like Reyes had risen in direct and open opposition to them, and Reyes' property was symbolic, a beacon of hope for those freed and not. To lose that (during critical moves to bring the last of the rings to their knees, no less) would have repercussions that even Jack couldn't predict.

It was common knowledge that the village surrounding Reyes' mansion housed freed slaves, free to go wherever they wish, while given the option to stay under Reyes' protection in the village. The property was well warded and well guarded, and if the rumors of Reyes' abilities were to be believed, the man himself was as dangerous as they come. The promise of his protection alone would be enough to scare off any slavers trying to reclaim their property, while the rumors of it among those still trapped provided something something to believe in.

They needed Reyes now, more than ever, and Jack could only hope that Reyes was as innocent as the Queen believed him to be.

Jack looked up from his folder and out the carriage window to the town passing by. It was a beautiful little place, small houses pressed tightly together with creeping vines edging over any surface within reach. The cobblestone streets were well worn and well tended, along with little gardens and planters scattered down the alleys and window ledges. If it weren't so late, Jack knew he would have seen the streets bustling with people, and the more he watched, the more it reminded him a little bit of home. As his thoughts started to drift, Jack caught his first glimpse of of Reyes' mansion through the trees.

This building two stories high, and matched the weathered look of the surrounding village. Dark, elegant accents of iron fought snaking foliage along the walls, and Jack's second thought, the first marveling at the gorgeous mansion, was how much of a nightmare this building was going to be to reinforce.

Jack regretted starting to count how many windows and access points he could see, and that didn't even include all of the ones he couldn't. He'd have to do a walk around the perimeter himself to see all of the vantage points one could use as a sniper, but he'd already noticed at least four. A crease formed between his brows as he counted three trees providing direct access to the second floor via branches.

All things he would have to address with his new charge.

Jack thumbed the small sketch of Gabriel Reyes, given to him in the file, and he tried not to think too hard about how many times he'd looked at the little photo. Reyes was... attractive. Dark, hooded eyes, with broad shoulders, and a jawline that Jack had caught himself staring at multiple times- all made the unprofessional side of Jack wish this wasn't a job. Gabriel Reyes was exactly the type Jack would ask out for drinks, and then some.

A soft sigh escaped Jack's lips as the carriage pulled to a stop at the front door, and a young elf dressed in a servant's uniform descended the steps. Jack tucked the picture back into the file, and he placed his derby hat back on his head. The file returned to his bag just as the door was opened for him, and it didn't go unnoticed by Jack that when he smiled at his greeter the pointed tips of his greeter's ears turned a bright red.

“Mr. Morrison?”

Jack nodded again, and the other man looked shyly away.

“Master Reyes has been expecting you,” he gestured for Jack to follow him, and as Jack stepped out he took a slow breath of misty, evening air.

“Could I get your name?” Jack asked as they ascended the stairs, and the servant blinked over at Jack in surprise.

“I... I'm Renneth, sir.”

“Thank you Renneth,” Jack smiled again, and Renneth quickly looked away.

Once inside Rennth took Jack's coat and hat, and he gestured to a waiting room off to the side, where Jack politely took a seat.

“Please wait here while I announce your arrival. I'll return shortly.”

Jack nodded as Renneth bowed politely and departed, and Jack watching him ascend a set of stairs to disappear down a hall on the second floor.

It took about an entire minute before Jack was on his feet and inspecting his surroundings. He'd never been the type to sit still for long, and the new setting only made the new body guard want to explore.

The interior of the manor was as rustic and charming as the exterior, with matching furniture, accents, and artwork. It was... homey, while still a representation of the vast wealth this man must have. It seemed Reyes was a collector, both in certain aesthetics as well as magic items, which were generally not cheap. Most magic items appeared as and ordinary object to those not magically inclined, but as Jack drifted past a vase holding a delicate bouquet of dried flowers, he felt a familiar hum resonate from it's surface. Jack had always had an affinity for sensing magic, and when he noticed two more items held the same vibration, and he wondered what the enchantments might be.

Jack was no wizard or fae, so he'd never be able to learn how to identify magic or it's intended purpose, but the fact that he could sense it at all was odd for a human. Having adoptive parents meant he'd never really know if he had any magical ancestry, but it was unlikely that he did. If there was magic in his blood, Jack should have shown signs by now, puberty was often a time for supernatural abilities to manifest, and after the super soldier serum trials it was obvious he was simply an oddity in his little talent.

A secret project among the Queen's guard and her secret service, the series of experimental injections were meant to enhance the abilities and magical properties of supernatural soldiers receiving the serum. Someone like Jack should not have been a potential candidate at all, but after hearing about the project and taking interest in it's focus- an elite team dedicated to serving the Queen more directly- Jack reached out to his superiors and personally requested to take part. He was a perfect candidate, as far as numbers went, acing every test and check the administrators put in place, and after a short debate over his eligibility, Jack was allowed his place.

Unfortunately, while the serum did cause Jack's body to change, he was stronger, faster, and had reflexes far above the average human, these weren't the types of changes the project was looking for. These were enhanced natural abilities, not magical. Jack was simply an 'exceptional human' – and he was quietly dismissed from the project. The actual results of the project were hidden from anyone not directly involved, and Jack was one of the few who knew the terrible fate he'd narrowly missed.

Despite his disappointment, and the general failure of the project, Jack's dedication to the Crown and his exceptional abilities, new and old, were quickly recognized. It wasn't long before Jack's knack for tactical planning, quick thinking, and ability to lead under pressure were noticed, and he was promoted to a position within the Queen's secret service.

Now Jack was here, babysitting a friend of the Queen. It felt odd to be doing this type of job, and he could think of a few coworkers who might tease him about this assignment. Jack knew he was here because he was trusted, he wouldn't be here if this wasn't important, but it did feel a little strange to be working on his own, without his team.

Jack was startled from his musings when he glanced down the next hall. At the very end stool an ethereal looking woman with dark skin, long brown hair, and an elegant green dress that did not belong to that of a servant. Jack blinked and he tried to remember the mention of a family in the file he'd been given, and he blinked again as her visage wavered. For a moment Jack wasn't sure what he was seeing was real. He gave a small wave and took a step down the hall, only to be stopped by a familiar, and gently frantic voice.

“Mr. Morrison – sir!”

Jack turned to see a flustered Renneth rushing towards him, and when Jack glanced back down the hall the young woman was gone.

“Please sir, I-I didn't know where you'd gone! I'm to bring you up to M- ma- Lord – Lord Reyes' study. Please follow me.”

It surprised Jack that he wasn't scolded for his wandering, but not finding Jack where Renneth had left him had obviously upset the young man, and Jack found himself feeling a little guilty.

“Of course, lead the way Renneth. I have a bad habit of jumping right into work, I'm sorry.”

The servant nodded, Jack's apology seemed to settle his nerves, and he led Jack up the stairs to second floor.

“Can I ask you something Renneth?” Jack asked as they walked. “I wasn't aware there was a lady of the house, who is she?” Jack took silent notes of each little improvement he'd want to make to the security of this particular hallway.

“Excuse me, sir- but there is no lady of the house. L-Lord Reyes has no family, he lives here alone, outside from those of us who work here.”

Jack's brow furrowed but he said nothing more about it. What he'd seen earlier must have been a trick of the light, a result of a long day of travel.

It wasn't long before they were standing in front of the door to the study, and Jack adjusted his suit jacket and vest before thanking Renneth. The elf blushed when addressed and bowed politely before he scurried off down the hall.

He must be new.

Jack mused before he let himself into the study. Once inside he closed the door quietly behind him, and turned to his new employer with one of his most charming smiles.

“Captain Jack Morrison, at your service, Lord Reyes,” he offered the other a small bow before straightening up to face the start of his new assignment.

#reyes #jack #steampunk AU #know you better #almamaldita

6 notes · View notes

rosalind-stein · 4 years

Text

Extended Bio

Rosalind is very guarded, especially after she and her wife, Jo, were separated when she was captured. She knows what’s up, and she wants to do what’s right. Sometimes, though, she gets blurred on where right and wrong differentiate. Most of her time is spent in her head, wrapped in thoughts and plans, even when she’s communicating with the world around her. She’s always doing her best to think three steps ahead, with eight backup plans, but often finds that planning ahead doesn’t always work out the way she wants it to. No matter how many backup plans she has, it always feels like something is going to go wrong.

The loss of Jo has impacted her more than anything else in her life, and it’s a constant struggle to keep thoughts of her wife away in order to keep her telekinesis in check. She thinks about her family more often than her wife, because it’s easier, but she always feels guilty for doing so. Every night, when the rest of the world around her has gone to sleep, she draws as much of Jo as she can remember. Her artwork is the only way she can keep Jo’s face in her mind. She lost the sound of her wife’s voice a long time ago, but she’ll be damned if she loses Jo’s face, too.

Before D-Day she was far more concerned about her relationships with the people for whom she cared. Despite finally standing up for herself, she still desperately wanted to please her family, and wished that they were proud of her. Even with the frosty resentment during holidays, she was always glad just to see them. Once D-Day hit, though, it didn’t matter anymore. The only thing in her mind was protecting Jo. It took her weeks before she even thought about her family again. It was at that point that she began drawing them. In her heart, she knew that she would one day forget the faces of her loved ones. Desperate to prevent that, she spent most of her time creating detailed sketches and drawings of everything she had once held dear. She drew the bookshop, the apartment she had shared with Jo, her family, the way the sunlight glinted in Jo’s eyes as they smiled at her. She drew the streets where she had grown up, the schools she had attended, and the life she had led. While Jo documented everything in words, Rosalind put all of her memories into pictures. Her sketchbooks were her most precious possessions aside from the matching rings that she and Jo wore. They were her life on paper. The day she lost them, the day she lost Jo, her life had ended.

Head Canons

- Before D-Day she had no idea she was gay. In her mind she didn’t have any inclination of romantic feelings towards anyone. As her bio says, she didn’t even realize she was going on dates with Jo. Basically, she was the last to know. Though, she doesn’t consider herself lesbian, since it hasn’t seemed to matter to her in general. Whenever someone asks her what her pronouns, gender, or sexuality are, she just shrugs and tells them that she’s Rosalind, and that’s it.

- Every once in a while she’ll still throw a sketchbook or something nearby at a wall, just because she gets overly frustrated with the thoughts in her head coming out on the paper rather than what she was wanting to draw.

- She learned to control her telekinesis quickly, out of necessity. The terror of possibly endangering Jo by losing her grip gave her motivation and focus enough to have it under control in just a few weeks after it finally completed surfacing. Desperation can cause incredible feats.

- Sometimes, when she knows she can get away with it, she practices honing her telekinesis in ways slightly different than what she’s been taught. The possibilities for this ability are nearly endless, but she doesn’t often risk it. (mun note: I can legit go on for a long time about telekinesis and the possibilities)

- She’s almost drowned twice in her life, and was absolutely terrified every second of every day that they spent on the boat traveling to Mexico. In hindsight, she was glad that her telekinesis hadn’t appeared yet. She knows that if she’d already had her abilities, they’d never have made it and she would have destroyed the boat from her fear.

- She has a habit of becoming too engrossed in her thoughts. She’s intelligent enough that she can usually keep a conversation going, even when she’s considering other things. A lot of the time, though, her thoughts are so interesting and in depth that she can forget that the world even exists.

#extendedbio

1 note · View note

afewmarvelousthoughts · 5 years

Text

Only For A Moment Ch. 40

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face… Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?

Warnings: Fluff. All the sweet tooth-rotting Christmas fluff.

A/N: Look. I know it’s October but I hope y’all can tolerate this early Christmas gift. These two 100 % deserved some tender Christmas moments after everything don’t you think?

Tags are open!

The last six months had felt endless but the last six weeks were a blur.

Somehow, every morning, he woke up and you were there in his arms. Every day, even the bad ones, he felt the comforting touch of your hand. Most days, he heard your laugh and the ones where he didn’t he was lucky to be there to dry your tears.

He did, despite everything, feel lucky. Every time you caught him staring at you, a little blush rising to your cheeks he felt it—every time you let him touch you, wanted him to touch you, he felt it. Bucky still struggled to wrap his mind around that feeling. To be lucky, after all this time. To be… loved.

Whether it was the passage of time or your presence in his world, he was remembering more and more every day too. It also meant feeling more though and there were times he hated it, times he almost longed to be empty again. It seemed easier than this aching.

Walking down the cold Bucharest streets—filled with happy tourists and locals, lit with Christmas lights strung from anything that would stand still—was one of those times.

All he could think was how his sisters and ma would have loved this. Or… well, the sisters he remembered would love this. The kids who loved Christmas, who couldn’t wait to go ice skating or for the first snow—he’d never know what the women they became would like.

Tears sting his eyes before he pushes the emotions away. It didn’t do any good to dwell on what he’d never know when there was so much he was still trying to remember. Best to focus on the now.

Right now, he was out to get your afternoon coffee.

You’d been watching Mr. Goldstein’s shop while he visited family for Hanukah, even before though you’d been spending some time most every day in the cozy place. Bucky had made a habit of bringing you coffee at least once a day. It made you smile and it was a good excuse to check-in.

Typically he brings you something simple from a local shop but today he wants to get you something special. He’d teased you when you’d groaned in longing after seeing a sign for some peppermint concoction at Starbucks, it sounded disgusting to him—peppermint decidedly did not belong in coffee, but he didn’t have to agree to surprise you.

As he stares at the Starbucks, teeming with bodies, he almost decides against this. He’d been better at crowds recently, you both had, but that was together.

“It’s just a coffee shop, Barnes,” he grumbles to himself. “Get it together.” With that, he takes a deep breath and dives in. It takes nearly a half-hour and what feels like a few years off of his overextended life to get two drinks.

Once outside he takes a few huge gulps of crisp air to try and calm the chaos in his chest. Unfortunately, it does the opposite. The icy cold of the air filling his lungs sends flashes of cryo slicing through his consciousness.

Not real, he tells himself. That’s not real. Not now.

With effort he forces himself to focus on what is real. The smell of the chocolate and peppermint rising from your coffee cup, the sound of the traffic, the laugh of a group of people somewhere to his left, the heat from the coffees slowly seeping through his gloves.

Slowly he opens his eyes. They don’t betray him, revealing only a bustling Bucharest afternoon. Huffing in relief he pulls his scarf over his nose and mouth, wanting to feel as little of the cold against his skin as possible before he heads toward the bookstore.

The now-familiar bell above the door tingles in welcome. You’re not behind the counter, instead, he’s greeted by Victor’s demanding meow.

“Hey, pal.” Gently he scratches under the large orange cat’s chin, earning a loud purr.

There are a few people milling about, Bucky can hear your softly accented Romanian from the children’s section. He peeks around the corner to see you kneeling next to a little boy, advising him on his selection.

You seem to sense his gaze and look up, your beautiful eyes lighting with a smile. Just seeing you chased away the coldness and anxiety that had crept in. He nods and turns to the counter, setting his backpack down, leaving you with your littlest customer.

Sipping his coffee he takes in the other patrons. Assessing people was second nature to him now. They all appear to be just average folks, out doing a little holiday shopping. It doesn’t allow him to let his guard down but it does feel good to know there’s likely no threat nearby at the moment.

Victor stretches languidly as soon as Bucky takes a seat on the stool, his warm lap clearly a preferable bed to the papers on the countertop. As the cat moves he can’t help but see what the feline had been hiding. On various scrap pieces of paper and unwanted receipts are sketches of figures, doodles, a few more detailed drawings of clothing pieces.

Steve would leave similar things around their apartment. Sketches and art supplies littered everywhere, to find Steve you could practically follow the trail. He remembers… one Christmas Steve drew Bucky’s Ma a portrait of him and the girls. Ma had loved it but when she saw that Steve wasn’t in it too she made him put himself in it before getting it framed.

Quickly Bucky reaches into his bag, disturbing Victor in the process. The cat throws him a sideways glance, making his way to the back room. He’d bring him some tuna tomorrow to make up for this egregious offense, but this was a memory he didn’t want to risk forgetting.

After a few minutes, your warm hand settles tenderly between his hunched shoulders. He still shivers with pleasure a little every time you touch him.

“Hey,” your voice is low, lips curled into a soft smile. He wished he could kiss you, the thought distracting him from realizing there are customers approaching the counter.

“Sorry!” He hops up to move away, slightly embarrassed.

You tick up an eyebrow, “Yes, I expect a full written apology for daring to sit here.”

He rolls his eyes, smiling despite himself.

“I wanna pay!” The little boy you’d been helping demands, looking up at his mother, a clearly pregnant young woman.

“Ok, ok,” she laughs handing him a few bills.

“You made a good choice,” you tell him. “I bet your new little sister will love this.”

“Yeah!” He beams with pride as you hand him his change and the book he so carefully chose. His mother thanks you and they head out.

Bucky picks up your cup to distract him from the tightness in his chest, “Here.”

You eye the Starbucks cup before taking a sip. A giggle bursts from your lips causing concern to bloom. “Is it the right one? It was the only peppermint thing they had.”

“It’s perfect. You just swore it was an abomination so I’m surprised.” You take another deep drink, “Thank you.” Behind the counter, you give his thigh a squeeze.

The three other people make their selections and cash out within the next 10 minutes. In that time Bucky makes his way about the shop, making sure things are in relative order so you can leave faster.

Once you’ve locked the door and pulled the shades over the large window he immediately tugs you to him, hungry for your kiss. Instead of feeling your soft lips, he’s met the cardboard of your coffee cup.

“You can kiss me only after you try this.” You give him a mischievous smirk.

“That is far too high a price,” he tries to snake his head around the obstacle.

“Nope,” you scoot to the side, holding the cup between you. “No sip, no kiss, for… 24 hours.”

“Ya know, I feel like I’m being punished here.” Obstinately he crosses his arms.

“Your call.” You flit your tongue out to wet your full bottom lip, clearly teasing him.

“You drive a hard bargain, woman.” Begrudgingly he plucks the cup from your hand and takes a sip. Damn. As much as he wanted to hate it he had to admit that it was very good, a little sweet maybe but hey, it was Christmas.

“So?” You eye him expectantly. Rather than answer he takes another drink, this one much larger than the last. “Hey! That’s mine.”

He holds it above your grasp, “This is your fault. You insisted I try it.” When he goes to drink it again nothing comes out. There’s still plenty in the cup but the liquid doesn’t budge. You’re holding up your right index finger, directing just enough of your power to the coffee to keep it from moving.

Behind you, his own cup hovers in the air, tilting bit by bit on its side. “Put the peppermint mocha down and no one gets hurt,” you say with mock severity.

“No need to get crazy.” Holding his right hand up in surrender he sets your cup down, his follows suit.

“Smart man.”

“Sometimes.” Unable to wait a moment more he kisses you until you’re both breathless—everything in him going quiet.

You make a satisfying sound before patting him on the chest and pulling back. “I gotta close up.”

“Mmm,” he hums, leaning in to nibble your neck.

“Bucky…” He grabs your ass with both hands. “Not in front of the cat.” He pauses, looking down at an indignant Victor. You both stare at the cat for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Wow, way to ruin the moment, pal.” Victor lets out a loud meow before winding his way through both your legs. With a sigh Bucky leans down, gathering the orange beast in his arms. Immediately he’s gifted with loud contented purrs.

You smile at them both tenderly, “You’re cute.” Lifting off the ground a touch you kiss his cheek.

“Will you feed him while I get things ready to go?”

“Sure. Let’s get you some grub buzzkill.” Victor meows in approval.

The sun is just peeking above the horizon when you turn the key in the lock of the shop.

He wishes he could hold your hand, keep the warmth of you close, as you make your way home but with you still in what you call your ‘street drag’ it’s best you don’t. There’s no need to draw undue attention to yourselves. Even so, you walk as close to one another as possible.

The route home runs by the main area of the Christmas Market. You pause, taking in the lights sparkling in the growing dark.

“Wanna walk through it?”

He hates to deny you anything but the thought of this makes his stomach drop. “Uh, if you really want to.” Absently he scratches under his scarf.

“Another night. Let’s get you warm.” He smiles at you, thankful you think it’s just his dislike of the cold keeping him from wanting to be among all those happy families.

Always a woman of your word you do get him warm, in every imaginable way—your body against his, a hot delicious meal, even hot cider. Even so, as he holds you in his arms that night, he can’t shake the sadness.

The closer to Christmas it gets the darker Bucky’s mood seems to become.

He doesn’t have to tell you for you to understand. You’d never really had the ideal All American Christmas experience but you suspect he had sweet memories of the holiday, likely quite a few he was still struggling to remember. It must make the loss worse.

You try to avoid the topic. There’s no talk of gifts or anything like that. Unfortunately, the city is practically a winter wonderland which doesn’t help. Still, you do your best to steer clear of the more festive areas.

“Will you and Grant be celebrating the holiday with family?” Mr. Goldstein asks as you open up the shop on the 22nd.

“We… don’t really have much in the way of families.” It was better than saying that they were all dead but was a bit of a conversation killer nonetheless.

“Ah.” He groans a little as he takes his spot behind the counter. “Will this be your first Christmas then.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “he’s not really, uh, feeling it.”

Mr. Goldstein nods knowingly, “It’s hard to move forward. When my wife passed it felt like we’d never celebrate the same, but the kids and I made new traditions. I’m sure you two will as well.”

Your hands freeze before shelving a book. He was right. True, your childhood hadn’t had many great holiday memories but hadn’t you made plenty of wonderful ones with friends? Why couldn’t you and Bucky do the same?

“Can I ask a favor?” You turn to him, breath held.

“Of course, zeeskeit.”

“Could I borrow your car?”

The morning of the 24th you make your last trip to the farmhouse.

Over the last few days you’d been bringing back ornaments, lights, a tree, only the good holiday movies, basically all the Christmastime necessities you could think of. Now you were finishing up with enough food and coffee to fuel a small army. Mr. Goldstein, being fully in on the plan, had even been pulling books he thought you’d both like so you had plenty of reading materials.

You only had a couple of hours to get everything perfect. If Bucky showed up to the shop before you got back he’d be suspicious.

“Get it all handled?” Mr. Goldstein asks with a grin when you rush back into the shop.

“Yup!” Your face hurts a little from smiling.

“Well,” he tosses the car keys you’d just given him back at you, “what’re you still doing here?”

“What?” You stare at the keys then him.

“It may snow. I don’t want you kids on that bike.” He smiles at you and you can’t help but fling your arms around this gentle soul.

He lets out a good-natured laugh, “Not like I’m going to need it.” With large warm hands, he pushes you back, “Go on. You two have a Happy Christmas.”

“Thank you!” You yell over your shoulder as you run out.

When you walk into the apartment a couple hours early Bucky jumps up from the couch, concern written all over him.

“What’s wrong?!”

“Nothing,” you say smiling. “It’s Christmas Eve. Mr. G kicked me out a little early.”

“Oh.” He forks his fingers through his hair, “I coulda come by and walked you back.”

Taking his face in your chilly hands you kiss him deeply. “No need.” Looking into his eyes always overwhelmed you, “I love you Bucky Barnes, all of you.”

That earned you a smile, “I love you too, sweetheart.”

“Now,” you playfully pat his ass before heading to the closet to grab his duffel, tossing it to him. “Pack a bag.”

Dumbstruck he stares at the bag for a moment, “What?”

“Pack. We’ve got somewhere to be.”

“We do?” He still doesn’t move, “Where?”

“It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you.” Grabbing your own bag you begin shoveling sweaters inside. Looking over your shoulder he still hasn’t moved.

“Bucky?” He looks out of sorts, “Babe, are you ok?”

“Yeah,” he looks down at the bag, “yeah. I just thought… Well, I thought we’d have Christmas tomorrow… maybe.”

“I thought you weren’t into the season?” It takes everything you’ve got to not spill the beans with your heart turning to mush in your chest.

“I…” He wrings the bag in his hands. “I don’t know.” Biting your lip to keep your mouth shut you rush over to him, wrapping him up as he drops the bag.

He cocks a crooked smile, “I got you something. Not… It’s not much but…”

You cover his face with kisses making him laugh in confusion. “What’s that about?” He plants a kiss of his own on your lips.

“I just like you is all.” You bend down grabbing his duffel, “Why don’t you just let me take the lead and put your gift in here, promise I won’t look.”

With the car loaded you head out of the city.

“The farmhouse?” He looks at the dark building, then back to you.

“Can I trust you to wait here until I come get you?” His eyes narrow a bit. “Please,” you coo sweetly.

“I’m scared to see what you’re up to woman,” he smiles. “Fine.” He crosses his arms a smile at the corners of his mouth as you bolt from the car.

First off, you methodically handle the traps and alarms then kick on the generator. You’d wanted to put lights on the outside of the house but decided it was best to not, a safe house wasn’t very safe if it was glowing like a beacon. Instead, you focused your efforts inside.

Colored lights joined the white ones Bucky had draped to light the space previously. Over the mantle, you’d draped evergreen garland and two stockings were laid on the kitchen table to be put in their place later. In the corner to the left of the fireplace, a decent tree waited patiently for decorations. The mattress, still in front of the fireplace, had been piled high with blankets and pillows you’d purchased and thrifted to make a warm nest for you both.

You turn on the space heaters and light the fire you’d laid earlier that day. Before heading out to get him you hit play on the old battery-operated boombox you’d brought. Perry Como’s “No Place Like Home for The Holidays” fills the silence. It wasn’t much, but you hoped it would make him happy.

Stepping out onto the porch you quickly close the door behind you. He sees you and gets out of the car.

“Want me to grab the bags?” He asks.

“Sure.” You shrug trying to seem casual. He trudges up the steps with three bags in hand. Once on the porch, he pauses, head cocked listening.

“Y/N… what’re you-” Not letting him finish you open the door, stepping inside, arms spread wide.

Bucky’s jaw hangs open as he crosses the threshold, the bags clattering to the floor. Without looking back he kicks the door closed, wide eyes taking in the space.

“Merry Christmas,” you say softly. Hardly seeing him move, he scoops you into his arms, lifting you from the floor kissing you thoroughly.

“Thank you, Y/N. Thank you so much.”

Raking your fingers through his hair you study his expression. While his eyes glitter with tears his smile is warm enough to chase the lingering cold from the space. How was it possible to love someone this much?

You press your lips to his forehead, “Come on. That tree isn’t gonna decorate itself.”

Bucky lights the fire in the oven and you make cocoa with plenty of marshmallows and crushed peppermint before tackling the tree.

As you unwind the lights and plug them in, he pauses, seeming to be fascinated by the colored bulbs before he lets out a little laugh. He delicately lifts one of the large glass drops with a metal index finger and thumb.

“What is it?” You rest your hand on his forearm looking up at him.

“I… I remember the first time we had lights on the tree.”

“Really? Was it a big deal?”

Looking at your mildly confused expression he laughs, “I’m old as hell, remember?” You roll your eyes. “But yeah, it was a big deal.” He pauses, eyes focused on the lights.

“Pa almost didn’t get ‘em but Ma really wanted them so he gave in. We thought it was somethin’ special. Steve and his Ma came. My Ma made gingerbread…” He trails off and you swallow the lump in your throat.

“You should write that down.” You reach out to take the lights from him.

“Yeah,” his voice cracks a bit handing them over.

He grabs the right notebook from his bag and you curl up beside him on the old couch, your heart feeling like that animation in the Grinch.

And Y/N’s heart grew three sizes that day, you think to yourself.

When he’s done he reaches over, pulling you into his chest, burying his nose in your hair.

“Tell me more about what Christmas was like for you… before.”

“I can tell you and decorate at the same time,” he kisses you briefly and tugs you from the couch.

He does. Bit by bit you decorate the tree, bit by bit he pulls pieces of himself back from the void. Each time he grasps something that he’d lost the decorating would pause so he could document it. After almost two hours everything is done but the star.

“I feel like you should do the honors, doll.” Reverently he hands you the slightly tacky thrift store star.

“Why, you can reach it easily?”

“Like you can’t?” He cocks a brow, smiling.

“Point.” You take the star and rise from the floor, coaxing your body horizontal so you can get the best angle on securing the tinsel covered thing to the treetop. Once it’s done you sink back down. Before your feet touch the ground he pulls your back to his chest, nuzzling your neck.

“My very own Christmas angel. How lucky am I?”

You laugh, tossing your head back to kiss his cheek, “Don’t know that I’ve ever been called an angel in my life.”

Sighing contentedly you look at the tree. “That’s a damn fine tree.”

“Almost.” He releases you and digs in his bag, pulling out two nicely wrapped gifts and setting them under the tree. “That’s better.”

“Two?! Bucky…”

“Don’t give me too much credit, they go together.”

Narrowing your eyes at him you send your power out to nab the gift you had for him. His wrapping job puts yours to shame.

“Y/N… didn’t you do enough?” He gestures around.

“Hey, all of this is mutually beneficial.” He shakes his head with a smile. “Besides, it’s small.”

“So,” he asks slipping his hand in yours as you both take in your handy work, “were you a Christmas presents in the morning or on Christmas Eve type?” Your joy falters for a moment, not wanting to make things awkward for him but not wanting to lie either.

“Well, umm…” You shift uncomfortably, “If we did presents, it just depended on my mom’s mood or what her boyfriend wanted.” Truthfully, most Christmases growing up didn’t involve presents. Those were for good kids.

“But Nix and I would do presents on Christmas morning.” A smile rises to your face even though your heart aches.

“One year we had our close friends stay the night Christmas Eve. He and I dressed up like a mom and dad from the ’50s and bought a ton of terrible thrift store toys for like $15, wrapped ‘em, and put them under the tree then woke up the ‘kids.’” You laugh at the ridiculousness, “They had no idea what was going on but still played along. We had the best time.” The lights of the tree blur a little from the tears in your eyes.

“We’ll do them in the morning then.” When you look up at him his expression is tender and understanding. You nuzzle into his chest, breathing in his spicy smell.

The two of you spend the rest of the evening and night eating junk, sharing stories, and getting him caught up on some of the necessary Christmas films from the last decade. Unsurprisingly, he loves “It’s a Wonderful Life” but you have to admit you didn’t expect him to like the classic animated ones like “Rudolph” but he does.

Christmas morning dawns with the smell of coffee and the warm comfort of his arms.

“Ready?” Bucky is practically bouncing with excitement as he passes you your gift.

“Yup!”

“One.” His metal finger glints in the firelight. “Two. Three.” On that mark, you both tear into your presents.

Tears sting your eyes as you stare down at a large sketch pad and a set of art supplies.

“I saw your sketches at the shop. Thought you’d like something to really work with.”

“It’s perfect, Bucky. Thank you.”

He opens the front of the composition book, the first of three, that has ‘Love’ written on the front. His eyes scan the first page, written in your hand, and turns his own tear-filled eyes on you.

On the first few pages of that one, you’d written out a highlight reel of your story up until now. Not just the events but the way he made you feel, the little things that meant the world to you. The rest was blank for him to fill. The one beneath it was titled ‘Present’ and the third ‘Future.’

“You spend a lot of time looking back. But… I thought you may want a place for-”

“Us,” he says with a smile.

“I was going to say happiness, but that works.”

“Same thing.” He pulls you to you for a kiss. “I love you, so much, doll.” He tastes like home, “So much.”

Tags:

@bluegirlusa1 @l0kisbitch @tazzi-baby @disagreetoagree @woodyandbuzz20-01 @mooniightbucky @saundrasays @breezy1415 @alyssaj23 @mywinterwolf @wonderlandmind4 @fairislesheets @anamcg317 @buckaroo-barnes @jazztherebel @peachthatdrinkslemonade @regulusirius @auskitty @babyimp1967 @katecolleen @handplucked @stevehesaidabadlanguageword @darkdragonphoenix @issanitydead @thestorydetective @buckysstar @wintersoldierswhore @greyeyedsmile14 @watchoutforfrostbite @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @jewelofwinter @siriuslycloudy2 @hardygal69 @jdoenson @gamorazenn @wildmoonflower @cutie1365

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky feels #christmas #fluff #yeah i know it's october

49 notes · View notes

taurusnoir · 5 years

Text

taste of a twilight fruit (chapter 2)

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Pairing: Adrien/Marinette

Rating: M

Summary: In which Adrien falls in love with a girl he met at a bar, Marinette is just trying to prove to Alya she can have a one night stand, and Nino desperately needs a drink.

ao3

Marinette is sorting beads when Gabriel Agreste calls her into his office. Or rather, when Natalie does. Out of all the jobs the interns do, sorting beads is her least favorite, and her head begins to roll to the side in boredom induced exhaustion. She tries to fight it, but it feels like a useless pursuit. Natalie, Gabriel’s- secretary? Assistant? Enters the room, and the interns conversations immediately end. Marinette quickly snaps herself back up, ferociously resumes sorting, and hopes Natlie hasn’t noticed. The woman briskly walks up to Marinette’s desk, and looks at her, evidently unimpressed with what she sees before her.

“Mr. Agreste would like to see you,” Natalie says sharply, and Marinette’s stomach drops and shatters across the floor. Her boss has barely spoken to her beyond a very rushed and insincere welcome when she first began her internship, when all she was was another body in a cluster of gawking university students. She’s been successful at avoiding getting on his bad side, carefully curating a balance of assertive but respectful and avoiding the man all together. Working at this company often feels like defusing a bomb with how careful and precise she has to be, and Marinette is terrified she’s accidentally set one off.

“Please follow me, Ms. Cheng.” Feeling the other intern’s eyes glued to her, Marinette gets up from her station, jaw clenching at Natalie’s comment. She hasn’t been in the industry for long, but there’s a nasty habit people have picked up when they address her, choosing one of her last names over the other. She guesses she can’t blame the industry, it began before she even started working for Gabriel, even well meaning customers in the bakery have taken to calling her “Ms. Dupain” or “Ms. Cheng.” Her last name is across the building’s entrance, and people still couldn’t take the consideration to get it right.

“Ms. Dupain” comes with a horse blinders, as if the speaker can hide her Chinese side by just pretending they don’t see it. They can act like she’s white as long as they don't address the slant of her eyes and the pigment of her skin. As these things are a part of her, it makes her feel unwhole, as if someone had ripped out the pages of her and pasted what they want on a sterile white piece of paper. And there’s something specific in the way people in the industry say Cheng ever so subtly. The way Natalie says it, the connotation of other very evident in her tone. It’s always something- a company or a colleague wants to promote her exoticness, taking pride in their so called diversity, excitedly screaming Hey everybody I have a Chinese friend! But Marinette clings deeply to both Dupain and Cheng. She’s mixed, deeply proud of her French and Chinese tradition.She shouldn’t have to sacrifice one for the other. She grapples with the decision of correcting her employer, but she chooses against it. She’s already in enough trouble. As soon as Marinette steps out into the hallway, she can hear the teetering whispering begin behind her.

Her frustration is slightly offset by her anxiety; she has no idea what is going to meet her once she steps foot in her boss’s office. Gabriel Agreste is notorious for his harshness, and many of Marinette’s work friends have become just friends after being called in to speak with him. As she walks down the hallway to his office she tries to rack her brain, think of what she could have possibly done to upset him. Did she accidentally use too much copier ink? Misplace a button? Or God forbid, gotten someone the wrong coffee?

Natalie opens the door, a large, heavy white block of plexiglass, and ushers her in. The fashion mogul sits at his desk, focused on the tablet in front of him, tapping away at something she can’t see.

“Mr. Agreste, Ms. Cheng is here to see you,” Natalie says.

Marinette winces, “It’s Dupain-Cheng, Ma’am.”

Both Gabriel and Natalie stare at her. Before Marinette can say anything else Gabriel speaks, “Natalie, could you please give Ms. Dupain-Cheng and I some privacy?”

Natalie nods and leaves. The sound of the door closing rings around the room. Marinette feels like a racehorse with a broken leg.

“Thank you sir, I didn’t mean to offend-”

Gabriel speaks over her, “Is it true that you frequent the café located downstairs during your lunch breaks?”

Marinette nods. “Yes, sir. I quite enjoy their espressos. They make them the Italian way, I’m sure you’re aware.” She tries to add some lightness to her tone, a pillow to soften whatever blow the man might throw at her.

“I don’t drink coffee,” Gabriel says, and Marinette wants to put her foot in her mouth and also kick him with it. She should’ve guessed to add “‘doesn’t drink coffee’ to the long list of superiority complexes the man has.

“I was down there having a meeting with one of my model scouts and came across a napkin, left upon the table,” He picks up a piece of paper from his desk and shows Marinette. She had been sketching during her lunch break, quick thoughtless ideas for a collection. She had been needed by one of the beaders and had to leave quickly, and her designs had been left behind.

“I thought it was incredibly rude that someone had left a mess at a table where other patrons might be sitting.”

Marinette’s mouth drops open. The possibility that she could be getting scolded over leaving behind a napkin , rattles around in her chest. She stays silent.

“That is, until I saw the designs on it. Simple, quick things, I’m sure. But there is still an impressive attention to detail and obvious evidence of forward thinking, two qualities I have noticed-,” He removes his gaze from the napkin in his hand and looks up at her.

“-one my interns just so happens to possess. She is always on time, meticulous with her work, and cultivates a deep passion for her work. I have to say I was not surprised when I saw your name signed on the bottom,” Gabriel says, as if he hasn’t completely pulled the rug from underneath her feet. Marinette feels her hands shaking against the fabric of her pant legs.

“I would like to hire you to be a member of our full-time staff. You have quite a bit of potential.”

Marinette is convinced she’s dreaming, and in one moment she’s going to wake up with her hands in the bead pile. Or Gabriel is about to jump up on his desk, yell sike! and fire her for littering. All she can do is stare at her boss in shock.

“You will be making patterns, you don’t need to be familiar with making them on the computer as you know we prefer to do them the old fashion way,” His voice lilts a little at the pun, and Marientte’s shock is increased that her boss showing a sense of humor.

“You will also be training under and helping the embroiders. I noticed the designs on your napkin-sketch, I thought you might be a good addition to my embroidery department once you get trained.”

He puts the napkin down and begins arranging things on his desk. He checks his watch. Marinette stays silent, still frozen in her stupor.

“A simple thank you will suffice, Ms. Dupain-Cheng,” Gabriel’s words push her out of her reverie.

“Thank you, sir. Really- It’s an absolute honor-”

“My son will be here in a moment to meet you. You will also be helping him with fittings, and I prefer to introduce him to the new hires. As you have seen he is my muse, alongside my late wife. Those who work here must get as comfortable seeing him as often as they see me. Ever since he was born, he has been in in everything I do,” Gabriel says.

Marinette has seen the younger Agreste in passing, occasionally walking past her in the café as they both buy their morning coffees. Interns had been lectured and threatened with expulsion (and death) if they spoke to him, and Marinette was more than happy to follow her employer’s rules to avoid embarrassing herself in front of him. She has seen the boy before, however back then it was on her bedroom walls, back when she was a teenager, and he had had a brief stint as a teenage actor. She had been obsessed with him, along with the rest of Paris. He was the city’s golden boy, a teenage heartthrob that actually warranted the attention. His reputation was immaculate, causing Paris’ resident press and teenage girl population to fall head over heels. He was polite, charming, and so so kind. Marientte used to buy the gossip magazines not only to see who he was rumored to be dating, but to also see the charity work he was doing. He stopped acting after a few teen rom-coms, and began to focus solely on his modeling career.

As Marinette had gotten older, and life began to swirl around her, she wasn’t able to follow his career as closely as she once had. She thinks she remembers hearing he recently joined an indie band. However the crush that molded her teenage years hadn’t entirely gone away. Marinette pushes down the heat that threatens to rise to her cheeks at the thought of meeting him in a more personal way. Her fifteen year old self would be screaming.

“It will be nice to meet him, Mr. Agreste. You seem very proud of him,” Marinette has seen him with his son, always a proud hand on his shoulder, or telling one of his peers of Adrien’s achievements. In the public eye, they seem to have a very good relationship, but Marinette has never seen him leave his father’s office appearing anything less than sullen and tired.

It is in that moment Natalie choses to appear, bringing the head designer’s son in tow.

“Yes, very proud. I’m sure he will be pleased to welcome you to the company,” Gabriel diverts, and Marinette wonders why he can only appreciate his son while not in his presence. The older man introduces her to him, and Marinette curses the butterflies that play kamikaze in her stomach. She should be over this.

As he’s gotten older, he’s only gotten prettier. His eyes are still breathtaking, forest green and alluring. That stare has sold many, many things. It has been the star of many a cologne ad, sweater catalogues, even a one-time Verizon commercial. Marinette once told Alya he had the “Lauren Bacall’s voice of eyes” and her best friend just stared at her and told her she was crazy. In person, they’re just as striking, but there’s a softness to them. They’re tender and sad all at once, and it makes Marinette want to kiss him under a blanket fort. She’s a damn cliche, and completely aware enough to be ashamed of it. He says something to her, and Marinette has to rip herself out of her daydream to respond.

It’s pleasantries, it’s awkward, and Adrien must sense her discomfort. The past hour has been an absolute rollercoaster, and Marinette needs to go home and press her face into Tikki’s belly and have a large glass of wine.

He tells her to call him Adrien. Marinette hears it in his voice, the importance of the name- something casual, personal. Maybe it’s his small way of separating himself from his father. It’s something she understands. She calls him Adrien. He smiles.

____________________________________________________________________________

When Marinette has her weekly dinner with Alya, she tells her about the boy whose cat is allergic to women.

“Girl, you’re joking ,” Alya says, hand over her mouth and staring at Marinette with wide eyes. The fashion designer takes a sip of her Mascato and rests her head against the back of her sofa.

“He was so cute. He was like, tall, with blonde hair and he had the prettiest fucking eyes. He plays the bass, Alya,” She wraps her arms around her head, careful not to spill her wine. She takes recreation in the thought of him, how lovely his mouth looked around the rim of his glass, his hands gliding across the frets of his guitar, the choked off moan he made when she leaned in close. How he just short of sprinted away from her. Marinette squeezes her eyes shut and groans. The memory of the boy basically tripping over himself to get away from her makes her cringe, wounded.

“I may have came on too strong,” She laments.

“You think?” Alya laughs at her. “When I told you to try to be more confident, I wasn’t expecting you to go all femme fatale on me. I can’t believe he ran away from you.”

Coming out from under her hiding spot behind her arms, Marinette winces, “I grabbed the drink right out of his hand.”

Alya puts a hand over her mouth. “Please tell me you did not drink it, Marinette. Tell me right now..”

Marinette groans, “I drank it.” Her best friend curses and covers her face with her hands.

“I feel so bad, Alya. I was just trying to do what you told me to do,” Marinette says, resting her head on her shoulder. The other girl pushes her off.

“Don’t blame me! I didn’t tell you to go up to men and say,” Alya pitches her voice down and places her hands on her hips, in an attempt to mock her. “‘Oh Mr. Cat, let me undress you with my eyes and peg you on the bartop, then steal your drink that cost 7 euro!’”

“Alya!” Marinette screams, face heating, and she starts to hit her best friend with a couch pillow. “I did not do that!”

Alya laughs at her and throws her arms up in defense. Marinette points an accusatory finger at her. “You told me I couldn’t have a one night stand.”

Alya scoffs, “Evidently I was right.” Frowning, Marinette hits her with the pillow.

“I remember someone telling me I wasn’t confident enough!”

“I said you needed to act a little more in charge! There’s nothing wrong with not being the type of person who fucks and ducks, Mari. You’re emotional, you care about people,” She pitches her voice, reaches up and cups Marinette’s face, squeezing her cheeks together to make a fish face.

“It’s one of the things I appreciate about you,” Alya sing-songs. Marinette makes a noise of protest and stands to get away from her.

“I can do it. I know I can. I just need to practice… seducing people.”

“Go back to the bar this Friday and try to find another guy. Or go and see if he’s there and try again,” Her best friend suggests, taking a sip of the red wine in her hand and resting against the couch. “He did say he wanted to sleep with you.”

“Yes, and then he ran away from me,” Marinette quips. “In case you forgot that part.”

“Men are weird, Girl. They think they don’t want what they want, and they think they want what they don’t want.” Marinette gives her an exasperated look. Alya rolls her eyes. “He’ll be back there. I have a feeling.”

Marinette walks to the kitchen of her small apartment, Tikki weaving in between her legs. Tikki’s incredibly consistent, always in the kitchen exactly when it’s time for her to get her meal. Marinette is worried the cat is getting a little too fat, but the girl can’t help but spoil her pet. Besides Alya, she’s Marinette’s best friend.

She takes the kibble she’s put in a plastic cereal container and pours it into Tikki’s bowl. “Here you go, 猫, dinner just for you.” The chestnut colored cat purrs and rubs her face against Marinette’s leg. The cat’s owner smiles, Tikki is a thankful and considerate companion and Marinette would kill a grown man for her. Marinette gives Tikki a pat on the head and lets her eat, moving over to the fridge to look for another bottle of wine. Alya only likes red and Marinette prefers white, so both of their homes are stocked with both.

“Other than the disaster at the bar, how was your week?” Alya calls from the living room.

“I’ve got my head in the fridge, I can’t hear you!”

Marinette hears Alya grunt in annoyance and make her way to the kitchen, carrying their empty wine glasses. She puts them on the island in front of her friend and starts digging around in the candy bowl Marinette leaves there for guests.

Hearing the tell-tale sound of candy wrappers crinkling she talks over her shoulder, “There’s no truffles in there, you ate the last one when you came in.” Alya ignores her and continues searching.

“I asked you how your week was,” She says, making due with a Hershey’s kiss and popping it in her mouth.

Head in the fridge, Marinette says nonchalantly, “Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you some small news,” She hums, and pauses for optimal dramatic effect. “I got hired by Gabriel Agreste.”

Alya blinks. “What?”

Finally picking a bottle, Marinette turns and begins pouring the other girl a glass.

“I start on Monday,” she states. Alya screams.

“Shut the fuck up! Screw the idiot at the bar, why didn’t you start with that- Oh my god- Marinette!” Alya all but dives over the island and hugs her. Dropping the act, Marientte hugs her back and the two squeeze each other fiercely. There’s tears in Alya’s brown eyes when she lets go.

“Marinette- your dream job- I’m-” She clasps her hands together and puts them over her mouth. “I cannot tell you how excited I am for you!”

There’s tears threatening to hijack Marinette’s eyes, so she giggles and wipes her friend’s tears from her face. “Stop that. You’re gonna fog up your glasses.”

Alya just tells her to shut up and hugs her again. The two girls stand in the kitchen, swaying, arms wrapped around each other’s backs. It’s the kind of hug that's ongoing, never ending. It began once as children and continues on, just with life breaks in between.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, You’re the one who forced me to apply for the internship in the first place.” If couple tears fall from her eyes, Alya doesn’t comment. It’s amazing how they’ve ended up here. Marinette met Alya her first year at college, and they’ve stayed friends through graduating University. This isn’t the first time celebrations like this have occured, the two also screaming and hugging with joy at each of their graduations, Marinette’s internship, Alya’s apprenticeship with a photographer for TIME .

Marinette lets go and pours Alya her glass. Smiling and teary-eyed, they toast to the future. Alya’s friendship is one of the constants in Marientte‘s life, like Tikki’s dinner schedule. She’s the Ursa Major to her Ursa Minor, and Marinette can always find her on dark nights. She feels a surge of gratefulness at the gift of being able to celebrate, and to have someone to celebrate with. Adrien Agreste flutters through her mind, how he always leaves his father’s office quiet and alone.

She makes a tornado in her wine glass as her mind wanders, and she watches the liquid slide along the side, how it concaves in the middle. Wine has always fascinated her, ever since she was a little girl; she used to watch how the liquid moved as it was poured for dinner, and her mother used to let her take sips when her father wasn’t looking. Sometimes Marinette wonders if the romance of Paris will ever become lost to her, if she will ever grow tired of baguettes, the architecture, the wine. At 23, Marinette has had her fair share of drinks, enjoys many of them thoroughly, but her shitty wine from Paris will always be her favorite. An American tourist once told her Parisian wine was the most romantic; and she remembers Alya’s huffing laugh, but quietly, Marinette couldn’t help but agree.

“I met Adrien Agreste today,” She says, bringing her drink to her mouth. She feels the sweetness of peach and orange sleepily extend itself across her palette.

“Really?” Alya replies, gauging the look on Marinette’s face.

The smaller girl smiles, “He’s very nice.” Marinette had not gotten the opportunity to talk to him beyond the first meeting, but the moment they shared still replays in her mind. Yearning is like metal, the longer it sits out on the air the rougher it gets. Marinette’s has grown red with rust. Marinette had always been the kind girl, the one her friends would rush to find if someone was crying in the bathroom, or needed a pep talk on a rough day. But there was a part of her that aches at missing out on the breathless, hands desperate, foolish love her friends had. Marinette has been too kind to start anything, out of fear of breaking someone’s heart, and in the end ended up only breaking her own. She traces her pointer finger along the side of the foot of her wine glass.

Alya must see the pain of her teenage loneliness splash across her face because she takes Marinette’s hand off her glass and squeezes.

“Just think about that guitar player, girl. That boy wanted you. And you have your dream job now. Boys are overrated,” she whispers, bumping Marinette with her shoulder. She adds, mockingly, “Anyway, Adrien Agreste is like, so 2012.” Marinette laughs at her friend. She’s right. It’s time to move on from sad boys with ridiculously floppy hair. And anyways, tomorrow’s Friday.

____________________________________________________________________________

The first time Marinette saw him at the bar, she left before he could even get off the stage. It wasn’t something she was proud of, but who could blame her? It had been the night after Alya had told her she was “too emotional” for a one night stand, and she kept her bruised pride safe in her pocket, ready to take it out and say See? See? I can do it too! (Well, hypothetical pocket. The dress she was wearing was too tight to have any, an injustice she swore she would never repeat in her own career.) Marinette had been sitting at the bar, already three drinks deep, desperately trying to quell her anxiety, when the boy in the cat mask sauntered on stage. He had that damned bass guitar in his hands, and Marinette had almost moaned just at the sight of it. It was a black cutaway, sleek and glossy, with electric green accents. You didn’t have to be a musician to see how obviously expensive it was. And as gorgeous as the guitar was, the boy holding it took the cake.

He was tall and lithe, light on his feet. Marinette wanted to laugh at the idea of describing him as ‘floating’, but there really was no other word for it. He moved with the effortless grace of a dancer, every movement looking purposeful and specific. She watched him plug his amp cable into his guitar, take a pick out of the pocket of his jeans, and glide it across the strings to check his tuning. Not satisfied, he placed the pick in between his teeth and fiddled with the tuning pegs. The bar was loud, so Marinette couldn’t hear anything, but he must’ve found the right notes because he began to play around with some chords. Another boy, with glasses and a dark complexion took the stage, microphone in hand, and said something to the blonde. He laughed, shoulders shaking. His teeth were white and perfect, and his smile took up half his face. But of course, in like, a sexy way.

The singer, Marinette guessed, turned his microphone on to address the crowd. A hush took over the bar, everyone waiting for the music to play. Marinette didn’t catch the name of the band, too enthralled in the way the guitarist ran his hand through the front of his hair, making the blonde tufts stick up around his head. The boy in front counted the band in, and the blonde boy conjured up a bassline that hits Marinette where she lives. All she could do was watch him, how he lost himself in the music, bit his lip as he moved his fingers lower and lower down the fretboard. He was electrifying. And somehow, he showed off more and more of his talent with each song. Marinette took a sip of her drink in an effort to cool herself down, and his masked eyes caught hers. She shivers at the memory of it. There was a moment, and she froze, but Alya’s words echoed in the back of her mind. She could do it, she just had to go for it. She winked at him, and she swore she saw his fingers falter for a moment and miss a single beat before he went back to playing. It might have been the lights, but Marinette swore there was a pink dusting across his cheeks.

The song ended, as all songs do, and the frontman thanked the bar for having them. Marinette watched the blonde boy look at her once more before he turned to put his guitar in its case. Fear gripped her stomach. The anxious thoughts came hurtling toward her like a train- he was going to walk over to her, realize she’s offered more than she has, and find another girl. Someone who’s a lot cooler than she is, anyway. It hurt, but in that moment he was too much. She paid her tab and left.

Alya tore her a new one when she told her during Thursday dinner, and Marinette left for the bar once again, this time with a best friend approved plan. Act like she’s in charge. She could do that. Alya told her she must act confident even if she doesn't feel confident, and that Friday Marinette entered the room with her disguised head high and heels even higher. She played Alya’s “inspirational pep-talk” which consisted of yous is a badass bitch, you are a goddamn treasure in her head, just for an extra bit of motivation. She looked around, trying to find someone to talk to, when she saw the blonde boy in the back of the bar, nursing a drink. His hair was as messy as ever, and he still wore the mask from the week before. She couldn’t believe he had come back, and he seemed to be searching the room for someone. A small part of her hoped that it’s her, and Marinette had no way of preparing herself for the disaster of an interaction that came next.

“Looking for someone?,” She said, her sultriest smile (the one she practiced in the mirror in her apartment like a weirdo) painted on her face. He turned at the sound of her voice, and she went in for the kill.

____________________________________________________________________________

Marinette bites the bullet and finds herself at Clyde’s again, another Friday after her disastrous attempt at getting laid. Even with Alya’s encouragement, she couldn’t bring herself to go the week after out of fear of seeing the boy in the mask and be confronted with her own idiocy. Even so, after a week of feeling sorry for herself and getting acclimated to her new job, she goes, looking for him, this time in an attempt to apologize. After her talk with her best friend, guilt had been burrowing into her brain like termites, and she wanted to express regret for her actions. She’s wearing jeans this time too, in an attempt to come across a little more put together. Homely. What outfit says hey I’m sorry I took out my domineering side out on you in an attempt to validate my ability to sleep with strangers. She figures a graphic tank tucked into black skinny jeans will work.

The mask theme continues, and Marinette doesn’t know why she feels the need to wear it, maybe to protect her pride when she apologizes for being an idiot. She’s been using the masks from her design collection, just to try them out and see how they function in the real world. Marinette respects fashion, it’s her great love, but she wishes the high fashion part of the industry appreciated things that were practical. Sometimes things didn’t need to shock, they needed to be worn.

The bartender hands her the cold beer she’s ordered and as she turns she slams into a body. Her elbow jams itself into something soft, and the blonde boy with the psychologically defective cat bends over and groans in pain. She’s completely elbowed him in the stomach, hard.

Marinette reaches out to steady him. “Oh my God- I’m so sorry-”

He takes a deep breath, wincing. He’s still slightly hunched over when he looks at her, face slightly twisted in pain when he says, “Looking for someone?”

Marinette laughs and helps him straighten up. He’s still tall and beautiful, and wearing the costume shop cat mask. A piece of duct tape now adornes the side that was once held together with Scotch. The sleeves of his plum colored dress shirt are rolled up halfway, exposing his toned forearms.

“I am so sorry, I didn't mean to try to kill you.”

He sniggers, “Yeah no, apparently this week the plan is to beat me up and then kill me.” He leans against the side of the bar, one hand clutching his stomach, and groans dramatically. Marinette reaches to steady him, but he just giggles and breaks out into a smile. She playfully punches him in the arm at his theatrics.

“Stop it! That’s actually... why I’m here. I wanted to apologize.” Marinette’s face gets hot, and she’s sure it’s red to match. She cringes, “It was inappropriate of me to corner you like that, my best friend gave me some advice I took the wrong way, I didn’t mean-”

An incredulous look has found its way onto his face and Marinette stops talking. He looks adorable with his eyebrows drawn together, she notes. Taking a long drag of her beer, she leans against the countertop beside him. She can feel her shoulders shrinking in in an attempt to shroud herself. She looks away from him, ashamed.

“I really am sorry.” Her voice sounds pathetic, she resigns herself to the fact he must think she’s an absolute freak. The boy reaches out and pulls out the stool next to her, and sits himself on it. He waves down the bartender and orders what she has. It seems to be a beer night for the two of them.

“My best friend likes to make fun of me because I have a tendency to make an absolute buffoon of myself around strong, confident women,” He almost puurs, absentmindedly playing with the peg game on the bar. His voice has dropped deeper, and he stares into her eyes. Her brain supplies the memory of Alya mocking her, Oh Mr. Cat, let me undress you with my eyes and peg you on the bartop-’ and it’s not helpful. Marinette looks at him, eyes wide. He clears his throat. “The last thing you need to do is apologize to me. I’m sorry I acted like a whole ass fucking idiot.”

Marinette smiles. “Maybe not a whole ass idiot. Just a half ass one.”

He groans and laughs at the same time, and rubs a hand over his face. “At least I’ve got some sort of ass.” The comment makes her laugh, and soon it putters out into silence. He keeps looking at her, like he means to say something.

“How was work?” She asks, trying to spare both of them from the awkward eternity of sitting with their foolishness. He gives her a confused look.

“You said you had to work the next day. When you left.” She says it softly, like one would to not spook a deer. Neither of them want to be reminded of his exit. He smiles at her, surprised.

“It was fine. I work with my father, and he schedules things at fuck o’clock in the morning for literally no reason,” He says, exhaused slipping into his words. He catches himself and resumes the smooth, low, calculated tone of his voice, “I really didn’t mean to run out on you though.”

“It’s okay-,” Marinette starts, and he cuts her off.

“No, really. You are sexy, and brilliant, and absolutely hysterical. It wasn’t you. I don’t want you to think you weren’t good enough.”

His drink comes. She takes a long swig of hers to hide the blush fighting its way to her cheeks.

“Thank you,” She says, gently, looking down at the pattern of tiles that make up the bartop and then sighs. She might as well tell him. They’ve already embarrassed themselves, Marinette might as well add one more thing.

“My best friend told me that I was ‘too emotional’ to have a one night stand,” picking at the dried grout in between the tiles. “I was trying to prove her wrong. I kind of… went all in.”

The bartender drops a beer in front of the boy beside her. She watches a droplet of condensation make its way down to the counter where it pools. He lifts the bottle and Marinette traces the movement of his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, lips tight around the rim. She feels her palms start to get sweaty. Placing the bottle down, he licks his lips and picks at the label.

“So you decided to corner the most submissive looking guy in the bar and tease him until he came home with you, right? That was your plan?” His voice is as rough as sandpaper.

Marinette flushes. “No! No. I didn’t- I don’t know what came over me.”

The green eyed boy takes a deep breath and he smirks at her.

“I didn’t mind. Like I told you, it was hot.”

Marinette looks at him, and there’s a moment where their eyes meet and everything stops. He lets a breath pass his lips, and she looks down at where it’s exited. She leans in.

“You don’t have to pretend to want to sleep with me”

“What?”

Leaning back, Marinette waves her hand at him.”You’re so sweet. It’s so nice of you to try to spare my feelings, but really. I was in the wrong. You don’t have to do the whole ‘try to seduce me back’ thing.”

He shakes his head and sputters, “No, really-”

Marinette grabs his shoulder and squeezes. “Do you think we could be friends? I really would like to move past this. I hate to make you feel like you owe me something.”

His eye twitches. Marinette feels a surge of guilt. She really messed up, didn’t she? He probably didn’t even want to be friends with her. Who would, after seeing the evidence that she completely disregards boundaries. He probably didn’t even think her behavior had been hot, he’s probably been scared-

“Ladybug, it would be an absolute honor to be friends with you,” He says, giving her that smile, the one that takes up two thirds of his face. He lifts up his beer bottle and invites her to toast, “To friendship.”

“To friendship,” She cheers, and if his hand clenches around the neck of his bottle, she doesn’t notice.

#taste of a twilight fruit #chapter 2 #miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic

12 notes · View notes

stevenuniversallyreviews · 6 years

Text

Episode 104: Kindergarten Kid

“I'm smarter than your average Peridot.”

Oof. I need a break. Do you need a break? Let’s take a break.

When I was a kindergarten kid, my family had a firm policy against “commercial TV,” as in any children’s television programming that included commercials. Our house didn’t get Cartoon Network until 2003-ish regardless, but this meant pretty much everything that wasn’t PBS (and later Disney Channel, which had commercials but not for toys) was restricted to friends’ houses until I was about eight. I was born in 1990, so the ban lift came right on time for Digimon and Pokémon to debut (in that order, fight me), but until then my access to cartoons was largely limited.

So yeah, unlike others of my age group, I didn’t grow up with Rugrats or Aaahh!!! Real Monsters, and due to the continued lack of Cartoon Network I also missed out on Dexter’s Laboratory and The Powerpuff Girls until reruns in the aughts. But I did have The Tapes, and The Tapes had Looney Tunes, so I was more than satisfied.

I still remember sitting up straighter when I first realized what Kindergarten Kid was doing back in 2016. The southwestern setting is a pretty big hint from the start, but we were cleverly introduced to the area in Beta and Earthlings and aren’t primed to see the Road Runner and Coyote connection until the plot revs up. And yes, these rivals are the clearest inspiration for Peridot’s futile attempts to outsmart a faster, “dumber” foe with intricate traps. But with an exception here or there for comic relief, Messrs. Coyote and Runner are silent, while Peridot is anything but. And as much fun as it would’ve been to go full throttle and make the entire sequence silent, I’m so glad to see Raven Molisee and Paul Villeco instead have Peridot emulate another icon from the Looney Tunes roster. And no, it’s not Porky Pig.

It’s ironic, because his best work sees him fail to come out on top, but I legitimately can’t think of a better cartoon character than Daffy Duck. Like, out of all cartoons, from every country, from any time period, period. Bugs Bunny is no slouch—he follows the legacy of Loki, Anansi, Reynard, and Maui as modern America’s most notable trickster deity—but Daffy perfected an archetype that’s largely unrepresented in myths of yore, and stands head and shoulders above all other examples, including Wile E. Coyote himself (and Daffy’s fun but better-in-the-comics counterpart, Donald Duck). Aptly referred to in Babylon 5 as “an ancient Egyptian god of frustration,” Daffy evolved from a perfectly good screwball character (Daffy Doodles is the best of this era) to the embodiment of self-inflicted pain.

I’ve already compared Peridot and Ruby to the little black duck before (seriously, stop what you’re doing and watch Daffy Doodles if that weird nickname doesn’t ring a bell), but Kindergarten Kid seems to go out of its way to evoke the essence of Daffy. Wile E. Coyote’s ploys may have the same convoluted detail as the Peri-Plans we see, but going on at length about how a scheme is going to work only for it to immediately fail? That’s Daffy Duck. Puffing up in confidence at the infallibility of said plan, and having it collapse in the middle of a smug victory lap? That’s Daffy Duck. This episode pulls its pacing straight out of the Hunting Trilogy (from which we get the famous “Rabbit Season!” “Duck Season!” debate), with Steven subbing in for both Elmer Fudd and Bugs depending on who Daffy is allied with at any given time, and it’s a beautiful thing to watch.

We even get variations of classic gags to keep things fresh. It would’ve been acceptable for Peridot to slowly dismantle an injector to crush Gem Runner, only for it to not fall until she’s right beneath it. But no, she realizes the risk, takes a step back, then gets crushed by falling rocks. I still would’ve laughed if her cannon refused to fire until she stepped in front of it, launching her over the horizon. But the recoil launches her backwards, crushing her with more rocks. Rehashing the exact same classic gags would’ve been an easy way out, but the gags are classic for a reason and I would’ve appreciated the tribute; that we see actual creative changes instead brings Kindergarten Kid to even higher heights. Yes, the final plummet is directly based on Wile E. Coyote’s own falls (sadly without the sound effect), but there’s a level of innovation here that’s compelling for an episode referencing the past so vividly.

Still, the biggest difference between Kindergarten Kid and vintage Looney Tunes is that unlike Daffy or Coyote, Peridot can make a change. The episode is similar to Barn Mates, in that both are a series of sketches that show Peridot and Steven trying and failing to accomplish a goal (which is perhaps the most clinical way to describe the standard Looney Tunes short). Both episodes end with a victory for Peridot when she realizes she must rethink the core problem, but Kindergarten Kid works better by halving the number of characters that need to grow. Barn Mates is by no means bad, but it’s hard to balance the story of its two leads, so Lapis is left without much focus behind her actions. This time the opponent is something of a force of nature, so we can spend more time digging into why Peridot’s plans aren’t working.

Peridot has already changed quite a bit, but her superiority complex remains a central tenet of her personality. It’s been tempered when Steven is involved, but she still treats most other Gems as intellectual inferiors even when she gets along with them. So of course she sees outbraining a Corrupted Gem as a cakewalk, and of course Steven teaches her the error of her ways with a lesson in empathy. These are obvious story beats, but old habits die hard, and I like that Peridot still has issues with her ego despite how far she’s come as a Crystal Gem.

It’s hard to compare any voice actor to Mel Blanc, in the same way it’s hard to compare any English-speaking playwright to Shakespeare, so I’m not gonna give praise that lofty, but Shelby Rabara still nails the fury of a gremlin who's smart but thinks she’s way smarter. It’s not easy on the throat to shout this much, and in such specific nonverbal ways, but I still think her best moment is when her confident front falters, and she yells that she’s doing the best she can. She’s as angry as ever, but that glimpse of vulnerability shows that she’s not a lost cause like Coyote.

Steven also returns to old habits, focusing all his energy on helping Peridot and not mentioning his mother once. I can see how this might make Kindergarten Kid seem too flippant, but as we’ll confirm in Mindful Education, our hero is pushing down the bad feelings instead of dealing with them. I think it’s crucial to have a few episodes where he seems okay to lull us into the sense of security that his breakdown destroys, and just like Bubbled, it’s clear that his coping mechanism is putting others before himself. He never complains about the physical injuries caused by Peridot’s poor planning, instead making sure his friend is okay.

Like Log Date 7 15 2, the show leans into Peridot’s brand of comic relief to cool us down from a major event. This is an even sillier episode, to the point that the other Crystal Gems are watching it for entertainment value, but it comes after an even more harrowing Diamond reveal. And because this one has more to do with Steven, he gets more to do in the episode: he’s not reliving a Peridot montage, he’s participating in her adventure, and the episode is stronger for it.

I understand that comedy is subjective. For instance, I’m not huge on meta humor in the style of our next episode; I acknowledge that it’s done well, but it’s not for me. So I don’t expect everyone to be huge on this episode, especially if you tragically lack a childhood full of ducks getting their beaks blown off and rabbits dancing up to bulls to slap them in the face. But hopefully folks who were let down in their first viewing, expecting more drama and lore in our post-shattering reality, can give Kindergarten Kid another look, perhaps after downing some classic cartoons, and enjoy it for the outstanding love letter that it is.

(I still don’t know why she references Yogi Bear, that’s a whole other era of cartoon, but nobody’s perfect.)

If every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have inconsistencies…

I know it’s absurd to nitpick unrealistic elements of such a cartoony episode, but Steven’s endless bag of marshmallows bugs me. At least it gives us another Peridot-as-raccoon reaction.

We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

It barely misses the cut, but boy do I love this episode. Like any great Looney Tunes short, I can watch it and laugh no matter how many times I’ve seen it; the gags are so pure that rather than getting bored of them, I now chuckle in anticipation before the hits even come.

Top Twenty

Steven and the Stevens

Hit the Diamond

Mirror Gem

Lion 3: Straight to Video

Alone Together

The Return

Jailbreak

The Answer

Sworn to the Sword

Rose’s Scabbard

Earthlings

Mr. Greg

Coach Steven

Giant Woman

Beach City Drift

Winter Forecast

Bismuth

When It Rains

Catch and Release

Chille Tid

Love ‘em

Laser Light Cannon

Bubble Buddies

Tiger Millionaire

Lion 2: The Movie

Rose’s Room

An Indirect Kiss

Ocean Gem

Space Race

Garnet’s Universe

Warp Tour

The Test

Future Vision

On the Run

Maximum Capacity

Marble Madness

Political Power

Full Disclosure

Joy Ride

Keeping It Together

We Need to Talk

Cry for Help

Keystone Motel

Back to the Barn

Steven’s Birthday

It Could’ve Been Great

Message Received

Log Date 7 15 2

Same Old World

The New Lars

Monster Reunion

Alone at Sea

Crack the Whip

Beta

Back to the Moon

Kindergarten Kid

Like ‘em

Gem Glow

Frybo

Arcade Mania

So Many Birthdays

Lars and the Cool Kids

Onion Trade

Steven the Sword Fighter

Beach Party

Monster Buddies

Keep Beach City Weird

Watermelon Steven

The Message

Open Book

Story for Steven

Shirt Club

Love Letters

Reformed

Rising Tides, Crashing Tides

Onion Friend

Historical Friction

Friend Ship

Nightmare Hospital

Too Far

Barn Mates

Steven Floats

Drop Beat Dad

Too Short to Ride

Restaurant Wars

Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service

Greg the Babysitter

Gem Hunt

Steven vs. Amethyst

Bubbled

Enh

Cheeseburger Backpack

Together Breakfast

Cat Fingers

Serious Steven

Steven’s Lion

Joking Victim

Secret Team

Say Uncle

Super Watermelon Island

Gem Drill

No Thanks!

5. Horror Club 4. Fusion Cuisine 3. House Guest 2. Sadie’s Song 1. Island Adventure

(I’m almost happy there’s no promo art for this one, because hot damn do I love this pic from Dark Tarou.)

#kindergarten kid #steven universe #su #steven universally #review

38 notes · View notes

m-oana-archive · 6 years

Text

Heartsease: A Wolfstar fanfiction

Part Two: “Goodnight, Moon”

read part one here

POV: Sirius | Words: 3543 | beta: @inflictionofopinions <3 | Read on AO3 |

Sharing a small piece of parchment between the two of them, James and Sirius’ hands seemed to be playing bumper cars, colliding perpetually and causing unwanted trails of ink to line across a detailed blueprint of the Slytherin dormitories. Paired with the dry and stuffy heat inside of his classroom, Professor Binns’ monotone lectures typically lulled Sirius into the most restful sleeps of his life, filled with dreams of Pumpkin Pasties and soft leather jackets and a tall, brunette boy kissing him tenderly. It wasn’t Sirius’ fault that History of Magic always seemed to fall during the time of day where the sunlight streams through the tall windows in the way that cast a glare upon the room that made his eyelids feel heavy while simultaneously warming his robes. And it wasn’t his fault that Remus, bless his soul, wanted to get a NEWT in the most boring subject ever invented, forcing Sirius and James to take it, as well. But today, James seemed intent on finding the best way to arrange an explosion of red and gold fireworks to go off in the Slytherin Common Room when–“not if,” according to James– Gryffindor defeated them in the final Quidditch game of the season, giving Sirius a reason to keep awake. But if Sirius were to be honest with his heavily beating heart, the careful glances at the disheveled caramel hair and broad shoulders that sat in front of him were reason enough to keep his eyes open, so he could just look and look and look at that small freckle at the base Remus’ neck without the attention seeming out of place.

“Could we, like, make the explosion in the shape of a lion’s head?” James asked while rubbing the crease on his forehead with his free hand. “Or we can spell out Slytherin in big, capital letters, send a rocket shooting through to destroy it, and then have all the letters in Gryffindor pop out. Is that too much?”

Sirius didn’t notice he was staring until James interrupted his thoughts, and Sirius realized he had to look down to see the top of his quill, not up. He stuttered for a minute, trying to recall what James had asked through his series of cluttered, crossed-out sketches. Sirius pretended to be considering the options, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand, feeling the few strands of hair that had fallen from his messier-than-usual bun, instead of trying to figure out what the options were. Knowing James would like his own ideas, Sirius merely repeated one he recalled with perfect clarity: “Maybe, have the one that crosses through end with the lion head instead?”

“YEAH!” James nearly stood up out of the wooden chair in excitement, the combination of his near-scream and the screech of the chair against the floor turning every head towards him. Professor Binns even faced them, the approach slow-motion in that way only ghosts can accomplish, looking at the pair of them with a new level of indignation in his translucent eyes.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, is there something you wish to share with your classmates?” Binns asked. From a few feet away, Remus cocked an eyebrow at the pair of them, using the quizzical accusation to try and hinder the smirk Sirius could tell was forming on his face. Sirius had a feeling, however, that if he looked slightly to the left, where Lily was sitting, he would be met with an expression more similar to Binns’.

“Uh… well, you see…” James began, gesturing with his hands, as if he knew what he was saying next and would do so with dramatic flair. He must have readjusted his glasses some three or so times before Remus spoke.

“Professor, if I may,” he said in a tone overflowing with such politeness it was difficult to think he was resisting a smirk seconds earlier, “I heard them talking. James was just confused, Sirius helped him understand, and that’s why he got so excited.”

Though Professor Binns lacked bones, something in his expression softened, in that way only Remus could make people melt solely using words and– Sirius was guessing– an innocent smile. “Is this true, gentlemen?” Binns inquired, gentler, Remus’ tone rubbing off on him.

Afraid to return to James’ publicized glasses-readjusting stunt, Sirius spoke before he got the chance to. “Yes, sir. James just didn’t want to say so because he was embarrassed to be wrong.” James waved his arms in a wild surrender, nearly knocking his ink down but missing by mere millimeters. Taking that as affirmation, Binns returned to his stack of notes, and Sirius could hear the transition his voice went through from disciplinarian back to lecturer, emotion to dullness. Suddenly, the room felt very warm again, almost too comfortable to keep his eyes open, and Sirius probably could have fallen asleep, if not for the small thumbs-up Remus signaled from behind his chair which caused a flood of energy to surge through Sirius. Clever Moony, he scoffed to himself.

In order to get an adequate amount of planning done without getting caught once more, Sirius and James scribbled notes to one another on the back of the parchment. boy, Moons really saved us there. We’re lucky to have him here, James wrote.

Sirius gave a silent thanks to whatever God was looking down at him at the moment– or to Satan for ceasing Sirius’ bad luck– for keeping James’ focus downward, keeping him oblivious to the affection he could Sirius could feel heavy in his eyes as he wrote, yeah. we are.

Class ended too fast, somehow, as Sirius and James were in the middle of an argument about the best way to split the letters of ‘Slytherin’ in half when they were excused. The deep-rooted knowledge that his idea would work better, mixed with James’ equally unrelenting opinion, made Sirius almost miss the tall shadow that was cast from the other side of the table. It didn’t help that the person the shadow belonged to stayed silent for a minute or so, before laying his pale finger atop the ‘Slytherin’ written in large, lopsided, capital letters, and saying with annoying casualness, “Just charm each letter’s firework to split a millisecond or so before the next one. You don’t need the firework that shoots through to do anything else, then.”

“Yes! Thank you, Moony,” James said, quickly noting that next to the ‘Slytherin’ in even worse handwriting. “Now, we can eat in peace.”

Sirius didn’t mean to be looking at Remus, again, but he couldn’t resist watching the proud beam that spread across his cheeks. Too soon, he turned around to begin collecting his belongings, and Sirius realized he should probably begin doing the same if he was to avoid being questioned into exposing his rather large, rather inappropriate, rather embarrassing secret. But, out of a habit he had developed since third year, Sirius continued watching Remus out of the corner of his eye as Remus’ calloused hands packed away his belongings with meticulous care. Meanwhile, Sirius opened his bag and swept his books, quill, and hopefully closed ink bottle into the darkness.

Lily had wordlessly stayed nearby, and decided, after relentless pleading from James, to sit with them at dinner. “You won’t regret it, Evans,” he promised as he led them out of the emptying classroom. Sirius sighed, wishing that James would stop bouncing on his feet through the corridor, as it made it so painfully obvious that he was ecstatic about Lily’s decision. But, when Sirius looked down at the girl, whose cheeks were slightly flushed pink and lips were trying to not give away a smile, Sirius realized, maybe she didn’t mind at all. He nudged her with his shoulder, and Lily glanced up at the knowing smirk on Sirius’ face, causing her to collide with his arm with a more aggressive force.

“Calm down, Black. It’s just dinner,” she said. Regardless of her apparent disinterest, the expression on her face told a different story, one that kept Sirius’ eyebrows raised all the way to the Great Hall.

“It’s so obvious, Moons,” Sirius whispered into Remus’ ear. The unexpectedness of it made Remus jump a little, made his simply reply of “What?” rather breathless. Sirius smiled while clarifying, “Lily and Prongs, of course. They ought to just get over themselves and start dating. They’re both obviously in love with one another.”

“Yeah,” Remus chuckled, his gaze still down at the floor. Sirius almost outwardly yelled at him to look up, because Sirius really wanted to see the way Remus’ eyes lit up while he laughed, warm with the slightest hint of deviousness. But it didn’t matter, anyways, the way these simple actions made Sirius’ heart feel like it was constantly partaking in a high speed broom chase.

Because even if Moony was gay, gay in the slightest or gayer than Sirius himself, that wouldn’t alter the fact that they were best friends and that there were lines that came alongside best friendship. Maybe James drunkenly kissing them on the cheeks wasn’t crossing it, or Sirius refusing to wear more than a towel around his waist after showering wasn’t crossing it, or Moony feeding them by hand wasn’t crossing it, but Sirius declaring his undying love towards Remus was. So he had to settle with looking, casually touching, daydreaming.

Busy torturing himself with these unwanted truths, Sirius hadn’t even recognized the four of them had already entered the Great Hall, full of robes and chatter and succulent smells. Quickly, James found a seat at the Gryffindor table, ushering Lily to sit besides him while Sirius and Remus sat across from the pair.

“So, what did you two do last night?” Sirius asked while spooning a heaping pile of shepherd's pie onto Remus’ plate before doing the same on his.

“I did a body shot off of James,” Lily said while casually slicing into a fried sausage. Sirius’ reaction was quite the opposite, as he nearly spat a mouthful of pie into his Pumpkin Juice. He gulped down the bite, thankful that he was able to calm himself down before he inevitably imagined lapping up liquor from Remus’ stomach.

Remus cleared his throat before saying, still quite hoarsely, “I think it’s safe to say it’s time to change subjects.” James and Lily simply laughed as Sirius smiled weakly. Amused but still working on regaining his composure, he was distracted by a voice beginning to speak behind him. A voice that sounded familiar and brought back the image of bright fireworks and the taste of burning Firewhiskey. Sirius turned, needing to see the face that was paired with the voice that just said his name with obvious uncertainty. It was long with a broad forehead, unsure smile, and eyes whose slight gleam looked held back, like he was afraid of something. But they were familiar, he was familiar, and suddenly a string of letters began forming in Sirius’ throat.

“Ollie, right?” Sirius asked, turning his body towards the tall Hufflepuff. Ollie nodded, smile growing at Sirius’ ability to remember him, and Sirius felt his own grin beginning to grow. “Sorry for having to ask. I was pretty wasted last night.”

“That’s why I came over, actually,” Ollie admitted, busying himself by straightening the cuffs of his robe. “I wanted to make sure you got back alright, since I didn’t see you at all after I went over to the bar, and you were, as you said, pretty wasted.”

Some light and fluttery feeling should have manifested inside of Sirius’ chest at Ollie’s words, the same kind that usually occurred after Remus accidentally brushed his hand against Sirius’, or when Remus laughed at a joke Sirius made, but nothing did. Sirius made some unceremonious reply and gestured at the same time, but didn’t really register what he was saying or doing, too busy getting ahead of himself, realizing that though he had finally found someone who could distract him from the excruciating, fruitless, foolish love he felt for Remus, it wouldn’t matter if his heart didn’t pound for that other person. What he did hear, however with perfect clarity, was Ollie’s next question: “I was wondering if you would like to come to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?” It was simple, hopeful, and Sirius wished he could return such gentle enthusiasm.

Out of some reflex, Sirius turned back towards his friends for approval.James and Lily carried on an artificially loud conversation to mask their obvious eavesdropping on Sirius and Ollie, and Remus, whose vacant eyes met Sirius’ bright ones, neither denied Sirius of his wordless question nor offered any kind of approval. The look seeming so unlike Remus, Sirius almost asked him for permission to go out with Ollie. Rather than face the assumptions such a question would lead to, Sirius refrained from following through with his initial reaction, instead turning to Ollie, who was still shining with optimism.

“Yeah, I’d love to go,” Sirius replied. He wasn’t lying because the words didn’t feel wrong when they passed through his throat, like all those times James had asked if Sirius was into someone and he said no, or all those times Remus asked, after a full moon, who could ever fall in love with a werewolf, and Sirius said anything but, “me.” No, this was not a lie. But the way his heart constricted once the words were out in the open made Sirius feel as if it was one.

Ollie nearly jumped up, causing Sirius to smile brightly. “Great,” he said, grinning so widely it took up the entirety of his face and Sirius ached to return the warmth. “I’ll meet you by the fountain at 11?”

“Sure,” Sirius replied, wishing, as Ollie walked away, that phrase did not perfectly express his too-low level of excitement, wishing he wouldn’t be able to stop smiling for the rest of the day. He probably could have, really, if he wasn’t met with a smirking Lily and James when he turned his body back around to his now cold shepherd’s pie.

He forked through the pie on his plate, suddenly finding it unappealing. “What?”

“You have a date,” James snickered, leaning back and crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Sirius huffed out a breath, shaking his head while searching the table for something that looked appetizing. He settled for a cornish pasty, grabbing it slowly, considering it even more tediously– anything to distract him from his urge to see if Remus was still wearing that look of cold discontent on his face. “It’s neither here nor there,” he replied, setting the pasty down before cutting it in half with his knife. He raised the first half up, opening up his mouth to bite into it, before Lily stole it from his hand.

“Are you not excited?” she asked. Sirius extended his arm across the table, not caring his robe sleeve was dangerously close to dipping into his Pumpkin Juice, as Lily kept retracting the pasty further and further out of his reach. “Don’t play him, Black.”

Sirius took a minute to consider the stern look of warning on Lily’s face, with pursed lips and unblinking eyes, hoping she could see the exasperation in his. He was excited, of course he was, and he knew it for a fact. But he also knew that some piece of his heart was, throughout this entire process, going to be unwilling to move on from Remus, regardless of how handsome and kind and sweet Ollie promised to be. It happened with everyone else he had met for the past three years. Why would Ollie be any exception?

Saving Sirius from saying something he might regret, James shouted, in a way shockingly similar to how he screamed in History of Magic earlier that day, “Shit! I forgot about Quidditch! I’ve got practice for the Slytherin match.” He vaulted over the bench, grabbing the pasty half from Lily’s grip and sliding it into his robe pocket. “See you guys later!”

“He really is an idiot, you know,” Remus said, and Sirius almost felt like getting up and hugging James for making Remus speak again. Lily laughed, too softly for the tension that remained, brushing her hair behind her ear. She looked between the two of them, glancing back and forth and back again, and Sirius’ exasperation still remained heavy on his face, regardless of how amusing James’ departure was.

“How about we go to the common room?” she suggested, getting up before waiting for their responses. Although Sirius had yet to finish any part of his meal, he followed, his loss of appetite strong but fear for Remus’ reaction even more intense. Because Remus and Sirius were still unwilling to speak to one another—Remus out of anger and Sirius out of fear—Lily settled for asking easy-to-answer questions about James, ones Sirius assumed she already knew the answers to, for the sake of maintaining the casual air of their conversation. The walk to the common room took far too long like this, next to Remus but still feeling so far away, trying to smile at Lily’s comments on Remus’ answers but struggling with following through with the reaction, too aware of the sound his shoes made as he walked along the wood, then the stone, then the carpet of the common room.

Remus took his regular position on the long couch facing the fireplace, finding his book on the side table right where he had left it that morning and opening it up to read, or leaving the usual fraction of space where Sirius could sit. Disheartened, Sirius took a seat in the armchair besides Lily, who smartly asked him to braid her hair. She hummed a few tunes Sirius was familiar with and a few he didn’t know as he combed through the red strands with his fingertips, separating sections to braid. The distraction didn’t last long enough, naturally, and before he knew it Sirius was casting another longing glance towards Remus, Remus who was asleep with his arms up by his face and his book lying atop it.

“He’s not that angry, you know,” Lily said. Her voice was so soft the crackles from the fireplace almost covered it up. “I’m not exactly sure what he was feeling, but it’s Remus. He can’t stay mad at you for long, anyways.”

Sirius looked over at her, and she was wearing that smile only she could wear believably, that was small and warm and understanding while still not knowing all of the answers. “Would you help me get him into bed?” Sirius asked.

Lily nodded, and they got up together. Before he did anything else, Sirius grabbed the book and marked the page Remus was on, setting it down on the side table back into place. As Lily grabbed his legs, Sirius wrapped his arms around Remus’ chest, digging his right arm between the sofa cushion and Remus’ robes so he could face Lily, ensuring they would both lift Remus up at the same time.

“Go,” Lily said, and she and Sirius had Remus in the air haphazardly, making a scrambled and somehow painless trip up the stairs. Lily nudged their door open, and the silence they were met with making Sirius feel somehow even more uncomfortable. But, without the willingness or energy to say anything to Lily, they progressed forwards and did their best to not merely plop Remus down on the bed, but place him.

“I’ll take it from here,” Sirius said once Remus was laid down. “Thanks, Lils.”

“You’re welcome,” Lily said, shutting the door behind her, leaving Sirius and Remus alone. Sirius exhaled deeply, not realizing how much tension he held in his chest ever since Ollie asked him out, and glad to finally release it. He began with taking off Remus’ shoes, carefully untying them and slipping them off of Remus’ heels in the most gentle way he could manage. Once both were off, Sirius put the Converse in the one empty spot under Remus’ bed, finding it in him to smile at Remus’ relentless organization. He then pulled the covers up, almost to Remus’ chin but not quite touching, knowing that’s how Remus would do the covers himself. It must have been the jolt of the bed that shook Remus awake, as when Sirius was just beginning to tuck him in, he heard a soft calling of his name.

Too abruptly, Sirius turned to face Remus, the accidental acceleration causing their faces to end up only inches apart. Remus’ eyes were struggling to stay open and he visibly resisted the urge to rest his head on his pillows.

“Don’t worry, Moons,” Sirius assured him. “I’m just tucking you in.”

“‘Kay,” Remus breathed, letting his eyelids flutter shut and his cheek fall onto his pillows. If it wasn’t for the depth of intimacy the gesture contained, so tender it clearly crossed the line, Sirius might have leaned down and pressed his lips against Remus’ forehead. Instead, Sirius went back to tucking Remus’ sheets underneath his tall frame, replaying Lily’s words in his mind, and praying that Remus’ reply affirmed that she was correct in saying he couldn’t stay mad at Sirius for too terribly long.

⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥

KEEP READING: Part Three: “Goodnight, Stars”

⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added): @siriuslyimmoony @who-cares-unknown @boring-viola @cinnamonrollswithmoony

#my writing #moonlit members carlysfamily #wolfstar #wolfstar fan fic #harry potter fan fic #hp fan fic #fluff #gay remus #pan sirius #demi sirius #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #lily evans #heartsease

44 notes · View notes

saihara-shuichi-imagines · 7 years

Text

Saihara whose S/O is the Ultimate Beauty Guru

it’s under the cut. not because it’s nsfw but because it’s SO LONG i’m SO SORRY

-Mod Otome

•You'd always loved beautiful things. You loved to make the world around you prettier, and your passion extended to the people around you, too. Things got a little out of hand, at some point… but at the end of it all you became the Ultimate Beauty Guru.

•You met Saihara during his class' cultural festival, where a bad lottery draw on his part led to his classmates asking you to use your expertise to turn Saihara into… a beautiful, and charming maid, to walk around and advertise the cafe.

•"W-wait!" he objected immediately. "Shouldn't we have a girl do this instead?"

•"Yeah, but we can make it work." "No takebacks!" "Do your best! (lol)" were among the responses he received to this. Saihara realized that if he were to object any further he'd just cause trouble.

•But he still…!

•On the day of the festival he still showed up to the classroom used for costume prep, looking like he'd wanted to be swallowed up by the ground beneath him.

•You'd only heard you were going to help costume a maid, and given said maid's measurements, but… anyway, you ask him if he's okay. "Did your class send you to help me, maybe?"

•"U-um, no, I'm the… you know. Ugh." He admitted it, even though he was unable to say it outright.

•You understood immediately, and felt even *more* sorry for the guy. Doubly so; you really didn't like the idea of forcing someone to wear stuff they really didn't want to.

•Out of habit, you give him a once-over. He's kind of slender, for a boy. His face is really pretty, too. You wonder what it'd be like to put eyeliner on him… wait, focus. Focus.

•"Oh!" But you have an idea. "I can't, uh, help your situation, but… if it makes you feel any better, I can help you pick out a nice--regular--outfit after all this is over."

•Saihara mulled it over. Certainly, you were the Ultimate Beauty Guru, but...

"I-I'm kinda not the type to care about what I'm wearing? Bar today, I mean."

•He picks at the brim of his beat-up baseball cap, and continues. "It's usually just jeans and a shirt for me…" he feels pretty embarrassed--not quite shameful, but almost--admitting this to you of all people.

•"Oh, this feels kinda like telling a sous chef you prefer fast-food takeout," he thought to himself.

•So why did he say that.

•Why in the world did he say all that???

•To your shock, his knees suddenly give out under the pressure of his social anxiety.

• "Is everything alright?!" You kneel to talk to him face level from where he's sunken onto the floor, telling him why you suggested it and that it's okay if he doesn't want it.

•The reassuring smile on your face makes him feel some way.

•He sits up properly. "I-I'm sorry again. You were just trying to help me… maybe it would be nice to, um, dress up. Not as a maid, I mean!" He blushes, and quickly corrects himself. "In a nice casual outfit, like, um… like you said."

•"There's absolutely no way you'll enjoy the maid thing?" you ask.

•He mutters; idly touching the back of his neck under his collar. "No, sorry. B-but I'll still do it. And, um, if it's still okay with you, I'd like to… take you up on your offer from before."

•"Yeah, of course! I'd love to." You stand, holding your hand out to help do the same. "I'm Y/N."

•"Right… glad we could strike a deal." he takes it, and lets you help him up. "--I mean, um… thank you. My name is Shuichi Saihara."

•The reason you wanted to meet up with who you were costuming was so you could take requests regarding the maid costume. Despite Saihara's reluctance, you show him the sketches you drafted up. "Is there anything you want to look like in particular?" You ask.

•"I want to look like a guy," is what Saihara thinks of (and decides against) saying. For the rest of the afternoon, he and you work together to make it so that his costume minimises the inevitable embarrassment.

•"How is… around here, for the length of your skirt?" You gesture to the area above his knees.

A cold and fearful shiver runs down his spine. "Lower... seriously, lower than that, please."

"Haha, okay." With your tape measure, you begin a slow descent down the length of his leg. "Let me know when the end of the tape is low enough."

Your hand, and the tape measure descends to the area below his knee. You notice the grimace on his face. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, thank you. Lower, if that's okay."

You nod, and the tape descends. You reach the calf. Then the mid-calf. Then his… ankles.

You stare up at Saihara, who is looking at the measuring tape like it was used to strangle his mother.

"You want it to cover most of your legs, right." you say, looking up at him.

He nods and mutters a "thank you."

•Saihara sorts out the rest of the details surrounding his outfit with just a tiny bit more energy. He still doesn't want to be a maid, but you're making the process almost... pleasant for him. He can almost relax around you.

•It's… kinda nice, just sitting there and talking together with you. Peaceful.

•But he flushes, realising how *romantic* he sounds, and how he's thinking way too much of it probably--he tears himself away from that line of thought. You'd just met, after all.

•Over the next week and a half, though, you do see each other - just in passing, as Saihara learns how to be a maid and how to go about his tasks during the festival, and as you flitter back and forth between your classroom and his, while you cooperate with Tsumugi to make his clothes and plan his look.

•The next time you *really* see him is on the day of the festival. Your class is doing a drink stand - nothing much for you to help with there - so you're in Saihara's class, doing the maids' makeup. Saihara sits in your chair after all the girls have gone.

•His hands seem to be shaking a little as trades his baseball cap for a frilly hairband, but you decide not to ask just yet.

•With great satisfaction in your heart, you put on some of that eyeliner you were thinking about when you met him.

"Now for the lipstick."

"Li- huh?" The young man blanches in reply.

"Just kidding, nah."

He then breathes an audible sigh of relief.

"I do have to use some lip tint instead, though… this'll be easier to clean up later. I'm going to apply it now, okay?"

•You show him the tint, first testing it on his arm. He inspects the color of it--it's not something he'd wear in his own, but it doesn't seem too gaudy or anything, thankfully.

•"Did you… pick this specifically for me?" He asks, eyes trained on the texture of it. It really *does* look easy to just wash off.

"Yeah." You nod, dipping the applicator back into the bottle. "I figured you'd want to have as little makeup as possible--or something like that, so I picked light stuff." You carefully place your hand on his cheek, turning his head so he faces you.

•He appreciates your consideration, but… your fingers feel awfully soft. He isn't used to contact like this, either… Saihara can only hope he isn't blushing. He feels embarrassed that he might be to begin with. You apply the tint to his lips.

•When you're finished, Saihara takes a good moment to stare at himself in the mirror. It's… still *really* weird, yeah, but he thinks to himself, "Y/N did… a pretty good job." He resists the urge to touch his face.

•As he stands up from his seat, you stand back to get a better look at him. He insisted, until the very end, on a maid uniform with a long skirt.

•He fits in the role scarily well. The features of his face take a more feminine tone, too, thanks to your handiwork. And his grumbling is minimal throughout the whole day, too!

•(He's still sulking in the corner a little at the end of the day, but when you ask him about his plans for that weekend, he seems to relax a bit as he replies that he's free.)

•You spend the following afternoon at the mall, hoping you aren't forcing Saihara into these outfits.

•This concern spills out your lips. "Huh? No no no, it's okay," he replies, snapping up to look at you instead of the drink he'd been nursing while the two of you sat to rest.

"Are you sure? I mean…" You'd been having so much fun putting clothes and accessories together for him that you wonder if you'd been overwhelming the boy.

"To be honest, I don't think I look like anything special," he admits. "and admittedly I wasn't too excited at first. But, um…"

You realise, suddenly, that he's blushing a little. He's *bashful.* You think you might be staring.

"I… this has been really fun, hanging out with you." He thumbs the tab on the top of his can of soda. "Thanks for inviting me."

You immediately want to invite him out again. Maybe twice or a hundred and five times more.

"No problem," is what you say--"I'm having fun too, so… thank you for coming along!" --unable to stop the smile on your face.

It's cheesy, he thinks, to think that your smile just then looked bright. But it kinda did. It felt bright, too.

Saihara takes a last swig of his drink, and before you can protest, he quietly picks your shopping bags up to carry for you.

•In the end, he buys an outfit, and, with embarrassment on his part, a bit of the eyeliner you used on him during the festival.

"You liked the look of it didn't you?"

"…yeah," he mutters. "It did look kinda nice, I guess."

"Do you want me to teach you how to apply it?" You peek under the bill of his cap.

"Y-Yes, please."

He's still carrying the bags, and only hands them to you as he sees you to the front door of your house.

"I'll see you tomorrow at school, Saihara-kun."

"Ah-- yeah! Yeah. See you tomorrow."

•The next day he shyly approaches you at lunch.

•The next weekend you invite him to your house so you can teach him to use the eyeliner. Flustered and determined not to overstep your boundaries, he insists on keeping to the living room.

•At your request he gives you the eyeliner he'd bought with you. You apply a bit of it in the style you used for the maid cafe, and a few other ways you think would look nice on him.

•Saihara is maybe, definitely overtoverthinking about how soft your palms feel on his skin--

He stops and calms himself, yet again, and chooses to focus on your technique.

•The young man has to admit that despite his lack of knowledge of makeup, your work still feels very impressive to him.

•Sometimes he'll let you try new techniques if you want to do so on him, or let you gush about things even though he understands.

•Eventually, he realises that he just likes seeing you happy.

•He does feel a little like you might be out of his league, but before he can really beat himself up over it,

•He blurts out that he likes you, one day while you're eating lunch together at school, and his face blooms into full red.

•Saihara's babbling, and stuttering while he babbles, trying to justify himself-- to backpedal, to somehow take it back--

•When you, kindly containing your laughter--he really can be too cute--tell him you like him too.

•Eventually he gets used to spur-of-the moment makeovers when you want to try new things on a face you love, or days you just feel like dressing up, when he'll feel like letting you dress him up for a change too.

•You learn to love the taste of the tea he likes; the same tea he shyly brings in a thermos to share with you, every other afternoon.

"Do you make this yourself?" You ask him one day. "The tea, I mean."

He sets the thermos down after pouring into his own cup. "No, actually. This is… sort of embarrassing, so give me a minute."

You take a sip, letting the warm and slightly-sweet taste spread from your throat to your chest, waiting for him to continue.

He does, hands tracing the rim of his cup. "I don't put the tea leaves together myself or anything, but I read a scene like this--where the, uh, main character shares tea with the love interest in their office and everything--in a book I really liked."

"So I…" Saihara brings the cup to his lips. "…y'know, thought it would be. Nice."

The next time you're at his house, he lends the book to you.

•Despite how far away the realms of your hobbies and interests may be, you love him very much, and he loves you just as much in return.

#saihara shuichi #shuichi saihara #shuuichi saihara #danganronpa #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa v3 #ndrv3 #ndrv3 imagines #//mod otome

105 notes · View notes

luffie · 7 years

Photo

An honest review of Corel Painter 2018, from an artist who has been using it since version 8.

Painter is like the most beautiful lady, filled with so many bad habits that never change.

And I say so with all my heart.First, let me get this straight, I love Painter, I wish I could be using Painter for all my painting needs. Alas, after giving Painter a chance for so long, I realize that love is a life long journey, and it’s better to be married with someone who has a great character than just beauty, and that someone is Photoshop.

But sometimes, for an exciting fling with ex, I go back to Painter just occasionally, hah.

Now lets get to the good sexy points first:

PROS

Painter has the most robust brush engine in a painting software available today. The options for adjusting it are so diverse, that it can be a little daunting to anyone who hasn’t use it before.

Painter has the best brushes to mimic traditional media. Once you tried it, you will know it. The oils, pens and palette knives are some of the tools that I wish other software have.

Painter can apply different colors to each bristle of the brush, hence creating that organic multi-color strokes that is very difficult, if not impossible to do in other software.

Painter can “paint on a path”, which is super amazing. Which means you can use that oil brush and still achieve a very sleek finish even with complex shapes, while varying degrees of pressure and strokes to make it look natural.

Take a look at some of the line work I did using Painter:

Look at the lovely brushstrokes on their hairs, and sleek line work through out all 3 art. These are easily achievable in Painter. Their natural brushes are so good that I’ve never had to create my own brushes, they are good right out of the box.

Painter also has a palette for mixing colors the traditional way, which is very good for people with long traditional backgrounds.

Then Painter has “Blenders”

If you are starting digital art, chances are you have been using traditional mediums for a while, and you know traditional mediums are not the easiest to blend totally smooth colors.

Now if you look at her pink hair above, painter can blend exactly that smooth very easily. You can just lay down 2 blocks of solid colors, and use blender “just add water” and brush over it, until you achieve the smoothness you want. For beginners, this seem god send. For more experienced artist, you can change/use different brush tip for the blenders and achieve a more textured look.

But what makes blenders so good is not the smoothness of it, but rather, it can change the approach you create art and speed it up. Rather than blending every element slowly, you can just lay down blocks of solid colors fast, and blend them altogether later.

So Painter has fantastic brushes and a great brush engine, plus a nifty blender right? But that’s about it.

CONS

Now its the cons. Prepare yourself.

Painter as a software is very clunky, glitchy, and it has been the same ever since so long. The people at Corel is either incapable of improving it, or they just doesn’t care.

1. Using Tablet Eraser Lags

Yes you read that right, even basic feature like switching to eraser lags. But hey, that’s the faster version. You know what’s slower, switching to eraser tool command also lags, for half a second or a second I don’t know.

This makes rough sketching extremely annoying for me. Where I tend to draw and erase immediately, the constant switching of tools creates a constant sudden lag which is really frustrating, breaking momentum.

2. Default eraser cannot be adjusted.

What? Yes, you are stuck with a pressure sensitive eraser, with a soft or hard edge version. Yes, ever since forever they never change it too. In order to change it, you need to do some out of the box file editing, but that means you can’t change it while you are working, so it’s useless as well.

Well you can adjust the eraser, but only as a “brush tool”. Which you have to select a new brush to erase, and you have to reselect your previous brush to paint again.

Again this is very annoying for me, whereas in PS I just need to press “e” to erase and then “b” to paint again immediately with my brush cursor still in the same place on the canvas. In Painter I have to go over the canvas to select the eraser (b), erase, then select again the brush, and back to painting, which takes up tons of time. You can’t use a different shortcut like PS, because as I say, the “adjusted” eraser is considered a brush tool.

3. The 1st time you open the brush engine, it lags, for about 3 secs

Yes, it lags again, though only for the first time, but I don’t know why, it never change since forever.

4. Using big brushes lags.

Painter always claim that their current version is faster than before, but that only shows how bad it is the previous version was, and the current version is not much better.

I often paint in large canvases in PS so that I can put in tons of details. Sometimes there are tons of layers, sometimes just a few. But in all cases I can use brushes up to 800px wide without problem, in 1000px I have to paint slower or the strokes will not catch up. I usually do that to cover large areas.

One may argue that Painter’s brushes are more sophisticated, but most brushes lags when they pass 100px, with few layers. With tons of layers? Its a nightmare.

5. Painter’s drag zoom, zoom you to the MAX.

Sometimes, when you are trying to paint a certain area, you put one of your hand in Ctrl-Z (undo), so that you can keep immediately undo each time you didn’t get the strokes right.

Occasionally, you didn’t press Ctrl in time and pressed the Z, so it becomes “zoom” (shortcut for both in PS and CP is same), and then you stroke your brush in zoom mode.... you zoom a little in PS, so you just zoom out back once again, but in Painter, you always zoom in to the max, 1600% zoom. So you zoom out repeatedly to get back again.

Like wtf Painter? who zooms in 1600%??

6. Painter’s “Canvas” is a mystery.

For a long while, I often wondered what the “canvas” layer is for (The bottom most layer), until now I still don’t have clue. The canvas layer cannot be edited, moved, or duplicated, so if you open up an image in Painter and would like to duplicate, or erase the background and paint underneath it, you are out of luck.

It is unbelievable, that in 2018, you can’t drag an image and put it on another layer in another document.

The canvas is more nuisance than useful. You can’t create another layer underneath the canvas. You can’t even copy and paste the canvas.

Ah but you can move that layer into another layer or another document through an unorthodox method, you know what? You have to go under layer tab, and choose “Lift canvas into watercolor layer”

Then you can drag “that watercolor layer”. So essentially, you need to convert to watercolor layer and thus it duplicates the layer for you and change its blending mode to “gel”, but it cannot just duplicate that into a normal layer? Yeah, that’s Painter’s canvas. I always start my image in PS.

7. Color Picking from another image causes it to select it, so you have to click your file again.... and IT LAGS, EVERY SINGLE TIME

It’s no surprise that in the digital era, picking colors has become so easy, and as an artist, I often use color reference from other images. But imagine when you have to reference many colors and each time you reference there’s a lag in between, it’s like painting back and forth 2 different file, and with a lag.

I will add on to list in the future, these cons are the only ones I can remember for now.

(Switching brush selection and brush engine.)

(path tool)

CONCLUSION:

It’s 2018, and Painter still doesn’t fix the most basic functions to allow Painter to be used easily. There are more issues, but these are the most basic issues that stops me from fully using Painter as my go to software. And these are issues that have persists for a very long time (forever?), instead Painter introduces gimmick features like “music brushes” and charges a whole lot for each new version of Painter.

I use Painter only for my line/brush work for now.

Instead of improving and fixing to make Painter a fully usable wholesome painting software, Painter chooses to focus on trivial features that nobody asks for.

Painter could beat Photoshop and become the King of painting software, but it can’t, because it never changes it’s bad habits.

#painter #review #artblog #corel #artnews

29 notes · View notes

ecotone99 · 5 years

Text

(NF) Writers Block Party

Some years ago, after just having moved to LA and not knowing a single person (which lead to several failed attempts at online dating), I decided to start doing stand up as a means to socialize. I'd always been interested in trying stand up but it suddenly felt necessary. A very rare surge of undeniable, unstoppable confidence was coursing through my veins. Even had one of those "You're here! Why not just try?" talks with myself. So I did it. I found a spot in Hermosa Beach that did open mics and I committed. I hunkered down for the next few nights and with the aid of several bottles of wine, I wrote a 5 minute set that I enjoyed. I timed myself saying the whole thing over and over as I paced around my living room, tinkering with various inflections, timing, movements, energies and characters. Getting everything tuned to, what I hoped would be, the exact right frequency. The day of the open mic (and as a way to prevent myself from backing out) I text a friend of mine and told him that I was going to do my first open mic that night. He cheered me on and gave me some advice. "Laugh. Participate. The other comedians will notice and return the favor." So I did just that. I nervously and rather unintentionally polished off several whiskey gingers as the hour of the open mic approached. I laughed. I participated. And eventually, I went up. It felt like a blur. A silent, panic indused blur. I remember getting one laugh the whole set. And then. It was over. A small uneven applause followed me down the steps and back to my seat. Pity applause for the first timer. But I took it gladly. People get booed. People get jeered. I got silence. Silence and one good laugh. I was hooked. I wanted to keep trying. To push forward. So I worked on new material, (No way I could ever touch that garbage fire that was my first set again) and went to other open mics, even getting into the habit of doing several open mics a night. After a couple of years of this sort of routine and feeling like I was finally starting to lose my fear of doing stand up, I decided to be proactive in the creative community I'd found myself in and put together a "Writers Jam/Dinner Party". My pitch was something like"If there's anything you've written or are working on and would like to share/perform/receive constructive criticism on, come do it here. We'll have drinks and a big meal and share ideas." The idea, to my surprise, was a hit. Friends even made their home available to us for the event and prepared a big meal for the gathering. I was riding a high. But, like Icarus (Oh yes, I did just compare myself to Icarus), my confidence would almost immediately fly too close to the sun, as I set in motion an event I would regret underestimating for the rest of my life. My ego was living the good life, blinders set to "limo tint". Then, the day of the dinner arrives. That morning and afternoon seemed to pull me in every direction except for the direction where I get time to prepare and focus on the magnitude of the bill of goods I had sold off as a creative safe space. I didn't rehearse my set...I showed up late...I brought taco bell for myself. I felt like a true dickhead. Albeit an unintentional one, but a dickhead none the less. We gathered around the table in the dining room, bringing in extra chairs for the extra bodies that crammed together to fit the space, and as the chatter slowed and the focus shifted, I felt the room ready to hear the "Start" of the night. All eyes on me, I stood and greeted the room, thanking everyone for coming. I explained how the night was going to go and that if anyone just felt like auditing, that was okay as well. Then, after suggesting that I should probably "kick things off", I launched into what can only be described as a near death experience. Not one minute into my set does it suddenly hit me, I've never performed in front of anyone I know before. And now here I was. Staring into dozens of recognizable faces. Seeing the reactions of people I hung out with. Spent time with. Was myself with. And now they were seeing my shtick. The thought made me crumble and once the avalanche started, it didn't stop until I was upside down and buried. I started laughing (more of a nervous giggle really) and it didnt stop. It remained so that I forgot my ideas. Sweating, trembling, covering my face while laughing. I felt like a car that was puttering to get going only to suddenly lurch left and crash into a wall. I eventually gave up. I shared the cause of my demise and abruptly took a seat, all of the blood in my body resting heavy in my face. And then pity applause reared its ugly head, yet again. My face was on fire. I felt the urge to dig a hole to the center of the earth and live there for the rest of my life but just as I was about to reach for my shovel, a hand suddenly shot up at the opposite end of the table. "You mentioned giving constructive critism, is it okay if we do that?" I didn't know the woman who asked the question. I laughed and said, "Sure." I had been the one to kill my own horse afterall. What could she possibly do but put me out of my misery? But she explained that she'd love to hear me expand on my ideas. To go into more detail in my bits. "Sound advice," I thought and thanked her for her notes. Another hand went up. This time from a friend who had done stand up years before. I sighed now knowing that he had been no more than two feet away from the disaster. Information I did not want or need in my brain. He smirked and playfully suggested I work on my transitions. Eventually I managed to pass the torch to the table, giving the floor to any who dare follow in my footsteps. Without much hesitation the next person took the spotlight and the rest of the night carried on without a hitch. Throughout dinner, people shared stories they'd written, sketch ideas they were working on, a couple of film and music projects were workshopped, and even just a little more stand up made its way into the night. At the end of the evening, as people eventually made their ways out the door, they exchanged information, thanked each other for their opinions and asked when we all might hang out again. It has been almost six years since that night and I still get hot in the face when I think about it. Most of the time, the memory rushes at me like a childhood bully without any instigation from my end. But, I suppose it is my brain showing me a memory of me so I guess, technically, every end is my end. I am the bully and the victim (a very cool relationship to have with yourself). But I can finally say this. Things aren't all bad and all hope is not lost. After years of my brain showing me my failures, perhaps out of necessity to save my own sanity, I finally considered the rest of the event which had been a complete and total success in every way. I was the proverbial lamb to the slaughter, I thought. After seeing such intense failure, people knew they would be fine. I had kicked off the night by removing fear from the room. As negative as I felt for so long, I was suddenly able to see some positive (possibly a delusion of grandeur) in it all. I was the human sacrifice. The martyr. The one that must die so the many can live. And that might be as positive as any of this gets.

submitted by /u/mustystache [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2V4ywh8

#Blogger #Story

0 notes