#I Did draw and shade his whole face for this and then carefully erase it out. all part of the journey : | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shattersstar · 3 years

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evergreen

and if the devil was to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent (part four)

pairing: adrian tepes x reader

excerpt: You were grinning, running through all the most beautiful, fullest, dreamiest of adjectives to capture the face of your love. You tilted your head to the left, and he followed, the two of you grinning at each other with soft, soundless laughs. You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling and blinking at him with a new found clarity, the words flowing effortlessly.

warning(s): brief injury mention, fluff, this is so,,hopelessly romantic, heart shape lockets making a reappearance

a/n: sorry ive only been writing for adrian my brain has been in alucard lockdown and it wont end (although this might be my favourite thing ive ever written so i’m..less sorry)

—

It was quiet, the distant din of the forest brushed over the two of you. It was a reminder of the life surrounding the desolate place you called home. Your eyes were closed as you focused on the sound, the breathing of trees and humming of streams. You supposed Adrian heard it all so clearly, the animals and plants alike all alive in the surrounding forest. You strained to hear the crunch of fallen leaves by foxes or snap of fallen branches by deers.

It was autumn and the world was alive with harvest. Animals prepared for winter, plants returned to the soil and tree lines morphed into flame. It was one of the last warm days, the sun high in the cloudy sky, shining onto the picnic you two had set up. You were laying down, letting the sun soak over your while Adrian sat cross legged behind you. Your head was in his lap, the book you were reading was resting on his thigh above your head, opened onto the page you were on. Adrian had brought a book as well, but discarded it after a few minutes of reading. It was out of date, he explained, the science was false and he decided to draw over the useless words instead.

You assumed there was some value in its history, but didn’t question it as he silently sketched. Adrian was always such an artist, often drawing you, or other’s he cared for. He could sketch Sypha and Trevor from memory, yet often butchered some detail of the latter for his own amusement you supposed. He drew his parents often too, but was quick to erase such images, as if even seeing their face was still too painful.

He had begun painting more recently. You liked sitting and working on something while he painted, catching occasionally glimpses at his work. Adrian was never shy about what he created, often showing you without prompting, and never dismissing your request to see his art. He had agreed he was good at it, the technical precision was there, but the heart was not. You were quick to disagree with such sentiment, and yes you could see it within the landscapes and dull memories he created on paper or canvas, but the love was there in the faces of those he cared for.

Each line he added to you, each bit of shading and highlight showcased you in a way that held more adoration than any words could supply. You liked seeing yourself from Adrian’s eyes, seeing your beauty as he perceived it. It was more flattering than anything anyone before him had said to you, not like Adrian would want to hear such things.

You weren’t sure how you knew he was watching, sketching you as you laid in his lap, but you knew he did. You even remained still, forgoing reading to be his muse for the last moments of fall. You didn’t mind getting to lay in the lap of the one you loved, a soft blanket underneath while the sun started to arch towards the west. You could’ve fallen asleep there, nature washing over you and Adrian watching over you. It was a place of peace, a moment you’d engrain into your mind and have a memento—a piece of art to show for it.

You only opened your eyes when Adrian let out an uncharacteristically loud sigh, he didn’t need to breathe, he only did so on his own volition. You peered up at him, sun dancing in his dark lashes. “What is plaguing you so beloved?” You hummed, tilting your head back more as you spoke.

"My chest, it aches.” He admitted with a soft voice. You sat up as his words registered in your ears, worry lacing your features as you moved to sit on your knees, beckoning him closer.

“Still? Why?” He turned his head to the side as your hand smoothed down his slender neck, brushing his collar aside and revealing the tip of the scar that cut diagonal through his torso. You kept your fingers off the injury, but untied the front of his shirt to reveal more of it.

“I am unsure, it just does some days.”

“This has happened before?”

“A few times, yes.” He sighed again, you felt it under your palm that rested next to the pink, raised skin.

“I wished you told me.”

“I did not wish to worry you.”

“And yet I am worried.” Adrian turned towards your other hand, resting on his shoulder and dipped his head down to kiss your wrist. It was a gesture of apology and you accepted it was you let your hand cup his face, lips pressing a kiss to your palm. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t think so.” You frowned, shifting your knees against the blanket. “And somehow I’m not surprised you aren’t pleased with that answer.”

“How can I be pleased when you, my dear, are living in pain?”

“Don’t be pleased then, be appeased.” Adrian shrugged, still speaking into your palm. You let your fingertips graze the edge of his scar before dropping both hands from him.

“If I must.” He chuckled at that, low and warm as your hands found his knees. You gave them a squeeze, almost to check if he still existed before turning, and placing yourself into his lap. You were careful not to lean into his chest, but Adrian eased you against it, his forearm wrapping around your stomach while his other hand brushed your book from his leg. “Now show me what you were drawing.”

“Of course beloved.” He hummed from behind you, picking up his green covered book and letting you flip through the drawings now masking the words. And you were right, many—most were of you.

A few trees, a tired outline of the castle, faces you didn’t know, but still somehow, every few pages was you, lounging in his lap, or from some other memory he stored away. They made you smile, less worried as warmth overtook you.

“Do you ever draw yourself?” You asked once you reached the last sketch, lingering on it.

“No, the image of myself in my mind changes far too often.”

“Oh?” You were surprised by Adrian’s answer, you expected something darker you supposed.

“I see myself one way, and then...I do not. I cannot draw what constantly changes.”

“Why does it change?”

“You.”

One syllable was more breathtaking than a single drawing he had ever done of you.

“Oh.” You found yourself on repeat, closing the book and letting out a slow breath.

“And I supposed other’s I’ve met, but mostly you.” It’s always you, he does not say despite how well it sits in his mouth.

You knew you had impacted Adrian, only a fool would say they didn’t, but to know that the way he constructed himself in his brain, how he felt when he thought of it, how he saw himself in his dreams, how he saw himself with you were all changed by you and how you loved him felt like a deeper proclamation than i love you.

“I still wish you would though, what am I supposed to put in this locket?” Your voice held an air of teasing, but a current of seriousness laced it as well.

“I could try, if you could like.”

You were silent for a moment, you didn’t want him to settle on a version of himself to etch into existence. Not when he was ever changing in his mind's eyes. “What if—“ You twisted carefully to look at him, noses brushing as you did. “What if you drew yourself from how I saw you?” You asked, wanting his art to convey his beauty as it did yours.

Adrian pondered it for a moment, before tilting his head and surprising your lips with his. “Yes.” He whispered against your mouth before finding his book yet again.

You slipped from his lap to give him space and studied him for a long moment. He didn’t shift under your gaze, or look away, but instead studied your back. You were grinning, running through all the most beautiful, fullest, dreamiest of adjectives to capture the face of your love. You tilted your head to the left, and he followed, the two of you grinning at each other with soft, soundless laughs. You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling and blinking at him with a new found clarity, the words flowing effortlessly.

Serious mouth, something that hides smiles and fangs. Lips that slope into something heartbreaking—a smile like no other.

He grinned at that, eyes dropping to the page as he began drawing.

Soft eyes, set deep, but still shining. Sharp like daggers and holding handfuls of sunrays in them. Not cold with sadness, but heavy with it.

“Heavy with love too.” He hummed, earning a kiss on his forehead before you settled back to describing him.

Nose…

You paused your words, letting Adrian catch up to your lovely description, while you pondered on it too. You knew this was much for him, so much love filling his ears, outward and heedy. Yet it didn’t feel like enough, like it captured how much his appearances enraptured you, but as his heart did too. You wanted him to see your love through your eyes.

It was a daunting task, and yet you carried on. You reached out, brushing over his nose with your index finger, as if the words lived in your fingertips and could only be released by touch. You furrowed your brows, lips parting before you took Adrian’s hand, the one holding the book. He kept his gaze on you as you brought his slender fingers to his nose, tracing it as you did. You loved all Adrian’s features, but his nose especially, and no words could describe the beautiful feature that pulled his whole face together.

My favourite thing.

He let his attention fall back to the drawing, a bloodless blush could’ve warmed his face with the kind descriptions you imparted onto him. He knew you loved him, you proclaimed it enough, but the sweet words that overtook this dimming autumn day were even more dizzying than he expected. And you weren’t done yet, unrelenting in your words and adoration for him.

Sharp contours—jaw, cheekbones—with an underlying kindness, youthful softness to the angular curves.

Beautiful forehead, my favourite place to kiss. And press myself to.

Brows low, very precise—too serious most of the time.

Hairline like the ocean, framing the sand and sometimes sweeping over it.

You twirled the forever loose curl that hung forward, always draping against his smooth skin. He wanted to lean into your touch, but his attention was on the page.

Hair long, softer than any silk. Golden—not like honey, but wheat fields blowing in the breeze. And thick, with lazy waves throughout it.

You stayed quiet after that, hoping it was enough. You were all warm throughout now, despite how the evening had fallen over you two. You wanted to climb back into Adrian’s lap, but instead you moved to sit cross legged, toying with a loose thread on his pants, twisting the string from the seam by his knee around your finger until his shoulders dropped and the pen stopped moving.

You let your hands rest in your lap, and you watched him study it for a long moment. You wanted to ask if it was okay—some version of him he could agree with, yet he brought the pen back, scrawling something in his tight, professional handwriting and tearing the page from the book with precision.

The drawing took up one corner, the words printed in the background barely noticeable to the bust drawn over them. He folded the piece of paper, once, then twice. A tiny square sitting in his palm, before Adrian finally met your gaze. He reached out, cool fingertips grazing over your neck as he brought your heart shaped locket to sit in his other palm. He used his thumb to open it, placing the piece of paper inside and closing it again.

He kissed the smooth metal before letting it fall back against your sternum, smiling with a haziness that made you feel drunk of love as well. You took his hand in yours, Adrian quick to intertwine fingers before you could settle your palm to his. He urged you closer, uncrossing his legs and letting you take up space between them. “Do you feel better?” You hummed, the pain that had overcome him before not leaving your mind.

It wasn’t like you to forget so easily.

“Hm, better? Yes.” He nodded, pressing a kiss to the side of your nose.

“Are you just saying that?”

“No, of course not.”

“I find that hard to believe, you often dwell in pain my dear. Especially alone.”

“I know,” He sighed yet again, bringing his free hand to your chin and drawing your attention to him. “If you’d like, I believe I have found a way that you can help, make me feel better.”

“Yes, what is it?”

He smiled—heartbreakingly. “Marry me?”

For a quiet beat, you paused, the words reaching your ears, settling in your short term memory before they processed into something that rang forever in your head. You and Adrian had talked about marriage, he had settled on the notion it was a frivolous display and he had everything he needed with you. And you agreed. He was everything you needed.

And now, he needed to be your husband.

You tucked some of his hair behind his ear, leaning in with a low voice, “My love, don’t you know?” You asked, blinking up with a slanted grin, “I’ve been married to you from the moment we met.” He breathed out a chuckle, reedy and low.

“Then,” His palms cupped your cheeks, forehead pressing into yours. “Let me marry you.”

“Yes,” You breathed into him, “Yes you can marry me.”

It was the first day of winter when you finally opened your locket. You unfolded his drawing carefully, the likeness you wanted to convey hung in every inked line. Your fiancé existed in both your hearts now.

Your fingers brushed over the words, creased from the folding, but still clear.

It’s always you, my betrothed.

#adrian tepes x reader #adrian tepes imagine #alucard imagine #alucard x reader #castlevania imagine #castlevania #writing #if this doesnt get notes ill boycott writing for all of 2021

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lizbotw · 3 years

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it’s only sharing a disgustingly sweet milkshake at the local college town diner after both of your evening classes that suna graciously provides the answers to the math homework.

the spongy pencil eraser is easy for you to sink your teeth into as you puzzle over his handwriting. “you know,” you mumble around the nib, trying to figure out if that’s a 5 or a 6, “i never know why you do this to me every week.” this time the drink with two plastic straws floating in an unhealthy heaping of whip cream is a syrupy strawberry flavor.

rintarou tips forward to sip at one of them and in your peripheral, chunky pink-coated fruit pieces travel up the clear tube and disappear between his lips. he releases the straw with an annoying ah that makes you frown, even if you weren’t concentrating in the first place. “aw, don’t tell me you don’t like hanging out with me.” he feigns hurt.

a well placed sip of your own allows you to avoid having to answer that—you have a personal rule of never being sappy in the presence of calculus. if you didn’t like him, suna knows you wouldn’t be hanging out with him—there are just some things you can’t do, even if it’s for the sake of your grade. none of this has to be said out loud of course, but he decides to be annoying and ask anyway.

actually—well... maybe hanging out is... not exactly how this appears to bystanders.

sharing a drink like this, you two probably look more like a couple on a (terribly cheap) afternoon date, rather than two broke college students that split meals to save money and believe that sharing answers for homework isn’t cheating, it’s collaboration.

ha, as if it would ever be different—things like the former never come true. maybe in movies, but that’s about where the line is drawn.

as if he knows what you’re thinking, suna raises an eyebrow at you over the glass, a smile playing on his lips—the same stupid look he always gives you. it feels particularly worse this evening.

it’s hard to avoid eye contact with him mere inches away, but you manage when a car painted a very interesting shade of red rumbles past the fingerprint covered window. you’re grateful for the distraction.

the subject changes when you realize suna has terrible taste when it comes to ordering milkshakes. “what flavor is this?” you spit out the word as though the very concept of calling this a real flavor is more disgusting than the drink itself, smacking your lips and screwing up your face at the excessively saccharine, artificial strawberry aftertaste.

this is no ordinary strawberry milkshake. no, this is a so-bad-only-suna-rintarou-would-order-something-this-horrible-(and-not-necessarily-on-purpose-either) strawberry milkshake.

“valentine’s valor,” he states matter-of-factly like those words mean anything to you. you stare at him until he elaborates. “their valentine’s special,” he clarifies and is gifted with a sarcastic thumbs-up from you in thanks—it is pointedly ignored and suna slings an arm over back of his seat. “dunno the exact flavor though. forgot.”

it tastes like the embodiment of pink, you decide. valentine’s valor. what a stupid name. there are a million and one better words that start with v... you can name at least five with a little thinking. you should ask them to hire you as part of their marketing team, you decide.

maybe it’s fitting title though. you certainly need valor to even think about taking another sip of that... concoction—which you do because you are obsessed with getting your money’s worth.

“valentine’s day was half a week ago?” your mental calendar helpfully supplies.

the clatter of pans in the back kitchen somehow mingles charmingly with the way rintarou throws his head back to laugh—a scene straight out of a movie really. you decide you hate him in the moment. “right you are. want a prize?” ugh. you stick your tongue out at his tone.

great. as if to add insult to injury, of course you’re sharing an out-of-date love holiday special with suna of all people. valentine’s was four days ago and this is where you are on a thursday night. the sticky upholstery of the booth seat, ripped and fraying at the corners, squeaks and groans and attaches itself to the fabric of your jeans as you shift around, suddenly hot. what a strange situation to be in, you think. this has to be a metaphor for life—then again, you’d been thinking this whole... thing has been a metaphor anyway.

yup, ever since suna sat next to you in a calculus II lecture all those fated months ago and took pity on how much you fucking sucked at math, up until the present where he takes slightly less pity on you but does enjoy emptying your dorm mini-fridge and making you pay for his milkshakes—all of it. this entire thing with him. one big stupid metaphor.

the specifics of how you came to have a routine like this are certainly murky, but two things are for certain—one, your calculus grade is certainly a lot better than it would have been otherwise, and two, you have one friend more than you did at the start of the school year. (that last one is kind of a big deal, you think. the college social scene is brutal. the word friend has started to become more disappointing than exhilarating lately though.)

rin reaches to your left to pick at the fries you’d ordered as a side—you’ve learned not to try and stop him. “also,” he adds, mouth full, “you’re totally getting me a new pencil after this.” yes, true, the pencil you’re currently leaving frustrated teeth marks all over isn’t yours. very easy to forget in the moment. you’ve probably destroyed 15 of his pencils by now for the 15 weeks of the last semester—only 7 so far for the current one. you do the mental math.

instead of drawing in the sharp lines of the differential equation that should be going in the question box, you lightly trace in the curves of a 2 and then another one next to it in the corner of the worksheet, graphite underlining them both in one swoop. the horribly thin paper of the school library’s printer is scratchy as you write but soon you flip the pencil over and under your fingers to tap the eraser (that has seen better days) just below what you wrote. “this is pencil number 22.”

suna leans over to look at the number as if you hadn’t just told him what it said. what an idiot. “glad you’re keeping count.” he settles back into his seat. “when can i expect my reimbursement?”

“you’re funny,” you say, without a hint of humor in your voice. the pretty 22 you had written now has flower petals growing off of the sides as you get distracted doodling along the edges of your work. it’s quiet for a moment as he watches you, or maybe as he takes the chance while you’re distracted to shove more french fries down his throat—either option is plausible and you don’t lift your eyes to check.

something occurs to you.

“rin.” you take an extended pause in between the words as you continue drawing, just to annoy him. you don’t continue speaking until he grumbles in acknowledgment (you try to hide your smile). “do you ever doodle in your notebooks?” now that you thought about it, suna was surprisingly pretty straight-laced when it came to class—you couldn’t ever recall him ever slacking off to the degree that meant his pages were filled with hearts and stars and flowers and suns and atomically inaccurate animals and tiny people in different colored ink. your work was always certainly the more vibrant out of the two (perhaps that could explain your grades and how you understand like... nothing in your lectures, but you decide correlation does not equal causation).

“waste of time,” he says around another mouthful of fries, another one already halfway there to his mouth.

suna is also surprisingly negative at times—but the blue book flipped open to his homework says maybe he’s just a liar though. you squint at it.

“it’s still pretty early but we probably should get out of here soon,” suna says, pulling his phone out from his pocket to check the time and leaning his elbows on the table. “i’ll walk you back. your roomie doesn’t leave the gym until 9—before you ask, yes i’ve been keeping track. it’s not stalking if it’s for my own sake.”—rin is, of course, referring to the long standing rivalry between him and your (very nice, might you add) roommate you don’t really understand but which has cumulated in him deciding he would avoid them as much as humanly possible purely out of spite. (“the only person i like in dorm 302 is you,” he’d told you one time and the throwaway sentence maybe made your heart flutter more than it probably should’ve.)

the bell above the front door jingles behind you as another patron enters. rin glances up at the sound and then returns to his phone with a bored bat of his eyes, probably scrolling through twitter or replying to texts, and picking at his teeth with a toothpick (where did he even get that?).

you try to get back to work (copying) but something in your gut tells you there’s more to his notebook than the messy handwriting and crossed out words that meet the eye.

with suna distracted, you take the chance to carefully slide the book towards you and then, in a single quick swipe, pull it into your lap under the table, already leafing to the back pages—everyone knows that’s where the real secrets are—not sure what to expect. a flash of color makes you pause and you flip back to a page that has the corner folded into a tiny, crisp triangle.

whatever you were thinking suna had stashed in the back of his calculus notebook certainly does not match up with what’s staring you in the face currently. sparkly, gel-inked hearts in neon colors glitter under the fluorescent overheads. in each of them, written in capital letters neater than you thought possible for suna, is your initials, a small plus sign in the middle, and then S.R. (for none other than suna rinatoru) next to it. it instantly makes sense to you. “rin, what the fuck.” one side of the book dangles from your hand, pages fluttering, and you hold it up for him to see, other hand flying to cover your mouth because you don’t know whether to laugh or pretend to be mortified or what.

it’s very amusing to watch how suna goes from a disinterested stare, to widened eyes, to reaching over the heaps of school supplies to attempt to grab the book from you, frantic. you hold it just out of reach. “what are you—” an old lady at a table shushes him when he half-screams. “—give that back,” suna whisper-yells instead in the greatest verbal equivalent of tiny caps you’ve ever heard.

“not a chance.”

he looks like he wants to lunge across the table and pry his prized possession from your meddling hands, but also has half the mind not to make a scene. getting kicked out and then subsequently banned from his favorite diner all on a noise complaint and disorderly conduct accusation was not ideal.

you hum, flip back to your place, and observe the drawings covering the lined pages. you shoot him a venomous smirk over the edge of the cover, one that’s more theatrics than anything, and say with all the satisfaction of someone who knows they have all the power, “oh, this is gold.” he deflates and you feel grateful he doesn’t see right through your facade because oh man are you sweating inside right now. what the fuck? no way suna rintarou is drawing little hearts with both of your initials in it like a lovesick middle schooler. no fucking way. you almost want to tell him that you did the same thing once when the thoughts about him had gotten especially bad (you felt guilty afterwards though, thinking you never had a chance with him, but... now... if he’s doing the same—well, that kind of changes everything).

suna is utterly defeated you think—doesn’t even try to defend himself, just slumps in his seat with a groan. you at least expected a “i can explain!” from him, a last attempt at dignity, not the resigned “i’m never going to live this down, am i?” he mumbles after a few seconds. well, either works for you.

“nope,” you quip, maybe a little too cheerfully because the response you receive is a distressed wail and him banging his head against the table. the old lady shushes him again. you chuckle at that (it feels a little wobbly though because once again, freaking out here) and flip the page. you stop.

this one has similar perfect little hearts drawn all over it, but there are other things. cute, standard shaky drawings of misshapen dogs and volleyballs and other things you never thought suna would take it upon himself to create but all of which make sense are there. but there’s something else. little scribbles in the corners with your last name swapped with his and even him trying out his name with your last one—all of them are scratched out but not so much you can’t read them. a list on the right in a very tiny font that makes you think he was embarrassed even penning the words is titled “date ideas?” (the question mark is in red and the dot is a heart) and has several popular spots around town written down in the local lingo of unofficial names for them.

“listen... please let’s forget about this.” rin’s voice is muffled and he’s still faceplanted. “it’s fine if you don’t... you know... yeah.” if you don’t feel that way, he means. true, the doodles were a pretty good indication of his feelings.

what to do...

well... you take pity on him, let your lips upturn and your eyes soften to reflect the sentiment, and shut the book with a quiet thud. you slide it back across the table from where it came and back to him silently. you give it a resounding pat when suna peeks up at you, expression saying it all—he was so going to get you back for this. you stick your tongue out—acceptance of the challenge. and just like that, you’re friends again—maybe that’s what’s so great about suna.

as you get ready to leave and slowly begin the trek back to the dorm buildings with him, street lamps glimmering a pasty yellow, there’s no awkward tension, no need to ask questions, no verbal wonderings about what ifs between you two. it’s just joking and shoving each other around and challenges to see who can run to the next tree the fastest in the middle of the chilly february night. you know, maybe for now you’ll keep your own thoughts a secret.

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akaluan · 3 years

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Erich/Kisuke/Alexis: Soulmate AU + Character in Peril Part 19

((Warning for violence and POV char major injury at the end, but I promise everyone we care about is still alive))

Erich wakes abruptly, hand going immediately to his pistol, and listens—

“Morning, sir,” Degurechaff greets him as she stalks closer, her spiritual presence prickly with exhaustion-annoyance-exasperation as she comes to a stop a bare foot from his head. “I have the troops breaking camp already after a cold breakfast. Here’s yours. Major Schwarz will be along in a moment with theirs.”

Erich grunts and forces himself up, shaking off both Alexis’ and Urahara’s arms in the process and pointedly not thinking about… about anything related to how he was being held. By a Shinigami.

(Not now.)

(Not yet.)

He fumbles for his glasses with one hand while scrubbing the grit from his eyes with the other, then accepts the two mugs from Degurechaff and squints into them. “Trying to poison me, Degurechaff?” he asks dryly as he takes a drink of the lukewarm not-coffee that she’s presented to him, then blinks and frowns into the mug. “I still have no idea how Serebryakov does it, but this isn’t half bad.”

Degurechaff shrugs and says, “I’ve given up trying to figure it out and just enjoy the result.” She takes a step back and settles, arms behind her back and her gaze drifting between the three of them for a moment before she finally seems to make a decision. “Last night was peaceful,” she starts to report. “Watchmen say they didn’t hear or see anything of note, and the couple of scouts I sent out this morning haven’t found any tracks beyond what little of our own were missed in the dark. I sent a team out to erase what evidence they could, and to follow us to continue doing so as we move.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Erich says, mind already turning over plans for the day as he downs the barely appetizing food in the second mug and washes it down with the better-than-usual ersatz coffee.

(Real food is definitely on the list of things he’s looking forward to.)

Schwarz nods a greeting as he approaches them, four mugs held carefully in his hands, and passes them over to both Alexis and Urahara. “Sorry about the food,” he apologizes as Alexis gives the mugs a dubious look. “Not really much I can do about it, ma’am.”

“It’s fine,” she says with a shrug, then quickly downs what he gave her, grimacing at the taste. “Not much you can honestly do about it out here.”

Urahara just wrinkles his nose and stares at the food in disbelief, then casts a sidelong look at Erich and asks, “You’ve been living on this?”

“What other choice do I have?” Erich asks in amusement, then nods at the forest around them and says, “Armies make animals run. We do what we have to.”

Degurechaff makes a slightly amused sound and adds, “Can you imagine any of us trying to hunt for our own food? That lot wouldn’t survive a day if that was a requirement.” She watches him a moment longer, waiting for Urahara to make a move, before huffing in exasperation and saying, “You’ll get used to it after a while. Now eat your food so we can all get moving again.”

Urahara gives her a flat stare at that, then reluctantly lifts the mug to his lips and takes a sip, face scrunching up in disgust. “This is terrible,” he mutters, before tipping it back and quickly swallowing the whole thing. “Yuck,” he declares in Imperial as he hands the mug back to Schwarz, much to the man’s clear amusement.

“Going to drink your coffee?” Erich asks with a tiny smirk, indicating the second mug that Urahara had been handed.

“No,” Urahara declares after giving it a sniff, then offers it to Erich. “You have.”

“You can have it,” Erich repeats absently as he accepts the mug with a shrug. “Thanks.”

“I don’t blame him in the slightest,” Alexis grumbles as she finishes off hers, hands it back, then rises to her feet and begins to pack away the bedroll she’d been using. “I haven’t had real coffee in forever, but this stuff is positively vile.”

Erich snorts and mumbles, “This is better than usual,” before he drains Urahara’s mug without a second’s hesitation; it might not actually have the benefits of real coffee, but he can usually manage to trick himself into thinking it does if he downs enough of it.

(Sometimes, that’s the only thing keeping him going.)

(That and pure stubbornness.)

With a sigh he pushes himself to his feet, hands the mugs back to Schwarz, and sets about helping Alexis clear their little campsite up. There’s no way they can hide that a large group camped in the area, but the more they can muddle the signs the better.

“Let’s get moving,” Erich orders as soon as the area is put back to rights. He pulls on his pack, shoulders his rifle, settles Benihime at his waist, and steps over to Degurechaff as he waits for Alexis and Urahara to finish getting ready as well. “You will let me help you,” he says to Urahara as the man gets closer.

Urahara huffs but nods slightly. “So long as it doesn’t stress you.”

Degurechaff looks between them with narrowed eyes, then scowls when Erich gives a small shake of his head; still, she at least stops looking like she wants to question both of them. “Ready to go, sir?”

“Yes. Let’s get moving before we burn any more daylight,” Erich says, glancing up at the thick canopy overhead; there’s only barely enough light to see by at the moment, but it’s getting lighter with every minute that passes.

Time is wasting.

***

They set out, marching through the forest at a steady, ground-eating pace for the second day in a row.

(This time, he won’t let Urahara exhaust himself.)

(This time he’ll actually pay attention.)

(He swears it.)

For as tiring as the march is, it’s also boring, especially the longer they go without any indication of pursuit. There’s nothing but trees all around them, gigantic trunks rising up into a vast canopy that shades them from the sky, with only the occasional beam of sunlight to indicate that the sun is still out. And the more they march, the more it all stays the same: trees and trees and yet more trees, occasionally broken by rocky areas they need to circle around.

Each time they stop to rest, Erich settles beside Alexis and Urahara and uses the chance to center himself and help Urahara refill his reserves; it’s obvious that even with his help the man is beginning to flag — truthfully, even Alexis is beginning to flag — and that’s… he can’t do anything about that, no matter how much he might wish to.

(Marching is not a skill that anyone but an army needs.)

(And these two have never needed those skills before.)

(It’s only because of their inner strength that they’ve kept up so far.)

There’s little he needs to personally see to in the middle of a march — Degurechaff and Schwarz are some of the best officers a General could wish for — which unfortunately means that he has plenty of time to stew in his worries.

With every kilometer they cross, they come closer to Rerugen lands — to Quincy lands — and to the confrontation that he just knows is going to happen. The border guards won’t dare to confront them, not an entire Living World army marching directly at them, but they will send word ahead. Word that will mean that there will be a ‘welcoming’ party waiting for them. Word that will mean everyone on high alert.

(Word that will mean a confrontation as soon as they spot Urahara.)

(He’s leading danger right to their doorstep.)

(Not just the Republic’s army, but a Reaper as well—!)

A stir in the line drags Erich’s thoughts from their circling, and he quickly brings a hand up to signal a halt.

(Have they been spotted?)

(Have they been caught?!)

Degurechaff leaves her men and hurries to his side, her gaze hard as she glances back. “This doesn’t bode well,” she murmurs as soon as she draws even with him.

“Everything was going a bit too well, wasn’t it?” Erich can’t help but ask, before wincing internally at how exhausted he sounds.

Degurechaff huffs in agreement, and Erich fights back a grimace at the way Alexis and Urahara give them concerned looks and then exchange worried glances; while it’s nice that his two soulmates are agreeing on something, he really wishes it was anything but concern for him.

(He’s fine.)

(He doesn’t need their concern.)

(He just… he just needs some time to rest is all.)

A scout hurries towards them with Schwarz at his side, his mouth a thin slash and his presence bleeding concern-worry-despair into the air. “There’s a hamlet burning just to the north of us,” he reports as soon as he reaches Erich and Degurechaff. “My team didn’t spot whoever did it, but it looks recent.”

Degurechaff grimaces and looks up at him. “We should check it out, sir. If it’s the Republic…”

“Then they’re closer than we anticipated,” Erich agrees, then casts a glance at his exhausted men. He’d prefer to do anything but confront the Republic so close to Rerugen lands — so close to safety — but they can’t just leave it to chance. There’s also the possibility that it’s a feint meant to draw his men out into the open, but…

He can’t just leave it be.

“Colonel Degurechaff, gather a squad of your men and meet me back here in ten. We’re going to investigate,” Erich decides, then fixes Schwarz with a look when the man stiffens in realization. “Get me a small squad that’s up for a swift sweep of the area.”

“Sir,” Schwarz grits out, a wealth of meaning in the single word.

“You and Major Weiss will be in command here,” Erich says before Schawrz can protest further. “Be ready to get the men moving, but don’t waste your time trying for a rescue if things go wrong and we’re outnumbered.”

Schwarz’s lips thin, but he nods and turns away, striding down the line with his shoulders straight and his back stiff.

“Erich—”

Erich holds up a hand, cutting off Alexis’ attempt to speak, and says, “No. I need to see to this. If something happens, get the men settled in Rerugen lands and then send some of our people out—”

“I’m going with you,” Urahara declares firmly, something dark-stubborn-vicious about him that sends a shiver down Erich’s spine. “You are not my superior,” Urahara adds before Erich can try to reason with him. “And I don’t have anything else to do. You and Degurechaff-san are the only two who speak my language.” He pauses, hesitates a moment, then bows his head and whispers, “Please, I just found you. Don’t… don’t make me stand aside while you throw yourself into danger.”

Erich swallows, mind whirling as he tries to come up with something, anything, to get Urahara to stay behind, but— but he can’t. Not in the face of Urahara’s obvious distress. Not when he knows how capable Urahara is—

“You will stay at his side at all times,” Degurechaff orders, making Erich twitch at the suddenness of her arrival. “If you come with us, you will do everything in your power to keep General Rerugen safe. Understand?”

“Yes, of course,” Urahara answers as he straightens up and squares his shoulders. “I won’t let anything happen to him, I swear.”

Erich grits his teeth and spits, “I do not need watching,” before turns away and takes a breath, trying to pull his fury under control; he knows what Degurechaff is doing and he even understands it — if it was one of his superiors declaring they were going into a hostile situation with only a small squad, he’d leverage their soulmate’s presence as well — but that doesn’t mean he likes it.

(He doesn’t need to be babysat!)

Luckily, he can see Schwarz returning with the squad he requested, which means he can just… ignore the whole thing — especially Urahara’s watchful-wary-uncertain expression — and move on.

(Urahara will follow him no matter what.)

(Better to just save his energy for a fight he can win.)

Erich shrugs off his pack and hands it to Schwarz as the man reaches them, then hesitates, hand over Benihime’s hilt, and slowly forces himself to release the blade from his side. “Since I can’t make you stay behind,” Erich murmurs as he offers the blade back to Urahara.

“Thank you,” Urahara whispers, voice choked with something that Erich doesn’t want to understand, doesn’t want to face, because— because no one should be so damn thankful to be handed back their own weapon before heading into danger.

So instead of acknowledging it, he turns away. Shoves his tangled sorrow-frustration-fury deep into his soul and buries it beneath his mission mindset.

(If he ever meets the people who engraved such lessons into his soulmate’s mind—)

(Well, it certainly won’t be a very polite meeting.)

“Lead the way,” Erich orders the scout as he gestures sharply for Degurechaff and the others to fall in.

“Yes, sir,” the scout replies with a quick, sloppy salute, then turns and heads off into the forest.

Erich follows the scout through the trees, trying to place exactly where they are on his mental map; it is a bit further into Imperial territory than he expected the Republic to have already ventured, but if it’s a squad of mages…

(No.)

(Don’t assume.)

Urahara stays at Erich’s side as they hurry on, the connection between them humming with resolve-focus-determination as they fall into harmony, both of them preparing for a fight at the end of the march.

(Maybe this wasn’t a mistake.)

(Maybe they’ll be able to win.)

The scout waves them to a stop and gestures Erich forward: they’ve reached a small break in the trees, leading down into a shallow valley, and the air is thick with the scent of smoke.

Erich scans the area with a frown, disturbed by the lack of visible enemies, though there does seem to be some movement down in the hamlet itself. “Anything?” he asks Degurechaff as she joins him.

“Nothing,” she confirms with a scowl. “I don’t sense any magic emanation, either. If the Republic is here, they’re hiding in the village itself.”

“I don’t like this,” Urahara murmurs as he steps a bit closer to Erich’s side, body loose and prepared for combat. “It’s sloppy,” he adds as he tips his chin towards one edge of the village, where only a few scattered houses are on fire. “I’ve seen how your people work, and if your enemies act similarly, this seems…”

“This is someone looting,” Degurechaff breathes in horrified realization, then spins back towards their squads and barks, “Senses sharp and weapons up! This isn’t the Republic, this is—”

Degurechaff yelps as Urahara darts in and shoves, sending her toppling to the ground, and Erich stiffens. Draws his pistol and turns—

Bark explodes from the tree behind Degurechaff. A gunshot cracks. Voices rise from the trees to their left, figures in familiar uniform darting towards them—

“Shit,” Degurechaff spits, scrambling to her feet. “Go, go, go! Ignore their uniforms and fight!”

Urahara launches himself forward, blade drawn and expression grim, and takes out a fake Imperial soldier with a single blow.

Erich ducks behind a tree. Levels his pistol and cracks off a shot. Switches aim to another. Fires again. Switches. Fires. Again. Again. Ducks away to another tree, mind blank and hands steady and aim focused. Cracks off another shot. Another. Reloads and darts a look—

The enemy is charging them. Knives and bayonets and blades and everything but guns but that makes no sense, why would they charge, why not keep firing, why give up their advantage—

His soldiers are good. Degurechaff is good. Urahara is good. Charging makes no sense—

“Bastard!” a voice to his left spits. “Officer over here! Take him down!”

Erich jerks his attention towards the newcomer. Swings himself around, pistol firing, but it’s too late, the man is too close, face contorted in fury and knife poised and Erich twists aside, praying it’s enough, praying he can escape—

Pain!

He stumbles, pistol falling from nerveless hands as the man staggers against his side and then collapses, the knife skittering across his ribs and then down, a line of vicious ice that ends when it jars against his hip and tumbles free.

He staggers back. Presses a hand to his side. Swallows a cry as ice becomes fire, wild-furious-consuming, and tries to think, tries to gather himself—

Strong-warm-steady hands grasp him. Tug him against a broad chest. Words in his ear that he can’t parse, should be able to, can’t—

Power crashes down, hate-rage-fury, and it’s like drowning, air stripped from his lungs and body unresponsive and darkness with no light, no direction, no hope— he scrabbles for air, for freedom, claws at whatever has him, every motion like wading through magma but he needs to escape, needs to get away, to get safe—

More words in his ear. A hand against his chest. Power sinking beneath his skin.

It’s cold. Cold enough to burn, cold enough to freeze, except it feels good. Feels safe. Feels like trust-home-loyalty.

Feels like a promise.

Erich slumps. Gasps for breath.

Surrenders.

#soulmate au #next segment is basically done and will go up tomorrow #I promise #i've been waiting to do THIS for... basically since about segment 7 or so #something like that #anyway it's fine!#everyone that we care about is fine i promise XD #cw injury

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icollectyoursins · 3 years

Text

Kishibe Rohan x Reader SFW + NSFW

Anon said: “Consider Rohan sfw and nsfw hcs? And in nsfw Rohan could be a top,,? Prrtty pleade hhh, since there is only one work of Rohan ;;”

I hope these are good, not too familiar with Rohan, so I hope you like it!

Wanna know what I’m willing to write? Rules here!

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: Making out, stands used in inappropriate ways, fingering, voyeurism, dildos, fucking machines, spanking, hand jobs, blow jobs, oral, face fucking, cock warming, nipple play, nude modelling.

Word Counts: 2201

SFW

Rohan is a jackass who cares. In the beginning, he’s very private and stand-offish, but he does warm up to you eventually, though he’s still nicer in private than he is in public. He claims this is because he’s a “celebrity” and can’t have his fans see you too close together yada, yada. It’s bullshit and you know it, but you have the feeling it’s because he’s not used to people being close to him.

Yes, he does have a binder dedicated to paintings, drawings, sketches, etc. all for you. Some are a little on the artistically lewd side, but most of them are of your hands holding something or your smile, your face and shoulders. Some of them he asked you to model for, others he quickly sketched down while you weren’t paying attention and then finished later.

When he’s not holed up inside, he enjoys walking down to either parts of Morioh where he can people watch or down to the park where he can study wildlife (and maybe draw you playing with ducks).

You are literally never bored in his house. He has every book under the earth and so many loose painting supplies that he painfully lets you use to fool around. (Though let’s be honest, He likes that you take an interest in his job and would be more than happy to give you tips.)

You know what? Rohan is a backseat artist. He watches every stroke you make over your shoulder and tells you maybe you should move the hand this way to make it more natural or add some light shading here to make it dynamic. It may come off as a little pretentious at first, but if you keep with it, he’ll notice the improvement and (occasionally) tell you how good you’re doing while being a total blushing mess.

You sat in the window seat, knees up with your back against the wall. Resting on your thighs was a sketchbook. Currently, you were just idly drawing lines of shading onto a face. Rohan himself was also busy colouring in his most recent page, though every now and then he would catch himself looking up at your silhouette, lit up by the light in some kind of halo effect.

Finally, he caved in to his curiosity. Setting down his pencils, he strode over to you. You didn’t notice until his face manifested itself over your shoulder. Startled, you jumped, causing your pencil to make a long line on your artwork.

“Jesus, warn me next time.” You said, grabbing your eraser.

“Have you been struggling with the nose?” He completely ignores you, still staring at your drawing. The paper was clearly marked up by the eraser with deeper marks from where the pencil was.

“Yeah, actually. It’s either too big or too small. Kind of just gave up.” You carefully tried to erase the long line but wound up taking away parts that you were actually happy with.

“Be more gentle with the pencil, it’ll make it easier to erase.” He suggested with a monotone.

“I tried-”

“And then you got frustrated and pushed harder. I admire your persistence, however, if something isn’t to your liking, walk away and come back. Remember to look at the picture as a whole, not just the nose.” You rolled your eyes, gently tossing your pencil onto the window seat. As much as you wanted to appreciate the advice, you had heard it all before. You were getting sick of it, frankly.

Rohan took note of your agitation, studying your face carefully. “You’ve improved, though!” You looked up, a little shocked. What? “The eyes are well done and your shading is very even. Good job.”

What? Your cheeks grew hot. That was the first bit of praise you had heard from him. About your drawing, at least. He looked down into your eyes, then felt his own face getting hot. He turned away. “Go take a break. I’ll help you when you get back in an hour. I’ll be timing you, don’t be late.”

Like I have said, he’s not overly fond of affection in public (in the beginning), but he can’t deny that holding your hand or feeling you on his arm makes him feel pretty good. The first few times, he’s internally a mess, though he won’t show anything other than a light tint of blush on his cheeks. But when he’s relaxing at home, he enjoys having you under his arm, leaning against him or with one of your heads in the other’s lap. He’s not used to people and even less so used to affection, but can be worked up to being more comfortable with stuff like kissing in front of the Morioh gang and the like.

When he’s comfortable, he is so cocky. Like, boarder line makes out with you in front of literally anyone just to prove you’re his S/O. This always makes you blush so much (unless you’re into that.) More often than not, he’ll have an arm around your shoulders, hand in pocket, looking so smug and proud and cool.

Pet names? He can either go one of two ways, depending on his mood. Either it’s just your name or babe OR it is every teasing name under the sun. Oh, darling can you do this for me? Oh, baby, oh, honey, oh, my love, oh, my flower. It’s usually used to get something from you or to get you to do something a little out of the box.

I can see Rohan as being the kind of person who is very strict about his bath time and hates when people interrupt him. On the rare occasion, he’ll let you in with him with the promise of either massaging him or something else *wink, wink*

NSFW (Dominant specifically)

Rohan literally does not shut up during sex. Praise, degradation, mocking, you name it! As a writer and an artist, he knows how to stitch words together in a masterful way that never fails to make you hot in the face.

Uh, yeah. He’s used Heaven’s Door on you before. Did he do it to learn your kinks? Maybe to put some kind of loose control over you in certain situations? Looking for people you find attractive for potential erm... art inspiration (voyeurism)? The world will never know.

Staying-on brand with HD, he absolutely uses it to learn everything that you enjoy in the bedroom. He knows how to make you squirm, where to push to make you scream, how to make you beg. He knows everything.

Particularly enjoys using this “power” to finger you, pressing into every sweet spot (that he made more sensitive with HD), licking over the edges of your hole in a way that just makes you dumb (either hole, not picky!)

A delicate finger was trailed up your twitching hole, making you shiver. Rohan had already stretched you open enough for it to easily slip in again. You were so sensitive from being teased over and over again, but with no relief that you cried out, tears threatening to burst forward.

He curled his finger up into a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves, slowly pushing into it more. You groaned and whined, blabbering out his name along with various ways to beg. He shushed you carelessly, sounding annoyed by your desperation. God, you wish you could move! You would give anything to be impaled by him right now. Or anything for that matter.

He removed the digit quickly, then promptly smacked your ass with a flat hand.

“Quiet.” You had no choice but to listen to him, involuntarily shutting your mouth and stifling your whimpers. “If you want something, be polite about it. Do you know how to be polite?”

You nodded your head, a single tear trailed down your cheek. Your hole was teased again, repeating the same process as before. Rohan was such an asshole, but god if you didn’t love it.

If you have established a relationship where he has complete control over everything you say or do, he will abuse it so much. Just, tells you to sit still, turns on a wand or vibrator and just tortures you to the point of tears. You can talk, he didn’t take that away (mostly because he wants to hear you beg), but the position he put you in on top of the order. It’s too much for you.

He’ll do the same with a dildo, a fucking machine, his own dick, does not matter! Once you give him that power, RIP to your organs.

Alright, now. Voyeurism. This man is a freak and does not try to hide it when it’s under the guise of “art.” Again, if established, he will hire random people to do whatever he wants to you. If you’re okay with it, he’ll record it for later research.

Rohan is a weird jealous type, so he checks out every person you meet and makes sure they’re perfect (ie. not competition and someone you’ll enjoy). Very rarely does he let you pick out the people. Like I said, he’s a weird jealous type. Likes to see you with other people, but not with other people, you know?

There is only one person who he considers competition that he wants you to fuck at least once and it’s Jotaro. Are we surprised? No. Dude is built like a god and has the goods to match. Even Rohan can’t deny it. He would probably want to join in as well, but Jotaro would never do anything like that.

Mmmm, punishments for being bratty? Ooooh, yes. Smack my ass like a drum! Makes you count, absolutely. If he’s in a bitchy, lazy mood he’ll use a paddle or something like that, other than that, he uses his hands.

As you’ve probably surmised, he likes having control over you in the bedroom, so it’s no surprise he also enjoys tying you up and has a particular fondness for swings where he’ll hang you up and tease you until you can barely walk.

I mentioned baths in the SFW section, now let me elaborate. Doesn’t like sex in the bath, he hates when the water gets everywhere, but loves when you worship him while scrubbing him down and will allow you to work him up with a light hand job. This usually leads to a blowjob of some kind whether it’s gentle or rough.

Speaking of! His favourite part of sex is probably oral. From sucking bruises into each other’s necks, rough kissing, right down to holding you against the wall and choking you with his dick. Or a dildo, if he wants something a little more adventurous like mirror sex with him taking you from behind and making you watch yourself choke over and over again.

Cock warming is only ever used as punishment for being too needy, but he will keep you in his lap until you’re in tears. He is absurdly patient when it comes to sex.

You whined, grinding yourself onto Rohan’s dick. He chuckled before letting out a theatrical sigh. Your grip on his shoulders got harder and you buried your face into his neck more.

“What’s wrong, (Y/N)?” He trailed a soft, teasing hand up your thigh. “You wanted attention, yes? Then, why are you complaining? Now, up, I need another look at my reference.”

You sighed, tired and riled up at the same time. With new vigour, you sat up, leaning back to show your artist his latest obsession. He hummed in appreciation, taking a minute to admire his muse before licking a warm stripe up your sternum making you gasp. He stopped, giving you a look of warning.

“Don’t move.” You gave him a curt nod, trying your best to follow your command while he returned his tongue to your chest, exploring your skin’s taste. He flicked over your nipple with the tip, testing your resolve before wrapping his lips around it, sucking harshly. A moan fought its way through your throat as he became more feverous with his suckling.

Rohan hummed with you, theatrically mulling over the saltiness, then switching to the next one. Satisfied with the redness around your nipples, he pulls back, looking you over once again. A lightbulb seems to go off in his head and he reaches for his sketchbook which only made his cock shift inside you, rubbing against your walls in a delightfully painful way.

“Rohan-sensei,” you moaned out. Admittedly, you didn’t like calling him that, but he insisted you call him sensei during times like this.

“Stop moving, you’re ruining the picture,” he chided. “Go back to the way you were, darling.” He leaned back, rolling his hips into you to punctuate his words as well as tease you.

Model nude for him. Whether you like it or not, he will ask you to do it and, if he’s in a sexy mood, you will be asked to do uncomfortable positions that will definitely leave you sore the next day. “It highlights how the muscles work for a new character I’m drawing” or so he says. Other than that, he’ll just let you pick somewhere comfortable and sexy to lie down.

#kishibe rohan not sfw #kishibe rohan n/s/f/w #rohan kishibe n/sfw #rohan n/sfw #rohan not sfw #rohan n/s/f/w #kishibe rohan x reader #kishibe rohan x reader n/sfw #kishibe rohan x reader not sfw #kishibe rohan x reader n/s/f/w #rohan prompts #not sfw #sfw

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pandawriterstuff · 3 years

Text

Pinehallow Excerpt

Sorry I haven't been very active on here the last few days. I have very few spoons right now and my queue has run out. I do have a scene I want to share from Pinehallow Ranch, though :)

“Hey.” Monty looked up from his sketchbook to the blonde girl walking towards him, waving even though she was only a few feet away. “Hello.” Juniper plopped down on the edge of the creek bed next to him, letting her boots dangle over the water. “Whatcha drawing?” Monty tipped the book towards her, showing her the slender tendrils of a fern, or what was supposed to be the slender tendrils of a fern, anyway. “It’s rather a mess.” Grimacing a little, he wasn’t surprised when Juniper had a frown on her face when she glanced up from the page. Why, however, was confusing. “I like how you drew the segments. It’s cool.” Her words were forceful, and Monty wasn’t sure if it was because she thought it was truly good or if Juniper just wanted to argue about it. Maybe both.

“I suppose.” Scooting forward so he could dip his toes in the water, Monty shivered at the chill. “Uncle Keith said in a few months it will be warm enough to swim in the pond.” “Yep. And the way that big willow tree shades half of it is perfect, it gets pretty warm once July hits.” The two of them sat in the quiet, with water lapping at the bank occasionally as it flowed by. It was awkward at first, but then Monty started sketching again, concentrating on getting the feathery ends of each frond to curl right, and Juniper picked two long pieces of wild grass, braiding them together and humming. He didn’t know the song, but it sounded sad and peaceful at the same time. Monty found himself adding little music notes, dancing above the fern, before he really thought about it. Blinking down at the page, he almost started erasing them. This was supposed to be a journal of nature observations and sketches. Embellishing like that was fine for regular art, but this was supposed to be scientific art. Only, Monty rather liked it. And not only because it made the imperfect fern look more acceptable. Placing a little star symbol, like textbooks did for footnotes, on the top corner of the drawing, and another below his description of the plant, he wrote ‘Juniper joined my observations, humming what I think is a folk ballad. That inspired the music notes above the fern illustration.’ Then, satisfied, he folded the little leather notebook shut and placed it carefully in his shirt pocket along with the pencil. “Want to go check out this cool boulder a little farther into the woods? It has mushrooms and a tiny fern growing out of a crevice on the side. And moss everywhere,” Juniper added the second part with less enthusiasm, clearly an afterthought. “Sure. Only, I’m not permitted to go past the big cedar tree without an adult.” The cedar tree being only a hundred feet or so beyond the creek, he was already at the edge of his limit. Juniper hummed, shifting her head just slightly side to side as she thought, “Uncle Keith definitely said not without an adult? Not, not by yourself?” Monty nodded regretfully. That boulder sounded like it would make very captivating sketching material. “Well...I’m a young adult…” Monty tilted his neck so he could look at her better, face scrunching. “I thought that was people at university.” “My mom’s always saying how I should be better at keeping track of my things because I’m a young adult now. It counts.” When Monty’s face remained doubtful, Juniper laughed and reached out to shove at his shoulder, jumping to her feet. “Come on. We’ll tell Uncle Keith I said it was okay, once you know your way around better he’ll let you go that far on your own. It’s no big deal.” “Alright.” Monty shook his feet dry as he pulled his toes out of the water, biting his lip when he turned to grab his shoes. He didn’t want to disobey his uncle, but he knew he hadn’t made a very favorable impression on Juniper earlier, when he’d sidled off almost right after they’d been introduced. By the time he’d put his damp feet inside his socks and laced up his shoes Monty had decided it would be worth it. Even if Uncle Keith was displeased with him. When he turned to face Juniper, prepared to go, and she held out the braided circle of

grass, Monty knew it would be. “Here, give me your hand and I’ll tie this on your wrist. I already have one, see?” Monty did and in only a few seconds the delicately woven treasure was in place. He held it out next to the drying one on Juniper’s wrist, smiling in startled delight. “We match now. Let’s hurry so we can be back in time for lunch. I haven’t had any of Miss Nell’s chicken salad sandwiches for ages.”

I both love this and feel like it's still missing something, but hey, everything is the first draft until the whole thing is written, right?

Taglist: @sleepysera @enchanted-lightning-aes @odysseywritings @thegreatobsesso (comment and reblog to be added to the taglist <3)

#original writing #writing excerpt #writeblr #wip writing #middle grade #pinehallow ranch #panda's plots

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lo-55 · 3 years

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Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 2

Through a misunderstanding and a poorly read application, Ichigo Kurosaki gets a chance internship at the Chaldeas Security Organization. It changes everything.

May. It’s May already, and Ichigo has made it approximately a month and a half without getting himself into some batshit insane situation where he almost dies.

Then Rukia Kuchiki comes along and all of a sudden he’s not a wizard he’d a fucking Shinigami. Which is cool, and a lot easier if he’s being honest, and the world itself isn’t at stake this time so.

Cool. Cool cool cool.

It does mean that Rukia, stubborn and snappish and almost as brash as he was, will be sleeping in his closet for the foreseeable future.

At fifteen Ichigo would have flipped out about it. At eighteen he’s spent months at a time bunking down with Mash and whatever other servants there were. Everyone from Asterios to Medusa to Shirou Amakusa Tokisada, crammed together in a tent or settled around campfires.

So he snatches his sisters pajamas and lends them to her and their life begins.

And it would be fine, really, he doesn’t mind fighting. He likes fighting by himself than having to rely on the others to do it for him. It eases the bitterness of weakness that’s been festering in his heart for years. So it would be fine, really , if it weren’t for the fact that all of these hollows that he’s fighting have started to target his friends, too. They’re not even safe at school.

Orihime was attacked by her own brother and it makes him sick. How could someone attack their own sister? Even warped and twisted?

It was worse than Mordred and Artoria. At least they had always had a strained relationship, but Orihime’s brother had loved her.

He sat with her after the fact, his hand on her shoulder while he slept against his leg. Rukia had erased her memory, and his families too. He didn’t like it.

“Everyone has the right to choose their life. And to remember themselves,” he told her solemnly. “It’s how humans grow and change. It’s how we get stronger. These bonds that we make with other people, and even the ones that we break…”

Rukie eyed him speculatively. “I never would have pegged you for a philosopher, Ichigo.”

“I’m not.” But he’s got his ideals, and Ichigo is unbending. War has tempered his spine from bone to steel. Idly, he braids a long strand of Orihime’s hair while Rukia is busy changing Tatsuki’s memories. Maybe it will be easier for them not to remember this, but Ichigo will not take back what he said.

So many friends have forgotten him, so many have never met him to begin with and only his memories live on of their time together. He really hates this…

But Rukia is his guide in this case, and there’s nothing he can do for now. “This is how it has to be, Ichigo. There is no other choice,” she says firmly, like it’s an absolute truth. “This is the life of a shinigami.”

Ichigo lets Orihime’s hair fall into place and lays her on the floor before he stands and turns to Rukia.

“ Chacun voit midi à sa porte,” he says it mostly to himself, but it bewilders Rukia.

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” he shakes his head. “Let’s go.

Ichigo has never been out of the country before he’d signed up for an internship at Chaldea. It was supposed to be two weeks studying with the security organization, and the poster at the bus station by his house hadn’t said anything about mages, or time travel, or masters or servents. Di Vinci tells him later that its spelled so only mages or people with potential to be mages can even see it.

He shouldn’t have seen it to begin with, totally untrained as he was, but somehow he did. Because he did have magic circuits, even if they weren’t used often or much. So hed loaded onto a plane with a half a dozen other master candidates from all around japan. His dad had agreed, all to easily. And now he stood in a breakroom with Romani and Mash, and Medusa and Cu and Olga Marie all standing around him.

“I don’t get it,” Medusa says, eying the phantom speculatively. “If she’s dead, how is she here?”

Ichigo shrugs. “ I have no clue. I’ve always been able to see ghosts but I don’t know anything about them.”

“H-hey what do you mean by that?” Roman asks, turning towards him. “You can see dead people?!”

“Well, yeah,” Ichigo sort of shrugs. “That’s not the weirdest thing happening here, ya know.”

Roman can’t really argue with that.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Olga Marie crosses her arms over her chest, looking down at the two gingers in front of her. Ichigo, sat on a couch, and Roman next to him. They both look at her, clueless until she rolls her eyes in aggravation.

“It’s just like what happened with Mash. When the bomb exploded and I-” she falters, her yellow eyes darting around before she gets herself under control. “After the explosion, I found the two of them. At the same time Mash formed her contract with him, I must have done something similar. There’s two types of energy,” she goes on. “The energy of the physical world, Mana, and the energy of the soul. Reitsu. Just as Caster, Rider, and Mash are drawing on his Mana as servants, I am now bound to his Reitsu as a soul-based familiar.”

“Such a thing is unprecedented,” Roman argued, looking somewhere between stunned and frightened. They were all standing on that blade right now. The world had ended and they, a group nowhere near qualified to save it, were now in charge of stopping it.

“Ah, nae as much as you’d think,” Cu said, his voice lilting and accented. “My teacher, Scáthach, she ‘ad shades an’ such.”

“The queen of the shadow lands?” Mash clarified, which meant nothing at all to Ichigo. Cu nodded. “It would make sense for her to have such things…”

“Ah, does that make the director Ichigo’s servant now too?” Roman asked.

Olga Marie bristled. “I’m no ones servant! I’m still the director here so you better show me proper respect!”

Ichigo couldn’t help snickering at her. “Man, you’re so full of yourself.”

“What did you just say?!”

“Are you dead and deaf? I said you’re full of yourself,” he grabbed her cheek and pulled it until she shrieked and lashed out at him, beating her fists against his chest. Mash did her best to cover her laughter in the background, hands over her mouth.

“Even still,” Roman stepped between them, carefully extracting Ichigo from Olga Marie’s fury, “This doesn’t explain everything. When someone ray shifts, it’s their spirit that manifests in the location, while their physical body stays in chaldea. So how can two different energies both manifest like that? I don’t understand…”

Olga Marie puffed her cheeks out. “The answer to that is much more technical. Even though it’s the spirit that is sent back it's still a physical body that a mage has when they interact with the time period around them. It is… a reversal of the third magic, so to speak. The opposite and the twin of Heaven’s Feel, it is your spirit and your soul and your life, but your body is left behind while Ray Shifting.”

This must have made sense to Roman, but Ichigo was, to put it mildly, completely lost.

“What’s the third magic, what’s ‘heavens feel’, and what’s ray shifting?” Ichigo asked. Olga Marie face planted, and started cursing his very existence.

* *

“I must say, I didn’t expect you to be this good with a sword already,” Rukia admits, watching Ichigo snap the practice sword around, knocking aside each tennis ball she sends shooting at him through the pitching machine.

Ichigo stands, light on his feet with a sword roughly the size of a claymore. It was heavy and the reach was long but awkward. He’s used to holding broad swords, mimicries of clarent and excalibur while his Saber’s try to beat their lessons between his ears. It feels strange to hold something so long and so heavy. More than that, it feels like something is missing. Like the sword is a couple inches too short, like it doesn’t fit his hands quite right.

He has to remind himself that it isn’t his sword at all. This power is Rukia’s, not his own. Was this how Mash felt, their whole time together? Borrowing another person’s power to boost your own. It made his skin crawl minutely.

“I've been in a few fights,” Ichigo says, looking towards her with a shrug of his shoulder. “I’ve got friends who are in the kendo club.” He works mostly off of instinct. He always has, and it hasn’t failed him yet. He blocks each tennis ball, and those he can’t block he dodges swiftly, until Rukia finally calls it a day.

“You should get some rest while you can,” she advises. “We’ll be out tonight hunting hollows, no doubt, and you still have school work to do, don’t you?”

“Well yeah, but school feels so unimportant now…” It has since he’d gotten back. What was a test in the face of someone trying to blow up the whole of human history?

Rukia smacks him hard over the head, until he yelps in offense.

“Hey!” He rubbed the bump on his head, glaring balefully at the short shinigami. Rukia is, of course, utterly unaffected by it.

“School is important! You have a life to get back to after I get my powers back, and you need your grades to do it!”

“Geez, you’re so rough… And fine, but you’re gonna help me study for friday. You have to take tests too.”

Rukia looks startled, but she nods all the same, and they walk home together. Ichigo considers telling his dad what’s happening. There’s a strange girl in the house, and Ichigo is putting himself in pretty serious danger lately, but it barely makes a difference if he does. What will Isshin even do? He can not stop them from fighting, and he cannot help them in this fight. He can’t even see spirits.

These kind of things, he understood, were hereditary. Being a medium, and being a mage both were things that were handed down from parent to child, though they were kept largely separate. Mages dealt in living energy, and usually had little to no spirit energy, and vice versa. He could see spirits, and so could Karin, and even Yuzu could sense their presence from time to time. Yet despite all three children being sensitive to the supernatural, Isshin had no idea.

Which meant, more likely than not, his mom had been able to see them too.

She’d never said anything about it, but Ichigo had been so young, where would she even start?

And now, there was no way for them to find out. Ichigo has questions, but no one has answers.

“What are you thinking of?”

He startles, looking down at Rukia. He’d been so caught up in his own thoughts, he’d almost missed the house entirely.

“I was thinking about my mom,” he admitted. “I was wondering if she could see ghosts like me and Karin can.”

“Your mother?” Rukia repeated. She touched her chin in thought. “I suppose it’s not unheard of. There used to be quite a few humans who could see spirits. Some could even utilize enough reiryoku to actually combat hollows. But those died out some time ago.”

“Oh yeah?” Ichigo leads her inside. His sisters were out somewhere, and his dad was upstairs in his room, down the hall from Ichigo’s. They jog up the stairs together, Ichigo’s back thumping hard against his back.

“Yes. They were called Quincy. They could manifest reitsu into weapons to battle hollows with. But unlike shinigami, they didn’t purify the souls. They destroyed them.”

“Thats kind of fucked up.”

* * *

Ichigo still can’t tell if he’s here as a spirit or as a physical body, but it’s his living energy, his mana, that Mash is feeding off of when they start their first fight with the locals in domremy. They’re only human, so Ichigo fights too, and runs at Mash’s side when they chase the French soldiers back to their fort.

It’s there that the monsters attack and Ichigo gets his very first look at a saint.

She’s barely older than he is, fierce and terrible and humble all at once. She leads with utmost confidence and does not falter, even in the face of terrible odds. She’s… weak, for a servant. Far too weak.

There is something very wrong with france.

Ichigo is broken from his thoughts by Roman coming over his wrist communicator.

“All right, fine job everyone! I was watching with sweaty palms and sweets in my hand! The director is tending to other matters right now, so I’m in the command chair again!”

“Doctor,” Mash began, looking towards his hologram. “Those were the sweets that I got, right?”

“Huh? What? ls that right? I found them in the Command Room next to the tea, so I thought…”

“...I got them as a token of gratitude, for when we return from this Order,” Mash was actually starting to look irritated for the first time since they’d met. “ Needless to say, they weren't for you, but for Senpai, who no doubt fought bravely on the frontlines!”

“Mash... you've become such a thoughtful person!” Roman smiled proudly at her and, shamelessly, shoved the rest of the candy into his mouth. “I must say, these are some really tasty sweets. I'm sure Ichigo will be thrilled, too!”

Mash turns towards Ichigo, her mouth drawn in a line. “...Master. When we return to Chaldea, please reserve enough combat resources for one attack. I've registered one more enemy that I'd like to hit with the "back of my blade.".” Which was apparently something a shield had.

“You’re more violent than I thought you were…”

Then someone was screaming a ‘dragon witch’, and they retreated again, to the forests outside of vaucouleurs. It takes a while to get their bearings, but Ichigo understands. There’s two Jeanne d’arc’s. The saint that stands before them and a witch that is trying to destroy france. That’s what’s causing the world to fall apart here. So that’s who they have to stop. Only…

She’s about a hundred times stronger than they are, and she has an army of dragons, and dragon themed servants with her. By the end of the second day Ichigo finds himself with a saint, a queen, a musician, a pop star, and a dragon all following him around like puppies.

At night he finds himself sitting by the fire, with Jeanne, Ruler, sitting across from him. Kiyohime, a princess out of a story he’d read ages ago is curled up on his lap like a cat instead of a dragon. Her horn pokes at his hip irritatingly, and on his other side Mash has fallen asleep as well.

He should be more worried about the fact that she’s somehow convinced herself that he’d Anchin, considering the fact that she burned him alive in a bell tower, but thus far all she’s really done is hold onto him a little too tight.

Jeanne is looking at him too. There’s something about her, a charisma that makes Ichigo want to follow her off a cliff. And he probably would, if he wasn’t so damn stubborn himself.

“Yeah?” he asks, breaking the silence. “What, is there something on my face?”

“Oh!” Jeanne turns away, shaking her head. Her strange headpiece glints read in the firelight. “No, it’s only that you seem very close to her.”

“Who, Kiyo? We just met. She’s the one that latched onto me.”

“No, not her. Mash.”

Ichigo looks again at the girl sleeping on his other side. She looks older as a demi-servant, someone halfway possessed by a heroic spirit, but her face is the same. She’s still filled with wonder and innocence.

“Oh yeah. Well, I’ve got two little sisters at home. Mash reminds me of the youngest one. Yuzu. They even have the same hairstyle…”

“That explains it, then,” Jeanne’s smile is soft. “I’m the youngest. I had three brothes, and my sister as well. I imagine they’re still in Domremy. Although my two oldest brothers came to fight under my flag, so they might be travelling still.”

Ichigo tried to think of that. Tried to think of letting anyone in his family get even close to a battlefield and found himself shaking his head. “I couldn't do that. I want to protect my sisters. I wouldn’t be able to put them in danger.”

Jeanne peered at him over the fire, her smile still somehow serene. It must have to do with being a saint.

“I wished to protect them too, of course. They are my brothers, and war is a bloody, gruesome hell to walk into. But sometimes we must have faith. In the Lord to guide us, and in the people around us to stand at our sides and watch over us.”

“Didn’t your people, ya know, burn you alive?”

“Yes,” she allows, tilting her head towards the sky. “But still… I hold them no ill will.”

Ichigo decides, then and there, that Saints must be insane.

The first person they lose, the first person he loses in these wars, is Marie Antoinette. She dies to protect him, and the stinging, bitter taste almost makes him claw out his tongue.

* * * *

“Do you know where you are?”

Soft fingers run through his hair. Something tickles his nose and he’s assaulted by the smell of roses and daffodils.

“I’m in a dream,” Ichigo says, huffing irritably. His eyes open slowly, and he finds a deceptively soft smile hovering above him. Ichigo would believe it, if he didn’t know him better. As it is, he tugs at a long strand of off-white hair that falls across the man’s shoulder.

“Ouch. You’re right, this is a dream. However did you guess? I thought it was a rather good one…”

Ichigo rolls his eyes at the Caster. He can see his staff, wrapped in ribbons, stuck into the earth beside them. This man was always dramatic.

“There’s nowhere else I would see you, now is there?” He sits up slowly. His companion doesn’t move back, and in a minute they’re hip to hip, facing eachother.

“Ah, That is true. You never know, I am a rather famous mage. Mayhaps I teleported you here for my own amusement.”

“That does sound like you,” Ichigo allows. He paused, squinting. “Did you just say ‘mayhaps’?”

“You don’t like it? I thought it was eloquent.”

“Stop acting so weird,” Ichigo scolded, knocking their heads together lightly. “It hasn’t been that long since I’ve seen you.”

“On the contrary, it's been over 4,500 years.”

“You never change,” Ichigo rolls his eyes, and his visitor smiles, soft and fake.

“Perhaps I don’t. One of the aspects of immortality is that people tend to stay the same, you know,” he teases.

“I don’t, but I guess I’ll take your word for it,” Ichigo figures it’s easier than trying to fully puzzle out the man. He’s always been bewildering, ‘beyond human comprehension’ or something. Ichigo isn’t totally human anymore now. He sits, dressed in black next to his companion cloaked in white.

“I thought you were supposed to disappear from my memory,” Ichigo says abruptly. He’s not sure what kind of explanation he’s looking for.

A shrug is what he gets. “I told you once. That’s one thing I can never get used to. Perhaps it just didn’t work this time.”

“Right,” Ichigo says dubiously, “it’s got nothing to do with us being friends. “

The mage says nothing, but his smile thins at the edges. He’s still on about it then. ‘I can never truly close the gap, and be friends with a human’. It’s bullshit, because they’re friends and ichigo knows it, and so does he. He’s just stubborn and stuck on the idea of being the mysterious wise man figure in Ichigo’s ever evolving life story.

“Where are we?” Ichigo asks, letting the tension drop for now. The sky is the palest blue and there’s flowers as far as the eye can see, pink and blue and yellow. There’s no horizon any way he looks, and he realizes belatedly that they’re sitting on top of a tower.

“Isn’t it obvious? We are on the reverse side of the world. Where there is no beginning and no end, this is the very edge of paradise.”

The air tasted like sunlight and hope, but Ichigo isn’t fooled by the prettiness of it all. He knows this man. Better than he wants to be known, certainly.

“Maybe someday I’ll save you from this tower, princess .”

“That is quite impossible,” still a warm hand lands on his, a strange kind of thanks.

“I’ve done impossible things before.”

And he would do them again.

* * * *

Ichigo was starting to think that everyone here was made of tragedy.

France was bad enough. Between executions, and curses, and people just doing their best for others, Ichigo is starting to wonder how any fairy tale ever had a happy ending, for the figures of myth certainly had none. Not Jeanne, the Saint of Orleans. Not Elizabeth Batharoy, the wannabe pop star and future vampire. Not Kiyohime, who had followed him all the way back to Chaldea and now was stuck waiting for them to return.

And now, Euryale, and Asterios were the same. They were hardly the monsters out of legend. They were just people. Just people clinging to each other, like wreckage in a storm.

Ichigo leans forwards against the railing of the Golden Hind , watching the moon dance across the water. They’re pretty screwed, he realizes. Heracles has to be killed twelve times for them to succeed, and they’d almost all been killed on just the first try. They’d only escaped because a labyrinth had sprung up out of nowhere, glowing green and winding their way to the center of safety.

The heafy thump of footsteps on ship wood brings his attention to his newest servant. Asterios. He towers over all of them, almost ten feet tall if you counted his horns. He should have been terrifying, all hard muscles and hulking power. His long hair is matted like it’s never been brushed out properly, and his eyes are a red that seemed to glow in the starlight.

“Hey there,” Ichigo waves at him, and he comes to a halt at his side. He looks at him, and shifts from one foot to the other. There’s manacles on his arms, and his ankles as well. “Why don’t you sit?”

Asterios did as he was bid. When he was sitting, he still came up to Ichigo’s shoulder.

“It’s a nice night, huh?” It was peaceful, sailing on the endless sea. They have a lot of fights ahead of them but for now… He breaths in the sea salt air, and the cool darkness.

“Yes… It is… free ,” Asterios speaks slowly, like making words is a chore. Has he ever really spoken to humans, before now?

“Yeah. I guess it is,” that’s what Francis had said. The seas were freedom for her and her men. The King of Storms, the endless oceans bowed to her and the Golden Hind . “Have you been here long, Asterios?”

He perks up when he hears his name, looking up at Ichigo with the strangest expression. Ichigo has no idea how to place it. Hope? Happiness? Either way he’s smiling now.

“No… Want to … stay… with euryale and… everyone.”

“I get it,” Ichigo nods to him. “It’s nice to hang out with friends.”

“Friends…”

“That’s what we are, right?”

Asterios smiles at him, and nods. “Yes… friends.”

* * * * *

“Honestly… I thought you were supposed to be helpful,” Ichigo knocks on his own bodies skull, watching his dopple ganger wince away from him. “But all you’ve done is get my body torn up and cause a mess. You’re screwing up my ‘cool guy’ reputation!”

“Hey! It’s not my fault, I wouldn’t have jumped in if you weren’t so slow! Those kids would have died if I hadn’t jumped in!”

“Oh yeah, and you kicking that hollow again, to protect ants, what are you a saint?!” Ichigo yanks him into a headlock, roughly shoving his fist into his hair. It was weird to be fighting with himself, but honestly? Not even remotely the weirdest thing to happen.

“Get off!” The mod soul tries to kick him in the face, but Ichigo takes him to the ground in a rough grappling hold. He’s not too worried about his shoulder. His body is strong enough to handle being roughed up, and he’s taken worse hits than that.

“Let me go! I’m not gonna let you kill me but-” His voice wavers before growing vicious with conviction.

“I’ll never sit by and let another creature die!”

Ichigo is so surprised he lets go, sitting above the trouble maker. He won’t make eye contact, his voice dropping low and rough. His hands are shaking, Ichigo realizes.

“Right after I was born, the soul society they- they decided that the mod-souls had to go. The day after I was born I was chosen to die! Everyday I watched them kill off my brethren. And even after I escaped I still lived in fear, everyday that I would be discovered and killed… And I decided. That I was born, so I have the right to live and die freely, and so does everything else! So I won’t kill and I won’t let even ants die!”

This mod soul. A creature made to fight, made to die, made to kill all without a single choice. Ichigo’s hands tighten into fists. Just like Mash. Just like Fran. Just like Mordred. A living weapon. Ichigo lets him sit up, and sits back on his heels. The mod soul grips his shoulder, grimacing. It must hurt. This is the first time he’s ever felt human sensations. He was fast, fast as the wind.

“So that’s it…”

Abruptly, the tip of a cane shoves straight through his skull, and the pill that had started this whole debacle comes popping out the other side. Ichigo reacts, snatching it out of the air before anyone else can. They’re not alone anymore.

Ichigo finds himself looking up at a pair of grey eyes half hidden under the brim of a striped hat. They’re looking right at him, even though he’s no longer in his body. He knows, with great certainty, that this man is not human.

“I’ll be taking that back now,” he says, holding his hand out expectantly. He looks almost harmless. Almost. But Ichigo can see the calluses on his hands and the hardness in the back of his eyes. Whoever this is, he’s a fighter. Even with the geta sandals, he hadn’t made a sound when he was approaching.

“Hell no!” Ichigo clutches the pill tighter and straightens up. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

“He’s just a greedy salesmen,” Rukia comes to stand at his shoulder, her eyes narrowed at the stranger with the unsettling eyes. She'd watched the whole exchange between them, between Ichigo and yet another tragedy.

“I get it. He’s the one who sells you your supplies here, isn’t he?” Ichigo stands, slowly, keeping his hold on the pill tight. This guy had made a mix up, and if he thought Ichigo was gonna let him take this mod soul away, he had another thing coming.

“My, my, you’re a perceptive one,” the man pulled a fan out of his sleeve and snapped it open over his mouth. “I’m Kisuke Urahara. And these are my associates.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out,” Ichigo said blandly. “She said you're a salesmen, and she has to get her gadgets from somewhere.”

“Either way, I should take that product back. If it’s compensation you’re after-”

“I already said no!” Ichigo snapped, anger rolling under his skin like a fire. “People aren’t products and I’m not giving this one back to you!”

“Ichigo,” Rukia cut in, her voice cool and firm. It's ice on a bruise and Ichigo let's her step before him, her dark eyes on the salesman. “It’s fine. I’m satisfied with this purchase, and you don’t exactly work legally. So whatever happens, it’s not your responsibility anymore.”

Even though he remains largely impassive, this Kisuke guy still stares at them, trying to read between lines that don’t exist. Ichigo is honest, and Rukia has his back in this case.

So he and his associates leave, and Ichigo pops the soul back into his body once their gone. He finds brown eyes staring up at him, his mouth open in confusion.

“You didn’t… send me back?”

Ichigo knocks his head again. “Don’t be stupid. If you give me a dumb speech like that, how can I sit by while you get smashed up?”

“I - you’re kinda crazy.”

“I know,” he had to be. “So, do you have a name?”

“A name? No, no ones ever given me one of those…”

“Alright then,” Ichigo tilts his head, thinking. A mod soul, a kaizo konpaku… He could go with Kai. But that sounded too cool. He was wind fast, and if he remembered right the inca wind was called… “Kon. You’re in charge of my body while I fight hollows. You can explore, and try new things, but don’t go destroying property or getting peoples attention. Or hurting my body! Deal?”

He held out his hand, and Kon reaches up and grasps it.

“Deal.”

#Shattered Chains of Fate #Ichigo Kurosaki #rukia kuchiki #Kon bleach #bleach fanfiction #bleach #bleach/fate grand order #BAMF!Ichigo Kurosaki #Ichigo Kurosaki is Ritsuka Fujimaru #well sorta #olga marie animusphere

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roseprincesskristina · 3 years

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My Crimson Valentine ((POV))

((Hey people. 😊 Today, since Valentine's Day is just around the corner a little later, I had to write a special fanfic about everyone's favorite crimson hunter getting busy with a certain girl who is new in Abel City to visit him. Plus, it's a POV version for the ladies out there. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this story and Happy Early Valentine's Day 💘💘💘💝💝💝 😊✌))

The crimson hunter, lastly created by the late Dr. Albert Wily, previously known of the uncontrollable maverick who lusts for blood, carnage, even destruction increases his strength along with everything he possesses. Founded by the former leader of Hunter HQ before being escorted to be tested after the ferocious duel against him, until later on when the impossible virus had traveled it way within the strong balded crusader's armored anatomy away from the blonde irregular's helmet to successfully control the new host. Forming from evil to good has allowed him to join the organization which meaning by hunting down crazed evildoers that caused havoc upon peace. Hardly addresses himself as the hero, however to battle against difficult odds such as maverick while for those around that he believes in at heart, for his own will also. Throwing away the corrupted memories of his past which blinded his focus of a better future awaiting ahead as well as to embrace off multiple sadness from his body.

Now, as the irregular destroying commander of the 0th unit, lacking any clemency towards opponents and acts with a "too cool for school" attitude to lower his emotions instead of showing them to anyone expect his indigo comrade in arms. Ranked into an upperclass position, bearing with the energy beam sword for slashing down anything blocking his path. Aiding with his colleagues, brawling baddies, passed onto with additional power ups, the rest during numerous journeys. He is ultimately quite difficult to become defeated when it comes to danger calling him out, but not with assistance to accomplish any tasks at hand. This fearless swordsman in red is named Zero.

At last, slightly exhausted of every beatings along with rescuing the innocent like any super hero would always do, fully relaxed while the daylight is young, the golden locked hunter had peered his eyes towards you into a seductive persona. Lying onto his bed sideways with his hand planted on the manly thigh to await your appearance inside his dorm. Smirking with a satisfying preparation in mind for a guest of honor such as yourself.

"Mmmmm he he he he~... Well well~... Hello to you, my sweet young treat~ What brings you here to MY lair of awesomeness~? Just by looking at your expression, I suppose you're here to visit me or to earn my autograph, right~? Either way, it wouldn't even matter much anyway since I'm bored with nothing to do~ But what really does now is to amuse a cute little lady like you with my irresistible charms to hypnotize my fans~" The upperclassmen spoke deeply with a sexual tone, walking over and takes you by your hand into his room as a welcoming manner by stroking his hand under your chin. Placing you upon his bed. "So, why don't ya come inside and make yourself comfortable until I freshen up for a special surprise in store just for you~ BRB~" He winked at you, rising right out of his bed capsule to change into a different armor.

While waiting for the blush colored host, you would began to take out something from your backpack like a notebook to draw characters, anime or shapes in order to keep yourself occupied. Even to write a journal about your life. It was your time here in Abel City, never have seen or been here before to meet the legendary Maverick Hunter in the flesh. Or perhaps reploid, of course. You hummed while enjoying usual hobbies like in your house, loving nature even to make friends, pondering about such wonderful memories within your thoughts just to keep you happy and lively for the rest of your life through tough times. It truly warms your innocent heart all the way along with emotions, until a surprise sudden has called your attention....

"Hey there, gorgeous~ Thanks for the long wait for me to straighten myself up, didn't wanna get too.... messy around ya~.... " Outside the bathroom despite of his "freshening up" methods, hearing his voice aiming across the roam has made you look away from the notebook that you're drawing and directly at him, who is wearing nothing underneath his armor like the inner black suit, but into a sexy belly dancing attire to suit him quite better out of his under clothing. Revealing not only the body, yet secondly his most flawless treasure known to man: his diamond shaped navel of his abs, placed with an initialed Z shaped jewel inside, similar on his left shoulder. The appearing shade of redness shown itself in your cheeks during your first witness of your host's harden bods of steel completely in front of you.

"Awww~ Did I made ya blush, little girl~? I kinda love it when you look real nervous when you're around me~ Cause it really, REALLY turns me on~" Slurped the bright red sword wielder, approaching his irresistible self towards you, folding his arms behind the brighten locks of his tied up hair. Blinking his sparkling sapphire pupils slowly to create something even more consensual than before or after your arrival to surround you along with everything in his dorm. You began to feel speechless for a fast second, beholding his fairly gifted body before you now when he chuckled.

"Mmmm~ Giving the silent treatment, too, aren't we~? I like that in a human woman~" Anything about you has impressed the saber enhanced mentor even more than busting against his enemies in the hunting days when duty calls. Could be a waste of time, but not as long as you're here to make his life interesting. "So, beautiful~ Whaddya think~? Like what ya see~? Did my abs impress you~? No need to answer cause I'm already aware of that~ Let's put away the notebook and enjoy ourselves, shall we~" He said again, helping to throw away the book off your hands. Snapping his fingers automatically to initiate the sensual music before the beginning of his dance. Once again, you blinked while watching him jiggle his hips to the rhythm, back and forwards non stop. Several visions of him showering the pleasurable has blinded you away from the focuses about your life, being slowly imprisoned filled of little resistance left in your body to fight it off.

"Mmmm~ Damn, you look so delicious when I take a closer look at you~" Licked his clean filled of the starving metaphorical act, circling around you while slowly drawing his finger on your shoulder. "Even though you're a human, but it ain't gonna change the fact or my mind since you're here~ Lemme taste you for a bit to see if you're good enough to eat~ Meow~" He does that right away by licking your cheek, making you fluster into a shade of pink appearing in your face. "Hot damn~ Did my tastes buds lie~? Or is it telling the truth~? You truly ARE my sweetest dessert, babycakes~ Meaning that I'm gonna save YOU for later after my overwhelming performance~"

Dancing very closer to you, caressing all over his glistening armor as well as his body to approach once more. Seducing you by shaking more of his delectable manly hips with his might, polishing the crotch if necessary. Commencing to arouse your being becoming trapped in his grasps to never release or allow you to flee from his inescapable sights, pinning down your body of his hypnotic dance. Then, feeding on your thoughts with his sultry speech.

"It's no use trying to resist my urges, baby~ My body will consume you whole whether you admire it or not so try not to fight against it~" He compelled, positioning his finger into a "come over here" action to brainwash you. "Come on~ Let my poisonous effects absorb you~ Look into my eyes and rid yourself of those tragedies holding you down from your senses~ Submit to me, my innocent slave~ Obey my body forever~ Smoothingly erasing your worries from your mind and replacing them with images of the sunshine haired expert's erotic movements clearing off those irritating dirt of lies entirely out of your peeps, helping you to see perfectly even by looking at your maverick hunting host shaking his money maker for you. Complying his demands with the lack of free will to shield yourself away of something elegant, you had no other option but to surrender by gazing straightly at him into the middle of his dance.

"So~ What do you think of my stunning bods, little lady~? You like it, even when I punish myself for being a bad boy~? Hmm~? He he he he~ Then I'll take that as a yes~" He moaned while speaking to you sexually. "Well, how about I give you.....this to change your pretty little thinking~? Continually to please you the hardest, he would slowly remove the pierced jewel from his stomach. Placing it on the desk table. You would be able to watch carefully of his special present only for you to see instead of others, but your mind says to resist it for this "nightmare" will haunt you in your sleep forever. Once the gem has been confiscated out of the body, he "accidentally" insert one of fingers deeply inside his ravishing navel.

"Whoops~ He he he he~ My bad, darling~ Didn't mean to cause an accident to you like that~ Or did I~?" Grinned the A Class sword fighter, planning his act on you in the first place by circling deeper into his belly button. Extending out his tongue to rock it like in the concert to party all night, siding with shaking his thighs of continuation towards the dance.

"Unh~ Unh~ M...Mmm god, it feels so nice~" He spits out his longing yet magnificent moan all the way from his mouth trying to dash for freedom, drilling his finger into the dark cavern of the stomach more further. Pleasing you to death with every inch of his power but quietly. Over and over he punishes his stomach hole without trying to stop himself. "Ahhhh~ I love massaging my navel during off duties at peace~ It really takes my mind off of killing enemies~ But, I couldn't hide it from somebody so tranquil and quiet like you~" He refers to you, winking to arouse his guest by "cleaning" his deepen abyss of a stomach hole further. You slightly blushed from his unseen hobby, attempting to look for an escapable exit. However, nothing could ever work because of the frozen spell of his seduction pinned you down on the seat.

"Oh yeah~ Yeah~ Mmmmm, face it, pumpkin~ I know you wanna see me ground my deep, luscious, tasty, warm navel of mine for being very naughty~ Don't try to deny it~ You CAN and WILL love it when I play with it~ Or better yet, to let you taste it~" He spoke toward at you, placing a torturing spell which is impossible to break. More shades of red pinkish flustering substance had yet again made its appearance in your face, eyes stretched of shocking discovery, heart pumping in a repetitive beat. It's as if you have seen a boy band member saying your name to climb up onstage or earning a first gift. But this, right up front, is even more breathtaking than both all combined at once.

Forwardly into your ear, his calm voice enters within your mind. Purring seductively due to his obsession with his new plaything like you to have fun with.

"Purrrrrrr~" No matter how much you try or do that could drive the spell from your consciousness, that too, is unstoppable to leap out of. "It's already too late to back out from me, doll~ Cause there ain't gonna be an exit to save you now that you're all mine~" He said, tilting your head directly to him by his hand grappling your cheeks. "You know, before I met an adorable birdie like you, all I ever do was fight off maverick trash all freaking day without getting a single break, which is completely boring for my taste~ But now here you are, making my life a living heaven than hell like in my usual days as a hunter~" You nodded while listening. "I really like you that much, despite of being a human, but still~ " He comes at you, proceeding towards your face. "As a matter of fact, you mean the world to me, Valentine, and that's why.... I wanna taste and suck your irresistible at the same cause I'm so famished~ So, let's kill off the idle chat, shall we~? And lemme give you something to make you.... remember me in your dreams~ Let me kiss you~ So~ Badly~....." With everything pushed out of the way, the stern yet handsome reploid in red inserted his lips into yours deeply. Drinking the life out of you with a craved thirst before resuming his belly dancing routine. His perfect smooch has gave you a further blush.

"Mmmmmmmm~" So forever long, he softly yoinked himself from the perfect smooch given to you and licked. "God, you taste even better than the rest~ So delicious~" Swallowed the smirked hunter, enjoying your clear lips until he continue his undodgable dance of lust to please you rapidly. Secondly, the glorious cave of a navel to pleasure or play with as well.

That trick, especially the breath stealing kiss, had forced you to have a nosebleed right away from his unavoidable surprise than earlier before. Without holding any grudge against the blonde host's perfect symbol of desires that shuts down all worries from their minds, the only chance you have is to submit towards his beauty and enjoy it, refusing to turn back. Zero smiled gladly at you, wanting more of his fascinating dances to ease your boredom aside in the garbage where it belongs.

"So~ Finally enjoying my gift, huh~? Good girl~" He smiled rapidly, resuming his lustful dance for your enjoyment. "I'm so proud of you for cherishing a pleasant gift I rained on you, sweet treat~ For that, here's another one from me~...." For following his directions of the pleasurable belly dance, the handsome rose themed ex maverick lays his hands onto your soft cheeks while you are a little prepared for something much more....appealing? However, you have to allow him by accepting the second present until finally, he mashed his lips gently into yours. Tongue and teeth.

"Mmmmmm~....."

Your eyes started to open widely because of the seeping smooch warming up your whole heart upwards to 100%, blushing darker than earlier. While you slowly responded back, he continues to sink his kiss into your lips all day long, never to get enough of your existence for one minute just to stomp on his doomed past like an insect. Non stop after separating himself from lip locking with you, he continues his beautiful entertainment by dancing, especially navel pleasuring, to please you more than the first act while you're gazing towards him with both hands placed under your chin. Directly in front of you, he blow a kiss at you for further mood at peace.

"Mmmmmwah~..... Mmmm, thanks again for keeping company to shut up my boredom today, cutie~ You're just the one who never gets tired of my unbeatable charms~" Winked the high ranked blade user, impressed by your company to sleep away his exhaustion from dealing with endless hordes of irregular rabble rousers all the time. You replied with a nod, watching permanently of your die hard android in light burgundy with all your heart no matter what. Enjoying both his company, even the erotic dance as well.

He may become of the lone wolf type reploid who refuses to gain anyone's assistance during heart throbbing missions, roughing up tough mavericks without problems whatsoever. However, fighting alongside friends to be stronger foes than him or enemies combined has made the yellow headed mentor even too powerful other than his base state. Because companionship can make any dream succeed so long as everyone remains by his side always, even the true Maverick Hunter should realize this. Furthermore, no crime lovers including the inhumaniods baddies could ever escape from the beam sword bearer of Abel City when it comes to disasters knocking on the town's door without regret. But for now, he is finally relaxing during his off duty with the only person in store to interest his company instead of all else: You.

"Happy Valentine's Day, ladies~ Feel free to visit yours truly anytime~ Mmmwah~💖"

#megaman #mmx #zero #pov #valentine's day #fanfic #earlyvalentinesday2021

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heythatpenguinhere · 5 years

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*My dearest friends (or new friends), welcome back! I haven’t written in a hot minute and I had to fix that. Surprise though, I have crossed fandoms and written my FIRST Dragon Prince Rayllum fic!!! SHOCKER. Please enjoy below my angsty, emotional mess of work and let me know what you guys think!

To others, Rayla should have probably stopped and thought through her decision to act in the moment a bit further; her impulse to protect and defend sometimes drove her to reckless actions. This wasn’t new to her nor was it unknown. She was very well aware of this and unfortunately as much as she may want to correct it in theory, when it came down to the moment she would always choose to act; it was in her blood and DNA to do so as well. Being a Moonshadow Elf made her fit to be a warrior. Being the child of two Dragon Guards, made her destined to protect. She could not just simply ignore those things that ultimately made up who she was and she did not want to. Even if the outcome could be less than desirable, Rayla had a heart that could never just run when she could take a stand.

That is what she was doing in this very moment. Rayla was being the courageous being she was. It wasn’t that she didn’t fear, because as the bandit’s blade cut through the air she felt the slight rush of fear, but that she was willing to push through fear for those she loved. If she didn’t, Callum would be harmed.

As her eyes scanned behind her briefly, she saw Callum still lying there in the mouth of the cavern shivering. A large usage of magic recently had unexpected consequences and Callum was sick and unable to travel. Rayla had been truly scared when he fell and even more so as he remained unconscious. The last time she had seen him in a similar state was when he used Dark Magic. And while this time he hadn’t, he had still used a large amount of energy with a small amount of rest on his shoulders. He selflessly gave of himself too much to help others. It’s something she loved about him...

If he could give of himself to help others, then so would she. She was doing this for Callum.

The bandit had snuck up on them as they rested in the cavern. To his credit, he was extremely skillful to have done so with Rayla’s senses and Callum’s magic and yet now he was here and threatening their safety.

“Hand over any valuables Moonshadow Elf and no one gets hurt.” The man sneered at her, bandana covering his face. The only part of him that could be seen were his eyes, a deep and muddy yellow color.

Rayla stood her ground, “We haven’t got any valuables. Leave now.”

He snickered, “Those blades look mighty valuable to me.” He said nodding in the direction of Rayla’s twin blades.

Her eyes narrowed. This man was seriously underestimating her if he thought she would hand over her blades just because he was pointing his. With a flick of her wrists, both hands were armed and poised to attack.

“You must be stupid if you think I’ll give ya these. Now I’ll only say this once more: leave.” She said, standing tall.

The man didn’t laugh this time and instead his eyes squinted with anger. In a blink, he was on the move. Flashes of black and silver were seen as the two squared off. The bandit clearly was older, but that didn’t mean Rayla wasn’t a match for him. With a kick to his chest, she sent the man flying backwards out of the cavern. Rayla paused for a second to examine Callum.

“Come on Callum, please get up. I need ya here.” She pleaded with him, not knowing if he could actually hear her.

“How unexpected. A human and an elf huh? You betray your own blood. If I killed you, no one would grieve you. If I killed him, then that’s one less human in the world.” The man said walking slowly back through the opening; his voice echoed in the cave around them.

Rayla stood over Callum’s body in defense. “Like hell I’d let you touch him.”

“I don’t think you’ll have a choice elf.” He said and sprung at her again.

Their blades crashed together as Rayla struggled to keep the bandit as far from Callum as she could. She threw him back again and the two continued their battle further away from the unconscious boy.

“How can you defend him? Humans are animals. They are vermin in this world. And yet you would protect this one. Tell me elf, are you his slave? Or maybe you just wiggled your way into his bed.” He said taunting her.

Rayla let out a loud cry of anger/indignation and her blade successfully nicked the man’s shoulder. He groaned out loud and held onto the wound.

“I hit a sore spot didn’t I?” He said, continuing to taunt her even while injured.

“How dare you… You don’t know anything about us thief!” She said, breathing heavy.

“I know all I need to know. You both will die and I’ll be taking your blades and anything else you have!” He yelled and changed directions… toward Callum.

Fear and dread filled her veins as she saw him make toward the boy that held her heart.

“CALLUM!” She yelled as she ran to intercept the man.

Seconds moved in slow motion as both individuals made their way to the same target. Every step, Rayla willed herself to move faster. Faster than the bandit was all she had to be.

With a few steps and her blades up, the bandit closed in on them. The last thought to cross her mind as she and the bandit locked eyes was green eyes and a goofy smile.

Silence. Silence was all Callum could hear around him as he stirred. The ground beneath him was softened by a blanket of some sort, it’s texture familiar to his fingertips as he moved. His eyes slowly pried open to the dim light. He could make out a rocky ceiling and cool feeling all around. The more his eyes opened, the more he could make out however. He was confused and still a bit dazed as to why he was laying on the floor and where he was. The last thing he remembered was drawing a new rune shape and casting a spell. He could recall Rayla’s worried face and words of concern as he let the words leave his mouth. After that, his world went black.

If she was there when that happened, then where was Rayla now?

He shot up suddenly at the realization. His eyes scanned around him frantically for a sign of the white-haired elf he loved dearly. When he finally did get a glimpse of her, he felt as if his soul had left his body. Rayla stood a few feet in front of him frozen in a battle stance, eyes wide, and with a long blade running through her left side still connected to a man in black.

How Callum was able to cast “aspiro” was a complete wonder in that moment. The mystery man in black was thrown so far into the woods that it was unknown where he ended up. It had to be the strongest version of that spell that had he had channeled in his life and he had done it in the state he was currently in. All he knew was that he had never experienced such a mixture of anger and fear in his whole entire life’s existence.

The thud of Rayla’s knees hitting the floor awakened him out of the murderous state of mind he was in and into the horrific reality before him.

“RAYLA!” He screamed from a place deep inside him, moving so quickly he didn’t even notice the steps he took to arrive to her.

She kneeled in the same spot; eyes still wide in shock and mouth agape. From her side, a dark patch of purple began to grow and spread through her clothing and drip to the floor beneath. All Rayla could do was gasp; her breaths catching in short bursts as the severity of the situation really hit her. She had been stabbed, in a less than ideal spot, and was miles from the nearest town. She turned her head slowly to watch Callum racing toward her.

“Callum…” She whispered.

Callum’s arms were around her in seconds.

He was shaking and his eyes were all over her frantically. They landed on the dark patch at her side and the shiny glint on the blade still embedded within her.

“Oh God… Oh God Rayla… W-We are going to figure this out okay? You’re going to be okay!” He said in desperation.

Her lavender eyes were moving more rapidly, examining him. He was okay. He was healthy again somehow. He was okay and he was here. He hadn’t been harmed in anyway. Her human was safe.

“C-Callum…” She said, reaching a shaky hand to touch his face.

Pools and rivers of tears spilled from Callum’s eyes. His usually bright green eyes were a dark and deep emerald shade. She briefly thought that even this way they still looked beautiful.

Callum had carefully as possible assessed the situation with Rayla. Her wound was bleeding pretty badly and there was still the blade to deal with… She was surprisingly not in pain, but by the way she seemed out of it, he figured she was in shock. He had to make a decision and soon. Try and move her to find help or treat her here?

His hands could not stop shaking as his fingers trailed the sides of the entrance of the wound. It wasn’t a large wound in size, but he had no way of knowing what it had damaged inside. Moving away he looked at his fingertips where spots of purple tainted his skin. He felt horribly sick. Rayla’s blood was on him, in more ways than one.

“Rayla...why?” He said, even though he knew the answer. Because it was the very same thing that he would have done for her. He wouldn’t have had a second thought to protect her either.

She stared at him, eyes dazed. “I love you.” She said.

Callum had not slept all night. Rayla’s form lay on a bed beside him. Her light lavender-tinted skin was now ashy in color. Her pure hair was sprawled about around her. Her facial markings under her sealed eyes stood out much too darkly. Her chest moved up and down slower than he was used to seeing it do. Her abdomen wrapped tightly in bandages with a tinge of purple seen through them.

She was somehow alive. The doctors had noted that Rayla was a fighter, not just in occupation but in spirit as well, refusing to give in during any of the attempts to stabilize her. At one point she had nearly been lost only to surprise the doctors by opening her eyes and fighting them to see Callum.

The nurses rushed to retrieve Callum. He couldn’t erase the scene of her thrashing against the doctors screaming out his name. She was desperate to see him; to know he was okay.

“CALLUM! CALLUM!” Her screams could be heard for miles, ripping from her throat until her voice grew hoarse.

He had ran to her, holding her down carefully with the doctors.

“Rayla! Rayla please you need to calm down! Rayla, I’m right here! I’m okay!” He kept repeating over and over until her panicked state calmed. She laid on the bed, breathing heavily.

“You’re okay.” She said, finally realizing he was indeed in front of her, and her eyes rolled back.

The entire day’s ordeal had left Callum heavily traumatized. Soren sat by his side, attempting to help the prince cope. Through jokes and lighthearted comments, Callum was incredibly grateful to have someone by his side. King Ezran himself was arriving soon and Callum would have a full support network to be with him as he waited for Rayla to wake.

Watching her in her slumber, Callum could not help but reflect on their journey. From their beginnings to now, fate had somehow willed for these two souls to join up. Two very different souls, from two very different backgrounds. And yet somehow these two souls had not only joined together, but fallen in love. Their differences blended and complimented the other. Where one was weak, the other strong. They grew together and their hearts meshed together along the way, deeper if possible.

She was everything. She was Rayla. Every word spoken and action she took, pointed to who she was and the heart she had. The same heart that had led her to where she was now.

Breathing deeply, Callum stood up. The temptation to wallow in the guilt of her actions was incredibly strong, but after two panic attacks earlier Callum knew that he had to be strong. Rayla had made her choice to protect him out of pure and undeniable love for him. He could never ever repay that, but he could be here for her now and remain while she wakes up.

Opening her eyes to the world again, Rayla was very aware of her circumstances. Her side throbbed as if confirming her actions earlier. Callum. She had risked her life to protect him. Why? She loved him. It was as simple as that in her mind and in her heart. And as relieved, emotional green eyes came into her view and she registered the weight of a hand in her own, she had all the reaffirmation she needed to know that she had made the right choice. Five digits mixed within her four were all she needed right now as proof. Her heart would always act and take a stand to protect the most precious thing in her life.

“Callum.”

#fanfic #Dragon Prince #fandom life #rayllum #rayla #callum #rayla x callum #angst #feels

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mystery-star · 4 years

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How to draw a fantasy or alien creature

Here’s an easy way to draw some special creatures and that’ll still look good even if you got zero drawing talent.

To illustrate the guide a little, I’ll be adding notes, thoughts and process pictures of an example I did. (I apologize for the suboptimal quality of my camera in advance)

You'll need:

a piece of paper

pencil

eraser

optional: coloured pencils (or water colors, felt pens etc)

a computer / iPad etc. (a mobile phone works too but it gets small)

Or if you don’t have a computer or so or the pictures you want (See step 3) are already printed. However, I do recommend to use digital pics because they hold many advantages.

printed pictures of the components

a window or light source

Step 1:

The Basic design of your animal

Think about the basic body-form: Shall it be long, round, tall etc. ? Or use looks of other animals as reference. Decide what perspective you will draw it from. (from the side or the front? Or maybe from above?)

Try to come up with a few features about its habitat: Is it hot or cold, dry or wet, or in mountains? Maybe it lives in the air or underwater. This’ll help you with the colors or the skin texture later on or even has influences on the body-form.

Even humanoid aliens are possible with that guide, just use a human as the main reference, then change parts to make them look different. (Though I never tried that before yet)

My animal

It shall be a predator-species called Orinthio that lives in a tropical area. It’s a rather bulky animal and I’ll draw it from the side. Although in my case I mostly want to draw the creatures because I inculded them in a story, so the habitat and maybe a rough description was already given. (Not for the Ornthio though, I invented that for the tutorial, which was a mistake because I did not prepare everything as carefully as I usually do when introducing a new animal.)

Step 2

Divide it into sections

Split your animal into different body parts such as: head, legs or arms, main-body, extras (wings, tail, horns, hairs etc.). Of course you won’t need all the parts for each animal but these are just ideas. Also think of details such as: eyes, ears, hairs, fur, spikes, feet, hands, fingers, claws, tip of tail, teeth etc.)

Then collect ideas for what the parts you defined could look like. Search an object or existing animal as reference.

But in all your creativity, pay some attention to physical "rules" (Like tiny, thin bird legs for an elephant shaped animal? Or a thickly furred, black panther for a desert? Better not)

The parts for my Orinthio will be:

head -> shall look like a rhino’s

horn -> will look like a croissant

main body -> shall be the one of a horse

legs -> like a crab

tail -> shall be a baseball bat

tail tip -> is a spade (from the cards)

Step 3

Find the pictures

Now you’ll need to search pictures of your objects of reference. Try to pay attention to perspective, chose such that make ‘sense’ with the rest of your drawing. Don’t just take the first picture you see coming up in Google images. Do some research and also try other animals or objects that look similar. Often you’ll find an even better solution

Of course these pictures don’t need to be the definite ones, maybe you’ll want to change the head after you drew the main body. And you don’t need to find images for all details. Like you can just draw the eye or teeth by hand if you want… But it can’t hurt to search for some reference.

My tip is to leave the Browser tabs (one tab per picture / body part) open and copy the images into a Word file (or PowerPoint or another design programme if you have one). Because if you got them in a file, you can easily move, crop, flip, transform, scale or spin them.

Attention here to copyright. If you just draw the animal for yourself or to show it to friends it doesn’t matter what you take. As soon as you want to share it on the internet or even make money with it, you should read more about it to be on the safe side…

My pictures

I’ve cropped, transformed and put them into an order that they kinda already form the animal in a way, as you can see. Doesn’t look to bad, eh?

Step 4

Trace the contours

That works best by attaching the piece of paper to the screen (eg. with a post-it tape or “normal” tape that you put onto your clothes first that it doesn’t stick to the screen forever. Or adjust your laptop / monitor that the screen is flat on the table and facing up (but don’t break it!).

Then start tracing the contours. (Or if you’re good at copying, do that if you want) It doesn’t need to be perfect, especially at places where it it’ll connect to other body parts. It doesn’t matter with which body part you start, but I prefer starting with the main body because it’s mostly the center.

Once you’re happy with the part, take care of the next one. You might need to edit the picture a little bit that it fits better. You don’t always need to remove the paper from the screen, unless you want to have a look at it. Also make sure the “connection” to the other part is smooth, feel free to retrace a few lines if you have to. (Like remove the paper from the screen altogether)

Now just draw all the parts until you’re done.

Tips: if it’s hard to see the contours of the picture you chose, increase the screen’s brightness or the pictures contrasts, whatever fits best in the situation. And Protip: hide the pics that you’re not working with at the moment to not get distracted by them (Yes, you can do that in MS Word or PowerPoint! Here’s how to do it )

Tracing the main body of my animal

Connecting the head to it (as you might can see I had to move / scale the pic a little before I could draw)

For the legs i just flipped, scaled and moved the crab’s legs. Thankfully I chose a pic with more than one example.

Step 5

Edit your animal

Remove the paper from the screen and have a look at it. You’ll find places where you need to correct some lines to make it look smoother, or maybe you need to change a few proportions a little (Eg making legs a bit thicker)

In this step you should also add the other details you didn’t bother getting pictures for. Sometimes I notice that suddenly something doesn’t look good anymore, so I need to change a whole arm or so.

My first look at my Orinthio after I removed the paper from the screen. There’s a lot that I want to correct. E.g. the nape pf his neck, the tail and erease some lines. (Note: I’ve just learnt that solid and hard objects don’t make good tails... you’ll also find out your own ‘rules’ after drawing a couple of those)

And here the edited version. Looks smoother, doesn’t it?

Step 6

Unleash your fantasy

This step is optional but highly recommended. Give your animal some finishing touches.

Like trace the outer line with a pen. Add more details or give it a skin structure (fur, scales etc). Add colours! (Tip for that: use layers, like start with the brightest colour, then draw over it with a darker shade and so on. You can also add shadows like this. In the end, it often helps to ‘blend’ the colours by adding another layer with the brightest colour. Or watch some tutorials about drawing)

You can also give it a background or draw objects of size reference next to it (eg a small human to show the dimensions. Or a huge apple if your animal is tiny)

Or you can name the species (or the individual) and write it down as well.

And done! Here’s your fantastic beast. Feel free to send me pics or tag me in posts if you chose to share an example

The first layer of color. Of course, it could arleady be left like that.

But if you have a little more patience it’ll look more realistic. I chose not to draw a background because I wanted the focus to be on the animal :) But there are no limits to your creativity

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oohfluffy · 5 years

Text

See | DKS

Fluffy’s Note: This is my longest drabble, I guess. I was planning to have a word limit for drabble which is less than 1k, but then, welp. Enjoy!

Group: EXO

Member: Do Kyungsoo

Theme: Fluff | Football!AU

Word Count: 1,032

“I think the artist is much more beautiful to see.”

The bell rang signaling the most-awaited lunch break, letting everyone stand up from their seats and go for the doors. While everyone was busy getting out of the room, you slowly gathered your things, obviously showing no excitement in having a break.

You prefer listening to boring lectures more than spending breaks alone.

At least in lectures you get to hear voices, you get to interact even if just with the professors.

Breaks meant deafening silence.

You sighed, slipping your arms through the straps of your bag. You gazed at the open windows, walking past the empty seats. You can see the field with a few players doing their daily practice.

As usual, your eyes were already set to a certain player.

Your feet halted as the ball was passed to him. He was quick to maneuver over the opponent team, firmly bumping onto the ones who block his way. You can hear some girls squeal and cheer for him, and few players on the bench shout and laugh in pride.

You felt your hands fist around the straps of your bag, your lower lip tucked under your upper. Your eyes gleamed in delight as he successfully made a goal. You could see his grin under the helmet, it made your heart jump happily.

He looks so perfect in every scenario you see him in.

Trudging towards your usual place, you looked around and saw only a few students hanging around the garden. It's because everyone likes to converse more in a much noisy place and open fields. The beauty of the scenery in this natural grounds remains hidden and unbothered, which you are truly grateful for.

You almost skipped your way to the huge narra tree on the farthest part of the garden, a smile playing on your lips. You quickly sat on the grass, taking out your hard-bound sketch book.

You already have a specific image in mind.

You stuck out your tongue flat above your lower lip as you drew his eyes, his adorable big brown eyes. His hair being swept by the wind that seem to caress him softly, his cheeks that looks rounder as he showed that beautiful heart-shaped smile of his. His nose, not that tall, but enough to make you envious of how perfect it is on him. You drew until his shoulders, covered with the broad uniform of his football sport. You smiled as you see the image in your mind gets—

"That face seems familiar."

—personified.

You almost shoved your things back into your bag when you saw the person you were drawing and fantasizing of earlier, was physically and really standing beside you under the tree. You totally didn't notice him go near you! Nor did you expect he would be here!

You could hear his ragged breathing, as if he didn't rest after his game just half an hour ago. He chuckled as he took a seat on the space beside you, placing his football helmet down with him. You couldn’t move your eyes towards him, it feels like if you do, you won’t turn away from him ever.

“I-It’s an out-of-the-blue… thing.” You mentally scolded yourself for giving such a stupid excuse. Kyungsoo chuckled, resting his back on the tree, head turning to you. “S-Shouldn’t you be resting somewhere else?”

“Well, this has been my resting place for a while, isn’t it?”

Your cheeks flamed as you realized it is true. He has been staying here for weeks, which started your hobby of sketching him at the first place.

“I was just wondering if you prefer being alone than hanging out with your friends.” You shyly said in a quiet voice, hands intertwining on your lap. You were having a mental breakdown as you haven’t finished your sketch yet, and your momentum was slowly fading because of your subject, that was just beside you.

“I prefer being here.”

Your mind blocked out everything as he spoke in his deep, soothing voice. You slowly grabbed your bag, preparing to depart.

“Well then, I won’t be bothering you here. I’ll go—“

“You haven’t finished your portrait of me though.” He stated, eyebrows furrowing in focus as he watch you turn your back on him. “I want to see.”

You cursed under your breath as you feel your knees giving up on you. You sat back down on the grass, making him smile. You took out your sketch book, glancing at Kyungsoo but quickly looking away when you saw him staring at you so gently. You bit your lower lip as you flipped the pages, slightly turning it away from him. Most of your drawings are his portrait, if not a portrait, then a scenario where he is the main subject.

Damn, you look like a stalker.

You tightly shut your eyes and shook your head, aware of your thoughts. Kyungsoo was getting entertained watching you have an internal conflict.

“J-Just this one, okay?” You looked up at him, feeling your heart wanting to jump out of your rib cage when he smiled at you. You started highlighting his features, shading the parts where shadows were meant to be, and doing your finishing touches on the whole portrait. It went on about 10 minutes, with you glancing at him for every 2 minutes, only to find him staring at you with a smile on his face.

“It’s done.” You mumbled, blowing on the eraser marks on the paper. You took your last glance on your sketch, before slowly reaching it out to Kyungsoo. You were never conscious of your sketches or drawings, but this is different. Your subject would be the one who’ll see it.

No.

It was because it is Do Kyungsoo, the university’s football team’s quarterback.

“I’m not a professional or anything. I just do it out of-“

“Beautiful.”

Your lips curled into a smile. Just his simple acknowledgement of your skills, it was more than enough.

“That’s because the subject is pretty as well.” You bravely commented, making him laugh.

Kyungsoo placed your sketch book on his lap carefully. He looked into your eyes, his lips curling up as he spoke.

“I think the artist is much more beautiful to see.”

—

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azozzoni · 5 years

Note

Please a fic about Lucas found Elliot draw him before the kiss

“So I heard you were a bit of an artist.”

Lucas raised his head at Daphné’s voice across the room, eyes falling on where Eliott was considering the mural.

“Mostly drawing,” he said, and Lucas looked away as Eliott’s gaze fell on him.

He wasn’t really listening to what Alexia was saying about the benefits of nudity, too busy trying to eavesdrop on Eliott and Daphné across the room.

It was the third time Lucas found himself in the foyer, somehow helping out despite the fact that all his friends hated the idea.

Lucas would never admit it, but he kind of liked hanging out with the girls. At least they didn’t pester him about who he was dating.

“Would you be willing to help get rid of this ugly mural?” Daphné asked Eliott, an eager smile on her face, and Eliott smiled in return.

It was downright sad how even a smile that wasn’t directed at him could make his stomach erupt in butterflies, and Lucas was careful to keep his gaze down as Eliott pulled up the chair next to him and Daphné took the other.

“Let’s sketch some things out,” he said, smiling at Lucas, somehow inviting him into the group.

Lucas felt himself twist his chair before he really thought about it, too excited that Eliott wanted his opinion.

He knew fuck all about art, but he’d let Eliott show him sketches all day.

It didn’t take Eliott long to draw out several variations, Daphné more enthusiastic about each one.

“You’re really good,” Lucas said before he could stop himself, catching Eliott’s almost embarrassed smile, and Lucas wasn’t sure he imagined the flush on the back of his neck.

He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to say it when he usually couldn’t string more than a few words together around Eliott. Usually, his stomach was in too many knots to worry about words.

Today, though, Eliott was smiling at him and his whole chest felt like it might explode.

“You should totally paint a new mural,” Daphné was saying as Lucas listened to the blood rushing through his ears.

“I might need some help,” Eliott said, glancing at Lucas, and Lucas felt his pulse thudding in his throat.

“I could help you,” he heard himself say, stepping out onto the branch he thought Eliott might have just extended.

“Perfect!” Daphné exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “This is really going to be the coolest foyer!”

Eliott merely smiled at her enthusiasm, closing the notebook and tucking it into his bag, pages fluttering as he shoved it in.

“I should get going. Lots of reading to do tonight. I’ll see you, Lucas.”

Lucas couldn’t even form a proper goodbye as Eliott left the room. God, he was such a mess. He couldn’t even talk to the most beautiful boy he’d ever seen. Eliott probably thought he was an idiot.

Daphné sighed after a minute. “Isn’t he gorgeous?”

Lucas wasn’t sure if he was supposed to answer, and he didn’t trust himself to anyway. Luckily, Daphné didn’t seem to need him to, and she left Lucas to join Emma instead.

Sitting in his chair, Lucas sighed. There were times he thought maybe Eliott did like him, maybe he was interested. But there were other times when he had no idea.

As he sat there, a piece of paper on the floor caught his eye, neatly folded and sitting just below Eliott’s chair. Picking it up, he checked around before unfolding the paper.

Lucas’ heart jumped as he saw his own face on the page, a gentle pencil-sketch over the lined paper. He’d never seen his face so carefully drawn, lines erased and traced over, shading under his jaw, smudged by fingers, the same fingerprints on the edge of the page.

It had to be Eliott, he thought as he stared at the drawing. Who else could have done this? As he stared at the paper, he couldn’t help smiling, hope springing up deep in his chest. Maybe he wasn’t imagining things. Maybe there was more to this Eliott thing than he had allowed himself to hope for.

“What’s that?” Imane asked, and Lucas jumped, crumpling the paper a bit in his haste to fold it back up.

“Nothing. And can you stop sneaking up on me?”

“We’re in the same room,” she pointed out, but she didn’t keep prying, and Lucas let out a relieved breath, sliding the drawing into his pocket. Maybe he’d give it back to Eliott and see what he said, or maybe he’d keep this secret for himself and let his imagination run wild just for a second and let all his fantasies come true instead.

#skamfr #skam france #skamfr fic #elu #my fic

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roguelov · 5 years

Photo

You first met the Doctor so many years ago. Completely by accident. An accident that you were grateful for every day. You were running late to a job interview. Alarm didn’t go off, almost left your bag behind, car wouldn’t start, and the bus was late. The universe seemed set against you being there on time. And maybe, it did. Maybe, it wanted you to find the Doctor. You liked to think so. All you remembered before meeting him was your seeping panic as you raced down the sidewalk. You could see the building in sight when two people pulled both of your arms yanking you backwards.

“What? What are you doing,” you shouted. Your heart already pounded in your chest. When you thought you couldn’t panic anymore, these two strangers were pulling you away.

The two, a man and a woman, dropped your arms. “Sorry, but you can’t go that way,” the man said.

The woman gave the man a side glance. “Yeah, it’s quarantined,” she nodded.

“Right, quarantined. Gas leak. Here, me and my partner are from poison control. Very high, very important.” The man pulled out a black wallet flipping it opening revealing a blank card.

You scrunched your eyebrows together, “It’s blank.” The man blinked shocked. He looked at the card, to you, to his friend, back to the card before jamming in back into his pocket. “What’s really going on? Is it really some sort of gas leak? I just need to know because I have a job interview that could really jumpstart my career. It’s my future on the line and – Duck!” You pushed the strangers onto the ground as a piece of metal was throw towards the three of you.

You glanced up to see this creature. Monster? Alien? You didn’t know what to think. You simply started dumbfounded. “Well, job interviewee it looks like you’re coming with us,” the man grabbed your hand before dragging you away from the creature.

That’s what started it. One run in and you were sucked into the Doctor’s life. After the whole ordeal, he asked if you wanted to join him and Rose. He was very clear and certain that you could see everything and anything all the while to return back in time for your job interview whenever you pleased. You didn’t need to think twice. You smiled and said yes.

The Doctor and Rose then got around to asking what you did. Or going to do. You explained to them that you finished college with an arts degree and the job interview was with a design company. Later the night, the Doctor gave you a bunch of art supplies. Days passed with awe and excitement, but soon everyone found themselves in a slow calming day in. All three of you at the main controls of the TARDIS, Doctor and Rose chatted with each other while you doodled to yourself. Happy to have a pencil back in your hand. You glanced up at the pair when an idea struck you. Flipping to a clean sheet, you began to draw. Occasionally your eyes flickered upwards. Your pencil scratched lines onto the page. Carefully shading. Erasing when needed. Once you finished, a swell of pride burst inside of you. You had to show them.

Leaping out of your seat, you showed the pair the portrait of the Doctor. “What do you think,” you asked.

“Oh my god! This is amazing,” Rose gushed.

The Doctor squinted. “Are my ears really that big?”

You and Rose laughed. “How about I print you a copy? So you can always admire you lovely elephant ears.” The Doctor grumbled but his smile told differently. That drawing started both of your collections.

After a while, you decided to go back to your life before. You wanted to start your career, you wanted some normalcy. Seeing the universe sparked a hunger to create and shape your own life. You hugged the Doctor and Rose goodbye wishing them the best and walked out of the TARDIS rejuvenated yet heartbroken.

But you would return to the mysterious blue box. Multiple times.

The next time you saw the Doctor you didn’t recognize him. New face and new companion. You learned about regeneration before you left, however, you never expected to see a new face. At least not so soon. You left work moments ago and was on your way. The pair passed by you on the sidewalk. You thought nothing of them. However, the man paused and did a double glance when you strolled by. Strangely, you thought about the Doctor and Rose lately. Reminisced on memories created together and wondered how they were doing. Again, the universe seemed to be on your side.

“(Y/N)?”

You whirled around seeing this random man approaching you with a redheaded woman eyeing the man curiously. The man gestured to himself saying, “It’s me, the Doctor.”

Your eyes grew wide along with your smile. “Doctor! Oh my god, look at you! New face and everything!” You jumped into the Doctor’s arms hugging him tightly. “I was just thinking about you. Wait, where’s Rose?” You pulled back.

“Oh, she’s fine, she’s in an alternate universe.” He had this sad smile, but it quickly disappeared. He turned and pointed to his new friend. “(Y/N), this is my friend Donna Noble. Donna this is (Y/N) (Y/L/N). They traveled with me before.”

“It’s great to meet you,” Donna smiled extending her hand which you gladly. “Oi, does this mean you have some funny stories about alien boy here?”

You laughed. “Plenty that he wouldn’t like to care to admit.” You threw a smirk at the Doctor.

“Ooo, I would love to hear them.”

“Only if you tell your own crazy experiences with this two-hearted idiot.”

Donna smirked, “Nothing would please me more.” You and Donna walked off together chatting animatedly leaving the Doctor behind as he stared at the two of you. A pang of regret followed. Which was replaced by joy seeing your face again. That was how you meet the 10th Doctor. Unsurprisingly, you would later find yourself with a pencil and paper in hand. New face. New art. So you drew this Doctor’s portrait and gave a copy to him. Both of your collections growing.

You meet the 11th Doctor on purpose next time. You left the Doctor and Donna after some time but not without the Doctor giving you his number. “Call me whenever,” he said. And you did. Your life seemed to hit a slow patch. A constant repetition of waking up, going to work, going home, eat, sleep, and repeat. You needed something new. You needed excitement. You needed the Doctor.

Without hesitating anymore, you picked up your phone and dialed the Doctor’s number. The familiar whirling made your heart skip beats. You picked up your things and ran out your front door to see the TARDIS materializing. Wind blew past until the TARDIS fully stabilized. Then the door flung open. A new face emerged. He smiled. You knew it was the Doctor. It was his eyes. Still the same ancient eyes. No matter the regeneration.

He ran towards you and enveloped up in a hug. “It so good to see you again (Y/N),” he cheered.

You laughed, “It great to see you to Doctor.” You stepped back and stared at his face. “New face again, huh? What kind of trouble do you get yourself into when I’m gone?”

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “More than I care to admit.” He shook his head. “Enough about me, come on let’s go meet my friends.”

He practically dragged you into the TARDIS. You gasped a bit. It was remodeled. More orange. More warmth. More fantastic than before. Though it you didn’t get time to enjoy it all when the Doctor pulled you up the stair to the main control to a man and woman pair.

“(Y/N), this is Amy Pond and Rory Pond. Amy, Rory, this is (Y/N) (Y/L/N) an old friend of mine,” he introduced.

“Actually it’s Will – never mind,” Rory mumbled.

“So, you knew Raggedy man before,” Amy asked.

You nodded.

“Good because I have so many questions,” she smiled. “Like was he always this annoying?”

You laughed. “Um,” you stroked your chin dramatically. “Well I can say for sure because I don’t know this regeneration as well as the others, but based on first impressions: no. But! He did have his moments.”

The three of you laughed while the Doctor huffed.

Later that day, you were itching to draw the Doctor’s face. When you completed it, you showed everyone. You even showed Amy and Rory the two past regenerations. They giggled pointing out how different he has changed. The Doctor, however, was more than thrilled to have another piece of your artwork to his collection.

“You even added the bowtie! I love it,” he commented. Which in turn made Amy and Rory roll their eyes. An inside joke you would later learn.

You found the 12th Doctor when you were out getting a cup of coffee years after the 11th Doctor. Well, you didn’t know it was him until you overheard him talking. The man discussed about the universe, space, alien planets, different species, history inaccuracies, and just any quirky topics that went onto tangents that no normal person would create. You stared at the grey haired man and the small brunette next to him. Could it be him?

“Excuse me, are you going to order something,” the barista questioned.

You glanced at the barista then back to the man. “Sorry,” you stepped out of line allowing the next person to order. You hesitated for a second. It may not be the Doctor. Yet, who else would talk about J.R.R Tolkien and the aliens that inspired the Hobbit. “Doctor?” You asked walking closer to the pair.

The man snapped his head up while the woman looked at you curiously. “(Y/N)?” He asked his eyes growing wide.

You smiled and nodded. “Look at you! This regeneration is sooo … mature,” you mumbled the end.

The woman snorted. “Old. I think you mean old.”

“I’m not old. We look exactly the same,” the Doctor said.

“Sure, Doctor,” the woman rolled her eyes.

“Sorry, I should properly introduce myself,” you said extending your hand to the woman. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Clara Oswald.” She shook your hand. “You’ve traveled with the Doctor before?”

“Yeah, I have.”

“Would you like to join us?”

“For coffee or an adventure?”

Clara smiled. “Both.”

“I would love to.”

“Don’t I have a say in this?” the Doctor asked. “It is my TARDIS.”

“No,” you and Clara both answered at the same time.

Days later, you showed Clara your collection of the Doctor’s portraits. You learned that she also meet the 11th Doctor. You giggled together over stories of him. Each picture you showed her, you told the craziest story attached to that face. She loved it. Seeing his previous regenerations and listening to your ridiculous stories.

“Doctor, look at you! You were so young,” Clara stated loudly. Obviously teasing the poor man.

The Doctor grumbled. “We look the same, I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Have you looked into a mirror lately?”

“No, but I do know my face. And we are the same age.”

Clara rolled her eyes. “He’s delusional,” she whispered to you. You laughed. “You should draw his face. Show him what he really looks like,” she suggested.

“On it.” You grabbed your supplies and started drawing. After some time, you finished your drawing feeling that familiar pride swell up inside. You showed the pair and Clara was amazed by your skills while the Doctor frowned.

“I don’t have that many wrinkles,” he stated.

“Doctor, I draw what I see,” you retorted.

Doctor glared.

“Do you still want a copy?”

He nodded causing you to laugh.

When the Doctor inevitable regenerated again. Specifically, into the 13th regeneration. The only thought on her mind was you. She was excited to see your face, excited to see your reaction, and more importantly excited to see you draw her new face. She wanted, wait, needed for you to continue both of your collections. She smiled widely as went off to find you once again. Her artist.

#doctor who #doctor who imagine #doctor who oneshot #ninth doctor #rose tyler #tenth doctor #donna noble #eleventh doctor #amy pond #rory williams #twelfth doctor #clara oswald #thirteenth doctor

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astarlightmonbebe · 5 years

Text

__April Showers

You fell for Choi Hyunsuk in April, head over heels in love, only to lose him as soon as the showers ended.

Pairing: Choi Hyunsuk x female reader

Word Count: 4,293

Featuring: Byunggon, Jihoon, Junkyu, Keita, and Yoshinori

Warnings: Some a-n-g-s-t

A/N: Hi, hello, I wrote this in the last four-ish hours instead of working on my other drafts. Obviously, this ended up being a whole 4k mess of words, so read at your own risk. Also, the ‘...’ indicate section end/scene change since sometimes the dividers don’t work. Sorry for any mistakes!!!

You fell for Hyunsuk in the beginning of April, when the air was thick with the incoming rain, everything humid. When fate had brought you to a small cafe as it had begun to sprinkle, a cafe that nobody ever visited, occupied by the one lone barista and customer, back to you and newspaper in front of him.

You remembered staring at his back as your ordered, the dark tips of his dyed blonde hair and the curve of his shoulder, swaying silver earrings. The kind of profile you wanted to draw with thin charcoal, outline in dark ink with a splash of glitter gel pen for his jewelry. You stared for so long that he eventually looked back, eyes connecting, hint of a smile.

“Sit with me.” He had called, and you had taken your drink and sat across from him without a second thought. He was your age; straight out of high school but not yet on his way to college, and so tiny you could fit him in your palm, like a little fairy with a hero’s face. “You’re a new face.” He had said, that same smile flitting across his face.

“I’ve never been here before.�� You explained, sipping on your drink. He nodded, and you noticed the open notebook in front of him, the music notes doodled thoughtlessly across the margins. “Do you compose?” You asked, lifting your chin at the notebook. He moved his hand over the page, biting his lip.

“A little. Do you draw?” He motioned to the spirals of your sketchbook sticking out of your haphazardly thrown together bag. Blushing, you nodded. He grinned. “Draw me?” He asked, cupping his chin in his palm. You laughed, shook your head; though it was more of the sense that you never drew anyone, not that you didn’t want to draw him.

“Here, how about this.” He had said, reaching forward to tap the top of your sketchbook. “You draw me and I’ll write you a song.” You looked at him, dumbfounded, but he only smiled that blinding smile, all white teeth and lips. It was the type of smile that made you fall at first glance, head over heels in dangerous love with a boy you had just met.

“My name is Hyunsuk.” He, Hyunsuk, said. It was a name that fit him so perfectly, fit his raggedy black hoodie and flashy new sports shoes. His hand was small, thin gold bands tracing up his fingers, inlaid with jewels that were almost certainly fake, but nonetheless pretty. You stared at his outstretched hand, soft and warm.

“I’m y/n.” You introduced yourself shyly, shaking that warm hand. His skin smelled like flowers, violet rose. It made you think of petals blossoming in the winter, unfurling against white snow, ice dripping down in a messy aesthetic of sharp color. “And deal.” You added, taking out your sketchbook and one of your drawing pencils, the ones without an eraser so that you only drew and never stopped.

Hyunsuk smiled, biting his bottom lip, and it made your heart beat faster. You watched him bend his head, look down at his paper, already concentrating. Only moments ago you had been imagining tracing his profile on blank paper; now you were in control of the picture, a smudgy nose and soft eyes, messy hair falling in all the wrong directions over his eyes.

The two of you sat in silence as your drinks got cold, focused on each other and the art in front of you. Your sketch of Hyunsuk became a portrait, black and white shading and strokes, while Hyunsuk’s doodles became a song, the blank page filling up with notes over crooked lines and scribbled words.

Hours passed, and then the cafe was closing, and you and Hyunsuk were standing under the awning as it poured. The air was fresh and electric, ozone in the air, and Hyunsuk laughed, rain tangling in his bangs as he ripped out the song, folding it and handing it to you. You took it hesitantly, feeling flushed all over.

“You can keep the drawing. I had enough enjoyment watching you.” Hyunsuk said, waving and then looking up at the sky, thinking. He pulled his hood up, tucking his earbuds in and his phone away, and then dashed across the street. You watched him go in shock, the paper crinkling in your hand as you watched him disappear into the hazy gray night.

When you looked at the song, you saw he had written a number at the bottom, along with the words ‘call me-chs’.

...

You told yourself you wouldn’t call him, but you ended up dialing the number the next night, when the emptiness of your apartment stretched out a little too long. Silence was a lonely companion to have, your fingers tracing over the music notes, wishing you had a voice to sing the tune to you.

“Hello?” His raspy voice asked as soon as he picked up, and you smiled. “Hey, this is y/n. We met the other night, remember?” There was a beat of silence, long enough to make you feel nervous, hand curling around the frayed denim of your cutoff jeans.

“Of course.” Hyunsuk said sweetly. “How could I forgot such a beautiful artist such as yourself?” Warmth bloomed in your chest at the fact that he had called you an artist, not just a pretty human. It made you feel more like you were worth something, more than just your face or your curves.

“Ah, well, the problem is that you gave me a song but no way to sing it.” You admitted shyly. “I can’t sing to save my life.” Hyunsuk mmm-hmmed on the other end of the line, and you heard crackling static, voices mixing away from the call. You wondered if he was with other people.

A moment later he was back. “Hey, wanna go someplace with me?” He asked. “I can pick you up, if you like.” The you you knew didn’t jump into situations randomly, didn’t fall for strangers like a girl tripping on a dress. So why were you nodding, agreeing, falling for this stranger with a smile that would probably break your heart?

“Cool, I’ll text you my street.” You murmured into the receiver, hanging up before you could regret it. You’d wait at the corner, you decided, standing up and surveying yourself in the mirror. Faded and ripped jeans, a loose white shirt, and bare feet. Appropriate attire for a day at home, but you had no idea what this place Hyunsuk was taking you to held.

Moving to your room, you threw on a loose purple blouse and a pair of white shorts, as well as your knee length black socks and chunky white tennis shoes. A little mismatched, a little unordinary, but perfectly you. An artsy, paint stained mess of a girl with hair that was cut a little choppy, unruly bangs, but enough of a look to make you feel kind of cute.

You jogged back out of the room, grabbing your purse—which contained keys to a car you hardly used, your phone, and other essential items—and ran out of your apartment. You felt like you had been electrified, thinking of Hyunsuk running his hands through his blond hair, his rakish smile. Was this what people talked about when they said they fell head over heels in love at first sight? Maybe it wasn’t that bad of a feeling after all.

Hyunsuk pulled up five minutes after you had stationed yourself at the streetlamp on the corner, watching the dimming sunlight. The whir of his motorcycle broke the still air, and your hair fluttered in the breeze as he skated to a stop inches from where you stood. Pushing up his visor, he leaned forward, hands covered with leather biking gloves.

“You look nice.” He said, passing you the other helmet. You fitted it over your head, tugging the straps down and trying to fasten it with your clumsy fingers. Hyunsuk laughed, and it sounded like sunshine and late nights and too many stars to count. “Come here.” He said, motioning you forward. Reaching up, he did the clasp for you, hands brushing the bare skin of your chin. You shivered, not used to contact with others.

“Hold on tight.” He told you as you swung your leg over the back, cautiously wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” You asked, your voice coming out strangely teasing and playful. Hyunsuk laughed and shook his head, eyes in half moons when he did.

“No, it’s a secret.” He said, kicking back. “Besides, I want to make our first date have an air of mystery.” You sat back, hands pulling tight around his waist, and the smile faded off of Hyunsuk’s face. “Why, did I say something wrong?” He asked carefully. “Do you not want me to call this our first date? Did I misread the situation?”

You shook your head, knowing that the helmet didn’t hide how red your cheeks were. “No, I’ve just never really dated before—but I do want this to be our first date! I mean, I’m willing to give it a try...I mean…” You trailed off, hiding your face in his back so you wouldn’t have to meet his eyes.

“Okay.” Hyunsuk said, starting the motorcycle up with a roar that shook you. “First date it is, then.”

...

The place Hyunsuk took you looked inconspicuous, a small graffitied entrance to a beat down club. He led you in the entrance, hand loosely holding yours, and you looked around in puzzlement as it opened up into a spacious room. Music was pounding, the lighting a soft pastel, fairy lights strung up. There weren’t many people, but the ones there were obviously enjoying themselves.

“What is this place?” You asked in awe, looking around with your mouth hanging open. Hyunsuk only let out another bright laugh, leading you to a round table in the back, near where the DJ was blasting music. He waved upwards, and the DJ waved back, headphones slipped around his neck.

“This is where I make the magic happen.” Hyunsuk said, letting go of you to spread his arms out, like an announcer. “You said you wanted to hear me sing you the song. I admit I can’t really sing—rapping is more my thing—but I’ll try my best for you, darling. He pulled out a chair at the table, motioning for you to sit down. Four other boys were looking at you, wide eyed and curious.

“Y/n, meet Jihoon, Junkyu, Yoshinori, and Keita. The angsty looking DJ up there is Byunggon.” You nodded timidly, shaking hands quickly with each one of them—except for Byunggon, who was obviously preoccupied. “Now, guys, take good care of her. I have a song to sing and a deal to fulfill.” Hyunsuk said, winking at you as he moved away as quickly as he had come.

“Ah, another girl who fell for him.” Junkyu said, giving you a wide smile. Though you were unsure of what he meant, you offered a thin smile anyways, trying to hide how uncomfortable you were. No matter how kind they were, you still didn’t enjoy meeting new people. Except for Hyunsuk, it seemed.

“She’s already head over heels.” Jihoon tsked, and you slunk down in your seat. Keita hit him. “Dude. I think it’s for real this time.” Jihoon scoffed, and you swallowed, deciding to not pay attention anymore.

There was the sound of a screeching mic, and then the music cut off abruptly. “Hey guys, sorry to interrupt your dance time, but I have a special song to sing tonight.” Hyunsuk said, the mic squealing with feedback painfully. He grimaced, leaning away and adjusting it slightly. You watched him, transfixed.

The lights faded out, darkness surrounding you, and you stared at the stage, the pool of light making Hyunsuk’s edges glow. He took the microphone from the stand, standing back a few paces, and started to sing, the very notes of the song you had written playing over the speakers. You wondered if he’d planned this just now, or had it planned already.

Hyunsuk was right; he wasn’t the best at singing, but his rap was amazing. You closed your eyes, taking in the sound of his husky, slow, sweet voice, like a soothing balm. It felt perfect to you, like a voice that would whisper ‘i love you’ in your ear, read stories aloud at night, play the radio and sing along under his breath.

When he finished, you opened your eyes, a smile spreading across your face. The other boys faded away, and you were only watching Hyunsuk hop off the stage, in his ripped jeans and silky jacket. He waved at you, running over to the table with an expectant look on his face. You slow clapped in his face, unable to keep a silly grin off your face.

“You were too much for words to express.” You said, standing so you were face to face. Hyunsuk practically beamed, grabbing your hands and giving you a quick spin. A chorus of ‘oohhs’ rose from the table as Hyunsuk dragged you down to the dance floor, spinning you out in a twirl.

You let out a loud laugh, feeling something unfurling in your heart, like you were letting go of a ten pound weight that had been holding you down. Your feet felt light as you spun back against him, the floor a moving pattern of squares all lost in a blur of color beneath you. Hyunsuk’s eyes were dark and captivating, and you let yourself spiral into them, dark pools of water with tiny crescent slivers of light.

Through his shirt, you felt the beating of his heart, slamming against his ribcage like a bird threatening to break free. Or maybe that was your own heart—maybe it was both your hearts, beating erratically together. Or maybe you two were sharing a heart now, a wild heart that beat for each other only.

“I’d write a million more songs for you, if I could.” Hyunsuk murmured in your ear, his voice exactly like you had imagined, and you smiled against him, feeling safe for once in your life. “What do you say you give me a chance to do so?” He added, pushing your hair back from your face.

You liked the sound of that.

...

Hyunsuk kissed you on the dance floor, hands cupping your face, bodies pressed together as everyone else revolved around you, a slow burn of emotion. It was perfect.

...

“What would you think of putting your artwork in this gallery?” Hyunsuk asked, holding the magazine up to you. It was a lazy day in late July, and you were sitting in your living room, Hyunsuk’s head in your lap was you both paged through various newspapers and magazines. The late afternoon sunlight was spilling in like honey, criss crossing his face. His hair dye was fading out, a messy patchwork of brown and wheat.

“Hmm, I don’t know.” You hummed, taking it from him and reading through it. “It sounds really hard to get into.” Hyunsuk smiled up at you, warmer than the sun itself, your one beacon of light.

“I think you could do it.” He murmured, pulling you down to kiss him. You ran your fingers through his short hair, feeling the cold metal of his earrings press against you. “Remember the girl who boldly demanded I sing a song for her? Channel that girl and go submit that artwork I know you’re hiding.” He let go, voice teasing.

You blushed. “I didn’t demand you do anything.” Hyunsuk quirked one eyebrow.

“That’s not how I remember it.” You hit him lightly, mood already passing, the entry in front of you seemingly full of possibilities. Hyunsuk was your magic, your inspiration. You had a sketchbook full of pictures of him; in charcoal and pencil, paint and oil, watercolor and crayons. You could fill a million more, all of him, his face and his hands and his necklaces and his jackets and his lips.

“I’ll give it a try.” You finally said, and the smile Hyunsuk gave you was reward enough.

...

For your six month anniversary, Hyunsuk took you for a ride on the highway. You rode with your arms firmly around his waist, watching the lights whip past, that feeling of being able to go anywhere. You fit into Hyunsuk’s shoulder now, head tucked there, feeling the sharp edge of his collarbone.

Hyunsuk pulled off the highway, coasting to a stop in front of the ocean. You hopped off excitedly, peering over the railing and smelling the salt on the wind. “How did you know I’ve always wanted to visit the ocean?” You asked excitedly, hooking your feet around the bottom and leaning out.

“Careful there.” Hyunsuk said, pulling you back. “Come on, let’s go down.” He jumped over the railing, slipping and sliding down the coast. You followed suit—though more carefully than him—and landed in the sand. It was cool when you steadied yourself, the sun having long left it.

Hyunsuk had moved down to the waves, leaving his shoes behind as he waded in. You hurriedly falling in, sucking in deep breathes, trying to keep some of the scent with you. Growing up you hadn’t been close to an ocean, and you’re one taste of the beach had been enough to leave you hungry for more. One of your dreams was a beach house, summers spent with golden sand and salty waves, surfing and swimming and floating.

“It’s cold!” You shrieked, dancing on tiptoes over the frothy tide. Hyunsuk pulled you in tight, arms interlocked. He didn’t say anything, just smiled, and you pressed yourself against the warmth of his body. He was staring out across the waves, and you followed his gaze, over the endless ocean.

“Something on your mind?” You asked, wrapping your arms around him and leaning in close. Hyunsuk smiled lightly, shifting in the slightest, his expression more distant than it had been in a while.

“No, nothing.” He said, and then he splashed water all over you, scooping up a handful and flinging it in a shower. You screamed, stumbling back and slipping. Hyunsuk’s eyes widened comically as you grabbed onto him, silencing him mid laugh as you both toppled backwards, water enveloping you.

You surfaced, bodies tangled together underwater, your faces so close to each other that you could make out every feature of Hyunsuk’s face clearly. He studied you, pushing wet hair back. “I love you so much.” He mumbled, kissing you, and you melted into it—into him—and everything was right again, because he was yours, and you were his.

...

Christmas was cold and loud, you in the center of all of Hyunsuk’s friends, gifts passed around and wrapping paper floating through the air. Hyunsuk had a ribbon tied around his wrist, a bow stuck on his head, and you pulled him close, giggling.

“What, are you my gift?” You teased, kissing his nose, and Hyunsuk laughed, adjusting the bow. His eyes said; I’ve always been yours, but the room was too loud for him to actually say something to you.

“Ugh, the two lovebirds are still going strong.” Jihoon said, wrinkling his nose, and the room faded into uproarious laughter, Hyunsuk throwing his gift at Jihoon, who barely caught it, doubled over at something that wasn’t even funny. Everyone was laughing, and you were laughing too, so much your sides hurt.

Something about Hyunsuk made you so happy it was painful, knowing that this happiness was only yours while it lasted. Still, you let yourself be taken over by this instantaneous joy, this feeling of being full of everything someone needed. Love and friendship and family, Hyunsuk’s hand in yours and his million dollar smile, his voice and the way your bodies fit together, like each curve had been made for the other’s. Two puzzle pieces, finally finding each other.

“You have a pensive look on your face again.” Hyunsuk observed, leaning forward to gently brush wrapping paper out of your hair. You were sure there was even more still stuck there, tape too probably. Junkyu had thrown a whole gift at you, and it had gone everywhere. You smiled at him, grabbing his hands gently.

“I’m just thinking that I’m so happy that I have you, that I have this.” You confessed with a soft smile. Hyunsuk didn’t smile, a vaguely sad expression crossing his face. “And I hope I have you forever.” You added with a whisper, trying to hold back years. “Because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Oh, y/n.” Hyunsuk exhaled, chin wobbling and tears glittering in his eyes. He pulled you in tight, hand on the back of your head. Face buried in the fabric of his shirt, you let tears slip free, wetting it. You felt Hyunsuk’s shaking shoulders, your own shirt damp as well, and clutched him tighter.

Please, never let me lose him.

...

Hyunsuk and you were never perfect. You fought about music and art and politics and what it meant to be in love. You fought about boundaries and limits, about the time Hyunsuk kissed another girl when he was drunk. You fought about getting drunk and going to college and futures that weren’t quite as mapped out as Hyunsuk made them see.

Hyunsuk wasn’t perfect, and neither were you, but your imperfect relationship was working out fine. It was fine, because you had confessed your heart to him, and he had given yours back.

...

One day, you opened the door to the apartment you now shared, and found it empty. Hyunsuk’s stuff was still strewn all over the place, opened notebooks and uncapped pens. Everything was there except for Hyunsuk and his motorcycle—it was your one year anniversary, and he had told you to come home, because he had another one of his spontaneous plans thrown together.

You called him, listened to the empty ringing, and wondered when he was getting home.

...

You waited, and waited, and waited. You called his friends, only to be met with answers that weren’t quite right, Junkyu stumbling over his words in a way that made you wonder if Hyunsuk was kissing another girl again, had his arms wrapped around some other stranger on the dance floor.

...

You called him again and again, but got tired of listened to the repetitive rings. Finally, you threw your phone across the room and slumped against the wall, burying your face into your knees, a curled up ball of pain.

...

Jihoon called you.

...

It was raining, but you ran anyways, slipping and sliding across the ground, tripping and ripping your jeans open, blood dripping down from your cut knees. You ran and ran, drenched and trembling in the emergency room, gasping sobs as you scanned every room for Hyunsuk, Hyunsuk, Hyunsuk.

When you found him, all you could see was red at first, then Jihoon standing at the foot of the bed, hands white and gripping the rails, face twisted into an expression of grief. “Y/n.” He said, and you knew, but you didn’t, you couldn’t.

Please, I asked you to never let me lose him.

“You’re lying.” You were screaming, your voice a crescendo of wavering notes, even though Jihoon hadn’t said anything more than your name. “No no no, you’re lying to me. Hyunsuk...Hyunsuk’s still here. He’s just hurt, right? You’re lying. He’s fine. He’s fine. He has to be fine—!”

You screamed, sinking to the ground, hearing the flatline on a monotone. There was nobody to grab your shoulders, shake you, hold you, because that was what Hyunsuk would have done. He would have hugged you and sung a song in your ear until you could breathe again.

Now all you could hear in your ears was a dull ringing, a repetitive pulsing of red lines behind your eyelids. You couldn’t breathe. Where was Hyunsuk to tell you to breathe? Who was supposed to help you catch your breath when he wasn’t here; when he was the one who was causing you to suffocate?

Your voice was raw, but you screamed on—though maybe you weren’t even making any noise anymore, maybe you had used it all up, maybe your voice had left when Hyunsuk did.

Hyunsuk.

...

“He wrote a song for you.” The funeral was dark and dreary, and you felt like you could barely stand, a swaying shadow on her feet, in the back of the crowd. They had asked you to make a speech. You had walked up to the podium and stared at the mic, remembered Hyunsuk singing to you the second day you had met.

Your voice was still gone. When you opened your mouth, nothing came out. No more ragged sobs, stuttered cries. Your eyes were dry now, too. It was like Hyunsuk leaving had sucked everything he had given back to you away. No more heart, no more soul, no more art, no more smiles.

No more magic.

...

In the darkness of your apartment, you listened to Hyunsuk’s last song, his familiar voice filling your ears. His one year gift to you, his surprise. The studio he had been coming back from, the one where he had finished recording. A story you had found out in bits and pieces, a goodbye you had never got to say and he had never got to tell you.

“Oh baby, I’ll love you forever.” Hyunsuk said in your ears, and you sobbed into your sleeves, the sadness overwhelming, the memories a crushing force.

...

It was April and it was raining outside, a shower that never ended.

[End.]

104 notes · View notes

galaxy-parker · 6 years

Text

Kiss Me (Like You Wanna Be Loved)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Summary: Where Peter figures out you’ve never been kissed, and maybe you get why people like to do it now

Warnings: there’s some bad words, watch out

Word count: 2.3k

A/N: I’m tired

~~~

‘And then I was like, pick on someone your own size,’

Your pencil scratches over one of the yellowing pages of your sketchbook and you hum along, listening to Peter’s telling (and retelling) of one of his latest rescues. You let a smile play on your lips, tracing out patterns on the page and losing yourself in his story until his knee knocks yours, snapping you out of your reverie.

‘Hm?’ You hum, glancing at him for a moment but never letting your pencil stray from page. He tilts his head to the side, letting his bags fall over his forehead. ‘I’m listening.’

You sat down across from Peter on your fire escape nearly two hours ago after he finished patrol and he stares at you now, still clad in his Spider-Man suit- save for the mask that’s laying crumpled in his lap. The sun catches his eyes, melting them into a deep brown and you ignore the way your heart begins to flutter- or rather you try.

You cock a carefully tailored brow instead. ‘What’re you drawing?’ He ignores your previous statement, leaning forwards slightly to try and get a better look. You simply shake your head, tilting your eyes downwards again. His whine echoes in your ears and you can’t help the snigger that escapes your lips. He nudges you again, with his foot this time.

‘You’re such a baby, you know that?’

‘You’re too modest, you know that?’ You press your sketchbook against your chest and scowl at him, albeit half-heartedly. ‘You never show me what you’re working on.’

‘Not true,’ But it is to a degree. It’s not because you don’t want to show Peter your sketches, it’s just that a healthy 95% of your recent pieces are pieces of him. Whether it be Peter Parker or Spider-Man, it’s safe to say that your sketchbook has a theme. And it feels like a violation of his privacy, constantly drawing him without his permission but god he’s so pretty; you opt to keep it to yourself when he inevitably appears on your page time and time again.

He sits up straighter now, and you clutch the book a little tighter- because yes this is one of those times- and shoot him a skeptical glance. ‘Let me draw in peace, Spider-Boy,’

You chuck your eraser at him- now small and grey and crumbling from too much use- and he catches it easily in his right hand. ‘Man,’

‘Gesundheit.’ You balance your sketchbook on your knees precariously and start to shade the outline of his jaw while watching him bring the eraser down in his lap from the corner of your eye. You try to break your (borderline stalker) stare as he begins to fiddle with the thing.

‘I want to support you,’ The whine is evident in his voice again and you roll your eyes.

‘Support me from afar,’

‘Unfair,’ He mumbles, but doesn’t push the subject- that you’re thankful for- although he does let out a rather pitiful huff, and keeps at it until you finally look up at him again, brows furrowed now. He grins sheepishly.

‘Yes?’ You ask, watching as he runs a gloved hand through his hair.

‘I’m bored,’

‘Well, we have been here for two hours,’ He raises a questioning brow and you let out a short laugh. ‘Peter, I know you’re tired. You don’t have to stay here.’

Peter’s eyes almost bulge out of his head before he begins to frantically stutter out a, ‘That’s not what I meant,’

‘It’s okay, I-’

‘No, I don’t want to go,’ He says it without the initial shock, but never lacking in urgency.

‘Okay,’ You close your sketchbook, placing it gently beside you with the pencil tucked between the papers and straighten out your legs, letting them tangle with his if only slightly. ‘What do you want to do?’

‘I don’t know,’ He hums. ‘Twenty questions?’

A soft breeze rustles your hair as you mull the question over. From the way you and Peter act around each other, you think that the two of you have been friends for years; in reality, it’s only been three weeks since you met Peter, and it was an accident.

He’d saved you from a car wreck and you’d been so afraid that he’d taken off his mask to just to show you he was real and human; since then he’s visited you almost every night but you still don’t know the real Peter Parker.

‘Sure,’ The sun’s starting to set now, casting a pinkish glow onto the city. ‘You first.’

Peter rests his chin against his fist which is propped up on his knee, and pulls an over-exaggerated thinking face. You scoff and roll your eyes. ‘If you were a dog, what dog would you be?’

‘If I were a dog?’ You lean forwards and Peter nods with a lopsided grin. ‘I’d be a labradoodle.’

He lets out a short laugh and you grin in return. ‘I’d be a Golden Retriever.’

‘Hell yeah you would.’ Peter slings his arm over the railing beside him and hikes his knee up higher. ‘Okay, if your life was a movie what would it be called?’

‘The Amazingly Awesome and Incredibly Handsome Spider-Man,’ His response is immediate and you laugh.

‘Seems like you had your answer ready,’

‘You bet your ass I did.’

You shake your head, crossing your arms under your chest and leaning back again. ‘Your turn.’

Peter ponders over his options for a moment, closing his eyes. You wait patiently and you’re twisting the hem of your shirt tightly when his eyes shoot open suddenly. You note the suggestive glint that appears in his gaze. ‘When did you have your first kiss?’

You laugh, throwing your head back. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’

He bumps his eyebrows together, mouth falling open in a surprised grin. ‘It has to do with a lot of things.’

‘Oh yeah?’ You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. ‘Like what?’

‘Like experience,’ He scoffs like it’s obvious. ‘And… and life things,’

‘Life things,’ You muse, patting his knee. ‘Compelling argument, Pete.’

‘Oh, just answer the question.’

You laugh again, softer this time and study his face. It’s all excitement and joy and you can’t help but think that yeah he would be a golden retriever; you can practically see the boy in canine form, drooling all over Queens.

Shaking your head you reply, ‘Yet to be determined.’

‘What?’ He shoots forward, leaning his arms on over the tops of his knees. ‘You’ve never been kissed?’ He sounds- and looks- surprised, like it’s the last thing he’d expect you to say and you shrug, face heating considerably.

‘Why are you so surprised?’ You pull at the sleeves of your sweater with a cocked brow and he shakes his head before running his hands through his hair.

‘Because- because,’ He stutters, eyes blown wide. Because you’re you, he wants to say. ‘Because you’re so old, how have you not kissed someone yet?’ He says instead. He regrets it almost immediately.

Your face falls for half a second and you recover quickly, but not quickly enough that he doesn’t notice. ‘I don’t know, the opportunity just hasn’t presented itself yet.’

Your face feels hot and you’re embarrassed- of course you are as you fiddle with the hem of your sweater again. ‘Do you want it to?’ The words are out of Peter’s mouth before he can stop them.

Your head snaps up, fingers stilling. A coy smile finds its way to your lips and your whole face lights up because of it, his heart flutters. ‘What?’

‘I- I mean,’ He chuckles nervously, scratching the back of his neck and you cock your head to the side, waiting patiently. ‘I mean would you want to, uh, would you want to kiss someone… at some point?’ He winces.

‘Of course I would,’ You tease. ‘At some point.’

He rolls his eyes and lets his tongue poke out through his teeth. You capture the picture in your mind, storing it away for a time in the future, when you’re in the solitude of your own room. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘But do you?’ You question.

He furrows his brows and leans back. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It sounds like you’re offering to be my first kiss, Mr. Parker.’

His face flushes beet red, almost the same tone as his suit but his eyes meet yours and determination flickers in them along with a certain stubbornness you’ve only ever seen the first time you met. ‘Yes I am.’

His voice is firm and he speaks the words as if they’re revolutional- and maybe they are, you wouldn’t have been able to tell him any different.

You hum instead, trying to cover your nervousness and the pounding of your heart with a faux confidence you don’t remember ever possessing before. Peter laughs and glances away, squeezing his eyes shut before letting them flicker open again, something new dancing in his gaze.

‘Fine.’ You say.

‘Fine?’ He repeats, the corner of his mouth turning up.

‘Fine.’ You lift a single shoulder, raising your brows. ‘Do what you will.’

‘That’s reassuring,’

‘I don’t think reassurance comes with first kisses.’

Peter mulls it over, narrowing his eyes before muttering a: ‘Good point.’

He leans forwards again, grabbing at his ankles. The color in his face has resided a bit but a stray stretch of pink still rests against his cheeks. You cross your legs and sit up, heart thumping painfully in your chest.

‘So yes?’ Peter’s voice sounds high, a bit squeaky and you chuckle breathlessly.

‘Yes, Peter.’ You lean towards him a fraction of an inch and his eyes track the movement. ‘I have to get it done sometime.’

‘Right,’ He clears his throat, inching a hand to you and resting it in the space between before moving it up to your face. He slides it to the back of your neck and the soft material of the suit rubs against your skin. ‘Right, okay.’

He tilts his head down and you move yours up, a tingling sensation running up and down your arms- adrenaline coursing through your veins.

His nose brushes yours and you think you’re supposed to close your eyes now but Peter’s own are still wide, a look of nervousness and excitement in his gaze. You almost can’t help it when you choke on a laugh, veering your face away from his and letting your forehead rest on his shoulder instead.

You laugh brazenly, and it only takes Peter a moment until he joins in- until you’re sitting on a fire escape with Spider-Man (who in reality is only a teenage boy) faces flushed and hearts racing.

‘What?’ He chuckles, his other arm coming up around your back to press you into a hug.

You squeeze his waist with two hands before pulling away from his shoulder and glancing up at him with a cheeky grin. ‘You’re more nervous than I am,’ He pouts and you ruffle his hair. ‘Aren’t you supposed to have done this before?’

‘I have,’ He whines, looking away.

‘Okay, I believe you,’ You let your hand fall from his hair and push against his cheek. He meets your eyes, and they’re so brown.

You’d read somewhere once, that when you love someone with brown eyes, the word itself can’t describe them anymore. They become eclipses and rays of sun and you’re not sure if you love Peter- but the only word you can use to explain the color of his eyes is brown, brown, brown. They’re brown, and you don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.

‘Calm down,’ You add.

He sticks his tongue out playfully and you copy the gesture, wrinkling your nose and his face softens then, almost suddenly as the color on his cheeks blooms anew and all at once his hand is resting against your cheek, thumb swiping under your eye before sliding to your neck again.

Your heart is like a racehorse, hooves beating against dirt signaling sound, gallop signaling speed.

His nose brushes against yours and he hesitates, it’s barely there but only just- as if he’s asking you if you’re sure. You are.

You lean into him, lips grazing over lips lighter than the touch of a feather before Peter presses harder, slotting his mouth over yours gently.

The kiss in itself lasts only few seconds, but it feels like an eternity.

You pull away breathless and flushed but Peter’s still close enough to touch, still near enough that all you’d have to do is lean forward an inch to kiss him again.

His breath is labored, his chest heaving because wow he just kissed you and you’re smiling at him like he’s perfect and you’re so goddamn beautiful and-

And suddenly he’s kissing you again and it’s more frantic than the first, but no less gentle- no less dazzling. You rock up onto your knees and he leans up to keep your lips locked. One of his hands grips your waist, the other still half tangled in your hair and you clamp your hands down on his shoulders, so desperate for his lips that it almost consumes you.

You slide down into his lap, letting your arms wrap around his shoulders instead and if you could kiss him until the end of time you would- but you break away only a few moments later, sucking air into your lungs.

Peter rests his forehead against yours, even more breathless than the first time and you laugh, the sound echoing in his ears.

‘How’s that for a first kiss?’ He breathes.

‘Technically it was the second,’ You lay your hand against his cheek, offering him a playful grin and he rolls his eyes.

‘Shut up,’ He laughs, almost choking on the words before his breathless smile morphs into one of curiosity. ‘Ready for the third?’

It’s your turn to roll your eyes.

~~~

Taglist: @minnie-marvel @holland-haven @lokis-sunflower-anna @magic-marvel @greekdemigodwannabe @e-ms-world @highlady-ofthe-summercourt @secondsineternity @sadicallyrad @laurfangirl424 @hedwigthelegend @spiderdudeparker @hazzyhollander @dontpanc @signed-potato @propertyofmarvel

1K notes · View notes

cleverbroadwayurl · 6 years

Text

Chiaroscuro Portraiture (Connor Murphy x Artist!Reader)

Word Count: 3070

A/N: Okay so I attempted to get this done because I felt bad about not posting so uhh if this isn’t what you wanted, please tell me and I will fix it. I tried to kinda do like what McEwan does in Atonement because let’s be real that fluffy language is amazing. But uhh yeah again: I do take criticism if it’s not up to your standards, just let me know!

Trigger Warnings: uhh kissing, language, Zoe being angry, IF I MISSED ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW

Taglist: @catatonic-kuragin

Connor didn’t mean to take a shower at 1:30 in the morning. It just sort of happened. He didn’t mean to walk past Zoe’s room when the door was cracked, it just happened. And he definitely didn’t mean to eavesdrop on the events unfolding second by second. It just kinda happened.

Of course, the staying behind to continue to listen to the conversation was a conscious decision. He’d made himself comfortable, perfectly unseen in the hallway by you and Zoe, just outside the cracked door that emitted a sliver of light. You two had been doing this for years, since before eighth grade. God, was that right? You’d been best friends with Zoe for over 4 years? He shrugged the thought off as he lowered himself to the floor, choosing to sit—sitting wouldn’t attract attention, wouldn’t make any extra noise. It would swear him to secrecy, which is exactly what he wanted. While each sentence that left your lips was inaudible, Zoe was loud. She knew her entire house would be asleep, well, unless Connor himself didn’t feel like it. But she also knew that he wouldn’t walk over and tell her to shut up. Not with you here, at least. “Oh! I remember this!” she exclaimed, followed by bangs and crashes. “Your old sketchbook! I wanna see your progress! Show me!”

That’s right, that yellow book that was bound with little metal pieces. The special paper that never seemed to flap in the wind but could catch shading like nobody’s business. He could remember you sitting in biology at the large black tables, eyes squinted in concentration towards the back of the classroom where the windows were. He always assumed you were drawing the spidery veins of branches outside, noticing how with each passing cold day, they would get bleaker and bleaker, until he assumed you were drawing something that would look like broken glass on a page. But in the summer, at the beginning of the school year, the leaves canopied the trail that the track and cross-country assholes would take to “condition” for their meets. As the year would go on, the trail would be used less and less; around Halloween, it was always muddy, and then always covered in gross slush by the time Winter came along. He assumed you liked to draw in the footprints of the poor people who had to still use those trails after a particularly rainy day. He guessed it would make for a cool drawing, at the very least.

He could remember you doing that a lot, noticing in the fall light how your hair perfectly framed your face, the light hitting it in such a way that almost made you look more delicate than those glass figurines that his mom had collected when he and Zoe were babies. Your eyes would scrunch at the windows, getting that new twig barely notable by the passing eye, but everything to you. You must’ve drawn those same trees often—Connor didn’t usually pay attention to his classmates, but he could distinctly remember you sketching like that, day after day. That had to mean you did it often. So yeah, Zoe had a point; your art must’ve gotten better as the years went on and as you kept pulling it out to do a new study of some new art term Connor had never heard before.

Connor could also remember you in his house sometime over the summer, or was it last year, sketching something in the room. Zoe would always claim to be studying with you as he lazily made a sandwich after his hellish school day, and yet somehow still irritating Zoe. He could remember you trying to capture how the light just barely lit the room in a golden glow and attempting to get each curve and angle of the room just right. He assumed you used softer leaded pencils for the walls, giving it texture that it deserved. If Connor didn’t know any better, you’d be getting into some high class college for architecture, right angles so sharp you could swear it would prick your finger by just running it over the page.

And there was of course the library. You’d always sketch in the library. Sitting at the same table, you’d construct your artistry with nothing more than imagination, a pencil, and some special paper. He’d only been in there to get a book, any book, to convince someone that he was actually doing work and actually trying. Maybe do something for his mom for once, or perhaps himself. But you were there, carefully crafting your version of the bookstacks and cases around you. It was a solid 20 minutes of him looking before he could hear you uncap that special pen with the felt tip and black ink that could stain every piece of paper if you weren’t careful enough. The angles must have been perfect that time; pen is permanent. With another glance at the aisle Connor had been in, he spotted the book he needed: Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?. A nod to the librarian, and a quick glance back at you, he was off.

And then—

“Wait a second. Why are most of these done as portraiture? You hate drawing faces. And more importantly, why are they of Connor?!”

Connor misheard something. He had to have. When did you have the time, the effort, or even the means to draw him? Zoe was right, why draw him when he wasn’t anything special? Silence didn’t last long, Zoe’s demanding continuing.

“Some of these are dating like months, fuck, years ago?!”

He finally heard your voice through the cracked door as his eyes remained wide and trained onto one of the hardwood floorboards. “Zoe I can explain.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Zoe—”

“I’m serious, don’t go in depth about how much you adore my brother. I don’t want to hear it.”

Zoe bolted out of the room, completely missing Connor outside of her door as she did so. She stepped down the stairs quickly, stomping on every step as she did so, her steps almost percussive as her anger. The door nearly slammed in the draft that followed her speed, but Connor caught the white door with his foot, carefully making sure that it wouldn’t slam and actually wake up the whole house. With that same foot, he opens the door a little wider so he can actually peer in, curious about the sketches in question.

The only light that’s on is Zoe’s bedside lamp. There’s a soft glow around the room, similar to lighting a dozen candles and leaving them as the sun sets past twilight into dusk. The colorful clock against the pink shaded lamp says a harsh 2:06 AM. Had he really been out there for half an hour? His eyes shift to you, who is crumpled on Zoe’s bed. He doesn’t need to look closer to know, to understand that you’re upset. You’d just caused some kind of conflict between you and your best friend of however many years it’d been now. It probably looked like you betrayed Zoe, using her only to get to him. It’s at this moment that Connor decides to slowly step in, but is wary of the things that are on the ground.

Your sketchbook catches his eye, the beat up book open to a sketch of him, the shadows of his face darkened by a bold marker, the lights done by a hard leaded pencil. The date underneath the drawing is marked last week, showing off your progress beautifully. Connor can’t come up with any words at first. It’s…perfect, which sounded dumb to him. It perfectly took each aspect of Connor and threw it onto a page. If anyone looked at it, they would easily be able to tell exactly what Connor was like, exactly what his mannerisms were, and they would be able to easily distinguish one mood from another. It’s almost a brighter version of himself staring back at him, one who looks so confident but so lost. And Connor remained speechless, unsure of how to express his feelings.

Another minute went by before he actually said something: “Fuck, that’s really good.” A sniffle practically erupts from you before you look up at him. The two of you make eye contact, and in a swift attempt to grab the book, it ends up in Connor’s slender fingers. He begins thumbing through the pages, his eyes grazing over each and every line, every erased mark, every place you’d used pen instead of pencil, each shading variation, each curl you’d drawn; every single time you chose to draw him in a different light than he could’ve ever imagined. None of them were did in color, almost as if you were preserving the pages, as if you’d scan them in and color them digitally so you could get the blending just right. His eyes flew over dates as he kept turning, pupils dilating at each new sketch; the first drawing he’d seen was dated a little over a year and a half ago.

Then there’s one he can place; it must’ve been an exam day or something in biology because he could see the trees behind him, each branch perfectly placed, almost like someone had altered a photo rather than drawn it out. The leaves were somewhat there, the lush summer branches fading away into fall. But they’re there enough that Connor knows this was drawn at the beginning of the year—only some of the leaves are shaded in to show their differing colors. Purple was done in a dark grey, a softer lead, while green leaves were almost stark white, done in a harder leaded pencil. They were outlined beautifully by a pen, or perhaps many different pens.

Then it hits him—you didn’t care about the trees. You weren’t getting the perfect pitch of the ceilings in the kitchen that sat downstairs, memories burning onto the sketchbook’s pages. You weren’t trying to capture the world in a new light. You had been trying to get him in different shadings—a test in chiaroscuro. He had to hand it to you, each sketch was done artfully, completely taking each curve of his face and each line flowing directly into another, but in such a way you’d gotten every little thought that had ran through his head on that particular date. Connor’s heart started beating a little harder as his hands got a little sweaty, eyes still trained on one particular drawing and the way the pen swirled on the page. He licked his lips before speaking up again, not even bothering to tear his eyes away. “All of them are actually, really fucking good.”

He heard you shift forward, Zoe’s bed making that too familiar creak he usually heard from the other side of the wall. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he finally looked up and locked eyes with you. It was obvious you were upset—which was a dumb thought, Connor realized. Of course you were upset. Your best friend just stormed out of the room and down the stairs because you’d been artfully drawing wonderful images of her brother. Pink surrounded the color of your eyes, your waterline more prominent than Connor had ever seen before. It was his turn to study your face, each contour in the dull light of the stupid pink lamp Zoe had gotten when she had turned 13. Your facial features cracked, a smile finally escaping through the blurry clouds that had been drawn up around you. “I mean, I’m not an art critic or anything, but I love them.”

“Oh.” It was a suppression of something, Connor couldn’t tell what—your eyes flicked to the floorboards. “Thank you.”

He nodded before stepping forward, wire bounded notebook being extended out towards you. You took it gently, almost as if the moment would be ruined by sharp, abstract movements. There was a moment of nothing, your eyes meeting his again, before you started going through the drawings just as Connor had. No words were exchanged, they didn’t need to be, as he sat down on the bed next to you, admiring your hard work. He hadn’t gone through all of them, that much was apparent even in the darkness. Your style changed as the dates became more and more present, almost grabbing Connor in a new way that he couldn’t even fathom—when he was in a bad mood, the lines were sharp, almost making him look stuck in an abstract world that consumed him. You had started to include white pencil to highlight the lights of his face and the darks that seemed to surround him at any given point. There was one that Connor had been smiling, the stark contrast of grid to fluid making itself clear. White colored pencil littered that page, giving his cheeks and overall vibe almost a sunshine attitude. He wasn’t even sure how you’d done that, how you’d caught him smiling so long that you actually could draw it out. Your latest date appears, only two days ago before you start to close the book.

There’s a moment of nothing, completely dullness except the yellow that blanketed the room. With another beat, he looks up, a newfound fondness of you completely taking over, heart ablaze like someone had used your sketchbook as kindling for something—anything other than numbness. It’s now that Connor realizes he was leaning into you, getting closer and closer until this very second—faces inches apart and eyes scanning, searching, almost fleeing around memorizing each color of your eyes. The pink is almost gone, and you start to lean forwards, eyes not deciding what they want to look at: his eyes or his lips. The space is closing more and more, the process expedited as Connor begins to mirror your actions, the moonlight outside now seeming like the only thing that’s illuminating in the room. Before proceeding, he pulls away for a second, deciding that maybe he was just misreading cues from you. You could just be trying to get up to find Zoe, soon leaving the house and out of Connor’s life. But he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want this to end, he wants to know the curves of your face, the way you look when everything is geometric and scheduled and when everything is fluid and free, the white pencil contrasted with the black marker, each level of shading on your face. He wanted to know you at your lightest and darkest, when the leaves are lush to the leaves die and make the windows look cracked from the inside. It’s another moment until he finally gets the grip he needs, asking you “Can I kiss you?”

You nod eagerly, hands already snaking around the back of his neck and pulling him closer. He resists for a second, a mumbled “I need a verbal yes or no. Otherwise I worry that I crossed a boundary,” escaping him.

“Yes,” is exhaled from you onto Connor’s lips, giving him full access to everything he didn’t know he needed or fuck wanted until this moment. There’s a level of softness to the moment your lips grazed his, the laziness of the night consuming both of you. Relaxation seeps into the kiss as it deepens, providing a sense of warmth that could only be described as rosy cheeks and whipped cream. It’s here that Connor realizes that his heart had skipped a beat, the pink organ working in tandem with yours, blossoming into something spontaneous and wonderful with you. Connor’s hands glide from where they were to your face, almost capturing the light you’re giving him, an ability to feel like the sun is inside of his hands as the kiss deepens further. Everything is synched—a puzzle finally put together by warm light and soft touches. Something erupts in Connor and he can only hope the same from you, it’s a sense of fluff, a sense of complete and total comfort and security, almost as if someone had come in here and wrapped you and him in a blanket as silent snow fell outside. It was heated, like a warm shower after a night in the rain, but soft, sweet, something fluttering from inside into the outside. It was almost like this was something long awaited, and better than expected; far better than expected.

Footsteps stomped up the stairs, and the air turned cold, a firm reminder that the world could touch them. Connor already knew what it was—Zoe was coming back from making hot chocolate downstairs. The darkness of the room returned, almost blinding to Connor as he attempts to smoothly get out of the room before Zoe sees and gets even more upset. Purples plague the walls, steps coming louder and louder as he practically stumbles out of the room, hoping that his sister wasn’t looking up as she went upstairs. With a sharp glide out of the room and into the complete darkness of the void, Zoe slipped in and began to talk to you about something he couldn’t quite hear.

Shuffling down the hall so he isn’t heard, Connor recounts the events in his head. Maybe that had been a bad idea. Maybe the warmth around you two as you kissed was just something to dwell on but never have. Maybe it was better this way.

Fuck that. He slipped into bed, covering himself with the covers, still imagining your hands around him, circling him with warm light that rivaled sunlight at the end of the first warm day of spring after a harsh winter in the Northeast. He attempted to get that from his blankets, but couldn’t. He craved that moment now that he’d had a taste of it, every contradiction, line break, finally forming into a continuum, an image of your smiling self depicted by the lines that finally painted a beautiful picture of life. He needed everything you offered: the darks, the lights, the curves, the edges. Connor craved it as he rolled over, eyes closing for the night, the last image in his head of you artfully crafting him on the page before smiling at him in that way you always do. His heart skips a beat before falling into a smooth rhythm, breathing following the pattern as the world washed away in the golden light that consumed him.

#Connor Murphy x Reader #connor Murphy x artist!reader #deh x reader #deh x artist!reader #dear evan hansen x reader #dear evan hansen x artist!reader #deh reader insert #dear evan hansen reader insert

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