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kstewdeux · 11 months

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@inukag-week 2023 | June 2 | Prompt “Heat”

Summary: Inuyasha has a collection.

Read here or on Ao3

Drifting lazily to the scuffed tile, the pressed wildflower seemed out of place amidst the chaos of the halls. It belonged in a long forgotten meadow. In another time and place.

‘Sango must’ve put it in here and forgotten it,’ Kagome thought absently as she knelt down - the chemistry textbook hanging limply by her side. Despite lacking any evidence, the instant conclusion comes as easily as breathing - in and out without any real thought on the matter. In the commotion of the students trying to make it to their next class, she almost missed the three others that gracefully cascaded from their hiding place. What Kagome found strangest of all was that she hadn’t brought this particular textbook to the feudal era in weeks. The fact that the flowers had been undisturbed too was also rather damning. A reminder of how very screwed she was academically. One of her hardest subjects and she hadn’t given it a second thought until this morning.

‘Well guess I’m failing chemistry then,’ Kagome thought bitterly as she carefully gathered the delicate flowers up and lightly tucked them back between the pages. She’d be the last to admit it but the idea of just dropping out had crossed her mind more than once. At this rate, with how far behind she was in literally all of her classes, she’d probably have to repeat the grade anyway.

But dousing her life in the modern era with gasoline, lighting a match and walking away wasn’t an option. There was always a chance the Well would stop working and who knew which side she’d get trapped in. With the jewel almost complete, time was running out and giving up now was a luxury she couldn’t afford. One way or another, a coin flip was going to determine the trajectory of her life and she knew, she just knew it was going to hurt either way.

Yeah, okay, so….

Sango wasn’t the one pressing flowers in her textbook. The first thing the slayer had done was gasp about how pretty they were and the second was ask Kagome where she got them.

This reaction raised so many questions because now the suspects were (a) a lecherous monk, (b) a child who managed to get a new girlfriend in every village they visited and (c) Inuyasha. Option C was immediately dismissed which left Miroku and Shippo.

God, she hoped it was Shippo. If Miroku was meticulously preparing and then handing out flowers to pretty girls, Sango was going to lose her mind. With the kit, at least there was the possibility he was just a kid doing an art project.

Setting down her textbook with the flowers tucked safely inside, Kagome casually walked over to the little boy who was busy ‘hunting’ a beetle in the grass.

“Hey Shippo?” she asked and large green eyes looked up at her, “I found some pretty flowers. Do you want to see them?”

He’d smiled then said ‘no thanks’ and crouched down with his tiny booty wiggling in the air. The fact that he wasn’t interested wasn’t exactly surprising nor did it prove anything but somehow she managed to reach a conclusion anyway. For one, Shippo would’ve mentioned something by now if he had hidden flowers away in her textbook. Two, Shippo preferred drawing to crafts. And , of course, three was that Shippo had never been interested in flowers.

Sighing softly, Kagome gracefully got to her feet and began looking around for Miroku. A movement to her right caught her eye. Inuyasha. Reaching casually for her textbook without stopping, quickly flipping to the exact place where she’d hidden the flowers and then carefully putting the book back down. The whole action hadn’t taken more than ten seconds and he’d barely paused in his stride.

Chewing the inside of her cheek, Kagome continued to watch. A handkerchief was discreetly pulled out from inside his robe, opened and the flowers were delicately put in. The movement was fast, smooth and easy to miss if you weren’t looking directly at him.

Okay. So…Inuyasha was pressing flowers for some reason. The question now became why. Was it a hobby? Did it have to do with scent like some type of makeshift cologne? Was it something he’d always done? How long-

Hey, wait a minute, that was her handkerchief!

No one said she was a rational human being all the time. Nobody said she didn’t have impulse control or that she didn’t have a temper. No one said she thought this through.

“You took my handkerchief!” Kagome gasped angrily as she began storming over to an Inuyasha who froze like a deer in the headlights.

“What are you talking about? No I didn’t!” he hissed back even though his hand flew up to his chest like he was protecting something, “You’re seeing things woman.”

“Okay. Then what are you hiding in there?” Kagome challenged and a flash of panic zoomed behind his eyes.

“Hiding where?!”

“In your shirt stupid!”

“Where would I even be keeping it?!” Inuyasha scoffed defensively, “What? You think I sewed a pocket in there or something?”

That was exactly what he’d done but there was no way in hell he was telling her that. So what if he’d decided to start collecting things, huh? That was a thing people did. No one got mad at Sango for her weird collection of knives or at Miroku for stockpiling so many sutras that his robes were weighed down. And what about Shippo? Kagome had a whole folder in her room filled with all the drawings the kid made. What was so bad about wanting to collect something of his own? He liked scents, okay? It only made sense that he’d collect flowers and…other things that smelled good. It didn’t hurt nobody and it was nobody’s business.

Kagome narrowed her eyes and Inuyasha winced. Maybe he shouldn’t’ve thrown the idea of pockets out there. Also maybe he shouldn’t be pressing his hand against said pocket but a part of him was terrified about the possibility of losing the first things he’d ever owned. His little flower collection was the only thing he hadn’t inherited. The first thing he made with his own hands. What made the collection more special was that they had no real value. They weren’t worth anything. Not really. They were pretty and they smelled good. Ergo, the pressed flowers were a luxury.

He was at a place in his life where he could afford luxuries.

“Why did you steal it?” Kagome sighed - reigning in her anger and folding her arms across her chest.

“I didn’t steal shit,” Inuyasha countered as he stiffly lowered his hand and copied her posture. Technically speaking what he said was true and now the flowers suddenly became secondary to the most precious piece of his collection. She would need to tear that handkerchief out of his cold dead hands and he’d rather die than admit why he wanted it so bad. Besides, it wasn’t hers anymore and he’d put way too much effort into making sure it smelled right all of the time and he needed it. Actually needed it and she’d probably lose it like she lost it the first time.

“So you’re lying to me now?”

Despite his resolve, Inuyasha winced again and his stomach churned.

“Does this have anything to do with the flowers in my textbook?” she challenged before immediately regretting bringing it up at all. Inuyasha turned a little green and fear flickered across his face. Silence fell over the camp. A quick glance confirmed that each and every one of their friends - including Kilala - were now watching the showdown.

“W-what flowers?” he managed but his voice cracked and his ears flattened against his skull. Kagome’s anger faded away as quickly as it’d arrived and she slowly straightened up.

“Are you…are you collecting them?” she asked curiously - her voice horrifically soft. Inuyasha’s chest began heaving in mild panic.

“N-no. Why would I d-do that?”

Kagome chewed her lip for a second - her eyes searching his pale face before a warm smile played with her lips.

“You know what? Never mind,” she hummed - her voice gentle and calm - before moving over to her textbook and backpack, “Hey Sango? Can I borrow Kilala? I forgot something at-“

“You’re leaving over this?!” Inuyasha squeaked out as he quickly moved to her side with half a mind to grab her, “Seriously?!”

“I just forgot something. That’s all. I’ll be back before dark,” Kagome promised and the affectionate look in her eye confused him endlessly. It was almost like she understood something he really didn’t want her to understand quite yet. Shit, he hadn’t even fully come to terms with it and he did not feel ready.

In his panic, Inuyasha was powerless to stop her - even without the sit spell. Sango was pissed because, obviously, Kagome had left because of their fight. Shippo wouldn’t stop badgering him and demanding to see his collection no matter how vehemently denied its existence. Miroku just seemed amused.

It was after dark, for the record, when Kagome finally came back and, of course, the first thing she did was come find him presumably to start fighting all over again. A part of Inuyasha wanted to cry but he refused to make matters worse by shedding tears. He just wanted something nice. Why couldn’t he have nice-

Kneeling down in front of him, Kagome shrugged off her backpack and began digging through it. A few things were pulled out.

“Okay. So I got this little plastic sleeve. Waterproof, you know?” she began as she glanced up and gave him a soft smile, “To protect the non-existent flower collection.”

Before he could stop himself, Inuyasha’s defensive posture relaxed and he crouched down.

“W-wha-“

“And this,” she continued as she pulled out a square book and flipped through the glossy pages, “Is for if you decide you want to show them off. We call it a scrap book in my time. I took the liberty of getting some paper already but you’ll need to use these-“

She reached down and grabbed a sheet of odd clear dots, “To hold the flower in place. So they don’t fall out.”

Inuyasha blinked a few times like his mind was having trouble comprehending what was happening.

“I know it’s a little bulky and if you don’t like the paper we can go buy something different. And it won’t fit in your non-existent pocket,” she continued, “But I could put it in my backpack. Or we could keep it with Kaede or even in my room if you want.”

Inuyasha finally reached for the book with trembling fingers and sat down on the grass.

“It’s scents. Nice scents,” he whispered sheepishly as he lovingly ran his fingers over the matte floral cover, "T-that's all."

With a soft laugh, Kagome smiled. She almost looked like she’d just won some sort of victory but he didn’t care beyond knowing he was the real winner here. Still, he should probably say something like a ‘thank you’. Give a peace offering. A shuddering breath followed as he thumbed through the pages and glanced at the pretty paper staring up at him through plastic, “M’sorry. For lying. I never had anything of my own before and I-I just-“

“Well, now you also have a book,” Kagome offered - tucking a few stray hairs behind her ear before continuing, “You don’t even have to put the flowers in there if you don’t want to. You can put whatever you-“

Inuyasha dipped forward and pressed a brief chaste kiss against her lips before turning his attention back to the book and delicately pulling her handkerchief out of his secret pocket. It took the miko a good minute to regain brain function.

“S-so I’m gunna assume that was you saying thank you?” she managed - her voice coming out slightly panicked and high pitched. Inuyasha nodded absently as he gingerly unfurled the white napkin and laid out the dozen or so flowers on top of it.

“Can you show me how to do it right? I don't want to break them,” he asked breathlessly as he glanced up at her - eyes bright and excitement showing plain in his face. It was the most precious thing Kagome had ever seen.

She smiled.

“Yeah. Yeah I can do that."

A pause.

"So, does this mean I can have my handkerchief back?"

Not even bothering to look up from his delicate task, Inuyasha snorted and shook his head.

"Nope, part of the collection.”

#inukag week 2023 #inukag week #inukag #inuyasha x kagome #inuyasha fanfiction #inukag fluff #scrapbooking #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3

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dawnlotus-draws · 11 months

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Hello! I’m working on a Quest for Madoka on Sufficient Velocity(if u don’t know what that is, it’s a role play where the readers can interact and basically choose your own adventure with the player character). It takes place during MagiReco, and I’d love to be able to get original Witches to use for enemies in the quest. So, I decided to ask tumblr folks. If you’re comfortable with it, would it be possible for me to use your oc? If not, it’s totally okay! I know it’s a bizarre ask.

Hello! :D First of all sure! What OC of mine are you thinking of? Cuz I haven’t posted about them a ton and I actually have a LOT of Madoka Magica OCs. If you want I can get some of the other original witches I have made. Personally I’m honored to be asked XD I will throw my little guys at everything. I’d love to be linked to whatever you end up making, so please let me know when it’s up!

I’m honestly sorry for infodumping below, but I can’t help anytime I get to talk about my magical girls XD so ignore this if the above permission was all you needed LOL.

———— info on lots of characters below——-

In terms of OCs I’ve got

Dionaea (has a witch design)

Khaori (has a witch design)

Asami (has a witch design)

Mitsu (no witch)

Jundo (no witch)

Haru (no witch)

Bluebell (has a witch design)

To find information on Dionaea, Khaori, and Asami check out my art fight account I’ve got Bios on them there. You need an artfight account to view any page on art fight I think? Anyway here’s what to type if the links are not working. https://artfight.net/~Dawnlotus The rest of the stuff I’ll try to cover very lightly lol.

Khaori’s witch looks like this. Its nature is evasive. The witch resembles an eel skeleton that hides in her labyrinth, her familiars are other sea creatures such as crabs and goldfish with human legs. They collect possessions of emotional importance from in and out side of the labyrinth and bring them back to decorate the hermit shell the main witch hides in. The main witch’s mouth looks like a stump of a severed limb pouring out a dark red photo developing acid. The angler fish bulb suspended over its head flash bangs any suspected danger, allowing the witch to get away, and prints a photo thru the mouth side of the two holes on either side of its head. One side has a mouth with teeth around a eye shaped hole, the other side with eyelashes you can see thru to the brain floating in the acid. Sorry these are just uncolored sketches! These are the only ones I’m happy with LOL.

Asami’s witch looks like this. Its nature is to endure. Fueled by a firey rage it uses its massive arms to climb around its labyrinth, which looks like a toy town where all the buildings are seashells and a couple skyscrapers here and there. The skyscrapers have large pegs or weapons plunged into them that the witch herself climbs on. The sky is a blanket of clouds with silver lining and droplets of gold and silver and glass are suspended on chains like rain. The witch herself has an aggressive nature despite her small size, and can stretch like an accordion. The roots coming from the body can also reach and attack/climb like tendrils. Its familiars are toy mice with different flowers instead of eyes and wheat for fur. These familiars search for a way out of the labyrinth but can never find one, only leading around their witch to taller and taller skyscrapers. I apologize that these are also uncolored.

An image of both Khaori and Asami.

In an effort to keep this post shorter, the more info you would find on their artfight bios I have attached in the Alt Text.

Oh boy I don’t want make this too long so here’s an image of Mitsu and Jundo but I won’t get into their stories n stuff. It’s complicated. All you need to know is that they’re in gay love <3 No witch concepts yet. Mitsu on the left, Jundo on the right.

Haru I’ve got very little on her that’s solid. She’s the youngest magi I have, contacted at 8/9 and currently 12, a veteran who’s every “party” she’s been a part of died. She has the ability to fly and scouts, but because she’s especially young others prioritize her safety, even when they are more at risk. No witch design yet.

Bluebell I made like forever ago for a contest, she is based on the legend of Bluebeard. Image ID for the photo in the Alt Text.

A very brief summary of her character is that she’s kind of a merge of Bluebeard and the 7th wife in a twisted bad way. She’s like a Kira deathnote type, who kills people she believes to be evil. Her wish was to know her boyfriends deepest secret, and upon learning he was a serial killer she killed him and starts using her power to kill other criminals, becoming the serial killer. Her morals quickly deteriorate and she becomes extremely judgmental, looking into people heads and taking their intrusive thoughts or any secrets they have and deciding if they should be punished or not. Because she spent her time enacting her “judgment”, detrimental to her magic and her mental health, she witchifies. Her witch is a gargoyle, a guard of nasty secrets. Some of its familiars are gossipers (similar to the uwasa spreaders in magireco) who follow rumors and upon finding someone with a nasty secret brings the other familiars, knights that bring anyone from inside or outside the labyrinth to the witch for their judgement. If they are judged unworthy by the gaze of the gargoyle they are impaled on the layers of fences and gates that guard the witch to set an “example”. I have no image of Bluebell as a magical girl that I am solid on soooo. Yeah. Just have the witch.. made yrs ago and also needs an update..

Dionaea I already have a post on. Read here :D She also has all images I have of her currently on Artfight, but here is her updated magical girl design.

I don’t have a ton of info on her witch, but it’s familiars are like Mario style piranha plants and Venus fly traps with actual teeth l, fangs and molars, whose mouths are shut by belts, general dangerous plants you would find in a jungle, corpse flowers and pitcher plants, as well as monstress flies of varying sizes and mutation. The labyrinth is like a overgrown greenhouse with massive jungle plants.

—————————-

Feel free to ask more questions, or if you would like any character elaborated on. Etc etc im foaming at the mouth. I didn’t know if you wanted info on just witches or also magical girls? So I uhh included both. And I would love to see what project you are working on, anything pmmm or magireco I’m always looking for more cool fan content. Have a nice day. I hope this was a suitable answer.

#asks #Thank you for the ask!!!#I love talking about them. I hope you find good use with this information XD #pmmm #pmmm oc #puella magi madoka magica #Madoka Magica oc #magia record #magireco #magia record oc #dawns asks #Dawn’s ocs #dionaea #khaori uroko #Asami akarui

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hansolmates · 3 years

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me time (m)

summary; the first time virgin!mc meets her mans (but she doesn’t know it yet) pairing; jungkook x virgin!mc genre/warnings; fluff, college!au, boarding house!au, based on the virgin!oc discourse, female masturbation (thanks to the pretty bridgertons), a lil sad and longing at the end w/c; 1.3k a/n; y’all really brought manhater!mc and virgin!mc to life! this couldn’t be done without all of your fabulous input and support. obviously the virginverse is freeform at this point—think of this more as a prequel for these two. set in freshman year of college, when they’re just acquaintances. (do you guys think of cher from clueless when u think virgin!mc? very outgoing n’cute but also very innocent?) anyway, happy valentine’s day i hope you and your boo (whether digital or in-person) get your me/we time💖

Your wooden lap desk is toppled to the side. Good thing the space between the mattress and floor is small, your pink monstera-shaped rug softening the blow when your water bottle, pencils and laptop fall to the floor. In the back of your head you know everything is fine because the last episode of Bridgerton is still playing, an orchestral version of Ariana Grande’s Thank U, Next continuing on as if nothing’s astray.

Yet you’re nothing but astray, forgotten about the episode and writhing against your too-small twin as you let yourself cum for the umpeeth time.

You’ve lost track at this point (how couldn't you? Bridgerton is hot) but from the way your hair mats to your face like a second skin and your pussy feels spent and battered, it’s been awhile. This should be your new Valentine’s Day tradition, fucking yourself until you pass out on your vibrator.

“Ah, ah fu—uck, yyyes!”

The sheets are sopping. The grey cotton fabric does nothing to hide your juices that seep from your bare cunt to the mattress. Flinging your silicone toy to the side, you pull your hair up and out of your face.

Water, you need water. Maybe a cup of green tea with a dollop of honey. Sugar always helps the immediate low after a good couple of rounds.

However, you’ll never get used to the feeling of cleaning up yourself. The feeling that you’ve done something completely lewd all on your own, no one to assure you the things you’re doing are weird. It’s okay though. You love to be alone, it takes a lot for you to feel lonely.

You slip on a pair of dolphin-cut shorts, too tiny that they are drowned beneath your emerald green slip dress. Quickly opening the door to your room, you’re met with absolute silence. White walls containing empty rooms and a living room without a soul. Just like you’re expecting in a college boardhouse on Valentine’s Day.

What you’re not expecting however, is Jeon Jungkook staring at you the second you crack your door open.

“If you’re screaming that loud, your partner must be doing a good job.”

Jungkook lives on the other side of the boarding house, therefore you’ve never really interacted with him. Excluding the landlord there’s only five other tenants, a group large enough that you’ve never had to have one-on-one with him.

You really didn’t think anyone would be in the house on Valentine’s, especially Jungkook. He’s an absolute cutie pie, even though you don’t know anything about him. The only thing you really know is that his sparkly brown eyes are to die for, they remind you of coffee milk tea, a craving you only indulge in at the end of finals season.

To your surprise, Jungkook looks like he hasn’t gone out all weekend. Him, single? As if! Yet you can’t justify any reasoning behind him being home if did have a girlfriend or boyfriend. His dark hair is fluffy and freshly showered, and you can’t ignore the smell of linens from his soft sweats and long navy hoodie.

Normally, you’d be quiet during Me Time. You’ve perfected the art, stuffing your mouth with your pillow or playing action movies to muffle out the sound. You thought you were in the clear. The thought of Jungkook overhearing you turns you on a little, makes the dampness between your panties even more evident, but you keep that self-indulgent secret to yourself.

“Oh, well,” you curl your lips in a smirk, closing the door behind you so he doesn’t see that your room is actually very much devoid of life, “she’s very powerful.”

She, meaning your favorite vibrator in your entire world. It has ten settings and a heating mechanism. More importantly, it’s rechargeable. You don’t know how you’d survive freshman year otherwise.

“Okay, TMI,” despite the fact Jungkook’s blushing he’s chuckling, holding a hand out for you in the narrow hallway, “after you.”

You quickly slip past him, walking into the shared kitchenette. Bare feet slapping against the hardwood, your eyes immediately gravitate toward the upper cabinet. Jungkook is following you, presumably to get his own late night snack. When you lift your arms to reach your mug, you feel a little bit of cool air brush against the uppers of your thighs. It’s a nightgown, a pretty satin slip that falls over your curves and leaves much to the imagination. A couple more centimeters to get your mug and you’ll be definitely flashing Jungkook.

“Um,” you practically hear the twisted face he’s making.

“Sorry—I’m sorry!” you blurt, waving your fingers to catch the handle of your mug, “I’m really not trying to flash you—please don’t fill a harassment report! I just can’t reach my mug.”

“No, that’s my mug.”

“What, no! I’ve been drinking from this mug all year!”

“You’ve been drinking from my mug?” Jungkook is affronted, walking past you to easily grab the mug you’ve been struggling to reach for the past minute. He flexes the bottom part of the mug in your face, where his initials are painted in black. “This is my mug, my parents put my handprint on it when I was a year old.”

It’s then you notice on the lower shelf, there’s an identical mug. This mug has been buried all the way in the back, dust collecting on the rim. It also has a baby handprint on it, although upon closer inspection it’s smaller and in a more faded shade of black. That’s your mug.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you feel your heart fall all the way to your ass, feeling guilty, “I’m so sorry. I’ve washed it and everything, if it makes you feel any better.”

He frowns, holding the white porcelain between his hands. A litany of ideas run through your brain. Is he disgusted by using the same mug as you? Have you potentially ruined a prized family treasure?

Thrusting the mug into your chest he says, “Make me a hot chocolate and we’re even.”

You smile a little, eager to please. You quickly get to work, simmering the pan with warm milk and melting chopped chocolate. You rinse your mug with some hot water, letting it sit next to his awaiting mug. For a bit of flair you add a capful of vanilla extract, all while Jungkook watches you with mild awe. The smell of sweet late night confections fill the kitchen, a fitting theme for a Valentine’s night.

“You’re not burning the milk,” Jungkook murmurs more to himself than you, watching as you pour the hot chocolate in cups without spilling a drop.

Jungkook is known to burn things in the house. The only thing he doesn’t burn is ramen, and that’s purely due to survival skills.

“What can I say, I’m an expert,” you wink, handing him his mug and you holding yours.

With matching mugs, the two of you take your first sips of the melty beverage. You lean against the stove facing him, while he faces you against the marble island. Jungkook smiles and a bit of cocoa touches his petal pink lips. He says it’s perfect and you smile into your cup, absolutely swelling with pride.

Jungkook’s probably working on his photos. He always says his editing bug is itchy at night. While in passing you’ve said you’d love to see his work, however that gesture of kindness never really amounted to anything. Maybe tonight’s the night. You like art, you’d love to be a little more educated with it. Just as you’re about to ask and strike up some conversation, Jungkook beats you to it.

“Well, hope you and your partner have a good Valentine’s,” Jungkook holds his cup in salute, walking back into his room, “just keep it down.”

Oh well. You sigh to yourself, letting Jungkook walk away without a fight or a retort. After all, it was you who implied you were sneaking in a bed partner tonight. Sinking your eyes into the brown liquid, you fall into a lull. The creamy liquid swirls in your grasp, making your muddied reflection ripple away.

You love to be alone, but it takes someone like Jeon Jungkook to remind you that life gets a little lonely.

#ficswithluv #kwritersworldnet #btsghostie #btsguild #btswritingcafe #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts fluff #bts smut

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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

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an artist’s eye // Benedict Bridgerton

Summary: Benedict Bridgerton was an artist, even if his inspiration had no idea of what he feels.

A/N: I promise to slow down with the fics! I go back to work in a couple of days anyway so I’ll definitely slow down. I hope you all like! It’s shorter than my last few fics so I’m sorry for that!! My taglist is open so if you’d like to be on it, let me know and I am considering opening my requests for Bridgerton fics... considering.

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of food and drink, pining, mutual pining, sketching, art, drawing (I am not an artist, I cannot draw a stick man so I apologise in advance), kissing.

Word count: 1.8k

The graphite point sits heavy in his hand as Benedict struggles to remember the lines he needs. With only his memory to aid him, Benedict struggled more with the portraits he preferred to draw than the landscapes that were growing increasingly popular among the highest of London society.

Sighing, Benedict presses his fingers to his eyes as if it will help jumpstart his memory to bring forward the correct image he needs. He regrets the action as quick as he had done it when he thinks of the mixture of graphite and charcoal coating his fingers.

Rubbing his face with the sleeve of his shirt, he feels a moment of pity for the servants who would no doubt grumble and complain at the state of it. However, as he glances down at the sketch – the arch of his subject’s smile, the depths of their eyes – he cannot bring himself to care too much.

It wouldn’t see the light of day. Once complete, the sketchbook would be tucked away in the drawer in his desk. If it was to fall into the wrong hands, then as much as he is confident of his artistic talent, he would not recover from the fallout. Benedict worries for the day that the look in your eyes changes; once you realise the extent of his feelings for you.

He hadn’t meant to fall in love with you, but he had. There were a lot of things in Benedict’s life that he hadn’t meant to do and has regretted completing such an action once done. However, he cannot find it in himself to feel bad about falling in love with you even when he had not meant to.

As much as he puts on airs and graces, he would not approach you with his feelings. He wasn’t ready though you made his heart sing like no other.

One day, he tells himself as he finally remembers the swoop of your neckline. One day he will tell you as he picks up his graphite point and charcoal once more.

Not yet, however.

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The drawing room remains quiet as Benedict silently adds to his sketch collection. His mother sits across the room, content with a stitching pattern for the arrival of Daphne’s new baby. Eloise lounges on the couch, a book in her hand and a box of chocolates on her stomach, eyes pouring over the pages hungrily.

The only sound in the room is the roughness of his pencil on the paper. It didn’t matter what angle he approached this drawing at, he could not get it to look right. It was going to vex him until he had bested it.

“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) has arrived,” The Butler announces to which Benedict suddenly sits up straighter, closing his sketchbook, leaving it on the table.

“Wonderful,” Violet Bridgerton smiles, “Show them up, please.”

“I didn’t know (Y/N) was calling today,” Benedict comments lightly as the Butler disappears from the room, trying to sound as if his heart isn’t currently pounding in his chest.

“(Y/N) always calls on a Thursday,” Eloise states, voice puzzled. She shares a look of confusion with her mother when Benedict suddenly stands, announcing to them both, “I shall clean myself up a bit, make myself look presentable for our guest.”

The look of confusion soon turns into one of understanding as both women watch their son and brother dash from the room. As if at the same time, a smile crosses both their faces when they realise that their beloved son and brother has fallen in love and with a dear friend of the family too.

They do not get to discuss the topic, however, for you are shown to the drawing room, greeting both women with a large smile and buoyant conversation.

“Help yourself to tea and biscuits, dear,” Violet invites, gesturing to the tea service now being laid on the table. Your stomach rumbles at the sight of the biscuits, unable to turn down the buttery goodness.

“Thank you,” You reply, taking a seat at the table, reaching for a biscuit and the teapot.

It’s then that you see it. A leatherbound book left on the other side of the table, barely hidden by the cake stand of treats.

Curiosity being your besetting sin, you reach for the leatherbound book on the table and begin to flick through the pages. A sketch of a pair of hands at the beginning; they hold a single flower – a rose, though what colour is impossible to tell since the sketch remains firmly in shades of greys and blacks. Enraptured, you turn the page to find a detailed image of a parasol, still sketched in the same greys and blacks as the previous picture. The artist has captured the lace trimming perfectly. The longer you stare at it, you come to realise that the parasol is being held by someone, but it isn’t clear who.

It isn’t until you reach a sketch of your side portrait that you come to realise that the previous sketches – the hands, the parasol with just a hint of a shadow under it – they’re of you.

They’re all of you. Each stunning sketch is of you.

Your breath quickens in your chest when you see who the sketchbook belongs to; when you spy the initials written on the inside sleeve of the front cover. ‘B.B.’ written in his elegant script – an artist in every aspect of his life. Whilst you had observed that Benedict sometimes appeared with smudges to his fingers and paint stains on the cuffs of his tailored white shirt, you had never seen a sketch or a painting until now. He truly had a gift; a talent worthy of being displayed in Somerset House.

You hadn’t been aware of his feelings for you though, but you would not be the first to admit that you found yourself attracted to the Bridgerton. Taught at a young age, you knew it was not wise to share such feelings with others. Instead, you dampened them down, hiding them away where they grew unattended – they rooted in your heart, making it very difficult to find another love worthy.

Bringing a hand to your mouth, you hide your smile, not wanting to give too much away to ever observant Bridgerton matriarch. You turn page after page, letting yourself fall deeper into your feelings for Benedict now that you find there is hope of them being requited.

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

Benedict’s breath leaves his body in one fell swoop when he returns to the drawing room and he realises exactly what you hold in your hand. He hadn’t moved it upon your announcement; he thought he had, but instead, like a fool, he left it sitting there on the table.

A fool. He was a fool. How quick, Benedict thinks to himself, how quick a life can change – mere minutes he had been gone and now he was to have his love for you outed.

You haven’t noticed his presence yet, and for that Benedict is thankful. It gives him time to come up with something – anything – to explain the numerous sketches of you. His mind is running too fast; he cannot come up with a thought good enough to excuse the sketches in his book. His heart continues to pound in his chest; it had not slowed down since your announcement though at this point it reminds him that is, indeed, alive and not suffering from a night terror.

As if finally sensing the extra person in the room, you glance up. Your eyes meeting the deep blue of Benedict’s, and you freeze in your spot. Violet and Eloise glance between the two of you. Violet, not one to usually ignore tradition, hurries her daughter from the room – knowing the conversation that was about to take place.

“I’m sorry,” You whisper at the click of the door shutting. You close the sketchbook, placing it on the table as far away from you as possible to keep your temptation at bay.

“I think I should be the one apologising,” Benedict confesses, taking one more step into the room. He tucks his hands behind his back, ever the picture of grace and elegance as he thinks of how long he has left without before your opinion of him changes forever – artistic talent or not.

“I knew you were an artist; I had seen the smudges on your hands, but I didn’t think…”

“What?”

“I didn’t think you were drawing me.”

“Surely you know?” He asks, voice loud in the quiet room. When you remain silent, he continues, “Surely you know of my feelings for you?”

You shake your head, eyes glancing between the taller Bridgerton and the leatherbound sketchbook lying on the table. “I didn’t know,” You whisper, voice breaking as you take in the distraught look on his face.

“Well,” Benedict murmurs, clearing his throat, “You know of them now.”

“I do,” You murmur,

“I hope I haven’t offended you,” Benedict remarks, “Those sketches were not meant to be seen by anyone else.”

“Only if I haven’t offended you by looking through them.”

Benedict shakes his head, “You could never offend me.”

“Then I am not offended either. I’m quite flattered, you’re very talented.”

“Thank you,” Benedict says graciously, nodding his head slightly.

“You need to know that your feelings are returned, Benedict,” You declare suddenly and plainly, displaying your feelings for all to see.

“They are?” Benedict asks, voice awed as if he didn’t take into account this reaction.

“They are,” You state firmly, meeting his gaze proudly as if you could ever be ashamed of your feelings for the brunette.

Benedict stalks across the room; tradition and etiquette be damned as he reaches for your hand to pull you from your chair. His hands settle on your waist as you tilt your head back to look at him. A silent question reflects in his eyes to which you answer with a nod of your head.

His hands move from your waist to cradle your face as he dips down, pressing his lips to yours. It isn’t hurried; it’s perfect as Benedict takes control of the kiss, groaning softly at the feel of your mouth and your body pressed against him. You smile into the kiss as your arms wrap around Benedict’s neck, pulling him ever closer to you.

Benedict’s mouth brushes against yours as he asks, “Would you like to accompany me to Lady Danbury’s ball next week?”

“As in you would court me?”

Benedict chuckles softly, “Yes. I would like to court you, is that okay?”

“More than okay,” You smile before pressing a kiss to the corner of Benedict’s mouth and stepping away.

Turning back to the sketchbook, you open it to image that had kickstarted your heart into an irregular rhythm. Benedict stands by your side as your eyes pour over his sketch; each line and angle, each section of shading. “You truly have an artist’s eye,” You say quietly, tangling your hands together.

“Thank you,” Benedict whispers, bringing your entwined hands up to his mouth whereupon he lays a gentle kiss to the back of your gloved hand.

“Will you show me more?” You ask, turning to face the man that had turned you into a work of art.

“Darling, I’ll show you them all.”

***********

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @aspiringsloth20 @wallwriterstuff @magicalxdaydream

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagines #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton imagines

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

For Vampire Chris! What if he and Jake went to a museum and came across some of Tooley's paintings? And Chris has a panic attack! We would finally get some Jake comfort. And maybe Chris would reveal more horrible things that Tooley had done to him.

CW: Discussion of death, blood, vampire whumpee, caretaker and whumpee

The sun sets early in the winter, and it's the only reason they can make this work.

Chris is barely awake even so, sipping from a coffee cup Jake filled with the contents of one of his blood packs, hoping he doesn't trip and spill and lead to Jake having some very awkward, panicked explanations to make to anyone nearby.

He'd slept in the truck Jake borrowed from Nat most of the way over here, curled in the passenger seat. He looks for all the world like any high schooler who stayed up too late the night before, dragged out by his family, forced to go learn when all he wants is rest.

Chris is draped in a hooded sweatshirt pulled on over his head, hair mussed from sleeping in the closet in the little nest-bed he made for himself in there. It sticks out like stray from beneath the hood he's pulled up, coppery strands occasionally covering his eyes and making him shove them out of the way with a snort that has no right to be as adorable as it is, considering the monster who makes the sound.

Not a monster, no. Not really.

Or his monster, anyway, the same way his mother is his mother. Jake is starting to understand the little vampire - more than three times his own age - has chosen him for family now.

The sweater he wears is kind of a joke, actually. Jake bought it weeks ago from a website that puts the covers of books on clothes, and it's an old cover image from Dracula.

Jake thought it was funny, anyway. Nat was less amused. Chris only smiled and said something about being happy the hairy palms thing isn't true.

The air is chilly, and Jake shivers a little as they head in from the parking lot across a small sidewalk next to a park and toward the museum itself, but of course Chris doesn't even notice. He seems to be enjoying it, the way it blows around his hair as they make their way slowly up the steps and past the row of Grecian-style columns that mark the entrance.

Jake has to visit for one of his classes, an extra-credit something-or-other, and Chris had asked to go along with him.

Jake had been hesitant, but seeing the way the vampire's green eyes sparkle as he moves around in public like any other person, well... he feels like he made the right choice to bring him along now.

"Finish up your drink, you can't take anything in once we pay and get past the lobby," Jake says, and Chris nods, gulping the last of the blood as fast as he can as they push through wide double-doors. Jake tries not to imagine how it must feel, swallowing thick congealing cooled blood. Someone's life, someone's heartbeat, down your throat...

Really, is he that much different? Jake has eaten a dozen cows' worth of beef in his life.

Does Chris see them all as just livestock? He doesn't act like it, but then, there are people who treat pigs or cows like pets and not like food...

His stomach flips a little and he forces himself to look around, up at the chandelier at the high ceiling, the heavy wooden desk they have to walk to off to the side to get their tickets. To stop trying to understand if Chris is a sort of stray they've adopted, or if he's a higher-level predator living with prey.

Once Chris drops the cup into a trash can, Jake throwing a couple wadded-up tissues on top so no one can accidentally see the smear of red around the edge of the lid, they buy their tickets, and wind their way through and past the little velvet ropes that mark off the entrance.

The museum opens before them into a grand hall, with paintings the size of two-story buildings on either side, permanent installations in the museum. Commissioned for its opening, sometime back in the 70's.

Jake picks up a brochure so they know which way to go - LGBTQ+ Art in Pre-War America is the temporary exhibit he's here to see, traveling work that is usually housed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

"Oh, nice, it's on the first floor. Looks like you go through a couple of 'specialty' rooms, just showing off stuff from the in-house collection. Sounds cool, right?"

Chris, looking from side to side at the gigantic paintings that hang on the walls in the opening hall, hums softly, a tuneless constant sound. He doesn't answer Jake's question. He hums often, and Jake barely notices any longer, but there's something edged to it, now. As if just being around the paintings is making him nervous.

"Okay, little man, let's go over here." He touches Chris's arm, lightly, through the thick fabric of his sweater. The vampire looks over at him, smiling with his lips pressed together to hide his teeth from any potential prying eyes.

He follows easily, but he sticks closer to Jake than he normally does, and his eyes are constantly roving. They move through an exhibit of Pre-Colombian pottery first, on their way to the room in the back where the temporary showcase is.

Jake watches Chris's fingers twitch with the urge to touch, to learn by feeling the bumps and ridges in the ancient clay, and how he holds back as best he can. His urge to lift the clear protective plastic boxes right off the pottery so he can get at it is nearly physically painful.

Jake pretends not to see it when Chris's fingers trail along a column, settling for the white-painted rectangle the pottery is balanced on, taking in the rough texture smoothed by the matte paint.

"Did you ever meet anyone like you that was old enough to have made stuff like this?" Jake asks, stopping in front of a water jug in the shape of a man playing a flute with a dog at his feet. The dog wears a carved smile marked with disturbingly human-looking teeth. The paint it must have been covered in is worn by time, leaving the reddish-brown of the clay behind, with the faintest streaks of white still in the crevices.

"No," Chris replies, tilting his head, making direct eye contact with the statue in a way he never quite can do with any real person. Not comfortably, anyway. Jake has seen him force it and shudder afterwards, overwhelmed. When he'd asked about it, Chris had said he never liked looking at anyone's eyes, even before, when he was alive. It's too much, was all he would say. It's always too much. "None, um, none of us live that long."

"Why not?" They're alone in the room. It's the only reason Jake feels safe asking.

Chris's tongue runs over the sharpening bumps of his growing-in fangs, pressing against them, easing the itch and the ache of their return. After a second, he pulls a plastic bat on a cord from inside his sweater and puts the bat into his mouth, chewing on it idly, jaw working. "I, I, I don't know. That's just what what what my, my, my pack told me."

"I thought vampires lived in covens."

"No." Chris doesn't elaborate on this one. He can be weirdly secretive about how he lived before he came to Nat's, before he was pulled out of a basement, a living drug for a wealthy asshole.

Secretive, or just forgetting whatever wasn't essential.

He moves away to another pedestal, a shard broken off of a larger vessel, marked with a deep white and intense black angular design. He hums again, and Jake takes the hint and leaves him alone.

They spend several more minutes looking over the pottery before they head through a second room full of what must just be the favorite pieces of museum employees, as there doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason, and each little card with the name of the piece and its maker has a paper next to it with a note on why each employee loves this piece in particular. Chris lingers around older things, a woven tapestry from medieval England, landscapes from the 19th century. He stares for a while at a painting called The Country Path by Joseph Poole Addy, a pale watercolor of winter trees with bare branches breaking the line of sky and a woman bundled in a coat carrying a basket down an equally colorless road.

Chris's humming getting louder, and he rocks a little, forward and back, his eyes moving again and again through the lines of the painting.

Jake wonders what it is about this one specifically that catches Chris like that, and when the vampire finally moves on he checks the employee's statement. Joseph Poole Addy, Irish painter in the 19th and 20th centuries, blah blah, something something countryside... Jake frowns, and glances over at Chris, who isn't looking back. He's moved on to something else.

Jake decides to ask him later.

They make it to the exhibit they're here to see, and Jake whistles under his breath as he enters. There are vibrant, saturated paintings lining the walls, a couple of large sculptures on the floor that still are taller than he is, a few smaller ones on pedestals. The work is mostly figurative, although there's some early abstraction there, a hint of the contemporary push to take even figurative work out of simply being an echo of a real life thing.

Chris looks at a sculpture, his head cocked so far to the side it looks almost birdlike, not quite human. Jake thinks his own neck would ache for days if he tried to do that. "Must've been, um, later," He mumbles to himself.

Jake files that away in his mental list of things to talk to Chris about later.

He walks slowly along the line of paintings. The whole point of being here is that he's supposed to pick a specific piece and write a short essay about it and the artist who made it, prove he saw it in person.

The class itself is about how to encourage better outcomes for healthcare in marginalized populations - but if she's giving out extra-credit for looking at queer art, well, Jake is happy to spend an hour in a museum.

After his dismal performance on the last test, he could use whatever credit he can get. Besides, the exhibit is actually kind of cool with that in mind. Every one of these artists was in some way outside of the sort of het ideal, and Jake smiles a little as he catches the heaviness of a look between two men seated across a table from one another, looks over the clasped hands of women, sitting with everything from shoulder to hip touching, who are listed as 'friends visiting the riverbank'.

Art that celebrates, hidden in plain sight. Art that rebels by sliding details in under the surface where only those looking for them will find them.

Each piece has another little paper, although this just has details about the artist and their work, what they were known for. He can use it as a jumping-off point for his paper, anyway.

"You, you, you finished her," Chris whispers, standing in front of a sculpture of a woman with her head thrown back as if in uproarious laughter, a woman with curls expertly carved so that her hair seems to have been there before the stone it's made of somehow. "I wonder if she, um, if if if she saw it."

"What'd you say, Chris?" Jake blinks, pulled out of his own internal reverie.

"Nothing," Chris responds, and walks slowly around the statue. The woman's smile is a shining light in the room. No one could carve like that without being at least a little in love with the subject.

Jake wanders away and then comes to an abrupt stop before a large painting, probably taller than Chris is. The background is near-total darkness with only a suggestion of stone, a single beam of light shining down to illuminate the central figure.

A naked boy clothed only in scraps of torn cloth that only emphasize his nakedness everywhere else is crouched in terror. His knees are bent and his feet are on the floor, one hand holding his weight with fingers slightly curled, his spine bent and arched as if he is caught in the midst of turning to look up to find the direction of the light. His other hand is thrown out, as if trying to ward off an attack.

He bleeds from a dozen or more places, the blood curving perfectly around his form, giving it extra weight and heft that makes it seem like he'll step out of the canvas, grab Jake, and shake him.

Jake's heart starts to race as he stares.

There are bones littering the ground around the thin, wasted boy, not bleached but sort of yellowed, marked with little notches as if cut with a knife. There might still be bits of skin attached to some of them, a hint of muscle. The detail makes Jake sick, but his panic, that comes from something else entirely. Just behind the panicked boy there is a body, as if just fallen, the eyes still open in the final terrified throes of death. The body's fingers are still dug into the dirt floor as if the dead man had been trying to pull himself somewhere, to escape.

A skull watches with eerie cheer from one corner of the painting, a few teeth missing and knocked out from its garish grin.

Barely visible, a thin wash of grayish-white, there is a pale, gnarled hand near the bottom reaching out from the background as if to grab the boy's ankle and drag him into the darkness.

Count Ugolino's Last Son, oils, 1932, reads the little plaque beside the painting. Its faint brassy shine glints in the carefully calibrated light. Edward Tooley, 1907 - 1936.

Jake swallows, but the lump in his throat doesn't budge, and he swallows again. And again. He can't take his eyes off the boy's painted hair, a dirtied copper, strawberry-blond badly in need of a wash. The wide green eyes with their terror writ large and clear, painted with lovingly perfect detail.

The boy in the painting is the perfect identical twin of the vampire who is still staring at the sculpture on the other side of the room. The fear in his face is so expertly done as to seem more photographic than painted in oil. The blood that drips to the ground follows his anatomy with absolute perfection. The bones are not bleached by they so often are in paintings, no, these...

These...

Jake holds his phone up and takes a photo, and then another of the little plaque.

"Chris." His voice cracks and Jake clears his throat. His heart is still pounding. "Chris, come look at this."

"Yes, Jake," Chris answers, sounding a little faint, and then he seems to simply appear at Jake's elbow, the teenage boy who has seen two world wars and a half-dozen smaller, stupider ones.

He goes still at Jake's side when he looks up. Jake looks over, just slightly, glancing sidelong to see a look of something like... wistfulness on the vampire boy's face.

"Tooley," He breathes. His hand goes up, and out, and he would have touched the canvas if Jake hadn't reached out and grabbed on to stop him. Chris jumps a little and turns to meet Jake's gaze. His eyes are pink-tinged in the whites, as if he's holding back tears. "Is, is, is he famous?"

"I guess. He's... he's here, isn't he?"

"He always wanted to, um, to to to to be famous." Chris's eyes move over the details, but it's not with surprise, it's with easy familiarity. He's seen this painting before.

He's been this painting before.

"That's you, isn't it?" Jake asks in a hushed voice. "Like, that was really you."

Chris looks away again, a faint flush in his cheeks. He's full enough of blood for it to happen, and you'd never know he isn't alive if you didn't already. "Yes," He whispers, and wipes at the corner of his eye with one hand. "That, that, that's me."

"Were you his model?" Jake blinks, looking back over the painted twin of the vampire beside him. The fear in the boy's face, woven in with a kind of awful resignation. It's all so perfectly rendered.

"Yes. Sort, um. Sort of. He, he, he kept me in a room." Chris exhales, slowly, and his eyes shift over to the paper with the little bit of biographical information on it. Edward Tooley's early works focused on landscapes or retreads of common historical subjects, only to find greater excellence and focus when he began to paint, again and again, the same figure - a representation of the darkness of the human soul - he stated appeared to him and demanded to be portrayed... art historians believe Tooley was driven by the demons of the Great War that had taken his family from him one by one to seek out uncomfortable subjects that force viewers to see the damage humans do to one another...

Chris's nose wrinkles as he reads, his lips moving slightly with the words as he takes them in. "I never did that. Never, um, wanted to be painted. Also, um this, um. He was... wasn't... he wasn't... wasn't like the paper says."

Jake looks over, reads it himself. Gregarious, sociable, popular with the libertine art crowd... he frowns. "What part is wrong?"

"This." Chris points, this at least he can safely make contact with, and presses the pad of his finger under a sentence that reads took inspiration from the ugly side of the city hidden under its shining lights. "He, he, he he didn't care about anyone in the city. He thought everyone who, who who who who-who wasn't him was, um, was stupid."

"What did he care about?" Jake imagines telling his professor that instead of an essay, he's going to bring in a vampire who literally knew one of the artists in person. How she might react.

Probably call the cops and report an unsecured vampire loose on the streets. But maybe she'd listen to what Chris had to say first.

"Blood," Chris says, softly. His voice is getting lower and lower, until it's barely more than a whisper. "Pain. Fear. Being... being the the the the last person who, who saw someone. He, he, he, he liked to lay them out and paint them, liked me to, to, to... arrange them for him."

Jake's eyes go unwillingly back to the dead body behind the scared boy in the painting. The grasping fingers, the open eyes that look sightless, lifeless, at nothing at all. When he looks, he can see - more suggestion than made clear - that the body's throat is torn open, as if by an animal's teeth.

Now, only now that he's looking for it, does he realize there is the slightest hint of red tears on the cheeks of the painted boy, a sheen of pink on his teeth where he begs for mercy from the grasping singular hand coming out of the dark.

His stomach flips again. "Chris, are you saying-"

"His, his, his name was Ben." Chris nods at the dead body in the painting. "I asked. Before..." He gestures, a little vaguely. "That."

Jake feels a sudden, wild urge to look up missing persons cases from New York City in 1932. See if there's anyone named Ben on there. He knows without having to do so that there definitely will be.

"What happened to him... after?"

"I don't know. I, I, I was never let out when Tooley was gone. I... wonder how, how, how many of me there are." Chris looks up at the echo of his own face, his head tilting again. His lips tremble, just a little, and then part to show the hint of white teeth wet with pinkish saliva. "On walls, in houses, in... in places like, um. Like this. How many there are... is, is, is, is that what I still look like?"

Jake clears his throat again, looks down at his feet. This feels, suddenly, like he's walked in on someone looking down at his own dead body in a funeral home. Interrupting a moment so immensely private it shouldn't even exist.

"Yeah," he says, a little gruffly. "Yeah, that's it. More or less. Except I hope I scare you less than that. Also you wear a lot more clothes with us."

Chris laughs - it's a huff of sound, barely-there. Then he turns away from himself. "We, we, we can't see ourselves, in mirrors," He says, and he's got the little plastic bat back in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the carved silicone. "But I have mirrors everywhere. On these walls."

He goes suddenly terribly still. He isn't breathing.

He doesn't have to, but the realization that he isn't even pretending is a jolt of awareness of exactly how dead Chris is. He leaves the exhibit, and Jake is left to scramble after him, struggling to catch up to someone he should be able to easily outrun.

He breaks into a flat run when they get outside the double-doors, jumps the steps three at a time with grace, and runs across the grass and towards the stand of trees halfway across the park. Even Jake, who works out four days a week, is breathing hard and has a hitch in his rib by the time he catches up.

He finds Chris curled up under a tree in the evening dark, the stars starting to twinkle overhead as the sun finally allows them a clear night sky to shine in.

Jake drops to his knees, ignoring the damp that seeps into his jeans from soil that still hasn't dried since yesterday's rains, and he leans over, putting a warm hand to either side of the vampire's face.

Chris looks up, his eyes glinting like a cat's briefly in the dark, and there are trails down his cheeks, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl that is anything but angry.

No, this is grief.

This is loss.

Jake knows the feeling.

"Talk to me," Jake says softly. "Tell me what it was like, what it's been like for you. Tell me about the life you've lived before I knew you."

"It, it, it hurt," Chris whispers, and his own hands cover Jake's. They're the same temperature as the air around them, and Jake shivers a little. It's almost a chill. "Every time. I, I, I try not to kill, Jake, I try so hard, but but but he would keep me so hungry and I couldn't-... stop..."

Jake thinks about the robbers Chris killed - for him, to save him from them - and how he'd locked himself in the closet afterward. Had he cried like this, over taking lives even when in defense?

"The museum thing said this guy Tooley died in 1936. He was only, what, twenty-nine? Did... did you-"

"Yes." Chris's voice is thick but it's not quite with regret. "I was hungry. He, he he he he didn't bring food. I was so hungry... then I was, um, was alone for a while... then, then, then, then then then I was taken for, for, for the, um, the trade, for my v-venom, and..."

"Got it. I got it, Chris. It's okay," Jake says, softly. "It's going to be okay. You're with us, now. And we'll never, ever make you hurt someone that way. We'll never make you go hungry. We'll never hurt you or use you."

Chris ducks his head, rocking forward until it knocks into Jake's shoulder, and Jake slides his arms around the vampire's shoulders, listening to his soft, muffled sobs, wondering how red his shirt will be stained by the time the vampire's tears have been cried out.

The same mouth that tore out the throat of a dead body that lays in a painting on the wall is so close to his neck it would take less than an inch for him to bite down. Even without fangs, he could lock his jaw and break the skin.

The same dangerous monster that has killed likely dozens to stay alive, the same stalking predator that has been the last sight of far too many, cries in his arms. Just a teenage boy who has been lonely, and terrified, and hurt for too long.

A teenager... and a monster that hunts prey after dark. Jake tightens his arms around Chris, holds him tighter.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter how long he's been alive, not really.

He's just Chris.

That matters more.

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

#whump #vampire whump #vampire whumpee #blood tw #recovering whumpee #caretaker and whumpee #nonhuman whumpee #immortal whumpee #vampire #vampirism #vampire fiction #horror fiction #original fiction #whump writing #chris the strawberry blond romantic #vampire chris au #past torture

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harrysweasleys · 3 years

Text

caught in the act // f.w

summary: how do you feel about writing a request for professor!fred and professor!reader bantering like cRaZy at hogwarts a few years after graduation and things just ~happen~ between them both? like maybe they try to one up each other all the time or they just dislike one another OR they're secretly dating but try to hide it from the students but the students know anyway? i don't even care what it is, i just desperately need professor fred k love u BYE

warnings: flirty and steamy, mentions of food

word count: 3.7k

a/n: OK so this idea was stemmed from a very long chat between me, @ickle-ronniekins and @wand3ringr0s3 and it has finally been brought to life! this was so much fun to write and i really hope you all enjoy :) [i do not give consent for my work to be reposted on any platform.]

———————————————————————

The familiar echo of the Hogwarts bell never failed to make you jump out of your skin. Especially when you were currently eyeing a class full of students in eerie silence, broken only by the occasional drop of a quill. Their practice exam required lack of noise to the point where you swore you could hear the movements of your ribs as you inhaled and exhaled.

The ringing sound echoed throughout the class for a short moment, the students in front of you all placing their quills down and forming a line towards your desk, their parchment in hand and some of their faces rather sullen. It was only a practice exam, but the real deal was coming up in a few weeks and revisions were taking up a majority of their free time. You couldn’t tell if their expressions were from the work they just did or from the lack of sleep.

You remembered your exam days at Hogwarts. Long, dreary nights in the common room by the fire until the sun came up, your eyes burning out of your scalp from reading scribbles and notes all night long. Those really were the days, weren’t they?

“I don’t think I did so well, Professor,” one of your students, a fourth year Hufflepuff, said with a defeated tone to his voice, “I couldn’t remember the proper spell.”

You had found it rather odd that for a Charms class, the students had to do a written practice exam. It wasn’t your decision — but you surely questioned it.

“It’s alright, Edwards,” you grinned back, “It’s not the final thing. This will only prepare you for the one you take in two weeks. Remember, that one is a performance exam. If you’ve got your wand movements down, you’ll be all set.”

The boy nodded, no trace of a smile on his face as he turned away and trudged out of the class, his overly heavy backpack hanging off of his shoulder.

A frown formed on your lips as the next student walked towards your desk, a confident smile on her face as she handed you her exam paper, “Have a good day, Professor!”

You were about to wish her a good day in return, but a figure by the door caught your attention instead.

Fred Weasley — or, rather, known to his students as Professor Weasley — stood with his hands in his pockets, his button up shirt tucked tightly into his slacks. His hair was short, standing up and looking soft as ever.

He shot you a quick wink, causing you to shake your head with a small laugh before you returned to collecting exams. You couldn’t give away that you were, indeed, dating a fellow professor. You were sure, due to the countless times you’ve popped in and out of each other’s classes, that some of them were suspicious. But you could hardly think about that too much without getting paranoid.

Your students filed out of the classroom one by one, each of them excited to finally be on lunch break. You could hear a few of them mutter a quick ‘good afternoon, Professor Weasley’ as they passed by him in the doorway, none of them striking any sort of conversation, much to your pleasure.

“And what can I help you with?” you grinned, standing up from your chair and placing a clip around the stack of papers, sitting them down in the corner of your desk so you could remember to take them with you and look at them in your office later in the evening. You much preferred to do your grading and marking at night — you felt much more ‘in the zone,’ so to speak.

He walked over to you, hands still in his pockets, “What? Can’t pay my girl a visit during breaks?”

You scoffed, taking out a large stack of paper from your desk drawer and preparing for the class of sixth years you had after your break. Fred was inching closer to you with each passing second, taking strides with his long legs as if time was running out and he was trying to get to you as soon as possible without running. You stifled a laugh at his movements.

“Considering no one knows I’m your girl, I’d say no,” you replied, giving him a small smirk, “We don’t want to get caught like last time do we?”

You mentally cringed, thinking back to when fellow professor Neville Longbottom caught you and Fred at the Hogwarts staff Christmas party, your bodies nearly flushed to each other and his head dipping down to whisper in your ear. That might not be a giveaway, but considering the nature of Fred’s words and the way your eyes grew wide as you gave him a slap across the chest, it was a bit of a statement. Neville had asked you that night if anything was going on between you two, to which you replied ‘it’s late, I need to leave.’

“Well, it would be a shame for the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher to be dating the Charms teacher,” he said, a fake grimace on his face, “You’re only the most brilliant person in this entire school. I would be so ashamed if people knew. The highest held Professor, me, dating you, the lowly Charms teacher — a tragedy, really.”

“Oh, excuse me,” you placed a hand over your chest, stepping closer to him and leaning against the edge of your desk, “A shame, you say? I’ll have you know people much prefer my class to yours, anyways. Actually, just this morning, a group of Hufflepuffs told me they liked me best.”

The corner of his lip curved up into a smirk, leaning closer and wrapping his arms around your waist, his hips leaning against yours. You felt his hands slide lower down your back, giving your bottom a quick squeeze.

“Hands off, Freddie,” you poked him in the chest, “This relationship has now become a competition.”

He pursed his lips, “Well, can the academic competition start tomorrow after we perform the, to kindly put it, physical competition in my room tonight.”

You slid away from him, shaking your head, “You are unbelievable.”

“Well, believe it, love,” even though you weren’t facing him, you could hear the smirk in his voice, “This is all yours.”

“Uh, Professor Y/L/N?”

You spun on the spot, colour draining completely from your face. You heard Fred let out an awkward cough, facing the doorway where someone now stood. One of the students from your previous class was standing awkwardly, books in her arms and a confused look on her face.

“Oh, hello, Miss Myers,” you sighed, running a hand down your face, “Professor Weasley, do you mind giving us a moment?” Your cheeks felt like they were on fire, and the temperature in the room was now a million degrees warmer than it previously was.

Fred grumbled a quick ‘of course,’ and made his way out of the room, turning to give you a wide-eyed expression before closing the door behind him. You let out a deep sigh, falling back into your chair, tossing your hair over your shoulder and looking over at your student.

“Did I interrupt something?” she asked, clearly fighting a grin.

You waved your hand, “No! No,” you tried your best to act nonchalant, letting your student take a seat in front of you, “So, what can I help you with?”

She began expressing her worries for the upcoming exam, all the while you tried giving her the best tips and advice on how to study her charms carefully and safely. You couldn’t count the number of times students had tried their spells outside of the class and had something go horribly wrong. No one wanted to deal with that again.

Though, you kept wondering what she meant by ‘interrupting something.’

You knew that she didn’t mean it in an accusatory manner — you weren’t all cozied up to Fred when she walked in. She couldn’t have seen anything, could she? Even if she did, who would she tell? Headmistress McGonagall was well aware of your relationship with Fred. But she was the only one who knew. You didn’t want to even think about the rumours that would spread if word broke out about your — to put it scandalously — affair.

You honestly weren’t sure what was holding you back from just announcing it. If McGonagall approved, what’s the worst that could happen?

“Thanks for the help, Professor,” Miss Myers’ voice cut your internal rambling short, causing you to shake your head.

“No problem, my door is always open,” you grinned, motioning your hand in the direction of the door. She gave you a bright grin and picked up her backpack, turning to give you a little wave before making her way out of the classroom, once again, the door shutting closed behind her.

A loud groan left your lips before you dropped your head, letting your forehead smack loudly against the hardwood surface.

———————————————————————

The next two weeks felt like a whirlwind. Not only was the end of term approaching as rapidly as ever, but because your fifth years were rushing towards you every hour of the day to prepare for their OWLs, you were feeling rather happy that you only had a few days left before you were out of here. A lot of them seemed to get the hang of their Charms abilities, but many of them still seemed to be a little off. You couldn’t blame them — fifth year was rough — but you really wanted them all to be successful and to pass. Many of your students wanted to go on and be Aurors. A passing Charms mark was kind of a necessity.

“So you’re alright with overlooking the exam?” the Headmistress asked, her pointy hat standing tall on her head as her emerald robes flowed loosely behind her, the two of you walking towards the Great Hall, “You won’t be alone, but I just wanted to double check.”

You grinned, “Of course, it would be my pleasure.”

The walk to the Hall wasn’t long, but you were feeling suddenly anxious. You had poured your heart and soul into the teaching that you had done this year — you only hoped it paid off enough. You didn’t want to disappoint or let your students down. This was the most important exam yet.

The Charms exam was tomorrow at noon, so you weren’t sure why your wand was in a knot just yet, but the anxious bubbles in your stomach hadn’t calmed down over the last few days, to be totally honest.

You walked into the silent Hall, no students present yet, and came to a halt as you spotted the redheaded man standing all the way on the other side.

“Oh, so you’re my ever so lovely companion this afternoon?” he grinned, standing up off of his chair and placing the stack of papers down on the table in front of him, his sweater clinging rightfully to his body and causing you to scan your eyes up and down his figure. He had a pen sticking out from behind his ear and you could see the pleased expression cross his face, even from the other side of the room.

“I suspect you two will behave,” McGonagall said from next to you, her eyes twinkling with some sort of amusement as she gazed between the two of you, eyebrows raised.

“When do I not behave, Minerva?” Fred asked cockily, shoving his hands into his pockets — which suddenly seemed to be a signature move for him. You weren’t really sure where it came from, but you weren’t complaining. It gave him some sort of authoritarian vibe, which was one of the many reasons you felt as if today might be a tough day.

Leaving you and Fred alone, McGonagall left the hall with a quick shake of her head, her little heels clacking loudly. You rolled your eyes, walking over to stand next to him. Even as you walked up the few stairs to the platform, Fred’s height towered over you and caused you to crane your neck up to look him in the eyes.

“Well, well, well,” he grinned, his hands finding their way to your lower back, sliding down so that they rested in the bum pockets of your jeans.

“Fred!” you squeaked, giving him a light slap across the bicep before pulling away, “We’ve almost been caught twice. Third time is definitely not the charm, here.”

He let out a low chuckle, his chest vibrating and his eyes crinkling in the corners. You loved the sight of him in a good mood, your heart doing a little flip in your chest as he ran a hand through his hair.

You couldn’t help yourself, leaning up onto your tip toes and pressing a light kiss to his lips, pulling away ever-so-quickly, reaching up and pulling the pen out from behind his ear in the process, putting it down on the little desk next to the chair he was previously seated in.

“Ha! Gotcha,” you grinned, using your index finger to tap his nose lightly.

“Oh, okay,” he nodded, hands immediately finding their way around your waist, “That’s not fair, love.”

His lips quickly found their way down to yours, warm and inviting as always. No matter how many times you kissed him, you never got tired of it. You still got the same amount of tingles and butterflies as you did the first time he kissed you. And that’s not something you ever imagined would change.

“Fred,” you mumbled against his lips, a low groan leaving his throat as you tried your best to wiggle out of his grasp. You could hear the voices of students down the corridor— they were bound to enter the Great Hall any second now. This was not the position you wanted them to see you two in.

“Fine, fine,” he mumbled, pulling away and rolling his eyes. His lips were red and his cheeks were slightly flushed, but he looked as dashing as ever. It was hard for him not to look like this, actually. Something in Fred Weasley’s blood just made him irresistible. You often felt like cursing him out, honestly.

Seconds later, the large door opened and the room was no longer silent. Fred shot you a quick wink, sending your heart into a fluttering frenzy, before you turned to face the oncoming group.

“Good morning!” you announced with a somehow steady voice, “Everyone find your seat so we can begin!”

It took a few minutes, but eventually the group each found their assigned desks and sat down, taking out their quills and parchment.

“You have two hours,” Fred clapped his hands together, echoing loudly throughout the room, “And the two of us will be here if you have any questions. The lovely Professor Y/L/N has volunteered to keep me company, probably because she finds me irresistible—” you rolled your eyes, “—but we’ll both answer any questions you have.”

You looked to the ground, hair falling into your face as you bit your tongue, holding back any snarky remarks towards your idiotic boyfriend. He really wasn’t helping the whole ‘lowkey’ aspect to your relationship.

“Does anyone have any questions before we start?” he asked, lifting his left arm to check the watch on his wrist. You finally peered back up, gazing over at the large clock that was sitting behind you. You immediately regretted not bringing a cup of tea or a snack, but the two hours were bound to fly by. This wasn’t your first time overlooking an exam period, and each time you’ve done this before, it’s never felt like it was dragging on.

“Good luck everyone!” you called out with a smile, clapping your hands together. They all began scribbling away as you finished your sentence, the scratching sound being the only noise you could hear as any previous chatter had now completely ceased.

You walked slowly over to Fred, your hands crossed over your chest as you raised an eyebrow, “Really smooth, you know? Nearly gave us away, you did.”

He shrugged, giving you a lopsided grin, “Oh, come on. Pretty sure half this lot know we’re together anyways. They may be younger, but they’re not completely dim-witted.”

Scoffing and turning your back to the group to face him better, you tried your best to give Fred a serious glare, “None of them are dim-witted, Fred. I’m just saying it would be nice to avoid the drama that comes with public teacher relationships.”

You took a step back as he took one towards you, trying your best to maintain some sort of professional distance. The students might be busy with their work, but that didn’t mean they were blind to the two Professors standing watch at the front of the room.

“I gotta admit, love,” he nodded his head, lowering his voice and leaning in, “the sneaking around has been rather fun.”

His voice sent shivers down your body, goosebumps rising on your skin. You forgot how to breathe for a second, quickly trying your best to regain your composure so the students didn’t see you looking like a fish out of water.

You let out a low cough, clearing your throat and nodding, “It has, hasn’t it?”

The grin on his face was practically contagious, causing the corners of your own lips to turn up before lifting a hand to toss your hair out of your face. You gazed up at him, running your tongue over your bottom lip before pulling it between your teeth, shooting him a wink in the process.

You could see the way his eyes were drawn to your every move, looking at your lips as if in some sort of trance. It caused a little sense of pride to blossom in your chest, to be honest. Fred was often the one who had you locked in a permanent dreamy state. It wasn’t everyday that you had the upper hand.

“Not bloody fair,” he tossed his head back, “Y’know how badly that makes me want to kiss you.”

You smirked, giving him a quick shrug of your shoulders and turning away, swaying your hips as you walked over to the chair that was a few feet away, sitting down comfortably and giving him another wink. You could tell his gaze was on your hips as you walked away — the darker tone in his eyes now locked on you.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

———————————————————————

“You’re a real piece of work, y’know?” he groaned in your ear, leaning over you as you organized the pile of recently collected exams, making sure that Fred’s proximity wasn’t a distraction. You weren’t being overly successful at that last part, though. You could smell his cologne and the warmth of his skin as he stood mere inches away, knowing damn well that he was causing you to stutter in your work.

You had been teasing Fred the entire exam period, sending him winks and lingering looks, even being bold enough to run your hand through his hair at one point, making sure to rake your nails lightly down the nape of his neck, enough to cause his body to erupt in goosebumps. He gave you a stern look after that, letting you know that he was now completely and utterly under your charm.

“Am I? Well, this is a competition, if you remember correctly. I think I won.” you spun around, leaning against the desk, a teasing look on your face.

“Oh, you definitely won,” his hands slid around your waist, delicately but firmly. He had a way with body language that was unmatched, you had to admit.

Taking a step closer to you and pulling your body closer to his, he dipped his head and began to pepper your jaw with light kisses.

“Fred,” you giggled, weakly attempting to push him away, “Not right now.”

He groaned against your neck, his lips continuing to press kisses along your skin. It was rendering your mind nearly completely blank, but you tried your best to stay focused, to make sure that you guys wouldn’t get caught and ruin the secrecy aspect to your hidden romance. Plus, you really didn’t want McGonagall to catch you in such a scandalous position.

“Honestly, do you have no self control?” you asked, successfully pushing him away. You missed the warmth of his body pressed against yours, but you had a feeling you’d be getting a lot of that tonight so you weren’t too upset about it. He’d more than make up for it in a few hours.

“Not around you, love,” he grinned, running a hand through his hair. You wished you were the one doing it instead, but once again, you had a feeling you’d be doing that quite a bit tonight, so you figured you’d wait until you could do it with no worries of anyone cutting in. He loved the feeling of your hands running through his hair, delicately giving little tugs every now and then.

You let out a laugh, shaking your head as you picked up the pile of finished exams, “You’re too much.”

Fred followed closely after you as you made your way towards the exit of the Hall, his hands empty but he kept them to himself this time, “But you love me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

———————————————————————

After having been empty this afternoon, the Great Hall was now bustling with life. The four house tables were filled with students and food, echoes of distant and nearby conversations reverberating around the crowded room. It wasn’t a sight one could get used to. Yes, you had spent seven years of your youth here, and a few years as a Professor now, but the atmosphere of this room would never quite sink in.

Professor Neville Longbottom, who was currently seated next to you, was rambling on about a mishap that happened in his class that day — something about a first year Gryffindor knocking over eight potted plants — and you nodded along and laughed as he made jokes.

“Can you believe it?” he asked, eyes wide as he munched on a potato, “He thought Mandrakes and Mimbulus Mimbletonia were the same thing!”

You let out an amused snort, “Kind of hard to think that,” you took a sip of your goblet of wine, “But I guess some people don’t have the magical knack for plants that you do.” You nudged him in the side with a smile.

He grinned at the compliment, the tips of his ears turning a deep shade of red. Neville was two years below you while in school, but his knowledge of plants and nature was way beyond you.

The conversation fell to a lull and Neville became invested in chatting with the person to his other side. You didn’t pay much attention to who it was, as your eyes were now trained to the other end of the table, where the usual seat of Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor was occupied by your boyfriend.

His eyes were already looking in your direction, causing a heat to surge through your body. A lazy smile was on his lips, and he clearly wasn’t paying attention to the elderly Professor Slughorn seated to his right.

“I love you,” you could read his lips, his eyes bright as they stayed locked on yours. His smile was genuine and loving, quite opposite to the teasing one he usually gave you, and it left your stomach feeling rather fluttery.

You bit your lower lip, fighting a grin, before moving your lips in return, “I love you more.”

———————————————————————

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lucifers-horror-harem · 3 years

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Can I request headcanons for a poly relationship with Brahms and Vincent Sinclair?

Oh my gODDDDD ANON UR MIND!!! Legit I went OFF with this headcanon post and honesty I’m obsessed with this pairing now. I might even write a smutty one shot regarding this but like fuckkkkkk I hope y’all enjoy this cause i had SO MUCH FUN writing it!

Brahms/Vincent/Reader Poly:

Since Brahms and Vincent are two killers that are based in a specific location and would probably never leave their homes, here are a few specific headcanons for each killer in the other’s home.

Vincent in the Heelshire Manor wouldn't affect him too greatly, other than the nagging feeling of being homesick. Though if he has you by his side, it makes the ache less harsh. For the most part as long as Vincent has a room he can call his workshop he really won't mind. And because the Heelshire mansion is so huge there would be more than enough room for such.

Brahms would be very against having Vincent in the walls, feeling threatened by his presence, but once he is more used to the three of you being together he might not mind it as much. Actually, Vincent enjoys Brahms' space. He finds the room quite relaxing, though a bit too cramped for his liking.

Ultimately, both are fine as long as they are given their privacy to work and relax on their own time.

Brahms in Ambrose would cause the most upheaval. He would glue himself to your side, following you wherever you went as you were the only comfort he had in this strange place. Brahms isn't used to not only being out of the walls but essentially having a whole town to himself to explore. It would be a lot at first, but with yours and Vincent's gentle urging, Brahms would slowly embrace this new change.

He would love the tunnels under Ambrose, allowing him to move to different places in town without needing to walk down the street just in case there were visitors in town. He prefers to slip in and out of places largely unnoticed so less attention is brought to him.

While he does not actively participate in the slaying of visitors in Ambrose for the wax collection, he has been known to attack anyone he deems a threat to you or the Sinclairs. This is his home now and anything that is a threat to that home must be dealt with accordingly (and brutally). Vincent often complains that Brahms ruins the bodies, but understands that Brahms can't control himself when he reaches that point.

Speaking of the other Sinclair brothers, Bo unsurprisingly hates Brahms. When Brahms first arrived, he was very shy and nervous around Bo, actively afraid of the loud and easily angered brother. Once he realized that Bo was no threat to him, he actively enjoyed "playing" with him. Bo hates it when he uses his childlike voice, but Brahms continues to do it anyways to put Bo on edge. Brahms might also use his stealthy abilities to purposefully scare Bo, appearing out of nowhere and giving him a heart attack and running off before Bo can retaliate. Bo would never admit it openly but Brahms intimidates him simply from his stature and the inability to read him.

Lester was intimidated by Brahms when he first arrived, the man much taller and more muscular than he was. But when Brahms learned about the road kill Lester collects and disposes of, he simply asked if he could take care of the rats as well. Lester did, and the two have no issues with each other, though Lester still feels a slight unease when around the other man.

Now, for the personality dynamics of the boys.

Brahms and Vincent get along much better than one might initially suspect. The two are utterly territorial men, often with you in the middle of their affections, however they eventually grow to understand each other and how it would be easier to protect you if they were both there. You’re the common denominator that keeps them from fighting each other, and the fact that you dispense love equally between them is an important factor.

The two will eventually grow to respect each other as well, with Brahms eventually being comforted by Vincent's company if you are unavailable. He will often sit quietly with Jonesy as he watches Vincent work on his sculptures, very rarely interrupting him. Vincent isn't bothered by this presence, and is often comforted if either you, Brahms, or the both of you are in the room with him doing whatever as he sculpts.

Vincent grows fond of Brahms, feeling protective of him when he becomes distressed and overwhelmed. Growing up with Bo, he has learned how to help diffuse highly volatile situations. Even if he can't speak very well, his gentle reassurances help while he deescalates Brahms’ tantrums. A plus for you, really.

As the two of them both wear masks to hide their faces, they might reveal themselves sooner rather than later simply because they're in the presence of another person that truly understands what their going through, as well as someone who loves them unconditionally (you, of course). Expect them to take of their masks one night while the three of you are together, the two of them slowly revealing themselves to each other and you. Brahms’ burn scars, and Vincent's scars each on one side of their face, cause them to be moved when they first see each other. They'll have their masks off around you more often after that.

Now,,, the somft dating headcanons,,,

Brahms and Vincent are both touch starved individuals so just expect to be giving lots of love to these boys. Just you cuddling with them makes them melt, and if they see you giving attention to one you know the other will grow jealous until you give them some love as well. Brahms is much more clingy than Vincent however, and you'll have to be a bit more firm with him about your space even if he ignores it most of the time. Vincent is a lot more shy so when you give him hugs and kisses he is more likely to freeze up instead of latch onto you like Brahms the Leech Boy would.

Both spoil you as much as humanly possible, mostly with love and physical affection though they have their own little ways of treating you. Vincent makes you small wax sculptures all the time, enjoying the smile on your face as you look the figure over with adoration. Brahms gets a bit annoyed over this, as he doesn't have much of an artistic hand. But Vincent is happy to give him some wax and either let him mess around with it or teach him some techniques to properly use it. Brahms is so proud once he is able to make you something small, probably a bowl, and he absolutely melts when you squeal in delight at his thoughtful gift. Vincent can't help but feel happy himself too.

Lots of snuggle piles with the three of you, often with you in the middle. While they don't tend to have a favorite position as long as they get to hold you, they do have a few regular positions. When you read out loud to them, Vincent tends to sit behind you, your back up against his chest, as Brahms is tangled amongst both of your legs as he rests his head on your lap, his arms draped around your middle. Vincent holds the book open for you so both of your hands are free to pet and play with Brahms’ hair, which he thoroughly enjoys. Sometimes Vincent and Brahms will swap places, or one of them will rest their head against your chest as you act as the big spoon. Also expect many blankets and pillows to further complete your nest as well.

Luckily for Bo, Brahms’ need for structure in the form of the daily chore list will keep you busy cleaning up the living space and making enough food to feed all the men you were caring for now. If Bo has been particularly good, Brahms might tag along with you to the gas station to deliver him lunch after you bring Vincent his. Vincent is usually busy with his art so you give him a kiss on top of his head and leave his food on his work bench, knowing he will get to it once he is hungry. Bo won't dare to lash out too much when he is being fed, especially not when Brahms stands behind you like an imposing bodyguard whenever Bo is nearby.

Date nights with the two of them are rather unconventional. Most of the time whenever the three of you are together it is considered a date whether or not it is super romantic. Just coexisting in the same space is often enough for the three of you. Vincent is happy enough to show you and Brahms around Ambrose, obviously knowing the best places to relax and get away from the stress the town can bring. He knows exactly where you can see the best sunrises and sunsets too. And Brahms is more than happy to tag along, though if he was in his manor than he would probably have a hard time leaving even with the two of you by his side.

Expect lots of quiet nights reading, softly talking amongst yourselves, watching old vhs tapes found around town on the small TV, and listening to music. Sometimes Jonesy will keep you all company and get lots of snuggles and belly rubs as well.

Now onto the headcanons you filthy animals were waiting for. You know. The naughty stuff ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Being the needy man he is, Brahms is probably the first to initiate sexual touching. He is certainly not shy about his desire for you, not even being embarrassed about growing hard around you. Vincent, on the other hand, is too ashamed to initiate contact in the beginning, even if he feels the same way. Most likely he will let Brahms take the lead with you first, enjoying the act of watching you both. You can't get enough of the sight of Vincent sitting in his chair, hand squeezed tightly around his member as he edges himself while watching Brahms grab and explore your body. And with Brahms’ jealous streak he doesn't mind having you first either.

Slowly, Vincent will find his way into bed with the two of you, probably at your urging. If Brahms is feeling particularly generous, he might be the one to say something. "They’re so soft Vinny, you have to touch them." With some gentle persuasion, Vincent will touch you the way Brahms touches you, making your toes curl and your breath hitch. Brahms watches eagerly, touching you as well and grabbing your hand and holding it over his cock as you pump him until his seed spills over you.

Vincent isn't shy about body worship once he realizes how much you want him. He will kiss and caress every inch of you, pulling out all sorts of noises that you never thought were possible. Brahms looks on in awe, his mouth often following behind Vincent's as he mimics the actions, much to your delight.

Brahms has a hard time holding himself back around you while Vincent can take an entire night with you, so together they tend to even out. They'll go until you're too exhausted, but usually Brahms will finish first, leaving Vincent all the time in the world with you. That is, until Brahms’ gets hard again and finds his way back into the fray.

They are both comfortable being switches, not minding if they are on top but if you want to top they will gladly let you spoil them. They both love being ridden, holding you in their arms as you bounce on their cock, until you leave them a shaking mess beneath you. They also enjoy receiving oral from you, and you tend to include both of them in the activity. Sometimes you will jerk the two of them off with your hands, give oral to one and use your hand on the other, or on at least one occasion, have attempted to at the very least lick both of them at the same time.

As the three of you grow more open and experienced with each other's bodies, you can expect to try taking them both on at least a few occasions. Sometimes one of them will be performing oral or fucking you as you take the other in your mouth. If you happen to be AFAB, expect double penetration to be attempted at least once, though Brahms is a bit too impatient to go through the whole ordeal so it isn't an activity you often engage in.

Now, Brahms and Vincent both grew up in very strict and sheltered homes, so the thought of being naked in the same room as another man, or sharing the same person with another man in the same bed might cause them trepidation in the beginning of your sexual relationship. Eventually, however, they grow to love each other as much as they love you, though they might show it to each other in a different way. While they might not initiate sex with each other if you aren't around, they will slowly begin to experiment with you in the bedroom. Touching you turns into touching each other as well, and they find that while each other's touch is much different than yours, they enjoy this new feeling.

In fact, they might have been known to, on occasion, jerk each other off if their needs grow too intense and you aren’t around to provide for them. When you caught them, they were facing each other, pumping each other’s member as Brahms buried his face into Vincent's shoulder. Initially they were wildly embarrassed and thought you would be mad, but you assured them you weren't, your words of encouragement helping them finish.

Time for kinks!

They both share voyeurism kink, and while Brahms can be a bit annoyed and bratty if he has to sit on the sidelines, both are content to watch the other have their way with you, getting off on just watching. Hell, both of them spy on you on the regular, watching you get dressed or shower before you either notice them in the doorway or they allow themselves in.

If Vincent is able to get a hold of a camera you know he will be taking pictures of you constantly, with or without you knowing. While it partially adds to his voyeur kink, he enjoys being able to take artistic nudes of you, as well as less artistic ones where you are simply being wrecked by one or the both of them.

Wax play is a big kink of Vincent's as he enjoys watching your expression as he tips the candle over your skin and watches how the hot wax makes you jolt for a moment before it begins to solidify on your skin. Brahms, however, is not a fan, simply because he finds it tedious as well as being unable to enjoy it himself. Putting hot wax on a hairy man is not a fun time.

They both enjoy bondage, though Brahms doesn't really know how to properly execute it until meeting Vincent. All three of you have been tied up at one point or another, allowing the other two access to their body. Vincent enjoys the more eloquent knots and ties, creating intricate designs on both you and Brahms. Brahms is a good candidate for being tied up as he gets worked up so easily and this is one of the few ways to help him take his time. The ties that you and Brahms execute on Vincent aren't as beautiful but they do the trick, and he often has a hard time edging himself with the two of you giving him attention.

Any kinks that you have are eagerly accepted by Vincent and Brahms, as they are always happy to bend over backwards to satiate your needs. Even if it is a little embarrassing, they're willing to try anything at least once with you.

Ultimately, the open communication and understanding between the three of you help immensely when it comes to taking care of each other's needs. You would all drop everything to satisfy your partners, and they would do the same for you.

#slasher x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #vincent x brahms x reader #vincent sinclair #brahms heelshire #house of wax #the boy 2016

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damn-stark · 3 years

Text

To new friends

Chapter 6 of Different Light

A/N- So I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but I am going to have some events from the books in this series, just to add more angst and more fun. So if you read parts that don’t show up in the movie, it’s becaue it’s either what I wrote, or something that happened in the books 👍🏽 hope you guys like the chapter and don’t be afraid to leave your thoughts!

Warning- Angst, SLOWBURN.

Pairing- Harry Potter x Malfoy!reader, Fred Weasley x Malfoy!reader

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

As the blissful daze of the Yule ball night passed, the last few free days passed swiftly, taking the memory of Fred’s kiss on your lips with it. Leaving nothing behind but the mental memory of such a delightful moment.

Albeit it was also a moment that wasn’t talked about any day after, classes started again and days would get busier for both Fred and you. Of course you didn’t want to force him into talking about it, you wanted the topic to come out, just effortlessly. Fred treated you kinder; that’s something you noticed, he was way more touchy than before. Usually before when you would sit next to each other, there was no contact whatsoever—sure your arms, or thighs brushed against each other’s, but that was it.

Now when Fred sat next to you in the great hall, or really anywhere else, he would place his hand on top of yours, or hook his pinky fingers with yours; sometimes he would place his arm on top the seat you were sitting on, but that was about it. Fred didn’t try and repeat what happened that night, or try and gloat about it. He simply just didn’t talk about it.

Which led you to think; what did he intend with that kiss?

You want to ask him, but then again you fear the answer he could give.

It’s not like you could ask George. One, because he was Fred’s twin brother and two, you didn’t want to put George in that position. It’d be better if he wasn’t in the middle, things would just flow much easier that way.

You still wanted help, but from who? Narcissa? You could specifically leave Fred’s name out and just ask for advice, but as you further thought about it, asking your mother wasn’t the best option; yet.

That left you with the lingering question of, who then?

“Y/N.”

At the sound of the small, sweet voice calling to you, you’re thrown from your train of thought and left to look over your shoulder and notice, Hermione Granger, striding towards you. At first you don’t know what to do, you’re actually utterly confused on what to do and why she has called you. But realization hits you as she finally falls by your side and offers you a small sweet smile—you had helped her that night of the Yule ball. She said words you’d never forget.

Regardless you didn’t really think you helping her that night was enough for her to reach out to you now. Maybe just simple “hellos” when you passed by the halls, but you didn’t think she’d actually call your name and hurry to reach you. That gesture was still so unfamiliar and new to you.

You smile and greet her however, regardless of how your thoughts churn. “Hello.”

“I saw you pass just now and thought it’d be nice to walk with you to Arithmancy.” Hermione explained kindly. “Is that alright with you?”

Of course!

You smile shyly and nod. “Yeah that's alright.” You feel your cheeks burn and a need to just walk in silence, but you also were desperate to make friends who weren’t just Fred and George—“I never got the chance to ask, did you enjoy the Yule ball? Before everything went down I mean.”

Hermione smiles wider and nods. “Yes it was absolutely great. I had a lot of fun. What about you? Fred mentioned he was going with you, how was that?”

“Oh well,” you smile shyly at the memory of that night. “It was amazing, Fred was a good partner.”

A new thought then invades your mind—you could ask her for help. Even ask her if she heard anything Fred mentioned of that night. After all they were part of the same house. She’s got to know a thing or two, right?

“Do—”

“Fred said you were a great partner too,” Hermione mentions as if she has read your mind. “He said he enjoyed that night with you.”

At the sound of her comment, you feel your cheeks burn increasingly hotter. You’re left stunned for a moment, left giddy and speechless, left trying to collect your thoughts and like you could explode from the inside—you had heard him say he enjoyed that night, but hearing that he had said that to other people just made it seem even more special. The knowledge of what he said made you smile wider. It made you want to know more.“Did he say anything else?” You turn your head to look at her and you see her shake her head.

“No, I’m sorry. He and his friends moved away before I could hear more.”

You hum softly and assure her. “It’s okay, thank you for telling me what he said though.”

Hermione just smiles as response before she changes the subject, not giving you the chance to ask for her help in your still troubled dilema. “What are you reading?”

You look down to the Daily Prophet in your hand and shrug. With all your running thoughts, you didn’t have time to read what you had in your hand. “I don’t know, I haven’t had time to read what,” you lift the newspaper and scoff, “Rita Skeeter wrote it, probably just rubbish anyway.”

Just as you’re about to shove it in between your books, Hermione stops you before snatching the paper from your hand. “Wait, what does this evil witch have to say now.”

Out of new grown curiosity, you look over her shoulder as she begins to read the paper outloud; “DUMBLEDORE'S GIANT MISTAKE

Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. In September of this year, he hired Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, the notoriously jinx-happy ex-Auror, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, a decision that caused many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody's well-known habit of attacking anybody who makes a sudden movement in his presence. Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly when set beside the part-human Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures.

Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since, a job secured for him by Dumbledore. Last year, however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher, over the heads of many better-qualified candidates.

An alarmingly large and ferocious-looking man, Hagrid has been using his newfound authority to terrify the students in his care with a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons that many admit to being "very frightening."

'I was attacked by a hippogriff, and my friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off a flobberworm," says Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year student. "We all hate Hagrid, but we're just too scared to say anything—”

Your eyes widen at the sound of your brother's name and anything else read after that just tunes out. The news of Hagrid being a half giant doesn’t even bug you, or register in your mind as someone dangerous (because he wasn’t). All you focused on was what lies your, weasel of a little brother had to say. It makes your furious, feel steam come out of your ears and feel your fists shake. The news on the paper even makes Hermione upset; albeit her reasons differed from yours.

Clearly—“how-how did she find out!” Before you could give your opinion, Hermione quietly seemed to ramble to herself, only raising her voice at specific points. “Maybe she heard him telling Madame Maxine at the ball—but no, they would have seen her, she’s not even...” her voice goes quiet again and you’re left looking at her bewildered and still taken back yourself. As well as intrigued by what she had to say. Surprised by her suddenly asking you a probing question. “Did you see Rita Skeeter that day of the ball?”

You blink out of surprise, but manage to shake your head. “No, I didn’t. But maybe she was hiding in some bushes, like an odd-ball.”

Hermione bites her lip and shrugs before giving an opinion herself. “Maybe she has some type of invisibility cloak?”

You shrug, “maybe. I mean to get such a scoop on people, she’s got to have something up her sleeve.”

Hermione's eyes narrow and she seems to go into deep thinking before she comes up with a suggestion that surprised you even more. “We should try and figure it out. You’re smart, I’m sure if we got together, we’d figure it out.”

You scoff lightheartedly and stop before entering your intended class. “Why the need to get the scoop on her?”

“Because,” Hermione blurted passionately, “it’s not the first time she’s done something like this. Mysteriously getting news on people. She’s wicked and needs to be stopped.”

You smirk at her fiery spirit and can’t help but give in without much need of further convincing. “Alright, I’ll help. It sounds like fun.”

——

The day of the second game came and you couldn’t be dreading this one more. It was too cold and what was the point of having an audience? The players were going to be underwater and if they somehow have a way for you and the rest of the students to look in the depths of the lake without having to go in along with the players, then what was the point?

You were just going to unnecessarily freeze to basically watch players dive.

“ANY BETS! ANY BETS!”

“PLACE YOUR BETS!” George and Fred shouted in a booming voice to the passing students.

Yet with all you’re complaining, here you were, still teamed up with the twins trying to take bets from students.

“THREE LADS!”

“ONE LADY!”

“FOUR ARE GOING DOWN!”

You would’ve joined into their tactics, but you didn’t feel like screaming, so instead you held onto the box for them, watching them as you moved up and the students moved down towards the boats. Stopping only when their sister shoved past them and stopped to remark their rude persuading screams. “Don’t be so mean.”

The twins and you looked back to Ginny and you couldn’t help but agree, but the twins on the other hand turned back around and continued screaming to try and convince others to place bets. Stopping only minutes before the last boat could leave the dock.

“Finally,” you groan as you close the box and shove it in George’s hands. “I thought we’d never finish.”

Fred scoffs, “come on, you’ve got to admit that doing this makes the games more fun.”

“Hardly.” You retort as you shove your hands in your jackets pockets, “freezing to watch water is something I would hardly call fun.”

“You’re in luck then.” George assures you, “the game should be an hour long.”

You groan one last time before you reach the boats, looking to Fred as he pointed for you to get on first. “Ladies first.” He smirks before he follows after you, waiting lastly for George to go on before the person driving the boat began its short trip to the already packed and rowdy stands.

Luckily not having to wait too long for the game to start and beginning to watch with much more anticipation and stress than you intended after you watched Harry clumsily fall into the lake. While Draco, who was two people away from you laughed and pointed at Harry’s clumsy fall, causing you to shoot him a side glare. One he didn’t catch, but you meant with a burning dedication. He only shut up when Harry shot up after his worrying fall into the water, causing an uproar from the students rooting for his win. Albeit seconds after he splashed in, everyone, including yourself were filled with stomach twisting anticipation for anyone’s resurface from the water with their special lost thing.

You were also left with waiting, and endless waiting, growing colder as time ticked.

“Cold?” Fred asked you.

You looked to him and shivered slightly at the feeling of the bitter wind hitting your face. “what do you think?”

A half, smug smile tugged on his lips and he shrugs. “No, I don’t think you are.”

“Then there's your answer.” You cross your arms over your chest and look out to the lake, feeling your shoulders jump slightly moments later when Fred wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him.

“Better?”

You feel your cheeks burn and your heart skip a beat. It’s hard to think of what to say at the flustered feeling you got at the interaction, but you somehow manage to respond. Albeit stammering and sounding like you were terrified. “Y-yes, much better.”

You didn’t see but Fred grinned at your response. Choosing to stay quiet for the remainder of the game until the first contestant surfaced from the water; Cedric Diggory and Cho—you clapped, but didn’t feel much excitement like others did. Instead you felt as if your stomach twisted tighter knowing that the game was close to over and Harry hadn’t surfaced yet.

Krum and...Hermione surfaced and you clapped excitedly for her, but you were still left with the increasing worrying, glancing repeatedly at the time and waiting as others did. Hearing whispers and the excitement for the game dwindled the more time passed and Harry showed no sign.

The worry now surrounding the crowd was replaced by short relief when Ron and a little girl surfaced, but that was short lived since Harry’s presence was lacking. It made you part from Fred’s side and grip onto the railing to look down into the water to watch and wait—and yes he was just a boy you hardly knew, hardly talked to and just thought of as cute and nice, a bit clumsy and dorky, but...you couldn’t help but worry and—

Before you could get deeper into your thoughts, Harry Potter shot up from the water and finally relieved the worry and stress that had grown increasingly higher those past few minutes. Making you push yourself off the railing to finally clap and cheer, turning to celebrate the win with the twins for a brief moment before you’re interrupted by Dumbledore's booming voice. “Attention! The winner is Mr. Diggory!”

The crowd for Cedric erupted with claps and cheering for him and his win. All them were forced to quiet down though as Dumbledore continued. “Who showed the need to command of the bubble head charm. However seeing as Mr.Potter would have finished first, should it not been for his determination to rescue not only Mr. Weasley, but the others as well, we’ve agreed to award him second place! For outstanding moral fiber!”

Again the crowd erupted into a roaring cheering, causing the twins to five each other and you in a form to celebrate. Ignoring as Draco, bitterly stormed off after the announcement of his rival's achievement. While the three didn’t waste a second for the twins and you to push through the crowd to walk down to where Harry, and the other contestants and the people they saved were.

The twins rushed first, greeting Harry with loud congratulating cheers and a tight hug that they backed from after feeling Harry all wet; letting them turn to their brother and in their own foolish way, worry over his well-being. Letting you be face to face with Harry and instantly feel a hotter heat crawl onto your face before and while you found the words to talk to him.

“That was amazing Harry! You did great!” You grinned, stepping into wrap your arms around him, but stopping as you took in his soaked figure.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “I wouldn’t, I’m soaked.” A timid and wobbly smile tugged on his lips and he continued. “Thank you though, y/n.”

You offer him another warm smile and last lingering stare before you rip your eyes away and turn your attention to Herimone next to him.

——

“Right on, all that moral fiber, eh?” George teased Harry as he walked onto the deck.

“That’s great.” Fred chuckled.

You smirk and tag along with the teasing. “All that moral fiber.”

“Blimey, even if you go wrong it turns out right.” Ron voiced with a slight smile.

“Well done, moral fiber.” Fred teased before lightly pushing Harry and then walking off with his brothers, Hermione and you, leaving Harry behind.

You wanted to look back, but before you could Fred’s hand on your arm interrupted your attempts before you could accomplish them. “So, y/n, I was thinking,” he began to say in a soft voice that was rare for him to speak in and off putting for you to hear. “How about we go to Hogsmeade together?”

You blink and begin to fall behind from the group, parting your lips to speak, but coming out with nothing but a breath of air. Proceeding to instead gently rub your arm nervously and letting your eyes flicker from the ground to Fred before managing to speak just as nervously. “Like George, you and I?”

Fred chuckles and shakes his head. “No you goof, just you and I.”

Your cheeks burn again and you giggle and whisper, “oh,” before smiling warmly and nodding. “Sure I like the sound of that, when?”

Fred shrugged, trying to hide his cocky smile. “I’ll let you know, alright?”

You nod, “okay.” Before you both catch up to the group you had been with, picking up your pace smoothly, so you could catch up with a grinning Hermione that already knew by the smile on Fred and your faces what had gone on.

In that moment letting a thought begin to unroll in the back of your mind. Not one having to do with Fred, nor George or Harry. But about Hermione. Odd thing especially after getting asked out by Fred, but it was a thought that just grew; even if Hermione and you had just started talking and a friendship was beginning to develop. It still felt refreshing, assuring and exciting that you had someone else as a friend. Someone who could relate to you in other ways Fred, or George couldn’t. You felt happy that you were beginning to be her friend, that she viewed you like hers and not like the other girls would in Durmstrang. She viewed you like a friend now. She viewed you differently.

——

“HARRY POTTER IN A BURNING LOVE TRIANGLE

A boy like no other, perhaps - yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would suffer through a trouble bigger than any he has faced, choosing who to love and who to leave behind broken hearted.

In the recent events of the Triwizard tournament, Harry has been spotted in the arms of new transfer student to Hogwarts, Y/N Malfoy. At first it had seemed that it was nothing but platonic, but their affectionate embrace and caring and lovable words told us otherwise. Yet as loving as they are, Harry is still caught in the middle between Herimone Granger, who is not innocent as she portrays to be.

Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys' affections. Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has "never felt this way about any other girl."

However, it might not be Miss Granger's doubtful natural charms that have captured these unfortunate boys' interest.

"She's really ugly," says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, "but she'd be well up to making a Love Potion, she's quite brainy. I think that's how she's doing it."

Love Potions are, of course, banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potters well-wishers must hope that he opens his eyes and sets his heart upon his Slytherin lover.

No. No. No. This can’t be happening. No. Your father...your mother….your father. He’s going to kill you before disowning you. No. This isn’t what you wanted. Even if it was false information when it came to your part of the paper, it was still going to get to your parents before you had the chance to explain. You’ve done good to hide the truth of your friendships from them when Draco snitches, but this...this can ruin everything and take you back to Durmstrang.

“If that’s the best Rita can do, she’s losing her touch,” Herimone says, beginning to giggle and causing you to snap your head from the paper to look at her with a perplexed, widened gaze. “What a pile of old rubbish.” She proceeds to take the paper from your hands and throws the paper into an empty chair. The action leaving you shocked and speechless—wasn’t she worried to?

On how Rita Skeeter found out about the obvious private conversation that went on between her and Krum? Why wasn’t she worried like you?

“Why-why are you so calm?” You manage to ask with your perplexed and widened gaze.

Hermione looks over to a group of Slytherins to see if they’d be upset by the article. Hermione gave them a sarcastic smile and a wave, and turned back to pretend to focus on the parchment in front of the both of you to finally talk without giving your question an answer. “There’s something funny though, how could Rita Skeeter have known?” Her face went red and she pressed her quil to her chin. “How did she know Viktor asked me to visit him in the summer?”

You shrug and push your worry aside for now, “maybe someone’s her spy?”

Herimone shakes her head, “no, couldn’t be, he pulled me away from the judges after we got our blankets and we were in a spot surrounded by his friends. They’d never do anything to Viktor.” Her face grew increasingly more red and her eyebrows furrowed deeper as she mindlessly pressed her quil on the parchment now. “But how could Rita have heard. She wasn’t there...or was she? Maybe she’s got an invisibility cloak?”

“Perhaps,” you muse along with her, “but there were too many people on that platform, someone would have bumped into her and found her out.” You tap your fingers on the tabletop as you begin to brainstorm a possibility, muttering to Hermione as you did so. “What exactly happened after Krum and you got out of the water?”

Herimone began to explain every exact detail of the events after Krum got her out of the water. Every single detail from climbing onto the platform, to mentioning that Krum flicked a beetle off her wet hair and lastly the moment you had finally come along.

“Hmm,” you rest your elbow on the table and rest your head on your hand as you continue to think and throw out ideas that came to your mind. “Well there wasn’t much room for her to hide at all. She couldn’t be under the water, and it’s doubtful she used polyjuice.”

“You’re right.” Hermione agrees.

At a incoming thought you begin to snicker, “maybe she temporarily transformed into your towel.”

Suddenly Hermione shoots up and her eyes gleam with what seems to be excitement. She steps towards you and manages to pull you off your chair to hold your hands in hers and basically shout out. “I’ve got it!”

“Hermione Granger and Miss Malfoy, please be quiet unless you both want detention!” The professor scolds you, making Herimone quietly apologize before she pulls you back to your seat and continues quietly. Disregarding the warning you both had just gotten.

“She couldn’t have turned into a towel, or risked using polyjuice, but she could have transformed into something else. Something smaller and easy to blend in and be disregarded by any person.”

You blink in astonishment by her quick thinking and fast investigating skills. You don’t say anything, just listen completely mesmerized.

“Rita Skeeter was the beetle in my hair,” Herimone whispers in a loud excited whisper, “of course I thought nothing of it before because it was just a bug, but now it all makes sense; how she can catch all the scoop and hide without without being seen. She’s an animagus.”

You smirk and squeeze in your own thoughts. “Probably an unregistered one too, or else Dumblrdore would have taken extra precautions to keep her off the castle grounds.”

“Yes!” Hermione exclaims with a joyful and yet mischievous grin, “she kept her secret well until now. I’m going to make sure that she doesn’t have another chance to spread any more cruel, dishonest stories.”

“What do you mean?” You gasp with a deeply puzzled and slightly fearful face.

“I’m going to make sure she doesn’t write any more stories from here until the tournament ends. I’m going to catch Rita.” She explains in a loud whisper once again with a dangerous mischievous look still painted in her eyes. “Do you want to catch her with me?”

“I,” you pause to think before you have the chance to abruptly answer. Beginning to go over the fact in your head, that Rita didn’t also make a lie about Hermione, but one about you. One that could cost you heavily. And the days before Herimone asked about helping her, you were down to pair up with Hermione because you didn’t want to lose a friend. Now you were doing it because, well you didn’t want to lose a friend and two, you had motivation of your own.

A smirk creeps onto your face and you meet Herimone’s gaze to share that same dangerous mischievous gaze. “I’m going to catch Rita with you.”

Even if you knew you were still going to get hell from your parents….especially your father.

Tagged- @peter-laufeyson , @swiftlymoniquesblog , @spideyyypeter , @gsvshsjsbs, @accio-prozac , @cherriesanwine , @kokomaesadie , @april-14-blog , @prettypinkpeachh , @pest-ill-ence , @ilovespideyyy

#Harry Potter #harry potter and the goblet of fire #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x malfoy!reader #fred weasley x malfoy!reader #fred weasley fanfiction #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagines #different light #Draco #Herimone granger #Malfoy!reader #angst #SLOWBURN

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a-lil-perspective · 3 years

Text

Nepenthe

Your chest fills with a soft gasp. You uncurl your sleep-infused joints, shifting on your back within the bed. Full, tranquil breaths usher you along. You flicker your gaze over to the chrono. Your lashes bat away a lingering bleariness as you acclimate to your obsidian-colored surroundings. You become acutely aware of a calloused hand nestled in your hairline, a thumb now smoothing away the furrow manifested between your brows.

In the pitch black, you feel his eyes cast heavily over you.

“Can’t sleep?” Your voice is still weak with slumber. You reach out a drowsy hand, intuitively finding his jawline and cradling it. There’s a pause, and then you feel his features rearrange with a smirk underneath your fingertips.

“Distracted by something beautiful is more like it.”

“At this hour?” You hum. “Must be a real work of art.”

“Mhm,” his hand slides down from your hair, tapping your nose on the way before ghosting over your now slightly part lips. “You certainly are.”

Something like a giggle escapes you, and you drape the back of your free hand across your face to hide the silly blush he can’t even see in the shadows inking the midnight room. His warm breaths grow closer, peppering across your skin. You gather yourself, hollowing your cheeks. “Well don’t stay awake on my account. You should rest.”

“Trust me...” his knuckles stroke along your cheekbone with a tenderness that nearly makes your heart give out. “It’s a good reason to be awake.”

“But not the only reason.” You scale his words footnoted by affection, bypassing directly to the underlying meaning while he proceeds to mouth your neck in lieu of an explanation.

“You had a nightmare,” you whisper after a moment, stifling a shiver and gliding your fingers through his hair unbound from its usual crimson accessory.

He shakes his head, forcing a reassuring smile. “They don’t visit me when I’m with you.”

“Lies,” you accuse gently, eyes softening as you unravel his plight. Your hand wanders from his jaw to the nape of his neck, in which you collect your evidence in the form of a cold and clingy sheen of sweat that’s clearly been settled for some time. You listen to his deep, burdened inhale that manifests from your discovery. If you squint hard enough you can make out his broad chest swelling with the intake. You mentally count the seconds his breath is held in stasis, and the heady silence that flanks. Four. And then his exhale billows heavily and he’s pressing his forehead to yours in defeat.

Your heart aches for him. You part the dark curtain of hair spilling over the both of you and imprint a sweet kiss to the corner of his lip. “It’s alright, Hunter; I’m here.”

He makes a pained sound against you.

“Was it the boys?”

His silence speaks for itself, waxing the anguish.

“Wake me next time.” It’s a useless plea, you know. You can never remove a soldier from the battlefield, nor stop the tape of death that rolls infinitely behind his closed lids.

From his glued position, he manages a fervent shake of his head. “Seeing you sleep peacefully... it’s soothing to me.”

You frown, fingers threading through his saturated scalp. You peel away from his face and crunch upward into a sitting position.

“I’ll be right back,” you murmur, loving lips tacking against his earlobe as you gently detangle. Hunter’s grip tightens in protest.

“I promise; right back,” you plant a chaste kiss to his cheek and roll out of his hold and off the bed, dashing to the refresher. The faucet shoots on, and you’re back seconds later with a wrung cloth monitored thoughtfully; not too hot or cold. You’ve long learned the extent of Hunter’s restlessness that flourishes in the wake of direct heat, and similarly, an unanticipated chill proves catastrophic to his sensitized nerves and he shoots into overload in no time flat. You, ever the attentive companion, fortunately discovered the most ideal temperatures to coat items before application.

You gingerly drape the rag over the back of his neck, and his shoulders slope at the contact. He nods his thanks and you take up your spot beside him on the edge of the bed.

His head remains cast downward, eyes presumably skimming the dark floor where he no doubt is attempting to shrug off all his troubles onto. You rub between his shoulder blades.

“Do you want to call them?” You ask.

He takes a shaky breath. “I think... that might help. Yes.”

You twist your body around, flopping ridiculously across the bed to reach the nightstand you could’ve just gotten up and walked around to. You fumble briefly for the comm seated there before straightening back up and activating a sequence. The light on the device blinks silently in working to establish a connection. A tremor burgeons from the mattress, a byproduct of Hunter’s bouncing knee. You still his disquiet with a reassuring squeeze. A voice finally crackles to life on the other end.

“Hello?” The greeting is interrupted by a seismic yawn.

“Hey Wrecker,” you greet gently. “Sorry to wake you.”

“Oh, hiya!” Sleep quickly disbands from the large man upon recognition of your voice as he inflates with something more peppy. “What’s up?”

“Oh you know, checking in,” you pause, glancing over at Hunter. “Sarge and I just wanted to say hi.”

“Hey vod!” Wrecker addresses his brother then. “Everything good?”

“Everything’s fine, Wrecker,” Hunter does his best to withhold the weariness lacing his words. “Just wanted to hear your voice. You can go back to sleep now, bud.”

Wrecker hums contemplatively. “Y’sure that’s all? Ain’t sounded like ya slept a wink.”

“I‘ll get there, don’t worry about me.”

“Need a good Wrecker cuddle?”

An unfiltered chuckle sounds through Hunter, and you relish the closest thing to at ease he’s sounded all night. “Maybe later, Wreck. But I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Ohhhh,” Wrecker drawls cheekily, his wicked grin palpable as he recalls that Sarge is already occupied with a warm body. “Well ‘f ya change your mind lemme know! Nighty night you two.”

“Goodnight, Wrecker.” You can’t help your own splitting grin.

Hunter snorts softly as the comm ends. “Feels like I’ve been caught in something scandalous.”

“Yeah, but he’s loyal,” you snicker, contacting the next member.

“Present.” It comes as no surprise that the engineer’s voice rings through with an unnerving level of chipper. Absolutely preposterous, this man. “Where am I needed?”

“In bed,” Hunter grumbles. “Get to sleep, Tech.”

“And yet you are the one who called me,” Tech glides right over the explicit command, the sound of his trinketing flooding the background. “Anyway, I look forward to showing you my newest creation—”

“Goodnight, Tech,” you sever his impending presentation with a snort. “Thanks for picking up. Puts Hunter’s mind at ease. He’s restless tonight.”

“Ah, yes. We will need to work on his subpar development regarding healthy sleep patterns.”

Hunter’s face twists with a frown that doesn’t hold that much weight. “If that ain’t the pot callin’ the kettle black.”

“Indeed. I just thought you might enjoy the humor in that.”

Hunter flashes a smirk he figures his younger brother is probably matching. “You know yours is my favorite, vod’ika.”

“That is good to hear.” A pause. “Goodnight, Hunter. Should you still find yourself restless in the coming hours, I’m happy to assist with my ‘useless trivia’ that inevitably puts you to sleep.”

“By that point you should find yourself asleep,” the ori’vod points out.

“Very well,” Tech relents. “I shall, for you.”

Hunter just shakes his head, unconvinced he won’t discover a sleepy genius slumped over the nearest workbench here within the next few hours.

Another round of brotherly charges are exchanged and then you’re left with one last call to make.

The last member acknowledges in a far less amiable manner.

“Crosshair.” You innately grow solemn with it. “Got a second?”

“Don’t really have a choice now,” he responds curtly, a lingering husk of sleep in his voice.

“Sorry Cross,” Hunter interjects. “My doing. Just wanted to check in on you boys.”

“At two in the morning.”

Hunter manages a wry smile. “Can’t say hi to my vode whenever?”

There’s silence on Crosshair’s end for a moment.

“What’s going on.” He’s returned bearing more sage.

You feel Hunter straighten beside you. “Nothin’, vod. Don’t worry about it.”

“That doesn’t work on me, Hunter. Try again.”

“I’m fine,” Hunter said rushingly. “Promise. Just gets a little stuffy in my head sometimes. But you boys always make it better, y’know?”

Crosshair quiets. “Get some rest. I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Thanks vod. Appreciate it.”

You imagine Crosshair’s eyes searing into you through the comm as his attention shifts. “Keep me updated.”

“I will,” you assure. The connection ends. You eye Hunter, grazing your fingernails along the side of his head, tucking inky strands behind his ear. “Did that help at all?”

Hunter huffs a tired laugh. “Think it just made it worse. Now none of ‘em will sleep because of me.”

“They’ll be just fine,” you begin guiding him back under the covers. “Now to make sure you are.” He resists you for the briefest of moments.

“I am fine, honey.”

“You will be,” you agree, lying back. Hunter soon follows and sprawls out over top of you, wriggling until he’s positioned ideally with his head on your chest yet within proximity of your neck to plaster kisses with ease when the mood strikes.

Hunter makes a little choked sound, and you realize he’s clearing his throat. “Thank you... for doing that for me.”

You flatten his head to your chest with something fiercely protective. “I would do anything for you.”

“Which, by and large, is entirely unnecessary.”

He earns himself a long-suffering sigh at that.

“It is necessary. Because you are my everything.”

“I—”

“Shh,” you rebuke him. “Dammit, Hunter—just let someone take care of you.” You chew your lip. “Let me.”

He inhales deeply through his nose. It is entirely plausible for Sergeant Hunter to be bested in a battle-of-the-wills on the rarest of occasions; this being one of them. You spread your hands across his back and begin a deliberating massage. He groans lightly, his neglected aches and pains woven into the limelight by your touch. You quickly get caught up in your administration. When your breath suddenly hitches, Hunter lifts his head in curiosity.

“I’m just… you...” Words feel thick on your tongue. “You are a remarkable man, you know that?”

The corded muscles of his back tense. Anyone else would bask in such awestruck reverence but not Hunter, who makes haste to override his obvious discomfort with a thoughtful hum.

“I know that’s what you believe,” he answers neutrally.

“Because it’s true.” You reposition the wicking cloth at his neck. “Your brothers and I... we would all be lost without you.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

A pinch to his bicep. “Maybe you’re too hard on yourself.” Too damn stubborn, you nearly add.

His demeanor is colored with remiss. “All in a Sergeant’s work.”

One-hundred percent success rates and elite statuses aside: Hunter carries his tediously bashful disposition in total part.

“You don’t have to be Sergeant around me, you know,” you cup his face, tilting him up to meet yours. “You can just be Hunter.”

He can just be himself.

He shrugs with that pained, dutiful smile. The smile that follows him into adversity, the wry humor that is as much his shield as any. “Guess I don’t know how to separate the two.”

Your eyes well all of a sudden as you gaze upon this beautiful and troubled man with so much love in your heart it sends a keeling pang through you. Of course he doesn’t know how. He’s never known how to truly feel distinguished outside the focal point of soldiering. He’s always been so different, but never an individual. Never his own man. Preordained for responsibilities since before his decant, conducive in parental devices and sibling undertakings and leadership skills interchangeably. Always carrying others but who carries him?

You choke on a verklempt breath.

“I can help you.” You sound so small and desperate, sobbing quietly underneath him as your heart breaks alongside his. “Please let me help you…”

In the dark he captures your salty, stray tear with his lips—he always knows—before moving down and swallowing your mouth. Tenderness blooms from his textured lips, soft and sultry and seeping into every capillary. A soft love note pings from you against him when he’s got you like this, cast in a smelter of dire adoration and the overwhelming need to nurture. His touch, his kiss, is a burning ember that brands you even when he pulls away.

“You already do,” he murmurs sweetly against your lips.

#omg this ruined me #I’m so freaking emotional over him #this is entirely self indulgent #star wars #the bad batch #clone force 99 #sergeant hunter x reader #hunter x reader #sergeant hunter #hunter #clone trooper wrecker #wrecker #clone trooper tech #tech #clone trooper crosshair #crosshair #my writing #it’s a lil thing

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hydrangeasimagination · 3 years

Text

Chocolate Kisses

Homemade chocolates!! They're traditionally used in Japan as a means of confession or conveyance of your feelings.

The recipient then gets the chance to return the favor of the gift on White Day!

Usually, the reader is giving the chocolate but this time around, some characters are more keen on letting their feelings known… These are some unexpected and completely self indulgent pieces.

These are literally just a series of drabbles... Probably a little rushed and varying in length.

Credit to my friend for helping me with the chocolate idea.

=3=

Gender Neutral! Reader

These’ll be under the cut for space.

Happy Belated Valentine’s Day!

~ Dari

Aizawa Shouta / Eraserhead + Younger Nurse Reader

“Aizawa - senpai!”

The man’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest, instead setting at a rapid pace that raced against his ribs. Rattling him in his entirety from the inside.

He really wasn’t good at this.

Seeing you wrapped up in a cozy sweater and white coat isn’t good for his health even if you were there to improve said health. Especially on a day like this, where pink and red hearts decorate it along the lapels and sleeve cuffs. Making you all the more adorable.

Not to mention your call to the honorific that reflected the dynamic between you both.

Shouta nodded at you, gaze impassive, despite the turmoil lying just under the surface. He spoke your surname in a mumble, muffled from hiding behind his capture weapon.

His last line of defense to hide his face, of which he cursed for its sensitivity to blushing.

Your smile is brilliant, blinding as you bounce, “Yamada - senpai told me you had something for me?”

The chocolates he made were burning a hole in his pocket as he then proceeded to promise himself that he’d gut Yamada if it was the last thing he did. He is unable to muster a word for another minute or two, slightly shaking hand holding his creation to you.

Wrapping scattered with clusters of stars, tied messily in gray string.

“I made them for you.” The words are awkward, even he cringed at how they sounded.

But nonetheless, you smile.

You blush.

You’re touching his hand.

... It looked as if gutting Mic could be put on hold... For now.

Bakugo Katsuki + Elder Reader

Lifting your head, yawning softly and peer at the perpetrator interrupting your nap.

"Oh." You blink and give a lax smile, "Hey."

"Don't 'hey' me." Katsuki snipped fiercely though the sight of your lidded gaze caused his cheeks to burn. "Were you just sleeping here? I told you to meet me during break! I had to come looking for you."

"Mmm," The soft grunt was coupled with you rubbing one of your eyes with a fist "you coulda asked Toshi where I was."

"Who?"

You deadpanned.

"Shinsou Hitoshi? My baby brother? C'mon, you're in the same year."

He seemed to huff at that, narrowing rubies upon you to try and hide his embarrassment from forgetting who you were speaking about. "Useless senpai."

You balk before just letting your expression fall back to one of neutrality. It was too much of a hassle to get angry, he was just trying to get you to react.

"Were you ever taught to respect your elders?" The light scolding barely had any heart in it, even as you lift yourself from the warm desk. "... You needed me for something right?"

The sun silhouetted you, tousled appearance just endearing the sleepy expression you don. Peering at him in wait for what he'd come to find you for.

Katsuki twitched, fingers twitching from their place - stuffed deep in his pockets. His chin tilted down, avoiding the curious gaze now pinning his suddenly heavy body in place. The tips of his ears burned under the scrutiny, shoulders tensed while he ripped one of his hands from his pocket.

A silence filled the room.

The boy didn't need to look at your face to find shock in it.

In his sweating palm, was something wrapped in black paper - patterned with comic explosions and tied with a green ribbon.

“Sorry.” Katsuki grit out the apology.

He meant it though, as painful was it was to bluster the words from his lips. His heart raced, his other hand trembling in anticipation.

The wait was the hardest part.

Shinsou Hitoshi + School Idol Reader

“Shin - kun, help!”

There is a light spike of panic in his gut, having watched a serious spectacle upon his entrance to school. With pretty doe eyes, you stared at him with plea for aid, a collected pile of items nearly trapping you beneath them. Arms gathered with the gifts spilling from the inside of your locker, body pinning them so they didn’t touch the ground.

The adrenaline rush was soothed as he realized there was no danger, instead replaced with a hollow, sinking feeling wavering any confidence he had.

Now here he stood, outside your classroom with a heaviness in his legs.

Staring at the chocolate he’d slaved over, a little burnt…

But enough to convey the feelings he’d had since the pair of you attended Nabu Middle. As it’d been wrapped in the very handkerchief you gave him, mopping up his bloodied nose and smiling so warm and sweet.

He cleaned it, of course.

It’s color once again a light lavender.

You told him to keep it, that it matched his hair.

Hitoshi sighed and frowned as he thought to himself, “Well, maybe next year.”

“If someone doesn’t beat you to it.”

He flinched at the nasty voice bouncing around in the back of his skull.

But he helped anyway, taking the precariously balanced boxes and letters. Obnoxiously stamped in hearts and buckets of glitter, they speckled your pristine uniform. Even after being tucked away in a bag.

“It gets worse every year.” He heard from within the room, making him lift his head. With cheekiness, the voice of a classmate teased, “You gonna break all their hearts again?”

Shinsou shifted closer to the door, peering between the gap. Watching you to shake the nightmarish arts and crafts medium from your clothes, you only stick your tongue out in response.

Huffing lowly, you turn your head and state, “I’m waiting for Hitoshi to confess, okay?”

His heart skipped.

What?

Takami Keigo / Hawks + Serious Reader

“Are you dumping a fan’s hard work off on me, Hawks?”

The slightly piercing tone of your melodic voice is enough to send a shudder down the length of his spine. A frostiness felt even through the phone - intimidating - but it wasn’t enough to keep him from smiling a little bit.

“Nah, nah,” He hummed, wings flapping in the chilly air “I’m not horrible.”

You grunt, the sound of paper crinkling made the line crackle.

He barely flinched; despite his sensitive ears ringing at the noise.

“These were handmade.”

“Yep.” Keigo agreed

Feathers ruffling, he landed, airing out the large appendages in his back. Perching on the streetlamp as he’d done many times before, staring into the glass window with an easygoing smile.

“Made ‘em myself.” He admitted, feeling the light sting along his knuckle in phantom of the burn he received.

He witnessed you fumble with the chocolate this time, scrambling to make sure it wasn’t wasted by it touching the floor. Pressing his hand to his mouth to hide a laugh, he can only feel his heart strings tangle between his ribs. Wildly spinning and wrapping his insides in an indescribable web of glee.

Your expression was so shy now, handling the wrapping with such care, “This… This was on purpose, right?”

The hero grinned, unable to stop himself.

“Why don’t you look out the window and tell me, pretty puffin.”

Todoroki Enji / Endeavor + Sidekick Reader

“Chocolate roses?”

You stared, incredulous, at the sight of them. Set in a crystal vase, woven together with a big, gold ribbon - the entire ensemble was terribly extravagant. The deliverer only giggled into the back of his hand and pressed them into your’s, leaving you staring down at them.

The scent of cocoa and macha percolating from them was lovely.

“Here’s the card!” He chirped, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Gingerly setting them on your desk, a fellow sidekick watched in amusement from her cubicle beside you as you hesitate to look at the card.

Who would have sent you these?

They were incredibly expensive, you recognize, from a high-end chocolatier shop near the Endeavor agency - where you worked.

Even the card gives you nary a clue as to who your admirer was.

“Get well soon, stay off your ankle.”

It was signed off with a single drawing of a flame.

Giving your neighbor a look, she just shrugged, signaling that she hadn’t known either. Leaving you to puzzle and puzzle over the possibilities.

Completely unaware as your companion knowingly drifted her eyes over to the lingering presence of your boss. Amused as to see his rather hasty retreat upon being caught.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes as she thought, “Todoroki, you need to learn how to be more subtle.”

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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 3 years

Text

A Piece of My Soul

Fandom: The Mentalist or rather the Marcus Pike fandom

Collection/Series: N/A

Pairing: Marcus Pike x GN! Artist Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: G

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Lots of fluff, but there’s that undercurrent of angst as the reader has been hurt before and made to feel less than important so if that’s too much right now that’s okay!

Summary: Marcus has always known that you protect your art, that it is a reflection of your soul and something you guard after being hurt one too many times. He never expects you to share your sketchbooks with him, assumes he will never have the honour and he’s okay with that because he’s happy to just have you. Until, one day, you show him just how much you trust him.

Notes: For me, I always feel like when I share my art with people they’re very meh about it or they are backhanded or even mean. I’ve not had the best experiences when sharing my sketchbooks or my work with people in my life and the idea of someone being so wholly awestruck just by the trust and openness of sharing something like that gets me. So here we go back on the Marcus Pike train because if I could ever explain what I want in a husband, he’s the man.

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Marcus had known of your love of drawing from the first date. You had been a little shy when he’d asked about your hobbies and interests, when you’d quietly and cautiously told him you liked to draw. When he asked for more detail, the mediums you used, the style you preferred, it had opened you up just a little more, his interest making you preen a little. Although still cautious, gauging his reaction to your answers. It had been like seeing a part of your soul that you kept hidden from people, it had made him simultaneously proud and angry.

Proud because you trusted him, from that first moment, to take you seriously, to listen to your interests and passions and not dismiss them. Angry because at some point, at some time, it was clear someone had dismissed you, made you feel like you weren’t worth listening to, weren’t worth investing time in. It was maddening to think that anyone could make you feel like that, like anyone couldn’t see your worth.

It was baffling because he found you captivating in all your passions and quirks. The way you ranted and rambled on for minutes, sometimes even hours, about something you were passionate about, never failed to draw him to you like a moth to the proverbial flame. The way you managed to trip over anything and everything, clumsy to a fault, was as endearing as it was concerning and he found himself eager to compensate, to pre-empt you going flying because of a step or a crack in the floor. He found the small things, not just the large things enthralling and enamouring, the concept that anyone might think different was just unfathomable.

So he worked to cultivate that trust, to show you that he was interested in you and all the things that made you up. He listened when you talked, never told you he was bored or showed a shred of disinterest. He remembered things you mentioned or were interested in, brought you books on the subject or sent you a link to an article he’d seen.

Watching the way that trust bloomed, the way you opened your heart and soul up to him in little pieces was nothing short of amazing. Still, he knew your art was precious to you, a piece of your soul. Your interests, desires, thoughts, opinions, and preferences are all laid out in pages and pages of thick white paper and red pencil marks. He never pushed it, never asked to see what you were working on or to show him your art, not because he wasn’t interested but because he respected the intimacy of it. You were not some famous painter who put their work on display for the world to see and scrutinise. You were just you, just someone who used art as a form of stress relief and self-expression, someone who guarded their work like they guarded their heart.

So the little trickles of your soul that you shared with him were enough, it didn’t matter if you showed him it all or only select pieces, anything was enough to tell him you cared, that you trusted him, that you wanted his approval. Not because you needed him to give it, not because he was that fundamental or important, but because recognition from him made you smile, made you feel important. You were important whether he liked your work or not.

He still remembers the excitement you exuded, happiness blinding and bright and so brilliant, when you’d finished a new painting and bounded to show him. You’d bundled it up safe and made the drive to his house, rushing up the steps so quick, he’d heard you trip before he heard you knock.

You’d been bouncing on the balls of your feet, painting kept within a folder, nondescript, the sort you kept your certificates in. The wide grin on your face, the shine of your teeth, and crinkles at your eyes had him smiling the moment he opened the door to you, leaning a shoulder against the door frame to watch you adoringly.

“I finished it! It only took me 20 hours but I finally finished it!” You’d rushed inside, pulling him by the arm so fast he had to laugh as he nearly tripped over his own rug. You’d been so excited and so proud as you’d sat him on his couch and carefully pulled the A4 piece of watercolour paper from the folder, plain back to him.

He’d been patient, watching you with the softest of smiles as your eyes flicked back and forth between him, sat with hands clasped between his thighs, elbows on his knees, and your painting. As you grappled with the gravity of showing him a piece of your soul and not knowing how he’d respond, how he’d behave. Patience was the least he could think to give you, and it had brought the best sort of ache to his chest when you’d shyly turned the painting around to show him.

20 hours of work and you looked away, eyes focusing on a plant he had in the corner of his living room rather than on his expression or what he might think. You’d been so nervous to show him and he’d taken the time to truly look at your painting. The colours, the composition, the subject, it didn’t ultimately matter to him whether he truly liked it or not, although he did, because he’d love it anyway. He’d love it anyway because you’d chosen to share it with him, when you were oh so private and careful with your art.

“Sweetheart…” You’d been prepared for rejection, to face the fact that your boyfriend didn’t like your painting, your art, that it was something you just shouldn’t share with him in the future. “It’s amazing! 20 hours? Can I?” He’d gestured to take it, to hold it and get a better look and you’d let him, a little stunned, but overjoyed that he liked it, that he wanted to look at it.

That had been the starting point for you sharing more little bits of your soul with him. You’d bring him finished paintings to look at, occasionally the odd doodle here or there that you completed at work. Not everything, and never your sketchbooks. Those were off limits, something he’d respected because he knew they were more than just a tiny piece of who you were, but quite a large one. Pages and pages of you sat for perusal and to have that rejected would hurt more than anything. So Marcus had been grateful for what little pieces of your art you did choose to share with him.

He’d always made it a point to show how much he liked your art, to shower you in praise and to make you feel listened to, seen, important. Your art was amazing to him. He was an art history major, he loved art, hence his job, but he wasn’t an artist. He’d never had the patience to sit and develop the skill set and so he focused on the work of others, yours was quickly becoming his favourite. You had your own unique style, something he found hard to describe or explain, but that he’d know if he saw your work. He’s almost certain he’d know if someone tried to pass a fake off as your own and if anyone asked who his favourite artist was he’d probably change his answer to you.

Still, he had hoped that one day you’d share that last bit of yourself with him. He hadn’t expected to actually happen, just a hope, a little dream, something he thought about at night before falling asleep.

Certainly not something he expects on date night.

He’s cooking dinner for the two of you, your favourite main and dessert, because he hasn’t had the chance to see you in a good week due to a hectic case, when he hears the tell tell sound of keys in the front door. He’d long since given you your own, letting you come and go as you please, with the excuse that when he was away on a case it meant you could keep an eye on the place and make sure he didn’t get robbed. In truth he liked having you around, liked that you came over just because you wanted to, that you felt welcome and at home and if he wasn’t so dead set on not scaring you off, he might have already asked you to move in. But, he wanted to take his time, not rush it.

“Marcus?”

“In the kitchen, honey!” He’s wiping down the side quickly, hiding the fact he’s a messy cook, when you walk in a heavy looking tote bag over one shoulder. It peaks his interest and from the little laugh you let out you can see it on his face.

“Are you busy?”

“No, it needs a good half hour before I have to check it again, why?” You watch him wipe his hands with a towel and brush at a small stain on his white t-shirt, the one that clings to his arms just right.

You're nervous, you know he can tell from the way your hands grip the bag straps tight over one shoulder to how you bite your bottom lip. He’s always been able to tell. One of the beautiful things about Marcus was the attention he gave to people, not just people he cared about, but people in general. He learnt everything he could about them, stored it away in his mind, and used it to show them how much he cared, how much he knew them, really knew them.

“I...I want to show you something.”

You grab him by the hand, the same way you always do whenever you want to share something, and begin pulling him towards his living room. It’s cosy in here at this time of night, warm light from a couple of lamps, soft blankets thrown over his couch, the ones he’d brought after realising how much you loved a good blanket. It’s a calming thing, to be in here, with him, somewhere you associate with home.

It often seems so silly to you, just how nervous you get about sharing something with Marcus, but you know it’s not. Know it’s not his fault either. Marcus has never given you any reason to doubt him, but other people have, so you push past the nerves because you do really want to show him and watch his face light up like it always does.

You sit him down in his seat, and curl up next to him, kicking your shoes off and placing the bag on the ground. He’s so warm and for a moment you just lean into his side, enjoying the warmth of his body and the way he nuzzles a kiss into your temple, nose tracing little lines gently for a moment. He brings you peace and it is that, that gives you resolve and has you reaching down for the items in the bag.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by you that Marcus places his hands at your waist, worried you might take a tumble off the couch, something you’re prone to. It warms you inside, that he cares so much, that he’s so casual with his affection and so concerned with you and your safety. Even something as simple as making sure he can catch you if you start to fall.

You come back up with a couple of books in hand, plastered with stickers over the front and a little dogeared at the corners. Marcus doesn’t remove his hands from your waist, just pulls you firmly back against his side and watches as you anxiously smooth your hands over the cover of one of them.

“I..I wanted to show you my sketchbooks, or well...the two most recent ones anyway. I...I don’t really show people them...but I want you to see them.” Your eyes are so wide and earnest when you look up at him, that he can’t help but cup your cheek in his hand and rub his thumb across the apple of it. God, he never thought...he never thought you would. Always thought you’d keep this little part of yourself private, separate, guarding it like a dragon guards a horde of gold. But, here you are, so earnest, so nervous, so open, telling him that you want to share this piece of your soul with him and he can’t stop himself from pressing his forehead against yours. Can’t stop himself from the gentle nudge of his nose with yours or the slow press of his lips against your own.

It’s a surprising reaction from Marcus, the way his nose presses into your cheek as he presses a firm but still tender kiss to your lips, the way his hand slides down to cup underneath your jaw, thumb pressing into the hollow there. It’s so surprising that it distracts you for more than a moment, to the point your eyelids take a little bit of time to flutter open after he breaks away, you leaning further into him.

“What...what was that for?”

“For trusting me.” He’s so warm and earnest, but still, he’s patient. He doesn’t grab for the books or open them himself, instead he waits for you to pull back and pick one up, settling it between the two of you.

He waits as you find the courage to open the cover and turn to the first page and every breath leaves him at what he finds there. It is a sketchbook and so it is messy, that’s the nature of it, it is practice and experimentation and you enjoying yourself, and it’s so clear, as each page turns, that this is you in book form.

Each page is either a confirmation of a fact he already knew about you or a new discovery. It tells him little things like how you prefer to draw certain subjects and the colours you lean towards when you reach for markers or coloured pencils. He’s reverent in the way his fingertips brush the paper and trace over the lines, in awe of the way your hands have worked in tune with your mind to put these things to paper and he can’t actually help the tears that start to well up in his eyes. Because you trust him so much, you’re opening the last part of your soul up to him with only a hope that he will not crush it or throw it back at you, that he will not abuse it.

“Baby, why are you crying?” You’re so concerned for him, hands pawing at his cheeks, brushing the rivulets away and cupping his jaw to make him look at you. Brown eyes watery but so happy, so in love and he hopes that you can see that, see how desperately he loves you. “Are you okay? Did...did I do something wrong?”

It hurts him so much to know you assume that you’re at fault. That his tears are bad or that they are a product of you doing something wrong, when they’re a result of just how much he loves you and just how happy he is at the trust and faith you have in him, the love you have for him, that you’ll bare your soul. It’s those moments that make him angry at the people before him. Family, friends, lovers, people who took your trust and crushed it, bent it out of shape and tossed it back malformed and damaged.

“Nooo, no, no, honey. Sweetheart, I'm crying cause I'm happy,” He covers your hands with his own, pulls you impossibly closer, “I’m happy because you trust me enough to show me this and I...I never thought I'd earn that.”

“Oh...well, I love you.”

“I love you too.” It’s said with a laugh, but not at you, the sort of laugh that’s just a bit of a huff of happiness, that comes from being overwhelmingly happy. It’s enough for him that you come to his house, that you share little bits of yourself with him and that you love him enough to do that at all.

While dinner cooks, you keep an eye on the time more than Marcus, he continues to flick through the pages. He comments, sweet little things. How something looks cool or how he likes the colours on a page. Each comment thrills you, fills you to the brim with pride and joy, to the point your cheeks ache from smiling. Perhaps to some people it seems understated, boring, the sort of date night that some would hate, but to the two of you it’s more than just date night. It’s a bonding experience, a sharing one. He feels impossibly lucky to look at your work, to have you there leaning on his shoulder, pressing kisses to his neck, impossibly lucky to have a piece of your soul right there in front of him.

It’s that moment that he knows; you’re it for him. He’s certain. You’re the person he’s going to grow old with, with your sketchbooks in a dedicated bookshelf and he’ll die saying his favourite artist is you.

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

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@charradelange @belfry-bat @gabile18 @beccaboo929

Marcus Pike Taglist

@bdavishiddlesbatch

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike/reader #marcus pike #the mentalist #the mentalist reader insert #readerinsert #reader insert #gender neutral reader #artist reader

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airi-p4 · 3 years

Text

Miraculous escape - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |

I wasn’t planning to post this yet, but it’s Lukadrien June and today prompt is ‘escape’ and, even if it’s only Lukadrien friendship (bc it’s Lukanette & Adrigami endgame), it fit so well that I couldn’t stop myself from posting this. Chapter 1 and the final chapter have been finished for months, but I don’t know when I’m going to continue with the rest...

This fic is based / inspired by Marilyn Monroe’s ‘Some like it hot’ film.

Thank you @alittleshycat for the header and wanted posters pic! ( I hope you’re doing well... I miss you... 🥺💙 )

Thank you @brickercupmasterx3 for proofreading! 💙

Summary:

Luka helps Adrien escape from his prison-like house and his strict father but Gabriel Agreste is not planning to let them go away easily. They become fugitives and ask Juleka for help, who offers them a very unconventional escape plan: joining a girl band/orchestra to flee the country.

Easier said than done, especially when they find something unexpected in that band: the two most beautiful women they've ever seen.

Warning: includes art

AO3

_________________________

Chapter 1: Fugitives

"My father is going to kill me."

"Your father is going to kill us."

One carrying a guitar on his back, and the other a piano keyboard case on his hand, two musicians were being chased by multiple cars around Paris. Turning corners, going up and downstairs, hiding behind trash containers and cars, the chase seemed far from an end anytime soon. Panting for air, the pair continued running after they turned the corner, just in time not to be seen- a close call. The loud sirens never seemed to stop, coming from all directions.

"I can't believe I finally escaped from home!", the young blond man exclaimed excitedly. "Thanks, Luka. I wouldn't have made it without your help. You're a real friend."

"Don't mention it, Adrien. That's what friends are for, right?", the blue haired man laughed and patted his back. "It would have been perfect if we hadn't broken half of your father's statue collection while escaping your bodyguards, though. Now he's gonna kill us for sure. We can't let them catch us!"

"We need to run away from Paris. And fast! My father is the devil itself! You don't want to know..."

"I don't!"

Jumping down a wall, and turning another corner, the two friends hid in the back of a funeral car and waited until the police sirens got further away. They had been scolded for being disrespectful with the dead, but it was worth it: they were safe- at least for now.

"We need to leave the city and find a place to stay. Knowing your father, he must have all stations, roads and airports under his control." Luka said, stopping Adrien from crossing the street to firstly check their surroundings.

"How are we going to do it? Our car became 'inoperative' during the chase and our friends and family must be monitored!"

Adrien's panic made Luka grab his shoulders to reassure him of their plans.

"No, look. They know you, but they don't know much about me. Not many people know I have a sister who lives here, in Paris."

"You do?"

"Yes. We need to make it to her apartment and then we’ll figure out how to proceed. Are you ready to run again?"

"More than ready. I'm excited!" Adrien grinned back at Luka, feeling an adrenaline rush.

"Let's go!"

__________________

When Juleka opened the door of her apartment, she wasn't expecting to meet her dumbass older brother and Adrien Agreste, the young man who had been on the news non-stop for the last two hours. She raised one eyebrow and Luka knew she was looking for a reason not to shut the door on their faces.

"Juleka! We need your help! We have to get out of the city. Could you lend us your car?"

"What the heck is wrong with you!? It's been two years and that's all you have to say? What kind of trouble are you involved in now? This flower boy has been in the news for hours! They are even offering a reward for whoever finds him! And one for you! A dead or alive one in your case! They're saying you kidnapped him! So you better have a good explanation or I'm kicking you out."

"I do, I do! Listen: remember dad? I know you were little, but do you remember what being trapped is? That's this man's, Adrien's, everyday life for you. I couldn't bear to see my friend like that anymore so I offered to help him escape" Juleka's eyebrow sank deeper towards her nose, meaning Luka knew that wasn't good news. "I had to help him get his freedom! Can you believe he has never had a burger? Or been to a drive through? He can't even drive a car! He literally crashed my car at a streetlight after mistaking the gas and brake pedals! Have some compassion and help us escape Paris. Please?" he finished, pleadingly.

Juleka's eyes moved to analyze Adrien before answering: blond rich guy, well dressed and innocent looking. The way he was trying to figure out her front door and how his green eyes curiously examined his surroundings made him look like a playful cat, and Juleka had no doubt that he was as dumb, or probably dumber, than her older brother. Which meant Jukeka wanted them out, but also that she couldn't refuse to help- otherwise they would surely not make it out alive.

"Fine. What do you need?" She resigned.

"A car or anything that takes us away from Paris! No, better! Out of the country!"

Adrien was still examining Juleka's old and untidy room when she noticed his eyes paused on a paper on the table. She knew that paper: a girl band/orchestra called "Miraculous" was looking to recruit experienced musicians to perform around Italy for three weeks. Suddenly, she knew what to do.

"Join that girl band, the one in the pamphlet", Juleka suggested, pointing at said paper.

"What? A girl band? We're men, Jules! We can't join a girl band!"

"Luka is right!" Adrien quickly agreed.

"No, it can be done. I'm good with makeup and I'm tall enough for my clothes to fit Adrien. We can use some of Mom's clothes for you. ‘Old style’. Oh, and I have some wigs too.” Juleka continued. "Can this blondie play any instrument?"

"Well, yes. He's a pianist," Luka answered.

"Perfect! I'll find a way for you to cover for the pianist and the guitarist of the band: Chloe and Lila. Nobody likes them anyway, and the band members probably don't even remember their faces well, since they joined recently. Nobody will miss them. And it's perfect that you're blond, just like Chloe. I have the perfect wig for you"

Juleka disappeared for a few minutes and came back with a pair of scissors, two wigs and a box of makeup- oh, and wax. The two male friends could feel cold sweat down their backs.

"Wow, you have such a pretty face!" Juleka exclaimed, taking a closer look at Adrien's facial features. "I'll cut your bangs a bit so they don't show under your wig. Luka: do yourself a favor and go shave meanwhile."

"Are you serious about this, Jules?" Luka asked, moving towards the bathroom sink.

"Of course I am", she glared confidently at him. "Do you want to flee the country or not? I'm getting you out, but you need to trust me."

"Is this really necessary…?" Adrien asked in a trembling voice, seeing how Juleka's scissors were close to his eyes as she was cutting his long bangs.

"It definitely is! The band orchestra is leaving midday tomorrow and we have a lot to do!" Juleka ordered. "I can't wait to wax those hairy legs of yours" she murmured. Adrien could only gasp in fear.

When Juleka finished, she was proud of her results. The disguises were perfect: a long blond wig on Adrien, tied as a long braid, his big green eyes standing out with the mascara on his lashes, and he had pink colored cheeks and cherry lips. His face and hair were perfectly complemented by a white dress to his knees and a short jacket over his shoulders, covering his strong forearms. He also used some pads to simulate not very large breasts. The final touch was a pair of elegant high-heels with diamond looking glass studs on them. He looked beautiful, prettier than many women. So pretty the Couffaine siblings blushed a little at the sight.

As for Luka… well, he was tall, big and manly, and with sharp features: definitely not easy to pass him as a woman. But Juleka was almost a professional and she did an incredible job. He had his hair cut short so his blue hair didn't show under the long dark haired wig - good for covering his wide muscular back. He was advised to wear a hat and sunglasses most of the time, but he was also wearing lots of makeup. Using a full palette of skin tones, Juleka managed to hide his strong jawline and make his cheekbones, chin and nose look smaller and rounder. He wore black eyeshadow and mascara, brownish red lipstick and natural blush. He looked like an unfeminine lady but that could pass as genetics, right? People would maybe look away, but they would understand. As for his clothes: he wore a long wide purple dress tied with a belt and some brown pirate-like high boots (the only ones that would fit him because they belonged to himself). The bottom half of his outfit was complemented by a grey knit poncho. His fake breasts were bigger than Adrien's and he wore a wine red scarf to cover his neck- especially his pronounced adam's apple. He looked… pretty good, considering the base product. And that alone was an amazing accomplishment.

"You're perfect. Ready to go. I've packed a pair of party dresses too. You'll need them for your performances" Juleka said, admiring her amazing work. "Oh, and just so you know. I'm also part of the band, so I'm coming too."

Later that night, just before sunrise, Juleka sneaked to Chloe and Lila's apartment to steal their accreditations and sent them fake cards about the train being delayed so they wouldn't appear at the last moment and ruin everything. Juleka smirked victoriously for having at last taken her revenge on the two women she hated the most.

___________________________________________

After nervously passing the first frontier of the train station- the ticket man, Luka and Adrien, who were disguised as women, moved towards the platform, happy for not having been recognized after the first control. Adrien had trouble walking in heels, so Luka lent him his arm to help him keep his balance.

"Remember: your name is Chloe now, and my name is Lila", Luka reminded his friend as they walked towards the train platform.

"I don't like those names", Adrien complained.

"I don't like them either, but it’s better that we don't stand out". Luka sighed.

Grabbing their baggage and instruments, the two men approached the train car written on the ticket. They were stopped before they could get on the train- just next to one of their 'wanted' posters. The two men didn't notice it, but Juleka did and rushed them to get on the train fast.

"Hey, who are you?" Asked a middle aged woman, the one in charge of the band, they assumed. "I've never seen you before. Are you new?"

"I- I'm Adri- My name is Noirette”, Adrien said, receiving equally surprised and annoyed glares from both Luka and Juleka. Before Luka could speak, Adrien continued. “And she's Lucia. We're the new pianist and guitarist of the band".

‘What. the. heck?’ Luka couldn’t believe his friend as he stared at him in annoyance and shock. His high pitched voice acting was hurting Luka's ears too. 'We're dead', he thought.

The middle aged woman showed orchestra at Adrien’s words: she clearly didn’t like last minute changes. Scanning them under her glasses, she questioned them again. "What happened to Miss Chloe Bourgeois and Miss Lila Rossi?"

While the two men were taking too much to come up with an excuse, Juleka, who was sick of their bad acting, stepped into the conversation.

"The talent agency sent them somewhere else. These two are here to fill in for them."

Still unconvinced, she raised her glasses. "Hmmm... you know them, Juleka?"

"They come from the same talent agency as me", Luka’s sister confidently said.

"Hmmm... that should be enough then..." It seemed like she was convinced at last and the two men could finally breathe. “I'm the band's director. You can call me Madam Mendeleiev. And that man over there is Mister Damocles, the manager. You can introduce yourselves later. Go to your seats now.” Before they could take a first step, the middle aged woman stopped them again and called for someone. "Yves! Come here and carry these ladies’ instruments to the train! Be useful for once!"

Luka and Adrien exchanged looks when a young blond man approached them quickly. "Yes, Madam!" He shouted, approaching the disguised men to get their instruments. He stopped in front of them, intensely staring at Luka’s pupils before trying to complete his job.

"Oh. Hello, there. XY at your service! Can I help you, beautiful? Fancy a drink sometime?" He raised his eyebrows twice, shamelessly flirting.

Luka's face went white in disgust. Juleka's chuckle and Adrien's big eyes made him snap out of it.

"Oh, Just carry this, thank you!" Luka answered, annoyed, as he shoved his and Adrien’s instruments and suitcases into XY’s arms, making the blond man lose balance from the pile of weight on his arms. “And take good care of them because they’re… fragile”

"A- As you wish, beauti- Ah!…" He stumbled, losing his balance and almost falling down. “But later that drink-”

"Yves!! Stop the crap and do your job!" Mendeleiev scolded him.

"Yes, Madam!" He straightened his back. "See you around", he winked at Luka before leaving, having trouble walking properly. The guitarist could feel shivers all over his body, while Juleka snorted, having real trouble trying to hold her laugh in.

"C'mon, hurry up!" Juleka pressured them, adding in a whisper "you better not expose yourselves before leaving."

"Thank you for saving us, Juleka." Luka whispered to her ear while getting on the train.

"You better stop acting stupid if you don't want to get caught!" Her response showed her annoyance and the men gulped in response.

The seats were arranged in pairs, so the two fugitives could sit together and relax a bit. They were also grateful for the lack of contact needed with the rest of the band.

The ‘Miraculous band’ was a dancing orchestra. Similar to a big band, but with vocals, a spectacular stage and completely fine for all ages to enjoy. In this case, its main particularity was how it was formed only by women. The band formation included: a rhythmic section (electric bass, electric guitar, drums and electronic piano), a wind section (saxophones, trumpets and trombones) and two singers. Many of the members were usually multi-disciplined in those bands, which meant they could play more than one instrument, just like Luka with the Lyre. Some of the side instruments were the violin, the flute, the maracas or the tambourine. Another particularity of these kinds of bands was the big range of styles in their repertoire: from rock and popular national or international hits to swings, waltz, salsa- anything that could be danced to.

If it weren't for the all girls' rule, Adrien and Luka wouldn't have minded joining them for real. But they had something more important to think about now- running for their lives.

"Is everyone here?", Mendeleiev asked, standing at the train car passage.

"Marinette and Kagami are not here yet, Madam" A dark skinned, red haired lady pointed out.

"Those two again… if they weren't so talented and popular I would have fired them already!"

"There they come!' A small blond short-haired lady screamed, startling Juleka in the process. "Sorry! I didn't want to startle you. My name is Rose" she introduced herself.

"Juleka…" and that's all she could say as she lost herself in that petit woman's eyes.

"What do you play?", the little woman innocently asked. "I play the trombone!"

"The electric bass…" she answered, hiding her blush. ‘Cute, sweet and with lungs of steel?’ Juleka gulped. ‘I’m screwed’.

"Finally!" Madam Mendeleiev said, as the ladies arrived, panting from their run there. "You're late! Go to your seats quickly!"

The two ladies who got in the train, bowed their heads in apology for their tardiness, as they walked to the empty seats of the back of the car. And when their faces looked up for a moment, it was the exact moment Adrien and Luka reached heaven. Their eyes couldn't stop staring at the most beautiful ladies they had ever seen, following them with their eyes and faces as they passed just beside them, moving to sit a few rows to the back. They couldn't take their eyes off them until Juleka called for their attention, warning for their discretion. But it was too late: the boys had lovestruck grins on their faces that didn't plan to go away anytime soon.

The two ladies had black hair and asian features. The short haired one was taller, had brown eyes and wore a beautiful white blazer with a red skirt. She looked elegant and confident, while the other woman looked cute, clumsy and innocent, and was shorter. She had blue eyes and dressed in a pink coat. Her hair was long and tied in two curly twin-tails. Their beauty stood out even more when they were together.

When the train started moving, Madam Mendeleiev gave the girl band some instructions- something Luka and Adrien would ask Juleka what it was about later. Later, Rose suggested an introduction game for the new members after the explanation had ended. The ladies excitedly agreed.

"I start!" said the same blond girl. "My name is Rose Lavillant and I play the trombone! I studied at a conservatoire in Paris for 3 years before joining this band recently. I like pink and unicorns and my favorite food is strawberry shortcake. Nice to meet you!"

After a round of applause, Rose signaled Juleka to continue, and she passively proceeded. "I'm Juleka. Bassist. Nice to meet you"

Next to continue was the red-haired woman from earlier, Alya, flautist and trumpeter; the drummer, Mylene; another trumpeter, Alix; and one of the saxophonists, Sabrina. It was Adrien's turn next.

"Hello!" He started, with his high-pitched voice. "My name is Ad-" he paused for a second at Juleka's deathly glare, gulping once before continuing. "My name is Noirette. I play the piano! I'm from Paris Classical School and I'm very pleased to meet you all!" He squealed, moving his arms along.

Adrien's excitement for freedom and new experiences was contagious to the rest of the ladies who energetically (almost hysterically) responded "Nice to meet you too, Noirette!".

It was Luka's turn next. He gulped, nervous, and with his fake high pitched voice and under Juleka's death stare, he started.

"Hi... My name is Lu- Lucia". 'I'm killing Adrien for giving me that name' he thought. "I play the guitar. Nice to meet you"

With their introductions over, Juleka finally relaxed. The rest of the ladies' introductions followed but, to be honest, neither Luka nor Adrien were listening: they were just patiently waiting to know more about the ladies that captivated their hearts. Their turn finally arrived, and the short haired one started:

"Hello. My name is Kagami. I sing and play the violin. I've been in the band for a few weeks. My favorite color is red and my favorite food is katsudon. Nice to meet you" a silence followed Kagami's introduction, so she called for her partner's attention with her elbow. "Marinette, your turn!"

"Oh-! Sorry… I was distracted… He-ello… My name is Ma- Ma- Marinette! I'm a singer but I can also play side instruments like the tambourine, the maracas or the castanets. I've been in this band for a few weeks and I studied in Paris Music School. My favorite color is pink and my favorite food is macarons. It's nice to meet you-", she ended with a nervous high-pitched voice.

Luka and Adrien exchanged excited lovestruck grins: the ladies' names and voices were just as beautiful as their faces. They were going to enjoy their outing with the band better than they could have expected.

______________________________

When the car got loud from the ladies chit-chat, Luka and Adrien found their moment of peace to share their thoughts.

“Luka, did you see that?” Adrien started, signaling at the end of the car, towards the singers of the band.

“Yes…I saw.” Luka answered, with a lovestruck grin on his face.

“That beautiful face…”, Adrien continued.

“Sweet voice…”, Luka added.

“Asian features…”, their mumbles continued.

“Dazzling eyes…”

“Dark shiny silky hair…”

The two men reacted at their exchanged words and looked at each other, surprised and nervous. Adrien gulped, worried.

“Wait- who are you talking about?”

“Who are YOU talking about?” Luka threw his question back at him, slightly aggressively.

“That girl, Kagami, of course!” Adrien exclaimed as if it was the most obvious response.

“Oh, that's good. I was talking about Marinette.” Luka sighed and showed him a relieved smile.

“Oh...” Adrien blinked, sighing and smiling in relief too. “I'm glad we weren't talking about the same girl. I wouldn't have liked to steal a girl from you.”

“What makes you think I wouldn't win her over you?”, Luka confidently grinned.

“Oh- anyway- It's better this way.”

The two men laughed together, trying not to be too loud for their manly voices to destroy their cover-ups.

“Will you help me with Kagami?” Adrien asked his friend.

“Only if you help me with Marinette.” said Luka, offering him a handshake he excitedly returned.

“Count on it, my friend!”

#my fic #fic: miraculous escape #lukanette fic #adrigami fic #my art #airipyon #airip4 #lukadrien friendship #endgame lukanette #sorry for the ugly art #It's OLD and I cringe #but you get the overall idea I guess?#silly comedy #This idea was from last year OMG #Idk when I'm going to continue it but I hope I will...#I'm super slow to finish my WIPs...

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yuriyuruandyuraart · 3 years

Text

part 12

ink was getting nervous. Error was coming by at night, and since every other vampire was sleeping, he couldn’t do anything but wait in his garden-

Something wasn’t quite normal with error. He looked pretty anxious, wary even-

Ink sighed. Life was so empty- not even death could fix that

He discovered that over time, most vampires could get used to the sunlight after being exposed to it very lightly. He also noticed that vampires couldn’t be murdered unless they were shot or stabbed in the soul

He not only wasn’t affected by the sunlight in the first place, but he had no soul to begin with-

Death wasn’t an option.

Boredom was the only thing that was “killing” him

Ever since he could remember, life was always so boring

Empty

Without any goal to achieve or get going with

He clenched his fists

The only thing that was following him around and that let him stay alive was…

Guilt

For something he could never forgive himself for

Maybe he could fix it?

He didn’t want to think about it now-

He traveled inside his garden, wandering around his maze, then sat down near some bushes

He was an immortal being with barely no will to live, but he did have a passion to stay sane

And it ended up being art.

Painting, sewing, designing, sculpting-

Creating was a nice compensation for destroying everyone’s lives…

Now that he was thinking about it…

…….

Wait, who was that?!

Ink noticed a shadow fly away from his garden. ‘Right when he had some inspiration to draw’. He ran to them, but he realized they already left.

It was probably another vampire, but the vast majority preferred to go out at night since they won’t be so visible to the mortals. Though it was unusual for a one to fly off so fast and early in the morning. The sun was bright, and even he felt pretty nauseous staying on spot without anything to shield himself from the heat of it.

Even so, he stared at his surroundings, curious to see if the person left something, when he noticed a crispy letter on the grass.

Ink sighed, who could it beee?

He painfully leaned down to catch the letter, and opened it.

Right, it was him.

Just when he thought he’ll get to talk to him personally-

He sat down and read the long paragraph that decorated its paper.

…

“…oh-“

He got up and dusted off his clothes from the remaining dirt and leaves that stuck to him, then trailed off to his castle-

“Looks like the meeting is still ongoing”

******

His steps were heavy,

And he was getting weaker-

He collapsed on the ground

It was so painful to be alive

And he hated it

He HATED ink for what he did!

He-

He…

….

Well, the forest wasn’t a good place to fall unconscious in, so he painfully got himself up.

He could hate ink all he wanted, but the mortals were even worse

If only he could just KILL THEM ALL

ALL OF THEM

Ugh-

“…”

Huh

Crying?

Him?

Out of character, right?

He wiped away the tears that were slowly forming themselves in his sockets. He had to- he had to go and ask for help like the idiot that he is! He…he didn’t want him to-

…

Die? Who? What the flip was he even doing in that forest anyways?!

Oh yeah, heal himself

Obviously

He sat by a tree and painfully tightened the holes and scars with bandages after carefully removing the bullets and disinfecting the injuries with his magic. He really didn’t want to see him again,

But he didn’t have a choice anymore

********

*tap*

He sat on his sofa, slowly waiting for his guest’s arrival in front of his large window.

He closed his eyes patiently, then sighed calmly

“nice seeing you again, error”

His silhouette slowly appeared in front of him, threatening as always.

“…”

He looked away, a frown still in place.

“it’s okay if you don’t want to see me, but god can you be stubborn!” ink pouted. They knew each other for years, but one thing that didn’t change was the fact that error was never happy to see him

Nor to spend time with him

Actually, the times where he’ll be “happy” is when he almost “kills” him, or when he leaves-

Yeah, a nice “friendship”

“I swear if it wasn’t for an important reason I would’ve never stepped a toe in your hell of a castle!”

“but you still came here. And I’m sorry if I am worried about this reason that’s so important it actually made you sit here, and talk to me for once.”

Error flinched at his sarcastic tone, and he thought about giving a spiteful remark back, but he sat on the sofa in front of him, directly facing the window, choosing to ignore his off handed retorts to leave that place as soon as possible.

“… well-“ error tried to collect his words, obviously tired of what had happened to him this past weeks.

“there is a small town very far away from here who sent a…detective? Spy? Whatever, A trained mortal to hunt down the vampires while being hidden amongst the normal villagers, and he’s been very wary of YOU especially.”

“He had been giving some “ideas” to the mortals, and if he manages to convince them to overthrow your rules and influence, he’ll quickly discover your intentions and the hidden place of multiple thousands of vampire, causing the extinction of the race in a second. And while I flipping hate your guts and I despise you all so much, vampires and mortals alike, I can’t really be all that powerful and safe when the humans can win over me; the amount of vampires decreasing giving them “courage” to kill the remaining.”

He stated the last sentence with disgust. He didn’t give two cents about vampires, even less monsters or even humans, which he hates even more, but ink’s motives were vastly different

ink loved vampires, because he had to; Being the original vampire who first existed. He was the reason so many mortals turned into those people, feared by the pitiful society called the living. And just like that he and the other vampires that followed began growing stronger in number and power.

You could say that he didn’t have a choice- that it was in his nature; he’s a vampire! He can’t help but drink blood, in the case of monsters, magic-

But

Not only can vampires resist the urge to drink blood, by simply eating meat, but in ink’s case

He doesn’t even like drinking blood nor magic

He was more into literal ink

The only reason he drank blood in the first place was to get feelings

The first vampire didn’t have a chance to get a soul, so he discovered he could get feelings another way.

And he despised doing that

Because

Of how he discovered

That-

“INK!”

Ink looked at error, realizing he must’ve been daydreaming for too long

“…”

Ink got up, then undressed himself from his coat.

“Huh? What the he- what are you doing???”

“Well, suffice to say we’re going to catch that little comedian and eliminate him as soon as we can”

Error didn’t expect such bluntness from ink, but he couldn’t care less about that, more like, he was caught off guard by the “we”

“Hey, hey, hey- this is YOUR job, mister! It is not my business to attend”

Ink looked back at him, and gave him a warm smile

“Didn’t you say earlier it affected you if all the race disappeared? Wouldn’t you want to stop that from happening? I might add that you wouldn’t come here unless you really had to, so is it just for a message or did you need my help?”

He hated it when ink gets smart

But at the same time he was right

Though there was still another reason on top of it all, but he kept his mouth sealed

That bastard didn’t need to know

“…fine. What to do now”

Ink’s smirk became predatory

“What makes you think we’ll need to do anything?”

Error flinched

“What?”

Ink giggled-

“Well, it’s getting quite late don’t you think?”

Error looked back at the window, the moon shining bright in a cold, dark night

“Ink! I need answers!”

Ink paused his laughing, then smiled

“I’ll tell you more about it if you’ll be my guest.”

He bowed slightly, still keeping eye contact with the other

Error tensed- he didn’t know what to do now

“…is this a trap?”

Ink looked surprised at that statement, but quickly rectified

“Not at all!”

“Then what makes me believe that you’re not going to kill me in my sleep!”

Ink paused a second, kind of offended by the other’s skepticism when he just wanted to welcome him

Well, guess it can’t be helped

“I promise you that I will answer your questions tomorrow, It’s just that you might be exhausted from the constant travelling- the bruises and scars look like they just need a bit of attention, and you-“

He trailed off, citing multiple reasons why he needed a shelter from him, and error quickly cut him off

“Okay- okay- I get it”

It did make him feel a bit better though, considering ink takes his promises very seriously, so he might as well stay for a night

“Just ONE night”

He crossed his arms, and ink chuckled

“Sure, sure-“

He smiled

“Goodnight then, error”

*******

“well, how about we talk more about it in a more...private environment, yes?”

**********

ink belongs to @comyet/ @myebi

error belongs to @loverofpiggies

dark cream belongs to @zu-is-here

well, it took a while to update you guys, but i’m really happy about it!

error holds a huge grudge against ink- what is it? still haven’t finished that part yet guys ;D

also, the illustration is a spoiler for the next part focusing about ink, but as they say- it’s not a real spoiler if you have no context right ;)?

((remind me not to paint an illustration for a writing i haven’t updated in a while it just makes it worse))

also, the reason i haven’t drawn error once is because i can’t decide on a design he often hides his face with a very dark cape. i will give you guys a sheet with everyone’s faces (protagonists only) their mouths (the difference between their fangs) and their markings/eyelights

very exited to write more about ink though- it’s going to get interesting very soon ;)

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lillytalons · 3 years

Text

And the Stars Settled Inside

The lovely @cacodaemonia has an amazing reconstruction corps au that this was inspired by, specifically the art titled And the Stars Whirled Overhead

read on Ao3

“Well I suppose it’s a good time to set up camp. Where would you like us to set up Wooley?” Obi-wan shrugged off the pack he was carrying, looking around at the well ordered camp Cody and he had come into that day. The clones had already been searching the abandoned planet, but called in the help of a Jedi to see if they could use the force to locate any important sites.

Cody had been invited along as often happened with the two of them. Obi-wan would comment on it, except that that could imply he wasn’t happy with how often it happened. There was no reason to give all of their acquaintances that idea.

Wooley looked around the camp and the landscape surrounding them. “Actually sirs, it’s a really quiet planet, we haven’t seen any large wildlife, and there are no sentients here. You are welcome to join the camp, or go farther out. Some of men are going out away from the main camp. Getting away from the main fire makes the stars much brighter.” Wooley grinned, “Or they’re hoping for some peace and quiet.”

“Will they?” Obi-wan raised an amused eyebrow.

“If they think they are going to sleep in, they underestimate some of the brothers.” A couple of brothers behind Wooley tackled a third men and started wrestling amid yells from everyone involved, and several people not involved egging them on.

Wooley looked behind him at the commotion, and rolled his eyes while laughing. “Exhibit A.” A kicked foot took out a tent pole, causing another yell from the poor man inside the tent. Wooley gave a quick salute and wandered over to the chaos to do some damage control.

Obi-wan smiled at the antics and looked at Cody. “Where would you like to set up, my dear?”

Cody looked around, watched Wooley try to wrangle his brothers, and looked over at the bluffs nearby.

“Well we might as well try to get to sleep in.” Cody nodded his head towards the west of the camp and Obi-wan pulled his bag back up on his shoulders.

As they walked through the camp Cody pulled aside one of the men and got their allotted tent and bed rolls. The man came back with the base supplies plus some extra ration packs.

They made their way to a flat area to set up camp and split to do their usual tasks before they lost the sunlight. As they finished preparing, the sun finally set, light streaking across the sky. Obi-wan felt contentment as he sat on their blankets in the soft sand.

Obi-wan watched as Cody poked the logs a couple more times to make sure that the air flow was correct. He had spread out their bed rolls while Cody set up the fire. They had both decided to forgo the tent tonight. The desert air was clean and crisp, with little moisture in the air that would warn of rain.

Cody finally sat back and after another moment to make sure that the fire wouldn’t need any help for a while, he joined Obi-wan on the blankets. Obi-wan passed him some of their camp rations and he felt some of the tension drain from both of them. They didn’t need constant conversation, living and working together for over 4 years meant that silence was just as comfortable as interaction.

Obi-wan finished his rations quickly, at least they weren’t nearly as bad as rations had been at the end of the war when there was no funding, constant missions, and Obi-wan swore the rations recipe got worse despite the fact that they shouldn’t have been able to get worse.

Cody collected the wrappers from him and tucked them away in his pack, to be dealt with later. He leaned against his shoulder when he sat back upright and Obi-wan curled his arm around his waist.

They stared into the fire and it seemed as if contentment radiated out of the fire, enveloping them.

After a while, Obi-wan felt Cody hide a slight shiver and he smiled. His robes greatly protected him from the rapidly dropping temperature of the desert, but Cody preferred to wear lighter shirts when possible, and what worked well in the day was much less useful at night.

“We have plenty of blankets Cody, no need to be cold.”

“I’m fine. Don’t want to mess up your hard work, and the blanket won’t really reach from here if I leave it tucked into the others.”

“Yes I’m sure it would break my heart if you ruined the bed roll that took me minutes to set up.” He raised an eyebrow and Cody just huffed. Obi-wan hid a smile-unsuccessfully-and continued, “Or you could lay down.”

Cody stared at him like he was deciding if he was going to keep being cold (something he hated) and sass Obi-wan (something he enjoyed), or comply. He huffed again and tugged off his shoes. He lifted the top blanket and slid in as carefully as he could so there would be minimal sand in the bed roll.

Obi-wan grabbed the edges to help him, and gently tucked the blanket around him as Cody settled his head on his lap. “There, that wasn’t so hard was it, my dear?”

“Watch your tone, I can let you get cold tonight.” Cody tried to look tough, and Obi-wan decided not to bring up the fact that Cody would latch onto him the second he fell asleep anyway.

Obi-wan found a hand easily tangling in Cody’s curls which were slightly longer now that they had been in the war. He found the physical touch soothing, and Cody did as well. Cody hummed softly and stared past Obi-wan to the night sky. The light from the sunset had completely faded, leaving the inky blue sky covered in millions of stars.

Obi-wan fell back on one hand to look up as well. His favorite part of uninhabited planets were how many stars you could see. The core worlds were often too polluted and bright to have many stars, but out in the middle of nowhere, it felt like you could see the whole galaxy. The constellations were mostly unfamiliar, but that had never really mattered to him. The pictures in the sky mattered less than feelings the the sky as a whole brought. In places like this, the force swirled in time with the movement of the heavens.

Obi-wan felt intense calm melt from Cody, the way emotions only did when Cody was pushing them to him. Obi-wan let out a deep breath and looked down at Cody again.

The way the firelight warmed his face but the stars reflected in his eyes was something very intoxicating, and Obi-wan might be in tight control of himself, but even he couldn’t resist that. He leaned over and gently kissed Cody.

Cody allowed the kiss for a minute before pushing up on one elbow. He managed to keep their lips in contact but Obi-wan’s back was grateful that he didn’t have to lean over quite so much. Obi-wan’s hand moved from his hair to supporting his neck while they kissed.

It wasn’t hurried or anxious, it wasn’t frantic like their kisses sometimes were. It was slow, and soft, and sweet. Obi-wan felt himself sinking into the force around him, into the feeling of Cody.

Cody was always grounded and steady, and now after the war he was content too. He slowed Obi-wan down in a way no one else really could. Maybe because he saw the frantic pace Obi-wan kept himself at during any mission or crisis. Even when Obi-wan had his tea and a moment of peace, he was still high strung, ready for any surprise that came (and many did). The older he had gotten the worse it was because since his padawan days he was sent into increasingly dangerous situations with increasingly less time to relax. He didn’t know how to anymore.

Until Cody.

Cody dropped his shields as he pressed upwards. He allowed Obi-wan to release the last of the tightness held in his center as he felt the present swirling around them. The cool desert air that was rapidly getting colder. The warm fire heating his legs and face, also heating Cody’s face and shoulder. The heat that warmed Obi-wan just from Cody keeping contact with him. The ground of soft sand and softer blankets, the slightly rough blanket pressed between them that kept the warmth in Cody’s cocoon. The gentle desert insects that gave the night it’s chorus, and the men in the distant camp who bled their joy into the force as they told campfire stories in voices too indistinct to make out. He could feel the weight of the blanket on Cody as well as he could feel the weight of his own robes. And most of all he could feel Cody’s mouth on his, anchoring him to this moment.

They may not have frequent truly silent moments, but Obi-wan smiled into Cody’s mouth as he remembered again, as he often did, that they will have the chance for many, many more. And if kissing Cody in the desert made him like the desert much more than he ever did, well. That’s his business.

#obi wan kenobi #my writing #commander Cody #sw #fanfic #au

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unkownknowledge · 3 years

Text

OC: CHAOS GOD OF THE VOID, GIOTA

story I'm still working on your requests don't worry, I just wanted to make a few character sheets since I'm not focused enough rn. I'll finish it when I take my meds though I promise.

And this isn't an oc for any show, rather a character from a multiversal mythos I'm making

also, an important term to understand this: 1 god year=5 billion years

_____________________

Description:

Giota is a very hot and cool Giota stop changing the text! Atleast change your style of writing so the reader can undead immediately Aw but wheres the fun GIOTA

Fine mister fun police, I'll write like this then. And I'll be cooler than you

Young man I wil... forget it, back on track:

Giota is a shapeshifting god of chaos, void, technological progress, freedom, and being a dramatic bitch.

Hey! I'm not a bitch!....maybe a little

When appearing before mortals he'll often take on the form the viewer imagines when they think of a god of chaos would appear as. Often times when the user knows the basic descriptions of Giota from the 'book of tales' will see him as a angel like statue of bones with numerous cracks, no face, and organ pipe wings.

When meeting with gods outside his domain or when he must meet mortals in a set form, he will take on simple, 10ft tall humanoid form with bone skin, a cracked mouth that cracks more when he speaks, two different colored eyes, and longer than floor length black hair. One of his eyes will be crying water that burns upwards, while the other cries fire that flows downwards. In this form he wears a black trenchcoat, green turtleneck, and purple dad pants.

What the fuck are dad pants?

You know, those usually brown pants that are kinda jeans but soft and actually comfortable.

YOU BITCH MY HUSBAND LIKES JEANS AND HIS PANTS ARE SOFT!

YOUR HUSBAND HAS MARSHMALLOW THIGHS! LITERALLY! OF COURSE HIS PANTS ARE SOFT!

Inside his own domain, or if he's feeling especially done with whatever poor bastard made him upset, Giota takes the form of an innocent ten year old child with soft white steel skin, mile long black hair made of silk, and black eyes made of diamonds. In this form he wears pajamas for to big for him, his mouth leads to a dark void, and he carries around two plushies: a bunny made of roses from his mom, and a plush of his adult form from his husband. Of course he becomes an adult if they do anything adult, so please don't start.

Regardless of his form, even when it's based on the perspective of others, he always wears a large knitted infinity scarf his husband made for whenever he wanted to hide away.

_____________________

Powers:

Cool ones

I mean, he's not wrong...

(I should make an ice themed character)

Giota, as a god, has numerous powers related to his domains.

powers of freedom:

inspiring presence- while most gods or beings of power inspire mortals and lesser beings of power to kneel down or bow, Giota’s presence inspires all beings to rise up, to do anything, to do whatever they want, to become the best they can be. this can be used to inspire allies to carry on. However Giota can also let this power run rampant, and free the mind of any shackles, and while this sounds good it really just means removing all morals and causing mass violence, and if he lets it run rampant while in the same dimension he lets it then all life will mutate into eldritch monstrosities of decadence and selfishness. According to him this is to show that balance must be kept between chaos and law.

the torch of liberty- among Giota’s duties as a god of freedom is to liberate the populations of ‘doomed realms’ that have been enslaved. essentially, if a planet in a universe is ruled purely by either law or chaos then the entire universe can be effected, in the case of law it can result in the entire universe becoming one collective conscious. while it’s not common that enslaved worlds occur, however when they do they are the most dangerous of law worlds. to combat worlds like this gods of freedom are given torches that free the minds of the enslaved and bring down holy fire upon the enslavers in the form of the collective will of all the freed people.

powers of technological progress:

cybernetic god-many god-years ago Giota was severely wounded by a rogue god of flesh and a rogue god of metal, to the point even he could not regenerate it. to stop him from dying a cult of his granted Giota cybernetic enhancements. these enhancements integrated into Giota’s flesh as it regenerated and became enhanced in turn by Giota’s divinity, and Giota’s divine power was enhanced then by the cybernetics, resulting in a self sustaining growth in power. while he gladly used this to stop the rogue gods, and once again to destroy an old one, he feels being that powerful would upset the balance of power, so he sealed it in a time lock in time with the seasons and time of day in the void. his power increases from mid day to mid night, and from the end of summer to the end of winter. in the minute of exactly midnight at the end of winter, Giota becomes, in both this multiverse and the old, the most powerful being to exist.

self evolving knowledge- because his position as a god of technology is artificial his powers in it are very weak, being able to only grant full sentience and sapience to machines. he can also create minor miracles of technology, such as summoning a clockwork toy(which he does often)

hey man did you really have to bring up the whole getting my ass kicked thing?

yes, now shut up before I bring up what you sing in the shower

....fucker....

powers of being dramatic:

yeah that wasn't a joke. Giota is the god of being over the top, stylish, and over all flair. in other words, being dramatic

personal sound track- he can cause any song he wants to play when he does anything.

lights, camera, ACTION!- whenever he wants, Giota can cause a bright, sparkling light to emit from his body or behind himself.

my favorite is that one bad bitch’s theme. what’s her name again?

Ragyo Kiyurin?

that's the fucker! terrible taste in morals, but damn does she know how to enter a room.

...can I put sigh when it’s supposed to be me sighing?

powers of the god of chaos

Chaotic existence- for Giota to even exist is, in and of itself, a paradox. he comes from a timeline that never existed, that was on a set path, yet he exist, and he changed the course of the timeline. when he became a chaos god he became a paradox within a paradox, he existed yet did not. to attempt to change any aspect of his being, to take in any part of his being, is to know that which is not there to know, to understand that which is not there, you have to be able to comprehend the very essence of nonexistence to even bare a hair of his getting in your mouth. such a thing easily drives all things that try insane, to the point that every part of their conscience believes that it does not exist.

overwhelming power-chaos gods are only once a multiverse, and with the title comes pure power. such power could turn an infant into an indestructible warrior, however since Giota was already at that level on a mortal scale, and already capable of taking on powerful gods, this power sets him among the highest echelons of divine might.

powers of the god of void

key to nonexistence- the god of the void is the only being who can open the bridge between that which exist and that which does not

rapid regeneration- the void god has an innate ability to regenerate from nearly all damage, even if they are ground to a fine paste. this regeneration is enhanced by the cybernetic enhancements.

speed of darkness- the void god has an innate speed that surpasses light, Giota’s already superhuman speed was enhanced by this.

spear of not- the void god is the sole being in existence and non existence who can wield the spear of not, a finely forged weapon. it is not special beyond being enchanted to withstand godly power and a ‘security lock’ enchantment, however it is still a very well made weapon.

blah blah blah, enough about what I was handed, tell them about my mortal abilities

as Giota just said, and as I’ve brought up before, Giota is extremely powerful even without his powers, he also used to be two other mortals that were less powerful. but over all these were his powers, which he still has.

leather skin- while it might appear or feel like something else, Giota’s skin is exactly like leather armor. this comes from how he was raised as a child to be a powerful warrior and his skin was tanned into hide and treated while it was still on him.

adamantine bone- Giota’s bones were also replaced by an adamantine skeleton when he was a child.

super sonic speeds- during his training as a child, he was taught to be able to surpass the sound barrier on foot.

superhuman strength- his training also trained his body to carry ten tons, however as a mortal he improved that strength to the point he could exert enough force to blast away entire cities by blinking. This power did not come easy.

flight- after training with some monks late in his life, Giota was able to walk on the air, essentially he could fly at the same speed as he could run.

agility- he was trained as a warrior and assassin, so Giota’s training included advanced maneuverability training, including wall running, sneaking across tripwires, etc.

weapon master- Giota is a master in all weapons and various forms of martial arts.

he also has reciev- hey man you good?

I-I’m fine! d-don’t write that I’m crying!

you...wanna talk about it?

…no...

is it about your mom?

…maybe...

alright take your time.

anyway Giota has a very useful piece of equipment, the cloak of maternity- despite it’s name, it’s actual a cloak that leads to a pocket dimension where Giota carries his weapons and toys. It is called the cloak of maternity because his adoptive mother gave him after he became a god-bounty hunter, she even designed it to help him hide away from people. it even has a designated snack pocket.

_____________________

BIO:

Giota was found by his adoptive mother after he destroyed his timeline, as punishment, or perhaps in an attempt to redeem him, she turned him back into a baby. something Giota happily accepted.

After this his life went on as a mortal’s would, only in the realm of divinity: he went to school, went into college, graduated, then entered the workforce. granted the workforce he entered was bounty hunting divine criminals. it was easy for him to get into, after all everything from his past life transferred over to this one, it wasn't long before he was hunting even the deadliest of criminals. while his mom was very supportive, it was still difficult for him to keep in contact with her as he did before moving out, and being a bounty hunter was hardly a sociable job. it wasn't long before Giota fell into depression, and then to drugs. for twenty three god years his life was an endless cycle of contract killing, payment, and wallowing in chemical joy. But at the end of all blinding lights, there is a welcoming darkness.

Giota had become the personal bounty hunter of the god of law and time: Ceerus. one day while leaving after receiving a contract, he met the god’s child, a boy his age named Dyalta.

It was thanks to Dyalta that Giota ever kicked drugs, or got out of depression, and thanks to Dyalta Giota managed to find happiness in anything other than a syringe.

Even the reason he found love.

rise to godhood

Giota became a god after an old god, named the Red slaughter, destroyed the entire universe. this was a catalyst for Giota, who had died previously, to return with his newly awakened god powers. I don't want to go into to much detail in this aspect as I intend to write it at some point.

_____________________

hey man you good yet?

a little bit. Dyalta came by and gave me some cookies.

that's good buddy, I’m gonna describe your personality ok?

alright.. I’m gonna go home now.

alright man, take care.

_____________________

personality

do note that this is a bit hard for me to do. I’m more used to just writing a character. I’ll just post two short stories here to try and get his personality across. I made them in school last year.

ok so after looking at it the second one is twelve pages long. so I’m gonna post that elsewhere on here. to give context: this is after a wedding between Dyalta and Giota was interrupted. if you’d like to see more about him then feel free to interact or request him.

elavator story

Giota shifted uncomfortably to make room for his soon to be father in law as the man stepped into the lift.

“Soooooo…” Giota pressed their floor “wonderful, um, siege we’re having.”

Ceerus just keeps his eyes on the door “sure.”

“So how's the uh, wife?”

Ceerus sighed “locked in a tower, that we are invading.”

“Mhm, yup.”

‘Maybe I should try calling him dad.’

“So what did you think of my swordsmanship d-dad.”

Ceerus visibly restrained himself “it was fine ten- Giota.”

The elevator stopped, probably because of security.

“Oh maker damnit,” Ceerus tries rewinding the shut off, but it doesn't work “and it’s godproofed!”

“This reminds of this one time me and Dyalta wen-”

Ceerus put his hand to Giota’s mouth “if you end this story in anything less than fully clothed I will end your fake hide.”

Giota scratches his head nervously “Well I didn't, but Dyalta lost his shirt and well,” Giota notice Ceerus drawing his blade “b-but it was for a sword fi- wait bad wording, it was for a-you know- assasination thing!”

Ceerus sighed and sheathed his sword “look, you dusting mongrel, I don’t like you, you pretend to like me, let’s just try and not kill each other and maybe by the end of this, I won’t flay your ass at the altar.”

Well atleast now they both agreed on something: this was going to be a long crusade.

________________________________________________________________

ok that's that! not a very good character sheet but hopefully it got enough across to be interesting. I’ll end this off with some quotes I want him to say but have never gotten the chance to write out:

“hey Ceerus how’s the kid? oh thats right! in my bed, waiting patiently.” following Ceerus being exceptionally annoying.

“you know something? I try to be nice, I always smile, always banter with my targets. you know, try and be friendly. but then some RED MOTHERFUCKER, POSSESSES MY HUSBAND, WAKING ME UP FROM ETERNAL SLUMBER, AND NOW I ONCE AGAIN HAVE TO CLEAN UP THE GOD’S MESSES!”

*crying into Dyalta* “and then he said my clothes were stupid,” *sobbing* “I tried really hard on these!”

“this multiverse, to us gods, is wet paper mache. so easy to break, one wrong move and POP,” Giota flexes his finger and causes an ocean to split open for a solid ten seconds, “the very fabric of reality is gone. and you. you insuferable MOTHER FUCKERS have the AUDACITY TO COME IN HERE, AND TEAR IT ALL TO SHREDS! well assholes, if this reality is paper mache to you, and I’m stronger than you, take a wild gues as to what you are to me.”

(tagging: @storytravelled, @3lectro-heart, @genshin-obsessed)

#tw drugs #oc

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