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therenlover · 3 years

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The Boy With The Easel (A Young Artist!Helmut Zemo x Reader Oneshot)

(Hey! If you end up enjoying this fic, it’s the first chronological part of a new fun expanded AU I’ve created with @creme-bruhlee! Their fic Bliss is part of the same timeline and takes place about a year after this one, so you should check it out!!!)

Synopsis: About a month into your first semester at Novi Grad’s top university, you finally meet the strange young man that you’ve taken to calling “easel boy” in the back of a bookshop. From a distance, he always seemed cold and aloof. As you get to know him, though, you realize things aren’t always what they seem.

Tags: Meet Cute, College AU, First Meetings, Coffee Date, Artist!Zemo, Embarrassment, Awkward College Kids Falling In Love

Rating: T

Warnings: Very Vague Mention of Sexual Content, Swearing, Zemo Says The Word Daddy In Reference To His Father and The Reader Thinks It’s Kinda Hot

Word Count: 7000~

This fic has been crossposted to my AO3!

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The University of Novi Grad

Fall 1996

Mornings in Novi Grad could be beautiful if you knew what to look for.

Sokovia was… different from America in many ways. From the language to the scenery, you often found yourself adrift in the strangeness of it all. There had been nothing quite as old as the buildings in the historical district of Novi Grad back home, no towering grey behemoths serving as a reminder of a bygone fight against Soviet invasion in the memories of your childhood. Still, though, there was beauty in the strangeness nonetheless.

From your tiny room in the Helena Lyudmila International Scholar’s dorm, for instance, you had a perfect view of a large campus courtyard hosting a statue of the donor by the same name. She was some royal who had invested in education a few hundred years ago, and by the looks of her metal likeness, she had been quite pretty. The sight of her shining in the early morning sun was one of the things that made uprooting your whole life seem worth it in the end, no matter how silly that seemed.

There were other small comforts that you had found beauty in during your first month attending your prestigious university, too.

You found beauty in the way the sunlight streamed over the rooftops like the opening to an Oscar-winning film. In the sound of traffic below and the overcast skies above. Sandwiches from corner stores, wildflowers growing in the median of the road, cups of the worlds best black coffee served steaming by scowling attendants at the cafe; Everywhere there was something small and kind and just familiar enough to relish in, more than able to distract you from the stress of living hand-to-mouth in a country where you didn’t even know the language. It made it all worth it.

That being said there was something else too…

Someone else to be specific.

The campus tended to run like clockwork. The same groups of students would walk past your window to their classes, the same professors would get their coffee and lunch at the little cafe across the square, and every weekday morning at 8 am on the dot, easel boy would set up his palette and canvas and paint the same bustling street.

He was talented, that you couldn’t deny. Even from the 6th floor, which was a considerable distance away, it was possible to admire the detailing and consistency with which he painted. His talent wasn’t when kept you captive at your window in the morning, though. Though you were sure his art was beautiful, he himself was a thousand times more stunning.

All dark eyes and dark hair and dark clothes, he parted crowds with his piercing gaze alone. He was always dressed like the protagonist of some awful artsy film. Massive argyle sweaters, untucked button-ups, corduroy jackets, and flare bottomed pants that must have survived his father’s wardrobe from the ’70s… his style was as close you could get to atrocious while still being impeccable as possible, and that wasn’t even getting started on the smudged black liner always present under his persistent gaze. You had never had the pleasure (or embarrassment for that matter) of meeting him in person, but you were sure that you would have had the same awed and slightly frightened reaction if you ever did. He could have been plucked entirely from the pages of some awful romance novel.

You were well and truly smitten with the idea of him.

If you looked at your morning routine through the eyes of a stranger, you’d consider yourself odd for your strange obsession with him, but you didn’t look at it like that. It wasn’t an obsession. You never overstepped your bounds. He was simply pleasing to look at and so you did. That didn’t constitute as obsessive, right?

Even if it did, you weren’t causing any harm.

Easel boy, as you had come to refer to him, was simply a tool you used to ground yourself in your new and frightening environment. Nothing more. If you ever met him, you would surely hate him from the short interactions you’d seen him have with strangers. They never ended well. He would remain an unattainable, attractive ideal in your mind until he eventually faded away into a funny memory you’d share with your kids one day.

Until then, though, you would watch him from your window before your morning classes and refused to feel guilty about it. So, that was that, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

On the morning in question, you had woken up a little late and in a foul mood. In preparation for a test in your foundations of algebra course you had spent the better part of the night pouring over formulas while your upstairs neighbor’s bed slammed repeatedly into the wall and floor. Though you were sure they were having an excellent time, you were most definitely not. It all culminated in you missing your original alarms and despite the fact that your first class started at 10, you were exhausted, furious, and not looking forward to missing breakfast to finish the assigned reading you had put off the night before. The only thing keeping you from throwing in the towel and just giving up was the promise of seeing the painter.

So, when he arrived for the day at 8 am sharp, you were positioned at the ledge by your window, textbook in hand with a mug of instant coffee at your right. It was like a breath of fresh air.

As usual, he retrieved a small pack of cigarettes from the back of his eternally paint-stained jeans only to bring one to his lips and light it quickly. He always smoked before he worked, and just like always, he took an extra cigarette from the pack to tuck behind his ear for later. Then, he got to work setting up his easel and the small stool where he set his palette.

Pulling tubes of acrylic, brushes, and pencils from his well-worn messenger bag, easel boy flipped out the kickstand without any problem and set his thick, pre-primed canvas on the worn metal. You watched in fascination. Art had always seemed so unattainable to you. Instead, you were drawn to the more academic. The man before you, though, created beauty with an ease that had evaded you all your life, and it had you both jealous and entirely intrigued. Slowly, you reached down to take a sip of your coffee as you let your eyes drift back to your reading.

Learning about ancient Babylon was far less interesting than watching him, though.

When you next looked out the window and away from your work the handsome artist had created his base sketch already. How did he do it so fast? You assumed it was practice. He had been drawing the same 3 buildings every weekday morning for at least a month, so after a while, it must have been second nature to measure out the lines and put things into perspective. You smiled. He tended to have that effect on you.

The process was repeated until a little before 9:30. You would read a few paragraphs then look up to watch the painting progress from a sketch to a full-fledged work of art. It was good today from what you could see. The colors were a bit more muted than usual, but that was only on account of the awful, dreary overcast sky that threatened to dump rain on the city at any time. Overall, you would have considered it a masterpiece. Easel boy didn’t seem to think the same.

He regarded the painting with a sort of begrudging satisfaction that bordered on disappointment before he pulled the second cigarette from behind his ear, lit it, and began the process of packing up his materials. You finished the last of your coffee watching him do so. Smoking, well, smoking tobacco at least, had always been a vice you had avoided and yet you often wondered what it would feel like to take a drag of one of his cigarettes after it had been between his lips. Then, the magic lifted.

He folded up the flimsy easel, tucked it away with his materials back into his messenger bag, hoisted the stool under one arm and the painting under the other before taking off at a brisk clip down the street away from your window. You watched him until he was out of sight.

You were snapped from your concentration by a knock at your door.

“Y/N,” a heavily accented voice called, sending you scrambling for your bag, “If you are not outside in the next 15 seconds I will break down your door,”

Shit.

“Coming, Sasha!” You wailed. It took about 10 of those seconds to grab your backpack and shove your textbook inside, an extra 2 to check your appearance in the mirror- you looked slightly disheveled, but it was the best you were gonna do after the night you’d had. Besides, it wasn’t like you were doing anything important. You didn’t need to be dressed for a date -and you were opening the door for a quick save at the 14th second. Your door was safe for another day.

Out in the hall waited Sasha Balandin, arms crossed and grey eyes piercing in the flickering light of the terrible overhead fluorescents. As a fellow international student, you had become fast friends with Sasha. He was a little rough around the edges, and definitely didn’t take your bullshit, but he was a rare friend. “I have been waiting for 10 minutes,” he griped. You tried your best to look apologetic. “Don’t do that,”

“Do what?” You asked, closing and locking your door behind you as you began walking down the hallway.

Sasha huffed. “Do not pretend you were not too busy ogling that painter in the courtyard to hear me knocking on your door,” His Russian bluntness was on full display now as you shook your head in mock disbelief.

“I can’t believe you’d accuse me of something like that!”

“It is not an accusation if it is true,”

“There’s no way you know for a fact that I was watching him again,”

“But you were. This happens every week,”

You sighed, pausing at the top of the stairs. “I was,”

Taking the stairs in twos, Sasha sighed. “You are too soft, Y/N. Besides, you have said so often that he seems like an asshole. Why do you continue to get all mushy at him out the window if this is the case?”

“Because… well, because…” for a moment, you floundered in search of an answer that wouldn’t make you sound like a complete freak, but you found that there really wasn’t one. It came down the one small factor. “He’s just really hot, okay?”

The look Sasha gave you could have killed. He kept his mouth shut, though, choosing to let his silence shame you more than anything else did. It worked. For the entire trip down the stairs and the mile-long walk to your lecture hall, you felt the weight of shame heavy on your shoulders. Or maybe it was just your backpack. You didn’t know which you’d prefer. He did start speaking again eventually, going on about some party you had missed in favor of studying, but the feeling never left. Even as you sat down for your lecture it was still at the forefront of your mind. In fact, you were so busy thinking about your crush on easel boy and the problems with it that you barely paid attention to the professor’s rehashing of the Epic of Gilgamesh.

Your error only hit when the professor flipped the PowerPoint to the final slide.

“Before you go, I want to remind you that you have a paper on the importance of Enkidu in the Epic is due at the beginning of class this Friday. The details and requirements should be listed in your syllabus. Class dismissed,”

Fuck.

Friday was only two days away.

You were so screwed.

The problem was, you didn’t have a spare copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh just lying around your dorm room. Usually that wouldn’t have been an issue, the professor for your current history course used English for her slide because her particular history course was specifically for first-year international students. Unfortunately for you, though, you hadn’t been taking notes. Instead, you had been daydreaming about how it would feel to have easel boy blow his cigarette smoke in your face and then subsequently scolding yourself for having thoughts like that about a total stranger. In a terrible twist of fate, the professor only held office hours after her last classes on Mondays and Fridays, so even getting the information from her then was off the table. Dread began to pool in your stomach.

Any other student would have been able to cut their losses, rent a copy from the library, slog through it in a night, and write the damn essay even without the help of the classroom slides for context. The only problem was all the books in the library were in Sokovian, and you still barely knew how to order a coffee correctly. Reading the language in a full Cyrillic alphabet would just be impossible, especially for a book as stupidly old as the Epic of Gilgamesh.

In short, unless you could get your hands on a copy in the next day or so, you were absolutely, well-and-truly fucked.

Sasha was quick to find you as the hall cleared out, waiting near your seat as you packed away your notes. “That was all bullshit, no?” He asked, but the second he took in your slightly panicked expression he stopped short, pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing deeply. You knew what he was going to say before he ever said it.

“Something is wrong. You were not paying attention. Were you thinking-”

“Yes. Okay? Yes, I was thinking about him,”

He shook his head slightly. “I am concerned for you,”

“Who isn’t?”

Despite his usually stoic demeanor, that made Sasha huff out a soft laugh. “You got yourself into this mess, Y/N, you will get yourself out somehow,”

Your jaw dropped as you slung your bag over your shoulder and started making your way towards the door. “You’re not gonna help me?”

“Though I would love to be helpful, you forget that my English is poor. It will do me better to read the book in Sokovian myself than to use the information from class,”

Oh, yeah. You winced. “Sorry, Sash’”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he shrugged as you walked out onto the lawn, chilled to the bone by the wind that whipped in every direction.

A storm was brewing. It might not fully take hold of the city for a few hours yet, but it would make the walk to your evening class absolute hell if the rain fell as hard as it had several weeks prior. You could only hope that it wouldn’t start until after you had walked home. Your odds were looking slim, though, based on the way you could already hear thunder clapping in the distance. After a moment you hit the edge of the sidewalk where your paths would diverge.

“Good luck with the paper,” you offered weakly.

Sasha replied with a sharp, “Good luck with your crush,” and then he was off in the opposite direction without another word. Sasha was blunt like that, never overstaying his welcome or lingering when he didn’t need to. There was something enviable about it. What you wouldn’t give to be able to simply say things as they were without an unnecessary sugar coating to save face and spare feelings. It lingered on your mind for the whole half-mile walk to the campus bookstore. Speaking of which...

There was only one place where you might possibly find an English copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh. It wasn’t the big student bookstore, most of the textbooks there had been in Sokovian, Russian, or German and you hadn’t even tried to set foot in their actual book section. No, your only hope was the tiny hole-in-the-wall bookstore you had stumbled upon during move-in. It was only about half a mile away from your dorm from any of your lecture halls, so you often found yourself wandering inside when you had time to kill. They were one of the only stores you’d come across that sold anything in English, magazines included, so despite the fact that the young cashiers rarely spoke your language you often found that the back shelves of that tiny shop kept you from going mad.

Now, they might also be keeping you from ruining your GPA.

You could only hope. If anybody could save you, it was them.

Ducking in through the small doorway, you were greeted by the soft ring of the bell above your head. The attendant at the register simply regarded you with a polite nod. You had seen her there before and she knew you barely spoke a lick of Sokovian, so she didn’t attempt a pleasantry. Instead, she simply let you wander through the entrance and into the towering bookshelves, passing a few other faceless shoppers on your way towards the back. You were grateful for her nonchalance.

If there was anything worse than feeling foolish for not knowing Sokovian, it was being talked down to in perfect English by a Sokovian citizen. Most interactions left you wishing you’d actually taken anything away from your high school French class other than emotional trauma from your teacher and a caffeine addiction. Damn America and its terrible public-school language programs…

The path to the English classics section was one you’d walked many times since discovering the book store. It was right in the very back corner of the shop, tucked away where the city natives wouldn’t have to address or see it. You had snagged a copy of Pride and Prejudice a few weeks back, so you knew exactly where to search. The only problem was slogging through every single book on the shelf in search of the one you were looking for.

Your eyes scanned the wall.

Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh…

Gilgamesh!

On the 6th shelf up sat one small copy. Score! You were saved! As you reached up to grab it, though, you were met with yet another roadblock. The shelf it was on was juuuust a little too high for you to reach. Oh, come on…

You hopped a little, extending your hand up as far as it could go, but your fingers just barely brushed the spine. Somewhere behind you, you could hear footsteps. Then someone coughed to suppress laughter. The shame was plain on your face. As your flannel rode up and you stretched up in one last desperate attempt to grab the book when suddenly someone, you assumed the same person who had been laughing at your misfortune, spoke.

“They have stools, you know,” he said, accented voice thick with amusement. The English surprised you, but you assumed they used it for your benefit. You were in front of the English language books after all. Besides, the shame of it all kept your mind from questioning it too much. “For reaching the top shelf,”

Of course they had stools.

If your face hadn’t already been burning with embarrassment it definitely was now.

In a split-second decision, you decided playing dumb was the only way you could walk out of the situation with any dignity left at all, so you plastered on a confused smile and spun around to greet the stranger. “Really? I had no cl-”

You stopped short.

Oh.

Oh no.

You’d know those paint-stained jeans anywhere.

There, with his hands in his pockets and the most self-important, thin-lipped smirk you had ever seen, was easel boy in all of his cocky, intimidating, hot glory. Had you really noticed how hot he truly was before? It didn’t feel like it. Not now that you’d really seen him close up and reveled in the way his dark eyes hypnotized you with their smudged liner that felt borderline obscene. You could smell him too, all charcoal and turpentine and cigarette smoke. If you had it bad before when he was just a blurry ideal out your window, you were completely and utterly smitten now.

He regarded you with a sort of practiced annoyance, and yet there was a strange softness to it that you hadn’t found in many native Sokovians, especially ones that saw you as the stupid, bumbling American wandering blindly around their country.

“Would you like my help?”

“Huh?” You were so lost in his eyes that you couldn’t even focus on his question.

“To reach your book. Would you like my help?”

“Oh!” With a brisk nod, you stepped away from the shelf to make room for easel boy, “yeah, I’m just trying to grab that one there. The, uh, Epic of Gilgamesh,”

In one swift movement, he was stepping right beside you to easily reach up and grab the offending piece of literature. The closeness of it all nearly sent you into a tailspin. That wasn’t even mentioning the way your heart thudded just a little faster when he finally handed the book to you, his calloused fingers brushing against your own. You barely find a grip on your brain strong enough to thank him through the fog of embarrassment and attraction. Eventually, though, you managed to choke out a placation as your eyes explored the cover of the book.

“Thanks for that,”

“It was no problem,” he shrugged. He didn’t move though, still standing just inches away from you. When you looked up from the book you found his eyes were still on you, watching intently as if he expected something from you. The answer to what he actually expected was a mystery but you could tell he wanted something. When you didn’t speak, he spoke for you. “So, The Epic of Gilgamesh? That’s definitely a bold choice,”

You looked up at him sheepishly through heavily lidded eyes. “It’s not a choice at all, actually. I’m only buying it so I can write an essay,”

“Ah,” Something about his tone was almost disappointed as the conversation stalled.

You quickly changed the subject to the first thing you could think of.

“Your hair is really nice!”

“My hair?”

“Yeah… your hair,”

Smooth move, dumbass.

Easel boy’s expression seemed to soften once more as his signature grin crept back onto his face. “Thank you, I grew it myself,” Between his accent and the way he was looking at you like he was going to eat you alive, you weren’t exactly sure how you hadn’t had a heart attack yet. Still, the attention was nice, even if it was bourne out of you repeatedly embarrassing yourself in a never-ending cycle of fuckups. He ran a hand through his loose brown hair. “I like your shirt. Very American,”

Silently, you cursed yourself for not taking a few extra seconds to pick out a better outfit when you woke up. Standing next to him, even while he was dressed in his paint-stained jeans and undone button-up, you looked like a wreck in comparison. He didn’t seem to be speaking from a place of judgment, though.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was being nice, but that couldn’t be the case… could it?

“Maybe it’s just that I haven’t met very many Sokovians that are fond of America, but I’m not sure if that was meant to be a compliment or an insult,” You joked. It was a bit sarcastic, the lilt of your voice masking your deep insecurity, and to your surprise easel boy laughed. He really laughed. From your place beside him, you could almost feel the warmth radiating off of him as he shook his head.

“It was definitely a compliment,”

Oh.

Your heart skipped a beat.

That was a new revelation.

You steeled yourself with a deep breath. Fuck it. It was now or never.

“I, uh… I’m Y/N, and you are?”

He regarded you once again with that strange expression of expectation. “What?”

“I asked for your name,” you repeated, and yet he still stood, slightly dumbfounded, staring down at you with that same expectant expression from earlier. For a moment, you almost thought he expected you to know it already. That fact was quickly glossed over when he moved to rub the back of his neck with his hand, eyes drifting down to the floor.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, “I’m not very good with people. My father thought college might help me finally connect with my peers, but I don’t think he expected that I was the problem, nor do I think he expected me to pick a degree in the arts,” Suddenly, he paused and stuck out his hand to you. “I’m Hel. It’s very nice to meet you Y/N,”

With only a moment of hesitation- because wow, your name had never sounded more right on someone’s lips -you took his large calloused hand in your own and shook it gently. His palm was warm, his fingers lingering on your own for just a moment even as he pulled away. It wasn’t much, just a soft brush against your flesh, but it sent a flash of heat and liquid confidence through your chest.

“Is that short for something?” Your eyes met his in the soft yellow glow of the overhead lamps. Seeing him like this, so up close and personal, he looked a lot more human than he had from your window. Sure, he was imposing. Underneath the initial harsh facade, though, was something softer and almost poetic. You weren’t an artist by any means but if you had been, you had no doubt that he’d be your muse.

“It’s short for Helmut, but only my father calls me that, and only when he’s cross, which, unfortunately, is most of the time,” he chuckled, “Besides, it’s an old man’s name. It doesn’t suit me,”

The words left your mouth before you knew what you were saying.

“Well, it’s better than calling you easel boy,”

Shit.

Today really just wasn’t your day, huh?

In the split second where you were mourning your chances with the most stupidly handsome guy who had ever shown any interest in you, you almost missed the way Helmut’s eyes lit up at the admission.

“Easel boy?” His voice was teasing, but not demeaning. That didn’t do much to ease your mortification, though.

“Is there any chance that I can get you to forget I said anything?”

“If you already have a nickname for me when we’ve barely met, I think you already know the answer to that question,”

His knowing smirk was enough to get you pleading. “You can’t just let me off the hook this once?” you begged, scrubbing a hand across your forehead in a desperate attempt to get away from his piercing gaze. The things those brown eyes did to you could be classified as obscene… “I will genuinely do anything if you don’t make me explain myself right now Hel,”

Hel quirked up an eyebrow. “Anything?” The way your stomach turned at just one word from him was both terrifying and extremely exciting. It felt like a promise. Without hesitation, you nodded. That made him smile. “In that case, get coffee with me today?”

Once again, you were rendered speechless.

“My treat,” he added, “unless you’re not interested…”

“No!” Your answer left your lips embarrassingly fast, “Or- yes? No, no, I think I meant no. No; I am very interested. Yes; I would like to get coffee with you,” There was a hint of shame in your words, but only a hint. After the day you’d had already, there wasn’t very much there to be ashamed of. Still, that same pit of dread began to open up in your stomach as you mulled over your choices.

Thankfully, Helmut continued to take it all in stride. “Wonderful! Is there anything else you’d like to do here before we go? It’s best we leave soon if we want to beat the rain,” He offered up his arm as he spoke like some sort of Disney prince. It was, by far, the cutest gesture you had ever been lucky enough to receive.

You linked your arm with his without hesitation. “As soon as I pay we can get going,” He was warm. It radiated off him in waves just like the warm hints of tobacco and wintermint that seemed to seep from his skin and clothes. With that, you made your way to the front desk as Hel shot you a sly smile.

“Who said anything about letting you pay?”

True to his word, he didn’t let you pay for a single thing for the rest of the afternoon.

The two of you made your way up to the cashier together, and Helmut only separated from your side to grab his wallet before you could grab yours. He then spoke in rapid-fire Sokovian to the lady at the register and pulled what could only be described as a wad of Sokovian koronas while you set the book on the counter, and from the looks of it, she seemed more than pleased with the two of you. Who wouldn’t be, especially when Hel seemed to insist that she keep the excess? In the end, after the book had been wrapped nicely in a paper bag and deposited in your backpack, Helmut held the door open for you like some sort of gentleman and followed you out into the grey afternoon.

Then, you were off down the street on Hel’s arm, pushing through the wind and the biting chill that had settled in the air.

“So, you don’t sound like a big fan of your dad,” you asked, half laughing as you attempted to broach conversation once again.

Helmut groaned beside you. “My father is a menace who is unable to understand that some people want more in life than to sit behind a desk all day making phone calls. In fact, most of my family is the same way. The only reason I haven’t completely cut them off and changed my name is the money,”

“I assume you get a lot of it if it’s worth sticking around someone you hate so much,”

“Never ask a man about his net worth,” he chuckled, gently elbowing you in the ribs, “but yes, I’m very comfortable. I have my own apartment just far enough away to be considered off-campus with my own car and as much money as it takes to keep me happy and getting good grades; Daddy makes sure of that,” The word daddy was a deep sneer, barely there in the wind, but something about it sent butterflies through your stomach. Well, that was never something you thought you were into… “Little does he know, I’m not here to make money. I’m here to find inspiration worth my time while out from under his thumb,”

You snorted softly. “Artistic and rich? You’re just ticking all the boxes, Hel,”

“Good for me. Would offering help on that essay of yours endear you to me further?”

“Absolutely,”

The next 5 minutes you spend discussing the Epic of Gilgamesh. Surprisingly, in one of the first stokes of good luck you’d had all day, Helmut seemed to be one of the only people on earth who knew plenty about Enkidu off the top of his head. When he was the one lecturing you in his smooth, heavily accented timbre it was so much easier to pay attention to something so very tedious than when you heard it from your aging and often monotone professor. In fact, you were so enthralled by his retelling of the tale that you barely noticed you’d made it all the way to the cafe that sat across from the international dorm.

If you didn’t consider Hel to be smart as a whip and twice as clever as he was smart, you would have thought it was a coincidence. It couldn’t be though. No, there was no way anything was a coincidence with Helmut around. You shot him a smile when he opened the door for you and ushered you inside.

“You know Hel,” you muttered, “I’m starting to think you might know more about me than you initially let on,”

He shrugged. “You’re American, so it’s unlikely you live anywhere else and I wanted to make the walk home easy. It’s supposed to rain, you know? Besides, despite the… interesting waitstaff, they make the best pastries in town right here in this cafe,”

“Did you mean it when you said you were paying?”

“Absolutely,”

“Then I can’t wait to try one,”

The two of you were seated quickly (you assumed it had to do with the waitress finding Hel as hot as you did, because you caught her looking at him from behind the counter and whispering excitedly in Sokovian to her coworker at least twice over the course of the meal) and the conversation flowed easily as you waited on your coffees and the deserts Helmut insisted on splitting to let you try. Millefeuille, pear tart tatin, chocolate devil’s food cake, and a towering plate of apricot kołaczki awaited you, and they kept you sitting and talking and snacking for over an hour as you really got to know each other. The more you learned, the more you fell in love with the man across from you.

Over the course of the afternoon, you learned that Helmut was majoring in studio art while minoring in psychology just because it interested him, he hated the Beatles almost as much as he hated Freud’s theories on women, his favorite color was purple, and he spent most of his free time reading or getting high off his ass in his massive studio apartment in what you now knew was one of the most expensive areas in the city. He, in return, sat at rapt attention across the table as you gushed about your life in America, your reasons for going to university in Sokovia, your favorite books, and the ridiculousness that was trying to pass college-level classes in a country that seemed to avoid English at all costs.

Eventually, though, you did touch upon his nickname.

“I just thought it was really interesting that you did the same thing every single day, no matter what,” you explained, grabbing one of the last kołaczki from the plate and ignoring the powdered sugar that stuck to your fingers, “and by watching you… I don’t know, I guess it kind of felt like I had another friend who’d share breakfast with me in the morning if that makes sense,”

Hel nodded, swallowing his last bite of chocolate cake. “I understand completely. It can be lonely, coming to a new place without any friends or connections, but you were brave enough to take the leap. I admire that,” He brought his napkin to his lips before crumpling it and setting it one of the now empty plates before him, “But I can’t say I’m not a little disappointed that you didn’t watch me because I’m attractive,”

You nearly choked on your pastry. “Well, I wouldn’t say your pretty face didn’t help…”

The grin that spread across his face was heartstopping. He grabbed a napkin from the little holder next to the two of you and grabbed a pen from one of his pockets as he spoke. “In that case, you should join me tomorrow morning. Bring coffee if you can, I never have enough hands to bring a cup for myself, but even if you can’t bring some, if you want to come and watch me work I’d be more than happy to have a companion for the morning,” he paused for a moment, flustered, “or every morning, for that matter,”

“That sounds like a deal,” Your cheeks were hot, but not from embarrassment this time. No, it was anything but, because here you were across the table from a kind, attractive, intelligent Sokovian boy with money to spend and time to spare for you. You couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud too. He wanted you back, after all. You could see it in the way his eyes lingered on you just a little longer than he should, and even more plainly in the way he wrote his phone number in bold blue ink on the napkin and signed it with a doodle of a heart before passing it across the table to you.

“I’m going to go pay,” he said quietly while standing, “but I’ll be back in a second to walk you out. Alright?”

“Alright,”

There was something strangely similar to sorrow sitting in your chest when you watched him walk away. The sight of his ass as he went made up for it, though. Once he was obstructed by other patrons, you turned your attention to the napkin in your hands. Hel’s handwriting was neat as far as artists’ handwriting goes, but it still held a sort of looseness in its curves, a freedom in the way the numbers had flowed effortlessly from his pen. You popped the last kołaczki in your mouth as you admired the blue ink before devouring the final bites of pear tart and millefeuille. How had you gotten so lucky to have someone like him giving you his number and buying you pastries? You pondered the bizarre nature of it all until Helmut returned.

You stood quickly, folding the napkin and putting it away in your pocket. “Ready to go?”

“If you are,” he replied. In an instant, you were standing beside him again as he opened the door for you. The wind was even stronger now, strong enough that his loose hair whipped wildly around his forehead from the force of it. You couldn’t help but giggle at his appearance.

He caught you off guard as he walked you across the street. “You have such a pretty laugh,”

It was like you were seeing him again for the first time. You fiddled with the strap of your backpack as you got closer and closer to the door to your dorm. “Thanks. I’m pretty fond of your laugh too,”

Then, you were there, just two college kids standing awkwardly before your first departure.

“So,” you said before you could stop yourself, “when I tell my one friend all about this afternoon after my math class tonight, should I say it was a date?”

Hel’s cheeks flushed pink. “You can call it that, if that’s what you would like it to have been,”

“I think I would,”

“Good, good,” he let out a little chuckle, “I’m glad. Would you… would you consider going on another? I promise I have much more to offer than just small talk and tips on where to buy the best pastries,”

Looking into his brown eyes, so full of uncertainty and hope, you knew you couldn’t have denied him even if you wanted to. Still, you weren’t going to give in to his advances without a little bit of taunting. It made it fun, a game to be played where, hopefully, you both would win big in the end.

“That depends,” you teased, letting your lower lip catch between your teeth, “what do you have in mind?”

Helmut shoved his hands into his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels, pensive. “If you want to, we could go to my place and I could actually show you all of the paintings I’ve been working on while you watched me. The view from the rooftop is lovely too. We could have dinner up there while looking out over Novi Grad. I have to warn you, though, it’ll probably be takeout. I’m an atrocious chef,”

Slowly, a brilliant smile spread across your face. “Does Friday work?”

The smile Helmut shot back was as bright as every star in the night sky and even more enthralling. “Friday is perfect. Can I pick you up at 7?”

“As long as you come in that fancy car you were talking about,”

“Then it’s a deal,”

“Well,” you turned away, walking up the steps towards the door before turning back to him, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Hel, and I’ll bring coffee. Have a good night,”

“You too, Y/N. Parting is such sweet sorrow and all that,”

With that, he gave one last short wave before turning on his heel and pulling out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. You watched him walk away until he turned the corner and disappeared from view. Only then did you enter the punch code and race up the stairs to your room.

Your back was pressed to the door of your dorm room the second you had shut it, your hands clutching at your chest in a desperate attempt to keep your heart from beating right out of your ribs. The second you were in the privacy of your own place, your cool facade had melted away to reveal just how much of a wreck you really were.

He had invited you over to his apartment.

He liked you.

Easel boy really, honestly liked you.

No, not easel boy. Helmut. Hel.

Hel liked you, and he invited you over to his apartment, and you had plans to meet him with coffee as he painted the next morning.

You smiled softly under the fluorescent lights and pulled the book that had brought you together from your backpack. It seemed so unassuming now, just a fresh paperback with an unbroken spine, but in reality, it was so much more than that.

Hel.

It was such a nice name. You liked it a lot.

Now you couldn’t wait to see what else you liked about him too.

------

a/n: I have been so excited to start sharing this AU with you guys, and it’s finally here!!! If you liked this fic, I once again will direct you to Bliss by @creme-bruhlee because that’s technically next in chronological order for this AU. I hope you enjoyed!!!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace, @multiyfandomgirl40 , @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @avgravy , @wh0re-4-techno , @forcebros , @sugarsweetkiss , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff , @killsandthrills , @novasstudy , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp , @inmate-marmalade, @alanathedeer , @your-pixels-are-showing , @shit-post-things , @bbarton , @sux-ubus , @halefirewarrior , @janelongxox , @rax-writes , @mossybank , @simsiddy , @xxspqcebunsxx , @be-cautious-around-bri , @metaphorical-love-for-a-car , @frothonthedaydreams

#zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader #fanfiction

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rawrroarart · 4 years

Text

Diakko!Odyssey AU

Most recent update: 8/28/2020 I added the comic of them meeting and also wrote a little snippet under the Diakko section

Welcome all. This post will officially be my master post of the Odyssey AU which will be updated as time moves forward so that I can link all of my related art to it. Yes I will not be posting multiple separate Updates in text posts how it’s traditionally done, but instead there will be information with each art and then a link back to this post. This is to avoid clutter since I hardly post on this blog anyway so it wouldn’t be fun having to scroll through all of my “OH ALSO THIS HAPPENS!” to get to art. Also I keep changing my mind on a lot of things in the AU so disregard information under the arts anyway as I will be posting here what is actually relevant.

Another key thing: I will be avoiding spoilers as much as possible until they are either shown in art or stated explicitly like I do in posts because I am the absolute worst at surprises. But anyway fear not for spoilers. Things said here are things that should be hinted at/known already. (and also I hardly know anything but maybe I will in due time)

Without further ado..

Introduction

What is the Odyssey AU?

The odyssey au is an alternative universe combining both Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey and Little Witch Academia into this (very random) adventuring story that takes place in ancient Greece. I guess I can’t say that it’s random since one of my favorite things about both ACO and LWA is the ties/references to mythology with the former obviously more rooted in the mythology and the latter just fun easter egg references.

The general premise is that Diana is a misthios(mercenary) who travels with Akko, a shapeshifter, across Greece to find the answers pertaining to her origin.

The first art post: Diana and Akkoros

While living her life as a misthios, Diana searches for the answers pertaining to her origin and superhuman (described as “magical”) abilities along with Shapeshifter Atsuko, who commonly uses her powers for flight, but is not shy to switch to animals more suited for combat.

But I don’t know what Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey is?

That’s fair and understandable. Honestly my AU diverges a lot from the game so I don’t think knowledge of ACO is exactly necessary it’s just fun to understand the connections if you know them. Basically the key things you need to know from ACO as of now is:

Kassandra (the protag) is known as the Eagle Bearer because she has an eagle that is known as the “eagle of Zeus” throughout the game. And they adventure together and Ikaros (the eagle) can hunt n kill things and See things and tbh he’s rly just a cool eagle but not a shapeshifter or anything lol

Kassandra is a Mercenary (misthios) which is basically a for Hire fighter/person who will p much do anything for money (if they want to do it)

Kassandra is usually referred to a demi-god because of her powerful fighting abilities in which I mean yea she literally has powers and can blast people like a billion miles away (im jk but-)

Kassandra can tame animals (which ones depending on your skill level). You can tame uhh wolves, lynx, leopards, lions, bears. This is where my ‘shapeshifter’ idea began and it pretty much fit perfectly since Akko’s favorite spell is the shapeshifting one.

Other than this, the most important things to know for this AU is just,, general mythology,, I guess? Or history? General history of mythology and how people worshipped/acted in accordance to the gods. And I’m not saying im going to be historically accurate obviously, nor even mythologically accurate (if that’s even a thing lol), I’m just here to have a good time and enjoy my gay mercenaries while talking about gods/goddesses as if I even know (thankfully I have my gf who is way more interested in mythology than me to help me)

I’ve only played like half of the Atlantis DLC after beating the game so whoopsie. I honestly really wanna replay everything now that I have this AU just so I can focus more on details and what I can yoink.

Characters

Diana

Art:

Diana’s sketch-dump though she really needs a new one.

Diana in wheat field

Diana is the main protagonist of the story, but they pretty much both share the spotlight anyway. Her goal is to find out why she has certain powers (which I have officially decided, finally...) that aren’t exactly human. Since being a misthios was an easy way for her to travel and make drachmae, she chooses to do it while on their journey. Dammit I came up with her lore but as per the rules of this masterpost I can’t write about it until it’s out smh.. Ah I forgot that I already spilled that she is a goddess/demi-goddess (haven’t decided which yet) so yea that’s the Tea.

Described as very beautiful, there are rumors of her that state she is a pathway to Elysium (despite many people not deserving to go to Elysium). She is also known for her stoic face and a red bird that follows her around.

Diana is only found smiling with Akko and keeps buying Akko clothes despite her outer grievances each time Akko destroys something.

Diana was there with her mother at Chariot’s speech/performance.

Diana is skilled with any weapon.

Akko

Art:

Akko sketch-dump

Akko is a shapeshifter who travels with Diana across Greece in search for her idolized Chariot. Trusting both Diana’s skills and powers, Akko decides that Diana is the best choice to help achieve her goal as they adventure together.

Orphaned at a young age, Akko is, at first, very unfamiliar with how exactly to use her powers because there was no one around to teach her. She uses a bird most often because it is her first and most skilled transformation, but eventually learns to use stronger animals over time. Also eagle-vision is much more useful to Diana when they’re scoping the grounds anyway.

Like all shapeshifters, Akko has a symbol on her neck that signifies what she is. Due to the high prejudice against shapeshifters, Akko stays an animal to avoid being known, and also does not transform in front of others unless to kill them. If she has to be a human, Akko commonly wears a hood to hide her neck.

Akko is one of the last shapeshifters to exist, and, despite Chariot being rumored to have finally been murdered, she still believes Chariot is alive.

Akko was with her parents when they all attended Chariot’s final speech/show and here began her dream.

Akko can use a dagger if she needs to.

Side-characters

Akko’s Parents: Shapeshifters who were murdered when Akko was a young age.

Chariot: A shapeshifter who somehow had a voice and power that even normal people listened to. Akko idolizes Chariot because, despite the hate against shapeshifters, Chariot was well known and was an activist for shapeshifters despite the danger upon her head. Chariot mysteriously disappears one day for reasons unknown, and everyone but Akko assumes she was finally murdered.

Shapeshifters

Shapeshifters are defined as humans who possess the ability to transform to any animal at will. Unfortunately, because animals were seen as less than human, shapeshifters were defined as “punished by the gods” and so many decided shapeshifters needed to be removed from the world for sin. This causes a massacre of shapeshifters to the point that they are instead a rarity.

Shapeshifters do not transform with their clothes, and so either destroy them or lose them depending on their transformation.

All shapeshifters have a symbol on their neck which is what is used to find them. They can also be found by their human personalities/characteristics when they are an animal.

If weakened, shapeshifters return to their human form and cannot transform until they are stronger.

Diakko

Art:

Meeting (Comes with a 500 word story!)

Misthios!Diana and Shapeshifter!Akko Sketch-dump

Diana and Bear!Akko

Fancy Diakko (the first continuity error lol)

Diana and Akko adventure together and do all of their quests together as a rag-tag chaotic duo. God I’m so excited for this section I wish I could make art FASTER but anyway:

They meet at about 17 years old but the main story takes place when they are 18+

The two get off to a wrong start when Diana saves Akko’s life. Because Akko is a shapeshifter, she’s high in value to kill probably by some cult idk but there is always a bounty on her head. When Diana saves her, Akko assumes Diana only did so to steal the drachmae from the original perpetrators, but Diana really just leaves her alone afterwards. Confused, Akko legit just starts tagging along LMAO she finds Diana interesting and so follows her and Diana’s just like what the fuck but eventually she gets over it. They become powerful assets to each other as Diana can now scope the skies with Akko and Akko is pretty much protected under Diana. Then when Akko gets much stronger Diana gets extra manpower and protection too.

Akko enjoys staying in her human form to spend time with Diana.

Diana keeps buying Akko clothes just because it makes Akko happy (and also, despite Akko uncaring because her transformations are so frequent anyway, Diana doesn’t want her to be naked??)

Diana is easily persuaded by Akko and puts Akko’s interests first (feeds her first, considers what Akko would want, etc.)

#lwa #lwa au #odyssey au #odyssey masterpost #my writing #odyssey!diakko

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junionigiri · 6 years

Text

Work In Progress [BNHA] [Preview of Chapter 1!]

Rating: T for strong language (since Bakugou is in it )

Summary: For the year’s Interscholastic Fantasy Festival, Class 2A is working on a musical! The reluctant Bakugou is assigned to work on the script with Uraraka, who proves to be a more eccentric writer than he thought.

Relationship: Kacchako <3

Notes/Warnings: This is a preview of a part of chapter 1. Since there’s the main story and the story within the story, the chapters are pretty darn long. I’ll start publishing the chapters in full once I’m five chapters in ^^’ Apart from Bakugou’s language and liberal 4th wall breaks I don’t think there’s anything to worry about in this fic~

Bakugou seriously did not want to work on Uraraka’s dumbass script. It’s not that he was bad at writing--in fact, beyond his good grades, he knew he was pretty good at it. Principal Nezu had personally informed him that the essay he submitted on “Why I Want To Be A Hero” was one of the most well-composed ones he’s ever read.

It’s just that Bakugou hated fantasy. And hated fiction-writing (because fiction was not real, therefore it was a waste of his fuckin’ time).

Most of all though, he hated having to work with other people to achieve any kind of common goal. Look at his damn stats for cooperativeness in the character book and anyone with half a brain would get it. And to cooperate for a stupid ass waste of time like the Fantasy Festival? Who the hell thought up of the stupid Fantasy Festival anyway?! Weren’t there more important things in society to worry about?

And the fact that he was working with Uraraka fuckin’ Ochako was in itself pretty aggravating. It’s not that he hated her--in fact, she was one of the few to earn Bakugou’s (grudging) respect, since their infamous Sports Festival encounter when they were first years.

However, since their encounter at the festival, Uraraka learned not to be the tiniest bit afraid of him anymore. He knew that this girl wouldn’t be the type to just shut up and do what he tells her to, and he really didn’t feel like making such an effort just to write a stupid play.

But now that he knew that fuckin’ All Might was counting on him to write the script, well… he couldn’t get out of it now, could he? Bakugou was many things, but a disappointment to All Might, he’d rather not be.

So that was how he found himself stomping his way away from the common areas to his room, with Uraraka bouncing right behind him. They were going to sit down there to look over her draft, but it was overrun by the costumes, set-design, and props people with all their shit.

“Why your room?” Uraraka said, huffing as she struggled to keep up with Bakugou’s pace. “I don’t think girls are allowed there…”

“Let ‘em try to kick you out, Round-Face,” he growled as he tapped on the elevator button impatiently.

“If you say so, Explodey-face,” she teased, earning her a growl which was received with a giggle. This was what Bakugou was talking about. This damn girl knew no fear.

They eventually made it to his room, with Bakugou stomping the entire way and Uraraka skipping like an oblivious little red riding hood romping through the forest with a picnic basket, the purest picture of ignorance and innocence, unwitting of the ravenous wolf who lurked in the foreboding shadows of the dark, nightmarish wood.

Ugh. Really, Bakugou? Already gearing yourself up to write this fuckin’ fantasy shit? You guys haven’t even sat down yet. Don’t be too fuckin’ eager.

“Uwaa, your room’s amazing, Bakugou! I didn’t think it would be so neat and sparkly~”

Much to his annoyance, Little Pink Riding Cheeks was already making herself right at home next to his desk. He felt a vein or two pop over his forehead, like in animes if they were in an anime. “Why the fuck wouldn’t it be neat and sparkly?! You expect a guy like me to just live in a dump?!”

“I’m just sayin’, I wish my room was as neat. I knew you were great at lots of things, but even cleaning?” she said wistfully. “Hey, I have an idea! Next time, let’s go to my room, and--”

“I ain’t helping you clean your damn room, Round-Face.”

She pouted and innocently twiddled her thumbs. “I -wasn’t- going to say that, but, you know, now that you mentioned it…”

He grit his teeth so loudly Uraraka gasped and asked him if his teeth were okay. “Let’s just…!!! Get this fuckin’ script over and done with already!”

“Eh, fine, fine. Sorry for teasin’ ya! Watch yer blood pressure, a’ight?” She reached over to open her bag and pulled out a messy folder that was crumpled, filled to its limit with papers with tags pointing in all directions. A post-it with a messy scrawl on it flew out as she pulled out the mess. “So, this is what we’re gonna be workin’ on!”

“What the fuck is that mess? Did you fuckin’ sit on it and flush it down the toilet and set it on fire?”

“How rude!” Uraraka puffed her cheeks. “I only sat on it once! On accident! And I don’t bring homework to the toilet! That’s just unladylike.” She opened up the folder and revealed a disorganized array of handwritten scripts scrawled on legal pad, post-its, sketches, more post-its, reference photos of their classmates with post-its on them, receipts, a grocery list, and a few folded-up paper bags from Tokyu Hands.

Bakugou’s fingers itched. He spent so much energy restraining himself from fixing the mess that was now taking over his desk that he barely heard Uraraka’s spiel.

“So, in the meeting which you missed, we drew lots. Everyone’s working on the production and stuff but all of us will be acting in the play too. Some of us bit parts and stuff, but yeah. I asked everyone what they wanted their roles to be. Based on those ideas, I sketched out my ideas on what their characters would be.”

She pulled out the sketches, and Bakugou had to admit, they weren’t badly done. He would go so far as to say that she might have a talent in drawing. They were scratchy and messy, but Uraraka seemed to place great care in drawing out the likeness of each classmate, and the details of each character and costume and even background information were at least 70% fleshed out for each of them.

“So based on the lottery, Deku-kun’s the lead character. You, me, Tsuyu-chan, and Todoroki-kun are gettin’ large roles, plus we gotta pay attention to All-Might-sensei’s important cameo. We’re gonna write the story based on all of this! And, if we want to allot time for practice and stuff, we have to finish most of the script in a week!”

“The f-- I’m gettin’ a large role too?! Nobody said that!”

“It ain’t my fault you weren’t at the meeting, Bakugou-kun.”

The blonde boy scowled as he went through the sketches. The fucking nerd Deku’s role was that of a ‘Squire’ (but his costume made him look like a fucking hobbit). Uraraka had a hood (fuckin’ coincidence from his red riding hood fantasy earlier) and a staff, and she was a ‘Mage’. Frog was a froggy lookin’ barmaid. IcyHot was a Prince (probably of the Land of Half and Halfs where people were always shitty and constipated). All Might was a Legendary Knight in exile (also fitting, in a morbid sort of way).

And Bakugou was… a Bard. His sketch had him wear fuckin’ poofy pants and a stupid fuckin’ hat with a feather on it and a stupid shitty tiny harp that the chubby babies in those old fuckin’ European paintings had. He all but made the paper disappear from a blast from his fist. “Oi, Roundface. Who’s the fucker I gotta kill besides you for giving me this pansy-ass role?!”

“Hey, it’s your fault. You weren’t there yesterday.” Uraraka repeated, not even the least bit apologetic. “And that thing you destroyed was a brilliant joint effort between me, Kirishima-kun and Kaminari-kun. Nice goin’, Explodey-face.”

“Fuck y’all! I’ll kill those idiots!” He shredded the paper further. “Gimme that pencil!” Within seconds, he sketched out something different, muttering expletives the entire time. After he was done, he dumped the pencil on the desk, almost breaking it into tiny little pieces.

Uraraka gasped. “Wow, Bakugou! That’s really impressive! A Dragon Tamer, huh?” She traced his sketch with one finger, which showed him with a fur cape, tattoos, a necklace made of the fuckin’ skulls and teeth of his enemies, pants and boots, and lots of fire blazing in the background for extra badassery. She grinned at him teasingly. “So you have been thinkin’ about this so-called fantasy shit too!”

“Fuck you,” he said, shoving her in the face unceremoniously. “Now I know that I gotta change that fuckin’ script of yours. Let’s just get this fuckin’ shit over with.”

“Okay…” Uraraka pulled out the legal pads, but shielded them from Bakugou. “Um. Just so you know, Bakugou, these are really, really, rough drafts, okay?”

His jaw jutted out in annoyance. “The fuck you mean by rough drafts. I thought I was just gonna edit your shit.”

She gave him a ridiculous look. “Well, you are. But also, I started workin’ on this just a week ago sooooo you gotta help me finish like a teeny bit of it.”

“How fuckin’ teeny do you mean.”

“Um. Like. 50% of it, mmmaybe…?”

Bakugou could almost see the smoke coming out of his own fuckin’ nostrils.

“Anyway, that’s exactly why we can’t waste anymore time, right?” said Uraraka, a positive beam glowing out of both ears. “And don’t you worry! The story’s practically finished in my head!”

There’s probably nothing in there but a single light bulb struggling to survive, thought Bakugou in annoyance. He put his palm to his face and tried his hardest not to yell at her. “Fine, Uraraka. Let’s just fuckin’ start already. No matter what, I’m kickin’ you out of my room by 10 PM.”

“Okay! Glad ya see it my way, Bakugou-kun!” She smiled and pulled out the first page of the script, which read:

- Deku and the Final Fantastic Lord of the School of Wizardry!: The Legend of the Airbender’s Song of Ice and Fire -

(A Work in Progress)

Act One, Scene One: In Which Deku-kun Leaves His House and Adventure Begins

Written by: Uraraka Ochako

“The fuck? Are you trying to outdo Class B’s lameass play from the last year’s cultural festival, Round-face?”

“It’s a work in progress! We can edit it out later.” Uraraka said as she scribbled Explodey McSplodeface next to her name on the by-line.

#bnha fic #bnha #boku no hero academia #kacchako #kacchako fic #bakuraka #bakugou x uraraka #bnha fantasy au #kinda

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sadrien · 7 years

Text

prince of cats

chapter one: if i profane with my unworthiest hand

on ao3 || on ffnet

[full note on ao3]

it been a journey to get here. i started outlining in november.... i'm really excited that i'm finally able to share it with everyone! this fic was inspired by two (2) posts. one of which was this video of salem the glittery cat

shoutout to everyone in the miracusquad who was online when i started talking about this! thank you for letting me idea bounce/dump, and thank you for being so supportive in general <3 shoutout to my @mlfanfiction fam for not yelling at me when they realize that i had many other things i was supposed to be doing in november. things that were not this fic.... i love you guys and finally, massive shoutout to @ladriened!!! thank you for your endless support kc <3

last quick thing! im going to be using these tags for this fic: 'proc ml' and 'prince of cats ml'. obviously i wasnt going to use poc and prince of cats is already used for half a dozen other things because...shakespeare

enjoy!!!!

Marinette hums to herself as she hauls her bag up on her shoulder and flicks off the lights in her apartment. For once, she got a decent amount of sleep and she actually ate breakfast this morning, so today is already better than most. Now if she can get the stitching on this new jacket done before lunch…

She pauses to check her phone as she closes the door behind her. Nothing surprising, nothing pressing. Alya confirming lunch like she does every week and insisting Marinette bring juicy gossip to the table. Marinette rolls her eyes as she turns the key in the lock. Fortunately, or unfortunately for Alya, work has been drama free lately. A nice breath of fresh air after a tense argument between two other designers that ended in screaming a few weeks ago. For days after, the workroom was stifling and awkward. Marinette is glad she has nothing to bring to Alya. Besides, Alya will have more enough to say on her own.

Marinette looks up in surprise as she spots movement out of the corner of her eye. She blinks as a black cat leaps up onto the sill of the window at the end of the hall. The cat sits up and licks it paw, shimmering gold in the morning light.

“Huh.” Marinette stuffs her keys into her bag and inches closer to the cat. A golden cat, that’s…odd. She didn’t even realize anyone on this floor had a cat. She glances over her shoulder as a door swings shut and someone swears. She sees the cat jump down from the window out in her peripheral vision and run toward the stairs. Marinette takes another step into the center of the hallway with half a mind to follow it.

Instead, someone crashes into her.

Marinette stumbles backward, her legs tangling with theirs. She groans as she hits the floor hard, banging her elbow on the ground. She winces as the person above her apologizes profusely.

“I-I’m so sorry, so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Marinette stares at him, heart in her throat. His face is flushed and his blond hair falls in his eyes, eyes so green that spring itself would be jealous.

He stops talking and she forces herself to look away from his eyes. Instead she studies his coat, long and dark with impeccable stitching. She tries to come up with a price range for a trenchcoat of this quality to distract herself from the fact that his hands are bracing either side of her head and they’re incredibly close for two complete strangers.

“H-hi,” she stutters.

He blinks. “Uh…hey.” His eyes go wide as a meow echos through the stairwell. “Shit!” he whispers, scrambling to his feet. He runs a hand through his hair, making it puff around his head like a halo, and offers Marinette his other hand. She hesitates for a moment before taking it, letting him tug her to her feet. “Nice to meet you, I have to go!” he says as he sprints toward the stairs. He hooks onto the wall and skids as he turns the corner into the stairwell.

It takes Marinette a moment to realize her bag has spilled all over the hallway floor.

She tries to shake the stranger and his sparkling cat from her mind as she picks up her things and hurries to work. She drowns herself in fabric and sketches, but she can’t get his face out of her mind. When she picks up a pencil to work on a dress design, she finds herself itching to trace out his profile and the curl of his hair.

Marinette groans and puts her head down on her sketchbook. She’s twenty four! She’s a grown woman with a job and an apartment and a social life. She should be over the collège crush phase, but here she is. Obsessing over someone she hasn’t even exchanged names with. Strangers have caught her eye before, a smile making her heartstrings twinge or bright eyes causing butterflies to flutter in her stomach, but she hasn’t experienced something like this in years. All feelings and mush and sudden wooshes of emotion that make her feel like she’s floating.

This is ridiculous.

Marinette texts Alya, because she needs to be grounded, stat. She doesn’t have time to be moon eyed over a guy, no matter how tall and handsome.

From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful Are we still on for lunch??? Like 1000000%?? (I know you confirmed earlier I just need like. Another confirmation sorry)

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess of course!!! arent u at work?

From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful :P Yes

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess something up??

From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful Yes but Im saving it for lunch The usual??

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess gotcha yes!! see u in a bit! <3

From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful See you then!

Marinette puts down her phone and gives in. When she returns to actual work, the stranger’s face covers two pages of her sketchbook.

✦ ✦ ✦

Thoughts of the stranger vanish from Marinette’s mind as Alya practically collapses in the seat across from her.

“Are you alright?” Marinette asks, reaching out to touch the back of Alya’s hand.

“I hate my job,” Alya groans. She drops her head down on the table with a thump.

Marinette rolls her eyes but pats the top of Alya’s head anyway. “You love your job.”

“Not today,” Alya mutters. “I’m going to set this entire article on fire.”

“That bad?”

“Yes. I just— words? Sources? Journalism? It’s all horrible.” Alya sighs and wallows for another moment before sitting up. “Didn’t you have something you wanted to talk about?” she asks.

The stranger’s eyes appear in Marinette’s mind and suddenly, under Alya’s gaze, it all seems incredibly trivial. Marinette knows Alya would willingly listen to her talk about the weather and be completely invested in the conversation, but she can see the way work is weighing on Alya’s shoulders. Marinette can feel it weighing on her own. She wouldn’t be lying if she said thinking about the stranger was a good way to procrastinate.

Marinette glances down at the menu, even though she already knows exactly what she’s getting. “Same as you; work. This new line is possibly going to kill me.”

Alya nods in agreement. “Right there with you, girl.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Marinette stands in the hallway in front of her apartment for much longer than she usually does. Usually, she’s dead on her feet and ready to sleep. Recently, she’s been working longer and longer hours to work on the newest clothing line. But today she’s wired and awake. And has been standing in the hallway fumbling for her keys for almost ten minutes.

She shakes her head as she slides her key into the lock and twists it until she hears the click. She’s an adult, not a teenager. She needs to pull herself together. She also needs a glass of wine and Netflix. She pushes the door open and flicks on the lights in her apartment. Just as she’s stepping inside, the apartment door next to her opens and a tall, blond man steps out, holding a phone to his ear and keeping his eyes cast to the floor as he locks the door behind him.

Marinette scrambles to shut her apartment door, her heart beating in her ears. She feels like she was just caught staring, even though he hadn’t even glanced her way.

Right. So her immediate next door neighbor that she never bothered to meet is her handsome stranger from earlier. Of course. That makes sense, she knows almost everyone else on the floor.

She sighs and rests her forehead against the door. “You’re ridiculous,” she murmurs to herself.

She toes off her shoes, changes into pajamas, and collapses on the couch with her laptop, her tablet, and a glass of wine. The bottle sits on the coffee table in front of her and she’s sorely tempted to just drink straight from the bottle. The past few weeks have been overwhelming and dealing with a crush on top of it—

Marinette isn’t sinking that low. Not yet.

(She hears Alya in her head insisting that drinking wine from the bottle isn’t a low point. She hears Alya say it as she hands Nino and Marinette their own glasses before taking a long sip from the bottle. “I feel like a teenager again,” Alya says with a bright smile and knocks the bottle against Nino’s glass.)

Marinette turns on the TV and chooses a show to start binging at random. Then she makes herself comfortable with her tablet and computer and lets her mind wander as she draws whatever comes to mind. Dresses and jackets start to form on the blank canvas of her screen. The swoops of skirts and the curls of hair. The straight lines and sharp curves forming themselves into clothes and people and expressions and accessories.

Marinette finds herself using an awful lot of green.

#marinette dupain cheng #ml fanfiction #miraculous ladybug #alya cesaire #ml fanfic #proc ml #prince of cats ml

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topicprinter · 5 years

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Hi y'all, longtime lurker and wantrepreneur. (TLDR at bottom) Normally that title is not something to be proud of, but in my case it’s the truth. I’ve always wanted to own and run a business. For me, it’s not about being the boss. It’s not about becoming freakishly rich creating the next Uber or Facebook. It’s not even about hating my full-time job. (Disclaimer: I freaking love my day job)My want comes from a starry eyed desire to provide value to others. Entrepreneurship is all about creating and providing value to the world around you. This could be a restaurant cooking up some tasty food or a cell phone app that makes somebody’s life marginally easier. I want to leave this world a better place than I found it. That’s my mantra and my purpose in life.“So Paul, why don’t you go start a business?”, you ask. Well, right now I’m trying. More specifically, I’m trying to find how I want to provide value. I spent all of college and a few years after, paralyzed with the questions “What do I do?”, “What business do I want to start?”, “What would succeed, and would I even enjoy it?” I filled up notebooks sketching out hundreds of ideas, only to find myself stuck again at the drawing board. It wasn’t until about five months ago that I realized that there’s not a perfect answer to those questions. And more importantly, I realized I’ll never find my way by just thinking myself in circles.So in September 2018, I started a blog, The purpose of the blog was to detail my journey of testing 12 business ideas in 12 months. (I counted the blog as the first business idea) It’s been 4 months, and so far I’ve spent 140 hours and $1077.34 building three blogs and one mobile app. I wouldn’t consider any of the four projects I’ve built successes, but I did finish each one. (Which is saying something for me!)“Wow! Four businesses!” you might think. Why would I call myself a wantrepreneur?I don’t consider any of the projects I’ve built successful, because I haven’t generated revenue from them. Literally, $0. What’s worse, I’ve only monetized one of the four ideas. Woe is me, right? I’m certainly discouraged, but I’m not giving up just yet. I wanted to take some time to organize what I have learned from my four failures, as well as share that knowledge around. Everyone likes numbered lists, so here we go.1. Find a schedule/system that works for you. (Setup a habit)Motivation is fleeting, so set up habits, goals, and rewards to keep pushing through the hard times. The biggest thing I struggled with is mustering up the strength to code on my project after a 10 hour day of coding for my full-time job. Plan for this, and everybody’s plan will look different.2. Market your product (Or get someone to do your marketing)I wish I could go back in time and smack September Paul in the mouth. If I could I would yell, “Hire somebody to do your marketing for you! Paul, you don’t know shit about marketing.” I went into this journey thinking I could just post weekly on Reddit and Facebook about my progress. Oh and maybe, I could finally make one of those Twitter or Instagram accounts and build that for marketing. NO. Subreddit moderators will remove any self-promotion posts faster than you can check if it’s even up. Your personal Facebook account will be equally difficult to get meaningful feedback. (Unless you want feedback from Grandma) And if you’re like me and trying to build a twitter/insta following at the last minute, let me tell you it is a struggle.3. Make it cost money! (And don’t save this step for last)This seems like the most obvious one on the list. “No duh, a business needs to charge money”, you might be thinking. But I’m not talking about polished and completed products. I mean as soon as you’re asking people “would you pay for this”, you should have something to sell and put in their hands. Don’t fall into the trap of thinking it’s not good enough to ask people to pay for. The payment is the ultimate test if the prototype is worth it’s weight. (A price tag also makes users take you more seriously.) Even ideas that generate sneaky revenue (like ads), incorporating some kind of payment is a MUST. You’ll have the least amount of motivation/confidence at the end of building your project, so set up a payment stream as soon as possible.4. Don’t build something you wouldn’t use/buyBefore I build any project, one of the first things I do is check if someone has already beat me to it. There’s often a solution that fits the exact use case I was thinking of, and it works better than I could have designed it. Someone else has already build the thing that I need, and I still don’t spend money on their superior product. When that happens, I realize that the product idea is a non-starter. If I wouldn’t buy or download the superior solution that I needed and searched in the first place, why would anyone else buy it? Use yourself as a litmus test, and ask: “If this was a thing, would I actually download it/ buy it?” Be honest.5. Find someone that’s done it before to be your mentorFrankly, this is something I haven’t done myself yet. However, I know is absolutely necessary for success. My plan from here on out is to find someone that is familiar with the niche I’m building, and reach out to them via email, LinkedIn, or Twitter. I’m not saying reach out to Mark Cuban and bug him with general business questions. Instead if you’re starting a candle and soap business, find someone that’s experiencing success with that and ask them for guidance. Ask them good questions to specific problems you’re having. Good questions will take you further than bad questions like “How did you do it?” or “Where do I start?”.6. Keep the scope of the project small and simple. (Then make it simpler)I’m a big dreamer, so this is something I personally struggle with a lot. I can plan out in detail how to put together a big project on paper. But actually executing each step to bring that project to life is hard. Keep stripping your plans until you’re left with a minimum viable product. No features, bells, or whistles.7. Don’t hide your idea. Share it with everyone proudly, and get good at sharing it.Sharing your work can be scary. Asking for feedback can be even scarier. But the more you do it the less scary it is. Personally, I get less emotionally attached to my work the more I share it. When I get told my business idea rocks or sucks after I’ve already shared it with 20 people each individual opinion holds less weight. When this happens you can start evaluating the feedback for what it is, raw unemotional data. Whatever your business idea is, you should be able to explain it in layman’s terms in one short line or phrase.8. One month is not enough time to build a businessShocker. One month is barely enough time to build a meaningful prototype if you’re working in your free-time. If I could do it over again, I would allocate three to six months of part time work for each business idea. Work hard, use time wisely, but don’t set unrealistic deadlines for yourself.9. Plan a vacation/break!Everybody needs time to relax and decompress. Entrepreneurship is no different, cut out some time to rest and recover regularly. I like to keep the pace of my breaks about as often as I would vacation from a standard corporate job. Your work will suffer if you’re constantly stressed or exhausted. Go easy on yourself!10. Take care of yourself while you’re hustling. Exercise, sleep, and eat right.This point is so important I saved the best for last, so it sticks. Take care of your physical and mental health, or you’ll burn out in four months like I did. Plan for it, build habits, do whatever you have to do to stay healthy. Find what works for you. For ideas, here’s what I find works for me in this order:Exercise regularly (like 5x a week or more) — At least break a sweat each timeDon’t eat garbage. Junk food does NOT give you energy, it’s gives you temporary comfort and is slowly killing you. You know this, eat right.Be around people. Talk out any problems, even if you’re an introvert like me.Go talk a doctor or therapist if you’re still in the dumps. It’s hard to ask for help, but you will not out-think or out-muscle mental illness. I know this from experience, don’t overthink it, suck up your pain/pride, and ask for help. If you have honestly tried 123^ consistently and it’s not helping, call the number on the back of your insurance card and ask around for in-network therapists. Be kind to yourself, and hang in there. :)I put together this list for myself as much I did to share it with others. And I’m not giving up on my irrational goal of 12 startups in 12 months. I’m going to weekly review this list and make sure I’m practicing what I preach. There’s an infinite amount of tips/advice for starting a business, but I wanted to organize and share something that I wish past me could have read.TLDR: Build habits. Marketing is important and hard. Don't work for free. Only build something you would actually use. Find a mentor. Keep it simple, stupid. Take care of yourself.

#/r/startups #reddit

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