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nightowlfandom · 3 years

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Ayato Sakamaki- My Only Human

HEY HEY!!

ANON ASKS

Can I make a request from your x -rated prompts. 36, 40, 57 , With Ayato Sakamaki. >.< if you can.

Idea: Maybe the reader, catches a student at the night school flirting and touching him, but when she thought he would shove her off, he doesn't. She gets super mad at him and doesnt talk to him the rest of the day until he comes in her room after school demanding to the what the readers problem is, and it leads to some rough sexy time??

If you cant thats fine >.<

If YoU CaN’t ThAt’s FiNe, PSSSSHH I GOT THIS

36- That’s it, grab my hair. Yank it, pull me back into your pussy.

40- How do you ride me so good? God damn, you’re gonna break me!

57- Fuck! You’re mine. You’re fucking mine and I’m fucking yours.

CHECKOUT MY MASTERLIST HERE!!!

Leggo!!

...

“Yui, question.” you walked through the halls with your favorite adoptive-cousin.

“Y/N, Answer!” she giggled in reply. “What’s up?”

“I needed help! Me and this math thing is not a thing.” you glared down at your folder.

“18, 42, 6.9 and X=17.” she instantly filled in the blanks to the questions you hadn’t answered.

“Have I ever told you I loved you?” you faked crying.

“Only always.” she shrugged. “I see the boys beat us here.” she mused, noticing the Sakamaki AND the Mukami brothers in the respective groups by the lockers, right across from each-other.

“Always beating us here, but never offering to drop us off...assholes.”

“Aren’t you the one insisting on Ayato and you arriving at different times?” she raised a brow as you two slowed down in pace.

“I told it it would be better if I arrived a little bit after him after his gaggling fans dispersed.” you half-shrugged. “The last thing I need are his fangirls trying me.” you rolled your eyes.

“Like that girl flirting with Ayato?”

“Exactly...Wait WHAT?”

Yui pointed in the direction of the Sakamaki brothers. A girl was standing in front of him. Holding her books to her chest with one hand while twirling strands of her hair in another.

“Julia.” you growled. “She always does this!” you motioned to how ridiculous it was that she always flirted with one of the Sakamaki brothers. Especially the one that was TAKEN!

“Ayato won’t let her even touch him!” Yui tried to console you.

“You know what, you’re right.” you smiled a little. Everyone knew you two were an item. She wouldn’t dare.

“He loves you and he wouldn’t let her-”

You two watched as Ayato put on a flirtatious smile, crossing his arms in amusement as he leaned against the lockers.

“Maybe he won’t even entertain-”

Julia trailed a finger up his arm, laughing like a hyena.

“Maybe he’ll embarrass her?”

You watched as he took her hand, raised it to his mouth and gave her knuckles a short peck.

“Maybe-”

“Yui I love you, but I’ma need you to stop talking.” your voice kinda cracked.

You had transferred from day school to night school for him. You had transferred SCHOOLS for him. You dealt with the burden of having to take care of a human girl who was allergic to her own skin (you loved Yui to bits, but damnit if she didn’t get you into trouble all the time) on some days along with dealing with a bunch of perverted, self-important, assholes for him...so why..WHY was he responding to Julia....like he was single.

“I’m going class.” you grumbled. “See you later.”

“Y/N WAIT!”

...(Meanwhile)

Ayato needed to pass his English Lit. Class project, so of course when that Julia girl offered to type his report for him, he couldn’t say no. He had to pretend he wasn’t disgusted by her if he was going to remain in the top 5% of people with an actual brain. Fuck being like the other students.

“Y/N WAIT!”

“That sounded like Yui.” Reiji commented. They were surprised to see you bolted down the hallway at full speed with Yui on your tail. She skid to a stop to glare at Ayato.

“You’ve really done it this time.” was all she said before she ran off. “Y/N!! COME BACK!”

“Smooth move, moron.” Yuma called from the other side. “Looks like I get to play knight in shining armor.” he winked.

“Ayato~” Julia got his attention, “make sure to meet me in the library so I can give you your essay.”

“Yeah, sure whatever.” Ayato watched at Yui chased you down the hall.

... (Lunchtime/Free Period)

You sat in the courtyard, sadly staring at a sketchbook page You liked to paint or draw school life in the quad. You had started with a sketch of the Sakamaki brothers, but it didn’t feel right.

You’d probably get in trouble, but you just had to draw Yuma Mukami who was sitting by the fountain. You looked up every so often, hoping he didn’t see you.

“Y/N!” You heard. You turned your head to the side to see Ayato sitting with his brothers. “COME OVER HERE.”

Wordlessly, you grabbed your sketchbook...only to walk to the other side of the quad. You sat at another table, focusing back on your artwork.

“Hey...”A shadow was cast over your work.

“Do you mind?” you grumbled. “You’re blocking my light source.”

“Hm, I was just thinking you’d wanna see the reference up close.”

Your head darted up to see Yuma, standing in front of you. “May I sit.”

“Do whatever you want.” you grumbled. “I don’t care.”

Ayato watched from the other side of the court yard as that smug playful bastard took your sketchbook from in front of you and began flipping through it. Why hadn’t you sat with him today?? That Mukami dickwad had better not touch you.

He watched as Yuma flirted with you, and thankfully you didn’t seem to fall for his charms. Though that half smile you gave when he gave you a flower that had been growing nearby was enough to make him angry.

“AYATOOOO~” Julia practically threw herself into the spot where you usually sat when you sat with him. “I finished your report!”

“Great. Sure, whatever.” he glared potholes at Yuma.

“So...do you wanna eat lunch together?”

“That’s nice, Maria.”

“It’s Julia...”

“Sure whatever.”

(Meanwhile)

“There’s that smile.” he winked as you looked at the flower.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Also, next time you draw me...let’s have it be a nude painting huh?” He winked, getting up.

“Gross.” you scoffed, standing up yourself. “See you in Biology.” you cringed.

“Y/N!” you heard Ayato’s voice call again. Just ignore him...(Read more below the break)

... (Smut warning)

When you got home, you locked yourself in your room. You had told Yui to not bother trying to make you feel better, because it wouldn’t work. You had just finished your homework when-

“Y/N! LET ME IN!” Ayato angrily knocked at the door. When he didn’t hear anything back, he decided that the window would have to suffice. “FINE! YOU LEAVE ME NO CHOICE.”

“Oh shit!” you began to run towards the window, hoping to shut it when Ayato practically appeared out of nowhere with a frown on his face.

“Why have you been ignoring me?” he glowered. When you didn’t answer, he grew more agitated. “Y/N, Don’t make me ask again.” Still nothing. “Y/N, You have three seconds to tell me-”

“Why don’t you ask Julia!” you finally snapped. “You sure seem to like flirting with HER.”

“What? I’d never flirt with that disgusting-”

“SO KISSING HER HAND THIS MORNING WASN’T FLIRTING! Yui and I saw you! She touched your arm and you didn’t even move!” you accused.

“Y/N, let me explain!”

“YOU DON’T NEED TO! You don’t love me anymore!” you pointed. “So go be with her! Go flirt with her! Go and spend time with her because that all you seemed to be interested in doing today!”

Ayato gasped, he finally realized what Yui had been talking about when she said ‘You really done it this time.’ He hadn’t even realized it, but he had been busy with Julia all day that by the time he got free time. He thought-

“You gonna let me talk now, Human?” he used the pet-name he coined for you. “I don’t love Julia. And I wasn’t flirting with her because I don’t love you.”

“Huh?”

“She was doing my English Lit. paper and I had to make her think she was worth my time.” he explained. “She had to think I was actually interested in her or else she’d make a scene. She knew what this exchange was. A litle bit of attention and that A+ was as good as mine. I passed by the way.” he winked.

“S-so, you don’t love her?” you wiped your eyes.

“Of course not! How many times have I told you that my heart only belongs to you?” He asked. “Idiot.” he shook his head with an amused smile. “As if that plain, lowly human could ever compare to my own personal descendant of the goddeses that made this wicked world.” he bit his lip.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was running out of time. I would have told you, had you sat with me at lunch today.” he rolled his eyes. “...Y/N, please accept my deepest apology. I wouldn’t hurt you...unless you asked.” he wiggled his eyebrows at the last part. “Now come here.”

He grabbed your waist and pulled you towards him, taking you in a long drawn out kiss. He purposefully moaned in your mouth, laughing maniacally through each peck.

“Me, and that disgusting excuse- how laughable.” he began kissing down your neck. “I guess I’ll have to show you that you’re mine and will only ever be mine.”

“Ayato~” you whimpered.

“Shush.” he kissed you again. “ Fuck! “ he kept kissing your lips “You’re mine. You’re fucking mine and I’m fucking yours. .” He backed you up towards the bed. “Usually I’d ask you to suck my dick first, but I want everything to be about you.” he made you sit down. “Aww, you didn’t take off your uniform, so I can take your panties off right now.” he smirked.

Had he lost his mind?!?

“Have you lost your mind?!?” your legs shook as your panties were discarded who knew where.

“I’ve always wanted to defile you while you were wearing it, so you can think of me every single time you put it on. Mmmmff-” he buried his head between your legs, exploring your depths with his tongue.

You took in a sharp breath, instantly arching your back in his favor. Good, that was his invitation to go forward. “Y/N, you taste so fucking good-” he laughed gleefully. “I wanna bite your clit and taste the blood right from your naughty place.” he moaned, lashing his tongue against your heat.

“Ayato, It feels so-” you mewled. “M-more, please?”

Hearing this, he went feral. He dug his nails into your thighs, sucking harshly at your slit. You had to hold the back of his head to stay vertical, your hands tangled through his lush hair.

“ That’s it, grab my hair. Yank it, pull me back into your pussy-mmm. “ he couldn’t even finish his sentence. He was so hungry that not even a snide comment could leave his lips while he tasted you. He’d never do this with anyone else, love anyone else. He was having too much fun worshipping his beautiful human.

“Ayato- I’m gonna c-cu-”

“Cum. Let me taste you. Let me feel it against me, let me drive my fangs into your thighs while you cum so you can feel what true ecstasy feels like.”

You felt yourself unravel, only to feel those fangs dig into your left thigh. “Ungh! Ayato!!” you cried.

“Fuck, Y/N.” he lapped up your blood. “It tastes even better when you’re cumming.” he bit his lip. “I wanna feel you wrap around me.” he crawled over you, capturing your mouth in a long, messy kiss.

You were surprised when he moved you two so you were straddling him. “Undo my jeans, take what’s yours, Y/N.” he bit his lips.

You shyly unbuttoned his jeans and pulled then down along with his boxers. You were welcomed by a very obvious hardon.

His cock slapped against his stomach as it was set free.

“C-can I, touch?”

“It’s yours.” he winked. “Do whatever you want to me.”

You began stroking him, coaxing a low satisfied moan from your lover. You wanted to be mean and leave him but who were you kidding, you both needed it.

“Is it too forward to ask you to ride my cock?” he asked, biting his lip. “Please?”

He caressed your thighs, coaxing you to slip his dick along the perimeter of your slit. You met his eyes, but could only shyly look away.

“Oh Goooodd-” he sucked in air as his dick slipped inside. You shy rocked your hips, coaxing another moan out of him. His hands rested on your thighs. “Shit, Y/N, Why are you so fucking- Ungh...Shit I can’t take much more.” he thrusted his hips upwards.

A small gasp hitched in your throat, followed by many as he thrust himself in and out of you. You wanted some sort of control too, so you rolled your hips even more against him. “Shit. Ayato~” you moaned. “Fuuuh-”

“Why would I want anyone else when you’re here with me.” he spoke. “Why would I NEED anyone else!” he growled. “You’re mine! I’m Yours, that’s how to fuck it should be!” he seethed. “Fuck your pussy feels so good.”

He was absolutely right, you didn’t think even washing this uniform would get his essence out of it.

“Shit!!” Ayato threw his head back, moaning like you had never seen him moan before. You didn’t even think he could even make such a face. “Y/N!!! “ he cried. “I fucking love you so much, Fuck, S-shit!! Fuck say it back, please.”

“Ayato,” you felt his cock twitch inside. “I love you-haah-aah!”

“ How do you ride me so good? God damn, you’re gonna break me! “ he cried, digging his nails into your thighs. “Fuck Y/N this is what you to do me!!”

You both were loud, sensitive, and on the brinK of breaking.

“I’m gonna CU---AAAHH FUUCCK!” you felt his warmth spill inside you. You were taken aback by him wrapped a hand around your neck and pulling you down to kiss you abruptly. He moaned loudly into your mouth, crying in euphoria as he bottomed out inside your wetness.

“Y/N!” he cried once more. “Fuck I love you.” his face twisted in pleasure, those usually stern eyebrows going soft. “I fucking love you. My human, My only human~.” he hugged you close.

“Ayato~” you replied just as wantonly. “I love you.” you whimpered.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook for ignoring me today, now it’s my turn to get revenge.” you heard his breathless laugh. “Shall we continue?”

(I.....AM SO SORRY FOR THIS)

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dearkusuo · 3 years

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Unchanging

Synopsis: He was content with the simplicities life had to offer, while you sought out the world.

Pairing: Saiki Kusuo x artist!reader

Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst

Word Count: 3.6k

You first heard of him back in your second year of high school. There was nothing about Saiki Kusuo that stood out to you, but your good friend, Yumehara Chiyo, thought otherwise.

“Don’t you think Saiki looks like a prince? He’s so dreamy that I can’t keep my eyes off of him. He’s so cool and mysterious,” your friend blabbered. If by cool and mysterious, she meant cold and aloof, then you completely agreed.

Even the popular pretty girl, Teruhashi Kokomi, seemed enraptured by him, despite Saiki’s unwillingness to shower her any attention like every guy in school. She never told you about her crush on him, but it was obvious through her body language alone that she was smitten by the pink-haired boy.

You didn’t understand their fleeting infatuation for someone they hardly knew - never experienced the feeling of falling hard for someone from the depths of your soul that they were the only person you could think about. And you were perfectly content with that. You had bigger dreams to achieve than a small high school romance that wasn’t guaranteed to last long anyway.

The Okinawa school trip was an outing that all the second years in PK Academy were looking forward to, you included. Although you had a feeling that your friends, Chiyo and Kokomi, had different intentions for tagging along.

They must have been so elated that the three of you ended up in the same group with the boy they liked.

You carried on disregarding Kokomi and Chiyo’s painfully obvious antics to spend time with their beloved prince charming until later that evening when you decided to take a walk outside the hotel alone. You convinced yourself that a late-night stroll would be an enjoyable pastime, but really, you wanted to get away from the love-struck fantasies of your two friends who were oblivious of the fact that they were both pursuing the same boy.

You don’t know how long you’ve been wandering around, but by the time you returned, the hotel had disappeared from your sight. Two recognizable figures stood by a large hole torn on the ground. A battered ship had risen from the gap where the building used to be.

Toritsuka Reita from Class 2-2 stood next to your pink-haired group member while Saiki had a hand directed at the ship, indicating that he was the one causing it to float midair. Your jaw dropped in disbelief at the sight before you.

Saiki turned his head in your direction as if he knew you were there all along. He kept his usual blank composure, although you could recognize the wary look in his eyes as he stared at you. Toritsuka panicked upon the realization that you were there to witness the whole scene.

You didn’t know how you should've reacted when the two boys told you of their psychic powers.

“I won’t tell a soul,” you promised.

‘I know,’ Saiki’s voice echoed into your mind.

The rest of the trip went by smoothly after that incident. Kokomi subsequently spoke out about the crush she had on Saiki, and Chiyo announced that she had fallen for Kaidou Shun.

You shook your head in wonder at the orange-haired girl. It was astonishing how quickly she was able to abandon her feelings for one boy and move on to someone else so quickly.

You realized that love was brief and ever-changing like the ticking seconds on a clock. There was no point in wasting time on such a fickle emotion when the only thing you would devote yourself to were your ambitions for the future.

Nevertheless, a subconscious bond had been formed between you and Saiki after you learned his secret.

You shared a glance with the psychic from afar as Kokomi relayed to you the dream she had of the boy she liked.

He was kinder and a lot less indifferent than you originally thought. Saiki wouldn’t admit it, but you would notice the subtle acts he performed to help out a troubled stranger and the small deeds he initiated to prevent harm from coming across the people around him.

You finally acknowledged Saiki as a friend after he deliberately shared his umbrella with you during a particularly rainy day.

‘Good grief. I was feeling generous today, so this is nothing. Just make sure to come to school prepared next time,’ he had told you after you first rejected his help in worry of troubling him.

You found out much later that he could have stopped the rain with his abilities.

The empty café was tranquil save for the scratching of your pencil as you scribbled on your sketchbook. Saiki sat across from you, paying you no attention just as you did to him. His usual stoic expression was abandoned as he blissfully devoured his coffee jelly.

“I have a dream. After high school, I’ll travel around the world for a bit. I’ll join a bunch of art competitions and win a bunch of awards. Then eventually, I’ll go to an art school in New York so I can major in Illustration. And maybe I might even make a best-seller manga one day,” you mused.

‘Isn’t it a little too early for us to think about the future?’ Saiki retorted.

“Maybe. But I’ve had this dream for as long as I can remember.”

Art class was the subject you looked forward to the most in school. Not only because you excelled in many art mediums, but also because you took pride in the techniques you honed over the years of endless practice.

For the day’s lesson, you were to pair up with one person in the class and draw each other’s portraits. You casually looked around the room in search of anyone available.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Kokomi rushing up to Saiki with an excited smile as she called out, “Saiki, do you want to-” a majority of the boys in class crowded around her before she could say her piece. Saiki walked up to you instead, asking if you wanted to pair up with him.

You glanced briefly at Kokomi, feeling a tad bit guilty for stealing her choice of partner while she was being surrounded by her group of fans hoping that she would choose one of them. But you couldn’t bring yourself to reject the pink-haired boy’s request.

Taking a seat from across each other, you adjusted your easel so you could get a better view of Saiki’s face. Despite the red tint dusting your cheeks from the intimacy of his peering gaze, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him. You perceived for the first time that Saiki was actually quite good looking.

You looked down at your page so you could sketch his appearance: the antennae on his head, his green glasses, soft pink hair, slender neck, smooth lips, chiselled face, sharp eyes. You looked up to take a quick peek at him again.

The constant blinking on his impassive face made your eyes widen in amusement and you frantically placed a hand over your mouth to prevent a snort from escaping.

‘Why are you laughing?’

“Because you’re blinking so much that it looks ridiculous,” you explained with a chuckle.

‘I have to keep on blinking so my x-ray vision resets. I’m trying to get a look at your face.’

You let out another coy giggle despite the heat rushing to the tips of your ears. He looked down at his paper to continue his piece with a warm smile barely present on his face.

You concentrated on your own illustration, marking down his affectionate expression before Saiki could return to his blank face, and showing it off as soon as you finished.

‘Not bad. Now take a look at mine.’

He flipped his paper over, exhibiting an intricate and beautiful portrait. The focused expression he depicted on your face while you drew him looked so alluring. You almost didn’t recognize it as your own, even though it was practically a mirror image.

"This looks way too realistic for someone who's trying not to stand out."

'It should be fine if it's you.'

You didn't understand what he meant, but his words caused butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

‘I need your help,’ A familiar voice spoke in your mind.

You jumped in surprise at the unexpected appearance of the pink-haired boy you had grown fond of. Your sketchbook flew out of your lap, falling right at your feet.

“How did you know I was here?” You asked with a huff.

‘In case you forgot, I can hear your thoughts. I know that sometimes you like to come here to the school rooftop during lunch.’

“Oh,” you uttered. “Well, since you came all this way to see me, what can I do for you?” You raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

'I need you to help me reject Teruhashi.'

You pursed your lips in uncertainty.

"Kokomi is my friend, and as her friend, you can't expect me to hurt her feelings."

'As my friend, you can't expect me to lead her on when I don't ever intend on returning her feelings. She'll get hurt either way. All I'm asking is for you to help me avoid her so she'll get over me.’

You knew he was right, but you were still unsure of meddling in a situation you weren't a part of, especially when it involved the feelings of your close friend. You looked out the window in contemplation.

“Why are you asking me? Mikoto would be a better choice.”

‘I trust you more, so it has to be you.’

You ignored the churning in your stomach as you casually threw your hands up, giving in to his request.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

‘Thank you.’

Saiki bent down on one knee, reaching out to grab your fallen sketchbook.

“I can pick that up myself, you know, or you if you wanted to help me that badly, you could’ve done that levitation thing you always do.”

‘I know.’

He held the book out, watching you through his glasses while he knelt by your feet. A saying Chiyo once told you a long time ago reverberated at the back of your mind: “Don’t you think Saiki looks like a prince?”

You gripped the sketchbook in his hand. Saiki’s gaze burned on your orbs as your image reflected off his green lenses. Neither one of you let go, even when your fingertips brushed against one another.

“What colour are your eyes?” You wondered.

‘Violet.’

“Major in Economics at Sayftee University and major in Literature at both Komman University and Ahvraj University,” you read out Saiki's school survey. “These are all surprisingly in character for you, but do you really have no dreams beyond living an ordinary life?”

‘I’m too busy thinking of ways to stop the volcano eruption to worry about my future.’

“You have a point there. Any luck with that?” you inquired.

Saiki shook his head.

“I guess that means we’ll be second years again.”

You didn’t keep track of how long time had been looping, and you found that you didn’t really care since you were already accustomed to the familiarity of your seemingly endless high school life. You were happy, even if it meant that the dreams you’ve been chasing for so long were slipping farther away from your grasp with every day that passed.

‘No, it’s about time I put an end to this.’

Saiki’s determined expression was embedded in your mind.

Your screams of disbelief were muffled by the pillow you held against your face.

You had vowed to yourself since you were young that you wouldn’t grow attached to anyone. After all these years, you had to go back on your word just when you were about to leave.

Now was not the time. Not here. Not with him.

Kokomi and Chiyo took it upon themselves to pay you a visit after you skipped school for five days without notice. The dark circles under your eyes and your sunken face visibly worried them.

“I’m in love with Saiki,” you murmured, gazing sullenly at your blue-haired friend. “I’m sorry.”

Kokomi’s face fell, but she showed no signs of surprise.

“I already knew that. It was obvious with the way you always look at him,” she lamented. Kokomi cupped your balled fists in her hands and looked at you wistfully. “He rejected me a few days ago, so you don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings. I think you two would look good together.”

You felt tears threatening to spill over your eyes. Whether it was from relief that Kokomi accepted you so easily or pain from your unfortunate situation, you didn’t know.

“I’m leaving Japan after we graduate,” you disclosed.

A dejected silence fell upon you three until Chiyo spoke up, “For how long?”

“An indefinite amount of time.”

“Are you ever coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

Their glum faces only worsened your mood.

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

You tensed at the accusing tone directed at you. Saiki’s piercing gaze was pointed at your shrinking figure.

No matter how much time had passed since the loss of his abilities, you doubted that you would ever get used to the sound of his voice resonating out loud, or the enchanting shade of his eyes, even if they looked dangerously menacing at the moment.

“I wasn’t avoiding you. I was just busy studying for exams and doing other stuff,” you explained weakly.

Saiki’s deadpan expression indicated that he didn’t believe your lie.

After a few minutes of squirming underneath his scrutinizing gaze, you gave in and told him your worries, “I’m leaving the country soon. I think we should stop talking to each other so that it won’t be so hard for us to say goodbye.”

You pushed past him. You didn’t know where your feet planned on dragging you, but you figured anywhere was fine so long as you could get away from him.

The familiar warmth of Saiki’s hand wrapped around your own, stopping you from taking another step away. You didn’t dare turn around as you felt your heart thumping wildly.

“I won’t ever ask this of anyone else, so I’m begging you not to push me away,” he pleaded. He placed your hand over his chest, giving away the heavy pulsing of his heartbeat.

You could never say no to him.

Memories of the last few years ran through your mind as you smiled at the nostalgia. You took one final glance at your high school building before turning your back on it, striding towards the exit.

You stopped at the sight of a familiar figure standing under the shade of a cherry blossom tree. Saiki must have known that you were staying much later after the graduation ceremony, all thanks to his restored powers.

‘Good grief. Were you really planning on leaving without saying goodbye?’ His voice resounded in your head.

You didn’t respond as you watched the wind blow through his hair, the sun illuminating the affectionate smile on his face, the violet obscured by his green glasses, and the petals dancing around the two of you as they fell to the ground. The timing was right. The mood was right. Everything was right.

He rubbed the back of your hand while you reached out to intertwine your fingers with his. The warmth that radiated off his skin felt like home.

He knew, and you knew that he did. After all, you could never hide your secrets from a psychic, no matter how hard you tried. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him how you felt.

“Goodbye,” you pulled away from Saiki.

What was the point of confessing your feelings to someone you would never see again?

Paris, France was one of your destinations out of many. Most people romanticized the capital as the City of Love, but the only reason you were even there in the first place was to visit the Louvre, the world’s largest art museum.

Influenced by the art and the romantic ambience, you sketched out the scenery around you, deliberating how you could embody the city on paper. If you were to draw a picture of love, what would you envision?

Maybe, it would look like pink locks tousled by the spring breeze, or the reflection of your eyes searching for violet orbs through tinted green glass. It might have been the lingering warmth on the fingertips of someone who trusted you enough to share their deepest secret, or the gentle smile that was reserved only for you during the most intimate of moments.

Your love was constant and unchanging. You realized that now. No matter how much time had passed or how many countries you visited, you always found yourself thinking about home.

Ever since you were a young student in junior high, you had hated the thought of giving up on your dreams to pursue a flighty, insignificant relationship. Six years ago, you threw away your chance at love to focus on your aspirations. There was no point in thinking back on what might have been. You shouldn’t have.

You made a name for yourself through the many art competitions you joined, winning a few awards here and there. A while back, you finished your Bachelor's Degree in Illustration at a famous art school in New York. Things were coming together quite nicely.

Your high school days almost seemed like a lifetime ago. The memories that used to be the center of your universe, the laughter you shared with your friends, and a not so ordinary boy with psychic powers were at the back of your mind. Everyday life without the only person you've ever loved became the norm for you.

You recently got a job offer from a famous publishing company in Japan after you posted a short comic that blew up in popularity. The editor in chief sealed the deal with you after you sent him a promising draft for a manga you had planned out.

It had been years since you’ve been to the country, but your return and the nostalgic surroundings brought back old recollections that made you feel like you were a teenager again.

The chief took it upon himself to give you a tour around the company, showing you the work environment and the employees. He guided you through the different floor levels, offices and workrooms, and acquainted you with the higher-ups. But he had yet to introduce the editor you would be working with.

"There he is."

The chief led you towards the figure of a man who had his back turned to you. The pink tuft of hair on his head and the silly-looking antennae shaped into joysticks poking out of his scalp were noticeably familiar. But you couldn’t believe it.

He turned around, green-tinted eyes boring into yours with the same neutral expression you used to see every day. Even when you had anticipated who it was, you couldn’t help the breathless gasp that escaped your lips.

"This is Saiki Kusuo. He will be the editor in charge of overseeing your work,” the chief introduced to you.

You took the hand Saiki held out for you, shaking it courteously. His blank expression didn’t fade, but his eyes softened under your gaze. The warmth on his grip was just as comforting as you remembered, like the welcoming embrace for a loved one returning home.

Neither one of you let go.

"Well, since it's already after work hours, you guys should grab dinner and get to know each other. You'll be working closely for a while, after all," the chief suggested before leaving you and Saiki alone.

A hushed silence washed over both of you as the world disappeared before your sight. The image of a cherry blossom tree on a sunny spring day was evoked in your mind.

He sat next to you in a secluded booth of the café you used to frequent, away from prying eyes.

"What happened to majoring in Economics and Literature?" you asked.

Your body was angled in his direction while you engaged him in conversation. Despite the many years apart, you and Saiki had fallen back to the easygoing relationship you once shared.

'I finally had time to think about my future, and I realized that this is what I wanted.'

“You wanted to be a manga editor like your dad?” you prompted.

‘Not quite.’

Saiki was composed as usual as he turned to face you.

'I have a dream. After you accomplished your goals, we would find each other again and spend the rest of our lives together. And maybe we might even make a best-seller manga one day,’ he mused.

Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest. The words you couldn’t bring yourself to say on the day of your graduation poured out unthinkingly from your throat.

“I love you.”

He placed a hand on the back of your neck, closing the distance between you.

‘I know.’

Your lips crashed into his, moulding perfectly as they moved against one another. You gripped his shoulders, pulling him in as he snuck an arm around your waist. Your eyelids fluttered shut, relishing in the sweet sensation of his taste.

You only pulled away minutes after to catch your breath. His forehead leaned against yours, the tip of your noses barely skimming each other. The look of adoration in his eyes revealed that he felt the same way.

No matter how long he waited, your love for each other was unchanging.

#saiki x reader #saiki k x reader #saiki kusuo x reader #saiki #saiki k #saiki kusuo #the disaster of psi kusuo saiki #saiki kusuo no ψ nan #the disastrous life of saiki k.#saiki no psi nan

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lloydskywalkers · 4 years

Text

any port in a storm

Pixal and Lloyd and the evolving nature of friendship, as highlighted by the regular burning down of your city.

(desperately trying to break through writer’s block and classes again, this was supposed to be under 2k and it is...very much not hdfjkgh but! i’ve been meaning to write for Pixal and Lloyd for a while so here are a whole bunch of feelings about the two of them and s8)

Pixal meets — truly meets — Lloyd Garmadon shortly after his brother’s been blown to pieces.

She says truly, because if you ask her, Pixal will tell you she met Lloyd Garmadon at exactly 8:48 in the evening outside his father’s monastery, moments before a horde of nindroids led there by Pixal herself descended upon them.

But Lloyd argues that since they said about two words total to each other, it doesn’t really count as meeting, and by the time Pixal’s spending the better part of her day with him running high and low around Ninjago City, she’s learned that it’s easier not to press the point.

Lloyd can be stubborn, like that.

She’d first learned that when she’d met him, just after they’d lost Zane. That loss hadn’t lasted long, especially for Pixal, but the immediate aftermath of it had been devastating. She’d watched with blank eyes as the team had fractured, splitting at the seams as they all fled their separate ways, too heartsore and dizzy with grief to do much otherwise.

All of them had fled, save Lloyd. She hadn’t paid him much attention before that point, the surprisingly small bearer of the Golden Power. Of course, he wasn’t the bearer of that power anymore, but his eyes alone had shown the experience of it. There’d been a brief, lost look that had crossed his face as the others had mentioned leaving, before it had been swept under a mask of stubborn, determined blankness. He wouldn’t be leaving. Someone had to stay behind and watch out for things, he’d claimed, even as the loss had bled through his voice.

Pixal hadn’t quite grasped the concept of empathy at that point, but she’d felt something dangerously close to it.

At any rate, the only interaction they’d had alone was brief. In fact, the only one Pixal can truly remember — and her memory never fails — is the quick exchange they’d had in the hospital lobby directly after the battle. The hospital was for Mr. Borg, and for the ninja’s minor injuries.

There was nothing any hospital on earth could do for Zane.

Pixal had found herself next to Lloyd in the waiting room, trying to distract herself from those thoughts while Lloyd stared at the stark white tiling with dull eyes.

“They never mentioned what your power was,” she’d asked him, almost absently. Collecting data, processing information — anything she could do to distract from the crushing grief.

“Oh.” Lloyd had blinked, startling back into awareness. He’d suddenly looked painfully young. “It’s, ah, I guess it’s just green, now.”

It had been Pixal’s turn to blink. “Green.”

“Yeah.” Lloyd had bit his lip, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly, two habits he’ll never quite lose. “I mean — it’s more than that, but it’s like — energy, I guess, is the best way to put it?”

“Interesting,” Pixal had remarked.

“Yeah.”

They’d stared at each other in silence after that, before they’d both been called off to other errands — and then they were having Zane’s funeral and then Pixal was making realizations she never got to tell anyone, and that had been that in her early introductions to Lloyd Garmadon. Quiet, awkward, and possessing an incredible power he hardly even knew the name of.

Looking back, Pixal figures her introduction hadn’t gone much better.

They’d continued as passing acquaintances as time went on, separated by danger and the confines of Zane’s head, and Pixal had figured that’s all they’d ever be. But then their Sensei goes missing and, despite Pixal’s increasing disappearances on Zane as she rebuilds her own body, she’s been given the role of watching out for Ninjago city along with Lloyd.

She quickly learns that quiet is not a term fit for Lloyd Garmadon when you’re trapped alone with him.

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

“How is there not a single station playing actual music?” Lloyd seethes, flicking through the channels almost manically. “It’s two am, who’s gonna be listening to your stupid commercial for toothpaste now, are you kidding me?”

“Statistically speaking, this is the prime time for long-distance driving near Ninjago City,” Pixal supplies, her voice a hint scratchy where it comes through the his car’s radio speakers. “Or, if you factor in the construction in the east district, there could still be traffic from late-night bars.”

Lloyd groans, thunking his head against the steering wheel as another ad screeches through the small space. “Wonderful.”

“Your vocal tones suggest you find it otherwise.”

“Dont trust ‘em, my vocal tones are traitors.” As if to solidify his point, Lloyd’s voice cracks in the middle of his sentence, shooting up an octave higher. Lloyd goes bright red, and thunks his head against the steering wheel again.

Taking pity on him, Pixal aims for reassurance. “It is normal for your voice to break, Lloyd. It shouldn’t last too long.” She pauses, momentarily scanning through another article. “On second thought, this one suggests it could also take two to three years for your voice to stabilize.”

Lloyd gives a strangled moan. “End me.”

“Unfortunately, that would defeat the purpose of why I’m here in the first place.”

Lloyd tilts his head, cracking an eye open as he glances at the camera feed he knows she’s watching him from. “Unfortunately, huh,” he muses. “So you’re saying if Zane hadn’t made you promise to look out for me, you would end me?”

“That — no, that is not — of course I wouldn’t end you,” Pixal backtracks. An odd feeling flickers through her, almost as if she’s lost her place, floundering.

Or embarrassed might be more accurate, she thinks wryly. She briefly considers projecting a a glaring face at Lloyd from the monitor. This is his fault. She rarely stuttered before Lloyd started teasing her at all hours of the morning.

“I mean, you wouldn’t be the first,” Lloyd continues, conversationally. “And if we’re being honest, I’d definitely rather you be the one to off me, instead of like, random bad guy number eighty-five—”

“I know you think you are funny,” Pixal cuts over him. “But casually planning for your death is something Kai listed I was not to let you do. Also, it is not nearly as funny as you think it is.”

“Ouch,” Lloyd mutters, though he looks chastised. “Never mind, you just took me out in one sentence.”

Chastised might be the wrong term.

Pixal studies him through the monitor, then sighs. “I am, however, honored you think highly enough of me to offer the right to murder you,” she gives in.

She’s rewarded as Lloyd breaks into a bright grin.

He still looks painfully young these days, but it’s less obvious. His voice is pitching lower and he wears his hair different, and he’s gained a whip-like tendency to quip at people, as Pixal’s experienced firsthand. Kai calls it sass in grumbling but fond tones, and Nya calls it snark somewhere between the fourth book series she’s sent for Pixal to try.

The ninja have been kind like that, sharing the interests they have in an attempt to make her feel…well, more human, she supposes. Less confined to a voice in a computer. Of course, Pixal isn’t confined to a voice in a computer anymore, but they don’t know that yet. She’ll tell them someday soon, she promises herself. Any day now.

In the meantime, it’s easy enough to keep up with Lloyd by lurking in his car radio, as he spends half his time in there anyways.

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

“You’d think we’d have found their hideout by now,” Lloyd notes, as they wait in a darkened alleyway again. It gives them an excellent view of the major highways, so if the rumored biker gang does show up, they won’t miss it.

If they show up being the key point.

“Whoever their leader is, they certainly know how to keep a low profile,” Pixal answers, closing out another dead end police report in frustration.

“It’s weird,” Lloyd says, propping the notebook he’s sketching in on his knee as he squints at the paper. “Normally the boss types aren’t this quiet. They like to show off, y’know? Make a big scene, dramatic speeches and all.”

“Are you referring to the villains, or yourselves?”

“Touché,” Lloyd snorts. “But still, you gotta admit it’s weird they haven’t even made any demands. What’s their end game here, elaborate advertising for motorcycle design?”

“I would hope not,” Pixal says. “Their color coordination is lacking.”

Lloyd fights back a smile, his pencil scratching as he shifts his notebook again. “I don’t know, I kinda like the punk look.”

“I noticed that, when you tried to redecorate the car.”

“Hey, skulls are cool.”

“They are also conspicuous, especially when they come in acid green colors.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Lloyd sighs, making a face as he scrubs the eraser across the paper. Pixal tries to tilt the camera further, to see what he’s drawing tonight, but the angle he’s holding it at remains just out of sight.

She could probably guess what he’s drawing, if she tried. The notebook is one they’ve been steadily working their way through on these late-night patrols, the pages filled with little hangman games and Lloyd’s sketches of animals and his teammates. He’s drawn her a few times from memory, and she’s been tempted to ask him to draw her in the new Samurai X armor more than once.

Soon, she tells herself.

“What are you drawing?” she finally asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

Lloyd’s cheeks tinge pink, and he quickly plasters the notebook to his chest, hiding it entirely from view. “Nothing.”

Pixal waits, letting the silence fill with her judgement. “Lloyd, I have seen your drawings before.”

He doesn’t reply, and Pixal tries again. “It gets boring, being stuck with the car monitors for eyes.”

“I know you can hack other cameras,” Lloyd mutters, but he sighs, relenting as he turns the notebook over. Pixal’s eyes rake over the detailed sketch — it’s a comical little thing of her and Lloyd, jammed together on a tiny lifeboat in the middle of a darkening ocean. She can spot the smudges where he’s redrawn her head several times, and the numerous attempts he’s made at his own hair. Pixal studies Lloyd’s portrayal of himself, which is noticeably lacking in facial features. While Lloyd draws the others plenty, it’s a rare occasion that he draws himself, and she can’t help but be curious.

“I thought you were drawing the others again,” she admits.

“They’re on the ship,” Lloyd says, absently. “I’ll draw them when they remember to pull us back in.”

There’s nothing bitter in his tone to suggest it has any bearing on their actual lives, but the lost expressions Lloyd ends up giving their tiny caricatures feel familiar nonetheless.

“Zane has assured me they will be back as soon as they can,” Pixal speaks ups quietly.

Lloyd finally looks up fully, and flashes the monitor a smile. “I know,” he says. “So we better have this thing busted by the time they do, or they’ll never let us run a city on our own again.”

“If only we were truly running the city,” Pixal grumbles. “I could do a better job in two days than the current leaders could do in a year.”

“I’d vote for you,” Lloyd says, sincerely.

It’s a sweet gesture, but Pixal is unable to resist. “You don’t know how to vote.”

“Yes I do, it’s not hard!”

“Really? Then why are you not currently registered in the Ninjago voting system?”

Lloyd makes a strangled noise. “That’s a thing?”

She’s unable to keep the smugness from her voice. “I make my point.” Lloyd scowls, and scribbles a mustache on his drawing of her in revenge.

Pixal thinks it looks nice nonetheless.

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

She can’t really hold it against Lloyd for talking as much as he does, considering she does the same. It gets dull, sitting on patrol for hours on end, and there are only so many hours of light reading they can do before the silence begins to drive them both insane.

Pixal finds herself talking about more useless things with Lloyd than she has in her existence, pointless conversations in circles with each other. She also finds she doesn’t entirely mind. She’s become quite good at quipping back and forth with him, at least. It’s different than the kind of talk she has with Zane, lacking in the depth of feeling with the love they share. Her exchanges with Lloyd are lighter, though that’s not to say they’re less sincere.

For example, Zane hasn’t tried to teach her how to redesign a gi in poor lighting in the early hours of the morning because he’s bored out of his mind, that’s for sure.

“I’m teaching you how to sew,” Lloyd corrects, wincing as he accidentally stabs himself with the needle. “And I’m not redesigning the whole thing, I’m just adding some designs to spice it up.”

“I did not know you were allowed to wear colors other than green,” Pixal comments.

Lloyd pauses, squinting at the monitor. “You’re teasing me,” he finally says. “You’re making fun of how much green this gi has in it.”

“I would never,” Pixal replies, her tone flat and even. “The intricacies of your human humor evade me—”

“Human humor, nice—”

“—unlike the unusually bright shade of green you’ve chosen will fail to evade any eyes of your enemies.”

“I knew you were making fun of me!” Lloyd accuses, then flinches as he stabs his finger again trying to point at her. “And bright colors are our thing. Being subtle is, uh…not. Usually.”

Pixal is losing the battle to laugh at his expression by the minute. “I am shocked.”

Lloyd glares at the monitor, shifting his sewing to rest on his knees as he slouches in the car seat. “How’d you even get so good at sarcasm, anyways,” he mutters. “Zane still doesn’t get it half the time.”

“Perhaps it is part of my glowing personality,” Pixal says. Lloyd gives a huff of laughter, relenting.

“Fair enough,” he says, shifting in his seat again. “Fine, you win. The green is probably too bright, but that’s not the point. I’m gonna show you how to do a backstitch."

Pixal falls quiet, letting Lloyd gesture with the needle as he explains. There are a hundred, a thousand tutorials she could pull up online, digitized knowledge instantly learned on all the countless types of stitches she could use, sorted and categorized in neat columns of use and effectiveness. All of them more detailed, more easily understood than Lloyd’s absent rambling and unsteady hands as he struggles with the end of a knot.

Not one of them will care whether or not Pixal learns the odd way Zane likes to loop his stitches, or will quietly add which stitches knit skin back together quickest.

So Pixal ignores her programming, and does her best to follow Lloyd’s rambling instructions, watching as his scarred fingers tug another thread of dull gold through the green mess of fabric, the city quiet around them.

“You never did tell me where you learned how to sew,” Pixal says, as Lloyd starts up a new thread of black on the other side of the gi. “Was that something the others taught you in training?”

“They’d have to know how to be able to teach it,” Lloyd snickers. “And, uh, no. I taught myself to back at Darkley’s.”

“Oh,” Pixal falters. She’s heard about Darkley’s, both from Zane and the legal reports she’s read online. Neither gave a positive impression of the place. Her mind is suddenly filled with images of a younger Lloyd trying to give himself stitches, and her heart twists.

Lloyd starts, seemingly having picked up on her train of thought. “I mean, I did it for fun, mostly. I like sewing,” he explains. “It’s useful. You can pull things back together, and fix ‘em.”

Pixal is quiet, but she hopes Lloyd takes her silence as agreement with his motive. She likes to think he knows her well enough for that, by now.

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

Pixal finds, somewhere during their fourth month alone, that she’s glad the team elected to stick her and Lloyd together. Not because she doesn’t want to be with Zane — there’s never a moment she doesn’t miss him, and with every day that passes her resolve to keep her secret from him grows weaker, as the longing for actual connection grows stronger.

But there are conversations she can have with Lloyd that she can never have with Zane, and the dangerous thing about spending time with Lloyd, Pixal finds, is that they’re more similar than she’s realized.

“Sometimes I think I’m jealous,” Lloyd whispers to her one night. It’s one of the bad ones, the ones where their enemies struck too sudden to stop, and the mission ends in the hospital. “I think I’m jealous of Zane, and I hate myself for it.”

Pixal is quiet, trying to pick apart the tone of his voice in the words he’s just spoken, and factors in the victims they’ve just left behind at the hospital. She finds herself no closer to an answer.

“Is it the metal skin part?” she finally asks, though she knows that’s wrong. “The, what was it, technical immortality?”

“No,” Lloyd shakes his head. “I’m not afraid of dying,” he says emphatically, his fingers fluttering at over the steering wheel, tapping incessantly with unspent energy. “I don’t want to, but that’s — it’s not what I’m scared of. I’m more scared of how I go out.”

He swallows, and his fingers move to dance over the woven bracelet on his wrist instead, twisting at the tiny beads and tracing senseless designs in constant, steady movement. It’s a motion he does often, and it had puzzled Pixal at first. She’d decided to write it off as an odd tick, a way to spend excess energy.

Now, she recognizes the desperate kind of reassurance that movement gives. She understands too well the need to remind yourself that you can move — that your body will obey you and you alone.

Pixal thinks back to the other factors in tonight’s accident, of the way the drugged man’s eyes had cleared when they’d finally turned him over to the police, the way he’d sworn he’d never do such a thing in his right mind. She thinks of the way the first victim had thrown themselves over their companion.

That victim hadn’t made it to the hospital.

“Ah,” Pixal says, quietly.

She’s silent again, and she thinks back to when she’d met him, the very first time. She recalls the way her programming had rebelled against her in favor of the Overlord, corrupting her body and forcing it against her, twisting everything she was and wanted to be into something different.

She thinks back again, to the searing-hot anger, the terror, the despair as she was torn apart, piece by piece like a machine, burning out at the whims of another. Her end purposeless, her demise belonging to someone else, just like every other part of her.

She thinks of the last glimpse she’d caught of Zane, bright and beautiful as a supernova. Burning with the terrible brilliance of his own, determined choice. Terrible, because the death of something always is. Beautiful, because it was his own. Zane died, not a machine, not a weapon, not a tool of anyone or anything, but as himself. Zane died to save the ones he loves. Pixal could’ve died for spare parts.

Never again, she promises herself. If she goes out, she goes out on her own terms. This time, they choose the end of their own destiny themselves.

In hindsight, it’s the kind of promise they’re both too young to make, but neither of them have ever seen themselves as such, and promises like that are easy.

“Love can be terrible, sometimes,” Lloyd murmurs. Pixal watches him scrub at the blood on his uniform, and thinks how ironically well-timed it is that he finished the stitching on his new gi this morning. “Sometimes I forget how ugly it can be.”

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

The end of their nighttime stakeouts begins with a break-in at Mr. Borg’s tower. Lloyd argues that she should get to call it her father’s tower, if she wants, but the ninja aren’t the only ones Pixal’s hiding herself from.

And then Lloyd gets very tense at the thought of fathers very fast, and they never finish the conversation.

They stay at the edge of the bridge long after the parachute, emblazoned with the unmistakable visage of Lloyd’s father, disappears from sight. Pixal wonders if it’s burned into Lloyd’s eyes, like the way she’s read black spots linger in humans’ vision after they’ve looked at something too bright. The way Lloyd stares at the river, his shoulders tense and his teeth worrying at his lip, she thinks she might be right.

They’re waiting on the report from the commissioner —they’re waiting for anything, anyone who can offer them any explanation of what’s going on. Pixal’s reminded of how much she loathes this kind of waiting.

“It could be—” Lloyd begins, then breaks off, his voice wavering. He swallows, and Pixal can see the way his fists clench tightly from the cameras they’ve put in his car. There’s a fierce part of her that longs to reveal herself, to meet his eyes herself and offer some semblance of comfort. But there’s a time and place for things, and Pixal isn’t ready.

“It could be anything,” Lloyd finally continues, his voice small. “It could — it doesn’t mean anything. It could mean nothing, right?”

Pixal is silent, her mind racing. She’s run the calculations over and over in her head already, scouring the internet for anything related to the bikers. She’s been foolish, she realizes — they both have. Letting the gang go unnamed for so long, thinking nothing of it. Now, with the name flashing vibrant across Pixal’s vision, a part of her wants to let them go nameless just a bit longer.

Before she can answer, Lloyds phone goes off with a sharp ping, just as Pixal’s sensors alert her to the message from the commissioner. Lloyd snatches for his phone like it’s on fire, and Pixal’s already scanning the message frantically, as if she can salvage this if she’s fast enough, save Lloyd from this one pain.

Lloyd’s gotten much better at reading quickly though, these days.

She can pinpoint the moment he reaches the last paragraph, because his breath hitches. There’s a long, pressing pause of silence, Lloyd’s hands trembling as they clutch weakly at his phone. Then it’s punctured by a reedy, wheezing gasp, and Pixal’s suddenly wishing she’d revealed herself after all.

Instead, all she has is her voice as Lloyd crumples, crouching over in visible distress. Pixal’s mind races, recalling everything Zane’s ever told her about his team, the way their panic manifests in different shades. Lloyd’s is quiet but desperate, rapid breathes that stutter as his eyes slide more and more into a frightening kind of blankness.

“Lloyd, please, listen to my voice,” she begs, trying to reach him in the only way she can. “Please, you have to breathe—”

“He’s gone,” Lloyd rasps, unhearing of her words. “He’s s’posed to be gone, it’s supposed to be over, I’m supposed to be done—”

Pixal fights back the sense of overwhelming helplessness. She knows loss. She knows how to finish his sentence. He’s supposed to be done grieving, done mourning, done clinging to false scraps of hope that his father isn’t lost forever only to be met with heartbreak.

And now, to be met with the possibility of something so much worse.

“We’ll stop them,” she tells him, unflinching. “We won’t let it happen.”

Lloyd’s eyes are a vivid green where they stare at her through the monitor, almost ghostly in the misting light reflecting from the river.

He’s silent, but Pixal is, too.

Pixal remembers the way her head had spun when she’d first picked up the traces of Zane in the system, how the world had rushed then steadied, flooding with color as she’d realized he might not be lost after all. She remembers the surging, overwhelming flood of joy, that someone she’d thought she lost might live after all. She remembers being so happy, at even the smallest chance to get him back, because the voice was Zane’s, without a doubt.

She watches the color seep from Lloyd’s expression as his shoulders shudder, the words from the commissioner’s message almost echoing through the air. Watches the terror as the both of them fill the silence.

Will we?

The radio scratches, as if echoing Pixal’s anxiety. Love can be terrible, sometimes. She’s underestimated how it also be so cruel.

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

She’s also, apparently, underestimated how the universe on the whole could be so cruel.

She should’ve revealed herself to them from day one. That way, when Harumi’s corrupted programming suddenly ravages through her like an electric shock, she could be reassured they’d at least be familiar with the person they were fighting.

Instead, she doesn’t even get to scream. Pixal’s only able to force out a desperate, broken warning before she’s lost again, drowning in her own body as she’s forced under. Furious panic grips her as she screams without lungs, bashing herself against the overwhelming helplessness that’s taken over her.

Not again, not again, not again—

Her limbs creak and jolt against her will, lashing out at the people she cares most about, and Pixal can’t even rage back in her own voice. She’s sworn, she’s promised herself she’d never let anyone do this to her again — she’s sworn she’d die before she let someone reach into her head and snatch control away, and yet here she is, frozen as her body’s used to target her friends.

If she could cry, she might.

There’s not much more to say than that. She breaks free, her body her own once again, but by then it’s too late.

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

If Pixal had the same gift of foresight that Zane did, maybe she would have seen it coming. Maybe she’d have remembered how similar her and Lloyd are, and that this kind of pained desperation always yields impulsiveness and mistakes.

She doesn’t, though. She barely even manages to do what she’s trying to, which is convincing Lloyd to join the others while they celebrate their victory. Their off-key singing is something he normally wouldn’t hesitate to join in on, she thinks, and she hates Harumi a little more.

Maybe she’ll try his mother next. The expression on Lloyd’s face screams unapproachable, and remains fixedly sullen.

Almost to her surprise, he meets her eyes as she draws near— it’s odd, being able to meet his back — and his own eyes are dark, from despair over Harumi or despair over his father, Pixal isn’t sure. She’s thinking it might be both, when his eyebrows crease, and a flicker of concern cuts through them instead.

“You good?”

It takes her a moment to realize why he’s asking, but the answer is obvious. Her head tilts downward, and she watches as her fingers curl and uncurl. Her movements, her choices. She lets out an even breath.

“As I can be,” she replies. Lloyd nods, and his eyes are understanding. His lips twist in a scowl.

“She shouldn’t have done that to you. That was a low blow.”

Pixal’s mouth curves into a humorless smile. “That it was. She’s rather good at those, isn’t she.”

Lloyd’s eyes shadow again, and he looks away, crossing his arms. “This isn’t supposed to be about me,” he mutters.

“Yes, it is,” Pixal counters. “It is why I came over here, in the first place. She hurt—”

“All of us, and who’s fault is that,” Lloyd snaps, his arms crossing tighter.

“I would hope you know it’s hers,” she says, holding firm.

Lloyd looks away again, biting his lip, and Pixal shifts anxiously, rolling her wrists. The sensation of control sliding away still haunts her, worse than it had the first time. She should be better than this, she tells herself hotly. She’s lived without a body long enough that losing it so briefly shouldn’t effect her this much.

Curse her programming, she thinks, tapping agitatedly at the banister. She knew she should have reinforce it sooner.

“Hey, um.” Lloyd is looking at her again, hesitant. He twists at his bracelet, and his eyes lose a fraction of that darkness. “Kai made this for me, after Morro,” he says. “I kept shredding the sleeves of my uniform, so he told me to mess with this instead, when I needed to remember that…that I was in control.”

He shrugs, hesitant. “We could make you one too, if you wanted. It helps, having something.”

Pixal lets out a steady breath, despite not actually needing to. The action is grounding, she’s found. “I would like that.”

Lloyd gives her a ghost of a smile in return. “Soon as this is over, then.”

There’s a heavy weight to his words, and Pixal’s eyes narrow.

“Lloyd,” she says. He looks at her, his eyes dark. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

He’s quiet, not meeting her eyes, and this is where Pixal should stop him. This is when she should see the end of the road they’ve been on since they started this, and force him to turn before it’s too late.

“I know what I’m doing.”

She doesn’t.

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

Lloyd is battered and bleeding by the time they drag him onto the ship, a gruesome portrait of cruelty. Pixal is frozen as she watches him writhe in Kai’s hold, his screams cracked and wet as he thrashes erratically like a broken thing.

Nya is already barking orders before they’ve even gotten Lloyd fully on the ship, and Zane is running scans with a horrified, wavering focus. Pixal follows Cole as he carries Lloyd to the medbay with a blank numbness, the rush of wind streaming past the Bounty sails thunderously loud in her ears.

This isn’t Lloyd, she thinks, staring at his crumpled form. Lloyd isn’t this battered, broken shell of a person. Lloyd isn’t hazy eyes that fail to recognize them and frantic murmuring through bloody lips. Lloyd is bright-eyed and gentle and would rather die before he screams the way he does when Cole moves him to the table.

Lloyd is her friend, and this is where that promise they made has led them. She knows why Lloyd set out for the prison, hot on the collapse of his own star. She also knows he wouldn’t have chosen to burn out like this.

Cole calls out for Zane, his voice ringing in panic as Lloyd screeches in pain again. Pixal thinks of quiet words in the safety of his car, and she feels sick. This is the ugliness of love, the terrible, hideous side of it.

And Lloyd would hate it, if he could see himself, if he were any semblance of lucid. He’d hate to know just how much better he was at breaking himself than Morro ever was.

Zane is gentle as he pushes past her, but Pixal can feel the tremble in his hands. He’s every bit as rattled as she is, if not more so — Zane’s heart is larger and softer than hers has ever been, and he cares about each and every one of them with a painful intensity. It’s a cruel thing, to have to pull those same people back together with your own hands.

Kai’s eyes are streaming as he clutches at Lloyd’s wrists, pinning him in place. Zane’s hands waver again over one of the jagged wounds near Lloyd’s ribcage, the green of his uniform already dyed dark in blood, soaking over the careful stitches Pixal watched him put in himself.

Pixal finally finds her footing, reminding herself of the solid wood beneath her feet. She recalls the steady, smooth stitch Lloyd’s scarred fingers traced out for her.

“Here.” She takes the needle from Zane’s hands, squeezing his briefly before letting go. “I can do it.”

She sets the needle against Lloyd’s skin and wonders what kind of stitch it’d take to pull your heart back together.

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

Pixal cannot cry. It’s one of the features Mr. Borg spent hours debating, weighing the pros and cons of giving her the ability before he was truly sure how rust-proof she was. He’d never gotten the chance to, as the Overlord had interrupted him, then Pixal had lost any body to give the ability to cry to, which had eliminated the need entirely.

She cannot cry, but she can hurt, and the rain that streams through her hair, dripping down her forehead spotting raindrops on her cheeks, could be tears if she pretended.

She doesn’t, though, because tears are a waste of water and overall useless in the grand scheme of things. She doubts they’d have helped her fare any better in the battle with Colossi, either.

Tears won’t bring anyone back.

Lloyd cries anyways. She can’t see him, but she can hear it in his voice, the way it wavers and breaks over the radio, nasally tones pronounced.

He’s barely able to gasp a few coordinates to her before he cuts the radio off abruptly. Pixal’s spent enough time with him to envision his scarred fingers snapping it off with a particular desperation, green sparking from his hands in distress.

She reminds herself those sparks are gone, now, bled away into nothing like the vivid green of Lloyd’s eyes had. The thought makes her sadder than she’d expected. She had a joke, about his eyes, she had wanted to make. Now that she has a body, and her own set of glowing green eyes, she’d — there was something he would’ve laughed at, she thought —

It doesn’t matter, now. Neither of them are likely to laugh anytime soon.

The coordinates blink brightly in her vision, and she’s almost surprised she managed to key them in. She’s running on autopilot, she supposes. It could be ironic — she’s been so desperate for control, it’s been so important that she’s the one feeling. Now, she’d give anything not to feel at all.

She lets out a shaky breath, dispelling the mist in her vision left from the rain. She leans forward, just over the edge of the building she’s crouched on, and her loose hair falls forward, silvery and synthetic and horribly tangled. Irritated, she reaches for another hair tie, and her hands falter around her wrist.

Lloyd had promised her a bracelet there. But he’d promised Kai would make the bracelet, hadn’t he, and Kai couldn’t make the bracelet if he was dead, could he.

Pixal blinks, her breath hitching. She’s been so numb to the pain of Zane’s loss, it hasn’t yet occurred to her that she’s losing Kai, too. And Jay, and Cole, and—

She sucks in the same shuddery kind of breath she’s seen Lloyd do, and carefully fists her hand in the area of her uniform above her chest. Her fingers dig in tightly, clutching in a hopeless attempt to feel some sort of comfort she knows she’ll never find.

But perhaps, for these few seconds, she can pretend the action is holding her together.

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

“It was inevitable,” Pixal tells Lloyd blankly, as he rasps out his third apology in the dark cover of their small hideout. “That one of us would fall, eventually. It had nothing to do with you.”

Lloyd swallows thickly. “It could’ve — it should’ve been—”

He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. Pixal’s hand shoots out, clamping tightly around his wrist, and there’s a beat of gratitude that she doesn’t need to rely on her voice alone anymore.

“Don’t.” Her voice is strung tighter than the tension in their shoulders. “You cannot change anything. You can’t, Lloyd, and you should not wish to — to change it that way.”

Lloyd jerks his hand free, wiping miserably at his eyes. He sets it back down within her reach, though, and if Pixal were any different, she’d take it.

But Pixal isn’t that different from Lloyd at all in the end, and neither of them reach for the other’s hand, no matter how desperately they crave the contact. Fear is more familiar, and it’s easier to give into it than it is the clawing need for comfort in your chest, after all.

“Still,” Lloyd finally whispers. “Still.”

Pixal swallows. She doesn’t disagree. If one of them had to fall, she knows she gladly would have taken it upon herself. She knows the others care for her, certainly, but she also knows her place in the grand scheme of things. They were six before she came along, and even now she’s kept far too many secrets to be fully counted among them.

She listens to Lloyd’s quiet, cracked voice, and she wonders if he’s thinking that they were five before he came along, younger than Pixal got to know him as.

Now they’re three, hollow and heartbroken. Though counting herself as one whole feels like cheating, right now.

Pixal squeezes her eyes shut, and wonders what it’s like to cry. Perhaps it helps, though Lloyd doesn’t look any less miserable.

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

“I was thinking,” Lloyd tells her, during one of the precious few quiet moments they have while trying to overthrow Garmadon and Harumi. Pixal’s turning the tiny tea flower he’d given her over in her hands, a part of her mind already marking articles about flower-pressing, another part wondering if it’s already too late to save the blossom. “About that promise we made, before all this.”

Pixal finally tucks the flower into the pocket of her uniform, pressed close to her chest. If anything, it can be a reminder of the lives that are safe — the life that’s coming back to her, if she has to drag him back from another realm herself. “And?”

Lloyd’s hands twist together. “Maybe we should focus more on staying alive.”

Pixal coughs out a laugh, breathless and startled. Lloyd wrinkles his nose at her, but his eyes are amused, even with their light lost. “I mean, the emphasis would be on keeping everyone else alive, but it’s kinda hard to do that if we’re dead, so…yeah. Priorities.”

“Staying alive should always be a priority,” Pixal corrects him, but she tugs the edge of his armor out of place with a smile.

“Why didn’t you teach me how to graffiti?” she nods at the designs on the green leather. “Or was this another Darkley’s tradition.”

“This is a refined art, called whatever I had on me that showed up on dark green,” Lloyd grumbles, fixing his armor. “I’ll teach it to you when we get out of this.”

“Another reason why staying alive would be a more productive focus,” Pixal points out. “I’ve heard teaching is easier when you’re alive.”

“And I’ve heard you’re a real riot,” Lloyd mutters. “It’s a promise, okay? I promise to teach you how to do cool armor design if you promise not to disappear into another realm on me.”

Pixal nods, adjusting her own armor tighter as screams ring out from a street nearby. “A promise, then.”

She keeps both the promise and the flower, the tiny blossom dried and faded by the time she’s escaped from the prison, heart racing with leftover adrenaline as Zane sweeps her into his arms. She clutches back every bit as tight, listening to his breathless laughter as cheers rise from the streets behind them, the smoke drifting across the early morning sky above them pale against the lightening blue. Pixal buries her face in his shoulder and breathes, tucking the moment away in her heart where it won’t fade. There’s a future stretching out before her, and she’s got the limbs to walk her path on her own, but all she wants right now is the steady ground beneath her feet and the bright laughter of what she’s managed to keep.

Lloyd meets them shortly after, his own promise kept as he tears his gaze from his father, handing him off to the authorities before sprinting for the others. Pixal barely snags a moment alone with him, and even then no one’s particularly keen on letting him out of their sights.

He meets her eyes as they pick their way through the wrecked streets, the city more alive around them than it’s been in weeks. In the dark of the early morning, Pixal’s eyes glow a bright green, reflecting oddly in the windows they pass. It’s always been her preferred color, in contrast to Zane’s bright blue. Lloyd glances at her, his own eerily green eyes glowing back. He bites his lip, but it’s to hold back real laughter this time.

“My eyes were green first,” she tells him.

“Sue me,” he shoots back, before Kai’s throwing an arm over his shoulders again, tucking Lloyd neatly in between him and Nya. Pixal smothers a laugh at the look on his face, and tightens her own arm further where it’s linked firmly in Zane’s.

It’s going to be an easy promise to keep, she thinks.

#lego ninjago #ninjago #lloyd garmadon #ninjago lloyd #pixal #there was a point to this but it got lost in pix and lloyd do arts and crafts #either way i'd die for both these characters #ninjago where is the pixal love i miss her #my fic

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blog4snape · 3 years

Text

What if I Meant it? (2)

Pairing: (young) Severus Snape (M) x Reader (F)

Genre: Fluff with some soft angst

Rating: Citrus (very safe for work)

Summary: A follow-up from the previous chapter. After Severus leaves your classroom, you notice he left his book behind.

Warnings: *spoilers* invasion of privacy

Word Count: 1.7K

Date Written: 9/10/2020

~~~~

June 18th, 1978

After Severus left your classroom in a huff, you sighed, turning your gaze over to the indentation he had left in the pit. He had forgotten his book. You pulled yourself up from your chair and crossed the room to the fortress of pillows, gingerly picking up the discarded item. The book opened naturally to an outlined message, the words smudged from constant touch. Several pages were folded into the shape of a heart with notes written hastily into the inner margins. Curious, you squinted your eyes trying to read the blotched and scribbled writing in the inner corner of the book. Your face flushed, immediately snapping the book shut and holding it farther away from you.

After a moment of collecting yourself, you stared down at the cover of his book. It was an outdated divination book, one he must have gotten from a secondhand book shop for next to nothing. ‘But then again,’ you thought to yourself, ‘all of divination is quite outdated.” You scratched your scalp.

In your syllabus and throughout the first week of classes, you had expressed that there was no need for any of your students to buy the books. You didn’t require any of your students to purchase divination books, as most of the lessons you taught were hands-on anyway and the books were frankly full of rubbish. Tracing a finger over the worn-out cover, you smiled softly to yourself. Severus was an excellent listener--it couldn’t have been a mishearing--he must have taken an interest in the subject to go out of his way to purchase a divination book.

‘Or in you.’ The words floated in your head, reminding you of the notes you had just seen scratched into the book still in your hands.

You sighed, laying in the pit. It was still warm from where Severus had been resting, and you caught a hint of the scent of pine and lavender that would tend to cling to him. You opened the book once more, flipping through the notes he had written.

“That dunderhead Potter wasn’t paying attention to the lesson on Ichthyomancy. He got slapped by the fish we were working with today-”

You laughed, remembering the giant trout that smacked James Potter’s face last week when he decided to mess with it during your lesson after your instruction not to. “You deserved it, Potter,” you laughed, causing other students to follow your footsteps. You said it then and you’d say it again now.

“-It was pretty great, even the professor laughed at him. She has a cute laugh.”

As your eyes traveled further down the page, seeing what Severus thought of your laugh made it halt in your throat. Your cheeks burned as you continued to read the comments he wrote. The majority of all of the writing was about divination class- most of them were notes he had written from the lectures. You allowed yourself to have a new teacher’s proud grin, seeing that he was getting a lot out of your lessons. But as you kept turning pages, you found yourself appearing in the margins more and more. Not all of the words were about you, but many of them mentioned you in some way or another.

‘I told her I had taken quite a liking to ferns. The next week she waved me over after class with a huge smile on her face. She looked so excited. She gave me a tiny fern plant whose sparse fronds had yet to unfurl.’

Next to the note was a small doodle of a baby fern. You grinned, it was the cutest drawing you’ve ever seen.

‘She tutored me after class today. She told me to “keep up the good work” and hugged me afterward.’

You nodded, glad to help your students feel more confident in their abilities and glad that Severus Snape was one of them.

‘She baked us biscuits because we all got high marks on the test last week. They tasted good.’

You smiled, happy to know your students liked your gifts. For every test they aced, you would give your students biscuits as a reward. You figured the upperclassmen deserved a treat every now and then, as they’re usually stressing about the OWLs and their NEWT classes.

‘She has pretty eyes.’

Your smile faded. You had to read that line again. You adjusted the book in your hands, moving one hand to your temple. Were you reading that right?

‘She held me while I cried. It was all I’ve ever wanted. I want her to hold me again.’

‘She doesn’t want to tell me about who she saw that night. But, she didn’t ask me about the werewolf. So I guess I’ll stop asking her. For now.’

That night a boggart was in your classroom. You bit your index nail, images of your boggart pressing into your mind. With all that had been happening lately, you didn’t even realize he had stopped asking you but you instantly felt gratitude blossom in your chest. You read the past two notes again, feeling regret at the way you handled the situation. You wished you had been harsher. Any other teacher wouldn’t have given in to his demands. But he wasn’t just your student--he was your old friend.

‘Her hands are soft.’

Was he just your friend? Your heart thumped, wondering if he only thought of you as his friend, also.

‘I like her plants. She’s got a bunch all over the classroom. Whenever I ask her about one, she gets so excited and tells me all she can about it. I already knew most of it, but I haven’t the heart to interrupt her. I like when she gets passionate about something, and the way she rambles about plants is cute.’

The note was surrounded by small drawings of the plants around your classroom. You stroked the ink outlines of the leaves with an appreciative grin. He was rather talented.

‘She’s so cute when she’s setting something on fire.’

Despite the flush on your cheeks, you chuckled a bit. Divination allowed you to set a lot of things on fire, and sometimes you seemed just a bit too eager. ‘So are you,’ you murmured, thinking of Severus’ passion for learning.

‘She smiled at me today and told me something. I was too focused on her mouth to remember what she said.’

You absentmindedly stroked your lips. You took a moment to swear at yourself- urging yourself to stop reading this book, to stop reading Severus’ private feelings, and to stop feeling your own feelings, but you just kept going.

‘She named one of her plants, “Snargs.” I don’t know why, because it wasn’t even a Snargaluff, but it made me chuckle anyway.’

You smiled at the mention of your plant. Next to the note was a drawing of Snargs, your forever-flowering cactus with the name ‘Snargs’ written in a curly font above the plant. You looked up, seeing Snargs sitting on the high windowsill with his petals dancing in the soft summer breeze. You blew a kiss to him, placing his weekly watering schedule at the back of your mind as you kept reading.

‘She gave me a gift last Christmas. It was a new bag for my books. I saw her staring at the holes in my old bag the month before. The box didn’t have a sender, but I knew it was her. I could smell her perfume on it and it was her handwriting on the note inside.’

Embarrassed, you scratched the inside of your arm. You tried to be sneaky about your gift but it was certainly difficult getting anything past someone as observant as Severus. The two of you didn’t participate in the holiday’s secret santa event, but you could tell he desperately needed a new bag. His previous bag looked a century old, full of holes and nearly falling apart at the seams. His materials constantly fell out of his bag, and you had grown sorrowful every time he had to backtrack with downfallen eyes and a red face to retrieve his dropped items. You knew he didn’t want your pity, and you were afraid if you gave the bag to him in person he’d reject it, so you decided to be as anonymous as possible. You were glad he decided to use it anyway despite knowing where it came from in the end. Smiling, you wondered if he’d accept the gift if it came from anyone else.

Then, for the next few pages shaped like a heart, he had written your name in the margin in his best calligraphy, with pulsing hearts, twinkling stars, blossoming flowers, swimming fish, and tiny sketches of tarot cards. You stared, mesmerized at his magicked art, caressing the moving lines with your fingers. He wrote your names together in a heart, side by side with his. You couldn’t help the smile bubbling onto your curious face as you slowly took in every addition, fiddling with the corner of the dog-eared pages that had been shaped into a heart. You flipped the page, confused--there were tiny hearts drawn around an inky black mass. The mass was a jumble of rough sketch-lines, but they started to move. Your breath caught in your throat as the lines scribbled down on the paper formed an image of you, turning around and smiling. Nothing but astounding brightness was in your features, a direct contrast to the next notes he had written down.

‘I wonder if she feels the same as I do. She has to, right?’

You just couldn’t answer that question right now. You bit your lip, glancing up at the door as if Severus could burst in at any moment. You sighed, thinking about him as your eyes dropped back to the writing. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stroked the next horrible words beneath your finger, feeling his self-doubt emanating from the paper.

‘But who could ever like someone like me?’

The next note was a long paragraph, but whatever words you could see were smudged and crossed out. Ink had been spilled on top of the page, the black streaks marring the yellowed pages. The corner of the page was brandished with scorch marks.

~~~~

A/N: Thank you for reading! These “one-shots” (lol) are from a series called Afterimages of You. Here’s the masterlist for all of the one shots I have posted in the series. a big ol thank you to @thats-mrs-snape-to-you @bush-viper-cutie and @littl-prince for helping me, i love you guys!!

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kaiparker-avengerssmut · 3 years

Text

CURSED: CHAPTER ONE

"He was a boy, She was a girl"

Kai Parker x OC!Mack Grace

Series synopsis: "We're both cursed, in a way."

We all know the story of Kai Parker, but he once lived in a very different life. Do you ever wonder what that life looked like?

Chapter summary: Mack meets a new guy at school, Kai Parker

Warnings: swearing?

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Mackenzie pulled open the car door and climbed into the passenger seat, leaning over the middle console and planting a sweet kiss on Ben's lips. He smiled into the kiss and pulled away.

"Morning babe." He said happily.

"Morning." She smiled back.

Mack dropped her bag by her feet and sat back, pulling her seatbelt across her body and plugging it in. Ben revved the engine and began driving off in the direction of the school, arguably way to fast.

The whole way to school Ben hammered on about how annoying the freshmans would be and how he was so ready to be the quarterback this year. Mack nodded along and made sounds of agreement every now and then, but she really didn't care much for Ben's popular boy life. Mack was the quiet girl who got good grades and sat on her own at lunch. She only went to parties and attended football games so she would appear the 'perfect girlfriend' as Ben said.

As they pulled into the school parking lot, Ben turned to her and cupped her face, pulling her in for a long kiss that was only really to give everyone else a show. And that made her stomach drop. They got out the car and instantly she felt Ben's arm wrap around her waist, pulling her into his side tightly.

As they wandered through the halls everyone waved and said hi to Ben, completely ignoring Mack. Ben received the wanting stares of girls and some claps on the back from some of the guys on the football team. As they reached her locker Mack stopped and unlocked it, shoving her books inside and grabbing her sketch book.

"I still don't know why you even bother with those, you're not good enough to get a scholarship." Ben said bitterly, motioning to her sketch book. Mack furrowed her brows and slammed her locker shut, charging off to her first period class. She heard Ben call after her but ignored him, knowing it'd come back to bite her later.

The head splitting noise of the clock ticking filled her ears, the screeching of chair legs against the scratchy floor and the constant first-day-back chatter of her classmates slowly driving Mack insane. She'd been in the room for less than five minutes and she was already ready to self combust just to get out of this hell-hole. The graphite gilded across the page as she drew, sketching god knows what and doodling all over her sketch book pages. Someone coughed obnoxiously above her and Mack instantly looked up, coming face to face with a super hot boy she'd never seen before.

"Is this seat taken?" He spoke with a hint of cockiness, gesturing to the empty seat beside Mack. She shook her head and watched as he made his way round and pulled out the chair, dumping his bag next to the table leg and plopping down into his seat, leaning back and crossing his ankles. He looked over to Mack and her head snapped back down, her attention back on her sketches.

The teacher walked in and Mack quickly placed her textbook over her sketches, hiding them and pretending to pay attention. In actual fact, she already knew what the teacher was talking about, the droning sound of his voice like a white noise.

About half way through the lesson Mack felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked to where it came from only to see the boy from before studying her intently.

"So what's the deal with you? I don't think I've heard you mutter a single word since I've seen you." He asked, slightly confused. Mack shook her head and looked down at the desk before looking back up again, her sight instantly catching the boy's captivating blue-grey eyes.

"Who are you? I've never seen you before." She asked shyly, speaking more than she'd like to. The boy grinned widely before offering his hand for her to shake.

"Kai, Kai Parker. And I just moved here last weekend. My twin sister is also in our grade." Mack nodded and kept sketching, hoping he'd leave her alone now. But he didn't. "So how long have you lived here? What's your name?" He continued. Mack sighed.

"All my life, and I'm Mack Grace." She said almost too quietly. The sound of his voice made Mack rest her head in her hands and try to tune him out, but nothing worked.

"Mack? As in Mackenzie? That's an awful long name. Do you go by a nickname? Mack - no, too many people call you that, I bet it's what you tell everyone to call you. Oh, oh what about Kenzie? Actually, no. Too long. Ohhhh I know! I'll call you Kenz. There we go, short, sweet and catchy. Nice to meet you Kenz." Kai babbled on, not realising Mack had completely ignored him.

She'd just met the guy and she already hated him. Mack felt awful but he was just so annoying. Hot, but annoying. The rest of the lesson continued like that, Kai chatting incessantly in Mack's ear as she tried to get the work done so she could go back to her sketching and ignoring him.

"Those are soooo good." Kai basically whispered as he leant over Mack's shoulder with wide eyes, entranced as her pencil moved over the page. She snapped the book shut to stop him from looking and he turned away, muttering an offended, "O-kay." And whistling while rolling his eyes. He was staring at just the page she'd done that lesson, which was now almost completely covered in sketches of people in their class, from all the angles Mack could see them from her seat. She rolled her eyes and kept drawing, letting her long hair fall as a curtain to hide herself from him.

The sound of the bell was like music to her ears and Mack instantly stood, scooping her books into her arms and charging out the class and down the hall. With her eyes kept trained down, Mack didn't realise someone was in front of her until she collided with them. They both fell to the ground and Mack's sketches were littered all over the floor, pieces of loose paper floating down around them. She scrabbled to her knees and crawled around aimlessly, picking up the pages and stuffing them back into her book. She went to grab the last page but the other girl got there first, Mack's eyes drifting up to meet hers.

"S-Sorry." Mack said shyly, taking the page from the mystery girl and slowly standing up. The other girl joined her, giving Mack a warm smile.

"Don't worry about it, it was my fault. I'm Jo." She said reassuringly, offering her hand to Mack, who hesitantly took it before shaking.

"I'm Mack." Jo smiled at her and let Mack's hand go, stepping back slightly and speaking up again.

"Do you know where Mrs Price's class room is? I'm totally lost and totally new here." Jo admitted bashfully, looking at Mack with pleading eyes. Mack nodded and motioned for Jo to follow her before they both walked down the hall, side-by-side.

"You don't talk much." Jo observed - not in a rude way though - as they approached the door to the classroom. Mack nodded and opened the door, letting Jo walk in first. She thanked Mack before heading inside and picking two seats at the back for her and Mack.

"I was never really listened to, so I stopped talking." Mack said simply, sitting down and folding her arms over the desk. Jo nodded slowly and turned her attention to the front of the class, where Mrs Price was introducing herself to the class.

As the lesson went on Mack felt as if she could sleep, she hated American History. It was so dull and useless, not to mention Mack could probably correct Mrs Price in every 'fact' she told. Finally they were set some work and a sheet landed on her desk. Mack picked it up and examined it, just a boring old worksheet. Mack turned to Jo, hoping to find out more about her.

"So you said you were new?" Mack began. Jo made a noise of confirmation before elaborating.

"We only moved here last weekend, family of 10. I have a twin brother and a bunch of younger siblings." Mack nodded and furrowed her brows in thought.

"A twin?" She pushed.

"Yeah, he's a good brother but is extremely annoying." Jo chuckled. That's when it clicked.

"By any chance is your twin Kai?" Mack asked, suddenly realising the resemblance between the two. Jo nodded and wrote something down.

"You've met him?" Jo said while writing.

"Yeah, I sat next to him in first period. Does he ever shut up?" Mack said with a laugh at the memory of Kai chatting in her ear for the whole hour. Jo laughed too.

"Sometimes. If he's eating or-" Jo cut herself off quickly before she said too much. Mack tilted her head to the side in confusion.

"Or what?" She asked.

"Oh, um, or if he's listening to m-music." Jo answered quickly. Mack nodded uncertainly and begun her worksheet too.

Mack slowly wandered out to the car park from her last period lesson, really not wanting to spend the whole ride with Ben, but knowing she had no other way home. She walked up to Ben's car and saw him leaning against the car door, arms folded over his chest.

"Hey babe." He smirked, pulling her into a kiss. Ugh, Mack hated the name 'babe' but decided to say nothing. She smiled and said hi back quietly before opening her car door and plopping down on the seat, leaving her bag on the floor at her feet. She began humming a tune, tapping her nails lightly against the armrest as she did so. Mack looked over at Ben as she felt him sit down, shutting his door with a thud and putting the keys in the ignition. She turned her attention to her window, watching as couples walked by holding hands and friends gossiped about their first day back after winter break.

"Please stop humming, it's almost as bad as listening to you talk about fucking art scholarships." Ben snapped, huffing frustratedly and pulling out the parking space. Mack stopped and frowned, looking out the window again and ignoring whatever shitty music he put on.

Her mind drifted as they drove home, thinking about her day. Meeting Jo might've been the best thing to happen to her, seeing as she was a potential best friend. Mack and Jo really clicked, they just kind of understood each other. After their second period had ended, Mack had asked Jo to sit with her at lunch and she agreed.

The other person she thought about was Kai. God, Kai. She new he was annoying, a typical grade-A asshole and extremely attractive. She knew she should stay away, and that she shouldn't think about a guy as attractive as him when she had a boyfriend, but she didn't care. He was probably the most talkative person she'd ever met and also the most annoying, but Mack felt drawn to him, strangely.

"Mack, Mack!" Ben repeated, waving his hand in front of her face. Mack snapped out her thoughts and looked over at Ben, who didn't look too happy. "We're here." Is all he said, gesturing to Mack's small house behind him. She fake smiled and thanked him for the ride, giving him a chaste kiss on the lips before grabbing her bag and getting out the car.

"Hey Dad." Mack Shouted as she walked through the door, dropping her bag on a chair and walking into the small kitchen and reaching for a glass from the cupboard. She filled it with water and gulped it all down, setting the glass down on the counter before sitting at the small dining table and opening her bag.

"Hey Wolfy." Mack's Dad smiled, ruffling her hair as he walked past. "How was school?" He asked.

"Good I guess, I think I made a new friend." Mack said happily, pulling out her textbooks and starting her math homework.

"Good good." Her dad said, sitting down on the plush old armchair that was fading from age. He picked up his book and put on his glasses, opening it up and peering over the top at Mack. "Your sister has the night shift tonight and I'm meeting Tony for a meeting about the company at eight, so you have the house to yourself tonight." He said before redirecting his eyes to his book.

Mack's dad helped run a company with his best friend Tony, but it wasn't very big. They struggled with money so her sister wasn't in college, so she already worked at a local business and often took on an extra night shifts to help with money. Mack worked a weekend job, but spent lots of her time on her school work and drawing. She was insanely smart, getting straight A's in every subject with almost no effort, but she'd never get a scholarship off of that alone. The only thing she had a shot at was an art scholarship, otherwise she wouldn't get to go to college at all.

Mack looked up at the sound of the phone and so did her dad, but before she could answer it he got there first. He listened for a moment before holding out the phone for Mack to take.

"It's Ben." He said before walking off.

"Hey are you doing anything tonight?" Ben asked. Mack chewed her lip, contemplating her answer before deciding he'd be able to tell if she lied.

"No, Kim is taking the night shift and my dad is going out at eight." She said, still not sure if she should've just said she was busy.

"Perfect. I'll come over for eight thirty?" Ben said.

Mack gulped. This would be the first time she was home alone with Ben and for some reason the thought scared her rather than excited her.

"See you at eight thirty."

#smut #elena gilbert #image #images #stefan salvatore #the vampire diaries #chris wood #damon salvatore #kol mikaelson #tvd #kai parker image #kai parker x reader #kai parker smut #kaiparker #kai Parker #kai Parker fanfic #tvd fanfic

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only-lonely-stars · 3 years

Text

The Future is Bright, Chapter 6

[Chapter 1 (Beginning)] // [Chapter 5] // [Chapter 6 - you are here!] // [Chapter 7] // [Chapter 10 (End)] (FFN)

Cole now knows what he’s seen, but he still doesn’t know what it means. There’s still so much to know, and the mystery is centered in Shintaro. Good thing he has an ally who can help him find answers!

Summary: What would happen if Cole had indeed had a reflection in the tomb of the First Spinjitzu Master? How would that have changed his life later? What would it have been? This story follows what might have happened if he had seen something, and what it was; who he would have become. What if his future was already decided?... (Rated T for safety. Alternate title: the Cosmic Spoilers AU.)

Chapter 6: Drawing Conclusions

With the drawing from the First Master's tomb in tow, Cole hadn't wasted much time in going back to Shintaro, and had left a couple of days later. If he had any luck– assuming luck was real, like destiny apparently was– it would be enough to help him find whoever he was meant to find. Then it was just a matter of dealing with whatever that was.

When he at last arrived back in Shintaro, Vania greeted Cole with an enthusiastic hug, almost knocking him over. "Cole! It's good to see you!"

Cole laughed and hugged back, grinning. "Good to see you too, Queenie! I missed you!"

She beamed at him just as widely, almost vibrating in her excitement. "What's going on? I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon!"

He nodded, brushing his hair back. "I had something I needed to talk to you about, and I figured in-person was better than a letter."

Immediately, her brow creased with worry. "Something to talk about? Is something wrong?"

"No, not at all!" He put up his hands defensively. "It's okay– everything's completely okay. I just wanted to talk to you about something that happened, and maybe get your opinions on it? If it's not a problem, that is."

"Oh! No, it's not a problem! I love talking to you." She turned her head questioning. "Did you want to talk somewhere private, or just anywhere?"

"Somewhere private, I think." He smiled awkwardly. "It's kind of... personal."

"I can do that!" She clapped her hands. "Follow me!"

Cole did as she asked, and she led him into the palace. They followed a few hallways, going deep into the palace, until they at last stopped in a private room with a fireplace. She shut the doors behind them, and together they sat on a couch before the fireplace.

When they were at last comfortable, she smiled at him. "So, what was it that you wanted to talk about?"

He sighed. "Okay, so I have to explain a little bit before I can get to it, but I'm kind of wondering if you can help me figure something out. It has to do with Shintaro."

"Okay." She nodded. "What do you need to know?"

"Well…" He shrugged. "I guess I kind of need to know about Shintaro customs, and stuff. There's a bit of a backstory to why I need to know."

"Go ahead and tell it," she urged him enthusiastically. "I have plenty of time, don't skimp on the details."

"Okay." He sighed, relaxing a little and managing a smile. He was just talking to Vania. There was nothing scary about that: she wouldn't judge him. "So, you probably heard about what happened a few years ago in Stiix, right?"

"Of course. All those ghosts!" She laughed. "That's one of the stories we heard about the soonest, I think."

"Probably, it was a big deal." He found himself talking with his hands as well as his voice, waving them around a bit. "Anyway, right before that, we were dealing with Morro. He wanted to get the Realm Crystal to summon the Preeminent. Still sound familiar?"

"Yeah, completely!" She leaned forward, invested. "What about it? Did you stop him?"

"We had to find it before he did– not that we succeeded, but it was okay." He thought back to the events. "It was hidden in the First Spinjitzu Master's tomb, and he made it only accessible to Spinjitzu Masters like him. Morro had possessed Lloyd so he could get in."

"That's terrible!" She frowned. "Is he okay after that?"

"He's okay." Cole smiled at her concern. "This was years ago, remember?"

"If you say so. I just wanted to make sure." She smiled back.

Cole chuckled. "Well, that's sweet of you."

She smiled a little more. "I try."

He grinned back. "Okay. When we got there, we found a bunch of traps that only Spinjitzu Masters could survive. One was this huge maze of ice– and when I say huge, I mean huge. Gigantic."

"A maze of ice? Wouldn't that melt?" She frowned in confusion. "Unless it was enchanted…"

"Maybe, I don't know. Whatever it was, it wasn't just normal ice." He paused, attempting to describe it. "When you look at your reflection in the ice wall, it shows you a reflection of your future self, and when we made our way through, I saw mine."

She gasped, staring at him in rapt attention. "You're kidding. It shows the future?"

"Yup."

That's– that's incredible! It must have been fascinating!" She grinned brightly. "Future vision sounds incredible!"

"It's really cool- no pun intended. It kind of showed me that I was going to be human again, which was really nice. Made it easier to deal with being a ghost."

"I can imagine." She leaned in a little closer. "Speaking of which, what was it like being a ghost?"

He chuckled. "Numb, really. You don't feel anything, just kind of cold. Not on my list of top ten recommended experiences."

"Probably not." She sat back, trying to control her excitement, but still clearly enamored with the story. "So… did you just see yourself as human? How does that connect to Shintaro?"

"I'm getting there." He pulled out his sketchbook as he spoke. "When we saw our reflections, Kai, Zane, and Jay saw themselves dressed like senseis. Jay even saw Nya with him, which was just proof that they've always been meant to be. Thing is, I didn't see the same thing." He flipped to the right page and handed it over. "Jay, Nya and I went back last week to take another look, and I drew what mine looked like."

She took the sketchbook gently and examined the drawing, tracing the lines with a light touch. A soft smile bloomed on her face. "You're an incredible artist," she commented.

"Thanks. I'm okay." He smiled, watching her look at it with that sweet look on her face. "So… what do you think?"

She hummed. "Well, it looks like Shintaran robes, obviously."

"Yeah, it does." He shrugged. "I don't know what the heck I saw, but I've kind of been on edge about it since we first visited. Do you know anything about what it means?"

"Hm…" She looked at him, and then back at the drawing, and held it up to compare. "Well… I can kind of tell some things." She examined it a little more closely. "In this, you're wearing white and blue. That's something not many Shintarans wear, because it's the royal colors, but it's not unheard of for non-royals if they want to emulate the royals. Plus, you're wearing your own crest, not the royal one."

"Wait, there's a royal crest?" He looked at her quizzically. "I've never seen it."

"Oh, absolutely!" She smiled at him, brushing her bangs out of the way. "It's a spear and some clouds. You might've seen it around the palace somewhere if you looked close enough."

"I don't know." He laughed. "Last time I was here, I spent most of my time underground."

"That's fair." She laughed too and looked back down, pointing at the sketch to direct him. "See your belt? That's where you might wear your crest in Shintaran formal wear."

"Huh! It's still my dragon..."

"Yep. Either that's the crest you stuck with for just yourself if you came here, or that's the crest your family would take on. Either way, it's not unheard of either." Her brow furrowed. "That said, the style of robes is pretty impractical for everyday wear. This is formal clothing, like I said, so I think it's probably likely that it's royal clothing. That explains the colors better."

His heart caught in his chest. "Royal clothing? Are you saying I become part of the royal family?"

"If you got married and your yin was a Shintaran royal, yes." She smiled up at him again. "Sounds like you'll be moving up in the world."

"Huh." He smiled faintly, head spinning with the possible meanings and making him feel a little dizzy. He had thoughts about how little he knew of Shintaro, yet it was clear how much this meant here… was there extended royalty in the Shintaran royal family?

Eventually, he found his voice. "That's… that's a thought."

"I bet it is." Her smile formed into yet another infectious grin. "That said, it would be awesome!"

That threw him for a loop. "Huh? How come?"

"Because then you'd live here! Then we could see each other all the time!" she chirped. "I mean, it's obviously not great to leave Ninjago, because that's your home and you love it and you've always protected it, but it would be amazing to have you around! You'd love to live here in Shintaro, I guarantee it."

He shrugged. "Oh, I wouldn't know... I haven't put much thought into that part of it."

"Maybe you should."

"Maybe…" He reached over and pointed at a gold smudge on the paper next to the sketch of himself. "Okay, see that?"

"Yeah. Is that supposed to be there?"

"Yep. The ice walls sometimes show other people, too, but all I saw was a blur. It's my one clue to whoever my yin is supposed to be. She's got really bright blonde hair– just like yours, actually." He shrugged. "I don't know how common that color of hair is here, but either way it narrows it down."

"It's not that common," she noted. "I haven't met many other people with the same color. Most people here are brunette."

"Then it's even easier."

The conversation fell quiet, and a familiar anxiety crept back into his mind. His mind spun tales of the possibilities, some of which he dared not even think... but he was snapped from his thoughts when he felt Vania's hand on his arm. "Cole? Are you okay?"

He laughed humorlessly and nodded, shaking himself. "Uh, yeah. Sorry. I'm just– it's a lot to think about."

"I can imagine." She smiled compassionately. "I know you haven't really liked the idea of a relationship– just about everyone knows that. It must be pretty hard, knowing in the future you've got that, despite how much you don't want it yet."

He nodded. "Yeah, uh, you hit the nail on the head." He brushed his hair back anxiously. "I don't do relationships; never have, actually. Now the creator of entire realms has given me cosmic spoilers and told me I'm marrying someone from another country. It's hard to process."

"I'd bet it is." She nodded along with his story. "Having your future set for you before you get to it isn't fun."

"You must know about that, right?"

She let her hand rest on his arm comfortingly. "I do. I didn't really ever get told I could be anything but the queen in the future. It made some things easier, but others harder." She laughed quietly. "I can't imagine what it must be like to be told that, but about whoever you're going to end up marrying."

"Yeah, that's it. I don't know what to do, if I'm honest."

"Well, you could do a couple things." She shrugged, letting go of his arm.

"What do you mean?" He leaned in, listening intently.

Vania giggled at his blatant interest, and then began counting on her fingers. "One: you ignore it. Not the best idea, in my opinion, but it would work for a little bit. The future comes to pass whether we want it to or not."

"Yeah, definitely can't just expect it not to happen. Already tried that." He smiled.

"Yeah, exactly." She smiled back. "Two: you wait. You can let it happen in its own due time and do other things now, instead. Instead of pushing it and trying to find her, you can let her find you."

"But that'd leave it hanging over my head," he dismissed. "That's happened for long enough already, too."

"I figured you'd say that." She laughed quietly. "Three: you start looking for her now with what you know. She's got to be a noble or royal, and since she's blonde, you've got plenty of clues." She shrugged absently. "Of course, you could be wrong about part of it, and get mixed up, but you could try at least."

He nodded, thinking it over. Would it be worth it to look for her? Of course, there was always the possibility that he, Jay and Nya had been wrong. What if he was wrong? Or… what if she was right under his nose? What if they were right?

He sighed. "I guess I should figure out who it is, but I'm starting to wonder if I'm right about what I actually saw."

"Well…" She paused. "You drew it while looking at it, didn't you?"

"I did." He shook his head. "I just– my mind's playing tricks on me. I kind of wish I could see it again, but a third visit, and going alone at that, doesn't sound like much fun."

She hummed. "You have a point… I must admit, I'm extremely curious. It sounds fascinating to see the future!"

"It really is." Would it be worth it to go alone?...

She closed the sketchbook and handed it back. "Well… what if I come with you? We can look at it together and figure out what we're doing to find your yin."

"Really?" He took the book back. "You'd want to see it? I thought you wouldn't want to."

"Sure! It sounds fascinating, and I'd love to know a little more about my future, even though it's already mostly laid out for me. It would be another adventure!" She grinned. "That is, if you don't mind me coming along?"

"No, I'd be happy to bring you!" He grinned back. "That place is a little creepy when you're alone, seeing as it's a tomb."

"Well then, let's make it not creepy!" She got to her feet gracefully, seemingly energetic. "Let me just change and talk to Hailmar, and then I'm ready to go. We can make a day of it."

"Okay. It's a bit of a trip, dress warmly." He pocketed the sketchbook.

"Will do!" she chirped. "Make yourself at home! I'll come find you when I'm ready."

"Okay." Instinctively he wanted to come with her, but he kept himself back. There wasn't a reason to follow her, just that... well, she was the one he came to visit, but it would only be a little wait. There wasn't a need to miss her already.

Having gotten his thoughts in order, Cole stayed in the room and took the book out. As he looked at the sketch, his thoughts swirled in confusion. Who was this blonde royal he was supposed to be marrying? His suspicions fit too perfectly… but was it what he suspected?

#ninjago #ninjago fanfic #ninjago au #ninjago cole #ninjago vania #cole brookstone #princess vania #vania #cole x vania #vania x cole #colania #vanillacake #vanillacakeshipping #OLST fanfic #the future is bright #fun fact: I had a heck of a time formatting this #and it took me a LONG time to find Chapter 5 on my own blog #but the links must be respected!

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slytherinbarnes · 4 years

Text

Sub Rosa [42]

xiii. join or die

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 3.0k

Warnings: a lil angst, a lil drugging for safe passage.

Summary: the search for Luna begins, and you and Bellamy share a moment.

a/n: HELLO FRIENDS I AM ALIVE AND I AM BACK! WHICH MEANS SUB ROSA IS BACK TOO! so sorry I missed wednesday’s upload, but ya girl had no power or internet or 4g so there was literally nothing I could do. please read and enjoy number 42! we are nearing the end of s3, can you believe it?! anyways, I love u all you lil moons, and I hope you’re well! the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

Bellamy maneuvers the rover through the woods as fast he dares, adjusting course every now and then according to the map in Octavia’s hands.

This ride is one of the quiet ones, everyone tense with the idea that you might fail to find Luna, and fail to save your people. You turn and glance back at Clarke, who is sitting behind Bellamy, next to Jasper, turning the Flame over and over between her fingers. You can't tell what she’s thinking, but you’re sure it’s about Lexa, her expression sad and worried.

Octavia spends much of the ride looking out of the small window on the back door, making sure Bellamy is following her directions. Bellamy sits wrapped up in quiet intensity, eyes locked only on the road around you. Jasper keeps checking the map and worrying over the distance, a fact that he reminds you of now. “It's been an hour since we passed the airplane wreckage. Seeing as we're using a map without any distances, it could be days before we reach the village.”

Bellamy’s gaze never leaves the road as he offers, “At least we know we're going in the right direction.”

“We're running out of daylight. We should stop in the sun and recharge the battery.”

You glance out the window at the rain that has been falling since the funeral last night, the clouds blocking any light from the sun. You mutter, “What sun?”

Clarke backs you up. “We keep going until it dies.”

Octavia turns away from the back, glancing at Clarke and correcting her. “We keep going until we get to Luna.”

Jasper gazes down at the map again, before looking over at Octavia. “What do you think she's gonna say when we show up asking to put an AI in her head?”

“Lincoln said she helps those that are in trouble. She'll help us too.”

Bellamy abruptly slams on the breaks, trying to avoid a fallen tree in your path, and the rover slides along the wet ground for a second before lurching to a stop. The move jostles all of you inside, and you brace yourself against the door the best you can, trying to prevent your head from slamming into the dashboard of the vehicle.

You all gaze out the windshield at the tree, and Jasper mumbles, “You think she can help us find a better map?”

“We'll backtrack. Find somewhere where the trees aren't so-”

Bellamy is cut off by the sound of the back door opening, and you all turn just in time to see Octavia jump from the back, grabbing her pack and heading into the trees. You glance over at him and sigh, “Guess we're going on foot.”

You all bail out after her, grabbing your things, the rain chilling you to the bone as soon as you step out into it. Octavia takes off running and Clarke takes off behind her, the rest of you struggling to catch up until they abruptly stop and Octavia yells, “You hear that?”

You all freeze in place, listening hard over the sound of the rain, and as soon as you hear it, Clarke turns back to meet your gaze. You both answer, “Water.”

Octavia takes off again with Clarke right behind her, and their excitement reaches you, pushing you into movement. You follow behind them, ignoring Bellamy’s cry at your retreating figures, “Eyes sharp, they could be hostile.”

Octavia reaches the top of the hill, and turns to offer you and Clarke a hand as she yells back to her brother, “They're not hostile. Put the guns down!”

You all follow her as she leads you to a rushing river, the water churning harshly within it. She runs alongside the river, until it takes you to the edge of the forest, the woods opening up on a small shoreline and a large body of water. Octavia stops at the edge of the woods, eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of the village. “Where's the village?”

But there’s nothing there, other than a small circle of stacked rocks, and water that stretches far beyond what your eyes can see. Octavia pulls out Lincoln’s notebook, checking the map, and you all crowd around her to see. She lifts her fingers to a drawing near the lower right hand corner of the notebook, the sketch matching the stacked rocks nearby on the shore. She whispers, “No, it can't be.”

She runs over to the rocks, following the line of the shore, and you all follow, stopping when you reach the center of the circle.

“It isn't a village. It's just a bunch of rocks.”

Clarke whispers, “She's gone.”

Jasper looks between you, confused. “What do we do now?”

None of you say anything, just as unsure as the person next to you. Your eyes fall on Bellamy, but his gaze is locked on something behind you. You turn and look, seeing that Octavia has now wandered to the edge of the shore. She drops to her knees, looks up at the sky, and lets out a long, drawn out cry of frustration. You all watch her, feeling the same way.

Octavia returns back to the group shortly, giving out instructions on what you need for a fire. She sends you and Bellamy out for firewood, which Clarke stacks, and her and Jasper work on starting the actual fire. As you and Bellamy return with two armfuls of wood and set them down beside Clarke, you watch Octavia get a spark on her kindling. She carefully transfers it over to Clarke’s wood pile, and blows on the sparks until they grow into a flame. You look down at her, impressed, and Clarke nods in satisfaction. “Good. Okay, it'll be dark soon. We need to talk about what we're gonna do.”

Octavia is the first to answer. “We wait until first light, then we split up and search the shore in both directions.”

“I agree. Lincoln wouldn't have put this spot on the map unless it was important.” Bellamy reaches down to grab Lincoln’s notebook to look over the map, but as his fingers close around it, Octavia knocks it out of his hand and snaps, “Don't touch that!”

You and Bellamy exchange a look before he kneels beside Octavia, whispering, “Come on, O. How long?”

“I don't know, I can't even look at you. Because every time I do, I see Pike putting that gun to Lincoln's head. I hear the gunshot. I see him fall.”

You feel the heavy weight of grief as the memory flashes through your head, but you quickly shake it away as Bellamy counters, “I didn't kill Lincoln.”

“No, but he is dead because of you!”

Bellamy stands, and you can tell he’s upset, his body immediately tense. You all look away from the feuding siblings, trying to pretend you can't hear every word they’re exchanging. “I came to you, but you didn't take my help. If you had just trusted me I'd-”

Bellamy cuts himself off when Octavia breaks a stick and turns away from him, letting him know that she’s no longer interested in the conversation. He turns and walks off sadly, and you stand to follow him, but you pause in your tracks when the fire flashes green. You turn to look at it, Octavia and Clarke doing the same, before you all turn to look at Jasper. “What did you just do?”

“Nothing.” He shrugs, then lifts a small branch. “I just threw these in the fire.”

You see a look of recognition pass over Octavia’s face before she frantically grabs the notebook, and you ask, “What is it?”

She pulls the notebook open to the map, and pulls out a small plant pressed between the pages. She looks at it for a second, before tossing it into the fire, making it glow green again. You all exchange an excited look and laugh, mostly in shock, as Octavia mutters, “Signal fire. He was trying to tell us that this is how we contact Luna.”

Jasper stands from his spot, “I'll get more.”

You glance over at Bellamy, who is now further down the shoreline, looking out at the water, before looking back to your twin. You nod his way and she nods in return, before jogging off behind Jasper, “I’ll help!”

You trudge along the shoreline towards your boyfriend, your boots sinking into the wet sand slightly, making you stumble at times. He doesn’t look up as you approach, just looks out at the water and the darkening sky above it.

You come to a stop beside him, following his gaze to the rapidly setting sun, aided by the cover of the rain clouds. You stand in silence for a long while, until he whispers, “I've lost her.”

If you there were any more space between you, you wouldn't have heard the words. You turn towards him, already shaking your head. “Give her time, Bellamy. There may be blood on your hands, but it's not Lincoln's.”

He turns to look at you now, and you can see tears glinting in his eyes. “Some of it is.”

“You didn't want that to happen, and you tried to stop it.” You glance back at the fire, seeking out Octavia, who is still throwing branches into the fire, before turning back to him. “Octavia will forgive you eventually. The question is, will you forgive yourself?”

“Forgiveness is hard for us.”

You reach out for him, remembering the night that Dax tried to kill him. “If you need forgiveness to forgive yourself, I’ll give that to you. You’re forgiven, Bellamy, for everything. And if I have to tell you this everyday until you forgive yourself and stop feeling guilty, then I will. Because you’ve made mistakes, but that’s not who you are. We’ve all done terrible things for the people that we love, but those things don't define us.”

He nods, and the tears finally spill over and fall down his cheeks. He surprises you by pulling you into a hug, one of the first instances of affection he's allowed himself since you found him chained up in the cave. As his face is buried into the crook of your neck, he whispers, “Tell me about the stars.”

The request sends a rush of emotion running through you, the words unsaid in the last few weeks, despite the chaos that has been warring in Bellamy’s mind. As you pull away to tell him, you sense movement to your left, in the water, and you turn to glance that way. Bellamy does the same, and both of you share a look of alarm at the sight of people coming out of the water, weapons trained on you. Bellamy reaches for his gun and you reach for your knife, but neither of your hands make it to your weapons because you are both pulled to the ground by unseen forces behind you.

They bind and gag you both, before pulling you to your feet and leading you over to the others. A small group runs ahead into the clearing, lifting their weapons towards Octavia, Clarke, and Jasper, and they all scramble to their feet as Octavia lifts her hands in surrender and yells, “No, no, it's okay.”

You and Bellamy are pushed into the clearing and knocked down to your knees, and Clarke looks over at you in panic. You nod your head, letting her know you're okay, just as one of the Grounders steps closer to Octavia. “Chon yu bilaik? Hakom yu don flag raun?”

Who are you? You’re able to translate his first question, but not his second. Luckily, Octavia’s answer gives you a good idea of what he was asking. “Ai laik Okteivia kom Skaikru en ai gaf gouthru klir.”

I am Octavia of the Sky People, and I seek safe passage. That’s when you realize, he must be asking why you signaled. As soon as the Grounder realizes you’re Skaikru, he switches to English. “Skaikru, bringers of death. Why should we give you safe passage?”

“Lincoln. He sent us.”

Even in death, his name holds power, because the man freezes in place before turning to the two Grounders behind you and Bellamy. “Ban emo gaga we, en lus ‘mo meika au.”

You don’t need to translate the words, because they immediately free your hands and pull you both to your feet. You both pull your gags from your mouths, and Bellamy turns to Octavia, quickly whispering, “What's going on?”

“I don't know.”

The man reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small pouch full of vials. He passes one to each of you, the cloudy yellow liquid swirling within the bottle as Clarke asks, “What is that?”

“Safe passage.”

Jasper gives the man an inquisitive look. “What does it do?”

He says nothing, just passes the bottle to Jasper, who takes it. Octavia uncaps the bottle and immediately pours it down her throat as Bellamy protests, “Octavia, wait!”

“I trust Lincoln.”

The Grounder looks at the rest of you. “If only she drinks, only she goes.”

Jasper glances over at the rest of you. “See you on the other side.”

And then he swallows the contents of his bottle. Clarke comes to stand at your side, all of you looking between each other when Ocatvia suddenly drops to the ground, out cold. Jasper mutters, “Oh crap.” And then he is the next to fall.

You, Bellamy, and Clarke all look between each other and your two fallen friends as the Grounder watches you. “Last chance.”

The warning is enough to put you in gear, and you look between your lover and your twin. “Together?”

You uncap your bottle and they follow suit, both whispering, “Together.”

You all swallow the liquid, and you wince slightly as the bitter liquid washes over your tongue and down your throat. You lower yourself to the ground, tugging the other two down with you, all of you staring at each other, waiting to slip under. Clarke is the first to fall back, her eyelids fluttering before she hits the ground. You turn and look at Bellamy, your vision closing in around you, watching as his eyelids flutter too. You both fall back at the same time, reaching out for each other as the world grows black.

You wake up feeling warm.

Your eyelids feel heavy as you pry them open, and you realize the warmth is from being pressed between Clarke and Bellamy’s sleeping bodies. They wake up at the same time, and you can hear Jasper and Octavia stirring nearby.

Your head feels heavy as you look around, trying to gather your bearings, unable to tell anything other than the fact you’re in some sort of rusty metal box, and sunlight is streaming in through various holes around you. You pull yourself to a sitting position, watching as the others do the same, and Bellamy rasps, “Where the hell are we?”

Octavia reaches back, looking for her weapon. “My sword's gone.”

Your eyes fall on the empty holster on your thigh, and you mutter, “My knife is too.”

Clarke digs in her jacket, pulling out the box for the Flame, sliding the lid back to ensure that it’s still there. You see her sag with relief, so you know it’s still in place, and she tucks it back inside her jacket. Octavia starts to pound on the walls, panicking, and a second later, a door at the end of the box swings open, letting in a flood of bright sunlight.

You all have to lift your hands to shield your eyes, watching as a backlit figure walks inside the space, towards you. As she gets closer and you can get a good look at her, her curly hair and smooth skin, fabric billowing around her from the soft breeze that accompanies her, Octavia simply states, “Luna.”

Luna looks between all of you, before her eyes stop on Octavia. “Where’s Lincoln?”

“Lincoln’s dead.”

Clarke adds, “Lincoln said that you would help us.”

Her head cocks to the side. “Did he?”

“Luna, you're the last of your kind. The last nightblood.”

A faraway look passes over her face. “So Lexa is dead as well.”

“Her spirit has chosen you to become the next Commander. Titus entrusted me with the Flame to give to you.”

Luna answers Clarke slowly, as if she’s speaking to a child. “Then he should have told you that I left my conclave, swearing to never kill again.”

“You don't have to kill. To lead is your birthright, how you lead is your choice.”

She reaches into her jacket, pulling out the container for the Flame. She slides the lid back, revealing it to Luna. “I recognize the sacred symbol, but what is that?”

Clarke pulls the Flame out of its container, holding it in her hand, trying to pass it to Luna. “This is the Flame. It holds the spirits of the Commanders. Of Lexa. Will you take it and become the next Commander?”

“No.” She closes Clarke’s fingers over the Flame, before turning and leaving the box, walking out into the bright sunshine.

You all exchange a worried look before running after her, yelling, “Wait!”

As you step out into the sun, you have to blink against it a few times, allowing your eyes to adjust. When they do, you finally see why the sun is so bright. Because it is reflected off the water around you, the ocean, stretching out on all sides of you. You spin in place, looking out at the horizon, searching for land, but finding nothing other than bright blue waves.

You see the others at your side, doing the same, all of you in awe of your surroundings. You glance back at the box that was holding you prisoner, recognizing it as a symbol from the past: a shipping container. Upon further inspection of the structure all around you, you realize where you are. You turn to the others, voice full of awe, as you tell them, “It’s an oil rig. Luna’s clan lives on an oil rig.”

next chapter

#the 100 #the 100 rewrite #the 100 fanfiction #bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader

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hearthandhomemagick · 3 years

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Food For Thought - Steven Universe

Hello there, I would like to tell you my story and journey with the amazingly beautiful, and wonderfully written TV Show...

Steven Universe.

I started watching this show when it first came out in High School. I mean, I was so excited to watch it that I anticipated the very first episode and sat down with snacks to observe it’s premier. I had become immediately enthralled not only with the art style, but also with the genuine wholesomeness and elucidations of processing emotions and life experiences. I was astounded that a kids show could express to me how to manage my emotions as well as connect with my moral standings. It’s a show I recommended to everyone, but often didn’t talk about because of it being a kids show, and me being almost being grown. It was my secret love until someone else brought it up.

This show stuck with me through the years, and helped me through some of my hardest moments in life.

I remember watching the episode, “Mindful Education” and melting into Garnet’s lesson of mindfulness and self-awareness. I had been going through a lot at the end of 2016, graduating and going through a rough election along with having to move states for college. My opinions were forming in the extreme area and I had a fire to protect my thoughts and opinions with no restrain or any form of control of my emotional reality. I was rambunctious as much as I was head-strong and, at times, hard-headed all together.

When this episode aired, I didn’t know why I loved Garnet and Stevonnie’s song, “Here Comes a Thought.” But I did, and it still carries with me into my life today.

I want to discuss a specific time, though, that this episode saved my sanity and opened my eyes to a concept I didn’t understand when I first watched it. I was on social media, and was defending my opinions against quite a few people by myself. Eventually, I was getting nasty comments from a bunch of millennials telling me,

“You’re too fucking stupid to understand, maybe you should go back to school, child.”

“You’re so emotional, and your emotions don’t matter here. Imagine being this dumb.”

“Imagine being a dumb bitch like Carly and saying you wanted to cut your penis off to look like a woman.” *NOTE I am not transgender, there is nothing wrong with being transgender and her insinuating such did not bother me. Her rhetoric insinuating trans was wrong is what irked me, this bitch was transphobic and had issues that she needs to repair in her own time. She wrote an entire post based around this context on her personal page using my real name, and she didn’t even know who I was.*

and my personal favorite, “Here’s the suicide hotline, I know your generation is prone to killing themselves and are overly emotional.”

Now, there were over 50, under 100, messages going back and forth where these people were just bullying me and I refused to back down. I wound up in a panic attack in my bedroom, literally wanting to kill myself because they were bullying me. The hotline would have come in handy if it were the actual hotline. I ended up going to my dad and older sister (my older sisters friend was the main one I was arguing with and her posy showed up on my post), because no one on the post was on my side.

Both told me, “If you can’t handle the heat, stay out of the kitchen.” My sister told her friend to stop, and threatened the other girl for her nasty posts and comments. My dad tried to mediate on the post itself, but the people wouldn’t stop. I eventually had to take it down.

My family didn’t calm me down in this moment. Not even a little bit. It felt like a back-handed helping hand. Like they wanted to protect me, but also somewhat agreed with the people on the post.

The only thing that calmed my nerves in this moment, ultimately, was the song, “Here Comes a Thought.”

I sat in my room, sobbing, hoping to myself that it would make sense as to why it was okay for these things to happen. The song soothed over my nerves, eventually releasing my muscles and giving me a sense ease. I was able to process and realized a few personal things as well. I didn’t realize it, but before long, I was meditating to the song on repeat. I kept telling myself, “I’m okay, this is a thought. A moment. I am not my thoughts. I am not this moment.”

This was simply one of the ways Steven Universe has helped me process and understand myself more. I bring this up because I came across and article today that disappointed me to the core.

The Steven Universe Fandom has toxic tendencies.

I was shook.

How could a child’s show be turned into something so negative? Something that was meant to promote self-awareness, self-love, acceptance of character, and understanding of others had been morphed into a gatekeepers safe haven.

Now I know this isn’t the majority, and before you get offended, hurt or start defending yourself, I want you to ask yourself if what you are defending is an action you would defend from anyone else. If it is, by all means defend your ground.

But the one concept that eludes me, and offers zero substance in terms of valid arguments, is that men can not watch this show. Let me explain why men NEED to watch this fucking show.

My boyfriend watched this entire show, episode for episode, and benefitted from it. This show offered him coping techniques, an understanding of why love should come before war, and mediating every situation so you see and understand every perspective. These are things children shows didn’t offer him growing up, he has often and openly verbalized his need for this show in his childhood because of certain traumas, and we often continue watching it even after seeing every single episode and movie.

This show was never meant for one or two groups of people, and if you feel that way then refer back to the writers themselves who were literally trying to teach the lesson in the show over and over again to NEVER EXCLUDE PEOPLE FROM YOUR GROUP. You exclude people, and you create a division, a war of sorts. You immediately have become the thing Steven Universe advocated against in the first place.

This also leads into the whole “art” situation in the fandom.

This show is anti-bully. There are commercials for it and everything. It is expressed in multiple episodes why bullying is never a good thing in any situation.

You simply cannot justify the hypocrisy in bullying someone out of self-expression that literally harms no one. You can’t justify it.

Think about it. You draw or sketch a piece of art that took you hours, or even a few minutes. It’s your favorite character, and maybe you yourself are going through some mental thoughts regarding your weight that lead you to draw the character thinner or bigger. Size shouldn’t matter in any capacity when relating a character to ones self.

If you’re skinny, you’re beautiful. If you are thick or curvy, you are beautiful. If you are obese or overweight, you are beautiful. Weight doesn’t matter, but representation of body types in different characters does matter.

Imagine a child falls in love with a bigger character, but is experiencing body challenges where she is being picked on for being too thin or scrawny (it happens, I’ve seen it with my nieces). Who are you to say that making her favorite character look like her own body is wrong? Especially if art is a coping mechanism they use for mental health reasons.

Like Malachite, a fusion that was devastating and abusive in every way, you are taking the choice and voice of an entire being to make your actions and opinions “right” or “okay”.

There is so much more I could say on this show, and so much more I could say about the fandom. And I know it is not the majority of the fandom, but I did want to make everyone in the fandom aware that we are human.

None of us are stoic and balanced like Garnet, and even Garnet had problems in her relationship. None of us are strong and laid back like Amethyst, and even she had self-love issues. None of us are as analytical and organized as Pearl, and yet she had problems throughout the series.

None of you are perfect, and to act as if you are is defeating the purpose of a show trying to teach you how to be responsible for yourself and your actions. I’m not perfect either, and preaching about a fandom I’m not a huge part of sounds counter-intuitive, I’m aware.

But my nieces want to watch this show. My nephew watches this show with me. My boyfriend’s niece is going to start watching the show.

Please do not make a toxic environment for kids who need this show to grow up. Kids who experience trauma, and learn from this show deserve a safe space without people trying to justify bullying or force them to think that because they are a boy or girl, they can or can’t watch the show. Without people making people feel bad for being themselves.

Why don’t we create a new space? A space where everyone is accepted as they are, and negative behavior is addressed the same way the gems or Steven would address them. With education, perception awareness, and PATIENCE.

I know some will say, “It’s not my job to raise your child.” and “It’s not my responsibility to make people aware of their tendencies.”

You’re right. It’s also not your responsibility to bully people into changing themselves to fit your dialogue. Simply put, you’re responsible for yourself alone. But you have no right to complain on someone's behavior, art or experiences if you are not willing to be patient with correcting said behavior in yourself first.

Who knows, maybe I’m in the wrong here for not knowing the full story. All I’m saying is, if you see someone being a bully, being mean or even being a hypocrite, call them out in the sweetest way possible. Let them know we are facilitating a safe space for people who need a community rather than a closed off club.

Be the change you want to see in this world.

Learn, grow and prosper.

I wish you all well and genuinely hope we can all expand our perspectives to fully understand each other in healthier and more communicative based ways. We deserve that sort of kindness from each other.

#steven #stevenuniverse #amethyst #pearl #garnet #malachite #cartoonshow #art #love #patience #understanding #herecomesathought #foodforthought

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syilcawrites · 4 years

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archived memories | 6

Series: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild Type: Multi-Chapter Main pairing: Zelink (Zelda and Link) Rated: T Tags/Genre: pre-calamity, fluff (middle chapters mostly), hurt (toward the last chapters lmao), pining Summary: bits and pieces of zelink scenes strewn in between the canon memories in botw! Snippet from Ch 6: “’Oh fish pie, one day you will soon find your home inside my stomach,’ Zelda sighed out wistfully at her drawing, hugging it close to her face.” A/N: Between Memory 7-9 You can also read it on ao3! Click here to see all chapters on tumblr

Chapter 6: people watching

Zelda swung her legs as she sat snuggly inside a tree that faced Castletown, hiding from her citizens. She watched them roam about their day, unaware of her presence, as she observed them curiously. This had been a habit of hers since she was young, and it was a nice break in between praying and studying Sheikah technology.

She quickly shoved the last of her candied apples into her mouth and scrambled for her quill as a group of little kids appeared around the corner, running and scrambling and laughing.

It seems that the citizens of Castletown are quite close to one another, as many of the children that I have seen roaming about are doing so unsupervised. This is pleasantly surprising considering how many outsiders come in and out frequently, but I’m glad to see such safety present in our beloved, bustling town.

Zelda brought a leg up to her chest as she tried to keep the ruffle of her dress down in the process. She would’ve changed into her field attire if it wasn’t for the fact that she wasn’t supposed to leave the castle without some sort of escort in the first place.

She leaned against the trunk of the tree, watching them play tag for a little. She could already hear her father’s reprimanding tone regarding her boorish posture, but that was the beauty in hiding—she could do whatever she wanted to do, and she desperately needed this. She shook her head at the thought of her father, letting thoughts of him fall out in the process. The last thing she wanted to do was to mull over her relationship with him when she finally had some time to herself. With a sigh, she tapped the feather of her quill on her knee as she absentmindedly flipped through the pages of her notebook, mostly paying attention to the noisy, boisterous children.

The longer she watched them, the more uncomfortable she became—it was a sensation she was all too familiar with. Zelda scolded herself as she nipped away a bud of jealousy that had begun to form within her. She wanted to run around in the grass, laughing carefree and wholly. She thought she had dashed away such desires, but watching others do so seemed to resurface those bygone dreams.

As they rounded another corner, disappearing from view, her attention drifted to a bakery a bit further down the road. Zelda brought her ink bottle up and dabbed the tip of the quill into it before going back to her notebook.

The bakery near the east gate always has delicious bread and pastries available—I’ve always wanted to try some, but I would have to disguise myself. I’m not sure if I will have time…

She looked up thoughtfully, watching the leaves sway in the wind, as she tried to scourge up some plans to sneak into Castletown on her own. The last time Zelda tried venturing in, she had taken escorts, and the experience resembled the taste of watered down fruit juice. The escorts took every single thing she tried to eat out of her hands and tasted it themselves first before letting her have a bite out of it. Eating a meal that was already bitten out of wasn’t quite the same and made the experience quite… unenjoyable to say the least.

Zelda sniffed the air—fresh bread. Her stomach growled as she rapidly wrote down her thoughts.

The owner must wake up before the sun even rises to prepare his dough for it to look as scrumptious as it usually does! I cannot wait to see what types of pastries he’s made this week. Two months ago, the last time I was able to take a breath outside of the castle on my own, he had a set of specific assortments. Maybe now, he’ll spruce up the variety that he offers. Will he have more pastries this time around? Does he work alone? It must take hours preparing as much delicacies as he does.

Zelda tapped her notebook carefully as her thoughts drifted to Link. He would eat almost anything, and he probably had already tried every single meal that Castletown had to offer at this point.

She perked up when she saw the bakery owner walk out with a steel plate full of various pastries and breads—from fish pie to plain wheat bread—and all of it looked as delicious as one would expect. She chewed at her bottom lip as she quickly sketched the tray of goods in his hands. Luckily for her, he was setting it down outside on a table to organize it.

Zelda’s eyebrows knitted together in concentration, her hands trying to get down the perfect line and stroke. If she had the Sheikah Slate with her, she could’ve taken a picture, but Impa had asked for it before Zelda decided to go on her rendezvous.

Regardless, her drawings outside of Sheikah technology never ended up the way she wanted them to. She found sketching ancient ruins and tech much more linear and… ironically, more simplified compared to sketching the daily wonders of life itself, which always seemed to prove difficult for her.

“Oh fish pie, one day you will soon find your home inside my stomach,” Zelda sighed out wistfully at her drawing, hugging it close to her face.

She lowered her notebook to see if anything else particularly stuck out, but instead found herself face to face with bright blue eyes. She squealed in surprise and scrambled in her spot, almost falling off the tree. Link released one of his hands that grasped the tree branch hanging above her to catch her by her shoulder before she could fall off.

“Link, you almost scared the Goddess out of me!” Zelda hissed as she composed herself, going back to her snug spot nestled in the tree. She looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow. “When did you even—how did you even get up there?” she asked, her heart still racing in her chest. He looked a little funny just hanging around in front of her, but she was also concerned that the branch would snap off if he hung there any longer.

“I climbed,” he stated simply. He began swinging to a branch on her left, and she lightly hit his shoulder when he swung by.

“Don’t make too much noise or they’ll hear us!” She hissed again. He landed quietly on it, crouching. The branch was thicker and closer to the trunk, easily supporting his weight.

He cupped his hands over his mouth. “What are you doing up here?” He half whispered back, but it was still much louder than she would’ve liked.

She brought a stiff finger to her lips, darting her eyes over to the citizens, but they continued to obliviously go about their day.

“I’m simply…” Zelda waved her hand toward the people. “Observing my people. Sometimes I like to people watch.” She whispered, shrugging. She had been doing this since she was a young girl. Although she certainly stopped coming here as frequently as before, sometimes it was nice to just… watch others go about their day. To be an invisible spectator. It was something that she hadn’t experienced much in her own day to day life, where everyone was constantly watching her every move.

And she was still feeling a bit glum about being unable to accompany Link back to Hateno, so she sought refuge away from everyone else in order to feel sorry for herself in solitude. After her father had found out she was planning to visit Hateno with him, he had explained his disappointment in her for even considering such a thing.

“There are enough rumors about you already, do you plan to add more by accompanying your knight attendant, alone, to his hometown?” He had told her, shaking his head.

Zelda was confused, because they had traveled alone together before, but any word to defend herself simply went in one ear and out the other whenever it came to communicating with her father. She wasn’t sure what was worse though—hearing him explain how unacceptable and foolish it was of her to consider such an activity or the fact that Link remained quiet for the remainder of the week afterwards.

He didn’t tell her when he left for Hateno, and she saw him ride away across the grassy plains early yesterday morning from her study tower. She was glad that he was able to visit his family without any setbacks, if anything.

“When did you get back?” Zelda asked him, still scribbling away at her notebook. She was almost done with the last batch of pastries, and the baker was beginning to bring them all back into the building to put them on display.

“Just now.”

She heard him shuffling around—he did have a satchel around him when she saw him. It was probably food, knowing him.

I’ve also feel inclined to mention that the baker seems to have two children, both quite young, but I have never seen the baker embrace another adult. Perhaps his significant other is ill, or—

Zelda stopped writing, letting the sentence drop off where it was. She used to create scores of stories for random citizens she saw, but for some reason, she found it to be rude the more she thought about it.

Link tapped her shoulder, and she withdrew herself from her notebook.

“I brought these for you,” he stated, shoving a couple of jars filled with a milky liquid color at her. His voice had a sound of excitement that she was surprised to hear.

“Oh—“ Zelda struggled to juggle holding her notebook, ink, quill, and the bottles all at once, but Link was too busy pulling the bag over his shoulder to notice.

“I’m not sure what colors you wanted so I just picked up a bunch of bright flowers and rocks…some monster parts too.” He flipped the flap open, and she saw various colorful materials neatly stacked and labeled. There were fleet-lotus seeds, nightshade flowers, rock salts; there were even some moblin guts in a jar.

“What’s all this for?” Zelda asked, blinking.

“You said you needed to dye some clothes right?” Link asked, tilting his head. He looked down at her lap and noticed all of the stuff piled on top. “Sorry, your hands are already full.” He frowned and reached over for the jars, stuffing them back into the satchel.

“Oh Link,” Zelda laughed lightly, her heart felt full against her chest. “You didn’t have to go out of your way to get all of this.”

“You sew a lot, and Hateno’s dyes are really good.” Link pulled something out of the pocket inside of the satchel—a piece of paper. “The owner of the dye shop told me a list of materials that make really strong colors, in case you’re interested. Just let me know if you want anything and I can get it.”

Zelda’s tongue caught in her throat and she didn’t know what to say. For some reason, it felt overwhelming and her cheeks hurt from smiling.

“That’s awfully sweet of you,” Zelda said, accepting the piece of paper. “Did you draw this?” She held up the list, waving it a little.

Link hummed, nodding his head.

Her smile widened as she rifled through the list—the drawings were simple and crudely colored, but they were carefully considered.

“Thank you Link.” She hugged the paper to her chest. “I’ll keep this close to my heart.” Zelda hummed happily as she shifted through the objects that Link still held out to her, his arms stiff. She looked up quizzically when she didn’t hear a response from him, and froze. He was staring at her, his cheeks tinted a warm red—and now she was blushing because he was. She looked back down at her journal.

“Anyway, h-how did you even know I was up here?” Zelda said, her hands fumbling as she tried to be quick, but careful not to crumple the papers, as she shoved the list into her notebook. “I know that no one can see me from town.” She was too far from the castle for anyone to see her with the naked eye.

He let out a quick exhale, as if he was relieved she had changed the topic. “I asked Impa,” he jabbed his thumb behind him, back toward the castle. “Apparently she’s been watching you with the Sheikah Slate since you left.”

Zelda raised her head, peering past Link’s shoulder. “And to think I could avoid the gaze of the castle,” she mumbled. If she was alone, she would’ve stuck out her tongue and hoped Impa would’ve caught it. She was constantly watching out for her. Sometimes Zelda wondered if she ever slept. She was hoping at least one of her hiding spots would remain safe, but apparently that was too much to ask for. Feeling exposed, Zelda let out a small, frustrated sigh.

“Shall we head back then?” she asked stiffly, already moving herself from her position. She hoped that the various flora and shrubs would block her from anyone’s sight. Link looked at her curiously, but began to climb down as well.

“Is something bothering you?” Link asked as Zelda patted down her skirt, making sure it was free of dirt.

“I’ve been up there before the sun rose up, so I’m just feeling a little winded down.” Zelda tried to keep her voice light, but she knew it came out strained instead. She flipped through her notebook quickly, ensuring that everything was still in its place.

“Nothing else is wrong?” Link pressed again.

“What isn’t wrong?” Zelda huffed out, shutting it with both of her hands a bit more forcefully than she intended. She stood there for a moment before letting out another small sigh. “I apologize. I’m not angry… just frustrated." She stared up blankly at the castle. "I simply want to unlock my sealing powers,” she admitted tiredly.

She turned to face him when she felt his hand press against the top of her head. He drew his hand back with a small cherry blossom flower in between his fingers. He twirled it a little by the stem, looking at it thoughtfully.

“Just know that you’re not alone,” he said quietly. Zelda smiled at him, but it did not linger for long. Even though she knew he meant it, it couldn’t erase the sense of loneliness that was ever-present in her life. She followed his movements as he looked up to the sky, raising his hand, about to release the little flower into the wind.

“Wait—“ Zelda held out her hand, staring longingly at the flower pinched between his fingers. “May I?”

He placed it in her palm, and Zelda watched the petals flutter lightly against the gentle breeze. She softened at the sight of it and glanced at Link.

“It’s just for research.” She declared swiftly, when she saw him eyeing her with an unreadable expression.

“Using a cherry blossom?” Link asked. The corners of his mouth twitched, as if he was trying to keep a laugh at bay.

“Yes!” Zelda insisted, drawing her hand back to her chest. “Just for research,” she quietly said. She glanced down to make sure the little flower was still safely in her palm before she turned around so he couldn’t see what she was doing. She tucked the flower into an empty page, pressing her notebook shut firmly and tightly to ensure that it wouldn’t slip out.

She told herself that she always pressed flowers and all sorts of vegetation for documentation. This wasn’t any different.

“On a more important note,” she started, mostly to remind herself, “I want to get the Sheikah Slate back from Impa. I still have a multitude of tests to run through with it, and there’s a shrine that I want to visit with Robbie and Purah before we head to the Spring of Courage.” It was going to be one of the last shrines she would be able to visit in months, and she wanted to get the most out of it before then.

Zelda raised an eyebrow when she noticed his eyes flit to the left, which was a habit of his when he was thinking.

“Thinking about something?” she inquired curiously.

He parted his lips slightly, but just as quick they sealed back together and he shook his head. Zelda narrowed her eyes.

“Come on, tell me?” she asked, poking his chest. “You can’t just not tell me after looking so thoughtful!”

He smiled at her—but it was a smile filled with mischief.

#zelink #botw #breath of the wild #botw fanfiction #zelda #link #archived memories #hope u all like this chapter!!#my fanfics

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ohblackdiamond · 4 years

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little t&a (gene/paul, nc-17) (part 27 of 29)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 part 13 �� part 14 part 15 part 16 part 17 part 18 part 19 part 20 part 21 part 22 part 23 part 24 part 25 part 26 part 27 part 28 part 29

Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter: Gene and Paul draw each other, and Gene makes his confession. The sky is falling and we’re getting pretty near the end.

It felt like a shorter lunch than it really was. Paul ate all of his soup, but only half his sandwich, while Gene dove into both with as much relish as usual. In fact, he ate two sandwiches and Paul’s leftovers.

“I hope you didn’t want to do it right after we ate,” Gene said awkwardly. Paul was looking at the plates and silverware, debating cleaning things up. In the end, he just wiped off the counter and stuck all the dishes in the sink.

“Nah. Give it awhile.” He shrugged. “The only trouble is, we’ve pretty much exhausted all our entertainment options at my place.”

Gene smiled.

“Paul, are you really telling me all you have over here is a T.V., an album collection, and some self-help books?”

“I’ve also got sketchpads. And painting supplies.”

“You still paint?”

Paul shrugged again.

“It’s not great. I don’t have time to really…”

“Let me see.”

Gene was actually a pretty fair artist. He never drew cartoons of his bandmates like Paul was prone to, in a bad mood, but he liked to sketch out comic book characters. He’d never taken any classes that Paul knew of, but he was talented. Talented enough that Paul was a little wary of showing him any of his efforts.

It occurred to him how stupid that was. He was about to fuck this guy—had spent the last four nights in bed with him, even—but somehow showing him some acrylic paintings was making him nervous. Somehow what passed for his body of work was more vulnerable than his actual body.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Cool.”

“C’mon, they’re in the guest bedroom. I’m surprised you didn’t find them earlier.” He’d had aspirations of having his own studio, or at least using one of the rooms for that express purpose, before the reality of nine or ten months on the road at a time hit him. He didn’t even paint enough while he was at home to justify that kind of expense.

Gene followed him over to the guest bedroom. Paul leaned over, dress hiking up as he yanked some cardboard and canvases out from under the bed.

“Here we go.” Instead of holding the pieces up for Gene’s inspection, he just set them out on the bed. He hung back a bit, heart thumping, not quite daring to want to watch Gene look at his work. Actually showing it to Gene felt a little like hearing his own voice on the answering machine, or the echo from a microphone, all the flaws bouncing back at him, magnified a dozen times.

The pieces didn’t have too much meaning behind them, nothing really far out or deep he was trying to convey. Bright streaks of color, some of it in splatters, but most of it in strokes, with no consistent pattern. Purples and pinks tended to dominate. There were points where he’d tried to layer on the colors, fooled around with it, only he’d half-forgotten the proper technique to do it the way he wanted. Most of the art didn’t really have a focal point, except for an odd one-off where he’d tried to paint a sunset while it was still in the air. That one was on a piece of cardboard torn off a refrigerator box. It had maybe a found art, rustic quality to it or something. And the color scheme wasn’t too bad, either, the red sun spilling over a hasty backdrop of orange and pink clouds and trees instead of his neighbors’ houses.

“I like this one a lot.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Superman couldn’t fly with that sun.” Gene picked up the piece of cardboard carefully—too carefully, a piece of paper that had been beneath it starting to flutter towards the floor. Paul snatched it before it got there.

“What’s that one?”

“Oh, it’s only a sketch,” Paul tried to dismiss, but Gene seemed curious enough for him to hold it up for Gene to see. Part of him wanted to hide it back under the bed like a child, for all that it wasn’t particularly incriminating. Just a sketch of his own face. The hair was probably the most accurate part, hopelessly unruly; he didn’t quite think he’d gotten his own nose right, or eyes, but…

“In the makeup.” Gene’s finger touched the edge of the star on his eye.

“Well, sure. It kept me from having to shade much.”

“You look depressed there.” Gene still running his finger down the sketched-out lines of his face made Paul feel stupidly warm, like he was touching him by proxy.

“I don’t look good?”

“I didn’t say that.” A pause. Paul could always recognize when Gene was about to start a critique with him. He’d hesitate, which was kind of funny, because he never did it with anyone else, just plowed through with whatever comment he had. Paul would usually get offended anyway, but he was trying not to, at least for today. “Hey, would you do me a favor?”

Not a critique at all. Paul was vaguely surprised.

“What’re you wanting?”

“Let me try my hand at it.”

“Gene, I’m not letting you go over my drawing—”

“No, no. Let me borrow one of your sketchpads.”

“You wanna draw me right now? What for?” Paul could feel himself tense up slightly as he reached over, gathering up the paintings and stuffing them back under the bed. Despite himself, he was yanking out another pad of drawing paper from there as well. “If you wanted your album photo, all you had to do was check the newspaper.”

“I don’t want your photo. Just you.”

Paul handed the sketchpad over. There was an odd sting somewhere in his heart.

“You can’t want what you’ve already got,” he said quietly. He didn’t wait for Gene to respond, clearing his throat hastily. “I make a terrible art model.”

Gene’s expression, a little unreadable earlier, quirked a little.

“I’ll let you draw me, too.”

“I feel like you’re hard to draw.” But he’d gotten another piece of cardboard to bear down on after tearing off a page of the drawing paper for himself. Then Paul was gathering the rest of the supplies—pencils and gummy erasers—from where they lay in a coffee mug on the nightstand. It wasn’t exactly the most put-together setup. He just wasn’t around enough for any extra effort to be worth it. The guest bedroom’s only real use was as another place to stash his tour and art stuff. He could count the number of times anyone had slept there on one hand. “You don’t… really have one feature that really stands out—”

Gene stuck out his tongue.

“Oh, God, I’m not drawing that. Just your face. C’mon, sit down.” Paul gestured towards the bed, scooting up on it himself, sitting cross-legged on the pillows, dress bunched up. The cardboard and piece of paper were resting on his thighs, one of the pencils in his hand. He gave Gene the mug and sketchpad, scrutinizing Gene’s face. “Let me try first, okay?”

“Go for it.”

He’d never really studied Gene’s face before. That sounded a little stupid, given everything. Gene still wasn’t exactly attractive, though he looked a lot better now than he had when they’d first met. That hadn’t been the draw. It still wasn’t the draw.

Paul didn’t ask Gene to try for any particular expression as he started in, drawing the circle, the center line, mapping out the sections of his face in the half-remembered way he’d learned back in school and trying to adjust from there, only to, as usual, abandon the mapping about two minutes in. Gene’s eyes weren’t quite as dark as his, and his nose was bigger—you can’t hide the hook, Totie had said, back on their stint on the Mike Douglas show, and Paul remembered snickering with everyone else about it backstage. She’d had his number. Gene had struck up a friendship with her after that, excited to get to know another Jewish entertainer. Paul privately hoped he hadn’t banged her in the process.

He was distracting himself. It was hard to do the expression lines around Gene’s mouth without making him look forty-eight instead of nearly twenty-eight, so Paul abandoned all but a light insinuation before skipping over to his hair. He thought he could get that right, at least. Gene’s hair was somewhat coarse, and tended to frizz even worse than Paul’s own did, and it wasn’t as thick. All of the teasing and backcombing and tight ponytails had done a number on it. Paul pursed his lips, trying to approximate the texture with his pencil, and the sheen with his eraser.

“How’s it coming?” Gene asked, after about fifteen minutes. He’d been pretty patient, not shifting around much, even stopping himself the few times he tried to scratch his face.

“I think I did a damn good job on your eyebrows.” Paul turned the sketch around with a slight groan. “Everything else is a little…”

“You made me look really sad.”

Gene wasn’t wrong. Paul hadn’t quite figured out what to do with Gene’s lips when he’d drawn them, so he’d had them sink down a bit. The eyebrows really were pretty good, to his own estimation, and the hair was okay, and he’d at least started with the proper face shape, but—he hadn’t really caught Gene properly. Whatever his essence was, it hadn’t transferred onto the page.

“Frowns are easier to draw. Smiles, you have to get just right, and get the light in the eyes…” Paul shook his head. “Not a lot of room for error, right? And if you mess up, your drawing ends up looking like Norman Bates.”

Gene laughed, shaking his head.

“But you’ve got me looking like myself. It isn’t just the eyebrows. The chin and the mouth are right--”

“But it’s not great, either. I’ll try again later on.” Paul set the drawing down. “You can do me if you want.”

“Interesting choice of words.”

“Oh, shut up.” Paul shifted, suddenly antsy. He’d only ever seen Gene draw his own fanzines and doodle on napkins. He knew Gene wasn’t going to take this as a serious art study, but… but on the same token, letting Gene draw him felt--revealing. Almost too revealing. He wasn’t as bothered by the face Gene was going to draw as what it signified. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what Gene saw when he looked at him. What stood out to him.

If he drew a pair of tits, Paul grimly promised himself he’d keep denying Gene at least until tomorrow.

“Tilt your chin up a bit,” Gene said, and Paul did so. His fingers worried unconsciously at the straps of his dress. Paul waited for more instructions, but they didn’t come. Just the scritch of the pencil against the sketch paper, and the occasional fuzzy sound of the eraser rubbing back and forth on the page. Gene kept such direct eye contact on his face that Paul was getting a bit intimidated.

“You took art in school, right?”

“Only a couple of terms. I liked it, but I wanted to get in all the electives I could.”

“Even weight training?” Paul scooted to the side.

“Your art school had weight training?”

“God, yeah. We even had a football team.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I never said we won anything.” Paul paused. “Do you want me to pose?”

“No. You’re fine like you are.”

“Should I smile?”

Gene looked like he was considering it for a second, and then he shook his head.

“Just relax.”

Paul tried to, but he kept fidgeting. Not getting any direction was making him nervous. He wasn’t gutsy enough to try to look alluring without the makeup as a shield. Gene had stopped talking as he’d gotten more into the drawing, only responding to Paul’s attempts at conversation with a few “yeahs” and “uh-huh”s. He was taking longer than Paul had, too. But he seemed pleased with himself far before he signed the bottom and held it out for Paul to see.

“Here you go.”

Paul was a little stunned.

He was nearly right there on the page. Big dark eyes greeted him. Full lips, slightly parted, revealing a little of his front teeth. High cheekbones. Gene’s portrait of him was more thorough and detailed than Paul’s attempt, stopping at the shoulders, where the dress straps drooped. More attractive than Paul knew he actually was; Gene had, oddly, been kinder about Paul’s nose and jaw than was accurate, but all the same-- he’d captured something of Paul on the page. Some facet. Tenseness or intensity or both. The sketch was clearly of a chick, sure, but-- it was him.

“Gene, this… shit, this is really good.” Part of what impressed him was the self-assured pressure and definition of most of the lines. Paul’s own tended to fade out, like he was mentally erasing them after committing them to the page, but Gene went into it with a much heavier hand overall. The contrast was interesting. “And I thought all you could draw was Batman. You’ve been holding out on me for years.”

Gene shrugged.

“I had someone cute in front of me. That makes all the difference.” He paused, moving to sit beside him, pointing at the sketch. “You’ve got pretty eyes.”

“Since just lately?”

“No. Since always.” Gene seemed to hesitate. “Paul, in a way, you don’t really look all that dif--”

“Peter told me they made me look like a beagle,” Paul stumbled out before Gene could finish. He wasn’t sure why he interrupted that way. Gene snorted, reaching over and draping an arm behind Paul’s shoulders. Paul let him.

“Maybe more like a moppet. You remember those posters.”

“Yeah. Julia had them in her room when we were kids.” But he wasn’t displeased at the comparison, somehow, reaching to put the sketches and supplies on the crowded nightstand, before leaning back against Gene’s arm and shoulder. He could feel Gene start to tense, so Paul turned his head, impulsively, pressing a kiss against his cheek. “One of them was a harlequin or something, I don’t remember.”

“Paul.”

“What?”

“You didn’t let me finish. You don’t look all that different.”

“Come off it.” Paul could feel something cold and odd trickle up his spine, something he was almost afraid of. “I’ve had tits for a week and a half, don’t try to kid me.”

“I’ve been kidding myself.”

“Gene, what’re you talking about--”

“You’re the same as you always were. You’re beautiful.”

Paul sat there stunned. The icy feeling up his spine seemed to melt and dissolve in an instant. He didn’t want it to. He wanted to hold onto it. Use it as something to protect him, something to chase away any hurt, any vulnerability. His face was going florid, and all of a sudden, he couldn’t look directly at Gene, staring instead at the hem of his dress.

“I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep. But I think… I think there might still be something there after we break the curse.” Gene’s hand found one of the shoulder straps on his dress, fixing it back up, though his gaze was still firm on Paul’s face. Completely unwavering. Paul’s heartbeat felt like it could smash straight through diamonds. “I know that’s not enough for--”

“It’s enough.”

“Paul, look--”

“It’s enough.” Paul was surprised at the slow strength starting to rise from his voice with every word, like a newborn foal wobbling to its feet. “Even before all this happened. Any time I’ve ever gotten to have with you is enough.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.” He was able to look at Gene now, right in the face. The warmth he’d tried to avoid was blazing inside him. It felt funny, somehow, to feel so sure, so certain, in the face of a maybe, that things would still be all right, one way or another. It felt like the bulk of the burden, the fear, was really, truly beginning to dissolve. “Gene, I…”

He couldn’t say it. Gene was waiting on it, face so near his own he could feel his breath. He kissed him instead, reaching his arms around him half-blindly, clenching tight. Paul was panting as soon as Gene broke the kiss, pressing another and another against his cheek and chin and throat, climbing into his lap as though he belonged there, and maybe, for just a little while, he did.

Gene was so warm, so unbelievably warm. Paul could swear he could feel Gene’s own pounding heartbeat against his. His breaths were coming only a little bit better than Paul’s were, his dark eyes dilated. Gene’s mouth was back on his before Paul could think clearly, needy and wanting, and it was all Paul could do to pull back and manage one last request.

“Hey. Before we-- do you think you could take me back to o-- my bedroom?”

Gene had him gathered up in his arms in seconds. Paul held tight, pressing his face against Gene’s shirt for all of the minute it took to cross from one room to the next, taking in his scent as he finally dared to hope.

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #paul stanley #gene simmons #gene simmons x paul stanley

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celestialvoid-fanfiction · 5 years

Text

The Romance We Wrote

Stiles and Derek work for the same publishing company—Derek as an author of children’s books and Stiles a contract illustrator. They’re paired up to work on a lot of projects together but have never met. When one of their works becomes a bestseller, they finally get the chance to meet.

Commission for @loveyprophet

His desk was covered in stacks of paper and folders, drafted stories held together by the colourful paperclips his sister had bought him as a joke, various notebooks and scraps of paper with reminders or ideas written on them, published copies of his books, colourful sticky notes, his laptop, and a coffee mug that had left a ring scorched into the wooden table top over time.

Derek sorted through the files, pulling out the pale blue folder of his latest project.

It was another collaboration with Stiles Stilinski, a contact illustrator. He and Derek had worked together on several projects now and Derek loved working with him. They had never actually met in person, but they had spent months sending emails back and forth and every draft or manuscript that they passed back and forth had fun little notes written in the margins.

Derek had memorised Stiles’ handwriting at this point, and every time he saw one of his illustrations he was mesmerised. It didn’t matter what it was, he knew the art style—slightly sketchy linework and soft colouring, not bold colour and blocked out shapes.

Stiles had a way of making his art look enchanting and inviting. And every illustration made Derek’s stories come to life.

Derek’s laptop chimed, a notification lighting up the screen of his phone beside him. He picked up his phone, reading his sister’s name before setting the phone aside again and turning back to his work.

He rifled through the collected pages of the drafted story and the sketches Stiles had made up for him—character designs and quickly drawn backgrounds that he wanted Derek’s feedback on. The manuscript pages were filled with scrawls of colourful pen.

Stiles had explained it once: red was unsolved—things that needed clarity, yellow was ‘to be confirmed’—typos and corrections or suggestions, green was solved, and blue was ‘just pretty’.

Most of the pages were full of blue—messages to Derek or little doodles in the corner of the page that always made him smile.

There was a quiet knock at the door.

“Come in,” he said, glancing up from his work to see Lydia step into his office, her long strawberry-blonde hair pulled back from her face.

“Laura just called,” she told him. “She says to tell you to look at your emails.”

“I will,” Derek replied.

“Now,” Lydia said with finality.

Derek let out a measured breath and pulled his laptop forward, opening up his emails to find several unread messages. He found the email from Laura and opened it.

Congratulations—your story, ‘What’s Mine is Yours’, is on the bestsellers list for the second month running.

Because of this, the company has set up a deal with a few local bookstores and libraries for you and Stiles to do meet-and-greets, reading sessions, and book signings—this is not optional, Derek.

I’ve attached a schedule of the dates and places as well as airline tickets for the few signings that are out-of-state.

Dress code is casual and don’t scare the little kids.

Love,

Laura.

Derek typed out a quick reply to let his sister know he’d read the email and downloaded the attachments before turning back to his work.

He picked up the piece of paper and froze, a wave of realisation washing over him.

He was finally going to meet Stiles.

Stiles span around on his chair, turning from his desk to the lightbox he had set up nearby, he grabbed a pencil and began to sketch out an illustration.

His desk was a mess of paper—sketches, pieces of paper, drafted stories he had to draw illustrations for. Scattered among the mess were coloured pens, pencils and markers, and a tablet that was connected to his computer.

He had stacks of sketchbooks full of illustrations, doodles and drafts—he liked to sketch things out on paper before transferring them to digital copies and refining the illustrations before putting them into the manuscript drafts or emailing them to Derek.

The rest of his office was full of cardboard boxes—packed full of sketchbooks, reference books, and folders of old projects. Their office was being renovated, which meant they had to move all their filing cabinets and storage boxes.

Pages of drafted stories and notes lay around him or pinned up on the wall, covered in Derek’s neat cursive writing—the writing that always gave him butterflies in his stomach and made him smile whenever he saw it.

His computer screen lit up, catching his attention. An email notification showed up in the bottom corner of his screen. He clicked on it and opened the email.

Hi Stiles,

Congratulations—your story, ‘What’s Mine is Yours’, is on the bestsellers list for the second month running.

Because of this, the company has set up a deal with a few local bookstores and libraries for you and Derek to do meet-and-greets, reading sessions, and book signings.

I’ve attached a schedule of the dates and places as well as airline tickets for the few signings that are out-of-state.

Dress code is casual.

Best wishes,

Laura Hale.

Stiles smiled slightly, a feeling of triumph settling in his chest.

What’s Mine is Yours was one of the first books he worked on with Derek—the story about two dragons – Plush and Snug – and their hoards, one of pillows and the other of blankets, learning to share.

It was also one of his favourite stories.

Derek had a way with words, a way of making everything seem so magical. He could take a story—a world of magic and adventure—and refine it into a couple-hundred words for children to read.

He opened the attachments, printing them and pinning them to his wall before pulling out his planner and writing down the dates and times—flagging them with colourful tabs.

He sent back a reply and sat back in his chair.

His delight gave way to panic as reality set in and he realised he was finally going to meet Derek.

The first meet-and-greet came around faster than Derek thought.

He’d spent the morning pacing back and forth in his apartment, fussing with his clothes and changing several times. He eventually settled on a faded grey Henley and dark jeans.

The event was at a local library—not too far from his apartment—so he decided to walk there to try and calm his nerves.

When he arrived, he stepped over to the front desk. He offered the young librarian a friendly smile when she looked up at him and opened his mouth to introduce himself when a familiar voice rang out across the library.

“There you are.”

Derek looked at the librarian apologetically before turning to look at his sister. “Hi, Laura. Nice to see you too.”

“Come on, we’re setting you up in the children’s corner,” Laura said, making her way through the rows of bookshelves and over to the corner of the library where the children’s section was.

There were two rows of low shelves with children’s book lined up on them and another shelf running along the wall. The space was open—a few plush benches were pushed up against the walls for the adults or the children to sit on while they read.

The clear floorspace by the window had been filled with a bunch of blankets, pillows and cushions for the children to sit on. There were beanbags and stools for the parents and two stools in the corner for Stiles and Derek.

They’d set it up with a table for when they signed the books, copies of the book stacked up on the table with a few on display while boxes of stock were hidden beneath the table.

A young man stood by the window, dressed in a blue-and-grey hooded sweatshirt and jeans. His dark brown eye caught the golden sunlight that streamed through the wall of windows, swirling like pools of golden liquor. His chestnut-brown hair was a tousled mess and he was covered in moles that charted constellations across his skin, a sweet smile lighting up his face as he met Derek’s gaze.

Stiles.

Derek was starstruck as he stared at the young man. He was more beautiful than Derek could have ever imagined.

“Hi,” Stiles said, smiling sweetly at Derek.

“Hi,” Derek replied, breathless. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

A soft, rosy-pink blush coloured Stiles’ cheeks. “You too.”

“The reading circle starts in about half an hour,” Laura told them. “Lydia’s going to be here in a minute to help with book sales. You just have to read the story, say hi to the kids, and sign the books. I’ve got to run, but I’ll be back in an hour or two. If you’re good, I’ll even bring you coffee.”

She took a step to leave before turning back.

“And, Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t scare the little kids.”

Derek screwed up his face at her.

Laura laughed before turning to walk away.

The reading went well.

Stiles sat nearby as Derek read the story, listening to his deep, soothing voice.

He watched as the crowd of children—who were sitting on the cushions or with blankets draped around the shoulders—watched on, mesmerised.

Once they were done, they made their way over to the table where Lydia was selling copies of the book.

There was two seats behind the table, but Derek took one glance at a little girl who was too small to look over the table and shook his head. He sat down on the floor in front of the table, greeting the kids, signing the books, getting hugs and taking photos.

Stiles joined him, sitting down beside him.

The kids lined up, looking shy or smiling broadly as they handed over their copies of the book to be signed.

Stiles and Derek opened each of the books to the first page and wrote messages inside for the children before signing them. Stiles left the occasional doodle at the bottom of a page, watching as the kids’ faces lit up with joy when they saw them.

After a while, things started to quiet down. A lot of the children had left, but one boy—who looked to be barely five years old—lingered in the corner of the room with his big sister, clutching a toy to his chest.

His sister talked quietly to him before taking his hand and walking him over to Stiles and Derek.

“Hi there,” Derek said softly. “What’s your name?”

“Corey,” the boy muttered quietly.

“Hi, Corey. I’m Derek.”

The boy bowed his head bashfully, tightening his hold around his toy.

“What have you got there?” Derek asked.

“Plush,” Corey answered, loosening his hold slightly to show Stiles and Derek his toy dragon—the same dragon from their book, the one who hoarded pillows.

“Wow,” Derek whispered, a bright smile lighting up his face.

Stiles watched in amazement as the quiet boy slowly opened up to the man.

“It’s my favourite book,” Corey said quietly. “My brother reads it to me before bed every night. And for my birthday, my sister made me Plush.”

Derek looked up at Corey’s sister.

“You made him?” he asked.

The girl nodded.

He watched as Derek’s pale aventurine eyes glimmered in the daylight, full of surprise and amazement.

“That’s incredible,” Derek said.

A sad look settled on Corey’s face as he bowed his head.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked, craning his neck to look the boy in the eye.

“I left my book at home,” Corey admitted.

Derek looked around—there was no one else there, only them.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Derek whispered as he reached under the table and pulled a copy of the book out from one of the boxes.

“We don’t have any money on us,” Corey’s sister object.

“This one’s for free, but you can’t tell anyone that,” Derek said, winking at the boy. He opened the book to the first page and signed it before offering it to Stiles.

Stiles smiled as he took it from Derek, looking down at the familiar cursive of Derek’s writing as he read over the message Derek had written.

Down the bottom of the page, he wrote his own message and drew a quick sketch of Plush before offering the book to Corey.

The boy’s eye flew open wide.

“Really?” he whispered.

A soft smile turned up the corners of Derek’s lips. “Really.”

“Thank you so much,” Corey said, trying to juggle Plush and the book. He paused for a moment. “Can I… Can I have a hug?”

“Of course,” Derek said.

Corey passed the book to his sister before rushing into Derek’s arms and hugging him tight. He muttered quietly as tears welled in his eyes. He pulled back from Derek and hugged Stiles, his tears falling down his pale cheeks.

“Come on, Corey,” his sister said softly. “We’ve got to get going.”

Corey pulled back, steadying himself on his feet before taking his sister’s hand.

She began to lead him away but he stopped, turning back.

“Thank you,” he said one last time.

“You’re very welcome,” Stiles and Derek said in unison.

Stiles waited until Corey and his sister were gone before turning to Derek. “Isn’t your sister going to notice there’s a lack of profit?”

“What lack of profit?” Derek asked, pulling his wallet out of his pocket and handing the money over to Lydia.

She put the cash in the small box they were using as a till, a sweet smile turning up the corners of her lips as she looked at Stiles and Derek.

Stiles felt a rush of warmth settle in his chest, a soft smile playing across his lips. If he wasn’t in love with Derek before, he sure was now.

He’d fallen—hard—and there was no going back.

Stiles sat on the hotel bed, resting his sketchbook against his knees as he leant back against the headboard. He had a pencil in his hand, the tip scratching at the paper.

They were days into the book tour and had flown across the country to continue the readings. They had been put up in a hotel room with double beds.

It was a large room with light grey walls. A table and two chairs sat in the far corner of the room by the large glass door that led out onto a small balcony and there was a small bathroom by the door. The beds had small tables beside them and a plush grey headboard that ran the length of the wall the beds were pushed against. Behind the plush headboard was a small shelf with a strip of lighting that lit the room.

Across from the beds was a large television, the screen lit up with light and colour. The volume was turned down and neither of them were watching—it was just background noise to break the silence between them.

Derek sat on the other bed, reading over a manuscript and making small notations and edits. Usually other sounds in the room would drive him mad, but there was something about Stiles’ presence—something about the rhythmic scratching of the pencil against his sketchpad—that seemed to calm him.

Eventually his curiosity won him over.

Derek set down his pen, looking over at Stiles.

“Do you draw every night?” he asked.

Stiles looked up, slightly alarmed. “If I’m annoying you, I can stop.”

“No, you’re not annoying me,” Derek said softly. “Quite the opposite actually.”

Stiles looked down at his sketchbook. “Kind of. I try to draw every day. A lot of the time I don’t, but I figured we’ve got a lot of downtime right now so I should probably get some practice in.”

“What are you drawing?”

Stiles’ face flushed bright red.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Derek said reassuringly. “I was just curious.”

“It’s a little embarrassing,” Stiles admitted.

“I’m not one to judge.”

“It’s you,” Stiles admitted.

“Me?”

“I need more practice drawing people and you have a really nice face—and I can’t believe I just said that out loud,” Stiles rambled.

Derek let out a low chuckle.

“Can I see it?” he asked.

Stiles let out a measured breath and turned his sketchbook around to show Derek.

Derek’s face fell, his amused expression giving way to shock and awe as he looked at the sketched portrait.

It was like looking in a mirror—although slightly distorted by Stiles’ sketchy art style, the art style that Derek loved. It was a perfect likeness—thick dark hair, a soft beard that cast a shadow across his jaw, and wide-set eyes were pale—shaded a little with his green pencil and so lifelike. It was as if they caught the light, the shade of his eyes shifting from hazel to green – clear, bright and focused. The hint of a smile turned up the corners of his mouth, softening his stern featured.

“That’s amazing,” Derek muttered, shocked.

A rosy-pink blush coloured Stiles’ cheeks as he turned the sketchbook back around, looking down at the drawing.

He paused for a moment, then with one quick movement, he tore the page out of the book.

“What are you doing?” Derek asked, alarmed.

Stiles quickly signed the bottom of the page before holding it out for Derek to take. “Here.”

Derek blinked in surprise, taking the page and looking down at the sketch. He felt a strange warmth settle in his chest, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

He looked up at Stiles.

“Really?” he asked.

“Really,” Stiles said.

“Thank you.”

Derek looked down at it one more time before carefully sliding the drawing into a folder where it wouldn’t get damaged.

“You seem distracted today,” Stiles said as the two of them returned to their hotel room. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s nothing,” Derek said quietly.

Two weeks of meet-and-greets and book signings passed faster than Derek would have liked.

Tomorrow was their last reading. After that they’d fly back home and return to their jobs, only ever talking through emails or the notes in the margins of their drafts.

The thought made Derek’s chest ache.

He’d gotten so used to being with Stiles the past two weeks that he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to not see his face—he didn’t want to imagine it.

“It’s clearly something,” Stiles argued, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “You said you didn’t judge me, and I’m not going to judge you. So if you want someone to talk to, I’m all ears.”

"When you're in the room, I find it so hard to focus on anything else," Derek blurted out.

Stiles was taken aback. His lips quivered as they moved around unspoken words. After a moment, he sheepishly said. "I’m sorry. I don't mean to be a bother."

"No, I didn't mean it like that." Derek paused for a moment, letting out a measured breath before saying, "I like you."

Stiles blinked in surprise.

"I know it sounds stupid since. I mean, we never even met before this book tour, but it..." His voice faltered and his words trailed off, shaky as he lost confidence. He dropped his gaze, looking down at his feet. "Never mind. Just forget I ever said anything."

"But it feels like we've known each other forever," Stiles finished.

Derek looked up, meeting Stiles’ dark eyes.

“I feel the same way,” Stiles continued, his voice quiet, shy. He fell silent for a second, swallowing hard as he looked from Derek to his hands in his lap. “I like you too… I really like you—and I… I’d never be able to live with myself if I didn’t tell you how I feel. But if you want to just go back home tomorrow and just go back to work and pretend like this never happened, then I can do that… I can try…”

“And what if I don’t want to?” Derek asked.

Stiles looked up at him. His shock gave way to a soft smile.

Derek took a step forward, stepping over to Stiles’ side. He gently cupped Stiles’ face in one hand, his tender touch sending shivers down Stiles’ spine. He leant forward, closing the space between them and bringing their mouths together.

Stiles let his breath fall from his lungs. His eyes fluttered shut as he leant into the kiss.

Derek’s lips were soft and warm, the kiss tender, slow and sweet.

Derek drew back, licking his lips as he savoured the kiss. He grinned at Stiles’ euphoric expression.

Stiles tilted his chin upwards, chasing his Derek’s lips. He felt Derek chuckle against his mouth as he brought them back together again. He looped his arms around Derek’s neck as he brought his lips back to Derek’s.

He fell back against the mattress, pulling Derek down on top of him.

Derek smiled against his lips, his body pressed against Stiles’ as they lay on the bed. He kissed him lightly—lovingly—slowly drawing back and resting his forehead against Stiles’.

A soft smile played across his lips.

“I’ve been meaning to ask…” Stiles started slowly, slightly out of breath. “Do you want to go out for coffee sometime?”

Derek burst out in laughter, his eyes sparkling as he met Stiles’ gaze.

“I’d love to,” Derek whispered, leaning forward to kiss Stiles again.

[AO3]

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mychemicalficrecs · 4 years

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Can you recommend some high school AU frerard or Ray/Mikey fics? :3 thank u

Hi Nonny!

I'm going to make seperate lists for this again. Can't promise the second one will be ready by tomorrow but I'll try ;)

I'm not a big reader of High School AUs, so the second half are fics that looked promising on AO3!

Frank/Gerard High School AUs

In Repair by autoschediastic, 33k, Explicit. "Shit," Frank mutters, and shoves both hands through his hair. He looks around the kitchen like he's gonna find what he should do scratched into the old linoleum, then looks back at the bot. He gnaws on his lip. Fuck it. He already knows what he's gonna do. He's just gotta do it. Getting down on his knees, he braces a hand on the edge of the crate and leans over the bot. It's dressed in a plain white tee and matching drawstring pants like an escaped mental patient. Frank rolls his neck and cracks his knuckles, shaking the ache out of them before carefully laying his palm against its cheek. He's pretty sure his voice is steady when he says, "Activate." Nothing happens. Fucking shitty packaging-- the thing's busted. But Frank keeps his hand where it is, jumping a little when he feels the surge of energy beneath it. The robot's skin goes from room temperature to lukewarm, then warm. Frank watches it open its eyes, the light behind them adjusting until they're a pale sort of brown. It looks at him and asks, "Am I dead?"

Get Naked (I Got a Plan) by autoschediastic, 11k, Explicit. Frank slides his hand all the way up to where Gerard's arm and tentacles fuse at his armpit. The difference between the feel of one beneath his palm and the other is literally the stuff his dreams are made of. His wet dreams.

A State Of Orange by gala_apples, Frank/Mikey, Frank/Gerard, 20k, Explicit. Being a halfling in a red state can sometimes cause issues for Frank Iero. He’s the weakest at Jett Clement High School, and probably the entire state (not counting the meal plans). His moods are oddly stable, as much as he tries to be mercurial. And being able to withstand the sun for up to twenty minutes only allows him more time to be forced into chores. Still, his parents are insane if they think he’s going to be happy about their decision. Frank doesn’t want to move to a Mixed state. How is he supposed to get great friends? How is he supposed to find great food? How is he supposed to have great sex? But Frank doesn’t have a choice. He’s New Jersey bound for the next year, if not longer. He’ll be surrounded by tame vampires who have been nagged out of a sex drive, and humans he’s not allowed to eat. Mixed states suck. Lucky for him, not every person in Jersey sucks.

The Truth Is I'm On My Way by samanthahirr, 6k, Teen And Up Audiences. Frank's been drawing on himself since elementary school, up under his sleeves and pant legs where his teachers and classmates won't see; he knows how to color inside the lines. He doesn't need Gerard to do it for him. (A high school AU.)

You Only Hear the Music When Your Heart Begins to Break by Solarcat, 14k, Teen And Up Audiences. Frank has high school figured out. His mom has given up arguing about the amount of time he spends in Gerard's basement, and he doesn't actually care if people think it's weird that he and Gerard hold hands in the hallways and go to the bathroom together. The only thing Frank cares about is figuring out why Gerard's suddenly avoiding him -- because what's the point of losing your virginity on Prom Night if you can't tell your best friend about it in the morning?

Smokeless Flame of Fire by tabulaxrasa, 21k, Mature. Frank blinked. "What kind of name for a genie is Gerard?"

to the midnight land by akamine_chan, 24k, Explicit. Being a teenager is hard. Being a Blooded teenager, one with a connection to the Moon and his fur-self, is even worse. He's got to contend with his own hormones, high school, and the fact that he's in love with his best friend. Luckily, Frankie's got the determination to see things through. He's got family, friends, and a community of shifters to lean on, and he's not going to give up. Frankie's not patient, but he's stubborn when he knows what he wants. And he wants Gerard.

Thing-Thing by sinsense, 43k, NC-17. When Gerard signed the admissions paperwork for the Fordhaven School for Boys, he knew he was signing up for four years of sexual frustration. No one was gay at Fordhaven. Gerard was all-too-aware that he would be a virgin until he graduated. In his senior year, though, this stupid gay freshman disproves Fordhaven's straightness, and throws Gerard's entire world off-kilter. Now, in between drawing, avoiding bullies, running an incredibly serious tabletop RP game, failing out of math, and hanging out with friends, Gerard is also busy kind of falling for this asshole who's way too young for him. It's not what he planned on, but it's what's happening. In conclusion: high school sucks.

You'll Always Feel This Way by wakingup, 14k, Not Rated. It's Frank's birthday and he's gonna A) get drunk B) hit on Gerard C) get laid. Yeah, it's definitely going to work out like that. (Spoiler alert: it might not be that easy)

Nothing Comes as Easy as You by rivers_bend, 9k, Explicit. "Um, I've heard, you know, around, that like, there are guys who can get off three times without stopping. And I was, I mean—" god he sounds like a fucking idiot. "Have you ever heard of that?"

Church of Hot Addiction by spleenjournal, 0nlymemories, Frank/Gerard, Frank/Mikey, 36k, Adult. When Gerard Way gets transferred to Our Lady of Peace in Arlington a few weeks into his Senior year, he thinks it's his chance to be cool. Too bad his idea of "cool" is no cooler than it was in 3rd grade, even if there aren't any green tights. (AU of the INO AU, more or less.)

The Marching Band AU by frankiesin, many pairings in a bunch of different works, 150k, General Audiences, Teen And Up Audiences, Mature, Explicit. A bunch of gay teens are in a band and do dumb things while in high school. There will be a lot of pairings, each part can be read without reading the others, and the series is in chronological order.

We're all Okay by rivers_bend, 28k, Explicit. A story in which Frank is not a stalker, Gerard is not a psycho, and Mikeyway is nobody’s boyfriend.

Where Did The Party Go by frenchpirate (Whiskey_n_speed), 16k, Mature. The one where Frank get's a new and nocturnal neighbor, Gerard throws a Halloween party that turns out far from what was expected, Pete wakes up on a strangers couch and Mikey really doesn't want any serenades (but that doesn't mean he isn't getting any).

Miss Congeniality by melusina, 11k, Mature. Gerard pretends to be a girl, Frank and Gerard discover email and Mikey’s good advice goes unheeded.

honey, this mirror isn't big enough for the two of us by orphan_account, 17k, Explicit. You should have raised a baby girl / I should have been a better son. (the unholy union of a high school au and a gender feel)

SKETCH by frnklyiero, 77k, Teen And Up Audiences. "You having a problem with drawing straight?" "I'm having a problem with being straight." Gerard Way happened to be the most fascinating sight in school to Frank Iero perhaps besides Jamia Nestor. Every little detail of his perfect features made Frank itch to sketch them. There are just a few problems: 1) Gerard is probably straight as a ruler, 2) Jamia isn't thrilled that her boyfriend may or may not have been secretly doodling Gerard in his notebook, 3) No matter how much Frank practices, his Gerard sketches still look like eggplants with creepy faces on them.

Save Me (From My Self Destruction) by cyanidepurified, 14k, Teen And Up Audiences. Frank and Gerard are best friends, both are unaware that they're in love with each other. When Frank discovers Gerard's secret, will he be able to save his best friend?

Speeding in a School Zone by 1001cranes, languisity, 16k, Teen And Up Audiences. High school AU where Frank and Gerard are awkward, Pete is romantically confused, Patrick owns, and Bob is a ninja. Pete, the first time we met you proposed to me. I don’t think your heterosexuality was ever all that secure.

The Chasing of Moons by Helena_Hathaway, 110k, Explicit. The biggest dilemma in all of this is that Frank slept with his future husband. Now Frank’s just got to make sure that the future with him stays intact, but it’s not so easy when present day Gerard seems to hate his guts.

Early Sunsets Over Monroeville by FedeLove96, 11k, Explicit. Frank Iero was a junior when he fell in love with Gerard Way, but their love story was just at the beginning.

A Case of Unknown Identity by Helena_Hathaway, 44k, Explicit. Frerard High School AU. Frank is a teenager with only a few friends, one of whom is a charismatic guy who is just like Frank. He might even be falling for the guy, but the only problem is that he’s just a username on a website without a face or a name. The guy goes by 'Watchman' and he’s perfect in Frank’s eyes, he doesn’t even need to meet him to know he’s amazing. Frank also deals with bullies which makes it hard for him to hold onto friends, but things start to become better after he befriends the antisocial kid Mikey, and realizes that Watchman might just go to his school. Watchman might also know a little more about Frank than he’s letting on.

But The Pages Are All Torn and Frayed by blindlyseeking (orphan_account), 55k, Mature. Basically, this is based off of the music video for “I’m Not Okay” and it also includes (but is not limited to) gratuitous mentions of a drunken fascination with a lamp, one evil lacrosse team, two breakdowns in a bathroom, grandmothers with green hair, a couple bruises, and a whole lot of revenge. Enjoy!

#fic rec list #frank/gerard #frerard #high school au #alternate universe

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japanne · 3 years

Text

Making Comics Process 2020

Someone mentioned in a comment on some page that the brief thumbnails I was posting would be interesting to see as a comics making compilation, so I decided to make a current one (the last one I did was from 2015 or something?? I was still doing my pencils and inks on real paper).

So let’s commence using chapter 47, Page 12 as the example.

I usually do something a little differently every time I do a chapter, but one thing that has never changed over the almost 20 years I’ve been doing this, is my affinity for using Microsoft Excel to organize my chapter writing.

This details the page in question. I’ve got a basic description of the events in the first column, the year in the second, the chapter in the third, and details in the fourth. (I pulled out the rest of the scene so as not to spoil it).

After the writing for a scene, it’s time for thumbnails! I still enjoy doing these in a notebook.

I use a dedicated spiral notebook, split my page into quarters, write in the dialogue, and maybe adjust it at this time if I need to. I changed Collamair’s dialogue to: “Oh. Whoops. Sorry. This is my room. I forgot to give you one, didn’t I?” (you can also see I misnumbered my pages somewhere earlier so 11 here is really the comic’s 12th).

I use the frixion erasable pens for this, so if there’s small changes to make I’ll just erase and fix. For major changes I’ll just move onto the next open page space. You must not remember to set hot things on your pages or the ink will fade. Put it in the freezer to try and return it!

Following the success of paper thumbnails it’s time to move to Clip Studio Paint. At this early stage I do a couple of chapter wide passes.

1. Create all the page files with the grey and red bordered template page I have.

2. Put a ruler on that file rough in the sizes of the panels. Think about panels that might go for full bleed and delete the template border as a note for myself.

3. Put in the text.

4. Translate thumbnails digitally which brings us here:

I shifted Collamair’s dialogue a little more, and I flipped the last Collamair from my thumbnail. For some reason he was facing the opposite direction, even though it’s a general rule to keep your characters facing the same way if possible in a conversation.

After the first pass of real rough sketches are laid in, I do a second slightly more detailed pencil pass

I’ll get all the expressions in, and the outlines of the clothes on the characters. I’ll adjust the size of the people and the position of the text bubbles. And this is as detailed as I get for my pencils.

I will also mention here, I’m not sure if I forgot to include this or actively decided not to, but “Colly and Struan laughing and having a good time” got dropped at some point??? Who knows when or why now???

Once I’m done with these sketch layers, I merge them together and start inking. This is done in a scene by scene basis. First I’ll open all the files for a given scene, flip all the canvases and draw the faces of the characters.

Then I’ll flip them back to look for weird parts and ink the rest of their bodies.

After inks are done, I’ll make another very rough sketch pass on the old sketch layer for the backgrounds.

Then, again, scene by scene, I’ll go through and ink them. These backgrounds were blissfully easy.

I started something new this chapter. I saw a video on twitter randomly talking about how to make panels with Clip Studio, and it’s SO EASY. So I started doing those in this program as well. That was one of the last 2 things I used to do in Photoshop.

After all the inking and the panels are done, it’s time to color. I have a shitty swatch file that you can see below where I keep track of colors for outfits and backgrounds in every chapter.

The second new thing I started to do was flats in Clip Studio. I’m excited about it so I broke it down a little bit in detail. Below is a Struan that I have used the fill bucket tool on a new layer with the inks marked as a reference. I do this for backgrounds and foregrounds. You can see just plain old fill bucket leaves some stray pixels that are hard to get, especially in Struan’s sleeves here.

Well, worry not, for there is something else I saw on twitter, the Filter>Correct Line>Adjust Line Width

When you do that you can see the color overflows the lines a little bit. But all the internal white pixels are gone.

NEXT! you take you fill bucket with the color marked “clear” and some area scaling, and you just click a bunch of times in your panels outside of the characters.

Ta-daaaaahh. There’s a few places where a little bit of manual cleanup is needed, around his elbows, but this method appears to be much faster than the old B-Pelt method I was using in PS, and I am happy with it!!

Here’s the fully flatted page with this method used on the bgs and fgs. Eyes are also added in, but on their own layer so they don’t get desaturated at all. And Colly’s shirt has his pattern to add at some point.

When flats are done, it’s time to move, scene by scene, through the shading process. I’ve started using “Hard Light” blending for the shading since the last chapter, so this is also pretty new!

The bg and fg again get their own shading layer. I’ll cover the bg in the shade color and then paint or gradient fill the highlights in over that. I might add on some other extra mode for fancier lighting or if I want to shift all the colors, but I always add on an adjustment layer for desaturation at the end.

Brushes that I use are almost all from Frenden. The pencils are blue and red “real” and “layouts.” Faux-rel Painter Scratchboard is my inking pen. Most of the shading is Concept Craig normal and Wet. Hair highlights are Painterly (Wet), and I also use the default soft airbrush on a variety of things. The plaid is “real pencil.”

And here’s a final view of the total layers I’ve used for this page, and also the ridiculous palette file if you’re interested in that!

#comics #making comics #all roses have thorns #vampires #clip studio paint

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darkshadow90 · 4 years

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His Obsession Chapter 5

A/N: Hey, guys. I had some time, so here’s chapter five. Things get pretty intense in this one. Just a quick note about Arthur’s diary entrees: I know a lot of the words are misspelled, and I tried to be creative and do that, but auto correct kept messing it up, so the words are spelled correctly. I hope that’s okay. I hope you like it.

Chapter 5

Ashe walked over to the table and carefully opened the notebook. It seemed Arthur was using it as both a personal diary and a book of jokes. The jokes were pretty tame. It surprised Ashe she figured the jokes would be a lot worse considering Arthur is so strange. ‘He must be trying to get into comedy.’ She continued flipping through pages and a personal entry. ‘I went to the pharmacy to get my medications today. Someone cut in front of me, like I wasn’t even there. I would have thought he would ask if it was okay if he went ahead of me, but no. He didn’t ask. No one ever asks. Everyone just walks right past me, it’s like I don’t exist. Why is everyone so rude?’ Ashe continued flipping through the pages. There were several pictures of naked women from magazines. There were also drawings of more naked women sketched next to some joke entries. Ashe knew it was normal for men to have interests in pornography. She would have put it out of her mind, but it was excessive. The drawings and magazine clippings were scattered throughout a bunch of pages. ‘This is kind of perverse. Does Arthur think of me like this?’ It made her feel sick. She didn’t want to think about it.

She read another personal entry. ‘Randall and the guys got me another...date tonight. It was my fourth date with a woman. I guess I can’t really call it a date, can I? If a woman has to be paid to go out with me and have sex with me, it’s not a real relationship. I know it’s more for the guys’ benefit than mine. It’s not all bad. All of the women have been nice to me. They even showed me how to please a woman. This time, I actually felt confident. I’m glad I didn’t doubt myself as much as I have been in the past. She enjoyed herself. It was a very sweet moment, and while I enjoyed it too, I want a real relationship. Well, if I ever get a girlfriend, at least I have an idea of what she’ll like.’ Ashe kept reading. ‘I met with the social worker today. As usual, she never listens. She just asks the same questions every week. She told me social services are getting cut. I can’t believe this shit. How am I supposed get my medications now? Can it get any worse than this?’

Unfortunately, it did. Ashe felt a little sorry for Arthur. She kept reading. ‘I got jumped by some kids today while I was working. They stole the sign, Hoyt called me into his office. When I told him what happened, he didn’t believe me he said he would be taking the sign out of my paycheck. He said he would give me another chance, but he also told me the guys think I’m weird. He said when I’m working at the hospital entertaining sick kids I make the mothers uncomfortable. Why? What did I do wrong? I just want to make people laugh, to see them happy.’

Ashe became unsettled by the next entries. They were about her. ‘Today actually ended on a high note for me. One of my fits of laughter started up, and the guy sitting next to me was about to beat me up. But a pretty girl stopped him. I couldn’t believe it. She noticed me. She actually cared. She gave me my card. Her smile was so pretty, she seemed happy. How could she be happy in this city? She said her name is Ashe. I want to know more about her. I can’t stop thinking about her. She’s not like the women in my magazines at all. She’s a good person. I can tell by the warmth in her eyes and her smile. Penny, who I thought was my mom, never showed much concern for me only herself and Thomas Wayne. Well, I don’t need to worry about that anymore. I gave her what she deserved. I need someone like Ashe. I need her warmth, I need her compassion.’ It got worse as she came to the next page. ‘I got fired from my job yesterday. I guess I won’t be working as a clown for Ha-Ha’s anymore.’ Ashe felt a chill go down her spine. ‘A clown? No, he couldn’t be...’ There was still more of the entry to read so she kept going. ‘That fucking lying piece of shit Randall got me fired. He fucking told Hoyt I bought the gun off him. If I ever see him, I’ll...well, it doesn’t matter. I probably won’t see him again anyway. I was heading home on the subway, and three Wall Street pricks were harassing a girl. She looked over to me as if she was asking for help. It was the only time I was grateful to have an uncontrollable laughing fit. The shit heads directed their attention to me and the girl got away. They were beating me up and I shot them with the gun. The third guy tried to get away. I wasn’t gonna let that happen. I cornered him and shot him. I know that girl was grateful. Three less miserable little piss ants around to make people’s lives hell. I feel pretty damn good. I feel even better since I saw Ashe tonight. I was just taking a walk, and there she was. What was she doing alone at night in the city? I saw her give a sandwich to a homeless man. I was right. She’s genuinely a nice person. I know what I have to do. I have to keep her safe, I have to protect her from Gotham. I’ll do anything to keep her safe and happy. I love her.’

Ashe swallowed and kept reading. ‘I’ve been following Ashe for about a week now. I know where she works, what her favorite coffee is, her cute mannerisms. She lives in the same building as me. I went inside her apartment while she was at work. It was easy enough to get inside since the lock is broken. She’s so trusting and fearless. That night when she was walking down the street, it made me think that homeless man could have done something awful to her. She could have been that girl on the subway, but not as lucky. She can easily be taken advantage of. I won’t let that happen. I’ll bring her here so she’ll always be safe. We won’t have to worry about anything. We’ll have each other.’ Ashe couldn’t read any more. She closed the notebook.

Ashe’s mind was racing. ‘Shit. He said he would protect me from danger. He said he would protect me from the clown. He’s the clown. This whole fucking time...he’s the killer. Oh, God. Oh fuck, no. I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to tell someone.’ She saw the phone, but before she could get to it, she heard the lock turn. He was back. Arthur came in. He was soaked, his wet hair hung in his face. Ashe panicked. “What’s wrong, babydoll?” Ashe couldn’t answer him. He was trying to calm her down, but she wouldn’t. He had no choice but to use a sedative. He got one out of the drawer, and filled the syringe. Ashe never saw it. Arthur held her tightly in his grip. Ashe couldn’t break free. Arthur held her still and injected her with the sedative. “Shhh. Good girl. That’s it. There we go. You can sleep now.” Ashe began to calm down and passed out.

#arthur fleck #joker fandom #joaquin phoenix joker #joker movie #joker 2019

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porkchop-ao3 · 4 years

Text

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 39)

Country Pursuits

Reader’s art dealer job has some unfortunate (but is it really unfortunate..? You’ll see) results. Arthur starts making plans. The bank job is looming on the horizon, y’all... Enjoy!

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

The men were out doing the art dealer job. My art dealer job. I felt full of nervous energy, sitting by the campfire with my sketchbook and pencil, tapping the end of it against the page as I looked around for something to draw that'd take my mind off of it.

The day had been pretty uneventful until then. Arthur and I had returned to camp with a pair of pronghorns for Pearson and the gang, so nobody commented on the fact that we'd spent the evening away from camp. I thought that was a nice trade. Food for their silence. Not even Dutch had anything to say, only stopping to tell Arthur that he had been thinking of how to deal with Bronte, and that he'd need to talk to him once he, John and Lenny returned from stealing those paintings.

That was so long ago, it felt like. The boys had only been gone a couple of hours and realistically it was going to take a few with how far they'd be travelling to Valentine, then Emerald Ranch provided everything went correctly (Hosea had spoken to a friend of his over there, Seamus, who'd be taking the art off our hands). Even so, I was restless the entire time.

I focused my attention on Javier's guitar where it was leaning up against a barrel, and started drawing it. I sketched it to fill up a page, giving it plenty of detail in a bid to stretch out the process, have it consume more time before the boys got back. I could only pray that the job went well, considering I'd brought it to them. If anything went wrong, I wouldn't be able to stomach it.

"You, uh, you ever drawn me in that book o' yours?" The log I was sitting on shifted unsteadily as someone dropped in beside me. Micah. I froze for a moment, eyes going wide with shock.

Micah hadn't been particularly friendly with me as of late, given our quarrels and the whole Arthur kicking his front teeth in thing. He either didn't speak to me at all or he barked some order at me, got me to do something for him. A lot of which, I simply didn't do. I wanted to be useful, not a damn servant.

"Why, you gonna demand that I do so if I say no?" I asked, not taking my eyes from the guitar, carrying on sketching. Micah chuckled, and my throat itched from cigarette smoke as he exhaled it, not bothering to direct it away from me.

"Well, would be nice if you did. Show a little friendliness, make out like you might just be able to stand me," it was all spoken in jest. I finally looked at him.

"I stood you for a long time, remember? More than that, thought you were a decent feller if you tried."

"Well, I told you you was wrong, that this is just who I am."

"Yeah and I never believed you. Though, that was 'bout the only thing that came out of your mouth that's true, so I should've."

"You saying I'm a liar, princess?" He questioned and my mood withered further, eyelids lowering in irritation.

"I ain't gonna waste my breath asking you again, Micah. You know I don't like you calling me that," I deadpanned, and I heard him exhale a drawn out breath. "And lying might not be the right word for it. Twisting things, though, that you do plenty of."

"Still think I was going 'round trying to convince people I'd fucked you? That's all rather conceited of you, don't you think?"

"Perhaps. Not half as conceited as you thinking me showing you the barest of kindnesses means I must want you to kiss me," I quipped back, and there was a pause before he made an unconvincing chuckle.

"Whatever," he breathed, sucking on his cigarette hard enough to hollow his cheeks, the end glowing bright before ebbing again when he exhaled the smoke; once again in my direction. It made my eyes water.

"I don't wish to be unfriendly with you, Micah. I never was one for conflict."

"Then I guess you chose the wrong business, this ain't a life that comes free of conflict. That pretty gash in your neck's some pretty solid evidence of that," he muttered, gesturing to my throat.

Every time someone mentioned it, it burned.

"I can't argue with that. I guess I could be more clear; conflict with people that once upon a time I got along with, dare I say liked," I replied, snapping my sketchbook closed when I became too distracted to carry on.

"You liked me?" He smiled and spoke in a sickly tone that was completely condescending and not in the least bit pleasant or sincere. "First time I've ever been told that. Truly, I am touched."

"Maybe it'd happen more often if you didn't go 'round treating people like crap."

"I've never treated you like crap," he told me in all seriousness, brow forming a heavy line above his eyes. I cocked a brow at him and snorted.

"You ain't? How about dumping all your shit on me, telling me to wash this, fix that, I stood in horse shit, scrub my boots? And saying all those dirty things to Arthur right in front of me?" I provoked and he laughed, shaking his head. Anger fizzed up and over inside. "And telling me that all I'm worth is my unsullied body, and you only wanted to fuck me 'cause I'm a virgin?"

Micah's eyes snapped to me at that, and it was a fair bit of time before he responded.

"If I'd've buttered you up real good, would you have been up for it? If I whispered sweet nothings in your ear and called you beautiful and scattered rose petals on the bedroll? Would you have fucked me then?" He levelled his gaze to me, looking directly at me after flicking his spent cigarette away.

"No!"

"Then what's your problem? So what if that's all I wanted you for, if I weren't gonna get you anyway?"

"Well, I suppose you would look at it that way."

"What way do you look at it? Educate me."

"It just weren't nice having that spat at me like I was nothing, like I was completely useless to you since I weren't gonna give you what you wanted. Especially with how well we worked together, how we got along whenever you weren't in one of your moods."

"Well, I guess I figured I owed you the truth. Otherwise you'd be walking 'round thinking you'd hurt my feelings, feelin' guilty, and we can't have that," he shrugged and I rolled my eyes, looking away. "You got an attitude somewhere in you," he added at that. He was smirking.

I didn't respond, opening up my sketchbook again and flicking through it absentmindedly, opening it to a blank page.

"Well, you should know," he began, "I ain't got no hard feelings. It's pretty clear the ship has sailed, anyway."

"I'm sorry?" I questioned, looking at him.

"You think nobody notices when you walk in here with Morgan, acting like he ain't been pokin' you all night? The bags under your eyes are as tellin' as they are unflattering, my dear," his tone was low and dirty and I screwed my face up in distaste. "You ain't no virgin no more."

"Whatever," I hissed, though my face felt hot.

"Those marks on your neck, too, you didn't get those from that O'Driscoll's knife, did you, sugar plum? Likes doing that, does he? Marking what's his," he added, and I stared at him, mouth agape. He was unbearably audacious!

"I don't know. But he sure liked kicking your teeth in," I reminded him, narrowing my eyes. His lip curled up, revealing the gap in his teeth, and he wriggled his tongue between them crudely. I wrinkled my nose. "Just leave me alone," I eventually sighed.

His nasty little laugh petered off as he surprisingly did as he was told.

I must have dozed off at some point when I was supposed to be darning a pair of socks, leaned up against the large tree by the fire. I woke with a start when something tapped my arm; for a moment I was ready to receive a lecture from Miss Grimshaw for sleeping on the job, but instead a hand holding a bundle of cash was in front of my face. My eyes travelled up the arm it was attached to and settled on John.

"Here's your share, sleepy head. Get up before someone sees you, I know Hosea don't take kindly to people doing what you're doing," he advised me, and I took the cash from him, my brows raising.

"Wow, this is my cut? Just for setting it up? You must've got a lot."

"Yeah, we didn't do too badly at all," John nodded.

"Did it go okay?"

Amusement twisted his features.

"Yeah, went off without a hitch. We all rode off without having to fire a single bullet, no one was hurt on the job," he began, and I was about to voice my relief when he continued, "didn't stop Lenny from fucking his leg up somehow on the way back."

"What?" I balked, sitting up. John stepped aside and gestured to where Arthur was helping Lenny down off his horse. Well, dragging him off of it with control while Lenny clung to him, wincing at every jostle of his leg.

I bolted up and raced over there, John hot behind me.

"Lenny! What happened? Are you alright?" I asked uselessly holding my arms out towards him and Arthur in some vague attempt at offering to help. Arthur managed to get him on the ground, balancing on one foot.

"Sure," Lenny said, face frozen in a grimace, "don't worry, ain't nothing to worry about."

"The kid's horse threw him," Arthur informed me, mild amusement on his face too. Neither Arthur or John seemed too concerned, which brought me some relief.

I looked at the horse in question. Little, tiny Maggie.

"She threw you?" I murmured.

"She saw a snake and got spooked, that's all."

"Was pretty impressive, the way he landed on his feet," Arthur mused.

"Till he hit the floor, screaming bloody murder," John added and they both chuckled.

"Glad it's so amusing," Lenny sighed, looking nothing short of mortified.

"We just robbed a whole bunch of valuable artwork from a serious collector without a single problem, but you can't manage to ride home? Yeah, it's a little amusing. Don't worry, it don't look broken, you probably just sprained it," John said. Lenny shook his head, leaning heavily on both Arthur and John as they helped him towards the house. Arthur called Hosea over, who immediately joined us.

They set Lenny down on a chair inside, and Hosea kneeled down in front of him. He inspected the injured ankle, asking him about the pain; where it was, how bad it was, if he felt anything snap. Hosea seemed satisfied after some investigation that no bones were broken, but he needed to rest it. He sent me off to fetch some medical supplies, and when I returned he bandaged up the ankle firmly to support the joint, and Arthur gave Lenny some whiskey for the pain, patting him on the shoulder.

"Now, you just take it easy for a few days, keep your foot up. You keep moving around on it, you'll make it worse," Hosea explained, tying off the bandage before pushing up to his feet, leaning on Lenny's good knee for support as he did.

"What about the bank?" Lenny queried, and Hosea went quiet for a moment. Arthur and John looked to him for his response.

Bank?

"Well, I'm sure we can manage without you, son," Hosea started, and Lenny sighed and leaned his head back, face a picture of disappointment. "Hey, don't be like that. How irresponsible would it be of us to have you along on a bank job when you can barely walk?"

"I know," Lenny grumbled, "I just wanted to be along for that. Show you fellers I can do a good job."

"I trust you would. Don't worry, there'll be other opportunities, I'm sure."

"'cept Dutch keeps saying this'll be the last big score," John noted with a humourless chuckle. Hosea looked at him, unamused and with a certain look in his eye.

"Well, I ain't got much to say about that," Hosea replied, his tone abrupt. It was clear he believed as much as they did that their scores were numbered. "Anyway, you stay here, Lenny. Rest up. Can we bring you anything?"

"If I'm gonna be sat here on my ass for the foreseeable future, some books would be nice," Lenny snorted, slumping glumly in the chair as Hosea dragged over a crate and had him rest his foot on it.

"Books," Hosea repeated with a nod, "certainly."

With that, he headed off. John left too, with a parting sympathetic pat on Lenny's shoulder, leaving just the three of us behind. I immediately turned to Lenny, fiddling with my own fingers, chewing on my lip a moment before speaking. I felt Arthur's eyes on me the whole time.

"Lenny, I'm so sorry," I began, and Arthur laughed.

"I was waiting for that," Arthur said, and I frowned at him in confusion.

"Huh?" Lenny simply grunted, looking at me cluelessly.

"I'm sorry about your ankle, I was praying all day that none of you'd get hurt, but…"

Lenny looked at Arthur, a hint of a smile curling his lips.

"Is she for real?" Lenny shook his head and I flushed a little, feeling foolish. Was I missing something?

"Just tell her it's okay," Arthur put an arm around my waist and carefully began leading me away.

"You think this is your fault?" Lenny called to me, then laughed, "hey, don't worry about it. I forgive you for making Maggie throw me, I don't appreciate it, but at least you're sorry," he teased.

I stopped in my tracks and turned back to him, resisting Arthur's tugging.

"It was my job you got hurt on, that's what I meant. I mean, obviously, right?"

"Listen, somethin' I came to learn real quick. Shit happens. Sometimes it's somebody's fault, but most of the time? It's just shit," Lenny snickered, shaking his head and grinning at me.

"You're speaking to the lady who felt bad over killin' an O'Driscoll who was about to slit her throat, just let her say what she's gotta say," Arthur explained and I frowned deeper.

"Hey, don't tease me for having… morals and– and guilt. You were the one blaming yourself for that O'Driscoll ordeal just 'cause you didn't make me leave the gang, Arthur, so you're one to talk," I snapped.

"That was a whole different thing," Arthur frowned, going serious, "I still think about that, you know."

"Well, don't!"

"How long you two been married?" Lenny asked and we swivelled our heads to look at him, observing his mischievous grin. Hosea walked back in then, a bundle of books in his hands.

"Here you go, son. These were by your tent, but I can ask around, see if anyone can lend you something different?" He began, putting the books down next to his foot on the crate.

Arthur took the opportunity to lead me off again, with that marriage comment ringing in my ears I didn't try to resist. Oh, to be married to Arthur Morgan… I stopped myself before I got carried away.

He led me outside and we took a seat at the front of the house, on the edge of the fountain. He groaned as he sat down, sighing in exhaustion. He looked about as tired as I'd felt all day.

"You alright?" I asked. Arthur nodded, yawning. "Wow. I hope last night was worth it," I said light-heartedly, smirking.

"Oh, it definitely was. Much better than a restful night, princess," he chuckled. "That job went well, John give you your cut?"

I nodded. "It's a lot."

"Yeah, we did real well. I'll tell Dutch… I gotta speak to him at some point. Wants to talk about Angelo Bronte. Dutch is on about robbing a bank in town, so something's gotta be done about him; the man who seems to run the whole damn city."

"You're gonna rob a bank in the middle of the city?" I balked, eyes going wide and bile rising uneasily in my throat.

"Apparently. Hosea thinks we can do it, couple of the girls have been out scoping the place. Doesn't look too heavily guarded," he explained, though it didn't quell my fears at all.

"Yeah, but what about after? Fleeing through the city? It ain't like Valentine, where you run for thirty seconds and you're out on open plains," I exclaimed and Arthur shook his head, agreeing with me.

"It's a risk. I know. But Hosea says the place is full of cash and gold, so if we get away…" he trailed off, looked up towards the house. Hosea and Dutch were sitting up on the balcony above us, talking.

With a sigh, Arthur took my hand and led me away, over towards the edge of the water, out of earshot from any of the camp. I went along with him wearing a concerned frown. He turned to me, then, taking both of my hands and looking down at them.

"If we get away," he continued, not yet meeting my eye, "we should have a lot of money. Enough for the whole gang to get out."

I stared for a moment, wondering why he needed to tell me that in secret. "That's great, but–"

"Not only that, my cut… my cut would be big enough that – put together with what I have saved – you and I might just be able to– to– we could get away," he finally met my eyes at that. "You and me, princess. We could leave, we'd have enough to support ourselves. I could keep you safe."

My lips parted. I had to admit, that all sounded rather wonderful. A totally fresh start, far away from Dutch and the Pinkertons and the O'Driscolls… with Arthur. Just him and me. I must've started smiling a little because Arthur smiled too, pulled me into a hug.

"We could do it. We'd see that the others made it out alright; Charles, John, Mary-Beth, all those people you've grown close to. We'd have peace of mind and then we could leave, be done with all this getting shot at and knives held to our necks. Start leading a proper life," he whispered against the top of my head, swaying me from side to side in his arms.

"You gotta do the bank, first," I reminded him, "oh, please be careful, Arthur."

"I'm always as careful as I can be," he told me, then pulled back to look at me, "I want this. I'm so certain of that."

"Me too," I nodded, cupping his cheeks.

"All that's holding me back is not knowing what'll happen to these people. I want to make sure they're gonna be okay," he whispered and I nodded in understanding. "This bank could be it, princess."

"Arthur!" Dutch yelled across the camp. I looked over Arthur's shoulder to see him leaning over the edge of the balcony, waving him over. Arthur held a hand up in acknowledgement, then let out a soft breath.

"I'll see you later," he said, kissing my forehead and squeezing my hands. I watched him walk back to the house, a feeling in my stomach a bittersweet combination of hope and dread.

I awoke the next morning in my bedroll, laying on the floor of Arthur's room. I knew he'd be returning at some point in the night after heading out with Dutch, so I'd left his bed free. I had to smile to myself, then, when I felt his presence behind me, a hand softly resting on my hip.

The next thing I registered was the smell. Wet, stagnant, musky… unpleasant. I shifted, looking over my shoulder at Arthur to see him lying asleep in just his union suit. His clothes were in a pile nearby, and I realised they were the source of the smell; his jeans and shirt sodden with filthy water, his boots caked in mud. What on Earth had he been doing last night?

I laid back down, lacing my fingers with his on my hip, lifting his hand from me as I rolled to face him, replacing it on my other hip. Arthur woke up a moment later, either stirred by my movement or sensing my eyes on him. His eyes creased with a smile when he saw me, but before he could say anything, I couldn't help but ask;

"Have you been swimming around in the swamp?"

Arthur only paused for a moment before answering. "Yes."

I quirked a brow, utterly perplexed.

"Dutch had us helping out some feller with a boat, reckons he'll get us to Bronte's house so we won't have to go in through the city," he told me sleepily. He started to appear more alert until it all seemed to come back to him in a rush and his face shifted to urgency. "You should'a seen the goddamn alligator out there. Big as a damn bison, I swear."

I nodded in understanding. "Yeah, some big ones out there. You couldn't pay me to set foot in the water, and I grew up there, what on Earth were you doing out there?"

"It's a long story. Ended with me in the water saving some kid, almost had his leg torn off. This alligator… there's big, and then there's big,” he shook his head in disbelief.

I stared at him, a little bit horrified. "You were in the water with a bloodthirsty gator?"

"I still got all my fingers and toes, don't worry," he chuckled, but it quickly faded off, "this kid weren't so lucky. Well, everything's still attached, I just hope he don't get gangrene. Could be pretty bad…"

"Goodness. And where was Dutch during all of this? It was his thing, getting the boat, right?"

"He was in the boat, yelling, but otherwise being unhelpful," he said drily, moving to sit up with a groan. He stretched out his back and I watched the muscles work through the clingy material of his union suit, my head propped up with my arm. "Still, I reckon he was shittin' himself. Course he weren't getting in to help."

"Course," I tutted. "I'm so glad nothing happened to you. Gators, they can be real vicious."

"You're telling me," he snorted.

"When I was a kid, my closest neighbour's son met his end that way," I started, Arthur looking to me with widened eyes, "was out there fishing, waded in too deep and didn't see this big guy in the water."

"Shit…"

"Yeah… all I know is, his dad started firing his gun at the gator, but ended up aiming at his son just to– well, it was the kindest thing to do, apparently," I murmured solemnly.

"Jesus. This ain't filling me with confidence about getting back in that boat, heading out into the swamps again tonight," Arthur breathed, shaking his head.

"Just make sure everyone keeps their limbs inside the boat this time. You'll be fine," I offered him my most comforting smile.

"Noted. I don't particularly feel like watching someone get torn limb from limb by some dinosaur-looking bastard," he sighed. "Anyway, I best get dressed."

"Me too. And I'll wash those nasty clothes of yours. They stink," I laughed, sitting up and reaching for my suitcase, pulling it over to me and retrieving my corset.

"They do? I'm sorry. I can't smell it, must be used to it. Either that or I stink too," he snorted.

I leaned over and sniffed him, amusement worming its way onto my face. I held my thumb and index finger an inch or so apart and gave him a sheepish smirk. He dropped the clean shirt he was about to put on before nodding.

"I'll wash up first."

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #fanfiction #arthur morgan x reader #atink #arthur morgan x female reader #reader insert #rdr2 fanfic

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