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neonovember · 2 months

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OH MY GOD CARMYS GF (READER) GETTING HER FIRST TATTOO AND HIM COMFORTING HER AND HELPING HER TAKE CARE OF IT DURING THE HEALING PROCESS OR WHATEVA‼️💳💥💳💥 IDK I WAS JUST SITTING HERE AND THOUGHT OF IT IF YOU DOJT WANNA WRITE IT THATS OKAY

could even make the tattoo be his name or his initial or somethin 🤯🤯🤭😏

love you and your writing 😚

thanks for keeping us fed 😌

carmen berzatto x reader

okay so yes, maybe hozier has jolted me out of my writers block. i'm just a women after all.

Inked Devotion

this request was fun! i really didn't know what to make the tattoo so i left it a blank slate for whatever you wanna imagine, hope that's okay!

word count: 1.7k

things; tattoos, mentions of braces, carmen's unyielding devotion to you

Your eyes dart across the tall walls lined with inked models and men in dark beards nervously. You can't shake the tension that seems to imprint itself under your skin, your knees jittering with a rapid tap against the linoleum floors.

When you had brought up wanting to get a tattoo, a half joking mutter under your breath as you traced the many littered on Carmen’s body you hadn’t anticipated to actually go through with it.

And yet here you were, shaking like a leaf despite the diffuser jutting out whisper of eucalyptus that was meant to be calming. Whilst Monica, a woman you'd meant a handful of times ran through the list of after care necessities you should be listening to.

You can’t though, you don’t hear a thing as you stare unseeingly through the dark auburn tresses of her short hair, wrapped up in the thoughts that have begun to eat away at the already dwindling confidence you had when you first walked in.

“Hey, you still with me darlin’' Monica's Brooklyn drawl draws you back to her, and you duck your head sheepishly as you nod furiously. Like a goddamn high schooler getting caught looking out the window instead of listening to Hemingway.

Monica smiles toward you, humouring warmth filling her pale skin that, surprising to you, were incredibly stark of tattoos. In fact, if it weren’t for the posters taped to the walls, the black and white tiled floor, and the ominous tattoo bench in the corner you would have thought you walked it not the wrong place. It was stereotypical of you, and you had been a loud advocate for not judging a book by its cover, but goddamn, what tattoo parlour had potted plants and candles that smell like cinnamon?

“Sorry, uh, what did you say?”

“It’ll be alright, the pain really does depend on each person but Larry here will catch you if you faint on my tattoo bed” Monica winks with a smile, and you shift your gaze to the man stationed unmoving near some marked drawers, the mass of muscle hidden beneath dark jeans and a shirt bursting out of him.

It wasn’t the pain you were worried about, you had period cramps that sounded worse than that, it was more so the prospect of having your virgin skin imprinted with something forever. You had never done something like this, teenage recklessness had passed you by without a blink, and you had little to show for it but carved words on your old dresser from a knife and a dark eyeshadow phase that lasted less than a month.

It was a little pathetic, getting your first tattoo eons after any respectable age, and your trepidation seems blatantly clear as Monica shakes her head with a smile.

“Many people get their firsts well into adulthood, did I tell you about my last appointment? A 52 year old woman wanting a goddamn tramp stamp.”

You can't help but let a giggle out, the unsureness leaving you at Monica’s words

“You still want this right?’ Monica replies, and you shift your gaze to Carmen, who was already watching you fondly, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he pushes his golden strands back and gives you a nod

“It’s all up yo you gorgeous, if your having second thoughts there is a really good Thai place i wanted to che-”

“No, no I want this” You cut him off, and he chuckles softly, “Besides we already designed the stencil and everything” Carmen nods at that, placing his large palm onto your own, squeezing it with reassurance.

“Damn right we did, thinkin it's my best work yet” Monica chirps from the other side of the bed between you.

“Alright, just sit on that bed down there, get settles while I grab some things”

You nod, walking stiffly towards the leather bed, tissue paper crinkly under your weight as you shift into a comfortable position. Your eyes follow Monica like a laser, watching as she santises her hands and slides on powdered sterile gloves.

It reminds you of days spent in Dentists chairs, visions of rubbery fingers tightening wires into your teeth flashes behind the darkness of your lids. Funny, you had worried about your lack of experimental youth, and yet here you are now feeling like a kid again.

The thought makes you smile, and you open your eyes to feel the heated gaze of Carmen looming over you. Face distorting in horror when Monica’s tool makes a clatter, eyes widening comically in that way that always makes you laugh.

“Alright Doll, I’m just gonna need you to sit up for me whilst I get the skin prepped. Alcohols gonna feel a little cold to the touch, kay?” Monica says.

All you can do is nod as she rips open the matte packet, pressing it into your open skin shaved clean per her request a few prior. Who knew how much prep a tattoo would need, you were sure it was on par with even one of Carm’s dishes.

Unfortunately for you the only numbing cream useful for tattoos had something that would have made you break out in hives, so it was cold turkey for you. Monica had transformed the design into a stencil, and as she was transferring it into your skin it seemed to come to life all at once.

You had spent hours going over designs, and whilst you were extremely happy with what you both came up with, it was like when the lines and shapes had traced your skin, you finally saw it. And the moment you did you couldn't stop the wave of emotion that rushed through you, filling your eyes.

“Hey, baby, hey what is it” Carmen rushed urgently, crouching down when he noticed the way you sniffled.

“Awe doll, you don’t like the design? I’ll change it in a flash, this is just the stencil it aint permanent at all” Monica quickly stopped, looking up at you with concern

“No no, I’m fine” You squeezed Carmen “It’s so, it's beautiful Monica” You rushed out, trying to ease the lines of concern that appeared on her face. Monica bloomed at your reply, fondness heating her cheeks as she traced your skin comfortingly.

“Thank you” You whispered to her as she shushed you.

“At least we got the crying bit over and done with, it might hurt less now” She winked, before reaching for her tattoo gun.

“Ah shit” You grunted, shooting daggers Carmen's way when he snorted out loud.

Returning to your skin, Monica pressed the pointed tip of the gun to your skin, the first sink of ink burrowed into your skin causing you to clench your jaw.

Monica looked up to watch your expression with a smile,

“See, ain't too bad” Carmen replied before you gripped him white knuckled, making him wince regrettably.

It took some time, you won’t lie to yourself that is fucking hurt. But soon enough the sharp stab had resided to a dull ache, and you instead had become all too focused on the movement of Monica's hand swaying through the strokes of the design.

You were in awe, she breathed her being into it, and as the design took inches and inches of your skin you understood why she was booked out for months. With one last intricate curl, and a wipe of cleansing soap across the inked skin it was finished. Revealed to both you and Carmen's eyes in all its glory, and you both just stared.

“God, now I wish my first was as good as that instead of wonky stick and poke” Carmen said after a pregnant silence had passed.

“It..wow, yeah. Yep, I want to be buried with this” You said softly, giddiness erupting in your body as you shook your hand grasped in Carmens.

“I’m glad doll, I mean this is meant to be professional but goddamn does your skin just take it. Fuckin’ gorgeous” Monica replied, leaning back as she places the gun on the table near.

“Hey, I'll report you to HR” Carmen bitterly replies, moving you closer to his side as you laugh.

“It’s my business, I am HR” Muttering under her breath as she rolls her eyes. Wrapping your skin in adhesive sheets, Monica repeats the after care instructions, thankfully and this time you listen.

Carmen had already grabbed your things, motioning for you to start heading out after you both furiously thanked Monica for everything. You crinkled with joy as she hugged you, breathing in the smell of old spice and medical grade rubbing alcohol that followed her.

Her studded rings glistened in the afternoon sun as she waved you both goodbye, as you couldn't help but skip in your stride across the sidewalk. Finger tracing the raised blotted skin, whilst your other hand hung onto Carmen as he twirled you around.

“My gorgeous ink stained sweetheart” Carmen called to you, and you were brought back to his chest gently like a tide again.

“Thank you too, you know” You said into Carmen's cotton shirt. It was the one you got him after your first date, it had been a deep cobalt then. You regretted it just as you gave it to him, fearing you were being too forward. And then he wore it until it faded into a light blue.

“Wouldn't even have this forever on me if you hadn't been the one to bring it up again” You replied softly, fingers tracing his jaw.

“Would have spent a year learning how to tattoo myself if you wanted me too. Monica just seemed quicker” Carmen mumbled before you softly hit his chest with a smile.

“Hey, it’s true. Your skin deserves to be remembered, I could trace it till my fingers atrophied and I’d still have the memory of you under my skin memorised” Carmen divulged, eyelids drooping as he leaned down into your embrace.

You shake your head, heart panging so deeply it hurt till you pressed your lips to his. Tasting the outpour of Carmen that he let loose into you everyday.

And Carmen had stayed true to his words weeks later when it had healed, tracing it till his fingers weren't enough. Till he had to wrap his mouth around it and taste it with his tongue.

He swears even your inked skin tasted sweet.

tags <3 @parmforcarm @hansfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @nolita-fairytale

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suniix · 11 months

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small bite | (botw) link x reader

synopsis | reader gets cute agression and bites link

word count | 624

note | two posts in one day is insane but sorry i’ve fallen into a rabbit hole ever since totk came out so have another blurb!! 😣 first time writing for link so idk how i feel about it 💔 (also yes i just did one for inumaki i like the idea leave me alone)

The campfire made crackling sounds as Link fed it more logs. The sun had set long ago, the moon rising to take its place and casting a white glow across the land. The two of you had been traveling for a long time without breaks, so when you suggested that the two of you should rest for the night, Link offered no complaints. You were tired, the horses were tired; a break would benefit everyone.

You sat on the ground, far enough away so you wouldn’t get burned but close enough to still feel the warmth of the fire. Link took a seat right next to you on the floor, holding up mushroom skewers with a grin.

“Seriously? We just ate not too long ago.” You laughed, accepting the skewer nonetheless.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence, enjoying the small dinner Link had made (though, to be honest, you know he’ll make more, his stomach is like a void that never gets full). Finishing your skewer, you close your eyes, basking in the ambiance of the night. Somewhere in the distance, there was a cricket chirping. The grass tickled your legs as a small breeze passed through, making you shiver. It’s moments like this that give you hope for a new life after Ganon is defeated. Soon, you’ll have peaceful nights like this every day.

A rustling sound brings you out of your thoughts. Turning to look at Link, you noticed him preparing another skewer. You hold back a laugh, knowing you were right. Link hears you nonetheless and raises an eyebrow, almost as if saying, ‘What?’. You wave him off, a small giggle managing to escape. “It’s nothing, you keep eating.”

Link rolls his eyes, but you don’t fail to see the small smile growing on his lips. It’s not often that you get to see it, but he has a really nice smile. You wish you had the Sheikah slate right now to capture it.

In this moment, you can’t help but admire how beautiful he is. The light from the fire gave his sun-kissed skin a golden glow. His eyelashes are long, something you’ve commented on several times while on your journey together, casting shadows against his cheeks. Actually, his cheeks are unusually round today.

You’re tempted to squish them.

Silently debating whether or not to squish, you figure he wouldn’t mind. He does it often to you; this is only fair. Link turns to look at you as you lean in, half expecting you to kiss him, but instead you cup his cheeks. He gives a confused hum as you gently squish them for a few moments.

Slowly, you begin to pull him close to you. Now, Link thinks, now is when you give him a kiss. To his surprise, you bit his cheek. He doesn’t pull away; he just silently sits there as you bite his cheek.

When you pull away, Link is sitting there, confused. Link raises his skewer to you, gesturing for you to take it. This causes you to burst out laughing. “No no! I’m not hungry haha, just wanted to bite your cheek!”

“.. you sure?” Link asks, half expecting you to bite his cheek again.

“Yes, Link, I’m sure.” You laugh. You grab his free arm and wrap it around your shoulder, snuggling into his side for warmth.

Link goes back to eating, pulling you closer with his arm, still wondering where your sudden urge to bite him came from. While he was distracted, you turned to his arm that’s wrapped around your shoulder and bit his forearm. He flinches, once again caught off guard.

“If you’re hungry, please tell me.. I promise I didn’t eat everything and can make you another skewer.”

thank you for reading till the end! :D

masterlist

#link x reader #botw link x reader #botw x reader #loz x reader #link imagine #link fluff #botw #breath of the wild #[📝 sunni writes]

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somehow-a-human · 2 months

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Whose POV is it Anyway?

A Companion to Owls.

DO NOT ASK NEIL ABOUT FAN THEORY

Job 30:29-31 I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls. My skin is black upon me and my bones are burned with heat. My harp also is turned to mourning, and my organ into the voice of them that weep.

Continuing my analysis of the narrator/POV perspective of Good Omens season two with a look at the episode 2 minisode set in 2500 BC, Uz. God, I love this minisode.

For reference & context, I recommend reading these posts:

Whose POV is it Anyway? - Introduction

Lens Filters

POV "Your 'Something's Wrong' Voice"

POV a Trip to Hell and a 25 Lazarii Miracle

We open our journey into the land of Uz with Crowley giving Job's goats a speech that sounds awfully similar to his own troubled relationship with The Almighty. Crowley is alone here. The episode cold-opens and we've had no lead up to suggest otherwise, so this is Crowley's POV. His hair is short and more vibrant, I'd say this is likely the Black Diffusion FX filter.

Yes for the sake of this post I am doubling down on the fact that there are TWO SEPARATE WIGS. See more here.

Aziraphale arrives, he looks cute and silly, the permit is long, the goats are "destroyed" and they part ways.

The next scene we get is Aziraphale in heaven checking with Muriel and the Archangels that the permit Crowley has is in fact legitimate. This time, we are seeing Aziraphale's POV. Heaven is a stark white office building but the golden hue is almost overwhelming in this flashback. The Bronze Glimmer Glass filter is clearly being used here.

Aziraphale decides he's going to confront Crowley about saving the children, little does he know Crowley wouldn't harm them to begin with but regardless...

When we re-enter the minisode, we do so via a subtle zoom in on Crowley's face in modern day. We then enter the scene through Aziraphale's illustrated Bible and see Crowley asking Job where his kids are. We've again lost the golden glow of the BGG filter, moved back to the BDFX filter and into Crowley's POV. Crowley's hair is still short, Aziraphale isn't present here, he's alone, so these are his memories.

When we see Crowley walking up to the house to find the kids we have switched back to Aziraphale's POV. The scene is extremely warmly lit, it's soft and yellow, and Crowley is now in a different wig. His hair is much longer, softer and more attractive looking. In one of the X-Ray behind the Scenes videos I even caught a screenshot of the film slate from this scene and you can clearly that they've written in BGG as the filter used, so we have confirmation.

We continue through the Job minisode in Aziraphale's POV. The reveal of the goats, saving the kids, the ox rib temptation, the first conversation about loneliness, it's all from Aziraphale's POV. until after he "comes to" in the bookshop in present day.

When we revisit the minisode, and for the remainder of it we are seeing it from Crowley's POV which was an interesting thing to realize. We see Crowley and Aziraphale witness Job speaking with God, saving Jobs children, deceiving the Archangels, and having their emotionally revealing conversation overlooking the beautiful sea all from Crowley's POV. His hair remains short and more vibrant red throughout all of it, we don't see the return of his long long gingery waves. The lighting when the angels are present for the children's "resurrection" is very warm but I'm going to chalk that up to the Heavenly Hosts presence.

It makes sense that this reaction is Crowley's POV. Silly silly angel, did a good deed and thinks he's a demon?! But then he realizes how upset Aziraphale is, how scared and he comforts him. He tells him he isn't going to do anything that would hurt him, that would get him in trouble. Then, something about the fact that what follows is also from Crowley's memories, his perspective...

"That sounds..."

"Lonely? Yeah."

"But you said it wasn't."

"I'm a demon. I lied."

NEXT POV The Dirty Donkey & I think I Found a *Clue*!

#good omens #good omens 2 #michael sheen #david tennant #crowley #good omens meta #aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale #good omens theories #good omens clues #good omens theory #good omens analysis #good omens clue #good omens mystery #ineffable mystery #ineffable husbands #ineffable divorce #ineffable spouses #ineffable idiots

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popatochisssp · 6 months

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The Court AU has me DEAD!!! If you’d be willing, what sort of outfits would they wear? I’d love to draw them!

Anon, I had so many tabs open looking up medieval-type fashion and armor, we're talking like 30+, felt super awesome finishing this and closing them all 😌

Anyway--

Sans (Undertale): What’s black and blue and white all over? Why, him of course! His jester’s motley features a black-and-white diamond pattern, offset by bright, rich, royal blue—a mark of his service to the king. He doesn’t wear one of those silly hats, though…because he wears a silly hood instead! Less chance of falling off, you see. When not in costume he tends toward simple tunics, of decent material and often still in blue.

Papyrus (Undertale): Almost never out of full plate armor, even in downtime, he has to dress for the job he wants and that means being a shining metal bastion of knightly glory at all times! …Though he does often remove his helmet and hold it by his sword at his hip, or fasten it to his steed’s side. He’s a very handsome skeleton, it would be cruel to deny the people the chance to see their hero’s face!

Sky (Underswap Sans): Soft blues and yellows, as a squire only lightly armored—greaves and pauldrons, a mail shirt beneath his tunic if he’s expected to go into battle—but he considers even that much armoring to be overkill for what he’s doing. Still, his Captain insists, and it makes his brother feel better, so he takes care protecting himself. He has some nicer finery to wear about court, as a nobleman, but tends simpler for anything that might be dirtied or torn in training.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): Rich green and earthy browns, his clothing tends to be without ostentation—no embroidery, no gold buckles or buttons, or anything especially elaborate. He may be noble but he’s a scholar and a recluse and prefers not to stand out much. Still, the fabrics of which his clothing is made are always fine, as coarse or stiff materials quite put him off. Mostly cottes—long belted tunics—with the occasional robe over, if it's cold.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): Blacks and browns, sturdy plain clothes which can stand up to considerable wear and tear. Often wears a short diamond-quilted gambeson and some leather armor (vambraces and greaves), but always has a sword belted to his hip and a cloak made of dire-wolf’s fur draped over his shoulders. If ever he should need to acknowledge his denounced family name, he does have some finer clothing stored away somewhere—in red—and a shiny gold signet ring with his family crest on it.

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): Usually in half plate armor, dark metal heavily scratched and scorched, dents meticulously hammered back out. He also wears a tattered red cape about his shoulders that billows quite majestically behind him when he rides or runs into battle. He will occasionally dress down in laced tunics and breeches, still in red and black, fine but not too fine as to raise suspicion about his heritage. Should all that ever come out, he does have a suit of pristine night-black armor he’s been dying to inherit and a silken cape to pin about it with a golden clasp of the family’s crest.

Mal (Swapfell Sans): Mostly black but flaunts his privilege and royal ties with purple accents wherever possible. Brigandine armor with a fine gold-plated gorget and pauldrons and a few other ornamental trappings—he is the Empress’ personal guard and must in some capacity be as elegant. Very fine doublets and tunics for his (rare) downtime, often with gold threading, but not fond of most jewelries.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): Dark colors and crisp whites, noble yet eccentric, he has a lot of fine doublets and other such court-wear but tends not to actually…wear them. He can mostly be found in loose-fitting cottes, baggy sleeves often penned up by leather armlets to keep them out of his paints. He has a fur-hooded cloak for travel or cold weather, but he rarely leaves his rooms, much less the castle, so he doesn’t don it often.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): Dark browns and off-white cream, simple rough-hewn clothing showing signs of wear and occasionally odd stains. He works in the stables, with animals, and being around animals so much makes it difficult to keep clean. He has a somewhat decent dark blue cloak that he’ll wear into town for errands, or in polite company—it has a hood to conceal the great jagged hole in his head that tends to make the squeamish or timid flinch away from him.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): Still hasn’t quite shaken the habit to be armored, even when it isn’t necessary, but he’s cut down from full plate to chain mail only, much lighter and easier to move around in—which is vital when hurrying to the training field for an accident, or running to meet a wounded knight at the gates. He wears a simple tabard over his mail, blue with red edging (the Queen’s colors), and keeps a pouch of bandages and other aid supplies belted to his waist instead of a sword.

Ash (Undergloom Sans): The livery of the king’s court, gray and gold, but dyed into fabrics suitable for common folk. He still wears gray when not performing at court, tunics so thickly woven they could pass as a gambeson and often paired with hooded cloaks, but he keeps his golds set aside until needed to keep them in good condition. He takes equal care of his shiny brass sackbut (it’s a horn, with a very funny name but an instrument nonetheless) so it always plays well.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): Off-white and tan linens, loose and breathable for hot work in the kitchens, sleeves rolled up and pinned at the elbows to keep them from getting in the way. Always an apron about his waist, occasionally with food stains after a long day’s work but these he quickly tends to as soon as he’s able. He has nothing in the way of real finery but tries very hard to make sure what he has is clean and presentable.

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): Fine brocaded doublets of rich red and shining gold thread, as a duke and brother to a king, he does have to dress the part a bit. He wears more jewelry, especially rings, but nearly always still has his dire-wolf fur cloak over his shoulders. When called for executions, he dresses down quite a bit, in simple black cloth with only a leather pauldron over one shoulder to help brace the weight of his axe before he swings.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): Half plate armor essentially at all times, even formal or polite occasions—he’s the owner of a stolen throne and all too aware that it could be stolen from him the same way he got it. His breastplate is scaled and his pauldrons are elaborately spiked, but it’s all black. The only pop of color on him is his crown, the same worn by Asgore and Undyne, gold and sharp, with rubies inlaid.

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): Chain mail over a finely-made kaftan and beneath a traveling cloak, the latter two with signs of wear from a long journey. His head is notably absent of a crown—left behind in the kingdom he fled—but a new one awaits him soon, of flashing silver and blue stone, depicting the phases of the moon. When fully established in his new kingdom, he may begin dressing as a proper king again, draping himself in the blue and silver finery of the land that sheltered him.

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): Browns, greens, and blacks, he wears light leather armor—really just a breastplate and vambraces—and a thick woolen cloak about his shoulders. He has no need of greaves for his shins, legs lost to an accident in the wilderness, but supplanted by magical prosthetics, living blackened wood provided by his land when he called upon it for aid. …Not that he’s fully accepted that it’s his land, keeping his crown of twisting copper and emerald tucked away in a saddlebag instead of on his brow. Maybe someday…

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): Rich purple and verdant green, amidst a sea of black—he favors very fine fabrics with open lacing at the chest. Still not especially fond of jewelry, but wears considerably more decorative leather braces on forearms, shins, and even the occasional full-chest corset. (He has some chronic pain and the extra pressure and support in certain spots helps.) He wears considerably more plain clothes for knight-training purposes and when traveling wears a black cloak with a cowl that comes down over the hole in his face at a point, as the beak of a raven.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): Usually in half plate splint mail armor for his patrols along the wall, but favors rusty oranges, brown and black for the tunics and boots and breeches he wears out of it. Often carries a lantern, and always has tinder in a pouch on his hip. Beside his pouch is a war-horn in case an alert would need to be called, loud enough to make everyone come running if it’s ever sounded.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): A cavalierly styled courtier, at first having made do with graciously lent clothing and now being able to buy his own in a whole variety of rich colors—yellow, blue, magenta, and on. His aim is to look at home in court, which means he must dress as other courtiers do, so he has doublets and fine tunics and many, many fashionable capelets with embroidery and stylish pins, as well as a few equally chic plumed hats. The other courtiers look to him now for the latest fashion trends and he couldn’t be happier.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): A bit more subdued in style than his brother…though only a bit. He favors black frocks, almost as a cleric would wear, but beneath them, elegant doublets in greens and yellows as vibrant as anything his twin wears, with fine silver filigree work in his buckles and pins and clasps. He’s the pinnacle of restrained class and taste and it’s no wonder at all that the king should respect him so highly if his care in thought is as his care in appearance.

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans): Deep, dark black from head to toe, most prominently a long hooded cloak with two eye-lights glowing in the darkness. He always wears gloves and never lets his hood down, as he’s not especially fond of his metal bones and doesn’t really wish to be seen. It’s difficult to see in the daytime, but at night he’s trailed by faint wisps of ghostly light in all colors of the rainbow, such a strange sight that many a drunkard who’s seen him has poured out their bottle presuming they’d had quite a bit too much.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus): Full plate armor, of course, but as he’s now some sort of spectral entity, it (and he!) glows and is slightly see-through. Being ghostly has washed out his colors quite thoroughly which is unfortunate—mostly all white with hints of silvery blue—but on the up-side he seems able to change his appearance some by will alone, donning or discarding his helmet at will, manifesting a majestic cape for himself out of the ether, and so on. It seems a fair enough trade to him!

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans): A man at court now, he’s donned an eye-patch and abandoned the trappings of prospective knighthood, fully embraced courtier fashion…if a bit ‘eccentrically.’ He favors bright yellows and spring greens, flowing garments of fine cloth layered beneath and over leather vambraces, gorget, and tasset. All these are elaborately, intricately designed and certainly make the similarly intricate gold jewelry (with multicolored gems) that he wears at wrist and neck stand out, but it’s hardly in fashion… Still, the mystic’s thinking is often inscrutable.

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus): Unlike his brother, very fashionable and eye-catching, in rich amaranths and brilliant turquoises, with even the occasional lavender. He has many fine embroidered doublets, threaded liberally with gold, and wears many pieces of gold jewelry as well—necklaces, bracelets, pins, and brooches. When showing the birds of the crown at court or bidding them on a royal hunt, he wears the livery of the crown-proper—royal purple and gold—and always has a thick leather falconer’s glove on his left hand.

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans): What’s black and white and red all over? Well, newspapers haven’t been invented yet, so it’s him, of course! He’s no jester so he hasn’t a motley to wear to work, but he is a performer and does dress in the livery of the king, which is red and black. The material is a bit finer than he’s used to, but being that he’s no longer wearing rags and rotting in a hole, he’s quite pleased with it and doesn’t mind the bright colors that help him attract the eyes of many comely nobles at court. Off-duty, he sticks to loose, somewhat open tunics—red still very much preferred.

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus): Laced linen shirts, not especially loosely fitting due to his largeness in the chest and shoulders but he hasn’t burst any seams in awhile so the measurements must be somewhat correct. He’s fond of white and a true connoisseur of red, all shades from dark to very light. He keeps an array of small carpentry tools—hammers, chisels, things for measuring—in a roll on his hip, a dedicated apprentice to the core.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans): All black, pourpoint armor beneath fine silk doublets but almost disappointingly plain otherwise—no embroidery, no ornament, or stitched pattern, or brocade. Over this he wears a cloak, equally fine and with at least some ostentation, a bit of silver stitched decoration that matches the intimidatingly clawed silver gauntlet he wears upon his left hand—a symbol of his wealth, if not his status. These flashy items are for matters of court only, as he has a much more nondescript hooded cloak and less identifiable sharp implement which he uses for matters of stealth and misdeeds when it is important that he not be recognized.

Hunter (Swapfell Frution Papyrus): A prince in princely attire…mostly. He happily flaunts the color purple but proudly wears it with the black of his old family name, and drapes himself in silk tunics, fine (mostly decorative) pauldrons, capes and capelets. He tends to show off a bit more of his chest than seems appropriate for a man of his station, and seems to wear his elegant silver jewelry in ways such that the eye is drawn there, and…other places, but few question the whims of royalty. His pewter crown is heavy and inelegant and he’s talked much with his brother about how angry people would be if he had it melted and recast into something more stylish.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans): Plain, rough tunics, in black and dark brown. He wears a heavy fur-lined gabardine as it gets quite cold in the dungeons, though it’s uncertain where he managed to get such a nice garment. He keeps a knife on his belt, large and jagged-toothed, and though he hasn’t had need to use it yet, the threat of it tends to keep most prisoners from attempting to bring him harm.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus): He’s traded in his full plate armor for a comfortably fit leather jerkin, accompanied by matching gauntlets to protect his hands and torso (inasmuch as they need protection, without flesh) from the thorns he trims back every day. He mostly wears black and white and brown, all things closely fit to his body, less they snag overmuch and need to be replaced too often. His clothing is simple but well-suited to his work, and he wears it nicely.

#anonymous #headcanons #court au #undertale #underswap #underfell #swapfell/fellswap #horrortale #undergloom #horrorfell #horrorswap #horrorswapfell #gastertale #transcendtale #ascendswap #underfell fruition #swapfell fruition #descendtale

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nikosaki · 13 days

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“I want to use specific names for colours/shades but I don’t know many!” Hahaha sakira has got you! If you want to add colour to the objects or stuff in your writing you shouldn’t just write it like this

“Her dress was red” “His eyes were purple”

That makes your writing bland, it dumbs down the readers imagination during reading. Instead describe the colour like this

“Her dress was like a cup of Rooibos tea under a sunlit day”

“His eyes could be compared to that of a raven’s deep violet eyes”

(tip: amethyst is an overused word, there’s a list of other purple words below you should check out)

You can describe colours using objects because it will give shape to the sentence but don’t always go too detailed. If you make one sentence with a lot of adjectives and everything then don’t over use it in the other sentence that’s is.

But remember to use a simile like “as” or “like” if you do use objects.

I already wrote “Her dress was like a cup of Rooibos tea under a sunlit day” so next time when I mention the dress’s colour again I am going to write something like this

“Her garnet dress flowed in the wind”

Why? Because simple sentenced always enchance the writing and gives reader a feeling.

now that we are done with how to write colours let’s see some synonyms!!

white- bleached , colourless , pearly , milky , snowy, ivory , salt , Lacey , linen , frosty, daisy parchment , porcelain, cotton , rice bone

black- ebony, midnight, jade , spider , coal , pitch black, void , empty, sooty , obsidian , metal, onyx , ink , crow

grey- shadow, ash , graphite , foggy, dove , silver , dull, cloud ,slate, iron, smoke, pebble

red- garnet, blush , Merlot , cherry , crimson, rose, sangria, bloody, berry , currant, terracotta, jam , merlot

orange- tangerine , ginger , apricot, autumn , spice , amber, rust, marmalade, pumpkin , carrot , clay, golden , copper , ochre

yellow- gold, canary , light , butterscotches, dandelion, honey , blonde, corn, saffron , ocher, buttermilk

green- beryl , viridescent , olive , emerald , pickle, leafy , sage , lime , pear , mint, mignonette, glaucous

blue- ocean , aqua , cobalt, navy , sapphire, admiral, denim , cerulean, indigo , lapis , peacock, aegean, azure , turquoise, cyan , arctic

purple - amethyst , raven , violet ,lilac , lavender, plum , magenta ,orchid , mulberry, heather, raisin, amaranthine , eggplant , iris , periwinkle

pink- blush , cherry blossom , taffy , peach, flamingo , rosey , salmon , fuscia, rosewood , pale red

IMPORTANT : remember to do GOOD research on shades!! You need to know which one you can use as an adjective and which one is a noun. If it’s a noun turn it into adjective, if it cannot be turned into an adjective then use a simile.

There’s more and if you know put it in the reblogs

#sakira writing tips🌙#writing #creative writing #writers on tumblr #tumblr writers #writing tips #writing advice #writing ideas #writer stuff #bsd writing #writers community #bungou stray dogs #fiction #stories #writers and poets #writerscommunity

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deuynndoodles · 3 months

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[ID: A lineup of the artist's designs for 12 Links. In order of height, from left to right, their nicknames are Tiny, Mask, Sky, Four, Shadow, Sailor, Tracks, Fairy, Glam, Slate, Vet and Rancher.

Tiny (Minish Cap) is 21 and uses he/she. He’s very small and slight. She has a healthy tan, hazel eyes, and wavy, light blonde hair tucked into the classic green windsock hat. He wears the Roc's Cape, a green dress in which the skirt mimics the forest minish’, black leggings, light brown gloves and boots, and a black waist apron. A golden chain strapped to her belt holds kinstones and a charm that resembles Ezlo. He holds up a mallet in his left hand. He has a resting bitch face.

Mask (Ocarina of Time and Majora's Mask) is around 12 and uses they/them. They're short and stocky with baby fat still on their cheeks. They have light brown skin, dark brown eyes, and poofy straight blonde hair that goes just past their chin. They wear a Kokiri tunic and boots, a baldric across their chest, a joy pendant and silver earrings. They have the Kokiri sword strapped to their hip and hold the Fierce Deity mask in their left hand, looking off to the side curiously.

Sky (Skyward Sword) is 20 and uses he/him. He's short and stocky, built of healthy fat and muscle. He has light skin, blue eyes, and slightly curly, light brown hair that frames his face and goes to his shoulders. He has a green tunic and gold chainmail, as well as pants, boots and fingerless gloves. His sailcloth is pinned over his right shoulder and his loftwing's feathers are tucked behind his left ear. He has no visible weapons. He has an easy going smile on his face despite being tired.

Four (Four Swords Adventures) is 18 and pronouns match fronter(s). Four is on the thinner and shorter side. Four has light skin, grey eyes, and a short blonde bob pulled back with a dark grey headband. Four wears a white-and-grey four-panel tunic embroidered in gold with the elements and the hilt of the Four Sword. Said blade rests on Four's hip. Four wears a dark grey longsleeve shirt and pants with boots. Four gestures with a hand, looking a bit scandalized and annoyed.

Shadow (Four Swords Adventures) is about 18 and uses he/it. He’s skinny and a bit short. It has light, purplish skin, red eyes, and scruffy purple hair tied in a low ponytail. It has a scar on its left cheek resembling a shattered mirror. He wears a black hood over his black, four-panel tunic, pants and boots, the hood tip flickering with dark magic. It floats with a hand on his hip, the other alight with a dark flame. He smirks, showing off a fang.

Sailor (Wind Waker and Phantom Hourglass) is 17 and uses he/it. He’s lean and short. It has light brown skin, brown eyes, and very short curly, light blonde hair tucked into a green bandana. He wears a cyan tunic with the crayfish of his casual wear, a green sash, russet pants and sandals. The Phantom Sword hangs on its hip and it wears various gold jewelry, including a joy pendant. He brandishes the Wind Waker with a confident grin.

Tracks (Spirit Tracks) is 14 and uses she/they. She's a little chubby and of average height. She has brown skin, dark brown eyes, and a short golden bob that frames her cheeks. They wear an engineer’s uniform, stained with soot and oil, a red bandana tied around her neck, and gloves and boots. Her right sleeve is tied just under the shoulder due to her amputated limb. The Lokomo Sword is on their right hip and a chain of keys hangs from their belt. She adjusts her hat with an easygoing grin.

Fairy (Legend of Zelda 1986 and Adventure of Link) is 18 and uses he/fae and mirror pronouns. He’s skinny and a bit lean. Fae has brown skin with freckles, dark brown eyes and chin-length dark brown curls. Faer bangs are clipped out of faer face with barrettes. He wears a short, dark green poncho with 3 rounded points, the back two mimicking fairy wings. Underneath, he wears a green tunic, an orangish-brown longsleeve shirt, and brown shorts and gloves. Fae goes barefoot, faer legs exposed with several bandages and scars on them. The Magic Sword and an empty potion bottle hang from his hips.

Glam (A Link Between Worlds and Triforce Heroes) is 22 and uses he/him. He's fat with some muscle. He has light brown skin with vitiligo and stretchmarks, red eyes and short, curly blonde hair with brown roots, going just past his chin. He wears a long, pastel green dress under a brown and pink apron stained with paint. He wears simple boots and Ravio’s bracelet. He holds the skirt of his dress with his right hand and smiles.

Slate (Breath of the Wild) is 20 and defaults to they/them and is also genderfluid. They're quite skinny and lean, favoring speed over strength. They have light skin with lots of visible scarring, cyan eyes, and long, choppy, dirty blonde hair in a braid that reaches their waist. They wear the champion's tunic, a hylian hood, pants boots and fingerless gloves, and the Sheikah Slate on their hip. They rest their hand on their other hip and give a closed-eyed smile.

Vet (A Link to the Past, Oracle of Ages/Seasons, and Link’s Awakening) is 24 and uses she/her. She's a bit skinny, taller than most of the others, with plenty of muscle hidden by baggy clothing. She has warm light skin, purple eyes, and a short pink bob with sidelocks that touch her collarbone. She wears a long green dress, pegasus boots, a brown longsleeve undershirt, and a purple scarf. She has a messenger’s bag over her shoulder, the tempered sword on her hip, the pendants of virtue on a necklace, and various gold jewelry. A decorated cane hangs on her back for when she needs help walking. She has a hand on her bag, looking over her shoulder with a flat face.

Rancher (Twilight Princess) is 19 and uses he/him. He's tall and has very strong arms. He has light brown skin, hazel eyes, and reddish-brown hair that's shorter in the back. He wears an altered version of the ranching outfit, with the green sleeve removed, pants traded for a skirt, and sandals traded for sturdy boots. He has no visible weapons. He looks a bit rugged, with several visible scars (thanks to exposing clothing) and sharp teeth, but is fairly welcoming and friendly in demeanor. He has a hand on his hip and a piece of barley in his mouth. End ID]

updated links meet au!! i didn't touch it at all in the past year but i wanted to start making stuff for it. unfortunately the old stuff was a bit outdated so i updated them

for a long list of personal hcs canon to the au, hit the cut!

Tiny

agender, likes girls (in a relationship with zelda)

talks aloud

was 12 during minish cap, which took about a week

stopped growing at age 12 (during her adventure) due to transformation side effects

resting bitch face and flat effect. tends to come off as apathetic but he cares A Lot

a large part of her magical ability comes from minish magic (transformation side effects)

when he shrinks, he becomes a minish (transformation side effects). this is not what usually happens but he used the portals enough that it did happen

his mallet is charmed to change sizes from something he can use in the forge to a weapon to bludgeon monsters with

has surpassed her grandfather as royal smith

incredibly wary of dark/black magic

Mask

enby and pan (currently has a crush on malon)

signs

was 10-17 for ocarina of time, and got yeeted right back in time to when it started post oot. maybe 6 months later, they set out in search of navi (majora's mask). hyrule warriors also happened about a half year later

common pattern is they get plopped back where they were before the adventure

they aren't very sure of their age and tend to age slide due to this—when asked, they go by physical age (this is why they are roughly 12)

skittish about forming relationships because they fear they'll be forgotten again. they try to act like a little brat to ward people away (surprise: it doesn't work)

as they chill out, they're less hostile but they're still a trickster

transformation side effects really freak them out + they'll try to “fix” it

has an incredible internal clock

Sky

trans and bi, in a polycule with groose and zelda

talks aloud

17 during skyward sword, which took about 10 months

his crimson loftwing isn't “special” bc that's kinda silly (to me). her name is epona

“i miss my bird, tails. i miss her a lot”

refuses to carry a sword around because wielding anything but fi feels strange. he is still the best at swordplay out of all of them, even if he's a bit rusty

the mom friend—but not overbearing, more like he'll fight someone to the death if they hurt his family

nerve damage in his right hand from catching lightning. tremors, pins and needles, etc. doesn't shake when holding a sword, oddly enough

chronic fatigue, narcoleptic

Four

all four speak aloud

16 for four swords adventures, took a little under a year. four and zelda revive shadow when they're 18

four is plural and is not usually in the same body, four does it sometimes for masking purposes (four's not too great at it)

the fronter wears their elemental charm

red (any pronouns, genderqueer, likes girls) is energetic and mischievous. he has the best emotional intelligence of the four. situational arsonist. likes to cook and bake. volunteers at lonlon ranch and dates malon

green (he/him, agender, likes boys) is good at taking charge within the group and is good at management, but sucks when it comes to interpersonal conflict and gets self conscious. he's very aware of his strengths and flaws, and acts accordingly. likes to carve wood, train, and ride epona

blue (she/her, trans girl, lesbian) is headstrong and knows her strengths. she likes to joke and tease but sometimes can go a bit too far. likes to sew, train and spar. dating erune

vio (they/them, nonbinary, greyaroace) is stubborn and dislikes not getting their way. they like to plan and come up with ideas or experiments, which are either great or horrible, no inbetween. they like to read and tend to plants.

Shadow

gendervoid, greyaro pansexual (in a qpr with zelda)

talks aloud

age is a bit questionable. are you 18 if you were mirrored from someone who was physically 16, then you died when you both were 17 and got revived? who knows

recently revived from the dark mirror! he's more or less a hylian now, but with dark magic. not as powerful as during fsa

is really, really close to his links and/or four. they tend to sleep in a dogpile

wears a cloak to protect itself from the sun

usually hostile and assumes the worst of people. conversely, gets attached very easily to people who show it kindness

Sailor

agender, aroace (considering a relationship with tetra)

will cycle between speaking aloud and signing

12 for wind waker which took a little over a year, 15 for phantom hourglass, hyrule warriors hasn't occurred yet

loves to entertain children with dramatized tales of his adventures

still carries aryll's telescope as a good luck charm

loves to brag about how cool its sister is

recycled the hero's tunic into a sash and bandana so it'd actually wear it

replaced the center gem of the joy pendant with a pirate stone! likes to lend stones out when they separate into groups

congenital hard of hearing. was shy as a kid, especially due to widespread sign language being lost with the great flood, but eventually learned how to sign and speak aloud. very good at lipreading. now will never shut up. likes to talk loudly and hear his own voice

Tracks

demigirl, lesbian (dating zelda)

signs. it takes a bit longer because some signs are unavailable

was 12 for spirit tracks, took half a year

enjoys coming up with outlandish tales on how they lost their arm

generally pretty open and friendly, except for when they're tired or pissed off by someone

sees ghosts

Fairy

agender, aroace

signs

was 12 for legend of zelda 1986, which took a year and a couple months, and 16 for adventure of link which took a year

has some fairy blood, when he left calatia at age 10 fairies helped guide him and taught him a bit about magic

shy sweetheart at first, but when fae opens up to you fae likes to play minor pranks and jokes (he, sailor and mask like to team up on pranks)

very good at foraging and other various wildlife skills, yet gets lost even with a map in front of him

Glam

trans and gay (currently single)

tends to speak aloud, signs when exhausted

was 17 for link between worlds, which took a year, and 19 for triforce heroes, which took half a year

is a blacksmith. does everyday supplies like nails, tools, utensils, etc, but can also craft weapons if necessary. forges all his own weapons

he and tiny compare blacksmithing techniques

paints and does art in his off time. it was originally a coping mechanism he, zelda, and the sages attempted, but he ended up really enjoying it and continued afterwards

the stereotypical camp gay. likes ‘feminine’ things like makeup, fashion and skirts

lives with ravio + is married to him for tax benefits/citizenship reasons. they're gay but not for each other

Slate

genderfluid, pan (defaults to they/them, in a qpr with zelda)

signs, uses the slate as augmentative/alternative communication when necessary

was (1)17 for botw, which took over a year and a half

likes to talk about their amazing friends

had plenty of time to confront their trauma and is proud of their land and people for returning after the calamity

knows every nook and cranny of their era's hyrule

doesn't know the difference between edible and poisonous. still manages to make delicious food that no one throws up later

totk is semi-canon, as in a lot of the setup is established, but the actual game events haven't occurred

Vet

trans, lesbian (grieving marin)

usually signs unless she has something to say and nobody's listening to her

kinda bitter due to grief, doesn't talk much unless she's being a know-it-all

hoarder. has lots of duplicate items or items with the most ridiculous purposes

wears marin's necklace under her tunic

as she deals with her trauma, she becomes more animated and sweet. it's not just marin she has to work through, though

also, marin is from the adult timeline just after the great flood and believes link has died. oops!

Rancher

trans, straight

speaks aloud

was 17 for twilight princess, which took a year and a half

still a bit hung up on midna leaving

closeted emo

trying really, really hard to fit into his lifestyle pre-adventure but is failing

knows he looks threatening so he tries to tone it down. it doesn't work all the time, especially when he gets angry

initially hated to leave ordon again, but he finally feels good again so he's conflicted

midna taught him her twili abilities towards the end because she knew she'd have to leave. he's still pretty good at them

sharp teeth and sharp nails (transformation side effects)

note about hyrule warriors: due to its status as not canon in the timeline but the appeal of time shenanigans, i've decided it has a tenuous place in the timeline. it's schrodinger's cat—it happened and a lot of the people involved in the war remember it, but it caused a time paradox, it's not written in the history books, and most peoples' memory of it was erased. hyrule warriors link will not be showing up but he may be mentioned at times.

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sunnysam-my · 2 months

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Hazbin Hotel redesign ideas p. 1

Unfortunately I don't really have time to draw rn, but here are some ideas if anyone is looking for inspiration.

THE VEES:

They follow lates trends so they won't stick to the outfits and technologies from the times they died. We even see that Vox changed his screen (head) to more modern, flat TV screen.

Valentino:

He is a moth that realises poison that's basically a date-rape drug. His wings are hidden, looking like a coat, which makes no sense, a cloak, cape or sleeveless coat would look better. He is a pimp who died in 1970s. Val was Hispanic when living. Apparently, he has bad eyesight.

He is supposed to be a moth, but I don't really see it much, and the furr around his neck, that's a part of his body, just looks ridiculous. I would design him after some actual poisonous moth.

Cinnabar moth - The cinnabar is slate-black with two red spots and two pinky-red stripes on the rounded forewings. Its hindwings are pinky-red and bordered with black. The caterpillars feed on poisonous ragwort leaves. The poison from the leaves is stored in the caterpillar's body and remains even when they are an adult. As adult they leak the poison when they need to. Cinnabar moths can be seen flying during the day and night.

Six-spot burnet moth - day-flying moth that flies with a slow, fluttering pattern. It has glossy black, with six red spots on each narrow, but long forewing. They release hydrogen cyanide when attacked.

Personally I would go with Cinnabar moth, but make the spots heart shaped, and leave his inner outfit without the accessories (the suit with the white pants and golden heart belt). I would also leave his general body type but definitely change the neck furr ring, because wtf is that? I would play around with his glasses since he is supposed to have eyesight problems.

[Edit: Actually, I would make him a combo of both moths and make the furr ring his hair, because he is bald without the hat!?!?]

Velvette:

Velv is a fashion designer and critic, she is also an influencer. She keeps the Vees together and their image fresh on the internet. She's a British black woman in her early 30's. Originally her appearance was supposed to be doll-like, but that was changed to 'it-girl' and a 'bad bitch' with a darker aesthetic.

Velvette's outfit is reminiscent of Val's (heart belt, coat with hearts, black stripes on arms) but darker, especially her sleeveless coat that imitates his wings. Since Valentino is already going to be darker (in my idea) and she is a fashion influencer it would make more sense for her to be brighter.

Main thing I would change about her is her skin tone, hair, and Harley Quinn themes left from her old design.

When creating very human like characters it's important to actually get the racial characteristics right. Her ashy skin and "curly" hair just makes it look like they didn't know how to draw a black character. I would give her a different texture, something between 3A and 4B. A hairstyle like heart shaped space buns would be so cool, but even if not, her styl in a poster in the background is already better than the ponytails.

When it comes to her style I would get rid of pom-poms shoes and fingerless gloves. Her outfit for meeting the overlord was pretty okay, but I would change her other outfit. My inspiration would be PidginDoll's design, because he makes fabulous outfits and makeup looks for all bodies, genders and races, but I'll keep the 'goth' (it's not goth, it's just a little bit alt, mostly skulls) theme.

Blue accents like makeup would work great with her brown skin and would reference Vox.

Vox:

I genuinely think he has the best design in the entirety of the show, I would barely change anything. His outfit is similar to Alastor who he is trying to imitate, but he wears a tail suit, which is way more formal and elegant than any other suit, trying to showing he is a better, modern version of Alastor. I've seen some people got rid of his hat and gave him a tail made out a cord for fun, but other than that his design is good. Not too much details and not too little, tells us a lot about the character.

Maybe less stripes, because apparently Viv loves zebras or something. /hj

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel redesign #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #the vees #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel fanart

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callmemaeverick · 1 year

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Golden Hour - The Spy Next Door Part II [Peter Sutherland x fem!Reader]

A/N: OMG, I didn’t realize how much you guys would like this... Hahaha. I’m so grateful to those who commented and reblogged with really funny tags... I read them all, I swear so, as promised. Part 2 of The Spy Next Door. WC: 800

Part 1

It was about 5 am when you clicked off and shut down your work console that day. Sighing, you wiped your face to rid of any drowsiness. Your shift for the month had been brutal, starting from 8pm spanning all through the night. The grave yard shift, they called it.

Working as a customer service agent was not easy and it just so happened that it was one of those days where nothing went right. The worst thing was that you understood where your customers were coming from. The issues you handled on a daily basis ranged from system errors to human errors and sometimes they are just not fixable the way the customers wants it fixed. And that's when the verbal assault comes.

All through your tenure, you have been yelled at in almost every language spoke in the United States. And that's a lot. Unfortunately, you were not someone who could just brush it off immediately afterwards, though you tried to be. When this kind of shifts happened, you would make yourself a cup of coffee and climbed out onto your fire escape, sitting against the wall with your knees to your chest while you wait for the sun to rise.

Only that day, you found someone had beat you to it.

"Hey," You greeted your new favorite neighbor.

It had been about a month since he moved in and he had been nothing but the sweetest guy you've ever met. He is considerate and polite, especially around ladies and children. Once, you were returning from a jog, you and caught him leading Mrs. Fitzgerald out of the building, her arm in his as they talked softly.

It was such a small thing to do, but it warmed your heart to see such a well-raised man. The world was always lacking them.

Peter looked up at you from his perch on the stairs. He was wearing his suit still, but his tie was loosed. At that time, it was hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that he is an FBI agent working in the White House.

"Hey," He eyed you for a moment and then added. "You okay?"

You knew instantly that he overheard you working, heard your stuttering speech as you tried to calm your last customer down. Taking a seat next to him, you took a deep breath and exhaled it loudly. "Gimme a few hours."

The both of you didn't speak much and you were glad Peter didn't feel like he had to. In silence, you watched as the the sky changed from blue to purple to orange and yellow together, accompanied by the smell of the coffee from your cup. You closed your eyes for a beat and let the everything that happened during the shift go, never to bother you again.

Slowly, you felt the tension in your shoulders drift away, like sand shifting in the wind. Your thoughts went blank as the stresses of the shift disappeared into the back of your mind, allowing you a clean slate for your next one. Truth be told, aside from the high-intensity stress during your shifts, you enjoyed your job as a customer service agent. You liked helping people and it was enough that you kept going despite days like this.

The call of your name pulled you slowly back, but a part of your subconscious resisted.

"Hey, come on. Let's get you inside first." Peter's voice was very low but very close to your ear. Blinking, you realized you had begun to drift off, tilting to the side. To his side, to be specific.

When exactly you had became comfortable enough to fall asleep in his presence, you didn't know. But you had, and you hadn't regretted it.

Peter's soft laugh washed over you as he gently pushed you upright. "Hey, I can't carry you through the window. Unless you want me to drag you in."

"Just a few more minutes. I swear."

There was that laugh again, but Peter stayed put. His shoulder was comfortable, just perfect for you to rest your head on. And you did.

You didn't know exactly how long you stayed on those steps. All you know was that when you opened your eyes, the sun was bright and Peter was still beside you.

TBC

Tagging: @strnqer @thefictionalgemini

#peter sutherland #peter sutherland x reader #gabriel basso #the night agent #netflix the night agent #the night agent netflix #the spy next door series #mav's posts

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writefightandflightclub · 1 year

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Uninvited: Nathan Bateman x fem!reader

Summary: Nathan attends the Met Gala, but there’s something missing. That’s you. (If you’re literally Elon Musk please don’t read this 😂.)

Genre: mainly fluff, getting together fic.

Warnings / rating: mature for implied smut but that’s not the focus. Swearing, alcohol mentions (Nathan has a beer). Boss / employee relationship. Some reader self-esteem issues. OOC Nathan, probably (I’m writing him older and a bit more mellow here).

Author’s note: it’s not that deep and it’s not that clever. I just want Nathan to take me to the Met Gala, okay? So, welcome to my self-indulgent drivel 😝 Probably typos, this was only ever meant to exist for me so I didn’t spend a ton of time on it, but hopefully it’s coherent enough?!

You startle when you hear the door to Nathan’s apartment click open, feeling only a little relieved when you see the familiar silhouette of Nathan by the door.

Shit.

He’s not supposed to be back yet! And you’re not supposed to be here at all! He should still be out at the Met Gala, and you -his long-suffering assistant- should very clearly be in your own home on your night off. Certainly not stretched out on your boss’ couch in sweats, eagerly shovelling this snaffled, bougie ice cream into your mouth.

You spring into action immediately, slamming the lid of your laptop shut as first priority. The last thing you would want is for Nathan to realise you’ve been meticulously monitoring the socials, your prime objective to swoon hard over every photo and tik tok of him in that suit on that infamous red carpet - Getty Images be damned for their slowness. Next, you shove the tub of ice cream away from yourself, as though Nathan will be able to tell -somehow- that you have been near crying into it all evening. Your plight is quite a singular one, after all. Not only was your boss - who you are secretly crushing on, by the way - slated to attend the Met Gala without you (the audacity!) but he looks so good whilst doing it that you could easily form a puddle and seep between the cracks in his hardwood floors.

So, when he enters, you spring up from your seat guiltily, and a little too fast, swaying with an instant head rush. Or, perhaps, the sudden light-headedness is because you have finally gotten a good look at Nathan as he steps into the soft light, cast throughout the open plan apartment.

You drink him in and God, he looks even hotter in real-life in this formal get-up. The suit’s a little bland for the Met Gala, granted, even if you had begged his monochrome, minimalist ass to go all out for the occasion. Still, it is tailored to perfection. The details add a little flair beyond his usual attire, a subtle sheen on the lapels, and the fabric cut in the deepest midnight blue, complementing his golden brown skin perfectly. It sits just right too with his metallic silver frames, as well as the few grey hairs which sneak through his dense raven beard, glinting like solder and circuitry. He looks like the night sky, welcoming and deep and dense and alluring as all hell, his eyes hooded, enthralling planets.

To sum up, Nathan looks divine, especially given that he has now loosened off his bow tie - and a few buttons on that crisp white shirt. Given that he has his hands shoved in his pockets, tugging the luxe material tight over his hips and thighs - and ass, no doubt. You bet he looks damn good from behind too.

As he stands there, looking up at you from beneath his lenses in that singular way which turns you into putty, you will your face to contort in any one of the accepted formations - a smile in greeting, perhaps - but, instead, you get the feeling that’s not quite what you’re pulling off. Not at all. In fact, you get the distinct impression that you’re looking at him like a goldfish butting its head up against the side of a tank.

For a moment you feel slightly sick at the thought that he might have returned early because he brought someone home, and you manage to tear your eyes away from his deep, dark allure long enough to scan the place, satisfied to find out that he is indeed alone.

Nathan’s thick brows knit in concern as he surveys you, yet you can detect the faint hint of amusement in his tone when he speaks. You know him well enough to catch the subtle smirk beneath that glorious beard. “You okay, honey, or are you having some kind of aneurism?”

Well. Something is certainly happening to you. He is having an… effect, that’s for sure.

“Sorry. I’m…” You clear the sudden frog in your throat. “I’m not at my apartment. I’m… here.”

Wow. You’re not doing too well, are you?

Meanwhile, Nathan looks at you like you’re stupid, and you decide you’d probably have to pay a lot of dollar to your therapist to figure out why that makes you even hotter for him. Better left alone, you wager. “Yeah. I noticed, sweet cheeks.”

“Sarcasm. That’s a new one,” you say sarcastically, your cheek finally tugging on a smile.

He looks handsome. Beautiful. And, you slouch despondently as you all too suddenly recall your own sloppy sweats situation. He wasn’t supposed to see you like this. Especially not after spending the whole evening rubbing shoulders with the most beautiful people, donned in the most dazzling finery imaginable. He definitely wasn’t supposed to have that unfavourable comparison rattling around in his big fat genius brain, now was he? You already felt like you weren’t good enough for the likes of him.

Regardless, in the next moment, you trip over a million words, wanting to offer up some explanation for your presence, and yet all you manage to say is… precisely nothing. Therefore, to distract yourself from him - and to distract him from wondering what you’re doing here - you sidle over to the fridge, grabbing him a beer and you a mineral water. He looks grateful when you pop the cap, crossing the space to hand it to him, condensation pooling on your fingers.

Instantly, he takes a casual swig, and while he does, you finally manage to compose yourself. At least, halfway there.

“Nathan,” you say plainly. “You do know the Met Gala is happening now, right? I know I put it in your calendar.” You toss your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing towards the humongous TV. “Also, you were there. I saw you on E.”

His eyes crinkle subtly at the corners, with a fondness and a familiarity which -honestly- takes you aback. He doesn’t even seem to mind that you’re in his apartment. This is all… very unexpected.

After all. He’s not supposed to be here! Then again… neither are you.

“What are you doing here?” you both ask at the same time.

Nathan huffs out a breath, impatiently. “You first.”

Well, that’s fair, you suppose. You are in his house uninvited.

As your brain trips over excuses, you barely register when Nathan’s warm hand grips you by the elbow, seamlessly guiding you back towards the couch. Once arrived, he nods for you to take a seat alongside him, plonking his ample ass down.

You bite your thumb nail. “I’m so sorry. I thought I’d finish up some work while you were out.” It sounds plausible, right? No. It doesn’t sound plausible at all, you realise, as Nathan openly surveys the scene on the coffee table before you. He delivers a knowing quirk of his eyebrow. Your palms start to sweat. Your game is all the way up, it looks like. “And then, okay. I ended up watching E, ordering take-out, and eating all your ice cream.” You opt to leave out the part about foaming at the mouth over every snap of him to have graced the internet this evening. Nathan’s ego is huge enough, right, to forego that detail? “It’s just so much nicer here than my shitty place. And I didn’t think you’d be back for ages.” Well, it’s not a lie. However: the whole truth is that you’d simply wanted to be with him tonight, and this -sad as it might be- was as close as you could get. “And I.. God. I just looove the Met Gala, okay?”

“You do?” Nathan’s mouth twitches into an amused smirk as he witnesses your combo of panicked excuses and excited gushing.

“Not that I’d know, obviously. But hey! Clearly I love it more than you do! Why in the hell are you doing back so early anyway?” Nathan simply regards you stoically, and you clap your hands to your cheeks, suddenly imagining the worst. “Oh god. Nathan. What did you do?”

Nathan all but rolls his eyes. “Calm down, honey. Calm down? Well. That’s a nice notion, but you can’t. You can’t quite manage to calm down when he’s looking at you so attentively, long lashes fanning intermittently over his big brown eyes, blown-out and obsidian in this dim light. Not when he’s dressed in that tux jacket and crisp white shirt, the top few buttons loosened off. When the scent of his expensive, intoxicating cologne is wafting over you. “I managed to behave myself. More or less,” he reassures.

“First time for everything.”

“Uh huh.”

“Though it is only like 9pm.”

“Still plenty of time to be naughty, huh?”

Shit. That hits different. You’re used to his flirting by now. His crude comments. His explicit banter. Of course. But you could swear he injected a touch more grit into his deep, robust voice this time. Could swear he looked at you some kind of way, his eyes hooded, animated by a languidly catching spark. And, thinking of what being “naughty” might possibly involve? Well, it has your brain short-circuiting all over again.

That system failure is the only reason you fail to protest as Nathan shifts to the edge of the couch and reaches towards your laptop. It all feels a little blurry and unreal. You can barely even hear the words he’s saying anymore over your loud thoughts. Your thoughts of the bare patch of skin at his neck. His warm, veined hands peeking from beneath those white cuffs. The way his suit jacket tugs taut over his cultivated shoulders as he moves.

“You know who was on my fucking table?” Nathan begins casually, another indicator of his familiarity and comfort with you. “Royce Whistler’s Mother-Broadbean, or whatever the shit his name is. Do you remember - that blonde prick? The guy who called himself a businessman because he played Rollercoaster Tycoon 5 one time or whatever?” You look at him blankly, and Nathan takes that as a sign to continue sharing. “I played him at squash one time - and he got so pissed off at losing he pulled his pants down and stuck his flat, pasty ass up against the glass. Mooned the entire board. Fucking unreal.”

You’re half-listening, but your brain still hasn’t kicked fully into gear. Still hasn’t quite caught up with the fact Met Gala Nathan is here, in front of you, never mind blathering on about his table mates. Your brain certainly has not caught up by the time Nathan is leaning forward, lifting the lid of your laptop with a knowing smirk. “Let’s see what you were up to while I was gone, huh?”

Oh shit.

Your brain catches up so quickly now that your thoughts cause a pile up, and yet there is no time left to stop him.

You could swear that you almost pass out from embarrassment when Nathan finally flips the lid, his action revealing every one of the tabs you have had open this evening. Naturally, of course -just your luck- the first just had to be the most incriminating, didn’t it? He just had to see your BlueBook image search for “Nathan Bateman Met Gala hot”.

His eyes spark, his gaze electric as he drinks in the screen. He sinks his pearly teeth into his plush lower lip and practically grunts. “Searching for wank fodder of your boss, honey?” He clicks his tongue in what you hope is faux disappointment. “And you didn’t even go Boolean.”

“Heh. Trying to,” you scoff, the response -in your head- forming a suitably scathing comeback, alluding to how you couldn’t even find any hot pictures actually because he’s so gross or whatever. Well, you realise quickly that you messed that one up entirely, especially as a smug, lopsided grin blooms on Nathan’s pretty mouth.

Honestly, you were not far off giving yourself a little treat. If Nathan had been a little later he may even have walked in on it. You cheeks heat with shame, though it’s hardly the first time you’ve had sexual thoughts about him. Not even close. Still, it’s not like you are keen for him to know that.

In haste then -nay, desperation- you reach to slam the lid closed, narrowly missing Nathan’s fingertips in the process as he begins to skim effortlessly through your other tabs.

Then, springing to your feet with a surge of guilt once more, you scoop the laptop up against your chest, like an ailing quarterback cradling a football in the closing minutes of the Superbowl. Damn you and your motor mouth! “I meant… Look, actually, never mind what I meant!” Your voice is growing increasingly high-pitched, and Nathan’s face is becoming increasingly smug. “Why are you here?” you accuse, as if he doesn’t have every right to be. “Why aren’t you at -oh I dunno- The Freaking Met Gala?” You even stomp your foot and jab your finger a little, so help you, in your last ditch attempt to turn the tables. And, certainly, in attempt to deflect before Nathan can probe you any further about that so-called “wank fodder”.

Nathan, for his part, leans back ever so casually and deliberately on the couch, his sturdy thighs spread open and straining against the fabric of his pants, his arms hooking backward over the lip of the couch. The shift makes that crisp white shirt ride up over his stomach, straining the buttons to show you glimpses of his smooth tan skin.

Hnnnggggg.

You feel positively ill with desire at this point, and Nathan, meanwhile, looks effortlessly cool. He even takes a casual swig of his beer. “Meh. Honestly? Was kinda boring. And I couldn’t get the image of the mooning Royce Flat Ass-Coachella out of my head. Put me off my fucking caviar. Also, I thought there might be somebody bang-able there. But who the hell wants to risk losing an eye to some pointy-ass fashion apparatus while you’re going down to beaver town, huh?”

Oh goodness. Poor little rich boy!

All that, and he’s bored. And, on the other hand, what you wouldn’t give to attend the spectacle that is the Met Gala! Your little Museum Nerd heart is positively outraged! “Boring?! Boring, Bateman?! It’s only the most glorious, fabulous institution to exist in modern America!” Highly amused now by your gushing, Nathan stands too. Slowly, and far more calmly than you did, his eyes glowing with a soft, shrouded affection for you, if you’re not mistaken. “Boring, Nathan?!”

“Yeah.” He tightens his lips into a thin line, as though he’s trying to stop himself from saying something he may royally regret as soon as it’s out of his mouth. “Was no fucking fun without you.”

Your eyebrows jump up towards your hairline, your whole torso curling around your still warm and whirring laptop as you tighten it in your arms. You can’t believe the words he’s just spoken. )You especially can’t believe it after all of the hints you’d dropped about wanting to go with him!) Luckily for you though, you’re still having a near out-of-body experience, and so his words fail to register completely. “Boring?! It’s only full of all of the most beautiful, interesting, important people in the country!” you continue, your voice so high and careening now that you’re sure you’re making a mockery of yourself.

Nathan takes a couple of slow, casual steps towards you, still looking at you steadily from beneath his lenses. “Well… almost all of them.”

A swallow bobs down your throat with the unspoken implication, and you dare not follow that thought through to completion.

Then, wordlessly, Nathan shuffles up close to you, and eases the laptop from your grip. He sets it down on the table, and then he turns his gently heating, amused gaze back to you, looking you over in your crumpled sweats.

You swallow, still experiencing cognitive dissonance, Nathan’s words not matching up with what you’ve told yourself for so long - that he could never be interested in you. Instead of acknowledging him then, you instead cling to your futile, part-sensical assertions. “It’s only an unparalleled showcase of the greatest creative costuming of the modern day.” Your argument is losing strength, however. Your voice is breathy and barely there now, as Nathan’s face hovers ever closer to yours.

His voice drops low in his throat, becomes a low, warm rumble which you swear you feel in the pit of your chest. “Maybe. But no-one looked half as cute as you do in these baggy sweats.”

Nope. No way. This isn’t happening.

Your brain is definitely broken now. In fact, all you can do is whimper pathetically as Nathan looks hungrily down at your mouth. Is this some kind of dream? A joke? You have to be sure, before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. Before he makes a fool out of you.

“Really. Nathan. What are you doing here?”

Nathan pauses. Pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. His face goes taut, brows drawing down. “Well. I went to your apartment first, and you weren’t there.”

“Because I’m here.”

“Yeah. No shit.”

You gulp. You gulp as Nathan reaches up to pick a tiny bit of lint from off of your sweater, the gesture so tiny but humungous. His gaze gently, warmly, flits over your face. “Now I’m here too. Asking you…” He sucks air through his teeth, like he’s about to regret all of his decisions in life, but then… he still says it anyway. For the first time in your memory, Nathan Bateman even looks…bashful. “Do you wanna come to The Met Gala with me?”

Your mouth opens and closes wordlessly for a few moments, in complete and utter shock.

“I know, I know.” Nathan concedes, his eyes blinking closed and his palm waving through the air. “I’m a dumb fuck. You’ve been hinting incessantly. To the point of irritation. Beyond even. You’re not subtle, honey. And my timing is beyond shitty. But… what do you think? Will you be my… date?”

You blink at him. Look at him regretfully. “Nathan. I… I can’t. I…”

He quirks a thick eyebrow. Runs a hand over his buzzed head. “Fuck. Why not?”

You have to laugh. This situation is all so completely absurd. But you look down at yourself, your palms gesturing towards your clothes. “I… don’t have anything to wear.”

Nathan purses his lips then, and nods contemplatively, releasing a long-held breath, perhaps even in relief. “So the clothes thing is the issue? The idea of dating your asshole boss doesn’t bother you?”

You swear his eyes have grown uncharacteristically soft, hopeful even, but of course, your mouth runs off ahead of you to ruin the moment before you can even get there.

“I mean. Nathan. I’d go to the Freaking Met Gala with anyone who was willing to get me in there, honestly. Elon fucking Musk if he asked me. It’s not like I’d be fussy.” Nathan gives you a glare. Curls his tongue around his top lip in mild aggravation. And, there it is. That hand settling on his jutted hip. “Of course. I’m not saying he’d get to any bases. Bleuch. I’d ditch him right after the canapés.” You slide your palm over your face, regretting your motor mouth as Nathan eyes you judgementally over the brim of his frames. Holy shit. Why exactly are you still talking? “Wow. I sure wish someone would shut me the hell up.”

Nathan shifts gently, winding his hands around your waist, his fingers clawing into the soft fabric of your hoody like they belong there on lazy Sunday mornings. “You’re in luck, honey. I’ve been dying to help with that for months now.” His thick eyebrow sweeps up suggestively, and you can’t believe this is happening. You feel giddy. You feel like you’re in some kind of modern fairytale and Nathan is Prince Charming. Or, wait… maybe Prince Crude or something would suit him better.

“Nathan!” You emit a dirty laugh and attempt to bat him in the chest, but in that moment he tugs you closer. And so, your palm simply ends up resting lightly against his chest, your fingertips grazing over the bare brow skin beneath the “V” at his neck. Fuck, he looks hot. Feels warm and smooth. Your knees are barely keeping you up at this point.

What in the actual fuck is happening right now?!

“So, how about it?” Nathan prods, giving the closest thing to puppy dog eyes that you’ve seen from the man, the edge on his usually cool, calculating stare completely blunted - only for you. “Will you come with me?”

You want to say yes. Of course you do. Want to jump at the chance. But this is all so surreal you can barely think straight. Can barely imagine a world where you could be the woman who gets to attend a Gala on Nathan “Gift from God” Bateman’s arm. “You’re impossible, Nathan! I mean. You’re asking me while it’s already happening? This is all kind of crazy!”

“I know. You’re right,” he concedes, drawing back from you and clicking his tongue. Shoving his hands back into his pockets. He does indeed look good from behind, you are delighted to confirm.“Don’t know what I was thinking.”

You fold your arms around yourself, getting whiplash. This is all happening so quickly, and now it might not even be happening at all? “Now, wait a second. Let’s not be so hasty.”

Nathan wafts his hand through the air. “No. You’re right. I’ll call that upper east side boutique you obsess over back. What was the name again? I’ll them they don’t need to open back up after all. Tell them we don’t need a last minute gown.”

Your jaw drops and you audibly gasp. “Nathannnnn!”

He turns back towards you, and you can see the spark of mirth in his eyes. Can detect that he’s teasing you. That this whole thing is still very much on the table, if you want it. “Nathan Bateman. Are you seriously taking me to the Met Gala?” you squeal, unable to contain your excitement any longer.

“So long as you don’t ditch me after the fucking canapés, Princess.”

You subdue a face splitting grin, wanting badly to revel in it - but still not quite sure yet what you’ve done to deserve this. Not even the Gala, the gown, all that. Most importantly, this attention from your long-time crush. The man who, over time, has become so much more than your asshole boss. Your close friend. Someone you could even imagine a future with, so help you.

“I promise not to ditch you, Bateman - at least not until the entrées.” His eyes crinkle again at the corners and it makes you feel ten feet tall. “But… I don’t get it, Bateman.” It is your turn to take two steps towards him now. For your gaze to flit gently, warmly, over his face. Over that groomed, raven beard. His tan skin and his huge, brown, earnest eyes. “Why me?”

Your question seems to take Nathan by surprise. He looks a little more severe all of a sudden. More serious. A weight settles into his heavy brow, yet his eyes remain soft beneath it. “Well, kitten. I was -supposedly- hanging out with the most beautiful, interesting, and important people in the country and…”

“A-And what, Nathan?” You swallow, your heart thrumming and voice trembling at the potential implication of his words. He’s not going to say it though. You already know he isn’t going to say it. That “not one of them had anything on you”.

“And… it sucked ass,” Nathan finishes unceremoniously, in typical fashion. “And not in a good way.”

“S-so, you need me to be there?” You’re not above fishing for your compliments. You cast your line, waiting to see what you can manage to reel in.

Nathan’s brow folds with a newer weight. One which he can’t seem to shake off through smugness or humour or deflection. “Fine. You want me to play my fucking hand, honey? Here it is. Met Gala, Schmet Gala. I got there, and I realised that I…” His voice cracks with the weight of a million tiny revelations, hinted at in his eyes and they way they begin to sparkle. But, he doesn’t say it. Not every revelation he may have had tonight. Still, he does say something. He does say just enough. “I just… I realised that I just needed to be where you were.” Nathan reaches up then, and he lifts your chin with the crook of his finger. “So. We can get you a gown, if you want, and we can hit it up.” His eyes flick towards the TV, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. He offers a second option. “We can stay here and eat ice cream and watch E replay my Nathan’s Ass Broke The Internet red carpet moment all night long.” His eyes turn smug and dark, and a hunger intensifies in them as he looks you up and down again. “Or,” he says, slipping his expensive jacket off of his sculpted form, and passing it carefully around your shoulders. “You can go just like this. Technically, it’s now a Tom Ford ensemble. Would get you through the gate.” You even think he’s serious. You even think he’d have you by his side exactly as you are. That he sees you as beautiful, just like this.

You giggle into your palm. “I’m a mess!”

“No. You look good,” Nathan insists, not a whiff of a lie on him. In fact, as he drinks you in, he looks like he’s melting too. Like he might form a puddle and dribble through the floorboards any moment.

You finally allow a giddy, joyful, disbelieving smile to claim your face, and you reach up to fiddle coquettishly with Nathan’s loosened bow tie. “You look good.”

“Oh, I know, honey. Perfect wank fodder right?” He tips your head, allowing his lips to ghost up the column of your neck. He hums lightly when he reaches your pulse point, his mouth tasting your perfume. “Naughty girl. Gonna make you show me later, huh?” He presses a kiss to your throat. “If you want that,” he adds for good measure, and the addition makes you even hotter for him. He’s far softer and more gentle than you ever would have imagined, treating you like an intricate, delicate thing. You’ve seen his hands be careful as he worked his machines, but you never imagined them quite like this on your own skin. As though you were something magnificent. Special.

You feel another surge of embarrassment at the thought of showing Nathan how much he turns you on, as mental images carousel through your mind. You move to dip your face into Nathan’s chest; however, delicately, seamlessly, he crooks his finger to lift your mouth to his instead, his lips covering yours with a soft, earnest kiss. He hums into it, his tongue tentatively twining with yours as you open up for him.

You blink in disbelief as he breaks for air, your lips still tingling from the contact, your arms now hanging limply by your sides.

“Christ, honey. I’d better not kiss you on the red carpet.”

“And why not?!” On the contrary. You want a lot more where that came from.

“You look like a fucking goldfish. That good, huh?” There his crooked finger is again, gently fixing your slack jaw.

Well that won’t do. And so, with a determined, hungry glint in your eye, you pull Nathan back into your kiss by his lapels, slanting your mouth against him, kissing him deep and hungry. Kissing him until there is a moan spooling from his chest. Until, this time, Nathan is the one who is slack-jawed and dumb-founded when you pull away, his eyes fluttered closed and lips still puckered in search of you.

“You’re right,” you agree, surveying his own goldfish face. “No kissing on the red carpet. You’ll just have to grab my ass instead,” you snicker, and Nathan slowly wafts back down to earth. You could swear he even blushes at the suggestion, a crimson flush deepening the colour of his cheeks.

He strokes his hands up and down your forearms, searching your eyes. “So are we doing this? Because I have about 20 people on standby and ready to go.”

“You do?”

Nathan takes your hands. “Yeah. And I know you won’t wanna miss the exhibition tour, right? You big dork,” he teases with a sweet grin - as if he isn’t the biggest dork you know.

You clap your hands to your cheeks then, the situation suddenly feeling less like a fantasy and growing all too real. You feel a sudden flurry of nerves at the realisation there will be so many eyes on you. “I’m nervous,” you admit.

Nathan sighs, begins to grumble under his breath. “Christ. Don’t make me say it.”

You look at him quizzically.

He sighs again. More deeply this time. His words come out rather reluctantly, but no less full of meaning. “You’re gonna be the most beautiful, interesting, important person in the whole fucking joint. And I should know.”

“Oh yeah, Bateman?”

“Yeah. Got bored of those losers after 5 minutes, but you…?” His eyes twinkle again, with sentiments deeper than his words dare illuminate. You can see him rein it in a little. Backtrack. Keep things Nathan-y. Respond in his typical fashion. “Well. It’s been 9 months now and you’re still here. Clearly, you’re annoying enough to keep things interesting, Princess. Not bad to look at either.”

You chide him playfully with your eyes for the backhander, but despite his words, he’s looking at you with nothing but sweetness. “Besides, you’re gonna look like total wank fodder.”

You laugh. “Okay. True. But can we please retire that phrase? Otherwise I just know you’re gonna say it on E, and your publicist will kill me.”

“Publicist schmublicist,” Nathan breezes, and he pulls you into him for another kiss, a smile cracking beneath his raven beard. “Anyway, honey, you started it.”

You protest, bickering back and forth, exchanging snark as Nathan puts his arm around you and guides you out of the apartment. He leads you out of the lobby to where he has a car waiting, and he opens the door for you to clamber inside. Your belly is full of nerves and excitement, and you eye him with fondness as he calls up the boutique -your favourite, but one you are usually priced out of- to confirm you’re on your way over.

You can’t believe your dream of heading to the Met Gala is coming true. But most of all, you’re elated that Nathan wants you next to him. You’d always believed you weren’t good enough for him, but here he is, eager to show you off to the whole world. To have fun with you and enjoy your company.

It’s funny, you think. He wasn’t meant to be here tonight, and nor were you. But somehow, you think, you each ended up exactly where you were supposed to be.

Nathan hangs up his call and turns to you. “You okay?” He smooths a hand up your thigh and you nod, still smiling softly. “What kind of outfit do you want? It’s on me.”

Your eyes glint with mischief. “Nothing pointy.” Nathan takes a moment to catch your drift. “I don’t wanna put your eye out when you visit beaver town later, do I?”

You think you’d like something simple actually. Something to match Nathan. He may be a complicated man, but in many ways he’s so entirely straightforward. It’s one of the many things you like about him.

For a moment, Nathan looks lost for words, a swallow sinking down his throat. You can tell he’s already eager to follow that plan through to completion. “Please. Honey. Tell me we can we skip the after party?” He looks like he can’t wait for what you’re suggesting.

“How long is this ride?” you ask, arcing an eyebrow suggestively.

“What are you saying?”

“So you reckon you’ve got time to get a whole four bases further than Elon ever could?”

Nathan’s eyes glow with something bright and inexplicable. “You’re fucking unreal.”

“Oh, Nathan,” you purr, as he slides up the divider in the front, giving you some privacy. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

#nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman

276 notes · View notes

sleepyfan-blog · 1 month

Note

I VERY DESPERATELY NEED/Want Baby Primarch Mers. So Badly. PLEASE!

Ok! I"ll go down the list

1 - Lion - So, the temptation to make him part lionfish is incredible here. There's also the fact that IRL Lionfish are a huge problem in certain parts of the world because they are an invasive species in those areas, as well as incredibly deadly because of their poisonous spines. And considering how deadly Lion and his sons can be... Yeah, I think he's part lionfish. Specifically he has a deep green tail with silver stripes. His spines are black and gold and hold incredibly potent poisons.

2- ??? [REDACTED BY THE ORDER OF THE EMPEROR]]

3- Fulgrim - He is part Coral Beauty Angelfish, and has a beautiful purple tail that fades into a vibrant yellow color. Coral beauties (at least according to the quick google search I did about them) are an incredibly hardy salt water fish, and known for their vibrant colorations.

4 - Perturabo - is part Cabezon - which are known for being Stubborn Bastard Fish who Refuse To Move until they get their next meal, willing to wait days and even weeks before they get their next meal. Which is often other fish, which I feel fits Peter turbo pretty well. He has a pleated tail and fins that are a mottled steel and black color, with the occasional yellow stripe.

5 - Jaghatai - is part Sailfish - which are allegedly one of the fastest fish in the world IRL. He has a bright white tail with red stripes. His fins are also white with red stripes.

6 - Leman - is part Piranha. Not only are Piranhas highly predatory, they also are species of fish that school together. Like how Space Wolves almost always stick together in packs. Also, he still has fangs in this AU. His tail and fins are a lovely slate grey color with an iridescent shine to them.

7 - Rogal - part greenland shark! Cold adapted predator of the sea. Doesn't look like much but is an apex predator in the seas it lives in. He has gorgeous golden fins and tails with black spots.

8 - Konrad - part goblin shark. I didn't pick it just because of the name, but because it is a deep water shark (lives in darkness, just like a certain edgy primarch) that is rarely seen by humans. And. Well. Most humans who saw Konrad didn't exactly live to tell about it, did they? He has a deep blue tail and fins that are surprisingly slender. But powerful and he has a hell of a bite and many, many pointy teeth.

9 - Sanguinius - He has a beautiful silver tail and fin-like wings, as his mer-half is flying fish! Although I was super tempted to make him part-lamprey because of the blood-sucking aspect of him.

10 - Ferrus - as per the suggestions of @angronsjewelbeetle @c-u-c-koo-4-40k and @i-am-a-dragon34 Ferrus is now part Dunkleostous, with dark grey fins and tail on his dorsal side and a silvery ventral side.

11 - ?? [REDACTED BY THE ORDER OF THE EMPEROR]

12 - Angron - part betta fish. He has striking red and gold fins and tail and will square the fuck up if the mood strikes.

13 - Roboute - there is a big temptation to go for the Ultramarlin pun, but I won't give in. What I am going with is part Ribbon Eel, as they have this really lovely blue body with bright yellow dorsal and ventral stripes that go all the way down their bodies. That and G-Man having a long tail to thwap his brothers with makes me giggle.

14 - Mortarion - part pufferfish. Prickly, defensive and poisonous. Can and will puff up. Has grey fins and tail with dark green spots. Spiny.

15 - Magnus: I am torn between making him part carp - because of the Japanese (I think?) myth about a carp jumping up a waterfall in order to become a dragon - which hints at Magnus' incredibly powerful warp abilities or an Abtu, which is a mythical ancient Egyptian fish, because Space Egypt. Thoughts? Opinions?

16 - Horus: Is part dolphin. Known for being very charismatic and charming, but can and will bully other kinds of sea life. Baby-Horus has a deep green tail with gold markings.

17 - Lorgar - I love the Parrot Fish pun suggestion by @c-u-c-koo-4-40k so that is what I am going with. His fins and tail are a deep red color with a silver shimmer to them.

18 - Vulcan - another excellent suggestion by @c-u-c-koo-4-40k for making one of the primarchs part barracuda! I have decided on Vulcan, rather than Magnus. Vulcan’s dorsal fins and tail are a deep green color, the ventral side is black. Along the middle where the two colors meet, he had gold spots.

19 - Corvus: Part of me wants to make Corvus either some kind of shark, or angler fish bc of his whole "sworn vengeance and eternally hunting after Lorgar post-heresy" thing but. Big E is also a being who loves himself some aesthetics and I don't think a part-angler fish boy would fit that. Perhaps part black-tipped shark bc of their stealthiness. Thoughts?

20 - Alpharius and Omegon: are color-pallet changed blue-ring octopi. Instead of a yellow body with bright blue rings, they have vibrant teal tentacles with bright silver ring-patterns across their tentacles and up the fishy parts of their bodies.

@egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel

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siremasterlawrence · 7 months

Text

Alternative Lifestyle: My Fallen Angel

Trapping Angel is the most exciting thing in the world one day when I was laying in the grass of a private garden area on the estate of my old family home as I explained the light of the sky.

The stars in the sky are blowing up in a sea of next in a super crazy storm blowing up in my face as the sky spins giving me a load of a massive headache leaving me spinning in the midst of it.

A shooting star falls from the sky in a golden arrow like hot trajectory smashing in to the isle lawn of my ground as it opens up in to a wide hole growing up covering up all of the land.

The entirety of my home is left in a shred as it dishevels the land roaming under my like a tunnel cracking open with the light burning from under me a strange man rises to the mainland.

Clearly I am lost not expecting to see him be able to stand up tall to full height with these bright eyes, bold expression, and wings that goes for miles and I can’t believe the white light.

I knew I am having a religious experience at this point he stares down at me offering a hand for me to take and help me up to my feet once more and he tightens his grasp on my hand.

“Do you comprehend this experience?”

“This is a religious experience and you are an angel.”

“Absolutely correct! Why am I here?”

“This is my next question”

“You are a chosen one”

“Am I? What is this some sort of hell?”

“Far from it”

“I am here with a offer”

“Excuse me!”

“One time only”

“I get it”

“Great! Take my hand, close your eyes and make a wish.”

I shake my head sighing a bit taking both of his hands in mine as a flow of energy over took me swirling in to the air with a cooling effect connecting us on one line surging in between us.

Something is off though my mind begins to lose it suddenly my body shoots upward in to the sky as my mind transfers in to my oh so hateful neighbor.

Across the street my soak soars pushes all the way past his window in to his bedroom where he is wasting time standing in front of the mirror posing his body in all sort of position.

The angel frowns knowing that I want to see him pay for what he did to me but he knows the deal it’s to give me whatever I want and whatever I wish to happen plain and simple for me.

Angel stares at me shaking his head he look up to the sky raising his finger in to the air as he waves his hand as the room fades from existence and all his left is three of us in a empty white space.

Mason Anlen suddenly woke up from a true deep soul trance by flailing in to an old and lengthy anxiety ridden panic attack holding his chest, breathing harder and backing in to the chair.

“Who are you ? You did this dweeb”

“Fuck! Stop!”

“How the fuck did you ?”

“Shut the fuck up”

“Bastard”

“Fall to your knees”

“Pathetic! Like the pig you are”

“Make your wish “

“I wish my guardian angel…”

“You cannot place an angel in…”

“Zip it! Immediately “

“In fact! I wish you would become powerful blank slate to your core replacing Mason Anlen in the timeline”

“Hold on! Now wait just a damn blasted second.”

“I am your lord and Master”

“Obey”

“I…no…aaaahhhhhhh”

“You rewrote the rules”

“I shall commence “

“Oh My God!”

“Can I help you?”

“You corrupted me”

“I remade you “

“In your image “

“I am so powerful “

“You are everything “

“I own you now”

“ I love it “

“I worship you”

“Thank you for this body “

“It’s perfection”

The end

#robbie amell #alternate timeline #mind warp #body possession #Angel #shooting star #crater #male body possession #possession #Alternative Lifestyle

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mousetoe-wc · 8 months

Text

I Got bored one time awhile ago and made a list of every prefix plus some into organised sections so I thought I might as well share.

All the ones that aren’t cannon to warriors, yet at lest are bold

Describing names

Colours: red, russet, copper, golden, amber, yellow, green, blue, violet, pink, white, gray, black, ebony, dark, pale, silver, brown, tawny, fallow

Pattern, Texture + Size: spot/ted, dapple, speckle, freckle, brindle, patch, mottle, ragged, tangle, kink, bristle, fuzzy, curl/y, wooly, soft, sleek, little, tiny, small, slight, short, tall, long, big, heavy, crooked, broken, half, stumpy, shred, torn, jagged

Actions + Character: flip, pounce, bounce, jump, hop, crouch, down, low, drift, flail, strike, running, fidget, mumble, whistle, snap, sneeze, shiver/ing, shining, flutter, fallen, lost, rush, fleet, quick, shy, sweet, brave, loud, quiet, wild, hope, wish,

Other: claw, whisker, dead, odd, one, spike, fringe, echo, song, hallow, haven

Elements

Time + Weather: day, night, dusk, dawn, morning, sky, sun/ny, moon, storm, lightning, thunder, cloud/y, mist/y, fog, snow, blizzard, ice, frost, dew, drizzle, rain, clear, wind, breeze, gale, shadow, shade, bright, light,

Earth/Water/Fire names: stone, rock, boulder, slate, flint, pebble, gravel, sand/y, dust, mud/dy, meadow, hill, rubble, river, ripple, whorl, float, rapid, shimmer, lake, swamp, marsh, wave, wet, bubbling, splash, puddle, pool, creek, fire, flame, flicker, flash, blaze, scorch, ember, spark, ash, soot, cinder, smoke

Plants

Trees: alder, aspen, birch, beech, cedar, cypress, pine, elm, willow, oak, larch, maple, bay, rowan, timber, bark, log, wood, twig, acorn, cone, seed, spire

Berry/Nut/Fruit/Herb: juniper, elder, sloe, holly, yew, mistle, bramble, hickory, hazel, chestnut, nut, apple, cherry, cranberry, olive, pear, plum, peach, chive, mint, fennel, sage, basil, mallow, parsley

Flowers: aster, poppy, primrose, rose, bluebell, marigold, tansy, pansy, briar, cherry, daisy, dandelion, daffodil, tulip, violet, lily, myrtle, thrift, yarrow, heather, lavender, blossom, bloom, flower, petal

Other: leaf, frond, fern, bracken, sorrel, hay, rye, oat, wheat, cotton, reed, pod, cinnamon, milkweed, grass, clover, weed, stem, sedge, gorse, furze, flax, nettle, thistle, ivy, moss, lichen, bush, vine, root, thorn, prickle, nectar

Animals

Mammals: mouse, rat, mole, vole, shrew, squirrel, hedgehog, bat, rabbit, hare, ferret, weasel, stoat, mink, marten, otter, hog, wolf, hound, fox, vixen, badger, deer, doe, stag, fawn, sheep, cow, pig, lion, tiger, leopard, lynx, milk

Birds: robin, jay, cardinal, thrush, sparrow, swallow, shrike, starling, rook, swift, dove, pigeon, crow, raven, duck, goose, heron, wren, finch, swan, stork, quail, gull, lark, owl, eagle, hawk, kestrel, buzzard, kite, hoot, feather, bird, egg, talon

Fish, Reptiles + Amphibians: pike, perch, pollack, trout, tench, cod, carp, bass, bream, eel, minnow, fin, snake, adder, lizard, turtle, frog, toad, newt

Bug type Names: bug, lady or ladybug, moth, spider, ant, snail, slug, beetle, bee, wasp, dragon or dragonfly, bumble, worm, maggot, cricket, fly, midge, web, honey

Skyclan + Warriorclan: Bella, Billy, Big, Harry, Harvey, Snook, Ebony, Monkey

#warrior cats #wc

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watercolorfreckles · 2 years

Text

Medusa

The stone walls creaked, breeze billowing through the empty halls of the abandoned castle.

Villain had a way of listening to the stone's whispers, understanding its every shift and crack.

Someone was inside.

She found him kneeling in the throne room overgrown by ivy and moss. Paying respect to the statues of the fallen king and queen.

Villain stepped up behind him, the cobblestone clicking beneath her heels.

Hero inhaled sharply, spine straightening.

"Don't turn around," Villain said, "Don't look. If you look, I will kill you."

The warning fell from her lips on automatic. So often repeated, it felt engraved on her tongue.

It was the only mercy she offered, and the only one allowed to her.

And it tired her.

She glanced around, wondering how many more statues could fit in the courtyard.

Hero swallowed, hands resting in his lap. "I do not come to harm you."

"How liberating it must be to have a choice in the matter," Villain said, stepping closer.

She knelt down behind him, white skirts pooling around her feet.

She leaned close to his ear. "If you try to use me, you will not survive. You are not the first to try, and you will not be the last. You humans think that being flesh and blood makes you invincible; different, in your passion, from the last crumbling mortal. You're not. You all fall to stone. If you wish to live..." She reached out to trace the curve of his brow. "Leave."

"You are lonely," Hero said softly. A stream of sunlight caught his hair, igniting it golden.

"Yes," Villain admitted. What did it matter? No use in keeping secrets from the dead.

A single glance at her face, and she would be alone again. Ruler of a hollow, soulless castle.

Villain watched Hero's line of sight shift toward another statue across the room, one of many turning the court into a graveyard.

They called her Medusa, after the mythic villain of old tales. To lock eyes with Medusa was to turn to stone.

Many sought to capture Villain's image, whether through enchanted mirrors magicked to steal her reflection, or foolish attempts at painting her likeness. They lusted to wield her likeness as a weapon. To spread it across enemy lines in a massacre of crumbling stone; to tuck a portrait into a lover's letter to kill them with a glance.

"That is why I am here," Hero said. "I imagine it has been a long time indeed since you've had any sincere company."

"You are sealing your own fate," Villain said. "Just as the others have. They always look. They can't help themselves. There is a draw to my eyes, in mere moments you won't be able to resist."

A small smile curled the hero's blushy lips. "I am not afraid."

"Then you are a fool," Villain said, standing up and turning away.

A hand caught her wrist. Fingers warm and gentle against her skin.

Her breath caught.

"Look at me," Hero said softly.

Villain stood statue still. "Do you wish to die?"

"I wish to see you," he replied. "And I wish for you to see me."

"It is cruel to make me your murderer without my consent," Villain murmured.

She listened to Hero rise off of the ground. "Look at me," he repeated. "It's okay."

Villain slated her expression and turned to face him.

Her eyes locked onto Hero's. His, a cloudy grey turned milky and white. It shone in the light like uncut marble.

Nothing happened. No creaking bones cementing into rock, no terrified gaze locked into an expression never again to be altered by time.

He was untouched. Human. Alive.

Villain released a shuddering breath, staring at the hero if he were the most beautiful thing in creation.

In that moment, those mottled, unseeing eyes, were.

Hero lifted a hand, palm stopping short of Villain's cheek. "You've seen me. May I now see you?"

Swallowing hard, she nodded. "Yes."

Hero advanced slowly to cup her face between his hands, using his fingers to gently map out her features.

Her eyes fluttered close at the brush of thumbs against her eyelids. He traced the line of her jaw and the curve of her lips, trailing over nose and cheeks and temple.

"You are beautiful," Hero said.

Villain laughed, an unbidden tear falling into the cracks of Hero's palm.

His grip tightened a fraction in response, turned cradling.

Villain found herself leaning into his touch. So warm in contrast to the endless labyrinth of stone corpses.

A sob caught somewhere in her chest.

She couldn't kill him. Not with a mere look, anyway. Never had she been able to hold someone's gaze without watching the light in them snuff out. It made her want to stare and stare and stare.

It felt like freedom. It felt like mercy.

It was too perfect, too kind of the fates, to be true.

"What will you tell them when you return? 'The man who conquered Medusa's wicked stare.' You will be a hero to them." Villain pulled back an inch, voice cracking. "Perhaps you're here to slay me. Gouge out my spell-binding eyes and offer my head on a stake to your people."

Hero's brow creased, hand dropping absently to finger the fold of her skirts. His thumb brushed her hip through the drapes of fabric.

"I would not harm you, my lady. I have listened to stories of you for years. They say you are a monster. They don't consider how it must feel... How you must hurt. Nobody should bear such pain alone." His free hand rose carefully, as if expecting an objection, before brushing her hair back.

Villain watched him. His touch was magic against her skin.

"You've come to help shoulder my pain?"

"They cast me out, as they did you. They call me a traitor for what I speak on your behalf. I think...I think I fell in love with you far before we met; before this moment." Hero swallowed, eyes managing a fairly accurate glance toward hers. "I am alone too. I thought- perhaps, that you... That we-"

Villain stepped closer, cupping the hero's face, and kissed him. Gentle and soft and all the things they claimed she wasn't.

They would be alone, together. Perhaps, she realized, that was enough.

General Taglist: @pinned-to-the-wahl , @valiantlytransparentwhispers , @distance-does-not-matter , @redbircl , @lilaccatholic , @crazytwentythrees , @thelazywitchphotographer , @chibicelloking , @lolafaiy , @thinkwrite5 , @putridghost , @tobeornottobeateacher , @sunflower1000 , @bouncyartist , @feyriddle , @yet-another-heathen , @silverwhisperer1 , @distractedlydistracted , @pensivespacepirate , @appleejuicee , @deflated-bouncingball @maybe-a-cat42 , @m0chik0furan , @mercurymomentum , @fairysprinkless , @vuvulia , @amongtheonedaisy , @rose-pinkie , @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room , @scorpio-smiles , @inkygemuwu , @wolfeyedwitch , @thewhumpmeisterx3000 , @ikiiryo , @moonquires , @lem-hhn , @fanastywhump , @smallangryfish , @ladybookworm , @freefallingup13 , @acaiaforrest , @a-blue-comedy , @puppyaddict , @a-person-who-likes-musicals , @talkingsperm , @qualitychaoslover , @deckofaces ,@7eselt

#hero x villain #writing snippet #writeblr #my writing #medusa #blind hero #heroes and villains #villain x hero #supervillain #writers of tumblr #villains and heroes

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violettduchess · 1 year

Note

Heya Violet! I'm going to request an ikevamp fic for the first time, so how about either of the Day 4 prompts for Leonardo? I'm excited to see what you come up with 👍

A/N: Hi @scorchieart 💜 Thank you for your request! This is for the Different Universe Same Love CCC hosted by @xxsycamore and @queengiuliettafirstlady

This combines scorchie's request with an anon request for Soulmates AU with Leonardo 💜

Leonardo x f reader

WC: 5254

"There is nothing more truly artistic than to love people." -Vincent Van Gogh

“I hate this,” you grumble as you check your phone for the hundredth time. Where the hell is this place? It feels like it's been hours of California coastline rolling past your window. Beautiful, yes. But also so inconvenient. You lean forward towards the front of the town car.

“Abel, how much longer?”

Your driver glances at you in the rear-view mirror, smiling good-naturedly.

“Another 15 minutes, chérie.”

You flop back into the cushioned leather, sighing. If you had known this would be a part of it, you would not have taken the role.

Maybe.

Ok, fine. You probably would have taken it anyway.

The story of a woman who breaks all tradition to become a famous 19th century painter? You can practically hear Theo’s words in your ear all over again: “You want to be stuck in rom-coms forever or do you want to be taken seriously? Make art that matters?” The Dutchman is a tough agent, too direct for most actors’ fragile egos to handle but that’s why you like him. He is always honest with you.

Outside the town car window, the ocean continues to roll by, a blur of slate-gray and white. Picking up your phone for the hundredth time, you type in the name of the artist you’re on your way to see.

Just like every time you’ve done it before, all you get is his Instagram page which is entirely too sparse and full of only half-finished paintings, close ups of brushes, a few small, charcoal sketches. Nothing about the man himself.

You swipe Instagram away and tap on Spotify, closing your eyes and allowing a podcast about the Golden Age of Hollywood to help pass the remaining time.

“Love the vibe,” you murmur as you step out of the Mercedes, pushing up your tortoise-shell sunglasses in order to better take in the picturesque brown and white wooden house. It really does seem like something out of a Kinkade painting. It's perched on the edge of a plateau, facing a slope of green hillside that disappears into a smattering of gray rock. The rocks give way to a stretch of dark brown sand which leads you right to the blue-gray beauty of the Pacific Ocean. It's here the warm vibes end though. This beach is nothing like the sandy beaches of Southern California. This is something wilder, something sharper. There is no manicured, processed beach feeling here. This is nature allowing you into her world, the crashing of the waves onto the shore not an invitation but a reminder. You’re here with her permission.

Abel comes around, carrying your luggage and pauses, taking in the house. “It’s lovely,” he murmurs.

You shoot him a Look. “It’s miles from just about anything. I hope Vlad knows what he’s doing.”

Vlad is the director of the film you are going to star in. The one who said you needed to spend some time with a real-life artist in order to understand the lifestyle, the thought process, the way of viewing the world. And he knew just the person. A friend of a friend, an artist of some small renown, who made money on the side by working as a consultant for various productions. He had invited you to stay with him for a few days, to teach you basic painting and drawing techniques so it would look realistic on film, and to answer any questions you had. Vlad vouched for him, claiming he was a good man, one he would trust his star with.

You turn to Abel. “Only leave if I give you the sign.”

He smiles indulgently, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You’ll be fine. But I will wait until I see it.”

Steeling yourself, you gather your bags and make your way down the short driveway and up the dark wooden steps. There’s no doorbell so you knock loudly.

You aren’t sure what you expected. A man named Leonardo made you think he would be older with flowing white locks and a long wizard-like beard. What you did not expect was the door to be opened by a golden-eyed Adonis with ombre hair and one of the friendliest, most open smiles you’ve ever seen.

“Benvenuta, cara mia. Welcome.”

That voice. Your heart is doing tiny backflips inside your chest as a horde of butterflies excitedly flutter their wings inside your stomach. It takes you a moment before you figure out the way words work again.

“Thank you.”

Behind your back, you wiggle two fingers at Abel furiously.

The driver covers his grin with the back of his hand, nodding once to Leonardo in greeting before sliding back into the vehicle. He watches through the car window as Leo takes your bags and you follow him inside, the white wooden door closing behind you.

“Good luck, chérie,” he chuckles softly. Somehow, he is certain you will be just fine.

You are utterly charmed. The main house is small, and the guest house just behind it even smaller, but they are both unique, beautiful in their own ways. Everything is simple, clean. Wide windows keep the ocean in view at all times. In every room there is something to look at. A miniature painting of sunset over the water on the living room table. An antique nautical map hanging on the wall of the dining room. An oversized forest green couch that looks like it's just waiting for you to snuggle into it.

Leonardo has just brought your bags to the guest house, a one room structure with a brass bed, rustic homemade dresser, a small desk and a tiny en-suite bathroom.

“I know you are probably used to more luxurious accommodations.”

“No, this is lovely. Really.” You glance down at your phone, considering whether to post a picture to your socials and hear him laugh softly at the expression on your face. The sound settles itself into your bones, warm and welcoming.

“Reception is a bit shoddy out here. You have the best chance when you go to the living room.”

Tucking your phone into the back pocket of your jeans, you flash him a smile. “Thanks for the tip.”

He holds your gaze a moment and you feel like sand, being pulled towards an irresistible ocean.

“You must be starving. Let’s eat before I show you my studio.”

With a pleasantly full stomach and a glass of red wine in hand, you step inside the studio and gasp. Gone are the clean lines, the simplistic beauty of the rest of the house. Here is a world of color and chaos, paint and pandemonium, art and anarchy. Canvases are everywhere, paint pots and brushes, charcoal and sketchbooks. And while it may look like mayhem, there is a truth about it that stirs something inside you. This is the man behind the easy-going smile. This is his heart and soul made tangible, made material.

He notices the way you’re looking around, sees the look in your bright eyes and he knows that you see it, the love he has for his craft. You're not some Hollywood actress looking down her nose at a mess. You're one artist taking in another artist’s medium and appreciating it. His heart unexpectedly shifts, sliding closer to some unseen edge.

“This is…incredible.” You walk slowly through the space, stopping in front of whatever catches your eye. A half-finished sketch of a whale breaching the surface of the water. An anatomically correct drawing of the underside of a starfish. A canvas of yellows and oranges and reds, a practice in blending.

“How come I’ve never seen you post a finished painting on your social media?” You stop when you come to a whole row of them, leaning casually against the back wall of his studio. Crouching down, you inspect a painting of a man from behind, his arms spread out wide towards a turbulent, white-capped ocean, daring it maybe. Or welcoming it.

He shrugs, running his hand through his hair, a tick you’ll come to recognize as something he does when he is uncomfortable.

“I sell a few here and there. Not enough to earn a living but that’s what jobs like this are for, yeah?”

You rise slowly back to full height, taking a sip of the rich wine.

“Have you ever showcased your work?”

He scoffs as he lifts a paint-stained rag from one corner of his supply table and toys with it before tossing it right back.

“To what end? I paint for me. That is enough.”

That sounds like someone who is too scared to try. But you keep the words locked in your mind, aware enough to know that might be reaching a bit too deeply into his psyche for comfort.

“So….when do we begin?”

He smiles slowly and it burns through your body, warming you more than the alcohol.

“Tomorrow. Sunrise.”

All those hours you could still be sleeping. Instead of being warm and snug in your very cozy guesthouse, you are shivering on a beach, sitting on a blanket next to Leonardo as he flips open the sketchbook in front of you. He’s in an oversized brown knit sweater and jeans, looking like a model for some outdoor clothing company whereas you, trying to pull your fitted sweater down over your exposed lower back, look like some Hollywood wanna-be who wasn’t prepared for the cold California morning.

He places several small gray pebbles in front of you on the blanket.

“Sketch these.”

You tilt your head. “They’re rocks.”

“There is challenge in even the simplest of forms. Please try.”

You’re skeptical as you yank down once more on your sweater, sitting cross-legged and staring down at the pebbles. It can’t be that hard. Picking up the pencil, you begin trying to capture their form.

It proves to be much harder than it looks.

Your brow furrows as you look from your sketch, which is doing a fantastic job of being horrible, to the smooth stones in front of you.

“You must relax,” he murmurs as he scoots closer. “You’re gripping that poor pencil like you wish to strangle it.” He reaches over, covering your hand with his. You’re immediately hit with the faint smell of tobacco. Does he smoke? And something else….something earthy and rich and entirely too appealing for this early in the morning. His fingers, graceful and strong, carefully manipulate yours, sliding over your skin and leaving small ripples of heat in their wake. He touches your wrist, over the place where your heart is beating so quickly, tilting it just so.

He holds you there, moving your hand like a puppeteer might the wooden cross of marionette. You watch as the pebbles slowly come to life, flowing from the tip of your pencil.

“Let go,” his voice, gentle as the morning breeze, deep as the sea, whispers in your ear. “You must let go and allow the pencil to do its job.”

Slowly he removes his hand and the sudden lack of contact spurs a tiny whimper from your throat. Luckily, he mistakes it for dismay at his lack of coaching and chuckles.

“You continue on your own, cara mia.”

You’ve been called many things: The Girl Next Door, America’s Sweetheart but somehow, that nickname rolling so casually off his tongue suddenly means more than any of that. You’re smiling despite the cold, despite the wind, despite your stupid, impractical sweater.

Inhaling, you try again, the pencil less a tool in your hand as an extension of it. And while your pebbles don’t look amazing, they do look much closer to what you are trying to accomplish.

“Well done,” he says, looking over your shoulder. “You're a quick learner.”

You smile at him, his words washing over you, warm as sunshine.

“Can I try something else? Maybe try the sand and the ocean?”

He nods, reaching for the hem of his sweater. The next thing you know he’s removed it and wrapped it around your shoulders, leaving you surrounded by soft wool that smells like Leonardo. Your heart stumbles.

“Si. Let’s try.”

My life has never been this disconnected from work and yet, so full, you think as you wrap the beige blanket tighter around your body, watching Leonardo paint. You’re sitting outside on the large porch, the breathtaking view of the sand dunes, the boulders, the sand and the endless sea stretched out before you like a slice of paradise.

You’ve been here almost a week and the world has changed. The bright lights of Hollywood seem so far away. Now you’re concerned with daylight and sunrises, the way light falls across an object or a person, how to capture its essence with charcoal and acrylics, watercolor and wax. You haven't even touched your phone other than to reassure Theo you are fine, doing well and learning a lot, soaking in the experience of being an artist so that you can find it again when the cameras are on you. You’ve abandoned your socials, only leaving a message saying something about the life of an actor and secret prep work that you can’t talk about. It’s technically not a lie.

You watch as Leonardo dips his brush into a red that looks far too bright and finds a way to make it exactly the right shade of sunset, adding an element to his painted sky that you didn’t even know was missing until he put it there. He’s relaxed, his body loose, movements like flowing water as he almost lovingly drags the brush along the canvas. He showed you how, a few mornings ago. You’ve been haunted ever since by the feel of his larger body behind you, the way he reached around, gently taking hold of your wrist, and showed you how to hold yourself, teaching your body the dance of a painter. He is patient, always answering any question of yours the best he can. And so intelligent. The other night you curled up on his overstuffed green couch to look through several of his notebooks, filled with sketches and half-finished designs for contraptions that looked more sci-fi than present day. One entire page was devoted entirely to drawing various animal wings. The next was an excruciatingly detailed drawing of his own hand.

He talks about art the way you talk about acting: a way to conduct emotion, to spark a connection between people. You feel like he understands when you explain how acting is a form of devotion to humanity, an expression of love. Most people roll their eyes when an actor begins talking about their craft. His smile tells you all you need to know about how well he truly does understand.

He shakes you from your reverie when he joins you on the bench, wiping his hands on a towel and reaching for his glass of wine.

“And? What do you think?”

You tilt your head, pretending to study the easel with its beautiful interpretation of the actual sunset that is happening behind it. He has not replicated it exactly, but captured the symphony of colors, the dramatic brass of the oranges and romantic woodwinds of the pinks, the clouds with their warmly colored underbellies and of course, the ever present sea, gilded in gold.

“It’s beautiful, Leo.”

“You like it, which means I’m pleased.” He takes another sip. “Consider it a gift, yeah?. It is, after all, our last weekend together.”

Those words carve themself into the moment, slicing away the peace you’ve been feeling. Dismay bleeds from your heart. You were going to have to face it, the fact that your time with him, magical as it has been, is coming to an end. But you had hoped, irrationally, that maybe if no one said it, you could just stay here, in this beautiful house with this beautiful man as long as you wanted.

Your face, the tool of your trade that you can usually control so well, betrays your thoughts.

“Cara mia.” He reaches out, his fingers curling inwards for a moment, hesitant. The man who never has a problem touching you when correcting your hand or positioning your arm now needs a moment of courage. Because this isn’t a teaching moment. Maybe none of them ever really were. He only knows that from the second he opened the front door and you were there, with your smile like sunshine and eyes bright with intelligence and excitement, he felt drawn to you like he's never been toward anyone before.

You turn your face into his touch, reaching up to cup your hand over his. You press a kiss into his palm. The lull of the waves is drowned out by the roaring of your heartbeat. And then he leans towards you, taking your face in his beautiful hands, and he kisses you.

Your heart cracks open and oceans of desire and want and something else, something nameless underneath those wild waves of emotion flood you. He feels so good. This feels so right.

You kiss with the exhilaration of new lovers, wildly and without a care for anything else in the world. The sunset and her majestic colors be damned. There is nothing as beautiful as the wildfire of gold in his eyes, the melody of his breathing. You’re on his lap, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, pressed as closely as you can be and it isn’t enough. He slides his hands under your blouse, pressing the palms of his hands to your bare back. It isn’t enough.

You manage to tear your mouth away from him long enough to get out one word: “Inside.”

He stands up and you wrap your legs around him, his strong arms supporting your weight as he carries you inside the wooden house on the plateau, impatiently stealing every kiss he can before laying you down on the oversized green couch, covering your body with his. He softly growls your name in a way that sends fire cascading through your veins.

The sky outside darkens as the last rays of sunset disappear. Her show is over. You both belong now to the night.

Heart, say good-bye because you are no longer mine. You lay on your side, facing the open window of Leonardo’s bedroom. The ocean breeze, cool with night’s kiss, waves the pale curtains and skims over your skin, raising goosebumps along your bare arm and shoulder.

You close your eyes, reveling in the heavy feeling of your body, tempest-tossed and satisfied, peppered with the light marks of your lovemaking. You're a goner. You’ve fallen overboard, heading further and further down into the churning depths of your feelings for Leonardo. And you’re not sinking. Not at all. You’re kicking your legs and diving, excited to explore the deep and all its mysteries.

He stirs in his sleep and you roll back to face him, watching as he slowly surfaces from whatever dream he was lost in. His warm eyes, framed by such dark lashes, flutter open. When he sees you, laying on your side, facing him, he smiles slowly and reaches out a hand.

“Come here, cara mia.”

The thought of resisting doesn’t even cross your mind. You slide over into his arms, marveling at the feel of his body against yours, strong muscles, long legs. He presses a kiss to your temple, then nuzzles your neck affectionately.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You smile, tipping your head up to meet his gaze. Now may not be the right time to tell him everything you’re thinking. You don’t want to scare him away.

“No thoughts. Just....” You slide your hand over his chest, over the lean muscles of his abdomen, and then lower. His golden eyes flare bright with immediate hunger. His lips part as he exhales.

With a groan he pulls you to him and you close your eyes, letting his greedy mouth and wandering hands take you away.

This is only the beginning after all. You have plenty of time to figure out what's next.

A Year Later

“Now that’s just one review! The rest are all like it!”

You listen to Theo’s exuberant voice as he names all the various publications that are writing rave reviews about the film. Funny, everything you thought you ever wanted is coming true. You made a movie that is earning positive reviews across the board, with your performance hailed as a stand out, a tour de force unlike anything you’ve ever done. There’s already talk about awards and other dramatic parts and are you interested in endorsements?

And yet, you’re miserable.

Leaning back into the plush seat of the town car, you stop Theo’s voice message and tap on Instagram and, like a lemming drawn to a cliff, go to his page.

All comments are turned off and there is only one picture posted: a short message thanking people for their interest but he is on hiatus.

The post is six months old.

How did it all go so wrong? You had been so happy.

Your eyes fall closed and memories play themselves out in front of you, like a flickering movie reel from yesteryear.

You and Leonardo on his porch, cuddled together under a blanket as you watch the sunrise. He can’t stop touching you and you him.

Driving with him back to Southern California, his eyes widening when you pull into the driveway of your home, modest by Hollywood standards, a palace compared to his small wooden dwelling.

Your pool. Cold water. Hot mouths. His hand pressed against your lips, stifling your sounds even as he continues moving.

The paparazzi finding you after a few days of blissful privacy, snapping a shot of you two leaving Starbucks, his hand casually resting on your hip, thumb stroking the stripe of bare skin between your jeans and the hem of your shirt.

Your names splashed across gossip sites and social media. He gains thousands of followers in a matter of hours, people hoping he’ll post an image of the two of you together. An older picture of him from several years ago at an art gallery opening in SoHo is all they have and it is everywhere. And it is not enough. They want more.

They follow you home. They follow you to work. They follow you when you go out to eat. They follow you to appointments, to meetings, across town and back. They yell your name, they ask about him. They are relentless.

And then they start to follow him. To your home. To the restaurant where you’re meeting. To his home. They wait by the wooden house on the plateau, hoping to catch a glimpse of you and him. They yell your name, they ask about rumors, they demand to know when the wedding is.

They swarm you both like locusts blocking out the sun, sucking up all your air.

And then his paintings begin to sell. Never has there been such a demand. He can’t keep up. And he isn’t happy.

Because he says he did nothing to deserve it aside from being with you. No one cared before. He has not earned this success. It’s the side-effect of loving you. Side-effect, you repeat one night, staring at him across your marble kitchen island, that makes it sound like loving me is some kind of disease.

He cures himself by leaving. You wake up one morning and all his things are gone. He is a ghost who has vanished back into the nether of sea-spray and morning fog from whence he came.

All he leaves you with is a note, the paper torn from one of his notepads, in his messy, slanted writing: “I’m sorry.”

A note, and all the splinters of your broken heart.

And now you’re almost at your destination. The tiny bed-and-breakfast tucked away in a remote corner of the California coast. Your refuge from the rest of the world. The place you come to heal.

You’ve been here a few times since he left. The owners, Wolf and Jean, are like family. They took care of you before you became successful, when you were a starving artist looking for your big break, and have continued to do so even now, when you could easily stay at any five-star hotel across the globe but always come back here, to warmth and comfort.

The first time you came here after he left, they filled your room with macaroons, your favorite dessert. They must have heard the news from some entertainment program or maybe some celebrity news ticker. You could have killed the Starbucks barista who spoke to the press, saying how you suddenly were coming alone to pick up your coffee and how pale you were, your eyes red from crying.

Another time they subtly laid a newspaper on your bed. At first you weren’t sure why but then you saw the tiny article about Leonardo having a small but successful showing in Denmark, worlds away from the bright lights of Hollywood. Like a 1950’s schoolgirl, you had cut out the small black and white picture of him and folded it, hiding it in your wallet. Doing so felt both pathetic and comforting at the same time.

Another winding road, dipping between tree and rocky coast and then one final turn. The familiar blue and white building comes into sight and you can feel yourself breathing easier already. The car slows to a stop and a moment later, Abel opens the door for you.

“We’re here, chérie.” His champagne-colored eyes have a twinkle to them which leaves you wondering if he knows something you don't.

Forever ago, this place used to scare you with its pointed roof and close proximity to the edge of a very steep cliff. But it’s become your home away from home and you’re soothed by the sight of it.

“I’ll just get my—” Your weekend bag is already on the ground next to you and the town car is halfway down the drive. You frown slightly before hoisting up your bag. Well, he was sure in a hurry.

You bound up the familiar steps, opening the friendly blue door and step into the foyer.

“Jean? Wolf?”

Odd, they would normally be here to meet you, food and drink in hand.

You glance around, taking out your phone to make sure that you had sent them the correct date and time when you spot something hanging on the wall. Your fingers go numb and your phone falls, landing with a harmless thud on the thick carpeting.

Hanging on the wall is a new painting. It’s a woman, sitting on a beach at sunrise, wrapped up in an oversized, cozy brown sweater. Her head is tipped back, eyes closed, a serene expression on her face. It’s soft and romantic. Not a brushstroke wasted nor a color excessive.

The sea is a deep gray-blue.

The sky is a garden of pinks and lavenders and orange.

The woman is you.

You open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out.

How....

“Cara mia.”

Like an apparition he is suddenly standing there, in the doorway. Not some memory or picture or dream, but Leonardo, flesh and blood, right there in the same room as you. The sight of him hits you like the full force of a typhoon, draining all the color from your face and sending you back a step.

As you recover from your shock, you notice now how nervous he is. His hands, normally so strong and steady, whether creating art or touching you, are shaking. He has dark circles under his golden eyes, shadows of what has been haunting him.

“Leonardo.” His name is twisted upon itself, hollow and aching when it passes your lips.

“May I speak? I have something to say to you. Please."

You nod, your breath held prisoner in your lungs, your wounded heart limps in circles in your chest, aching at the sight of him.

He draws a deep breath.

“I was a fool. I pushed you away because I was afraid. Your world is so much bigger than mine and instead of joining you, proud to be by your side, learning how to navigate new waters, I ran.” He pushes a hand through his hair, an inhale needed to steady his nerves. “That was wrong. I hurt you. I’m so sorry, cara mia. So deeply sorry for how stupid I was. I…I regretted it immediately but it was too late...Dio, sono un idiota.”

He shakes his head, defeated. The failure of words in the face of what he did is stark and he finds himself unable to go on. Nothing can begin to explain the festering regret he's lived with from the moment he walked out your door. He isn't good enough with words to explain how the minute he was heading away from you all he wanted to do was to turn back. How without you the world was drained of its vivacity, its color. He trapped himself in a gray existence of his own making and now his escape lies solely in your hands.

You breathe in and out, taking a moment before you respond.

"You did hurt me. Badly. But…." You take a second, searching for the right words. "I could have helped prepare you for what it means to be with someone like me. It was so much to ask of you to just be ok with your life suddenly being turned upside down. For that, I'm sorry."

Silence grows between you, thick as brambles and just as thorny. Neither of you can meet the other's gaze. It hurts, every second that ticks by without a word. Neither of you knows what to say, neither wants to leave. It is Leonardo who finally clears his throat, a throat where so many words are bottlenecking in their fury to get out.

"I'll leave you in peace then."

The words are clipped, his accent thick as emotion chokes him. The final, tenuous connection between you is close to crumbling. He's about to turn away when one word shoots straight from your heart like a rocket.

"Wait!!"

He freezes, his sunrise gaze locking with yours. Dare he have hope…..

The minute you start towards him he rushes to meet you.

And then you're in his arms and your cheeks are wet and he's holding you so tightly your ribs feel crushed but it doesn't matter because he's turning and turning, the world is spinning, your heart is rising light as a feather, and then your feet touch the ground again and he's showering your face with kisses, painting you in his love, holding the back of your head, whispering your name breathlessly over and over and over, a song, a declaration, a prayer.

You hold on to his neck, your laughter as bright as sunlight across the waves, returning his kisses with ones of your own, all over his beautiful face, kisses pulsing with hope, with desire, with promise.

He leans back, lowering his mouth to your ear and whispers. His words engrave themselves onto your heart and you pull away to answer him the only way you can answer something like that: with a kiss deep as the sea, tender as the night.

You've found each other again. And you'll never again be parted.

(What did he whisper? This fic is acrostic so check out the first bold word of every section) 💜

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight

#ikemen series #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp leonardo #ikemen leonardo #leonardo da vinci #celebrity au #hollywood au #soulmate au #artist au #different universe same love ccc #ikemen fanfic #ikemen fanfiction #otome fanfic #violettwrites

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