#he seems like such a warm character to me i think his colour palette should reflect that but maybe i overdid it? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

larissaloki · 1 year

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Snapshot of the Future?

This is a gift for my cumplane giftee @letyepetyelepetye I hope you enjoy this I'm sorry its a bit short! I really enjoyed writing again for the first time in 4 years! I’m enonah in the server incase you are wondering! Maybe next time, I should just grow out my hair… Shen Yuan internally groused as he flips back a strand of hair that’s fallen in-front of his face for the one thousandth time today. Trying to inspect a hand-crafted model that one stall owner was promoting, this person was proudly portraying that you can send in custom designs as well; for a price of course; and you would have your very own oc model. Many displayed samples were of the D&D variety, but Shen Yuan was currently thinking up many au designs for his favourite danmei characters. I wonder if I can make a strawberry shortcake design for Binghe or Shang Qinghua? Snorting to himself, Shen Yuan doesn’t notice someone walking up to stand next to him, going on tip toes to peer over his shoulder at the colourful display. “Whoa! That bow looks epic, oh man I wish I had one like for my final fantasy 14 character… I would look kickass as my bard!” Nearly dropping his bag that held his yu-gi-oh! Inspired cookies, Shen Yuan scowls, head whipping to the side ready to give the person behind, loudly shouting in his ear, a piece of his mind. “That’s my ear you- what….what the fuck are you meant to be?” His scathing tone quickly dissolved into one of pure confusion, behind him is a guy who is on the shorter side wearing what is clearly a cosplay, and a hand made one as well, but Shen Yuan could not make out what specific character it was. The cosplay was a warm orange and cream like palette, on the shoulders there were cloud like patterns and a jade token attached to the waist. The robes did look pretty, they made the guy look soft and plain but in a way that didn’t make him seem to be boring. His hair was messily brought up into a half bun, clearly his own hair and not a wig like Shen Yuan’s. but over the top of the robes, was a cape that had a thick fur lining, the cape itself was a white with barely see-able icy blue snowflakes on it and patterns that you could only really see when trying and up close. It was clearly beautifully made, but the mistakes on the embroidery here and there told Shen Yuan that it was hand made and not machine made. It was truly an impressive cosplay and a lot of care when into it. But who was it?! The stranger, during the time that Shen Yuan was looking him over, gave him a quick look as well, before grinning widely, an odd spark of self-satisfaction and pride could be seen. “Let me guess, Shen Qingqiu? Nice cosplay…is that a dog motif on your belt?” Frowning in confusion, the cute stranger pointed at Shen Yuan’s belt, the other hand resting on his hip which was holding a bag, not caring that it smacked against a table. Cringing, Shen Yuan looked down at his belt that indeed had motifs of BingPup, a gift from his sister who helped him make this cosplay. She was practicing to become a clothes designer and practically jumped at the chance to make her brothers gifts in the form of clothing when she could. Shen Yuan himself had adored the cute design, but the strangers comment made him feel a bit self-conscious about it. “It’s a small joke about a character from a book I like, Luo Binghe reminds me of a cute puppy so my sister helped me make it” Trying to keep his voice even, Shen Yuan channels his older brother’s confidence, but a small insecure wobble could still be heard. The Stranger having the social que awareness of nothing, only hummed as he turns his head one way and another, apparently not realising how increasingly flustered Shen Yuan was becoming. “Can you stop staring?!” “Oh! Sorry! It’s just really adorable” Laughing awkwardly, the stranger itched the side of his nose, straightening back up, giving Shen Yuan a lopsided grin. “But seriously, are you meant to be Shen Qingqiu? The detail is great, where did you get it? I didn’t hear about any merchandise new deals…” the last part was mumbled to the point that Shen Yuan couldn’t fully hear it, still focused on the compliment part. Preening, Shen Yuan finds himself straightening up a bit, a smug look creeping onto his face. “Thanks, my sister helped me with the finer details, it is Shen Qingqiu’s cosplay, I thought I could pull it off” Snapping out a fan that he got when he signed up for behind-the-scenes content, designed officially but the book creator as well. There where only so many of them and Shen Yuan had one, one of his proudest possessions. The look of pure surprise on the strangers’ face was well worth getting it just for this moment alone, Shen Yuan felt his lips curl up, pleased as the stranger’s eyes went impossibly wide. “You even brought that?! Damn…” “So, you now know who I’m cosplaying as, who are you may I ask?” Shen Yuan idly fans himself; the convention was packed full of people, the air was getting stuffy after being inside for so long. Blinking, the stranger tears his eyes away from the fan finally, pulling his mind from whatever thoughts he was having. “Oh! I’m actually Shang Qinghua from the same book, just er, adapted to something a bit of a personal fantasy…” the cosplayers cheeks heat up with an adorable blush that made Shen Yuan’s fingers itch with the need to pinch them, but held back. “Huh, I didn’t realise it was PIDW” frowning, Shen Yuan kicked himself for somehow not realising, after being told, he could see all the small tells as to which character this was. The fact that it was adapted was the only comfort for his PIDW loving brain for not recongising it sooner. “It’s beautiful, the cape is very pretty” Face lighting up like a Christmas tree, the cute stranger positively beamed at him in delight, “You like it?! I was so unsure how it would look…” Yeah, Shen Yuan could understand that he had taken the same gamble with his belt himself after all. “Oh, I’m Shang Qinghua by the way, it’s great to see another fan and cosplayer of my work!” I’m sure he meant his favourite work; idiot’s mouth runs faster than his brain it seems. Laughing under his breath a bit, Shen Yuan inclines his head in greeting, “I’m Shen Yuan, are you really named the same as the character…?” Shen Yuan found it hard to believe but it would also make sense, it was probably similar as to how Shen Yuan feels the need to cosplay Shen Qingqiu because they share the same name. Nervously chuckling, Shang Qinghua nods sheepishly, toeing the ground as if embarrassed, well the character Shang Qinghua was pretty shady… “It is my actual name yeah, er, you can call me by a nickname if you like?” Shaking his head, Shen Yuan declines the offer, calling him by a nickname so soon feels bit to personal for being basically strangers. “Great!” Cheering up, Shang Qinghua’s entire body seems to bounce with joy, Shen Yuan could not help but find it endearing how his entire body seemed to project his moods so clearly. It was like watching a hamster, adorable and sweet. Anyone would think the same if they were me, its not gay to think a guy is cute! Nodding to himself, Shen Yuan adjusts his bags carefully before turning to look at Shang Qinghua again. “Have you seen many other PIDW cosplayers?” Pouting, Shang Qinghua shakes his head, crossing his arms ignoring how his bag again fly’s around, giving Shen Yuan a low key heart attack. How could he be so careless?! “Nah, you are the first one, honestly a bit sad by that but that just means we look extra amazing!” Grinning confidently, Shang Qinghua proudly exclaims, a beat later he jolts as an idea comes to him and he’s grabbing onto Shen Yuan’s arm excitedly, tugging on it causing Shen Yuan to stumble. For a small guy, he sure has one hell of a hidden strength, is this the power of adorableness? “Let’s go take pictures! Come on it will be fuuuuun! Please it’s not often I meet a real-life actual fan of PIDW!” A small whine can be heard as Shang Qinghua somehow magically summons up tears into his eyes and gives Shen Yuan the most pitiable puppy eyes he has ever seen. Groaning as he rubs his shoulder, Shen Yuan sighs, finding him unable to look away from the cute sight. “Fine! I will do a couple with you, but only a few got it? And you better send me a copy of them all…” Cheering, Shang Qinghua finally let’s go of his captive, fist pumping the air. Thinking himself free, Shen Yuan makes sure that he has all his things, and barely manages to pick up one back that he had placed on the ground, before his hand is grabbed and he finds himself being dragged through the crowd. It takes them a few good minutes to get outside, but the duo manages it with Shang Qinghua leading the way through, the small man managing to find all the gaps and squeezing them through in no time. “Oh oh oh oh oh, where should we start? Oooh that tree could make for a great backdrop for you- oh no, that area over there is practically perfect! Let’s go, hurry!” Barely having time to properly look around, Shen Yuan soon finds himself dragged over to a small section of the grounds that has some trees and even some bamboo planted along with some other flowering bushes and a small stream. “Put your bags to the side while I set up my camera, ok?” Shang Qinghua is setting up a small phone stand and the timer on his camera, his bags already thrown carelessly to the side as the eccentric hamster mutters to himself. Bewildered, Shen Yuan takes a moment to collect himself and carefully place his bags to the side. Making sure that his cookies don’t get ruined. “Ok that’s set, get your fan maybe and let’s strike a few poses together, maybe one of us walking through the bamboo? Hmm what else…” And this is how, Shen Yuan, spoilt son of his family, ends up being directed and fussed over to take many many different shots. It was actually surprisingly fun much to his surprise. Many shots ended up ruined because they would burst out laughing or falling over, such as when Shang Qinghua thought it would be a good idea to jump on the small stones in the shallow stream and ended up knee deep into it instead. Shen Yuan had so much that, he couldn’t remember every having smiled or laughed this much at one time for years. Being so sick so often to the point that he was bed ridden for months at a time, it felt so good to be laughing with someone again, to be enjoying his time instead of finding ways to cope with being inside and lonely. It felt…nice to have someone enjoy his company as well, it felt so good to have someone excitedly look at the photo’s they take and plan the next few. As if spending time with Shen Yuan was actually fun and not something to be over as soon as possible or that he has to be treated like spun glass. Shang Qinghua treats him like a normal person, yes Shen Yuan is going to be exhausted and aching something terrible tomorrow, but all he can think is- Shang Qinghua has a sweet smile. His dimples are just so cute when he laughs, completely in a platonic way of course! Its’ not like he has a crush on Shang Qinghua at all, any sane person would find him so utterly cute! You try and find someone who would disagree! “Fuck, the time is already 4pm, the convention closes in an hour, we really spent a long time out here huh? Say you coming to tomorrow as well or just today? Sorry if you had wanted to do other things…” Shen Yuan was surprised to see the time and sure enough, when he checked his phone, it glared 4:01pm back at him. Damn, he had actually wanted to get everything done today and meet a guy, because he knows he will be in bed tomorrow. However, looking at Shang Qinghua’s dejected and apologetic look, remembering all the fun they had, Shen Yuan couldn’t bring himself to be angry. “I wasn’t planning on coming tomorrow, but if I can I may come in, I wanted to meet an actor my sister likes for an autograph, think we have enough time to see a few stalls before closing?” “Sure! Many people should have left now so we should be able to zip around!” Relief bleeding through Shang Qinghua’s body that his new friend wasn’t mad, they quickly gather their things before heading back inside. True to Shang Qinghua’s word, many people had already filtered out and left the place much more empty that it had been previously. A blessing for Shen Yuan who could already feel his limbs and joints screaming at him for doing so much. Biting back a hiss as he moves out of the way of some transformer cosplay, Shen Yuan follows close behind Shang Qinghua. “Hey bro, give me your email and ill send the pictures over to you while you take a look at the stalls?” “Sure, my personal one is [email protected]” Pausing visibly, Shang Qinghua simply raises an eyebrow at him as Shen Yuan blushes hotly in embarrassment. “What? It was all that came to mind at the time and its for personal use only! Don’t give me that look I bet yours is no better” “Actu- yeah ok mine is no better” Laughing, Shang Qinghua happily hums as he starts to attach the picture folder to Shen Yuan’s email to send to him. While he does that, Shen Yuan eyes some cute looking rabbit, cat and panda plushies, debating which to get his older brother as a gag gift for Christmas, maybe he should get the chicken one… “Ok that’s sent! That should be all the pictures bro! Say, in the future would you like to do this again? It was really fun and I would to- ow ow ow! What the heck bro!? why you- S-Stop it!!” “Your email- your airplane?!” “er…yeah? H-hey ow! Not the nose!” “you stupid trash writer! After this you are coming back with me while I soak in a bath because my everything hurt’s and you are going to listen to everything I have to say about your stupid trash book!” “oh…hey you are peerle-“ “yes yes yes I am shush!” Grinning despite the red mark on his forehead from a vicious fan whack, Shang Qinghua just coos at Shen Yuan who politely pays for the plush from a mildly concerned shop keeper. “Awwwww! You are my biggest fan, you know I love reading your comments whenever I feel down at home writing, they really make me feel bet-“ “You read them and don’t reply?!” “Yeah because I hope that maybe, if I don’t you will keep commenting- put that fan away! Wait, I’m coming back with you? Does this mean dinner at yours?” Huffing, Shen Yuan grumbles as he puts his fan away and starts walking towards the exit, body hurting too much to warrant staying now. “Yes, I want noodles if I’m going to have to put up with you” “Oh sweet! Wait, are you ok..?” “It’s fine, this happens often, aa week of rest and I will be fine-“ “A week?!” Shang Qinghua squeaks out in shock as they walk, “ and you wanted to come in tomorrow as well?! Bro you should stay home!” “I can’t, I need to get that signature, I promised my sister, plus I wanted to look around…” Looking at Shen Yuan in understanding Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but feel bad again for earlier. “Hmmm, wait, think we have enough time to make a new cosplay? If you wanted to cosplay tomorrow? Wait, do you have a wheelchair?” Sceptical, Shen Yuan nods, he had a wheelchair, but he hates using it because it makes me feel so hopeless when he does. “Sweet! Ok think we can magic up a throne like cosplay around your wheelchair and make you look like Thranduil?”

#cumplane #svsss #shen yuan #shang qinghua #scum villain #larissaloki

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scribetry · 1 month

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╾━╤デ╦︻ DANCE YOUR HEARTS OUT

synopsis ₊ 𓂃 you attend a ball with your boyfriend, and it ends up being the best night of your life.

neuvillette 〥 gn reader ₊ 𓂃 safe for work. suggestive. ballroom dancing, nons-sexual intimacy, french terms of endearments, shameless flirting, acts of pda, height differences (you're shorter), teasing. 1.3k wc .ᐟ

will definitely be making a part two of this from wrio’s pov (his date) i love the idea of joining scenes with characters together and making the reader experience both sides tehe. listening to this ballroom dancing music with neuvillette also helped me out writing this. i'm not fluent in french so if you know it and there are mistakes no you did not see them

when neuvillette first spots you in a crowd of patrons, there's something quite strange and unprecedented about his behaviour. he first notices your attire as it is the thing that stands out most on you from afar, but his attention quickly diverts from that when he picks up on a faint glimmer of green refracting against his blue irises.

a large jade pin nestled in the bundles of hair just above your ear; it has him stiffening and gripping his cane tighter when he notices the expensive jewelry because it just looks so beautiful, even from this distance. he internally makes note that green is your colour. it has to be, he thinks, otherwise, why does it look so stunning on you?

he wants to see it better, up close, against your hair, if it makes your smile brighter, creating the most beautiful palette with your skin― he wonders what scent you're wearing tonight too, and he smiles coyly to himself in thought about that.

the idea has him sauntering over soundlessly from where he stood with wriothesley, who in turn, was looking around mindlessly with a glass of champagne in hand. the duke outreaches to try and catch the latters attention, and ultimately, falls on deaf ears when he now notices why neuvillette was so focused from before.

his dance should be arriving soon too, wriothesley hums to himself, downing the sparkling alcohol in one shot.

"it's you, y/n. good evening. you've come, just as promised."

when neuvillette breaks into the conversation, your face instantly lights up at the call of your name. "monsieur neuvillette! thank you for inviting me here tonight. everything is set up so beautifully! all thanks to you, that is."

a deep chuckle emits from his chest and he picks up a glass from a barkeep circling the ballroom, giving them a quick nod before turning back to you.

"mes sucre d’orge, have you forgotten that we are a couple? please, just address me by my surname neuvillette, if you must. there is no need for formalities."

the people who you were priorly conversing with all flush in sync at the endearing pet name, and one of your friends in the group signals you off with their hand when you look at them, giving you the 'you're good to go bestie!' thumbs up.

you swallow thickly before turning back to the tall gentleman, the apples of your cheeks growing warm under his gaze. neuvillette then hands you one of the drinks from his gloves and you take it willingly, twirling it around at its base with the tips of your jittery fingers.

he then motions you in front of him to engage in idle chatter, and you flick him a small smile before absent-mindedly putting your hair back in place behind the pin.

the two of you walk slowly― it was more him encouraging you than actually speaking as a whole himself, but he missed hearing the sound of your voice. it seemed like you were just as busy as he was with work, helping out navia's business in the spina di rosula; no one seemed to catch a break, but now was the perfect opportunity for that.

neuvillette suddenly grabs the glass out of your hand mid conversation as you stutter and places both of them on the table. he takes you into his glove, kissing your knuckles with direct eye contact. he then pulls you flush against his chest with a little gasp escaping your lips, one hand coming up to rest in the small of your back.

he leans in to whisper, "mes petit fleur, you look so captivating tonight. i've been staring at you for a while now and i couldn't help but feel a little envious of all these eyes on you, quand tu devrais être juste à moi seul."

you wince and fluster at the mention of his possession, the lilt of his french accent sending shivers down your spine, especially in front of so many people who were practically ogling the two of you― his face was merely inches away from yours, and you could practically feel every passion laced behind his words.

"may i have this dance, mes amour?"

dazed for a good five seconds, you sharply nod your head a little too hard after being brought back to reality, and neuvillette drags you into an open spot in the room. you join your left hand with his right shoulder, slinking and intertwining your right fingers into his left fingers.

the dance starts off slow; foreheads touching, movements on par with each other to the rhythm of the atmosphere's melody. groups of people notice the two of you dancing and it compels you to glance into the audience nervously. neuvillette is quick to tilt your back over his forearm and you let out a small gasp, him pulling you straight up and thumbing the tip of your chin.

he gives you this reassuring smile, a warm and unphased one, and it makes you grin up at him, your tongue running over your teeth in your mouth.

"i thought you'd be the little scary cat tonight." to tease him.

neuvillette twirls you in that moment, "i don't think scared would be the correct term to describe how i'm feeling right now. more...excited."

you rolls your eyes as you pull away from him, both of your hands now joining tightly with his. you fling yourself back into his chest, stepping onto your tiptoes to ghost the skin of his lips but don't kiss him.

he inhales sharply from this and the music resets, making you stand flat on your feet again. you disconnect from his hold and walk over to attain more champagne. he watches you from a distance, looking you up and down before ending at your eyes.

he then slowly walks over to you, grabbing the glass from your hand this time round. before you could walk off, he pulls you by the wrist and presses his lips against yours in a passionate kiss.

it definitely caught you off guard; you didn't know if it was the fact that neuvillette was so brave out in public with watchful eyes on him. or if this kiss actually meant something to him. he was acting a little strange tonight―

the longing sensation neuvillette would often feel every time he'd catch you walking down the bustling streets of fontaine's inner city, did numbers on his heart and mind. the two of you are dating, but business grew the two of you further and further apart.

the thought of loving someone so much to the point that his chest hurt, made him feel like he was human after all; sad or upset or even misplaced wouldn't be the right words to describe how he viewed himself alongside humanity. it would be like if a middle child was loved equally by their parents.

it was one of those things; the feeling of being an ordinary person; of being a droplet out of thousands in a rain cloud made him feel more at home when he knew you were descending with him. your heart was practically his and his heart was all yours. combined together, it created life―

neuvillette leans back, a string of saliva connecting the two of you, and he purses his lips, shifting his head away from you in sudden embarrassment. you noticed he was going to say something in that moment, and how vulnerable he looks under the chandelier makes you shiver.

"take me home, mon mari. i want to go home, with you. will you spend the night with me?"

neuvillette slowly lifts his head, bringing your hand in his one final time before kissing it solidly for a good five seconds. your lips form a thin line with a shiver crawling up your spine.

"if its with you, i'd do anything."

you cock you eyebrow at him teasingly as he diconnects his lips, "anything?"

"hmm, don't get too cheeky, mes coeur. i might get the wrong idea."

you lean into him, feathering your lips over his, "then get the wrong idea."

#neuvillette x reader #genshin x reader #neuvillette #genshin impact #genshin fluff #neuvillette fluff

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yeojaa · 4 years

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( LOVED YOU BETTER. )

You put your love and trust into people not things, you tell him.

They’ll leave, he says about humanity - about that precarious nature that both beguiles and terrifies him.

But they’ll love you back, you remind him.

pairing. kth x f!reader.

genre + rating. slice of life. an angst angel food cake with a fluffy, strawberry centre. general.

tags / warnings. minor (ish) character death, heartbreak, kim taehyung is bad at feelings, summer romance, abandonment issues, moving on, healing. idk.

wc. 4.3k

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif @snackhobi @midnighttifa 💖 i love y’all!

author note. this was written for the 'a long hot summer' event hosted by @thebtswritersclub. my member was taehyung (obviously!) with the sense being sight. this is my first project for a net, so i hope you enjoy it! 💖

He spends most of his childhood in Lyon, skirting the rivers in search of inspiration. It isn’t Paris, his mother tells him, but it’s just as lovely - quieter and more peaceful. She insists, one day, she’ll take him home, where his maternal grandparents are buried and she’ll show him all the parts of her world.

The first time he paints - eleven years old, seated at the edge of the Saône with a brush held between his teeth and pigment smearing his hands - his mother is delighted. He fills the house with his works: pretty watercolours that mimic the blue of the river, the white of boats, the amber of the sky. She loves them and she loves him and she tells him day in and day out, offering praise as readily as he offers his heart on canvas.

He’s sixteen when he migrates stateside, to where his father grew up and his mother’s accent stands out. He hates it there. It’s boring and bland and it stifles his imagination. There are no sail boats, no rivers, no pretty girls. The days turn grey and so does his mother, as if she’d left the best parts of herself back in France. She still tells him she loves him, promises that they’ll go back someday.

At twenty-one, he learns love isn’t real. His father files for divorce and his mother withers away. When he goes, he packs his bags and doesn’t look back. It’s a slamming door in an already abandoned home. Beautiful as it might be, love is nothing but infatuation - fleeting and easily broken and fit only for the books that line the study. It exists truly, wholly, only in the blood that runs in his veins.

At twenty-two, he realises absolutely nothing lasts, for his mother leaves too, taking her lilting laughter and rose perfume with her, buried six feet under soil she’d never called home. Her death is a nail in the door, sealing his childhood shut.

His father does not attend the funeral. Hardly anyone does.

The paintings - lovely portraits of her wide eyes and full lips, of Parisian sunsets and paved streets - are all he has. They serve as memories, painful reminders of the woman his mother once was, of the life he’d once lived. They fill the house that’s no longer a home - hasn’t been, for years - tucked away in a room he refuses to enter.

His mother had called him her petit choux because he was born with dough-soft cheeks, sweet as pie. As he grew older, the name stuck - even if the fat hadn’t, slipping off his face with each passing year. By the time he’s eighteen, he’s uncut edges rather than honey brioche. At twenty-seven, he’s hardened far more than she would’ve ever expected of her beloved boy. He is week old bread, stale and hard to the teeth.

But he is still her petit choux and he thinks she’d love him regardless.

So Kim Taehyung promises to go back. For her - to find all the pieces she’d left behind and fashion them back together. What he doesn’t expect is to meet you along the way.

He discovers you on a day that scorches his bones, Parisian sun shimmering pavement and cobblestone. You are a whirlwind of colour, every shade of the rainbow presented in the glory of your smile. You treat the Seine like a lover, living at the edges of its shores with bare feet and bare legs and a bare face that begs to be memorised.

You laugh and it’s radiant, pealing bells that ring in his ears long after noon has struck.

You call him mon chéri like it means something.

It reminds him of his mother and he wonders whether she ever did these same things, dancing across the grass with an apricot caught between her teeth. He hopes so.

“Come, come,” you coax, with a mouth that threatens to tear his chest wide open. It presents pretty, in shades of ruby and wine; it draws him in, sticky sweet, and he’s defenseless to your whims. He goes where you go, following the flow of your hair, the curtain that draws back and has him seeing in technicolour.

He laughs when you laugh, smiles when you smile. You bring him to all the places he’s never been: the cobbled streets his mother once roamed, the darkened bars filled with champagne, the sunlit warmth of your bedroom where wisteria branches hang low. He paints you in all of them - sweeping watercolours into the silk of your hair, the curve of your lips, the swell of your hips when his palms grip them tight.

You’re an ingenue, a muse, everything he’s ever wanted. But he doesn’t love you - because love doesn’t exist. Not in the ways they portray on the silver screen, with heartfelt declarations and bundles of overflowing roses. He can’t give you those things; he’s grateful you don’t ask.

Sometimes, he thinks you might dare to. Can see it lurking in the lovely shade of your stare, how you study him when you think he isn’t watching. Furtive glances, made beneath the thick line of your lashes, behind the brocade of your sun-drenched strands.

But he’s Kim Taehyung and he’s always watching - always aware. He hates to miss a single thing.

Don’t ask me to love you, he tells you without words.

“Should we go to Lyon for the weekend?”

You’re draped across the bed, drenched in lavender and warm like baked pastry. Your tongue licks cream from your lips, sweetness touched with honey. He drinks in your every movement, dedicating them to canvas. There’s a freckle on your knee and another just below. One more on your ankle and three along the top of your foot. A constellation he hasn’t named yet.

“No,” he answers, devoid of the same delight that frolics behind your teeth.

“Why not?” You press, because it’s what you do - forcing each button until you find the one that stirs something to life within him. A coin-operated boy, rusty and in terrible disrepair. He thinks you’d be wary of the bright red warning light but you seem almost colourblind, looking through rose-tinted glasses that dress all of his actions in warmth he doesn’t deserve.

He doesn’t answer, sweeping his brush back and forth. Lilac filters into water, a lovely shade that grows lighter and lighter with each pass of bristles. It’s not quite the same as your dress - a silk creation that begs to live on your skin - but it’s close enough. He’ll settle for it.

It reminds him of the flowers in the garden back home. Back when his mother was alive and she still breathed life into the greenery, trimming stems and drying petals.

“I don’t want to.” A simple enough answer.

You wait for him to elaborate, pouting and pleading like you might break him down with the sheer force of your beauty. If he were any lesser man, you might have.

“Please,” you purr, too persuasive for your own good. You’d settle into his lap, twist his honey strands between your fingers, if not for the stare he levels you with. One that screams be good and stay still because the last thing he wants is you ruining the painting. He doesn’t want to start all over and the light is already waning, sun lost somewhere behind drooping branches and the gauzy softness of your drapes.

“No.”

“Please.”

Brush to water, then to colour. A sweet orange - the flesh of a fresh cantaloupe without seeds. “No.”

“Mon chéri—”

He booms out “No!” like a cannon. It’s akin to being scolded, stilling the playfulness in your hands. You’re ignorant to all the reasons he refuses to indulge you but you think of it as nothing but selfishness, a cold you can’t weather. One you refuse to when flowers are in full bloom and the air outside lays a salt-crown atop your brow. This is your kingdom, your rightful place - you bow to no one.

You stiffen, rise from the bed in a motion that disrupts every part of him. Motions still, knuckles white. No no no. You’re ruining it. You’re ruining—

“Get out.”

Taehyung can’t quite believe his ears - staring at you in such aghast you almost laugh right in his face. He has the audacity to perform such theatrics after yelling at you? How dare he! It enrages you, brings your blue blood to a boil beneath your skin.

“Pardon?” The sound rolls, trips, and stumbles, dirt on his palms and knees as he stares up at you.

“I said get out, mon chéri.” You’ve unbuttoned the rumpled shirt - his, with his initials embroidered across the cuff - allowing it to drop from your shoulders and into his lap. He glares down at it, stained now with the watercolours in his palette. It’d be pretty if it weren’t so infuriating.

“I’m not done.”

You tch, a derisive sound that bites worse than your love, your nails painted in Chanel. “I don’t care.”

“I’m not done,” he repeats, perhaps a little lost. It crawls out between his teeth, a lost man seeking solace. He needs to finish this. He hasn’t painted you this way yet, bathed in faded light. It’s an empty slot in his album of memories. He can’t let it go.

You’re unrepentant, dismissive. A table turned. “I don’t care.”

He hates you then. He doesn’t realise how close the emotion is to love.

He doesn’t know when his boyhood waned away, lost itself to the wind and the rivers. He only knows, suddenly, he was not a boy but a man, a miserable soldier made to walk the plank. He thinks it might’ve been when she died, taking the last traces of his youth with her. Gone was the innocence, the gentility, the voraciousness; all at once, the ease - the glory, the good - had evaporated, leaving in its place a broken boy too angular, too angry.

He doesn’t know when his boyhood waned away, but he remembers all too well when her death had eclipsed the light, leaving him in perpetual darkness.

It makes sense then - that his whole life is a charnel house, built on the foundation of someone else’s bones. It’s only fitting it becomes a memorial to a long-gone mother, a weeping wife, a star burnt out too soon.

He’s somehow still surprised when his kingdom - formidable, impenetrable, guarded - comes crumbling down, an overgrown old city ruined. As if he’d expected those skeletons to hold him forever, to carry the weight of his desolation within their hollows. He begs for absolution when it falls beneath a thousand leagues, lost to saltwater and liquor. He drowns within it and it seeps, sticks, stirs - catching in his stare and trembling his fingers.

Nostalgia comes like ghosts - old men lost at sea.

They’re dim, twilight, held behind a heavy fog. Old memories on a carousel ride, spinning in perpetual motion. They’re snapshots of his mother, his youth, his home. They pass too quickly; he can never catch them.

Years old misery claws its way up his chest and he chokes on it each night, lying awake listening to the city groan, straining like a dying beast on its last legs. He misses her, he misses you, he misses the person he used to be. He aches for it - a nameless thing just out of reach.

Something Taehyung begs and cries for until he’s blue in the face.

Something you’d given him, in the form of kisses and promises. Something he’d only shoved you down into the dirt for - right where she was. Because no one kept promises, and he didn’t want to hate you later. (For loving, for leaving.)

Instead, he hates himself, and that is a neater, cleaner way to end the story.

He is bereft, drifting between days he has neither the desire nor wherewithal to consider.

He sees women just like you - girls that run barefoot through the grass, fancying themselves dancers, muses, inspirations. They laugh, they kiss, they cite vague poetry. They preen when he asks to paint them, throwing exaggerated shapes with the lines of their necks, the flutter of their lashes.

Still, none of them are you - too soft and rounded.

None possess the same insolence, polite phrases toeing the line of sophisticate and street urchin. They are all wind-up ballerinas, dancing on rotation, with smiles not right, too tight. They’re too flat, too freckled, reminiscent of rotting cherries and mint-green Ladurée bags you’d scoff at. They leave his canvases better off bare, boring and one-dimensional. Taehyung resents them.

But he doesn’t love you, and he tells himself that whenever he misses you.

A victim of ennui, he slips into a pattern he abhors. Supine lounging in the evenings, preceded only by listless wandering during the long hours of the day. He drifts with the rise and fall of the sun, eyes blind to the beauty around him.

Nothing feels quite right anymore - not in the way it used to. There are no memories of his mother, no sweet tales told by a ghost. It’s empty empty empty, only shit-stained streets and hollow bodies.

He prays for an answer, a sign, anything.

It comes in the form of you - nearly three weeks later, beneath a stream of sunlight that casts you in chiaroscuro. For the first time, he itches to paint. The need thrums in his fingers, a million little nerve endings firing off. He itches to touch you too, but he ignores that, shoves it into the deepest, darkest recess of his thoughts as he can. He needs to focus on one thing and one thing only: doing what he came here to do.

“Bonjour.” It comes bare, undressed and vulnerable. By the look on your face, it isn’t what you want.

You twist away, entire body angling uncomfortably in your effort to ignore him. “What do you want?” You’re cruel, capricious - a god looking upon a lowly farmhand with no offering. It stings in a way it shouldn’t, pulls his expression into a frown before he can mask it.

That’s better, you think. He can practically read the smug emotion dancing in those pretty irises.

“You haven’t called.”

“Neither have you.”

“You told me to leave.”

“And you left.”

For every excuse, you have a rebuttal. It’s a game of chess he’s bound to lose. It’s as frustrating as it is enticing, stirring something warm and heavy in the cavity behind his ribs. A little hummingbird come to life, wings beating relentlessly and kicking up all the dust of his childhood trauma.

“I’m sorry.” It’s hardly an apology, too greedy to come the way it should. Taehyung does this for himself, for his promise, for memories he refuses to let go.

You see right through him. “Are you?”

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“Tell me what you’re sorry for.”

The words I am are poised on his tongue and reduced to ash with your question. He’s never had to try so hard a day in his life. It feels wrong, messy, awful. Every part of him compels him to rebel - to wax poetic about the things he’s done right, how what you’re asking is too much. I cannot love you, he thinks.

“I thought so.” There’s nothing but disdain in your stare, turning it sharp like a knife that threatens to glide through his armour. “You’re selfish, Kim Taehyung. All you want is to take and take and take. You refuse to give.”

You’re not wrong. He wears his sadness like a solid steel plate; it curls around his vertebrae, writhing in his belly until he’s full, aching, complete. He doesn’t know how to exist without it, apart from it. It keeps him safe, satisfied, out of harm’s way. It’s both a blessing and a curse.

As you leave, he wonders whether it’s worth it.

Six long days pass. Six too many, drawn out and miserable. He aches to create, to sketch, to paint. He calls you in a moment of weakness; you come, nonetheless.

“What do you want?” You repeat, mouthful of thorns and scar tissue.

This time Taehyung has an answer. He’s ready, confident in his recital. It spills forth loosely, with abstract brazenness. “I want you.” There’s no room for uncertainty, zero leeway to be found in between the syllables. It’s the most sincere he’s been all season, made true by the summer sun and your focused, unyielding stare.

“You want moi?” It’s a dance with the devil - question poised like a hand. “Do you even know what wanting someone means?” You’re steady, unwavering, just as he is.

He hesitates then, just barely, with a tick of his jaw, fingers curling around nothing. You take that as weakness, delicate mouth curling into a sneer. He sees it - all the I told you so’s poised on the tip of your tongue, ready to silence him. He beats you to it, crashing his mouth against yours with a recklessness that thrums in his veins, sending his heart on a wild chase for that something.

He’s spent his whole life in pursuit of a feeling, a spectre, a bittersweet memory. He thinks he might’ve lost himself along the way.

“I want you. I want you - and us.”

What he means to say is he wants all the things that come with it: the bratty rebuttals, the early morning eagerness, the taste of you every night. He wants the eyelashes on his pillow case, the lipstick stains, the scent of your perfume - citrus and nectarine blossom, cocoa butter, fresh cream. He wants the trips to the countryside, the new memories, the paintings full of you. He wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything. He needs it like he needs air, light, art.

He needs you - his muse.

He tells you, shamelessly, around a lump that forms in his throat and makes it hard to breathe. “We’ll go to Lyon. If you want to go, we’ll go.”

The place where he grew up is different, wrapped in ivy and devoid of light. Windows are drawn and everything leans grey, weeds sprouting beneath his expensive leather loafers. They curl around his ankles, creep up the back of his knees; they threaten to crush him beneath their weight. He imagines his insides look the same - neglected and vacant.

He wishes he hadn’t come. This isn’t his home, his kingdom, his heart. Not anymore.

“Come, mon chéri,” you hum, stirring him from his reverie, pulling his thoughts through the seven circles of Hell until he’s back in the present, stiff at your side with your fingers interlaced. You offer an affectionate smack of your lips - wine-stained and pretty - to his cheek. He does not soften.

“Let’s go.” It comes despite himself, before he can help it, in a voice that isn’t his. It’s too soft, too unsure - fifteen years younger and vulnerable.

You regard him closely, with a careful narrow of your stare. He can read the pity there, the frustration that swims in the depths - circling sharks seeking out the scent of his blood. It’s inescapable. He wishes you’d stop. He doesn’t need you to lecture him.

Misery rises, licks up his throat like bile, and he worries it might spill out, red as the crimson sea. Part of him wants it to - a defense mechanism he can’t control; the other part of him knows he should swallow it down. He has no reason to fight you.

“Come,” you repeat, and he’s defenseless, lost to your siren song. He steps back in time, white-knuckled and terrified.

There are no longer peonies in the kitchen, nor roses in the front hall. Dust settles over every surface, dry soil kicked up beneath his feet.

Taehyung tries to recall the way his mother would busy herself in the garden, bent over her flowers like an altar. How her knees were perpetually scarred, dirt caught beneath her nails, dark hair a braided wreath worn like a crown. It was the only time she was anything but composed - full of light and laughter and a love for the alive. He’d eat breakfast with her in the front yard, a shadow that would follow her every move. Back and forth, he’d go - on his feet, with his brush, in his thoughts.

Every painting was of her - of tulips and daisies, bare ankles and sun-kissed skin. The shape of her mouth, the freckle on her nose. Her delight when his father would come home.

He swears he smells her perfume now, standing in the place he’d grown up. He’s reminded of hot coffee and fresh bread, her fluttering laughter and brass watering can. He’ll dream about it for days, memories rolling like a Super 8 film through his mind.

He cries I’m fine when he isn’t. You hold him until he is.

You sleep together on a Sunday afternoon.

When you wake, the sun is low on the horizon and you’re the prettiest Taehyung’s ever seen you, features thrown in stark relief. You’re salt-sweet and striking, dressed in linen whites and the shape of his mouth.

He paints the pale soles of your feet, drawn against your leg, and the shade of your nails, a pretty colour he attributes to springtime and sonnets. He indulges in the sound of your voice, soft and hazy in his ear. You kiss him like he isn’t broken and you taste like memories - ones he hasn’t made yet, but desperately wants to. He is both sinking and floating, as if you’ve taken his heart from his chest and hold it, beating, somewhere high above his head.

He carries your perfume for weeks after, heavy on his skin. Lingering, like you’ve become a part of him, like he’s fallen in love.

Kim Taehyung had once surrounded himself with beautiful things - paintings and drawings and girls. He’d thought if he fenced himself in with all things good, there would be no cracks for the outside world - the real world, full of misery and deceit - to seep through. He’d kept his hands occupied by brushes, by thorns, by a million little material things.

He hadn’t realised all he needed was yours, warm in his.

You put your love and trust into people not things, you tell him.

They’ll leave, he says about humanity - about that precarious nature that both beguiles and terrifies him.

But they’ll love you back, you remind him.

The confession comes at the end of summer, edges past the cage of his teeth into the quiet of the evening. It comes and comes, so softly he thinks you might laugh, corners of your eyes wrinkling like the sheets in which you’re bare.

Maybe it’s the way your hair falls over your shoulders, a curtain he aches to part, to feel beneath his hands. Maybe it’s the way you look at him with hungry eyes and wet lips and teeth that could crumble all of his walls as if they were made of papier-mache.

Maybe it’s just you, skin like silk and eyes like the night sky.

“I think I love you,” Taehyung states, careful, with his entire heart in his hands.

“You think?

He nods, although he mustn’t. He can’t, he reminds himself.

And yet he does, because there is no denying how well you fit each other’s curves, the truth that you are two pieces of the same puzzle. He wakes up early each day with the taste of you still on his tongue, the memory of you seared into his palms. Your body has become his home and it is real, flesh and blood, not broken bones buried six feet under.

You fill his silence with your laughter; it sounds like redemption and feels like hope.

Before he knows it, seasons change.

Autumn becomes a waiting room, a time between the unyielding heat of summer and the unbearable cold of winter. Taehyung loves the quiet of it, the progression as steady as the chill that creeps beneath his clothes, within his bed - everywhere but in his head.

He remembers his mother, his home, all the things he’s lost. He pays homage to the woman who had raised him right but left too soon. He finds the places she’d told him about and folds secrets into their corners. He creates new memories, introducing his present to his past. You call her mamman and tell her not to worry, promising that you’ll take care of him.

He lives beneath the fading leaves that serve as a benchmark for which to measure the growth he’s undergone. He imagines his life in film, in rolling scenes laid out in sepia tones. He imagines weeks passing by and versions of himself doing the things he loves most.

Laid out under the copper sky, your head in his lap and a brush in his hands. He doesn’t need to look at you - can fit you among the pages purely from memory. The turn of your smile, the twinkle in your stare, the little freckle just beneath your lip. He sees you in his dreams and he commits them to paper, filling his sketchbook as you fill his thoughts.

Wandering the streets, hand in hand, guided by your laughter and the smell of warm pastry. Bare legs, echoing footsteps, the sight of your smile when he’s said something particularly funny. You cry Mon chéri! and force a cherry between his lips, savouring the tart taste under the afternoon sun.

Upon your balcony, skin searing beneath high noon and the feel of your mouth. He lets you paint him - sits terribly still as you show him who he really is - stripping his pretenses with each pass of your brush. He is bare but not broken, a beautiful boy painted in earth tones and paired with intense eyes.

Taehyung tells you your painting is beautiful and that he loves it - that he loves you.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi

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kidhawks · 3 years

Note

Are there any character designs in bnha that make you slightly angry? You’re an artist so you know about this stuff. Is there any character that you see and you’re just like. What.

now this is a whole can of worms (heh) you don’t wanna open but here we are. i think hori’s designs are for the most part really inventive and unique but there are some that just..... what. why. no. but i’m not a professional like he is so i probably don’t have a leg to stand on... i’m gonna complain anyway

obvious answer: momo’s stupid titty window. not only is it sexualisation of a minor but it just wouldn’t work like, physically. and it’s impractical! i’m sure we’ve all heard this before though lol

no idea if i’m about to make enemies by saying this but bakugo’s grenade gauntlets incite rage in me. they’re a cool concept but holy fuck they’re so BIG, do they need to be that big? he’s like half grenade. they’re so cumbersome

on that note, uraraka’s boots are too big for my liking. her silhouette looks cool af but it’s not practical imo, plus the heels are just stupid

mineta’s ugly diaper

i’m definitely gonna make enemies for this but shouto’s design was so ridiculous to me at first. it’s like being slapped repeatedly in the face with “look! his power is half n half because HE’S half n half! heterochromia! split hair! scar! HALF N HALF” christ i get it ok he’s half n half

present mic’s voice box thing around his neck frustrates me bc it looks so clunky and restricting

invisible girl should not be naked. and if you’re just gonna give her gloves and boots at least make them a cool design not? normal boots with gloves that don’t even match them?? she regularly has to take her shoes off in battle and they’re LACE UPS????

spinner’s hair colour clashes so atrociously with the rest of his palette. he looks like one of those troll dolls

hawks should have tail feathers for flight :| also the way his wings are positioned on his back looks unnatural a lot of the time

nighteye’s overall design is missing something for me. i know he’s meant to seem like a stiff businessman you warm up to when you get to know him, but there’s nothing about his design that’s visually appealing to me, and visuals do play a part in warming a character to the audience... probably just me though

midnight’s costume isn’t even sexy it’s just weird..... i know she’d have better taste than that

all might’s true form. i get the point of the stylisation is to show how gaunt he is but i find parts of it jarring like his mouth and eyes with no whites. i remember i used to think he didn’t feel like he was drawn in the same style as deku

tokoyami’s human teeth make me want to bite someone

#ask #long post #ask to tag #for the momo bit but im not sure what to tag it.....#don’t take this too seriously lmao this is just like.. a small percentage of designs. most of them i rlly like

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xsparklingravenx · 3 years

Text

breathtaking

Title: breathtaking

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Characters: Albedo, Klee

Rating: G

Word Count: 2,275

Summary: The times that Klee and Albedo tell each other to breathe.

AO3

The paintbrush dashed across the canvas, and in turn, something true came to life.

On the grassy plains of Mondstadt’s surrounding areas, a boy stood silent, a palette of colour in one hand, the brush in the other. Gently, he curved those colours across the blank sheet, splashes of blue and green and brown, the boars that roamed the plains recreated in paint and chalk outlines.

These boars were unremarkable, but that in itself was what made them noteworthy. Such a contradiction shouldn’t have made sense, but to the boy, it was perfect enough to immortalise. Hilichurls and Abyss Mages took to these lands like they were their own, but still the boars persisted, living free and unafraid. At any moment, they could be hunted, for sport or for food, and yet the few before him had survived their entire lives out in an unforgiving world.

Now they lived immortal in his image. Caught up in his work, he paid no attention to the passing of time around him, how the sun crossed the sky, how the wind danced across his skin, the Anemo Archon’s quiet blessing. Another brushstroke here and there brought his vision closer to completion. The boars continued to graze. The grass was emerald green, and if he mixed his colours just right, then maybe—

A distant explosion had him pausing. The boy turned his head, a single strand of pale hair falling into his eyes as he searched for the source. Somewhere over the hills, it seemed, far enough from him that he needn’t pay it any mind. Were the Knights of Favonius out exterminating vermin today? He wondered, idly, if Sucrose was with them, though he didn’t identify any sort of Anemo traces in the air from this far away. Another boom in the air, and he cast the thought aside, returning his attention to his art.

Life stilled around him once more. That was it. The boars carried on quietly. The colours melded together. Three boars, quiet, content, living beings, born from the soil and destined to return to it. They breathed, interacted with the elements, survived—

An explosion shook the air, so close that it rattled his canvas. The boy stopped still, a frown on his face, because he was certain he knew that sound. And he knew that intensity.

And he knew that brand of giggling.

He opened his mouth to shout, to cry, wait—but he was a fraction too late. The sight before him erupted into fire and chaos as an explosion roared and took out every single sign of life in front of him. The grass flamed, the boars that had survived their entire lives out on the plain now little more than charred carcasses before him. He stared at the carnage in front of him, the canvas still depicting his quiet moment from moments before, wordless at the sight.

And then, from the smoke and disaster, a tiny figure came sprinting out, arms at her side, eyes wide. She skidded to a stop before the boy, planting her hands on her hips, looking immensely pleased with herself. “Albedo! Did you see Jumpty Dumpty! It went boom!”

Albedo looked beyond her, to where the grass was still burning, smoke rising up into the sky. “Klee…? Why did it have to be here?”

He knew better than to question her intentions, because her intentions were always cause the biggest explosion possible. She beamed at him, and then, spotting his canvas, she bolted up to it. “Oh! Oh! Were you drawing again? It looks really good!”

“I was…up until you decided to blow my subjects up, yes.” Albedo looked between the smoking grass, the charred meat that was cooking in the fire, and his art, which was miraculously unscathed. “How did you…why were you…where’s Jean?”

Klee giggled. “Master Jean is busy today, so she let me go exploring! I wanted to try out some of my treasures, but Kaeya says that ‘explosion inside city wall, grounded be thy woe’, so here I am!”

She admired his painting as he looked down at his colours and wondered if he should add the fires to his painting. It was hardly an interesting specimen to recreate.

“They look really cool, Albedo is so good at making pictures!” Klee sat on the ground in front of it and watched the flames rise. “I didn’t know you’d be here, I just got lucky! I haven’t seen you in a while…you’re always so busy, but now we can hang out, right? Maybe we can play with my treasures?”

Playing with her treasures was a shortcut to a fiery doom, but he couldn’t deny that her words instilled a sense of guilt in him. So caught up in his alchemic studies as of late, all his time had been spent with Timaeus and Sucrose. He’d been hanging up his do not disturb sign constantly, and Klee had been all but left to her own (chaotic) devices. “Sorry, Klee. I didn’t realise you wanted my attention. Seeing as the boars are all…well, halfway to becoming a sticky honey roast, I suppose I can spare some time to play with you. Not that it was exactly how I saw my day going.”

“Oh! Oh! Can we find a cooking pot? Can you make Woodland Dream? I love when you cook, Albedo! It’s just like when you do your alchemy stuff, like, you go poof and then…bam! You make something new!”

Her enthusiasm might have been infectious to someone else, but fortunately, Albedo had been blessed with the ability to remain calm and casual-minded in her presence. “Considering we have plenty of fresh meat right here, Woodland Dream seems like a waste.”

“But if you make that, then I can go and get all the fishes with Jumpty Dumpty! We can play, and then we can eat! And then you can draw. Maybe you can draw me?”

She hopped up as Albedo considered her request. He hardly ever used his skills to paint that which did not pique his interest in the realm of alchemy, but she’d asked so earnestly. Would it be so wasteful to dedicate a couple of hours to produce happiness?

“Albedo?”

He looked down. The fire was beginning to die away now behind Klee, the grass singed and blackened. She adjusted her backpack, and he said, “Yes?”

“You should breathe,” she said, smiling impossibly wide. “Come on, let’s go! We’ve got fishes to get!”

And then she was gone, dashing off across the plains, and he realised that she was right. In his pursuit of life, in his creation of art, he had not taken a single breath in. He closed his eyes and did as she asked, allowing himself the mimicry of human necessity. Nobody noticed, except her, and she didn’t question it.

In the distance, she turned and shouted, “Albedo! I’m gonna leave you behind if you don’t hurry!”

Packing up his art supplies, he chased after her, thoughts of eruptions in the back of his mind. It was going to be a long day, keeping her from wanton destruction, but at least she’d be happy—and he couldn’t deny that a day spent with her wouldn’t brighten his spirits regardless.

***

The outskirts of Dragonspine mountain were bitterly cold, the water close to freezing entirely, and yet the moment Klee went beneath the surface, Albedo didn’t hesitate to dive beneath.

It wasn’t supposed to be serious. He’d asked the traveller and her floating companion for assistance in collecting Starsilver for an alchemical recipe, and yet Lumine had shown up on the mountain side with Klee in tow, claiming that she’d been with her when he’d sent word to Mondstadt that he wished for her help, and that she refused to stay behind.

“It’ll be fine!” Paimon had declared in Lumine’s lieu. “Paimon thinks that even if things go bang, at least it’ll be nice and warm!”

“And we can always cook you over one of her open flames if things start looking dire,” Lumine added, looking a little smug.

Klee had been giggling then, but that had been before they’d run into the Lawachurl, before the lumbering beast had picked her up in its great hands and thrown her through the air. Her scream still rang out in his ears. Life born from soil was so fragile, and that was what he’d thought when he’d watched, helpless, as she hit the water and sank beneath it.

He had not thought through his plan, he’d just acted, tossing aside his sword and abandoning the traveller to the battle. The cold had not been a factor in his mind. The fight was forgotten. Miss Alice’s words echoed in his skull, treat her like a real younger sister!

Elder brothers protected their siblings. The traveller had told him stories of her own brother, how she would do anything to find him. She’d also mentioned the Fatui Harbinger who would do anything for the sake of his baby brother, and he knew of Diluc’s loyalty to his own non-blood sibling, how the rift between him and Kaeya had not prevented him from coming to his aid before. Albedo was not related to Klee, but she was his sister nonetheless, and that meant he had to save her.

The water was akin to ice, but his body withstood it, powered by something more than adrenaline. His eyes stung, but there she was, floating lifelessly, a small body so still, and something surged in his chest, emotion that he did not often feel, emotion that overtook his thoughts, his logic.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest, and oh, she was still a child, still so tiny, with so much power but as fragile as every other being. He thought of the boars she’d taken the lives of that day before his canvas, how she’d ended their existence with the childish joy of an exploded bomb, and he thought of the Lawachurl and its base desire to attack. They were not the same, yet they were; life was inexplicably difficult to understand.

He broke the surface, not choking or hacking, but that was normal for him. Klee did not move. There were no coughs, no groans, no cracking open of her eyes. She was limp in his arms, drenched through and frozen in his arms.

“Klee!” Albedo shouted, the roar of the Lawachurl’s fierce battle with Lumine nearly sweeping away his voice. He kicked his legs to keep them afloat, but he was losing his strength fast, the cold sweeping it away. “Wake up!”

Still, she didn’t move. She hung there in his grasp, and it was then that he realised that she wasn’t breathing. Fear gripped his heart as he dragged her through the water to the snowy bank. He had to hope that Lumine could hold it off without him. He had to hope that there was still enough of Klee left in her body for him to save.

Pushing back his shivers, he laid her on the snow and tipped her head back. Acting on instinct more than thought, he pressed the heel of his hand to her chest, one hand instead of two, not wanting to hurt her with his actions, but wanting to keep her with him through any means necessary.

Usually, he brought things to life through the act of creation, through alchemy, through his paintbrush and his clever mind. This was different. Klee was already living, he just had to keep her that way, and in his experience, keeping something alive was almost always more difficult than giving it a pulse. Practicality and alchemic practices went hand-in-hand, and yet here he was, doubting himself.

He pressed down. One compression. Two. Three. Keeping track of the time between them as Lumine shouted behind him, as the Anemo Archon’s winds whipped across his skin, as the unforgiving bitterness of Dragonspine bit deep into his bones of chalk. Albedo thought of blooming flowers, of exploding bombs, and he thought of Miss Alice and his own chest splintered beneath the pressure.

“Breathe, Klee!” he cried. “Breathe!”

And she did. She choked. Water expelled itself from her lungs as Albedo sat back to give her space. He heard the thump of the Lawachurl hitting the ground behind him, and, trusting Lumine to finish it off, he gave Klee all his attention.

As her breathing calmed, he asked, “Are you okay? Klee, speak to me.”

“Too much water…” she whispered, reaching out her arms to him. “I was scared…”

He knelt in front of her and answered her request silently, pulling her close to his chest as she buried her head into his. Alive. She was still frozen but she was alive.

“Your catalyst,” he said. “Your Vision. Use it.”

Between them, Pyro erupted, warmth in a different sense than her usual explosions. It swept through him and her both, and into his chest, she said, “You rescued me, Albedo…”

“Of course I did.”

And as she wrapped her tiny arms back around him, she said, “Breathe too, please?”

He closed his eyes and did. In and out in time with her, soil and chalk. The oxygen did nothing for him, but it did everything for her, so he followed her lead, this girl full of energy and life, his family until the end.

“Woodland Dream when we get back,” he said. “I promise.”

She held onto him tight, and he listened to her breaths, the cold forgotten, the fear draining away.

He could breathe for her as much as she needed him to.

#Genshin Impact #Klee #Albedo #My Writing

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umbry-fic · 3 years

Text

A Palette Full of You (3)

Summary: Glimpses into Colette and Lloyd’s lives as they grow up together, learn who they are, and fall in love with each other.

(Written for Colloyd Week 2021)

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Colette Brunel, Lloyd Irving, Sheena Fujibayashi, Zelos Wilder Relationships: Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel & Lloyd Irving & Sheena Fujibayashi & Zelos Wilder Rating: G Chapter: 3 of 6 Word Count: 6896 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 11/06/2021

Chapter Title: Race Into the Night

Chapter Summary: Lloyd, Colette, Zelos and Sheena visit the carnival to have a night of fun after the end of exams. Lloyd and Colette end up riding the Ferris wheel alone, where...

(Colloyd Week Day 3: Confession/First Kiss)

Notes: Chapter 3 of my multi chapter Colloyd week fic! Featuring much fluff and sap. Zelos is non-binary in this and uses they/them pronouns.

Chapter title from Yoasobi's song.

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~~~

18-years-old

"There is no way I'm ever going on that thing. You can't make me."

"Come on, you promised that if I scored better than you at darts you would ride the Riptide with me! Gonna go back on your word now, Sheena?"

"Stop smirking at me, Zelos! You clearly cheated! That game was rigged!"

"All carnival games are rigged. That's common knowledge."

"I don't care. You still cheated!"

"Cheated how? You were watching me the whole time!"

Colette giggled, watching her two friends have a go at each other as they inched closer to each other with each word they spoke. All three of them were leaning against the cold metal railing, though Colette was careful to keep a safe distance from Zelos and Sheena. When they were engrossed in arguing with each other, there was a safe zone, and a not-safe zone where one was liable to get smacked by a wildly gesturing arm or two.

Surrounding them were various stalls staffed by people who were enthusiastically calling out to potential customers, hoping to receive more coupons in the final hour before the carnival closed. There were pop-up game stalls featuring the classics like ring toss and soccer, food stands selling carnival staples like candy floss and popcorn, and even thrill rides like the aforementioned Riptide, a roller coaster that paled in comparison to USS' coasters but certainly had the most twists and turns of anything offered at the carnival. Adorning everything was bright neon lights and colourful decorations, and noise came from every angle, lending to a cheery atmosphere that could get a tad overwhelming at times.

Despite the late hour of 9 pm, there was still quite a crowd - mostly consisting of young adults like them, the majority of families having gone home for the night. She had bumped into quite a few classmates in the past three hours, who had come here with the same idea of having a fun night out with friends after the end of A-levels. A lot of pictures had been taken, until her cheeks hurt a bit from smiling so much, but it had been great fun.

She, Lloyd, Zelos and Sheena had managed to visit almost every booth, using up all of the coupons that they were sharing amongst each other. But even with their combined efforts, they had only managed to win one prize: the adorable Siberian Husky plush she was currently hugging. Though they'd certainly snacked on their share of popcorn, sharing one large carton between the four of them until their fingers were sticky with kernels.

"Colette, back me up!" Sheena begged, turning to face Colette. Despite the biting words that were leaving her mouth, her true emotions were betrayed by the smile playing at the corner of her lips. Sheena's hair was tied up into her trademark high ponytail, the ends of her hair swaying slightly in the weak wind.

"What, me?" Colette exclaimed, rather surprised she was being pulled into the conversation. Zelos and Sheena tended to retreat into their own world whenever they got into this state, forgetting anyone else existed.

"Uh, well..." Colette muttered, sheepishly smiling. "Sorry to disappoint, Sheena, but I have to give this one to Zelos."

"See? Even Colette agrees!" Zelos placed their elbow on the railing, leaning closer to Sheena, smirking.

Sheena didn't even spare Zelos a look, just shoved their face away with a hand, ignoring Zelos' sputters of protest. "How could you, Colette? How could you side with the idiot?" Sheena cried in mock betrayal.

"Well, I and Lloyd were both there, and we both saw Zelos win fair and square. And a deal's a deal," Colette replied, shrugging. Zelos did seem more insistent than usual, but she couldn't discern why.

"Just think of it as a date!" Zelos waved a nonchalant arm in the air, that smirk never fading as they took hold of Sheena's arm.

"Screaming in abject terror is not my idea of a date," Sheena hissed through gritted teeth, though she didn't free herself from Zelos' hold. "Besides, we're supposed to ride the Ferris wheel together once Lloyd comes back!"

"Eh, we won't make it before the carnival closes if we catch the Ferris wheel. Don't worry, I'll treat you to ice cream afterwards! And if that isn't enough to appease you, surely some Ajisen will." Zelos turned to Colette and winked, leaving Colette utterly confused. Was there an underlying meaning to all of this she was supposed to be catching?

"If you drag me on that damn thing, Zelos Wilder, I swear I will never forgive - GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME! STOP!" Sheena shrieked as Zelos began to drag her by brute force towards the snaking queue of the Riptide. Colette gaped, watching Sheena struggle wildly, digging her feet into the ground and hurling curses that got steadily fouler at Zelos, who didn't seem to be affected at all.

"I'm back with the drinks!" Lloyd's happy voice came from behind her as he walked up to her, holding two cups with steam venting from their tops, hair adorably ruffled from the day's hectic events, woefully unaware of everything that had occurred in the time he was gone. "Wait, what's... Happening...?" he asked, only now spotting the gradually diminishing silhouettes of Zelos and Sheena.

"I... Uh, Zelos and Sheena are going to ride the Riptide," Colette said, explaining the situation as succinctly as she could. How else could she word it, anyway? There was no explaining the antics of those two.

"Alright." Lloyd shrugged, accepted her explanation and passing one cup over to her. She pushed the plushy into the crook of her elbow, freeing up a hand to accept the cup and still managing to almost drop it. She closed her fingers around the plastic cup, soaking in the warmth it emanated.

"It's hot chocolate," Lloyd explained between gulps as he practically downed the whole cup in half a minute. "They're out of hot milo. Sorry."

"It's alright. Any hot drink would have done." Colette finally took a sip, feeling the sting from the heat and sticking out her tongue.

"Should we wait for them to come back or go queue for the Ferris wheel?"

Colette sighed. "We should just go. The queue for the Riptide is really long... They know to meet up back at the MRT at 10."

The original plan was to take a group photo at the peak of the revolution of the Ferris wheel, but that didn't look like it was going to happen now.

So it would just be her and Lloyd riding the Ferris wheel. An activity that could be seen as romantic. The pamphlet for the carnival had even advertised it as a ride of love. When they'd walked past it just now, she'd seen that the Ferris wheel was decked out with a ton of wire hearts that lit up in multiple colours.

It was just ten minutes. It would be over in the blink of an eye! Totally!

"Then, let's go," Lloyd said, grabbing her hand and giving her a minute heart attack, causing her bravado to crumble into dust.

Nope. There was no way this could end well.

The two of them joined the short queue for the Ferris wheel, having thrown their empty cups into a nearby dustbin. Only eight people were waiting for the next empty carriage to descend to ground level and open its doors. Five of them - three children and two adults - belonged to one family, while the rest were a group of three girls, enthusiastically talking to each other. It wouldn't take long for their turn.

A bout of shivers overcame her as the wind picked up, the warmth of the drink already a memory. She wrapped her free arm around herself, gaze dropping to the floor as she once again regretted forgetting to bring out her favourite dog-ear hoodie. It was always hanging on her clothes rack, and it would have been so easy to just reach out a hand and swipe it on her way out. But no, she just had to wake up late and stumble out of the house still half-asleep.

She'd forgotten how cold the nights could get. Especially for her, someone who couldn't even handle the lecture theatre air-conditioning. Forgoing a long-sleeved T-shirt for her kiwi bird-print tee was not helping matters.

"Here." Something warm and soft was draped around her shoulders, and she looked up to find herself draped in Lloyd's familiar jacket, his face hovering close to hers. "You should have told me you were cold," Lloyd muttered, his breath tickling her neck. "I would have given you my jacket earlier."

His jacket smelt like him, a safe, comforting blanket that reached to her thighs. It held his body heat, too, slowly seeping into her.

Colette flushed, turning her face away so she didn't have to look into those russet eyes. For there was concern there, as well as the ever-present kindness, but there was also more. There was no way to hide her blush, not when he was right here, but she still had to resist the urge to hide her face behind the plushy.

Why was she still trying so hard to hide, anyway? It's not like it was of any use. She was so obvious. As Zelos had told her, it had gone far past the point of being funny.

"Though I guess you're always cold," Lloyd said, tearing his gaze away from her and taking a hurried step back. Perhaps the words were meant to be teasing, but they fell flat with the out-of-place laughter attached to the end.

"I - I mean, it - it was my fault for not bringing a jacket in the first place," she stuttered, the words stumbling over each other in her mouth in her hurry to answer. Now Lloyd would know she was nervous too. She was doing really well, wasn't she? “But thank you.”

"The next carriage is here," the attendant called out, voice flat and expression terribly bored. He was staring at them with a barely veiled expression of disinterest, waving his arms to direct them into the next carriage, doors wide open.

"Come on." Lloyd grabbed her hand, the smile returning to his face. The Ferris wheel was lit up to the nines, throwing soft purple light onto everything around her and illuminating half of Lloyd's face. Beautiful. He was always so beautiful, but it was moments like these where it made her heart hurt, wanting so desperately to reach out and touch his face.

Heart pounding in her chest, she took her seat, Lloyd sitting directly on her left, their legs close enough to brush.

She placed the plushy in her lap, resting her chin on it and trying her best to slow her racing heart, knowing it would be of no use. Here, in this carriage that was slowly rising into the sky and gently rocking, it was just the two of them in this little space, cut off from the rest of the world.

It was hard to tell herself she was imagining the intense way Lloyd was staring at her, like she was the only thing worth looking at, even though the beautiful night scenery was right outside the glass. Nor was it possible to imagine the tension, sharp as a knife, that had arisen between them for the past half a year or so. Almost everything was the same: they were still incredibly close, but there was a hesitance there now - in the way Lloyd’s fingers sometimes curled away from hers, in the way she sometimes stopped before throwing an arm around his shoulder to embrace him.

Neither of them had spoken up about that tension, dancing around each other like fools. Even if he did return her feelings… Love wasn’t enough to bridge the impossible distance between them. She could never fully comprehend all that he felt, just as he could never fully comprehend the absence of what she felt. She could never give him what others could, not with her extreme revulsion towards anything sexual in nature. She’d be willing to try, for him, simply because her love for him knew no bounds, but… she couldn't say where her limits would be. Likely not very far from where she would start.

Even though Lloyd had been nothing but supportive of her, that didn’t mean he was willing to take a chance that could very well end in failure and heartbreak. She might not be enough for him when it came to a relationship. If that was the case, she could understand. Neither of them had done anything wrong. If they were incompatible from the start, then she could keep her silence. She’d be perfectly happy to remain as friends, even if these nebulous feelings would never leave her chest. She didn’t want to lose them.

"Um, do you, uh... like the plushy?" Lloyd asked, his voice cutting through her anxious thoughts. Awkwardness radiated off of him in spades as he shifted in the seat, turning his head away to stare down at the floor. At least she wasn't the only one that was nervous. He was repeating the exact question he’d asked her when he’d given her the plushy.

"I love it. It's soft, and it's cute. Thanks for giving it to me." The same answer she’d given him before.

Lloyd had been the one who won a carnival game - the ball toss, to be specific. He'd managed to down all the cans with a single ball and gotten the choice of any of the first-place prizes. Zelos had raised an eyebrow and asked him how he'd gotten past the unfair odds. Lloyd had sheepishly scratched the back of his head and said it was a lucky accident, one that he couldn’t repeat, which proved to be true in his later attempts.

Lloyd had taken one look at the prize pool, pointed out the Siberian Husky plush to the staff, and then stuffed it into her hands the moment he'd gotten it, proclaiming that it was a gift for her. Zelos had been outright snickering, while even Sheena had looked like she was holding back laughter, shoulders shaking.

Lloyd's hand found hers in the little space between them, his thumb rubbing the skin of her palm just below her fingers. It was a repetitive, soothing motion, helping to calm her down.

She hoped that, no matter what, they would always stay together. Whether as friends or more. Just the two of them.

"I'm glad you like it." Lloyd's voice was getting progressively quieter with each syllable his lips formed, slowly shifting right along the seat towards her.

“Can - can I…” Lloyd asked timidly, turning to face her and leaning closer. Her field of vision narrowed to just his face, barely lit by the scant light that reached them from the carnival grounds and the spokes of the Ferris wheel. Everything else was slowly turning into a blur. “Can I kiss you?”

The carriage had reached the top of its revolution. Through the window, she could see the sparkling lights of the high-rises in the distance. Silence suffused the air as no one spoke, the world itself seeming to hold its breath, neither she nor Lloyd moving a single part of their bodies as they stared at each other. His eyes were wide, filled with such incredible emotion, built up over years and spilling over at this very moment.

Her breath caught in her throat, a current of warmth making itself known in her heart at the fact that he’d actually bothered to ask. She’d expected Lloyd to - the kind, considerate soul that she’d come to know and love, but somewhere in the back of her mind was tucked the irrational fear that there would never be anyone who respected her boundaries, simply because she wasn't worth it.

She took a deep breath, preparing her answer. It wouldn’t be “normal”, that was for sure. It wasn’t a simple yes or no, but rather…

“Is it fine if it’s on the cheek?” were the quiet words that left her mouth, shattering the expectant silence as her grip tightened on the plushy. Maybe one day, she wouldn’t mind a kiss on the lips, but not today. She wasn’t up to it yet.

She doesn’t know what answer she expects. Probably a no. It’s perfectly understandable for Lloyd to just step away.

“Of course,” Lloyd replied instantly, the gentle smile on his face once again shattering all the preconceived notions she’d constructed in her head, absolutely terrified of rejection but huddling herself into a corner in the belief that that was all she could possibly receive. There had been no hesitation behind that statement, no hint of reproach or anger or irritation towards her.

“Yes.” The word slipped out without any thought, for she herself had yearned for so terribly long. The desire she had always held to love, and to be loved, despite everything - to experience it all with the boy that had always been part of her life and that she hoped could continue to be there for the rest of it.

She turned her head to the side, and it didn't take another moment longer before Lloyd pressed his lips against her cheek, one hand still holding hers while his other arm wrapped around her shoulder, the plushy trapped between them. He was nothing if not gentle, bringing up her earliest memories of being kissed on the cheek by her mother, before she had left her life forever. It was through that gentleness that the force of his love was truly impressed on her - for there was passion there, in the very act of holding himself back. Love, gentle like a warm flame, but not any lesser for it, for his love was just as impregnable as a brick wall, unyielding and unbreaking.

She could feel his warm breath against her cheek, his lips softer than she could have thought, his hair close enough to run her hands through as she’d always wanted. So she did, letting the strands fall through her fingers like melted chocolate.

Was he… smiling? It sure felt like it.

It wasn't a magical moment like people always said the first kiss would be like. After all, theirs was nowhere close to conventional, but it was an experience that belonged only to them. No sparks were flying in the air, nor did time stop. It was just the two of them, fitting together perfectly like puzzle pieces in the way they always had, and she couldn't ask for anything more.

Lloyd moved away, his arm dropping from her shoulder, hand joining the other to clasp her limp one. His eyes were shining with joy, the same joy that filled her heart and made it feel like it might take flight at any time. Everything had finally fallen into place.

Her whole face was now on fire as she turned away, leaning forward over her legs. Her hair fell by the side of her face like a veil, letting only tiny glimpses of Lloyd through.

“You’re sure?” she asked, knowing that she needed to clarify. Even if his actions had been the shining light that burned away most of her doubts, some still remained. Lloyd really, truly needed to understand what he was getting into. She would not let him mindlessly enter into a relationship with her without knowing about all the ups and downs, all the complications that would come with it. That would only end in them hurting each other, and then they might never be able to stand the sight of each other again. It was the dreaded future she never wanted to come to pass. “It’s not going to be easy."

“I know,” he replied, squeezing her hand, his russet eyes focussed on hers. “But all relationships have challenges, don't they? We'll figure it out together, just like always. And if it doesn’t work out, then we’ll stay as friends, forever. I just want you to know that I love you.”

There is nothing but burning conviction behind his words, and a determination that reached deep into her soul and lit a flame of hope.

There would be many more difficult conversations that needed to be had, candid discussions that would need to take place. But for now, she didn't say anything more, hoping the unspoken “I love you” from her side could be understood, clear as day. She still couldn’t make herself say it, the final lingering doubt that she suspected would never fully go away holding her back: that romantic love had to go hand in hand with sexual attraction, and that one could not exist without the other.

She simply closed her eyes, leaning against him and enjoying the gentle rocking of the carriage for the remainder of their time on the Ferris wheel.

~~~

25-years-old

"Remember this Ferris wheel?" Lloyd teased Colette, squeezing her hand as they stood in front of the Ferris wheel at the reopened carnival. It wasn't the exact same one they’d ridden at the age of 18, for that one had been deconstructed years ago. But it was a near-perfect replica, down to the purple lights that lit up the spokes, though the hearts were gone. Even the bored attendant who was barely paying attention to her duties was right!

"How could I forget?" Colette laughed, her trademark bright smile on her face. Even after knowing her for twenty years and dating her for seven of those years, the sight of her smile never failed to light a spark in his chest.

At least this time Colette was dressed appropriately for the colder night, in a pencil skirt and a long-sleeved collared blouse with a few frills. She looked a lot more put-together than him, who was just wearing plain old jeans. He had picked her straight up from work before driving them here, after all.

All that was missing was the staff pass that she’d removed from around her neck and left in the car. Her smart-casual image, however, was completely shattered by the pair of grey dog ears poking out of her hair, attached to the headband sitting behind her ears. They even felt furry to the touch, though it wasn’t real dog fur.

A pair of brown ears sat on his own head. Colette hadn’t managed to win a grand prize at the game stalls like he once had out of dumb luck, but she'd managed to do pretty well at the ring toss, scoring almost all of her tosses onto the red-rimmed bottles. That meant she could redeem a few mid-tier prizes, so she'd gotten two headbands with dog ears attached, one for her and one for him that he could wear if he wanted to. He'd put it on immediately. Now they matched! He needed to take a picture of them sometime - Sheena and Zelos would appreciate the cute image.

More like Sheena would strangle him over digital space if he didn't send cute photos.

The carnival had finally returned after four years of absence, and he and Colette had jointly decided to return almost immediately upon hearing the news. It was small and honestly not that impressive compared to other theme parks they’d been to, but it still held precious memories. And it would make for a fun date, which it certainly had so far!

They'd retraced their steps from years ago, though unfortunately, they were lacking Zelos and Sheena. First riding the pirate ship, Colette’s hair going wild in the air as the ship swung from side-to-side, then visiting the game stalls, laughing at each other’s absolutely horrendous attempts, then buying and sharing a stick of cotton candy between them, taking turns biting from the fluffy substance and having their tongues curl from the overload of sweetness, before finally arriving back here at the Ferris wheel.

"I know I've said this already, but thanks for planning this all out," Colette said, linking her arm with his and smiling up at him as they joined the queue. The queue was much longer today, amounting to more than 40 people, by his rough estimate. It was still quite early in the evening, half of the sun still peeking over the horizon, the sky painted in a pink that would soon be darkening to orange. It was just as noisy as in the past, perhaps even noisier, for the families hadn't gone home yet. "There were quite a few kerfuffles with the system at work today, and this really helped."

"That bad?"

"Mm. We had a new intern come in today, and then the old system just decided to crash. Not the intern's fault, she's the sweetest girl. But it was still a headache to deal with."

"Well, I'm glad it helped. Though I'm just happy to spend more time with you."

If everything went according to plan, then he'd be seeing a lot more of her in the future.

He shoved his hand into his pocket, checking that the all-important box was still there. It was the crux of this whole operation, and he could not lose it.

Colette laughed, a sound that inevitably made him smile. "I'm sorry I haven't been free for the past few weeks. It's a busy time for the company."

"It's alright. I'll be starting work soon too, after all. Besides, we still stay two floors apart. There's pretty much no way we don't see each other every week, silly."

"Sorry, sorry. Shouldn't be a downer; you're right. Anyway, since tomorrow’s a public holiday, want to spend it over at my place?”

“Netflix and chill?” Lloyd answered, well aware that he was probably getting some weird looks from people close enough to overhear him. He wasn’t even sure if Colette knew of its double meaning - she was generally completely clueless about the world of euphemisms. Over time, they’d just started co-opting the phrase. After all, their time together at each other’s place was mostly spent… watching shows while curled up together on the couch, creating dishes that were more like unrecognisable disasters in the kitchen while attempting not to set the whole place on fire, or Colette playing video games at the foot of the bed while he tickled her neck with his toes. In terms of risque activities, they so rarely happened - and only after he checked, double-checked and triple-checked that Colette was feeling up to it and not forcing herself for his sake.

“I don’t mind, but we haven��t finished that card game we started last month. The card piles are still sitting untouched on my bay window. Wanna do that instead?”

“Sure!” He replied enthusiastically. Board games or card games always promised a good time, if infuriating when nothing would line up and Lady Luck was decidedly not smiling on him. Colette seemed to get all the luck in these party games. Maybe it was consolation for tripping all the time.

“It’s such a shame that Zelos and Sheena aren’t here,” Colette said, pulling out her phone. “I know they went on the Ferris wheel the year after we did, but we still haven’t gotten that group photo we were supposed to.”

“One’s in Europe and one’s in Australia. There’s no way they could join us on such short notice.” The last he'd heard from them, both were doing well for themselves and very happy in their long-distance relationship.

“True. I guess I can add them to the photo afterwards with the power of Photoshop. Oh, and Zelos sent me this really weird message...” After a few swipes of her finger, Colette shoved the bright phone screen under his nose.

Zelos Wilder: Looking forward to the good news ;)

“Do you have any idea what they mean?” Colette asked, cocking her head to the side in confusion. “They haven’t been replying to my question!”

Lloyd could feel his fingers twitching. Zelos Wilder wasn’t here, but if they were, Lloyd would have strangled them already. Trying to spoil the surprise, were they?

“It’s probably nothing! You know how they are. Always trying to cause chaos.” Lloyd shrugged, hoping he wasn’t being too obvious, as he tended to be.

“I suppose that’s true… What good news?” Lloyd could hear Colette repeating that question to herself under her breath, not quite soft enough for it to escape his notice. She didn’t seem to have noticed that anything was up with him, thankfully.

“It’s our turn! Come on, let’s get on!” Lloyd declared, just loud enough to startle Colette and cause her to nearly drop her phone. She hurriedly stuffed it back into her pocket, following Lloyd to the open carriage. She hadn't realised the space before them had completely cleared.

The attendant lazily waved them onto the open carriage with barely a glance at them, a mumbled: “Have a nice ride” leaving her mouth.

Lloyd was the first to scramble on, turning around to give Colette a helping hand - only to find her falling straight into him, having tripped over the raised step. With a shocked “Oh!” falling from her lips, Colette crashed into him, nearly knocking him flat onto the carriage seat. With a shocked yelp, Lloyd braced himself against the glass window of the carriage, barely maintaining his balance. Years of practice at stopping Colette’s sometimes fantastical falls over obstacles that weren’t visible to him had honed his reaction times to near perfection, giving him ample preparation for this situation.

The attendant continued to ignore them, gaze fixed not so discreetly on the phone sitting in her lap. The doors of the carriage slid smoothly shut, and with a jolt that nearly knocked them off balance again, the carriage set off on its journey.

"Um, sorry..." Colette apologised from her position pressed flush against Lloyd's chest, arms entangled in his. She slowly extricated herself from the mess, stumbling a few times but managing not to fall again, even with the gentle swaying of the carriage floor. He tried his best to steady her without falling over himself. She sheepishly smiled. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Lloyd adjusted her headband, setting the ears that had been knocked crooked back into their rightful place. He’d told her multiple times that she didn’t need to apologise for tripping, but she still did, the habit too ingrained to break. It was endearing, though. “You?”

“I’m fine!” Colette smoothed out her skirt (though there weren’t any noticeable wrinkles in it from the fall,) and sat down to rest her weary feet, giving Lloyd the cue to sit down as well. “Thank goodness I wasn’t wearing heels…”

Lloyd did not want to imagine what would have happened if she was - she might have twisted her ankle, or worse. She rarely wore heels due to her clumsiness, but when she did, all sorts of accidents tended to happen.

He stuffed his hand into his pocket again, fingers feeling the velvet texture again.

It’s still here.

"What's still here?" Colette’s confused voice broke through his relieved thoughts. Her hands were resting in her lap and she was leaning forward, eyes shining with a curious light. The usual white lights of the new condominiums close to the carnival grounds shone, a few glimmers of pink visible as people celebrated Pink Dot. It was at this very moment that the Ferris wheel's lights turned from purple to pink, the spokes emanating soft pink light that washed over Colette, making her hair glisten - almost like an ethereal fairy with imaginary wings that shimmered, having come to visit him on this mortal plane. The dog ears only added to that image, somehow. Even now, the sight of her was enough to make him feel dizzy, both out of love and awe, even if he no longer blushed like an embarrassed schoolboy. Awe that she could get more beautiful every time his gaze landed on her. And awe that such an incredible person had chosen to trust him and stay with him.

He was so enraptured by the angel before him that it took a few seconds for her words to process in his mind, after which he froze in horror.

OH NO, HE’D SAID IT OUT LOUD. A thousand alarm bells were ringing in his head. Some days he was reminded that he was an adult now, and other days he was reminded that he was as much an idiot as he used to be. Some things just never changed.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Colette said, a teasing lilt to her voice as she rested her chin on her palm, an amused smile playing on her lips.

He could just play it off - he knew Colette wouldn’t pursue it any further if he gave off the signals to drop the topic. She was just like that: the most considerate person he knew.

But…

The original plan had been to do it on the Ferris wheel. It even had Zelos' approval. This, right now, was the perfect chance to just let the cat out of the bag. And he would grasp the opportunity in hand before it could escape him.

For he could think of no future happier than one spent Colette’s side.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled the purple box out of his pocket with a shaking hand, dropping to his knees on the surprisingly clean carriage floor, devoid of the usual spilt drinks and crumpled up tissues.

He could tell the exact moment Colette gleaned the true intent behind his actions, the blank, confused expression on her face morphing into one of shocked disbelief, eyes widening and hands flying up to cover her mouth.

Damn it, he’d completely forgotten the script he’d written with Zelos’ assistance in a back-and-forth over messages, Zelos alternating between giving actually good advice and being extremely annoying, though Lloyd had gotten them to shut up by asking them when they planned to propose. The two of them had both struggled to find the right words, since neither of them had done super well in English. But Lloyd had persevered, wanting to get his feelings across eloquently.

But now that he was staring into Colette’s blue eyes, all the words were sprouting wings and flying mockingly out of his head, leaving only blank space for him to reach uselessly for.

The one piece of advice Zelos had given him that continued to stick in his head was this: speak from the heart, and surely she would understand.

He couldn’t keep her waiting forever.

“I… ” He couldn’t help but start off slow, struggling against the block in his mind but determined to push past it. The words then seemed to just come to him, progressively faster as time went on, stumbling out of some unknown part of his mind - or perhaps it would be more accurate to say his heart. Somehow, throughout it all, he didn't drop the box despite his trembling hands. “Colette, you’re the most amazing person I know. Your compassion, your gentleness, even your clumsiness, they’re all vital parts of my life that I wouldn’t give up for anything. You are my shining star in the sky, the one that gives me hope, that inspires me to be the best version of myself. If I had the choice to relieve my life from the start, I wouldn't change a thing, because meeting you on that playground all those years ago was the best thing that has ever happened to me. All my years spent with you have been incredible, and I would like to spend many more by your side. So, just like years ago, Colette, I have something I need to ask you, right here and right now.”

“Will you… Will you marry me?” He finished, voice drifting off into silence as he flipped open the box to reveal the two plain, thin metal rings he’d bought. Colette wasn’t the type to go for flashy diamonds or colourful gems. She’d appreciate something simple like this.

He waited, the few seconds of deafening silence seeming to stretch out into eternity, broken only by the sound of blood rushing past his ears. This wasn’t the first time he’d asked this very question, if in a different and less dramatic form. He’d already received her answer once. But he would respect whatever answer she gave now, and most of all, they would keep the promise they had made at this very place: that they would always remain friends, no matter what.

~~~

Colette still couldn’t quite believe her ears, gaze flitting between Lloyd’s face and the box he was holding up towards her, the two rings housed snugly within reflecting pink light.

Marriage had crossed her mind many times. She had learned over the years that it wasn’t a penultimate goal that had to be reached to prove her relationship successful, and she’d told Lloyd as much when he’d asked her two months ago if she’d be willing to get married.

But still, even if she had managed to break free from most of the notions the fairytales of old had implanted into her head, able to just enjoy them as sweet stories now, she couldn’t quite rid herself of the dream of having a fairytale wedding. One that was perfectly planned, with family and friends present to stand witness to their union.

She’d told him yes. That she would be willing to tie the knot with him, the one she loved. The expectation of a proposal had been simmering in the back of her mind ever since, often going forgotten. She had not expected the time would be now. Lloyd had been more fidgety than normal, constantly checking his pockets while disguising the action as keeping his hands in his pockets. She’d known something was up, but his true intentions had escaped her detection until just moments before, when she’d been taken off guard. All she’d thought when he’d pulled out the box was that it resembled the ring boxes in the dramas Sheena was always recommending to her, the ones that appeared in all the emotional proposal scenes, until the realisation had hit her in the chest like a truck.

Once again, like years ago, they’d reached the top of the revolution. The silence remained unbroken as Lloyd patiently awaited her answer, not pushing her towards one. And so events repeated, mirrored across time.

Colette slowly stretched out her arm, eyes shimmering with unshed tears as a smile graced her face. She nodded, her throat blocked by all the emotions that swirled in her chest, unable to say ‘yes’ out loud even as she screamed it over and over in her mind, the tears finally breaking free of whatever barrier was holding them back to spill down her face.

Lloyd broke out into the most beautiful smile she had ever seen, radiating pure joy as he slid one of the simple, elegant, silver bands onto her ring finger. It fit. Perfectly. When had he even learned her ring size?

She picked up the other ring that was meant for Lloyd, marvelling at how her hand could somehow remain stable as the rest of her body trembled in barely contained emotion. The ring was so tiny, held between her thumb and index finger, and yet it held such significant weight as she slid it onto his ring finger, the skin of his hand rough against hers and the metal cold.

Lloyd jumped to his feet, pulling her into an embrace and pressing a kiss to the top of her head (his nose bumping the dog ears), holding her close, his happy laughter rumbling through his chest. Even now, when he must have been bursting with joy, he was still mindful of her boundaries, refusing to do anything that would cross the line. Heart filled with warmth, she pressed herself impossibly closer, intending to just melt into his arms forever -

"Please get off the carriage."

The deadpan voice that belonged to neither her nor Lloyd broke through the peaceful bubble that had been constructed around the two of them. She froze, feeling Lloyd stiffen around her as well. Looking to the left yielded the view of solid ground, and the same uninterested attendant gesturing towards it.

Ah. They'd reached the bottom without even noticing. This was… embarrassing, to say the least.

Thankfully, no one seemed to be in the queue at the moment, allowing the two of them to escape from the Ferris wheel without much attention. It appeared that only the attendant had borne witness, and she couldn’t seem to care less, having returned to the booth.

Their interlocked hands swung in the air, the matching rings glinting under the bright neon lights of the carnival as she wiped away her happy tears, both of them grinning uncontrollably.

"I love you," Lloyd said, the words leaving his lips with ease, as they always had. "Shall we go home?” he asked.

Home was with friends and family and Lloyd, the one who held her heart.

Colette squeezed Lloyd’s hand. She felt light as a feather, like she could somehow fly with wings that she didn't have.

"I love you," she replied, the words coming so easily now. "Let’s.”

~~~

The attendant shook her head, scoffing as she returned to scrolling through Twitter.

“I suppose love does make the world go round.”

~~~

Next chapter

#fanfiction #multi chapter #tales of symphonia #colloyd #colloydweek2021 #day 3: first kiss/confession #colette brunel #lloyd irving #sheena fujibayashi #zelos wilder

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ownworldresident · 3 years

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We Are Our Own Heroes. Chapter Two: Bayside

Book: The Royal Romance, seven years post-TRR

Premise: Six years after a tragic loss, Liam and his adopted daughter meet Cassandra, an artist with her own troubled past, and the three find in each other the friend they never knew they needed.

Disclaimer: Setting and some characters belong to Pixelberry. I am just borrowing them and will return them when they feel better.

Themes: found family, (power of) friendship, healing

The Master Masterlist (link) --- Our Own Heroes Masterlist (link)

Liam

Saturday rolled around again. Nothing could lift the heavy circles under Liam’s eyes or take away his yawns, and the coffee could only do so much. He took solace in the fact that he could crash hard later that day. Emily had a harder time against this team. He kept score in his head, crossing his fingers and sending encouraging smiles whenever she glanced his way. The final whistle blew as they started from the centre of the court. Emily looked around to find her coach, then converged with her teammates. A moment later they cheered at the score. The crowd filed out and Liam waited for Emily to take her time with her friends. He nodded to the few spectators who looked his way. Today’s game was a late one, and the court was almost bare except for a few chatting kids and waiting parents. He yawned again, and when he opened his eyes, Cassie stood beside him. He blinked, too tired to conceal his surprise. “Sorry,” she chuckled, “didn’t mean to startle you.” “No, that’s alright,” he replied, “long week.” “Here I thought being king would be easy.” Cassie folded her arms across her chest. Liam breathed a laugh, but that was all he could manage. Something had happened, in the last few weeks, to throw him off balance.

“Challenging. But rewarding.” “A standard answer.” She smiled, then sighed. Liam watched her torn expression morph into resolve. “She’s lucky to have you,” she continued, turning to Emily a moment. Liam did not follow her gaze, but watched Cassie instead. “Thank you,” he answered, wary of the direction of the conversation. "My sister was really ill years back, and I moved in to take care of her boys for a while. I was only 24 at the time. I knew nothing about children, and they were so small.” Cassie smiled, and Liam waited to see if she would continue. He was glad the courts were emptying, and there was no one within earshot. “She was living out in the country, and I’d come straight from university in Amsterdam. No one really thought I should be the one to look after them, it was hard, but it… was the right thing to do, I think. They are such dear boys.” She looked down, a little heat in her cheeks, and Liam frowned. “You knew what they needed.” He found himself saying. “Where they’d come from.” She nodded, lifting her head again. “Maybe someone knew better. But I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I’d failed my sister when she needed me most.” Liam took in her words, feeling the memory come to him again. He blinked, and remembered where he was. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked gently. Cassie turned to him, then away again, cheeks a little redder. “I’m not sure.” She sighed. “I suppose I wanted you to know. It’s hard when no one believes in you. When no one understands.” Her voice trailed as she finished, but a moment later strengthened again. “I haven’t coached Emily before, but I have seen you around. I’m sorry if this is inappropriate, but if you ever need someone to talk to.” She lifted her shoulders, trying not to fold in on herself. “I’m here.” Liam pulled away from her, realising how unguarded he had been during the conversation. “Thank you,” was his final reply. What else could he say? Something more articulate if he was awake enough. Cassie nodded, then pulled something from her jacket pocket. As he suspected, the paper she handed him had her name and mobile number. “I’m not asking you to call me or anything,” she said with a more familiar cadence. “But if you need…” she smiled, “I’m here.” And with a nod, she walked away. Liam pocketed the note, and tried and failed to decipher whatever subtext he had missed. He didn't get much time to do so. A rush of colour preceded an impact against his side and he nearly stumbled. Emily wrapped her arms around his waist and looked up at him, grinning, eyes shining with exertion. “Movie?” she said, leaning her chin against his stomach. Liam could hardly watch her insistence without laughing. “That depends.” He raised his eyebrows, and Emily frowned. “On what?” Leaning down, Liam gently detached her from him, kissed the top of her head, and stepped back. “On whether you can beat me to the car!” He ran, but not to win. Odd looks followed from those around them, but Liam’s focus was on the small shape darting ahead.

Cassandra

The last of the kids departed, and Cassie continued to pack up. The work took her hands to complete but not her mind, and she whisked herself away to some place colourful. Somewhere she could go to create. With everything packed away, she hoisted the ball bag over her shoulder and carried it to her car. She reflected on her interactions with Liam and Emily. Had she been too abrupt with her offer? She’d only known him a few weeks and spoken to him twice, and he had seemed concerned. That was the reason she had offered it, she reminded herself. All she could do was hope that her manner wasn’t off-putting, if a friend was what he needed. And if he didn’t act on her offer, like her mother had always said, at least she had tried. Back in her studio apartment, Cassie tossed her keys in a bowl by the door and the sports bag on the ground. “Back to work,” she informed no one in particular. Peeling off her clothes, she threw them in the direction of her bed. Then she changed into old stained things, and twirled a charcoal pencil between her fingers. With soft music as a backdrop, several hours and a glass of wine passed before she admitted defeat. The line work on her canvas was approximately complete but nothing in her usual colour palette captured the feel of it. The much larger canvas nearby was as blank as the day she bought it. It taunted her lack of inspiration. There was plenty of time, she told it, and pointedly avoided the calendar on her wall ‘with exhibition’ circled two months from now. Around dusk, a miasma of sunset shades began to leak in through the window and touch her other pieces. Her stomach growled on cue as she registered the time. It occurred to her that she hadn’t eaten since midday yesterday. As good a reason as any, she reasoned, to take a break. She grabbed her jacket and keys and headed out again.

---

After dark on a Saturday, the boardwalk came to life. Cassie reclined in the corner of her favourite establishment, drink in one hand, pencil in the other. Always carry a sketchbook. And when she wasn’t in front of a canvas her hand flowed freely. The din of the bar was chatty and friendly. Two and a half walls were open to a balcony over the bay. People meandered in and out or stood or sat in groups, waving their hands in animated recounts of their life events. Warm lighting like this was perfect for sketching. Her knees were nearly against her chest at a booth in the corner and hid most of her work from prying eyes. An easy sketch sat nearby. Rolling her shoulders back, Cassie drew his outline. He hunched over the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey, denim jacket concealing muscled arms and a t-shirt. He came most weekends, she noticed -detailing the perfect frown- but never seemed to be fully here. When she looked up again he was gone. “Having fun?” The low voice resonated from the same booth she sat at. Cassie hadn’t noticed his approach. She pulled her sketchbook against her chest as she turned to him. Too late, the regular had noticed his likeness. “What gave it away?” she asked, reaching for her cocktail. He shrugged. “You’ve hardly touched your drink.” He gestured to the almost full glass in her hand, ice almost melted. She grinned and took a sip. “Likewise.” She indicated his glass. He rarely took more than a shot at a time. “This isn’t meant to be rushed.” He gazed at his drink with reverence and she tried not to laugh. “Uhuh.” Cassie took another sip and looked back at her sketch as she put the glass down. “What do you think?” “Of your sketch?” He reclined. “You’re very talented.” “Not what I was going for, but thanks.” Cassie smirked, then turned her book so he could see the drawing better. “Did I get you right?” He shrugged, took another sip, then shook his head. “I don’t frown that much.” Cassie spilled her drink on the table as she laughed, which only made her laugh more. When finally she regained control, he was waiting. “Yes, you do.” The man turned away. His attempt at a severe frown fell short as the tiniest curve of a smile touched the corner of his mouth. She picked up her pencil again and started adding the new expression. “I’m Cassie,” she said into the silence, no longer able to leave his sketches unnamed. Leaning toward her book to focus on the detail of his lips, she waited for his response. Instead, when she looked up, he had turned to her fully, and intensely. “What?” “So you’re Cassie,” he said. She frowned this time. “What do you mean?” He blinked, glanced at his drink for a long moment, then shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, sticking out his hand, “I’m Drake.”

What Happened Six Years Ago

Drake

Drake found Liam in the hall of the children’s hospital. The day was more than over, and the quiet was eerie. He lowered himself to the seat beside Liam, and they sat in silence for some indeterminate time, receiving awkward glances from the few hospital staff that passed. “Li—” Drake started, realising with a cough that he hadn’t spoken in several hours. He cleared his throat. “Liam, I think…” But there weren’t any adequate words to come after that. “We should figure out what to do next.” Liam didn’t respond. He stared wide-eyed at the ground, fingers laced around the back of his head and elbows braced on his knees. How far into his mind had he retreated? “We should think about—” “It doesn’t matter.” Drake's chest tightened at the heaviness in Liam’s voice. Like he couldn’t intonate. He paused, and searched for what to say next. “You can’t sit in a hospital corridor all night. You need to decide what to do. There’s the… her…” Drake turned from his friend, trying not to imagine the view of the night before in that old, musty room. He wasn’t successful. “I can organise our trip back to Cordonia, and you can send people back to investigate, but you need to make the call about her…” he swallowed painfully past the lump in his throat. “Anna’s body.” The words came out hoarse. “Coming with us. Bastien is organising it.” New information to Drake, but he nodded. “And the kid.” “Emily.” Liam croaked, then sighed. The door closest to Liam’s other side was the girl’s room door. “She won’t be here much longer. We need to organise where to leave her.” “Leave her?” Liam looked up, finally, and Drake struggled to keep focus when confronted with the red, grief stricken eyes of his friend. “Once she leaves the hospital, we need to find a home for her.” Liam balked, leaning away from him, and the sudden movement was jarring. “Drake she’s coming with me. How could you even suggest …” Liam stood and looked down to him. “I made a promise.” “You said you’d take care of her.” “At my home, yes.” “Liam you can’t be…” Drake stood as well to be on a level. “She’s barely three years old. You don’t know anything about children.” Liam stared at him. “You still don’t get it.” Drake made a sweeping gesture but continued in an even voice. “Then help me get it. What do you owe her, after what she put you through?” “I promised—” Liam halted as his volume rose, then sighed again and lowered his voice. “I promised I would protect her. Handing her over to social care or their equivalent here, however fortunate she might be in finding a family who treats her as she deserves, is not enough.” Drake grit his teeth, struggling to find a way to bring reason to Liam’s emotional argument. He was no more prepared to raise a child than Drake was. “Three years old,” Drake repeated, hesitant. “She won’t remember what happened. Taking her away from here isn’t fair to her.” “And what if she does remember? Do you think you will ever for… forget…” Liam slumped back against the wall and down to his seat again. He raked his fingers through his hair and groaned, and when he looked up again he looked paler and more tired than Drake had ever seen him. “As I said,” Liam drew in a long breath. “I made a promise. I won’t leave her fate to chance.” No matter his grievance, Drake couldn’t force Liam to consider something he was set against. Maybe in a few days, when his thoughts cleared, he could convince Liam that finding Emily a family was better than taking her in himself. After all, there was no way he would be able to move on from Anna while raising a child who looked just like her.

------

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#the royal romance #choices the royal romance #trr fandom #trr king liam #trr drake #we are our own heroes #choices trr #trr fanfic #trr au #king liam #liam and cassie #our own heroes

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annaraebananawriter · 4 years

Text

Day 3: Meeting

Yellow everyone! Day 3 of ErrorDream Week, hosted by @errorxdream, here we go! This one is shorted than the other two, but I do love how it turned out.

ALSO! Yes, all the prompts for this week are connected in one big story. Soooo…if you missed it, you might want to read Day 2 to understand everything in this one!

Fandom: Undertale, but specifically Dreamtale and Errortale

Characters: Dream (Who belongs to Joku) and Error (Who belongs to CQ)

Pairings: Pre-ErrorDream/Insomnia

Warnings: None, I don’t think so. Let me know!

Word Count: 1600

~oOo~

They didn't run into each other for about a month after that.

They never told their friends anything, as they felt they just wouldn't understand.

Error and Dream did a lot of thinking in that month.

That was why, Error decided to kidnap Dream.

~oOo~

Dream had been walking through the forest of Underswap, when strings wrapped around him tightly—not light enough to hurt, just so that he wouldn't slip. He looked down, getting a glimpse of the blue things, right before he was pulled backwards.

The only reason he didn't really panic was that he now knew who had taken him.

He stopped moving beside Error's chair, where the Destroyer himself was sat upon. The strings sat him down on the floor next to the chair, making sure he was comfortable before retreating and disappearing into nothing. Dream blinked for a bit, hesitant to move. He glanced over to Error, who was gazing ahead of him, stiff, like he was trying not to look at Dream.

(Honestly, that stung a bit, but it was fine. He shouldn't control what Error felt)

Dream opened his mouth to ask what he was doing here, when Error held up a hand in his direction, scowling. "No, shush. I know what you're going to ask, and you're here because I decided that I should show you the greatest show of all time. You remember me talking about it, right?"

"Of course!" Dream really did. He had been amazed at the time because he didn't know that Error had been so attached to something, like any other person. After all, he was the Destroyer, who could feel nothing but hate and rage, right?

Error's mouth twitched and Dream just knew that he was fighting back a smile or a smirk. "Good, wonderful; then, we'll start." He snapped his fingers and a small portal appeared in front of Dream, dropping some popcorn and a drink. A glance at Error showed that he had some snacks as well.

A portal opening up in front of them drew Dream's attention away from Error. A scene started in it, and it got Dream hooked from the first minute. He had to admit, it was a pretty good show, although he probably wouldn't love it with the enthusiasm that Error does. He more so loved the reactions the Destroyer had at certain scenes. But he did like the show.

Eventually, Error opened up aa portal beneath Dream without saying anything and the guardian yelped as he landed in some snow. A look around revealed he was back where he had been before Error had taken him.

He smiled slightly, not at all upset at what had just happened. He stood up, brushed some snow off of him, and made his way back to Blue's while wondering faintly if there would be any more of these 'kidnappings'.

~oOo~

Dream had been right in his wonderings. Once a week, without fail, Error would pull him away from whatever it was he would be doing, so that they could watch Undernovela together. The guardian had to admit, he did love these meetings. But really, who doesn't like spending time with the person they loved?

~oOo~

One time, Error accidentally put Dream down next to him on his chair. They had both tenses when they realized that this wasn't the seating arrangement from before. They didn't change it, though. Dream was respectful of Error's haphephobia and so it was fine, this new arrangement.

~oOo~

They had been doing this for about three months, when Error decided to spice things up a bit. Dream had prepared himself for another watching of Undernovela when the strings wrapped around him, but instead of the white of the Anti-Void, he had appeared by the cliffs of Outertale.

He blinked in confusion, his gaze roaming from star to star. They were pretty, very pretty. But he didn't understand why he was here. Error had been the one to take him, right? It wasn't another person deciding to kidnap him for real? His gaze landed on the Destroyer in question, who was sitting by the edge, staring up at the stars with a peaceful look on his face.

Dream stared.

He couldn't help it! How could someone not star when faced with someone so beautiful? They must be blind if they didn't. Really, though, the stars illuminated Error in the most perfect way. Dream knew that he would never hold a candle to how beautiful Error was.

"I decided to switch things up a bit." He heard Error say, the Destroyer turning to look at him. The peaceful look hadn't gone away, luckily, as that made his eyes the way they were meant to be. Hate and rage tainted that look most of the time, but here the colours shown as they're supposed to. Dream tuned back in as Error continued. "Is that alright?"

Dream blinked hard, trying to focus. "I-it's perfect!" He stuttered out, a light-yellow blush on his cheeks, quickly walking up to Error and sitting beside him, like he assumed that Error wanted him to. He folded his hands in his lap.

Then, the most magical thing happened.

Error laughed.

Error laughed and Dream froze, gaze snapping over to him. He stared. The laugh wasn't glitching like his voice usually was. The laugh was pure and deep and just...wonderful. It was a laugh that dream thought everyone should have, but also wished they never got, because only Error could pull it off.

His blushed deepened, beginning to glow. Dream quickly turned his head before Error noticed his staring. He put his hands on his cheeks to try and quell the glowing and hide it from the other.

The Destroyer did not need to know how he felt; it would only complicate things!

...

Stars...did he have it bad...

~oOo~

Another month later, and Error decided to bring Dream while the guardian had been asleep. It wasn't his fault that he didn't know Dream's sleep schedule, so don't even start. He had assumed that Dream was always alert and ready, so what if he had forgotten that people needed sleep?

But he will relent that maybe he should've guessed it when Dream fell asleep in the middle of an episode, tipping over and leaning against Error's shoulder.

Error tensed. He felt himself begin to glitch, but to his surprise, they retreated before they could be made an issue. He blinked in surprise. That...wasn't normal. It had never happened before. The glitches were supposed to hurt when in contact with someone; they were supposed to burn. So, why did they stop?

His glazed lowered to the guardian sleeping against him.

It had something to do with Dream, but what?

He stared. He looked back. Nothing stood out. Dream was always kind and respectful not to touch him, and the reason that he was now was nothing he could fault him for. He should've seen that Dream was tired, even though the other had never complained. He frowned slightly; he should talk to Dream about that. That wasn't healthy, even he knew that.

But despite that, nothing else stood out.

It had nothing to do with Dream's kindness and big heart, which was honestly mind-blowing and made an instinct rise up in him, something that told him to protect that heart of anything that sought to destroy it. He admired Dream for being able to show that much kindness, even to someone who tried to kill him, like his brother.

It had nothing to do with Dream's smile. The smile that he was sure only angels or pure people could have. It just made sense that was. He loved it when Dream smiled like that, it made him feel special, as he never saw it directed to anyone else; all the rest could never hold a candle to that smile.

It had nothing to do with Dream's laugh. The laugh that felt like a piece of music all to itself. Nothing would ever be able to give him the same level of satisfaction as saying something and making that laugh appear did. It just wasn't possible!

It had nothing to do with Dream's appearance in general. When they had been in Outertale, Error had glanced over and had his breath taken from him at the sight that was before him. Dream was beautiful; the way the stars glowed against his yellow and blue palette, the light dusting of yellow across his cheeks, the way his eyes glowed like a little golden flame...it was all so perfect.

Nothing stood out about all of that that—

...

Wait.

Error blinked, confusion filling him. There was something off about all of that. It seemed like a normal thing to do, normal things to think about someone. But something told him there was a bit more to it.

He thought and thought.

Whenever he thought these things, or even saw them in Dream, he felt all warm and fuzzy. Like happiness, but different. There was something more to it. Something itched at the back of his mind and he recalled something he had overheard. A random person (he had never learned their name) had been gushing about their lover to their friend, describing everything they found cute or wonderful and how it made them feel.

...now that he thought about it, everything they described that they felt, was what he felt when Dream did all those things he listed above...

...weird...

Why...if he didn't know any better, he'd say he was in love with Dream!

...

...wait...

...

Oh.

Oh no.

#my writing #my fanfiction #oneshot?#dreamtale #errortale #error sans #dream sans #errordream #errordream week

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howterrifying · 4 years

Text

+molliarty: The Necessity of Colour: I & II

The title had begun from a single idea I had, an idea that involved how one character viewed the other. It was meant to be a simple, nuanced one-shot, but the pair kept growing as their conversations unfolded and so it evolved into this mini-series. I actually had a very hard time trying to complete this but when I finally saw where it was heading, I was so glad I'd persevered with it. I did not expect it to end the way it had, but once the final scene had made its home in my mind, I could not deviate from it. I hope this story isn't too chaotic and that you can feel the complex and yet surprisingly clear feelings between the two. x

The Necessity of Colour: Part I & II [Also on FF.net and AO3]

I. It was a foolproof plan. Then again, when had Jim Moriarty ever had a plan that was notfoolproof? The world is a circus of fools, was how he often defined the environment he lived in. In this case, he had decided it was best he undertook this particular operation himself. He had planned it down to the most random of details so as not to be caught off guard; from the title of Molly’s favourite musical to the brand of cat food she would buy for her cat, Toby. Jim learnt how the different ways she did her hair could offer him some insight into her mood. The shocking amount of colour she seemed to enjoy formed a stark contrast to his own very stark palette, but he had learnt to appreciate it. Jim had left no stone unturned.

Molly’s affection for Sherlock Holmes and their close working relationship had been the reason behind Jim choosing her for his plan. This affection she had for the detective, however, was both a blessing and a curse. It would offer Jim the insidious access to Sherlock he needed, but he knew it would take time. Jim was afraid that her infatuation itself would become an obstacle. To Jim’s surprise, Molly had taken to him far sooner than he had expected. Before he knew it, they were going on small dates; late night coffees after her shifts at the morgue, weekends at the secondhand bookshop and even a rare trip to the cinema. Jim had been pleasantly surprised to discover they shared the same popcorn preference – no popcorn at all. It had all been very warm and cordial, lots of laughter, shy smiles and free and easy conversation. Jim knew she was going to be easy to talk with but was genuinely surprised to find himself wanting to hear what she had to say. Needless to say, she was also remarkably clever and it earned Jim’s genuine admiration. They were at the tail end of another of these dates. It was a weekday night and it marked their first dinner date. It had only happened because Molly was famished after her shift and had not been in the mood for St. Bart’s refectory offerings. “That was a nice treat, thank you,” said Jim to Molly. The night was getting chilly and he used it as an excuse to stand a little closer to her as they took a slow stroll. “Well, it wasn’t the fanciest of restaurants but it was the best I could think of at this hour,” Molly replied with a laugh. “Besides, I should thank you for joining me. It’s not often I have company at dinner after a shift.” “I happen to like your company,” Jim said, throwing a most dashing smile in her direction. “Yes, I know,” Molly responded with a knowing half-smile. The pair stopped in their tracks, grinning at each other before bursting into chuckles. They had been dancing around the edges of their fascination with each other and it seemed they were about to enter slightly newer territory. “It goes without saying,” said Molly, looping her arm through his, “that I very much enjoy your company too.” Jim smiled at her words, except he was not sure where the smile stemmed from. As they walked on, he considered that perhaps her words indicated his plan was succeeding and thus brought him joy. No, that’s not it, he thought to himself. He knew it was going to succeed, so there was nothing exceptionally successful to smile about. Something was off about his own reaction and it puzzled him. He was interrupted by Molly literally snapping her fingers in front of his distracted face once they had reached the taxi stand where they would normally part after a late night out. “Fancy a midnight coffee?” asked Molly. She reached out to gently brush a small dried leaf that had fallen on his shoulder. “You know I’d never say no to coffee with you,” he said, reaching for the same hand that brushed the leaf off and kissed it. Molly’s eyes widened in surprise, but a smile grew on her lips. “That’s a first,” Molly said with a sly smile. “Well, we have to start somewhere,” replied Jim. “I suppose,” she said with a laugh, “Coffee at my place then?” It was Jim’s turn to be surprised, but he too, smiled in return. “Now that’s a first,” he said with a small chuckle. Molly chuckled along with him as the pair hopped into a taxi and made their way back to her flat. ++ “Nice place,” Jim said, carefully wiping his feet before stepping into her flat. “You’ve very well-mannered,” Molly said in turn, gesturing to her doormat, causing them both to chuckle. “Sherlock Holmes would just break in, much less wipe his feet.” “My, it’s been a long time since I’ve heard you mention his name,” Jim remarked, wondering why his heart gave a nervous thump in his chest. “It was to give you a point of reference, Jim,” Molly said with a wry smile, “A reference of the type of ‘manners’ I’ve had to tolerate.” “Well, you did like the man,” Jim said, wondering why he could not bring himself to smile at the irony. “He has his charms,” Molly remarked nonchalantly, “But they wear off very quickly.” Molly took Jim’s coat and hung it together with hers. She gestured to the sofa for him to take a seat while she went to make the coffee. “Make yourself at home,” she said, “Don’t do anything Sherlock Holmes would do.” “I wouldn’t dare. Wouldn’t want my charm to wear off,” Jim said with a cheeky glint in his eyes. “No, you’re too handsome for that,” said Molly, her eyes mirroring the light in his eyes. As Molly disappeared into her kitchen to make their coffee, Jim took a moment to take in his surroundings. It amused him to find a half-knitted scarf attached to a brightly-coloured ball of yarn, both items placed carefully atop the latest issue of an international neurology journal. Eventually, Jim found himself getting up from the sofa and wandering curiously around her living room, studying bits and bobs of what made her who she was. She was impossibly fascinating and it puzzled him as to why Sherlock Holmes had not fallen for her right away, especially once she had made known her affections. At that thought, Jim froze. Oh, Jim, you can’t have, he chided himself. No, this could not and, more crucially, should not be happening. Is that why her words from earlier had made him smile? I can beat this, he thought. It was just a feeling. Feelings were transient, disposable. He would get rid of it in no time, whatever it was that he was feeling for Molly Hooper. “Found anything interesting?” came Molly’s voice but in a tone he did not comprehend. He turned to face her, only to realise he was now staring down a barrel of a gun. A gun she was holding. “Molly?” he said, raising both hands instinctively. “Take a seat, please,” she replied, using the gun to gesture towards the sofa. With his hands still in the air, Jim made his way to the sofa and sat down carefully. He had not expected a night with Molly Hooper to take the turn it had and made a mental note to engage his snipers at all times in future.Molly sat on the small coffee table right in front of him, the gun still aimed towards his heart. “James Moriarty,” she said, slowly and evenly. Jim knew to be quiet in situations like these and tried desperately to read her face, except it was now absolutely unreadable. Whatever warmth or delight he always saw in her eyes seemed to have disappeared completely. Even the brown in them seemed to have faded into an icy, steely gaze he simply did not recognise. “It really is a pity,” said Molly with a blank smile, ‘I was getting rather fond of you.” “Then put the gun down,” Jim asked, “You know I’d never hurt you.” “Of course, you would,” Molly said with a laugh, “I know who you are, James Moriarty.” “I couldn’t hurt you, Molly. Look at me, I’m just—” “Jim from IT, I know…” Molly interjected. “The charade’s over, Jim.” Jim looked hard at Molly and saw that she was dead serious. The charade was over, both his and hers. The gun remained effortlessly in Molly’s hand, poised and ready to put a bullet through his chest at any second. “My boss has questions,” Molly began, “And you are to answer them.” “Your boss?” “She wants to know what you want with Sherlock Holmes.” “Why would she want to know that?” “She’s the one asking the questions, not you.” “All right, all right,” Jim knew not to push at times like these. “He’s been meddling, and I wanted to keep an eye on him.” Molly appeared to pause, as though listening to something, and it seemed she was awaiting her next instruction.. It was that split second that presented Jim the opportunity to push her hand away, producing a small knife which he pressed to the side of her neck. They were now interlocked, with Molly’s gun quickly repositioned, pressing against his stomach whilst he maintained the pressure of the blade against her skin. “It seems you’re two-timing me, Molly,” Jim remarked with a wry smile. “Well, we’d only just begun dating,” replied Molly, smirking in return. “God, I think I really do like you, Molly Hooper,” Jim continued, clicking his tongue. “I’m still undecided,” Molly said, chuckling darkly. “Still pining for Sherlock Holmes as well?” Jim retorted, wondering why he still could not properly joke about this. “My boss needed eyes on him too,” she said casually, “It was the best ruse.” A ruse. Unknowingly, Jim found himself lightening his pressure of the knife against Molly’s neck. He fought the odd rush of relief that entered his mind. This was no time for a feeling, much less newer, complicated ones. As though to remind him to focus, Molly pushed the end of her gun further into him, reminding him she was still in control. The blade on her neck hardly fazed her. Bullets were faster, after all. “You’re very good at your job then,” Jim continued, equally unfazed at the gun against him. “So are you,” said Molly, “But I am a little better at it.” The pair of them broke into a quick chuckle, just as they had at the taxi stand about an hour ago, but their gazes never left one another. “At least I can claim credit for being my own boss,” Jim said with teasing in his eyes. “Now who would give a fuck about that?” Molly answered with a cool, almost gentle smile. “Tsk. Language, Molly…” Jim tutted, amused. “Has my charm worn off then?” Molly asked, raising an eyebrow. “Not in the least,” he replied coolly. “Good.” With her gun still held firmly in place, Molly leaned forward and kissed Jim softly on the lips. There was a light clang as the blade he held fell from his fingers onto the coffee table and then bounced onto the floor. When she pulled away from him, Jim stared back at her, wide-eyed and for the first time in his entire criminal career, appeared to be at a loss. “Told you I was better,” she whispered, before kissing him once more. ++ II. When Jim finally stirred, the last memory he had was of Molly’s lips on his and it confounded him slightly. Surely he had not blacked out from a kiss? He blinked his eyes rapidly as his vision cleared and the room swam into view. Except he was not in a room. He had been lying across a bench at their usual taxi stand. Jim cricked his neck as he slowly rose from the bench. As he did so, he found himself wincing and the entire right side of his face was beginning to throb from excruciating pain. “Oh, that’s right,” he murmured to himself, hissing as he rubbed his bruised temple. He had been wrong about his last memory. The correct last memory would have been Molly raising the gun in her hand and bringing it down to strike him across the face. “I really should hire her…” he continued, now rubbing his cheekbone. Suddenly, his mobile phone buzzed with an incoming message. Jim reached into his pocket for it and swiped to open the message. I’ve decided you’re no longer a problem. At least not a big one. So you can go. But be careful what you do with Sherlock Holmes. I will be watching. E. “Who on earth calls themselves by a single letter anymore?” he scoffed, closing the message. Jim managed to stand up and dialed for one of his cars to come get him. In a matter of minutes, he was being sped off to one of his offices where he would get cleaned up and put on a fresh suit. Jim needed to work out who else wanted a piece of Sherlock Holmes but more importantly, who it was that had the good fortune of hiring Molly Hooper. ++ “Coffee’s here,” Molly chirped, “Black and two sugars.” “Just leave it there,” came Sherlock’s sharp reply. “Okay,” she said, smiling sweetly as she placed it at the edge of the lab bench the detective was working at. “So, any luck on those chemical traces then?” she asked, walking towards his hunched figure as he peered deep into a microscope. “I’ve narrowed it down to five possible sources.” “That’s good then, isn’t it? Let me know if there’s anything I—” There was a knock on the door followed by the soft creak of it being opened gingerly. “Sorry, am I disturbing?” came the shy voice of Jim, holding a box of hard-drives in his hands. Sherlock looked up and vaguely recalled seeing this face, a face connected with something to do with computers. The memory had neither been significant nor threatening, so Sherlock merely looked back down and resumed his work at the microscope. “I’m just here to collect the faulty drives,” he said, pointing sheepishly to the box in his hands. There was still no response from Sherlock. Jim took a gamble and stole a glance at Molly. When she returned his gaze, all the sweetness from before melted away. Those same blank, icy eyes were back and it brought back the memory of their faces being inches apart from each other, her gun against his body and his knife against her neck. Jim’s heart lurched from the memory and it made him flinch ever so slightly. Molly noticed and when she deduced what had caused it, the tiniest light returned to dance in her pupils. “The drives are there,” Molly said, pointing to a shelf across the room. The sweetness reserved for her ruse with the detective returned. “Do you need a hand? There are quite a few…” “No, no, I’m all right, thanks,” Jim said, trying not to smile in amusement from the honey in her voice. “Okay,” Molly said with a nod. Molly turned on her heels to exit the laboratory but could not resist one more look back at Jim. It had been some time since she had seen him. His bruises had healed nicely, leaving his handsomeness perfectly intact. In spite of her boss’ warning, it seemed his plan to hunt Sherlock also remained intact. Molly had to admit that this tenacity of his really was admirable. If her boss knew how much it thrilled Molly to see Jim again, she would probably have had her pay – or her head – cut. Nevertheless, she allowed that rush into her veins one more time before quickly vanishing from the lab. “She’s sweet, isn’t she?” Jim remarked to Sherlock. He headed to the shelf and began rummaging for the drives. “Who is?” Sherlock muttered, adjusting his microscope. “She was just in here a minute ago?” Jim pressed, hiding his amusement. “She’s not a sugar cube, so I wouldn’t know,” came Sherlock’s blunt response. “Ha, that’s funny. You’ve got a good sense of humour…” Jim said. That did the trick and the detective stopped to look up at Jim. He made the effort to look at Jim properly this time. “I’m sorry, who are you again?” asked Sherlock. “Ah, sorry. Jim…from IT?” “It’s obvious you’ve taken an interest in the pathologist. If so, why are you talking to me?” “Well, she seems to work with you. A lot.” “And what of it?” “I just thought maybe the two of you were, you know, a thing…” Jim said with a shrug. “I don’t have time for…a thing.” “She seems to like you though.” “Maybe someone’s paying her to,” Sherlock retorted, deciding to return to his chemical analysis. “You know, I take it back,” Jim said, popping the last drive into his box. “Take what back?” asked Sherlock. “She isn’t sweet,” said Jim, as he made his way out, “With a person like you? Someone’s definitely paying her.” With those words, Jim gave a quick nod and a wave to the detective, who had looked up sharply again, before walking out of the lab. As he strolled down the corridor back to his office, Jim chuckled softly to himself. He had meant to insult Sherlock with his parting words but it had ended up serving to comfort the criminal mastermind himself. Whoever this E was, Jim was almost grateful to her. Whatever her reason was for spying on Sherlock Holmes, it had led Molly to the detective, which inadvertently led Jim to her. “I really should thank her someday,” Jim murmured to himself, drumming his fingers against the box of faulty drives. ++ Molly was sat in a cab with a few packed bags as she made her way to a hotel. Being the dutiful employee that she was, Molly had reported her sighting of Jim back at St. Bart’s. For Molly’s safety and for minimal disruption to their operations, her boss had insisted Molly be away from her flat for at least a month. Now that Jim knew where she lived, her flat was now basically one giant booby trap. The hotel was expensive and exclusive. Its low footfall of human traffic meant easier surveillance at the hotel, ensuring Molly’s safety. Her boss, though terrifying, knew to value an asset and would never put Molly in harm’s way. A bellboy took her bags and Molly was ushered to her suite by another member of hotel staff. “Well, this is nice,” Molly said to herself as she explored the space. Her phone buzzed and she knew it was her boss checking in with more instructions. A different car will come every day to pick you up. They will drop you at various locations around St. Bart’s. I will handle Jim if he disrupts in any way. You are to remain focused on my brother. More information will be sent shortly. E. Molly smirked at the message and swiped it shut. She walked over to one of several ornate armchairs and sank into it. It was nice to know she could focus on the original operation again, but she did miss the temporary portfolio that had been keeping close tabs on Jim Moriarty. “He had such manners,” Molly sighed, leaning her head back, “And by god was he handsome.” Her moment of indulgence was interrupted by the sound of her hotel phone ringing. Reaching for it, she picked up the receiver and answered. “Hello?” “Ms Hooper, this is the Concierge. A package has arrived for you. Would you like us to send it up?” Her boss worked fast. Tonight was going to be a night of going through dossiers again, it seemed. “Yes, please,” Molly replied, a little crestfallen. She was hoping to at least have a night without work in this beautiful suite, but her boss did say she was going to send information. Moments later, the doorbell to her suite rang and Molly reluctantly got up to get the door. When she pulled open one side of the heavy, double-door entrance to her suite, what greeted her was not a brown envelope or a briefcase or anything she was expecting. Instead, she was presented with a bottle of red wine and those very hands that held them were the hands of one Jim Moriarty. “Did you miss me?” he whispered, smiling wryly at her. For a moment, Molly was stunned, but she soon regained her composure and could not help but smile back. It was then that Molly decided that if he had made it this far, her boss did not know he was here. At least that was what she was hoping. “You know what, Jim?” said Molly, retrieving the wine from him, “Yes.” [To be continued...]

#molliarty #it's finally done!!#i was hoping to finish it in one night #and it became a week-long saga #but yay it's donnnne #molliarty shots #The Necessity of Colour by Terrified

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edorazzi · 5 years

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Well, here we are again! Twitter said yes to a review post for a Miraculous magazine that suddenly showed up in my local area. ‘Tis the season after all, and by that I mean someone bought it for me as a joke birthday gift and I was way too happy about that.

I’ve done previous reviews of the Miraculous Christmas calendar, Easter egg set, superhero fashion dolls and action figures, so let’s dive into the unknown world of merchandising yet again!

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4 FREE GIFTS! PACKED WITH ACTIVITIES! MEET THE KWAMIS! PRANKS & LOLS! CUT-OUT MEMES! FANGIRL ALERT! NAIL ART! 100% OFFICIAL! I’m overwhelmed! It feels like I’m having a seizure just from the packaging!!!

I should preface this by saying I haven’t bought a magazine like this in years. Possibly ever. I read things like the Beano, Animals & You and the odd Disney Princess zine when I was a kid but I have no idea what to expect from a free-gift-packed kiddie magazine in 2019. If the outside is anything to go by we’re in for a wild ride.

I’m noticing that it says “Miraculous #20″ on the back. Does this mean I’ve missed 19 previous issues? I’m genuinely a little upset by that. My local area is a complete dry zone for Miraculous so I haven’t had the chance to pick these up.

First step: let’s separate everything out and get a look at these freeeee giftssss. Except they aren’t free, because this magazine was like £3.99. This does seem to be the current trend - it’s kinda rare to see any kids’ zines without the excess packaging crammed with ‘free’ stuff. Is it really too expensive to just produce the magazine? Probably, in this economy.

Chat Noir is revealed on the cover! He was on the back of the plastic jacket, but it’s still nice to see the kids as a front-cover duo. Apparently we’re going to learn to draw Pollen, too, which sounds fun. I’m actually liking the look of the gifts as well, but we’ll get into those in a minute.

This hairbrush............. is adorable. Oh my god. It’s pretty cheap and flimsy but it functions the way it’s supposed to, and the Ladybug design has been taken into account in a better way than “it’s red/black, that counts” (lest we forget the UTTER BULLSHIT of the Christmas calendar, and YES I’m still mad about that). I don’t know how well I expect the outer sticker to last, but if it can take a bit of wear and tear this would be an adorable little travel brush. Nicely done, lads!

These nail stickers? Also adorable. They remind me of the kiddie makeup sets I had when I was little, back in the early 00s when plastic stick-on nails and decals were all the rage. Are they still a thing? That’s nice to know.

There are 13 designs (that I can count) - a Queen Bee mask, Chat Noir pawprint cake, macaron, cupcake, heart-print cookie, Ladybug stud, flower, lightning bolt, love heart, Marinette heart, bee, fox tail and star. The majority are directly related to the show and that makes them feel special. No Carapace though? :(

I’ve put a little Marinette heart on my furthest finger. At the time of typing this up (about a day later) it’s still firmly in place. I haven’t really knocked it around, granted, but it’s not flimsy enough to fall off after five minutes either. It’s also really cute to look at. Guess I’m still a decal-loving 2004 girl at heart......

These stickers though!!! Wow! They’re those holographic and slightly-puffy kind and they feel like pretty good quality, and the designs are so cute! I can’t fault these, they’re absolutely adorable. I immediately want to stick them everywhere.

So I’ve stuck them everywhere. I’m especially proud of the light switch pun. My room looks GREAT.

I saved these “mystery stickers” for last because I’m weak for the thrill of mystery bags, and there wasn’t anything on the packaging to indicate what kind of designs to expect. And OH!!!! OH, IT’S MY BOY!!!! Look at him!!!!

I made jokes with the Christmas calendar about all the Chat Noir items being stolen ahead of time, but that’s definitely NOT the case with this magazine. I have been SPOILED with the presence of my cat son.

These stickers are similar to the sticker sheet (and the Chillin’ Out design is reprinted), but they’re puffier and non-holographic. I’m deeply allured by the “decorate your phone or tablet” suggestion on the packet, but I’m going to see how the previous stickers withstand the wear-and-tear of my laptop lid before adding any more. If I damage these beautiful Adrien stickers I’ll be devastated.

Those are our free gifts! They’re actually very fun and cute, I’m really happy with them! I guess now it’s time to get into the magazine itself...........

I genuinely almost forgot the magazine was the main part of this package. I figured I was done, but we’ve barely even started! Here’s a splash page of the kwami. Kwami with a capital K? Kwamis? I still feel like it should be singular-lower-case-k-kwami. I’ve never been happy about this “miraculouses” business either.

But is that--

It IS!!!! It’s Nino!!!

I guess this is the new flavour of Miraculous tie-ins. Now they’ve broadened out to a full team we’re seeing a lot more of Adrien alongside the girls, and Nino is the elusive hero who shows up once in a blue moon. At least this time his name isn’t in the title of the gotdam show.......

Anyway, I can see I’m supposed to draw my “fave Kwami”. Better get to it.

Felix just wants a break. Just one break. But not in this magazine.

Speaking of seeing more of Adrien (and, tragically, less of Nino), this is the kind of splash page I want to see! Both kids are here! The banner themed with Marinette’s signature flowers is a nice touch too; that’s associated with her arts ‘n’ crafts in the show already and it makes sense to apply it to the creative portion of this magazine too.

I LOVE the promotion of Chat Noir nails as something the little girls buying this magazine will definitely want to try. I’d expect them to do Marinette vs Ladybug nails, but instead we get a boyish option! Hell yeah!

I’m a little confused by the Queen Bee masks apparently going on the Chat Noir nails though. I guess they’re friends? Is this secret AdriChlo confirmation? Watch out, Marinette, Kagami’s not the one to be worried about.

SURE WOULD BE NICE TO HAVE SOME TURTLE STICKERS FOR AN ALL-BOYS THEME BUT I GUESS NOT HUH

Next up is a short merch catalogue (why would you put the big bold arrow pointing right to the underoos.....). Would those Chat Noir socks come in my size? Asking for me.

Then there’s......... this page. FANGIRL ALERT. God. It’s like the Ladyblog, if only the Ladyblog ever gave a heck about reporting what Chat Noir’s up to.

THE SPELL WAS BROKEN AND THE FANDOM IMPLODED WITH JOY.

I really have to wonder what age range this is meant for. Do kids know what a “fandom” is? Do little girls consider themselves “fangirls”? I guess most kids have enough internet access to figure it out these days (all the hashtags and LOLs and memes speak volumes), but I can’t imagine being young enough to fit the target range of this magazine while also knowing these terms. I dunno.

(Also, the definition of ‘implosion’ is ‘an instance of something collapsing violently inwards’, so I’m not sure that’s the word they’re looking for. Unless the return to the status quo in Dark Cupid and the continuing stagnation of the love square was enough to make people quit in frustration? Probably.)

I’m filling it in, of course. Because I must.

I gave up on the pre-approved ratings system pretty much right away, but I think this is an accurate rating of my LadyNoir opinions.

I might be kinda cynical about it here, but I am actually pretty fond of how this magazine sells Ladybug and Chat Noir as a couple. The show’s portraying it as very onesided lately, with Chat pining over Ladybug who has absolutely no interest in him (Glaciator was a TERRIBLE episode and I’m still hurting from it), but reading this zine I’d guess they were already dating. It’s cheesy, but in a nice way.

I have to laugh at “the most amazing thing about this super duo is that they always look out for and protect each other” though. Chat’s usually pretty focused on LB, sure, but there are endless instances of LB using Chat as cannon fodder and just generally abandoning him to get mauled by akuma while she carries out her personal private plan to save the day. Maybe we’re just focusing on the better-written episodes, huh?

Moving ahead. I’ve been dreading this page since reading “Plaggs Pranks & LOLs” on the back of the packaging. I feel hatred in my very bones just looking at it.

I like that there’s ONE instance of the term “ladybird” in the joke column. This is a UK-based magazine and that IS the word we tend to use over here - “ladybug” is an Americanism - but it’s like they’re worried kids could have got to the middle of this magazine about a superhero named Ladybug and then not understand the bug jokes. Maybe whoever was writing this page slipped up?

OH NOOOOO. MARINETTE, NOOOOOOOOOO.

THIS IS WHY FELIX GOT RID OF YOU, PLAGG. THESE ARE ADRIEN’S PROBLEMS NOW.

(mmm whatcha saaaaay)

I mean........... YEAH, I guess, but we absolutely did see Plagg destroy Felix with an entire shelf of heavy books. I guess he’s nicer with Adrien. It’s all fun and games until someone has a nervous breakdown in the library.

I do love the concept of Tikki getting glitter-bombed by Plagg through the mail. She just curiously opens up the little letter which got slipped into Marinette’s purse, and-- WOOSH. One entire wall of Mari’s room is glittery except for a little Tikki-shaped silhouette.

Next up is a two-page comic which is absolutely adorable! Look at those little chibis! The warm and soft colour palette! This is nicer than most of the official Miraculous comic book art I’ve seen, I hope they keep giving this artist work.

Nino’s here too (and he looks great!), and I like the touch of Marinette and Adrien playing as each other’s superhero characters. Adrien even wins the match, though I guess there’s something to be said about Ladybug beating Chat Noir (again)......

It does raise the question yet again of where this tie-in merchandise is coming from! They’ve had action figures, a movie, music video features, now an arcade game... Who’s getting the royalties here? Who’s profiting? Is this how Fu can afford to buy all those rare ingredients for the magic potions?

Over the page we have an activity to Design your Secret Lair! Right away I love the Marinette theme of the page, the soft pink and flowers, and the drawing space looking like a page in a binder with marker tabs and everything.

I have to design my secret lair, of course:

What do you think? I’m very creative. I’ll need an adult to send in the drawing of my hideout but I think I’ve really got a shot at those unicorn headphones.

Now we’re on to puzzles and character pages. I don’t know what ol’ Gabe is doing trying to meet a 13 year old girl in the dead of night without telling anyone, you’d think if he’s got that much free time on his hands he could be spending it with his son.

I don’t know how those points in Ladybug’s power profile are awarded or what they mean, but you can tell this is a fan magazine. Official sources would have put her at a 10.

Standard House of Villains page! Most of these were good episodes but I’m deeply offended Riposte isn’t on here. Maybe her motives weren’t dramatic and cartoonish enough to be up in the ranks with Glaciator and Gorizilla?

“Cat Noir’s dad is also the evil Hawk Moth”, huh? I mean that’s not WRONG, but is it really something to put in his power profile when Adrien doesn’t even know yet??? Feels like we’re kinda jumping the gun on the poor boy. What if he picks up this magazine?

Apparently he’s one point weaker than Ladybug (seriously???), two points faster, equally as agile, one point less skilled and two points less cool. Despite all those lesses he still comes out at an equal 9, which is a relief! These kids are a team, putting either of them below the other would have been a big no.

I did the colouring page too, naturally. Je suis un artiste.

Now we’ve got a page fresh from the Ladyblog, a Miraculous quiz! Not a lot of excitement, but it’s nice to see Alya getting her own section.

I like that the qualifications of “you could be Ladybug herself!” are knowing what city Marinette lives in and what school she goes to. Well done, Mari! You’re doing your best!!!

TEACHER I AM SO HUNGRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

I gotta say, I’m not so sure about decorating donuts with fondant. I’ve never tried it so I could be wrong, but it feels like rolled icing instead of frosting(?) would be too heavy for an entire donut. The texture is totally different.

I mean I guess if you’re going to load your kids up on sugar you might as well go all the way. They’re going to look like they’ve eaten something horrible with all that black fondant, but they’ll have fun. Adrien would love these.

WHERE’S NINO. THIS IS JUST UNFAIR. You’ll have four out of five heroes, then a double of Marinette and Tikki? Maybe this just goes to show how little memorable dialogue Carapace has.

Though if “Spots On!” is Marinette’s dialogue and not Ladybug’s, why are the other transformation phrases attributed to Rena Rouge and Queen Bee instead of Alya and Chloé? Surely they could have picked something better for Marinette to justify having her on this list twice instead of Nino.

The next page brings us one of those flowchart quizzes! And ouch, yet again the absence of the other heroes is obvious. I can understand not including Chloé here since she’s technically not a “friendly” character yet, but no Nino? Alya and Marinette are close friends, but Adrien doesn’t really hang out with them without Nino around. Having the three of them together just seems strange.

I do like the little fashion page! They’re all cute and affordable and easy to find on the high street here. I’d love to see how other issues of this magazine are structured; is there a different fashion spot every time? Styles to channel each individual hero would be adorable.

Moving on to a tutorial for a Ladybug notebook! I would have made this, but I didn’t have the time nor a notebook to stick it to.

Between this and the donuts, it seems weird that these designs are based on, like... an actual beetle, eyes and antennae and all. Shouldn’t it be Ladybug’s symbol? These come across more like “fun animals” arts ‘n’ crafts instead of themed after Miraculous specifically. I think if I made this (or decorated the donuts) I’d miss out the head and match the spot pattern to Ladybug’s symbol.

The hidden message design is adorable though. I can see this being a craft kids are super proud of.

Another activity page! I didn’t have a go at these but they’re pretty standard. It’s cute that the coded message designs are the same as the stickers and nail decals!

Also, apparently Ladybug’s ‘secret’ is “LB mask + heart + CN mask”, which was (somehow) stolen by Volpina. Is that the secret Hawk Moth was talking about earlier in the magazine? Is he blackmailing Ladybug with revealing she has a crush on Chat Noir? How did Volpina ‘steal’ this secret? Is LadyNoir finally reciprocated???? THIS IS A WHOLE EPISODE IN ITSELF, I NEED ANSWERS--

Next page we have an ad for another girly magazine (Quizzes! LOLs! Celebs! Cringes! Puzzles!). I think I’ll pass, no matter how appealing that giant microphone pen is.

And a “Miraculous Identity” quiz! Tikki’s apparently super fickle with her wielders, three seasons of relentlessly praising Marinette and now she’s telling us we’re the Chosen Ones. You can’t fool me with those big ol’ eyes.

My inner superhero is Marvellous Fox, by the way. Though yet again I’m noticing we don’t have turtle options...................

And on the back cover... the memes. Oh, sweet lord, the memes. They’re hashtag-SoRelatable! And I can cut them out to keep! Oh boy!!!

Is this what kids do when they have limited internet access? Cut fresh memes out of magazines and carry them around? I need to know.

That’s a very sinister Ladybug at the bottom of the page though. What’s-- What’s she going to do to me if I don’t cut out and keep these memes. Ladybug what are you going to do if I d--

Well that brings us to the end of the magazine! And yet again I’m surprised by how much time it takes to just put a bunch of photos together and write about them.

This is a neat little magazine all in all! The ‘free gifts’ are pretty nice, there’s a fair amount of content and the whole thing is pretty cute for young fans of the show. I could see myself buying this again - if it ever shows up on shelves, Miraculous is so scarce around here that I fully expect it to disappear again after this one issue - just for the free junk, but it would be interesting to see how they’d structure different issues too!

I notice we never did get that promised tutorial on how to draw Pollen; the one advertised on the cover. Was the “draw your favourite Kwami” activity supposed to cover that? I’m not sure that really counts.

If you got this far, thanks for joining me on this Miraculous journey! We’ll meet again whenever I get another piece of weird ML merch to cover. Bien joué!

#miraculous ladybug #josie talks about things #josie's art #i really should get a review tag #ANYWAY there's a bit more art in this which isn't just the header image so give it a look!#and felix features a couple of times because WHY would he not on edorazzi dot com

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kenkamishiro · 5 years

Text

zakki:re translations, Part 5, Vol. 13-16

I feel this section has the most interesting commentary from Ishida, in particular the ones about the volume 13 and 14 covers.

Next section will begin to feature Ishida’s extra illustrations, such as the ones from Root A, the light novels, etc.

If you would like to start from the beginning, please click here.

Originally I was thinking of using this as a cover illustration for a number of volumes, but because I couldn't make it stand out as a cover illustration no matter how hard I tried, it was used as a two-page spread for YJ magazine instead. A honey-ish tone.

Weekly Young Jump 2017, Issue no. 35, Opening colour page

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Around the time of this illustration, there was a certain atmosphere that made drawing colour illustrations draining... Since there's something experimental about it, even though I was tired you can still see a glimpse of him not being able to grow for some reason.

Weekly Young Jump 2017, Joint issue no. 36-37, Center colour illustration

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A grey-scale painting using a pencil-like brush. I often use grey, crimson, pink and yellowish green. I like faded colours, and colours that pop.

Weekly Young Jump 2017, Issue no. 46, Opening colour page

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The cover of :re volume 13. Juuzou comes to mind when I think of '13'. I was thinking of picking Juuzou as the cover of OG volume 13, but I already had a Reaper, plus I'd already drawn him in volume 6.

In :re I made proper use of Juuzou.

Contents-wise this volume is painful to look at because at the time I was drawing for it to reach a catastrophic end. The magic was gone, it was like I was drawing purely by muscle.

Several years before this volume, there was a time where I wished I could become a manga-drawing robot, but oddly enough I feel like that wish came true here, as if it was a manga made by a machine.

If '13' is a number that symbolizes the Reaper, then to me it was a volume that felt as if death had come to find me again.

2017, Volume 13, Cover

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I think this painting is good, with a nice palette and a good expression. When I'm feeling depressed, I feel powerful when drawing a picture like this. Having said that, it's difficult to do since I can't stay depressed forever. I wish I could bring out all sorts of facial expressions whenever I like.

2017, Volume 13, Cover flap

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The cover of :re volume 14. Hide. I thought about whether I should bring him out or not, how I should make use of Hide practically, but the truth is he lightened things up. To say more on this topic, I was originally planning to finish the series in volume 14 of :re (this volume). Looking back on it, the only thing I can say is...that it was impossible. Since I was only thinking about "How do I end this?", of course I didn't think about Hide playing an active role in the story. But thanks to him tying together the story scene by scene, my feelings completely changed from "How do I end this?" to "Should I keep going?" As a result, the story following the first half of volume 14 became blank. In soccer, this is known as "lost time". I was that one player in lost time who suddenly goes, "Crap!" and starts sprinting like mad. I might score a point, I might not; but even if I don’t, I consider just being able to run with all my strength as a once-in-a-lifetime fortune. I also like this colour illustration a lot. It's a painting that gave me the courage to try again.

2018, Volume 14, Cover

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But, that being said. It was tough drawing Kaneki. Because he was unable to save himself. Protagonists are really difficult to draw, and I think that especially holds true for characters who seem like they've reached their end development. For example in OG, Kaneki from volume 9 who seemed almost invincible at the time was also tough to draw. But if he doesn't grow from his mistakes himself, that reveals itself in the drawings. Although I thought I'd do my best once more, I felt like I was being rejected by Kaneki and it didn’t feel like any of my drawings came out nice.

Weekly Young Jump 2018, Issue no. 8, Opening colour illustration

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However by this time, Kaneki was coming to terms with himself. Because everyone was rising with tremendous force, I felt that Kaneki should as well soon. There's a lot of colour schemes I usually don't use, so it's fun looking back at them. Though when I was drawing this at the time I was going, "What's with this palette..." in despair.

Weekly Young Jump 2018, Issue no. 15, Opening colour illustration

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Volume 15 of :re. I don't want to make people think I'm sickly, but regarding the colour of my drawings: After some time, the number of my drawings of sickly-looking characters and greyish illustrations increased. I called it "sexy grey" and whatnot, and went for a sensual kind of grey, but it was an event that made me realize that this might be a good opportunity. Have you heard of the visual impairment known as scintillating scotoma? It's a condition where flickering sparkles appear in your visual field. The sparkling kept increasing and getting in my way, and for me personally it lasts for 30 minutes. First appearing from OG volume 9, it was really troublesome especially when I was busy and I couldn't do any work for about half an hour. To cope with it, I tried reducing the brightness of my screen, warming my eyes and avoiding caffeine. As another one of my coping methods, I thought of making the tone of my colour illustrations with a grey base. I don't know how it worked, but I've taken advantage of it and increased my use of grey in my paintings. By the way, it was around the end of OG to the beginning of :re that it was at its worst, but the symptoms rarely occur now. Me using grey was devised as a measure against that visual disorder.

2018, Volume 15, Cover

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Rize and a skull. I really like this colour illustration.

2018, Volume 15, Cover flap

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I felt good drawing this Kaneki. It feels soft.

2018, Volume 15, Cover flap

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The end of the series!...or at least it should've been for that issue of the YJ cover illustration.

I had a cover prepared for Young Jump for the end of my series after 7 years, but then it got extended and extended... That was my fault though.

Weekly Young Jump 2018, Issue no. 28, Cover illustration

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...so I also prepared a two-page colour spread at the same time as that cover illustration. It was supposed to be grand, but I couldn't finish it at all. Even the blurb has "3 chapters left" written on it. By the way, I didn't have time for this two-page illustration anyway, and I finished it in 3 hours. I'd already spent a lot of time on the last one, so it was hard...

Weekly Young Jump 2018, Issue no. 28, Colour spread

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:re volume 16, the cover of the final volume. So we’ve come this far… And with that the YJ magazine illustrations & volumes corner has come to an end.

This volume is massive, huh?

This section will get too long if I speak about this volume, so please forgive me…

2018, Volume 16, Cover

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previous || next

#Tokyo Ghoul #zakki:re #Ishida Sui #Translations #my translations #zr translations #reading his volume 13 comment hurt ;-;#at least his volume 14 was more optimistic #thank you hide

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amora-recs · 4 years

Text

aristos achaion┊jeon jungkook┊01

des: The Gods themselves have named him the best of the greeks. (college!AU combined with greek!AU)

note: although this was so hard to come up with and plan out, I LOOOVE it so much! I think this one might be one of my favourites. I tried really hard to not make it too Percy Jackson so I hope it’s ok!! anyway please enjoy <3

word count: 1.5k

Snitches get stitches. Those three exact words have been preached over for far too many generations at Faraday Institute. Especially when it came to the Ares kids. Those same words also applied in this situation, everyone silently watching as Jungkook kept hammering away at one of the boys’ face. The room felt suffocatingly stuffy, only a few grunts and groans were heard over the party music playing in the speakers, although at the time the funky tunes were nothing more than white noise as no one dared interfere with the altercation going on at the time.

It hit him all at once the moment he stood up. His head was starting to spin, the metallic taste of blood, an all too familiar tang to him now, filled Jungkook’s mouth as his left eye kept pulsating in pain. He could barely feel his hands, knuckles covered in dark red blood. He could already hear people whispering, making his insides coil in disgust. Couldn’t they just leave? No one asked them to stay and watch him beat up some dudes. His eyes turned around toward his audience, scanning the room for Jimin. Stupid frat parties, he should have never accepted the invite. With no sign of his one companion in sight, he walked out, wincing as the chilly early spring breeze brushed over his bruises.

“Dear Gods, what a fucking psycho. Did he have to overdo it?” asked one of the girls, throwing a few regular glances towards the guys on the floor. “Wasn’t he recently titled Aristos Achaion?”

“Yes, actually,” emphasised Taehyung, one of the Apollo kids, taking another sip of his drink. “The Gods themselves have named him the best of the greeks.”

It was true, Jeon Jungkook owned the title of best of the greeks and just like Taehyung said, the Gods, also known as the College Council, themselves gave him that name. It was almost absurd how much power those two words held on campus. The moment everyone heard a son of Ares was the one to become Aristos Achaion many different opinions were shared, most of them bashing on the council for making such a mistake. But just like after the fight, Jungkook preferred to ignore them, accepting the title with a big smile. A smile that slowly but surely was disappearing.

It was a beautiful night. Everything was silent except for the few grasshoppers and although the air was still chilly, the way the breeze scraped his wounds felt pleasant while the simplistic palette of blues and black the sky was tinted in offered him comfort as he walked alone in the dark. The tranquillity of it all allowed him to sort his agitated thoughts.

That, or he was just giving himself an awful migraine.

A sigh escaped his lips as he knocked three times at the door of his best friend, trying his hardest to straighten up his posture. A bashful smile took over his features as soon as the door opened. Along with his smile, his blush also grew wider as he studied her attire. She was wearing a large grey t-shirt, probably bought from the boys’ section, that reached her mid-thighs. His heart started beating just a tad faster as whether or not she was wearing anything under that shirt crossed his mind. He immediately made a mental note to slap himself later. Sleepiness coated her eyes, still not taking into consideration his appearance. No words were exchanged as she welcomed him inside, already searching for the first aid kit. She was more than used to have Jungkook all beat-up knocking at her door. She became his nurse, as he liked to call it.

“Y’know,” Jungkook grunted as he took a seat on the couch. “You shouldn’t open the door dressed like that.” her response came in the form of a yawn, cleaning the bruises on his face first with a wet cloth.

“But I knew it was you knocking.”

For some reason, it felt good to hear those words. It made his heart flutter. “Yeah right,” he mouthed, looking down at his injured hands, now cleaned up by her.

A comfortable silence surrounded them shortly after. Seeing her in front of him made memories from earlier come back in a rush, making Jungkook scrunch his nose in disgust at the repulsive thoughts. The way they dared talk about her made his blood boil and, though painful, clench his fists. He should have mutilated them after what he heard came out of their mouths –

“Why did you pinch me?” he whimpered in pain as he took a hold of his wounded right cheek.

“You were spacing out again.” she simply stated with a smile, gently taking his hand off his cheek. “Now, be a good boy, and let me disinfect your cheek.”

The antiseptic stung, but like the good boy he silently promised to be, Jungkook said nothing, distracted by the very little distance between them and the flowery smell of her shampoo. For once he was thankful for his swollen cheeks.

“Seriously though,” she stood up, throwing the cotton ball into the bowl she brought. “Aren’t you taking this son of Ares charade too seriously?”

“I can't help it.” he sighed, enjoying the sensation of the band-aid over his wounds. “I mean, it is apparently in my blood.”

He didn’t need to look at her to know she was giving him the look. And the look only meant one thing. “This whole blood thing seems like a bunch of bullshit to me.” she scoffed, adjusting the last bandage over the knuckles of his right hand.

Jungkook groaned in exasperation. As much as he loved her, he knew she was still mortal. She wasn’t anything special, a certain chosen one, nor did she possess any sort of sixth sense. She was just a sceptic. A very stubborn one. And who could blame her?

Demi-gods usually don’t own any fancy otherworldly powers as one would believe. The only gift they were blessed with was their eyes. Or rather their eye colour, to be more exact. A deep shape of brown, able to bore into your soul and warm you up in the best and worst way possible. That was Jungkook’s eye colour and the only way one could tell he has godly blood flowing through his veins.

“Just because you believe it’s bullshit that doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

“But is it worth it? Everyone hates you.”

Jungkook suddenly couldn't find his words. He knew he would be lying if he said that wasn’t true. Abhorring the children of Ares became an unspoken tradition. Many believed they were too violent, barbaric even, and always looking for a fight. And like with any other stereotype, that wasn’t true.

“You don’t seem to hate me.”

“How can you be so sure? Maybe I’ve been plotting to kill you this entire time.” she raised her eyebrow with a smirk plastered on her lips.

“For three years?” his question made her giggle, breaking character. It was soft and sweet and it made his ears feel ticklish.

For Jungkook, times like these were far and rare in-between. Every smile, every laugh, every shed tear, he held it all dear and close to his heart, relishing in the mere joy of the moment. It made him think that maybe, just maybe, not everyone hated the Ares kids.

“Gods,” she sighed dramatically. “Patience, something I’ve noticed you’re quite lacking, is a virtue, my dear child.”

The next morning he realised he was wrong. It wasn’t unusual for Jungkook to be greeted by an awful amount of scowls first thing in the morning. Nonetheless, hearing all the gasps and whispers made him feel uncomfortable. It felt suffocating and stiff, making his chest hurt. He was in the centre of attention, making him feel conscious about his appearance, his attitude, his everything. Perhaps beating the shit out of those guys wasn’t his most brilliant idea, but skipping class sure seemed like one. Just before he was about to prove his theory, he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“Jungkook? Are you alright?” asked Jimin, a smile brightening his face. He could already hear the whispers dying down. “Come on, let’s walk together!”

Not many people liked talking with the children of Ares, let alone befriend one. But Jimin was different. He was nice, charming and caring. He was a son of Aphrodite through and through, and everyone loved him for it. “Yeah,” Jungkook mumbled, silently thanking his friend. “But shouldn’t you head to your own classes?”

“My course doesn’t start until later today, don’t worry.”

“Then what are you doing here?” he didn’t need to look at Jimin to know he had one of the corniest smiles on his face.

“I’m on prophyte business!” he winked, making Jungkook roll his eyes. “Anyway, where did you go last night? I couldn’t find you anywhere?”

His question made Jungkook turn his head away from him, trying to avoid eye contact. Although only a shade lighter than his eyes, Jimin's eyes held the same intensity, vivid with passion and allure. He knew that if he'd look into his eyes he would start talking in no second. It proved to be a futile attempt as his silence gave Jimin the answer he hoped he wouldn't have to hear.

"You went to her place again?" Jimin whispered, knowing fully well just how much-unwanted attention this would bring.

#bts #ultkpop #kpopworksnet #kpopwonderlandtag #thekpopnetwork #jeon jungkook #jeongguk #bts angst #son of ares jeon jungkook #college au

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prettywordsyouleft · 5 years

Text

Through His Eyes - Part 10

Summary: Losing your sight after your accident was traumatic, and Jaebum’s guilt of knowing it should have been him instead creates an intricate bond between you both, as you overcome adversity and try to find your way in life again.

Genre: angst / romance

Characters: Im Jaebum x female reader

A/N: This story is emotional and raw compared to some of the content on my blog. It is in no way an attempt to glamourise or undervalue the lives of those who suffer from something similar. This story is purely fictional.

Through His Eyes will be posted every Tuesday at 10am NZST.

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 [M] | 13 - FINAL

“Yes, Y/N, that’s beautiful!”

You grinned in the direction of the praise, placing down your paintbrush on the easel. “Do you think it’s done?”

“Why are you asking me?” Madam Cho wondered, placing a gentle hand over your shoulder. You could feel her necklace dangle down over you as she leant closer. “It’s your painting, not mine.”

You processed her words, a smile spreading slowly over your lips before you nodded. Picking up the brush again, you felt towards the palette again, deciphering where the yellow was and decided to brighten your canvas up with more of this colour. Your mentor chuckled and left you to it until this time you felt done.

“Can I hang it on the entry wall?” Madam Cho asked and you nodded happily, stopping her from taking the artwork from you.

You sensed her confusion and grinned. “I haven’t signed it yet.”

“Of course, all artwork deserves a signature,” she agreed, handing you the stamp you had recently created. Pressing it firmly to the bottom right-hand corner, you held the canvas out in front of you.

Your heart hadn’t felt this full in months.

At first, when Jaebum had dragged you here, it was as if he was rubbing salt into the wound. Sure, you both knew you still wanted to be an artist. Back then you hadn’t fathomed being able to do anything you were accomplishing now. You had feared the unknown. If you couldn’t see your artwork anymore, how could you create it?

“The colours will muddle together!” you cried outlandishly after humouring both Jaebum and Madam Cho that night. You threw down the paintbrush you had been hesitantly brushing and swirling onto the canvas in frustration.

In trepidation.

“Colours are meant to mix together, Y/N, don’t you think? I want to see your colour. What is the shade in your soul?”

You wanted to despise the woman, just as much as you were angry with Jaebum in that moment. But her words had a way of seeping below your barriers, questioning your very beliefs. You stilled, wondering what colour represented you. Was it grey? That certainly was the only definite shade you could decipher with these eyes now. Everything was grey, and everything was indistinguishable.

You felt Jaebum place the paintbrush back in your hand, and you stopped him from telling you what colour you were using from that moment on. It didn’t matter what colour it was, it would still create something. It would still be something.

Your subsequent visit to the studio was brighter. Over the next following sessions, you found your world wasn’t grey anymore. It was colourful, warm, full of brightness. You still needed some assistance getting there, but once you were in front of your easel, nothing came between you and your painting. Sometimes you would only use one colour. Others, you chose to have your specially made palette filled with various shades that you could decipher with the raised Braille indents telling you which colour it was.

And soon you started to have a louder voice in the studio.

“What are you doing?” a fellow art student asked as he watched you etch into the canvas. “You’re making random blobs in the corner here. What does it say?”

You smiled proudly, blinking back the emotions that rose with his question. “My name.”

From there, you designed a stamp so that you could always sign your work off. Also, you had taken to writing the composition of each piece you created in Braille along the canvas edge manually. You knew now with this system in place, you would never have to guess what piece of your art you held in your hands.

“Will you tell me your thoughts on the canvas once it’s fully dry, Madam Cho?”

“I will give you a great review once the colours settle, how does that sound? Though looking at it now, I know I want it as the focal point of the entryway.”

“I wouldn’t settle for anything less,” you told her with a laugh, sliding off your chair and counting the steps around the studio to the wash sink in the corner. You liked that you now knew your way around two places in this world intimately.

“Y/N, shall I give you a ride home?”

You glanced over your shoulder, nodding politely. And then you had a better idea. “Actually, could you drop me off elsewhere?”

You couldn’t help feeling eager as you sat in Madam Cho’s car on the way to JYP Entertainment. She discussed many topics with ease with you and whilst you responded to them all, your mind was elsewhere. Your hands gripped the edges of the packaged artwork over your lap in anticipation.

“He’s going to love it,” Madam Cho said softly and you turned towards her, your face breaking out into a blush. She giggled and reached to touch your hand affectionately. “He’s lucky to have you in his world, you know that right?”

“No,” you said with a shake of your head. “It’s me who is lucky. Even with the situation for how it is, I’d still be living in a dark room without Jaebum opening the door for me again. He saved me.”

“Well, I think you saved each other. Your connection is one of a kind,” the older woman stated, making your stomach flip with her words.

You didn’t know when it had begun, but the more people who directly associated with you now mentioned Jaebum, you always felt giddy and breathless. They spoke of you and him in one sentence and you liked that more than you wanted to admit. It made you want to see him more often and tell him all about how people think of him at your side. Of how you liked being at his side.

You wanted him to know the feelings you now harboured.

Still, you were aware that Jaebum was too busy for such a confession. With promotions in full force, he was unavailable more often. You tried to understand, after all, your own world had taken a new route with painting in the studio most days. University had been a pipe dream for someone who wanted to get her hands dirty. On campus, you needed structure and were given a distinct placement with a disability. In Madam Cho’s studio, you were free to do and be who you wanted to.

The car came to a halt and you smiled graciously at the woman. “Thank you for dropping me off here.”

“Are you sure it’ll be fine? Have you heard from him on the way here? Do you want me to wait in case Jaebum is too busy?”

“No, he told me he was going to be in the studio tonight earlier in the day. He basically lives there once he enters it,” you explained with a laugh and opened the door to the car, extending out your guide stick. “I’ll make sure to text you to know that I’m with him to ease your mind.”

“Please do,” she agreed, reaching out for a final hold of your hand. “Y/N, think about that offer for the internship too. I really think we’ll be able to get funding towards your work if we come up with a solid business plan. I’m happy to keep you all to myself and have your help with the classes, but you’re something special.”

“I will,” you assured, waving in farewell.

Once you had the canvas securely under your arm, and you were up on the footpath, you slowly made your way to the entrance of the building, reaching into your pocket for the pass you had been granted by the CEO himself. You hadn’t used it before, but when it worked to get you escorted to GOT7’s part of the building, you felt successful. In this crazy world, you were discovering you weren’t so limited anymore.

“Y/N?” a voice greeted cautiously and you beamed in recognition. Jinyoung was soon at your side. “What are you doing here? How did you get in? Are you by yourself?!”

“Don’t sound so shocked, I’m fine. I’m sorry if I came at a bad time, could you take me to Jaebum? I have something to give him.”

“I’m right here,” he mentioned, though you frowned at the tone he used. Embarrassment licked at your cheeks, colouring them pink as you struggled to understand why you hadn’t used your senses to find him within the room. The feeling was fleeting; you were still triumphant from getting here all by yourself.

Until you felt his hand wrap around your wrist.

Until you shivered with the cold that seemed to emanate from Jaebum as he dragged you into his personal studio.

Until he let you go.

You blinked rapidly, unsure of everything. “Did I interrupt something important?”

“How did you get here? Why are you here? It’s late at night, don’t you know how dangerous this is?!”

You flinched with the volume his voice had increased with, the growl in his tone scolding you, cornering you, weakening your resolve. Your head fell. “I didn’t realise you’d nag so much.”

“That’s exactly it, you didn’t realise anything!”

“Clearly I made a poor choice coming here tonight, I’ll excuse myself.”

“I’m not done with you yet,” he remarked, taking a step in front of you. You heard him rub at his face, and for a moment, you worried just how exhausted he was. Jaebum was always a hard worker and the energy radiating off him made you consider the stress he was under. You should have booked in an appointment with him instead of just turning up unannounced.

The mere thought of needing to do such a thing made you scoff and you finally lifted your head back up. “I was proud of myself, you know. I asked Madam Cho to bring me here so I could give you something and I made it in here all by myself. Isn’t it something to be happy about?”

“I’m glad you’re making steps for yourself but you can’t just expect all your steps to be big accomplishments either. What if something had gone wrong?! You can’t see anyone around you and they could’ve hurt you or you-”

“But I didn’t get hurt,” you reminded firmly, Jaebum cursing under his breath at your statement. “I’m not a baby; I can do things for myself!”

“I know you can, I’m not trying to coddle you, I’m just saying-”

“It doesn’t matter; you’ve made your point. I’ll never come here again without permission first.”

“Y/N, this is my place of work,” he attempted and you blinked slowly, thoughts consuming you. You chewed on the bottom of your lip, hoping the action would hold back your tongue and your tears. “You can’t just show up whenever. I’m busy and I helped you get into your artwork again so you wouldn’t need me so much. You’re doing well again.”

“Right, it’s time for me to stop being a problem in your world.”

“You know I don’t mean it like that!”

“It’s fine Jaebum, I heard you loud and clear. I’ll get on with my life, you get on with yours. After all, now that I have my art back, I’ll be back to normal, right?” You tried to hold back your tears, but they began to fall and he reached out for you. However, you shrugged him off, this time you wouldn’t cry in his arms. Right now, you felt selfish, as if you had only been thinking of how you were doing. You had forgotten Jaebum’s place in your life came from a situation where you once weren’t important to him. It hit you full force and you stumbled around in the dark, his light no longer shining directly on you, instead it flickered in and out inconsistently.

You had become too reliant and thus blinded in more ways than just losing your sight. You wanted to laugh bitterly at those juvenile feelings you had started to put weight into. Everyone was wrong; you and Jaebum didn’t go together like they had eluded to.

Someday soon, perhaps, you would become mere strangers again. This thought overwhelmed you, much like your emotions did.

Feeling around for something that felt safe, you then placed down the canvas that was still under your arm. A parting gift. You hadn’t thought that would be the case when you made it.

Especially when you had foolishly named the piece, Confession.

You almost thought about taking it back, to take the canvas away with you and hide it in the cupboard like your mother had done with all your previous artwork. Never to be displayed, to be announced for what it was. Yet, you couldn’t ignore all the months Jaebum had been the one person you had believed in the most. It was this reason alone that you lifted your hand away and attempted a watery smile in his direction. “I made this for you. That’s why I came. And now that I’ve delivered it, I’ll go.”

You ignored as he called after you, even shoving him off when he reached for you to pull you back. You prayed you were walking in the right direction, and when you heard the voices of the other members, you were relieved. It was such an odd experience, subsequently you felt like your heart was breaking and you breathed in a sigh of relief that you weren’t as incapable as you felt.

“Y/N?”

“I just need a hand to the elevator so I can leave, can someone help me with that?”

“Y/N, wait!” Jaebum called out, running into you with a shaky breath. You couldn’t focus on his emotions right now, you needed to escape them.

“I’ll do it,” Mark offered quietly and you nodded once, waiting for him to join your side. You could tell it pained him not to ask if you were okay, and to leave you with the staff member at the front desk.

But not as much as it did for you to walk out of that building, knowing you wouldn’t come back.

_________________

[Part 11]

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writtenintheam00 · 5 years

Text

Moments - Major Lilywhite x reader

Disclaimer : The gif does not belong to me nor does the Izombie characters. The only thing that belongs to me is the storyline.

Word count : 1,821

Genre : Fluff

Enjoy!

Soft music from (Y/N)’s favourite Spotify playlist echoed out through the apartment she shared with her two best friends, Peyton Charles and Olivia Moore.

Both women had only just left for their respective jobs and usually she would have joined them, swiping a to go cup of milky coffee as she went but with some much needed rest beckoning her and her vacation days stacking up to a pile high, she was lucky enough to be able to take the day off, having the apartment to herself for the day.

She lifted the steaming cup of her morning coffee from the wooden table in front of the couch. She couldn’t deny how much she adored passing up the morning rush for work to simply watch the world go by.

The Seattle streets just beyond her window were bustling with people who were all trying to reach work on time, the roads decorated with coloured cars, a trail of red tail lights gleaming in the bright morning sun. (Y/N) let out a content sigh as a soft smile pulled at her lips.

The last three weeks had kept her busy. (Y/N) had a job in the forensic science department of Seattle police, giving her the opportunity to work closely with her roommate, Liv and her colleagues, Ravi and Clive. The team had been swarmed with what seemed like a never ending stack of cases and as a consequence, (Y/N) had been forced to work through the night just so she could get the evidence processed in time.

For the first time in three weeks, she was able to just soak up the day and she had no intention of wasting it. Although (Y/N) loved her job, it didn’t come without its frustrations. As her pay wasn’t the best, (Y/N) had resorted to turning her hobby into a part time job on the side, selling her paintings online and at craft markets when she had the time.

The smile on her face grew as she set her coffee cup down and headed to her room to gather her art supplies. A flurry of butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the thought of finally finishing the painting she had been working on, her mind buzzing with inspiration as she began to set up her easel and paints beside the window in the living room.

(Y/N) was only an hour into her painting when there was a loud knock on the door, causing her to jump, her heart racing a little. She let out a breath, placing a hand over her chest as she recovered from her start. Curiously, she set her palette to the side, swung both legs over her stool and made her way to the door.

As she looked through the peephole she was greeted with the sight of familiar dark blonde hair and blue eyes. Major Lilywhite.

(Y/N) swung the door open, a warm smile pulling at her lips, “Major, what can I do for you?” She greeted.

With his traditional lopsided smile, Major responded, “ I found some more of Liv’s things when I was clearing out, just wanted to drop them round.” He gestured to the cardboard box in his hands.

“ Liv’s not here at the moment, but you’re welcome to leave them on the table over there.” (Y/N) opened the door wider to let him in. Major thanked her as he passed, his cologne washing over her as he did. Feeling a little confused, (Y/N) ignored the strange flutter of her heart, squashing it, as she followed him further into the room. “ Do you want some tea? Coffee?” She offered politely.

“ Coffee would be great, if you have any. It’s freezing outside and I’m on my way to the skatepark to look for Jerome. He’s been missing for a couple of days now.” She could hear the worry in his voice as he spoke.

“ I’m sure you’ll find him soon. I have the evening free if you want some help.”

“ You wouldn’t mind?” He sounded a little hesitant.

“ Of course not! You would do the same for me.” (Y/N) reassured him as she handed him a mug of coffee. As he took a sip from it, Major’s blue eyes wandered around the living room before settling on the easel set up by the window.

“ I’ll pick you up tonight at seven. What are you working on?” He asked, heading towards the wooden easel to get a better look at the canvas sitting on it.

“ Just finishing something off.” She replied vaguely. Although she sold her paintings, she always felt a little anxious when her friends and family wanted to see them, it was different with strangers, it didn’t matter to her what they thought.

“ Wow.” Major murmured softly as he took in the painting before him. The canvas may have been small but the painting’s voice rang out loud and clear. The Seattle Skyline at night reached to each edge of the canvas. (Y/N) had painted the skyscrapers with intricate details, each one with bright windows twinkling in dark. Shades of blue swirled with navy coloured the sky, the moon’s light glimmering dimly through the clouds. “ This is really good! I never knew you painted. How long have you been doing it?”

A light pink dusted across (Y/N)’s cheeks at the compliment as she answered, “ A couple of years. I actually sell them for a little money on the side.” She folded her arms, her hand rubbing the side of her arm anxiously as she joined him in front of the easel.

“ (Y/N), that’s awesome! You’re crazy talented.” Major smiled at her.

“ I’m hoping to sell it at a craft fair this weekend.”

“ How much are you going to sell it for?” Major asked as he leant forward a little to get a better look at the painting.

“ Probably about $70.” (Y/N) put her thumb nail between her teeth.

“ Would it be okay if I bought it instead? I really love it.” Major asked hopefully. (Y/N) looked at him in surprise, originally, she had thought he was just being nice.

“ Major, if you want it, you can have it for free.” (Y/N) smiled, shrugging her shoulders a little.

“ You were going to sell it for $70, I can’t take it for free.” Major protested. Setting his mug down, he took his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans. “ I have $35 with me now, but I’ll bring the rest with me tonight.”

“I’m not taking your money.” (Y/N) shook her head, her hair falling over her eyes a little.

“ Well, too bad, because I’m giving it to you anyway.” Major approached her, leaving only a step between them. With a warm smile, he tucked the money into the front pocket of her jeans.

Her heart skipped a beat as she smiled up at him, “Chivalry will never be dead as long as you’re around, Major Lilywhite.” He chuckled.

No matter how much she wanted to deny it, the way the sun streamed through the window and lit up golden streaks in his hair, catching his blue irises took her breath away.

“ Well it’s a good thing that I plan on sticking around then, isn’t it?” (Y/N) chuckled softly, looking to her feet before meeting his eyes again.

She suddenly became aware that they hadn’t moved apart. Her face flushed a little as she saw Major’s blue eyes flick from her eyes to her lips, making her heart pound in her chest. When had she started to feel this way about him?

Major delicately brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, his hand moving to cup her neck as his thumb rested on her cheek. (Y/N) let out a shaky breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. Was she really going to kiss her best friend’s ex fiancé? Her mind felt as though it had been divided into two. Half of it was begging her to pull back while the other half was too caught up in the moment to think about anything other than Major.

Their lips were mere centimetres apart. Major’s eyes flicked down to her lips and he leant forward, closing the small gap between them.

Their lips had just brushed against each other when her phone rang. They jumped apart, feeling embarrassed and (Y/N) scrambled to grab her phone.

Her heart fell a little as she saw Liv’s name lit up on her phone. She’d almost kissed her best friend’s ex fiancé. How could she do that to Liv? “ Uh, it’s Liv. I should really answer it, it could be important.” (Y/N) mumbled as she answered the call.

“ Hey, Liv.” (Y/N) looked over her shoulder at Major, who was rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, his other hand stuffed into the pocket of his jeans. “ No, don’t worry about it, I can come in, really it’s no problem, I’ll see you in a few.” She reassured her friend. An awkward and tense silence hung in the air as she finished the call, neither one of them able to meet the other’s eyes. “ I should really get going.” (Y/N) stated, pressing her lips together.

“ Yeah, yeah, of course. I’ll pick you up tonight, if you’re still okay to come?” Major headed towards the door, he sounded hesitant. (Y/N) smiled a little. They were both unsure were they stood with each other and she could tell that Major didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable.

“ I’ll still be okay for tonight, Liv just needs a hand with going through some evidence for her case. It shouldn’t take long. I’ll add the last touches to the painting and you can pick it up tonight.” (Y/N) answered. A brief silence fell over them again. Major finally met her eyes again and he smiled at her. There was a warmth to it and something (Y/N) couldn’t quite identify.

Major looked at his feet before looking up at her again, “ I’ll see you tonight.” Just as he went to close the door, Major poked his head back in long enough to say, “ I’m bringing the rest of your money with me.” He grinned boyishly at her as he closed the door.

(Y/N) could feel her heart still fluttering, a smile on her face. Major Lilywhite. Irresistibly sweet and almost impossible not to fall for. She walked back over to her easel, flipped her painting carefully and lifting a pencil she wrote his name in neat cursive.

It didn’t matter how she felt though, she would keep it to herself until the end of her days because Liv’s friendship meant the world to her and she could never hurt her friend in that way.

It didn’t stop her from looking forward to the little moments with him that made her heart skip a beat.

#izombie #major lilywhite #imagines #reader inserts #major lilywhite imagine #major lilywhite x reader #izombie imagine

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