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stephstars08 · 1 year

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Still Alive ~ Chapter Two

Ethan Landry x Reader

Warnings: Adult Language, Parent Issues, Some Angst but more Fluff, and Anxiety, and Mention of Nightmare. (Sorry if I forgot any)

Word Count: 2,263

Author’s Note: Hello, before I say anything I just want to say thank you so much to all of you for showing so much love on the first chapter of this book and thank you so much for reading! It means the world to me seeing so many people showing support for my writing! This chapter has a lot of Ethan in it so enjoy!! I hope you all like this chapter! Next chapter will be posted on Monday instead of Sunday since Sunday is Mother’s Day!🩵

Y/N was sitting in her media art class taking notes for her next project for the class. She was taking notes on the theme of her next art project. Y/N is majoring in art and mixed media since her favorite thing to do ever since she was a child was to draw. Sometimes when she would get upset, she would lock herself in her room and just draw anything. Anytime she gets stressed or anxious about something she would color in one of her hundred of color books that she owns.

Y/N didn’t get into sculpting till she hit her junior year of high school. Most of her artwork is a sculpture made of clay since that’s her favorite form of art and also her strongest form as well.

When the bell rang, signaling that class was over Y/N finished writing her last sentence and started to log out of her laptop shutting it down. “Have a nice day everyone!” The professor called out to everyone. “Ms. Riley, may I speak to you really quick?” Y/N heard the professor call out to her. Y/N let out a sigh as she put her notebook and laptop in her book bag. She wrapped the straps of her book bag onto her shoulders and walked to her professor.

“What’s up? Is something wrong?” Y/N asked her professor sounding a bit nervous. “Yes, you know about the art exhibit next month, right?” The professor said, which earned a nod of the head from Y/N. “I haven’t gotten your prompt on what you are making for the show.” The professor said to her. “Sorry, If I’m being completely honest, I have had so much going on and I just haven’t been thinking about what to make.” Y/N said being completely honest but not going into much detail.

Of course, she isn’t going to tell her professor about the shit that is going on with her mom and the fucking nightmares about her killing the bitch that killed her father. That’s all she thinks about.

“I’m sorry to hear that but Ms. Riley you are the only student in all my classes that hasn’t submitted anything. Half of the class is almost done.” The professor told her. “Okay um I promise I’ll give you some kind of idea by next week.” Y/N promised hoping her professor will ease the stern look she is getting. “Okay, I better have it before next weekend.” The professor told her in a strict tone. “Yes, I promise.” Y/N said again which earned a nod from the professor giving her permission to leave. After saying a quick goodbye Y/N walked out of the classroom.

As she walked down the hallway, she kept thinking about what the fuck she could make. She knew she wanted to make a sculpture, but she had no idea what she wanted to sculpt. She knew it was going to be a long week.

~~~~~~~~~~

After Y/N’s last class of the day she decided to sit in the park under a tree and sketch some ideas for her project in her sketch book but of course, everything she had sketched so far was shit. Y/N stopped to see what she had drawn on the paper so far. “This looks like shit!” She hissed ripping the piece of paper out and crumbled it up. She tossed the paper into her growing pile of crumbled pieces of paper. She had to have at least ten in the pile. “What the fuck am I going to do!” She groaned in frustration.

If she doesn’t have some kind of art in the show, she can end up failing the class. Y/N knew she needed a break, so she sat her book and pencil down beside her on the grass. She let out a sigh as she ran both of her hands through her hair. “Why is this so hard?” She whispered to herself. She’s never been out of inspiration like this. When she put her hands down, she heard a vibrating sound.

When she looked at her phone that was lying on her book bag, she was getting a phone call. When she picked up her phone, she saw the called ID said unknown. She couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Her parents and Sidney always warned her about unknown callers because of Ghostface. She was just about to answer the call till someone said her name, which spooked her, but she relaxed when she saw it was just Ethan. Y/N quickly hit the decline button and put her phone back down onto her bag. “Who was calling you?” Ethan asked her in a curious tone. “Oh, um it was my mom.” Y/N answered with a lie. “I’m guessing she’s trying to talk to you again?” Ethan said as he leaned his shoulder on the tree.

Ethan is the one that knows the most about the shit she goes through with her mom. When Y/N first met Ethan the thing they bonded together the most was the situation with their parents. Ethan lost his mom about five years ago, so he knows how it feels to lose a parent. Ethan has only confessed to her that he has issues with his father so right when he turned eighteen, he cut off all contact. He didn’t go into much detail which Y/N didn’t mind or pry at him to tell her more. He told her that she’s the only one that knows. He doesn’t like talking about it which of course, Y/N relates to. So, does Sam but Ethan is closer to Y/N than Sam.

“She wanted to know if we could do something tonight, but I told her that I already have plans.” Y/N told him. “So, you are coming to the Halloween party tonight.” Ethan said with a smile as he took off his bag and sat down next to her. Y/N’s heart fluttered when he smiled at her. That damn smile gets her every damn time. His smile was her favorite thing about him. “Yeah, Mindy and Anika talked me into going.” Y/N said as she fiddled with her fingers. She hates how nervous she gets when she’s around him. They have known each other for six months and see each other every single day. When will the nervousness finally go away?

“Chad talked me into going.” Ethan told her. “He said he’s going to get me to hook up with a girl.” He added which did make Y/N’s heart hurt a little bit. Of course, Chad has no clue that she has something for his curly-haired roommate. Chad can be really oblivious which to be honest what boy isn’t. Sometimes Y/N thinks that Ethan feels the same way about her but that voice in the back of her head tells her otherwise.

“What costume are you wearing?” Ethan asked her in a curious tone. “Costume?” Y/N asked him as she looked at him with a confused look. “It’s a costume party.” Ethan told her. “Seriously! It would’ve been nice if Mindy or Anika told me.” Y/N said with frustration in her tone. But then again it is Halloween so she shouldn’t be that shocked but of course she still thinks they should’ve given her a heads up about it. “I guess I’ll have to pull something out of my ass.” she added with another sigh.

This day is just full of surprises.

“I’m sure whatever you wear will be better than my costume.” Ethan said as he looked down at the grass. “Why? What are you going as?” Y/N asked him in a curious tone. “Well, Chad decided to tell me that I needed a costume for the party last night, so I stayed up all night last night making something out of cardboard and a lot of tape.” Ethan answered still not looking at her gaze. “Can I see it?” Y/N asked him which made him look back up at her. “It looks stupid.” Ethan told her. “I bet it doesn’t.” she said with soft eyes trying to reassure him. Ethan just shook his head no. “Please Ethan! I can’t wait until the party.” Y/N said in a pleading tone giving him the puppy dog eyes which always work on him. “Okay, fine.” Ethan said in defeat. “Let’s go to my apartment.” Ethan added as he stood up from the ground. “Yes!” Y/N said as she started to put all her stuff into her bookbag.

She also put the pile of crumbled up pieces of paper in her bag as well. She got on her knees so she could put her phone in her back pocket. When she looked back up at him, he had his hand out towards her to take. She smiled as she put her hand in his. Right when their hands met, they both felt sparks shoot up their bodies. Ethan helped her up from the grass. “Thanks.” She said with a warm smile on her face. “You’re welcome.” He said, returning the smile. Y/N had to let go of his hand to pick up her bag and wrap it around her back.

When she let go of his hand the spark, she felt quickly went away which made her sad. It’s cheesy but when she’s around Ethan she feels things that she has never felt before. Yes, she has had a couple of boyfriends in high school but none of those boys made her feel the things she feels about Ethan.

As they walked to the apartment, they would make small talk but when it was silent it wasn’t awkward, it was comfortable. When they walked down the sidewalk with a lot of people her hand would brush against his which would make the butterflies in her stomach go into a complete frenzy. Y/N followed him inside a familiar apartment building and up the steps. Ethan led her all the way to third floor and to the door of his and Chad’s apartment. Y/N watched him take his keys out from the front pocket of his jeans. He unlocked the door and opened the door. He let her go in first like he always does. He followed right behind her and shut the door.

“Where is it?” Y/N asked him in a curious tone as she took off her bag and tossed it onto the couch. “It’s in my room.” Ethan answered her dropping his book bag down onto the floor. “Please promise me that you won’t laugh at it.” Ethan said to her with pleading eyes. “I promise.” Y/N said reassuring him. “Okay, I’ll go get it.” Ethan said and walked to his bedroom.

Y/N sat down on the couch next to her bag and took out her phone to send a text to Mindy about not telling her that she needed to wear a costume to the party. After she hit the send button Ethan came back into the room holding a cardboard vest in one hand and a cardboard helmet in the other. Both items were covered in a lot of tape. “Wow, that looks um great.” Y/N told him with a small smile. She didn’t really know what to say. It wasn’t horrible but it wasn’t great. “Y/N, I know that you’re lying.” Ethan said with a stern look in his brown eyes. “No, I’m not.” Y/N said as she stood up.

“I just um, what is it supposed to be?” she asked as she walked closer to him. “A knight.” Ethan answered looking at the helmet then back at her. “Right a knight!” Y/N said with a snap of her fingers. “That’s what I thought it was.” She added but again he saw right through her lie. “Yeah, right.” Ethan hissed, tossing the trashy costume on the chair behind him. “Ethan, no I think it’s cool.” Y/N said trying to convince him that it's not a horrible costume. “Y/N, I know that you are just trying to make me feel better for making such a shitty costume.” Ethan told her with frustration in his tone. “It’s not a shitty costume.” She told him. “When you wear that tonight, those girls are going to be all over you.” she added, looking up into his big brown eyes. “Really?” He asked looking in her Y/E/C.

As they stared deep into each other’s eyes they started to lean in but before their lips could touch the front door swung open. “Hey- woah.” Chad said as he walked into the apartment. “What’s going on in here?” Chad asked as his lips curved into a smirk. “Nothing!” Y/N said quickly taking a step back from Ethan who was just staring down at the floor. Y/N and Ethan’s cheeks were as red as an apple. “Yeah, I was just showing Y/N my costume for tonight.” Ethan said, trying to hide the nervousness in his tone but it didn’t work. “Yeah, okay.” Chad said knowing something was about to happen between the two of them.

“Anyways.” Y/N said as she turned around to grab her bag off the couch. “I got to get back to my apartment, so I’ll see you two at the party.” Y/N said putting one of the straps on her shoulder. “See ya.” Ethan said looking at her with a smile that just melted her heart. Y/N shot him a smile back and walked out of the apartment.

She knew that Chad was going to tell Mindy about what he just walked into. If Chad didn’t know about her crush on Ethan, he definitely knows now. She’s going to hear about this all-fucking night!

*Tags*

@sweetirilly @aqellano @igotmajordaddyissues @athenalive @hotweeb @ghostlyboiii

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hannahchronism · 1 year

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End of the Year Art Roundup 2022

Favorite drawing from this year: Finishing this was really gratifying and I really like how Different it is from a lot of my usual stuff, the vibes rock, the clothing renders turned out super unexpectedly good, it was just in general a lot of fun and also I’m really happy with the end result and that just. Yeah this one slaps dude.

First drawing from this year: ok so. techically I started this one first,

but finished and posted this one

before I finished and posted the tarot inspired one. so like. I dunno, tossup on that one.

Favorite character you’ve drawn: I think my friend’s recast/redesign of Carina has been my favorite to draw she’s just so lovely and I want to draw her more

Favorite little detail in a drawing you did: man I guess it’s less a “little” detail and more like. the whole point of this one? but I kind of killed the render on all the little bits of this necklace honestly and I like. to stare at it ;sdlkfjg;sdlkfjg

Drawing that took the longest to finish: ohhhhhhhh that’s. hard because I don’t really time them? and i don’t typically do them in one sitting if it’s one of the really long ones. on a hunch, given that i spent a bunch of time and then put it down and then picked it back up and spent a bunch more time;

Most popular drawing: the internet likes it when I inflict pain, apparently

How many drawings did you complete this year: uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh “complete” is really quite debatable but it was like 30, give or take having more than one sketch on a page and I maybe double counted things on accident because I have a bunch of duplicates of it saved

Any upcoming planned drawings?: I always have Concepts floating around but I don’t really. “plan”. I do want to finish this, though, it’s been a WIP for... a good while tbh

on a nearly identically similar note turning this sketch into a finished piece would also be fun i think

Favorite piece of art from someone else: Ohhhhhhhhh to be honest I haven’t been very immersed in art circles but @bevsi ‘s (super cute fairy) just hit different and rewired my brain idk

Favorite oc/sona drawing: this is technically more of a concept sketch than a drawing but this concept kid is living in my head so rent free and I love this sketch she’s so very very cute

...and also return of best girl did kind of give me lots of warm fuzzy feelings

What do you think you’ve improved on the most over the past year: ....Expressions? it doesn’t really show here but I’ve been playing with more than just neutral faces and closed mouth smiles and while smirks will probably forever be my comfort zone we’re starting to see some variety (and teeth!) & also I’ve done some ... very slow coloring improvement, I think? I should really do more studies

A little less pirate brain rot would probably also be a good thing for me to embrace lmfao

#long post //#i stole this and immediately forgot where from whoops

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shirecorn · 3 years

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how about 17 and 24? what inspires you and how do you deal with art block?

Long post warning.

Art block...

I don't actually get art block, which is probably a combination of neurodivergence and drawing every day for the last 3 years

I wrote an entire tutorial about how to do that, but didn't feel like illustrating it. Would people want to read it even without visuals?

Maybe... I'll just start rambling.

There's a couple different types of art block, and it's really just a philosophy puzzle to get past them. I'm going to assume that the things I think of slow days, or art mud, is a milder form of art block and work through that.

Art block is a symptom, not a disease. You probably have something deep inside that you don't want to face, or don't know how. Sometimes you need to discover the cause, sometimes just power through.

Method 1: Rest

Let yourself just Exist. The act of consuming art is part of the process. Watching shows and playing games, taking a break and going gardening or focus on school. This is what you need for burnout-induced art block.

Method 2: Action

I always choose action, sometimes it means a tiny 2 min sketch per day. Ugly or super simplified. As long as I don't stop moving.

Toss everything. Start every piece thinking you will throw it away.

The act of drawing moves you forward; pinning it to the fridge does not. Don't work things until they are perfect. Work them until they are there.

Art block causes and solutions:

- No Inspiration

Not sure what to draw, nothing seems appealing. Art won't come out like it used to.

Do studies from life or photos. Sketch, paint, digital, traditional, doesn't matter. Rocks, fruit, figure drawing, landscapes, buildings, anything.

Study and copy professional's work. Old masters are best, like rubens, michalangelo (only his men tho) etc because they will teach you anatomy while you work. If you copy someone with a lot of flaws, you will repeat those flaws.

Trace to learn, not to earn. Trace photography and art from anyone you want. Don't post it unless you have the artist's permission or they are dead, whichever comes first. This is strictly work for yourself, on yourself. It's not about the finished drawing.

Find an artist with a fun style and try converting stuff into their style. Don't make that your new style though and especially don't start selling it. Your style is a chimera of everyone you love, not a clone of one person.

Take blurry photos. You don't need a fancy camera or good skills or beautiful subjects. Doing studies from your own photos can spark life into your workflow.

Make challenges for yourself. Randomly generate things to combine. Try fusing characters! Don't try to make it look good, just be fun.

Doodle patterns, swirls, lines, random stuff. Try looking up art warmups and doing some of those.

- Everything Sucks

You finally see how bad you are. Or somehow you got worse. Every piece is a fight and you spend hours trying to get something right only for it to be stiff and disgusting and STILL wrong.

Why are you trying to draw good? It's enough just to draw.

Accept that your art is bad. Every artist can see flaws in their work. Your problem is that those flaws outweigh anything remotely worthwhile and hurt to look at.

So what? You're in a period of growth, not a period of production. Keep that wonky second eye. Let them have hot dog fingers.

Show everyone! Show no one! No piece of art can ever be a reflection of the artist. Not their worth, not their skill. The only thing your art says about you is "Held and moved a pen for a bit."

Make bad art. It's ok. Most of the time, the pressure to perform and get things Right is what made them wrong in the first place. Relax.

- No Motivation

The #1 killer of artists everywhere. On some level you think you should draw, on every other level you think you should stay in bed.

You are not lazy. You wouldn't have read this far in a post about art block if you were lazy. You wouldn't CALL it art block if you were lazy. Laziness is wishing you didn't have to do anything. A block is wishing you were doing something. If you think you can namecall Yourself into productivity again, you're wrong and You need to unionize so that you don't treat You like that anymore.

Consider Mental Illness. Losing interest in something that brought you joy can be a symptom of depression. I know it seems obvious, but if you're waiting for a sign that it's "bad enough," it's bad enough. Seek care if you have the means. Forgive yourself if you already know this.

Selfcare. Examine yourself for neglect. Nutrition, exercise, enrichment, social need, and sleep are all part of the art process. Eat three meals and sleep 8 hours. That's your gaymer fuel. You deserve it, I promise. Depriving yourself of your needs will make your blocks worse, not kick you into making them better.

Identify potholes. Sketchbook falling apart? Tablet cord frayed? Half your pencils missing? Chair uncomfortable? Desk hard to reach? There's a lot of things that you tell yourself to work around and get over. Just because you CAN workaround something, doesn't mean you SHOULD. A difficult work environment can cause secret dread deep inside that you don't recognize and just think you're lazy. What you think of as "no motivation" might actually be "I don't want to deal with my tablet disconnecting every time I move it wrong and I have to wiggle it for a few seconds to make it work again." These little things are like potholes in the road. Sure you CAN still drive through them, but eventually you're going to look up and realize you haven't voluntarily left the house in weeks.

Repair potholes and roadblocks. You might feel bad about buying a new pencil, headphones, tablet, car, etc because technically the old one works if you hustle. But if you're running into so many potholes you've ground to a halt, it doesn't Actually work anymore, does it? Invest, save up, request, and require working equipment and suitable conditions. This stuff isn't just cushy privilege, it's an investment in yourself and your art. You are worth the effort it takes to clear the way. If you can't afford reliable (reliable! not perfect or luxurious) equipment, then say it. If cardboard is all you can afford, draw on cardboard. But know that you deserve canvas, and one day you might be able to make the jump. Acknowledge that sometimes, if you don't have it in you to smear burned twigs on wet cardboard, the problem isn't motivation, but opportunity.

- Haven't Drawn in So Long

A unique type of art block that self perpetuates. The thought of starting again is so stressful you can't do it. Or maybe you'll do it tomorrow. Yeah. Tomorrow for sure.

Face your fears. Are you ashamed of your lack of drawing? Are you anthropomorphizing your paper and thinking it's going to judge you, like "oh NOW you come back >:/" I internalize voices I hear and project them onto other people, concepts, locations, and inanimate objects. Your paper, computer, WIPs folder.... none of that is judging you.

Reframe your WIPs. Do you feel shame when you see "unfinished" projects? Why? Who says you MUST bring everything you start to Finish? You don't have to. A sketch is a finished art piece; it's called a sketch! If a sketch is a fully realized creation, pages that are half colored, 75% lined, or partially rendered are all fully realized creations too. Unless paid otherwise, art is done when you're done working on it.

Lower the stakes. Draw a chibi or grab some crayons. Get messy and slowly ease yourself back into the flow over the course of a couple days. It's fine.

Get a buddy! Find an art meme, do an art trade, get a study subject, or just wing it. Drawing art alongside someone can help you get past that block.

Pretend you never stopped. Don't think about the gap, how long it's been, or rustiness. As far as anyone knows, you drew the mona lisa yesterday and didn't break a sweat. Today, you drew a starfish on your hand with a gel pen. Keep up that streak, good job!

Just keep drawing. Make a goal to do one sucky drawing per day on the back of a napkin. Don't make up for missed days, just pretend they didn't happen. Who's going to judge you? The calendar? That's pieces of paper; it doesn't have an opinion. Draw a cat on it. Done. Keeping up the momentum is a great way to prevent art blocks in the future.

TLDR: Draw imperfectly and toss it. Selfcare is king. Draw often and don't judge yourself.

Art is a process, not a product.

#shire screams #art tips #ask #art block #long post

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lab-gr0wn-lambs · 2 years

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Commissions are open for the new year!

Continue reading below for more info!

Closed for now!

Hiya there!This here is all the information you'll need to know before commissioning meI only accept Paypal

Commission Status:

Closed

Prices:

I'll be listing the prices in GBP (£)

You can check online for conversions to other currencies

Sketch

Bust: £5

Half body: £7

Full body: £10

Line Art

Bust: £10

Half body: £15

Full body: £20

Add colour to Sketch or Line Art

+ £5 for full cel shading

+ £10 for extra lighting and detail

These prices are generally

per character

, but I may discount the price for additional characters, which is something I can discuss with customers individually.

Added Backgrounds

I will add a simple "background" for free, i.e block colours, gradients, simple shapes

Pricing will vary depending on the complexity of the background. If you would like a background, describe it in your message and we can decide the extra cost from there

Disclaimers:

Make sure to check out my gallery so that you can get an idea of the kind of things I can draw. I'm certainly weaker in some fields than others, but I will always try my best with your commissions. I will always try to get your commission done as fast as I can, but I am a university student with a lot of assignments, so they won't be instant. There's a chance that I will turn down commission requests depending on the subject, or if I've got too many commissions on the go.

What I Will Draw:

People

Animals

Furries

Basically characters of any kind!

What I Won't Draw

Complicated Machinery or blueprints

Pedophilia or Incest

NSFW

Complex architecture

Excessive gore

Obvious fetish art

(whether or not something is a fetish is always debatable and there's a chance I'll be fine with making it, but as a general rule I try to avoid things that are obviously fetish art as I find it uncomfortable)

Feel free to ask whether or not your request falls into any of these categories

Important Information

I will be posting commission art online unless you request that I don't.

Don't re-sell my artwork!

You can't cancel a commission once I've started working on it.

If there are small things you want changed about a piece after I have finished let me know and I can make changes, however I will not start over or give refunds.

Don't trace the artwork (unless it's for practice or personal use only), or claim to have drawn the artwork yourself.

If for any reason I cannot finish a piece, I will give you what I have done and give a refund for what I haven't done (For example if you wanted a coloured piece, and I only manage to finish the line art, I would refund you for the colour).

Art will usually be signed, but not distractingly watermarked

You are allowed colour in sketch and line art commissions

Please give credit when using or posting commissions

You will have to pay before I start the final piece, as a precaution. But you can message me whenever you want to see how it's going! I will usually do a few simple composition sketches before payment.

How long will a commission take?

I don't imagine commissions taking any longer than a week. A very simple piece shouldn't take more than a few days or even a few hours. However this depends largely on how many commissions I am currently working on, how complex your piece is and how much free time I have away from university work. You can feel free to ask me how your commission is going whenever you like, and I will try my best to keep you updated.

How to Commission me

First be sure to check whether or not commissions are currently open.

Send me a DM explaining what you want me to draw.

We can then discuss pricing and anything else you have questions about, and I will send you a link to my paypal account.

Once again my prices are listed in GBP (£) but it's super easy to look up currency conversion on Google to see how much they cost in the currency you use.

Once I have received the payment we have agreed on I will get started on your commission as soon as I can.

Once I have finished I will send it to you either in an email or a Deviantart sta.sh link (for high resolution). I will usually post my commissions online unless you request that I don't.

#commissions #commisions open #art commissions #art #my art #catra #she ra

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mmvalentine · 3 years

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The Bargain Pt 2 | Feysand

Modern AU. Read Part 1 Part 3.

Feyre's first time being tattooed was surreal- positive in many ways, but mostly it just hurt a lot. There was no way of preparing herself for the pain, Rhys just sent her an email reminder of her upcoming appointment and advised that she have a big carb-based meal before she come.

And then there she was, lying on his bench, staring at the thousand ink drawings they had pinned up around the studio and trying to take her mind off the searing sensation in her forearm.

Rhys had drawn her a beautiful design, just like all the other beautiful designs she had seen on his website. She hadn't wanted to see it before today, hadn't wanted anything to make her chicken out. This appointment had been booked for three months, and the more time went on the more sure she was that she wanted this. She would lie in bed, in the dark and be able to see the ink on her skin in her mind.

The design itself seemed to be made of smoke and stars. Every tattoo Rhys made was different of course. While she had been saving pictures of florals and swirls, this one seemed to contain midnight clouds within the pattern. She loved it from the moment the stencil hit her skin. Now she just had to endure three sessions of agony and then it was hers forever.

On the upside, Rhys actually made her feel very safe. And Feyre tried very hard to convince herself that it had nothing to do with the fact that he was exceptionally attractive. There was something about the way his shoulders were so big, but his hands were so gentle as he moved her arm, that made her feel assured that even though she was in pain and her body was freaking out, he was in control.

For a while, Feyre looked around herself, for distraction. Studied the sketches pinned up all over the studio, and how each artist had a wall that was distinct in style. Counted the Japanese masks that hung along one wall, that stared back at her with empty eyes. Watched Rhys' face as he concentrated, and the muscles that moved in his arms.

"Do you get used to the pain?" she asked. Rhys, like all of the artists in the space, had both his arms and what she could see of his chest under his t-shirt covered in tattoos.

"Yes and no," Rhys answered, without lifting his eyes from her wrist. "I think the pain is just as bad but you can endure it a little longer each time. Unless of course you stop doing it for too long. Take, oh, six months, a year off, and then you have to build your tolerance all over again."

"What's the longest you've ever been tattooed for?" "I did ten hours once, but I wouldn't do it again." He flashed her a grin. "Felt like death. I was shaking so hard, I didn't even realise at first and I wanted to keep going. But the artist had to stop because I was making his lines wonky. Then I felt like I had the flu the next day."

"Wow," Feyre said. "Ten hours feels impossible." "You're doing great," Rhys reassured her. "Just tell me if you need to stop, and we can finish for the day." "I'm okay," Feyre said.

A while later, she asked, "Did you go to art school?" Rhys redipped his machine in the ink. "Yeah, I did," he said. "I actually thought I might paint murals or something. But then my first year out I was offered an apprenticeship, and this is actually a pretty stable income as far as art goes. So I never left." "Where did you go?" "I went to Burton's." "I went to NAS," Feyre told him. Rhys looked up at that.

"You went to NAS?" He whistled. "That's a great art school. I heard they got Katherine Silkie to teach a term there." "Yeah, it was the best term of my degree." "I'll bet," Rhys said. "I used so many of her pieces as inspiration works. So you paint too?" "Yeah, I do. Do you still get to paint much?"

Rhys shook his head. "Nah. Mostly drawing for work at the moment." He was quiet for a moment. "I haven't really painted since I moved out of my ex-partner's place. She used to hate the smell of paint, it made her so mad. So I stopped painting at home, and then I left school and didn't have just... never really did it after that."

"Oh. That's too bad," Feyre said. "My boyfriend likes my paintings... but I kind of feel like he thinks they're a way to keep me busy." "What do you mean keep you busy?" "Like... sometimes if he doesn't want me to go out, or go with him to things, he suggests that I 'work on my painting.'"

Rhys paused and looked up at her.

"What do you mean 'doesn't want you to go out'?" he asked her. Feyre shrugged. Memories of Tamlin telling her she didn't need to go out now that she had him, of him telling her "it's not you I don't trust, it's other guys," of him not wanting her with him when he met up with his own friends. She swallowed a lump in her throat, and when the needle touched her skin again it was almost a distant sort of a pain.

"You know," Rhys said slowly. Focusing on the drawing he was carving into her. "My ex was really controlling. She had her own stuff going on so I tried to be understanding. I think I let a lot of stuff slide because I figured it wasn't her fault, she had like a pretty horrible family and a lot of mental health issues as a result. But, then a few years in I realised we were both just steadily getting worse. And she wasn't willing to work on any of it, she just always blamed me."

Feyre looked at him, but Rhys didn't lift his eyes from the tattoo.

"I got out eventually, but actually the worst of it was the six months after I left. I was grieving, but also she was throwing everything she had at me. So I get that relationships are complicated and I'm not going to pretend like I know anything about yours. I just want you to know that I've been in a hard situation and it took me ages to leave, and then it got worse but then it got better."

Rhys turned the machine off then, and set it on the table next to him. He wet down a paper towel and cleaned up her arm.

"I hope it gets better for you, too." He gave her her arm back, and looked up at her. "You're all done."

Feyre looked down at her forearm and marvelled at the new tattoo there. The skin was red and swollen, and but the pattern was beautiful and perfect.

"Shading next time," Rhys said. Feyre just blinked down at herself.

"Thank you," she said. "I love it, so much." "You're very welcome." Rhys smiled at her. "You did a great job, especially for your first tattoo." It was a small compliment, but Feyre felt an unreasonably large bloom of pride in her chest. Not to mention a blush that was triggered by the dimple in Rhys' smile. How embarrassing, she was crushing on her tattoo artist.

Then Rhys began pulling out lengths of clingfilm to wrap her up. He went through the after care instructions, and Feyre nodded along. Honestly, she was still shaking a little from her body being under stress for so long, and was very grateful when Rhys gave her a little flyer with everything written down. Finally, they were done, and Rhys stood with his hands leaning on the bench as she tried to sort out her feelings.

"Take it easy tonight," Rhys said. "It feels weird that I just met you," Feyre said. Now that the pain had stopped, left over adrenaline coursed through her veins, and she felt giddy. And she suddenly found it odd that this person, whom she had just let cut her arm up and make permanent marks in it, was a stranger. The words slipped out before she knew what she was saying. "Can we be friends, Rhys?"

The dimple again.

"Sure," he said. "But I'm afraid I can't see you outside of the shop, at least not while I'm tattooing you. I gotta be professional, and all."

"Okay," Feyre nodded. "I guess I'll see you in a month, then." Rhys nodded. "One month," he said. "And Feyre? Thanks for the trust today."

And then she walked off into the dark, clutching her arm to her chest and feeling both relieved and a little sad that the day was over.

****

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #mine

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diary-of-an-onliner · 3 years

Text

feet on the ground [f.w.]

word count: 3381

warnings: none

a/n: this is based on, and a counterpart/continuation of @ickle-ronniekins 's head in the clouds — thanks for the inspo babe, this one is for you

Fred Weasley was not happy. Sure, he had made a lot of questionable, or as other people like to say 'bad', decisions in his life, but taking Care of Magical Creatures was one of the worst. Yes, it made Hagrid ecstatic, and that's always a good thing to see; yes, it's useful for his future business. However a hellfire-cracken the size of a shoebox was making him rethink his choices.

For the lack of a better distraction, he focused on digging a hole in the grass with his trainer as Hagrid’s rumbled instructiones flew over his head, missing both ears and zooming away into an indifferent oblivion. George is taking this already, he looked to George, who was quite enchanted with his partner, and thoroughly enjoying it, couldn't we have split up? He kicked the dirt lightly, startling the girl next to him.

Neither Fred nor his Slytherin partner were thrilled with each other,but misery loves company, so it might be for the best.

"How's the weather up there?" said his partner, who was crouching eye — er, shell-level, with the creature, but keeping her distance nonetheless. Her hair waved and flickered on her shoulder as she bounced on her heels.

"Immaculate, thanks for asking." he said, not wanting to get closer to the scorpion-lobster lovechild from the asshole of hell. "Y'know Hagrid said those things burn, bite, and sting, right?"

"So do I.” she said sarcastically, still keeping her gaze tied to the monster. “I'm not going to touch it, I'm just looking. You're aware we need to sketch it, label its parts and write an essay about it later?" Fred shifted his weight from foot to foot restlessly.

"Yes." his nostrils flared.

She pursed her lips and, after a moment of silence, said: "I dare you to touch it."

He crossed his arms. "I am not taking dares from you. We met three minutes ago and I haven't enjoyed a second of it."

"What's up your ass?" she turned to him, still crouching. "Actually, I don't care. Just don't take it out on me." The creature clicked their — tail? — pincers? — their something.

"I wasn't—" she raised an eyebrow and he fell silent, and looked away.

"'m not very thrilled to be here." he mumbled. "And that ugly death trap isn't making it better. Can we start over?" he asked, sighing and tiredly sweeping his left hand through his hair, and offering his right to her.

She took it and pulled herself up, then promptly smoothed out her skirt, shook his still proffered hand, and introduced herself.

Unlike his messy untucked shirt, her uniform was pressed down to the socks and her shoes held no traces of mud. It gave her a calculating, and slightly cold aura, as if she was drawn with a set of rulers and a compass. She was probably more geometrical than anyone who had ever taken Care of Magical Creatures.

"Fred." he said, even though she knew.

"Well Fred, we will be working together on this Blast-Ended Skrewt for the next few weeks, so that 'ugly death trap’ is our son you're talking about." she chided with a smile that better belonged on a sly fox rather than a girl.

"You sound very attached to it." he shot back. An idea, a thought, a silver of a notion that this might be fun slithered along the floor of his skull.

"Him.” She corrected with her pointer finger in the air. “And it's called being a good parent." she lightly jabbed him in the chest.

"Okay then. Go pet your son." Fred smirked.

They turned toward the beast which was playing in the grass like a puppy. It seemed to be wiggling its tails.

Her eyes narrowed: "Which part is the head?"

"I don't know. We should probably figure it out, since the other side shoots flames." he said in an amused tone.

"It's supposed to be a sucker, so it might be the penis-looking side." he chuckled, but when she turned to stare at him expectantly, his red eyebrow jumped in question. A breeze ruffled their hair.

"Go on then, don't be shy, we need to compare." she said flatly.

He burst out laughing so hard, a few people around them turned to stare - quite a dangerous thing to do at the moment seeing as some of the beasts started snipping. A yelp sounded from afar, and Fred laughed even harder.

At least his partner is funny.

"Seriously though, this thing is going to fire-fart on us soon and we need to figure it out."

“You don’t feel better in nature?” her tone piqued as she turned the pages of a book. Their desk was covered with them, during the first of their many study meetings.

“No.” Fred played with his quill, spinning it through his fingers. “You do?”

“I feel clearer, especially near water.”, thump, she shut her book and discarded it.

“How come?” he balanced on the back legs of his chair, eyes darting around.

“I don’t know. It’s not a thing I question.”, flip, flip, flip, “It just lures me out of my head, and makes me feel a little more real, like I’m aware of my own existence. Sharper, yknow?”

Fred shook his head.

“I don’t have a need to get out of my head, it’s great in there.” he joked. She snorted and passed him a book with a piece of paper sticking out.

“Don’t you? You seem to be in there a lot though. I think you think too much.” Fred chukled, “That’s something I've never been told.”

“Then it’s about time.” she threw his way, but she had yet to look at him, Fred noted. The idea of her as geometrical played around in his head. “Try it next time. People exist a little sharper sometimes. It stops you from feeling like you’re going to float away.” her eyes finally flickered to him like two needles of her compasses, and shot him down. His chair hit the ground.

Before Fred had a chance to say something else or roll her idea around in his brain, she passed him a piece of parchment with a soft order to, “Write.”

His diagram of their unnamed child was much neater than hers, but his illegible handwriting distracted from it perfectly.

"That is not a t."she said, her hair almost electrified from stress-combing it with her hands.

"It's obviously a g." he chirped, but his tone sounded worn down all the same. She squinted at the paper with her mouth open for a moment, then gave up.

"How are you still this peppy?" she asked as her gaze lazily rolled itself away from the books. His tie was completely undone and being used as a bookmark, his shirt unbuttoned and ruffled like his hair, ha, carrot head!, but he took no note of it as he balanced on the back legs of his chair again. Every so often, a clank would sound amid their conversation when the chair struck against the stone floor and his feet hit the ground, before he leaned back again.

"What are you talking about? I'm knackered." he yawned.

She looked up, and her thoughts leaked out of her head. The scenery through the window behind him was gorgeous, lit on fire by the dusk— oversaturated reds and pinks which lined the dark purple clouds.

With a loud tap on the library floor, the front legs of Fred's chair touched the ground and his head covered the sun perfectly, giving him a golden lining and making his orange hair melt into the background. The clear lines of his face looked almost chiseled in contrast to the haziness behind him.

A weight settled in the center of her torso, an iron bowling ball rolling between her stomach and her heart. He was handsome. She knew this. But she used to know it the way one knows they should drink water when they’re thirsty. Knowing you needed it after you drink him in, swallow, and sign, is another story.

She felt a warm metal line grow out of her chest, like a vine towards the sunlight, enter his chest and settle.

For a few moments she imagined it. She tried to note the dragging sensation of warm iron and let herself be pulled to him. She imagined the ball rolling in his center, and all his squirming being in an attempt to adjust it instead of just staying awake.

Then she blinked. Took in the real scene. Despite being exhausted, she felt tranquil in their little corner filled with books and a few very ugly sketches. She picked one up.

“Are we allowed to call his head a dick?” She questioned, but Fred just yawned and shrugged. His chair tipped back again.

“You’ll hurt yourself.” She said flatly, words moving from line to line like trains with the shittiest track designs ever.

“The thrill keeps me awake.” he closed his eyes, hair still a burning red. She didn’t dare look at the Sun for too long. Her eyes tried to follow the words. The ball rolled.

He slid another sketch towards her. “I think we should use this one.”

She put the first one aside, their hands brushing as she took the new parchment. She heard the scraping of his chair on the floor as he moved closer until his collarbone pressed against her shoulder as he leaned over to point. The body heat he was emitting only reminded her of the weariness her body carried. It also refashioned her bowling ball into an anchor slowly sinking through her stomach, tickling her insides on the way down.

The sketch was neater and much simpler than others, no more than a handful of black lines on a yellowing parchment.

“This part is the head.” Fred pointed out. “I think. It looks weird and there isn’t exactly a good reference for a randomly cross-bred demon.” He seemed so focused on his drawing that she got the feeling he was avoiding her eyes intentionally. Stupid, really. They’re both just tired and have a lot of work.

Look at me.

He didn’t.

She banished all her stupid silly thoughts, and tried to turn to the books for the next few hours.

Fred stayed circling warmly on the edge of her orbit, moving around her but never looking, never acknowledging her as anything other than a voice and a pair of friendly working hands. The silly stupid thread she felt earlier vibrated. She didn't bring it up for fear they wouldn't finish all their work if she were to derail the conversation, so she waited until the end of their study session.

However, when the anticipated end neared, his chair hit the stone the last time and when she turned to him, Fred was lying on his arms on the table, asleep. His outline was as bright and as sharp as ever, but his face was soft and smooth from relaxation, like a marble statue melting. The anchor in her stomach lurch up at the sight, but she swallowed it down, smiled, and laid her head on the table too.

Another sunny afternoon had George almost skipping to his quirky partner. And Fred was glad, he liked to see his brother happy and loved teasing him for being in love even more — but he still hated the bloody beasts. He was thankful for George's efforts to cheer him up, but Fred refused to move out from under his personal gloomy cloud, choosing to carry it alone instead, the way one would an umbrella.

As soon as George mentions his partner, he knows it's time to leave him to his beloved, as he does, with minimal mocking involved (—but come on!).

As Fred approached her, he saw her roll her eyes. Funny. Something about knowing she's as un-excited as he is made his chest swell up with what can only be described as the sudden understanding of the real depth of companionship between you and a stranger, an acquaintance, a friend. I might not like this, but I am not alone.

"They're four feet long already. Your future sister-in-law," said his partner, gesturing to George's love with her head, at which Fred smiled warmly, "said we only get to work with them for another class. I think she might cry." His clouds stopped thundering.

"Don't be rude." he replied but did not sound angry in the least.

"I'm not. She's a nice girl and God bless her for being passionate about this. We need people like her, otherwise the rest of us would have to care as well." she reasoned.

"There's that warm and welcoming Slytherin care I've heard all about." he said sarcastically.

"Rude. Gingers truly are soulless." Fred got nudged in the ribs.

"Oi!"

"Oi yourself!" she flipped her hair and flashed her foxy smile. No, it's fox-like. "Don't start things you can't finish."

"Well, I'm ready to be done with this thing." he looked pointedly at the snapping creature reaching out to them like a baby in a cot.

They received their instructions from Hagrid to feed, entertain, and check the health of the creature and set off to work. After a few minutes of silence, Fred spoke.

"I think there's something wrong with this thing." he squinted.

"Him." She corrected, "He's our son."

"Well I think our son is pregnant." Fred’s face soured.

“No way." she replied, kneeling closer to the beast than she'd ever dared before. "How do you know?"

"A hunch?" Fred shrugged his very nicely shaped shoulders. No! "I'm not sure. It did eat three times as much as the others. It should be a lot fatter."

"He." She absent-mindedly corrected, trying to get a good enough look.

"He doesn't look sick but he's being weird." he squatted next to her, bouncing on his heels.

"Maybe he's lonely. We both ditched a few times." She bumped her knee into his. "I dare you to touch him."

Fred laughed as he turned to her. "I'm not that commited of a father. You do it."

"Why me? You need to do something too!" she whined as their son approached in a rather puppy-like gait, as if he was going to rub against their legs, and Fred's gaze slipped off her, like that day in the library.

"I'll do whatever you want.” he paused "Within reason, of course."

"Touch him."

"Within reason."

"Fine." their dark-shelled son stood before them now, but they were not as hesitant this time. The beast looked at Fred with either his head or his stinger (how is it still not clear?).

Slowly and shakily, her hand reached out. She almost withdrew it, but it already made contact with their son's back and he made a sound similar to purring, which was both surprising and unsettling. Her face bent in disgust as her entire palm pressed against his black shell, gleaming maroon in the sunlight.

"Ew. He's slimy." she detached her hand to see a catran-like substance coating it. "How is he slimy?"

Fred's nose was scrunched as well but an amused gleam flickered on his face nonetheless. “Disgusting.”

"Well, I did it." she complained, trying to wipe her hand on his arm, but he rose to his feet quickly, laughing.

“Keep that to yourself.” Fred warned, trying to avoid her swift attempts to use him as a rag.

“Come on!” She whined. “We’re in this together. If I have to be gross then so do you.” she jumped up after Fred.

He felt weightless as he maneuvered around her and the clawing beast that still purred by their feet, and he realized how warm the sunlight was. His little cloud was gone. In that distracted second of their impromptu three-creature quickstep, she wrapped her clean hand around his hand and pulled herself closer to him.

She grinned from ear to ear, and Fred felt her wet, cold hand sliding down his shoulder. She wiped a few times down his arm and chest with a wickedly satisfied look in her face as he wondered why he didn’t mind it so much. His eyes danced over her face the way his trainers had over the grass mere seconds ago.

“What?” she asked. Wait, she was speaking.

“Um, nothing.” his face rearranged itself from a goofy smile (What?) and he looked at his stained shirt. Before he even had time to comment, her voice made the center of his stomach tighten.

“Do you think he'd lick one if she asked?” Fred followed her gaze to George, looking as dreamy as his partner who was purring back at their Blast-Ended Skrewt. Sunlight covered them too.

Her hand still held onto him.

Fred sighed, both amused and lightheaded from a new discovery threatening to unveil its face in his mind. George laughed so loudly it reached Fred’s ears, and he responded, “Yes.”

“Would you lick one for me?” she batted her eyelashes.

“Absolutely not.” he said without missing a beat.

“What kind of a father won't even lick his own son?” she put a hand on her chest, faux-horrified.

“I still think our son is pregnant.” he said, grinning at her.

“What kind of a father won't lick his own pregnant son?” she humored.

“You're making this worse than it has to be.”

Her eyebrow rose as she offered: “You can always do this alone?”

“No.” something ugly and covered in spikes spun in Fred's stomach.

“Well then,” she said smugly, as if she knew, “you need to start cooperating.” She tugged on his arm with her hand that was there the whole time. Her arm slid around his as she pulled him along, and Fred adjusted his collar with his fingers. When did they get so far away from the group?

“You don’t pet him, you don’t groom him with your tongue like a cat, what do you do? I haven’t seen you change a single diaper!” she over-exaggerated. “I’m basically a single mother!”

He laughed and apologized, feeling lighter and sharper than he had all day.

His future sister-in-law was wrong. They worked on their loving, puppy-like hell scorpions for three more classes, and had another one in a classroom, correcting their essays. During that class, they found out that their son really was pregnant, at which they laughed all the way to the Great Hall.

Fred felt something heavy rolling over his intestines when he thought of the end. It wound itself around his organs until his lips dropped. Nevertheless, he grinned at George (who definitely saw through him), and, with his chin up like a proud lion, departed from him to sit next to his partner, one last time.

He thought about her more often than he expected to, and he feared he might have to stop soon.

As he slid next to her, his metaphorical tail curled closer to him. She beamed brightly at him, and offered her closed fist.

“You ready, partner?”

No, he curled his fingers with a smile, I don’t think I am, and bumped their hands together.

“Doesn’t have to end? Didn't you listen?” she asked him incredulously as he caught up with her. He couldn’t say he has, as his ears buzzed deafeningly loudly since they received their O.

Maybe she had a point when she said there were moments when people felt more defined as he was more sure than ever that he existed in the corridor leading to the Care of Magical Creatures classroom, as his limbs filled with lead at the way she spoke.

“I just thought if you—” his mouth shit on its own. “You know—”

“Holy shit, you really didn’t listen?” but this time she laughed. “Hagrid said we can pick our own partners for the next project.” Her arm curled around his own, “So unless you want to dump me, we march on.”

Whatever heavy thing has been making his stomach a winter home the past week flew off to their summer residence.

She definitely had a point about grounded moments, because when her hand squeezed his arm, the lead leaked out and the awareness of every part of his body slammed into focus.

And Fred smiled back.

She smiled promisingly at him, his heart stuttered, and his sneakers sunk into the stone beneath him.

#fred weasley #fanfic #fred weasley x reader #hp fanfic

119 notes · View notes

chibi-mushroom · 3 years

Text

Hey everyone! Finally get to post my piece for the memory of promises zine! check out the link here if you want to grab one of your own copies in the leftover sale! I was so happy to be able to join in on this zine, and I hope you guys enjoy all the work that went into it! (Also keep in mind this was written before MoM.)

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Namine rubbed her temples and looked at the clock. Midnight already. DiZ was not going to like this. The next time he came into the white room would bring on some lecture or punishment of some kind. She had been working furiously all afternoon trying to get past this one section of memory, but there was something that was keeping her back. Her pulse began to race. She was feeling sick. The door to the white room opened and with a squeak, Namine ducked under the table, fearing the familiar stride of the man in red.

"It's okay, it's just me. You can come out now." A soft voice sounded in her ears. "You're safe. DiZ said he needed to run an errand and wouldn't be back for a couple of days."

Slowly looking up, Namine could see the outstretched hand of the only comfort she had in this lonely place. "Riku. You're back."

She took his offering and stood up. He hadn't let go of her hand just yet, blindfold still covering those beautiful blue green eyes he had. She was glad it stopped him from seeing things like her girlish blush. He was only offering his hand as a friend. Besides, it was wrong for her to want to be with him- nobodies weren't supposed to feel anything. So why did she?

"You're shaking." Riku stated simply. "Have you eaten anything today?"

So he could even feel the slight tremor in her hands. "No, not exactly."

"Do you want me to get something for you? I think there are some leftovers in the fridge."

"No, I'm alright. I have to get back to work." Namine tried to take her hand from his, but he held onto it all the tighter, leaning down a little to be at eye level with her.

"You were working when I left, and I can tell you haven't gotten any sleep. How are you expecting to take care of Sora when you can't take care of yourself?"

Right. Namine thought. He's just like DiZ. All he cares about is getting Sora restored. You're just a tool.

Still, she couldn't help but notice the way her breath caught in her throat as his blinded eyes sunk to meet her tired ones. Maybe she should take a small break. All of this stress was making her read too much into small gestures.

Namine simply nodded, and Riku left to warm her up some food. Sensing that going back to Sora's memories would be futile, she grabbed her sketch pad and turned it to the very last page. This was her secret page, covered in things she thought about. Mindless doodles she drew when she was waiting for the computer to check on Sora’s physical well-being.

The sketch pad was not necessary for her magic to work. She could rearrange memories- crush the hearts of her poor unsuspecting victims- without it. She used it though to help her concentrate. By visualizing the memories, she was able to make a more convincing edit or capture the feelings that were hiding beneath the surface. So many times she had drawn Sora, Riku and Kairi together. And sure there were strong feelings of both love and jealousy, but had she not had her sketch pad, she might have missed Sora's emotions of gratitude for two stalwart best friends, confusion about school topics they had recently studied, and hope that Kairi would want to go with him to the first school dance, even though he knew they would just go together and bail early to hang out on the play island like they always did whenever the school had some social.

"Here you go. It's nothing special, but it's better than nothing." Riku interrupted her thoughts with a plate of food.

With a gasp, Namine hurried to cover her sketch pad. Even though she knew he couldn't see it, he moved so gracefully that she sometimes wondered if he really was blind. Although those first couple of days made the mansion quite a bit louder with his cries of annoyance as he bumped into furniture. He even fell into the secret compartment that hid the computer lab, but luckily managed to land safely.

"Drawing something you don't want anyone to see?" Riku smirked.

"No!" Namine replied a bit sharper than she thought. "Maybe."

Riku laughed as he set their plates down and pulled a chair over. "I'm only kidding. You don't have to be working on Sora nonstop. If you want to take a moment for yourself, then do it."

"No, I need to be working on Sora. It was my fault he's like this in the first place. I want to keep my promise." Namine picked up the white plastic fork. For once would it hurt to have some color around here?

With a sigh, Riku held his hand out for her to hold. "We've been over this, Nam. What happened wasn't your fault. You were being used." Softly Riku muttered "you still are."

Namine looked at him for a moment and then looked down at her food. She picked at it for a few moments before softly sliding her hand in his and taking a couple of bites. She ate in a comfortable silence, simply feeling the pressure that came from the gentle touch. This sort of thing wasn't unusual for them. They could usually be found in silence with their hands connected. But the mountain of pressure from the recent block in memories and lack of self care was threatening to squish Namine with its enormous weight.

"How's the restoration going?" Riku asked.

Namine's stomach began to twist around itself. "I'm….not sure."

Riku squeezed her hand, urging her to explain. Namine sighed, unsure of how to continue. Would he get mad if she told the truth? He had slowly been becoming more like DiZ, after all. He used to be there with her when she was getting told off. These days, Riku was never usually in the white room for more than five minutes unless it was late at night.

"You remember what Sora's mom used to tell him all the time, right?" Riku recalled.

"Never talk to strangers on the play island?"

Riku chuckled, remembering a secret promise. "A problem shared is a problem halved. If you tell me, it might relieve some of the pressure on you."

There was no avoiding it, not as long as he held her hand.

"It's just that, well-" Namine fumbled for the words. "There's been a bit of a roadblock. I've been doing my best to sort it out, tracing the connections, but it's like the memories slip away as soon as I think I have a grasp on them. I may have gone through half a notebook trying to find a solid piece."

There was a pause, as if Riku were considering what to say.

"I'll go get you a new notebook tomorrow, then. As for the memories, we'll get it figured out. You need to take a break, anyway."

"No!" Namine swallowed back further emotion. Maybe she really did need some sleep. She was being more irrational than she expected. "No, it's fine. I'm sure I'm doing something wrong."

"Don't say stuff like that. If there's anyone who can make this situation right, it's you. Please, just take a few hours to rest tomorrow, okay?" Riku squeezed her hand again.

"I don't really have a choice here, do I?" Namine sighed.

"You always have a choice. I'm just asking you as someone who cares a lot about you."

Someone who cares? Namine thought. She slowly nodded in reply. Maybe a break was exactly what she needed.

"Thank you, Riku."

One Year Later

Again Riku tried to beat Marluxia, and again he was defeated. He only had this last battle to finish, having started against the organization members he recognized or had personally fought against. Which, admittedly wasn't many, but after several attempts, he was down to the last. It frustrated him that he still wasn't quite used to the keyboard controls, and Sora's moves were much less based in strength and relied much more on magic. Riku had never been very good with magic, focusing on perfecting his cure and dark firaga spells instead of learning the large array of magic that his friends had mastered.

Some keyblade master I turned out to be. Riku thought, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms. I can't even stop my two best friends from leaving me again. This is just like back then…

His mind began to drift away with thoughts of Castle Oblivion and Twilight Town. He heard the door open and gentle footsteps move toward him.

"Hey Aerith. We can work on that scarf in a minute. I have to get some more ethers for data Sora first."

"I take it the fight didn't go well then?" A soft voice walked closer.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. Not Aerith.

"Hey Namine. How could you tell?"

Namine placed a hand on his shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. "You're really tense. Besides, I could feel your frustration from a block away."

What anger and annoyance had once plagued Riku's mind had since washed away. All he could register was how reassuring Namine's hand on his shoulder felt. She smelled nice, too. A faint blush warmed his cheeks. Ever since Kairi had insisted on going to sleep and Terra had left for the dark realm with Aqua and Ven, Namine was the only person Riku shared everything with. She had heard him vent several times, and she had been helping Aerith teach him how to knit. It was her delicate fingers that had lead him through the steps of a cable.

"I guess I need a little bit of a break." Riku said with a sigh. "Wanna go get some ice cream or something?"

"Sure." Namine smiled, stepping back so he could get up and stretch. They began to talk as they walked to their usual ice cream shop.

Since Scrooge, Huey and Dewey had returned home, the ice cream shop had been manned by one of the local citizens. He usually gave Riku a discount, so Riku usually put some munny in the tip jar. It had become routine over the past year to go whenever Namine came to visit from Twilight Town.

"How is everything going with Roxas and Xion?" Riku asked, sitting down and unwrapping his fruit bar.

"Slow." Namine replied, taking a small lick from her chocolate cherry ice cream cone. She wanted to try all of the flavors, and this was the last one. "Not too bad, but I think I preferred the strawberry cheesecake the best."

"That was a flavor Kairi always liked." Riku smiled softly.

When he saw the way Namine looked for just the hair of a second, he realized that was probably the wrong thing to say. He inwardly cursed himself and his inability to be the suave guy all the girls had thought he was growing up. Kairi and Namine didn't get much of a chance to talk after she got her replica body, as Kairi had almost immediately asked to be put under. Riku wondered what it was like living inside a heart of pure light. Just like Castle Oblivion, she didn't talk about it much.

"We should get some for her when she wakes up." Namine continued to eat her cone. There was an uncomfortable silence for just a moment before Namine spoke up again. "Who were you fighting when I came in?"

"Marluxia. He was the head of the castle, right?"

Namine nodded.

"I never really got to meet him as I was down in the basement back then. I'm sorry you had to deal with a guy like him."

"It's alright. I...had some support. There was Sora and Donald and Goofy. And despite everything I did to him, there was your replica, too." Namine spoke slowly, choosing her words with care. "But don't feel bad. He made his decisions, like everyone else."

This time, it was Riku's turn to nod in agreement, taking a bite from his treat.

"After the data battles are all said and done, what happens next?" Namine asked softly.

"I...don't know. All I know is that I've been having these weird dreams lately."

"I wondered. You look tired." Namine grabbed on to Riku's hand, intertwining their fingers.

Maybe it was a reflex, maybe it was a force of habit, like how they used to sit back in the old mansion. Either way, the touch on its own was enough to pull Riku away from the dark thoughts that usually sat at the horizon of his mind. He squeezed her hand in response.

"Don't hesitate to call me if you ever need someone to talk to. I miss our little midnight chats." Namine admitted.

"I do too." Riku smiled softly. "They really helped clear my mind back then."

"A problem shared is a problem halved, remember?" Namine was glad she could actually see his eyes as she recalled back to his words that helped her through her time at the old mansion. "Care to share anything?"

Riku paused. He sighed before starting to speak. After he told her of the recurring dream he'd been having with the buildings and the feeling of being watched, he also admitted to the weight that had been pinned on his shoulders.

"I know it might sound silly, but I can't help but wonder if these dreams are connected to Sora somehow. I just wish I could understand it more." Riku finished his bar and set the popsicle stick on the bench beside him.

Namine had just finished her ice cream as well, wiping her face with the napkin. "Maybe it's time you take another journey."

"With the data battle still to fight and Kairi still asleep? I can't leave now."

"Maybe not now, but after the last battle is won." Namine gently pulled his hand close to her and began massaging it. "But that means I can't follow you. Will you be alright on your own? Maybe you can check Kairi's dreams."

"I...don't know. I haven't used my dream eater powers in a long time and the process is still kind of fuzzy for me." He could feel his muscles relax as she worked at his weary hand.

Doubt was rising in his chest. Maybe she was right. Who was he kidding? He wasn't ready for this kind of thing. He wasn't like Sora or Kairi who could follow their hearts at a moment's notice. He couldn't always feel the way it was trying to lead him.

But as he saw Namine patiently working on his hands, the stiff muscles being brought to relax against her fingers, a light shone through the storm of his doubt. How he hadn't realized it before was a mystery. Ever since they had met, she had been the light in the dark, just as he had provided shade for her in the brightest situations. As she finished the massage, she tenderly squeezed his hands, reassuring him that she was there and willing to help. Surely that was love.

He felt love for her, no question. But with Sora and Kairi gone and asleep, there never seemed to be a good moment to tell her what his heart really wanted to say.

"We...we should be getting back." Namine sighed. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"No, but then, I'm not really all that sure of anything anymore."

"If there's anything I know, it's that things will get better. We'll find Sora. I don't know how or when, but we will." Namine took his hand again, standing before him.

Namine took a quick breath and then leaned over, placing a quick kiss atop his head. Ordinarily, she wouldn't be able to reach, but since he was sitting down, she could offer a small token of her affection and confidence in his abilities.

She and Riku's faces filled with blush, although a smile tugged at her lips. Namine didn't have enough courage to kiss him on the lips like she had wanted to for so long, but this was safe. He couldn't spurn her for a harmless kiss to the head. After all, what was some reassurance between friends?

"Thank you, Namine." Riku had a hard time looking at this angel of a woman without his heartbeat increasing.

To think she was willing to be by his side after all this. He decided there and then that he would listen to his heart and tell her of his feelings...after they set everything right. Once Sora and Kairi were home and together, then they could sort out their own relationship. It would give him yet another reason to bring his best friend home.

He could still feel the kiss on his forehead, and it brought a genuine smile to his face. He stood up and began walking away from Merlin's house.

"Don't feel like you have to stop working on the data battles on my account. I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright." Namine stopped for a second.

"We can get back to those soon enough. I need a little longer before I get back into it." He took his trash and threw it into a nearby can. "There are some fountains that are really pretty this time of day nearby if you want to check them out with me."

A smile formed on Namine's lips. "I'd love to, Riku."

#RikuNami #namiku #mopzine #kh fanfiction #riku #namine #post Re:Mind #Pre MoM

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a-libra-writes · 3 years

Text

Salt & Snow - Chapter 5

Ships: Ned Stark x Reader, Brandon Stark x Reader

Summary: The daughter of House Caspian begins to realize her place in a world of strict tradition and hierarchy. A tragedy strikes Winterfell, bringing her closer to the Starks.

The brush slid across the thick paper, making a beautifully straight line. The black paint was bold against the paper, which wasn’t completely white, but it was the closest she’d seen, almost as white as snow. What a wonderful birthday gift. Y/N had a thin wooden palette that she perched on her lap, allowing her to take the paper anywhere and paint what she saw. She already had ideas of what to send Ned, although transporting a painting without damaging it would be troublesome. Maybe it was best to just keep it in Winterfell until he came back? He had to return soon, he was seventeen. It had to be soon.

It’s what Lyanna talked about often, and Y/N didn’t blame her. She wanted him back too, though maybe for different reasons. She was pleased he still kept writing to her, entertaining her childish whims, although she didn’t feel childish anymore. They didn’t talk about ‘childish’ topics, either, it was always… all sorts of things. Y/N could write to Ned about anything on her mind, and he did the same.

I hope we can talk as easily. What if he comes back and I don’t know what to say? Y/N wondered if that was a silly thought. She refocused on her painting, dabbing a small brush into the paints she’d set up beside her. There weren’t many colors to work with, but that made it an interesting challenge. The training yard was busy this late, so she had plenty of subjects to observe. Painting moving figures was a new challenge. It wouldn’t be a perfect still life, instead, she’d try her own composition of movement and action.

Y/N hummed to herself as she worked. She had only two hours before the sun would set, but she was confident she could finish the rest of it in her room.

“Don’t most girls paint flower fields and vases?”

“I’m a lady,” Y/N responded. She didn’t look up from her painting right away, wanting to finish a few more brush strokes. “You should always be gracious to a lady, especially if you’re a future ‘Lord Stark’.”

Brandon grinned. “I was going to scare you, but I decided to be nice instead. That’s very gracious, I think.”

Now you sound like your little brother. Y/N set her brush down next to the paints. She observed Brandon was still in his traveling clothes. “When did you return?”

“Just over an hour ago. It was a slow ride, Ser Roderick wouldn’t let me go ahead of the escort.”

“There’s a reason for that.” Y/N smiled at his impatience. “How was the Rills?”

“The same as always. Next week I’m going to see Lord Manderly. While I’m there, I could stop by your family’s castle. Perhaps I could bring a gift to them.”

“That would be wonderful. You know they would love to have your company, my lord.”

Brandon’s smile was infectious, Y/N had to admit. Thank the gods he was over that irritating phase he had before, acting like he was too grown-up and superior to bother with Y/N and his younger siblings. Well, he could still be irksome to Benjen and Lyanna, but they paid him back tenfold with their usual mischief. Y/N was just pleased he acted like the lord he should be around her. Pleasantries made things easier, and it really would be kind of him to bring her father a pelt or her mother a rare book.

Right now, he was leaning over to see what she was painting, as he’d often been doing the past year. She knew he had no interest in art, but he still made a point to ask about what she was working on.

It’s good for him to at least feign interest and learn about others. Maybe all those scoldings from Lord and Lady Stark are finally sinking in. Y/N thought. She showed him what she’d been working on, groups of men at swordplay. “They’re finally used to my sketching, I think. At first they gave me peculiar looks.”

“It’s because you were staring.” That charming smile turned to an amusing pout. “You shouldn’t be staring at strange men, Y/N, or drawing them.”

“They aren’t strange at all! I know their names, and they’re sworn men, besides. Are you just upset I haven’t drawn you?”

She was teasing like Lyanna and Benjen did, but he didn’t respond like she thought. Brandon actually huffed. “Better me than some old guardsman.”

“Sit down, then.” Y/N gestured to the seat next to her on the bench, the side not covered in paints and paper. “Portraits are always good practice.”

Brandon looked at the spot, only waiting a moment before taking a seat. He was still windblown from the road, smelling like horses and leather, but it wasn’t too unpleasant. Y/N fought the urge to smooth out his hair — it was such a mess, but he wasn’t a boy. Even Benjen was getting too old for her fussing.

“So you know, I’m not the sort to embellish.” Y/N said, her hand darting across a blank piece of paper. Messy sketches were fine for something like this. “So I will be drawing that unruly hair and those red ears.”

“They aren’t red,” Brandon grumbled and rubbed at the ears in question.

Y/N didn’t look up from her drawing. “They are. So are your cheeks. Are you cold?”

“I’d be a poor Stark if weather like this got me cold. Shouldn’t you be concentrating?”

“I am.” Y/N had to glance up to make sure the eye shape was right. Brandon had such an amusing expression, it was making her work difficult. “If you could be still, it would be easier.”

Brandon said nothing to that, only furrowing his brows further. It was startling how much he looked like Lord Stark, while Lyanna took after her mother. Benjen was a clear mix of the two, but all of them had that long face and dark coloring. She pictured Ned’s face in her mind, trying to remember the last time she saw him. Gods, was that three years ago? Maybe four? He must look so different now. Taller, with a proper sword and the skills to back it up - and what about those grey eyes? Would they be darker or lighter? Did he finally cut that brown hair, to better fit in with the Eyrie, or did he keep it long and Northern?

“What are you smiling about?” Brandon asked.

“Oh, nothing.” Y/N said Someone in the distance drew her attention away, which she was grateful for. She waved at him. “Ben!”

Brandon scowled at his little brother walked up. Benjen was already taller than Y/N, thanks to his spindly limbs. He looked around at the art supplies and Brandon’s awkward posture. “I hate it say it, but you’d be better off with a different subject, Y/N. There’s only so much you can do with this one.”

Benjen dodged out of the way of his older brother’s grip. His reflexes were nothing to sneeze at. “Big words from a skinny rat!” Brandon said, getting up to grab at his brother again, but Benjen was too quick. The older Stark may have been as big as his father now, but he had a certain … lack of grace. No doubt he was tired from the trip, too.

“Should I use smaller words?” Benjen easily danced around him.

“Do this somewhere else!” Y/N laughed. That was the end of the little sitting session, then. Brandon couldn’t be still after getting riled up; he was like a dog in that way. “Be careful, would you?”

“I’m just going to teach him a lesson—!” Brandon said, finally getting Benjen in his grasp. He cursed when his brother easily twisted out of his grip and hit his nose. It wasn’t a real punch, but it still hurt, and Brandon shook his head while Benjen unhooked his sword from his belt.

“Thanks!” Benjen scurried off, carrying the sword that was too heavy for him to actually wield. Y/N rolled her eyes at how Brandon predictably ran after him with a fresh new string of curses. He had only been home a few hours before he was going back to silliness with his brother. Lyanna would have joined in too, had she been here. Their latest pasttime was stealing the beautiful new sword Brandon was so proud of. Benjen just liked to stir up trouble, but Lyanna was sour she couldn’t have steel of her own.

What has she been doing today? Y/N hadn’t seen much of her friend today. Lyanna didn’t enjoy the last feast, which was a small affair - only half a dozen families were there, and not all their members - but she was still put off. Y/N hadn’t known Lyanna to retire before her, but that night, she did. It was usually the fatigued Lady Stark that was the early departure, not her fiery daughter.

Thinking about it now, Lyanna was unusually quiet through breakfast this morning, and she had been riding most of the day. Y/N considered that maybe she should have gone with her, even if being near a horse still made her shudder. She could have at least sat on the edge of the riding field and watched Lyanna. Maybe she wanted to be alone. If she really wanted me there, I know she would have dragged me.

With all her art supplies carefully packed up, Y/N returned to the castle and planned to find out what Lyanna’s mood was. I could be overthinking everything. We’re women now, four and ten years, we don’t have to cling about each other anymore.

Y/N nodded to the servants and guards when she saw them, giving a smile to those she knew well. They had long been familiar, pleasant faces that she relied upon. It recently occurred to Y/N that she knew them better than the servants of Whitetide, whose faces were rapidly disappearing from her memory. Maybe if her parents didn’t visit twice or thrice a year, and if she didn’t love them so much, she’d begin to lose their faces, too.

Their shared bedchamber was warm from a low-burning fire in the hearth. Y/N set her supplies down on her desk before shedding her thick cloak. It was fastened with a lovely silver manta ray that had a tiny pearl for an eye, a gift from Lady Stark herself. Y/N’s name day had passed a few months ago, and while her parents couldn’t visit, her second family was right there beside her. Lady Stark’s hands had become pale and thin, but she still wanted to fasten the pin herself after presenting it to Y/N. Then she patted her head like adults did to children, but Y/N couldn’t mind it.

Y/N was so caught up in turning the little manta ray in her hands, she didn’t hear the bedroom door open and close. The stomping of feet made her jump, and she swiveled to see Lyanna yanking off her riding boots and shaking the snow off them in the most unladylike way.

“So you were riding all day,” Y/N said, setting the pin into her modest jewelry box. She offered a smile. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Lyanna didn’t respond right away. She pulled at her cloak instead, tossing it on one of the chairs by the hearth. Y/N’s smile fell. There was an obvious dark cloud around her friend. Lyanna kicked her boots aside and huffed as she sank into an overstuffed chair. She was becoming too leggy to curl up into it like a child.

“Why in the seven hells can I not wear riding trousers?” She said irritably. “I’m sure the washerwomen are sick of cleaning the smell out of my dresses.”

Y/N sat in the chair across from her, settling herself into it. “And the horsehair.”

“It itches terribly. If I had a tunic, it wouldn’t be so bothersome, nor would the branches in my way.” Lyanna picked a leaf off her sleeve. Trouble was brewing in her grey eyes. There was fire in them even without the hearth lighting her face, a natural energy that possessed her entire person. Lyanna was more wolf than any of them, and when she hunched in the chair with her long legs drawn to her chest, she looked like a trapped one.

Y/N waited for her to speak first. There was something on her friend’s mind, but she had to find the words. Once she had them, Lyanna said, “You weren’t bothered at that feast. The last one, with the Karstarks and Glovers and Cassels.”

It was strange for her to bring it up now, but Y/N had just been thinking about it as well. Overall, Y/N would dare to say she enjoyed herself, even if the Karstark boys were too blunt in their desire to dance with her.

“I wasn’t too bothered. It wasn’t as crowded as it usual; I could hear the music for once. I was able to dance for a while, and the lords and their sons behaved.” Y/N didn’t know what else to say. “You left early. You didn’t want to dance?”

“Of course not!” Lyanna responded so sharply, it startled her old friend. “Why would I? Why would you?”

Y/N had no idea what Lyanna meant by that. That embarrassing dance with Roose Bolton a year ago had made her self-conscience of how clumsy her movements were. Lady Stark was delighted that Y/N took an interest in learning grace and how to carry herself better; and didn’t it make sense to test it out? Now that she didn’t overthink the steps, she could enjoy the exercise and the music. The company was good, and when she was tired, she japed around with Benjen and little Jory.

With all those racing thoughts, Y/N simply said, “I enjoy dancing, if that’s what you mean. What’s the matter with that?”

Lyanna shook her head, her brown hair falling farther out of a braid that was already coming undone. She’d lost another set of silk hair ribbons. “I don’t know how you stand it. You’re just a prize to them, you know, a bauble. You shouldn’t even amuse them. Neither of us should.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The men! The lords or their sons, whichever! We’re just stupid little brides to them. Didn’t you notice them looking at you? Shoving their sons at you? Lord Karstark had them all lined up! And even if they’re married, they’ll leer!”

“That’s… that’s ridiculous, Lyanna,” Y/N stammered. “Where did this come from?”

“Y/N, we’re women grown now!” Lyanna was bursting with energy and frustration that she couldn’t get out fast enough. “My mother married at six and ten! It’s nearly time for us, time for arrangements! Soon every lord will be nibbling at my father’s heels to take me off his hands, and no doubt your own lord father has received letters from all the ones you danced with.”

“Lyanna. Did someone tell you something?” Y/N asked. She was already trying to avoid thinking of the future, and Lyanna had never discussed it with her. She thought her friend didn’t think of it at all. “Before you, Brandon will marry, and that hasn’t even been discussed.”

“Of course it has! Why would they tell us? They can marry me off without finding him a bride, and without asking what I think.” Her cheeks were burning with red anger now. “I’m a Stark, so I can’t stay in the North. They’ll send me away somewhere — somewhere South, because where else? I’ll have to leave Winterfell, while my brothers and everyone I love stay!”

Y/N went to Lyanna, taking her hands in her own. She squeezed them tight. “Where did all this come from? Have your parents been talking?”

“No one needs to tell me. It’s the truth, isn’t it?” Lyanna said, looking Y/N right in the eyes. “That’s what we’ve got to look forward to, Y/N. The feasts aren’t meant to be fun for us. Maybe for the men, but not for us. We’re there to be picked and chosen, like prize fillies.”

Lyanna squeezed their hands tight, so tight it hurt right away. She stared at Y/N’s clean nails and smooth palms. Except for the occasional smudges from paint, they were always like this. Lyanna looked at her own, already becoming calloused at the palms and thumb, often edged with dirt around her nailbeds.

Y/N was at a loss. Her friend’s harsh words were true enough; she was well aware of what their duties as women were. It crossed her mind now and again, the thought of marriage and that she’d have to return home eventually so her parents could begin to plan. She’d push those thoughts away, hoping the day would come slowly. She didn’t want to leave Winterfell, or her dear friends.

Still, she said, “It… It has to happen eventually. Our parents aren’t cruel, they wouldn’t give us terrible husbands, and they’d talk to us before any arrangement. When we have to leave Winterfell —”

“You won’t.” Lyanna pulled their hands apart. “You’ll be staying here, Y/N, and I’ll be sent away.”

“What? No, when my parents are ready arrange a match, they’ll call me back to Whitetide.”

“You aren’t going back! Isn’t it obvious? You’re going to marry one of my brothers!”

After that statement, the only sound in the bedroom was the crackling of the fire. Lyanna didn’t back down. In this light, her Stark eyes weren’t grey at all, only hot steel.

“How do you know that?” Y/N said. With the loss of Lyanna’s hands, she nervously tugged at end of her long sleeves. “Did … did someone say —?”

“No one has to! I thought you knew! You’re fourteen, a woman grown, and my parents haven’t sent you back, nor have your’s asked for you. When they meet, they’re always whispering and glancing around. Brandon will marry outside the North, as the oldest son, and Ned will marry inside, as the second. Benjen will serve Winterfell. It’s how these matters are done, Y/N.”

Y/N’s throat closed as she choked up. Her blood was rushing in discomfort. She didn’t want to fight, she wished they could just change the subject. What brought this on? She’d never seen Lyanna in a mood like this. “You don’t — you don’t know that. Maybe my parents will send for me in a month. We don’t know.”

“Maybe they will, but when it’s time for you to leave, they’ll send me away, too. There’s a reason mother doesn’t care if I spurn the lordlings here.”

Lyanna’s anger had broken again, now it was just frustration and sadness. The two girls stood in silence. The flames of the fire made shadows in the room, and that was the only thing that moved for some time. The shadows seemed to grasp at the two of them, little fingers reaching for their dresses and hair. Y/N was the one who stepped forward, wanting to make it better.

“We’ll always be friends,” Y/N said, trying to keep her own choked up voice steady. “No matter what. I won’t ever forget you. I’ll write you a dozen letters a month if you get sent to the south.”

Lyanna was tired. She couldn’t attempt a smile, but she said, “That’s more than you write to Ned. If he ended up in a green field instead of a mountain, would you have sent more?”

“No, the dozen is only for you.” Y/N said, even if she cursed the slowness of her letters to the Eyrie so many times, it felt like a mantra. She touched Lyanna’s shoulder. “Let’s ready for supper, Lyanna. You’ve been riding a long time.”

Lyanna only reluctantly went along with her. After dinner, they changed into their nightgowns and brushed each other’s hair, as usual, but there was no laughter and joking this time. When they huddled under the furs, Lyanna faced away, still deep in her thoughts. Y/N didn’t know what else to say, if anything at all would help, so she closed her eyes.

“What are you reading?” Benjen’s long hair swung back and forth as he hung upside down. Y/N looked up, wondering when he managed to scramble right above her. Just a few minutes ago he was struggling to get on the first branch.

“A letter,” Y/N said, “Although I think you already knew that.”

Benjen grinned. “I did, and I know who it’s from.” He swung back up on the branch and easily moved himself to a standing position. He reached for another branch and lifted himself with ease, starting his disappearance into the leaves. With each branch he climbed, a few leaves fell down. Y/N pulled one from her hair.

She rested against the trunk and returned to her letter. Ned was writing about Robert’s attempt at jousting. He much preferred the melee, but ladies preferred the jousting, he said. Y/N was pleased Ned stayed out of all that. He also tried to doodle a little manta ray, in response to the direwolves and cats and deer she often drew on the margins of her letters. They were… arrow-y looking. Close enough.

I’ll have to pick up some skills from you the next time we meet. I don’t think I’d be a good student, but just watching you paint with my own eyes would be enough. You’ve written about it before, but I think hearing you talk about it would be much different. I want to you to tell me.

Y/N closed the letter hastily, wondering if her beating heart and sweaty palms were showing on her face. She glanced around and caught eyes with Brandon. She kept noticing his staring in the past hour, even though he was across the training yard trying to practice. It was a little strange. Are there leaves in my hair again? She touched her hair from the top of her head to her pearl. Brandon seemed annoyed, so she’d prefer he kept his gaze to himself.

The tree branches shook above her, and she heard feet scuffling around. “Ben, be careful!” Y/N called upward. “You shouldn’t climb so high!”

Benjen either didn’t hear her, or was pretending to not hear. Y/N sighed, folding her letter, stashing it in her belt and standing up. She craned her head, trying to spy the wiry boy through the leaves. He may have been a year younger, but she fretted over him from time to time, thinking of her little brothers back in Whitetide.

“Maybe he’ll climb high enough to catch a cloud and float away.” Brandon was beside her before she knew it, and Y/N was glad he didn’t seem as bothered as she thought. On the contrary, he was amused.

“Maybe,” Y/N giggled. She heard more rattling, but it didn’t sound like leaves. It was metal chains, and coming from a different direction. Behind the two of them, the maester approached them as fast as he could, the old man breathing hard as the chains swayed around his neck. He didn’t seem to care about the mud dirtying the end of his robes.

“What’s happened?” Brandon asked while the maester tried to catch his breath. In all the years she’d been here, Y/N had never seen the man so harried, and it seemed neither had Brandon. For a panicked, irrational moment, Y/N thought there was a raven from Whitetide. Dark wings, dark words.

“Lady… Lady Stark has … a … an illness.” The maester took a deep breath, attempting to compose himself. “She has been … weak, as you know, but … it’s far worse than I thought. She needs to be kept apart from everyone else at the Keep. When was the last time you spoke with her, children?”

Brandon took a moment to respond. “This morning, I talked with her, she— she hugged me, but —”

The maester shook his head. “And you, Lady Y/N?”

“Last night, at dinner,” Y/N said quietly. “She took my hand…”

She remembered the kind gesture, and now weary and pale Lady Stark looked. That night, her eyes looked especially tired. She’d begun to hold onto her husband or one of the servants when she walked to and from her room, the place she stayed in the most nowadays. No one seemed to want to talk about her worsening condition, not even the Lady herself. Out of respect to her, no one mentioned it openly.

The leaves danced around them as Benjen swooped down from a low branch. “Can’t we see her?”

“I just said you cannot,” The maester said. “She will be kept away from here on, and we will burn her things and anything she has come in contact with. Now, if the three of you will come with me, I’ve already spoken with Lord Stark and Lyanna…”

Lady Lyarra Stark died within a week. The children heard of the passing suddenly, as her husband was the only one who could visit her through her last days. No amount of guards or a maester’s lecturing would keep Lord Stark from her bedside.

Y/N stood next to Lyanna at the funeral, allowing her friend to clutch her as they all prayed in the godswood. Lady Stark’s bones had been kept in a beautifully engraved wooden chest, and they would be moved to a place of honor in the crypts, but that was little comfort to the children she left behind.

Y/N said some prayers aloud, mouthed others, but kept her head down the entire time. She heard the servants of Winterfell crying and praying, and clearer than that, Lyanna’s crying into the fur draped around Y/N’s shoulder. Her voice was muffled, but Y/N could still feel her body shaking. Y/N herself was trying to keep her tears from rolling down her face. The warmth of them stung her cold cheeks terribly.

Benjen was quiet on the other side of her, staring up at the red leaves like he was in a daze. Brandon seethed beside his father, who was as old as the stone lords in the crypts. Y/N was anxious to see Lord Stark’s expression, knowing it would either scare her or make her tears come faster.

The Starks stayed behind to keep vigil while the servants and guards returned to the keep. Y/N didn’t know how long she stayed kneeling in the snow. She listened to Lyanna’s quieting tears and remembering the kindnesses Lady Stark had given her. Anytime Y/N missed her own mother, Lady Stark was ready to speak with her, to teach her something, or hold her for a while. Y/N couldn’t imagine how the others felt. She thought of her mother now, safe in Whitetide, and desperately wished she could see her.

“Return to the keep,” Lord Stark said after some time. Y/N still didn’t know how long they’d been outside. “All of you.”

“Father —” Brandon started.

“Go.”

Their lord father’s voice was hoarse and hard. He didn’t look at any of his children as they slowly stood around him. Y/N’s legs had gone completely numb from both the cold and kneeling. She wobbled, and Lyanna tried to help her stay upright, no doubt just as weak-legged herself. Benjen found his way to his sister’s side, holding onto her like she held onto Y/N. It reminded Y/N of when he was younger, tagging alongside the two of them.

Y/N glanced back, noticing that Brandon was still trying to linger by his father. She didn’t know if they exchanged words, but eventually Brandon caught up to them as they walked back to the keep.

They all walked slowly, and the Winterfell that greeted them was eerily quiet. The kitchen staff worked with no cheer or haste, the smith’s anvil was quiet, there were no carts or wagons being pulled through the gate. At the feast hall, the candles were burning low, and there was only one servant tending to the cleaning the floors. Her scrubbing was interrupted by intermittent sniffling.

Ned couldn’t be here, Y/N thought not for the first time. Her heart sunk into her gut, making her feel sick. She knew the others were thinking the same. What could I say? What could I possibly say?

She mechanically walked to the main parlor, sitting down at the windowsill. Lyanna sat by the hearth, Benjen sat beside his sister, and Brandon had split off from them quickly. Y/N looked out the window, glad it faced away from the Godswood. She had a feeling if it did, she’d see Lord Stark still kneeling in the snow. She recalled Ned told her the Eyrie’s godswood was more of a little forest, and her heart ached even further. It almost made her cry again. How are the gods supposed to watch over him? Or hear him when he’s in trouble?

She would wait for Lord Stark to send word, if it hadn’t already been done, then she’d send a letter to Ned herself. She’d paint something, too, something special. She’d do anything, if only she knew what that was. Why couldn’t he be here? Y/N rubbed at her raw eyes and rested her head against the cool glass of the window, letting the chill hit her dizzying, exhausted head.

Y/N stirred and sat up slowly. Her head was aching from the awkward angle she fell asleep at. She squinted out the window, but there was only darkness. Across the room, the fire was low, and a chill was settling in the room. Y/N pulled her fur cloak closer around her and shivered. Where was everyone?

She slipped off the windowsill and wandered the halls. If it was dinnertime, no one woke her up, and she didn’t smell meats cooking as she entered the great hall. Y/N stepped outside into the fresh snow, wondering if the day had all been a terrible dream.

It wasn’t, though, and she couldn’t hide from it. People died all the time, especially women and children. If it wasn’t this sickness, Lady Stark may have died in childbirth. That was a far more common fate, something Y/N would have to worry about herself one day. Some day soon.

She sighed heavily and hesitated at the edge of the godswood. The darkness was all around her, with the warmth and light of Winterfell far behind. She took a step forward, letting her boot sink into the snow. The moon was waning, giving off the slightest light. The white bark of the trees and the snow glowed on a full moon, but tonight, they disappeared.

One foot in front of the other, the snow crunched below Y/N’s feet. She kept thinking about Ned, imagining his expression, what he would say — she would never know, of course, and that made it worse. She could only write and draw, there was no holding and comforting. The thought of holding him hit her so strongly, her body ached. Lady Stark held her when she worried about her uncle at sea, when she caught sick or when she hurt herself. Y/N wanted to hold Ned like that, even if he was far bigger than she. Maybe this was a stupid, girlish, childish thought. Maybe it was, but stupid words on paper didn’t seem like enough.

There was a clear path that let to the heart tree, but the darkness didn’t help her navigate, a strange noise did. It made her jump at first, but there were no wolves in these woods. She listened carefully. There was the distinct sound of someone shuffling around in the snow, like they were standing up. Y/N anxiously wondered if it was Lord Stark. No, he can’t be here still. It’s been half a day …

She jumped out of her skin when she heard a voice call out, echoing off the snow and the trees. “Who goes there?!”

“I-It’s only me,” Y/N started, ready to apologize to Lord Stark, but the voice sounded off. Too young, too angry. “…Brandon? Is that you?”

The person didn’t respond, but she heard boots trudging clumsily through the snow. She felt a presence next to her, and finally she could see his outline. Y/N reached forward and was surprised to not touch a fur cloak or thick surcoat, but a fairly thin tunic that was frigid cold, and the stiff muscles underneath it. Brandon didn’t flinch away from her, so she kept her hold on his forearms.

“Brandon, come inside.” Y/N said. Her own voice was weak, she realized, and she was already shivering. “It’ll get colder, and it’s already so dark. How long have you been here?”

Brandon sniffled, both from the cold and the tears, she assumed. “Father hasn’t come in. I was waiting …”

Y/N shook her head. He must have come right outside after realizing it was dark and Lord Stark still hadn’t returned to the keep. “You can’t stay out here all night. Come inside. Please?”

Brandon didn’t seem easy on his feet, and he was trying to keep his teeth from chattering. “I-I have a vigil to keep. I have to — father is, s-so I should at least try…”

“You’re cold, and exhausted, besides. You ran out here without anything, you fool. Why aren’t you wearing a cloak?”

He mumbled something in return. Y/N pulled the tall boy toward her, wanting to urge him toward the light in the distance. She was ready to give him her modest cloak, just enough to serve until they reached the warmth of Winterfell, but then he wrapped his arms around her. Y/N let out a noise of surprise as his head slumped on her shoulder. Brandon was heavy, but she kept steady. For a moment, it was all still: The godswood around them, Brandon in her arms, the night above them.

Y/N was about to speak, but then she heard a noise, like a deep gasp. Brandon shook from the cold and his own emotion. Y/N wrapped her arms around his shoulders and let him cry.

Robert shook his leg impatiently, causing the thick heel of his boot to tap against the floor again and again. Normally Lord Arryn would chastise him for his restlessness, but the two of them had been quiet for days. Robert didn’t like quiet, or gloominess. He didn’t want to stay like this a minute longer.

“Has he left his room yet?” Robert asked for the third time.

“Be patient, Robert.” Lord Arryn replied expectedly. “Recall that terrible day you endured.”

He didn’t have to recall his own parents’ demise. Robert thought about it often, a wound that was still fresh, and it only closed up when he drank enough or when a pretty girl sat by him. It’d come back afterward, though, and then he had Ned to talk to.

He shouldn’t have to go through the same thing, Robert thought irritably. The worst part is, he knew Ned wouldn’t want a drink or a pretty girl, or a fight, or a new horse. He would just sit in his own sorrow, brooding in that way he did. The young Baratheon huffed, shifting his restless energy to tapping his fingers on the table. Ned was always talking him out of trouble and listening to his worries — the only person he’d ever spoken to about them. But what did Robert ever do for him?

The Baratheon heir growled in frustration and stood from his seat abruptly. Lord Arryn only glanced up a moment, but Robert was already gone.

He barged into Ned’s room, and was half disappointed Ned wasn’t there — he’d been sitting vigil at the Eyrie’s godswood for too damned long, but that made this next part easier. Ned had several of his girl’s paintings up around his desk, where anyone could see them, but Robert knew where he kept the letters. He opened the bottom drawer and in a wooden box with the direwolf sigil, and there they were.

Robert had read some before. Sometimes Ned would read things aloud, sometimes Robert snuck in here, but they were never that exciting. Always talking about Winterfell or what the horses were doing, nothing salacious like a proper love letter should be. Still, they made Ned happy. Robert picked a few out and tucked them carefully in his doublet.

The grass crunched under his boots as he entered the godswood. The fiery red leaves and snow-white bark looked out of place amongst the rocky Eyrie, he always thought, especially when there was bright green grass and regular trees around the weirwoods. He spotted Ned at the same place he’d been for hours, kneeling. His head was lowered slightly, some of his long brown hair falling around him, and Robert wondered if he was asleep. Then Ned raised his head and turned it.

“Robert?”

“Brought you something.” Robert said. Ned wasn’t getting up, so he awkwardly knelt beside him. Gods, it was murder on the knees, and even in that position he was far taller than Ned. Robert retrieved the letters from his doublet and handed them over.

Ned looked at them with hope, then confusion.

“They aren’t new,” Robert said, chuckling. “I just … I remembered you liked these ones. Y/N was writing something about a festival? And Lyanna stole a sword off your brother. Y/N wrote about her dress, and something about a horse…”

He trailed off, wondering if this was a stupid idea. He was terrible at this. These were the letters with the most pictures, giving life to what Y/N wrote about, as clear as any maester’s history book. Ned stared at the papers in his hands, lightly touching a rare self-portrait Y/N had done of her new gown.

I worked on it for two weeks, although your lady mother helped me several times over. It’s the first one I’ve sewn by myself, and I hope I do it justice. This may not be interesting to you, but I’m proud. It’s cerulean and white.

Lyanna wanted me to draw her with Brandon’s sword. She thinks it’s very funny. ‘How can he call himself a lord when he can’t keep hold of his own sword?’ I thought Benjen was the thief, but Lyanna can be just as clever. It took him all day to realize she’d replaced his with a dull training sword.

Do you remember when you found my pearl? You couldn’t forget, I know, but I still think about it when remove it to brush my hair. I’ll never forget that kindness, Ned.

He smiled for the first time in a week. To Robert’s excitement, he made an expression for the first time in days.

“You can go back home,” Robert offered, wanting to keep the mood up. “Even if it’s just for a short time.”

They were men grown, ten and seven years old. If anything, they should have left the Eyrie by now. Both of them knew it was only a matter of time, though Robert didn’t want to go back to Storm’s End after all these years, having to finally take his lordly duties seriously. Ned was a second son, his duty would be commanding the household guard or visiting with minor houses.

Robert had a feeling if Ned left now, he wouldn’t come back to the Eyrie.

“Perhaps.” The Stark said quietly.

Their easy days had to end eventually. Why did it have to be on such a damned sad note?

Robert looked up at the heart tree. Its eerie, foreign face stared down at him. He had no prayers to give, only a quiet request that when Ned returned to Winterfell, it would be safely. The only noise for a long time was the wind rustling the branches of the white trees and the shuffling of the letters as Ned re-read them.

#ned stark x reader #game of thrones x reader #salt & snow #libra fics #i just realized all the summaries of this fic hint at something sad happening LOL

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atths--twice · 3 years

Link

Chapter Four

Sunday afternoon, two days after they had dined together, Dana and Fox were strolling through the marketplace, looking at the many wares people had to sell. She was carrying a basket and had already purchased a few pieces of fruit he had never seen before. He had offered to pay for them seeing as it was he who had asked her to join him, but she would not hear of it.

Since he had last seen her, he had begun a quest to learn all he could in regards to Kha’ari. He had read what was available in his room, venturing back downstairs when he had finished, looking in the larger library for more information. He had found only one book and the description of her had been more informative, but not enough.

Saturday he had gone to the library in town and spent the majority of the day within its walls, hunting for even more information. Copying down what he had learned into his journal, he had begun to gain an idea of who that goddess was and also was pained to think of why Dana had been so drawn to her.

He had thought of her hand grazing her throat, touching the chain and locket, wondering about the picture held inside. Was it a lover? Her husband? She wore no ring, so he could not be sure. Whatever had transpired, the source of it included the contents of that locket.

“Have you had any other adventures since I last saw you?” Dana asked with a smile. “Any new sketches to share?” He chuckled and shook his head.

“No. Not any new sketches, but I have been researching Kha’ari.” She stopped walking and he saw a look of shock on her face.

“You have?” she asked and he nodded, taking her arm and moving forward as a man with a wagon attempted to pass by.

“Your account of her intrigued me along with the fact that I seemed to have completely glossed over her existence among the other goddesses.”

“It’s understandable, as I did the same,” she said with a nod. “What did you find out?”

“Quite a bit. She’s actually incredibly interesting. Many of the gods and goddesses had a scale of measure it seemed. The goddess Ammit, for example, devoured the hearts of souls who were not justified by Osiris. A scale of worth.”

“True, but it’s similar to most religions. The concept of heaven or hell, where a soul will reside, is dependent on your behavior and belief in the higher power.” He nodded with a smile and a tilt of his head, asking her a silent question. “I was raised catholic, though… I’m questioning some things these days.” She sighed and removed her arm from his, switching her basket to that hand.

“Yes, they are similar. But with Kha’ari,” he said as she stopped and spoke to a woman, picking out more fruit. “She was one who accepted all, turned no one away, and took on their pain, demanding or expecting nothing in return.”

“Yes,” Dana said, thanking the woman with a smile and a nod. “Yet many people brought offerings and gifts for their thankfulness.”

“Understandable,” he said. “Without the show of appreciation, they may have felt that pain and suffering would come to them again.”

“Yes,” she said again, softly, her hand once more going to her throat for a brief second.

“I would like to ask something of you,” he said, his heart rate increasing with his worry at what her response would be to his question.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to know if you would consider… being my guide, your knowledge of her being greater than my own.” He watched her profile and saw when she understood his words. She turned her head and looked at him with an expression he could not read. Incredulity? Fear? Anger? He did not know.

“You… you can’t be serious,” she said, shaking her head. “I… it’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“Why?” she repeated with a bitter laugh, her anger now more than obvious. Walking through an archway and away from the marketplace, he quickened his steps to keep up with her.

“Why are you angry with me?” he asked, not understanding what happened.

“I’m not angry. Well… I don’t know if I am. No, I am angry with you.” She stopped walking and stared at him, her entire countenance exuding her anger. “How dare you… to suggest…” She shook her head, words failing her.

“I… I thought you would be pleased,” he replied honestly, surprised at her words.

“Pleased? No, I am not.”

“Why?”

“Do you have permission? Do you have a team of people? A plan? Have you any of that?” She stared at him, her eyebrows raised and he shook his head.

“No.”

“No. You haven’t. And yet you ask me, a stranger, and a woman, to traipse off into the desert with you, alone, to find something of which you knew nothing two days ago.”

“I… Miss Scully,” he said, choosing to not use her first name, showing his respect to her. “Please know I meant no harm or disrespect. Honestly that thought never even entered my mind.” He shook his head again with a shrug of his shoulders. “I only meant that I see the appeal of such a discovery, and I would like to conduct a search, though only with your assistance.”

Her anger, which had risen quickly, was cooling as he saw her relax, her shoulders dropping as a breath was released. She swallowed and closed her eyes briefly, pressing her lips together.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her slightly wet eyes on his own. “I’ve wanted to search for it for so long, but I also know it’s impossible.”

“Begging your pardon,” he said quietly. “Without meaning to offend… for you it may be, but not I.” She stared at him and he continued. “You hinted at it the other night. I have considerable wealth, thanks to my family, my father specifically. I have no wife, no children, and unless I change my bachelor ways, it may always be so. I haven’t… I’ve had…” He cleared his throat and sighed deeply, not wanting to share his past hardships and pain. “I want to do this and I will work to find a way to make it happen. If I am able, will you join me?” She took a deep breath, looked around as she let it out. He waited, understanding the weight of his question.

“Can… can I have some time? It’s all so much so quickly and I…” She looked at him, beseeching him to understand.

“Of course. I understand the hesitancy. It will be some work and so…” He nodded with a smile and she released a deep breath.

“Thank you. I… thank you.” She looked around and spotted a bench. “Would you like to try some of this fruit?” Gesturing to her basket, he nodded with a smile, the awkwardness of the discussion pushed aside.

For now.

_______________________

Over the next couple of weeks, he saw less of Dana, both because she seemed to have pulled away from him, not returning quick informative letters of updates to his plan which he sent to her flat, and he was inquiring how he could gain permission to claim a dig site.

Told different information from many people, he decided to act as he believed he should have from the beginning, and speak to the person in charge of the museum.

He dressed carefully the day he visited, wanting to convey his wealth, something he never paid much attention to, it simply being a part of him. He was not a man who flaunted it, wanting others to see him and not his money. But in this instance, if they saw him as being beneficial, he would do what he could to acquire what he wanted.

Waiting outside of the office of a man named Jean Badeaux, he rehearsed his speech once again in his head. Key points were hit and then the door opened, his heart racing as he stepped forward to plead his case.

It did not go as he had planned.

Jean Badeaux was a man of sixty, loud, large, and obnoxious. Fox did not like him, finding his manner crude and embarrassing. He knew, however, that Mr. Badeaux held the key to his future plans and thus he remained relatively silent while in his company.

When Fox told him of his desire to discover the temple of the goddess Kha’ari, Jean Badeaux laughed heartily and shook his head.

“There is not a temple erected to the goddess Kha’ari, Mr. Mulder. I do not know where you heard that it was a possibility.”

“I believe it is true,” Fox said, standing his ground.

“You can believe as you like, sir, but it’s simply not true.”

They stared at one another and Fox once again stated that he believed himself to be correct. Mr. Badeaux shook his head, looked at his pocket watch before sticking out his hand, dismissing Fox with a condescending smile.

He stood, but instead of accepting his hand, Fox reached into his coat pocket and took out his pocketbook, his eyes on Mr. Badeaux.

“Could your museum do with a donation? A quite… large donation?” Fox asked and Mr. Badeaux stared at him, his eyes falling to the check which Fox knew was within his view. Giving him a curt nod of acceptance, Fox knew the matter had been solved.

The amount was large, but to him it was worth every cent if he could have a chance to find his purpose, and most importantly, if Dana could fulfill what she believed to be an impossible dream.

Leaving the office, a letter of approval in his pocketbook, he walked downstairs, pacing in front of the door which led to the staircase to the research office. He debated internally whether he should bother her while she was working again, especially as they had not had any contact recently.

But this information, the excitement of it, could not be contained to a letter. He was sure that his penned words would never be able to suffice the happiness he felt.

Looking around, he quickly opened the door and walked down the stairs, down the long hallway, turned left and arrived at the glass door marked ‘Research.’

Pacing again, he looked down the hall, feeling he would be caught at any moment and ordered to leave. He clenched his jaw and nodded his head. A hand on the doorknob, he looked through the glass and saw Dana staring at him.

She was a few feet away, but he could see her eyes widen as she glanced to her right, her fellow researcher walking past and not noticing him, Dana saying something to her which he could not hear. She shook her head as she began to step closer to the door, the blue cap covering her hair making her eyes seem even bluer.

He waited for her to open the door, trying to calm his racing heart. When the knob turned, she stepped through it quickly and motioned for him to be quiet and to follow her. He did with a nod and they walked down the hall to a door which she opened, revealing a decent sized supply closet with brooms and mops. She closed the door and they were plunged into darkness.

“Uhh, sorry.” Opening the door, she took the matches and lit the lamp hanging from the ceiling and closed the door again, staring up at him expectantly. “What are you doing here now?”

“I had an appointment.”

“An appointment.”

“Yes.”

“With whom?”

“Jean Badeaux.” Her eyes widened again and she looked down, shaking her head.

“Mr. Badeaux, the man in charge of this entire museum?”

“Yes.” Looking up at him, she let out a breath before licking her lips. “I told you I would find a way.”

“And have you?” He smiled slowly with a nod. “No. Are you serious?” She seemed near shock and he smiled wider.

“I am exceedingly serious.”

“You… how?”

“It’s amazing what a donation to the museum can do to help a person’s cause along.”

She stared at him and then she began to laugh, stunning him and rooting him in place; he had never heard her laugh in that manner. When she calmed, she shook her head.

“And he took it of course? That man is nothing if not greedy.”

“And if we find something, he gains praise and attention. If we fail… he gains a donation and he doesn’t need to get his hands dirty.”

“We?” she asked softly, and he nodded.

“I did not mention you to him, did not speak of you at all,” he assured her. “But my offer, my plan in my mind includes you. I don’t… I don’t have an idea of where to start, but I know you do. It would be a strictly professional relationship. I will employ you, so you will not be lacking monetarily.” He wanted to say more, but left it there, letting it be her decision.

She took a deep breath, crossing her arms as she dropped her head. He waited, nearly certain her answer would be no, fear holding her back even as he knew she ached to go. She sniffled twice and then raised her head, a hand at her throat, her eyes wet.

“When can we leave?” she whispered, wiping her eyes.

He grinned slowly as she laughed and cried simultaneously, his laughter soon joining hers.

#The X-Files #XF Fanfic #Alternate Universe #Historical AU #New Friends #Planning #Archaeology #Gods and Goddesses

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shadow-assassin-blix · 3 years

Text

Parent Trap

PART 2

Marcus Moreno x Reader

It’s hereeee! Children’s shenanigans. Yearning. A kiss.

The Artist

The rest of the week went smoothly. Artemis was very excited to have a new friend and talked about Missy often.

Friday came around, and Shade had to inform the school that she was running late in picking Artemis up. A seller was taking his sweet time, in trying to decide which of the 2 pieces he wanted, before deciding he didn’t want either.

She was annoyed; it wasn’t uncommon for a seller to act like they wanted her work before making up some excuse as to why they were no longer interested. Nor was it uncommon for a person to try and haggle for lower prices, claiming ‘you should be grateful someone even wants your business.’

She was tired to say the least.

She finally, after 45 minutes, pulled up to the school, and made her way to Artemis’s class to pick her up. She was surprised when she saw Missy sitting with her.

“Missy? What are you still doing here honey?” Shade asked concerned.

“My dad’s running late, but I have no way of contacting him to find out what’s going on,” She admitted quietly.

Shade nodded in understanding, before pulling out her phone. Marcus had made sure to give her his number the other day when they saw each other dropping their kids off.

She called him. It took about 4 rings, before he answered, out of breath “Hey Shade.”

“Hey. So. I’m here with Artemis and Missy, are you uhh.. on your way hon?” She asked politely.

She hears him swear in the background before stating, “I promise I didn’t forget about her. It appears that someone has changed every clock I know. I haven’t been able to tell time for 90% of the day.”

“Haven’t been able to tell time eh? Funny. Had something similar happen the other morning when my alarm went off an hour early. Weird how these clocks… have just magically changed for both of us,” She noted staring at the two girls suspiciously.

Both of them shrugged acting like they have no idea what she was talking about, before looking away.

“Listen, can you tell Missy I am on my way, I swear,” He requested with a sigh.

“How about this… How about I take Missy home with me, and she can stay the night? In the morning, you can bring her a change of clothes, and pick us all up for our date,” She offered with a smile.

“Are... are you sure? It’s no problem for me to come and get her, it would just be a few minutes?” He questioned hesitantly.

“It’s not a problem. We will see you in the morning, yeah?” She assured.

“Sounds good, can I talk to Missy real quick?” He politely asked.

She handed her phone over to her, and they talked for a moment before she hung.

“Alright. Let’s get outta here,” She nodded her head toward the door.

The girls grabbed their things and the three of them were off.

She gets them home and told them to get to work on their homework. She checked on dinner that was cooking in the crockpot. It was crockpot chicken and noodles.

The girls finished up their homework and were currently helping her set the table an hour later. They were both giggling and whispering to one another.

“Alright you two, enough with the whisper party. Go wash your hands, while I serve up dinner,” She tells them, shaking her head.

She grabbed their bowls and ladled them a healthy portion for all of them. She had made some fruit salad to go with it and gave them a small plate of it.

By the time their plates were ready, the girls were bouncing back into the dining room. They took their seats, and she joined them.

Missy began asking questions about Shade’s work.

“So, what kind of art do you do?” Missy politely asked.

“I do mostly pencil sketches and paint occasionally even though I don’t think I’m very good at it. Been working on some new stuff, but... Mh. not sure how I feel about it so far,” Shade explained to her.

“Ooh. What kind of new stuff?” Missy asked excitedly.

Shade went to wave it off as nothing when Artemis piped up, “She’s been drawing the Heroics and their most famous battles! Kinda like a comicbook! It’s so cool!”

“What!? That’s awesome! Can I see it sometime? I mean. If you’re okay with it?” Missy asked amazed.

“Hmm. Possibly. If…” Shade began.

“If what?” Missy questioned.

“If… you promise to fix your dad’s clocks, and not mess with them again. I understand that both of you are excited to be friends and want us to get along too, but messing with clocks and alarms is not okay,” She bargained looking at both of them.

They both looked down, wincing as they mumbled apologies and swearing that they would fix things.

“Apology accepted. Finish eating and I’ll show you my workshop,” She stated with a smile.

Both of them perked back up and began eating again happily.

Once they all had eaten and cleaned up, Shade led them to her workshop. She slid opened the double doors and presented it to Missy.

There were several desks, covered in pencils, graphite and colored, pens, paints, and brushes. There was an easel and some blank canvases resting in a corner. She walked over to one of her sketch books and opened it about midway.

“Just, uh, don’t touch the ink too much. It takes a long time to dry,” She informed them setting it down on the small table where Artemis held her art supplies.

Missy was amazed. She stared at all of the drawings of Miracle Guy, Sharkboy & Lavagirl, Tech-No, and many other Heroics. She noticed one thing though.

“You haven’t drawn my dad yet?” She mentioned looking up at her.

“No. I haven’t. I for whatever reason… cannot seem to draw him. Every time I do, I worry I’ll mess it up. Your dad meant a great deal to me at one point,” Shade tells her, thinking fondly of Marcus.

Missy and Artemis looked at each other, a plan forming.

They spoke a little more about art and what Shade does before the girls ran upstairs to go play.

Or so Shade thought…

The Hero

Marcus was finishing up some paperwork that had piled up over the week when Miracle Guy stepped into his office.

“What are you still doing here, man? Shouldn’t you be at home? With your kid?” Miracle asked him.

“Can ask you the same thing, MG?” Marcus countered, referring to his nickname.

“Had a job I just came from. Mission report. Saw your light was still on, figured I should check on our fearless leader,” Miracle lightly teased.

Marcus simply hummed in response.

“So. What’s been going on with you? You’ve been jittery all week. I had thought it had something to do with the incident at Missy’s school, but now… not so sure,” Miracle brought up, sitting across from Marcus.

“Remember… when we first started out? I was with that artist?” Marcus began, biting his lip.

“Yeah. The really pretty one, that you wound up breaking up with, right?” Miracle recalled.

“Mh. Her daughter is now best friends with my daughter… and we have a date tomorrow… and I honestly… don’t know how I feel,” Marcus confessed, setting his pen down, the report no longer distracting him.

“Wh-… What? Seriously? Wow. What a small world? I mean… this is the first time you’ve gone out since Isabelle died right? I think it’s only natural that you’re nervous. But… it’s also with someone you’ve been with. I doubt she’s changed that much in 15 years,” Miracle noted with a shrug.

“Yeah. I just… hmm. I don’t know. I am nervous… but I’m also…excited? Happy? I mean… I wanted to marry this girl back in college, but life… got in the way. I guess… I’m just worried I’ll mess it up,” Marcus admitted with a sigh.

“Oh? You never told me that part? Listen. It’s one date. If you don’t feel sparks fly or whatever then, it’s not meant to be. But if you do, explore it. You deserve to be happy Marcus,” Miracle stated.

Marcus opened his mouth to reply when his phone rang.

He answers noticing it was Shade’s number.

“Hey, what’s-” He began.

“Dad! You should get over here! Like quickly! As fast as possible!” Missy voice came, rushed.

Marcus goes to question her, but the line ends.

Marcus quickly gets up, grabs his things and runs out to his car. The drive under normal circumstances was 20 minutes, but he was there in half that time.

He ran up to the door, banging on it, panicked.

When the door opened, Shade stood there, looking extremely confused.

“Marcus?” She greeted staring at him concerned.

“Are the girls okay? Missy called and told me I should get here,” Marcus explained quickly.

“Yes. They’re fine. They went upstairs to play?” She answered still confused.

“But they had your phone? And she sounded worried?” Marcus recalled the phone call.

She suddenly patted her pockets, looking around trying to find her phone.

The Artist

It slowly dawned on her what happened.

“GIRLS! GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW” She yelled up the stairs.

A moment passed, and neither of them heard movement.

“I am so sorry Marcus. Artemis… must have grabbed my phone while I wasn’t looking,” She apologized, moving to go upstairs.

Marcus stopped her.

“Hey, so long as everyone is okay. Even though a CERTAIN YOUNG LADY IS GROUNDED. I’m sorry for almost busting your door down with my knocking,” He tells her, shouting part of his sentence up the stairs.

A loud groan could be heard in response.

“AS IS ANOTHER CERTAIN YOUNG LADY,” Shade mentioned loudly.

Cue another loud groan.

“Would… would you like some water?” Shade offered, twirling a lock of her hair.

“Yes. I would actually,” Marcus accepted gratefully.

The two of them stepped into her kitchen. Shade grabbed him a glass and filled it with water, before handing it to him. He downed about half of it, before setting it back down, wiping his mouth.

“So. What… what happened?” Marcus asked trying to understand.

She thought about it, trying to retrace the evening.

“Oh…. I showed them…some of my artwork… and Missy asked me why I hadn’t drawn you yet,” She realized.

“Oh? Ahem. So… Why…Why haven’t you drawn me yet?” He asked hesitantly and trying to hide his curiosity.

“I told her it was because… I was worried I would mess it up and that you meant a great deal to me… which is somewhat true… I have drawn you…but I always feel like… they didn’t do you justice,” She quietly admitted to him, not making eye contact. “Kind of hard to draw someone you were in love with for years. Especially when those feelings never quite went away.”

The Hero

He was surprised to hear that. He didn’t quite know how to respond. He did… know one thing though.

He moved around the island over to her.

“Forgive me… if this is too forward,” He whispered to her.

He gently cupped her face into his hands, and pressed a small, hesitant kiss to her lips. When she didn’t pull away or slap him, he kissed her again, but just a smidge longer.

He felt her arms move, sliding around his neck. He was extremely relieved when he felt her kiss him back. He lightly pinned her against her the island, his hands moving to her waist. They wrapped around her, pulling her close.

Their kiss lasted for a minute and would’ve gone longer if it weren’t for the fact that they heard giggles coming from the stairway.

They pulled away slowly.

“I told you that my daughter’s favorite movie was the Parent Trap, right? We’ve been Parent Trapped,” She whispered against his lips.

“You also said her number one favorite was The Mummy, which I guess it’s a good thing they didn’t unleash an unspeakable evil to get us together,” Marcus joked.

“This is true. You 2 are still grounded by the way, and Mrs. Moreno will be informed of that fact tomorrow when we leave you with her to go on our date,” She threw over shoulder.

There was a sound of 2 pairs of feet scurrying back upstairs.

“You… you still want to go out tomorrow?” Marcus inquired, hopeful.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. If you still want to,” She mentioned, biting her lip.

“Yeah. I do. Though… I think I should go grab my little delinquent, and take her home, so you can sleep without anymore “emergencies.” Plus, I apparently need to talk to her about boundaries,” Marcus noted as he slowly stepped away from her.

“Yeah. I apparently have to have a similar conversation. We’ll see you tomorrow?” She said with a smile.

“Yeah. Tomorrow. Umm. Just one last thing,” Marcus hurriedly said.

He pulled her into another kiss, that she returned with a sigh.

When he finally pulled away again, he simply said, “One wasn’t enough.”

He called for Missy to come downstairs and get her things. He told her that a slumber party will have to wait for another time. As he took Missy home, he couldn’t help the smile on his face, as he thought about Shade.

He knew his evening was far from over, but he couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #we can be heroes #parent trap au

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sevlgi · 4 years

Text

patient

requested: yes

group: mamamoo

pairing: hwasa x fem!reader

genre: fluff

contents: tattoo artist!hwasa, flustered!reader [15/33]

warnings: none

synopsis: It’s hard for you to be patient about your next tattoo session when your artist is so damn gorgeous.

a/n: um??? I love tattoo aus???? also don’t come at me for the name, I’m not creative

word count: 1.9k

“Elegant Chaos.”

You test the name out on your tongue, staring up at the slightly grimy neon sign of the shop. The entire front is one-way glass, so all you can see is your own reflection and the ones of the people bustling around you.

Before you can make up a decision to open the door to the store or not, someone else does; a pretty brunette woman steps out and smiles at you, crazy beautiful with full lips and crescent-eyes. “Hi. Can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah.” You show her the printed-out address your friend sent you and step a bit closer. “Is this a tattoo shop? I searched the address up but nothing resulted, I was referred by a friend.”

She barely takes a glance at the address before flashing another bright grin. “Oh, yep! This is our tattoo shop, we opened a couple months ago. It’s weird that we’re still not showing up, but oh, well. Want to come in?”

You barely register her quick words but step into the shop after her, the smell of rubbing alcohol, paper, and perfume vaguely stinging your nose. “I’m Solar, the receptionist,” she introduces, walking behind what you presume to be her desk. Out front, some teenagers talk quietly, a tall, dark-haired boy with a sleeve sipping at a banana milk.

“Cool. Uh, I’m Y/N. I don’t have an appointment, is that okay?”

Solar nods, tapping at her phone. “Sure. Jungkook over there is just waiting for Byul to finish her other client, and Wheein is prepping to pierce the kids. Hwasa’s our best artist, anyway, does that sound good?”

Her question startles you from staring at the intricate sketches taped all over the walls, the same 3 signatures stamped everywhere. “What?”

She laughs, though it’s not rude. “We have one artist left, Hwasa, but since you’re referred, you probably don’t have someone in mind, right? You can go to see her now, she’s free.”

“Great. Do I just...?” At Solar’s nod, you walk past her and into the back. The studio’s quite small, to be honest; there are 4 stations, two of them occupied. One of them, who you guess is Byul, is tattooing an elderly man, her sleeves rolled up to reveal the art on her bicep.

The second, probably Wheein, is wiping down her tools, and she’s the first to notice you. “Hi!” she grins, turning the music blasting from the radio down with her ungloved hand. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah. Solar mentioned that I should come find Hwasa,” you explain, eyes widening at the complicated art being tattooed on the elderly man. “Are you...?”

“No, I’m Wheein.” Ah, so you were right. “This is Byul, she’s a bit preoccupied,” Wheein smiles, dimples poking into her cheeks. “I’ll get Hye- sorry, Hwasa for you.”

She hurries out to the back, and you can hear talking through the open door, before she comes back, the woman you presume to be Hwasa behind her.

Instantly, you’re starstruck; she’s stunning in a way that’s completely unique, long dark hair and tanned skin contrasting beautifully. The only makeup she wears is a bold red lipstick, her tank top showing the delicate tattoos she has. “Hey, I’m Hwasa,” she greets, sticking her hand out. Her nails are long, too.

“Y/N.” You accept the handshake, trying not to stare. “Uh, Solar said you were free for a consultation?”

“Yeah.” She sits at one of the free stations, clearing the things scattered on the table. “So, what’re you looking for? Do you already have a design chosen or am I freehanding?”

You fumble in your bag for a piece of paper, sliding it over to Hwasa. “Um, this is just something my friend drew up for me. I want it pretty small, on my forearm.”

The dark-haired woman shrugs, unfolding the paper. “I could do that. Is this your first tattoo?”

Nodding, you watch as Hwasa taps her long, red-painted nails on the desk. “Okay. Is this part of a sleeve or by itself?”

“Uh, how long would each one take?” To be honest, you have no idea why you said that; you didn’t consider a sleeve at all, though you considered multiple tattoos or a large one. There’s just something about the other woman that makes it impossible for you to think.

She considers the question before answering, “Depends on the size and how many small ones you want to work in for the sleeve, but I’d recommend a separate session for each small square, so maybe 8 or 10. I’ll be done with this in less than 30 minutes, though, if it’s just the one.”

To be honest, the only thing causing you to consider a sleeve is getting to see Hwasa again, and you curse your own attraction to her when you blurt, “Maybe a sleeve? I have to think about the other ones I want to work in, though.”

“Okay. I can just do the one today, and we can schedule another day for you to come in and design the whole thing,” she offers, picking the sketch up. “I’ll go make this into a stencil, then.”

“Sure.”

When she takes the sketch and walks to the back room, you slump down in the chair and pivot to look at the others. You quickly realize how long you were talking with Hwasa; Byul is already working on the coconut-haired boy, and Wheein is already done with the teenagers.

She seems to be the outgoing type, and waves at you while sanitizing her needles and packing her kit up again. “So, how did it go? Are you going to start today?”

“I am, yep. You’re already done with the kids?”

Wheein nods, placing the studs back into their cases. “Yep. They just wanted more lobe piercings, it’s really easy. I’m a tattoo artist, too, but I think the kids like me more. Except for Jungkook over here, they think Byul’s intimidating.”

“I’m not!” the other woman protests, hands still steady as she works on the boy. Her voice is deeper than you’d expect. “You literally call me a hamster.”

Flapping a hand, Wheein flashes you her dimples again. “So, what do you think of Hwasa?”

“Huh?” you blink, brain basically short-circuiting. “Uh, she’s a good artist? I saw some of her sketches, yours too; you’re all really talented.”

“No, no, that’s not what I mean. Wait, you’re not straight, are you?” she narrows her eyes at you, scanning you from head to toe. “Maybe my sense is broken, I didn’t peg you for a...”

“I’m not. Straight. I’m a lesbian.” Your cheeks burn to say it aloud, though nobody really reacts, not even Jungkook. “Are you?”

Wheein shrugs, “I mean, I’m attracted to women. All 4 of us are- Hyejin, Byul, Yongsun. Solar, to you. And we make sure everyone who comes in is accepting, we won’t serve bigots.”

For whatever reason, you’re almost relieved to hear that Hwasa’s also attracted to women in some sense, even though it doesn’t necessarily mean that she’s attracted to you. “Oh. That’s cool.”

“Yeah. So, is it just one tattoo or a sleeve?” Her knowing smile puts you off a bit; how did she figure it out? “A lot of girls who come in here change their original idea because of Hyejin-ah. You’re obviously attracted to her, to, so it’s no surprise.”

“Is it really that obvious?” you groan, surprising yourself with how open you’re being about it. “Do you think she knows?”

“Probably,” Wheein giggles, nodding when Solar pokes her head in the studio to tell her something. “Anyway. I’ve got to go, good luck!”

She waves as she leaves, the only noise left in the studio being the quiet music and Jungkook’s quiet talking. He seems just as awkward as you are, lifting his free hand in a half wave.

You’re saved by Hwasa returning with a stencil. “Here. Does that look good?”

She’s modified the original design just the tiniest bit, making the lines a little bit darker and the shading simpler, and it looks... “Perfect.” You grin, a weight on your chest lifted by your conversation with Wheein. “Should we start?”

“Sure.” She brings you over to one of the actual tattoo stations, the seat already smelling sanitized. You can barely listen as she explains what the process will be like- cleaning, the actual tattooing, pain; you finally come to when she asks, “Are you ready?”

“I... yeah. I am.”

It’s quiet until the buzzing of the tattoo gun brings you to life, the tiniest bit of fear sour on your tongue. Hwasa looks concentrated as she peels the stencil off, not exactly reassuring, either. “So. Is there a meaning behind this?”

“Uh, not really. Are there meanings behind yours?” You gasp when the needle first touches your skin, the cold wipe taking off excess ink.

“I have some matching tattoos with Wheein,” Hwasa explains, smiling at the mention of the other girl. “Uh, one is Maria, my Christian name. Wheein has more, but all of us have some kind of meaning behind ours. It’s not bad to have no meaning, though.”

You wince as she continues with the linework, slowly getting used to the pain. “Are you and Wheein...”

She looks up, raising an eyebrow. “Together? No, we’re best friends. I haven’t been with someone in a few years.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Hwasa laughs, wiping your arm once again. “Nothing, I guess. I’m just patient enough to wait for the right person.”

“Patient. Right.”

Conversation flows smoothly, mostly light topics. You learn each other’s ages, and you’re told to call Hwasa ‘Hyejin’ instead. You learn when she got her first tattoo, and when she learned to tattoo others. The more you talk, the more drawn in you are, fascinated by her every word.

The half an hour is over far too fast. “Done,” she announces, smiling as she turns off her gun. “Take a look.”

It looks gorgeous, as expected, though Hwasa plays off your barrage of compliments. “Uh, should I pay now?”

She shrugs, placing saran wrap over your arm. “We’ll go talk with Solar about that, she’s better with pricing than I am. But it probably won’t be much.”

“What? Why?” you frown, examining the tattoo. Usually, discounts only happen when something goes wrong, or you have a coupon. You’re pretty sure neither of those things apply.

Hwasa pauses, turning to send you a small smirk. “Well, the cute ones usually pay less.”

Your heart practically stops, though you force yourself to walk to the front with her. “Besides, you’re probably coming back again soon, right?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah. I think so. When will that be? The next session, I mean.”

She frowns, tapping at the tablet Solar hands her. “You can come in as soon as you’re free to design it, if you want, but you have to wait a bit for the next session, especially if you’re doing the things close together. If you want, I can give you my number.”

At your stricken expression, Hwasa’s lips curve into a knowing smile. “So you can send me ideas, for the sleeve.”

“Ah, of course.” Your cheeks burn as you take out your cash, counting out a surprisingly small amount. “That sounds good. I guess I’ll just have to be patient, then.”

“I guess so. Call me, Y/N,” she smiles, handing your phone back with a new contact in.

Being patient is going to be so damn hard.

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black-metal-bard · 3 years

Text

A few WIPS of my party’s Waterdeep: Dragonheist characters

Eventually, she’s going to become a Necromancer(she killed what was supposed to be a mini-Boss with one shot of Vicious Mockery, so the DM let her take his spell book as loot. She’s going to multi class into Wizard at level 5 to represent the time she spent studying the book. This also made her signature phrase “Sticks and stones may break your bones but Words will Fucking Kill You.” As a Good Aligned Necromancer and Spirit Bard, she’ll often be raising corpses simply by asking spirits to inhabit them.

She’s actually the daughter of a human nobleman and a Tiefling servant, but she has no idea about her father, and doesn’t actually care. When she was born, her father saw her as a Curiosity to show off; The Demon Princess...a talking piece to show visiting dignitaries. Her mother, not wanting her daughter to essentially be an exotic pet, fled the castle with her as a baby. Her mother raised her in a communal society predominantly made up of Tieflings, but also a wildly varied assortment of abandoned children. She has a sister in the commune who is a Goblin.

Here she’s depicted in flat colors in her usual gear, her fancy gear, and her casual wear(what she generally wears around Trollskull)

Balasar: My husband’s Dragonborn* War Cleric. He was a soldier in a war fought largely against a Tiefling mercenary army, but he became disillusioned with the military after being ordered to do so many horrible things. Having no memories of his life before joining the army, he wanders alone for quite some time, becoming a Cleric to Odin so he can use his strength to help people, rather than hurting whoever the generals point his sword at. When he returned to Waterdeep(a place he has called home for a long time), he met Meliora, and mistook her distracted nature for naïveté and innocence. He took it upon himself to look out for her, and considers it part of his atonement for his sins in the military. She thinks he’s neat. She sees a death on his soul that even he’s unaware of, and given her innate pull toward the dead and undead, she’s drawn to that like a moth to the flame.

* Player knowledge vs Character Knowledge, Bal isn’t ACTUALLY a Dragonborn; he’s a half dragon. (This was the DM’s way to explain why Bal has a tail, since we didn’t know Dragonborns didn’t have tails when we started playing this campaign). Balasar’s father(DM rolled for it on a list of notable dragons) is Daurgothoth, The Creeping Death; and Bal escaped him many years ago(losing his wings in the process). The trauma has essentially locked away all of Bal’s memories from before his escape, so he fully believes himself to be a Dragonborn, since that’s what the first traveler he met when he woke up with amnesia assumed he was. Until his memories are recovered, his stats play as though he were a Dragonborn, due to the psychosomatic effects of his belief(Waterdeep’s anti-dragon forcefield does not effect him currently, and he doesn’t have dark vision)

Here he is pictured in not-quite-finished lineart. I’m doing a outfit-concept sheet for him like I did for Mel, but haven’t drawn the other outfits yet. This is his usual gear.

Yevelda Skullcracker: My friend’s half-orc Barbarian. She is my FAVORITE character in our current campaign because...how could she not be. She is VERY stealthy for a Barbarian, and her signature move is to sneak up behind a pair of her enemies and clash their heads together. She’s rolled high everytime she’s done this so it’s always killed. She’s become a legend in Waterdeep for it. NPCs are always ENTIRELY surprised by how nimble and stealthy she is, considering she is a 6’3 wall of muscle. She also has a pet mouse that lives in a small bag of holding sewn into her pocket.

Here she’s depicted in a quick sketch I did of her the other night as a surprise for my friend

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lab-gr0wn-lambs · 3 years

Photo

Commissions are back open!

Continue reading below for more information- please read before commissioning me!

Commission Status:

Open

Prices:

(PER CHARACTER)

I'll be listing the prices in GBP (£)

You can check online for conversions to other currencies

Sketch

Bust: £5

Half body: £7

Full body: £10

Line Art

Bust: £10

Half body: £15

Full body: £20

Add colour to Sketch or Line Art

+ £5 for full cel shading

+ £10 for extra lighting and detail

Added Backgrounds

I will add a simple "background" for free, i.e block colours, gradients, simple shapes

Pricing will vary depending on the complexity of the background. If you would like a background, describe it in your message and we can decide the extra cost from there

Disclaimers:

Make sure to check out my gallery so that you can get an idea of the kind of things I can draw. I'm certainly weaker in some fields than others, but I will always try my best with your commissions. I will always try to get your commission done as fast as I can, but I do have college and my comic work to do, so they won't be instant. there's a chance that I will turn down commission requests depending on the subject, or if I've got too many commissions on the go.

What I Will Draw:

People (human or otherwise)

Animals

Furries

*Tasteful* nudes

What I Won't Draw

Complicated Machinery or blueprints

Inappropriate/Illegal ships

NSFW

Complex architecture

Excessive gore

Feel free to ask whether or not your request falls into any of these categories, I won't bite.

Important Information

I will be posting commission art online unless you request that I don't.

Don't re-sell my artwork or use it for commercial purposes (unless it has been previously discussed and agreed upon).

You can't cancel a commission once I've started working on it.

If there are small things you want changed about a piece after I have finished let me know and I can make changes, however I will not start over or give refunds.

Don't trace, or claim to have drawn my artwork yourself.

Art will be signed, but not distractingly watermarked

You are allowed colour in sketch and line art commissions

Please give credit when using or posting commissions

You will have to pay before I start the piece, as a precaution. But you can message me whenever you want to see how it's going!

How long will a commission take?

I don't imagine commissions taking any longer than a week. A very simple piece shouldn't take more than a few days or even a few hours. However this depends largely on how many commissions I am currently working on, how complex your piece is and how much free time I have away from doing college and comic work. You can feel free to ask me how your commission is going whenever you like, and I will try my best to keep you updated.

How to Commission me

First be sure to check whether or not commissions are currently open.

Send me a note or DM explaining what you want me to draw. You can also email me at [email protected].

We can then discuss pricing and anything else you have questions about, and I will send you a link to my paypal account.

Once again my prices are listed in GBP (£) but it's super easy to look up currency conversion on Google to see how much they cost in the currency you use.

Once I have received the payment we have agreed on I will get started on your commission as soon as I can.

Once I have finished I will post it on DeviantArt (and/or Tumblr) where you can download it, and I will message you to say that I have finished. I can also email the image to you directly for higher resolution.

#commission #commissions #commisions open #art commissions #commission prices #commission price sheet #my art #art for sale #artists on tumblr #eda the owl lady

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what-big-teeth · 4 years

Text

Admire (Male Naga ; Fic Raffle)

And done! @glugenash requested a meet-cute between a male reader and a naga of any gender. I decided to go with a male naga and let my imagination take hold to make this wonderful idea even cuter. I hope you all enjoy this fic! Male Reader (POV) x Male Monster If there’s one place you can truly relax while curling up with a good book, it’s the library.

Ever since you moved into town for a better job opportunity, you attempted to combat the new stressors that turned up as a result. Exercise, meditation, doing the bare minimum on the weekends. Nothing could compare to the public library and its innate charm. This is why you’re seated at your favorite table.

Tucked into one of the historical building’s many corners beside a large window, there’s always just enough sunlight to happily bask in and use while reading. These simple reasons—and the woodsy, vanillin scent of the surrounding book collection—are why you’ve decided to revisit an old series. Something about embracing a nostalgic memory at your table alleviates your pent-up stress like nothing else.

Which is why the sensation of being watched feels so foreign.

You’ve attempted to look around as discreetly as possible. But your eyes haven’t encountered anything out of the ordinary. Just the usual, book-lined shelves and wooden lectern holding an old, massive dictionary.

Still, you can’t fully shake the feeling. Your gut has rarely led you astray, which is why you keep glancing around. After a fleeting moment, you think you see a dark shape shrink away behind a nearby shelf. You stand up, intent on finding out who your odd observer is. But an insistent buzzing from your jeans pocket breaks your focus. Knowing that your library hasn’t made the full transition to a ‘loud facility’ yet, you step away from your spot, leaving your book behind to take the call outside.

Unsurprisingly, it’s work. Or rather, your boss. One of your co-workers has taken ill suddenly, and he needs you to fill in for her shift until he recovers. There’ll be extra pay as compensation, which helps to sweeten the deal. But when your boss mentions the project your co-worker has been toiling over for the last few weeks, you silently wince. You honestly would rather not take on the extra work, but the extra money would really help.

Your boss says your name in a questioning manner. Looks like you accidentally zoned out.

“Sure thing,” you say with a forced, cheerful tone. You can already feel the mounting stress that’ll have you on edge. With a final, merry “thanks!” and farewell, the call ends. This new development calls for some extra self-care.

You head back inside the library, making your way over to the built-in cafe. It’s a welcomed new addition, especially since they make some of the best, homebrew tea and pastries you’ve ever had. With your cup of honeyed chamomile and warmed confection in hand, you return to your sunshine laden table.

Your book is in its usual spot, but it’s been closed with a tasseled bookmark keeping track of your place. You didn’t pick up one while greeting Jason at the circulation desk. After mentally marking which page you left off on, you untuck it from between the pages. The design is, well, it’s amazing. Hand drawn swirls of complimentary colors balance each other out while being lined with careful, fine-tipped black lines. And the tassel is uniquely soft to the touch, the threads feeling similar to silk. You’re so drawn to the workmanship of the bookmark that you almost overlook the neatly folded piece of paper on the table.

The Farandale Chronicles is one of my favorite series. If you’d like to read something similar, I’d like to suggest the Crystal of Might series, written by Malkus Morak. — D

You re-read the note a few times. But no matter how much you attempt to place the neat handwriting, you can’t. There isn’t anything untoward about the suggestion, honestly. And the bookmark is an unexpected, if creative gift. Decision made, you replace the bookmark and head over to the Science Fiction section.

It doesn’t take long to find the suggested book and read the blurb on the jacket’s interior. You can’t deny that it sounds like something right up your alley. Even better, there are three more books in the series.

“Think I will try this out,” you mutter to yourself. “Thanks for the suggestion, D.”

You bundle the new book together with your old favorite, being cautious of your food, and fall in line before the circulation desk. It doesn’t take long for you to reach the front and greet the tawny, curly-haired minotaur behind the counter with a smile.

“How are things going, Jason?” He nods in reply, stalwart as ever as he carefully checks both books for possible damage before checking them out to you.

“Three weeks, as usual,” he murmurs with a deep voice. He gestures to the new book you’ve decided to read. “Should I put the sequel on hold for you?”

“That’d be great!”

After nimbly using the keyboard to complete your request, he hands both books to you with a gentle puff of air.

“Anything else I can help you with?”

Wetting your lips, you tug the handwritten note from between the cover and first page of Morak’s book.

“Would you happen to know whose handwriting this is?”

Jason gently takes the note from you, his warm brown eyes scanning the contents. With a small cough, he hands it back to you.

“Sorry, I don’t. But I’m glad they wrote on a slip of paper instead of damaging the book.”

You can’t help but chuckle. Ever since you met him, Jason’s always been a stickler for the rules when it comes to the library. Quiet yet firm. You pocket the note, being careful to not crease it any further.

“That’s fine,” you say. “It was worth a shot, anyway.”

“Be sure to finish your food while on site,” he says. “The Director is still leery about folks taking off with the cafe’s food.”

“Don’t worry,” you say, smiling. “There’s a bench outside that called to me when I stepped out earlier. Take care.”

As you leave with your new reading materials and food, you can’t stop the thrill of excitement that wells up inside you. Besides being a place of reprieve, you beloved library has provided an interesting mystery as well. And it’s one you intend to solve.

_______________________________________________

Like clockwork, you return the same day next week. Thankfully, your boss was kind enough to give you the weekend off after you took on your duties and that of your sick co-worker. It gives you just enough time to destress at the library. This time, you make a beeline for the cafe, ordering some calming tea and a new, but delectable looking pastry. Jason greets you at the circulation desk and checks out Molak’s second book to you. Once you’ve checked that your usual spot hasn’t been taken, you swiftly lay claim with your purchased items and settle in your seat.

After drinking your tea and eating your pastry, you find yourself feeling better. You open the hardback’s cover, highly interested in seeing what’ll happen to the protagonists next. But two slips of paper flutter out from the book, like before. The material is thicker this time around, similar to reinforced sketchbook paper. Your eyes widen as you realize why.

The subject of the drawing is someone you know too well. It’s you. The sketch depicts a past you sitting where you are now, looking content with a soft smile on your face as you read. Little details jump out as you take in the entirety of the work. The slight dents on the side of the old table you graze your hand over time and time again. The way you hold a book that you find immensely but surprisingly pleasing. The almost starstruck expression lighting up your features as you leave this world for another while reading…

Underneath, in familiar elegant writing, the caption reads ‘Entranced Beauty’. Heat wells up within your cheeks as you read the words over and over again. Your fingertip glides against the lettering as you pick up the other slip of paper from the carpeted floor.

There have been many times I’ve wanted to tell you how wonderful you look when you’re lost in your own world. But I’m afraid that, verbally, words fail me. At least this skill of mine can say more than what I could ever hope. For a while now, I’ve hoped I could be invited to come along with you as another book takes hold of your imagination. But I refuse to think that such lofty hopes can be achieved, considering what I am. I’m merely glad that my suggestion was pleasing to you, and I hope I can continue to provide doors for you to walk through when you need a break from this world. — D

Your heart pounds loudly inside your chest and head as the heat in your cheeks spread throughout your whole body. All you can think about is discovering who your admirer is and meeting them face to face. After all, someone who can write and such sweet thoughts and draw so beautifully can’t be as bad as they think. With this thought as encouragement, you find Molak’s collection and take the third book of his series from the shelf. You wait in line behind a couple, a gorgon and gargoyle, as Jason helps them with their items. Once they’re taken care of, you step up to the circulation desk and set the book down.

“Find everything you were looking for?” he asks.

You’re tempted to say ‘yes’, but stop short.

“No,” you say. “I...I need your help.”

You show Jason the sketch and note, asking once again if he happens to know anything. After all, the note and sketch had to be put in place before you checked out the second book. And all holds are reserved behind the circulation desk for all patrons.

A strange silence falls between the two of you. It’s broken by Jason coughing into his closed fist as he averts his gaze.

“You do know something, don’t you?” you murmur.Jason glances your way before letting his eyes drop to the computer screen in front of him.

“I get it.” You pause to reign in your voice, surprised at the sudden loudness of it. “I understand you’re trying to protect D, especially because they feel like they can’t face me. But you know me, Jason. I won’t hurt them. I just want to meet them and tell them my appreciation.”

Once more, you bring out the sketch and place it on the circulation desk before you. “Please, help me.”

Jason’s gaze finds the sketch and settles on it. He finally lets out a soft huff of air then rubs the back of his neck with his hand.

“I didn’t realize how deeply D fell for you,” he says. “I thought it was just a crush. Alright. I’ll help you out. Not only do you deserve a happy ending, but so does D. Just...be gentle with him, alright? He’s been through a lot.”

“I will,” you say, letting your words carry your promise. “Thank you, Jason.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he mutters. “Gonna have to see how this goes, first. Alright, D always comes like clockwork on Wednesday evenings...”

You take Jason at his word and return to the library at the time and day he suggested. Sure, it involved rearranging your work schedule somewhat, but your now-well co-worker was more than happy to return the favor you showed her. Probably helps that she’s somewhat of a romantic and readily agreed after you explained the situation to her.With careful steps, you make your way towards your usual spot. The last few rays of the setting sun fall onto the table and the naga sitting at it.

The quiet breath you’re taking in stalls at the sight.

With rich, golden brown skin, you can’t help but wonder why D would think himself unattractive. More so thanks to his jet black hair, which is pulled back into a bun, and his matching scales. Even the slight creme of his underbelly, which you can barely make out due to his button-down shirt, is charming. Remembering Jason’s advice, you carefully approach the table as he remains lost in a book held in his clawed hands. It’s the third book in Molak’s fantasy series. You can’t help but smile at the realization.

“Excuse me,” you say.

D startles, tensing at your soft voice. His pupils dilate somewhat in reply as he looks at you. With him looking head on at you, you notice the scaled skin on the sides of his neck. A hood, like that of a cobra. He looks close to bolting right then and there, but you gently press on.

“By chance, are you D?”

D gulps down a few breaths of air.

“N-no, I’m…”

Your body intuitively moves, laying a gentle hand on his upper arm in what you hope is a soothing gesture.

“I want the same thing,” you say. “I want to let you into my world so that we can make one of our own. Together.”

The scaled hood at his neck flares somewhat, but you don’t feel any fear. If anything, you’re entranced. How can such a charming, handsome naga think he’s anything less? After a few tense moments, D finally relaxes then nods.

“I...I am D.”

He meets your gaze, and you almost feel yourself fall into the molten gold of his eyes.

“I didn’t want you to know because not too many people want anything to do with me. My lineage is from a King Cobra clan, which makes me venomous. And that tends to make others uncomfortable. I-I didn’t want you to feel the same, but I couldn’t hide how I felt about you after I first saw you a few months ago. Jason thought...he suggested I could let you know anonymously and I agreed. I thought that would be best. I’m just surprised you’d want to seek me out.”

You can’t help but smile while gently gripping D’s upper arm.

“You left me with an amazing mystery to solve. And as much as you want to know me, I found myself wanting to know the person behind the ‘D’ moniker. I still do, if that’s alright with you.”

D gives you a soft smile in return, which reveals a hint of his sharp fangs. They’re rather cute, just like the rest of him. He stands up and extends a hand towards you.

“Then, let me officially introduce myself. I’m Danilo.”

You take his hand and shake it while giving him your name. When he attempts to pull his hand away, you gently squeeze it. Danilo’s breath catches as you maneuver your fingers so they twine with his.

“B-by chance,” he nearly squeaks out, “do you like Filipino food? I know a place that serves dishes similar to what I grew up with back home.”

“I haven’t had it before,” you say, “but I’m excited to try it out. I hope you don’t mind acting as my culinary tour guide.”

Danilo gives you another soft smile as he huffs out a laugh.

“Not at all.”

You both head towards the circulation desk, where you see Jason positively beaming at the two of you. As Danilo tells you about his work as a graphic designer and animator, you find yourself hanging on his every word. As he hands Jason the third and final book of the trilogy, you smile.

You can’t wait to see what else you both have in common.

#monster boyfriend #monster/human #monster romance #exophilia #naga boyfriend #terato #300 Follower Raffle #I hope you all enjoy!

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 3 years

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If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Fifty Five

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

March 10th, 1994

Remy sighed as the kids around him snickered as he walked past. He was pretty much used to it by now, and high school was right around the corner, he just had to hold out hope that everyone would mellow out once they got to freshman year. Until then, he’d suffer the last few months of middle school, and keep his mouth shut around Mom when she asked him how school was. No one wanted to hear about the kids calling him “Dumbo,” and she definitely wouldn’t want to hear about the meaner bullies calling him “rat face.”

Just a few more months, he reminded himself as one of the other kids tripped him up in the hallways and they laughed with their friends. A few more months and he’d be off for the summer, where he didn’t have to interact with any of his bullies. He’d be able to play video games with Toby all day, or at least until Mom made them go outside. And, if he was really lucky, maybe he’d get a little less ugly over the summer, so he couldn’t be picked on for his looks anymore.

January 26th, 2002

It was just supposed to be a normal date night, and Remy had no idea how they had gotten this far off the beaten path. They had a little extra money this month, enough to go to a local art museum that had just opened. Emile had gotten a small sketchbook recently and Remy thought it might be nice to give him something to sketch on a Saturday night. What Remy hadn’t taken into account was that Emile had worked three night shifts in a row restocking shelves and taking classes during the day, so he was incredibly sleep deprived and now giggling like he was tipsy.

Remy was looking at one of the paintings, featuring a child chasing after a bluejay. Emile was behind him, on one of the benches, giggling like a mad man as he sketched. Emile had told Remy to stay in the same room as he was while he sketched, but Remy could be doing anything he wanted in the room. Emile just didn’t want to look up and find Remy gone. Which Remy respected. Emile was sleep deprived and he had seen the man burst into tears when he couldn’t find a cartoon he was looking for with just one more night shift in a row than what he had agreed to this week. And losing sight of Remy, for some weird reason, was more traumatic to Emile than losing his cartoons, and Remy would do just about anything to avoid Emile crying. So in this room he stayed.

As Remy moved to another painting, he ran a hand through his hair and stuck one of his hands into his pants pocket, and Emile went eerily quiet. Remy paused, turned to make sure that Emile was still there. He was, but he was staring intently at his sketchbook, like he had been staring at Remy for a second too long and wanted to avoid being caught.

Right. Remy forgot that Emile found him attractive sometimes. Remy walked over to Emile and tried to sneak a peek at Emile’s sketches but Emile snapped the book shut. “No peeking!” he said, holding the book defensively.

“All right, all right,” Remy said, “I was just wondering if you were having a good time.”

Emile nodded, covering his mouth as he yawned. “Best exhausted date ever.”

“Do you want to go home? You’ve been giggling for the past half an hour and I’m pretty sure at least two of the security guards are convinced you’re drunk.”

“Well, I finished my...fourth? Sketch, right before you moved, and I think it’s pretty good, looking it over. I haven’t drawn in a little while, so I’m a little rusty, but I like it well enough. And four sketches isn’t bad considering that I’m...”

“So punchy people are convinced you’re drunk when they take one look at you?” Remy filled in. Emile burst into a giggle fit and Remy grinned. “Oh, yeah, honey, you’re exhausted, let me take you home.”

“Careful, Rem, people might think we’re dating if you say that,” Emile teased.

“We are dating, you goofball. Up,” Remy said, helping Emile to his feet and walking out of the museum, smiling and waving at the guards who wished them a good night.

Emile was swaying where he stood as Remy fished in his pockets for the car keys. “Hey, Rem,” Emile said.

“Hey, yeah?” Remy responded, pulling out the keys and unlocking the car.

“I’m really gay for you, I hope you know that,” Emile said.

Remy laughed and got in the car, and Emile followed suit. “Yeah, I kinda had that figured when we started going out,” he said lightly.

“No. Like...” Emile frowned, staring at the book in his lap. “Like, I really love you, Rem. A lot. Way more than I’ve loved any of my other girlfriends or boyfriends. I love you. Like, to infinity and beyond.”

Despite the cartoon reference at the end of that declaration, Remy still dropped the keys in shock. “Ah,” he said leaning down and nearly banging his head against the steering wheel as he grabbed them. “I’m...I’m flattered, Emile, thank you. I don’t really know how to respond to that.”

Emile stared at his book more and frowned. “You could say you like me back?” Emile said.

Remy swallowed. “Look, Emile, I’m not going to lie. Commitment terrifies me. But...but with you, it’s less scary. Did I ever tell you what I felt the day we got back together? I can’t remember.”

Emile shook his head.

Remy laughed. “I thought...that we worked well together. And that our bond was stronger after our fight. Like it would last through future fights, or troubles, or anything like that. I thought...I thought it’s what soulmates should have felt like. And I...I still believe that. I think that’s what soulmates are like, and that’s what we are. To me, anyway. You’re my first boyfriend, so I don’t really have any other baseline to go off of, but...yeah, I love you too, Emile. To infinity and beyond.”

“Really?” Emile’s voice was small.

Remy gave Emile a soft smile and a nod. “Really, mio amore. I’m with you until the end of the line, you understand?”

“Yeah,” Emile said. “Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, but I can’t understand why you would want to be with me.”

“Oh, no, I get that too. All the time,” Remy laughed. “You’re so impossibly out of my league. You could have any guy or girl you wanted and you wanted me? That’s like...I don’t even have the words to describe how weird that is.”

As Remy started to drive, Emile stared out his window. “I think you’re out of my league, Rem. Not in like, personality, maybe, but definitely in terms of looks.”

Remy laughed. “Why do you keep calling me attractive?” he asked.

Emile blinked at Remy, uncomprehending. “You’re...you’re kidding me, right?”

“No,” Remy said, looking over. “I genuinely don’t understand why you find me attractive.”

“Has...has no one seriously told you that you’re gorgeous? ‘Cause you are.”

Remy laughed. “Please. The kids at school never hesitated to mock me about my appearance, and my mother always said that I couldn’t fault them for it, because I dressed like a weirdo. I say I’m drop-dead gorgeous as a joke, Emile.”

“Well that’s just not right,” Emile said, frowning deeply. “You’re beautiful, Rem. You deserve to know.”

“Gee, what every guy loves to hear,” Remy said sarcastically.

“Beautiful is used for men, too, get off your high horse,” Emile said, rolling his eyes. “I won’t use it again if you don’t want me to, but seriously. I’m trying to compliment you.”

Remy couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, okay, funny joke, Emile, you can stop now. I know you find me attractive, but you don’t have to play it up like that.”

They pulled into the parking lot of their apartment complex and Emile grabbed Remy’s arm before Remy could leave the car. “Rem. I’m not playing it up.”

Remy looked Emile over. Everything from the set of his jaw to the look in his eyes told Remy he was serious. Remy blinked. “Okay, maybe you find me beautiful. Doesn’t mean anyone else will.”

“You do realize how many girls have flirted with you, over the past two years alone because they want to get a piece of you?” Emile asked. “Remy, you’re easily a nine. I would say a ten, in all honesty, but I want you to believe me when I say this. You’re easily a nine. I’m a six. Maybe a seven if I wear those jeans you like.”

Remy blinked uncomprehendingly at Emile.

Emile sighed. “Right. Inside. We can talk more once we’re inside. And I’ll prove to you that you’re attractive.”

“I doubt you’d be able to prove something that subjective,” Remy said, shaking his head, but getting out of the car and following Emile inside all the same.

After a moment of silence, Emile seemed to decide what he was going to say. “Listen, blondie,” Emile said, turning to look at Remy from where he was opening their front door. “I don’t even have a thing for blonds and yet here you are, a solid ten who’s willing to stay with a six like me.”

“You’re not a six,” Remy scoffed. Emile walked into their apartment and Remy followed, closing the door with his body as he slumped against it. “Okay. I’ve got platinum blond hair and blue eyes, both of which I suppose are attractive in most people’s books. What else could I possibly have going for me?”

Silently, Emile walked over to Remy and opened the sketchbook he had been drawing in on their date. Remy blinked. On the first two pages Emile was showing him, there were two drawings of the same guy. In the first one, he was laughing, using a hand to cover most of the smile but you could tell by his eyes that he was happy. In the second, it was a full-body shot, and the guy didn’t look ripped, but he definitely wasn’t a beanpole either. In this one he looked thoughtful, staring at something that Emile hadn’t drawn on the page. “I don’t remember any paintings like this in the museum,” Remy said, frowning.

“Well, duh, Rem. They’re drawings of you. I spent most of the time drawing you and your reactions to things. The paintings were nice but I wanted to draw the prettiest thing in each room. That pretty thing just happened to be my date.”

“But? I don’t? Look like that?” Remy asked, confused. “That guy is actually cute. I’m...not.”

“Look, Rem, my artistic skills are not the best, but I spent, like, half an hour on the second drawing alone. I captured your likeness pretty well,” Emile said, starting to grow defensive. “Don’t trash-talk my boyfriend.”

Remy looked at the drawings closer. He could see some resemblance in the eyes and the nose, he guessed, and the mouth was similar too, but... “Where’s the acne? The too-big ears? The nose is supposed to look more like a rodent’s. The eyes are supposed to look...more predatory. That’s not what I look like!”

Emile closed the book and put it on the side table, grabbing Remy’s face in both his hands and pressing their foreheads together. “Remy, none of those things are a part of you. Like, the closest thing might be the acne, and you barely have any at all. Your ears are normal sized. No part of you should be compared to an animal. And your eyes are never predatory. They hold happiness, and sometimes pain, and sometimes there’s a fire that could never be put out by mortals. But never do they hold any ill-intent. Ever. Understand?”

“No,” Remy said. “I don’t understand. How could I...could I look like that guy you drew? I’m just...me.”

“Remy, there is nothing just about you,” Emile said, taking a step back and grabbing the book. “You look absolutely stunning, and anyone who ever said otherwise either needs to get their eyes or their jealousy checked. Possibly both. Puberty was brutal to go through, but you came out the other end looking like the hero in an action movie who women throw themselves at. If there was anyone who isn’t cute in this relationship, it would be me. And I have just enough self-confidence left to say that while I might have a little baby fat on me, I am by no means unattractive, nor does that take away from my attractiveness, really.”

“You’re not ugly, Emile, you’re soft and cuddly,” Remy said, crossing his arms.

“Just like you aren’t ugly,” Emile said. “But clearly, this is going to be an argument that could go on for a little while. I’m going to spare us some heated moments and get some sleep before we continue this conversation. Besides, you probably don’t want me to show you the drawings of how I imagine seeing you naked just yet, if you’re so convinced of your stance.”

Emile walked away but Remy just stared after him. “I’m sorry, did you just admit that you drew me naked?!”

“Why do you think I was laughing so much at the last exhibit?” Emile asked over his shoulder, before closing his bedroom door to leave Remy completely stunned at the front door.

“I’m going to need an answer to that, Emile!” Remy called. Getting no response, he grumbled and went to his own room for the night.

#if there's a place i could be #sanders sides fanfiction #remile #emile picani #ts sleep

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