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studiothetics · 2 years

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AUDIO

Hi. How are you? Kinda hot out, huh? Not too bad though. Nice jacket… Yeah… Oh, are you waiting for me? Oh man I’m sorry I was just — you know. Anyways, yeah I’m Evan, you know me, I draw them pictures but that’s not all I do, no sir, I am multidimensional, like an egg, insofar as an egg got the old xyz axes what tell it what volume it occupy within cartesian space, but it’s also got them eggy subcomponents what create division WITHIN the larger organizing dimensional paradigms of space and time. So like the egg I do persist in reality but I simultaneously occupy different spacial organizations. I draw them pichahs, shuah mistah j, I also write words as I’m sure you’ve noticed, but that’s just the shell and the whites, down there somewhere is a runny yolk comprised not of lines, color, or hallucinations of meaning but of SOUND.

I also do audio is what I’m saying. More pertinently I sometimes do audio for Thetics stuff. Nearly all of it is under wraps but recently we bashed together a little low-stakes actual play podcast pilot and I thought it might be fun to show you how the intro music happened. Walk with me. (Character art part 3 is still in the pipes, up next.)

The current intro music for our little podcast Argent.

Now this is an odd bit of work for me because I'm normally a cahhhmpahsishin* fellow but for this piece I did nearly everything but write the parts. It’s really a kitbash of musical ideas from various things that I arranged and recorded.

*composition. If you can tell me why I’m doing this bullshit, please do, I’d really love to know.

When we were first tossing the idea for this podcast around (way before we started putting it together or anything) Sasha sent me a little melody they imagined on guitar, and I recorded it and sent it back to them with a little expansion.

Music is often an early thought for us in our projects. Having themes or motifs or ideas about instrumentation can help us create a visceral sense of feelings we’re aiming for. In long writing or design stretches, they act like anchors, a place to return to, or verify our current work with.

Here, there was this lovely sense of troubadour-ish-ness with the single guitar, an intimate kind of feeling, like someone was there in the room with you, playing in this very stripped down yet melodic manner you might characterize as vaguely renaissance pastiche. Anchor set, it had something to it musically and it married well with the nature of the program, relatively light, a little trope-y, that good ol’ mixolydian brightness lighting up a sense of majesty and adventure. That being said, we knew it wouldn’t be the whole picture. There was more to find.

Dinky lil things. I like sketching with dinky sounds cause it sorta takes expressivity out of the equation, makes you focus on the notes.

I did a lot of sketches with little dinky music box noises and strings and whatnot, tried expanding out the guitar sections with folk-isms and fingerpicky stuff, but nothing really clicked. To my ear we were missing something, a feeling of expanse and motion. The main character in our podcast is a courier traveling the country, after all.

Thinking about travel put me in mind of music I’d been listening to from West Africa. I’d gone down a little guitar douche rabbit hole, having gotten introduced to Oumou Sangare and lapping up projects featuring her guitarist and then out into more work by your Ali Farka Touré, your Tinariwen, etc. I imagine this is the kind of thing every guitar guy does when they’re confronted by “desert blues” stuff, and it’s for good reason. It’s a bridge between many different traditions, and it’s produced a style of guitar playing that is both very interpretable to anyone who’s learned the blues scale and very different in it’s rhythmic priorities and ornamentation.

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Afel Bocoum's Niger stuck out to me as a really wonderful picture of motion, expressed through it's rhythmic motifs and groove. It is, as you may imagine, a song about the Niger river, and I find it hard not to imagine walking beside a great river when I hear it, especially when it kicks into the higher tempo and you get the little triplet figure on top of the 16th note engine -- just the perfect amount of syncopation to give it a real spring in its step. It's also worth noting that these dudes are all real good musicians, and their improvisation and interplay gives all their music so much life and unpredictability. Listening to artists like this convinced me utterly that the core of music for the podcast had to be something played live, that we should really minimize elements like synths or samples.

To be fair, that's usually a thing I want. I tend to write a lot of guitar-forward stuff for projects as a result, but there are things which always wind up compromised when working alone. For example I am not a drummer, I do not own a drumkit and software drums trying to sound real nearly always wind up sounding pretty lame. In all my time doing music production the best drum sounds i've gotten out of software have been leaning into their un-reality. But then you hear musicians like this and you remember oh man live percussion is just a thousand times better. John Bonham is just a thousand times better.

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Easily in my top 5 of all time

Led Zeppelin's Swan Song is nearly never not in mind when thinking about acoustic guitar music. It is possibly one of the most important tracks in my life and god damn it it's only on bootlegs! If Afel Boucoum nailed a feeling of motion through nature with Niger, Jimmy Page nailed a feeling of pastoral majesty and myth with Swan Song. It's one of them DADGAD tunes with that rich, ringing openness to the guitar. In the late 60s-early 70s rock vernacular, songs with this tuning are usually heavily blues based, and you hear a lot of inflections like that here but it's all cast in this much more regal light through more complex harmony. Contrasts. The V chord that opens the section around 1:20 sounds so welcome and grand contrasted to the flighty major 7s running around, the song dancing modally between major* and mixolydian. Really, a V chord has never sounded better, contrasted with the heaviness of the low D5.

*yeah if you wanna use modal terminology it's ionian. Hush, I'm trying to write.

Now this is what was floating around in my head like a year ago when we were discussing the project. It's really quite fertile ground for music making, but! As it sometimes goes, other projects took precedence. DT2 became kind of a full time gig for us and if we were gonna be doing audio for things we ought to be doing audio things for that. So Argent got shelved, and further musical explorations with it.

Which is why it was kind of bizarre to pick it back up when we decided to pitch it. Back in those early discussions we'd recorded a couple test episodes, real barebones affairs with awful audio and a very shakey gameplay system, that we were gonna use for our submission. It seemed pretty apparent we needed to sorta class the joint up a bit so my plan was to score some of the episode and bash together an intro as quick as possible.

What does an intro need, really? In my estimation, it needs a bed for voice-over, a section where the music takes the forefront that is distinctive and hooky, and some kind of dismount. Not a whole lot really. I spent a bit of time writing stuff trying to pull together the influences noted above into that format, but it became apparent that it was just gonna take more time than we had to get a thing I was really happy with.

Scoring also wound up being a bit of a dud. I wrote a billion little sections on guitar that I was quite happy with but with the awful audio quality of the actual episode, and what wound up being a pretty mediocre setup for acoustic guitar recording, the production just wound up being distracting, the voices and guitar competing for already shakey auditory real estate. We'll have to try that again with better equipment.

So. Compromise. Temporary stopgap measure. I can't make the bulk of the show sound particularly pleasing, I don't have time to compose an intro that really does the thing musically, and I can't record my acoustic guitar to a high standard. I CAN WORK WITH THIS!

Step 1: solve for the guitar.

I know the piece will still have more personality if the acoustic guitar is the main feature. So, ok, time to try a bunch of shit out. I am no stranger to fucked ass audio solutions (you can go look at my old band STRIDER's insta page https://www.instagram.com/strider.tunes/ to understand the depravity) so I know at the very least I can get something to work.

Hypothesis 1: record using my phone.

I've actually had some luck recording with my phone before. Most phones have really aggressive compression going on that can sometimes work to bring up the detail with acoustic guitar, and you also get some nice lo-fi credibility with it.

The lo-fi thing is a double edged sword though cause while the tonality is livable, a lot of noise is not, and I could not get a recording that didn't have a pretty sizable hiss. Add on further compression in the mix and it's a dealbreaker.

Hypothesis 2: weird mic placement

Conventional wisdom regarding acoustic guitar mic placement does not and has never worked with my acoustic guitar. I love that guitar, I've had it since I was like 14, but god damn it doesn't like to be recorded, and especially not with an SM7b which is the best I got right now. So time to just try everything, put the mic in the sound hole, fuckin put it behind me, above me, next door.

The best one I found is kind of over the guitar in front of my shoulder, sort of where my head would be if I got real hunchy when playing. Still sorta sounds weak, but it's better! This is progress.

Hypothesis 3: Double everything

Jacob Collier mentioned in one of his gigantic logic session breakdowns that a voice that sounds kinda corny can sound really legit if it's doubled or tripled or whatever. This guitar is a little reedy, a little thin on it's own but if I just double track everything...

Now that somehow sounds authoritative. Bam!

Step 2: Grab the parts.

If I'm not gonna have the time to compose a new thing that's really unique and speaks to all our influences, why not just use the influences? Not like we're selling this or anything, this is just to legitimize a pitch. Sasha's initial melody fits the bill for narration bed, Niger fits as the hook, and Swan Song really amps it up for the dismount.

Step 3: Arrange/Produce/Record/Mix

With the melodic and harmonic side basically in place, it's time to figure out the supporting instrumentation. That means settling on things like percussion and bass, drones or textural things, and little odds and ends.

Quite a manageable mix, overall.

I'll spare you a full session breakdown, but let's take a look at some lil details you might miss.

When I was putting together the percussion section I quantized pretty hard at first, getting everything very close to the grid, but these lil bongo and scrape guys had a completely different feel. The loop was from a previous project, played by like a real human, and it's all quite wonky, a lot of it hits very early relative to the grid but it sounds totally natural. So rather than trying to smooth that out, I just made everything else mirror it's wonkiness. It was tedious work scooting all those notes around to mimic those imperfections but the track is much livelier for it.

Speaking of the percussion, there are actually four distinct kick drum sounds on this track (plus some very quiet timpani in the opening). They got very different functions, too. The first is like the core kick drum sound. It's supposed to be pretty acoustic sounding, have some nuance in it's dynamics, but not have too much beef or midrange complexity, because the second is the big boy with that huge low end, you know what brings the grandeur to the proceedings, and then there's the third fellow who hangs out with the first one and marries it with the texture of the snare drum. Fourth is the little knocky fellow who closes things out with the guitar at the very end.

Lastly, lets note the final plagiarism in this piece. The vocal line that comes in at the end (which Sasha sang wonderfully and I aggressively pitch shifted and modulated) is from a piece by Goldfrapp called Crystalline Green.

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There you have it folks! That's a track! I'll leave you with a final thingy: The outtro! I accumulated a lot of drone-y things trying stuff out for the intro, so I took the percussion sections and some of those drone-y things and blasted this out in like half an hour.

#long post #music #arranging #actual play #argent #audio #production

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tanzim-kazi-art · 1 year

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With the year 2022 ending, it's obligatory that I posted my yearly summary of art. This one is a pretty big one for me. I have posted 54 drawings that year, which is more than how many I've done in 2018. However, I have a feeling that 2023 might have a low output, likely because I'm going to focus on making animations and stuff. There are notable things happening this year when it comes to my art: 1. I have updated my art style. I decided to make the body of the characters slender. I also updated the snout design of my art style. I'm getting more flexible with my eye style. 2. After about 4 years, I created my new OC, which is a rabbit girl. This opened the door for a lot of things, like stories, lore, chemistry, etc. Additionally, I decided that my OCverse would be music and arts-centric. I actually have three OCS in the works. 3. Three of my drawings received over 100 faves, with one even reaching over 200. That is a huge amount for me. 4. I'm increasingly drawing more and more fanart than is not Pokémon or Animal Crossing. Last year's attempt was actually successful, and I'm improving more this year. 5. On June, I got an iPad Pro for my birthday. I did a few drawings with this tablet, and some of my sketch were done with the iPad instead of my computer. 6. I have experimented, played around with, and settled with the add blending mode. This was because I noticed that using the screen blending mode for the lighting effects made the picture look a less contrasty, so I tried does blending mode, and after a number of fine-tuning, I ended up getting used to that. 7. Near the end of October, I started adding a watermark to my drawings. So 2023 is a pretty big year for me, art-wise. For this summary of art, I decide to go back to the basics, which means only show one art for each month instead of two, which has the best and the runner up. First time I did that since 2018. And unlike last year, I decided to use the Helvetica font because I'm already in love with that font.

#2022 #art summary #summaryofart2022

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moccabun · 4 years

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climbing my twt @ moribreeze :)

#my art #artist on tumblr #illustration #drawing #artwork #doodle #lineart #pastel #shoujo #rabbits #flowers #i noticed in my sketches that i started to draw a lot of rabbits #i love spending time in the garden and dreaming about chasing rabbits like alice lol

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vavuska · 3 years

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Who changed Lola Bunny?

Malcolm D. Lee explained, “This is 2021. It’s important to reflect the authenticity of strong, capable female characters. … So we reworked a lot of things, not only her look, like making sure she had an appropriate length on her shorts and was feminine without being objectified, but gave her a real voice. For us, it was, ‘Let’s ground her athletic prowess, her leadership skills, and make her as full a character as the others.'”

(See the complete interview here: X)

So, gone are her curves, thigh-high drawstring shorts and midriff-baring crop top. Instead, Lola Bunny now takes on a sportier look wearing a more standard basketball vest and leggings under her track shorts.

But, let's see more deeply what determinated this choice:

1. Being mad at a fan art is sad, people.

Before, a sad 50 yo guy starts complaing about how "cancel culture" or "politically correct" ruined his life - Really? Changing a cartoon bunny from a movie you didn't see for a decade ruined your life? Wow. Someone should really review the list of their priorities -, let's see how really Lola looked in the 1996 original Space Jam.

Here we have original Lola Bunny:

(Here you can see all Lola's scenes in Space Jam: X)

Yes, Lola walked in a sexy way that show off her curves, or at least she seemed to have curves (a little breast, tight waist, long legs, bootie), but those are not big as in the fan art you are seeing around, and Lola's curves are not evidenced during the match or when she played. Is more her attitude and posture that made her look sexy. However, althought her curves clearly changes every time she is doing something different, from action to action, there are some scenes in which she is purposely made sexy, with saxophone music as soundtrack and male-gaze sections that ends in the same way, Lola surrounded by a bunch of horny and howling cartoon guys.

That's appropriate with Jessica Rabbit: she is purposely made and designed as a parody of the femme fatale from old hard boiler movies, in which attractive, mysterious women were portrayed as evil and manipulative gals who hide criminal intentions. Jessica, with her intentionally exaggerated body, subverted the misogyny of 40s and 30s detective movies: she is kind-hearted, truly loves her naive and goofy husband Roger and uses her powers (beauty and cunning) to protect him. Her body too is used for comic sketches, while this not happens for Lola, that's just a serious and indipendent basketball player. So, the male obsession for her body is out of place, expecially because she reacted with anger at being misconsidered only for being an attractive female bunny. “Don't call me doll” is her catch phrase. So, it seems strange she didn't react at all at the very sexualized presentation at the final basketball match: Lola simply shows her basketball skills, ignoring or accepting passively the reaction of the honey crowd of wolves around her. (Please, notice the association: Lola “admirers” are wolves, predators, while Lola, their object of desire, is a rabbit, a prey)

This is the cartoon version of cat calling: they are like a group of men who sit on their porches and whistle at girls everyday when they walk in from of them. A normal girl or woman would pass over this thing, even if they are bothered, unconfortable or embarassed, because they are more scared by a possible violent reaction of this whistling horny guys at their legitimate anger objections. But here, we are talking of Lola, a strong Looney Tunes bunny, and she could smash that damn basket ball on wolves' face, breaking all their teeth. That would be very a Looney reaction. But Lola doesn't react at all at this situation. Here, on my opinion, screenplayers missed an opportunity, but probably they thought to have already did too much with Lola's personality and “girl power”.

Remember also that Lola is the only young cartoon female character we see in the whole movie. So we can't do a proper comparison with other female relevant characters' rapresentation. (See here for a deeper analysis of Lola's origin and development: X)

However, compared with Bugs, Lola looks more fit, more humanized than Bugs. Lola has clearly a definited breast and booty, but it looks like is more her posture that makes them relevant. Lola has clearly shoulders back to show the rack. Bugs is anthropomorphic but remains an animal, has no shoulders or pectorals more like a human and looks a bit over-weight (fat belly). And his posture don't keep that stomach in, chin up, and march forward.

Lola, on the other hand, has a more human structure. That's why I say she has curves. An example are Mickey and Minnie who are two beans in the same way it is not that Mickey is a bean and Minnie has small tits, they are structurally alike.

Lola's body remembers highly No-Ribs-Jasmine from Aladdin (see the gif for reference). That unrealistic Barbie-like waist that was so popular in the 90s and 80s. (See here for references: X and X)

Now, we are changed a lot from the past 24 years. Barbies didn't have that impossible, unrealistic waist-line anymore, Disney princess concept has changed (see Merida and Moana).

Lola concept is changed in 2012: her design for the new cartoons is totally different and her personality too. She wear a blue or violet dress, almost flat-chested and she was made annoying and silly, just to make a contrast with Bugs smarter. Just like Daffy Duck is dumb as hell and his new girlfriend, Tina Russo (no more dear old Melissa Duck), is way smarter than him. Tina is tough, street-smart, rebellious and feisty. But we will see this thing in the next point.

2. People on the upper floors hated Lola personality.

Lola Bunny had only few lines in Space Jam, but she definitely passed the first impression that she was draw only for make male characters fall in love. Lola was a good basketball player and show it off, in front of a skeptical and then astonish bunch of cartoon guys and also Michael Jordan. She also had a strong personality and said it clear to Bugs she didn't like being called "doll". Lola was beauty and curvy, but not a cheerleader. Lola was a basketball player. Remember this part, because we will talk about basketball in the next point.

If at the box office Space Jam was a success, at Warner Bros there were those who turn up their noses, and they are important people, from the upper floors, who accused the film with Michael Jordan of having completely distorted the philosophy of the Looney Tunes. They blamed Lola Bunny more than everything else. Producers of Warner Bros said she was too perfect for the moody group of Warner cartoons: she was too sensual, provocative and independent, totally alien to that core of crazy characters that act as an exaggeration of the vices of 'man.

And fans hated her too. Chuck Jones, creator of the Merrie Melodies said: "Lola Bunny is a character with no future, she’s a totally worthless character with no personality."

So, Lola Bunny was deleted. Lola would make only some brief apparitions in some comics edited by DC Comics, in Baby Looney Tunes, in which she was a toddler with a very similar personality and resemblance to Space Jam adult version, and also as playable character in some unsuccessful videogames.

Years passed and projects for a sequel of Space Jam never become reality, so in 2003 Warner Bros relased Looney Tunes Back in Action. But Lola wasn't here, because the movie purposely want to make a deep cut with what we saw in Space Jam, according to what said it's director Joe Dante. This movie was a totally failure, but it gave back to Looney Tunes their craziness.

Years passed again, but this time is 2011, 10th of May on Cartoon Network was relased the second episode of The Looney Tunes Show. The series aimed to strongly relaunch the Looney Tunes, long gone from the glories of the past, updating the stories of Bugs Bunny and associates in a sitcom key, with the rabbit sharing a house with Daffy Duck in a suburb of Los Angeles. All interspersed with sketches by Wile E. Coyote and Road Runner done in CGI and the updated return of the Merrie Melodies. But the big news of the second episode is that LOLA BUNNY RETURNED.

And Lola was a character with some relevance within the series, even if something didn't seem right with her. Lola looked different, she was no longer the rabbit version of the femme fatale seen in Space Jam: she was naive, talkative, with her head in the clouds, crazy to the point of becoming Bugs Bunny's stalker. Bugs after having fallen in love with her at first glance understands on the first date that he absolutely can't stand Lola. She is no longer the Lola we used to know, even if the appearance is similar and the name is the same. Lola is effectively a Looney Tunes now. And the fans like her, the public like her, Warner Bros like her.

(See Lola in The Looney Tunes Show here: X)

But this is a big walk in behind from the indipent character we used to know in Space Jam. Lola was turned into the stereotype of the crazy girlfriend for a while. And this is not a surprise, if we remember that in 2012 were popular the "overly attached girlfriend" meme template. (See here for references: X)

However, in The Looney Toons Show Lola has some very funny moments, while in Space Jam she was more serious and a little out of space among the other characters. (See here for references: X)

3. What women wear when they play basketball?

Women's National Basketball Association was only created in 1996. So, women's basketball were not considered - and still is not considered - as important as men's basketball at the time Space Jam was filmed.

In Space Jam 2 there will be WNBA players with a significant role, for example Diana Taurasi and Nneka Ogwumike.

Professional female athletes aren't that curvy because curves are determined by body fat and they have a little.

As a busty volleyball player, I can say, dear people, breats could be very annoying during sport activities: it could be a pain, when you run or jump. That's because a lot of women wear sport bra to compress and support their breast. Sports bra may also include layered cups or a high neck to keep everything in place and protect from painful hits, so women can be safe and comfortable during workouts.

Female basketball players didn't wear crop-tops and tight shorts to play. They wear exactly what Lola wears in the picture above: long sleeveless tees, large shorts and maybe protective gears such as knee pads, sleeves or braces to reduce chronic pain caused by the immense burden put on the knees in basketball, to prevent bruises caused by collisions and hard fall and to provide support after a significant knee injury like an ACL tear. They could wear also compressive arms sleeves to help muscles that are sore or overworked to recover faster. The sleeve enables your blood flow to circulate quicker to the heart, which helps you heal and recover quicker.

Wow. WNBA wears Exactly what wear NBA players. So surprising.

4. This is only a promotional character sketch, not what Lola would look in the movie.

Space Jam 2 would be developed in CGI and there are a little preview frames going around, included one showing Lola jumping and you can see her breast shape. But she totally looks like a comic cartoon character. It's not humanized. It's not designed to be the sexy love interest. She doesn't look out of space among the others anymore, expecially because seems that there would be also Tweety's Granny and Melissa Duck or Tina Russo as players too.

5. Reality.

Really? You want a human anthropomorphic rabbit? Well, Lola as a rabbit would have something like six nipples, but no human-like breast. And, also, real life girls have ribs. No one in real life is that thin. Oh, well, if you don't considered Pixee Fox, a model who had surgically removed six ribs and wears daily a compressive bust corset (yes, like the one that made Elizabeth Swan faint in the first movie of Pirate of the Caribbean) to look like a cartoon fairy (Tinkerbell, you are the one to blame for this).

(See here for references: X)

In conclusion, we can say that all this controversy is based only on a porny fan art and that Lola “new” graphic isn't change too much from the original Space Jam movie. It's just a little more cartoonish.

We can also firmly remeber that Space Jam 2 is going to be developed for children, to relunch Looney Tunes among new generations of children, who are the largest buyers of merchandising (including Happy Meals surprises) and consumers of new cartoons that surely would be developed, if Space Jam 2 would be a success.

However, we should admit that those kids probably know better the 2011 version of Lola than her original version and that 2011 version was more appreciated by fans and producers. Lola's voice actress, Kristen Wiin won BTVA People's Choice Voice Acting Award in 2012 and was nominated for that prize also about three times in the following years. Also Rachel Ramras, Lola's voice actor was nominated for BTVA People's Choice Voice Acting Award in 2016 for her role in Looney Tunes: Rabbit Run.

We don't know anything about Lola's personality in Space Jam 2, so we can't do a proper comparison or a prevision, but, according to what Malcolm D. Lee said, we can assume that original personality of Lola would be preserved.

The controversy is relevant only for Lola's body and not for her personality, and that's is highly rappresentative of what impressed more this bunch of grow-up kids. They grow up to be like the horny wolves and they are howling because their prey is not available anymore.

And, to be honest, being so obsessed with the breast and the body of a cartoon character (that is clearly made up for kids) it's not sane at all. Sorry to say that, but sometimes people need to drink from a bottle of truth.

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lavendersies · 3 years

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Willuz prompts:

- Willow and her bumblebee Palisman grow an extravagant topiary of her and Luz, adorned with beautiful bouquets of flowers (as well as make delicious honey) for Luz to thank her for everything.

- Kind of a recap of Season 1's Luz and Willow adventures, but with the notable highlight that Willow gives Luz an appropriate flower bouquet as thanks of helping her out (can be combined with previous prompt if preferable)

- Amity and Hunter argue which of the two Luz loves the most, only to find Luz on a date/making out with Willow in a secluded, forested area, maybe with blossoming flowers (this is a non-serious fic as an allegory to the whole shipping war at the moment, but could come off as a bit mean :P)

- Luz practices with her Glyphs once more to make nice flowers and topiaries for Willow.

- Willow has a crush on Luz and can't help but feel a little jealous when she and Amity get close instead. Willow is too shy to confess her feelings for Luz, fearing rejection, and doesn't want to be in hot water with Amity again after they're finally getting along since their breach years ago. Willow wants to be happy for them, but Gus notices her depression.

- Boscha has thrashed Willow's beautiful plant garden, a passion project that's been taken years, and Willow is despaired by this, too depressed to continue and rebuild. Luz decides to fix the garden and improve it.

@Arendalphaeagle gave theses wonderful prompts so I have went with fourth one. The request was suppose to be uploaded on A03 but it didn't work out so until further notice all Willuz requests will be uploaded here. Feel free to drop ya'll request in my ask box. Enjoy.

A flower for Willow

Luz tapped the symbol emitting a green light and a single flower merge. She looks over at her spell book that specializes in plant magic for something new. She had committed her time to mastering a new glyph, hoping it would create the perfect gift for Willow. Luz didn't care if she spent the whole night out here and woke up with tired eyes caked with crust. Starting earlier this week would have been the wise thing to do but studying for her witch classes ate up the time. In a sluggish motion the sun disappeared behind the trees, allowing the moon to provide a dim light and usher in darkness. Luz casted a luminous orb as she read the instruction on how to evoke multiple flowers. She read the guide once more then traced the symbol on paper and activated it. A patch of lavender and lilac flowers bloom before her, this was just what she needed. Luz would allow her artistic skills to do the rest, she took her book and went inside.

She found Eda knocked out on the couch with an empty cup of apple blood dangling from her hand. A smile spread on her lips seeing the grey-haired witch in her apple blood coma. King was probably upstairs waiting for Luz's return so they could continue watching an anime series that she had downloaded on her phone. Upon entering the room Luz sees King scowling one of his stuffed animals.

When he noticed her presence. He stopped chiding the pink rabbit, "Oh hey Luz, are you ready to watch soul eater with me?" He asked, sitting on the sleeping mat.

"Not tonight love," She replied.

"Why not?!" King whined.

Luz faced the opposite direction and stripped from her outwear into pj's. She put them near the mat and got out her sketch pad.

"I have to finish a gift for Willow," she said, sitting down to begin sketching her friend's face.

"You can finish it tomorrow, I've been watching all week for us to watch soul eater!"

"Sorry King, I promise we will watch it together tomorrow" she assured.

The furry demon grumbled under his breath and joined her on the mat. "What are you drawing anyways?" He asked, peeking over her shoulder.

"A picture of Willow" she responded.

"What's the occasion?"

"None, I just want to do something nice for my friend," she said.

"Do you have anything else in mind?"

Luz had finished Willow's eyes and moved on to her nose, "Tomorrow I'm

going to create a plant statue with this picture".

"I want a plant statue of me!" King cried.

Luz chuckled.

"And you've been doing a lot for Willow lately, last week you went out of your way to get her that plant baby".

Luz's heart raced, she already knew the next words coming, "She sounds more than a friend" King commented.

"Friends do things for each other all the time" Luz struggled to tolerate her frisky heart, hoping the tone of her voice wasn't a dead give away.

"Eh, if you say so."

The room fell in silence and Luz worked diligently on Willow's portrait. The plant witch dominates her thoughts, now her heart flutters thinking of those olive green eyes behind the thin-rimmed glasses. The way her ear twitched at sudden noises. Willow had been nothing but a sweet-heart since day, she deserved the world and Luz was willing to give her it. Although these feelings bloomed, she didn't know if it was mutual on Willow's end, and she would keep them buried away. When Luz finally looked up from her sketch-pad King was fast asleep at the edge of her mat. She set aside the finished product and got some rest.

Later that night, Luz had woken up to relieve her heavy bladder, she carefully stepped over a sleeping King and visited the bathroom. After washing her hands, she found herself outside.

The moon's bright orbs brighten her path as she walks through the woods. Luz was a moth drawn to light, she felt compelled to keep moving. The orbs glowed rapidly like glistening gems, Luz could hear the vibration. She was led into the opening and a massive bush that resembled Willow's head came in view.

Woah...

"Thank you Luz!" It says

"Huh?"

Its large yellow luminous remind her of fireflies, she had accidentally swallowed one when she was seven.

"Thank you" it repeated.

"What for?" Luz asked.

She didn't get a response to her question,7 the bush thanked Luz on an endless loop. Suddenly, gravity reeled her forward and its mouth opened wide, swallowing her.

Luz was expecting to be engulfed in darkness, her eyes were squeezed shut. She felt warmth and a chubby body press against hers, opening her eyes. Luz realized it was Willow. She embraced the plant witch hug and gently ran her hand along Willow's turquoise hair.

"Luz!"

Everything faded. Luz woke up in her makeshift room with an annoyed little demon held prisoner in her arms. "Luz let go!" He whines struggling to break free.

"Sorry.." she said sheepishly.

Luz released him and King scurried off on all fours. She took care of her personal hygiene then returned to the room for her uniform. When Luz went downstairs, Eda was waiting at the door with her staff. She wore her pajamas. "Can we take the tub?”

“No, its for emergencies only”

“Please” Luz said, giving the grey haired woman pitiful eyes.

“I’m immune to those” Eda stated dismissively.

“But you can’t be the coolest witch without it,”

“Keep it up and you’ll be walking to school” Eda said heading out the door.

The schoolyard was still empty when Luz hopped off the staff. She watched Eda fly away, disappearing over the autumn colored trees. Luz took out her plant magic textbook and turned to the page about manipulation. After she got a good understanding, she pulled out the portrait of Willow and drew two symbols on them. Luz crossed her fingers and tapped the paper, a stem sprouted forth and the leaves took on the form of Willow's face. Two Lilac flowers blossomed on both sides, the topiary was the size of a miniature house plant. She had expected bigger but before Luz could sulk her crush arrived.

"Willow!" She quickly hid the plant behind her back.

"Hey" Willow smiled.

Luz felt butterflies tickling her stomach, she forced a skittish smile and revealed the topiary. Willow eyes widened with astonishment, she took the plant from Luz's hands.

"Aww thanks" Willow shifted the plant in her other arm and gave her a hug. Luz no longer had butterflies pestering her insides. The euphoria buttered her up, if Luz hadn't stopped herself she would have kissed Willow. For a brief moment, the turquoise haired witch stared at her. Luz was about to look away but Willow touched her cheek and gently kissed her lips. She led Luz by the hand towards the school building.

#the owl house #willow toh #willow park #willow the owl house #the owl house luz #luz noceda #willuz #eda the owl witch #toh eda #toh willow #toh luz

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yuusa · 3 years

Text

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝟓

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟐𝟎𝟗𝟎

𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝟓:

“Her eyes. . .” Your mother trembled as you reached out to her with your smaller hands. “They’re filthy.”

You felt the sharp sensation of pain hitting your cheek as you stumbled back onto the floor. You stared up at your mother with shocked eyes while she glared back at you. You propped yourself on your elbows while you felt the sting of her slap still resting on your cheek.

“M-Mom. . . ? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t call me mom!” She screamed, pulling on her hair as her body trembled with anger. You started to feel extremely scared in the moment, your mother was going through another breakdown.

“Shut up shut up shut up!” She wailed, hitting the walls of your home while you back yourself up against the opposite side, trying to keep your distance away from her. She screamed in rage before throwing some of the tablewares at you while you held your arms up, shielding yourself from the barrage of silverware that collided against the bruises on your skin.

“Mother. . .” You began to tear up when she walked towards you, her hand outstretched and raised before giving you another slap against your face. Her (h/c) hair framing her face while it pooled over her shoulder, her lips caved downwards to a frown as she stared down at you with hatred.

“Cover your eyes. I don’t want to see them.”

You tightly shut your eyes as you felt your mother roughly pulling on your hair, the forceful feeling making you terrified of the idea that your hair might even be ripped out of your scalp entirely. She began dragging you across the floor and shoving you into your room, the door slamming shut right behind you with a thud as her footsteps slowly disappeared.

You laid in the cold ground, breathing a sigh of relief as you began cracking your eyes open to stare at the large altar within the room. It was still decorated with various empty bowls and incense, albeit a bit messy and thrown together. The figure of God staring down at your pitiful, childish body with their hardened gaze.

“God. . . Please save me.” You reached out to the figure weakly before your arm fell down to the floor moments after, your energy weakening by the second. Your vision starts to blur as you try to keep your eyes open at God, begging them to free you from this prison.

You gasped and sat up from your bed, your heart pounding as if someone was knocking on it vigorously. You covered your mouth as you felt your stomach beginning to clench itself, you were feeling extremely sick and you desperately wanted to throw up.

“It was just a dream. . .” You whispered, “it was all just a dream.”

You felt the cool drip of liquid fall from your eyes and onto your lap, your hand reaching out to stroke the cheek your mother touched. Beads of sweat were dripping down from your neck as you struggled to breathe. You choked up a sob as you tried to control your cries.

How many more years must you suffer this curse?

You brought your hand up close to your eyes, your nails only inches away from the skin as you stared into your palm.

You wished there was a way to end this torment.

Your arm began to shake as you tried to stabilize yourself. You tightly shut your eyes before reeling your hand back, lulling yourself back into bed while you continued crying. Your chest started to burn as you struggled for proper oxygen. You pulled the sheet over your head, engulfing your entire figure in darkness as you found yourself slowly drifting away in the sea of emptiness.

You mindlessly drew in your journal, drinking your second carton of milk while you sat on the rooftop with everyone else. Yuki eyed you carefully, noticing that you had taken off your bandages and there were dark circles under your eyes which you tried to conceal with a bit of makeup.

Did something happen to you last night? He continued to eat his meal as he sat near you, listening to the rest of the group talk to each other. Although you joined them this time for lunch, you seemed to be spacing out quite a lot more today.

He saw earlier that one of his fangirls had shoved you against the wall, but you left as quickly as he came to the scene. The moment you left, you had a really nasty glare and the other girls seemed to have fallen to the ground out of pure intimidation.

You seemed to be more tired and angry today, perhaps you didn’t get enough sleep? That was something he assumed but as he leaned over slightly to peer at your notebook, he can see you were writing down your thoughts about dreams. It was rude to take a peek at your journal, but curiosity was getting to him.

Today in Home Economics you were also quite sluggish when it came to cleaning up. There were times where you accidentally dropped the bowl or almost cut your finger which earned you a light scolding from the teacher about your health. She had previously asked you if you needed to see the nurse to rest but you openly refused her offers. He leaned his cheek against his elbow as he observed you. Uotani turned her head towards Hanajima, whispering into her ear as Tohru conversed with Kyo, clearly too distracted to pay attention to what they were saying.

“The Prince is staring at her again. . .” She whispered, covering her mouth with her hand to conceal their comments. “What do you think he is thinking about?”

“Indeed he is. I wonder what has happened, earlier (L/n)-san wasn’t doing very well in home economics.” Hanajima replied, spooning rice into her mouth as she started to chew, “she seems to be really distant today.”

Uotani hummed while simultaneously nodding in agreement. Yuki looked around him carefully before shuffling himself over to you quietly, trying not to gain the attention of other people. You noticed his sudden change of position and turned your head towards him, causing him to flinch awkwardly as he started to sweat.

“Sohma-san, are you alright?” You asked.

He sweatdropped as he cleared his throat, “I was just wondering if you were feeling alright today. You looked very tired during class, you should have rested in the nurse’s room.”

You shook your head, “I’m fine, it was just a small slip up.”

I wouldn’t say spilling a bowl over your classmate’s head is considered a slip up, he thought. He sighed before finishing his lunch and watching you continue to fill out your journal for the day.

“Do you have work today after school?” He asked.

“No, but they have a small celebration party, I just don’t think I feel like going.” You replied, doodling a small bird at the corner of the page. “I’m not really close to anyone there, and I don’t really consider work parties fun, most of them are adults drinking alcohol and I’m only a student.”

“Hmm. . . I see.” Yuki vaguely remembered his earlier conversation with Tohru, saying that her family was going to take her back in and she will be moving out of their house soon. He wanted to sigh but restrained himself in front of you, he didn’t want to bring up any more problems in front of you right now.

“Are you coming over for dinner over the weekend?”

“Maybe, I have to pick up groceries and run some errands, are you fine with waiting for me?” You tilted your head up to look at him.

He gave you a smile, “of course.”

You quickly turned away from him with a small blush dusted across your cheeks, “t-then. . . I will. . . come over.”

Hanajima whispered over to Uotani, “she is blushing, I wonder what they are talking about.”

“Maybe something about love?”

“Possibly, she’s fidgeting quite a lot actually.” Uotani nodded in agreement.

Tohru spoke up, scaring both the girls, “what are you guys talking about it?”

Uotani quickly pulled her into a circle, careful to not disturb the time you had with Yuki as they huddled together. Kyo awkwardly sat by the side, not understanding the situation whatsoever.

“Tohru, the two of them are talking, you see that?” Uotani mentioned.

She peered over the blond girl’s shoulder and saw Yuki staring at your journal constantly as you continued writing, the two of you engaging in a conversation that was too quiet for her to hear from a distance. Tohru’s smile seemed to have widened as she turned back to Uotani.

“You’re right!”

“Of course it’s right in front of you!” Kyo angrily whispered, oddly paying attention to the circle despite not actually being fully part of it. He wouldn’t want to attract Yuki’s attention during this time, which seemed out of character for someone such as Kyo.

“So, what do you guys think they are talking about?” Hanajima whispered, “I feel a wave coming from them, but I do not know how to describe it.”

“Maybe they’re talking about. . . love!” Tohru swooned.

Kyo rolled his eyes before flopping onto the floor, his arms underneath his head to serve as pillows, “you think that rat would actually talk about love? He’s an absolute airhead.”

“Hm. . . The prince does seem like the type to not be interested in love.” Uotani placed her finger on her chin as she focused on her thoughts. “Maybe they’re talking about food. . .”

“That may be true, I am also thinking about food,” Hanajima added.

“You just had lunch!” Kyo replied.

You and Yuki purposefully ignored their conversation, instead, focusing on your journal which was starting to pile up with various notes and doodles. There were various drawings of animals on each corner of the page, such as the rabbit or cow. When being questioned about the choice of animals, you replied about drawing the zodiac animals.

Once you had flipped your journal onto a clean page, Yuki spoke up, “do you like to draw?”

“H-Huh? Umm. . .” You mumbled, “as a kid, I would draw on the floor with my fingers to pass time. Eventually, I just learned to do it with a pencil too.”

You started sketching out a drawing of an eagle, delicately drawing the feathers of the bird as it rested within a tree of blooming flowers. Yuki hummed as he watched you draw, you pressed your lips together as you offered your pencil towards him.

“Do you want to try?”

“A-Ah. . . I’m not really good at it so I’m not sure.” He waved to dismiss your hand. “P-Plus I wouldn’t want to ruin something as precious as your journal.”

“So? It’s okay not to be good at something, it’s better to try and have fun doing it.” You responded.

Yuki swallowed his own words as he processed your line. Trying something despite not being good at it? It seemed like a death wish to him as he began to doubt his own skills. You might even laugh at him for being so terrible at drawing or mock him on the inside, either one was horrible for him. He definitely couldn’t live with the idea of you lau-

“Sohma-san, if you think I’m going to laugh at you I’m not.” You said, pulling out a second pencil to continue drawing the flowers on the tree, “not everyone can be good at something they never tried at. It takes a lot of experience to make something look good. . . Besides. . . .”

“Most of the things you do are already good enough. . . ” You whispered, albeit too quiet for him to have even picked up your words.

He smiled before taking up one of your pencils, “I guess you have a point.”

You slid yourself closer to him so that the page would be in the middle, your voice guiding him on anything he felt unsure about drawing. Your shoulder bumped against his but you ignored the feeling, focusing your attention on drawing the details of the bird. He lifted up his pencil to begin drawing his part of the page while the others stared at the two of you silently.

For the rest of the lunch, Yuki was drawing a small rat sitting next to the eagle on the blooming sakura tree. The animal leaned up against the bird in content. Although messy and inexperienced, you found this memory to be precious to keep within your journal.

#fruits basket #fruits basket x reader #x reader #yuki sohma #yuki sohma x reader #yuki soma #yuki soma x reader

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jmeelee · 4 years

Note

If Derek Hale had been a bit bigger and hairier, would he be considered a Bearwolf? XD

OMG I have the best anons! Thanks nonny- this inspired a little fluffy ficlet and some horrible photo editing, and I blame you entirely!

----------

The knock comes just as Derek lifts a chipped white porcelain bowl to his lips to slurp up the last dregs of sugar-sweet milk. He sighs, stands, tucks the old bowl to his chest like a pig-skin football and stalks over to the door, sliding it along the track and revealing Stiles, standing on the threshold.

Derek’s not surprised to see him. If Stiles’ distinct, rabbit-like heartbeat thumping on the other side of the reinforced steel didn’t give away the game, then the Jeep’s dying engine rattle as it turned onto the street surely did. What does surprise Derek, however? The props.

Stiles is holding a stack of what looks like crudely-cut posterboards, resting them against his chest so the signs face Derek.

“What the h—?” Derek starts to declare, but Stiles holds a long finger up to his own lush lips, silencing him. Stiles lowers his hand to the outer edge of the boards, and thumbs one forward so it falls with a soft whoosh onto Derek’s dirty welcome mat, revealing words.

I know you’ve been struggling…

The letters are black and blocky, and Derek can detect the faded, sour-sharp scent of Sharpie marker on the paper and Stiles’ pale skin.

…since you gave up your alpha powers…

A blush creeps up the back of Derek’s neck. He has been struggling. Stiles isn’t the only person to notice, if the pitying, puppy-dog eyes Scott flashes or the uncharacteristically gentle shoulder squeezes Cora bestows are anything to go by. But—and this is a terrifying thought—Stiles may be the only person who understands why Derek’s been struggling.

The thing is, Derek never expected to be an alpha. No one plans to lose their beloved big sister, or for their uncle to go on a murderous rampage and bite a teenage boy. Kate ran Derek’s mind and body through the proverbial ringer, years before he ever took up the mantle of blood-red eyes and an extra fifty pounds of pure muscle. At least when he’d been alpha, the bulk had a purpose; strength, protection, power. Now the extra few inches of shoulder width and bicep circumference only serve to draw the wrong kind of attention to the one thing Derek doesn’t want people to notice; his body.

People would kill for Derek’s body, but it’s brought him nothing but misery.

And of course, Stiles had an uncanny way of showing up right when someone shined a glaring spotlight on Derek’s best and worst features. The low appreciative whistles on the street when he walks past. The horny housewife who knocked into him in the chip aisle of the supermarket when Derek and Stiles drew short straws for pack night snack shopping, and pretended she needed to steady herself with a tinkling laugh and a manicured hand against his pectorals. Or the skinny guy at Jungle wearing too much body glitter and a drunken smirk, who leered at the dark hair covering Derek’s thick thighs when the pack stopped a rogue, reincarnated Erymanthian boar from damaging anything other than Derek’s favorite pair of jeans.

Stiles bore witness it all the last few weeks, and he hadn’t said a word. Until now.

Whoosh.

...and the last thing you need or want…

Whoosh.

...is to talk about the body you have now…

Whoosh.

...or the one you had before…

Whoosh.

...so let me just say write this…

Whoosh.

...big, small, thin, heavy, hairy, bald, twink or bear…

Derek stifled a smile, fingers clutching his almost-empty glass bowl. Whoosh.

...to me, you are perfect...

“Stiles.” The name was a sharp inhale, but Stiles just shook his head, and let that card fall too.

...you deserve to be loved and respected, and I’d still think that, even if you looked like this…

“In my defense,” Stiles said, flipping the final card for Derek to see, “it started as a sketch of the boar from last week, and then ADHD happened, so just ignore the hooves.”

Derek barked out a laugh at the pencil drawing. “That is the most hideous thing I have ever seen.”

“Uh, rude,” Stiles scoffed, jiggling the posterboard. “I call it Bearwolf, and I thought I did an exceptionally good job on the doomsday eyebrows.” He cocked the picture one way, and his head the other. “And the nipples.”

Derek will never admit it, on pain of death, but the nipples are pretty stellar. He steps across the hall over the discarded messages, fingers of his free hand curling around the picture, and leans forward to plant a small, barely-there kiss on Stiles’ scruffy cheek. “Do you, ah, want to come in?”

“Yeah, dude. I totally do.”

Derek isn’t good at thank-you’s, isn’t good at saying a lot of things, but the picture goes straight up on his refrigerator, held in place by the ragged photo-magnet of Derek and Laura on the top of the Empire State Building, and he thinks Stiles understands him perfectly.

#sterek #eternalsterek #haleinski #stiles x derek #sterek ficlet #sterek fic #answered asks #bearwolf #yes this is man-bear-pig #thanks south park #stiles is so cereal #about derek #and his body image

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imaginaryelle · 4 years

Text

Fic: And One He Writes Himself

(also yesssss. \o/ headcanon, but even though everyone blames wwx for the new rules, lwj going off script 100% freaked the clan out way more and imo would make the clan elders far more likely to chip out some more lines on the wall than anything wwx could do alone, lol)

@vera-invenire, here it is! Thanks very much for the prompt, I had a lot of fun writing for it :D Many thanks also to @morphia-writes and @miyuki4s for their wonderful beta work, you are all awesome people.

Tags: CQL-verse, Chief Cultivator Lan Wangji, Wangxian, five times fic, pining, getting together, first kiss, long distance relationship (with meet-ups)

Length: ~6k (AO3 link here!)

1: Do Not Use Clan Techniques Inappropriately

To His Excellency, the esteemed Chief Cultivator, Hanguang-jun, the letter begins.

How will you ever know which letters are mine if I start them so formally? I promise, I promise, never again. Forever onwards you will be only Lan Zhan in letters, no matter what I have to write on the address.

But Lan Zhan, did you know? I’ve heard the most outrageous rumor lately. It’s the talk of traveling merchants and wine houses everywhere that you used the Lan Clan silence spell during the last cultivation conference. On every sect leader! Lan Zhan is so cruel. How could you do such a thing—and not invite me to see it? A baker in Yingchuan said Sect Leader Ouyang turned redder than his robes, and that Sect Leader Yao risked his throat and mouth still trying to speak. I’m tempted to call on Jiang Cheng and extract a full account from him, but we’d probably only fight again. Especially if you used it on him, too! Perhaps Jin Ling will be more accommodating for his long-lost uncle. Can I even think to trust a version of the tale from our dear Sect Leader Nie? I’m sure he managed to keep his voice unhindered, sly fox that he’s become.

It looks as if the rain is letting up, so my caravan will be leaving soon. I’ve heard all my life how beautiful Kuizhou is and now I finally have the time to visit. Have you seen it? I’ll send sketches of the landscape in my next letter; if you’ve been, we can compare notes, and if you haven’t perhaps they’ll help you decide if the rumors are true. For now, I can only offer this picture of your Gusu mountains. Think of it as a promise that I’ll come see them again someday.

Yours,

Wei Ying

P.S. I know you won’t tell me the story yourself, but I plan to beg you for it anyway. A tale like this is too good to keep behind your lips.

Lan Wangji reads it twice, committing the ebullient flow of Wei Ying’s writing to memory. The drawing is inked in a looser hand than he remembers from portraits and rabbits so many years ago, but he recognizes the landscape as the ridge on which they bid each other farewell, as seen from the trail towards the Qingling mountains.

He sets it to the side, smooths it carefully, and tries to take up his work again. The Jin Clan’s collected accounts of the last twenty years are neatly stacked before him, the white-gold bindings gleaming in yellow lantern light. He even manages to open one before his mind flits away, following the swooping energy of Wei Ying’s brush strokes into the night. He puts down the ledger, snuffs out the lantern, and stands. Perhaps he will check on the rabbits before curfew.

There is no announcement to go with the new rule listed in the main courtyard; it simply appeared on the Wall one morning, and then in all the library copies on the day after. But rumor swirls, of course, even in this place where gossip is prohibited. Perhaps especially here, behind white-and-blue sleeves in the juniors’ classes and through barely-moving-lips in the crafting, sword and music halls. As seems to be happening ever more frequently in the past few months, the name on the wind is Hanguang-jun.

Lan Wangji walks the wide, wandering paths between the back mountain and the Jingshi with the crisp folds of Wei Ying’s letter pressed between his yi and hanfu, over his heart. “Inappropriately” is a qualifier with more leniency than he is used to hearing from the Lan Clan elders. He wonders, with a sudden surge of surprise, if they are just as unsettled by and unprepared for his appointment to the position of Chief Cultivator as everyone else. Or perhaps it is simply that they have all attended more cultivation conferences between them than he ever wants to imagine. He can’t be the first Lan to have such an impulse. Loudly proclaimed falsehoods are, after all, exactly what the silencing spell was created to counter.

Yes. He is secure in his judgment. He has no doubts.

If the Sect Leaders cannot restrain themselves to speaking the truth, they will not speak to him at all.

2. Do Not Bother the Kitchen Staff

It’s supposed to be a surprise. A good surprise, for Wei Ying’s first visit to Cloud Recesses since Lan Wangji’s appointment as Chief Cultivator. He’s been working on it for weeks, ever since he received the letter declaring Wei Ying’s intent to visit for Qixi: he knows that Wei Ying’s greatest complaint about Cloud Recesses is the food, and so he will make certain Wei Ying has at least one meal more fitting to his tastes.

He knows it’s foolish, wishful thinking, but the idea that if he could just fix this one thing Wei Ying would stay has snuck into his mind, and so he purchases dried chilies and their oil from Yunmeng and spicy peppercorns and ginger from Caiyi, and rises before five every day for two weeks so that he might visit the kitchens and learn enough to prepare something simple.

If the kitchen staff are curious about his presence, they never let him see it. Li Jing seems pleased enough to teach him—stern and exacting, but never cruel—and pronounces the dishes of hot clear noodles, freshly pickled mushrooms and spicy tofu soup Lan Wangji produces “acceptable,” which is the highest praise she ever gives anyone. He makes them again the afternoon Wei Ying arrives, so that they will be ready for the evening banquet. He leaves a preservation talisman over the tray, and a note: For Wei Wuxian’s Return.

He doesn’t have time to check on it again. Wei Ying arrives like a spring storm, wild and sudden and casting the quiet paths of Cloud Recesses into disarray. He flits here and there like a blown leaf, greeting Lan Sizhui with an enthusiasm that violates at least three Clan principles before teasing Lan Jingyi with familiar humor and then complaining aloud—and loudly—that the rabbits still don’t like him. Never once does he venture further away than the reach of Lan Wangji’s shadow, and rarely even so far as that, but it is still not quite enough to quiet the tangled threads that pull and knot in Lan Wangji’s center. The press of paper against his chest is a habit born of a new kind of waiting, and now that Wei Ying is here, in front of him, the warmth it brings is more distraction than comfort.

Evening comes quickly, sweeping over Cloud Recesses with a cool, creeping fog and painting the mountain peaks in lively shades of red. Wei Ying tips his head back to watch a pair of cranes fly overhead and Lan Wangji watches the tilt of his mouth as he smiles and the line of his neck as he turns and waits.

He would have preferred a private dinner in the Jingshi, where Wei Ying might pair his special meal with his favorite wine and there would be no audience to comment on a lingering touch of fingertips as the cup passed between them. But it is not to be: his uncle is eating alone to aid his recovery after several days’ work refreshing the outer wards and his brother is still in seclusion, and so it falls on Lan Wangji to be present in the main dining hall for the evening meal.

Wei Ying pouts at this revelation but he joins the crowd without much protest—with so little in the way of objections, in fact, that Lan Wangji is certain he has some small rebellion in mind. As he is a single note of black and red in a chorus of white and blue, whatever it is is sure to be noticeable, but perhaps the food will be distraction enough. It is at least different from what Wei Ying has been served in Cloud Recesses before. Different enough that he frowns at it, and then opens his mouth to speak before he catches the slight shake of Lan Wangji’s head: silence during meals. Instead he fishes a whole dried pepper out of his soup for inspection and shoots Lan Wangji a questioning glance. The look of glee on his face when Lan Wangji nods is so captivating that Lan Wangji hardly even looks at his own portion before he starts eating.

It’s not that he doesn’t notice the unexpected added spice; his mouth burns after the very first bite, but Wei Ying’s surprised pleasure is worth any momentary discomfort. Even if it means he can’t actually taste most of the meal. It’s only when Lan Jingyi makes a faint choking noise that he realizes anyone else’s food has been affected. He can see the moment Wei Ying notices it too—his lips curl in like he’s clamped them together with his teeth trying not to smile, and his eyes widen even as he determinedly doesn’t look at anyone. Lan Wangji keeps his own eyes lowered as he examines the room. He is abruptly thankful that his uncle is not present, but many of the other elders are not so lucky. Several have already gestured for more tea or rice, an action that quickly ripples through the attending juniors as well.

The prohibition against talking during meals has never felt so smotheringly present as in this moment, watching faces turn red behind fiercely-clutched cups of tea. It’s Lan Bai who stands from his table and glares at Wei Ying, his face transformed more with emotion than the spicy food. He doesn’t speak—silence during meals—but he flaps his sleeve derisively and starts to sweep contemptuously past them, and Lan Wangji knows he will go straight to the Grandmaster, and then to the Sect Leader if he is still unsatisfied, because he always does. It will be an unpleasant waste of everyone’s time and an unnecessary stress on both of them because Lan Wangji already knows this incident is highly unlikely to repeat itself. It can only have happened at all in Li Jing’s absence, which means she has been called away earlier than expected for her grandchild’s birth in Caiyi.

“Do not be picky about food,” he reminds Lan Bai, and even the clicking of chopsticks stops in the wake of it. Lan Bai looks so affronted that for a moment Lan Wangji thinks he will actually argue the point.

Anything that might have been said is promptly forgotten as Wei Ying hurriedly stands and runs from the hall. He makes it just outside the doors before laughter bursts out of him, loud and joyous and likely audible to the whole of Cloud Recesses. Lan Wangji holds Lan Bai’s gaze. He will not have this falling on Wei Ying’s shoulders, and he is no longer just the Second Jade of Lan, too young and too-headstrong, who spends too much time away from home. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Lan Sizhui nudge Lan Jingyi, and both pick up their chopsticks. Slowly, the normal sounds of dinner resume, if with a great deal more tea than usual. Slowly, Lan Bai manages a rather stiff bow and excuses himself without further dramatics.

After he’s gone Wei Ying returns, mirth still spilling from every movement. He finishes his meal without speaking but it’s clear, as cultivators file out of the hall in silent rows, that he has plenty to say.

“That was—” He laughs again in the quiet of the Jingshi. “Lan Zhan, I can hardly believe someone so righteous as you would do such a thing. And to so many at once! Do you know how many times I tried to get into the kitchens when I was a student here?”

“It was unintentional,” Lan Wangji admits as he pours wine into Wei Ying’s cup. The incident is, in retrospect, rather reminiscent of a childish prank, and he should not be surprised to learn that Wei Ying might have planned something similar. “My preparation of your portion was not meant as a general instruction.”

Wei Ying accepts the cup with a soft brush of fingertips and a grateful smile, and then stills with it halfway to his mouth.

“Lan Zhan.” He sets the cup down with a sharp click. “Are you—Lan Zhan you made that? You—” his gaze drops for a moment and then he slides around the corner of the table to sit beside Lan Wangji instead of across from him. “You cooked that? For me?” His eyes are very wide, all traces of humor gone.

Lan Wangji hesitates, his fingers curling deeper in his sleeves. Perhaps his confidence was misplaced.

“Was it unpalatable?” he asks, because of course that’s possible. He hardly knows what the dishes are supposed to taste like to someone who actively enjoys them.

“It was delicious,” Wei Ying assures him. He reaches out with both hands and finds Lan Wangji’s fingers, and then his wrist. “Perfect.” He laughs, the sound a little watery. “I can’t believe—” he squeezes Lan Wangji’s hand, “—no one’s cooked just for me since—” he breaks off and turns away. His breath shudders through his frame.

Lan Wangji turns his wrist and links Wei Ying’s fingers through his own. This is perhaps not the reaction he hoped for, but he is hardly unfamiliar with the ways grief can lie in wait to ambush the most vigilant of minds.

“Sorry.” Wei Ying’s grip tightens. He manages to meet Lan Wangji’s eyes before ducking his head again, his chin tucked to his chest. “Sorry, sorry, this is—I don’t know why I—”

“It is alright, Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji guides his head back up and wipes the tears from Wei Ying’s cheek with his sleeve. “I’m here,” he promises. For you, always here for you, goes unspoken, caught somewhere deep in his chest.

Wei Ying’s face crumples. “Lan Zhan,” he says, the syllables half strangled on a sob, and he leans first into Lan Wangji’s shoulder and then sinks lower, until his head rests on Lan Wangji’s forearm above their joined hands, and he cries. It is not a particularly comfortable position, but Lan Wangji does not protest, even when Wei Ying’s tears soak through his sleeves to dampen his skin. He is, for a moment, at something of a loss for what to do. A faded memory comes to him of another night in this room, so long ago it’s more feeling than image: his mother’s soothing warm hands on his back and soft humming above him. And then another memory: Lan Zhan, won’t you sing for me echoing back at him from two decades passed.

He strokes Wei Ying’s shuddering shoulders, and he hums, soft and soothing, and he holds Wei Ying’s hand until he quiets, wrung out and limp with exhaustion.

Tomorrow he will rise early and prepare another meal for Wei Ying’s breakfast, shuttered away from curious eyes and open judgment. Tomorrow there will be music, and stories of mountains and rivers they never saw in their youth. Tomorrow they will walk the paths of his home side-by-side, and visit Little Apple and the rabbits, and he will watch Wei Ying revel in the afternoon sun. Tomorrow, together, they will build a lantern and release a promise to the heavens.

Tonight, he unbinds Wei Yings hair and combs it smooth with long, slow motions. Tonight he guides Wei Ying carefully to the bed and removes his boots and sees him settled under the blankets. Tonight he holds Wei Ying’s hand in his own and sits vigil against any specters of memory or dream that might come to haunt him, and for tonight—for tonight, that is enough.

3. Do Not Be Overly Affectionate in Public

“Pssst. Wei-qianbei.”

Wei Wuxian stops, much to Little Apple’s annoyance, and lets one hand slide down to Chenqing as he inspects his surroundings more closely. Cloud Recesses’ main gate is just around this bend in the path, and sometimes he thinks the donkey might be looking forward to their arrival even more than he is.

“Wei-qianbei.” A flash of white on the mountainous side of the path reveals Lan Jingyi, stumbling down to meet him with Lan Sizhui at his side and a gaggle of other young Lans in his wake.

“A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian greets Lan Sizhui with a grin, “and so many upright young Lans. Whatever could you all be doing outside your own warded walls?”

Lan Sizhui steps forward. “Wei-qianbei,” he says with a bow, proper as anything, “before you meet with Hanguang-jun, there’s something you should see.”

Wei Wuxian purses his lips, considering. “How many rules are you planning to break with this venture?” he asks.

“Um. None.” Lan Sizhui looks back at his companions and then nods firmly. “It’s actually the Wall of Discipline we want to show you.”

Wei Wuxian clicks his tongue in disappointment. Youthful creativity squandered once again. “Really, A-Yuan, don’t they teach you Lans anything about negotiations? This proposal is not at all appealing to me. I’ve seen enough of those rules to last a lifetime. Or two.”

“We know that.” Lan Jingyi folds his arms over his chest and smiles like he has something to be smug about. “But we think you’ll want to see this one.”

Hm. There’s a bit of cunning in Lan Jingyi’s expression that Wei Wuxian must admit is refreshing to see in a Lan. And he’ll have to walk past the rules anyway, on his way to the Jingshi. It can’t really hurt to take a look.

“You see?” He gestures at Lan Jingyi. “This is much more intriguing. Take note.” He ponders for another moment, then nods. “Alright,” he agrees, nudging Little Apple back into motion. “But it had better be quick.”

They get some curious looks from the cultivators on gate duty, and it takes some time to get Little Apple settled, but soon enough they’re in the main courtyard, staring at the engraved hunk of rock that dictates so much of life in Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian isn’t certain what he’s supposed to be looking at. Yes, there’s a new rule: Do not be overly affectionate in public. He’s just not certain what was so important about it to merit a special visit.

“It was added months ago,” Lan Wangji says, appearing at his shoulder. “Shortly after your departure.”

Wei Wuxian looks up at him, searching for some hint of what he’s supposed to be understanding here. Lan Wangji is doing his best impression of an implacable jade statue, which generally means he’s having some very pointed thoughts indeed. Wei Wuxian leans in to jostle his shoulder and gets a faintly amused deepening of the corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth in response. Success.

“How long was that, a few breaths?” Lan Jingyi asks to their right, too-loud as ever. “A count of ten?”

“I’m not certain that breaks it,” Lan Sizhui says, softer, “You’ve never been punished.”

That prompts Wei Wuxian to watch Lan Wangji more closely, waiting for confirmation or denial. But surely not. Surely they couldn’t mean...

Slowly, ever so slightly, Lan Wangji nods.

Wei Wuxian stares at the characters so carefully etched into the rock and struggles to contain his laughter.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, trying to hide his snickering behind his sleeve. “Lan Zhan, they can’t be serious. This sounds like they think I’m going to ravish you in the central courtyard.” It’s a joke. Very much a joke. He would happily ravish Lan Wangji in private, of course, if he could ever be certain Lan Wangji was interested in such pastimes, but—

“It’s not you they’re worried about,” Lan Jingyi says, though his smirk slides off his face almost as soon as it’s out of his mouth. Lan Wangji’s gaze settles on him for a moment, until Wei Wuxian draws his attention back by tugging at his sleeve because that—that doesn’t make sense.

“Lan Zhan,” he says. “Is this—this can’t be about Qixi. Can it?”

Lan Wangji looks away. The tips of his ears are turning pink.

“It is?” Wei Wuxian thinks hard, but he can’t remember anything from his last visit that would be drastic enough to prompt a new rule as a response. He frowns. “But we only built a lantern together. Building a lantern is hardly debauchery in public.” Even if it had felt like a bit more than just building a lantern at the time, with the mix of hope and nostalgia rising in his chest.

“Wei Ying is shameless,” Lan Wangji observes.

“I was a perfect gentleman!” Wei Wuxian protests. Well, alright, perhaps he had been overly touchy in his affection for Lan Sizhui. Or overly loud, at least. And there had been, admittedly, several moments where he’d had to to sternly restrain himself from kissing Lan Wangji in full view of all his elders and students. He had restrained himself precisely because he hadn’t wanted to spend the precious after-dinner hours of the festival writing lines or banished to kneel somewhere as some sort of penance. And also because even he wasn’t so shameless as to subject his first kiss to such a display. What if he did it wrong? Getting it wrong in front of Lan Wangji would be bad enough, but the whole of his clan as well? It hardly bears thinking about.

And yet, Lan Jingyi had said…

Wei Wuxian does have some well-worn memories of that time, of Lan Wangji’s steady presence at his side and the jumping, choking pulse of hope and want thrumming under his skin. There had been moments. When Lan Wangji plucked leaves out of his hair after an afternoon’s game with some of the younger Lan disciples. When their hands had touched over and over and over again as they built their shared lantern. The way Lan Wangji had looked at him after they’d released it. The mornings, when Lan Wangji presented him with breakfast made especially for Wei Wuxian, and the evenings too, when they played together, sharing songs both old and new, or simply sat together in easy quiet with a cup of Emperor’s Smile passed between them: one to pour, one to drink, fingers brushing. Moments when he’d thought—maybe that kiss was going to happen.

Maybe Lan Wangji had thought that too. Maybe—maybe he was waiting for Wei Wuxian to move first, maybe—

“Lan Zhan.” He reaches for Lan Wangji’s sleeve again. Lets his fingers slide down to linger on Lan Wangji’s own.

Lan Wangji turns, just slightly. Just enough to actually be facing him. There’s a quickly muffled noise to their right, which Wei Wuxian resolutely ignores.

“Lan Zhan,” he repeats, softer. “I really… I really do like you.” He shifts closer.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji’s fingers clench around his hand, and Wei Wuxian squeezes back.

“I like you so much,” he says, “and I wish...” He drops his gaze to Lan Wangji’s lips. “I wish...” His words dry up. All he can do is squeeze Lan Wangji’s hand tighter and stare at him and hope that—that his intent is clear. That Lan Wangji… understands and—

And then Lan Wangji is kissing him, moving their linked hands up to Wei Wuxian’s jaw and holding him still with Bichen pressed against his side and kissing him, and Wei Wuxian suddenly remembers the rules—rules Lan Wangji is breaking! For him!—and their audience, and he can’t stop the blush that burns on his face and neck but he’s not going to stop kissing Lan Wangji either.

“That definitely breaks it, right?” Lan Jingyi says in a whisper that is likely louder than he thinks it is, and Lan Wangji pulls away.

Wei Wuxian, embarrassingly, whimpers a bit, which turns into a only-somewhat aborted exclamation of surprise as Lan Wangji turns and starts dragging him along in the general direction of the Jingshi.

“Lan Zhan!” He jogs a little to keep up. He wonders how many rules they are breaking now—they’re not exactly running, but they’re certainly moving faster than usual. He’s definitely making noise. Is kissing someone still an impulsive act if he’s spent months and months thinking about it? And he’s quite certain that anyone looking at his expression, at least, would mark him down for “excessively happy” because the smile he’s wearing feels like it’s been stamped onto his face.

“Lan Zhan!” He stops in the Jingshi’s doorway and clings to the wall a little and waits for Lan Wangji to look at him along the taut line of their still-joined hands.

“What is it?” Lan Wangji’s voice is unexpectedly flat, and his grip on Wei Wuxian’s hand tightens as his eyes drop to that point of connection. As if he is perhaps afraid Wei Wuxian will try to slip free now.

“I just wanted to say, it is an honor to break the Lan Clan rules with you.” Wei Wuxian’s grin widens as Lan Wangji’s gaze narrows. He loves that glare so much. So, so much it feels like emotion is going to burst out of him like a breaking dam. “And,” he adds, gleeful and almost giddy, “I’m happy to help you break that one again any time you like.”

There is a moment of considering silence.

“Perhaps,” Lan Wangji allows, a smile pulling at the edges of his lips, and Wei Wuxian steps over the threshold and lets himself be pulled in like the moon pulls the tide—surging, crashing, and eternal.

4. Do Not Speak to Wei Wuxian

There is a new rule on the Wall of Discipline. Lan Wangji glares at it, which has little effect except to make his lover cling to his sleeve and laugh at him.

“Unjust,” Lan Wangji mutters. The rule has, admittedly, come in the wake of three separate disturbances to the Lan Sect’s calm, quiet existence, but Wei Ying is not to blame for them. If anything, it had been Lan Wangji himself who asked his young students the question: Who is just, and who is evil? Who is wrong and who is right? Who decides what is black and what is white? And how will you tell the difference outside these walls?

Just because Wei Ying is present in Cloud Recesses does not make him responsible for disruptions, even if he does take a certain amount of glee in watching such debates unfold.

Wei Ying’s glee is currently threatening to completely undo him as he collapses under the force of his own humor, more and more of his weight coming to bear where he holds Lan Wangji’s wrist.

“Lan Zhan,” he gasps, laughing enough to be hardly intelligible, “this is my favorite rule.”

Lan Wangji steadies him and waits, patiently, for an explanation. There usually is an explanation even if it is not always something Lan Wangji himself would consider reasonable or logical. Wei Ying tries to speak three times, each instance interrupted by a fresh peal of laughter before he finally heaves a few calming breaths and stands straight.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, wiping tears from his eyes, “with this rule, any time your uncle yells at me, he must break it. And the other elders! How will they punish me for talking at meals and running in the courtyards if they can’t speak to me?”

Lan Wangji’s lips twitch. “Ridiculous,” he says.

Wei Ying smiles, wide and exuberant. “Yes, yes, yes, so many of your rules are ridiculous,” he agrees, which is not what Lan Wangji meant, but he is well familiar with Wei Ying’s opinion in this matter. “But Lan Zhan,” he continues, “this one is silly. If only speaking to me were such a danger then you, you! Hanguang-jun, the Second Jade of Lan, the Chief Cultivator! You would be entirely beyond hope.” He shakes his head, incredulous and dismissive. Matter closed.

The implication, Lan Wangji is certain, is meant to be that he is obviously still an upstanding member of the Lan Clan, committed to its principles. This is true, but is perhaps truest in Wei Ying’s eyes, and in his own self-perception, rather than that view belonging to his Clan’s elders; Lan Wangji’s interpretation of the rules differs from his Uncle’s, and he knows the friction that causes is unlikely to resolve itself quickly. And then there are the rules he breaks willingly, repeatedly. The rules he is breaking right now, standing here with Wei Ying without attempting to hide either his affection for the man before him or his critique of an elder’s decisions. Speaking to him, as is apparently now prohibited. Lan An’s principles—and his exceptions—are well known to the Lan Clan elders, but Lan Wangji is still certain his ancestor would be much more forgiving of his transgressions than his living relatives are.

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying leans into him, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Do you want to know the best thing about this rule?”

Lan Wangji nods, and Wei Ying presses his lips tightly together, perhaps suppressing another laugh.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispers, leaning ever closer, until his hair brushes Lan Wangji’s ear and his breath is warm on Lan Wangji’s face. “Just think,” he says, conspiratorial and jubilant oh-so-dear, “I can never be punished for breaking it.”

5. Do Not Vandalize Sect Property

Their belongings are packed, the weather is clear, and Wei Ying is eager to return to the road. Lan Wangji, if pressed—by Wei Ying, in a quiet moment caught between breaths, private to themselves—might allow that he is also pleased to be leaving Cloud Recesses, at least for a time. To go night hunting again, to use his cultivation skills where they are most necessary, and to extract himself from the incessant politics of squabbling clans. To spend time with Wei Ying, and only Wei Ying, and to see the world as Wei Ying sees it. He has dedicated months of planning to this journey. Weeks of work to guarantee that they will not be interrupted, and that the cultivation world will weather his absence without more than the usual level of strife between sects.

Still, he stops in the courtyard, before the Wall.

“I will meet you at the back gates,” he says.

Wei Ying shoots him a curious look. “Is this about whatever had you talking to Zewu-jun for days and days?”

“I will meet Wei Ying at the gates,” Lan Wangji repeats. This topic is only tangentially related to matters he has discussed with his brother recently, and it only concerns Wei Ying in the way that most of Lan Wangji’s life concerns Wei Ying—his thoughts ever returning to him like the flow of rivers into the sea. There will be time to inform him of this later, when they are alone on the little-used mountain path to the southern provinces. He retrieves a bundle of bok choy and carrot tops from his sleeve and holds it out for Wei Ying to take. “For the rabbits.”

Wei Ying pouts, but he takes both the vegetables and the direction. “Secret Lan Clan business,” he mutters. He frowns and shakes the carrot tops at Lan Wangji. “You could have told me you were planning something.”

Lan Wangji could have, it’s true, but he knows Wei Ying. Even the hint of something unusual is enough to keep his interest for days—often long days, featuring frequent leading questions—ambushes from a probing enemy. And this is Clan business. Clan politics. Involving Wei Ying even as an observer courts resentment at best and chaos at worst. Wei Ying himself at least seems to realize the same. He sighs and waves the topic away.

“If you take too long the rabbits might start to like me best,” he teases instead, turning away and deliberately avoiding Lan Wangji’s skepticism.

Lan Wangji watches him until he’s out of sight and waits several slow, steady moments longer. He has gathered an audience, eyes watching from latticed windows, just-barely-open doors, and entirely-too-convenient conversations stopped just far enough away to allow observation. But that has been true of his life for years now—eyes wherever he goes, whatever he does. Here, now, perhaps it will actually be useful.

He approaches the wall and runs two fingers along the top edge, where he can feel the protective layers of generations of cultivators’ wards and talismans sunk into the stone. He could break them, with enough effort, or unravel them with the right array, but it won’t be necessary. What he has planned should not interfere with any of them. He steps back, pulls a talisman from his sleeve, and centers himself. He’s still not certain the words are exactly right, but they are the closest he could get.

It’s easier than expected. Perhaps due to something in his bloodline, or his cultivation level, or the memories he can bring to bear, stretching back past this handful of years, past Wei Ying’s resurrection, past his death, past Lan Wangji’s own injuries and seclusion, stretching back across long years to a childhood spent etching rules into his bones in the hope of one more afternoon listening to his mother talk and laugh and sing.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps the Clan has simply depended more on custom and reverence to protect the Wall than he anticipated. Perhaps they thought to ward only against actual damage. Whatever the reason, it is only the work of a few heartbeats to write the seal, focus his intent, and let it go.

The ink shines against the stone, stark against the carvings: An attempt to control others is a loss of self.

It won’t scrub off, or be easily banished. It will wear away with time, and rain, and wind, as all the world does. It will last weeks, at least. Perhaps months. Long enough. He suspects, in the utter stillness that the courtyard has suddenly become, that even a day would be long enough.

He does not look at the watchers in the windows, or across the courtyard. He turns and walks away, looking only forward. To Wei Ying, who is sitting on the ground near the back mountain gate with a leaf of bok choy in one hand as he attempts to coax a rabbit ever closer.

Wei Ying, who pouts as Lan Wangji approaches and the rabbits immediately lose interest in his offering of treats, instead gathering around Lan Wangji’s ankles. Wei Ying, who stands and tosses the leaf aside with a disappointed sigh more befitting of a child than a cultivator of his talent.

“Important Clan business done with?” he asks.

“Mn.” Lan Wangji gently nudges the rabbits away and steps over them, joining Wei Ying and Little Apple at the gate’s threshold. Wei Ying nods a few times, like he’s not really aware of his actions.

“You know, Lan Zhan.” His voice is oddly low, the words stilted. His hands move aimlessly in the space between them. “If you’d rather stay here—if you don’t want to come—”

“I want to, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji assures him before that line of thought can go any further. He takes Little Apple’s lead and holds Wei Ying’s gaze. “The paths we walk do not need to be lonely ones.”

Wei Ying smiles, his eyes overbright, and something between a sigh and a laugh bursts from his lips. “Lan Zhan,” he says in something closer to his normal voice, “you just say these things and I can’t—” His hands rise warm and familiar to Lan Wangji’s jaw, and their lips meet, and Lan Wangji stands still and steady and kisses Wei Ying for as long as it takes for Little Apple to become agitated and shove her head into Wei Ying’s hips, pushing him back. Based on the displeased scrunching of Wei Ying’s face as he glares down at his donkey, Lan Wangji is certain they would both agree it wasn’t nearly long enough. But there will be more chances. More long afternoons, more starlit nights and soft morning sunrises to share. He watches Wei Ying shake his head fondly and rub the donkey’s ears. Watches him grip Chenqing at his belt and turn with a smile.

“Alright, Lan Zhan,” he says, the corners of his eyes crinkling with good humor and excitement and what Lan Wangji has tentatively started to think of as love, right there on his face for the whole world to see. “Where should we go first?”

#wangxian #the untamed #chen qing ling #lan wangji #wei wuxian #cql #alex writes

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badsext · 4 years

Text

Night at the Mausoleum: Klaus x Fem! Reader - Part 5

Parts 1 through 4 are on my Masterlist

Klaus never returned to the mausoleum. Hargreeves came to collect him that night, then locked it up for good. What did Klaus see in those drawings? It was the question that continued to haunt you, so much that you developed an aversion to drawing and completely stopped doing it - not a sketch or a doodle - nothing. Even the smell of pencils made you sick.

After graduation you started a job at a bookstore. You were still living with your parents until you could afford something better. You still resented them for enabling Hargreeve’s abuse, but financially your only other choice was homelessness. You spent all your free time reading and all your money on books. You read to try and escape your broken heart.

It had been seven years since you’d last seen Klaus. In that time things had gotten much worse for him. His brother Ben died on a mission when they were seventeen. Then he became addicted to drugs and ran away from home. At first you tried desperately to reach out to him, but he avoided you. Eventually you gave up. That broken heart of yours bore thick scar tissue. In spite of the pain, you still longed to see him again. Soon you would have that chance.

It was Saturday evening and you’d just gotten home from work when there was a knock at the front door. You answered, figuring it was just a client for the mortuary, but it was Klaus. He stood before you a grown man. Klaus had always been unabashedly himself, but now he had the freedom to dress that way too. He slayed in tight leather pants and a black fur trimmed coat. You also noticed the eyeliner around his gorgeous green eyes as he looked into yours.

“Y/N, I know it’s been a long time…”

“Yeah, so what are you doing here?” It came out harsher than you intended, but you were trying to hold back tears.

“I came to say I’m sorry.”

For seven years your mind was full of doubt and regret. For seven years you wondered if Klaus was still out there, if he was okay. Now he was here to make amends, no doubt part of his recovery. You were at first defensive, but all pretense dissolved when you imagined the hell he’d been through.

“Okay.” You nodded and sobbed, reaching out for him. He gathered you up in his arms.

“Can we talk?” He whispered in your ear.

“Not here.” You motioned down the path, grabbed your coat, and closed the door behind you. It was Autumn, the leaves were on the ground like they were when you’d first met klaus. You took him to the stone bench and sat down. The polished granite was freezing and you suddenly remembered why you never sat there. Klaus winced as his leather clad cheeks felt the chill of the seat across from you.

“The last time we saw each other you gave me this…” Klaus handed you a folded up piece of paper from his pocket. “Do you recognize it?”

It was your drawing, but it looked different to you now. Your stomach turned when you made sense of the image. It was Klaus’ brother, Ben Hargreeves in the grips of a monster, the one he summoned from the portal in his chest.

“Y/N, this is how my brother died.”

His words knocked the wind out of you. Then tears started rolling down your cheeks. Your mind reeled with all the pain and confusion this must have caused him. You didn’t know what to say.

“He used to be our last resort,” Klaus continued. “But Dad kept pushing him to use his power, open the portal and summon the demon, each time taking it further. It was always unstable, Ben was taking a huge risk. Then one day it just took him.”

“Klaus, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You wiped your face with your sleeve.

“It’s not your fault.” Klaus took your hand. “I didn’t understand at first. I mean, how could you draw something like that before it happened? But now I think I have an idea…Okay, Ben gave me the idea.”

“Ben?”

“Oh, he’s here." Klaus tilted his head to the right. “I started seeing him after I got sober six months ago.”

“He talks to you?” You looked into the open space to the right of Klaus and waved.

“Oh yeah, He’s got a lot to say about everything, constantly dispensing wisdom like Jiminy Cricket.” Klaus rolled his eyes.

“Here.” Klaus got up and straddled the bench to face you. He turned the drawing over, smoothed it out, and handed you a pencil.

“Klaus, I didn’t draw that picture. I mean, I wasn’t thinking when I drew that picture.”

“Exactly. Turn off your mind. Tap into your subconscious. We think that’s were it lives.”

“It lives!?”

“Metaphorically speaking. Your power lives in your subconscious.”

“My power!?”

Klaus laughed. “Don’t be so shocked. Go ahead, draw something.” He motioned to the paper in front of you. You took a breath to clear your mind and began dragging the pencil across the page. Moments later you looked down. It was like a puzzle your brain couldn’t comprehend.

“I don’t understand.”

“Look closer.”

You concentrated on the image. It revealed itself to you one object at a time. A table. Two coffee cups. A woman in a robe. A man standing behind her, his hand on her shoulder, kissing her hair.

You looked up at Klaus. He was gazing back with a knowing smile. In that instant you knew these were your coffee cups on your kitchen table in the home that the two of you would share. Your heart leapt in your chest. Your lips met for a kiss that attempted to make up for lost time, a kiss that felt like eternity.

*Let me know your thoughts on this series. Comments are always welcome 🙂

@vinawyatt @bubblyani @moorehollandplz @siriuslynore @chipster-21 @zombiedixon89 @bi-satanist @dandycandy75 @deadlynyghtshayde @klaus-hargreeves-energy @help-i-need-a-social-life @living-for-romance @luxaeterna13 @forenschik @r3d4ct33d @cottagecompanion @thehanwen @queenboosha @jupitercrxsh @ringpopdust @carrot-rose @affection-rabbit @theladywholivesonthemoon @immirandaq @oplunket16 @gudfornuthin @galactic-kitten-nonsense @yeet-ya-later

#klaus hargreeves x reader #klaus x reader #klaus tua #klaus umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves imagine #klaus hargreeves fanfic #number 4 #klaus hargreeves series #klaus in the mausoleum

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hottestthingalive · 4 years

Text

Bluebells (1)

Chapter 1: Seeds

AO3 Link here.

Chapter 2 here, finally!

Notes: So, to those of you who saw this post about my WIPs which mentioned this having background Roceit and Intruality in later chapters of this story?

...I accidentally became way too invested in the idea of Virgil making fun of Patton’s new boyfriend being called Prince. So you get that now.

The name of the chapters comes from an interesting fact I learned about bluebell flowers while researching this story: they take at least five years to grow from a seed into a bulb, which they have to be before they flower. The first chapter takes place six or seven years before the events of the main story, so I found it very appropriate. This story should only be three or four chapters long, but who knows -- I have lots of ideas for these boys.

Plot: Logan encounters a strange boy in the woods. His name is Anxiety, and he's hiding in the flowers.

Relationships: budding romance analogical, hinted dukeceit, royality in later chapters, remile in later chapters, platonic DRLAMP

Tw: Cursing, faeries, mention of death, mention of kidnapping, dead parents. (If I missed anything, let me know!)

---

He didn’t understand, and it bothered him to no end.

Logan first saw the human in May, when the sun stayed long and the moon appeared less. The flowers had started to bloom, the trees green and vibrant, with alternating days of hot sun or torrents of rain.

The faerie quite liked May. He preferred winter, of course, being Unseelie, but some nights in the spring he could look up at the sky and see every single star, and stars fascinated him to no end. Besides, there was no one telling him to do his job in the warm months (for there was no snow or cold, blustery winds in the time of the Seelie), and without the pestering to summon winter he could be alone. Logan enjoyed his solitude.

That is, he had, until the human child had stumbled into a flowered field in the small section of the forest the Unseelie had managed to mark off for himself.

The boy (or at least Logan guessed he was a boy; he had never been good with human age or gender. Fey just were, and though Logan had known he was male early on, many didn’t care about such things. It was such a human concept, after all) was carrying a black book in one hand, a knapsack slung over one shoulder. He sat down in the field, and suddenly he was gone, hidden in the bluebells.

The fey squinted, trying to see the strange mortal in the flowers, but the boy had achieved almost perfect camouflage.

Logan had never seen him before, not in the forest. Humans rarely dared tread in the woods, for fear of its elven inhabitants. This one was an anomaly, and it was positively fascinating. Especially one so young -- he appeared to be less than Logan’s own age, making him maybe seven or eight.

This went on for some time. The strange male would appear in the field, plop down among the bluebells, and stay there for some time, while Logan watched from the branches of the trees. When he finally left, Logan would check the place where he sat, searching for a sign as to how this mortal could hide so thoroughly.

It was on the seventh appearance of the sun that he found something strange: a piece of white parchment, with a sketch of the forest. The detail was quite good for the hand of a child, Logan had to admit, but it wasn’t the quality of the drawing that bothered him. It was the face in one of the trees, undoubtedly his own, with a line of scribbled human glyphs scrawled beside it. They took but a second to translate.

Just come say hi.

How had the mortal seen him? It was undoubtedly dangerous, Logan’s instincts told him. Best to abandon the area, warn his court, and allow the Seelie to deal with the small human intruding in the fey woods. Nevermind that the spring and summer fey were notoriously thoughtless, and might kidnap the child. Nevermind that they would likely forget that humans did not live as long as fey, despite (in their early years, at least) growing at the same rate. Nevermind that, eventually, after often forgetting to provide food or care for their pet human, they would throw him out for aging, or keep him till he died.

No, Logan was to disregard all of that.

The next day, Logan found himself creeping through the field, inching his way towards the bluebell patch. The faerie found his pride in his magic: he was quite good at it, and so he expertly used the flora to mask his presence. There was no possible way he could be noticed.

“Hi,” the boy said, looking up and straight into Logan’s eyes. The human’s own irises were green, a deeper green than he would normally expect from a mortal, the color of grass and oak leaves. “Finally! I thought you would never talk to me.”

Well. That wasn’t right.

“How did you spot me?” he demanded, dumbfounded. He found himself adjusting his black shirt subconsciously, in a state of mild shock.

“It’s a secret,” the child grinned. “What’s your name?”

How rude, Logan thought.

I shall never speak to him again, the rational part of his brain decided. He probably has magic, and is a danger to me and all others of my kind.

But he’s fascinating, said the uncontrollable, irrational, annoying part of his brain that was always championing silly matters like friendship and personal interests over actually doing his duty, which would logically be to report this at once. And I do occasionally get lonely…

“You may call me Logic,” he heard, realizing a second late that the words had come from his own mouth. “Which is an alias, of course, but it is the only name you shall get.” Logan had gone by the name for years, choosing it just as every other child did, in this world where true names had power.

“I figured,” the mortal smiled, with his green eyes crinkled and the absence of one of his front teeth distinct. “I’m Anxiety.”

“Why choose ‘Anxiety’?” Logan asks, years later. He receives that same smile, although the adult tooth has long since grown in.

“Why’d you choose Logic?” the male in front of him asks in turn, and Logan responds by blinking.

“I don’t believe I know,” he replies.

“Exactly,” his compatriot shrugs. “It just felt right.”

“Are you a witch?” he queried weeks later, sitting cross-legged besides Anxiety and holding a book in his hands.

“A witch?” Anxiety repeated, looking up from his sketchbook.

“Bluebells are sometimes called harebells, especially in Scotland,” he said, “because witches are supposed to turn into rabbits to hide in the flowers. It is almost impossible to spot you without knowing if you are here; maybe you’re a witch.”

“Last I checked, I can’t turn into a rabbit,” the boy laughed. “Maybe I summoned you, though, by ringing the bluebells.”

“They are not literal bells, Anxiety.”

“My dad used to tell me that if you rang bluebells, faeries would come,” he shrugged. “But if a human hears a bluebell ring, that means someone dear to them will die.”

“You humans have such morbid myths,” he told his mortal companion, looking at the flowers. “A bluebell cannot make a sound, anyways, so if one hears something it would be purely coincidental.”

“It’s fun to think about though,” said the human beside him, and Logan looked over at Anxiety, who was sprawled on the grass, staring at the clouds in the blue sky. “Hey, that one looks like a cat eating pasta out of a bucket.”

He looked at the cloud in question, and had to admit it did appear so, as odd the image was. “Why do you humans engage in these flights of fantasy?” Logan asked, despite himself.

“Coping mechanism, probably,” he replied, with the air of a child that, despite their age, knows enough about the world to call themself Anxiety. “Don’t you?”

“The Seelie, perhaps,” Logan sniffed, “but my court is far more realistic in our views than those sparkly fools.”

“Fair enough,” laughed the mortal.

Logan soon found himself spending the spring and summer with the boy called Anxiety, sitting in the field. Anxiety brought him books written by humans when Logan got bored of fey texts, and in turn, the faerie deigned to ‘show off’ a bit, demonstrating his magic one day by summoning shadows and a storm. He couldn’t deny the fact that he had been quite happy to see Anxiety wasn’t scared at all, instead laughing as the rain fell around them and Logan scrambled to save their things because “We must save the books, Anxiety!” Once everything was stashed in a hollow tree, however, he managed to get a good look at the boy he had started to think of as a friend, and a laugh was shocked out of him. Anxiety’s bangs were plastered to his face, covering his eyes.

“You look as though a mop has adhered itself to your skull,” Logan informed him, unable to hide his smile.

“What’s that weird thing you’re doing with your face? Are you okay?” Anxiety asked, sarcasm negated by his own grin. Logan rolled his eyes. He knew he did not smile often, but still -- those levels of cheek were unwarranted.

He learned Anxiety was ten, older than he would have guessed, and only a month younger than Logan himself. That he loved poetry and sewing and art but didn’t think he was really good at any of them, and would be mocked for these interests. That his parents had died when he was quite young, and he now lived with his elderly grandmother, who let him run off anywhere as long as he was in his bed the next morning. She had homeschooled him for his early years, and would only send him to an official establishment next fall, which told Logan why Anxiety wasn’t with his fellow human children in their brick school during the spring. It also explained why he’d been allowed to enter the fey woods at all, what with the healthy fear the locals had developed of the place.

In turn, ‘Logic’ had revealed his love for the stars, (which led to Anxiety sneaking out one night to stargaze with him in the bluebell field), how he’d kept a lizard as a pet one summer, but released it at the end because a cold-blooded creature likely wouldn’t survive the winter months, and how he reported directly to the Unseelie ruler, because all fey had a job, young or old. “It’s just the way it is,” he explained. “I have responsibilities to my court, as do all fey children.”

“Bit like child labour, though,” Anxiety pointed out.

“For humans, maybe,” he conceded, “but we mentally develop much faster.”

“But you live longer, so shouldn’t you get to embrace your childhood before your infinite adulthood?” reasoned the other, watching the ladybug that was clinging to his sleeve.

“Not infinite,” Logan replied, and Anxiety raised his head in interest. “We live a very long time, to be sure, but all fey die eventually. When we run out of magic, we age and perish.”

His friend considered that -- and Logan considered the human boy his friend, now. That notion had snuck up on him, it seemed, surreptitiously changing his label of ‘acquaintance’ to one of friendship.

He didn’t really mind.

Fall came in colored leaves and bursts of chilly wind, of flowers wilting and apples ripening in the trees. Logan attended the passing of the seasons, or the transfer of control, from the Seelie Court to that of the Unseelie at the equinox. It was in the deepest part of the forest, the part that joined the realm of the fey to the human world.

Logan wasn’t entirely happy about their regained dominion. He should have been, he knew: logic dictated it! With winter, his powers increased, and he gained structure and work he loved. Why would he not be glad?

Well, remarked the treacherous little voice in his head, we can’t spend time with Anxiety in the winter, now can we?

It was true, he mused as the crown of the fey on the podium shed its vibrant flowers and its green leaves turned red, orange, yellow, and brown. He’d be very busy, for one. Talyn, leader of the Unseelie, had promised him greater responsibility this year. And besides…

The woods were dangerous enough when the Seelie ruled. But Logan’s court had a tendency to be vicious, and they did not attempt to hide their darkness like their flowery counterparts.

Were Anxiety to be discovered in faerie woods in winter…

He didn’t want to think about it.

“Logic!” called a familiar voice, and he turned to see two identical faces waving to him.

“Prince, Duke,” he nodded. “I trust you are well?”

“Oh, Lolo, don’t be so formal with us,” Prince grinned, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “We’re friends, after all!”

“Or are we making you nervous?” smirked Duke. “No, something else is! You’ve got a secret, don’tcha?”

Logan’s lips thinned. He’d forgotten how alarmingly perceptive the Unseelie half of the brothers could be.

Prince and Duke were oddities among the fey, the children of parents from both courts. Prince was Seelie, Duke Unseelie, but they had remained close even when the courts did their best to seperate them. Now, they had achieved a sort of notoriety. Joan, leader of the Seelie court, was said to be molding Prince for his own role, and Talyn had already offered for the Duke to study under them. He had rejected the offer, saying that he didn’t want the vulnerability of fey leadership, and a faerie called Deceit had been selected instead.

Secretly, Logan suspected Duke’s reservations had less to do with every faerie in both courts knowing his true name (which was a requirement for Talyn and Joan, just as it had been for all fey leaders before them) and more to do with the restrictions being trained by Talyn would put on him. He loved his chaos, after all.

“I don’t see what my personal affairs have to do with you,” he said, rather coldly. “No offense meant, of course.”

“Oh, Logic, you break our hearts!” Prince cried dramatically, clutching his chest. “How could you say such things to your bestest and oldest friends?”

“Advice’s by far the best of my friends.”

“Oldest friends!” Duke countered.

“I have known Deceit for far longer than either of you.”

Duke colored at the name (could he be any more obvious with his little crush?) and Prince exclaimed, “Friends!”

“...Dubious,” Logan said, turning back towards the proceedings.

“C’mon, Logie, we both know you’re bored out of your mind having to watch this mind-numbing shit,” Duke told him, grinning. He was missing three teeth. Fey aren’t supposed to lose teeth, the tiny part of his mind that hadn’t given up yet pointed out. “Let’s leave, and then you can tell us all about your little secret.”

“I will not be telling you anything,” he sighed.

But he ought to. He knew that. It was why he had been avoiding Advice lately, who had gotten a little too good at reading people after beginning his job as a healer. It was why after the meeting Logan threw himself into his work, so as not to cause any issues, any reasons for his court to keep an eye on him. It was why he began following Anxiety when the human boy left the forest each day, making sure he couldn’t be taken on his way home.

Winter came and Logan began to change, as the power of his people’s season grew within him. His features, already pronounced, became sharper, hair longer (more wild, Anxiety said, as he attempted to braid the dark locks), ears, nails, and teeth more pointed. He changed his clothes for winter, of course, wearing a night-blue cloak lined with rabbit fur over his usual dark attire, and grudgingly trading bare feet for boots. Anxiety laughed at him a fair bit, for that (“What’s your problem with shoes?” he had cackled, as Logan sulked besides him) but after he had to switch his sweatshirts for a heavy black parka, the human joined the fey in petulant anger.

One day, Anxiety asked why fey changed appearances in the winter, gingerly examining Logan’s sharp nails, which bore an uncanny resemblance to claws. Logan replied that they didn’t -- they changed for summer, or Unseelie did at least. His winter form was his true one; the one the human had first encountered was a disguise of sorts, a way to blend in among the Seelie, a defensive relic from when the two breeds of faerie were at war.

He was afraid, then, looking at Anxiety, that he would flee. Unseelie were always the evil fey in human stories, not the playful tricksters but the monsters in the dark, and this human seemed to know every story, reciting them from memory to Logan as they lay in the field, watching clouds in the sky.

But Anxiety simply hummed quietly, looking up into Logan’s eyes. “Those don’t change,” he said, motioning to them. “Must be pretty easy for the Seelie to recognize, huh?”

“Why would my eyes be easy to recognize?” he asked, blinking.

“They’re beautiful,” the human shrugged, far too casual, and returned to his study of Logan’s nails. “Hey, maybe I could paint your nails. My friend Morality’s been teaching me how.”

(And if the tips of the faerie’s pointed ears turned red, his cheeks dusted with a similar colour, Anxiety was kind enough not to mention it.)

He knew it was dangerous, still meeting the human, but Logan still found himself entering the clearing each day, even though the bluebells had all wilted by August and the other flowers followed quickly, even as the grass turned brown. Sometimes, Logan told himself that it was because he wanted to learn from Anxiety, or because he wanted to interact with someone his age, or because he was simply ingrained in his habits. Always a new excuse. Nevermind that the information the human could teach him was nothing compared to his own vast reservoirs of knowledge, that Deceit, Prince, Advice and Duke were all his own age, and two were even of Logan’s court, that he was a faerie, and the fey did not do routines, as creatures of the wild.

The truth was, he found a certain amount of joy in meeting with someone who seemed to understand Logan’s reluctance to conform to the standards of his court, who was kind and laughed easily and shared stories and secrets and songs without any cost. The truth was that he was just a bit selfish.

Logan’s selfishness would come back to bite him.

It was fall on the cusp of winter when it happened, a crisp afternoon in early November, and a Wednesday. This meant that Anxiety could only come later in the day, and carted along a backpack holding papers and books and math. As far as Logan could tell, math was a game with numbers with many nuanced rules, that he rather liked and Anxiety hated.

To make sure that the human managed to reach the clearing safely, Logan had begun to meet him on the path that was Anxiety’s way through the forest, using his magic to mask the two of them from the Unseelie patrolling the woods. Anxiety found it funny (he didn’t seem to quite understand the true danger the forest posed him) but a bit irritating, so Logan grudgingly met him halfway down the path instead of at the line of trees that seperated the forest and the town.

So he sat in the woods, that Wednesday, high up in the branches, and waited, lost in thought. It had been several months since they’d met in the beginning of May, spending time together almost every day. He had expected the human to have run away in fear by now, to have stopped coming into the forest, to have been scared off by the magic or the changing of shapes or simply by the power Logan held. But the aptly named Anxiety (he was scared of so many things, of sharks and snakes and clowns and drowning and dying and blood) wasn’t afraid of Logan at all, it seemed.

It was nice, not being feared -- even among his own people, he was treated with a healthy amount of caution. Faeries did not trust. They found security in favors, in debts, and even family, like Prince and Duke, eyed each other with suspicion. But the human boy believed so easily, never asking for a favor or a name, giving and never asking for anything in return. It did not match with what Logan knew, of humans or of fey.

...Anxiety was late.

He held out for two minutes longer, before he finally stood and darted through the branches, feet finding footholds that should not have held them, moving through the air and ignoring the fact that occasionally he never touched the branches at all. Such was being a faerie.

Later, he would think back on the moment and thank the forest he had been so lucky. If he had waited a minute longer, had decided to run along the ground instead of in the trees, if he had listened to Anxiety when he rolled his eyes the day before and said “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me,” when Logan had told him to be careful…

Logan found his human (sometime in the past months, the human boy had become his. When, he didn’t know, but it had happened so easily, Anxiety sliding into his life with his drawings and poetry and laughter and settling in like he had always belonged. If he believed in things like that, Logan would think it was fate.) standing frozen in the dirt path, eyes glazed and unfocused, books spread around him and backpack lying in the dirt. Unseelie had swarmed him, two of them examining the human in their midst as one -- Deceit, Logan realized in shock -- worked his magic to keep him in a docile trance.

“Why did he come here?” another faerie asked, one Logan vaguely recognized. From his recollection, he was named Raven. The third he had never met, and seemed a fair bit older than the other two and Logan himself -- Deceit, Raven, and Logan were all young fey, Raven the oldest at maybe fourteen and Deceit almost the same age as Logan himself. This faerie, however, despite appearing to be in their early twenties, had an air of age, and he would guess the mystery individual to be in their hundreds.

“It doesn’t matter,” the older Unseelie smiled, a grin appearing on their face. “It’s just a human boy. Kill it or take it.”

“He -- He’s our age, Lady Belladonna,” protested Deceit, his brow furrowing. “A child. Shouldn’t we just send him away?”

“Oh, not he,” the apparently female faerie snarled, reaching out to grip Anxiety’s blank face in dark nails. “Humans… humans are beasts. And they call us creatures of the dark! It has no more rights than an animal, age or not. Maturity has never affected the ways of the fey.”

“But Lady--” Raven protested, looking as disturbed as Deceit, but he never got the chance to finish his sentence. Logan had heard enough.

Lady Belladonna, whoever she was, had been correct. Maturity had very little to do with fey; age meant time, and a faerie scorned time, even physically. So Logan, young as he was at barely eleven winters (Logan had turned eleven just a few days ago -- Anxiety had given him some of the mechanical pencils he had liked, as well as a decorated case. He had said it was a ‘birthday gift’.), had power, power enough to reach out to the minds of the three fey and push them into sleep.

He’d always been good at manipulating the brain -- better than even Deceit or Advice.

The three Unseelie crumpled to the ground, eyes shutting even as they tried to resist, pushing back against his influence. The clearing soon quieted, silent but for the sound of quiet breathing and the wind in the trees.

Logan knew he had succeeded when Anxiety blinked and the haze over his eyes disappeared, Deceit’s control gone. The human gasped, stumbling backwards, and at that moment Logan finally emerged from the branches to pick up the backpack and the books, nodding in greeting.

“Logic?” Anxiety asked, sounding small, staring at the fey slumped around him. “What -- what happened? Are they…”

“Merely sleeping,” he replied, motioning to the rise and fall of Raven’s chest. “They will be alright.” His face hardens. “They deserved worse. What do you remember?”

“All of it, I think. They surprised me, and that one that looks like a snake did something -- I couldn’t move, I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t scream.” He hesitated, staring at the female faerie. “She wanted to kill me?”

“Or take you to our realm,” Logan said, straightening, Anxiety’s backpack in one hand and his books in the other. “Here. I need to make sure they don’t remember this encounter.”

The human took his belongings, watching as Logan crouched by the sleeping fey, touching his fingers to their temples. It took only a few seconds to alter their memories, to make them believe their enchanted sleep to be the result of a backfired spell by the Lady. (He takes special pleasure in placing the blame on her.)

He altered first the memories of Raven, then Belladonna, and then he reached for Deceit.

A yellow-gloved hand reached up to grasp Logan’s wrist.

“Logic!” Anxiety exclaimed, a fearful squeak, rushing forwards, but Deceit spoke before he could aid him.

“Thank you,” the young Unseelie whispered, eyes forcing themselves open.

“What?” Logan asked, unable to keep the shock from his voice. Deceit was one of the few faeries that could lie without repercussions, but the thanks seemed genuine. Whether he had become far better at lying than Logan had thought, or…

“She would have murdered him,” Deceit laughed, a harsh sound. “Probably would have made me do it, a test for Talyn’s protégé. I definitely would have been able to casually murder a kid my age.” Sarcasm practically dripped from his words, before his tone softened. “So, thank you, Logic.”

“You released Anxiety from the spell, didn’t you?” he realized, blinking down at the barely-conscious faerie. “You’re going to get yourself killed, Deceit.”

“Wipe my memories,” he shrugged. “I’ll be fine. But be careful, okay? Belladonna isn’t alone in her views. There’s fey from both courts that are now advocating for violence against humans. Your boyfriend will need to be cautious.”

“He’s not my -- we aren’t -- we are far too young to be courting!” Logan protested, knowing full well his face was as bright as a rose, ears burning. Anxiety was in much the same state, although Deceit simply rolled his eyes.

“Of course you are,” the faerie sighed. “Just… keep an eye out, Logic. This forest has gotten dangerous, as of late.”

His eyes fluttered shut. A few seconds later, his breathing evened. Logan was rather impressed -- Deceit’d held out against the spell for far longer than he would have expected anyone to be able to. Luckily, the strange resistance didn’t carry over when he moved to alter his memories, and soon he stood to face Anxiety.

“It… It would be understandable if you decided to terminate our friendship,” he finally muttered, unable to meet the human’s green eyes. “You have now seen the truth of my people. We are vicious, and killers, and-”

“And you rescued me,” said Anxiety, voice startlingly calm. “And that other faerie -- Deceit, right? -- he didn’t want to hurt me either. I don’t think you’re vicious, or a killer.”

“Anxiety, you’ll be in danger if you continue visiting me. You could lose your life!” Logan exclaimed, motioning to the fallen faeries around him for emphasis, because the stupid human didn’t understand, didn’t get that he might die or worse!

“That was always going to be true, dummy. We’re in a faerie forest. I’m a human,” Anxiety deadpanned. “C’mon.”

They walked through the woods to the clearing in silence, Logan working his magic to render them invisible to prying eyes, Anxiety staring at the dirt under his sneakers. The forest was still, for once.

The two arrived in their typical spot, standing near where they knew the bluebells would grow again in spring, hearing dead grass crinkle underneath their feet. The human set down his belongings, and hesitated, suddenly still.

“Are you alright?” Logan asked, glancing over. Anxiety was staring at the ground again, arms wrapped around himself in a sort of makeshift hug, bangs covering his eyes.

“I… You saved my life, Logic,” the other said, voice choked, and there were glistening tears streaming down his pale cheeks. “I would have died.”

Logan had never been good at feelings. He’d be the first to admit so -- they were Prince or Advice’s department. Still, he found himself moving forwards, pulling Anxiety into a hug, ignoring the tears wetting his cloak as he did his best to replicate what he’d seen Advice do for distressed fey.

“I don’t want to die,” he heard, whispered into his shoulder. “I don’t want to die, L.”

“I won’t let you,” promised Logan, and heard from his own mouth, before he could even think about saying it, “I’ll protect your life with mine, if it comes to that.”

Anxiety let out a laugh at that, his grip tightening. “Well, that’s not very fair. You’re not allowed to die either, okay? I’ll protect you too.”

Logan had a response on the tip of his tongue (“You’re a human, how would you preserve my lifespan in any way?”) but a searing pain through his left eye interrupted him, and nothing more than a gasp of agony escaped the faerie. They seperated, Anxiety clutching the right side of his face.

The feeling disappeared as quickly as it had manifested, and Logan immediately looked up, searching for their attacker, and instead found the human’s previously green eyes.

The right one was a bright, shining purple.

Anxiety’s mouth was open wide. “Logic, your eye--” he began, before reaching into his bag and fumbling for his communicator square. (Phone, he called it. Logan did not quite understand, but avoided touching it anyways -- it appeared to be made of metal, and he would not risk contact with iron.) He turned it on, before switching to a screen that reflected both of their faces.

Logan had only ever looked at his reflection to ensure his presentability. He knew his eyes were different from those of humans, of course; Anxiety’s had circles of green around a black center, set on a white background, but Logan did not have those divisions. Color spread across the whole surface, lacking in whites, pupil, and iris. “Your eyes look like the night sky,” Anxiety had told him once, and he supposed the human was correct -- normally, they were a dark purplish blue color, with pinpricks of pale light across the surface. Still, he hadn’t understood why Anxiety had seemed so fascinated. (“Is it accurate?” the human had questioned. “Is the placement of the stars right?” Logan had eventually flushed red as the other tried to find constellations in his eyes, Anxiety had noticed and retreated, and that had been the end of that. He’d never brought it up again.)

But now his left eye was crossed with a pattern of greenish blue, like the aurora borealis in the Unseelie realm that his parents had taken him to see when he was very small, vibrant against the indigo background.

“What happened?” Anxiety asked, staring at himself on the screen of the phone, reaching up as if to touch the purple ring, ensuring it was truly there. “How -- why -- what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Logan said slowly, staring at his newly heterochromatic eyes.

Perhaps this is the price of befriending and saving a human, he thought to himself, meeting Anxiety’s panicked eyes with his own. Perhaps it is a curse, or a punishment from the gods. A physical marking of my shame, of forgetting to take a name, a favor, a price, as is my nature.

“It’s okay,” Anxiety said, reaching out to take Logan’s hand and squeezing it gently. “It’s okay, L. We’ll figure it out. Besides, it looks cool as heck, right?”

“...That it does,” he nodded after a beat, returning the gesture, a wan smile stretching his lips despite the situation.

“Let’s… Let’s not worry about it for now,” suggested the human. “We’ve got better things to do, right?”

“Definitely. We had best get started on that math homework.”

Anxiety let out a laugh at that. “Ew. How about we just cloudwatch for now?”

They sat in the empty field, where their flowers would grow again come spring, and watched white fluff form in the blue sky through mismatched eyes. He glanced over at Anxiety, who smiled and reached out with his hand. The faerie took it.

If this new coloring is a curse, it’s worth it, decided Logan, flashing a smile at his boy of the bluebells before returning his gaze to the sky.

At first, the change took getting used to. Fey whispered Logan had made a deal with the forest, had become vain and done it cosmetically, had been cursed. Humans said much the same about Anxiety. As time passed, however, and the colors didn’t change, those inside and outside the forest learned to accept the change. No one questioned it anymore, and eventually the two learned to forget the day in the clearing, to pass it off as a spell gone wrong in Logan’s case and an eye injury in Anxiety’s.

Neither of them found an explanation for it either, but it soon became apparent they didn’t need to. They had each other.

That was what mattered.

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mastrechef · 4 years

Text

Say What You Want

This is something I’ve been picking at for a while now. I posted it on AO3 and figured I’d post it here as well because why not.

Iruka frowned, brow wrinkling in concern. A few weeks ago he would have suspected a genjutsu at work, but then again genjutsu wasn’t exactly his area of expertise. The only reason the academy teacher even suspected genjutsu was due to his belief that the child in question didn’t have it in him to sit so still for more than five minutes at a time. Now, it could be the work of someone else; however, no one else had any reason to do such a thing and, while unusual, it would have come as no surprise to find out it was just a prank. A very quiet, non-exploding, non-disruptive, glitter free, and paint free prank, which somehow made it unnerving and planted a growing seed of paranoia in most eye witnesses. Describing the situation like that sounded really extreme and overblown, but the reality was that Naruto’s drastic change in behavior was more than a little jarring.

It was most noticeable at the academy. Outside of class, the loud exuberant knucklehead was still very much present, harrying the odd civilian and otherwise sowing discord and mayhem. On the other hand, the studious and reserved child that currently sat before Iruka was a complete stranger. Whilst he didn’t necessarily pay any more attention to the lessons than he had before all this, he didn’t waste class time by causing a ruckus or picking a fight with Sasuke, nor did he sleep the day away like some honorary Nara. And, miracle of all miracles, Naruto actually deigned to turn in homework assignments. It was honestly astounding. There was a level of maturity and self-awareness to him that had been severely lacking up until the past month.

Of whatever had happened to prompt this change, Naruto hadn’t spoken a word. Anytime Iruka brought it up, Naruto brushed off his concern and quickly distracted him with actual academic questions. As happy as he was for Naruto to be taking his education seriously, every deviation in previous behaviors only served to fuel his worry. Something had to have occurred to have made such a profound effect on his student. If only he knew what.

***

Naruto ignored the droning of the teacher’s voice and focused on the pen and paper in front of him, tongue poking out the side of his mouth and a look of intense concentration on his face. He didn’t have anything against Iruka-sensei, far from it in fact, since Iruka-sensei was one of the few who even tried to treat him like a normal kid. But this was loads more interesting than history lessons.

And just what was it that had so captured his attention? Seals. Or rather, in this case, one specific seal, drawn over and over again until he could draw it out consistently as well as flawlessly. For as basic as this particular seal was, seals as a whole were both intricate and delicate, hence the need for repeated practice. This was something that really needed to be done with a brush, but since Naruto was currently at the academy and, from his hazy memories of covering sealing scrolls and explosive tags, would likely get in trouble if caught messing with seals unsupervised, he had to make do. Bringing a brush to class would be much too suspicious. No way was he going to let anyone, not even Iruka-sensei, prevent him from learning something so cool.

He continued drawing while mentally reciting the function of each component. This was a simple timed trap seal, meant to freeze an opponent in place for a short period of time. Naruto grinned just thinking of the pranking potential. Or even better, if he was able to place it sneakily, he could use it to finally kick that bastard’s butt in a spar.

Honestly, why was no one teaching this at the academy? It actually made a lot of sense and Naruto seemed to have a knack for it. And wasn’t that a novel idea? That he was actually good at something? It wasn’t like he had any talent for genjutsu, and there was no one he could practice his taijutsu with. Ninjutsu wasn’t so bad, except the bunshin was basically impossible and it was one of those things that they were always tested on. Everything else they were taught involved a lot of reading, which he usually couldn’t make heads or tails of and it only gave him a headache to try, so he didn’t.

In the end, he supposed it didn’t really matter if the academy was teaching fuinjutsu or not, since he was learning it now, and nobody would expect it when he became a master out of nowhere. Because he was determined to master the art of sealing. He wanted it. He wanted it more than his admittedly childish dream of becoming Hokage. Besides, it wasn’t so much the hat that he wanted, but the recognition and respect that came with it. Not to mention the common decency that no one seemed willing to grant to the no-name orphaned demon brat. The treatment he so desperately wanted by becoming Hokage could just as easily be gained by becoming a master in an obscure shinobi art.

Naruto shook off his heavy thoughts and switched to drawing explosive seals. He had to get the basics down or else he’d never be able to move on to making custom seals.

As soon as class let out for the day, Naruto skittered out the door faster than a rabbit with a cat on its tail, entirely ignoring the two sets of contemplative eyes that trailed after him. He raced home bubbling with giddy excitement. In short order he was sprawled out on the floor of his apartment with paper, brushes, and ink. Over the course of the last month his brushwork had improved in leaps and bounds. Now he no longer left ink drips everywhere and his strokes were smooth and even. He smiled in accomplishment at his practice sketches. Maybe when Hinoe came by he could pester her into finally letting him try out the real deal.

“Naruto-kun, you’ve got ink smudges on your face.”

Speak of the devil…

Upon the sill of the window he had left open was an elegant woman dressed in a purple floral kimono, curls of smoke trailing from a thin pipe in her hand. Full lips were painted a blood red, matching eyes highlighted with purple shadow, although one was hidden behind her rich midnight blue hair.

“Hinoe!” Naruto cheered. He jumped to his feet and thrust his paper at her. “Look at this, look at this! I’ve been practicing all day and I think I’ve got it down so can I try activating them now? Please, please, please can I try?”

“So impatient, just like Kushina. You’re always in a hurry,” she chided, but the fond amusement was clear in her voice, so Naruto didn’t take it to heart. Hinoe brought the pipe to her lips, taking a drag, then exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Explain each of the components to me. Let’s make sure all the theory I drilled into your head actually stuck.”

Naruto’s cheeks puffed out in what was absolutely not a pout. “Come on, I can do that in my sleep by now.”

A paper fan appeared out of nowhere to thwack him lightly on the head. “Brat, there’s a reason I made you learn all of that first. This is a dangerous art. Mistakes can be fatal.”

"Fine," Naruto groaned, capitulating and doing as he was told. In all honesty he wasn't that put out. Hinoe was a good teacher and he was so thrilled to actually be learning something that he never complained much. Besides, it was because of her that he was doing so much better at the academy. One of her stipulations for teaching him sealing was that he put at least some effort into his normal schooling. And she was the one who stepped in to help when he struggled with reading.

She nodded in approval at his thorough breakdown of the seal and at last they headed out to forest to practice. They went to the outskirts of Konoha, on the edge of training ground 44. There it was less likely that they'd run into any other shinobi and Hinoe's presence would keep anything else from wandering too close. Naruto had never actually been inside Konoha's famous—or maybe infamous—Forest of Death, but instinct always had him sticking close to Hinoe, fenced off area or not. There was no need to tempt fate, not to mention that there were certain things that could not be stopped by physical barriers.

Naruto was a bit disappointed that Hinoe vetoed his suggestion of testing his exploding tags, however she had a valid point in that the noise could bring unwanted attention. It would have to wait until he learned some privacy seals. Instead, he used his trap seal to practice trapping small animals, rabbits, birds, and the like. Many of them were flighty and quick on their feet, so Naruto had to be careful to hide his presence, then swiftly activate the seal in order to catch them. Only after he had been at it awhile, with a number of failures and successes under his belt, did Hinoe show him how to adjust the seal into a passive trap.

The young ninja-in-training was only slightly miffed that he’d been made to do things the hard way first before being shown a more efficient method. Even he could see the benefit of learning to activate seals quickly on the unsuspecting. Plus, the prankster side of him would always appreciate the masterful use of stealth, surprise, and the delicate art of precision timing.

Armed with a stick and some new sealing knowledge, Naruto sat at the edge of the clearing he had claimed for his own, sketching a newly modified seal into the dirt. He muttered to himself as he went, devoting to memory the new components and their functions.

The chiming of bells coming from everywhere and nowhere at once had Naruto looking around in confusion while Hinoe just gave an exasperated huff. The clearing was just as empty as it had been from the start and there weren’t any people, human or otherwise, visible through the thick surrounding foliage.

“So this is what you’ve been up to. I’d heard that you’ve been coming to Konoha, but I wasn’t expecting this.”

Naruto looked up to see an enormous bull with a horse head descending from the sky. He—at least it seemed like a he, but Naruto didn’t want to assume because it was often hard to tell with yokai—was dressed in a pale lavender kimono with bells and gold rings dangling from his ears.

He had always been able to see them. Yokai. Ayakashi. Spirits. When he was younger and didn’t know better, he used to ask about the funny creatures he would sometimes see wandering into the village. The matrons at the orphanage, who already hated him, didn’t take too kindly to Naruto pointing at and talking to things that didn’t exist to their eyes. He learned quickly not to mention them. Which honestly wasn’t too difficult. They lurked in the shadows of the trees and the deeper parts of the Naka River, along unseen forest paths and in secret groves. Only the brave or the powerful ventured very far into the developed areas of Konoha. Hinoe said it was because even if they couldn’t see the yokai shinobi could still detect their presence to some extent. Despite the tasty meal shinobi made due to their power, those yokai who liked to eat people prefered to go for easier targets.

Naruto shivered at the thought of being eaten. So far, he had only run into a few yokai like that and only one encounter had been face to face. That had been an awful experience.

As a whole, the yokai weren’t so bad and they didn’t mind his presence too much. He had even befriended some that frequented the lesser used training grounds at the outskirts of the village. At least, after they had stopped running away any time they spotted him. But Naruto had kept coming back because he had sensed in them kindred spirits, filled with the same loneliness that he felt day in and day out. His efforts had eventually born fruit and he had gained his first friends.

So far, he had yet to be given a reason to regret that choice. Not even the incident a month and a half ago, even if it still gave him nightmares. But he had made more friends because of it, including Hinoe, so it still counted as a positive thing in his books.

The female ayakashi blew out a puff of smoke that danced and swirled in the light breeze. She asked, “Did you need something, Misuzu?”

Baring his teeth in an eerie grin, the bull yokai replied, “Is there something wrong with coming to visit an old friend?” Naruto wasn’t sure what to make of him just yet, but admittedly that smile was a bit disturbing.

"Uzumaki-sama!" A cheerful voice called out, breaking the faint air of tension that had unintentionally fallen over the clearing. The two chuukyuu popped up from behind some bushes. "We’ve come to visit you again." Wearing a dopey smile, the ox chuukyuu nodded his head in agreement.

The young boy in question stared at them incredulously. "It’s the middle of the day. Why are you already this drunk?"

"Evening is not far off. All the more reason to continue drinking through the night," said Chobihige as if it was the most normal thing in the world. He sat calmly next to Hinoe with sake in hand.

Naruto pointed at him, shouting, "Where did you come from?!" His question went unanswered as more and more yokai showed up to join the party.

"Hey! I'm supposed to be training!" an annoyed Naruto yelled at them.

Too lost in the revelry and the prospect of copious amounts of sake, most of the newcomers ignored the fuming boy. Hinoe, sending a regretful glance towards the others—or rather the sake, compromised by agreeing to help Naruto with his homework. So they sat just off to the side of the revelers and their merrymaking as Hinoe tried to drill some shinobi history into Naruto’s unwilling skull.

From the other side of the clearing, nearly forgotten, Misuzu continued to watch the boy with a curious, searching gaze.

#naruto #natsume yuujinchou #fanfic #naruto sees yokai au #Naruto Uzumaki #iruka umino #hinoe #misuzu #i've been working on this when i get bored instead of all the other writing projects i should be working on

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badwolfwrites-sometimes · 4 years

Text

Chapter 7

I liked that one Chibitalia scene too much.

By the lunch time, Feliciano was fairly certain of two things: this was by far his favourite book. And he finally understood why all that talk of it.

This book turned from a fluffy romantic story into the love of Feliciano's life.

'Otto walked impatiently to the servant rooms. Alice was currently working, cleaning some old storage rooms. He had a new job for her.

"Alice! I need to ask you a favour." He yelled, reaching the hall and waiting.

Soon enough, he spotted a redhaired girl in one of the blue dresses he bought her. "What is it, My Prince?" She asked, bouncing on her way to Otto.

Otto, as always, was as red as the halls whenever she used that nickname on him. "You're from Venice. I heard it's known for it's art. Do you think you could teach me how to paint?" He asked.

"Of course! Let me just finish my work and I'll meet you in the garden." She said and run off to quickly complete her work. She would be lying if she said she wasn't excited for this. Painting was her number one love after all. Right behind Otto.

He waited for her in the garden. The view of the flowers growing peacefully on the early spring morning made him feel a bit lonely. Otto wished for a certain someone to enjoy them with him. When will she finish her work?

He sat there sighing, unaware of anything but the flowers in front of him. Then he felt a pair of cold hands on his shoulders causing him to jump up in the air a bit. He turned around to see a giggling Alice. His Alice.

"Did I frighten you?" She asked, her giggling made her voice sound a bit more pitched than it normally was.

Otto blushed, still shocked from the scare attack. "Yes. Don't do that again, please. You almost sent me flying to the sun." He said.

Alice continued giggling. "I'm sorry. You wanted to learn how to paint, right?" She asked.

"Yes. I've set up some equipment nearby. Shall we go?" Otto asked, offering his hand.

"Yes!" Alice squeeled in excitement. This time she didn't accept Otto's hand offering and instead hurried off to wherever she guessed Otto could have set the equipment up.

"Um, Alice?" He said and she turned. "Not there." He said and pointed to the opposite direction. Whoops.

Alice walked back to his side and took his hand, embarrassed but smiling widely. Otto's hand offerings were always extremely cute.

They made their way to a small hill just above the garden. It seemed like the perfect place to paint. Flowers were in bloom and the grass beneath their feet shone slightly thanks to the sun shining the few drops of water remaining on it from the early morning rain. Early spring truly was in the air. All of it made Alice wish they could stay here forever.

Two wooden canvas boards grabbed her attention from the grass and flowers. From the looks of it, they appeared to be largely decorated, probably worth quite a sum of money. She would have to give Otto a lecture on that later again. Upon drawing closer, she spotted some brand new paintbrushes. And in a good quality as not a single hair was sticking out of the order. Two chairs were also there, ready for when the young couple needed some rest from their activity. Alice decided resting time was now and took a seat.

"So, what shall we be drawing?" She asked.

Otto blushed, already picturing a perfect painting in his head, but he did not dare say it out loud. Instead he blurted out. "I was thinking maybe some animals and flowers and, you know, spring stuff."

Alice smiled softly. "That sounds lovely. It's been quite a while since I've last painted anything so I might not make a great tutor, but you've chosen an excellent start."

Otto blushed at the compliment. "I believe you would be a great tutor. You can go ahead and remind yourself a bit if you want. We have all day at our hands." He smiled.

Alice nodded, taking one of the thicker brushes into her hand. She run her thumb across the hair on the brush. "Soft." She mumbled, opening a can of green paint, smelling it. It wasn't expired, that was certain.'

"Me." Feliciano laughed.

'Behind them stood two buckets. One with clean water and one empty. Alice assumed the empty one was for the dirty water. She looked around for the cups. "My Prince?" She asked.

Otto, who had previously just been standing and staring at every movement Alice was making, drowning in her delicateness with art, snapped back to reality. "Yes?" He asked, a bit too squeeky than his usual voice.

"Where are the cups?" She asked.

"Cups?" Otto stared in disbelief, there were obviously right-

Oh.

He forgot the cups.'

At this point Feliciano was dying from laughter. He related to everything in this chapter. Almost as if this Ludwig was writing about him.

'Blushing, Otto rushed off back to the castle, leaving Alice to her giggling fit. She must have made the very same mistake multiple times, but watching someone else make it was extremely hilarious to her. Soon, however, she calmed down and was swooning in the adorableness of the young prince right up to the moment he showed up, carrying two cups. His blood red face caused a reaction from her own, a light blush sweeping over it. Alice tried her best to mask it with her hands. Hopefully Otto can't see right through her.

"I-" Otto started, "got the cups."

"Thank you for your work, My Prince." Alice smiled, taking one cup, brushing her hand with Otto's slightly, enough for the dreaded colour red's return to their faces.

Otto accidentally dropped his cup and fell on his knees trying to pick it up, which resulted in another giggling fit from Alice. She offered her hand to him. The tables have turned.

Otto accepted her hand, squeezing it just a bit more harder, enough for him to absorb Alice's kind energy from that small hand of hers. And some of her warmth as well. Even when they were standing and facing each other, Otto still a bit taller than Alice, they didn't let go. These were the small moments they couldn't afford to enjoy while inside the palace walls. The dangers of Queen always lurking in the back of their minds. Right now they were free from it.

"I believe we should start, otherwise we'll miss the daylight." Alice was the first to break their small staring contest, walking towards the water filled bucket and filling her cup before returning to her seat.

Otto stood for a moment longer, blinking the moment they had away, cursing at the day for being too short. "If you say so." He said, before following Alice's suit and filling his cup, seating himself afterwards.

Alice dipped her paintbrush just a tiny bit before dipping it into the paint, her eyes focused on the grass before her as she took every small detail of it in her head. Seemingly without noticing, her hand moved towards the white canvas and, before you knew it, there was a green line going across it on the bottom half.

She smiled to herself, glad that she hasn't forgotten any of the wonderful feelings that were art. Alice repeated the process several times, making a rough sketch of how it was supposed to look before turning to face Otto.

Otto had been absorbing her movements up until the moment she stopped and faced him. Luckily for him, this time he wasn't blushing.

"Do you want to start?" She asked.

Otto nodded. Alice moved closer to him, taking his right hand which was holding the paintbrush. Adjusting it the way she saw fit, she continued holding Otto's hand from behind, guiding him towards the white canvas. If he hadn't known better, he would say he was growing a bit feverish, as everything around him started to spin.

Alice showed Otto a couple of movements to make for beginning, before letting go of his hand. "Try it." She said.

Otto dipped his brush into some water, careful not to take too much before dipping it in paint. He breathed in and out, closing his eyes and running the brush across the canvas. When he opened them, he was met with a slightly wobbly green line on the white background and a soft smile from Alice to encourage him to continue.

After a couple of more strokes, Alice deemed him ready enough to continue on his own and returned to her own painting. Otto still had a few troubles with little details, such as painting the rabbits foot, and Alice gladly helped him out. They were having fun in their own world, away from statuses and works, just two children painting outside. But soon, the sun begun setting. The day coming to an end.

Otto was working on some final details, the sun enough above horizon not to ruin his painting. He turned to Alice, needing her final judgement.

Snore.

Otto blinked at her. When had she fallen asleep? Sure, it's been a long day, but he didn't expect it to be that long. Still, the thought of waking her up was something he couldn't bring himself to do. It didn't even cross his mind. Instead, he got a better idea. The timing just perfect.

He turned his board to face Alice and pulled out a new canvas. The only reason he asked Alice to teach him how to paint was so he could paint her. Alice falling asleep was a perfect time to do it. And how lovely she would look with the sun shining those rosy cheeks and that lovely red hair. She truly looked like a princess to him. If he could, he would have married her on the spot.

He somehow managed to finish it before the sun set down completely, satisfied with results. Now he needed to wake his princess up. But before that, he had to hide the painting somewhere she won't look before he could gather some courage to show her. Otto sprinted towards the castle, hiding the painting behind the clothes in the closet. Hopefully Alice won't be needing anything from it. Or cleaning it anytime soon.

Making sure it was well hidden, Otto rushed back to Alice, glad to find her still asleep on her chair. She looked very comfortable sleeping there, it pained Otto a lot to wake her. But he had no other choice. He had to do it. However, one waking up kiss never hurt anyone.

Brushing away any hair that fell on her face, Otto slowly moved his head closer to hers. His lips met with Alice's forehead, slightly frightened of being seen and judged by anyone. Pulling back, he looked at her once again. What kind of a miracle did it take for this angel to walk on the same earth as him? What did he do that earned him just a glimpse of this sweetheart?

He closed his eyes again, allowing their foreheads to touch even just briefly. That was the moment Alice chose to wake up, accidentally bumping her forehead against Otto's.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow!" Otto grabbed his forehead. Who knew Alice had such strong head?

"Ow! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Alice panicked, seemingly quick to recover from the little accident as she was already checking on Otto.

"It's alright. I'm alright. Are you?" He asked, holding his forehead with one hand and Alice's cheek with other, attempting to calm her down.

Alice nodded. "I'm sorry." She said one more time. Otto shook his head that it was just an accident.

"It's already dark, I think we should head to the castle. You must be tired from sleeping in that chair." Otto smiled, pulling Alice up.

"I had a really nice dream so I do not mind. I'll clean up." She said, already grabbing the brushes and buckets.

"No, leave it to me. I brought it here, I should clean it up. Go get some proper sleep. Maybe tell me about the dream one day." Otto said, taking everything Alice grabbed into his hands. Alice nodded, knowing it was useless to argue against Otto once he had something set in his mind.

"If you say so, My Prince. Good night then." She bowed and run off.

"Good night, Liebe." Otto whispered, knowing full well Alice couldn't hear him. He got ready to work right away.'

"Aww! Those two are so cute! When am I gonna get such a nice relationship?" Feliciano giggled like a little girl. He knew the answer was when he got out of the house, but that was too much work. And besides, most people just weren't his type.

He made his way to the living room, deciding to get some snacks before continuing. There was no one to scare him this time luckily.

Lovino was on the couch, watching some Spanish telenovelas. He would never admit of doing this to anyone though, being famous for resenting any language that wasn't Italian. Luckily, Felicaino and Romeo were just his brothers. If they spoke a word of it, he knew when and how to kill them.

Romeo was still in college, the good little student he was. Or wasn't if he was hanging out with the ladies behind the college building. Either way, he wasn't home.

"They are still fighting?" Feliciano asked Lovino, but the latter was way into the series to answer the question. Or his phone, which he left on the little wall separating the dining room amd kitchen from the living room, as it was buzzing constantly. Probably Antonio.

Ignored by his brother, Feliciano set on doing what he originally wanted to do, get a snack. Rummaging through the fridge, he found some chocolate. Perfect. He was just about to head upstairs when Lovino's phone buzzed once again, the title of the annoying texter catching Feliciano's eyes.

Toni Amore.

With heart and tomato emojis.

Oh no. Was all that run through Feliciano's mind.

Breathe in.

He unlocked Lovino's phone, grateful to his brother for not setting it to make a sound once unlocked. He decided to read some of the messages. Just to make sure.

Breathe out.

There was no doubt. No doubt at all. It was the same Toni. Their family friend.

Breathe in.

No! No! No!

Breathe out.

That would mean only one thing. His brother was-

"What do you think you're doing, Feliciano?"

Oh no...

#GerIta #Germany x Italy #APH Germany #hetalia GerIta #hws germany #aph gerita #hws italy #hws gerita #APH #APH Holy Roman Empire #APH Italy #hws #hws holy roman empire #fanfic #drawn together story #hetalia #hetalia axis powers #hetalia world stars

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