#I might bring a spare sketchbook and draw people things
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hi guys i'm going to the aug 3rd 4pm showing in LA for the ii bfdi tour 🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯
#txt#osc#IM CRASHING OUT#I might bring a spare sketchbook and draw people things#AND IM BRINGING MY 3DS#maybe make bracelets or something idk#IM SO EXCITED AHHHH
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My autism diagnosis changed how I perceived my life, and I have still not recovered from the repercussions of it. Not in a bad or good way. Just in a reflective way.
I used to think drawing was my top passion and priority, and that being an artist was my destiny. When I was at school, I drew A LOT. ALL THE TIME. I wouldn't doubt that I have more than a hundred sketchbooks.
But once I got home, my will to draw faded a lot. Sometimes I straight up forced myself to it, because "it was my destiny".
Once I reflected on my diagnosis, I understood that I didn't draw because I adored it. I drew to survive in school. School was not my home, not my room, I was forced to socialize and be judged, often by teachers who didn't understand me and traumatized me. If I poured my mind, heart and soul into drawing, I could try to escape it. It was like putting a bandage over an open wound.
Home was sanctuary, not the school nightmare, so I didn't NEED to draw. I found myself just relaxing.
It's not that I don't ENJOY drawing, and I'm arguably kinda good at it. It's just that it's not the written in stone dream I thought it was.
Trauma and coping mechanisms were what confused me.
I wanted to share this because it's HUGE and it explains a lot about what I'm currently experiencing. I know I have been absent, it's been a phase that's been taking long to pass and I dread it, but it's because I've been realizing those things. I spent my life forcing myself to fit in. It was like a full-time job. It's like I'm now finally on vacation.
I've been spending this "vacation" by spending more time with my family and more time taking care of myself: I've been exercising and losing weight AND chasing serotonin while at it, I've been taking care of my hair and skin, I've been allowing myself to just play relaxing videogames in my spare time.
There's also the fact that fandom spaces changed. They were simpler back then, but now there's so many insane judgment that it's hard to just produce content or enjoy it anymore without people (often minors, which boggles my mind, because they seem to wear "minor" as a badge of honor, when back when I was a minor I hid it and lurked) demanding that you DO THIS exact thing and DON'T do THIS exact thing or you're "problematic" and should fucking die.
Anyway, sorry for all of this text, but I wanted to put my thoughts in order and also felt like I owned an explanation to my friends as to why I'm STILL on a semi-hiatus.
I don't know what the future will bring, and I'm not leaving. I'm just reeeeally going at my own pace now. I might suddenly feel an urge to draw and post it, I might spend a week offline, I dunno, anything could happen.
I'm just healing and understanding myself and taking one step at a time. And I'm very grateful for all your understanding ❤️ I love you all!
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you have given me too much power, windy /silly
i might actually put this in sections because there’s several things i wanna talk about in no specific order… rubs hands together mischievously
-> FAVOURITE SHAPES!
yes yes! weirdly enough i do have favourite shapes- and a list of them too!! in my mind i have an idea on how they’d act and stuff… i don’t even know why i have favourite shapes since i’m the only person that i know has that type of stuff…
1. STARS!!! stars are so pretty and so pointy!! they can be delicate in the night sky or sharp like a throwing star, so many shapes and sizes!! i personally prefer 5-pointed stars but others are pretty neat too, whenever i draw and add scribbles in my background one of the first things i think of are stars! they’re very fun do draw and make me happy :DD
2. TRIANGLES!! triangles can come in so many shapes and sizes as well, they’ve even got names depending on their angles, isn’t that neat? (excuse me if this isn’t correct- i went to a french school so i learnt the french math n stuff… les angles) they really help bring out certain parts and add sharpness to a design, you can even mish-mash a bunch of them together to look like things!!
3. DIAMONDS! diamonds are very royal and proper shapes, they’re easily recognizable and are really fun to draw, you can stick a bunch of them together to look like flowers too! they’re really a fun thing to incorporate into designs!!! especially on clothing and jewelry :]
^ in addition all of these are pretty much everywhere in my sketchbooks / stray papers lying around ^
-> CATS!!
my favourite animal! ever! (along with sharks, i have soooo many shark things in my room) ever since i was in like. second grade (a.k.a. when i started truly drawing a lot!!) i drew them a lot and still do! i know a lot of species and things about them so i like telling people cat facts (did you know the largest cat breed is a maine coon? reaching one meter long from nose to tail) plus i’ve had cats ever since i was young, cats just have a very special place in my heart because they’re all just so silly,,,
-> COLOURS!!!
i have a lot of favourite colors! no specific order to those either…
maroon, pastel (?) lime green, light blue, reddish orange idk i forgot the name
i really just enjoy talking about colours a lot since they’re pretty interesting to me, especially colour theory and all that jazz, it’s a topic that’s very interesting when you look at it further because of how pigments function and how our eyes could perceive light and the entire history of the camera with how people worked to replicate colours- it’s very fascinating to me! i’d watch hour-long videos about that if i had enough spare time hehe
-> PLUSHIES!
i’m aware i sound childish talking about this but idc i kinda just am- PLUSHIES PLUSHIES! every shape and form in a little (or big) huggable ball of cotton and fur! i have waaay too many to count but that doesn’t matter, i love plushies a lot since i’ve kept some pretty much my whole life, i always bring small ones with me when i’m going somewhere new (or for medical appointments n stuff… needles scare me) since it’s kinda like a small huggable friend i keep for comfort. since i care a lot about objects n stuff i’ve kinda given personalities to all of them, or, well, most… i love just being able to look to my side and see a friend i can talk to and hug for comfort y’know? (hard to phrase this in a way that doesn’t make me sound all kiddy or crazy :sob:…)
anyways rambling over, i also go on side tangents a lot when talking to people so if you do talk to me you might hear about other stuff i didn’t mention-
THANKS FOR LETTING ME DUMP THIS HERE I HAD A LONG DAY YESTERDAY </3 (i was phighting <- PHIGHTING MENTIONED?!?! i’m so sorry lol /silly /hj the urge to colour code everything in these paragraphs but i’ve got other stuff to do so-)
Y'all should reblog this and tell me your favorite like- Anything and why it's your favorite. Doesn't matter what it is: Favorite game, favorite color, favorite toy, favorite food or whatever! Just tell me your favorite anything and it would brighten my day <3
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Sure! I hope these are okay. Also cute idea!
Jotaro, Kakyoin, Polnareff and Josuke reacting to their quiet + shy female S/O secretly drawing them
Jotaro Kujo
In general, Jotaro gets along with you pretty well. He’s always been a man of few words, and he doesn’t mind your quietness at all. His favorite moments with you are just when he’s able to sit with you comfortably in silence.
I think at first he would be a bit bothered by your shyness. I don’t really think he’s ever really understood how some people are more shy than others- he’s such an upfront, blunt and to the point person, and honestly doesn’t quite understand how socializing could be a bit harder for others.
After a while, it becomes something he’s used to. He still doesn’t quite understand it still, but it doesn’t necessarily bother him anymore. He just accepts it as a part of who you are.
Frankly, Jotaro doesn’t have that much artistic talent himself. He was never one for the arts, really, and always relied on his fists to get him where he wanted to. Art class was never his favorite.
So when he sees the picture of him and Star Platinum in your sketchbook lying on the counter, he’s a bit taken aback. Another thing he never really understood was how people draw well. It’s never been a talent he’s tried to develop himself, so he finds your art really impressive.
Honestly, he probably wouldn’t mention the drawing to you after he sees it- he would understand that you might have left it out as an accident, especially considering how reserved you usually are. He doesn’t like it when his mom sees his stuff he doesn’t want her to see either, so he understands the feeling.
But if you ever bring up accidentally leaving out your sketchbook, he might give you a compliment. Don’t expect anything too mushy, just a “your drawing looked cool” or something simple like that. Classic Jotaro.
Noriaki Kakyoin
Kakyoin tends to be a bit more reserved himself, so he doesn’t mind your quiet nature at all. Like Jotaro, he enjoys just sitting in a comfortable silence with you on the couch, while you two cuddle or just when you’re doing your own separate things.
He would definitely be more than understanding of your shyness. He’s had his own troubles in the past with socialization, and he’s patient and understanding whenever you have troubles with your shyness.
Kakyoin is definitely more of the artistic type, in his spare time he’s definitely done some art of his own. In school, he always did really well in all his art classes, even when he was young. It’s just something that’s always come naturally to him.
When he sees your sketchbook out in the open, it’s honestly an accident; he was just cleaning up the table. But he can’t help but stop to admire your work- as a fellow artist especially, he always appreciates other people’s artworks and the time they put into them.
He’s pretty flattered at the drawing of himself and Hierophant Green- he’s only done self portraits a few times in the past, but seeing someone else’s interpretation of himself is really interesting. He never tried to draw his stand in the past considering the loneliness it caused him as a child, so seeing that as a drawing was neat too.
Definitely would make it a point to mention your sketches of him and would compliment you. Even if you’re embarrassed about it, he just gives you praise and gives his honest thoughts on it, which are all positive.
Jean Pierre Polnareff
Polnareff is definitely a more rowdy, louder type, but doesn’t mind quieter people. He will still try to start a conversation with you at times, though, so don’t be surprised if he suddenly gets in a super chatty mood and starts trying to talk to you.
He doesn’t mind your shyness either, honestly he thinks it’s kind of cute. He enjoys being able to step in for you in situations you don’t quite know how to handle, it makes him feel helpful.
Art has never really been his strong suit, though. He’s tried a few times in the past to try to seriously draw and improve his talent, and while he hasn’t come that far with it he’s okay where he is- he’s just not sure if he can get any better.
He’s a bit nonchalant when he first sees your open sketchbook, not really paying it any mind, but when he sees that it’s sketches of him and Silver Chariot, he’s RUNNING towards the sketchbook to see it up close.
He’s just so excited that you decided to draw him. I think he would flip through a few pages (not the entire thing) just to see if you drew him any more, he adores the way that you drew him, he thinks he looks really neat in your style!
If you were home he would definitely come running towards you, sketchbook in hand, eagerly shouting about how happy he is you drew him and his stand. He finds it really touching that you considered him as a subject for your art and is just so flattered.
Would definitely ask you later if you want to draw him, or if he could be a model for your drawings. He doesn’t mind sitting in poses for a while so you can draw him- he’s happy as long as he can see whatever ends up as the finished product.
Josuke Higashikata
Josuke is definitely more of a social person, but has a deeper bond with those people he considers his best friends- you included. He’s a lot more talkative as well, but he thinks that your quietness is a nice change of pace.
He doesn’t mind handling social situations for you if you end up getting too shy, or if it’s too difficult for you. He’ll gladly take care of them as long as it makes you comfortable.
He’s not really the artistic type either, his hobbies definitely don’t really include art. He would much rather play video games instead of sitting down and taking time to try to draw or do anything artistic.
When he sees your sketchbook open with a drawing of him and Crazy Diamond, he’s really surprised- in a good way. He gets all excited about the fact that you drew him, and totally would spend a few minutes just looking at it.
When he sees you again, he brings it up excitedly and asks if it was supposed to be for him. When you say no and tell him it was a total accident that you left it out, he’s a bit disappointed.
He thinks that you draw him so well though, and after that would totally ask you to draw him again as a picture he could keep. He really admires your art a lot and is also super supportive about anything else you decide to do with drawing in the future.
#ask#anon#answered#my writing#jjba imagines#jojo imagines#jojo x reader#jjba x reader#jjba part 3#jjba part 4#jojo part 4#jojo part 3#polnareff x reader#josuke x reader#jotaro x reader#kakyoin x reader#noriaki kakyoin#jotaro kujo#josuke higashikata#jean pierre polnareff#female reader#jojo headcanons#jjba headcanons#jojo no kimyō na bōken#jojo's bizarre adventure#self insert#reader insert
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4/15/2022 - On supermarkets
I apologize for not updating in such a long time. It's hard to try and bring myself around to covering all the big things that happen - but really, I'm starting to think it might be because I'm more affected by the little moments than all the "big" things that have happened. I've been to Lotte World, I've been to Olympic Park, I've even been to a club just to see what it's like, but while those were fun in the moment the feeling slips my mind and I'm left with just the stress of not being able to talk about it like I've just been there anymore. I'll get into those things I've done eventually, even if it's after I get home and settled and de-stressed, but for now I don't have many thoughts about those things, more about the smaller things that happen in my day-to-day life. And, well, maybe that'll be more interesting to read about than how I watched a mascot parade at a theme park two months ago.
There are no Walmarts here, for better or for worse. They tried to come here, but Koreans work hard and want their free time to be filled with high-quality things, not the dime-a-dozen plastic wares you'd find around every corner back home. There are equivalents, though; more like Target than Walmart, really. Emart is one, as well as Homeplus and Lotte Mart. I've been to the former two, but I find myself in Homeplus most of the time since it's closer and simpler to get to. It's essentially a small department store with a Target in the basement, except if a Target had a huge produce section, an equally huge meat section (you can purchase most anything you'd expect in a southeast Asian country, from bacon to a whole octopus), and absolutely no crafts section to speak of. There's stationery of course, a lot of it, and they curiously sold harmonicas, recorders, and an ocarina (the second of which I got and, thankfully, the walls are thick in this dorm) in one tiny portion of an aisle near the paper and puzzles.
I had come here the other day to look for embroidery floss. I've been missing a lot of my hobbies lately, whether it be piano or crochet or painting. I had the good sense to pack my art tablet and a couple spare sketchbooks, so I'm not without my art, but I never realized how much I've filled up my life until I had to set most of it aside.
You come to miss these things, after a time. It becomes a part of you, an itch that begs to be scratched. I never sing when I think people could hear me, but I've gone so long without being able to play an instrument that it's the only way I can vent the music building up in my soul. I got so desperate to create something I can hold in my hand that I took my art knife and carved part of an old disposable chopstick into a tiny sword. My drawing's only improved from this - it's really the only outlet I have left, so I've been doing it more and more and putting in the effort to get better at it. But as time goes on, I keep noticing all the little places in my soul that the mundane parts of life back home have rubbed calluses into have started to get tender and sensitive again. I guess that's homesickness, or at least how I've experienced it.
I want to go to Walmart.
This has been the curious thing on my mind the past few days, and it could have been spurred by my desperation to find art supplies. I'm not quite sure. But I don't really want to go there to *buy* anything, or even because I particularly like Walmart, but I keep thinking about the one near campus back home that my family and I would frequent, and the thought of it is oddly comforting. I'm not quite sure what it is about it. It's somewhere I go when I need or want to get something, it's reliable, it's consistent, it's familiar. I understand the layout, I know where everything is, I can pick something up and not have to pull out my phone and open a translator app to know what it is, what it does, what it contains. I don't mind these hurdles here, it's part of the experience, and I enjoy having to problem-solve. It's fun to me, and the novelty still hasn't worn off. But there's a comfort in the familiar, a balm in a little bit of indulgence in that sort of thing while you're treading water in the unfamiliar, and in that same vein I find myself just standing and listening when I hear an English pop song on a restaurant's radio while I'm walking down the street.
There's so much here that's a paradox of the familiar and unfamiliar as well; when I'm in a supermarket or a restaurant or a cinema and I see, say, families picking out meat for dinner, an older man enjoying a bowl of soup, a couple of teen boys waiting anxiously through credits to see the stinger of a movie, I somehow feel both like an observer and like a part of the whole. People are always going to be people, no matter where they are; across even the most vastly different cultures, the differences in manner and language and tradition, there's still really no fundamental difference between us. I think that's what's made it easy for me to feel comfortable here, despite a notable lack of Walmarts, boiled peanuts, or labels written in English.
I really do want to go to Walmart. Even if I have to drive myself there when I get home in a couple months, I'm going to Walmart. But that's then, this is now.
And for now, despite the fantasies of walking down the craft aisle and picking up embroidery floss, yarn, and the tiniest canvases they have to offer... I'm content to be here and do things like eat spicy calamari stir fry and take the clean, reliable public transport here wherever I desire.
(Except Walmart, of course.)
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The Artist ~ III
Summary: When Steve meets the reader at an art class he immediately becomes enticed and maybe, just maybe, she can help heal his wounded heart.
Warnings: none (smut in later chapters)
Word Count: 2.6k
AN: I am so sorry it took my a while to come out with the next part of the series but I hope y’all like it. Also Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to everyone!
As always a massive thank you to the beautiful @imanuglywombat who designed the amazing moodboard.
Series Masterlist
My Masterlist
Part One ~ Part Two
Steve had woken up the next morning in a funk. It had started the night before when he had awkwardly walked back to the tower with Bucky. He wanted so badly to say something, to say anything to the other man but everytime he tried, he was just reminded of that night and his heart shuddered in his chest. He had thought they were finally in a good place again but it still hurt. He knew he was being selfish but he couldn’t help it. He had waited so long to finally get Bucky back and to have him so close but not in the way he wanted was torture for Steve.
It was as though the entire tower could feel Steve’s sour mood as hardly anyone bothered him throughout the day. He had spent most of it in the gym, either destroying yet another punching bag or sparing with his teammates as they drifted in and out of the room. The hours that he didn’t spend in the gym were occupied by a small amount of paperwork and mission planning.
They had recently caught wind of some illegal arm dealing off the coast of Portugal and while it would have normally been left to the authorities, they had reason to suspect they were dealing with alien tech so the team had been brought in. There wasn’t much information circling about it so Steve knew he still had a couple weeks to plan but it still made him slightly ansty being so unprepared.
The hours passed slowly but finally it was six o’clock and Steve felt no guilt as he packed up for the day. There was a slight spring in his step as he left Avengers tower with his sketchbook tucked under his arm and his sour mood from earlier was almost completely forgotten. His legs jiggled as he took the J train out to Brooklyn, equal parts nerves and excitement ransacked their way through his veins.
To help pass the time as the train rushed through underground tunnels Steve watched those around him. Not like he would on a mission trying to figure out whether or not they were actually civilians but as he imagined an artist would watch them. He tried to figure out how he would draw each and every and every passersby. He tried to memorise the way the old lady’s smile lines deepened as she spoke to who Steve assumed to be her grandson, or the way the little boy looked up to her with complete adoration in his eyes.
He felt so much more at ease than he had all day as he stepped off the train and began the short walk towards the studio, his mind never once drifting to his brunet best friend. Despite the darkening sky the streets were packed as people bustled around and Steve had to squeeze his way through the throng of people. He smiled as he passed a group of carolers despite it only being late November. The familiar tune of ‘Good King Wenceslas’ floated through his ears and he stooped to donate a hefty sum in their collection tin, earning him a round of ‘thank yous’.
The studio was only a block away so when he finally dashed up the steps, he could still hear the melodic voices of the group. As he pulled the door open, a warm gush of air washed over him and he couldn’t wait to get inside but he heard someone call out to him that made him pause.
‘Hey! Hold the door please!’ He turned as you came bustling up the stairs, your face barely visible behind the large canvass you carried. Steve stood back and ushered you in ahead of him and you gave him a small ‘thanks!’
Already starting to feel a little too warm in your multiple layers, you set down the canvass just inside the entryway and shrugged out of your heavy winter jacket. ‘It’s bloody cold out there isn’t it? I reckon we’ll get some snow for sure this year.’ Steve nodded his head somewhat absentmindedly, trying to tear his eyes away from you.
‘I - uh - yeah, I hope so. It used to snow heaps in the city when I was growing up but it’s been a while since we’ve had a proper winter.’
‘Oooh that must have been so nice! I’ve always wanted a white Christmas like in all those Hallmark movies but I grew up in Australia so that was never going to happen.’
‘You’re from Australia?’ The slight twang of your accent had been one of the first things Steve had noticed about you, but he thought maybe the average person wouldn’t have been able to tell. It definitely sounded like you had been in New York for a while.
‘Yeah, Melbourne actually. I moved here after university. I have no idea why though. Probably some preconceived notion that to be an artist, you have to struggle in New York for a bit first.’ You laughed as you mocked yourself and Steve smiled, knowing exactly what you meant. ‘What about you? Are you originally from the Big Apple or are you a newbie like me?’ Your eyes locked with his as you asked and Steve felt his smile deepen.
‘I was born and raised here in Brooklyn actually.’
‘Right of course, you literally said you grew up in the city earlier. Sorry about that.’ Steve shrugged away your apology telling you not to worry about it. The door was pulled open and you tried to move out of the way as a gust of cold air drifted inside following another class member who you smiled in greeting at.
‘We should probably head in, it’s nearly seven.’ Steve said as he checked his watch. ‘Do you need a hand with that?’ He gestured towards the large canvas leaning against the wall.
‘Oh yeah. If you wouldn’t mind? It’s just a bit awkward to carry by myself.’
‘Not at all.’ He easily lifted it into his arms and followed as you led the way down the hallway and into the studio. He had no choice but to follow as you headed towards one of the easels towards the front of the room, where you had sat last week. Even though he didn’t want to be noticed by the rest of the class, Steve couldn’t resist the temptation of sitting down in the empty stool next to yours.
He watched as you pulled out your oil paint and started setting them on a very used palette and Steve was reminded of last night. He wasn’t sure if he should bring it up, as you hadn’t mentioned yet, but he thought maybe you just hadn’t seen him. After all he and Bucky had been towards the back.
‘I uh, I saw you last night. At Ronan’s bar for the wine and art night.’ He clarified, determined not to seem creepy. ‘I was going to say hi but you seemed a little busy.’
‘Oh, really? I’m so sorry I didn’t even notice you were there! But how good is it!? $25 for unlimited wine plus some art fun. It’s just a shame they only run it during winter.’ You looked slightly remorseful and Steve couldn’t help but agree.
‘I didn’t realise that. I just found the flier over the weekend and decided to give it a try.’
‘Well I’m glad you did. If you don’t mind me asking, why the sudden interest in art?’
‘Oh, well I don’t know really. One of my friends, Nat, found my sketchbook that’s basically been abandoned the last few years and wouldn’t stop nagging me to get back into it. She and Tony are always pushing me to have a life beyond work.’
‘Tony as in Tony Stark?’
It only crossed Steve’s mind as he nodded that perhaps not all of Tony’s employees were on a first name basis with him. He needed to be more careful with the words that came out of his mouth. Eager to shift the conversation away from Tony he quickly divulged even more personal information. ‘I uh, I think it might have something to do with my friend, the one I told you about last time.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah, growing up he was practically always my muse and we’ve only recently found each other again - he had to go away for a while. Maybe it’s because he’s back again that I’ve found the inspiration…’ He drifted off, unsure of what he was saying. ‘That probably didn’t make any sense.’
‘No, no, it did. I totally get what you mean. I used to have this dog, his name was Bear and growing up I used to draw him all the time. But when he passed away, I just didn’t feel that spark anymore, you know? It took me a while to find it again but when I did everything just made sense again.’
Steve was refrained from replying by the entrance of Madame Maxine to the studio as she quickly called the class to order.
‘Today we have the wonderful Jerry modelling again. Since it is his second week, he will be modelling nude for us today.’ Her attention drifted back to Jerry who was wearing a dark red silken robe. ‘If you could please derobe Jerry and get settled into position B that would be brilliant.’ Jerry nodded and followed her instructions, setting himself down on the stool in front of the class. Steve had to admire his confidence. He knew that even if it was purely for art he could never model nude for anyone, he struggled enough doing promotional shots when he was fully clothed.
Steve was too aware of you sitting next to him for the next hour. Everytime you shifted on your stool or bent to mix some more paints he noticed and his eyes followed your movements. As a result his own sketch was barely half complete by the time the hour was up and the small bell rang. He would definitely be voting to keep the position.
Your painting on the other hand was beautiful. Despite the limited time you had not only managed to capture Jerry as he was, but also his essence. Steve was enraptured and stammered his way through a maze of compliments which you humbly shrugged away.
‘I just have experience with Jerry, he modelled last winter and he works here part time too.’
‘He works here?’
‘Yeah Maxine rents out the studios to aspiring artists if they need a large space. I had this massive project over the summer on three canvases that were each four by five meters and my apartment is a shoebox so it never would have worked if it weren’t for Maxine.’
‘Wow, that sounds impressive.’ Steve could hardly imagine working on as big a canvass as you were currently using, never mind one nearly three times the size. ‘How long did it take you to finish?’
You glanced down, slightly avoiding his eyes. ‘It’s not… well it's not technically finished yet. I’m so close to being done with it but I just…’ You trailed off, unsure how to put it into words.
‘There’s something missing?’ Steve filled in for you and you nodded eagerly.
‘It’s almost right but everytime I think it’s done I realise just how much I hate it and I have to leave the room to stop myself from painting over it again.’ Although Steve had never done something quite on the same wavelength he could relate to the need for perfection. He had lost count of how many pages he had ripped out of his sketchbook and thrown in the trash only to start all over again.
‘What’s it of?’
‘It’s a collection, mainly of my favourite places in New York and it’s all about the human footprint… or at least, it’s meant to be.’
‘If it’s anything like your painting of Jerry I’m sure it’ll be incredible.’
Steve didn’t have to be able to see it to know that your cheeks would be flushing with heat at his compliment. He didn’t understand why you doubted yourself so much, it was clear that you were incredibly talented. ‘Thank you, you’re far too sweet.’
Maxine clapped her hands once again calling the attention of everyone. ‘It is now that time where we decide if we would like Jerry to stay as he is or if we would like him in a new position. Raise your hands for the same pose.’ Steve eagerly raised his hand along with you and most of the class.
After a quick headcount Maxine nodded firmly. ‘Well that settles it, Jerry, if you would be so kind as to return to position B.’ Once again the silk robe fell to the floor as Jerry repositioned himself on the stool and Steve promised that he wouldn’t let himself get as distracted by you this time around.
+
By the end of the second hour Steve had a half decent looking sketch that paled in comparison to yours but he had long since resigned himself to its fate.
‘Your painting is amazing.’ He told you truthfully and you smiled up at him abashed.
‘Thank you Steve. That really means a lot.’
‘Well, it’s definitely true.’ Once again, Steve’s heart constricted in his chest as you flashed a sweet, bashful smile his way. He really felt a little ridiculous, being so completely enticed by someone he had only just met but being with you, it just all felt different.
He watched as you packed up your paints and helped you carry the drying canvas over to the corner of the room where Maxine said you could leave it for the night.
By the time you were by the coat rack you and Steve were the only students left in the studio, everyone else had filed out fairly quickly. Steve shoved his coat on and quickly plucked your own from the hook, holding it out for you.
He wondered briefly if he was perhaps overstepped but the smile of gratitude you flashed him put him at ease as you daintily slid your arms into the open holes. ‘Thank you.’
‘Anytime.’ He walked with you out of the building and down into the street.
‘Well, I’m heading this way.’ You pointed in the opposite direction of the train station and Steve felt a brief flash of chagrin. He wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye just yet and he got the feeling that you felt the same.
‘I’m the other way. But uhh…’ The invitation to coffee at a cafe just down the street was on the tip of his tongue as his phone rang. ACDC’s Back in Black rang through the cool night air, breaking any tension that had been building up.
You flashed what looked like a remorseful smile and raised a hand in farewell. ‘I’ll let you get that, but will you be at Ronan’s next week?’
‘Yeah, yes. I will.’ Steve hadn’t really thought about returning to the little bar but if that’s where you were going to be, that’s where he would be too.
‘Great! I’ll uh, see you there.’ You flashed him that sweet and bashful smile once more before turning on your heel and getting lost in the crowds of New York.
Steve watched you go for longer than he really should have and by the time he finally fished his phone out of his pocket Tony had nearly been sent to voicemail.
‘Tony, what’s going on?’
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The 1836 Beaumaris County Gaol Riot
Because it got a good bit of support behind it I’ve decided I am gonna write the prison au (I’ll work out a schedule for it eventually so I can still do tch and the 50 prompts) I have to be honest, you might not like how it ends- you might not even like how it begins- but I’m here to write the stories I want to write regardless of how uncomfortable they personally make you or how different they are. I’m not a tropey-fandom writer, it’s rare you’ll find that stuff in my works. I like writing stories that is different than the norm, it’s just who I am as a person and as a writer.
I’m going to do a similar thing here as I do with Time Can Heal. i.e. give you the chapters as they are then go back and sort out any inconsistencies or flaws when I edit. This is just to gauge your opinion of the overall plot. Because of this, I’m always happy to accept ideas of what to include if anyone has any but some things are going to be set in stone regardless.
Read on AO3
TWO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS!
@today-in-fic
PROLOGUE (P.1)
The tray is balancing on his raised knee, the food threatening to fall off the plate as the lock is freed and the door is pushed open.
The room is mostly dark save for a few lines of sunlight that the curtains fail to keep out. William places the tray on the bedside table and smiles at the darkened figure still asleep. He heads over to the curtains, pulling them open and allowing the light to claim the bedroom. The man doesn’t stir and Will shakes him gently on the arm.
“Dad,” says Will. He shakes him again.
“Dad!” A little louder and still nothing. Usually he wakes at the slightest of touches.
A realisation comes over him as tears begin to pinprick in his eyes. His father has died.
.:.:.:.:.:.:.
Will is silent as the undertaker goes about his business. Sat at the kitchen table, he thought about all the things this would change, how strange it would be to walk around the farmhouse and know they were one person down.
“We should…” He sniffles, trying to think of the most practical things to do in this situation. “We should start going through his things soon as,” he says. “See what we can sell, what we can keep.”
Hannah is next to him, embracing him as much as her bump will allow. He leans back, seeking the comfort she’s offering.
“We don’t need to do anything yet,” Hannah says, her hands threading through his hair. Will shakes his head. He needs to do this.
.:.:.:.:.:.
With the spare boxes found in the basement, Will starts with the easy things on the shelves- books, candles, ornaments. It feels wrong to devoid the room of its items but it needs to be done, so he pushes his emotions aside and thinks practically.
“Don’t you think you’re rushing into this?”
He shakes his head as he takes the box away from her.
“It needs to be done,” is all he says.
He kneels on the floor, lifting up the covers and starting to pull the items from beneath the bed.
“Will—” but Will ignores her. The items beneath the bed were always a mystery to him.
He opens the box up, peering inside.
There’s not many things inside but Will reaches for the first thing he sees: A plain black book.
“What’s that?” Hannah asks, she moves from the doorway to sit on the bed.
Will also moves from his kneeled position. He sits on the bed next to her, opening the book.
It doesn’t take him long to realise it’s a sketchbook. Various drawings of objects and people litter the pages; faces and hands, a building on another page.
“I didn’t know he was such a good artist,” says Hannah.
“Me neither,” says Will. He flips through the pages, amazed at each little drawings he passes.
“He never told you?”
He hears the surprise in her voice.
“No,” Will answers, surprised himself. Why would his father keep something like this from him.
He turns the page and is greeted with a portrait of a woman. She’s looking at him, a tiny smile across her lips. As he scours the page, he finds small writing near the bottom- Scully with the date 03/04/1836.
“Who do you think she was?” asks Hannah.
“I’m not sure.” But he has a feeling. He’s about to turn the page when Hannah stops him and points to the date.
“It was drawn two months before you were born.”
Will takes note and shuts the sketchbook, tossing it to the side of him. He looks in the box again; just a book and a stack of yellow paper remains.
He picks up the yellow paper first and upon further inspection, finds…
“They’re letters,” Will says. He takes the band keeping them together.
“Who to?”
He takes the first one, scanning his eyes through it and finds no name attached.
“I think to himself.” He begins going through each one, finding them dated from 1831 all the way to now- 1869.
“Thirty-eight years,” says Hannah, reading the dates herself.
He begins looking for the letters dated around the same time of as the portrait.
“What are you looking for?”
But Will ignores her, looking for the letters he wants. When he finds the correct dates, his eyes immediately starts scanning through the letter, looking for the information he needs.
When he comes across it, in a letter dated on his birthday.
William brings the paper away from him, digesting this information.
He puts the letters down and picks up the sketchbook again, turning to the portrait page.
“I think she’s my mother.”
- - -
@ariverofsongs @midwest-cryptid @baronessblixen @scullybythesea @impulsive-astrophile @improlificinsarcasm @knowleitall-super-soldier @tinglingworld @enigmaticxbee @mypanicface @foxscully @msrheadcanon @agirlcallednarelle and anyone else who would like to be tagged in future fics. If you’d like to opt out being tagged in this please let me know and I will do so.
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Twist of Fate, Chapter 3
Chapter 3′s here! I’m super close to finishing the writing, so I’m gonna try to get it all finished over the weekend so I can do FREQUENT UPDATES!! But for now, enjoy the new chapter! Tagging @cosmicrealmofkissteria as always and also @tanookiroxx! Enjoy!!
In which Starchild and Tomaziel become closer friends~
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The next couple of days passed in a similar way. They were full of meetings that seemed to last for hours and were filled with Celestial Senators and KISSterian Councilmen alike engaged in speeches and deals and debates and compromises. Starchild did his best to pay attention and contribute whenever possible, though he did make sure to be open to correction when giving his opinion about something. But he found the more optimistic he was about things going well, the more likely he left a meeting feeling it did go well.
Apart from the meetings, he also had lunch with Ace, in which they caught up with each other, reminisced, and laughed for what ended up being hours. It felt wonderful to be forming a friendship with Ace after so many years of heartbreak and complicated emotions. He could start over again, this time as friends. Perhaps they should have been friends from the beginning, but what’s done was done and Starchild didn’t want to focus on the past. He let himself enjoy the easy conversation, the banter, and the jokes and came away from it much happier. He was noticing being here on Jendell was doing him better than he thought—although the little Princess Monique still hadn’t seemed to find a way to escape her nannies.
Another thing he was noticing was a budding friendship between him and Tomaziel. He somehow always ended up encountering him, whether it be through meeting him in the hallway or simply seeing him in the same room. When he couldn’t be spared to talk to him, which happened often, Starchild tried to give him a smile and friendly wave. The wave was often returned, but much more respectfully—a very Tomaziel thing to do. He was incredibly respectful, always being careful with his words and addressing him as “Prince Starchild” or “your grace”.
For whatever reason, Starchild increasingly began to wonder if he could get the man to stop doing that. If they were going to be friends, there was no need to be so formal.
As luck would have it, he would get the chance. On the fourth day of the visit, he found himself with an unusual amount of free time after being informed his presence wouldn’t be required at the meetings taking place that day. So, left with nothing else to do, he decided to take his sketchbook and go to the Garden Dome to see what flowers he could draw. He scanned the massive dome for a patch of flowers to sketch, when he suddenly noticed a cluster of flowers off to one side and felt compelled to get a closer look at them.
It was a cluster of dahlias, red ones in full bloom. Starchild found himself both glad and disappointed that they weren’t black dahlias. A wry smile crossed his face and he laughed to himself before sitting down and opening his sketchbook. He turned to a blank page—he would have to get a new one soon, this one was almost full—took his pencil out from behind his ear, and went to work.
His hand traveled almost robotically over the paper as he drew, eyes constantly flicking up and back down again. When he began to draw again, he would work himself up into a fit of frustration and impatience with how long he was taking and how unskilled and horrible his drawings looked. It had taken a few months of re-training himself to focus, but now he could do it without a second thought. It felt good to draw, felt good to create pictures and images. And it felt good to do something he enjoyed.
Starchild was so engrossed in his sketching that he didn’t even hear the footsteps behind him… until a stick snapped. He jumped, accidentally causing his pencil to slash across the paper, and took a second to compose himself before turning around.
A smile crossed his face. “Oh. Hello, Tomaziel,”
For there was the aide himself, standing frozen in place and looking rather panicked while a dry stick sat broken under his boot. It must have fallen from one of the trees onto the path. “I’m—I’m so sorry, your grace,” he apologized. His face was flushing blue. “I didn’t mean to disturb you—”
“It’s fine,” Starchild waved him off. “We seem to keep running into each other anyway. What brings you here?”
“I… I take walks here sometimes, your grace. The King gave me permission to be in here.” Tomaziel’s eyes fell on Starchild’s sketchbook. “Forgive me for prying, your grace, but… were you sketching?”
“You’re not prying. But yes, I was. Would you like to join me?” When he saw the look of hesitation, he patted the ground beside him. “You wouldn’t be bothering me. And if you lose track of the time, I’ll say I invited you to join me.”
After another moment of hesitation, Tomaziel stepped off the path and lowered himself to sit down next to him. They ended up being so close their knees were nearly touching. Starchild smiled. “There, see? We keep running into each other, so we might as well get to know each other.”
“I… I suppose so, Prince Starchild,”
“Starchild,”
Tomaziel looked at him confusedly. “What?”
“Just say Starchild,” he clarified. “There’s no need for the ‘Prince’ part. If we’re going to be friends, we can drop any formality around each other.”
Tomaziel blinked at him, still a little confused. “Friends, your—Starchild?”
Starchild smiled slightly, then shrugged. “Like I said, we keep running into each other. If it’s going to keep happening, we might as well become friends.” There was a pause, then he quickly added, “If you want that, anyway.”
“… I would like that,” Tomaziel offered a hesitant smile, “Starchild.”
Smiling wider, Starchild nodded. “Alright, then.” He looked back down at his drawing and frowned slightly when he saw the slash through the flowers. He sighed and went to work erasing it.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” he glanced up to find Tomaziel looking curiously at the dahlias, “what kind of flowers are these?”
“They’re dahlias,” he replied as he fixed his sketch. “Ace must have brought them back from Earth.”
“They’re beautiful,”
Starchild smiled. “They are, aren’t they?”
“Do you like dahlias?”
“I do, but it’s for more… personal reasons,”
He waited for the inevitable question of what the reason was… but instead Tomaziel simply nodded and went back to looking at the flowers. Starchild blinked for a second, then shrugged and went back to drawing.
After a while of the two of them sitting there in silence, Tomaziel spoke again. “I didn’t know you liked to draw, yo… Starchild.”
“I do,” Starchild replied, rubbing his pencil over the dahlias to add shading. “Ever since I was younger.” He smiled slightly at the memory. “I drew a picture of the roses in the garden one day and immediately went to show the Elder. It wasn’t even that good a drawing, but I was still so proud of it. The very next day she asked if I wanted to have a tutor give me art lessons.”
He decided to leave out the part about the whole reason he started drawing the picture in the first place was because he had been sitting alone in the gardens, forced to play by himself. But Tomaziel didn’t need to know that.
“And did you have art lessons?”
“I did, and I loved them,”
“If you don’t mind me saying, you’re very good,”
He smiled. “Thank you,”
“What else do you draw?”
“Well…” Starchild raised his head to think for a moment. “Almost anything. I like to draw flowers, but I sometimes will draw animals, other wildlife, buildings, daily life scenes…”
“Can you draw people?”
“Of course. I could draw you.” He gave Tomaziel a cheeky grin. “I could draw you however you wanted.”
Tomaziel stuttered for a few seconds, and his face turned a shade of blue. Starchild laughed. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He grinned again. “Unless you want me to, of course.”
“I-I… I don’t…”
Starchild threw back his head and laughed, then reached out to pat his shoulder. “Really, I’m just kidding. I’ll stop now, I promise.”
A small smile made its way onto Tomaziel’s face. “F-For a moment, I thought you were serious,”
“No, I’m not,” Starchild giggled. “I would never do that to you.”
The aide gave a small laugh. “Alright… Do you paint?”
“You know, I did learn how to do that. But I haven’t painted in years, now. I’m not sure I would be any good at it.”
“I learned how to paint when I was younger,”
“Really? Who taught you?”
“The school I attended as a child gave art lessons. I liked them, but like you, it’s been years since I painted anything.”
“Perhaps we can help each other relearn,”
Tomaziel chuckled. “We could do that,”
It was then that Starchild glanced down at his sketch and realized with a jolt—it was finished. There on the paper was a pencil sketch of the clusters of red dahlias, almost perfectly recreated. At some point while he was talking to Tomaziel he had finished and hadn’t even noticed.
He held up his sketchbook, admiring it for a second, then showed it to Tomaziel. “What do you think?”
Tomaziel looked at the sketch and smiled. “It’s beautiful. Really, it is. You’re very good.”
For some reason, Starchild felt his cheeks heat up just a little as he smiled back. “Thank you.” He lowered the sketchbook and flipped to a new page. “What should I draw next?”
“Oh…” Tomaziel looked around the Garden Dome to find something to suggest, then turned back to him. “You could draw me, if you like.”
Starchild tilted his head in thought. “Actually… that would be perfect. Here.” He moved back, away from Tomaziel, and pointed. “Move over so you’re right next to the dahlias and turn your head.”
“Like this?” Tomaziel moved closer to the flowers and turned his head slightly.
“No, turn it more. So that you look like you’re observing the dahlias.”
“Oh.” His head turned so he was looking right at them. “Like this?”
“Yes, that’s perfect. Now hold still.”
As he picked up his sketchbook and prepared to start drawing, he heard a laugh and looked up to find Tomaziel smiling at the dahlias and chuckling. “What’s so funny?”
“O-Oh, nothing. I just…” he turned to smile at Starchild. “I thought you said you could draw me however I wanted.”
Starchild blinked at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. “I did!”
Tomaziel laughed out loud along with him, and somewhere in his mind Starchild remarked that he had never heard him laugh unrestrainedly before. He either laughed quietly or hid it behind his hand.
“Okay,” Starchild laughed as they calmed. “Alright. Now really, hold still.”
Tomaziel gave one more laugh before turning his head again. Starchild began to draw, starting with his subject’s head. He couldn’t help but feel secretly happy that he got the opportunity to scrutinize Tomaziel’s face, even if it was just the side. If he was being completely honest with himself, Tomaziel was rather good-looking. “Suggesting I draw you was a good idea,” he said aloud. “You have a good face for it.”
He smiled when he saw Tomaziel’s face flush a light blue. “Thank you… You meant that in an artistic way, didn’t you?”
His smile widened. “Of course I did. It’s going to be fun drawing your face.”
The two of them sat in relative silence, occasionally asking each other casual questions. But oddly, Starchild didn’t feel a gnawing urge to say something else.
In fact, he couldn’t help but marvel at how at ease he felt at that very moment. Why was that? Could it be because he was with a friend? He always felt at ease and like he could be himself around his friends. Yes, that had to be it. Tomaziel had agreed they could be friends, after all.
It seemed like little time had passed, but finally Starchild was looking at a completed sketch of Tomaziel looking at the bush of red dahlias. He had even done a little more and added in the background of the Garden Dome. He smiled at the sketch proudly before turning it around and showing it to Tomaziel. “All finished. What do you think?”
Tomaziel looked at the sketch. And a look of slight awe appeared on his face. “This is amazing.” He gave Starchild a smile. “I love it. In fact…” His eyes glanced away. “Could I perhaps keep it? If you don’t mind, that is.”
“No, I don’t mind.” Starchild signed his name at the bottom of the sketch with a flourish, then carefully tore the page out of the sketchbook. “There. I even autographed it for you.”
He handed it to Tomaziel, who took it and looked down at the drawing with a smile. “Thank you. Really, I think it looks amazing.”
Starchild smiled back, giving no thought to how good it felt knowing Tomaziel liked it. “I’m glad you like it. I think we’re going to be very good friends.”
“I think so too,”
#Shandi's KISSteriaverse#twist of fate#chapter three#tomaziel's a sweetheart but what else is new#starchild's completely relaxed around him now#like before tho you can probably tell where this is going *wink*#spacechild#kiss au writing#my writing#hope you enjoyed!#stay tuned for chapter four!
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The Muses Dance - Part 2
Summary: Steve is a fine arts major, (Y/N) is a dance major. Their meeting wasn’t supposed to be anything big, but Steve is sure he’s found his new muse, and (Y/N) is suddenly convinced that maybe she doesn’t have to choose between her career and a relationship.
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader
Word Count: 6287
Warnings: Shitty parents, description of an anxiety attack, mentions of family death
A/N: The outfits mentioned are linked here; (Y/N) Maria Natasha. This took a very long time. I ended up splitting it in half so if the ending feels a little awkward that’s why. The original chapter was unfinished and already nearing 10k words. So Part 3 is coming very soon.
Part 1 | Series Masterlist
Two weeks had passed since the fateful day that Steve and (Y/N) met. Since then, the two had spent nearly every possible moment together. Even when Steve wasn’t working on his project, he hung around (Y/N). The two of them had fallen easily into a nice sort of routine.
After their classes finished each day, Steve would sit in on the girls' showcase rehearsals. He curled up in the corner with his sketchbook, drawing (Y/N) in all of her angelic glory. The girls all noticed, he wasn’t as subtle as he liked to think. But she never said anything. She didn’t want to make him think he should stop. Honestly, she much preferred that he continue, it was flattering having all of his attention on her.
So they played their little game, day after day. The girls would finish their rehearsals, and (Y/N) would practically skip to his side. She knelt beside him, and drank down the rest of the water from her bottle.
“Whatcha drawing there, handsome?” She asked. As always, he snapped the little book shut and smiled the way that made her stomach flutter. She’d always rearrange her things in her bag so she wouldn’t just sit and stare at him.
“Nothing special. Just passing the time.” He answered. That was always his answer, and she never bothered pressing for a better one. He slipped his things back into his bag, then he’d settle it on his back. As soon as her things were put away, he was scooping that up too. Over the first week of their friendship, she had tried to change his ways. She was strong enough to carry her own bag, she had said, but he insisted that he was raised to always help a lady. Her initial confusion, the surprise, was giving way to a sort of appreciation of his chivalry.
Like every other day since she’d met Steve, (Y/N) was the first to leave their rehearsal rather than leaving hours after her friends. They bid the other girls goodbye and set off on their way towards the visual arts building. Some days she would chatter excitedly about her number, high off the post-workout endorphins. Other times Steve would take the lead, passionately telling her about his progress on his piece. On rare occasions, they wouldn’t say anything at all.
Today was one of those quiet days. Steve wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but those were his favorite days. He adored listening to her talk, loved watching the way her eyes gleamed with pride. But these days were special. On quiet days he got a little glimpse into a more intimate part of her world. She was always in her head, and that was his favorite time to admire her.
She was so adorable, so charming, even when she wasn’t trying to be. As they walked, it would sometimes become obvious that she was still rehearsing in her head. Her eyes would close for a few moments longer, or her body would move ever so slightly to some unheard melody. There were a million other things he’d picked up on too. Like the way her nose would scrunch up if one of them fell out of step with the other. Or how she practically did a little dance to avoid the cracks in the pavement somedays. He figured that was another one of her superstitions. He’d learned plenty of those too. Wearing blue on wednesdays would bring bad luck in performance. Dancing in the rain would guarantee a well received performance. Drinking coffee the day of a performance meant the performer would get injured. They were strange, but she believed them wholeheartedly.
The way he was so content just to be at her side, even if she paid him no mind, was a bit worrisome. He was in deep with this one. He’d only fallen so hard once before, and that hadn’t ended so well for his heart. But this...this was different. It had to be.
When they reached the proper building, (Y/N) excitedly took the lead. She had learned her way around the building, thanks to a tour from Steve. She walked towards the studio that they worked in. She didn’t model for him, he didn’t need her to anymore. She just enjoyed being there, having some company, and Steve never turned her away.
She nudged the door open and flicked the lights on. Steve was only a few steps behind her. They settled into their respective places. Steve set up his space, turning on lights and laying out his materials. She curled up on the floor with her book. That was always where she ended up, getting comfy with a good book, or her homework, or sometimes she’d just sit and watch.
It was adorable the way he got when he worked. His tongue would poke out sometimes, or he’d mumble frustrated criticisms to himself. Pencils would find themselves tucked behind his ear, paint brushes ended up propped between his teeth. His long sleeves usually got pushed out of the way to reveal toned, doodle stained forearms.
And every time she noticed something new, she wondered just how many people had been observative enough to to pick up on the little quirks, the doodles, the smudges of paint. She wondered if anyone fell for them the way that she was.
“Anyone in there?” Steve asked, waving a hand in front of her face. She gave a surprised blink. She hadn’t noticed that he’d packed everything away and tidied his space back up. “Earth to (Y/N), come in (Y/N).”
She scrunched her nose and swatted his hands away. According to the digital clock on the wall, afternoon had given way to evening. The pale light of the setting sun seeped through the window shades and gave the entire room a beautiful pinkish glow.
“Shit, I must have totally zoned out.” She laughed, carefully putting her book into her bag and letting him take it from her.
“I swear if you’re still overthinking the showcase,” He gave her a stern look and she shook her head. He reached a hand down and she let him pull her to her feet.
“No, it’s not that. I’m just a little out of it today.” She promised. She stretched her arms up over her head, then swooped them back towards the ground, sighing as the muscles in her back pulled and loosened a little. “Don’t start worrying about me now.”
The walk back to her dorm was more interesting. Steve rambled with a new excitement about the progress the past few hours had provided. He lit up like a little ball of sunshine when he talked about art. He always had a passionate glimmer swimming in his sea blue eyes, it was the most amazing thing in (Y/N)’s humble opinion. She wondered if she ever looked so lovely.
“It’s really coming together.” He gushed. “And that’s mostly thanks to you. It’s looking so great! Obviously it’s not perfect, but it’s better than I thought it could be. I’m almost done, too! Might even finish it with time to spare.”
She had nearly stepped into the way of a biking student. Steve gently pulled her back on track.
“You think any of that is thanks to me?” Her voice was laced with disbelief. She hadn’t done anything but let him draw her, and several other girls had done the same thing for the exact same piece. If anything, she had been a bit of a hindrance what with her rehearsals, and her usual chatter while he worked. But his expression didn’t falter.
“Of course it’s thanks to you.” He spoke as if it were as obvious as if she’d done the art herself. “Really, I mean it. You’re my muse. Seeing you dance gave me a whole new perspective. It reminded me what it was like to really care about my art. I wanted to make people feel the same way seeing my art as I do watching you dance.”
“That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.” She confessed quietly. She shook her head before looking up at him again. None of it made sense to her, she really wasn’t all that, but it definitely felt nice to hear him say it. “I’m glad I can help. Even if I’m not really doing anything.”
They talked the rest of the way to the dorms, and when they came to a stop outside her door as they always did, Steve went quiet. (Y/N) tipped her head.
“What’s on your mind?” She asked as she tugged the strap of her bag off his shoulder. He shook his head.
“Nothing, just thinking about stopping by Buck and Tasha’s place before I go home.” He passed her bag back to her and she hoisted it onto her shoulder. Her eyes flickered down to her shoes.
“Then you should get going. Don’t let me keep you out all night.” She looked back up and smoothed her hand over his shoulder, brushing out the little wrinkles her bag had left in his jacket. “I’ll see you tomorrow? Same time?”
Blue eyes flicked across her face as she fixed his jacket, then he smiled at her. For yet another night, he imagined kissing her goodnight. Imagined dipping down to catch her soft lips with his, holding her against him until he pulled away and brushed her hair back. But he couldn’t do that. So instead he nodded.
“Same time tomorrow. Have a good night.”
As always, he waited for her to safely step inside and close the door behind her. Then he turned with his sights set on Bucky’s apartment, and his mind dancing with lovesick fantasies.
The walk was short and fairly quiet aside from the sounds of traffic. Natasha would probably beat his ass for walking the city alone after dark, but he was fully capable of protecting himself. He had bigger things to worry about.
Steve rapped impatiently at the door. On the other side, Bucky pried himself off of Natasha who was maybe even angrier than her boyfriend at the interruption. She leaned up, peppering kisses along his jaw.
“Just ignore it, they’ll go away.” She pleaded, running her hands down his bare chest. She was sure she’d convinced him to return his attention to her. It was probably just their neighbour looking for his cat again. Then came the knocking once more. This time it was louder and more persistent. Bucky groaned, burying his face in the crook of Natasha’s neck.
“Yeah, I’m coming.” He shouted, giving Nat a quick look. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants and tugged them on before stalking to the front door. He looked positively dangerous as he ripped the door open. For a split second, his expression softened as he looked upon his best friend. Steve stood there with a goofy grin on his face and a surprisingly dreamy look in his eyes. But Bucky’s softness didn’t last long.
“What do you want?” He snapped. Steve tucked his hands into his pockets with a sheepish smile. His best friend wouldn’t stay mad at him. He never could.
“I need help.” Steve answered. He clearly wasn’t hurt or particularly upset. Any other friend would have turned him away given the circumstances. But this was Bucky, and this was Steve. Steve who he could never ever manage to turn away. So he reluctantly waved him inside.
Steve was only just noticing the lack of clothing, and the fresh hickeys littered across Bucky’s collarbone. His cheeks flushed as realization struck.
“I’m interrupting something.” He observed. Bucky nodded, but he didn’t quite get the chance to speak.
“Hey, Steve.” Natasha greeted. She’d pulled on one of Bucky’s shirts and it easily engulfed her. “You’re here awfully late.”
The words were half sincere and half irritated aggression towards the blonde. He flinched a tiny bit, but took a deep breath.
“I like her.” He blurted out, looking between the two. Both of them shared a look. They knew who he was talking about, but that didn’t explain why he had come bursting into their apartment at a quarter past nine at night. It wasn’t his first crush.
“Okay?” Bucky prompted, waving a hand for him to go on. The situation seemed fairly straight forward. He was head over heels for her, she was smitten with him. He would ask her out, and they would live happily ever after. Voila! “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t know what to do!” Steve groaned. “She’s not just some dame I can charm. She’s special, she deserves something special.”
Natasha groaned out loud, moving to perch on the arm of the couch. She wasn’t sure she’d heard anything so ridiculous in her entire life. She loved Steve, but sometimes he was an absolute idiot.
“Relax, Steve. She already likes you. I swear all I hear anymore is ‘Steve is so sweet’, ‘have you seen his arms?’, ‘Steve is so talented’.” She mocked with a smirk. “Which is better than ‘I was awful, we have to run that section again’. Just ask her on a date!”
“I can’t just ask her!”
“The showcase.” Bucky intervened quickly. He loved his best friend like a brother, but he was beginning to sound like his little sister during her highschool years. “Ask her out at the showcase. That’s a big deal, right?”
Steve jumped from the seat he’d taken on the couch and grabbed his discarded bag.
“Bucky, you’re a genius!” He beamed brightly and headed for the door. He had an idea, and he needed to get started. “Thanks guys.”
The couple didn’t say anything as he rushed out the door.
When (Y/N) made it into her dorm, she found Wanda pacing the floor and reciting lines. Her twin brother Pietro was sprawled on her bed with the script held above his face. That was a bit pointless really since she’d had her lines memorized since two days after getting the script.
She sat her things down and kicked off her shoes. Usually she’d be mouthing along to Wanda’s performance, or listening to her track and working through choreography. But something else had her distracted. So she curled up with her stuffed dragon held to her chest, staring into space and daydreaming. She snapped out of it at Pietro’s loud laugh.
“What?” She asked, eyebrows drawing together in confusion when she realized that both of the twins were looking in her direction.
“Pietro was talking to you. I told him that you had that dreamy look on your face so you wouldn’t care about talking to boys.” She explained, shoving her brother’s legs so she could sit comfortably on her bed.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” She propped her head up and glared at her friends.
“Every time your eyes go all dreamy, you’re thinking about Steve!” Wanda burst into giggles and (Y/N) rolled onto her back. That was absolute bullshit! Right?
“You’re both idiots.” She insisted with a smile on her lips.
“I’ve barely been around 10 minutes and I can tell it’s true.” Pietro argued. She didn’t look away from the spot on the ceiling, but she lifted her hand to flip him off.
“All you talk about is Steve. You spend more time with him than you do with me.” A little teasing pout crept onto Wanda’s lips as she spoke. It was undeniable really. (YN) sighed softly and sat up to face the twins.
“Okay, so I like him!” She huffed in defeat. “I really like him. He’s special.”
The twins shared a look. A silent ‘I-told-you-so’. Then Pietro leaned forward. He’d gotten fairly good at the whole girl talk thing over the years with Wanda and her friends.
“Special?” He prompted.
“Yeah, I’ve never really cared about dating, or settling down. It always clashed with my dreams, with my career. But this..this is different. He rivals my passion, and my dedication, and my ambition. And he balances out my psycho obsessive anxiety. He’s just incredible, you know? He’s so confident, handsome, chivalrous. And he’s smart, too! Can you even believe that? He can’t possibly be that perfect, but he is! He checks all the boxes. I’ve never met a man like him — no offense, Piet — and he seems to actually like me. He doesn’t want my body, or my career, or my reputation. Just me.
“Then, as if that simply isn’t enough. I could really imagine things working. Usually I could picture a couple dates, a fling. My career has to come first, and nobody seems to understand that. But Steve does. He doesn’t care that dance is my first love. He has the same relationship with his art.
“Can’t you just see it? A cute little apartment while I dance. He’d be making the most beautiful art. He’d have art shows, I’d have performances. We could make it big. Maybe get married, have a couple sticky little kids. It’s a dream.”
She bit her lip, and her face burned with embarrassment as she realized how much she’d just confessed. She’d never fallen for someone this way.
She hadn’t noticed Pietro getting up. He grabbed his things and walked across the small room. He pressed a sweet, brotherly kiss to (Y/N)’s head.
“You’re in deep. You should tell the poor guy.” He told her before walking to the door. She didn’t even try to argue. “Have a good night, ladies.”
The next day rolled around, and as promised, their routine continued. (Y/N) danced her heart out and refused to believe that her performance was anywhere near good enough. Steve sat in the corner and worked on a new sketch. He cared more about this one. She would see it after all. It had to be impressive. Had to be perfect.
“Whatcha drawing, Stevie?” She asked, grabbing her towel and drying her sweat. Steve snapped the book shut quicker than usual. It wasn’t ready for her eyes just yet. He tucked it into his bag and flashed her a smile.
“Nothing much. You’re looking really good.” He said standing up as she packed her things away. She gave him a curious look, her eyebrows lifting in a silent question. He took a second to process just what he’d said, then he began to blush and stammer out a response. “Well not...I just meant your dance! Your dance looks...good. Well, not good! Really good...great.”
She covered her giggle at his nervousness. The way he panicked, and the pink that burned on his cheeks were simply adorable. It was even sort of odd. At first glance, he didn’t seem the type to get nervous or to fluster so easily. But (Y/N) knew better than that. She uncovered her smile as her giggles subsided.
“Thanks. The last few bars still need some work. And I’m not sure I’m hitting some of the beats quite right. During my little solo, you know?” She shrugged and zipped her bag. Steve didn’t know exactly, he didn’t understand most of what she said when she talked about the technical details. But she seemed to be criticizing herself again, and she definitely didn’t need to.
“Well, it looks beautiful from here.” He pulled her bag up onto his shoulder. She murmured a small thank you and brushed some loose hair back from her face.
“I think we’re gonna get going.” She called to where Maria and Natasha were chatting. The redhead looked up and smiled towards Steve with a small nod.
“Have fun you two.” Maria shot the pair a teasing wink that made (Y/N)’s stomach twist with nerves.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you guys later.” She waved to her friends and slipped her hand into Steve’s just for a moment, tugging him towards the door. And like the lovesick puppy he was, he followed without a single hesitation. They walked through the halls side by side, dodging out of the way of other students.
“You know, I think you’re too hard on yourself.” Steve pointed out as they burst into the sunshine. “You’re so talented, but you’re never happy with yourself.”
Of course she knew that she was too hard on herself. She’d been hearing it her entire life. People said she’d dance herself to death one day, but it was her emotional outlet.
“Yeah, maybe I am. But I have so much to prove. Especially now. You know how competitive it is out there.”
“Well sure, but...you’re an amazing dancer. You shouldn’t doubt yourself.” His eyes lingered on hers. He knew she could do pretty much anything she set her mind to. She was incredible.
“Thanks Steve. But I have to be better than amazing. Nobody ever believed I would make it this far. My parents were less than thrilled when I decided to major in dance instead of something ‘practical’. They wanted me to get a business degree, or go into nursing.” She vented with a shake of her head. “If I ever want to make them proud again then I have to be the best.”
Steve frowned as she went on about the lack of support from her parents. It was heartbreaking. His parents weren’t around anymore, but his mother had been endlessly supportive of anything he wanted to do.
“You shouldn’t try to make them proud. You should make yourself proud first. And your family is supposed to support you no matter what.” His hand brushed against hers like he was just itching to hold it, to squeeze it, to remind her that it wasn’t just her against the world. He’d never let it be just her against the world.
“What about your family? They support your art?” She asked, looking down at the ground and absentmindedly skipping over a crack on the sidewalk. Steve smiled, but she didn’t notice.
“I didn’t know my dad. He died before I was even born. My mom was amazing. She supported everything I did. She would have loved you, you know?” He glanced towards the sky with a sad sort of smile that made (Y/N)’s heart ache in her chest. “But she died when I was in highschool.”
She gasped softly and covered her mouth. Of course she had gone and brought up awful memories. But Steve didn’t seem as bothered as she was. He took a couple long strides to hold the door open for her before continuing on.
“Since then Buck and Nat have been my family. Sam came along our freshman year here. They’re like my support team. They stick with me through everything.” He smiled brightly as he went on about his friends. She did too, thinking about her own friends.
“I guess I have a couple friends like that. Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. And Nat I suppose too.” She said over her shoulder as the two of them headed up the stairs.
“And you have me.” Steve added, a small, semi-nervous smile dancing on his lips. “You’ve got plenty of support.”
“You are simply amazing.” She said after a moment, making sure he wasn’t going to take it back, or shout syke, or do some other very un-Steve-like thing. But he didn’t.
“You can count on me, doll. Anything you need.”
“I appreciate it. You’re going to regret that offer, but I do appreciate it. I appreciate you.” Steve hardly gave a moment for his heart to start beating again, flashing a smile and opening the next door for her.
“I couldn’t regret a thing when it comes to you.”
With one week left before the showcase, students were under more stress than ever. Teachers were running exam prep, and everyone was working themselves overtime to get ready for the showcase.
(Y/N), Natasha, and Maria found themselves back in the fashion design wing.One last fitting before they’d be able to do their dress rehearsal. It was cutting things close, but it was a miracle that they’d managed to find someone willing to make three brand new costumes at all. Natasha had convinced one of the seniors to design them. And he truly had delivered.
Maria was being fitted first. Tony made a few comments as he adjusted the black and red corset and fixed the tulle that fell down the back. The freshman that always trailed at his heels like a lost puppy quickly jotted them down for final touches.
“Tony, you’ve really outdone yourself.” (Y/N) mused as Maria was waved off to change back into her usual clothes. Natasha laughed.
“Don’t say things like that, they go straight to his head.” She nudged her friend to get up and change into her costume as Maria came back to take a seat. (Y/N) swatted the redheads hand away and took the costume that Peter handed her with a hushed thank you. She slipped behind the privacy screen and stripped off her everyday clothes. Then she carefully changed into the stunning costume. A ruby red two piece embellished with more rhinestones than she could imagine attaching to anything. Sheer fabric draped from the back, tickling against her legs.
A volley of playful whistles rang out from her friends as she walked out. Peter even blushed so hard that she was worried he’d get a nosebleed or something. She did a little twirl and tucked her hair behind her ear. Tony stepped forward, entirely disregarding any concept of personal space as he adjusted the costume.
“If that doesn’t get Steve’s attention, I don’t know what will.” Maria piped up. (Y/N)’s cheeks burned. If looks could kill, Maria would be a goner.
“Please. All of Steve Rogers’ attention has been on her for weeks now. He just needs to get off his ass and do something about it.” Nat added fearlessly, and the brunette hummed her agreement. (Y/N) buried her face in her hands.
“Steve Rogers? You got the hots for the golden boy?” Tony asked as he straightened up and mumbled something about pushing her chest a little higher.
“Don’t say it that way,” She complained, uncovering her face and glancing anywhere but the faces of her friends. “Yes, I like Steve. I really like him.”
This brought a grin to Nat’s face that had her a little nervous. But she’d also gotten fairly used to that. Natasha was always plotting something or other.
“Don’t worry. He feels the same way.” She promised as Tony shoved (Y/N) back towards the privacy screen to change again. “He’s just too worried about impressing you to realize that he already has.”
She rolled her eyes. There was no way that was true. Firstly, she was in no way special enough to catch his attention that way. Secondly, he didn’t have to worry about impressing anyone, especially her. He just sort of managed with that charming smile and the general kindness. He was like something from a fairytale.
“I’m gonna be honest. I don’t see what the big deal is with him.” Maria shrugged as Natasha and (Y/N) swapped places.
“He’s hunky, and he has that whole gentle giant, starving artist thing going for him.” Tony answered easily. She rolled her eyes. Although...he was definitely hunky. And the gentle giant, starving artist thing didn’t hurt.
“You guys are so weird.” She giggled and picked at a loose thread on her jeans. “It’s so much more than that.”
“Yeah, well what is it then?” Nat asked, strutting out to Tony’s pedestal. She looked stunning in her black and red corset. Her black heels gave her a boost of height and her red hair fell over her shoulders. It was unfair that she was always such a knockout.
“He’s cute, and intelligent, and so passionate.” At her words, Tony flashed her a smirk and her eyes went wide. “Not like that! I just mean...he’s passionate about his art, you know?”
“Of course you would fall for something like that.” Maria teased. (Y/N) practically ruffled, shifting defensively.
“But that’s exactly what I mean! Nobody really sees why he’s so special. He’s deep, complex. He’s not like any guy I’ve met before. He’s just so much...more.” She ranted before giving a soft sigh of admiration.
“You’ve got it bad sweetheart.” Tony laughed. “You sound like me when I talk about Pep.”
Everyone knew about Tony and his Pepper. He was like a starry eyed kid when he was around her. Pepper Potts was a big shot in the music production course at the school. Everyone knew she’d make it big soon.
“I don’t know. I think it’s sweet.” Peter piped up for the first time in a while, a sweet smile on his innocent face as he looked at (Y/N). “It’s romantic. You being so in love with him and seeing him for something more than his body.”
“It’s just a silly little crush.” She lied. Even just saying so felt strange, like she was ignoring something that she never wanted to hide ever again. It was so much more than a silly little crush. But what right did she have to call it love?
T-minus two days to the showcase, and (Y/N) was most certainly working her ass off. Exams were finally over, and all she was worried about was her damn routine. Every spare moment was spent rehearsing. She’d hardly seen Steve face to face since exams had begun. She texted him any time she allowed herself to take a break.
She was pretty sure she was one of the only people still in the building. She’d been working herself to the edge for nearly six hours now. Her brain was going numb, her body screamed with every move she made, and every bit of her was trembling with exhaustion. But with every rep, her eyes found something new to nitpick.
That wasn’t smooth enough. You’re not hitting the points. You aren’t expressive enough. You aren’t enough. You’re never going to make it. You’ll never be any good. You’re talentless.
She hadn’t realized she’d started crying. She stared at herself in the massive, looming mirror that spanned the wall. She was just so small there, standing all alone in the middle of the room, chest heaving and tears streaking down her cheeks. She was hopeless. She wiped her face desperately and curled up in Steve’s corner.
She had texted him the last time she had let herself sit down. Which was — she glanced at her phone — two hours earlier. She sat her phone down and pulled her knees to her chest and tried her best to calm herself down. She was being pathetic. She’d been through worse, why was this throwing her. She sniffled. She needed someone to talk her down. But it was nearly 8pm. Natasha was with Buck, she was sure of it. Wanda was out with Pietro at his insistence. Maria hardly ever answered her texts, let alone her calls.
“And you have me,” Steve’s words rang out in her head. She picked up her phone again and pressed the call button by Steve’s contact. One ring. What was she thinking? Two rings. She was stupid to call him out of the blue. Three rings. She should-
“Hello?” Steve’s voice came through, and hers caught in her throat. She clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle the shaky sob that slipped out. “(Y/N)? You there?”
Steve had been in the shower when he heard the ringing. So of course he brushed it off. But when it didn’t stop, he assumed it wasn’t something he should ignore. Once he made out her contact, he was out in an instant, dripping water onto the tile of his bathroom without a thought.
“Stevie?” She asked finally. “Is this a bad time?”
“What? No! No, now’s fine. Are you okay?” He awkwardly held his towel around his waist. She sounded rough. Something was wrong. He could hear the tremble in her voice, the way her breath seemed to stutter. His shower was the last thing on his mind.
“Do you think I’m a good dancer, Steve?” She asked instead of giving him a straight answer. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to, she’d heard him say it a million times before.
“(Y/N), talk to me. What’s going on?” He pushed, already moving towards his room to dress. She needed him and he was not going to let her down.
“I’ve been working on my number all day, Stevie. All day, and I’m still no good.” She sobbed and pressed her palm against her eyes.
“Go take a shower.” Steve ordered. “Drink some water. I’ll meet you outside the building in 20 minutes.”
“Steve,”
“No, go get cleaned up. 20 minutes.” He didn’t let up, and after a moment she gave in. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
He let her hang up, and rushed to get himself dressed
Meanwhile, (Y/N) was just trying to follow his instructions. She packed her things back into her bag and lifted it onto her achy shoulder. She flicked off the lights and closed the door behind her. On the walk to the showers, she downed what was left in her water bottle.
Usually her showers would only take 5 minutes, but as she stood under the nearly scalding spray, she felt her muscles relax, felt her panic begin to ebb into a tight coil of anxiety in her chest. So she stayed there until the water cooled to an uncomfortable icy drizzle. 10 minutes left until she’d have to face him.
She dried herself out and changed into her clean clothes. A sweater and her leggings. She pushed her hair back. Five minutes. For the first time ever, she was dreading seeing Steve.
By the time she made it outside, Steve was already pacing there waiting for her. His hands were jammed into his pockets, and his hair was damp and messy. But the moment she came into view, he froze and looked her over. Her eyes were still bloodshot from the crying, and it was clear that she was nervous by the way she fiddled with her sleeves. He didn’t know what made him do it, but he met her halfway and bundled her up safe and warm into a tight hug.
She relaxed into him, pressing her cheek against his chest and hugging him just as tightly. They stayed that way for a long time, longer than either of them bothered to count. He kept his arms wrapped protectively around her, and she clung to him like her life depended on it, just listening to the steady beat of his heart. For a brief moment of time, she was okay, she was safe, and she was enough.
“You had me really worried.” Steve confessed softly. She tilted her chin up to look at him. Their faces were almost dangerously close, intimately close. And with her chest pressed to his that way, he could surely feel the way her heart hammered against her ribs.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you.” She mumbled, and he shook his head so quickly it nearly startled her. He only hoped she didn’t really regret calling him. But the fact that her hands had fisted into his dark blue tee eased his mind. “Didn’t mean for you to come all the way here so late.”
Steve scoffed and brushed his thumb against the tiny sliver of exposed skin where her sweater had ridden up.
“I told you that you’ve got me. I’d do anything to make sure you’re okay.” His eyes met hers, and the simple sincerity behind the blue she’d fallen for had her stomach swirling.
“You are a real prince, Steve Rogers.” She practically whispered. This man was too good to be true, and much too good to be hers. Steve didn’t say anything, but even in the near darkness she noticed the way his cheeks went pink.
“When’s the last time you ate?” He asked, slowly letting his arms slip from around her.
“About four hours ago.” She didn’t bother mentioning that even then she’d only had a granola bar. But Steve still didn’t seem satisfied with the length of time.
“Come on, there’s a little place that you might like.” He gently took her bag from her shoulder and nodded for her to walk with him. She didn’t speak, just following along at his side. He didn’t press her to say anything, and she appreciated it more than words could say. Eventually though, her guilt got the better of her.
“My mom called me. Her and my dad are coming to see me dance at the showcase.” She confessed suddenly. Steve gave her a look. That would explain her panic. He knew how tense things were, how useless they’d made her feel. Something in him just hoped she wouldn’t let their opinions tear her down completely.
“Is that why you were dancing so hard today?” She nodded, and they were both quiet for another long moment.
“My parents have never come to a showcase. My dad hasn’t even seen my dance since I graduated highschool. But now they decide to come to the mid-year showcase my junior year?” Her anxiety was beginning to give way to anger. Years of no support from the most important people in her life, and they suddenly decide to come back as if they’d never abandoned her.
“Maybe they’re coming around. Better late than never, right?” Steve wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave a little squeeze. She smiled and let herself melt into him. “Come on. This is it.”
#steve rogers imagine#steve rogers fanfic#steve rogers#captain america imagine#captain america fanfic#captain america#steve rogers reader insert#steve rogers x reader#marvel reader insert#marvel imagine#marvel#marvel cinematic universe#fluff#imagine#x reader#reader insert#the muses dance
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Hold Me By Both Hands: Chapter 12
Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.
Chapter 11 | Chapter 13 | AO3 link
“Which one should I wear to the photoshoot?” Marinette holds up two tops she’s designed but has never gotten the chance to wear. One of them is a loose, pale pink T-shirt with small black feathers embroidered across the stomach, while the other is a scarlet top that leaves one shoulder bare, paired with a black skirt. Alya’s face scrunches as she surveys both outfits, circling around Marinette to examine her as well.
“What would you wear with the pink top?” Alya says. “Because I’m kind of digging that one. It’s cute and sweet without making you look childish, and it doesn’t make you look like you want everyone to stop and take notice of you. Which isn’t a bad thing,” she says with a smirk, “but you don’t want to upstage the model, do you?”
Marinette pokes her tongue out as she carefully drapes her clothes over her chaise lounge, then heads for her closet to find something to wear with the pink top. “Well, I’d really love to wear those shorts I bought last summer, but it’s not warm enough.”
“Why not?” Alya says. “Just wear leggings. Then you can wear those beige boots you like.”
“They’re cream, not beige,” Marinette says, grabbing the pale blue denim shorts and a pair of black tights. She returns to Alya, who’s holding up the pink top, and she hums as she looks over the outfit as a whole. “I like it.”
“And I bet a certain someone will like it too,” Alya says, nudging Marinette. Marinette just rolls her eyes.
“Maybe that would’ve worked before, Alya,” she says. “But not anymore!”
“Aww, shame,” Alya says. “It was fun in a best friend kind of way.”
“Oh, go make out with Nino,” Marinette says. Alya gives an exaggerated gasp and clasps her hands over her heart.
“The pain! The betrayal!” she cries, collapsing back onto Marinette’s chaise lounge. “I am undone!”
“Darn right you are,” Marinette says. Alya rolls her eyes.
“Just hurry up and get dressed,” she says. “The photoshoot starts in an hour and you only got out of bed half an hour ago.”
Marinette sticks her tongue out again, but she obeys Alya’s instructions and quickly changes while Alya turns her back and changes as well. Although they wouldn’t be spending that Saturday hanging out like they normally do, Alya had still agreed to sleep over on Friday night, which Marinette is grateful for because she no doubt would have slept in and started panicking and tripping without Alya there to keep her on track. Once she’s dressed, she pulls her hair up in a bun and, for good measure, sticks a pencil through it, both for the aesthetic and in case she needs a spare pencil while at the shoot. She grabs her usual shoes, her design sketchbook, and her purse, surreptitiously making sure that Tikki’s safe inside her purse, and heads downstairs with Alya.
After breakfast, they slip their shoes back on and dart out of the bakery with a quick goodbye to Marinette’s parents to head to the park, where Adrien’s photoshoot is taking place. The crew is setting up their equipment when the girls arrive and Marinette falters, her heart rate starting to pick up as she’s bombarded with memories of all the times she’s tried to sneak around and watch Adrien’s photoshoots. What if she starts being awkward? What if she stares too hard at him and looks creepy and gives off the wrong message by looking like she’s obsessed with him when she really is over her crush –
“Marinette.” Alya gently shakes Marinette’s shoulder. Marinette jumps about a metre in the air with a small shriek. “You got this, girl. He invited you, remember? He knows you’ll be there, and he wants you there.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Marinette lets out a small, anxious laugh and runs a hand through her fringe to push the hair out of her eyes. “You’re right. I just –”
“Marinette!” From within the crowd of people setting up for the shoot, Adrien emerges as if out of nowhere. She’s assaulted by his warm scent as he gives her a quick hug. “You came!”
“Of course she did,” Alya smirks. “Miss Fashion Designer here wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
Marinette rolls her eyes at Alya, whose smirk widens.
“Nathalie’s got a seat for you close enough to give you a good view but not too close that you’ll be in the way,” Adrien says. “I’m surprised she actually agreed to it.”
“Well, that’s my cue to leave,” Alya says when Adrien gestures back at the crew, who have nearly finished setting everything up. “I promised the little devils I’d treat them to a girly day today. Face masks and mani-pedis and all.” She backs away to wink and shoot finger guns, then turns and walks off normally.
“Is it okay if I sketch?” Marinette says, holding up her notebook as Adrien leads her to her seat. “I don’t want to look like I’m spying or anything –”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Adrien laughs. “If this was a bigger, more important shoot like that then you wouldn’t have been allowed to come. I’m just modelling for a magazine interview.”
“That’s good to know,” Marinette says. “How embarrassing would it be if I got kicked out?”
“Not nearly as embarrassing as it’d be to be one of those overenthusiastic fans who get chased off,” Adrien says. “I don’t mind them, but the whole crew gets annoyed when they get in the way. Then everyone’s in a bad mood.”
Marinette forces herself to laugh through the icy water that douses her insides. She’s becoming more and more convinced that refusing to focus on her crush is the best thing that could have happened to her. Would she still be one of those overenthusiastic fans? She was never really starstruck by Adrien the model – one thing she’s certain of is that her crush was genuine and on Adrien her friend – but even she can admit that the giddiness and desire to be close to him resulted in some…rather enthusiastic actions.
“Here.” Adrien’s voice cuts through Marinette’s whirlwind of thoughts. She blinks and shakes her head, realising that Adrien’s stopped next to a black folding chair and is gesturing to it. “You’ll be able to see everything, but you won’t be in the way.” He leans in and, rather conspiratorially, whispers, “Just don’t cross Vincent. He can be a real monster when he’s trying to make everything go smoothly.”
Marinette giggles. Over Adrien’s shoulder, she catches sight of the photographer barking out orders to the crew finishing the set-up, and she wonders just how much of Adrien’s words are an exaggeration.
“Adrien.” Nathalie’s standing next to them in the blink of an eye, seemingly out of nowhere. “You need to go and get ready now or the shoot will run late.”
“Okay, Nathalie,” Adrien says. He smiles at Marinette. “Have fun! Well, as much fun as you can have sitting there and watching me make faces at a camera.”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll be amused,” Marinette teases. Adrien laughs and heads for the makeshift changing room, leaving Marinette alone with Nathalie.
“Adrien’s happiness is the only reason I allowed you to accompany him, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” Nathalie says. “But if you prove to be a distraction, I won’t hesitate to have you removed.”
“Of course, ma’am!” Marinette hastens to say. She holds up her sketchbook. “I’ll just be doing some drawing. Adrien thought I might get some inspiration here, so that’s why he asked me to come.”
“Hmm.” Nathalie looks down at Marinette over her glasses. “Yes, I remember. You designed the winning hat in Mr Agreste’s contest. And you clearly have at least passing knowledge of fashion design, since you discredited Miss Bourgeois when she plagiarised your design.”
Something in Nathalie’s voice rubs Marinette the wrong way. She draws herself up tall and says, “If you’re implying that I’m using Adrien for his connections, you’ve got the wrong idea entirely, ma’am. Adrien invited me along as a friend, since no one else is interested in fashion like I am. I proved during the contest that I’m good at designing, and Mr Agreste didn’t know who I was then.”
Nathalie’s expression doesn’t change at all. Marinette just stays silent and waits for Nathalie to make the next move. Honestly, she’s not even sure of what else to say; it feels like one wrong move will give Nathalie the justification she seems to be looking for to cement a negative judgement of Marinette, although Marinette can’t possibly begin to discern her motive. Maybe she’s just protective of Adrien in her own…cold way.
“Make sure you stay in your seat,” Nathalie finally says. “If you need something to eat or drink, the refreshments table is there. Do try to stay out of the crew’s way.”
“Okay,” Marinette says, then figures that there’s no harm in trying to at least put Nathalie in a semi-good mood. “Thank you for letting me be here, ma’am. I know that you’ve just got Adrien’s best interests at heart.”
Nathalie doesn’t say anything to that, but she doesn’t look annoyed or any blanker, so Marinette figures that she didn’t make a bad move. After a moment, Nathalie walks off, and Marinette sinks down in her seat and opens up her sketchbook. Hmm. Maybe she’ll design a skirt to go with this top. She’s only just branched out into designing clothes from only designing accessories, so she’s not as skilled yet, but she rather likes how this shirt has turned out.
“There he is!” announces an Italian-accented voice. Marinette looks up to see Adrien heading for the fountain, dressed in a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and black pants; it’s simple but very dashing, and Marinette’s stomach flip-flops so hard that she almost flails herself out of her chair and she has to settle for stimming by kicking her feet to keep herself focused on her sketchbook. Hmm. She could design something with a black and white base, with a splash of colour to bring it all together. Maybe a dress. Should the motif be feathers, like on her top? She could possibly make some sort of dichotomous theme out of that with the black and white.
The next time she looks up, still idly kicking her feet to maintain her focus, Adrien’s got a wide smile pasted on his face as he poses for Vincent. When he meets her gaze, his smile softens into something more genuine and his eyes crinkle.
“That’s it!” Vincent declares, frantically snapping away. “The joy! The passion! The love in those eyes for Mamma’s spaghetti!”
Marinette’s cheeks warm slightly and she looks back down at her sketchbook. Vincent must be living on a different planet, because there’s no way any of that had been present in Adrien’s eyes just then.
The sound of screaming jolts her out of her thoughts. Her head darts up, only to see a huge, amorphous blob oozing its way towards the photoshoot. Whatever happens to be in its path – object or person – is sucked into its purple-black, jelly-like body instantly upon contact. Literally the only distinguishable features it possesses is a pair of eyeballs squished into its…uh, ‘face’ at the top of the blob, along with a thin line that has to be a mouth of some sort.
“What kind of an akuma is that?” Marinette exclaims. Her heart leaps into her throat when she sees that not only is it headed straight for the photoshoot, but it’s also on a course right for Adrien!
.
It was supposed to be a normal photoshoot. Just a usual Saturday! But now there’s an akuma – a blob – really, what is it? – heading straight for Adrien, although it might just be aiming for the photoshoot in general.
“Go! Run!” he shouts at Vincent and the rest of the crew, who are frozen in place as the blob approaches. His voice seems to snap them out of their trance, and they scream and start bolting in all directions like a pack of jumpy rabbits.
“Adrien, we have to go.” Nathalie’s by his side in a heartbeat with Gorilla, who reaches out to grab Adrien by the arm.
“But Marinette!” Adrien’s head whips around, trying to find where his friend is. She wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t invited her – she’s his responsibility – and if the akuma gets her –
“Your safety is our priority,” Nathalie says with a calmness that doesn’t suit the situation at all.
“Marinette’s should be too! She’s my friend!”
“She’ll be fine. Ladybug and Chat Noir will appear and defeat the akuma and save everyone.”
“Then why are you nagging me to get out of the way, if it’ll all be fine?”
But they’ve been arguing for too long, and the akuma is now only scant metres away. Adrien tears his arm away from Gorilla and shouts, “Marinette!” Before he can react, he’s being picked up by bulging arms and quite literally thrown across the grass, resulting in him rolling and coughing to a stop a short distance away from the akuma. His saviour turns out to be Gorilla, who is consumed by the akuma with Nathalie only seconds after sacrificing himself to buy Adrien a little more time and distance.
“No!” Adrien reaches out towards the akuma, as though this will be enough to save Nathalie and Gorilla; as though he’s Chat Noir, with Cataclysm at the ready, about to turn the akuma into dust. His shout has drawn its attention, and it turns to look at him with its beady eyes before oozing in his direction.
“Hey!” shouts a beautifully familiar voice. Behind the giant blob is Marinette, with her feet planted wide and her hands clenched in fists by her side. Her face is red, although Adrien can’t tell whether this is from anger or breathlessness, and a few strands have pulled loose from her bun to fall over her fringe and into her face. “Get away from him!”
“Marinette, what the heck are you doing?” Adrien says. His heart starts hammering in his chest when the blob’s eyes literally pop into the back of its head to stare at Marinette, who’s nothing less than an immoveable force under the akuma’s scrutiny. “Run!”
“You run, Adrien! I’ll be fine.” Marinette jabs a finger at the akuma. “Now, you listen to me! Don’t you touch him – don’t you even look at him – and if you hurt him, I’ll find Hawkmoth and I’ll march straight over there and take his Miraculous myself! No one hurts my friends!”
Dead. Adrien has to be dead, because that’s the only explanation for why his heart has utterly flatlined in his chest and refused to beat any longer. Either that or it’s beating so fast that it feels like it’s not beating at all. Looking at Marinette is like looking through a pink haze, where the sunlight has caught around her edges and illuminates her like some sort of angel sent from Heaven. She’s…glowing. Radiant. How has he never noticed before?
“Adrien, get out of here!” Marinette’s musical voice pierces the fog in his mind. He shakes his head and refocuses on her just in time to see her pick up a branch and toss it at the akuma, who consumes it as soon as it touches the purple-black jelly. “Hide until Ladybug and Chat Noir take care of this thing!”
Adrien automatically obeys and clambers to his feet. He’ll do anything Marinette wants with that voice. “What about you?” he manages to croak.
“I’ll be fine.” Marinette tosses a rock at the blob as it begins to advance on her. “I can take care of myself. Just go!”
Adrien wants to argue, but the feeling of something small shifting in his jacket stops him in his tracks. Plagg! That’s right! He may not be able to do anything now, but if he can get away, he can transform. He can whisk Marinette out of harm’s way and make sure that the akuma never even lays eyes on her again. So, he obeys Marinette and bolts towards the nearest clump of trees so that he can transform, looking over his shoulder to see Marinette nimbly leaping away from the akuma in an erratic pattern while it tries to match her and consume her.
“Plagg, we have to get Marinette out of there!” Adrien says when Plagg wriggles his way out of the pocket he’s been snoozing in. Just saying Marinette’s name makes Adrien shiver and his insides turn to goo, just like whenever he sees Ladybug.
“About time,” Plagg comments with an odd smirk. Adrien can’t possibly begin to figure out what that’s supposed to mean.
“Huh?” he says.
“Oh, never mind. Just hurry up and transform so you can save your girlfriend and I can get back to sleeping.”
“My – Plagg, she’s not – she’s my friend!”
“Uh huh.”
“Claws out!”
#miraculous ladybug#ml fic#aotq fic#aotq: hold me#marinette dupain-cheng#adrien agreste#alya cesaire#adrienette#oops adrien's in love#plagg you little shit#marinette just a friend dupain-cheng#adrinette
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sea and shadows (chapter 2/2)
follow up to this ficlet instruments fic (alec is an artist. magnus is a sea demon)
chapter 2 on ao3
Alec hangs back a respectful distance while his unexpected guest cuts himself free from the fishing net.
The last thing he expected coming home from his daily walk was to find an injured sea-demon invading his kitchen. Alec’s heard the stories, of course. Every child has. Long ago the sea-demons demanded sacrifices to sate their demonic appetites, murdering their victims and feeding off the magic of their life force until humanity fought back.
The man in front of him, with his easy smile and his bruised skin and his tentacles caught in a tangle of fisherman’s knots, doesn’t look like a monster. He looks like a man.
“I thought sea-demons were extinct,” Alec finally dares to ask.
“Extinct. Is that what they call it nowadays?” A muscle in Magnus’ jaw clenches tight before he shakes it off in favor of squinting at a patch of netting near his shoulder. The blade of the scissors easily finds its mark and a patch of net falls to the floor. Another tentacle pops loose, wiggling skyward as if celebrating its freedom.
Magnus’ eyes are golden slits when he looks back at Alec. “Extinct is a funny word for slaughter, if you ask me.”
The worn, broken-in leather of Alec's boots suddenly seems a lot more interesting. Alec’s never put much thought into questioning the old stories. Everyone knows them. Water nymphs are harmless unless provoked, selkies aren’t to be kept as pets, sea-demons will eat your soul if you let them.
Granted, no one has ever said anything about the tentacles so perhaps the stories aren’t as accurate as everyone likes to believe.
A heavy silence settles between them and Alec assumes that’s the last of the conversation. There’s only the whistle of sea air through the open front door and the occasional snip of the scissors to mark the passing of time.
Until Magnus looks up. “Children or virgins?”
“Excuse me?” Alec asks.
“These stories about my people? Were we eating children or virgins? I’ve heard it both ways.”
“Babies,” Alec admits.
Magnus shakes his head but says nothing, and Alec is left with the uncomfortable feeling he’s disappointed this strange man.
Again he’s surprised when Magnus breaks the silence. “I won’t deny that some of the tales are true. We’re a lot like humans in that some of us good and some of us…aren’t.”
Even from across the kitchen, Alec can’t miss how the muscles of his shoulders draw up tight. A bad memory, perhaps. Whether he’s remembering an experience or a particular person, Alec doesn’t know and doesn’t have the right to ask. Whatever it is, it’s bad enough for its presence to linger in the fibers of muscles and sinew beneath Magnus’ skin.
It’s gone just as quickly.
The minutes tick by and more and more slick black tentacles slither free from their confines. Some of them wave around in the air. Others settle themselves on Magnus’ shoulders or wrap around his waist, adorning him alongside the strands of shells he wears around his neck and his hips. Alec might be just a little bit jealous that they get to traverse the dips and valleys of hard muscle so clearly on display.
A pained hiss jolts him back to the present.
Magnus is twisted almost completely around, eyes narrowed and muscles straining as he tries to reach a spot on his back. His eyes close and he exhales, deepening the stretch. He’s practically quivering with the effort but it still isn’t enough. His bare chest heaves and he tries again, and Alec doesn’t need to be a yoga instructor like his asshole ex-boyfriend Todd to know this is a losing battle.
He’s in the middle of contemplating the futile beauty of the action, the strokes and lines it would take to best capture Magnus' struggle on paper, when he realizes he’s being every bit the raging dick his siblings affectionately tease him about. He bites his lip, debating if it’s his place to offer aid.
A pained grunt reaches his ears and makes his decision for him.
Several long strides bring him across the kitchen, careful to keep his hands visible and his motions non-threatening. Not that he’s much of a match for a sea-demon, even a weakened one. Then again, some of the stories say that the best way to bind a sea-demon’s power is to bind their tentacles. If that’s true—if Magnus is merely pretending to be friendly until his tentacles are freed—Alec is about to sign his own death warrant.
He thinks of how Magnus expected a fight when Alec first stumbled upon him, and the surprise scrawled across his face when Alec offered the scissors, like he was unused to being treated with basic kindness.
Alec gambles with his life and he does it with a soft smile. “Need a hand?” he asks.
Magnus blinks. His eyes flit from Alec’s face to his outstretched palm, like a cornered animal circling a baited trap.
Alec’s stomach clenches. The man in front of him is a lot of things but he’s no animal. No monster. “You’re going to cut yourself if you keep that up and I don’t really feel like cleaning blood off my kitchen floor.”
“I supposed I’ve encroached enough on your hospitality without forcing that particular horror upon you.” Magnus’ knuckles are white around the rubber grip of the scissors but he slowly places them in Alec’s hand and lets go. “Be gentle.” His tone is laden with innuendo but there’s a tightness at the corner of his eyes.
Alec gives him a reassuring smile and angles himself so he can see the tentacles on Magnus’ back. This close, the jet black of their coloring is shot through with bands of sickly gray. He runs his finger over one of the gray veins. Magnus flinches and Alec pulls away like he’s been scalded.
It’s an injury, he realizes. The places where the fishing net dug too deeply into him.
There are so many gray spots. Alec pushes away the wave of nausea and concentrates on his task. He aches to run comforting hands over the mass of tentacles, but he already has proof that does more harm than good. Instead, he turns his eyes towards the ugly tangle of netting and tentacles that spans the length of Magnus’ shoulder blades.
“Tell me if it hurts,” is his only warning before he cuts away the first piece of net.
Magnus winces but doesn’t say a word as Alec cuts the last parts of him free. The tentacles that can, curl tightly inwards around his body. It drives Alec on, wanting to be done with this as soon as possible. As he finally snips away the last piece of straggling pieces, Magnus heaves a relieved breath and slumps.
The moment the last tentacle breaks free, a blue wave what can only be magic washes over Magnus’ skin. When it passes, the tentacles are once again a smooth, unblemished black. Alec is reminded of the old wives’ tales about how to bind a sea-demon’s magic, and wonders if Magnus realizes how much he just gave away.
Before he can think too much on this new information, Magnus staggers. Only years of catching runaway pencils and paintbrushes allows Alec to catch him before he hits the ground.
“Oops,” Magnus mumbles. “Forgot how much that takes out of me.”
Alec smooths a hand down his arm, barely aware he’s doing it. The slightest of tremors rock Magnus’ otherwise solid body, the beginnings of exhaustion. Alec’s debating whether to remove his hand when Magnus practically melts backwards against him.
A tentacle curls around Alec’s waist, ending any thoughts of putting space between them.
“That’s twice I owe you my thanks now.”
“I’m not counting.” Alec shifts his hold so he can walk Magnus towards the adjoining living room and onto the couch. It’s an old thing, the fabric worn and faded, but it’s deceptively comfortable and he’ll fight anyone who argues differently. “Though you should probably make it three, since I’m about to offer you the spare bedroom while you regain your strength.”
“Three it is,” Magnus agrees. His eyes are practically closed as Alec settles him onto the couch.
There’s a throw blanket draped over the side chair. It’s gets draped over Magnus, the edges carefully tucked around his shoulders. Alec would prefer to get him a towel since he’s still wet from dragging himself in from the water, but the blanket is good enough for now.
Straightening, Alec admires his handiwork. His eyes catch on his pencil where he left it sitting on the kitchen counter and he goes over to retrieve it. And stops as a pair of tentacles wind around his wrists, tugging him backwards.
Alec lets himself be tugged all the way back to the couch.
Back to Magnus.
His sketchbook will still be there when he gets up. For now, he has a sea-demon pressed against his side, his damp hair resting against Alec’s shoulder as he sleeps.
#shadowhunters#malec fanfic#magnus bane#alec lightwood#malec#tentacletober#magnus x tentacles#lynne writes fic#today was a rough writing day but i'm glad i got this done!
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would it be cool if bendy got turn into a human for a day and just be able to go outside without being in a disguise and just enjoying being human if only for a day while everyone else is just confuse on what the hell did this to bendy
Oooh! This is really cool! I’m not sure which AU you want this for, but I’m gonna do Hell’s Studio
Bendy’s human design is based on this one by @robsdoodlebook
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Bendy woke up to screaming. Well, he didn’t open his eyes, but he was conscious now. It was Alice screaming. He knew that scream well enough by this point. He wasn’t sure why she was screaming, though. Maybe she’d seen a mouse or something. Whatever. This wasn’t his problem. It was his day off. He didn’t have to be anywhere so he wasn’t getting up until he was good and goddamn ready. He rolled over to go back to sleep, only to be poked in the face by splinters of wood.
“The fuck…?” He mumbled. Then his eyes snapped open. He’d swore. He’d swore and it hadn’t come out as a foghorn or some other kind of censoring. He sat up and looked down at himself.
He started screaming as well.
.
Alice had headed to Bendy’s office that morning to make sure he wasn’t sleeping in too late. Even though it was his day off, it would be bad for him to just sleep the day away. Not to mention, she wanted to get him to eat something. It was never fun when Bendy woke up hungry.
“Ben? You awake?” She knocked on the door. There was no response, only the gentle chainsaw rattle of Bendy’s snoring.
“I’ll take that as a no.” She sighed to herself and opened the door.
However, what she found inside the office wasn’t what she was expecting. Instead of Bendy curled up inside the drawer he slept in, there was a short and stocky human man sprawled out in the remains of the wooden drawer. Bendy’s blanket was draped over him, looking comically small. He did….sort of look like Bendy? He was small and had a similar body shape and black hair. He was wearing the clothes she’d last seen Bendy in as well, right down to the ugly cat tie. But…he was undeniably human. His skin was on the paler peach side, as though he didn’t go outside much, and the places where the splinters had cut him bled red. He actually looked a bit like Henry, now that she looked closer.
Alice froze in the doorway. She tried to feel for the telltale signature of Bendy’s ink. She, Bendy, and Boris could all sense each other’s presence since they were connected by the ink. But there was nothing. Either Bendy was gone or…He’d been disconnected from the ink.
She couldn’t stop herself. She started to scream.
The man stirred a bit, his face screwing up the way Bendy’s did when Alice disturbed him when he was trying to sleep. He rolled over, clearly intent upon going back to sleep. But upon turning over, he got some splinters in his cheek.
“The fuck…?” He muttered. His voice sounded exactly like Bendy’s, but deeper and less cartoony. Then he sat bolt upright and started screaming as well.
It didn’t take long for others to come running due to the screaming.
“What? What’s going on?” Joey looked frantic. “Is someone hurt?” Wally, Boris, and Henry were right behind him. It was Henry’s day off as well, so he’d only really dropped by to say hello to everyone. He had to go shopping for some Hanukkah presents for Ruth.
Alice couldn’t even form words. She just pointed at the man she thought might be Bendy. The man who might be Bendy was still screaming too, patting himself all over his body and pinching his arm as though he thought he’d wake up.
“What’s that guy doing in Bendy’s office?” Boris asked, his tail between his legs.
Joey’s eyes widened, and when he spoke his voice was quiet. “Bendy?”
“Wait, that’s Bendy?” Wally stuck his head around Joey. “But that’s a guy. Like, a human guy.”
“Joey, what’s goin’ on?” The man, Bendy, looked up at Joey. “Why am I like this?”
“I…I don’t know.” Joey stumbled toward him, kneeling in front of Bendy and starting to squish and pinch his cheeks. It didn’t seem like something that could happen. And yet…It was happening. This was Bendy. It had to be.
“So that…It is Bendy?” Alice asked.
“It is.” Joey nodded, stumbling up and heading to his desk. “I…How on Earth did this happen?”
“You didn’t do this?” Wally tilted his head to the side. It was fair to assume that when something like this happened Joey would be responsible, but Joey still flinched at the statement.
“I did not.” Joey shook his head as he dug through his drawers.
“Then something musta happened.” Wally gestured to Bendy. “‘Cause he did not look like that yesterday.”
“Huh. This is a new one.” Henry leaned on the door frame.
“Wait, that means you can go outside without a disguise!” Boris said, immediately perking up. “That’s so cool, Ben!” He picked Bendy up and spun him around in a big hug. Bendy paused, his fearful expression melting away.
“You’re right,” he said, slowly smiling. The one thing Bendy had never liked about being a toon was that he couldn’t really go out without a disguise. He liked the studio, sure, but it was hard not to go stir crazy when you had to stay in one place all the time. Alice routinely convinced Sammy to take her to Coney Island, but Bendy tended to be hesitant to leave, worried the studio would explode if he left.
“If you’re up for traveling, you can come with me to buy Hanukkah gifts for Ruth,” Henry said. “I could use some help.”
“Well, if you really need help.” Bendy slipped out of Boris’ arms, meandering over to lean on Henry with a languid smile. “I wouldn’t wanna hang around and worry you guys. Henry can take me off your hands for a little. Y’know. So you won’t worry.”
Alice couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Yep. This was definitely Bendy alright. Well, at least he seemed to be feeling better.
“Mm. Yes. Have fun.” Joey mumbled.
“Can you bring me back something?” Boris asked, ready to give Bendy the puppy dog eyes.
“Of course, Bo!” Bendy gave him a big grin. A dog toy would probably satisfy the wolf. That or another warm sweater. He liked sweaters.
“If you’re picking something up for him, get something for me too.” Alice folded her arms.
“What, like makeup or something?” Bendy frowned.
“Don’t patronize me.” Alice gave him an incredulous look.
“Get us both sweaters!” Boris’ tail started to wag. “No no! Get all three of us sweaters! Matching sweaters!”
“Well, I’ll see what I can do.” Bendy nodded in faux solemnity.
“Alright, come on, Ben.” Henry gently pulled Bendy away. “Let’s let them figure this out.”
He took Bendy out of the studio and into the parking lot where his car was.
“Man this is exciting,” Bendy said, getting into the passenger side. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten to go out to a mall without a disguise!”
“It is kind of exciting.” Henry agreed. He’d gotten a spare coat out of the trunk for Bendy to wear since it was December and too cold for just a button-up shirt. The coat actually fit Bendy pretty well. He looked like he could have been Henry’s nephew.
It was strange. Henry had never considered what Bendy would look like as a flesh and blood human being. He certainly hadn’t expected Bendy would look like him. Was it because he’d created Bendy? Would all the toons look like him as humans? He’d made all of them after all.
“So…You’re getting Hanukkah presents for Ruth?”
“Huh?” Henry returned to reality upon hearing Bendy’s voice. The former toon was leaning against the passenger side window, intently watching the world outside the vehicle.
“You said you were getting Hanukkah presents for Ruth,” Bendy said. “Back at the studio.”
“Yeah, I did.” Henry nodded. “That pretty much explains it, I guess.”
“Hanukkah presents are small, right?” Bendy glanced back at him. “‘Cause you’re gettin’ 8 of ‘em, they’ve gotta be small.”
“That’s the idea, yeah.”
“What’re you thinking of getting her?”
“New colored pencils, maybe a sketchbook, some ribbons to put in her hair.”
“Sounds nice.” Bendy grinned.
He hadn’t been completely clear on Hanukkah when he’d first been brought into the world, but Henry and Grant had explained it to him and the others. Upon learning about Hanukkah, Bendy had pressed Joey to turn the company Christmas party into a holiday party so it could be more inclusive to those who didn’t celebrate Christmas. Thankfully, Henry had already asked Joey to do this back when they’d first started having a holiday party at the studio.
“Well, I’d hope so.” Henry laughed. "I just hope she hasn’t gotten tired of drawing.”
“What? Ruth? Get tired of drawing?” Bendy snorted derisively. “She’s your kid. She’s never gonna get tired of drawing.”
“Eh, you never know.” Henry shrugged slightly. “People change.” He got a wistful look on his face that started an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of Bendy’s stomach.
He tried not to think about the passage of time in relation to the humans of the studio. Ruth had been around 10 when he’d first been brought to life and she was coming up on 18 now. She was growing up. And Henry was growing older. Eventually….Eventually, Henry would die. They would all die. And Bendy would stay the same. Because toons didn’t age, toons didn’t die. Not really.
“I’m sorry.” Henry reached out and patted Bendy’s shoulder. “I probably made you sad.”
“It’s fine,” Bendy reassured him with a half-hearted smile. He didn’t want to think about the passage of time. He just wanted to enjoy this outing with Henry.
.
The shopping trip did end up being rather fun. It was still exciting for Bendy to be out and not have to worry about keeping a disguise on. It was just so exhilarating to be out with Henry like this. Sure, no one paid him any mind in his disguise due to toon logic, but now he truly was someone no one paid any mind to. He was…ordinary as a human. Unremarkable. And there was something so freeing about that. A few people did stop them, but that was just because they recognized Henry. Henry introduced Bendy to them as his nephew Benjamin. Bendy couldn’t help but feel a not-insignificant amount of glee at being introduced as Henry’s nephew.
He was rather sad when they had to return to the studio. Well, it had been fun while it lasted. Maybe he’d even be able to do this again. As they drove back to the studio, he held the three-pack of sweaters to his chest. He and Henry had found three matching sweaters with snowflakes on them. Purple for Alice, pink for Boris, and blue for Bendy. He was starting to fall asleep a bit, tired from the eventful day and full from all the food he’d eaten at the food court. He ended up falling asleep before they returned, meaning Henry had to carry him inside. Not that Henry minded.
#bendy and the ink machine#fanfiction#bendy the dancing demon#henry stein#alice angel#boris the wolf#wally franks#joey drew
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about the muse
tagged by @apostatetabris (thanks!)
― your muse’s name:
Das
― a favorite picture / faceclaim of your muse:

He has no faceclaim (it’s not like he NEEDS any, but it wouldn’t hurt to have one and I *have* tried to find one for him - and failed; I am taking suggestions!...;-)).
― two headcanons you have for your muse:
He loves spicy food and spicy smells. He has fragrance pouches that he tucks/hangs at strategic spots in his aravel (and later at Skyhold). He also usually carries some with him while travelling and he always keeps some with his laundry. They’ve been enchanted to last longer, since he fills them with things that tend to be pricey and sometimes hard to get (cinnamon sticks, star anise, cloves, dried ginger - but he’ll put in some dried fruits, too, especially apples). So he tends to smell like apples and spices.
He’s good at making funny faces. Lavellan kids would often pester him with requests for ‘halla faces’. They’d shout ‘hey, Das, do a [insert ajective here] halla!’ - and he’d stick two twigs in his topknot as antlers and pull a face that left all the kids in stitches. Tired halla, charmed halla, scared halla, happy halla, stupid halla, smug halla, you-name-it halla... (Sometimes adults would make the same kind of requests; ‘horny halla’ was possibly one of Das’s funniest displays.) He’d later bring ‘the hallas’ back during long trips with his companions and late-evening sessions at Herald’s Rest.
― three things that your muse likes doing in their free time:
carving: Mostly from wood and bone. He’s good at it, too. He’s got a rather eclectic style, incorporating all kinds of stylistic elements - and putting his own twist on them.
drawing: He’ll never travel without his journal/sketchbook.
reading: He loves stories and he loves to learn new things - and books are a great medium for that. (He often has trouble concentrating, though - so he usually has to read out loud to himself. Or read to someone else. Sometimes he reads to the birds at the feeder, to one of the Skyhold’s many cats - or even to inanimate objects.)
― seven people your muse loves / likes:
canon verse: Fennas Lavellan (Das will never be completely out of love with Fennas), Darro Lavellan (the clan’s storyteller and Das’s adoptive dad), Dorian Pavus (Das will never be completely out of love with Dorian either), Blackwall/Thom Rainier (Thom is one of Das’s closest friends, in every verse), Varric (same as Blackwall), Yevren (chief researcher at Soldier’s Peak - and definitely one of the loves of his life), Sevarras (cousin/adopted younger brother, the closest person he has in Rivain). AUs: @enchantment1385‘s Faeron Lavellan @my-da-phase‘s Aqun Adaar @red-wardens‘ Blue Surana (I think they’d be all replacing either Yevren or Sevarras, since companion!Das is spared a lot of the drama Inquisitor!Das goes through and might not necessarily meet those two - or form such close bonds with them.) (The full list would be a lot longer, of course - and it would include both canon characters and a bunch of OCs. Das gets very attached very fast.)
― a phobia your muse has:
Not much scares him or grosses him out, but he has this ridiculous phobia of...nugs. He has no idea why, he just knows he doesn’t like them. And by ‘doesn’t like them’ I mean ‘they make his skin crawl’. It could be due to some forgotten nightmare or suppressed memory. He’s not even sure when it started. Since he doesn’t remember it from his alienage days (there weren’t any nugs in Denerim), he suspects it dates back to when he came to the Dalish.
Fortunately, most nugs in the wilds tend to run when a person approaches and Das has more or less learned to not pay attention to them unless they get too close. He’ll also kill/skin/cook one if he has to. Heck, he’ll even eat those little bastards if he’s hungry enough. But if some poor disoriented nug runs over his foot or brushes against his leg, he’ll jump out of his skin - or into the nearest person’s arms.
“So there we are, in a pitch black cavern somewhere beneath old Crestwood. All’s pretty quiet and Dorian is working up a spell to provide a bit of light... And then there’s the most innocent sound - tiny feet tippity-tapping somewhere nearby and splish-sploshing through the puddles of water. The occasional timid squeak. You know. Nugs. And our fearless leader - the same guy who charged at a bunch of howling demons just a couple of hours ago with those two toothpicks he calls weapons and a war cry - yelps and jumps on by back. And he tells Dorian to hurry up with that spell and his voice is shaking. He wouldn’t get off me until we found and lit a torch and chased the nugs off.”
(The Iron Bull recounting the highlights from the Crestwood mission)
tagging: @red-wardens @dickeybbqpit @i-nq @ace-amatus @mocha-writes @jaffa-keksi @tessa1972 @enchantment1385 @keeperscompanionsdai @my-da-phase @zeesqueere @goblin-deity @ielmoe @kingnikolailantsovs @dirthara-mama @marquis1305 @seboostian-art @pink-lyrium @norroendyrd
...and you. :-)
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Quick Stories
Summary: Waking up early with Bucky is not always so bad.
A/N: HI!!!!! i’ve been thinking about this story or a while and finally had time to work on it yesterday! It is my entry to @pietrotheavenger ‘s writing challenge. Than k you so much for being so patient with me!!! I hope you guys enjoy it and as always thank so much for reading
MY STORIES
Rising before the sun, never seemed like an appealing idea. Yet, everyday for the last few months that was exactly what you had been doing. Sure, sharing a bed with Bucky had its advantages. For one, the cold fall nights in New York meant nothing to you as right beside you slept a human furnace who warmed every inch of you. He was also a massive cuddler, and you were yet to find a more comfortable place to sleep in than his arms. As the weeks passed by, however, you found yourself adopting his sleeping and rising schedule, meaning you were up before the sun as he got ready for his daily run.
You blinked your eyes open as you felt Bucky stirring beside you. The bed shifted a bit as he turned to lay on his side and pressed up against you, his chest against your back.
“Morning darling,” he said with his raspy voice knowing that you were surely awake. His lips found the curve of your neck, gently drawing a loving path of kisses.
“Morning,” you replied, voice still sleepy despite the tender movements of his lips against your neck.
“What if I skip my morning run and we go out to get some coffee,” he proposed.
Perking up at the sound of that you replied with your own proposal as his hand moved up and down your sides. His gentle caresses and proposal helping you fight off the sleepiness that was still making your eyelids heavy.
“What if you skip your morning run and we stay in and sleep until 10.”
“That’s an idea,” he mused, and you could almost hear the smile you were sure he was sporting. “Or we can go to that cozy coffee shop by the library and I’ll buy us all the muffins they have.”
“Sounds like a tempting offer, Barnes,” you replied as you shifted onto your back. “But nothing beats sleep for me.”
You looked up at the smiling super soldier whose tender eyes looked back at you, admiration evident even in the low lighting. He had shifted along with you as you rolled onto your back. He was now propped on his elbow, his hair draping over his face as he looked down at you.
“Come on, darling,” he began. “Its our day off. Let’s go out and enjoy the city. I can just grab a quick shower and we’ll be out of here before you know it. We’ll make a day out of it.”
“What do you have against this bed? It’s incredibly comfortable and has your still very sleepy girlfriend,” you teased.
He lowered his head, placing a tender kiss on your lips.
“Nothing,” he chuckled. “I just think we’d miss out on a lovely day if we stay in here.”
You braced yourself for what was coming. Ever since Bucky had discovered the power of his puppy dog eyes, he did not hesitate to use them. He had even managed to get Sam to side with him after flashing them his way. You had been left utterly stunned as you saw Sam, the one person you figured would see right through them, fall victim to their incredible vulnerability and innocence.
You pushed him off and quickly swooped the pillows from underneath your head, swiftly propping them up to create a barrier between you and him.
You heard his laugh emanate from behind the pillows.
“Why is there a pillow wall?” he said as he peaked over it.
“Because I don’t want to look at your face,” you quickly replied as you brought your hands up to cover your eyes.
“Tired of it already?” he laughed. “I thought it still had a few years left before you felt the need to find someone younger.”
“You’re as handsome as ever, Bucky. But your darn eyes. You know exactly what you’re doing,” you responded, eyes still covered hoping to be spared from the intensity of his puppy dog eyes.
“Oh, come on,” he said, easily knocking down your little wall of pillows. He began peppering the hands that were still covering your eyes with kisses, gently prying them away.
Shutting your eyes, you heard him laugh above you.
“Doll? Come on look at me.”
“Nuh-uh. That will only mean I will for sure be up and getting dressed after one look into your eyes.”
“You’re giving me much too much credit, Y/N. Come on, open up your eyes.”
After refusing once again, you felt his hands crawling up your sides, tickling you into finally opening up your eyes, tears rolling down your cheeks from laughter.
“That’s not fair!” you said as you tried to calm your breathing.
“All’s fair in love and war, darling,” he replied with a smirk. “Now come on, get up and let’s go!”
-------
“Not too bad, is it?” Bucky asked form across the table.
The coffee shop was not as busy as it would surely get in a few hours. Apparently, everybody in New York, except Bucky, knew and loved the benefits of sleeping in.
Bucky had immediately picked out a small table by the window, looking out to the library on the other side of the street, walking you both over to it with the coffee and muffins you had picked out. He hadn’t lied, the staff at the coffee shop had to restock the muffin display after he bought every one of them, claiming you would share with the rest of the team back home.
“It’s warm in here,” you admitted, taking your first sip of coffee.
“Did I ever tell you why I like coming to this place so much?” Bucky asked, his eyes tender again, full of that vulnerability and innocence that came with his puppy dog eyes. He looked so sincere, though, not just trying to get you to agree to something or convince you to leave your comfortable bed, but actually traveling back to something that made his face light up, his voice turn sweeter than it already was.
You shook your head silently, mesmerized by his beautiful blue eyes and voice.
“See that library?” he gestured towards the old building across the street. It was a one-story brick building that looked like it had seen a lot over the years.
Remaining quiet, you nodded.
“It’s been here for a while. I remember it being here when I was a kid. Steve and I would sit on the steps,” his gaze seemed to be focused on the library, but you could tell the library he was seeing was the one surrounded by the environment of his childhood. The one he and Steve frequented. “He would sometimes bring his sketchbook,” he continued, “and draw the people coming in and out of the building, the people on the street, or the birds in the trees. Sometimes as he drew I would come up with stories for the people walking on the street. Just random quick backstories to strangers that we would most likely never see again.”
His eyes moved, gaze now focused on you, a warm smile in his face as he refocused in the present.
You felt as your own smile spread on your lips. It was impossible not to smile when the love of your life looked so happy, so peaceful.
“We didn’t have easy lives,’ he recalled, “but those brief moments where we let our imaginations run wild made up for a few of the things we had to deal with.”
“We should do it now,” you proposed. “Come up with random stories for the people we see.”
His smile grew wider, shone brighter, as he heard what you were proposing.
“You’d want to do that?”
“Of course!” you smiled. “It sounds like tons of fun although I may be bad at it.”
“Well I might be too since I haven’t done it in so long but let’s give it a try.”
He cleared his throat then, dramatically rolling up his sleeves as he searched the shop for a person to come up with a story for.
“There,” he whispered, his gaze focused on a young woman across the room. She was typing furiously on her laptop, eyes red. Her messy hair was poking out of her beanie. “Her name is Abigail, but she lets her close friends call her Abby. Only her close friends, though. One time this random guy in her building tried to call her that and he ended up with a bloody nose. Poor fella didn’t see it coming. All that typing has made her hands strong, so his nose had no chance against her fist,” he stopped as he heard you chuckle, eyes coming back to look into yours. “She’s here, typing away, because in order to avenge his broken noise, the guy, who happens to live in the apartment above her, keeps dragging his furniture and doesn’t let her study in the comfort of her own home. He does it in the middle of the night too, so she’s beyond tired. But don’t worry, doll, that girl’s words are just as powerful as her fist. She’s furiously typing up a letter that will surely get the guy kicked out of the building for being an ass.”
You clapped your hands to congratulate him for the story he had just made up on the spot.
“I’m impressed Barnes, guess you were just being humble back when you said you weren’t going to be good at this.”
“Well, I try,” he said, patting his own back as he spoke.
“Alright, my turn. Let’s see, who’s going to be my first victim,” your eyes moved about the shop trying to find an interesting person. Your eyes paused their scanning when your gaze landed on the barista that had prepared your coffees. He was a young man, probably in his 20’s. He had been incredibly polite, and you had seen how much of an impressive collection of tattoos he had going up his arm. “Him,” you said as you nodded your head in his direction. “His name is Eric and he has an amazing singing voice although he tries to hide it. He’s been told just how much of a talent he has but he doesn’t believe it, always thinks his friends are just setting him up. But part of him hopes he can gather up the courage to sing in public, because he’s been writing these songs for a girl that’s caught his eye.”
“Is it Abby?” Bucky gasped.
“No,” you laughed, “and unless you want to be punched, it’s Abigail to you, sir. It’s not her but the girl is a customer. He’s written tons of songs for her and they all seem to focus on her laugh. Their interactions are always brief, so he only has a few refence points, but he knows that she’s something special. Maybe he’ll sing it for her soon.”
“I hope he does,” Bucky whispered, completely wrapped up in your story.
“Me too,” you agreed.
“Ok, not bad for a rookie,” he teased. “I’m going with him,” he pointed to a man across the street dropping off books at the donation bin in front of the library. “He’s a Wall Street guy named Mason. Guy is loaded with money, but he always remembers where he came from. He grew up with very little, but his parents always made sure he was happy and comfortable. He knows how hard it can get and so he hosts events with his fancy Wall Street friends where they collect donations for those who are in need. This time, they collected books for children. So, he’s here, early in the morning to drop those off before he heads off to work.”
“Aw,” you cooed. “Mason’s so sweet!”
‘He is a great guy,” Bucky confirmed as if he truly knew the man across the street.
You spent a few hours in the coffee shop, laughing at the silly stories Bucky came up with, or almost tearing up at the sweet situations his imagination would somehow manage to conjure up.
As the time went on, the coffee shop became busier, the streets filling up with people rushing t their jobs or kids rushing to school.
“We should probably get going,” you said noticing how many people were drinking their coffees without a table. “We’ve been hogging this place for too long.”
“Just one more story,” Bucky replied softly. “Please?”
“Ok,” you said, heart melting at how happy he was.
“My next story will be based on,” he let his gaze dance through the shop, sometimes stopping on certain people as if debating if the story he could come up for them was worthy of being the last story of the day. After a few seconds, though, his gaze returned to you, eyes sparkling. “My next and final story will be on you,” he announced.
“That’s cheating,” you laughed. “I’m not a stranger.”
“Well my story won’t be based on your past. I’m basing mine on your future.”
“My future?” you asked, very intrigued by what he was about to say.
“That’s right. I’m breaking all the rules, just for you darling.”
“Well let’s hear it then,” you said as you leaned across the table, resting your chin on your hands.
“I’m sorry to say, but your future will be full of early mornings, because I’m making sure that I will be waking up next to you for as long a possible. I’m sorry to say that you’ll have to put up with my face for a very long time because, darling, I’m never letting go of you. Your future will be full of love because I’ll live every day of my life trying to make you feel just like you make me feel; special, loved, and needed. I love you with every single part of me. From the part that makes up quick stories of strangers to the one that’s intensely aware of how delicious muffins are. I love you like I thought I’d never get to love.”
“I love you too,” you responded softly, heart beating fast at his lovely story of your future.
“Thanks for waking up early with me, love,” he smiled, hands reaching across the table to intertwine with yours. “Didn’t even have to bring out the puppy eyes.”
You laugh, loving every single part of this morning because you knew that as long as it was with him, the sun didn’t need to be out for you to feel warm. He was your own personal sun, shining down at you with his love and care.
—–
Bucky Tags :D
@camillechan @just-add-butter @buckyisthepuresthuman @carry-on-my-fandom @creideamhgradochas @sixweekcure4dreams @verycoolveryunique @dugan365 @jitterbuck @buckysmusculararm @headinthe-fridge @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @hedwigthelegend @sappybarnes @coal000 @the-whitewolfie @natcad @winters-beauty @dixonsbugaboo @sawdustandsugar @silverbvcky @whyugottabsorude @theoutlinez @killjoynotes @agentpegcxrter @demonspawn2468 @books-movies-eternal @buckysbeech @thefridgeismybestie @lionheo04 @pinkfairyfluff @imaginecrushes @cauraphernelia @angieptt @fridolf-arach @nerdgirljen @bucky-is-a-hero-fightme @consttantina @titty-teetee @bfuckjames @crowleysqueenofhell @sebtrashcan-stan @jaamesbbarnes @heartssick @losemymemory @redstarstan @dracris33 @fuckthatfeeling @tamed-chaos @bringmetoawonderland @mlehbleh @mawimey @delicatelyherdreams @buckyswinterchildren @jaysaku @stanclub @your-pixels-are-showing @thisismysecrethappyplace @who-the-heck-knows @starfisharchives @plumsforbuckxx @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen @bambamwolf87 @ohhhotstan @whileinparis @sebbysstangirl @trashpandabarnes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @ohhhotstan @lokilvrr @freyjawalker @until-theend-oftheline @hello-lucifer-here @sold-my-soul-in-2016 @ifyousayyouloveme
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky x reader#bucky x you#bucky fanfic#bucky fanfiction#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky fluff#bucky barnes fluff#pietrotheavenger writing challnge#stories by notimetoblog
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Marinette March Day 1 - Kindness
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Well, I’m a bit late, but still doing better than I usually do with these things! For today’s prompt, I’ve decided to showcase just how helpful Marinette tends to be - even at the cost of her own plans. Since this one shot is around 2.5k words, I’ve put most of it under a read more.
@marinettemarch
Enjoy!
Read on Ao3
Marinette’s phone alarm went off, officially starting her day with Adrien. Well, at least the morning she would be spending with Adrien. A couple hours, probably. She paused with a frown while brushing her hair in front of her mirror. Come to think of it, she didn’t really know how these photoshoots tended to go. From what she could tell from her well-researched Adrien schedule they could last anywhere from half an hour to half the day. Either way, she intended to make the most of this invitation.
An invitation which she had gotten by having her room, plastered with his gorgeous face, broadcasted on television. And yet still his first concern was for her safety and wellbeing. She sighed dreamily - such a gentleman. If today went well, then marriage and three kids and a hamster wouldn’t be such a distant dream for much longer!
Needless to say, she had taken every precaution against being late. The alarm that had woken her up was the first of five - at least her own excitement had helped her sleep lightly. Everything she might need was packed and ready to go, which included a sketchbook just in case he really believed that she was interested in his pictures for the fashion. She patted herself down to make sure she had everything - purse, sketchbook, backpack, drawing utensils, phone, cookies, and the most important thing of all…
“Tikki! Ready to go?”
“Whenever you are, Marinette.” The red kwami flew into place in her purse and Marinette made her way out the backdoor of the bakery. As early as it was, there wasn’t nearly as many people on the streets as there usually was, but that was sure to change soon. Clouds broke up the summer sunlight into mottled patches of bright and dark. “Where is the photoshoot, again?”
Marinette made sure to glance around before talking into her purse. There had been enough instances of people looking at her like crazy. “Not too far, but not that close either. Thanks to the clouds, they’ll be doing an indoor photoshoot, but the place they chose is just barely in walking distance.”
“That great! What about- wait. Is that Nino?”
Sure enough, Nino was standing in front of a flower shop looking about as out of place as he could be. He was biting at his nails at he looked around in uncertainty at the wide array of blossoms and bouquets. The poor boy was overwhelmed, occasionally reaching for a few flowers only to pull back at the last minute. Someone needed to help him. Tikki held her phone up. There was still plenty of time to meet up with Adrien - she had left early after all.
“Hey, Nino!” She tapped him on his shoulder, suppressing a giggle by biting down on her lips as he jolted at her sudden appearance. “You seem lost. Anything I can do to help?”
“Oh! Hey, dude. I’m just, uh,” He rubbed the back of his neck and his cheeks darkened. He glanced around before pulling Marinette into a huddle and whispering, “Listen, I was gonna surprise Alya with some flowers, right? Sounded cool and romantic and stuff, right? But who knew there were this many different types! I have no idea which ones she’d want!” He looked at her with pleading eyes. “You gotta help me, dude.”
She blinked, trying to make sense of the rapid fire information he just unleashed on her. Slowly, a grin dawned on her face. “Aw! That’s so cute! Of course I’ll help. C’mon.” She walked among the flowers slowly, searching very carefully while Nino stayed close behind and wringed his hands nervously. She helped his nervous tick by passing the flowers she found to him. “This one is her favorite, so we’ll have the most of them. Here are some that represent love and joy. And here are some to help balance out the colors and make it smell all the sweeter.”
His eyes lit up as he looked at the finished bouquet in his hand, around a dozen in all. “I can’t thank you enough, dude! You are a total life saver!” She followed him to the cashier. “Is there anything I can do to help you out?”
“Take a photo of Alya’s face when you give it to her, it’d be nice to see how much she appreciated it. Other than that, don’t worry about it, I was glad to help.”
After a brief hug, they parted ways and Marinette was back on track. She’d lost about fifteen minutes, but it was well worth the cost - Alya was going to love it. As she continued walking through Paris, doubt began nagging at the back of her mind. If she stayed on her planned route, she’d only get there just barely on time. Taking the shortcut through the park would save her a few minutes and she’d much rather be early and get that much more time with Adrien. With that precious extra moments, she was sure they would hit it off and then he’d propose and they’d live happily ever after and-
She was stirred from her pleasant daydream by someone crying. The tall trees and hedges did even better work than the clouds in blotting out the sunlight, creating an empty and shadowed section of the park that she had thought was free of people. For a brief moment, she considered turning away. Maybe it had just been the wind, or maybe she had misheard. But then the crying returned, stronger than before and there could be no doubt in her mind. With only a slight pang of regret, she looked for the tearful stranger.
Nestled away on a bench within the hedges, she found a familiar bob of red hair and Marinette once again hesitated. Sabrina may not have been as bad as Chloe, but there were plenty of times where she had caused someone else to run off in tears. This could have been justice, in a sense. Even so, Marinette couldn’t bring herself to leave, instead sitting next to the other girl.
Her head jerked toward Marinette, but the wild hope in her eyes vanished once she saw that it was her. “Oh… hey, Marinette.”
“Something wrong?” It wasn’t hard to tell what had happened - it was a common enough occurence for Sabrina and Chloe to fight, and it wasn’t like Sabrina was close with anyone else. Maybe because of her friendship with Chloe. Still, it wasn’t nice to presume without asking.
She wiped away her tears and tried to stifle her sniffles. “Nothing out of the ordinary.” She flashed a watery smile that went away quickly.
The silence stretched out. What could she say to help her? Past attempts to get her to not put up with Chloe anymore had ended in failure and trying now wouldn’t help much anyway. Which really just left her one choice…
“Did you see the latest episode of Fill My Shoes?”
...Distraction.
Sabrina latched onto the topic and they spent a good long while talking - drifting from the reality show with Jagged Stone to fashion to games, all the while dancing around the topic of why Sabrina had been hiding by herself in a shadowy patch of park. After half an hour, they got up to leave. The redheaded girl gave her a hug and a whispered thanks before quickly parting ways with Marinette.
She stood still and waved as Sabrina left, only hurriedly digging around for her phone after she had left her field of view. Now she was late - very definitely late. Her shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Don’t give up just yet, Marinette!” Tikki chirped from her purse. “Maybe they started late, or maybe it’s a long photoshoot! There is still hope!”
Smiling down at her kwami, she nodded. “You’re right. Even if it is a shorter photoshoot, there should still be an hour left, right? Plenty of time to get Adrien to fall for me!”
“That’s the spirit. Now let’s go.”
With a bit of forced cheerfulness in her step, she resumed her journey to her dream day with Adrien. Yes, this wasn’t ideal, but she could still make it and have at least a nice time with him. Hopefully. Besides, the first half hour was all prep work probably. Did she really want to watch them apply make-up to Adrien? Yes. Yes she did. Well, he wouldn't be able to chat with her while they did so, thus it probably wasn’t a big loss. Everything was fine!
Until she heard the commotion and wailing come from inside the church she was passing by. She crouched into a combat stance, completely prepared for the panicked screams to start up, but it seemed that Hawkmoth had better things to do today. The door to the church was open and Marinette was curious, so she stepped inside.
It was pandemonium. Great care and been taken with elegant decorations. The church was practically packed with men in suits and women in dresses, all murmuring worriedly among each other. Every now and again another round of sobs could be heard coming from the back. Right at the entrance stood an older man in a suit, glancing nervously towards a backdoor.
Marinette tugged at his suit sleeve. “Excuse me, sir? Is something wrong?”
“My daughter’s wedding gown got torn when someone stepped on the bridal train and ripped the hem. They are trying to figure something out, but the store we got it from is closed and it would be expensive to get another tailor in without the warranty paying for it.”
“Well… I do design work in my spare time. Maybe I could try to fix it?” The man looked down at her dubiously. It sparked a competitive fire in her and she puffed out her chest pridefully. “I won a design contest by Gabriel Agreste, the fashion moghul.”
He seemed to weigh the options before shrugging. “Well, it’s worth a shot. Come with me.” They navigated the field of haggard loiters, the fraying best men, and the panicked bridesmaids. The door swung open and Marinette’s eyes widened. The dress was beautiful, to be sure, but what the man had described as a tear was even worse than he let on.
The harried bride turned at the sound of the opened door and Marinette saw the familiar flash of dashed hope when she saw it was just her and the older man that had entered. “Any luck, dad?”
“No word from the store, but!” He added quickly as he put a hand on Marinette’s shoulder. “This young lady thinks she might be able to help.”
She sighed and shook her head. “If you’d brought in a high schooler an hour ago, I would’ve declined. But now I’m desperate.” She walked over to Marinette. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Uh… Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng”
“And do you think you can do it?”
Squaring her jaws, she reached into her purse and retrieved her pocket sewing kit. This was a challenge, just like any other. “I know I can, miss…?”
“Emilie.”
“Sit tight then, Miss Emilie and I’ll get this fixed in no time at all.” At least, so she hoped. Fixing it wouldn’t be the problem so much as how long it would take it pull it off. On the bright side, she had lots of practice with working under pressure.
In truth, Marinette didn’t know how long it had taken her to pull it off. After she had taken the silky material in her hands, the outside world faded away and it was just her and the task in front of her. That was the part she had always enjoyed about creating - everything becomes much simpler when the world shrinks down to pouring herself into her work. Emilie seemed curious at first of her industriousness and impressed when it actually looked like she would be able to pull it off. Once she had reached the final stretch, Emilie gave her a round of excited applause, all stress melted away.
“And to finish off, I’ll close this last little seem with some baby blue thread.” Marinette smiled up at her. “Something blue, right?”
Emilie hugged her as close as the dress would allow, and kissed her cheeks. “It looks fresh from the tailor! I can’t thank you enough, Marinette. Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“No, no I just need to get going. I’m running behind for a date.”
“Oh? I’m so sorry for holding you up! My father can drop you off, it’ll be a little while before we can get started again anyway.” She held up a hand to cut off Marinette’s protest. “Please, it is the least we can do, my little hero.”
Marinette, growing slightly desperate, accepted and found herself in front of the building where the photo shoot would be taking place. And she was only… two hours late, she realized with a wince. She didn’t even have the opportunity to build up any hope before it was broken, since she saw camera equipment being moved out from the space and into waiting vans. She shambled into the building, completely drained and slightly depressed. Maybe she could still at least see Adrien. Then she could pretend like this had all been worth it, pretend that she hadn’t shot herself in the foot with this. Or maybe she should just slink out the way she came and pretend she had been sick today. At least then she’d have a believable excuse.
“Marinette!” At the sound of her name, she turned around, only realizing mid-turn that it was Adrien’s voice. He was frowning, worried. “Hey, I was wondering where you were. I saw Nino’s post about you, so I was sure you were going to be here on time.”
“Post…?” She pulled out her phone, and noticed the notifications - she’d been tagged by Nino. It was a candid photo of Alya smiling, eyes misty as she held a familiar bouquet in her hands. Marinette found herself smiling as well. Nino had remembered to take the picture for her. “Y-yeah, I got side tracked…”
“So I heard from Chloe. Apparently she and Sabrina had a fight, but Sabrina came back and they talked it out. You came up at some point in the walls of text she sent, so I guess that was what held you up?”
“Well, uh, sort of. See there was this wedding-”
A car horn blared from outside and they both looked back to see Adrien’s bodyguard standing outside his car, staring at the both of them. Adrien glanced back at her, then at the car before saying, “Could you stick around for just a minute?”
“S-sure…” He walked away and Marinette collapsed onto a chair in the lobby. She’d only managed to get a couple minutes with him, and she’d basically implied she’d had more important things to do than hang out with him. There was no doubt in her mind that he wouldn’t be inviting her to any more photoshoots and she couldn’t blame him.
Her bitter reflections were cut off when she saw Adrien’s car drive away, and she felt the tears coming on. Before she could really work herself up into a good cry, Adrien appeared, smiling.
“Hey! I just convinced the Gorilla to give us a couple hours to ourselves. Do you want to hang out? After the day you’ve had, I’m sure you could use something to eat. You can tell me all about it over lunch.”
Feeling like her soul had left her body, Marinette could only nod as Adrien took her by the arm and started walking her to their lunch date.
#Miraculous Ladybug#Marinette Dupain-Cheng#Adrien Agreste#Adrienette#MarinetteMarch#Nino Lahiffe#djwifi#Tikki#my writing
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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Eighty-Five: An Artist ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uchiha Itachi ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]
He’s never been one much for the arts. That’s always been more his brother’s calling, despite their father’s begrudging acceptance. While Itachi pursued music, Sasuke took to filling Fugaku’s expectations and going to school to major in business.
Granted, Itachi’s doing quite well - arguably better than his younger brother. Lessons from age four, of course, give him a little edge. Add in natural dexterity and talent, and he’s already playing in recital halls packed to the brim to hear him play his melancholy notes.
But Sasuke can’t bring himself to be jealous. Sure, he’s still hanging from a rather low rung of the corporate ladder, but it’s stuff he finds fairly mindless and easy. While many hate their jobs, Sasuke simply...does his, neither actively enjoying or disliking it. It’s just something he does for about eight hours a day, five days a week. So far he’s managing a rather frugal lifestyle just fine.
Granted, it’s also a rather lonesome lifestyle. Sasuke’s not much of a socializer to begin with, but occasionally a friend will drag him out for something. But mostly, he enjoys doing things either with his family, or on his own.
Today is one of the latter days.
Just down the street from his apartment is a niche little coffee shop he frequents. Itachi teases him about how hipster it seems, but Sasuke just brushes the comments aside. He doesn’t much care what it’s like besides being quiet, quaint, and hosting (in his opinion) perfectly brewed black coffee.
Which is why he’s currently seated at his favorite corner table, sipping a cup and going over a presentation he needs to deliver next week. It’s already finished, but it’s an excuse to get out of his living quarters and get some liquid energy. While he can’t practice the auditory part here, he can tinker a few details and...mostly spend the afternoon browsing his favorite sites.
...that is...until he feels eyes on him.
His own flicker up, the only part of him moving as they search for the intruder. But every other face is turned away - either browsing their own laptops or phones, reading, talking to a table mate, or...scribbling on a rather large pad of paper.
Dark eyes squint just a hair, watching.
It’s a young woman - about his age, maybe a little younger...her face is rather soft, so it’s hard to tell. Seated in a booth along the opposite wall, she has her knees brought up to rest against the lip of her table, and a sizeable sketchbook is propped atop them. He can tell she’s not writing - her hand flies across the paper far too much to be anything but drawing.
Huh...he has to wonder what she’s sketching. Not that he knows much about it, but surely the setting is quite nice. A still life, maybe - seems like something rather eye-catching to draw. Or so he’ll guess. Itachi would have far more idea about than he. His talents might lie in music, but he knows the artistic side of things in general better than Sasuke ever will.
After a minute or so, he goes back to his laptop screen, sipping his coffee and absorbing back into the work.
When he starts packing up to head home, she’s already gone.
The work week passes, and it’s not until the following Saturday he can make it back. Unlike his last visit, it’s pouring rain this time. A wet umbrella rests against his chair. The same project - to be presented Monday - is back on his laptop screen...but mostly just as an excuse. He told Naruto he couldn’t go to some local league basketball game he’s playing in due to work.
It’s...half true. He hasn’t given the presentation yet. It’s still a work in progress. But he also hasn’t touched it in three days because the powerpoint part is done. While he could be home rehearsing it...Naruto has a nasty habit of dropping in even when told no. Hence hiding out here.
Besides, he’s got it memorized already. He’s not missing much by loligagging here.
The shop’s a bit more crowded today - probably because warm drinks are the perfect staple for a cool, rainy Spring day. And who wants to be out in the weather? Better to just...cozy up here until the rain stops.
The numbers don’t bother him - he got here early enough to claim his table, and no one’s dared ask to steal a chair or join him. Whether he intends it or not (though usually he does), Sasuke has a rather distance-inducing aura. Or at least, that’s how his brother oh so politely puts it.
Sasuke, on the other hand, knows he just has a major case of resting bitch face. And he’s more than glad for the annoyances it spares him...at least, with anyone intelligent enough to read it. Hence why Naruto still hangs around...he just doesn’t quite get it.
Today he’s indulging in a bitter cup of sugarless hot cocoa when that same feeling returns: like someone’s watching him. Looking up, he still doesn’t catch anyone staring.
...but he does notice she’s back. Sketchbook lady. Returned to the same spot, shying a bit from her neighbors but still scribbling away. This time it’s not just a pencil - some colored...somethings sit in a neat tray atop her table. Not pencils, and...he doesn’t think they’re crayons? Oh, who cares what they are. Either way, she must be coloring her previous shot, given her same vantage point and what looks to be the same sketchbook.
Huh.
A bit more curious this time, Sasuke takes to watching her. Every so often, she looks up and studies the wall behind him: the one directly across from her. Shrewd, pale eyes squint as she examines it before going back to her coloring.
...he sort of wants to see it.
Sasuke also can’t help but wonder how she’s accounting for the change of people. There’s more of them, and they’re surely different than last weekend. Did she just...go over what she had? Or is she improvising? He’s never really given such things a thought before, but...watching someone in the act of creating, admittedly, piques his interest.
But after a little while, it gets a bit repetitive...and he can’t exactly see what she’s doing. A little disappointed, Sasuke goes back to his procrastinating, eventually noting that the rain has stopped. Should he risk going back home…?
Maybe not yet.
He stays a few hours more, ordering another cup and an everything bagel to pass the time. Not the best lunch he could have, but...meh. He can have something better for him for dinner. Only once he gets a text from the knucklehead proclaiming victory (and whining he didn’t show up) does Sasuke deem it safe to head home.
The next morning, he wakes to his phone vibrating against his nightstand. Groggily he grabs it, swiping to answer and mumbling, “Hullo?”
“Sasuke, good morning.”
He blinks slowly. “...’tachi?”
“Forgive me for calling so early, but I wanted you to be the first to know: I’m going to be back in town for the week. I’ll be flying in this afternoon.”
Dark eyes quickly brighten, sitting up. “Really?”
“Yes. I was going to tell Mother and Father tomorrow morning - I thought, for today, it could just be the two of us.”
A kind of childish glee at both the falsehood (his brother never lies) and his indulging of Sasuke’s constant pining to see him beget a smile. “Yeah, sure - got anything in mind?”
“Oh, I thought we’d just wander around downtown and see what jumps out at us. I haven’t been back in almost a year, I want to see what’s changed.”
“Okay, yeah - sure.”
“I’ll meet you at your building - I’ve got a rental car arranged. I should be there about three?”
“I’ll be waiting!”
Hanging up, Sasuke can’t help but grin at his brother’s number before it fades back to the homescreen. Well...talk about a great start to a week!
By the time Itachi makes it, he’s been bored for hours, having little else to do on a Sunday but wait around. They immediately leave again, going on foot to simply explore.
“I’ve missed this city,” Itachi admits wistfully, hands in his coat’s pockets and simply looking around.
“And we’ve missed you - how’re all your gigs going?”
“Wonderfully. I’ve been planning a little tour with another artist: a vocalist who’s been practicing with me the past few weeks.”
“Any stops near here?”
“In here, as a matter of fact - but not for a few months. We’ve got quite a bit of practice and arranging to do. But I will let you know.” Slowing to a stop, Itachi cocks his head curiously at an open door. “...Sasuke, care to go in?”
“Huh? What is it?”
“Apparently an art exhibition - locals, seems like.”
It might not be his scene, but...well, Itachi’s the guest, and it’ll make him happy. “Yeah, sure.”
The pair enter, quickly seeing a variety of works and mediums by a vast array of artists. While Itachi speaks to the host, Sasuke starts wandering, not as invested as he’s sure Itachi will be. Thumbs hooked in his belt loops, he glances over several pieces before coming to a standstill.
Wait...but that’s…?
Still staring as Itachi joins him, Sasuke barely hears his question. “...huh?”
“I asked if you found something you like…? Oh...well that looks an awful lot like -”
“It’s me.”
“...are you sure?”
“Yeah, I…” A bit flabbergasted, Sasuke shifts his weight, gesturing. “I go there all the time. That’s my table, and my laptop -” His umbrella even made it in the shot. There’s no doubt about it: even the angle matches. This has to be that woman, from before! She was drawing...him…?
“Can I help -? Oh!”
Both brothers turn to an approaching figure, and Sasuke locks surprised eyes with none other than the artist. Her own are wide, and color lightly tints her cheeks.
“It...it’s you!”
“Yeah...me,” Sasuke replies. Now it makes sense: why he kept feeling watched.
“I...I-I hope you don’t mind me using you as a model, I...I mostly do street drawing. I just...draw what I see. I was lucky to catch you twice, and so quickly! I just finished this piece this morning, I almost couldn’t bring it…” A hand tucks stray hair behind her ear. “...I’m Hinata.”
“Sasuke. Nice to actually meet you, I guess.”
“L-likewise!”
Behind him, Itachi gives a knowing smile. “May I ask, are your works for sale?”
“Oh, well...no, technically not.”
“Ah...forgive me.”
“No no, that’s okay! Would you...like to buy it…?”
“It’s rare to see my brother captured in such a way,” Itachi muses, earning an embarrassed glower from Sasuke. “You truly did a fantastic job. Of course, if you’d like to keep it -”
“No, I understand! I’m just delighted you f-found it! This city’s rather big, after all…”
“As am I. And I’m always a fan of supporting local creators. So, may we negotiate…?”
As the talk turns to money, Sasuke scowls and sulks off to one side, eyeing her other works. True to her word, most are just...captures of various local places and people. Though stylized to a point, he can still recognize quite a few places just at a glance, and further looking shows a great amount of detail.
Signing a check, Itachi hands it over with a smile. “A pleasure, miss Hyūga. I do hope you keep creating - your works are lovely.”
She ducks her head shyly, and then glances to the slip, eyes going wide. “...but you said -?”
“Please, consider it a well-deserved tip. I know enough artists to know they often undersell themselves. And yours is a talent worth supporting.”
Looking awed, Hinata breaks into a soft smile. “I’ll...go see about packaging this for you. Thank you s-so much.”
Itachi nods, turning as his brother steps back up. “Are you truly so opposed to the piece?”
“No...I’m not. It’s just kinda weird.”
“Why?”
“I dunno. Just is.”
“Well, it’s clear your territories overlap - perhaps she’ll be able to draw you again, hm?”
He doesn’t have an answer for that.
Returning with the framed artwork carefully wrapped and bagged, Hinata hands it over with another thank you. “Um...s-sorry again for stealing your visage.”
“Don’t worry about it. I guess now I get to see what you were working so hard on.”
Another light blush pinkens her cheeks. “I’ve wanted to do a portrait in there for ages...you just had the right...look, I guess.”
That earns a small snort. “Suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Miss Hyūga, might I have your cell number in case I find any other potential investors in you and your work?”
“Oh! Um...sure!”
“Sasuke, you should do the same.”
“What?”
His brother gives him a look that clearly says not to question him. “It’s never a bad idea to stay connected. Besides, given I’ve taken her only copy, Hinata might want to arrange another portrait.”
Squinting suspiciously, Sasuke nonetheless agrees, exchanging digits.
“Thank you so much, miss Hyūga.”
“Oh, please just call me Hinata.”
“Very well - I hope you enjoy your evening.”
Once the brothers take their leave, Sasuke rounds on Itachi. “What was that all about?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“All of that!”
“What, I can’t buy art of you?”
“No, that’s - you were - and the number -”
“It’s clear she finds you intriguing,” Itachi replies briskly. “And not just in a superficial way. She could have captured anyone in that shop, but she chose you. Hinata saw something that caught her eye about you that no one else had managed. I just thought keeping a person with that impression of you close might be...wise.”
“...you’re setting me up.”
“Connections, Sasuke - they’re important.” Itachi gives him a smile, eyes twinkling. “Don’t they teach you that in your line of work?”
Having no retort, Sasuke just stuffs his hands in his pockets. “...c’mon, we’ve still got daylight to burn.”
“If you insist.”
Oof, this is...very very long compared to most entries, and now it's super late, I gotta get hopping to bed xD I got the idea not long after reading the prompt, and honestly thought it wouldn't be long enough...and then it ended up twice as long as most drabbles I've done for this challenge! But it was a cute concept, even when I realized it was gonna sop up the rest of my evening, haha! Anyway, I'm wiped, so I better call it. Hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading!
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