#but i started this yesterday as a sketch and just took the first half of today to draw this out and gosh im so in love with how it looks!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crackedpumpkin · 10 months

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|| ʙʟᴀɴᴋ ᴄᴀɴᴠᴀꜱ || ᴘᴛ. ꜰᴏᴜʀ||

[ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ] | [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

Getting kidnapped was not on the checklist today.

Saving an old lady from a speeding car? Check.

Show up to class barely on time? Check.

Grab a burrito on the way to meet the girl who needed his help from yesterday? Check.

But getting kidnapped and signing a contract he never wanted? Not on the list. Never was it on the list.

Miles stares at the girl before him for a second, then down at the contract in her hands. He contemplates using his webs to grab and tear it up so it’d be rendered useless.

Unfortunately, she seems to have sensed his intentions because she turns around and waves the contract in front of him with a teasing smile.

“Sorry dude, I already took a photo and sent it to all my emails. Living in the twenty-first century really has its perks.”

Damn it.

How did he even get into this situation in the first place? Maybe it was when he didn’t knock on wood after he talked about nothing bad happening with Ganke. Yeah, it was probably that. But it still doesn’t completely explain how you found out about his identity. He’d been so careful too!

“How’d you even find out?” He finally voices his curiosity, unwrapping the sub in his hands and taking a bite. He pauses, looking down at it with intrigue. It was given to him as an apology after you had both left the store, and it’s surprisingly good. He recalls the bemused glance the owner had given them both when he opened the door, only to let her go without another word or further question.

It was almost impressive.

Then again, this is Brooklyn, after all. He'd probably seen weirder.

Now, he and the girl are on the rooftop, the latter sitting down a short distance from him and starting to sketch absentmindedly in her sketchbook. He’s still guarded, having intended to treat her coldly for how she had borderline kidnapped and blackmailed him.

Scratch that; he did, in fact, get kidnapped and blackmailed.

But her calm demeanour throws him off. What was one supposed to do in this scenario? He’d never encountered this before, not even once in the three months or so that he’d been Spiderman.

“Y’know, the usual.”

“The usual?” He repeats, raising a brow before taking another bite. He still has half the mask on, not fully taking it off around her even though she knew who he was.

“Yeah, just did a little digging. Y’know, you’d think you’d be more careful for a superhero.”

“I was!” He defends himself, a sharp edge to his words.

She chuckles, lips pulled into a half-smile as she looks up at him with amusement. “Then you might want to be more careful about how you sneak in and out of your dorm, Morales.”

He flinches at the use of his last name. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all.

His dorm? Since when was she around his dorm?

“Did you stalk me?”

She looks up again from her sketchbook with an offended gasp, holding her hand over her heart with a frown. “I would never! The only time I ‘followed’ you was when you basically revealed your entire secret identity by very openly crawling into your dorm window. Literally anyone would’ve found out if they were around the area.”

He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “So much for secret identity.” He mutters to himself, taking another bite of the surprisingly addicting sub. The bread is fluffy, albeit slightly soggy from the sauces that coat the vegetables and meat. He tastes a hint of cinnamon, arching a brow in intrigue.

Little odd, but it works.

“It’s good, right? Mr Perez does the best in the city.”

He merely shrugs in response. He hears a soft sigh, choosing to stare at the citizens on the sidewalk below.

“I’m sorry,” He hears her speak up, turning around with a sceptical frown. An apology? Now?

“If you’re sorry, you’d forget my identity and tear up the contract,” he mutters.

“Yeah… I can't afford that.”

“Why not?” He’s taken aback by her sheepish smile.

“Here’s the thing… I kinda need you to be my model regardless. I’m an art student in need of a muse. I’ve been in such a slump lately, and I’m a little…desperate.”

“And I’m that muse?” He questions, oddly flattered yet still wary of her true intentions.

She shrugs. “Yeah. Look, you’ll get it once you see this.” She rifles through her backpack, grabs a large sketchbook and hands it to him. Instead of taking it from her like a normal and trusting person, he uses the web shooter on his wrist to spray a thin line, tugging it toward him. It dangles from the web, and he double-checks it in case it’s another trap.

“There’s like, a mustard stain from years back, and the white powder is chalk.” Her comment makes him scoff, already having recognised the powdery residue. He flips it open, scanning through the pages.

The first few are rather good, with sketches of people he doesn’t recognise. The shading is done well, putting his own to shame, actually. He continues to turn the pages, the next few a lot more colourful with the added use of watercolour pencils and charcoal. A soft coat of bright dust rubs off on his fingers, and he rubs it off quickly before continuing to look through the sketchbook.

He notes the slight wince on her lips in his peripheral, taking great care to ensure he doesn’t accidentally tear the pages. If she’s really an art student, then from one artist to another, allowing someone to view their sketchbook — containing their most private thoughts and inspirations, is practically sacred.

And just for that, he pauses eating his sub, wrapping it up and stowing it away for later.

Miles recalls his own sketchbook at home, the first pages already occupied by a half-finished sketch of Gwen. He subtly shakes his head to rid himself of the lingering nostalgia, focusing instead on the drawings before him. He frowns from the sudden and apparent lack of motivation. Though details were technically accurate, it was as if they had no life, just flat, one-dimensional drawings against the blank paper.

His breath hitches when he turns the page to see a full sketch of him leaning against the wall. He subconsciously leans in close, studying the details on his suit he hadn’t even noticed. It’s good. Really good. It’s only half-coloured, but even then, the way she did it can’t help but draw your attention, as if he’d step off the page and give himself a playful salute.

“So?” Her voice is calm. He senses her thoughtful gaze.

“It’s good.” He replies simply. “Was this on the day we met?” He turns the book around to show her the drawing he's referencing. She nods, and he hums in response.

“I need your number, by the way. To schedule our next meetup.” She holds out her phone for him, the keypad on her screen and waits for him to key it in. He stands up, walks over, stops two feet away, and hands her back her sketchbook.

He reluctantly puts his number into her phone. He has half a mind to put in a random number instead, just to inconvenience her. He decides against it, however, and taps away at the keypad.

She’d probably find out his number somehow if he did that.

“May I at least have the pleasure of knowing my kidnapper's name?” Miles asks sarcastically, keeping an eye on her as she continues to tap away at her phone.

“The name’s Ray, Ray Paynt.”

He chokes on his drink.

“What?” He asks through the tissue he grabs from his pocket, wiping his mouth of any orange juice that had spilt from hearing her name. Unique is one way to describe it.

“But you, however, can refer to me as Ray.”

He doesn’t know how to feel.

“Ray, short for Rachel?” He asks. She nods confidently.

“Right.”

She stands up, brushing off the dirt on her pants before sending him a halfhearted grin, and he nods in response. “Well, this has been…fun. But I gotta get home for dinner. I’ll text you when our next meetup will be. See you soon.” She says briefly, heading to the door that leads to the staircase. She opens it, pausing to glance back at him.

“Also, you might wanna check out the side of your head just in case,” she adds sheepishly before shutting the door behind her.

He reaches up to the left side of his head, only to wince when he massages the slightly sore spot. Right. He forgot about that.

Swinging back to his dorm room is peaceful, crossing the familiar well-lit streets and the occasional pickpocket on the way. In contrast to the chilly night air and calm breeze, his thoughts overlap like crashing waves on a once-calm shore.

Who really is she?

What kind of person is she?

Why him?

Even though they had spoken (rather begrudgingly on his behalf) after she knocked him out and made him sign a contract that was surprisingly in his favour, he knew next to nothing about her.

Besides her name, he supposes. But where is she from? How did she find him in the first place? Did the store owner know her?

Is she an enemy?

He sighs, walking under the subway bridge. Whatever she is, he has to figure out if her intentions really are as simple as she says. From one artist to another, he understands having an art block. It’s one of the worst things in the world.

But from one superhero to a civilian, she’s an enigma.

All this thinking was making his head hurt.

“Yo, one pack of the usual painkillers, por favor,” Miles requests upon walking into the small convenience store he frequents. The owner looks up from his phone, reaching down and handing him a palm-sized red box.

“Thanks, Lenny. How much do I owe you for this?” He reaches into the suit’s concealed pocket for his wallet, eager to return and get some well-deserved rest.

“Ten bucks. What’s got you so roughed up?” Lenny asks curiously, leaning over the counter after taking the cash he hands him.

Miles sighs, shoulders slumping at the question. How was one supposed to explain the series of unfortunate events that happened to him in fifty words or less?

“Nothin’ much, just a little tired, I guess.” He chooses his words carefully.

“Ah, I hear ‘ya. I got one regular who’s always walkin’ in here looking for energy drinks.” Lenny chuckles. “Man, the bags under her eyes were insane. Haven’t seen her in a while, though. I’m tellin’ you, kids these days have to rest more, not stay up all night studying. Y’all gotta have fun.”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.” Miles nods vigorously, agreeing with the sentiment a little too deeply. He exits the store with a final goodbye, continuing to swing his way back through Brooklyn.

He crawls up the wall back to his dorm, pausing near the window as his fingertips brush over the edge. He takes a moment to look around and survey the area. His eyes land on the alleyway nearby, in clear view from his current location. If he could see it from here, then that meant whoever was there could see him, too.

“The only time I ‘followed’ you was when you basically revealed your entire secret identity by very openly crawling into your dorm window. Literally anyone would’ve found out if they were around the area.”

He groans, hanging his head.

“Damn it.”

— — — — —

A brand new day always means a brand new start.

In your case, it takes the form of a signed contract, framed and hung on your bedroom wall. You stare at it in satisfaction, smiling giddily at the fact that you had finally, finally, secured your muse.

Even though the method used was a little unethical.

But that didn’t matter, because he signed the contract!

He. Signed. The contract.

It’s set in stone now, and this particular reminder sends a rush of adrenaline through you, the physical contract cementing this fact. It had been a couple of days since the incident, and this had become your new routine every morning.

“Honey, it’s time to wake up!” You’re startled out of your thoughts when your mother calls you from the kitchen, having already almost finished getting ready. All that’s left is to get out of the bathrobe you have on into proper clothes and brush your teeth.

Once done, you enter the kitchen cheerfully, patting the leftover bits of moisturiser into your skin before greeting your mother with a big hug. She laughs as you pull away, raising her brows curiously. “What’s got you in such a good mood today?”

“Not much,” You hum, taking the bowl of stew she hands you and sitting down at the dining table. You begin to dig in, alerted to your father's presence, who walks into the kitchen with a groan.

Your mother hands him another bowl of piping hot stew, the scent of spicy chilli flakes helping to clear his head. He sits down opposite you with a soft grunt, your mother sitting beside him with concern.

“What’s wrong?” You ask through mouthfuls, blowing on the spoonful of tofu in your hands to cool it down.

“Someone accidentally hit me on the head with a binder at work yesterday,” Your father replies with a wince, sending your mother a thankful smile when she starts to feed him spoonfuls of stew. You watch his hand massage the spot on his head with a tinge of guilt, recalling how you had gotten Morales to be your muse.

You should probably get him a gift as an apology.

“Get well soon, Dad. You should go see the doctor if it gets worse.” You add, placing your now-empty bowl in the sink after the last mouthful.

“Will you be back home for dinner today?”

You pause, tilting your head in thought. “I don't think so. I’ll message you guys if anything comes up, though,” You promise, grabbing your bag and heading toward the door.

The walk to school is as usual, nothing out of the ordinary besides the weather being a little sunnier than normal Brooklyn weather. Luckily, you have your trusty portable fan, using it to stay cool in the heat.

Your phone buzzes with a notification, and you take it out to see a new message from Morales.

Ray (Paynt) [ 10:00 PM ]: Yo, you free tomorrow at 3 for our first session?

Morales [ 10:30 PM ]: When you put it that way, no.

- [ Morales ] has changed your name to [ The Kidnapper ] -

- [ Morales ] has changed their name to [ The Kidnappee ] -

The Kidnapper [ 10:30 PM ]: Boooo. I’ll take that as a yes, though. Anyway, meet me at Fort Bridge Park at 3. I hope you like waffles :)

The Kidnappee [ 07:50 AM ]: Who doesn’t?

Ray Paynt. You have to admit, few can come up with such a good fake name on the fly. You mentally pat yourself on the back for it, grinning at how easily he had believed you. Ray, short for Rachel? Absolutely priceless.

“Are you texting your crush or something?”

You yelp at the sudden hand around your shoulders, instantly shoving your phone in your pocket and glaring at Michael’s mischievous smirk. You push your elbow against his rib, but he’s already prepared for your reaction, moving away before he can get hit.

“How’d you even meet, anyway?” He continues to ask, undeterred by your response. You shrug.

“Just ran into him and recognised his face,” You answer simply, entering the school gates together.

“What’s for lunch today, anyway?” Michael changes the subject, already bored with your short responses. He’d probably try to dig deeper into it another time.

“From what Greta told me, it’s lasagna for the special. I think it’s something else for the regular.”

“I don’t know how you got her to do it, but you gotta hook me up with that staff discount of hers sometime,” Michael complains, sticking to you like glue through the crowded hallway as you make your way to your locker.

“Just be better,” You say nonchalantly, reaching your locker and taking out the textbooks you need for the day. You huff in amusement from his eye roll, greeting Nicole with a smile when you spot her a few feet away from you both.

“Hey, you got something here.” You grab a wet tissue from your locker and lean down slightly, using your thumb to brush against the corner of her lips where a spot of grease is, wiping it off and tucking her messy hair behind her ear. You straighten your back with a soft smile, noticing the slight pink that coats the tips of her ears when you do so.

“Thanks.”

“Hang on.”

Pausing at Michael’s words, you watch him lean down, reaching his hand out to try and replicate what you did. Instead, Nicole twists his hand, bringing him to his knees with a glare.

“Don’t touch me.”

“But-”

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” Nicole warns clearly, finally letting go as a sign of mercy. You smile sympathetically, helping him to his feet and massaging the sore spot on his wrist. He mutters his thanks, pulling his wrist away after.

School passes by in the blink of an eye, and you find yourself at the gates ready to leave at Two P.M. Nicole had her chess club — she had a match coming up that she couldn’t afford to lose. You’re more than certain that she never will, having watched her break her opponent down mentally during a previous match. Michael had his neighbourhood basketball game that he rushed off to, promising to introduce you to a new cafe another time.

Cafe. Right.

The plan for today is simple. Grab some amazing waffles from the cafe you’d seen people rave about online, and meet Spidey-Boy at Fort Bridge Park, where you’d chill out and draw him in different poses or something.

You’re still not entirely sure how this muse thing is supposed to go. But that’s okay! You’ll figure it out along the way.

Public transport is a blessing to have. The thought of owning your own car in the future makes you excited. You’d never have to deal with other people’s bad body odour ever again. The lack of hygiene of some commuters makes you determined to push forth a project on personal grooming in the future.

Standing next to a man grabbing the handles in the train, revealing the sweat-soaked spot under his shoulders, only reaffirms this resolve.

You finally hear your stop being called out over the speakers, all but rushing out the doors and inhaling deeply. Your lungs burn from the shallow breaths you took standing next to him, grateful for the existence of oxygen.

Surprisingly enough, Google Maps gets you to the cafe in only fifteen minutes, and you order your waffles to go, waiting patiently in the store while blissfully inhaling the smell of freshly baked croissants and ground coffee.

You’ll definitely be coming here again for a study session.

You hear your name being called shortly after, thanking the server who hands you your order before exiting and heading to Fort Bridge Park with, yet again, the help of Google Maps. Thankfully, you reach five minutes before the scheduled time, choosing to sit down at a random bench and waiting for your muse to show up.

The Kidnapper [ 02:55 PM ]: I’m sitting near the bridge. Hope you’re hungry

The Kidnappee [ 02:55 PM ]: Are you the one looking down really intensely at your phone?

“I am not looking intensely, thank you very much.” You say with a lighthearted scoff once Morales plops down next to you seconds after you read his message.

“Right,” He replies sarcastically. “Where’s the promised waffle? And my ten bucks?”

“Here’s your waffle. Payment will only be made at the end of each session.” You hand him the waffle, and he takes it without complaint, though his eyes narrow at the last few words.

“That’s not what you promised.”

“It’s in the contract,” You reply with a hum, taking a bite and grinning in delight at the fluffy texture. “Eat, eat!”

He reluctantly pulls up his mask slightly, unwraps the waffle and bites down at your strong encouragement, lips pursed as he chews. “It’s…not bad.”

“Not bad? It’s insanely good! No wonder it got so many popular reviews. The kaya in this one is incredible. You gotta try this.” You hold up the half-eaten waffle to him, and he looks at you warily.

“Here,” You tear off a piece of your waffle instead, eagerly holding it out to him.

He takes it. “I think this is better,” He holds up the one in his hand after eating the piece you offered.

“To each their own,” You comment, finishing off your waffle in mere minutes while he’s still slowly enjoying his. You dust off the crumbs on your hands and pull out your sketchbook, making yourself comfortable and crossing your legs before turning to face him.

You notice him stiffening from the sudden attention, chuckling at his reaction. It was kinda cute.

“Just pretend I’m not here,” You assure him, smiling warmly. “Just do what you normally do when you relax or when you’re not off fighting crime in lovely Brooklyn.”

His shoulders are still tense, but he slowly rests against the bench backrest, watching the people pass by. They notice his presence but ignore him in favour of rushing off to their own destinations, as are the lovely people of your city. Some linger around but quickly get bored once they realise that there’s nothing exciting happening.

“So, what’s your favourite food?” You break the silence with a question. You need him to relax so much more than his current self, who looks as if he’d bolt any chance he gets.

“Pasteles, they’re probably the best food to ever exist.”

“What’re those?” You pause, looking up with interest at this new dish you’ve never heard of.

“Oh, pasteles are like, this food. It’s got pork and adobo in it, and it’s just amazing. My mom makes the best,” He answers excitedly, animatedly using his hands to describe the food. You grin in amusement, nodding at his words.

“I’ve never tried them. The closest thing I’ve tried is a rice dumpling.”

“Rice dumpling?” Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Yeah. Usually, when you hear dumpling, you think, like, gyoza or whatever, but these rice dumplings I’m talking about are on a whole other level. It’s basically pork or chicken, filling in sticky glutinous rice, wrapped in banana leaves in a triangle, and then steamed. It’s so good. I’ll bring some next time!”

“Cool, I’ll bring some pasteles too. But why are they triangle shaped?”

“That’s a good question,” You pause when you realise you don’t know the answer, pulling out your phone and doing a quick Google search. It proves fruitful, with Wikipedia being your one and only saviour.

“Says here that they used to be in bamboo tubes, but they wrapped them in chinaberry leaves so dragons wouldn’t consume them. That’s actually pretty cool. I respect the dedication,” You remark, turning your screen to show him the Wikipedia page. He leans in, scanning the words with an intrigued hum before leaning back.

“Imagine having dragons, though.”

“I dunno, man. I’m talking to Spiderman right now. Dragons aren’t that far-fetched to me.” You crack, watching his shoulders shake with his laughs. You pick up the pencil and sketch as quickly as possible, satisfied with his relaxed state. Quickly finishing it up and polishing a few strokes here and there, you realise you’d gotten so absorbed in your drawing that the sun was already beginning to set.

He’s waiting patiently for you, scrolling through his Instagram feed. You pack your tools, feeling guilty for keeping him here for so long. “Thanks for waiting for me,” you say gratefully, zipping up your bag and standing up.

“Couldn’t leave without my ten bucks.” He quips. Your eyes widen at the reminder, patting your pockets and feeling for the ten-dollar bill stowed away in one of them. Once you find it, you pull it out and hand it to him. He takes it happily.

You’re both alerted to a food truck playing a short jingle over the speakers. Upon closer inspection, you realise it’s a gelato truck.

“Their stuff’s pretty good,” He says, eyes trained on the sign offering a special discount from now till next weekend.

“Here’s a fun fact: I’ve never tried gelato,” You admit.

He scoffs. “And you call yourself a foodie.”

“I do not,” You defend yourself, lips pursed into a slight playful frown. He strides off to the cart, returning with two small cups. A single scoop of vanilla rests in one, and he hands you the other with a scoop of chocolate gelato inside.

You take a quick bite, eyes widening slightly at the heavenly taste that greets your tongue. You take another spoonful, then another.

“It’s good, right?” You nod vigorously in response, his lips tugging up into a satisfied smirk at your bright smile. The gelato is absolutely decadent and insanely creamy to the point that it feels like you’re just drinking it.

Wait. Creamy?

“Does this have dairy in it?”

A quick nod from him confirms your fear. You look down at the gelato in your hands, taking another small spoonful and sighing blissfully in your head. You sense his eyes on you, filled with slight worry. “It’s fine; I can deal with anything. I’m not that weak,” You chuckle with a dismissive wave of your hand. You both soon finish the gelato and part ways with a simple goodbye.

You’d deal with the consequences later.

At least, that’s what you told yourself before now, hunching over the toilet bowl while cursing out the inferior genes you had inherited from your parents.

So much for being able to handle anything.

— — — — — — — — —

taglist:

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#spiderman: into the spiderverse #Into The Spiderverse #miles morales #miles morales x reader #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x you #into the spiderverse x reader #spiderman: into the spiderverse x reader

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lemissingmask · 6 months

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[ID: Sketch of Jake Stone and Eve Baird in the annex, Stone sitting on a stool at the table and pressing his right hand to his head, wincing slightly, while Eve is turning to look at him. His right arm is covered with black symbols. End ID]

Day 31: Cheeky bonus headache to finish off the vampire!Stone series because it got out of hand 😅 I had only planned two arts with accompanying ficlets

Fic below the cut. This overlaps slightly with the mind games fic from yesterday, starting during that one and continuing past where it ended.

“Flynn!” Eve called up the stairs, “If we don’t leave now there won’t be time to get popcorn!”

“There’s always time for popcorn!” came the disembodied voice from somewhere above.

“Not if we arrive fifteen minutes after the movie starts!”

No reply.

Eve sighed and grabbed her coat from the rack, shrugging it over her fancy-ish date night jumpsuit. As she turned, she found Stone at the table - not surprising since he had covered half of it with various portfolios - but he was oddly neither engaged with them, nor watching her.

She had yelled pretty loudly, and usually this might be met with a smirk from him and some joking comment about Flynn’s punctuality or maybe a reference to the last time they had a movie date, and things went less than smoothly.

But he was facing away from her, and from the table, his posture tense.

As she watched, he brought his right hand up, pressing it to the side of his head.

“Stone?”

After a too long pause, he opened his eyes and squinted up at her, one hand still against his head.

“You okay?” she lightly touched his arm, but he flinched away.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, looking at her hand and then back to her, “Yeah. Jus’ a headache.”

She withdraw her hand and offered a sympathetic smile, “I guess Tylenol isn’t going to help?”

“Not sure it’s been tested on vampires,” he replied softly, then smiled a facsimile of his usual smile, “Date night?”

“It’ll be date morning if Flynn doesn’t hurry up,” she replied, “I swear if he…”

“I’m coming!” Flynn interrupted, running down the stairs with one shoe on and the other in the hand that wasn’t holding a bundle of cravats, “Which do I wear? What shoes are you - okay, orange it is.”

Several of the cravats fell to the floor and he began to finish getting dressed, “We still have time for popcorn?”

“Yes, we still have time for popcorn.”

She had told him half an hour earlier than the film actually started, so they actually had a good amount of time.

“Try not to get sucked into this one,” Stone smirked tiredly as they set the back door.

Eve took Flynn’s offered arm and glanced back over her shoulder, “No promises.”

She saw a ghost of a smile, and then she and Flynn were walking out of a toilet cubicle into the movie theatre.

That got them some amused looks from some other visitors, but it wasn’t the first or probably the last time she and Flynn would exit a toilet stall or changing room or other small enclosed space together.

They got popcorn, they got to their seats, and they watched the entire movie through without getting sucked into it, attacked by ninjas or snake monsters or anything, or even getting told to be quiet too many times by other movie goers.

It was a nice normal date. They did manage to have those from time to time these days.

But their lives weren’t normal and inevitably their conversation, as they strolled around a park after the movie was over, fell into less normal things.

“I’m worried about Stone,” she said.

He nodded, “His headaches?”

“You noticed too?”

“I’m very observant.”

She sighed, “He says he’s fine, but I’m worried he’s just trying to not be a burden.”

“You’re thinking it’s something vampire-y?”

“Honestly, I’m thinking it’s more something trauma-y,” she replied, stopping and dropping onto a bench, “He went through hell and we dealt with the weird magical supernatural part, but we never helped him deal with the rest of it.”

“You think he has PTSD?”

“I’m not ruling it out. You saw how bad he was when we found him.”

“Well,” Flynn said, taking her hand and linking their fingers, “Though your opinion may be plausible, I don’t think we actually dealt with the weird magical supernatural part.”

“What do you mean?”

Flynn mused for a while, expressively mused, his face taking on a thoughtful expression so she couldn’t possibly doubt that he was thinking.

She smiled slightly and waited.

“You’re right,” he said at last, “Stone did go through something horrible. The question is, why did the vampires do that to him only to turn him?”

“For fun?” she shrugged, “Because they were hungry? We could be here all week trying to justify the extreme brutality of a bunch of evil vampires.”

“Maybe, but something…something just feels…I can’t place it.”

“I’m not sure if I’d rather it be PTSD or some long game vampire trick…”

“Why can’t it be both?”

Eve shot him a glare, against which he raised his hands in surrender.

“Hopefully not both.”

“I really hope not either,” she sighed, “I’ll try to talk to him tomorrow…how about dessert before we go back?”

This last, with an attempt to dispel the dark mood she had pulled over their date.

Flynn smiled and raised her hand to his lips, “Yes to dessert, and don’t worry about Stone. Whatever it is, we’ll solve it.”

Eve planned to talk to Stone when he went to train in the morning. He had a routine of morning martial arts training before the vampires took him, and recovering that had been part of his efforts to regain a sense of himself.

In the past, she and him had had most of their more serious - serious so far as it didn’t relate directly to the library or imminent threats against the world - conversations while hitting the bag or sparring. It was an easier place for them both to be open than sitting down and being still.

She didn’t find him in the gym when she expected he would be there, nor did she get an answer when she knocked on his door.

Walking into the annex she vaguely glossed over the incongruent presence of a large wicker giraffe or long-necked horse or something, and scanned the space. Jenkins, Cassandra, but no Stone. She knew Flynn was still asleep and guessed Ezekiel was.

“Anyone seen Stone?”

“No,” Cassandra frowned, “Isn’t he in the gym?”

“I checked there.”

“His room?”

“No answer.”

Jenkins pursed his lips, “You believe something is amiss?”

“I just want to check he’s doing okay,” she replied, “He's been having headaches lately.”

“Not just headaches,” Cassandra added quietly, “He’s been spacing out, getting jumpy for no apparent reason. Ezekiel and I noticed it, but he shuts any questions down.”

She looked down at her hands, and added in a whisper, “It’s been getting worse.”

“Alright,” Eve said, “I’m going to go check his room again…”

“Don’t bother,” Ezekiel walked in, “He’s not there. Just checked. Not in the gym or with the chupacabra either.”

“Why would he be with the chupacabra?” Flynn asked, wandering in with a piece of toast.

“They’re mates,” Ezekiel shrugged, “But he’s not there.”

“Okay,” Eve pushed back her rising concern, “We split up and search the library. Whatever’s going on, we can’t let him try to deal with it alone.”

They searched, not the entire but the likely parts of, the library, but they didn’t find him anywhere.

“Time for a locating spell?” Ezekiel asked when they were all back around the table having failed in their task.

“It won’t work,” Cassandra frowned, “The spell we put on him is cyclical. It isn’t emitting any signal that can be detected from outside. And even if we could find a way around that, we’d need something with the same magic signal here and we don’t have anything like that.”

“But we did it before,” Eve questioned, “Using the Monkey King’s staff?”

“The magic isn’t the same anymore. We modified it too much.”

“Then we solve this old school,” Flynn said, “Where would Stone go? Back to Oklahoma?”

“No.”

“Although if he was gonna go killy, his dad…”Ezekiel mused, breaking off when Cassandra nudged him angrily.

“Jacob Stone. Is. Not. Killing. Anyone!”

Ezekiel raised his hands in surrender, “Okay. He’s not gonna go killy. Obviously he’s not. He’s still the same Stone.”

“Assuming he left of his own free will,” Jenkins interjected, “I would wager Mr Stone would go somewhere with as few people as possible.”

“What do you mean ‘assuming he left of his own free will’?”

“There is precedence in parts of vampire lore…”

“Which varies a lot depending on the cultural context. Vampires are not actually as uniform a group as generally perceived and…” Flynn held up his hands at Jenkins’ glare for the interruption, smiling sheepishly and gesturing for the former knight to proceed.

Which he did, after allowing the glare to linger a little longer, “It is believed that some vampires are capable of mind manipulation, especially strong when it comes to the vampire who turned them. There is a sort of psychic connection, or not quite…something conceptually rela…regardless, it is conceivable that Mr Stone did not leave entirely by choice, in which case we have to presume his location was also not his own decision. The vampire who turned him, most likely The Angler, decided.”

“But we don’t know whether or not he chose, so how do we decide where to search?”

“Well, if he chose to leave, at least we know he’s probably sort of safe? But if he was taken or forced then he’s not,” Eve began, “So without a way to be certain which it is, I say we try and track down this Angler guy. If he has Stone, we get him back, and if he doesn’t we at least finish the job we began last time.”

“Colonel, need I remind you that The Angler is not your average vampire? He has persisted for so long without being killed for a reason.”

“He hasn’t had three librarians and a guardian to face at the same time before,” she replied, “If he has Stone or is a threat to him in the future, we take him out.”

“And save the lives he would definitely keep taking,” Ezekiel added, “He’s not exactly going to stop.”

“And if Mr Stone is the bait specifically being used to lure all of you in?” Jenkins warned, “We do not know his plan. He turned Mr Stone for a reason, and it could very well be his intention to lure all the librarians and the guardian into a trap, and I do not believe I need to elaborate on just how disastrous the consequences would be were he able to get all of you.”

“It’s difficult to imagine another reason for him turning Stone,” Flynn agreed, “Unless he needs an eternal companion who happens to be an expert in art history or oil rigging.”

“You’re acting like there’s logic here,” Ezekiel argued, “We’re talking about a guy who for centuries lured people in to kill or turn them. Basically a serial killer, and that comes with whole other areas of logic and psychology that don’t exactly make sense to everyone else. I mean, he killed, not turned, the librarians who tried to stop him before, but he’s turned other people. Why? And has he used people as the bait before?”

“Ezekiel’s right,” Cassandra frowned, “We’re looking at this from our perspective. The library matters to us, but The Angler might not care about it. If he wanted any of us, he could have tried when we rescued Stone the first time.”

“We didn’t see him there the first time.”

“But he might still have been there. Jenkins said Stone was turned shortly before we arrived, right? And probably by The Angler.”

“So he let us escape with Stone?”

She shrugged, “Maybe. But, the point is, I think we need to look more into his history. Who The Angler targeted, and how and why. Where he operated, other than the places we already know.”

“We should also check the locations we know already,” Eve continued when no one objected to this approach, “Just in case Stone’s there. Ezekiel, you and I are on that. Surveillance and enquiries, and if we think there’s a lead we’ll figure out a plan of attack that includes all of us.”

“The rest of us will look into what we can on The Angler,” Cassandra nodded, “See if we can guess his plan.”

And hope that they could do all quickly enough to get Stone back before he could be harmed beyond their help. Maybe he was just hiding out somewhere very safe on his own, and he would turn up sometime when they were still looking into The Angler, or after and he’d just have been taking time to clear his head.

The basement where they had first found Stone was completely empty. No surprise there. After their attack, it seemed that the vampires left had cleared out.

The first two of their other possible locations to search were less empty and more just completely devoid of anything resembling a vampire. Or anything weird or magical or supernatural. Just a normal apartment building and a normal shop.

But the third was more promising.

Scoping it out beforehand from a distance showed that they never once opened the blinds or curtains on the windows, people only came and went at night, and those people just so happened not to be reflected in the dark windows.

“Okay, so,” Cassandra set down a tray of shot glasses containing a pink liquid, “Jenkins and I mixed this up. It should disguise any sound or scent we make from the vampires. We’ll still be visible, but it might at least give us an advantage.”

“How long does it last?” Eve asked, raising one glass and sniffing it, something she immediately regretted, “And what is in it?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“It should last an hour,” Jenkins said, “And it will not be easy to make more.”

“So, we know the plan?” Flynn asked, “We go in, clear each room, take out any vampires that are hostile and attempt to get a jump on The Angler if he’s there. Easy!”

Before they could say anything or, really, overthink the plan, he grabbed a shot glass, downed the potion with a grimace and turned to grab Excalibur, “Let’s go!”

From the outside, the target looked like a normal apartment building locked in between two other normal apartment buildings in a normal street.

Three stories high, steps up to the front door, foliage hanging from a balcony above, an intercom with four names listed beside the buttons. The only slightly conspicuous part of the building was that blinds were closed in every window. Not that odd in California, but it supported the theory that this was one of the vampire’s residences.

Then the names all matched one of his known victims.

The fact that it was bright daylight gave them a clear advantage.

The cloaking spell gave them an even greater one. Ezekiel could pick the lock on the front door, and they could walk in, knowing that the vampires would be unable to hear or smell them.

Eve gestured to the first room, stake held tight in her right arm.

Cassandra knocked and then ducked out of the way.

Eve waited.

The door opened, a brunette in a blue dress stood there, for a moment annoyed, and then angry. She threw herself at Eve too quickly for her to react and fight back, slamming her into the mailboxes behind and making an attempt to bite her, but the vampire hadn’t sensed anyone else, hadn’t seen them, and wasn’t prepared for Ezekiel to drive a stake through her heart from behind.

A moment of shock dispelled the feral expression, and then the vampire dissipated into sparks and ashes.

That noise had been heard, and now there was another vampire running at them, but not for long. Excalibur sliced cleanly through their neck and destroyed that one too.

The plan was that they stick together. Their strength in this moment relied on them being together, one or two of them hiding to get the jump when the vampire’s attacked someone they saw. Which meant they had to decide between the upper two floors or the basement.

A sharp, agonised scream from the latter decided it for them.

“Was that…” Cassandra whispered, not finishing the question because it and the answer were both perfectly obvious.

That was Stone’s voice.

“Come on,” Eve breathed, readying herself to open the door. Just as she did, she felt herself dragged forcefully back, hitting yet another wall, hard enough this time to have her vision blurring for a moment and her head ringing. More vampires were on them now, but Flynn was already running down towards the basement. Eve struggled up, dodging the vampire and surging forward to get her stake through the back of a vampire that tried to follow him. The one that had attacked her was already ash by the time she turned around, Jenkins wielding a sword as smoothly as he must have done as a knight. She gave a brief nod of thanks and went for the vampire that had backed Ezekiel into a corner and knocked Cassandra into the wall. It nearly managed to get her down too, but suddenly stopped abruptly, long enough for Eve to get her stake through the heart of that one too.

It disappeared and there was silence again.

Too much silence.

She checked them all over in one sweeping gaze. Ezekiel was helping Cassandra to her feet, checking on her, Jenkins was intently scanning the stairs for signs of more enemies, and the door to the basement was still open, Flynn somewhere beyond.

“Cover me,” she said to the others, moving quickly towards the door and down the dark enclosed stairs to a metal door, beyond which was a surprisingly well-lit concrete chamber.

It was really nothing more than that. Lights overhead and concrete floor and walls, which were completely bare other patches of dried or drying blood.

In the corner farthest from the stairs, she saw Flynn and Stone, just stood there for a second before suddenly Stone launched himself at Flynn, throwing a punch that she really hoped the obvious blood loss was going to make relatively weak.

Stone had a strong punch before she started training with him. It had become genuinely impressive after he worked on it.

As a vampire, it was potentially lethal.

The blow sent Flynn flying backwards, landing hard on the concrete. Jake was on him almost immediately, and Flynn was definitely out cold, no way was he going to be able to summon Excalibur to defend himself.

But Eve had been in motion too ever since she saw Stone about to attack, and now she threw all her body weight into dragging him off Flynn.

She readied herself for an attack, steeled against the emotional burden of having to potentially use serious force against her friend.

But no attack came.

Jake was stumbling back away from her, his expression so terrified she could barely stand to keep her gaze on him. But his eyes didn’t leave her face, even when he tripped and fell back into the wall.

There tears carving paths through the blood on his face as he finally looked away from her and towards Flynn.

Behind her, Eve heard the others running down the stairs, and within seconds, Ezekiel and Cassandra were sprinting over.

"We got him," Ezekiel said as he passed her.

Eve nodded and tore her eyes away just as Cassandra dropped to her knees in front of Stone.

Jenkins was knelt beside Flynn, propping him up gently as he started to come to, groaning and mumbling something incoherent.

"Flynn?" she said gently, tugging off her jacket and folding it to place under his head, "Flynn? You okay?"

"You gotta stop teaching him martial arts, Eve," Flynn muttered groggily, wincing as he opened his eyes and immediately closing them again.

She let out a soft laugh and moved over to try and get a better look at the injury. The punch had landed just below his right eye and he would probably have a horrible bruise by tomorrow. He almost certainly had a concussion, but he hadn’t been out for too long, which was the most reassuring thing.

"I'll get Mr Carson back to the library," Jenkins said, looking up and beyond Eve, "I believe you are needed here."

She looked back over her shoulder.

All three of the other librarians were kneeling on the floor now, Stone with his head buried against Cassandra's shoulder, and his right hand tightly gripping the fabric of Ezekiel's shirt. She couldn't see Cassandra's face, but from the hunch of her shoulders and the tears on Ezekiel's cheeks, Eve knew she was crying.

"Take a look at his head," Eve turned back to Jenkins, "Stone punched him hard. I don't know if he might..."

"I will take care of him, Colonel," Jenkins said calmly, "This is not the first serious head blow I have tended. Nor do I expect it will be the last."

She nodded, gave him a small smile, and bent to kiss Flynn lightly, "Try to be a good patient."

He mumbled something between "No promises," and "Always good," as Jenkins helped him to his feet.

Eve waited until she had watched them both disappear, and finally turned back to their other serious problem.

Finding Stone chained up and physically brutalised had been horrific, but right now Eve felt even that was preferable to seeing him like this, with his mind having been torn apart by whatever tricks that vampire had been playing.

As she walked around to kneel with them, she caught Cassandra's desperate expression, confused and afraid and desperately upset. Ezekiel's differed only in that some part of those emotions was subdued by a barely contained frustrated anger that had nowhere to be directed now The Angler was dead.

"Stone," Eve said softly, "Jake?"

He looked up, bright eyes seeming impossibly blue, and almost fumbled to release his grip on Ezekiel, half-falling forward to reach for her. Eve almost flinched back, but this was no threat. He didn't grab her neck, but touched it. Fingertips touching. Pressing lightly.

"You're alive," he rasped, eyes searching her face as his fingers remained on her neck.

She reached up and took his hand in both of hers, "Yeah. I'm alive."

"I-I thought...I saw..." he looked from her to Cassandra, to Ezekiel, seeming confused like he only just was realising they were there too.

"Is this real?"

Exactly the same question he had asked after he had first been turned, the words even more broken than they had been then.

"It's real," she replied, her voice cracking as she struggled to hold back her own tears.

He suddenly pulled his hand free of her’s, shifting away and looking between them as tears still streaked his face, “How the hell do I know?!”

"Ask me something only I would know," Eve suggested, remembering the forest and how she had been convinced it was their Jacob Stone talking from within the tree.

"Y-you're in my head. You know all the answers!"

“But only the ones you already know,” Cassandra said, struggling to find her voice through the sobs she had barely been holding back, and then letting the words tumble desperately from her, “Like, your mind couldn’t explain to you why the priors and likelihoods are effectively interchangeable in Bayesian inference, except in the rare instances that the likelihoods are in fact derivatives, albeit implicitly, of the input…”

Eve followed the stream of words she didn’t actually understand for about as long as she ever did, and quickly lost the thread. It didn’t matter, because she saw a look of hope flicker across Stone’s features as he listened, probably as utterly confused as she was.

“Did you get any of that?” Ezekiel asked, almost managing to make himself sound calm and casual, “Because I didn’t.”

“No,” Stone whispered.

"This is real. Whatever you saw before is gone," Eve continued, "The vampire who was making it happen is gone. Flynn killed him..."

"I saw him kill you."

That explained the punch Flynn had taken.

"He didn't," she continued, "I'm right here. But that vampire is not."

“Come back to the library with us. We’ll help you figure out what was and wasn’t real," Ezekiel added, lightly squeezing Stone's right shoulder, the left side being unnervingly soaked with blood, down the entire sleeve of his hoodie.

Slowly, Stone nodded, his eyes still shining with tears.

He stumbled to his feet, holding his left arm close, and let Ezekiel help him walk unsteadily with them to the back door, and back to the library.

Jenkins was waiting in the annex, already facing the door with the first aid kit set on the table behind him.

"Where's Flynn?" Eve asked, walking ahead and speaking quietly.

"Resting off his concussion," Jenkins replied, "I gave him something to help with the pain and swelling, but he will have a nasty bruise."

She nodded, "He's okay though?"

"He is," Jenkins replied, "And is..."

Eve glanced back to the other three, Stone leaning against a desk and looking no less shaken up than in the basement, "I don't know."

Jenkins inclined his head and stepped closer to the group, "Mr Stone. Would you kindly allow me to look at your injuries?"

Stone looked up, confused and then nervous.

“Here?”

“We can use your room if you’d rather.”

“Can you put the sigils back?”

Ezekiel was already shaking his head to object, “You want us to trap you again?”

“Please.”

Eve nodded, catching Cassandra and Ezekiel’s eyes significantly, “For now. Until you’re feeling more like yourself again.”

Cassandra stood, lightly touching Stone’s shoulder and hurried off to get what she needed for that spell, while Ezekiel began to help Stone towards his room.

Walking a pace behind them, Eve heard Stone ask quietly, “Where was it? Th-that place?”

“Just now?” Ezekiel had adopted the tone he used when he was trying to act calm and unconcerned, “LA.”

“Thought it was Portland…”

“Definitely LA.”

“Were there any,” Stone hesitated, stopping outside his room and looking in, “Have there been any murders? In LA or Portland or…or anywhere else?”

He didn’t really react as Jenkins ushered him inside to sit on the bed, looking to Ezekiel for an answer.

Eve found she was too.

Watching and hoping he would find nothing. The question alone made very clear what Stone believed he had done, and Eve hoped desperately it was a lie.

Stone had either been made to think he had killed people, or he had done so, and one of those was so, so much preferable to the other.

“I’m looking for animal attacks, stabbing with neck wounds, and anything else that a vampire attack might show up as,” Ezekiel pulled out his phone and explained before he began his task, “Across all states since I’m guessing you didn’t cross an ocean…adding to that Canada and Mexico to cover north and south…there are a lot of reports to sift through so this might take a while.”

“Nothing showed up in the clippings book,” Cassandra offered, looking in through the door with a stick of chalk in one hand, “Usually it would show us if there was something like that going on, right?”

It was unclear if that applied to incidents because of the librarians themselves, but thankfully no one brought that up to weaken Cassandra’s reassuring words.

“While Mr Jones peruses the Internet,” Jenkins said firmly, peeling off the bloody fabric of the hoodie sleeve he had cut while Ezekiel was talking, “Will you allow me to take care of that arm before it starts healing incorrectly?”

Stone lowered his gaze to the arm, “It’s broken.”

”Yes, I can see that,” Jenkins replied with a touch of familiar sarcasm in his patience, “We can immobilise it for now while we deal with your other injuries. Resetting it will not be straightforward, although I do believe I have done so before…not for some time, admittedly…Colonel if you would assist.”

There were two puncture wounds, deep and wide, on Stone’s left arm, near the shoulder. Stone thought they were gunshot wounds, but they definitely were not. Not from fangs either. Like he had been stabbed with something pronged.

They were bad, had bled a lot and that couldn’t be helping his fractured mind, but the worst part was that Stone thought Eve had done it. Had shot him, broken his arm.

“I would never,” she began as he explained quietly what he had seen, and what she wasn’t sure he entirely disbelieved yet.

“Even if I was a danger? If I lost control an’…an’ if I hurt one of you? Or worse?”

“We will never let that happen,” she said seriously.

“What if it already has?”

“If you mean you losing control and going feral vampire?” Ezekiel said, “I don’t think it has.”

He moved forward to sit beside Stone on his bed, showing him the phone screen while Jenkins and Ever finished dressing the wounds on his arm.

“I still have like twenty states and Mexico to search, but other than a lynx attack in Alaska, stabbings in Minnesota and Nevada, and a domestic dog attacking someone at a park in LA, there’s nothing so far that looks like even remotely like vampire killings, and half of those ones have victims who survived or who’s attackers were found,” Ezekiel said, “So, cowboy, if you’re thinking you went on a killing spree, you didn’t.”

“I saw them. Their blood…” he looked down at himself, his bloody t-shirt and arm held in a rigid splint, held firmly in place against him.

“All the blood on you right now looks like yours. From injuries we can see,” Eve said, “I agree with Ezekiel. It doesn’t seem like you killed anyone.”

Stone looked only half convinced, but that was still half better than a moment before.

“But I must’ve drank something,” he murmured, “I felt it. The…”

He cut himself short, a look of fear briefly overcoming his features.

“Conceivably you were given blood to drink by other vampires in the house, or the sensation may have been another trick,” Jenkins replied, carefully reaching over to pull the edge of Stone’s duvet over his right shoulder. He had started shivering.

“But what you think you did isn’t real,” Cassandra finished for him.

“Why?” Stone pulled the duvet as far around himself as he could with his right hand and without getting in the way of Jenkins’ medical work.

“To weaken you mentally and physically at once, to make you believe you had already slipped,” Jenkins replied, “I imagine The Angler was attempting to break you so that would join him.”

“That’s stupid,” Stone growled, a sudden animation and alertness in his pose and eyes, “Already slipped? Killin’ thirty people sure as hell doesn’t make killin’ the thirty first okay!”

“No, it doesn’t,” Eve said, “But we’re talking the logic of a centuries old serial killer here.”

“Our perspective doesn’t apply,” Stone whispered, all of that anger dissipated back into exhaustion.

He was going to need time to process everything, and to sort out what was and was not real.

Stone might not have been entirely convinced, but he accepted for now. Or, at least, didn’t have the energy to ask more questions or recount anything else of what he had seen.

He looked utterly drained. With the confusion and fear fading, be succumbed to the mental and bodily exhaustion from the past days. , The pain of resetting his elbow seemed to sap what little energy he had left.

Almost before Jenkins had finished stabilising his elbow, he was starting to fall asleep. They managed to keep him awake just long enough to be convinced to drink a bottle of the blood they still had stored to help with recovery and, more importantly from his perspective, staving off blood lust.

“We should keep watch,” Cassandra said as they left him sleeping apparently soundly, “I know we have spell but, just in case he thinks he’s back there again. Or it’s a trick or something.”

“Cassandra and I will take first watch,” Ezekiel volunteered, “You should check on Flynn.”

Eve nodded and squeezed his shoulder before turning to leave. She had checked on Flynn already, and when she walked into their room now, she saw him sleeping still. In a different position. And the ice pack she had removed from his head because it was melting was back on his head and melted.

It made her smile. It was very Flynn and very familiar.

She managed to catch maybe a few hours of sleep after climbing into bed, but the clock showed it can’t have been more than that.

“Can’t sleep?” Flynn mumbled sleepily.

“Not really,” she sighed, “How’s your head?”

“Painful. You have to stop teaching that man martial arts.”

“You said that already.”

“It merits saying twice. He hits like a 32 pound canon ball,” Flynn replied, “You find out why he did it?”

“He thought you killed me. The vampire made him think I was the one attacking him…”

“So when I killed The Angler, what he saw was me killing you,” Flynn summarised, “Combined with the pain and blood loss and whatever he was made to see before, he followed instinct and attacked…suppose I was lucky he didn’t do worse.”

They were very lucky. Stone could easily have killed Flynn. He must have been weakened a lot more than they realised, or had enough of his own consciousness to keep him from putting all his power into that punch, or biting straight into Flynn’s neck.

“How bad was he?” Flynn asked into the silence.

“I can’t tell…he thought he had gone on some sort of killing spree or something. Who knows what else that asshole made him believe. How does someone recover from something like that?!”

“With help, Eve. And we will help him.”

The question was how to help. All they could do was try to pick apart the tricks the vampire had played on him, and be there for him when he needed them.

Eve didn’t know if it was enough.

It didn’t feel like enough. Stone still had nightmares, still questioned whether this was real or yet another trick, still didn’t trust himself not to harm them, and he behaved like an echo of the man they knew.

She had decided, after almost two months of barely any progress, that she would reach out. One of the people she had served with had gone on to open a clinic and treated people who had suffered trauma. He might have some advice on how Eve could help Stone better, even just whatever vague ideas he could offer from the necessarily incomplete description of what had happened.

Or maybe Cassandra’s idea about talking with an existing vanpire wasn’t such a bad idea, as long as Stone agreed to it, which he probably would not. Or maybe the Monkey King could help with some wisdom or something…

Maybe she could just talk to Stone. Ask him if there was anything he could think of that might help.

Eve was a couple of paces from his door, intent on doing just that, when she heard voices already inside and paused. Ezekiel and Cassandra were on a job the clippings book had sent them on two days before.

Except it was definitely Ezekiel’s voice saying, “There’s gotta be a connection, right? I mean, they all suffer the same symptoms within weeks of each other, all of them completely unexplained. No cause the hospitals can identify.”

“And all but two of them live in the same town,” Cassandra continued and Eve leaned back against the wall to listen, “The only point of complete overlap is a museum. They all either visited it or work there.”

“The museum have an online gallery?” Stone asked tiredly.

“Yeah.”

There was silence for several minutes. Eve considered moving to join them, but didn’t want to interrupt what sounded like the closest to normal she had heard in months. Nor did she want to leave, to miss what came next.

“This, right here,” Stone broke off with a slightly pained sound, suggesting he had just done something to hurt his still healing arm, “This pot. Look at the red pigment, an’…an’ the finish.”

“Looks like a painted pot…”

“This pigment, the red, it doesn’t match the pigments used in the region this pot’s from. An’ look at the finish. The way the light plays off it…look at that…I’d need to see in person to be sure but it sure as hell doesn’t look like slip.”

“So…”

“It’s a fake, but nothin’ here says anything about a fake being on display,” Stone replied with genuine excitement in his voice, “An’ didn’t you say the victims they all had smallpox symptoms but not one tested positive for smallpox?”

“Yeah,” Cassandra replied, “The symptoms alone perfectly but no biochemical or microscopic method was able to identify the virus associated with any of them.”

“The region where this pot was made was nearly totally wiped out by smallpox.”

“So, you think maybe the real pot’s somewhere? And it’s giving people smallpox?”

“I dunno, maybe? To make a fake this good, an’ it is pretty good, someone’d need access to the real thing. Close up. An’ time.”

“The real one might be in the museum, just not on display,” Ezekiel said, “Museums only show a fraction of what they have. The rest is on archives just sitting there getting looked at maybe once every few years, and with really pretty shoddy security. Much easier to get into those than the museum if you forge the right pass.”

“Well, I guess we’re going to the museum,” Cassandra said, adding with just a hint of nervousness, “Want to join?”

Eve held her breath waiting for the answer.

Stone wasn’t healed up yet. Most of his injuries had faded almost entirely, but his arm had started to heal wrong after he banged it during a nightmare and Jenkins had to do a very painful-looking procedure to get it back into the right position.

It didn’t help that he refused to drink more than a minimal amount of blood each day, never a drop more. He needed to prove his own control to himself, and Eve understood that, but it delayed his healing and maybe made his mental struggles worse too.

And now he wasn’t replying.

He had withdrawn again, slipped back, but then he quietly replied, “Sure,” and Eve had to hold back a laugh of unexpected relief.

She quickly retreated before they came out, back to the annex, where Jenkins was working on something odd-looking.

“Stone’s going to go with them on this job,” Eve said quietly, grinning across the table at him.

The former knight smiled, a fondness in his expression as he looked up at her, “I dare say he is. I thought I saw some improvement of late.”

“I hadn’t…I thought…” she broke off, “You think he’s up for it?”

“I think only Mr Stone can know that.”

She nodded, and tried to bury her concern and her more outward relief, so that when the three eventually walked in she looked calm and casual and not at all on the edge of both utter joy and extreme worry.

“Hey guys,” she looked up from the papers she had not been reading on her desk, “Going somewhere?”

“To a museum!” Cassandra grinned, “Gotta find what’s giving people smallpox.”

Stone’s expression was guarded, giving away none of the anxiety he was surely feeling, stepping out of the library for the first time since they’d brought him back.

“You need back up?” Eve asked, looking pointedly at the sling supporting Stone’s left arm to hide the real reason she was asking - to know if they needed more people to help in case Stone’s mind fractured once out of the safety of the library.

Ezekiel and Cassandra both looked to Stone, who finally replied with no hint of false confidence. Just soft, calm, resolution.

“No, thanks,” he smiled softly at her, “We got this.”

The words held little meaning really, but his expression as he caught her eye, Eve understood perfectly what he really meant. Whether or not he felt ready, Stone needed to do this. He had to take that step now, before fear of leaving the library settled too deep.

She smiled back at him and nodded, let him know she understood, before the back door opened and in a moment all three were gone.

#the librarians #cw violence #cw blood #vampires because it’s spooky day #vampire!Stone #headaches #trauma #whump

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deryuj · 11 months

Text

Follow the curves

You wish you could focus on your case but truth be told, Connor is far too distracting.

(Or Connor is helping you with your case while you sketch him in your notebook instead)

Rating: General audience

Ship: Connor x gn!reader

I started my summer job and realized I have a lot of free time so I actually wrote a fanfic because I was bored. Enjoy!

p.s. Last time i wrote a fanfic was in 2017 and english isn't my first language, lol.

It's been three hours since you stepped your foot into the squeaky clean department. Also, it's been two hours and fifty-five minutes (minus ten minutes you spent making yourself a coffee and five minutes you took for a bathroom break, which was an excuse to just get up from your workspace and do something different) since you made yourself comfortable by your desk and started working again with the weird writings and drawings you found last night at the apartment, left by what you suspected was a deviant. Looking at the same set of lines for hours turned them into uncomprehensive scribbles and doodles at this point so you couldn't make anything out of them anyway. You needed to do something else rather than stare absent-mindedly at the same page for the next five hours until your shift is done.

You wish you could say you were going in circles with this investigation but honestly, there was no circle you could even walk in in the first place.

How frustrating.

With a soft sigh, you turned your gaze to your right where Connor sat way before you even arrived, his blue LED shining and flickering as his brown eyes stayed glued to the screen. It was funny that for an android he insisted to use computers to scroll through information like the rest of the DPD did. He didn't have to, it was probably more time-consuming and less efficient to do so, but somehow it was so endearing that he makes sure to act as human as possible and blend with the rest of his coworkers.

You haven't really spoken to him today though, he was assigned to you strictly because of the notes you discovered, it was the longest you have been in his presence, which is a bummer. Usually, you would see him casually follow Hank like a puppy, hand folded behind him, long legs easily matching his anger, quick steps, and a soft smile that was always plastered on his face. You weren't sure if he was designed to always smile or chose to do so, but you decided to believe that he wants it that way. Now though you could see that soft smile and adorable chocolate cowlick up close with him working mere centimeters away from you and you couldn't help but smile yourself.

Cyberlife sure did a great job designing him.

Connor was the newest addition to the team, assigned to help the lieutenant in his cases, which definitely did not make him happy since he oh so loved his broody and lone wolf reputation. You were pleased though, you never had a chance to work with an android (and you kinda never exactly did until now). You liked Connor, maybe more than you'd like to admit, and you found yourself doubting the whole 'friendship' if you could even call it that. Yes, he was an android and he definitely wasn't programmed to like everyone (based on his previous interactions with Gavin) but somehow you found yourself hoping that after all the small conversations you shared he, at least, considered you a friend because he liked you, not because his program told him so. Were you even making sense at this point?

You let out a soft sigh, reaching out to grab a half-empty cup of stale coffee before your eyes glided back to working Connor. He hasn't moved from his stiff position since morning, his warm eyes fixated on the computer screen, subtle nose twitches, jaw tightened, smooth hand gripping the notes you wrote down yesterday as he silently analyzed the same set of information written in your handwriting over and over again before looking up at the computer screen, trying to find some kind of clue on what exactly the deviant was trying to write down or show.

As if it was that easy to understand the maniacal scribbles they left behind before running away.

He looked so focused, so eager to prove himself and his skills to everyone that he completely shut himself off from the whole department and new information from his surroundings for now so nothing will take him out of the process of decoding the messages. You were almost curious if by any chance he knows you're watching him so shamelessly or if he even realized that you joined him by your desk to help almost three hours ago.

He was cute, really cute, and in some way you felt a little weird with choosing this word to describe a grown man, or more specifically someone designed to hunt down deviants and do it without any hesitation.

You'd rather keep your observations to yourself rather than get embarrassed though that's what you told yourself with your inner voice.

You comfortably leaned against your palm, letting your gaze dance across all the soft and sharp edges of his profile. His small, pretty nose, freckled artificial skin, pursed, plush lips, and extremely long lashes. Someone put all these details down into this single design just to make fun of you and your silly little crush on an android, that you were almost sure has no algorithm that could by any chance make him like you back. It was stupid, really, but God was he too pretty to not like.

Never mind your earlier praises, you hated Cyberlife for this design.

You felt your cheeks heat up just from thinking about this, definitely not your smartest thought of the day.

You tilted your head to the side, your hair moving with your move as you glanced at him from a slightly different angle. Still pretty. Dang.

One line, second line, join these two with another line.

Without thinking much your hand danced across your handy notebook, your pen leaving gentle lines and curves as you tried to memorize his pretty features. You weren't an amazing artist but you could at least make it resemble him. That's all you needed to do. You needed to convey his pretty profile somewhere where it won't disappear, somewhere you'll be able to look at whenever you'd feel like it, and not when Hank would get up from his desk to go to your communal kitchen with his partner in hand.

You poked the thin paper with the tip of your pen, spreading small, inked dots across his sketched cheek, dragged curled lines from his eye down to his cheek to mimic his long curtain of eyelashes, and made sure that the curve of his lips was the curviest, kissable line you ever drew on paper.

Your silly attempts caused you to let out a quiet snort. I mean the sketch wasn't bad… it's just that you finally caught up with what you were doing that caused you to realize that you were acting like a lovestruck teen if not worse than that.

Stupid- said your more sober side.

You still proudly looked down at the small sketch of Connor that popped up in the corner of your notebook, it was no longer accurate though since the model decided to finally rise his honey-filled eyes away from the screen and face you instead, clearly curious about what made you laugh during a long, boring investigation.

"What's wrong detective?" Your eyes snapped back up at his seeking expression, right in the middle of him tilting his head to the side as he would usually do whenever asking a question and being actually curious about it.

Now what?

"Ah" passed your lips before you could catch yourself. What exactly are you going to tell him and make it sound not weird?

"You draw a lot?" He took your silence as an answer and leaned in to trail his eyes along all the sketched lines, his lips curling into a soft smile to your dismay, a soft whir erupting from his chest.

You silently flipped your notebook to the next page, lips pursed as you turned your face away from him to hopefully regain your ability to say something smart rather than babble while looking at his handsome face. And yet he still watched you, or more like observed you, analyzing your mouth twitch, gaze shift, and muscle tense. Clearly, he was getting what we would call 'nervous' at his seemingly failed attempt at making a small talk and you couldn't help but feel a little guilty.

"Sometimes, helps me think or get myself to reboot" He could somehow understand the concept, maybe because you used a techy word he had some experience with.

He hummed in response, shifting comfortably in his seat, almost like he could feel his muscles sore from staying in one position, and looked down at the blank page, as if the drawing was still there and he was still taking in every single stroke of your pen.

"You are quite talented" He seemed honest, maybe there was a hint of something else, and you couldn't help but chuckle. There was something so innocent behind his words, he almost sounded excited to face a new quirk humans had.

He always liked those. The quirks. Things that made people unique and so interesting.

"I guess once I retire I'll move out somewhere quiet and spend the rest of my life painting landscapes" You mumbled sarcastically, your eyes rolling as you tried to get Connor off his path to compliment you more. He would always be painfully nice to get people to like him and accept him in the department. It worked, sure but you don't need him to get you flustered at work where people can see. Especially where that asshole Gavin can see and use it to make you annoyed.

He let out another soft, vibrating hum at your small joke, leaning down to comfortably lean against his smooth hand. He was thinking, processing and rinsing your words to find a suitable answer to your lighthearted response and hopefully match your tone.

"That sounds nice, I'm glad that for now, I can enjoy your work here at the department." He replied and you let your lips form a smile at his response. I mean you could interpret it as if he wanted to work with you more. You wouldn't complain, your work quality would suffer though. Or maybe you're looking too hard into it.

"Have you tried drawing Hank before?" You let out a sharp exhale from your mouth, your laugh stuck somewhere in your throat, safe from being let out to the world. You weren't sure if it was a joke or not, if it was it was funny, if it wasn't then it was cute but still, you don't want him to feel bad for laughing at him.

Connor didn't mind, in return, his plushy lips quirked up into a bigger smile, doe eyes narrowing as the smile finally reached them while he happily watched you light up after working with papers.

"Don't know, I guess I'll ask him if he wants to model, sounds like a cute date" You wanted to continue the banter, it was somehow of an anomaly to see Connor try to joke like this, hopefully, you weren't expecting too much of him. On the other hand, hopefully, Hank didn't hear that because even though you two are friends he'll scold you for joking around at his expense and giving 'the android weird ideas'.

In return he let out a quick, soft chuckle before clearing his throat to get back to his professional self, his pale cheeks dusted with a soft, blueish color. Seems like he doesn't want to make you feel bad for laughing at you as well.

"Sounds like a lovely evening" He admitted before falling silent once again, his brown, gooey eyes now staring deep into yours, analyzing you. In moments like this, you were always envious of how he can pretty much see through you and see what you think while you're left with his pretty face and zero ideas on what might be going on through his head.

"Let's… check the notes again and work through it together" You finally suggested, trying to put the awkward conversation (on your part) behind the door and focus back again on your actual job. You let Connor shift closer to you, his shoulder bumping against yours as you flipped pages back onto the one with your infamous little drawing.

Seeing the real deal up this close made you realize how much longer his lashes actually are, how his lips are far more softer than what you left on the paper and how many freckles you haven't even put down on your drawing.

You should probably try again, maybe at home.

Maybe with him in your apartment.

#connor rk800 #detroit become human #connor dbh #connor detroit become human #connor detroit: bh #connor x reader #connor x y/n #connor x you #dbh #detroit: bh #dbh fanfic #dbh rk800 #rk800 x reader #other #fanfic #dbh x reader

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dollywheeler · 10 months

Text

September 5th, 1996

Dear diary,

So far so good. Everything is back on track.

Cheer practice has officially started back up and I'm having so much fun with it! The new routine is amazing - Sandy did an amazing job with the choreography. I can't wait until I know it all by heart. We practiced for hours but we're only ten eight-counts in because though it's fun it's really intricate.

We're meeting up on Saturday for extra practice so we can train up the new recruits. They're all very nice too. Seriously, when did Freshmen get so talented? I sure as hell wasn't.

I probably need the extra practice more than them. I stayed an extra hour to go over it by myself and I'm still struggling with it.

But I'll get there. I just have to work harder on it.

Classes so far are okay as well. I've managed to work ahead on all subjects except English. It takes me so much longer than usual to get through the reading. I'll just have to force myself through the rest of the book on Sunday. Maybe if I'll read for a long enough period of time I'll forget it's for Mike's class.

On a better note, art has actually become more fun than last year. Will has given us some really creative assignments and he plays music while we work and allows us to talk. The talking is distracting, but he still listens to that weird music Mike used to complain about, and it's actually really good. Better than I remember it being, at least.

We're currently working with charcoal which I've never got to do before. It's messy as hell, especially when you still have half a school day to walk around with stained fingers after, but it's such a cool medium. I'm still working on sketches and getting a hang of it, but even my first attempts look so cool just because of the contrast between the dark charcoal and the paper.

I'm trying to draw this weird dream I remember having when I was younger. I don't know why I've suddenly been reminded of it - maybe because it took place in Will's old bedroom for some reason - but it's perfect for this assignment because the shapes are easy to make even with the harsh strokes of charcoal.

Mike has stopped trying to talk to me, but I notice him watching me in the hallway sometimes.

I think he told Nancy on me because she called me yesterday even though she usually only calls over the weekend. She didn't ask about Mike, just called to check in on me, but I'm not naive. Either way it was nice to hear her voice.

I hope she visits soon.

Love, Holly

#holly wheeler #mike wheeler #byler #stranger things #the third wheeler #fanfic #will byers

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dudewithastick · 1 year

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sneaky peek at my current wip (also the first wip i had in months) and some thots on it. i need to rant (complain) so bear with me

so far its going pretty good, it doesn’t look bad and thats cool bcs i defs wouldve given up if it did look bad at this point.

obviously this is some kind of realism style and its okay, its not the best, idc. what sucks is that i dont even want this style but its the only one i can do. like i wanna do cartoons and other artsy stuff with clear lines or just sketching. stuff i see online, but i CANNOT do it, no matter how hard i try. i will always do some realistic shadowing and then its over bcs the composition isnt right for me anymore. and i hate it bcs not only would my life be so much easier if i wouldnt fall into this kind of ‘realistic’ style, which is straight up a pain, id be so much more productive as well. but i’m some weird perfectionist dumbass (blame it on my virgo rising or whatever) so shading and tiny details it is.

speaking of details, i love that i accidentally built this wip on my sketch file, which was not nearly a good enough format and now the quality SUCKS ASS but thats nothing new to me so i’m just gonna accept that every detail i draw is like 5 pixels only and you can barely see them.

another thing i suck at is color theory. and when i started this project (yesterday) i was set on doing only b&w. literally 3 seconds in i used colors and i regretted it immediately bcs it looked good which meant i had to continue bcs we dont do half assed shit… so now i committed to color and i don’t understand color theory. like i can see it working but it doesn’t make sense and all i do is experiment bcs i see no sense or pattern (now i question my tiktok diagnosis of autism, neurodivergence and adhd)

at this point i have also given up at originality. im just copying my references picture, which is fine bcs i will never be able to draw a whole ass person, and i would defs not be satisfied if i wouldn’t add details. so now im stuck at drawing a whole military outfit and my reference picture is also only 9 pixels so i cant even make out what im drawing. i’m just guessing at this point.

okay for now the last part of my complaining… @blnk338 why did u choose such a unique mask for reaper? the way i struggled with the concept and its still not perfect but i dont wanna get hung up on it so i’m moving all over the place and going back to the mask every other minute… pretty sure the mask design alone took me 2 hours to put together so it made sense to my brain and then another 3 to design to my liking lmao

anyway this is a snippet of my current take on reaper from rwys, which so far is only the body but there will probs be eyes at some point, if i dont give up. first time in months, almost years of drawing something, so i guess big thanks to blink for giving me the motivation and a character to work on for fun. hopefully i can give an update on progress soon lol

#rwys #fanart #reaper #prawny draws #prawny complains #prawny rants #wip #teach me color theory pls i beg u #why did i choose the placement of my light source 3 hours in??#i am my own nemesis

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shy-urban-hobbit · 8 months

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Lucius heaved a heavy sigh, silently cursing Izzy (and himself. But Izzy moreso). He'd been sat in the Captain's cabin, minding his own business and trying to decipher his own shaky shorthand (the joys of trying to write from the back of an ill tempered mule) from the previous day to write an 'official' account when Izzy had stormed in and held a hand out expectantly. Lucius dropped the small tin of polish into his palm without comment whilst Izzy grumbled at him to stop taking his shit for fun now he had actual work to occupy his time (the First Mate didn't even stick around to make any comments as Stede started to grace Lucius with a lecture on stealing from fellow crew).

Jim had come in with an update on a merchant vessel Buttons had spotted on the horizon earlier about half way through and after Lucius had explained his side of things: Namely how when Izzy was helping to hide him from a certain somebody , he'd made a game out of lifting something off the First Mate and then seeing how long it would take Izzy to realise what was missing (old man was getting sloppy. He'd lifted that polish yesterday morning).

They dropped a casual "Depends what you use it for. He got me my knife back." With a shrug before sauntering back out the door and leaving him with expectant looks from both Captains (and ok, Jim was now on the list too).

"I'm sorry, I simply refuse to believe it, Lucius. You're nothing like the thieves and rogues at the Republic, or even those back in Barbados. You're educated and well spoken and-"

"Cheers, Mate." Ed interrupted, his tone of voice suggesting it was said in jest.

"Says the Gentleman Pirate." Lucius sighed, not bothering to look up from the work he'd resumed whilst reagailing the other two men with a very, very brief explanation in an attempt to feign nonchalance. "Besides, that's a bit of a generalisation isn't it? Who's to say I wasn't taken in off the streets by a kindly old bachelor and a lovely young woman who, coincidentally, turned out to be my maternal aunt?"

"I say," Stede gasped, looking at Lucius with wide eyes, "Is that what happened!?"

"No."

"Shame. That would be a fantastic story." Stede leaned towards Lucius slightly, now literally on the edge of his seat, "So what did happen."

At that Lucius did look up, looking thoroughly unimpressed, "No offence Captain. But my life isn't one of your novels and that's a part of it I really don't like to talk about if you don't mind."

Stede had the good grace to look slightly awkward, "Ah yes. Of course, didn't mean to pry. I'm still having trouble believing it though."

"Believe what you want. It's not going to change- shit! " Lucius cursed as the two journals he'd been working with and one of his sketch portfolios tumbled out of his arms and onto the floor as he got up to leave, scattering loose sheets of paper.

"Oh, let me help you with that"

Stede scurried over and knelt next to Lucius, helping him gather the papers whilst the younger man mumbled about how clumsy he was and that Stede didn't have to trouble himself.

"Thanks Captain." Lucius said with a grateful smile as he took the papers Stede held out to him.

"My pleasure Lucius, here let me get the door for you." Stede replied, doing just that, "Wouldn't do for you to drop them again."

"Indeed not."

Stede cocked his head at the smile Ed was giving him after he closed the door behind his scribe, "What?"

"Nothing."

"Isn't that one of Captain Bonnets?" Oluwande asked, momentarily distracting Lucius from the shiny bauble he was playing with.

"Yes. Yes it is." He held the gold and turquoise ring up for a second for everyone to see before it quickly disappeared into his pocket, "Just wanted to prove a point. I'll give it back. Meantime, any wagers on when he'll realise?"

"Never." Izzy immediately answered, "Poncy pack rat's probably got about five more that look exactly the same."

"You don't get to play." Lucius stated, waving a finger between Izzy and Jim, "I'm still mad at you two for dropping me in it." The two in question merely exchanged a look and a shrug.

Wagers and coins made their way to Lucius at a steady pace until someone clearing their throat from the doorway made everyone fall silent.

Ed sauntered in like he owned the place (which technically he did, being Captain), expression blank as he made a beeline towards Lucius.

"Everything alright, Captain?" He asked hoping to God he didn't sound as nervous as he felt.

Ed continued to stare him down and Lucius was starting to wonder if he was going to use the galley sink for attempted drowning number two as punishment for stealing from his boyfriend before Ed placed a gold piece on the table in front of him. "Put me down for three days." He said with a grin and a wink.

Lucius couldn't help but smile back, "Aye Captain.

#Our flag means death #Ofmd #our flag means death fanfic

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kibbits · 2 years

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It was so nice out yesterday, cool and windy but sunny, that I was inspired to sketch the first version of my dnd character from the campaign we are finishing, Beeli the Kid! And her mimic familiar (and taste-tester) Gun!

Sat outside and took a couple of hours of sketching to get a thumbnail and then an initial sketch I liked, then played around with the background (I need the practice and I wanted to challenge myself to make a fuller piece) ‘til I had something that felt complete! Pretty proud of it!!

dnd/character rambles under cut

She’s a bard/sorcerer, specifically with a wizard ritual caster feat so i could get a familiar hehe. We just fought the big bad (this is the first time I’ve ever finished a campaign!) and were writing epilogues

--She’s gonna go back to the big city with her newly found family, write a series of cooking books, and after some down time she’s gonna end up traveling with some of the gang, giving cooking lessons/tips to more monstrous races and performing cooking shows! She’s grown so much since she started out as an insecure little satyr being kicked out of her commune to have her overdue coming-of-age adventure.

Also her hair ended up being a bag of holding but for veggies only. She’d give a veggie to (almost?) every single friendly-ish NPC we encountered since the first time she swiped sugar cubes from under a sheriff’s nose and replaced them with carrots hehe

It was really nice (and definitely came back to bite us in the ass) that we (well, half the party --the monk and her) tried to do non-lethal beatdowns, even against big bosses and tried to rehabilitate them through being aggressively friendly, more than a bit clueless, and sometimes therapy and spontaneous underling promotion, such a fun campaign!

Fun fact,, Gun has more intelligence than her.... They share one brain cell (literally --familiar telepathy) and Gun has it most of the time. He uses it to think about snacks. He is still crying about those mashed potatoes laced with sedatives that he couldn’t eat)

#my art #dnd #beeli #beeli the kid #she's a bard and carves her instruments out of veggies #call that playing the vegetable medley #then she uses the scrap from carving to make soup! the magic gives it an extra kick #posting this at a time that is not 2:30am #that ivy and bottle refraction are gonna be fun to ink

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brella-boi · 1 year

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I can't believe the year has already gone. It went by so fast...

As per our tradition let's do a quick recap!

January: It was immediate work on new merch for a new years february update. This time it was focus on wooden charms.

February: I was ending my job contract that month, and didn't do much other than start listening to Lemon Demon and go a little insane.

March: Start of Merch and end of February I was doing donation commissions for helping Ukraine. Who knew this would be going on so long...

April: A month where I did NOTHING and I was a happy camper about that. Just straight up chillin

May: First time I decided to get out of my shell and start doing something fun with my life. I got my first car that month, and joined a local art group that sells art every saturday at a local park. The nicest people I hung around all summer, and this was the month where I worked on new prints to sell!

June: Preparations for artfight.... ref sheet hell.

July: Artfight

August: This was my holiday month!!! I barely drew because I also had a day job while on holiday. I was a wreck.

September: Back from holiday and out of a job again, I got to work on some new shop stuff in the meantime.

October: This month was a blur. I did some sketches here and there and worked a good bit on cosplay.

November: Everything Is On Fucking Fire. I may have skipped out on inktober and huevember this year, but I I did something so much worse instead. I was working day in day out this month without a moment break. I think I took maybe like 5 days off that entire month. It was neck breaking create new items for tabling at a con, neck breaking finishing kenku cosplay, and neck breaking family visit. Speedrun of everything. Im exhausted just thinking about it.

December: Month of strangling myself to do NOTHING. I travelled to america by myself. It's a tale and a half. I came home yesterday. I'm tired, I'm upset, I'm missing my luggage which has the kenku and other things I needed for christmas, I'm sick and my brain immediately wants to get back to work. Lord help me, two weeks was not enough with my friend to wind down

Here's to hoping that 2023 will be a better year. I've a lot of travel plans already, and I think art wise I just want to relax again. This year I've been breaking my neck over expanding my shop, and while I'll still like to make some new things, I'll be focusing on having fun like going to cons and tabling and meeting my friends. And have some time to relax and play games. I overwork myself way too much when given the time to do so.

Thank you everyone who have stuck around this year and hello to all the new people coming in!! I achieved my goal of drawing more bug themed stuff and will continue to do so! So here's to a whole new year in a week <3

#2022 #art #myart #archive #wow #i love you all so much #thank you for all yous support

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artofalyksandr · 8 months

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This piece has really been fighting me.

First of all: I started the first iteration of the sketch over six months ago the. Wasn’t happy with how it was turning out so I set it to the side.

I finally came back around to it a week or so ago and changed most of the poses and the character layout.

Got around to doing the line work (which took forever but I was expecting that bc I decided to draw four characters) and everything was going fine. My program was autosaving on the regular like it does. I moved on to the flat colors and things were still normal.

Then my program crashed. And when I reopened the program the version it pulled up had none of the flats. And it had forgotten the last bit of line work I’d done. I stared at my iPad screen for a solid minute before I just gave up and called it a night. The universe was telling me to stop.

Yesterday I’d finally calmed down enough to get back in the saddle. I finished up the last of the lines (again) and ‘dirty iced’ the flats (essentially I plopped a few swatches where they needed to go. Got halfway through round 2 of flats, made sure to manually save, and continued on, letting the program auto save as it does. Got all of the flats done (again) and what happens?

Program crash 2 electric boogaloo.

When I recovered the piece this time I had lost half my flats, but still had my dirty icing swatches. I was irritated but not so much that I set the piece down. Instead I refilled my water and got back to work, making sure to manually save any time I finished a major color block.

So now it’s the early hours of the morning, I’ve finished round 3 of the flats and I’m calling it quits for the night.

To any of my creator friends: remember to manually save regularly! You can’t rely on auto-save!!

#my art #digital art #my ocs #original character art #I’ve been on the struggle bus lately y’all #it’s been a time #remember to save regularly

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luveline · 3 years

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you know, I'm coming right back [Fred Weasley x Reader]

summary: you're a lonely artist and Fred is your adoring model

word count: 2.4k

tags: reader insert, lonely reader, artist reader, seventh year, kids in love, first kiss, getting together, pining, fluff, friends-to-lovers

It was easy for you, usually, to act fine. To feel fine. Any loneliness that clouded your life was pushed firmly into the depths of your thoughts. You tried to focus on the things that mattered, essays and charms and your art.

You loved to draw. You had sketchbooks filled to the brim with sketches, some half finished, others coloured and lined. You drew everything, though you struggled to bring anything from your memory. Everything you drew had to be done right there, right then, with unsuspecting models. You sketched students eating their dinner, scribbled side profiles when you managed a spare minute in class. But you're most impressive artwork was done in the library, where nothing moved. Everyone was silent. You had pages and pages of bored, tired looking students. When exams approached, you hurriedly copied down the expressions of people on the edge of depression and panic.

You had friends, ish. You knew people. You'd had intense friendships that somehow always ended in awkward drifting aparts. Well, you thought. There must be something wrong with me. They liked me before they didn't, so the fault must've been mine.

You huffed out a sigh, pressing your face deep into the textured page of your sketch book, breathing in the smell of charcoal. You were sketching the illusive Fred Weasley, who you'd never truly drawn before. Maybe you had scraps from your second or third year when you'd still attempted to draw moving objects before getting comfortable and accepting that still life was your forte.

He was maddeningly good lucking when his eyebrows puckered in concentration. He seemed to actually be studying for once, sat at a table with his brother, George, and housemates Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet.

You were sat by yourself, and couldn't help listening to his lilting voice as he bantered with his friends. They were talking about Umbridge (the current victim of the Hogwarts' student body hate train), and quidditch, and their recent ban from quidditch. You'd never played.

"Watch out, dolly fell asleep," said one of the girls.

You bit your lip. You'd been nicknamed dolly by the girls in your dorm because of your porcelain doll you'd had since childhood. Even though this year was your last, you still hadn't felt the need to hide her away. She made you feel much less anxious and alone.

The whole school knew, naturally.

"Don't get any funny ideas," said Angelina, to the twins.

"Come on Angie, you think so little of us?" said George.

"Yesterday I watched you trick a group of forth years into taking puking pastilles." Angelina said.

"It was hardly a trick. We told them they were multi-faceted," said George.

You could hear your heartbeat if you focused. It was in your ears. It bump, bump, bumped.

Bump bump. You flinched, a hand settled on your shoulder quickly moved.

"Wake up, dolly. Library's closing."

You squinted up into Fred's face, head halo'd by candlelight. Lifting your head from the wooden table, you stretched your neck to the left. It clicked.

"Uh..."

"Hmm?" You prompted him, smoothing your hair behind your ears.

"You have - dirt. On your face. Here-" He said, reaching forward. You closed your eyes as he gently wiped the skin above your eyebrow.

"It's charcoal."

"What?"

"It's not dirt," you said, peaking at him through your eyelashes. "It's charcoal."

He looked mildly surprised. You shifted, hoping to cover your sketch before he caught sight of it.

It didn't matter.

"It's me. My gorgeous dolly, you've created quite the masterpiece right there, haven't you? I look vexingly handsome, of course. Thought if that's a consequence of your skill or my handsomeness is anyones guess."

You were lost for words. "Uh, quite."

"Yes, yes, quite. Say, could I keep it?"

"... You want the drawing?"

"I'd love it, if that's okay."

"I," you quickly dug your thumbnail into the paper, tearing carefully at the centre. The paper came away a little ragged and smudged. "Of course. It's yours."

He handled it with care.

The librarian jingled her little bell again.

"Thank you. So, see you?"

"Yep," you agreed.

He nodded his head and bowed out with his friends. You tried not to feel paranoid at their laughter.

You were curled up in a hidden alcove, though it was hardly hidden. Most students knew where to seek privacy in the castle. You just so happened to get there first that evening.

You were trying to sketch Fred again. It felt weird to be missing a page from your book, and weirder still that you couldn't remember his face when he wasn't right in front of you. You tried, but it kept going wrong.

When you finally managed one you liked well enough, you had accidentally ruined it with a heavy hand and the wrong shade of brown.

He looked much too brunette.

You carefully rolled your coloured pencils back up, securing the leather ties tightly so as to keep every pencil confined.

Sighing morosely, you flipped to a new page. Things got so complicated sometimes, it made you agitated. You doodled a little sad face in the corner of your page. When the one thing that you enjoyed in life started to go wrong, it set off your whole mood.

Your birthday was coming up. It had been on your mind a lot lately. You'd spend it alone. That's what you figured. Nobody would know it was your birthday, or if they did, you weren't friends now, so...

You began with an arching circle, bisecting the lines appropriately. Feeling out the familiar lines of your own face came easy, the slight upper tilt of your brows, your hair and your pursed mouth. You always looked sad in the mirror, and it showed, dotted here and there when the only thing to draw was your own face.

The rudimentary outline of a birthday cake took form. The candles were unlit.

In a fit of unhappiness, you scratched out your mouth. It was never smiling.

"What did that piece of paper ever do to you?" said a voice.

You jumped. Fred was peering down at you curiously, wringing his hands. You put your pencil between the soft cover and smashed it flat, closed.

"Hi, dolly."

"Weasley."

"Oh, not even a first name?"

"You neglected mine first," you reasoned, rolling the words. He smiled at your joking tone.

"How rude of me. Hi, Y/N," he corrected himself.

"Hi, Weasley."

He smirked.

"Anymore of me in that blessed vessel?"

"Nah. You never stand still."

"If I pose for it?" He asked. You patted the ground in front of you.

He was a lovely model. He stayed infinitely still, more still than you imagined possible for him. He sat at a 3/4ths angle, chin up but not too far, mouth tilted and eyes open.

His eyes were the one thing he couldn't keep still. You tried not to flame in the cheeks everything you'd catch his gaze on you.

You sketched fast, choosing to hatch rather than render, big swooping lines to give the illusion of a depth that wasn't really there. You would've loved to do a full render, maybe even a colour portrait, but he was beginning to look a little antsy.

You set the book on the floor to face him and pushed it into his eyesight softlt. He turned. He looked nice like that, face bent, hair falling into his eyes.

After a moment, he began scrounging through his robe pockets. He set down a box, a lighter, a pair of gloves.

Finally, he set a galleon onto the floor close to your crossed legs.

"For you," he said, smiling at your inquisitive look. "For the drawing."

"Oh, I can't accept that. And I'd like to keep this one, if it's alright."

Fred thought for a moment. "Alright, you keep it. And the galleon, too, for the one you gave me the other day."

You bit back a smile. "I can't take your money, Fred."

"I can't keep having you draw me for free. It's as valuable a service as anything else. Plus, I'm not sure if you know, but I run a lucrative business these days."

You picked up the coin, rubbing your thumb against the engravings thoughtfully. "It's hardly a service."

"A talent, then. A skill. You're very good."

You're neck almost snapped as you looked into his face, wanting to assess his expression for genuineness. He looked earnest, and kind. You blinked away the gathering heat behind your eyes.

"Thank you."

He waved a hand at you. "Think nothing of it."

"Really-" you cleared your throat, "-you're doing me a favour. I'm not good at drawing things that move."

"I'm sure you're better than you think," he said.

You shook your head, smiling smiling smiling.

"What's in the box?"

"Oh, this old thing?" Fred weighed the box in his hands. It was soft at the corners, like a simple jewelry box that you had in your trunk. He offered it to you. You opened it carefully, the lid sliding free with a shhhhh sound. Inside was an evil looking fruit pastille, a match stick and a dried up flower petal.

It felt like a very private thing to see, suddenly. Such an eclectic collection of items couldn't be random.

"The first puking pastille George and I made. Or rather, the second - the first was forcibly fed to Lee Jordan in our third year. The match stick is from my Uncle's matchbox. I never met him. And the flower was from Ginny, when she was 9." He sounded nervous.

"It's a memory box."

"I- yes. It is. Things are sometimes so miserable now, with Umbridge and you-know-who. Scary, even. I look at them when I feel like it won't ever end."

You took them in for a little while longer and then placed the lid onto the box with nimble fingers. You scratched the lid with a fingernail.

"It's nice. You're right. Things are so awful right now, it's good to have reminders of why we keep going."

"Exaclty. Dolly, can I interest you in a fruit pastille?"

"Not on your life."

"They're perfectly edible!"

"Sure, Fred."

The honest conversation you'd shared with Fred was a catalyst between you. He often came to find you, each time whining and nagging you to just sit in the library like most people do.

"What, so your housemates can throw paper balls at me?"

"They thought you were sleeping!"

A likely story, you thought. He sometimes asked you to draw him, posing with the elegance of a natural born model. It was great for you personally, you felt that you were really getting a feel for his face. Eventually, you were able to draw his face from memory, the details of his nose coming to your fingers as easily as a first year spell.

It became about capturing emotion. You could capture his likeness now without a second thought, but his emotions were much more complicated. How would you show his veiled frustration the day Umbridge kicked him off the quidditch team? Through the clenching of his jaw? The shy veins in his forehead? How did you showcase the fear when he'd come back to Hogwarts after Christmas break, through his eyes, downturned and squinting just a little?

Today, it was poorly hidden elation. "How come you're so happy?" You asked, pencil between your teeth. He grinned. You measured his face with your thumb in the air, forming an L.

"Is it a prank?"

"You're thinking too small."

"A new product?"

"Still need to go bigger!"

"Hmmm," you hummed. Measure twice, cut once. Or in your case, sketch once.

"George and I, we're gonna open a shop."

"A section at Zonko's isn't enough for you?" You asked, casually, though you were very very happy for him.

"It's going to be amazing. We're going to run it, just the two of us, and you won't catch me in these scrappy long sleeves anymore. The next time you see me, I'll be in a full suit and tie."

"The next time? Is that not tomorrow?"

Fred closed his mouth, realising his mistake. He had revealed something he hadn't intended to. "We're leaving," he confessed. "We were going to wait for our NEWTs but... Well, we won't need them. This is going to work."

"So. You're leaving today?" You asked, crestfallen.

"Hey," Fred said, rubbing a placating hand over the curve of your shoulder. "Tomorrow. During the DADA OWL. We have a plan."

"This is goodbye?"

"No! No. Not if you don't want it to be. Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, and maybe now isn't the best time, I had this whole letter planned and I didn't want to distract you from your exams and-"

"What do you want to ask me?"

Fred straightened. "I wanted to ask - will you go out with me? Not, you don't have to be my girlfriend if it's too soon, I'd love to take you for food someplace, I was going to ask you to Hogsmeade, but when the shop officially became ours, the plans changed so fast and I didn't know if you'd still want-" you cut off his rambling.

"I'll be your girlfriend," you said.

"You will?"

"Sure, if you'll be my boyfriend," you murmured.

Fred moved the arm that had been on your shoulder to the nape of your neck. "That's a dealbreaker," he said, leaning in.

He kissed you chastely on the lips first and then pulled back to look into your face. You chased him, a moment of bravery, and opened your mouth to taste him. He was sweet, like sugar. Your sketch pad crinkled beneath you both as he pressed forward. Your chests touched, heaving.

"You're not gonna be my boyfriend?" You asked against his mouth, breathing hard.

"I'm gonna be much more than that, dolly," he said heatedly.

Your mouth was tingling. "Kiss me again?"

You gasped at the force of him, laughing. He laughed too against your lips, and the sound tickled. He gave you a multitude of short and sweet kisses before pulling away again.

He wiped the wetness from your lip with his pinky finger. "Godric, you're cute. Look how flushed you are! You're insane."

Something churned in your stomach. The butterflies had acquired a trampoline. You felt happier than you had in a very long time. "You're not half-bad yourself, Weasley."

#listened to boyfriend by big time rush while writing hahaha #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley #fred #fred weasly x reader #sad reader #reader insert #artist reader #fred weasley fluff #sorry for the big blocks of text tumblr has a 250 paragraph limit #why woukd they do that

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bvccy · 3 years

Note

Hi!!! Hope you're doing great

Can I please have a mix between number 2 from the soft and 8 from the dark one

Thanks, lost of love ❤❤❤

Thank you so much, nonnie! I am so sorry this took so long, I meant to post yesterday but it wasn’t done. Also, the 8th dark prompt was requested just before you sent in this one, so that is filled separately here.

I tried to do the mix you asked for, and I took the liberty of writing this with Bucky (specifically 40s!BB), and I hope that it’s ok. It’s a bit of a more specific story, actually, that I’d wanted to write for a while. I also did a kind of first for me, because it involves Steve x reader as a backdrop 😂 Anyway.

Lots of love to you too, my dear! 💗💗💗

— PAIRING: soft!dark!Bucky x Reader • preserum!Steve x Reader — PROMPT: Asteria - gazing at one’s object of affection, from afar + Prassius - an impossible desire, and unclean love — LINKS: Masterlist • love stones prompt list — WORDCOUNT: 2.5k

It had taken long enough, and sometimes it seemed like it would never happen, but he finally found Steve a girlfriend — or rather, his girlfriend found him one. Dottie had exhausted several of her close friends and most acquaintances, but she knew how tired Bucky was of seeing his friend mope around, feeling like a third wheel, getting into trouble to pass the time. And honestly she liked Steve too, just not like that — but, wonder-worker that she was, Dottie found a girl that did.

She agreed to come on a double-date one night, and she and Stevie hit it right off. It was the first time Bucky met her too, and he didn't think much of the girl. Small, shy, not quite sickly-looking but not far from it, shoes a bit scuffed, clothes a bit too big for her and smelling of plain soap — in a word: perfect. She was perfect for his sickly, skinny friend who nobody else wanted, and by the looks of things, nobody had wanted her either because she seemed to have no idea what to do around a dance hall. As they were returning home that night, he even heard her confess to Steve that she had never been to one before.

They went out on two more dates, all four of them, within as many weeks. Bucky loved to dance, and Dottie too, but Steve and his girl weren't so fond of tripping over their feet and being laughed at. So they sat together at the table like a pair of broken toys, sharing an ice cream sundae, swinging shoulder-to-shoulder with the music when they liked the tune. Bucky waved at them when their eyes met, and they waved back and cheered at his dancefloor performance, but that happened less and less as they got caught up in each other. Steve would start to sketch things on the napkins while they chatted: the band, the sea of dancers, the fancy chandeliers, and eventually her.

"She said nobody's ever drawn her picture before," his friend said dreamily as they walked back, after they wished a good night to the girls. "Can you believe that?"

"Sure can…"

"She almost didn't let me do it. But she's so pretty, Buck."

"Mhm, nice girl."

"I mean yeah, she's no Dottie, but… I don't know, there's just somethin' I like so much about her… I guess her eyes, the way they look when she's smiling, or how her hair looks when the sun shines on it…"

"Get a load a' you," he grinned, wrapping his arm around Steve's shoulder in a playful grip that moved his friend's whole body. "One dame's sweet on you, and all of a sudden you're Romeo."

"At least I'm not a punk like you," Steve teased, slipping from his grasp.

"You know what I like best about her?"

"What?" he asked, with a hint of jealousy.

But Bucky smirked without a care. "How she keeps you out of trouble."

It had, indeed, been a while since Steve got in an alley brawl, and by their fifth date his last few bruises healed. He'd almost gotten into one by a cotton candy stand at Coney Island, but his girl was there to pull him back.

"Stevie, leave him alone…"

"You heard what he said?!"

"Who cares," she sighed, clinging to his arm and throwing the other man a hateful look. "Come on, didn't you want to win me that stuffed teddy bear?"

"Better listen to your girl, pal."

"Oh go find a sty to wallow in," she hissed.

"I ought'a smack some manners into you, you two-bit broad!"

"I'd worry about my own manners if I were you, buddy." Bucky slipped between them, coming from behind, standing now close enough to punch the guy if things got heated. But, seeing himself outnumbered, the other man cursed them and left. Just then, Dottie finally caught up.

"What's going on?" she asked, a little out of breath.

Bucky turned around, and was met by the heart-melting sight of Steve and his girl holding each other, her hands on his cheeks as she quietly chastised him, but loving enough that it made him smile and giggle. She closed it with a kiss to his cheek that made the boy blush, and a kittenish rub of their noses together.

"Nothing, everything's fine."

It was around the time they went to see a movie together that Bucky's joy for Steve turned into something else. They sat in the back while some musical played, and through the flashing lights and the corner of his eye, he could see his friend with his sweetheart holding hands on top of her lap throughout the whole performance. Meanwhile Dottie kept rubbing up against him, sometimes leaning her head on his shoulder, daring in the darker scenes to kiss his neck, but when she tried to get more of his attention —

"Buckyyy, what's wrong?"

— he shook her off. Hearing his name spoken by her voice suddenly felt disappointing.

He caught himself staring more and more, and not just when they went out together. Sometimes, the girl came by and spent some time with Steve, looking at his newer sketches, trying her hand too — oh and how disgusting they looked, Steve taking advantage of the situation to sit behind, and wrap his arms around her, and whisper in her ear. The pair greeted him cheerfully when he stepped through the living room and caught them, and he grinned back at them as he took a glass of milk, but all his appetite was gone.

And when they walked together through the park, and he saw them holding hands again… When Steve dug for some change to get her an ice cream, and they giggled stupidly as they made a mess of sharing it… When she fell asleep by his side one night at the dance hall, and Stevie woke her up with a tickle down her cheek, and she shivered and murmured like a bird and hid her face in his unworthy shoulder…

"Why don't you ever wanna dance, doll?" he asked as they were fetching drinks.

"Not much good at it, I guess," she shrugged. "The fast ones make me dizzy and I always trip."

"I can teach you. It'll work out great! Stevie teaches you to draw, I teach you how to dance… What do you say?"

The girl seemed to think, but shook her head. "Hmmm… No, not right now. Thanks," she smiled politely. "Besides, what would Stevie do meanwhile?"

She told him no just for the sake of keeping his scrawny little friend company, and Bucky had never felt more insulted — not that she wouldn't dance with him, although that hurt enough, but that he couldn't remember the last dame that gave something up just to stick with him, or got into fights for him, or kissed his wounds away, or held his hand in hers with no ulterior motive, and he'd found a girl that did that, and he wasted her on Steve.

So what if she was a little on the smaller side? So what if her dresses didn't fit right? So what if she came down with the cold at every change of season? He put up with it for Steve and he wasn't half as charming. The girl, instead, looked very delicate, more feminine in her own way, like when she braced her fingers on a table as she talked and mindlessly swung back and forth, animated in whatever she was saying, and her digits bent in such a childish way he feared they'd break, and it only made him want to kiss them. Or when she took her shoes off when she came to their apartment and he could catch a hint of shapely ankle, just perfect for his grip, or a peachy pink instep small enough to fit his palm. And when she fell asleep on their couch that one time and Bucky saw her all curled up, and noticed the arch of her hips and the cinch of her waist and pictured how good it would feel to hold them, and angle them upward, and…

Slowly, he started to appreciate some of what his friend had said that night, because she did have lovely eyes, and hair that looked so soft and warm, and her scent, unburdened by perfume, was sweet and girlish, and her lips looked kissable, and her wrists and knees and ankles too…

"Going out again, tonight?" he asked as the blond boy fixed himself in the mirror.

"Yeah, she wants to try this new place we —"

"Alright, alright…" sighed Bucky, already sick of hearing more. "So, that's all you're gonna do?"

"Well… yeah."

And then he voiced an evil thought. "Don't you ever want to… you know?"

"Y-you think we should?" Steve asked, turning away from his pallid reflection.

Bucky sat sprawled across the couch, and shrugged. "If she really likes you, she'd be up for it, don't you think?"

"I don't know about that, Buck."

"No? Ok," he nodded. "After all, what do I know?"

The aftermath of this particular advice was a draught of dates for poor ol' Steve, because just like Bucky had expected, the girl shrinked at the suggestion and couldn't stand to see him. For a while.

"Can you believe it, Buck?!"

"Yeah…"

"She'll see me again!"

"That's great, Stevie."

"What's wrong? You're lookin' real dour today."

Bucky knew he shouldn't. "I just…" He knew that it was wrong. "Look, it's great that she's forgiven you, but you gotta be realistic about this, pal." He had been happy for Steve at one point, long ago.

"What do you mean?"

But that was before he saw just how much love a girl could give, and realised he'd never felt it.

"Just don't delude yourself this is anything more than what it looks like, ok? She's only forgiven you because she knows nobody else will have her."

"That's mean, Buck."

"Yeah, well… I'm just looking out for you. You're my best friend, you know that. I don't want you getting hurt." It stuck in his throat to say it, but the bitterness stuck more.

And after Steve went to bed that night, Bucky took out the box of candy and the pricey perfume he had bought for her, threw them in the trash, and firmly promised to himself to never wait too long again.

But as he learned a bit later on, when they went back to double-dates, he might not have had a chance at all, because there was an unwitting element of truth to this cruel tirade.

"I can't exactly blame you, honey," Dottie consoled her as they stood in line for the ladies room, not knowing Bucky was just behind the thin divider leading to the men's. "If he does something like that again, I know this other fella —"

"Oh no, Dot, please… We're fine now. He explained things and… he's really sweet, I think he just had a moment of —"

"But just let me introduce you to Jim, see if you don't like him better."

"I… I don't know."

"He's a real charmer," Dottie grinned, "and he has these big, broad hands, jaw like an anvil. He just broke it off with Marcie cause she was a flirt."

He didn't hear anything next, but the girl must've shook her head cause Dottie asked, "You're sure?" and "Really? Well, if you change your mind…"

"Thanks, Dot," she lightly laughed.

"I don't know why you're so stubborn though, it's not like he's that far out your league. You just need to fix your hair a little bit and get a better brand of powder."

"It's not that easy."

"It's all it took me to get Bucky on my arm. That, and a better set of heels," she laughed.

"Yeah but you've always been pretty, Dot. Like, really pretty, and you know it. I guess some girls are for the James Barnes of this world, and some are the for the Steves."

She giggled as she said it, with not a hint of anger or resentment, and that's what stung the worst.

Bucky arranged to go see a late night movie with Dottie after that, while Steve and his girl went back to the apartment to listen to a boxing match on the radio and have some cherry sodas. Dottie went ahead to buy the tickets while Bucky walked them home, and after wishing him good night, she went upstairs to set things up. Steve was meant to go to the store and buy the drinks, but he stayed to chat with his friend a while.

"I can get some eggs and milk as well while I'm at it," he offered, swinging on his heels with his hands in his pockets.

"Sure."

"Or do we have enough for breakfast tomorrow?"

"Go ahead and buy them, pal," Bucky smiled, pretending to be less tired than he felt.

"Ok. And what about — darn!"

"What is it?"

"I just realized, I forgot to give her the keys," he said, taking a hand out of his pocket and holding them out. "I gotta get to the store, can you go up and give them to her?"

"Er, why don't —"

"You know I always trip on the stairs when I'm in hurry, Buck, they haven't changed the lightbulb yet. Don't make me do it."

"Fine, I'll go."

"I owe you big."

"You always do," he grinned, and took the keys from him.

Steve made off for the corner store, while Bucky started the long slow climb upstairs. It was completely dark inside at that hour, and the few candles some neighbours left to light the way had all gone out.

"Stevie, is that you?" he heard her call, standing right outside their door.

He kept one hand against the wall and walked his way toward her, stopping as he heard her whisper, "I think I lost the keys."

Blindly, she moved her hand forward, coming right across his chest. He felt her jolt at the unexpected contact, then burst into a giggle. Bucky could already feel the fanning of her breath right at the level of his chin. With an unseen smile, he took her hand, and placed the keys within it.

"Oh," she laughed. "You had them."

As her hand closed around them his own moved up her shoulder, fingers threading around her hair, and as he touched her jaw he felt her tilting slightly upward, shivering under the feeling.

"Is everything alright?" she asked.

He felt the warming tickle of her breath as he leaned close until, through the pitch black, he touched his lips to hers. Bucky did it lightly, just a little, just enough to taste and sip a kind of love he'd never really had. She stood surprised but took his kiss, and he felt her smiling into it, even beginning to kiss back just as he was parting from her.

"Your lips are softer than before," she giggled, in a sweet but altogether crushing way that made Bucky's heart beat stronger. "Stevie?"

Her hand moved through the air to touch him but felt nothing anymore, and down the stairs the heavy steps echoed, moving downward and away.

#James Buchanan Barnes #Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes imagine #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #Bucky Barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes #Steve Rogers imagine #Steve Rogers x reader #40s Bucky Barnes #preserum Steve Rogers #bv;answers #bv;fanfiction #bv;oneshots

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danielxricciardo · 3 years

Note

Hi love the writing! Could you do something angsty around 26 or 35 with max??

Summary: You found out Max cheated on you

Warnings: angst, swearing

Word count: 2.5k

26. “Those things you said yesterday, did you mean them?”

35. “What will you do if we break up?”

'Max is looking at you' you read what your best friend Anthony, an engineer at Red Bull Racing, wrote.

And you worked at Red Bull Racing too, you decided with Max Verstappen, your boyfriend, that this is the best way for you to travel with him. You didn't have a complicated job. You dealt with filtering the negative ad on the team and then you gave it to Victoria to deal with the articles as she knew.

'Okay, let him look,' you write on the piece of paper that Anthony wrote quickly on.

You were at a meeting with all the Red Bull Racing employees, to your bad luck. Being in the same room with Max Verstappen was the last thing you wanted at the time.

Sure, your relationship was beautiful, or it had been anyway. He was whatever you wished from a man and more. He looked like a bad boy but he was the cutest and most thoughtful man you knew and he made you feel safe even when you couldn't see him.

His words still resonate in your mind and you had to make a supernatural effort not to cry.

You knew Max Verstappen loved you. He told you that every day and showed you through the gestures he made. He never gave you a reason to doubt him, and you didn't look for scandal either.

But every time you saw her, a lump appeared in your stomach. Without wanting to, you became careful around you, looking for her or Max. When you saw them talking, you looked for any excuse to go near them.

But your fear was unfounded, wasn't it? Max loved you, you were together for two years and you were fine.

But you also looked at her. She had also had a long-term relationship with Daniil Kvyat, a relationship of almost three years and they have a little girl together. There can be nothing between them.

Anthony has told you several times that Max and Kelly have been spending a lot of time together, at least lately, and you said you weren't worried. Why would you be?

But last night all your worries and fears came upon you at once. Anthony told you he saw Max leave the paddock with Kelly and didn't come back for about three hours. He didn't want to pay attention to this thing but when Anthony went to the driver to show him some sketches he noticed a small bruise on the backside of his neck.

"Really?" he tells you laughing. "How old are you to leave hickeys on your skin? Only teenagers still do that."

You felt all the color drained from your face. Hickey? You never left anything like that on his skin.

Anthony probably realized that what he said was not about you.

"Y/N... I'm so sorry..."

"It's ok," you say and smile at him even though you wanted to die at that moment. "I need a little bath, I'll be right back," you say and get up from the chair.

You started crying in the bathroom. You were disappointed, scared, disgusted, and shocked. To learn that someone you trusted unconditionally had been lying, cheating, and had developed an emotional bond with another woman behind your back was not registering in your brain.

Yes, you weren't a model, you didn't look like one, but Max always told you that you were perfect and that no other woman compares to you.

You literally could not wrap your head around what was happening...

You hoped that your darkest thoughts would never come true, but they did. Max and Kelly. Together. Behind your back.

It feels like every nerve in your body has either frozen or left your vessel completely. Your body literally enters a state of shock; adrenaline. You are absolutely stripped. Vulnerability. Disbelief. Disgust. Horror. Anger. Confusion. Shattering, crippling, traumatizing heartbreak.

Trust, honesty, and respect are necessary for a relationship, and Max just shattered all three at once. You have been the victim of an emotional crime. You ask yourself, how could this person fuck me over like this?

I trusted them.

I loved them.

I was loyal to them.

I kept my end of the fucking bargain.

How could you emotionally manipulate me?

What was I lacking?

Am I the problem?

Truly sickening, reality-twisting, mind-fucking stuff. You just couldn't believe that this was happening to you. Infidelity is something you hear about quite often, in books, movies, the media, or to other people, but not to you. This was somebody you loved with all of your heart, who told you he loved you, who had never shown the slightest inclination of dishonesty or moral transgression or disloyalty.

"Y/N, are you okay?" you heard Anthony behind the door, the fear and worry present in his voice.

"I'm fine," you say, though no one would have believed you. "I'll be there in a moment."

You splashed some water on your face, looked in the mirror, and bit your lip. You looked like hell. The eyes were red, the small veins that irrigated the eyeballs were broken, the face was red, in a combination between the violent crying crisis and the anger you had.

What were you going to do? Will you pretend you didn't know anything? Will you tell him you knew? Were you going to break up with him or were you going to wait for him to break up with you to be with Kelly?

You finally came out of the bathroom and Anthony was waiting for you at the door. He hugged you tight and assured you that everything would be fine. But he had no way of knowing that. It was nothing more than his simple hope that his best friend would not lose her fucking mind.

The phone starts ringing. Anthony lets you go and he goes to see who's calling you. He gives you a worried look. You immediately realized that it was Max who was calling you. Tears began to flow down your cheeks again and Anthony took your reaction as an invitation for him to answer the phone.

"Hey, man," he replies, and you don't hear what Max is saying. "No, she went for a coffee and left her phone on the table. Okay, I'll tell her. Okay, bye."

You approach him after he's finished the call to make sure you don't hear Max's voice.

"He said to go to his room."

"I don't want to see him."

"I realized that. Let's go, we'll deal with this problem later."

You went for a walk. The fresh air calmed you down a bit, but you had all kinds of thoughts in your mind.

How many times has this happened? Did you really want to know that? You really wanted to know how many times he kissed her and then he would come to you and tell you that he loves you.

If Anthony hadn't seen the hickey, how many more times did he planned to cheat on you?

Did he love her? That would have hurt you the most, knowing that you failed to give Max the love he needed and had to look for it in the arms and bed of another woman.

"Just know that I understand your feelings. I've been through this myself." Anthony breaks the silence and you look at him. "To be cheated on, it's a feeling of helplessness and zero self-worth. You feel as if you didn't do enough for that person which is why they reached out for someone else sexually or romantically. You blame it on yourself half the time. You dig for answers in your memories to try to figure out where you went wrong, where things started to go in a different direction. You hope that it won't happen again. You hope that the saying "once a cheater, always a cheater" it's just a myth. They broke your trust, how could you ever trust them again, right? You become paranoid when they go out at night or they don't answer your phone calls by the first ring. You find yourself having more down and depressed days than happy days. And a lot of questions will always replay in the back of your mind. Why? Why now? Why with them? How could this be happening to you? No matter how many times you get an answer, it won't be enough. Day after day, it'll get better but worse at the same time."

After two hours you returned to the paddock. You were immediately notified that Max was looking for you everywhere and he was worried he couldn't find you. Ironic, isn't it?

"Y/N!" you hear Max's voice.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" Anthony asks, standing in front of you to block your image of Max.

"No, it's okay. I'll handle it somehow..."

Anthony nods and leaves, staring angrily at Max.

"Hey, I was looking for you everywhere. Are you okay? Your eyes are a little red." he asks and if you didn't know better you'd think he cared.

"Let's go somewhere private."

You went to his room. You sat on his bed and thought about what you could say. You were thinking about what Anthony told you when you walked together.

Max hands you a dose of Red Bull and you take it, feeling your throat very dry.

"We need to talk," you tell him and you feel your eyes start to sting. It was not yet time to start crying.

"Okay? Is something wrong?"

"Is it true what Anthony told me?" you ask and you see that Max doesn't know what you mean; how would he know? "Is it true that you and Kelly spent some time together?"

His face went blank for a moment as he tried to understand.

"What you mean?"

You reach out your trembling hand to the collar of his polo shirt to lower it where Anthony told you it was the mark.

And Anthony was right. There was, in front of you, the hickey Kelly made on him.

Max didn't expect that. He looks at you with wide eyes and you hear his heart start beating harder. Sweat dripped down his forehead.

He looked away from you, numb. You discovered his secret. You didn't know if he was afraid of your reaction or sorry you found out his little secret.

"I didn't intend to hurt you," he says, and you realize he's telling the truth.

He had a guttural voice.

You smile at them. A broken smile that hid the primordial desire to cry and hit him with all your best.

"I don't care about your intentions. They're irrelevant. You didn't intend to hurt me? Well, you didn't intentionally try to keep me from harm either."

You don't know where you had the strength to look into his eyes and not cry. Max looks crushed. Because you found out? Because you're breaking up? Because he has to put an end to the affair with Kelly?

"How long was it actually going on before I found out?"

You see Max trying to think of an answer that doesn't affect you so much or destroy you at all.

"For less than a month," he answers.

One month? Where were you a month ago? In Spain. Did something happen there? Did you notice anything strange about him? To his behavior? No. You didn't notice anything.

Was he really that good at hiding his mistakes?

That, of course, if he considers the relationship with Kelly a mistake.

"Did you ever think of me when you were with her?"

He did not answer. You didn't even know if you wanted to know the answer to that. What would it be like to answer that he never thought of you and that his mind was soaked in serotonin that only Kelly could think of those moments?

"I never stopped loving you."

"I don't believe you loved me while you were cheating on me. Love and betrayal are incompatible. I don't feel safe with that kind of 'love.'"

"So? You're breaking up with me?" Max asks.

Although you still had so much to say, you no longer had the power. You were so mentally and physically exhausted that you just wanted to be alone and cry.

"There's nothing else to do, is there?" you say and leave his room.

Anthony was waiting for you. He noticed that you had no tears on your face and frowned.

"What happened? Did you guys make up?"

You hug Anthony hard and cry. At that moment you gave up being strong. You gave up pretending, even in front of you, that you were fine.

Fuck it, you weren't fine. You were far from fine.

You looked back at Christian Horner, who was presenting something on the video projector. You lost the whole meeting with the crew. You had no idea what was being said.

Honestly, you don't even care what they said. You only worked there because you were Max Verstappen's girlfriend. But for eighteen hours, this was no longer true. So what's stopping you from going to Christian and telling him you're resigning? What keeps you from going home and forgetting about Max, forgetting the last two years of your life and starting over?

"That's it for today, thank you very much, friends, and let's get back to work, yeah?"

Everyone gets up from their seats. Anthony draws your attention and beckons you to look at the garage door.

You could faint then and there. No one and nothing ever prepared you for the emotions you were experiencing then. Kelly Piquet was at the garage door, waiting for the meeting to end. She was staring at Max, but he was just looking at you.

"Can we talk a little?"

You nod to Anthony that you're fine and he can leave. You look at Max and you see that he doesn't look very good. He had dark circles and you're sure he didn't sleep last night either, just like you.

“Those things you said yesterday, did you mean them?” he asks, looking down at his shoes.

"Yes," you answer categorically, looking at his face, waiting for him to raise his head so you can look him in the eye.

“What will you do if we break up? You will leave here or-” you interrupt him.

"Not 'if I break up with you,' we've already gotten over it," you say and Max looks at you with wide eyes. "We already broke up last night. I'm still here because I haven't had a chance to talk to Christian yet to tell him I'm resigning."

"Are you leaving?"

"I have nothing to do here. I came to Red Bull Racing for you."

A tear runs down Max's cheek.

"What can I tell you to stay?"

"There's nothing left to say. Now go," you say and you feel a lump in your throat. "She's waiting for you."

Max turns to the garage door to see who you're talking about.

"I gave her a text message last night and told her it was all a mistake between us."

You smile at him. "Goodbye, Max," you say then you shout for Christian.

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen oneshot #max verstappen #f1 fanfiction #f1 oneshot #f1 one shot #formula 1 oneshot #f1 fandom #f1 2021 #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #red bull racing #formula one oneshot #formula one imagine #forumula one #formula one #formula 1

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popsbridgerton · 3 years

Text

Coming home again - Chapter One - A.B.

First of all, thanks to all the 116 people who liked the prolog and to those who sent a comment or a message or reblogged it. This means so much to me. Getting over 100 always feels amazing. So thanks to each and everyone. 💕

In this Chapter you get a little bit more of Benedict than of Anthony but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Feedback is always appreciated, doesn’t matter if it’s just a little note or even just one word I’d love to know what you think - even if it’s bad. Don’t hesitate and fire away. 😊

Words: 1300+ Note: Hadn’t proof read it yet, so sorry for any mistakes.

Summary: It’s the first morning after you arrived. Benedict who wasn’t there at the evening is extremely happy to see you and can’t let the opportunity to make his brother jealous slip away.

Prolog

The next morning arrived and your abigail helped you to get dressed and prepared you for breakfast. The day before were much more exhausted than you thought it would. You had an amazing dinner with the Bridgertons and then you all talked and enjoyed each other’s company while you remembered old stories. So, it came, that you were the last one to arrive at the room this morning, while all Bridgertons and your mother already sat on little sofas and chatted to each other or did some handwork or other stuff while they drunk tea and ate cookies.

“Good morning.” You half shouted when you arrived at the room and looked through it, smiling at everybody and when your gaze met your mothers you nodded shortly. “Y/N!” Benedict shouted and jumped up from his little sofa to come to you, arms wide open to hug you right when he would be close enough to you. “Ben!” You returned and looked at him, a big smile on your face, since it was to first time you saw him. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, yesterday. But I had some plans I couldn’t cancel.” He said and pressed you softly against his chest. “I heard about that. Some kind of exhibition?” You asked when you moved back again. Benedict raised an eyebrow and tilted his head before he nodded. “Yeah, some kind of exhibition.” He said and turned half around to look at Anthony who sat in his sofa but looked down immediately when Benedict had moved and pretended not to know anything. His legs were crossed over each other and his upper foot was bobbing.

You and Benedict went back to the sofa he had jumped off, but he sat down next to Anthony and you sat down on the empty sofa at the opposite, he had sitting on before. Anthony looked up from his newspaper and smiled at you, which you returned and then he got back to reading, while Benedict looked excited at you. He couldn’t wait to hear what you were going to tell him. Indeed, you had been best friends with Anthony when you were small. But also, you and Benedict were at the same age, so he spent most of the with you two as well and you became somehow a gang of three. You always being closer and more personal with Anthony while making fun and enjoying things was always easier with Benedict.

You poured yourself some tee and took one of the cookies before you looked up at him and smiling and raising a brow as if you would like to ask what he would like to know. “Tell me everything!” He said and placed his arms on his tights. You looked at him in surprise and took a sip of your hot tea. “Everything?” You asked back and placed the cup back on the table. “That’s quite a lot, Benedict.” You finished with a small grin on your lips. “What if we start with you, telling me how the exhibition was and how your drawing is going?” You raised a brow again and smiled at him, moving back to lean against the pillows. Anthony looked up from his newspaper again to see Benedicts reaction, but his brother only leaned back as well and pursed his lips.

“Well,” he started, and Anthony looked back to his newspaper, but you were sure he was listening. “it was good. I had some very interesting talks. It was very inspiring as well. I could talk to some Artists and they gave me some to tips how I could work on my lines.” He stopped and thought about what else he could tell he. “So that’s how drawing is going. I have to improve on my lines.” He finished his words with a little nod while he still looked at you. You were about to bite into your cookie, but you stopped. “Can I see them?” You asked and moved the cookie back down. “He never shows anybody.” Anthony stated, still looking t the newspaper in his hands. “Well then,” you returned. “It might be a perfect opportunity to make your brother jealous.” You tilted your head looking from Anthony to Benedict with a look on your face that supported your words. A little “pha” escaped Anthony’s lips like he would like to say that Benedict could never made him jealous but all of you knew that he could and since Benedict loved to play little games on his older brother he smiled and tilted his head. “Seems like it is, indeed.” And with these words he grabbed a little sketch book that was laying on a table next to him and moved over to you to sit next to you. When Anthony realized that Benedict stood up, his look moved up as well, while his eyes became darker. Benedict would show you his drawings and it made him jealous indeed. It didn’t bother him, that you would see what Benedict drew and he would not. He didn’t care much about his brother’s drawings. It bothered him that Benedict did something for you, he never did for anybody else. As if you had wrapped him around you little finger and worse you enjoyed it.

You and Benedict instead got a little closer together so you could see the drawings in his sketch book, and you were starting to talk about his lines and the things he drew. Anthony stared at you for a little longer, his eyes getting darker and his features getting more furious but then he covered his face with the newspaper and read the lines without knowing what he was reading. His ears still tried to hear what you and his brother were talking.

“That’s it.” Benedict said after a little time and clapped the papers of his sketch book together. “So, Miss Winterbottom, what’s your passion?” He asked and turned his head to face you. “My passion?” You repeated the question again and titled your head while you were looking at him. A small smile started to play around your lips. “My passion is fashion.” You said like a little melody and Benedicts brows went up while he still smiled as well. “Your passion is fashion?” He asked and repeated the melody you were using before. “Indeed, my passion is fashion.” You repeated again with the same melody and giggled a little. This was always the two of you. Making fun of the smallest, tiniest things and enjoying them so long until everybody else is annoyed as hell. And indeed, you could hear Anthony groaning when Benedict again with the same melody said, “How interesting that your passion is fashion.”

The two of you turned your heads to look at the eldest Bridgerton sibling, you both know how he had rolled his eyes on you. “Oh, come on, Lord Bridgerton” you said, emphasizing the ‘Lord Bridgerton’ as if he was something better than you. “Had you ever had pleasure to have a passion.” You raised a brow while he continued to pretend reading the newspaper. Benedict shook his head for this brother. “No, Lord Bridgerton” and he emphasized his brothers title in the same way you did before. “had never had the pleasure to have a passion. He doesn’t even know what passion is. He’s always too busy and important to enjoy things.”

The newspaper was moved down in a quick move that it made a loud sound. Anthonys features were dark and almost frightening. “Enough!” He said and looked at Benedict, who you thought, leaned a little deeper into the sofa as if he wanted to disappear. Anthony folded the newspaper and laid it on the table next to the sofa, stood up and rushed out of the room. You and Benedict watched him go, both a little shocked because of what just happened. You were making fun not more, not less. “Seems like Lord Bridgerton really doesn’t know how fun looks like.” You rolled your eyes and looked at Benedict who sighed. “He did never.”

Hope you liked it if you did so, leave some feedback or reblog, please. If you like to be tagged please head over to this post. 😊

Chapter two

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony Bridgerton y/n #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton brothers #bridgerton fanfic #jonathan bailey #jonathan bailey x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagine #coming home again

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imhereformr · 3 years

Text

"Tell me why you did it" "Because I'm in love with you"

I had a prompt request for this an eternity ago (sorry...) but I think I deleted the ask 😬 Here's the prompt anyways.

It made no sense to her. One minute she’d been staring down Lord Darkar with the most courage she could muster – thankfully her stubbornness helped her there – and having death threatened. Next thing she knew, there was a body between her and the skeleton-man (could he be considered a man?). A loud no had echoed through the cavernous space accompanied by a flash of magenta-topped blue. She’d been so stunned by the action that it took her a moment to register why the voice was so familiar.

Riven.

He’d jumped in front of her.

He’d saved her life.

He’d risked his.

For her.

After that, everything was a blur. Somewhere in the back of her mind she’d been aware that the Trix had shown up and helped them. She knew that that distraction had broken Darkar’s spell; the one that had kept her, and her friends frozen in place; the one Riven had somehow broken through to save her. She knew that thanks to that distraction Brandon and Helia had managed to get to Riven and bandage him up, bringing an end to the blood that she swore – though her memory may be faulty – was spilling endlessly out of Riven’s abdomen and temple. All those details had barely managed to make a scratch in her mind – as if they were happening somewhere else to someone else - as she stared at his closed eyes begging the gods – any gods - to let her see that violet she loved so much; that violet that had tinted her dreams since she’d met him.

Nothing. At least not between the brief moment when he’d flickered into consciousness after she reached him and called out to him and when he’d woken for an even briefer moment on the flight back to Red Fountain.

Musa knew that, in some twisted series of events, it was thanks to the Trix that Riven was still alive. She refused to acknowledge it, though; refused to acknowledge that it was thanks to them that she’d been able to spend every free moment by his side as he recovered. Not that there were many of those, or, at least, as many as she’d like. Apparently helping to save the entire universe didn’t count as a valid reason to miss finals in Griselda’s mind so Musa made her to way to Red Fountain’s infirmary every day after classes. She’d spent so much time there that she was on a first name basis with the nurses; they even let her use their coffee machine now so she wouldn’t have to go down to the cafeteria to get some. She’d set herself up on the empty bed across the room with her books sprawled out in front of her, trying - and mostly failing - to study. She knew she wouldn’t fail any of her classes – she had nearly perfect grades in all of them – but she wasn’t too keen on failing her finals considering they were worth a quarter of her final grade. It didn’t matter how much she forced herself though because her eyes always seemed to wander away from the books over to Riven.

Musa arrived at Red Fountain today with a bag full of books that she intended to get through. Three classes to study for and just under five hours to study. She needed to get through the books or else she’d be kicking herself tomorrow when she was trying to take those exams. Whose bright idea had it been to schedule three exams in one day anyways?

He slept through the first few days; she’d expected that. What she hadn’t expected was for him to sleep through the entire first week and a half after the mission. According to the nurses, he had woken up a few times but mostly when no one was there. Timmy had spoken to him once, albeit very briefly. Musa hated the thought of Riven waking up to an empty hospital room. He deserved to know that his friends were checking on him; that they cared. That she cared. That his friends were checking on him. When she’d arrived yesterday, Brandon was set up in the room with a set of weights (the nurses had complained but Brandon shrugged them off). Sky and Timmy had been there the day before that and Tecna and Flora had accompanied her the day before that.

She strode into the infirmary, greeting Doris, the nurse at the front desk, with a nod. Musa was vaguely aware that the nurse tried to tell her something, but she had headphones on and too much on her mind, so the movement of the nurse's lips only registered after she’d passed the desk. Upon turning to question what she’d wanted to say, Musa found that Doris had had her attention diverted by a phone call, so she shrugged it off and continued to Riven’s room. Her bag slid off her shoulder, dropping to the floor a mere inch from her toes when she entered his room.

It was empty.

Nobody hanging around in case Riven woke; nobody on the bed; no book or flowers (courtesy of Flora) on the bedside table; nothing. The bathroom door was wide open, revealing a pristine shower, sink and toilet. No Riven. Musa poked her head out of the room, checking the number beside the door. Twenty-one: she had the right room. Where was he?

“He was discharged about two hours ago” Doris, a sweet older woman with greying brown hair and bright green eyes, informed her, coming up behind the fairy.

“B-but he’s barely woken up in the last week?” Musa managed to stammer as she turned to face the woman. Doris shrugged. Apparently Riven had woken up late last night – just before midnight, two hours after she’d left to make Alfea’s ten PM weekday curfew – and stayed awake all night. When the doctor had checked him that morning, his vitals were good and Riven was in functional condition. “We knew him already; he spent enough time in here last year after all the fights he got in-” Fucking Riven “-so the doctor agreed to let him go as long as he promised to come in everyday for a checkup and to take it easy for a bit.”

No. She would go back to Alfea. She needed to study. If she went to see him now she’d be too tempted to demand answers and that would lead to her getting absolutely zero studying done. But then again... if she went back to Alfea to study she’d never be able to focus knowing that he was awake and she could be talking to him.

Take it easy? The man had jumped in front of a death blow without a second thought, and they expected him to take it easy? He clearly had no sense of self-preservation! “Oh... okay, thanks” Musa mumbled, picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder as she walked away. She stood outside the main infirmary door watching blankly as students in unnecessarily tight blue uniforms walked past her. What now? She hadn’t ever considered the possibility of showing up with him gone. Did she just go back to Alfea? Find Riven? And say what? What the fuck were you thinking? Why would you do something so reckless? So stupid? So... so... so... romantic???

“Musa?! Hi” Helia gasped, opening the door before she could knock. Musa lowered her arm, grasping at her bag’s strap tightly. “Looking for Riven?”

Musa was surprised to find that she’d started moving, and that her absentminded walking had led her right to dorm 307 – the guys’ dorm. Her subconscious had decided for her: she would go see him. Musa raised her arm to knock, but she hesitated. What if he thought it was weird that she’d shown up right after his discharge from the infirmary? Or that he was freaked out by the thought of her being by his side every day? No, he’d risked his life for her. He’d be happy that she was there with him. …That you’ll come back, you’ll come back... to me. That’s what he’d said before their groups had split at the cave entrance; he would be happy to see her. She’d knock. Just one deep breath and...

Musa nodded dumbly. She didn’t know why she’d suddenly lost the ability to speak; it wasn’t as if the entirety of Magix wasn’t aware of her feelings for the angry specialist at this point. They’d already gone on a date for crying out loud. Her eyes had drifted down to the dark brown sketch pad in Helia’s hand as she nodded, but she forced them back up to meet his. “Yeah... Is he here?”

“No. I think he’s in the back courtyard.” Musa thanked Helia and began to make her way back down the corridor. She turned to ask Helia if Riven had said anything about, well, anything, but her in particular, but the artist was already halfway down the hall in the opposite direction. Not that it mattered; Riven wasn’t the kind to talk about stuff and the odds of him feeling particularly chatty when he was in pain were not good. Logically Musa knew that the odds of him explaining why he’d jumped to her were minimal too, but she needed to ask anyways.

Her pace sped up to just short of running as she made her way down to the back courtyard. Red Fountain’s new building had three courtyards. The most magnificent one, the front courtyard, was at the top of the school overlooking the forest with the city of Magix visible in the distance of the Southern side. The central one was halfway down the building inside the four gushing waterfalls and contained nothing but training fields. The back courtyard was at the base of the building at ground level. It was made up of the ruins of the old Red Fountain and where the students mostly hung out when they stayed on campus. What could be salvaged of the old brick building had been turned into courtyard décor – picnic tables, benches, stools – and, most notably, the large wall that ran along the edge of the forest. Tecna had questioned if the wall was structurally sound when they’d first seen it, but Sky assured them it was.

When she made it to the crowded yard, her pace slowed a bit. She wasn’t worried about missing him – there was no doubt in her mind she’d be able to pick him out in a crowd – but she didn’t want to appear like she’d been searching for him frantically when she did find him. She took a quick look through the crowded parts, opting instead to search the more secluded areas thoroughly. She knew Riven; he wouldn’t want to be in the packed areas.

She found him in the front corner closest to the forest, next to one of the gates that led to one of the many footpaths that meandered through Gloomy Wood. He was seated atop the wall, leaning back on the arch of the gate. Musa’s eyes flitted to the open iron gate, wondering what the purpose of the gate was if they were just going to leave it open. Then, just as quickly as her eyes had traveled to the gate, they were back on him. It seemed natural at this point to be watching him if he was in the vicinity. No matter how hard she tried not to spend all her time admiring and observing him, she seemed to be eternally doomed to have her eyes find him. It wasn’t her fault he was so fucking beautiful. Especially right now, sitting there with the back of his head leaning against the wall and his eyes closed. His arms rested on his stomach where he’d been hit – she could see the bandage poking out under his shirt – and one leg propped up while the other dangled off the wall. He looked so comfortable and peaceful. It was unfathomable how easily he made her stomach do flips, it –

Wait a minute.

What the fuck was he doing on top of the wall? There was no way to get up there except to boost yourself up. That wasn’t ‘taking it easy’.

“Hi” she said loudly, butterflies having turned to annoyance. It was bad enough that he’d risked his life jumping in front of her, did he also have to risk worsening his injuries?!

Riven’s eyes snapped open and when he looked at her, it was obvious he hadn’t been expecting to see her. Their eyes met briefly as he stuttered out a M-Musa… Hi. He lowered his leg, trying to hide the way he flinched in pain at the movement. Musa dropped her bag and stepped forward to help him as he slid himself down, but he brushed her off. Stubborn ass.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine, you know, considering…” he shrugged, motioning towards his abdomen.

“Right…” Musa fiddled with her ring – a cheap mood ring she and Bloom had gotten at the fair a few months back – as she tried to formulate a coherent thought or sentence. How was it that she still found herself stupidly tongue-tied around him? He knew how she felt; she knew he felt the same. They’d already kissed and gone on a date. They would’ve gone on another already if fucking fake Avalon hadn’t kidnapped Bloom. Logically, there was no reason for her brain to turn to mush anymore.

Her eyes snapped up to Riven’s face. The bandage that had been around his head wasn’t there anymore, leaving the scar and bruising on his temple visible. His mouth was drawn as his eyes raked over her. He was assessing her; she could see his mind working as his eyes roamed over every visible inch of skin. “How are you?”

“Good. Completely unharmed... thanks to you.” You fucking moron. He should know by now that her fairy form offers her an extra layer of protection that non-magical beings don’t have. He should know that the skimpy outfit is deceptive.

He brushed it off. Riven. The cocky asshole. He brushed it off. Like risking your life – quite literally almost sacrificing it – was nothing more than passing the salt at the dinner table. “Really. Thank you. You didn’t-“

And he laughed at Timmy for being nervous around Tecna. What a goof. “I’ve been here everyday…”

“It’s nothing. Not for…” Riven trailed off. She wished he would finish the sentence, but she knew where it was going. You. Not for you. Would it kill him to give her any sort of sign of liking her? She knew he did, but was it really so hard for him to say: It’s no big deal, Musa. I’d do anything for you. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting to, um, see you h-here…”

If she could burn the memory in her mind and pull it out whenever she felt down, that would be the most incredible thing. The way his eyes widened in surprise only to soften drastically a few seconds later. The small smile that played on his lips that he tried – and failed – to suppress. The redness in his cheeks. He was perfect. “Oh?”

“I wanted to know you were… okay.” Gods, the way he was looking at her made Musa want to close the space between them and never let him go. But she needed to know. It would eat at her until she had an answer, so she dove. “Why’d you do it?”

“Huh?” He cocked his brow curiously. He couldn’t possibly be that daft? What could she possibly be asking about besides him using his body as a shield?

“Why’d you jump in front of me?” she demanded, her patience already starting to thin.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does! Riven, you could have died! You…” almost did. Musa stopped herself from saying it aloud. She didn’t know if Riven knew he’d been on the brink of death and, frankly, she didn’t want to think about that. One of the advantages – and occasional disadvantages – of having sound-based powers was that her hearing was so much stronger than the average person’s; she could hear the faintest of sounds with enough concentration. Like a heartbeat. Like his. Loud and erratic at this moment, but faint and barely existent after he’d fallen. Musa had no idea how he’d survived, only that somewhere in the background the spell that had been put on Bloom went away, there’d been a bright glowing light in Musa’s peripheral vision and then Riven’s heart had started to gain strength.

“So could you. Just let it go, Musa” he bit back. The fucking goddamn stubborn asshole.

“No! I need to know.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Riven started to walk away from her, but she was determined not to let him. She would have her answer. She needed her answer. Maybe that made her as stubborn as him – no, it definitely did – but she was known for being stubborn and she was fine with that. Musa stepped in front of him, blocking him from the path that would lead back to the courtyard.

“It does matter!”

“No.”

“Yes, Riven. We... I...” Her voice started to break and it took a few seconds before she managed to finish the sentence. Musa would usually do everything she could to avoid someone knowing how sensitive and emotional she really was, but frankly, she was past caring now. Riven had already seen her break before anyways. And she wanted him to know how much she cared and how worried she’d been. “I could’ve lost you.”

“Well, you didn’t” he dismissed with a shrug. There was no way he could be so careless with his life. It infuriated her to think that being moments away from death was something he took so nonchalantly.

“But I could have!”

“But you didn’t so it doesn’t matter.”

“Why are you being so fucking stubborn? I just want to know why you thought that jumping in front of me was-”

“Musa! For fuck’s sake. Just drop it” Riven snapped. She’d never had him snap at her before – Stella, Brandon, Sky (multiple times), even Timmy once. Never her. His snapping didn’t scare her, but rather fueled her and made her more determined to get an answer.

“No! Just fucking tell me instead of shutting me out. You risked your life for me. Why? I need to know; I deserve to know. You have no idea how much knowing that you could’ve died for me has been eating at me. How much-”

“It’s because I’m in love with you!” Riven’s eyes went wide as soon as the words slipped out. He opened his mouth to speak - to backtrack or explain – but no words came out. Musa was so surprised by the outburst – and more specifically, it’s content – that she had to take a step back to steady herself. Her jaw dropped and she tried to form a coherent thought, but she couldn’t.

He loves her.

He’s in love with her.

Riven is in love with her.

“I... I have to go.” Riven took off through the gate at much faster speed than she’d anticipated from someone who’d been seriously injured not even two weeks ago. Musa allowed herself a few seconds to blink away the residual shock, something that she regretted once she realised that he was out of her line of sight by the time her head was clear.

“Fuck” she muttered before taking off after him. She followed the path for a few hundred meters before deciding that she wasn’t going to find him on foot; that, knowing Riven, he’d probably strayed off the path specifically to make it harder for her to find him.

Ignoring her frustrations with Riven and his inability to face any potentially emotional or uncomfortable moments, Musa took to the skies. She forced herself to focus on what he had said – even if it had been blurted out. I’m in love with you. The butterflies in her stomach still fluttered to life every time she thought about it – and she’d been replaying the moment in her mind the entire time she’d been walking.

It shouldn’t have surprised her that she found him sitting at their spot. A small clearing in the middle of the forest – about a half hour walk from both Alfea and Red Fountain – with a ledge that overlooked the lake. Musa had found it last year after a fight with Stella that had resulted in her storming away. Riven had known about it for years before, using it as sanctuary anytime he needed peace for most of his teen years, if not all, she wasn’t entirely sure. They’d met here multiple times over the last year. Most of the time it hadn’t been on purpose, they’d just both happened to need space from the people around them. And what better way to be away from others than together.

Musa landed behind him as quietly as she could. She wanted a few seconds to admire him. She wanted to admire the broadness of his shoulders and the sculpt of his body. The way his maroon hair slicked back and the baby hairs tickled the nape of his neck. She admired his high cheekbones and angular chin. Finally, his soft, full lips. Gods, she wanted to kiss those lips so badly.

The lips of the man that loves her.

“Riven…” Musa stepped forward tentatively, changing out of her fairy form and back into the loose black pants and baggy cropped red t-shirt she’d thrown on haphazardly that morning. She saw the way his shoulders tensed, but he didn’t answer so she sped up. When she reached him, she sat in front of him, folding her legs under her. “Riven?”

His hands were balled into fists that he tapped on the ground nervously as he refused to meet her eyes. Musa reached her hands out and grabbed his, forcing them open so that they would hold hers back. She requested that he look at her. When he didn’t, she pulled her hand out of his grip – he’d been surprisingly quick to take her hand given how adamant he was about avoiding her gaze – and gently turned his head to look at her. “Look at me, Riven” she said in a forceful voice that denied the gentility of her touch.

“I-“ he started.

“I love you, too.”

“Really?” The surprise in his voice nearly broke her heart. She knew Riven came with a whole slew of issues, but she was still surprised that cocky, arrogant Riven didn’t deem himself worthy of being loved. But regardless of what he thought, he was loved.

By her.

She loved him.

She was in love with him.

“Gods help me, yes, really. I love you.” Saying it felt like a weight lifted off her shoulders. She’d been in love with him for so long now and, until recently, she never thought she’d get to tell him. Part of her wanted to the moment they first kissed in the Wildlands, but she knew how comfortable he was with emotion – that was, not at all – and she didn’t want to scare him away so she said nothing.

Riven’s hand pulled away from hers and he brought it up to touch her cheek. He’d given her no sign of relationship – they had to be in one now, right? – in public, so she was always surprised when he was soft in private. Especially the first kiss – after she’d confessed her feelings for him in what, she was willing to admit, was probably the worst timed confession ever – when they were packing up their stuff on the beach. She’d pulled him aside, driven to talk to him about the confession by Brandon’s silent nagging, but realised when she had him in front of her that no words would explain her feelings properly, and it certainly wasn’t the right moment for a song. So, she kissed him. He responded positively, so she took that as her sign to pull him in more. The kiss was wonderful, but more so was the way everything about him softened – his eyes, his touch, his posture, everything. Like he had so much love to give, he just needed someone willing to receive it.

This time was different. Riven was the one to initiate; he was the one to use his hand to bring her head forward. There were no words to describe the way she lit up when they kissed – her lips, her mind, her heart, body and soul; all of her felt like it was coming to life after an eternity of nothingness.

The hand on her cheek slid into her hair, deepening the kiss. Riven’s other hand slid out of hers and landed on the small of her back. With very little effort on his part, he pulled her more and more into him until she was straddling his lap and pressed up against him. Musa brought her hands up to rest on his chest, sliding one of them up to wrap her arm around his neck and pull him closer, if it was even possible.

When they pulled apart for air, Musa rested her forehead against Riven’s. Violet met blue in the sweetest gaze. Musa offered Riven a gentle, sincere smile that he returned, making her heart turn to love-struck mush. They stayed like that for a few minutes until he spoke.

“Did you mean it?” he whispered so low that she almost missed it.

“I do. I love you, Riven.” Musa planted a kiss on his forehead that made him smile even wider. His arm moved down her body to wrap around her waist so that she was fully locked into his embrace. Riven had never looked so genuinely happy and at-ease in the two years she’d known him and it warmed her to know she was the one that made him feel like that. His forehead and eyes found hers once more as he whispered: “I love you, Musa.”

#winx club #winx #winx musa #winx riven #rivusa #muri #oneshot #prompt #canon compliant

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