#i drew with charcoal yesterday too

[ningadudexx]

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What the scallop /_( *_~ )_\

[echo-goes-mmm]

Moonflower #7

Masterpost

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Warnings: mentions of violence

He woke up even earlier than normal; the sun not even peeking over the mountains yet. 

Kit took his time getting ready; he needed to calm himself before court. He drew a warm bath and spent several minutes just soaking in the heat.

He scrubbed his skin until it was soft and clean, and he carefully washed his brittle hair. 

After everything, seeing his skin blank was unnerving. No one could tell what had happened, which was nice, but it was also like nothing had happened at all. It seemed strange to be so unblemished.

Kit pulled out a pair of charcoal black trousers and a soft blue shirt. He liked the cotton fabric, and the long sleeves weren’t too snug. The shirt had a lovely texture, and the pants weren’t stiff at all. Good. He tugged on some gray socks.

Mira had promised modesty, and had certainly delivered.

He slipped out of his room, and Sir Maxus nodded at him when he knocked on Mistress’s door.

“Come in,” she called.

Mistress was in her closet, rifling through her dresses.

“Oh,” she said, glancing at him but not really looking up, “it’s you.” 

He didn’t say anything. She seemed a tiny bit cross, and he didn’t want to make it worse.

“What time is it?”

“Seven and two am.”

She sighed. “Do you always get up so early?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She mumbled something that even he couldn’t hear, and Kit got the feeling she was not a morning person.

She pulled out a deep blue dress, one that reminded him of the dark icy lake near the fae prince’s territory.

“Here, hold this.” He gingerly took the hanger from her as she picked through her shoes.

She held up two pairs of shoes, both black. “High heels or flats?” Was it a test?

The slanted shoes- ‘high heels’- seemed uncomfortable. “Flats,” he suggested. Iris seemed pleased by the choice. 

She moved on to a jewelry case, looking at earrings.

“What time do you get up, anyway?”

“Dawn. I’m not sure the time.” Iris rolled her eyes, but in a strange, unannoyed way.

“Of course. I don’t know what I expected.”

Kit shifted his weight. “Sometimes I sleep in when it’s winter,” he admitted.

“Oh good. I might find it insufferable if you weren’t lazy at some point.”

Kit didn’t have the time to parse what that meant before there was a knock on Iris’s door.

“Get the door, would you?” He hung up the dress on a hook on her bedroom door.

It was Katie, and she was much more cheerful than Iris. She said hello, dropped off the food, and left as quickly as she’d come.

“Is that breakfast?” called Mistress from the other room.

“Yes.”

“Great. Could you grab me some coffee? With cream and sugar please.”

Kit didn’t know what coffee was, but he knew Mistress Iris put cream and sugar into that bitter drink she liked.

He brought a mug of it to her bedroom.

“Thanks,” she said, chugging it down. She had already changed into her dress and earrings. They were sapphires, dangling and framed in silver.

They ate breakfast together, and Iris brushed her hair while sipping on another cup of coffee. She offered him some, but he declined.

He twitched towards the little pitcher of cream, but restrained himself from drinking it. He didn’t want a repeat of yesterday. Who knew what was considered normal to eat and drink? Kit put the cream out of his mind.

Iris didn’t put up her hair, instead leaving it long and flowing like a dark waterfall down her back. It was wavy and shiny, a soft healthy gloss.

He pushed down the simmering jealousy in his throat. He couldn’t do anything about it anyway. He could only wait for the sickness to leave him, and hopefully his hair would turn back to its soft dark green.

“Well, duty calls I suppose,” she sighed, standing and smoothing out her dress. “Ready?”

Kit couldn’t answer her verbally, as he was pretty sure he wasn’t ever going to be ready, so he nodded instead. He followed her out the door.

Sir Maxus walked alongside them, on Mistress’s right.

“Just keep quiet,” Mistress told him. “Let me do the talking.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Kit had absolutely no intention of saying anything in the first place.

The hallway to the throne room was lined with portraits of kings and queens past, framed in gleaming gold. The left wall had large windows, and they cast high beams of light onto the walls.

There was something both intimidating and beautiful about this section of the castle, both the same and yet totally different from the heart of the forest where the gentry began to outnumber the wild folk.

They entered the throne room from a side entrance, a curtain concealing the exact spot like the wings of a stage. 

There was chatter from the nobles, but they fell to silence as Iris entered. Faint whispers brushed through the room when he followed behind, Sir Maxus taking up the rear.

Iris sat on the throne, sitting high and regal, and she crossed her legs at the ankle. A man sat just to the side the platform, a long scroll and several pens and inkwells on his desk. A scribe, maybe?

There was a pillowed spot directly next to the throne, and he instinctively knelt on it. 

His heart pounded at the eyes on him. He could feel them as well as any weight, like a heavy cloak a bit too tight in the chest. Kit kept his gaze on the swirls of the marble of the platform. He didn’t want to look up and see them staring.

Iris’s hand drifted to brush against his head, and he flinched. But her palm ran over his hair in a soothing motion. 

You’re doing fine, said the gesture. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, but she was focused out into the room. Of course. He was meant to be ignored, just like she said.

“Her Majesty, Queen Iris, first of her name, has opened the court to comment. Those who wish to bring forth concerns may now step forward,” called an announcer from just below the platform.

He was loud, his voice echoing around the room, and Kit’s ears twitched. A wave of whispers swept through the crowd. 

Ugh. If the mortals commented on every little movement, he’d never get through five years without tearing his hair out.

The first few discussions were uneventful; about tax complaints or harvest estimates.

Kit was mostly interested in how different Iris was to the faerie prince. She was bold and unconcerned with so much attention; the entire structure of the court made to center her.

He’d met the faerie prince exactly once, and seen him from afar. He ruled quietly and rarely made appearances. He was almost shy about using his authority, unlike Iris who embraced it.

Not to say the prince wasn’t intimidating. He could halt conflict with a glare and break up a bloody fight with one well-placed snarl. Kit had even been there when he graphically executed an ogre for insulting his husband.

But everyone knew he hated his title, and that he only tolerated the other gentry.

Overall, he mostly left his subjects alone and preferred not to interfere.

Kit appreciated these things about his liege. 

He did not appreciate how complicated human politics seemed to be.

There were exactly three laws of the fae realm. Here, it was not even two hours into court, and an advisor had cited several human laws that Kit couldn’t even comprehend.

What even were taxes? Some sort of tribute?

___________________

Everyone broke for lunch at noon.

Iris was all grace and composure until the moment they stepped back out into the hall. 

“I swear, if one more lord complains about my financial policy, I'm going to throw something,” she muttered. 

Kit hummed in sympathy. Maybe she was more like the prince than he thought. She didn’t seem to like nobles either.

Lunch was over with quickly, and it was back to the throne room. 

“Your grace, my name is June Harbor,” curtsied a woman, and suddenly Kit felt on edge. She didn’t look like the other nobles. “If I may, I have a concern on behalf of my brother, James Harbor.”

Iris tensed, her fingers flexing on the armrest of her chair.

“Go on.”

“You see, he was arrested the other day, on your command.” A murmur swept through the room, and Kit held his breath. Mistress Iris had said his kidnapper had been arrested. Was this woman his sister?

“I recall,” said Iris, coldly.

“I wonder, your grace, what his crime was. My family has not been told.”

“Treason, of course.”

June bristled, and the whispers of the crowd grew. Iris held up a hand, and the room fell to silence.

“Treason, your majesty? On what grounds?”

Despite the woman’s tone, there was clear disrespect in her words. The prince would have snapped a response, but Iris remained calm.

“By kidnapping a citizen of a foreign country, James Harbor has endangered the realm.” Iris’s voice was loud and clear, her eyes sweeping over the room. “If we are unlucky, the fae may consider war.”

The court murmured. Kit knew that was unlikely, but he held his tongue.

Iris focused on June. “I will not hesitate to turn your brother over to the fae if they demand it. Until that day comes, he will remain in prison. I cannot allow such reckless acts against our neighbors.”

June gaped at her. “There hasn’t been a trial!” she sputtered.

Iris raised a brow. “He admitted to the kidnapping in front of the court, and I have evidence sitting right next to me. If you demand a trial, I would also need to charge him with the crime of torture and have him hanged. Would you prefer that?”

“I- torture? James would never!”

Iris sat back in her chair, uncrossing and then crossing her legs again.

“Again, the evidence is right here,” Iris gestured to him, and Kit winced. “James tortured him with iron in front of the whole court, not to mention what Kit has told me. Or do you consider a fae somehow a liar, and the burning incident a mass hallucination?”

June had nothing to say, and stiffly curtsied before flouncing off. 

“I will hear no more of this,” said Iris to the room, dismissive. “If no one has anything of value to say today, we might as well end here.”

No one stepped forward.

___________________

“Sorry about that,” said Iris. They were alone in her study; Iris poring over a stack of papers. “I didn’t think I’d be challenged on the arrest.”

Kit paused, trying to figure out his phrasing. “It’s not your fault.” He was sitting on the floor, next to her chair.

“Still,” she said. “I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that.”

“I don’t see how else you could have done it.”

Iris glanced down at him. “Not even the bit where I lied? You haven’t told me anything about what he did to you.”

Kit looked away. “I told you I have iron poisoning. That counts. You didn’t lie. You just… implied more information.”

Iris sat back in her chair.

“Hm. That’s pretty tricksy of you.” She said it with a lilt to her voice, teasing.

Kit relaxed, leaning against the legs of the desk. He liked this side of her. “Technically, you were the one being tricksy.” 

Iris snorted.

They fell into silence, the only sound the scratch of a pen on paper and the clink of the pen dipping into the inkwell.

“You don’t have to tell me details, by the way,” continued Iris. “I won’t ask that from you.”

“Thank you.”

After a few minutes of writing, she spoke again.

“I have a work dinner tonight. Family matters.”

Kit wrinkled his nose. “When do you relax?” 

She laughed, signing a paper with a rough scrawl. “I don’t. Want to come with?”

“I will if you ask me to,” he evaded. 

“You’re being tricksy again.”

“Mm.”

Iris flipped through the last few pages of paperwork. “I’d like it if you came. Your presence will scare my relatives, if nothing else.”

Kit tilted his head. She didn’t seem to like her family.

“Do they bother you?”

“They want me to get married.” She said it with such derision, it almost startled him.

“Is that bad?”

“It’s… complicated. Especially so soon. They won't shut up about it.” She slumped in her chair, twirling the pen in her fingers.

“Oh.”

He thought it over. “I’ll go with you. Maybe it will help.”

“Thanks,” she said, smiling at him. “At least then there will be someone I can tolerate.”

taglist: @paintedpigeon1 @cupcakes-and-pain @loserwithsyle

[musette22]

can i have a soft bucky-supporting-steve headcanon? ive had a tough couple weeks and today is no different (mad at everything, head hurts, waiting for the police to call me because i lost my wallet yesterday, my self-loathing is screaming right now, etc)

thanks. sorry. but thanks.

Hey, lovely! ❤️ I’m so sorry to hear you’ve been having such a rough time lately, that sounds like a lot. I hope things get better for you soon, and in the meantime, have this.

---

When Bucky came back, after he’d figured things out enough to be able to justify it to himself to come back to Steve, he noticed that Steve didn’t seem to draw much these days. Didn’t draw anymore at all. At first, Bucky thought that maybe Steve was just preoccupied. Too busy, too distracted, which would’ve been understandable, given everything they’d both been through recently.

But then, Bucky started to notice moments when Steve would get that expression on his face that meant he’d seen something particularly interesting or captivating, something he was itching to commit to paper (more than once, Bucky found that look directed at himself). The expression was usually accompanied by a twitch of Steve’s fingers, an unconscious spasm of his hand, as if he was reaching for a pencil that wasn’t there. The next time Steve was away on a mission, Bucky searched the entire house from top to bottom, but apart from a few ballpoint pens and the notebook they used to make their grocery lists, he’d found no art paraphernalia whatsoever. Nothing to indicate that Steve still drew, or had drawn anytime in the recent past.

That's not right, Bucky thought, frowning to himself.

He may not remember everything, but he sure as hell remembered the way their old tenement apartment had always been littered with sketchbooks and pencils, strewn around the living room and bedroom, even the bathroom on occasion. He remembered Steve’s hands, perpetually stained by charcoal, the smudges of paint on his cheeks. There were no stains or smudges on Steve anywhere, these days. Bucky would know. He'd checked. Thoroughly.

When Bucky had asked Steve about it the following night, Steve confirmed Bucky’s suspicions: he hadn't drawn in a long, long time.

“Why not?” Bucky had asked.

Steve had shrugged, looking down at his hands. “I stopped, after you- after you fell.” He swallowed, giving a single shake of his head. “I tried, later. God, I must've picked up my pencil a dozen times. But whenever I started drawing, no matter what I did, I’d always end up sketching your face. It just hurt too much. So I stopped.”

Bucky had held him for a long time, after that. Sitting side by side on the couch, just letting Steve lean into him, ear resting on Bucky’s chest, over his heart.

“I’m back now,” Bucky had said, after a while.

“You are,” Steve replied, his voice thick with suppressed emotion.

“So don’t you think it might be time you started drawing again? You used to love it, Stevie. I remember. I remember I used to love watching you.”

“I don’t know if I still can.”

Steve had sounded so lost, right then. So forlorn. Not for the first time, it had made Bucky want to fall to his knees and thank whoever was up there for allowing him to return to this man in his arms, to be here for Steve again, after everything. Steve had his team now, sure, but they didn’t know him like Bucky did. They didn’t always didn't notice when Steve's steady, solid exterior started to show cracks, or how to fix them. They didn't know how absorbed Steve used to get in his art, how it had brought color to his usually pale cheeks, allowed him to quieten his mind and shake off the worries that incessantly plagued him, even if only for a little while.

If Bucky hadn’t come back, would no one ever have remembered any of that? The thought alone was enough to break Bucky’s heart.

When Steve had told him that he wasn’t sure if he could still draw, Bucky had ached to tell him that he could do everything he set his mind to. He was ready to list every single thing Steve had achieved in his long life, to tell him over and over again that he’d never known anyone more talented, more capable, that he just needed to pick up a pencil and start, and the rest would follow. But he knew that Steve would just let the words roll off, too stubborn by half to be persuaded by something so trivial as mere words. From experience, Bucky knew that actions were far more effective in getting Steve to come around to a certain idea than words could ever be.

So Bucky took the long road. Over the weeks that followed, he started ordering art supplies online, to be delivered when Steve was out (Bucky still didn’t like to leave the house by himself, but thanks to the excellent invention of online shopping, he rarely needed to). A variety of pencils, sketchbooks, brushes and watercolors, even a small easel that Bucky hid behind their shared wardrobe – all delivered right to their doorstep. Then, Bucky started leaving items around the house, one at a time.

The first time Steve noticed the small sketchbook that Bucky had casually left on the coffee table that morning, he’d picked it up and looked at it for a long while, before putting it back down. Though Bucky could feel Steve’s eyes on him, he didn’t acknowledge his silent question. The next day, Bucky put a pencil next to the sketchbook. Steve noticed it mid-sentence, abruptly falling silent as he picked it up and held it in his hand, as if trying to get a feel for it. Eventually, he put it back down on top of the sketchbook, and headed for the kitchen to get started on dinner.

This continued for a couple of weeks. Sometimes, when Bucky saw Steve picking up and putting down the various items he’d left for him without using them, even though Bucky could see he wanted to, he just wanted grab Steve by his ridiculously broad shoulders and shake him. But he didn’t. If his time as the Winter Soldier had taught Bucky anything, it was the value of playing the long game; the virtue of patience.

And finally, his patience paid off.

One quiet day in early October, Bucky dozed off on the couch while reading his book. When he awoke, he found himself lying directly in a beam of late afternoon sun, its warmth enveloping him like the blanket his ma used to cover him with whenever he’d fallen asleep on the couch as a kid, making him feel safe and loved; cherished. It took Bucky a while to realize that it wasn’t just the sun that made him feel that way, today. Turning his head a fraction, he found Steve sitting opposite him in the ochre armchair they’d picked out together the other week, his eyes fixed on Bucky and his hand flying over the pages of his sketchbook where it was perched on his lap.

Bucky smiled, slow and pleased. Steve didn’t seem to have noticed that Bucky had woken up, engrossed as he was in what he was doing, so Bucky stayed put and just watched him work, letting Steve draw him for as long as he needed to.

When Steve finally closed his sketchbook with a deep sigh, blinking a few times as he slowly became aware of his surroundings again, Bucky got up off the couch. He stretched like a cat, walked over to Steve, and planted himself squarely in his lap.

“I’m proud of you,” he told Steve, draping his arms around Steve’s neck as Steve’s automatically wound around Bucky’s waist.

“I’m a little rusty,” Steve hedged, his voice husky with disuse and emotion, “but… I don’t think it’s gone altogether. It's still in there somewhere. Just gotta practice, I s’pose.”

Bucky hummed, resting his forehead against Steve’s. “I suppose you do. ‘S a good thing you’ve got such an excellent model, huh?”

Steve huffed a laugh, his arms tightening around Bucky’s waist. “Jerk.”

“Punk,” Bucky said, and pressed a soft kiss to Steve's lips.

[totallynotlocomocoenthusiast]

You’re my muse (Namora x Reader) :))

 A/N: Before I joined the service one of my favorite jobs was sewing with my elders, they passed it down to me and taught me how to make the ofu’s that our village loved the most, my main projects that the elders trusted me with was matching couples ofu’s, because like many cultures Samoans love to match with their lovers. I feel like I use way too many commas so please bear with me.

I scribbled one of my many sketches as I laid in my hammock at the hanging market, the fine dresses and capes flowing freely in the current, business like always was flowing freely as usual, mother's commissioning clothes for their children, young women shopping for fine dresses, lovers buying gifts for their significant others. I quickly tied up my sketches, stowing it away securely before collecting the empty hangers and change, tucking it into a satchel before tying it to my back to make my swim home. I loved swimming back to my home, greeting elders and playing with children. I lived in a small home, tucked away in the city with a small ‘tailors’ sign outside of the post of my door where my business is held besides the markets. I drew back my curtain as I swam in, setting the money down before putting away the hangers. There were rolls of fabric stacked neatly against the walls with baskets of beads, jewels and fine things, a mannequin and a table filled with needles, thread and a thin blade. I signed, picking up the bag, swimming to my quarters in the next room, emptying the bag in a thick vase, and shutting it tightly with rope. I took a deep inhale before laying down on my bed, looking up at the ceiling as I dreamt of new things to create.

Sewing was a trade passed down from my mother, from her mother, and hers and so on. My mother told me my work would excel the most when I had a muse, and my muse was my best friend, my childhood friend, someone who would just see me as a friend. Namora and I had met when we were little, in the hanging market in fact, it seems just like it was yesterday we were just kids swimming around the market causing trouble and playing soldiers. It was almost everyday she would return and play with me, and as we grew up together I was blessed to see her grow into the strong woman she is. As we grew my mother said it would be best I use her as a practice model to help with my sewing, and so everyday she would stay with me for a few hours to hold still and let me poke her with needles and drape her in fine cloth, then after she would let me come along with her and watch her fight and train to be the best soldier she could be, I had always admired Namora, her hair is beautiful and long, her strength is unwavering, and her smile is just so dazzling. At first it was little things, making little accessories for her here and there, saving some fruit for her as I swam back home from the market. Then realizing how much I wanted to be around her at all times, following her as she invited me to her sparking matches, getting fussy about her wearing something from another seamstress, swimming up to Ku’Ku’ikan’s cave to wait for Namora to be released to come home. The worst was the sketches, it was the base that all of my creations start off of, but as I made a dress I simply would draw Namora in something that I felt would accentuate her beauty best. It was embarrassing to be drawing her all times of the day, i couldn't help myself, I grabbed a new parchment and some charcoal before sitting up in my bed to draw a new sketch. It was a long one shoulder dress, to the side of the paper I drew her adorned in jade with a few lionfish quills to decorate her bun as I moved back to the dress, she loved flowing materials, and I loved how well they flowed around her body. I added swipes around the bodice to act as ropes to make a macrame cage around the bodice I signed looking at the picture before picking up another parchment to draw her again. I’m in love with the general, I know I shouldn’t be, she’s far too important to be tangled up in the likes of me, I had no name that held the kind of power hers did, I was just some seamstress that met her at the right place at the right time. My heart ached as I drew her again, seeing those striking eyes pierce my soul as I yearned for her. I wish I was strong, I wish I were born a man so that I could have won her heart in battle, I wish I could tell her how I felt, I wish, I sighed looking down as the drawings floated around my room. ‘I wish’ a loud rhythmic knock sounded at the door as my ears perked up, quickly snatching up the parchment and shoving it under my pillow before straightening my dress and going out to greet my favorite person. Pulling back the curtain I saw my Namora, leaning against my workbench still dressed in armor as she untied the crown of lionfish around her bun, “It’s always good to see you Y/N,” she smiled opening her palms to greet me, I smiled returning the gesture as I felt her arms wrap around me in a warm embrace, “how was your day friend?” I reveled in her touch as I felt her arms around me, her question falling on deaf ears as I heard her laugh, “Long day huh friend?” She joked as I nodded, holding her for as long as I could, I laughed awkwardly as I regrettably pulled away, “Today has drained me Namora, please come in, sit with me I’ll prepare you some fruit!” 

We both sat together, eating fruit, passing a jug of wine between each other as we’d take a swig, before passing it back to each other. I admired the way the light shone through the curtains, illuminating her face as she smiled, “I have a new design for you,” her ears perked up at my statement, “I swear if you stick me again with one of your needles I won’t be your model anymore.” I laughed passing the wine back to her, “I promise I won’t,” we both stood up clearing the space as I shut the blinds firmly, hanging a sign on my door labeled “fitting in progress” I turned back to see Namora stripping off her armor, putting it to the side. I swallowed hard trying to advert my eyes as I made my way to my fabrics, picking up a roll of soft sun yellow fabric, holding it up to her check, “I think this one compliments you best Namora.” I watched her hold her arms out, “then by all means Y/N work your magic.” I pulled out a few yards, leaving the roll to fall to the floor as I wrapped the fabric around her body, cutting and pinning out a shape to the dress. I would steal a glance at Namora here and there, watching her catch my eye and smile. We talked about her work, how she was proud of her soldiers, how her and Attuma had gotten along as leaders. She’d tell me about Ku’Ku’Ikans paintings and how they grow more colorful by the day and how beautiful the cave had glowed. In return I would tell her about the newest gossip at the market, who’s seeing who and the new customers I’ve gained, it wasn’t as flashy as Namora’s stories but she seemed to enjoy them, and would ask questions every now and then. “So I was thinking,” I spoke as I pinned around her bodice, “Macrame!” I whisper shouted with a large smile on my face. She smiled as she shook her head, “you’ve sure got a kick for macrame don’t you?” I giggled, swimming back to admire the figure in front of me, the fabric hugged her body perfectly, the orange hue accenting her skin perfectly as the dress flowed and ebbed in the current. My heart ached looking at her, she’s the most beautiful thing I had ever laid my eyes on, I watched as she felt the fabric, smiling softly admiring the dress, “You look beautiful,” I cooed as she looked up, 

“Yeah I think the dress looks beautiful too!” My heart fell as she misheard me, swimming up to her to remove the dress carefully as to not prick her, “You’ve outdone yourself again Y/N, another satisfied customer!” She smiled as she put her armor back on, fishing through her pockets to try and pay me, “You know your money is not good here Namora.” I spoke as I hung the dress on a mannequin, pinning it down, “Please, you waste so much money on me.” She tried to put a satchel of money in my hands but u refused, pushing them back to her, “If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be half the seamstress I would be today. Please,” I wrapped my hands around her hands, “I have a dress for every occasion because of you, you know that right.” She smirked looking into my eyes, I felt my heart skip a beat, “A lady like you deserves a new dress every day of the week.” I wanted nothing more then to hold her tightly, to feel her lips against mine, to feel those strong arms wrap around my waist, “You spoil me too much Y/N,” she laughed tying her headdress back on, “I have to be up early tomorrow,” I nodded grabbing some fruit, tying it up in a net and attaching it to her belt, “I’ll see you tomorrow Namora!” I smiled watching that beautiful smile creep up on her lips as she gave me one final hug for the night, savoring any moment I could with her before pulling back to swim home, waving sweetly as she swam away. 

My heart ached as I closed my blinds, looking around the empty room, our sun down down the room was lit by bio-luminescent lanterns at the corners of the wall I swam to the mannequin, fitting it fully before pausing, regrettably I wrapped my arms around the mannequin and held it closely, pretending it was her. I breathed in holding it tightly, ‘this is pathetic’ I thought to myself as I felt my chest hurt and my heart ache. I couldn’t confess to her, I shouldn’t, I didn’t want to ruin the years we grew up together, I didn’t want to take the risk of her rejection. Tears welled in the corners of my eyes as I held onto the mannequin, it was my biggest fear, the thought of her rejecting me and even worse watching her fall in love with someone else, ‘It wouldn’t hurt to confess,’ I muddled the idea feeling the soft fabric under my fingertips, ‘how would I even tell her?’ I let go of the mannequin to go back to my room, pulling out my parchments as I stumbled upon a sketch I hadn’t made yet. It was a two piece dress with a racer back and a feathered shawl, I mulled over the dress, it’s not like the ones I usually make her, it was extravagant and regal. ‘It’s a clear sign to show her just how I feel about her’. I breathed in deeply before pinning the parchment on the wall and got to work. 

First I had to make the first part of the dress which was the main body, this part was hard because in my sketches its more a form fitting dress so trying to fit it to her was a challenge without being obvious that it was a courting gift for her. “Oh this is beautiful,” Namora cooed as she slipped on the dress, “You look stunning Namora,” I patted her shoulder as I strung on the racer back with carved beads on the back, “So what’s this one for Y/N?” she asked as she felt the interlocking patterns on the bodice, “Oh,” I tried to think of an answer, “I don’t make enough racer-backs so I just thought I could use the practice?” I watched a sweet smile grace her face as she replied, “Well I can’t wait to wear this one out its beautiful.” I laughed awkwardly trying to change the subject as I unzipped the dress letting her change, “Well this one has a lot of details so I’d just be best to forget about it you know?” I quickly folded the dress putting it away as she finished changing I coudn’t help but stare, she was just so tone so strong it was hard to focus on anything else sometimes, I swallowed hard trying to distract myself as she finished dressing sitting down with a satisfied smile pulling a net of fruit out of her satchel as she waved to me, “Come and eat Y/N,” she pulled her knife out to portion out our food as we sat and ate, “So Namora,” I swallowed a bite of ripe fruit, “Anything new on the home front?” I watched her rest her head on her hand as she thought of how to best answer my question she clicked her tongue before looking to me, “I don’t want to alarm you but we’re getting dangerously close to war.” I gasped leaning in my brows furrowed, “You’ll be alright though right?” I would never forgive myself if she were ever hurt or even killed in battle, “I’m too strong to be killed don’t worry.” sitting together I leaned in putting my hand on her shoulder, “Please just be careful,” she cooed taking my hand, “Don’t worry about me I’ll be fine. If anything I worry about you,” my heart skipped a beat as she continued to hold my hand, “You have to take care of yourself too you know. You can’t stay here cooped up in your shop by yourself.” I felt her hand grasp mine as I felt her rough hands, “I-” I couldn't properly form all I wanted to say to her, I don’t think there was even words to exist how I felt about her. “If you keep your mouth open like that someone would think you're trying to filter feed now,” she chuckled taking a bite of her fruit as I closed my mouth trying to put up a smile as she gave this cute knowing look, “You know I could always set you up with someone!” she smiled as she began to cut up another fruit from her net, it hurt hearing her say that, ‘maybe we could go out?’ I thought mulling over the thought of saying then looking to her and watching her cut up her fruit, passing half to me in a small dish with a smile on her face as I took a bite, “I don’t know,” I chuckled, “I don’t think I’m ready to date someone Namora.” shaking my head nervously as she took a bite, “Come on there has to be someone here in Talokan you like!” my ears felt hot as she poked, “Oh so there is someone?” she smiled laughing, “You like someone awe Y/N!” she hugged me tightly then pulled back her hands still on my shoulders, “Who is it? Are they tall? Are they strong?” she paused smirking, “Is it someone I know?” I swallowed hard as she looked at me with stars in her eyes, “I-” I breathed out, “Yeah,” I nodded knowing if I didn’t at least answer one she would hound me till the sun returned. Namora cooed as she readjusted her seat pulling me close, “You have to tell me everything Y/N!” she smiled with an expectant look on her face, “Well,” I swallowed hard, “She’s tall and um really pretty.” I couldn't help but just gush about her to her, it’s not like she would ever notice keeping the most blatant things out such as “she visits me daily and I dress her up because its the only way I can be physically close to her” you know, little things. “She sounds like such a catch Y/N” Namora cooed as she braided my hair, “You have no idea,” I laughed as I felt her fingers run though my hair, “You should ask her out!” “No I don’t think-” she placed her hands firmly on my shoulders as she leaned down to my ear, “You should go for it, no matter what happened what if she says yes?” I turned to meet her gaze, “And what if she says no.” watching her brows furrow as she gave me a sympathetic look, “And what if she says yes?” I couldn't help but think of kissing her right then and there, just cupping her jaw and bringing her in close no pacing around my feelings just going for it. But it was just as a thought as she re-positioned herself behind me to continue to braid my hair. Leaning back I savored being close to her like this, feeling her strong legs wrap around my hips as she sat up feeling myself go lax in her embrace as she gently tugged on my hair, “Falling asleep there?” I gently shook my head as I rested my head on in the crook of her shoulder feeling her gills gently move against my ear as I closed my eyes, “It feels nice.” I mumbled into her neck as she laughed wrapping her arms around me, “You’re so funny Y/N” I shook my head as I tried to enjoy this fleeting moment. Soon she patted my shoulders gently shaking me awake, “Its getting late Y/N,” I sighed heavily as I turned around hugging her softly as I felt her arms wrap around me, “Can’t you just stay the night again?” I looked up at her gentle smile, “I have to be up early tomorrow so I don’t want to wake you up too early,” letting go she turned to the door, “I’ll see you again tomorrow?” I asked wringing my hands, “Of course I’ll be here,” she pointed to me before leaving, “And we’re going to discuss this lady of yours!” she smiled as she dashed off, swimming home. I sighed as I grabbed her courting gift, unwrapping it and putting it on the mannequin before grabbing a small basket filled with fine beads and accents, finishing up the details I sighed thinking of how she was persistent to know who this mystery woman was, ‘I have to tell her sometime,’ I thought to myself as I tied the line finishing the base of the dress, pulling out layers of tool and draping it around the mannequin to make a cape. I couldn't sleep, not now knowing that she knows I have feelings for someone, as I measured the pieces and cut them out before pinning them to the mannequin, her words echoed in my head, “You should go for it no matter what” she said. I sighed looking back at my finished look, I just needed to line the individual pieces and tack it to the cape and it should be ready and when its ready I’ll be ready. No matter what. I sighed looking out of my door just a peak to see the city was still asleep so I swam over to my bed to get some rest just for a little bit before I go back to the market to sell some dresses. Laying in my bed I looked over to see the sketch of Namora in the courting gift I pulled my heavy blanket over my shoulders as I took one glance and said a silent prayer to the gods to give me some luck and some courage to confess how I feel for my best friend and quickly succumbed to a deep sleep with the thought of Namora on my minds eye. 

With the dress finished and the tensions of war heavy on the world there was no other time then now I thought I could say something. For the past few days she’s been gone, up in the cavern where Ku’Ku’Ikan worked when he wished to be unbothered. I wrapped the dress in fine cloth, tying it with a brightly colored rope, taking an sweet smelling oil i marked the fabric then held it close to my heart, hoping that she would accept it along with my feelings. I took deep breaths holding the gift close to my chest as I tried to steady my nerves, apparently after Ku’Ku’Ikan had brought the Wakandan princess down to Talokan one of her soldiers came down here and killed the guard and maid watching over them, I didn’t know any of them personally but I coudn’t help but feel the pain that the rest of Talokan felt at this betrayal. They were someones child, someones lover, they were someone with a life and aspirations and now they coudn’t live those anymore, all because of the greed of the surface world, I sighed feeling a pang in my heart for the two women then immediately was shaken from thought as I heard the beads of my curtain rustle with a certain ‘swoosh’ as I saw my Namora swim through the door post, she looked tired, as if she hadn’t slept in days. “Namora,” I cooed ushering her to me pulling her into a warm embrace, “What is it?” I pulled her back looking into her tired eyes, “I’m just a bit tired thats all, but I wanted to come see you before the big speech.” my brows furrowed, “What speech?” she gave a tired smile as I led her to my bed to sit down and rest, “Ku’Ku’Ikan is going to declare war on the surface world, and I want to you to come with me so you can get a good spot too.” I felt her head lean on my shoulder as she faded in and out of sleep, I fiddled with the soft fabric of her skirt as she settled next to me, it was another one of my creations this one I was playing with dying on the surface giving it a nice red to white type of tone. “This is for you,” I put the gift on her lap as she sat next to me, “Oh Y/N,” I swallowed hard trying to think of how to say how I feel as I watched her unwrap the parcel revealing the the dress, “Oh Y/N its beautiful,” she held it up sitting up straight now as she pulled the cape up admiring the bright hues swaying in the current she then pulled out the main piece, a certain glimmer in her eye as she recognized the piece then turning to me embracing me tightly, “I love it Y/N,” pulling back I watched her eyes light up again, “I can wear this to Ku’Ku’Ikan’s speech!” she jumped up immediately changing into the new dress, “I wanted to gift this to you as a way to segway to tell you that I care about you, a lot that is and where ever this war takes us I just wanted to tell you how I feel.” I looked up to see she was still slipping on the dress quickly jumping up, undoing the back of the dress for it to fit snugly over her body as I laced up the back, pinning the sides and wrapping the cape around her snugly, she looked down smoothing down her dress as she looked up to me with a beaming smile, “I love it.” there was something about how she smiled that never failed to make my heart skip a beat, “I-” I looked at her, “I’m glad you like it,” wringing my hands I watched as she twirled in her dress watching the cape flow, “Oh Y/N, I didn’t quite catch what you said when I was putting the dress on what were you saying?” as I looked back at her I couldn't help but remember how tired she looked when I saw her, my feelings were the last on her agenda and with a war in the making theres no chance a person like me could ever provide for a woman like her. “It’s nothing, I think I was just gushing how you don’t have any fine gowns and with all these tensions going on I thought it would be nice to help bring up your spirits.” there was a certain pang in my chest as I said each word, it was heavy and hurtful as I said each word as I realized I could never be anything more then her friend. It hurt even more feeling her arms wrap around my shoulders as she thanked me telling me how I was her best friend, but sometimes you just have to embrace the pain and welcome it in open arms I guess thats what I did when I hugged her back tightly remembering shes embracing a friend and nothing more. 

sorry also idk how to use this platform

[k00290860]

Disrupt Project Week 3-

24/10/23

Interactive Piece:

After the workshop yesterday I found I had a lot of free will to explore my project theme for the rest of the week.

Last week I disrupted famous pieces of art in pop culture so this week I decided to flip the script and disrupt traffic signs themselves.

I wanted this to be a messy price of work so as a start I got my friends and I to walk over a blank piece of paper and due to the fact that the studio is covered in charcoal 24/7 it was easy for our footprints to leave a mark. I over lined the footprints to make them more prevalent in the drawing but it proved to take too long and in the end I stopped focusing on the little things and continued with the bigger picture.

I then drew a simple stop sign with a very distinctive and troubled face on it keeping it free handed and sketchy.

Although I was happy with the result I wanted more from this to tie into my disrupt project as a whole so I laid it down as a doormat for people to walk over so it would be disrupted in a sense.

At first majority of people who came through hopped over it or tried they’re best to avoid it and it led me to actually write in smaller writing on it to advise people to walk over it!

After a while as time went on the door started getting caught on it and people had more fun destroying it and the end result was something I was very proud of!

[glassedplanets]

ok i have some time so now i can finally fill out that full ask meme

1. Art programs you have but don’t use

paint tool sai and firealpaca -- i used sai for yeeeaaaars and years and years after starting out in photoshop

2. Is it easier to draw someone facing left or right (or forward even)

neither, honestly? i go through phases where one thing suddenly becomes dramatically more difficult than anything else but i don’t think that among left/right/forward any one of them is easier than the other two

3. What ideas come from when you were little

uhhhh man. idk. cats? i don’t remember what i drew when i was little tbh

4. Fav character/subject that’s a bitch to draw

i feel like each blorbo goes through a phase where they’re a bitch to draw but for subject... indoor settings are currently my big bitch to draw

5. Estimate of how much of your art you post online vs. the art you keep for yourself

hmmmm. 90/10 post/keep, i think? i’m interpreting “post” generously to include just sharing w/ friends too

6. Anything that might inspire you subconsciously (i.e. this horse wasn’t supposed to look like the Last Unicorn but I see it)

oh man this is a really broad question but like. i think everything is a subconscious inspiration, you know? my friends’ art, that post i just saw, the way the sunset looked yesterday, anything. but more specifically than that... idk lol, i’m not particularly self-aware, i think, so someone would have to say something to me

7. A medium of art you don’t work in but appreciate

pixels!! pixel art is so cool but idk anything about it, and quilting too

8. What’s an old project idea that you’ve lost interest in

i’m preeeetty good about finishing things so i don’t generally abandon them out of lack of interest

9. What are your file name conventions

answered!

10. Favorite piece of clothing to draw

shirts generally (t-shirts and button-ups), but i’ve been enjoying pants recently too (jeans, slacks, leggings)

11. Do you listen to anything while drawing? If so, what

literally anything from neil cicierega to video game osts to asmr

12. Easiest part of body to draw

golly! everything has the potential to be a challenge. i feel like the thing i struggle with least often (in the sense that i don’t need to use refs quite as often and/or it needs adjustment less often) is hands, i really enjoy drawing them

13. A creator who you admire but whose work isn’t your thing

hmm. i feel like this is an easy one to be Mean about so i’ll just go with naming a style that isn’t my thing, which would be 90% of drawn and quarterly’s catalog, or, the litfic (derogatory) of graphic novels

14. Any favorite motifs

man. idk. do i have Motifs? people touching subtly. late afternoon.

15. *Where* do you draw (don’t drop your ip address this just means do you doodle at a park or smth)

home! i don’t like drawing outside of home but i am also a massive homebody in general

16. Something you are good at but don’t really have fun doing

answered!

17. Do you eat/drink when drawing? if so, what

yes......... lmao whatever meal intersects with whenever i happen to draw is what i eat, and i hydrate like a pro

18. An estimate of how much art supplies you’ve broken

probably some when i was a child, but i take good care of my stuff! i’ve never broken anything as a teen/adult, unless it was something inevitable like charcoal breaking

19. Favorite inanimate objects to draw (food, nature, etc.)

nature! bob rossin’ it ALL day, i am fortunate to live in a very beautiful area and i’m very deeply inspired by everything i see as i’m out and about

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy

i think hands qualify for this, idk if it’s still popular to hate on hands but i really enjoy drawing them

21. Art styles nothing like your own but you like anyways

so many... i feel like i don’t follow a lot of artists with a style similar to mine? or maybe i do and i’m just unselfaware about it, idk

22. What physical exercises do you do before drawing, if any

i’ve got a pinchy ulnar nerve so i have to do nerve glides for that sometimes, and if i’m very stiff then i do wrist stretches

23. Do you use different layer modes

absolutely the fuck i do

24. Do your references include stock images

yes! stock images, stuff i find by googling, pose books, awkward photos of myself, anything

25. Something your art has been compared to that you were NOT inspired by

i am genuinely not sure anyone’s ever compared my art to anyone or anything...? this is an invitation if anyone reading this has ever been just burning to tell me that my art looks like [thing]

26. What’s a piece that got a wildly different interpretation from what you intended

i mean... i draw fanart. so usually it’s pretty clearly what it says on the tin.

27. Do you warm up before getting to the good stuff? If so, what is it you draw to warm up with

not really, i use my sketch layer as a warmup

28. Any art events you have participated in the past (like zines)

i’ve never participated in a zine but i would love to someday....... and i tabled at an artist alley one (1) time at a convention that where the AA was more focused on commissioning (traditional) art than selling merch

29. Media you love, but doesn’t inspire you artistically

uhhh wow. lots of stuff, i guess? even with very visual things there’s a lot of stuff i read/watch/play where i’m like, this is beautiful, but it’s not something that i want to be able to do

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated

i’m gonna take this as a “plug something shamelessly” question and say this one

[dufreydiaries]

Dufrey Diaries Chapter 16

Lucline sat at the table with Tira beside her. She had set out a few books and a special book used to teach children to read. She had no idea who wrote it, but the person had thought it would be good for the entire old Empire, even if they never had seen half the items used to teach kids to read.

"She this rune here? This is the letter 'A' in the common tongue. Trace it with your finger."

Tira did as she bid, saying "A."

Lucline pointed to the image near the letter. "This is an apple. Apple starts with the letter A."

"A is for apple? What's an apple, Miss Lucline?"

"It's a fruit. They are similar to pears but a different shape and color. You've had pears before?"

The girl nodded. "Papa brings some home on occasion. Usually Mama has to make them into a dish because they are already too bruised to eat by themselves."

"Well, fruit transport isn't a high priority for mages that can help keep things cool, I'm afraid. Now, look at these other books and pick out the 'A' on them, if it's there."

Tira went from book to book, pointing out the 'A's. Soon, she had picked them all out, showing she could recognize the letter.

"Good job." Lucline gave the girl a head pat that earned her a big smile in return. "Now, let's write that letter."

Tira took a charcoal stick and traced the letter A on a scrap piece of paper. Lucline had her do it nine more times until the sketching seems to be effortlessly.

"Good job, Tira. Now, let's move onto the next letter…" She was interrupted by a knock on the door. "I better get that. Why don't you sketch 'A' a little more?"

Tira grinned and went back to the practice as Lucline went over to the door. A member of the watch was standing there.

"Lucline Dufrey?" The man asked.

"Yes, that's me." She informed the official.

"We need you to come with us. There has been an incident and your partner Rasina is hurt."

Lucline frowned. Rasina was upstairs, unpacking her boxes from her move.

"I'm sorry, officer, you must be mistaken. My girlfriend is in her room…"

The man drew his curved sword and pressed it to her neck.

"Why did you have to be so damn smart? A blonde beauty like yourself has no business being so damn intelligent. You should have just come away without fuss."

Lucline smiled, her hand was pointing at the man. A flash of green and he fell over, paralyzed. She felt the blade nick her neck as it fell but that was better than being slashed.

"Tira, bring me my potion belt, sweetheart."

*Elder-Scrolls*

After a healing potion and forcing a sleeping draught down the man's throat, she called for Rasina. Her partner came running down the staits with her sword at the ready, her eyes blazing with anger.

"My own house." She seethed as the real Watch hauled away the impostor. "They came to my own house to try and lure you away so they could get Tira. I'll flay all of them!"

Lucline was worried that such talk would be bad for Tira but the girl's grin worried her more. She looked like she wanted to watch.

"I'm just lucky I knew you were in, love. Had he come when you were really out, I might have been tricked by that. We need to make sure both of us know where the other is at all times, it seems."

Rasina crossed her arms, her lovely features marred with her anger. "Good idea." She admitted. "This Brotherhood is getting on my last nerve. I guess going to Craglorn will be the best idea for awhile."

Lucline nodded. "Tira's mother was all for it when we contacted her yesterday. Anyways, let's get back to your lesson, Tira. I would like to get you used to three letters today."

Tira beamed at her. "Yay!"

Lucline set about continuing the lesson, though the unease of the encounter nagged at her mind. She would not feel safe until those wards were placed on the house.

A/N: The Brotherhood's reach is long. Will anywhere be safe for Tira as Lucline and Rasina continue to guard her? Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

[mx-lamour]

The Tome of Ezra!

Now that my first CoS campaign has concluded, after 32 heart-pounding sessions, it's time to gather all of those many notes into a comprehensible narrative, so that I and all the wonderful folks who have taken a shine to my boy can know and remember all that he's been through and accomplished because of it. [Read/follow on Ao3]

Note: Maybe this goes without saying, but there will be Ravenloft/Curse of Strahd SPOILERS in this story! Venture forth at your own risk.♡

* * *

Chapter 1: The Dragon

I pulled a cigarette from the breast pocket of my coat. An ungainly thing, rolled tight with too-thick parchment and sun-dried mugwort from the roadside. It burned, though. That was the important bit. When it lit, with a cautious glance to either side and a snap of my fingers, there was a simultaneous FWOOM in the distance. A tremor shook the tavern, rattling the floorboards. Heart-stopping. I drew back to look at the thing. Flicked out the little flame clinging to the paper. Took a deep pull, and pocketed a satisfyingly crisp chunk of yesterday’s bread from the bartop.

At length, I followed a growing crowd of curious spectators outside. A large plume of black smoke wafted into the sky from the woods beyond town. Word circulated that a group of adventurers had gone out to confront a young red dragon.

There were more mercenary types inside the tavern when the blast erupted. There always were, it seemed, no matter the size or composition of the town. Wherever a keg and a bed could be found under the same roof, there they were. I supposed some might count myself among them, but I wouldn’t. I tried my best not to look them in the eye.

A large man from the north was called Kreig, and there was also staunch dwarven peddler Dulan Neugrim. They introduced themselves to a sheriff of the region, who approached the gathered onlookers with a request for backup. Who would venture into the woods with him? What brave souls would face the danger and discover what had happened? It wasn’t the kind of thing I would normally volunteer for. The man offered payment, though, and I was low on coin again. I guessed there might not be much left to see, after a blast that big.

It was horrible. The earth was blackened, packed into a slight crater from whatever force we had felt in town. Three bodies were sprawled in that uneasy rest which often befalls the reckless. The dragon loomed beyond them, gruesomely disfigured and limping. Its jaw hung lax and crooked, swaying unnaturally as the dragon turned its gaze on us.

What madness possessed me to go toward its mangled face? My ax could do nothing but glance sideways off its slick scales. But Kreig jumped forward like it was something he did every day, slicing through the dragon’s injured leg to cleave its foot clear off. The dragon roared in pain and fury. Thrashed its tail at the assailant. Blood splashed hot on the ground. I, and Dulan beside me, callously jabbing with only the weapon of harsh words, were caught in a burst of fiery breath. So much for my cigarette.

It was also Kreig who finally took the dragon’s head. He plunged his sword into the creature’s throat, where many of those tough scales had been ripped away in the explosion. His sword broke with the sheer force of the maneuver. Shrapnel rained down with the final wet thud of the dragon’s lifeless body in the dirt.

Dulan picked through the remains of the former adventurers, parsing together their fate and the origin of the crater—their own alchemical doings—while he lifted choice valuables off the bodies and Kreig cut trophies from the dragon’s carcass. The standard customs of hired swords. I did not partake in it, but Dulan later thrust a couple of objects in my direction, which would serve as my cut for tagging along.

Instead, I knelt before the dragon’s head, gruesome as it was. With a bit of charcoal, I inscribed a small symbol on its forehead. A series of lines which just… felt right. “Be at ease,” I murmured. I knew it had been a destructive force, raining fire down on crops and eating cattle, demolishing the hard-won livelihoods of those who tended such resources. Regardless, I pitied the beast. This quiet acknowledgement of its passing was all I had to offer. . . .

Dulan told the story as though we three had conquered the dragon ourselves. It was a half-truth. We cleaned up a botched execution. And now I possessed some of the richest items I’d ever had and never earned: a silver pocket watch—its mechanisms seemed to be broken, for it always displayed eleven o’clock—and a dark cloak with shimmering gold lining. Its previous owner had displayed the cloak’s brighter layer on the outside, but I couldn’t bring myself to do the same.

I found little good in the breakfast feast presented to us. Fine, fresh things I knew I couldn’t stomach well. Succulent fruits and meats. Soup with soft steaming bread. I picked through some of it while Dulan spoke eloquently with the local duchess, who rewarded our impressive victory with another request:

There was a group of ruffians trespassing in the duchess’s lands. For a handsome fee, of course, it would be our honor to evict them. Peaceably or not was of little concern to her, so long as they were gone by morning.

. . .

A smile grew on my face once we approached the noted location. I caught the eyes of some of those unruly vagabonds and raised my hand to them.

“Ay!” one man cried boisterously in greeting. “Welcome back!” I jogged ahead of the others to meet him.

They called themselves Vistani. Colorful people, in love with music and storytelling. They lived a life of travel, as I did, though theirs took place in a richly decorated caravan of round-topped wagons. I had recently enjoyed a night of exuberant safety among them; a far cry from any witless night watching my door at an inn, or lying down on a lonely bedroll hidden in the wilderness.

Campfires blazed. Stanimir, the leader of their camp, called the three of us by names I did not recognize.

“You’re mistaken,” I insisted. “I’m Ezra. You know me. I was here before.”

“Ah, yes! I understand—hush, hush. It was very clever, hiding the radiant gold of your cloak on the inside.” Nothing I could think to say would dissuade him. Stanimir had been seeking those same recently-dead adventurers whose treasures we wore! He thought he had heroes in his midst, and was ecstatic. “Please,” he said, gesturing broadly with his arms, “gather ‘round. I have something to show you.”

I had never seen anything like it. The fire before us took on an unusual green color. Then Stanimir cleared his throat, and began to recite a legend of his people. While he orated, images emerged from deep within the emerald flames.

The pictures displayed ancient lands, unfamiliar to us. Ruthless enemies, driving the people from their homes.

On the road, a wounded man—a soldier. The Vistani took him into their unsettled community. Nursed him back to health.

When assassins rained down on their camp, the soldier—a prince, they now knew—fought in defense of the people who had rescued him.

He made a promise to the Vistani then, that their people would always be welcome in his lands.

"But a great curse befell him," Stanimir went on. "Our good Prince became a tyrant! Long have we roamed, seeking help to restore the man we once knew.”

The fire faded back to its usual yellow-orange hue after those final words had been delivered. It crackled and popped contentedly between us as though nothing at all had happened, but in my chest I felt a great swell of tension. I knew it immediately: Although I did not know how I could possibly do so, I wanted to help these people, to save their cursed prince. Although I was certainly not the great adventurer they thought they'd found, the fact remained that they had welcomed me into their midst—twice—and I was moved by it.

The way they danced and played around their campfires captivated me as much now as it had during my first night among them. It was hard not to dream, as I watched, of some other life in which I could be part of something like this; a spirit of life they made to look so easy. They merged with the flames in a kind of symbiosis, respectful of its heat and mindful of its hungers. They did not fear their fire, or use it merely as a tool. It was one of them.

Dulan was practical. “Can you tell us more about this curse?”

“Alas, the events I spoke of happened many generations ago. You say you were sent to shoo us away?” Stanimir recalled. “If you leave with us in the morning, we will take you to Madam Eva. She is very old and very wise. She can tell you more than I.”

Kreig did not say much. He tended to defer to Dulan, which formed an easy dynamic between them. I didn't not yet know what to think of either of my recent companions, but if there were any chance of success in this—whatever it was—I would need to rely on their experience. Despite my fierce compulsion toward this mission, which I hoped I had not displayed too eagerly, I also knew that it would be far out of my depth.

I wanted to try.

Luckily, Dulan agreed.

* * * [Read/follow on Ao3] :3

[twinky-linky]

so it's midterms or smth and i have to turn in all* my drawings so here we go

these two were done with graphite and were both done with random still life. the first one was just a contour so no rendering was necessary. It think it's pretty strong but also boring. the second one I'm very proud of the angle and actually getting it to look right. i liked drawing the flowers until I got bored of it and then I didnt

this was our first actual homework assignment and i drew some controllers and amiibo because that's all i have in my dorm that's interesting.

*so inbetween the controller still life and these paintings we did charcoal and I can not stand charcoal I hate that it gets messing and it makes my entire body vibrate like mildly the feeling of nails on a chalkboard so basically I used the blending stump mostly and never finished the drawings because I hate charcoal rant over

these were really fun because i really like using ink. the first one is a still life and there was like a plastic torso and a roller skate and some other things that were fun to put detail into. the paper bag was fun and I liked doing the layering to get darker, but I think I started too dark. my professor is gonna tell me the background is too empty and it looks like its floating. finally the last one is supposed to be abstract so do with it what you will.

these two are from left to right, one point perspective and a two point perspective. the first one is just a random room I came up with and I kinda just kept adding things to show perspective. the second one is a rendition of the tesseract from interstellar because that's my favorite movie :)

and this is what i did yesterday. a face study of jenna ortega but its only vaguely jenna because not every face is the same and it was hard to show the proportions of her face with the guide we used but its okay I made it work and just drew lines randomly lol

[tsukasageorge]

8 10 12 14 16 18 artist ask

nico is carrying my entire inbox

1. what is your favorite color to work with?

pink and purple my beloved. red is cool too

2. who is your favorite character to draw?

(shoves mound of alluka drawings under the table) i do not have a favorite ahaha maybe aubrey because she has long hair 😊😊😊😊😊😊

3. what song(s) do you listen to when you do art?

a lot

4. how often do you draw?

at least every few days. it's pretty rare for me to go more than a week without drawing nowadays but i used to draw much less regularly and improved so much slower

5. digital or traditional?

digital! traditional is nice in small doses. i think im done with normal pencils i prefer either painting or like. charcoal as i recently discovered

6. tag your favorite artists/inspirations!

UH. UH. YOU DO I TAG YOUR ART BLOG OR MAIN. @shitbox-drawn my friend who's not on tumblr but she was my first art mutal ever i love her her names kyoki um. ngl i dont know anyone's name. tiucotheus (i dont wanna tag them i feel like id bother them) & yuumei art. hyperpop type art has been a pretty big inspiration for me recently i love colors

7. do you prefer sketching, outlining, or coloring?

sketching <3 lineart is to me what coloring is to normal people. it's relaxing sometimes but i need 1 million stabilzer. you already know how i feel about coloring

8. show us at least 2-3 drawings from 1-2 years ago.

this is the iconic sibling moment i was talking about. its roughly a year old now, and looks pretty stiff, but it was like. kinda insanely good for my skill at the time. pretty big point in my art history

here's one from 2021, its one of the oldest drawings i have on my computer. gilda was supposed to be there but i couldnt draw her so i gave up

9. what drawing program do you use? (if the artist does digital art)

clip studio paint my beloved

10. are you right or left handed?

right

11. warm or cool colors?

why are we pitting two bad bitches against each other..... personally i like ourple

12. draw one of your favorite characters in 15 seconds.

unlluka

14. what was something that you used to draw a lot that you don’t draw as much anymore?

um. bows i guess? butterfly wings, i really liked drawing those for a bit (i drew like 2 ever)

15. when was the last time you did art?

1 minutes ago if u count unlluka. i did draw earlier today though

16. what kind of tablet do you use? v v 

the wacom one its like. flat. no screen

17. (alternative for traditional art ) ^ ^  do you work with pencils or pens more often?

pencils my beloved

18. how long have you been drawing/ when did you officially “declare” yourself as an artist?

i considered myself an artist when i actually drew something and didn't just shade a picture. i've been drawing for probably like... 4 years now??? that's insane i swear it was 3 yesterday

19. do you like drawing short hair or longer hair more?

LONG HAIR ESPECIALLY THE KIND THAT IS SLIGHTLY WAVY

20. how often do you get art block?

not in my art block era but if i dont have an idea then yeah

21. draw one of your original characters.

not gonna lie i actually dont really like my ocs but anyways this one is nyx they're chaotic silly. remember that royal who randomly disappeared 3 years ago yeah thats them they were hanging out w some dragons this whol time

22. do you use a mac or pc to do (digital) art?

pc

23. draw your fav as a vampire

i will do this as not an ask bc i want to put actual effort into it

24. how many followers do you have? (on your art blog)

like 23 iirc but lets say 24 so it matches with the question number

25. where in your house do you usually do art?

exclusively on my bed but i drew nyx on nicos bed

26. draw urself! (it doesn’t have to be detailed)

same as 23 ive been meaning to make a meet the artist for a while

[luveline]

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."

[littlepadika]

Something Sweet l Marcus Pike x Reader

For a sweet anon who has a lot in common with me! A STEM major who is a lil introverted and nerdy 💕 but darling when you told me you like sugary things and you are a hopeless/hopeful romantic I knew there was only 1 guy for you... Marcus Pike (our resident hopeless romantic). I may have taken some liberties based on how similar we are :P I hope you like it!!!

Warnings: Brief mention of diet/saving money/germophobia, inexperienced reader, implied age gap, meet cute fluff

You sighed when you walked into the coffee shop and saw the long line. You checked your watch. There was surely enough time right? Not a great way to start your first day at your new job. But you also didn’t want to start your first day without a nice coffee. Now that it was nearing the holiday season you were looking forward to your first holiday drink of the year.

You finally got up to the register to place your order. That’s when you noticed the price increase. Was that really how much your drink cost? You chewed your lip. You should probably wait until your first paycheck to splurge.

“What can I get you?” The barista asked.

“Oh uh. I’m just deciding.” You stepped back. “He can go before me. Sorry.” The man standing behind you looked surprised. You gulped when you noticed how attractive he was. He had big brown eyes and a kind smile which showed off symmetrical dimples. He was certainly older than you as well.

“You sure?” He asked. You nodded. “Thanks. I’m in a hurry.” He ordered a large nonfat latte. You stole glances at him as he waited for his drink. With his suit and tie you guessed he had to be someone important. He seemed too kind looking for finance or law. Perhaps he was a doctor or a professor.

~~~~~~~~~

The next day you decided to visit the coffee shop again. Yes, it would be more economical to make coffee at home but there was something about walking in the crisp morning with a warm drink that really put you in a good mood. Secretly you were hoping to see that handsome man again. Just to look at him. It had been a long time since you’d felt any attraction to someone. You used to think something was wrong with you because everyone was dating and having sex and it’s not like you didn’t want to, just that you hadn’t found anyone who got your heart racing. No one who could meet the high expectations built by rom coms, jane austen, and taylor swift. But that man… he definitely drew your attention.

You left your place with more time to spare than yesterday and once again the line was very long.

“Hey… it’s you.” You turned around. There he was. Standing behind you just like yesterday. Where yesterday he was in a charcoal grey suit, today he was in navy blue.

“Oh hi.” You brushed your bangs out of your eyes nervously.

“Thanks for letting me cut ahead of you the other day. Really saved my ass. I was running late.” He smiled, dimples deepening. You felt the strange urge to lift your hand up and touch them. Your eyes flickered down to his left shoulder where his badge was poking out. You couldn’t fully make out the name. But you saw the FBI logo plain as day.

“It’s not-no problem.” You laughed nervously. Fuck, you were being awkward. You jammed your hands into your pockets to keep from fidgeting.

“I was hoping I could return the favor. Let me buy yours today.”

You were taken aback by the offer. Your stomach lit up with butterflies. This is how it started, right? Like something out of those romantic comedies you loved. Don't read too much into it! You screamed at yourself.

“Oh you don’t have to.”

“Please.” He insisted. “I want to.”

“O-okay.” You gulped moving up in the line.

“I’m Marcus by the way.” He extended his hand for you to shake. You replied with your own name and shook his hand gently. You marveled at how long his fingers were. They nearly reached all the way around your hand.

“Are you a student?” He nodded at the university pin on your backpack.

“I was. I’m working nearby now in a lab.”

“Wow, that's awesome. You must be incredibly smart.” He sounded impressed.

“Oh. Yeah I guess.” You bit your lip, tingling from his praise.

“The scientists at work are the smartest people I know. I couldn't do my job without them.” Before you could ask he adds, “I’m in the FBI so lots of crime scene and forensics stuff.”

“That’s so cool.” You reply, screaming at yourself to think of something clever to say. You were a little intimidated you were standing next to an FBI agent. Was he carrying a gun? Had he killed anyone? He looks fit. God! This was not what you should be thinking about.

Taylor Swift started playing overhead and the familiar tune helped draw you back into reality.

“Oh I love this song.” Marcus said quietly to himself.

“Yeah?” You perked up. “Me-me too.”

“Makes me want to walk around moodily with a scarf as the leaves fall.” Marcus teased. You giggled as you imagined him walking around the city in a sepia tone like Adele. And he'd look damn good...

“Don’t tell me that’s what you were planning on doing?” He nudged you with his elbow.

“How did you know?” You played along with a weak laugh. Seriously, was he reading your mind or something? That's exactly what you planed on doing!

You both moved up towards the register. Since Marcus was paying you went for the cheap option of a coffee with caramel.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” He stops you before the barista can write it on the cup. He placed a large warm hand over your shoulder. “You can have anything you want. One of those sugary drinks. Whatever.”

“Oh.” You felt your face grow hot as you pulled your eyes away from the drink you had been staring at. Yes he was definitely reading your mind.

“My treat.” He coaxed you with a squeeze of your shoulder.

“I want a peppermint white mocha please. With extra whipped cream.” You can’t help but beam as you order it, already anticipating the sweet flavor on your tongue.

“That’s more like it.” Marcus cheered. “I’ll have the same.”

You backed into a free corner to wait for your drink and Marcus joined you, pushed against your side due to the large crowd. You were pleased he waited with you.

“Thank you.” You said quietly, looking up at him.

“My pleasure.” He nodded. He smelled incredible. Crisp yet thick. You wanted to bury your face in his expensive suit jacket.

There’s a comfortable pause as you both people watch and listen for your drink. You wished you had something interesting to talk about, maybe talk about your favorite nerdy obsession or favorite spot to go camping but you didn't think Marcus would find that interesting. He’d probably prefer to talk about politics or something pretentious. Who were you kidding, he was way out of your league!

Meanwhile Marcus was beating himself up nearly as much for not keeping up with the conversation. Flirting used to come so easily to him and he thought you were beautiful. He cleared his throat a couple of times but each time found he had nothing of value to say. He kept remembering Teresa rolling her eyes at whatever he said.

Marcus’ name is called and he comes back with your latte. You are grateful that he holds it from the bottom so he’s not getting any germs on the lid. “It’s not often I treat myself to a mocha so thanks for inspiring me.”

“It’s so good.” You gushed taking your first sip.

“My trainer is gonna kill me but what the hell.” Marcus took a sip and groaned at the sweet taste. You swallowed harshly at the sound, replaying that sound in your head.

“Yeah same well- not my trainer- just ‘future me’ will regret all the lattes when I try to get into a bathing suit.” You laughed weakly at your self deprecating joke. “I’m going to Italy this summer.” You explained your reasoning. You noticed his quirked eyebrow and you wondered if he was imagining you in a bathing suit right now.

“Italy. Beautiful country. Nice museums.” He lit up at the mention of it.

“Y-yeah.” You can’t help but raise an eyebrow at the coincidence. How many was that now? “That’s why I’m going. The art and the historical culture there. Pompei… Verona… Rome of course. It’s been my dream for so long.” You sighed wistfully. Of course Mr. Perfect Marcus had been there. You didn’t know whether to be jealous or to be curious.

“I was an art history major in college. European art was my favorite. I’ve been to Italy a couple of times. My job does not have much art appreciation but it comes in handy.” Marcus rambled, shoulders rounding. He was being far too modest.

“An art history major...” You smiled. “That’s- that’s really awesome. I wanted to take some classes in college but between science and the arts… I guess I thought I had to pick.”

“That's better than me. I was terrible at science." Marcus shook his head. "And you’ll get the real art experience in Italy. It’s better than a class for sure... So you’re a scientist and you like art. Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Ha!” You snorted into your hand. “Plenty. I clearly have a major sweet tooth” you gestured to your drink before taking a sip.

“That’s not a bad thing, sweetheart.” Marcus chuckled, pausing when he realized the little petname slipped out. His eyes flickered to yours hoping you didn't mind.

"And I'm a germaphobe." You continued to list things, trying to get a rise out of him.

"Oh yeah?" Marcus' eyes twinkled with amusement.

"And I stress myself out way more than I should." You added enjoying that he found humor in your dry humor.

"That makes two of us." Marcus nudged your shoulder playfully. “So… where are you moodily walking to?”

“Work.” You sigh, leading the way back to the shop door. “But my real brooding session will be at lunch. I usually take it at the park behind the museum. It’s my favorite place.”

“Behind the museum? Just here on campus? How come I’ve never seen you there.... That’s-” Marcus froze in place and his eyes flickered down to his feet and the tips of his ears turned red. “I’m always there at lunch, too.”

“Really?” You can’t believe how many coincidences there have been. Like your paths have been crossing over and over, just missing each other. “Pond or fountain?” You ask, trying to remember if you’d seen him. Surely you would have remembered someone like him.

“Pond.” He replied, quirking his head to the side. He was starting to notice the coincidences too, like fate had set this up. He went to push open the door but paused when he had another thought. A woman who was about to come in glared in annoyance. He didn’t notice. “Why don’t we have lunch together there today? Since we’re both going to be there.”

“Okay.” You agreed eagerly, almost cutting him off. “Sorry- that was too eager wasn’t it? I'm also bad at flirting if you haven't noticed.” You scrunched up your face in embarrassment. Marcus smiled at that, finding it cute.

“I am, too. But you make it easier, sweetheart.” He breathed an internal sigh of relief to hear you were just as hopeless at all this as he was but somehow you were still giving it a chance.

The woman waiting to come in the shop decided to just barrel through, pushing you back into Marcus’ warm chest. His arm flew around your waist protectively. Luckily none of your latte spilled on you.

“Hey!” He spluttered indignantly. He looked down at you “Are you okay?”

l“Yeah I’m- I’m fantastic.” You looked up at him, shyly. It was the truth. Your earlier awkwardness had dissipated and you were disappointed you had to say goodbye. You had never felt this way about anyone before. You dreamed about it. Hoped and prayed it would happen. You never expected it to be so cliche but you’d take the chance in a heartbeat.

“I’ll see you at lunch, Marcus. And thanks for the sugary treat!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[just-here-for-the-moment]

Claire...may I request a lil' writing? I'm thinking of Javi maybe post Columbia and he builds up a routine. He goes to the same coffee shop every morning on his way to work and of course picks up the same order. You're a barista at the coffee shop and eventually, you can pin down his arrival to the minute so one day, you make his drink for the exact moment when he gets there, with your number written on the cup cause screw it, he's damn hot. What would happen? <3

Oh Maia, this was FUN to write for you!!! I hope you enjoy it! :D

Exciting update!!! GIF and media genius @nicolethered made an amazing video for me to go with this fic!! Go give her big love!!

Second exciting update! I was challenged by @quica-quica-quica to play the POV game for this piece (where someone Asks you to rewrite a piece from a different character's POV). So now there is a companion piece to this from Javier's POV, called: "Coffee Shop Girl". Enjoy!

For Now

Word count: 3900+

Rating: explicit, 18+ only

Outline: Javier Peña x “You” (Austin coffee shop barista; cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: slow-burn; oral sex/F receiving; vaginal fingering; protected P/V sex; cigarette smoking

Ten days. It took ten days between the first arrival of the handsome stranger and you ending up in his bed. A new personal record for you, given how reserved you normally were. But it was nothing to be ashamed of, as long as you were careful. It was the 90s now after all, there was zero reason to have to keep your knees closed until marriage, as long as you used condoms and got tested regularly.

You liked the coffee shop well enough, situated on the southern end of downtown near the warehouses and a few clubs. It drew a full spectrum of Austinites: college kids closing out their club nights with breakfast tacos and pastries before going home to crash; early morning construction workers, employees from the big post office around the corner; and the usual boring lawyers and office staff who started streaming in around 7:30 every weekday morning. You could do the job well enough, even considering the odd hours: waking up early enough to open the doors at 5:30, serve the slow trickle of early morning customers with patience and ease until a co-worker joined at 7:00 for the morning rush. And the barista and food service parts of the job were physically but not mentally demanding. It was a job, and certainly less hassle than your bartending gig some weekends. At least here you only had to throw drunks out once a month.

And then one Tuesday in early June, at 7:47 a.m., he appeared. Tall, neatly groomed mustache, dark eyes, a sheaf of bangs swept to the side over his forehead. His navy blue blazer and tie said ‘accountant’ or maybe ‘state employee’ and his sideburns were just a little out of date. You pegged him at about 40, probably one of those men who visited the same barber their whole lives, not bothering to keep up with fashion trends as long as they looked neat and clean. When he reached to take his to-go cup of black coffee from you, you noticed that his ring finger was bare, and you liked that his fingernails were clean and trimmed. He offered you a nod in thanks, and you smiled at him a little more warmly than you had with your other customers so far. He held the door on his way out, pausing just a moment to let two women enter… and then he was gone, out into the bright sunlight and foot traffic and morning rush. You hoped you would see him again.

On Wednesday he came back again, a repeat of Tuesday except with a different tie, deep red today instead of navy. Black coffee to go, leather portfolio tucked under one arm, clean hands, eyes as dark as the coffee you handed him. This time rewarding you with a gruff and gravelly, “Thanks,” instead of just a nod. You relished the accidental brush of his fingers on yours as you handed the cup over, another flash of him imprinted on you, along with yesterday’s vision of him going golden as he stepped out into the morning sun. This time you watched him through the big glass window until he was out of sight, admiring his strong nose in profile, the curve of it perched over that mustache. Two extra seconds of handsomeness poured into your morning before you had to turn back to rinsing mugs and making change. You hoped that he’d come again on Thursday, making it three visits, a genuine pattern instead of a fluke.

On Thursday he reappeared, same time as the previous two days, waiting patiently in line behind two wake-and-bake potheads who were taking their sweet time staring up at the food menu. Today he was dark gray instead of navy, wearing a charcoal blazer and a sharp black tie. You waved him over with a smile, letting it melt all the way up to your eyes instead of flashing the tight, brief, closed-mouth thing you used on most customers.

“Black coffee, right?” You watched his face, taking in the dark eyes, the hair, the brief smile that made a surprise dimple appear in his cheek.

He nodded, “That’s right. Thank you.” He slid a rumpled bill across the counter. “Keep the change.”

You bit your lip as you turned away, preening at his thanks and seven whole words as if they were genuine praise. His voice was deep and rich, landing with a rumble in your own chest, like the remnants of thudding bass from a passing car. You poured the coffee and secured the lid, brain scrambling desperately for something clever to say. To make him come back, to talk to you more.

You turned and handed him the cup, and as he reached for it you again let your hand be in just the right spot to feel the brush of his fingers. Your eyes locked on one another, and for the briefest moment you forgot to let go of the cup. You wanted to swim in those brown eyes forever, get lost and let him drown you whole. He paused, and you thought you saw the briefest twitch of his mustache, a pinprick in his calm exterior before you drew your hand back. He inclined his head, a single nod, and then he turned to leave and your attention was swept back to the register and the next customers.

Friday he arrived “on time” and you met his eyes as soon as he opened the door. Today he was warm earth tones, a dark red shirt under a brown tweed blazer and no tie, a nod to casual Friday. You turned and prepared his coffee, tightening the lid and then holding it up to him across the room, smiling and tossing your chin up in a friendly greeting. He walked up and slid a few bills over the counter to you.

“Thanks.” He winked at you and something in your pelvis fluttered. “See you next week.”

You watched him go, stepping out again into a halo of golden sun, pulling a pair of aviator sunglasses from his pocket and putting them on before striding away. You suddenly felt lost, facing the many hours between now and Monday.

Your weekend passed in a blur of extra bartending shifts and catching up on sleep. You were forever napping at odd hours, trying to reconcile the slightly staggered rhythms of early morning coffee shop hours and late-night bartending. It wasn’t the hardest you’d ever worked or the worst schedule, but it wasn’t fun. At least, it hadn’t been fun until now. Now you had something to look forward to.

Monday morning you opened the shop and kept an eye on the clock. At 7:46 you poured black coffee into a to-go cup. Thirty seconds later, he appeared on the other side of the plate glass window, the navy suit and tie again, blowing out a long stream of cigarette smoke before dropping the butt and giving it a quick twist under his foot. He took off his amber-lensed aviators and tucked them into the pocket of his blazer, then pulled out his wallet. At 7:47 on the dot, he opened the door, met your eyes, and saw you holding up his coffee. And there went that smile again, the dimple, the wink.

You smiled as he approached the counter. “You psychic or something? Or am I just that predictable?”

“Both, maybe.” You grinned and wiggled your eyebrows.

He opened his wallet and passed a bill across the counter, larger than what was strictly necessary for a to-go coffee and a reasonable tip. “Great service, keep the change.”

You thanked him, giving him the full-watt smile and wishing him a good day as you opened and closed the register, putting the change into the tip jar. Thankfully there was no one else in line right now, so you could give his handsome figure your full attention as he left, watching how the navy blazer hugged his shoulders.

He went out the door, turned right like he always did, and then he turned his head and his eyes met yours through the glass. You should have felt embarrassed that he caught you staring, but you didn’t. Mostly because you realized that he had stopped to look back, too, which meant you weren’t the only one hoping for more. He nodded and lifted his cup in a gesture of thanks. Then he was gone.

Tuesday was the same, only with the charcoal blazer and the dark red tie this time. The wink, the flutter in your gut, the over-tipping. The glance across the counter as his fingers brushed yours around the cup. The aviators slung on as soon as he stepped out the door.

Wednesday, again, the navy suit and tie, another brush of the fingers, a smaller tip but a bigger smile, gracing you with that dimple again. Another gravelly, “Thank you,” that sounded warmer than he had to date. The handsome profile and a quick meeting of the eyes through the glass as he left again.

Thursday was the same, only better. You used a permanent marker to write something on his paper cup before you poured it precisely at 7:46 a.m., watching, waiting. He did not disappoint. At 7:47, precisely on time, you caught a glimpse of his profile as he came into view through the plate glass window. Charcoal again. He turned and saw you inside, then opened the door, holding it again for a woman exiting. You pointed at his to-go cup on the counter and smiled.

“You trying to get rid of me? In and out so quickly?” He smiled and twitched an eyebrow at you.

You smiled back, “Depends on how long you were planning to stay. We close at 1:00 a.m. after open mic tonight. After that you gotta go somewhere else.”

The handsome man chuckled and pursed his lips. “And what time do you get off, after the morning shift?”

“Depends on who’s asking.” You winked and immediately regretted it, it felt too bold, it wasn’t your normal mode.

He met your eyes and said simply, “I am.”

You felt your face split into a wide smile. “I finish at 1:00, after the lunch rush.”

He nodded. “Good to know. I’m Javier, by the way.” He stuck his hand out and shook yours. You gave him your name and a warm shake of the hand.

He fished a few bills out of his wallet. “Can I maybe stop by after your shift, take you to lunch sometime?”

“You can do me one better than that.” You rotated the paper cup so that the writing was facing him. “My phone number’s on the cup.”

His eyebrows popped up, and then he gave you an appraising glance, like he was impressed. You saw his tongue shift up under his lip to suck a tooth and you suddenly wanted nothing more than to see how that tongue felt on you. You flushed hot, tingling with desire.

He arched an eyebrow at you. “You do that for all your customers?”

“Just the best tippers.” You winked at him and laughed.

He stuck his hand out once more and you gave him yours. He lifted it and kissed the back of your hand, mustache sweeping ever so briefly over your knuckles before he gently released it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” his voice was low and something in it went straight to your groin, making your pelvic muscles clench. You watched him pick up the cup and go, smiling at you with that dimple through the glass as he left. You stood for just a moment, hoping, hoping, hoping. Maybe he would call you after work?

At 1:00 you finished your shift and handed the register off to Mike. You were just untying your apron and hanging it up when you saw a familiar profile sweep into view outside the window. Javier. Your stomach flipped over and a million little butterflies flew out.

He ducked inside the door and searched the shop for a moment, smiling when he saw you coming out from behind the counter with your bag slung over your shoulder.

“Hey,” you stood for a moment and hesitated, suddenly shy.

Javier slipped his sunglasses off and tucked them into his pocket. “Hey, I’m glad I caught you. Are you busy, or can I take you to lunch today?”

“No, I’m not busy. I’d love to go.” You smiled. “There’s a sandwich place around the corner, and a park we can go sit in.”

He smiled, wider than you’d seen him do so far. “That’s perfect.”

He let you lead, walking him across the street and around the corner to the sub shop. You made small-talk on the way there, finding out that he was from Laredo but new to Austin, a former DEA agent consulting for the state. You picked up your food and walked a block over to the small city park, where you told him about your roommates, your cat, your wish to go back to school and finish your degree. By the end of lunch you were both smiling, feeling that spark, the little magnetic pull that had started over his coffee orders. At 2:00 Javier said he had to get back to his office.

“... but I’d really like to see you again. Can I take you to dinner? Tonight if that’s okay, since you’re working tomorrow night.” He stood close to you, looking warmly into your eyes.

“Yeah, that would be great.” You felt that flutter again, that twitch of interest from looking into his warm brown eyes, seeing the way they crinkled when he smiled. You were so busy looking at his eyes that you didn’t see him reach his hand out, sweeping it around to circle your shoulders and pull you in for a kiss. You kissed him back, as urgently as was proper for the time of day and the public setting. When he pulled away to walk back up the few blocks to his office, you stood there dazed. Wow.

You went home and napped, then showered and changed into datewear. Javier picked you up at 7:30, and you were relieved that the little spark was still there. You had half-worried that it would wear off in the few hours between your lunch date and now, or that it was a localized feeling limited to a small radius around the coffee shop. But dinner was fun and warm, and by the end of dessert and coffee you didn’t want to leave him yet. You decided that you would be bolder than you normally were.

“Listen, my roommates are home, but do you want to go back to your place?”

Javier looked surprised for only a moment and then smiled, “Yes, let’s go.”

You kissed all the way back to the car, ran your hands lightly over the back of Javier’s neck as he drove, kissed all the way from the car to his apartment door, and tumbled inside together, feeling for buttons and zippers and helping each other out of your clothes. His erection felt warm and solid against your hip, and when he finally got naked you were nearly moaning at the expanse of his broad shoulders and golden skin. He was beautiful.

Javier walked you backwards to the bedroom and paused only to pull a wrapped condom out of a drawer and turn on the bedside lamp to chase away the dark. You lay back and watched him as he tossed the foil packet onto the quilt next to you and then knelt beside your legs. He looked at you as he ran his hands up and down your naked thighs. Then he butterflied your legs slowly apart and ran one warm hand up to your pussy, teasing you with his fingers, dipping them in and out between your labia and running them up to tickle your clit.

“Can I eat you out?” He asked almost shyly.

You nodded, a breathy “Yeah,” issuing from your lips. Javier dove down and licked into you with a rush. You gasped and threw your head back, clawing your fingers down into the blankets. Javier worked you open on three fingers and used the tip of his stiffened tongue to flick your clit rapidly from side to side while his fingers slipped slowly in and out. You moaned and fought the urge to close your legs while he curled and stroked inside of you, finding the spots you could never quite reach yourself. Within a few minutes you were cresting the wave of release.

“Oh God, I’m gonna come! Keep- keep going,” you gasped, “Just like that!” Javier kept his pace steady, working you along as you huffed and breathed faster. He curled his fingers just right and you sped off the edge into oblivion, gulping and grunting and making noises that were almost embarrassing, that didn’t sound like you, but you felt too good to even care. Javier stopped licking and slowed his fingers as you clenched around him, using the broad flat of his tongue to swipe a long, comforting stripe up the outside of your labia. When you were finished coming, he pulled his fingers out slowly and sat up on his haunches, smiling like a prizewinner.

He wiped one broad, flat hand down his mouth and chin, and then crawled up the bed to lay next to you, stroking you from hip to breast with his thick fingers. “Was that okay, cariño?”

You groaned out a chuckle, “Oh yeah, that was good.” You rolled onto your side to face him, and drew him in for a deep kiss. You loved the mix of how he smelled and tasted, your own salty musk blending with his spicy cologne and the smoky phantoms of cigarettes past and his after-dinner coffee. As you kissed, his hand came up to stroke a trail of goosebumps on your shoulder, and you reached yours down to stroke his cock to attention. The heft of him was thick and warm in your hand, and within seconds he was hard and throbbing. You ran the pad of your thumb up the bottom of his head and over his slit gently, and you giggled as he shuddered and reached down to pull your hand away.

“You keep going like that and I’m not going to last long.” His thick fingers wrapped around yours, and he pulled your hand up to place a long kiss to the inside of your wrist, blowing warm air out through his nose, the feel of it on your skin sending a thrill up your spine. He reached for the condom and opened it, rolling it down his proud length. He put his hand down and stroked your thigh before hooking one hand behind your knee to pull your leg up and over his hip. He held himself so that his tip was buried just at your entrance, then he thrust up and into you in one swift motion. You inhaled sharply and hooked your leg tighter around him, letting him set the pace. He nudged your jaw, nosing up into the crook of your neck and kissing you from ear to chin and back again.

His hot words sent chills down your neck and your nipples stiffened into sensitive buds. “Baby, you feel so fucking good, so hot and wet. Fuck, you’re amazing.”

You kissed him and shushed him, then you pressed an open palm to his chest, “Wait. Roll over. I wanna get on top.”

Javier grinned in the dim light of his bedroom, then he wrapped his big hand around your lower back and pulled you over with him. You shifted and settled into place, and the feeling of being speared on him, of his cock hitting deep inside, of his coarse curls rubbing against your clit was almost to the point of overstimulation. You whined and fell face down into the crook of his neck, smelling his warm spiced fragrance and going limp at the ‘too much’ of it all. He planted his feet flat on the bed and kept his arms wrapped around you, thrusting up, up, up into you over and over. He made the most delicious noises, sounds that might have been words or not, but which conveyed all of his pleasure in little grunts and groans.

You decided you wanted to watch his face, so you sat back up and braced yourself on your knees, rolling your hips in rhythm with his and helping him chase his high.

“God, you look so fucking good on my cock, cariño. So beautiful.” He started to turn glossy with sweat, tiny golden beads reflecting the single lamp beside the bed and making him look surreal. You followed a drip of sweat as it appeared on his neck and then ran down to pool in the hollow at the base of his throat. You tipped forward once more to lick at it, to taste the salt and the smoke of him and nip one tiny bite into his neck before moving up to lick and nibble at his earlobe.

Javier suddenly tensed his legs, giving one big thrust and then hissing out a “Fffff-” between his lips as he came. He thrust again and then stilled, relaxing back into the bed, but keeping you close against him. You let him hold you, your breaths slowing together until you were back, calm again, heartbeats back to center. He released you and held the base of the condom as you lifted off and rolled onto your back. He went to the bathroom, and you heard him run water before he returned with a wrung-out washcloth. He offered it to you, and you declined with a weak wave. He turned and tossed it into the bathroom sink and then motioned for you to scoot off the bed so he could turn the covers down.

He picked up a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, gesturing at you with a raised eyebrow. You put a hand up, “Not a whole one, but I’ll take a drag off yours if that’s ok.”

“Sure thing.” He lit one and passed it to you, and you took a deep drag before handing it back.

“Thanks.” You blew the smoke out in a blue stream.

He crawled into bed and patted the mattress next to him. “Stay,” he looked at you with a smile. “If you want to.” He parked the cigarette back between his plush lips.

You smiled warmly and crawled in next to him. “Okay, just for a little while.” You checked the digital clock beside the bed. “I gotta go home and change, and then get to the coffee shop at 5:00. Can you set the alarm for 4:00?”

He nodded and picked up the clock, pressed a few buttons and slid a switch into place. Then he raised his arm and settled it around your shoulders, and turned off the lamp. You watched the cherry of his cigarette glow and then turn faint, bobbing in the dark as he moved to flick ash into the ashtray on the nightstand.

He murmured low, into the quiet room, “You know, I’m only here for the summer. The consulting job ends in August.” He paused to take the final pull of his cigarette, then stubbed it out in the ashtray. “After that, I gotta go back to D.C.”

You yawned and nodded. “No problem. We can have fun this summer. I’ll take you to Barton Springs and Mount Bonnell, give you the real Austin tour. We can just have fun for now.”

He kissed your forehead, moving down your nose to land soft kisses on your lips. “Okay, summer girl. I’m all yours… for now.”

---

Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

The only tag list I have: @quica-quica-quica @anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001 @deadhumourist @mandoalorian @javierpinme

[sheltereredturtle]

Duuuuuuude i love the fics you make art for.. i went down the rabbit hole that is your blog yesterday and basically just read the fics you drew for..

You got any fic recommendations??

Also like seriously your art is the best, like its amazing!!

fjisdljfsd wowow that's so nice 😭😭😭❤ and i'm happy my art helped introduce you to some WONDERFUL fics, i'm so bad with recommending tho especially if I don't know your preferences, BUT I'll try to come up with a few that maybe you haven't already read and vary a bit?? (and obviously highly recommend any fics from writers that i've already done fanart for too) I tried to keep it short

complete:

of charcoal lines and accents

it's a love story (baby just say yes)

Killing time

A dash of fate

on-going:

it had to be you (you've got mail au)

avenues of escape

I'll stop the world and melt with you

winter song

[whump-a-la-mode]

ARE YOU SERIOUS DO SOMETHING FOR THE STRAIGHT JACKET VILLAIN PLEASE YOU CAN'T DO THIS YOU CAN'T MAKE THEM HATE THEMSELVES O MY GOD WHAT IS GOING ON

WHAT'S NEXT ❓❓❓HOW EVIL CAN THE DOCTORS GET ❓❓WHAT DOES THE SIDEKICK DO❓❓

SO MANY QUESTIONS

SO MUCH HURT VILLAIN DOESN'T DESERVE IT

YOUR IDEAS ARE SPECTACULAR PLZ DO MORE

AAA You’re so nice!! I’m so so glad you’re enjoying this series, even with what I put my poor characters through. This time, we get some Sidekick POV-- and some tactical sabotage!

I hope you enjoy!

CW//Medical settings, medical malpractice, nausea, refusal to eat, death mentions, poison mentions, activated charcoal, non-con medication, straightjackets, restraints, brain damage mention

Sidekick wasn’t hungry.

By all logic, in all sense, they should have been. They should have been starving! The past twenty-four hours had been a cacophony of activity. For the first time, they had been entrusted with going on night patrol-- alongside their mentor, of course. They tried to be excited, they were excited, but their nerves had gotten the better of them.

It had been a long day of training, and a longer night of patrolling. They could still feel the sting of bruises where a particularly viscous henchman had decided to show off. At the very least, that had been the only encounter of the night.

And Hero had said that they had done well!

Now, at long last, after a patrol that lasted nearly until ten at night, they were having dinner. Hero had promised them their favorite, as a reward, but with all the restaurants closed, they had decided to wait until the following night. Instead, they had settled for simple cafeteria food.

That wasn’t to say that the food the cafeteria served up was bad, of course. The chefs were miracle workers. And, yet..

Sidekick wasn’t hungry.

Spaghetti and meatballs was the dish of choice for the night-- a dish that they had opted to twirl their fork in for perhaps five minutes. From across the table, their ears were assaulted with the click and scratch of silver on dishware. Looking up would mean meeting Hero’s gaze-- a fate that, at that very instant, seemed quite worse than death. Thus, they merely listened.

Listened as their mentor shoveled the last of their noodles into their mouth, before realizing that their ward had not so much as tasted any.

A fork placed upon the table. A hum. Sidekick’s chest seized. They knew what that meant.

That meant it was time for a talk.

“Sidekick.” That was how they always started. With their name. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Not really.” They murmured, gaze still downcast. Staring to the dish that had been so graciously prepared for them. And now, they were wasting it. Their stomach growled at the same moment as their taste buds were assaulted by nauseous bile. “Sorry.”

“You haven’t eaten since lunch.” There was concern to the tone, certainly, but there was something else, too. Annoyance, perhaps? They were wasting food, after all. “No, you didn’t even eat lunch! You skipped that, too.”

Sidekick could do nothing but nod, shamefully. They hadn’t been hungry then, either.

“When was the last time you ate?”

A nervous pause.

“Lunch.” They replied, nearly so quiet as to be inaudible. “Yesterday.”

“You should be starving. Don’t tell me you’re sick. You just got sick! You can’t get the flu twice in a row.”

“No, it’s not the flu.” They pushed the plate away-- just looking at it was making them feel terribly nauseous. “I’m just not very hungry. I’m sorry for wasting food.”

“Well, you should be. But you need to eat, too. Come to think of it, you’ve been acting weird since yesterday. What in the world has gotten into you?”

“I’m fine.” Sidekick stood, moving away from the dinner table on nervous limbs. “I think I just need to get some rest.”

“Oh no you don’t!” Hero’s voice drew their attention, at last forcing them to make eye contact with that furious gaze. “Sit.”

They sat.

“You aren’t eating.” Their mentor practically growled. “And you’re acting weird. I want an explanation.”

“I don’t know.” The sidekick muttered, voice prickling with nerves. “I really don’t.”

“Well, I think I do.” Hero raised a brow sharply. “You’ve been acting like a spooked horse ever since we toured The Center.”

It felt as though a hot poker had been jabbed between Sidekick’s ribs.

What was it that had gotten to them? They weren’t certain. Something during the tour, certainly-- there were no questions about that-- but what was it? The so-called therapy? The feeding tube? The restrained villain in their straightjacket that could only move their eyes? It had all made them feel so horrid!

“I don’t understand, Hero.” They whispered, or perhaps whimpered. “I don’t understand why they’re being treated like that. I thought it was a prison- Or, or a hospital. I didn’t expect that. I don’t get it.”

Hero furrowed their brow pointedly.

“Some villains don’t belong in a prison.” They replied at long last.

“What do you mean?” Their sidekick raised their head, meeting their sharp gaze with one sparkling with nerves. “Of course villains belong in prison. All of them do. Don’t they need to be contained? Controlled?”

“Well, of course they do. That’s not what I meant. What I meant is- Sometimes, a normal prison isn’t enough.”

“Not even the villain prison? But no one escapes from there!”

“Yeah. There’s a reason for that. Because we don’t put anyone dangerous there.”

“Then... Where do they go?”

“The Center, of course.”

“But why. I don’t understand!”

“You don’t need to understand.” Their mentor grumbled. “But because I’m nice... Villains sent to The Center are deemed impossible to be contained indefinitely, even in the villain prison. The Center has the tools needed to contain them temporarily, until they can be released.”

Sidekick’s blood turned to ice- or perhaps antifreeze.

“IRT is a very simple thing. Identity Replacement Therapy. The doctors are very, very good at what they do. They can turn a villain into a civilian.”

“How?”

“By convincing them that they were never a villain in the first place.” Hero shrugged. “I can’t pretend to understand all the jargon, but I do know that it involves some very specific therapies, and some very tactical brain damage. Sure, by the end of it, they won’t be themselves, and they won’t have the same mental faculties, but that’s the point. Then they won’t be a threat anymore.”

Sidekick gritted their teeth, scooting their chair away from the table once more.

“You said we don’t kill villains!”

“We don’t.” Hero practically hissed. “We contain them, and we keep the city safe.”

“What The Center does is kill!”

“No. They contain.”

“They don’t!” They were positively furious, now. “They destroy them! Destroy their brains!”

“Exactly.”

Sidekick felt as though they were moments away from exploding, with the sheer heat of anger that overwhelmed their body, their chest, their throat. How could Hero think that any of this was right? Any of it! Didn’t doctors have to take some sort of oath? To help and never to harm? This wasn’t helping!

It was murder! Very, very medically advanced murder!

They were crying, now- Oh, god, they were crying. Tears burgeoned at the corners of their eyes and- They weren’t going to let their mentor see them cry! Not over something so stupid.

With a childish sniffle, Sidekick turned, and ran all the way to their bedroom.

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At night, the base was quiet. No one left the base at night.

It wasn’t that they weren’t allowed-- at least, not officially. Officially, heroes and their sidekicks were allowed to come and go from the organization’s HQ whenever they pleased.

Yet, in a far more de facto sense, leaving the base’s walls in the night, especially alone, was far too dangerous to even be considered. The city was a treacherous place, and there were few villains that would pass up the opportunity to take a lone hero, or, even worse, a lone sidekick hostage for the sake of ransom-- or revenge.

Sidekick knew that full well. Never before had they even made an attempt to sneak out. It wasn’t like they needed to. The other sidekicks could party all they pleased, but they simply weren’t interested. Besides, their mentor would kill them.

Tonight, however...

Those stupid memories wouldn’t stop flashing in their mind. Nothing would drown them out-- not blaring music through headphones, not pacing, not online games. None of it. They simply couldn’t stop seeing the wheelchair, the feeding tube, the therapy session...

They had fought Villain so many times. Well- Perhaps fought was a bit of a misnomer. Hero had fought Villain. Villain had made effort to leave Sidekick out of it, whether that meant shoving them in an elevator, or having them held back by henchmen, or something even more stupid and humiliating.

But, still, they’d seen the fights. As odd as it seemed, they had an attachment to the villain. They may not have agreed with them, of course they hadn’t agreed with them, but they were still a person. A person who deserved life, even if it was behind bars.

Now...

They had been able to speak. Villain could still speak. What about the other one that they’d seen, however? The one who seemed nearly to be a corpse, tied up in a canvas jacket?

How much longer did Villain have? How long until they were ‘fixed’?

Sidekick wasn’t sure they wanted to find out. In some sick way, they wished that they had simply never gone on the tour at all. Then they wouldn’t be feeling this way. Then, they wouldn’t have been involved.

Now? Now it was on their shoulders. Now, they had a responsibility. They had guilt. A stake in the whole thing.

If Villain was ‘fixed,’ the slightest piece of that could be placed upon them. Stated to be their fault. And if that happened, if they let that happen, then-

Then they wouldn’t be a hero, would they? Even if they graduated from their training, they still wouldn’t be a hero. They may as well have been a villain, in that case.

It was when the clock struck midnight that they couldn’t take it anymore. Every second they sat in their room, wasting time, was a second that Villain’s mind was being shattered.

Never before had Sidekick snuck out.

This time would be their first.

The journey to the center was a quick one, aided by the swarm of taxi drivers, waiting for their soon-to-arrive load of bargoers, stumbling into their backseats. A hood was enough to obscure their identity in the low light, and their intents were disguised with even more ease by simply requesting the driver to drop them off at a location nearby to their true destination.

With a hearty tip, they requested that the taxi return to the location in an hour, and were off.

The building looked even worse, illuminated only by street lamps and its own security lights. It seemed odd, now, even moreso than it had before, just how little security there was. There was no fence, no vehicle checkpoint, none of it. Just a pair of glass double doors.

Certainly, there would be more than enough night guards to keep the location safe from the average trespasser-- Luckily, Sidekick was far from average. They darted away from the building, moving all the way to an alleyway before making the change.

It always felt cold when invisibility took hold, as though someone had placed a can of frigid soda to the back of their neck. This time, the feeling was accented by nerves as well.

Yet, the transformation was quick, and once it was done, someone that, to the naked eye, was no one, emerged from the alleyway.

The front entrance certainly wouldn’t work, they’d figured at least that much out. Though, that was almost all that they knew. There had to be some kind of back entrance, right? Of course there was.

Taking care not to rustle the grass with too great of a force, a force that could not simply be mistaken for the wind, Sidekick danced along the side of The Center’s shimmering, tiled bulk.

A rear staff entrance-- perfect! A simple steel thing, with a trio of stairs leading downwards, all the way to a biohazard disposal container. Instinct prompted Sidekick to duck behind said container, even as doing such would hide them no more than they were already hidden. In dew-soaked grass, they hunched down, taking the brief moment to gaze upon the building in its entirety.

It was a towering thing-- how many were contained within its walls? How many had passed through? Entered with one name, and left with another? Its glimmering outer walls of white tile should have made it stand out against the concrete jungle in which it was located. Yet, something about it made it simply blend in, as if it was simply part of the night sky, despite the contrasting colors of which it consisted.

They had lived in the city all their life, and had never once noted the horrible thing.

Sidekick’s heart lurched as a key was placed in a lock, and the steel contraption of a security door was heaved open, a nurse doing so with considerable effort. She trotted down the few steps.

The larger a door was, the slower it closed. This particular door’s drifting was nowhere near quick enough to halt the invisible sidekick from darting through.

And they were inside.

It was worse, somehow, now that they were alone-- even though such was usually quite the opposite. Often, they felt far more secure when they weren’t in the presence of their mentor.

Now- Now, Sidekick was alone. Before them, a white hallway stretched. At the very least, terrifying memories, in that moment, served one positive purpose-- with how deeply the tour had been ingrained behind their eyes, they practically had a mental map of this place. This was the lowest level, the lobby. Intake.

Villain was on the fifth floor. That meant that, between them, sat three more stories. Stories likely filled with more villains, undergoing the same treatment! Another spike of guilt struck them at that thought. But, they couldn’t save them all.

Moving through the halls, Sidekick found the building, surprisingly, a hub of humming activity. At the very least, that made it far easier to move throughout the place, as much as their nerves refused to cease insisting that they turned tail and ran. It was a simple matter of waiting by doors until they were opened, and moving with speed once they had been. Such method led them all the way to the fifth floor, even before their guilt could manage to take over!

Then... Then, they were there. In the same hallway as they had been. The same hallway where they’d seen that poor villain, named by a number.

Emerging from the stairwell, it took all of Sidekick’s willpower not to allow their invisibility to drop from nerves alone.

There were more.

So many, so many more. They counted at least a dozen. A dozen villains, secured by the same horrid bondage-- straightjackets and straps innumerable, attaching them to wheelchairs pushed by orderlies who appeared paradoxically identical. Sidekick tucked themself to a corner, their shaking refusing to cease, regardless of how their blood felt to have frozen to ice.

A dozen villains. And there were certainly more doors than that, just in this hallway. In fact, most of them were closed! Closed, locked, and secured. That meant... That meant that this dozen was only a fraction.

What were they all doing at midnight?!

Their terror overtook them so strongly in that moment that they nearly missed as Villain, their villain, came into view. When was the last time that straightjacket had been removed from them? Those straps? When was the last time that they’d been allowed to walk?

They had no clue. But they knew, at least, they were doing something.

As a silent shadow, a trailing of mist, Sidekick darted through the procession of nurses, following the one that kept Villain so delicately captive. Holding their breath all the while, they allowed the stranger in the blue lab coat to lead them to a room. Villain’s room-- even as the plaque on its door was labelled only with a number.

It was empty. Empty, except for a bed, and an IV stand.

They waited, almost hopefully, for the nurse to release their captive from their bonds. To allow them the slightest of freedoms, even if only at night. Of course, such a wish was not fulfilled. Instead, the wheelchair was rolled only to the center of the room, and locked in place with a click.

“I’ll be right back, dear.” The blue lab coat spoke with an almost sadistic purr, before disappearing. Out the door.

Leaving a restrained, half-conscious villain alone. Well, perhaps alone. They’d be right back.

That meant Sidekick needed to act fast.

They weren’t a doctor, not by any means. They had never even received the most basic of medical trainings. Yet, they had done one thing in their life: Eaten poison.

Hey, they were a kid! They thought it was candy!

Aside from the tour the day prior, that was likely their most vivid memory of anything medicinal. They remembered being rushed to the hospital-- and they remembered having odd, black pills, forced down their throat.

Activated charcoal. In a bid to calm them down, one of the doctors had explained the process. It was quite simple, actually. The charcoal had been specially treated, giving it the ability to reverse the effects of any ingested poisons.

Or, even more importantly, ingested medications.

Villain had to be drugged. They had to be. There was no other explanation for their behavior, for their serenity, for their seeming inability to focus, to think. A flat-out jailbreak would be too risky, but the slightest bit of medical sabotage? That they could do.

Willing the object to remain unseen, the sidekick slipped from their pocket a small bottle of pills, acquired from a 24 hour pharmacy near the base. The black circles looked terribly unappetizing, but it wasn’t like Villain had much of a capability to resist.

Sidekick wished so desperately to speak, and yet, they knew that would only cause harm. Alert the world around to their presence. Even if it would help... It wasn’t worth it.

On tip toes, they moved to the restrained Villain’s side. A single thumb at the side of their lip was enough to drop open their jaw, allowing a pair of the charcoal pills to be placed upon their tongue. Once the jaw was closed, they were swallowed just as easily.

The sidekick nearly yelped when the door was once again opened, even as it confirmed each and every one of their suspicions. When the nurse returned, it was with a handful of pills, and enough water to drown a horse.

They had done their work. There was nothing more they could do. Turning once more to wind, they darted from the door, and were gone into the night.

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The knock upon Sidekick’s door came at eight the next morning.

“Sidekick?” It was the voice of their mentor. That wasn’t a surprise-- their words perhaps were. “Get your suit on now, there’s a problem at The Center!”

[fouralignments]

Scene idea

"Let me help you, my child..." Respiratory, underneath droves of wisdom beyond all men Peter knew in his life. The cloaked figured tilted his head to his side. "To make you stronger..."

Cutting off the elder mutant, "Pfft! Man you don't owe me anything. I was more than happy to do it." Peter let out a small laugh. "By the way—um, do you have any family that I can contact? Or friends? Or anyone?"

So quiet that not even a tomb could echo from it, "You, my son." Peter just kept going on like he was telling a story of a misadventure with nightcrawler to Erik at the dinner table or some shenanigans. This was just supposed to be a normal run, a lap circumnavigating the globe. Oh this was going to be a fun story to tell!

Adding, "I'm more than able to take to them or anywhere you want." Peter was always to help his fellow mutant.

"I am quite capable of going anywhere I please. Thank you for your concern but unnecessary. Lost child." Worthy indeed... of the destiny that awaited him.

"Are you hungry? Do you need water? Is there anything else that I can do for you? If you want, you can come with me to the Mansion. Whatever you've been through, like Charles can set you up with a hotel, a councilor, get you financially back on your feet. I-I know the economic downturn is hard—it's hard everyone." Scratching the back of his neck, "It's that what happened you were in a construction incident or at the archaeological site?"

"Be still and quiet, my child." The elder god mutant rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. Exacerbated by the boys endless twittering.

Peter didn't hear as he walked away with his backed turned against the mutant he saved, so caught up in his own little world. "By the sands and waters I bind you." Curling his fingers into a loose fist.

This mutant was far too serious. "I gotta go!" Checking his watch, He hadn't changed it for the time zones. But a quick run did him good. It would be almost sundown and he didn't want to be late for Shabbat. He was proud of the challah he made with Erik yesterday, finally getting the braiding right, "I'm gonna' be late for late for dinner. My dads—" Twin full moons glowing back at him in large shard mirror across from him on the wall. Shrouded in shadows by his cloak the elder mutant remained faceless. All Peter saw was his eyes, his glowing eyes.

His legs refuged to budge. Peter's pupils constricts into fine needlepoint, drew a quick intake of breath. Trying to grip his calf to lift it, but it was if his legs were full of bags of sands.

The elder mutant behind him stood up from the fallen stones that he made his throne. Stroll up to the younger mutant , every step precise and graceful.

His guts twisted as this heavy presence overtook him like a weighted blanket Of a suffocating fog, spiced his eyes, breath stolen from his lung. An eerie hum pierced his eardrums. Shoulders bones crumbling and alchemizing into dust and charcoal of the Earth, bowing to this unseen force.

Lifting the child's chin up, straining Peter's neck to look at the elder mutant, "I wasn't done talking to you. You will leave. When I give you permission to leave." Behind the wispiness were daggers of threats.

"What are you?" An uncontrolled shiver overtook his body. Not to upset this mutant even more. Peter didn't want to show just how utterly terrified he was. He choked down a sop, "What do you want with me?" Steeling his voice so not a string of fear crept in it.

Not an answer, "You are blessed by Khonshu." Circling his thumb against Peter's cheek, the warmth of fast beating heart soaking into his palm, "I am Your God. I am the God of all mutantkind. I am your liberator. Your light when you are surrounded by darkness, stumbling in the dark. I vanquished the tyranny of humankind before freeing my sons and daughters. Now I must do again. This world must be cleansed."

"YOU'RE CRAZY!" The backhand was harder than any punch.

"I will not take disparagement from you. I'd will not be spoken in such a way, especially from you, my son. You will respect me as I do rule you and guide you on your path. You do not know of the world."

"Why have you enslaved for yourself, my son?"

"Erik and Charles—LOVE ME!"

"False gods. Idols. In guise of teachers, mentors all meant to keep the human powers in place. Away from my guiding light. They are not worth your time. Nor deserve your praise or glory. I am here now. I am here for you, my son." Pausing to give his words reverence, "You are a child of a God." Smirked "It's time for you now to take your proper place by my side." Reaching with his hand in guidance for the new path lay before this child; finger not yet uncurled.

"Ah--!" Peter's eyes widen. Such power! He'd never felt power like this way before! His dark night sky eyes was slowly being ellipsed by the moon, a luminating—No! He didn't want this! Shaking his head side to side and shutting his eyes. He'd mustn't look at the light! "Oh!—Dad! Erik—Please!! Charles p-p-please be on cerebro! I need you! Help me, please!" Sliver tears flowed from his eyes. As pure white clawed upwards from his roots overtaking the immature sliver locks.

"Stubborn child, You will learn to heed me. I am En Sabah Nur and you will be my son and no others!" Unfurling his hand fully.

A great white surf crashing and swept away the darkness, leaving no trace of it behind, plunging him down into the depths, deep deep down. Cold. Sinking into that infinite darkness and the danger within it. Bitterly cold...

Two hangs plunged in after him, when those came before forgotten him. Brought up to gasp a new breath into the light of the warming rising sun of Amun-ra. Will onto power. A forever hug.

Warm, but not blistering hot. All life flourished. That spring that never left. He never wanted to leave.

If he wanted to stay all he had to do was obey...

That didn't sound too bad....

The moon needed to be protected by the sun.

That...wasn't so bad at all...

"RISE! My son!"

"Yes, Father! —my God."