#I DIED SEVERAL TIMES WHILE DRAWING THIS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonstruckme · 5 months

Note

love the doctor!remus content!!!

would love to read about him in a similar setting as the last request u did, where reader doesn’t tell him she‘s had to go to urgent care (maybe she lost her phone) and he‘s in his big scary attending mood but the moment he steps into the room and realizes reader is the patient he goes all concerned and cooing and all the interns are confused as to what happened to calm collected and kinda cool doctor lupin :((((

Thanks love!

cw: hospital, mention of stitches

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You can hear him talking as he moves down the line of small curtained-off rooms, your heart contracting at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice but too shy to interrupt him while he’s working. Remus’ tone is clipped and all business, and you can tell by how quickly his voice draws closer that he’s striding toward you in that brisk way he does when he’s busy.

“This one’s already been treated,” he’s saying to someone, “so we’re just checking in before discharge. Let me ask some of the necessary questions first, and then we’ll ask the patient’s permission for you to ask some as well.”

He looks nearly imposing as he whips open the curtain, clipboard in hand and a gaggle of what you guess must be residents on his heels. That all drains away, along with the blood in his face, when he sees you. “Dove?”

“Dove?” you hear one of the residents echo bemusedly.

“Hi,” you say sheepishly.

Remus steps toward where you sit on the bed, concern etched into the twin lines between his brows. “Honey, what happened? You” —he looks down at his clipboard, flustered— “you got stitches in your hand? What’d you need stitches in your hand for?”

You glance between the many sets of eyes in the room, self-conscious in the face of so much attention. “I cut myself,” you answer quietly.

Remus lowers the clipboard, looking devastated for you. “Why didn’t you call me?” he asks, but the reprimand in his tone is barely detectable behind all the fondness coating it. He holds out a hand. “Let me see.”

You give him your hand obediently, doing your best to follow his example and ignore the murmurings from your small audience. He’s painstakingly careful as he removes the bandages to reveal your cut. It looks far better than it had when it had been bleeding all over your car on the drive over, but Remus still coos like it's the most grievous injury he’s seen in his career.

“Seven stitches?” His lips turn down into a pout. “What’d you do to yourself, dovey?”

You see one resident’s eyebrows fly up at the sappy pet name, exchanging a look with the one next to him.

“I was trying to cut up the squash I bought last week,” you explain, unsure if you’re supposed to be talking to the room but directing your words only to your boyfriend, “and my knife slipped. I was going to call you when it wouldn't stop bleeding, but my phone died. I didn’t have time to charge it before I came.”

Remus makes a gruff, reluctant sound of approval. “Well, I’m glad you came but I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you. Did it hurt very badly?”

“Not really,” you lie quietly, but one of the residents behind you goes, “Doctor Lupin, is that one of the necessary questions we’re meant to be asking?”

You flush, and Remus shifts modes in an instant, his look severe as he turns on the smart aleck. “No,” he says drily. “But this is still the portion where you’re meant to be quiet.”

You sort of feel for the resident as they nod abashedly. Remus countenance warms again as he turns back towards you. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he says, still cradling your injured hand in his.

“It wasn’t too bad.”

“Baby.” Remus’ brows scrunch together, the sympathy in his eyes almost too much for you to bear. “I can tell you’ve been crying, darling.”

“Remus,” you chide embarrassedly, looking again to the residents gathered behind him.

“Ah.” He drops a hand to your knee for an apologetic squeeze, turning to face your observers with more of an authoritative air. “Go find somewhere else to be,” he tells them.

They scatter like mice, and Remus huffs when the last one out doesn’t shut the curtain, stepping away from you to draw it closed himself.

“Sorry, I sort of forget they’re there sometimes,” he explains, but he’s already doubling down on the sweetness now that they’re gone, bringing your injured palm to his lips for a very, very gentle kiss. “Did you cry while they stitched you up, honey?”

You might cry again now if he keeps looking at you like that. “A little,” you admit. “I was being a tad dramatic.”

“I doubt that,” he says, thumb stroking lovingly over the line of stitches before picking up the bandage and beginning to rewrap it. “Hand wounds are no light thing. It probably bled a lot, hm?”

“There may be some cleanup waiting for me in both the kitchen and my car,” you joke. Remus gives you a small smile for your efforts.

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll take care of it when I get home.” He finishes bandaging your hand and leans in to kiss your cheek. When he pulls back, his eyebrows have bunched again. “You’ve got mascara tracks on your cheeks,” he murmurs, cupping your face and brushing his thumb over the plane of your cheekbone. “S’breaking my heart.”

“Sorry,” you say bashfully, and he rolls his eyes at you, pecking you again on the cheek like he can’t help himself.

“What’re you sorry for, hm? Well,” he seems to reconsider, “you ought to be sorry about your knife skills, but that’s an apology you owe yourself, not me. I’ll be stowing all the knives where you can’t reach them from now on, by the way.”

“First you’ll have to deal with all the residents you just disillusioned,” you tease him back. “Seems like they used to think you were cool and blase, but not anymore.”

Remus shrugs. “People are multifaceted. If they didn’t know that already, then I taught them something today after all.” He gives you another soft look, though it’s far less worried than the others had been. “My poor darling,” he laments, setting his hands on either side of you to plant one final kiss on your forehead. “Rest here for a bit, and I’ll come get you in a few minutes, yeah?”

“Okay, thanks,” you agree readily, happy to have a ride home considering the state you left your car in. “Gonna go try to restore your street cred with the residents?”

“Dove, don’t be silly,” he says on his way out. “They worship me.”

1K notes · View notes

woso-dreamzzz · 3 months

Text

Teenage Dirtbag II

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Teen!Reader

Summary: It goes well until it doesn't

It's an honour, Mapi thinks, to watch you work.

She knows that she's talented with a pencil but that doesn't hold a candle to the way that you can create such detail on a wall with just some spray paint. You wield the cans expertly as you finish off the shading of the Barca crest on Ingrid's shirt and take a step back to survey your work.

It's picture-perfect and Mapi is stumped at how it's taken your family this long to recognise your talents.

"Alright," Ingrid says," Come on, picture time."

You groan but allow your sister to shepherd you in front of the mural to take a picture. She snaps several, inspecting each of them before finally nodding, satisfied.

She's been doing it for every stage of the process, to document it. She took pictures when you had drawn up your stencils, when you did your base layer and when you did your details.

It's a little annoying but you know you'll be glad later on when you have the pictures to post on your Instagram.

Mapi helps you cover the mural with cardboard so only the very bottom is shown. You grab your blue and red can and stab them with the scissors you've brought with you.

"You might need to back up," You say to your sister and her girlfriend," This will explode in a sec."

The cans are letting out a high-pitched squeaking sound and you usher Ingrid and Mapi back a few steps. You've blocked off the rest of your mural so only the bottom will be splattered with blaugrana colours.

"How do they work?" Mapi wonders aloud.

"Well," You reply, not turning your eyes away from the squealing of your cans," Liquid paint is mixed with a pressurised gas that remains liquid at room temperature. The ones at home that I use have di-methyl ether but I think these have a mix of propane and butane." You shrug. "So I think that means the solvent in them is acetone."

You look over at the shocked look on Mapi's face just as the cans finally explode.

"What?"

"You're incredibly smart," Is what she says in answer and you kind of shrug as you go to collect the cans and take down the cardboard.

"Okay." Ingrid claps her hands together. "Another picture. Go on."

"Ingrid," You groan," Do I have to?"

"Yes," She laughs," Go on. I'm waiting."

You begrudgingly stand in front of it but can't keep the smile off your face.

Mapi notices a change in you the following days. You've relaxed considerably in the house now. You try harder at your schoolwork, pulling your grades up to heights that Mapi could never even dream of. You're more social than ever - though you never go anywhere without your sketchbook.

The team seem pretty entranced by you as well, demanding to meet the artist that Ingrid and Mapi found to do all the murals. You've been making bank from them, drawing portraits and making paintings.

You seem happier now, less hostile than before and Mapi can get the tiniest of glimpses into how you and Ingrid used to interact just by the way you hang out now.

Ingrid's arm easily rests upon your shoulders and Norwegian is a lot more common in the house now. You happily stick to her side and proudly show her your grades when they get released.

There's no indication that you're holding something in until Mapi comes home to frosty indifference between you and your sister.

You're stewing at the kitchen table, scrawling some kind of angry swirls in your sketchpad that you're still managing to make look artistic while Ingrid is muttering angrily under her breath as she talks on the phone.

You keep throwing glares over at her before scratching your pencil across your page again.

"Hey," Mapi says," What's going on?"

You scoff. "I don't know. Why don't you ask golden child, Ingrid? Perfect, perfect Ingrid." Your tone is vicious and mean and Ingrid looks over at you to glare. You sneer back at her before standing up and going to your room, slamming the door shut behind you.

"What's up with her?"

Ingrid sighs, saying goodbye to whoever's on the phone. "I don't know," She says," I just came in and we had an argument."

"About what? She's done her homework, right?"

"Mum and Dad," Ingrid replies," She thinks they're showing favouritism again."

Mapi holds her tongue. She knows that Ingrid thinks the world of your parents and it's clear you're fairly disillusioned with them. Mapi knows that there are definitely hints of favouritism from when she's seen all of you interact with each other but she's not too sure if it's her place to speak up about it.

"I mean," Ingrid scoffs," They're talking about bringing her home now that her grades are going open. I think my brother said that they're willing to let her keep art as a hobby. They'll pay for all the supplies she wants so long as she gets a good degree."

Mapi sighs and darts her eyes away. "Ingrid..." She says finally.

"What? Mapi? What is it?"

"Nothing..."

"No, tell me."

"I don't think she would be happy going home," Mapi says eventually," I know you love your parents but...You have to admit they have high expectations-"

"Because they love us."

"Yes, I know but..." Mapi's eyes linger on your closed door. "Have you ever thought that she might not want to leave?" She bites at her lip, wary if she should say what she's going to say next. "Maybe the distance from your parents is what she needs. You have to admit, Ingrid, your parents aren't the nicest about her passions. You saw her when she was doing that mural. You know that this is what she wants to do with her life."

Ingrid looks at your door too. "I know," She says," But Mum and Dad really want her to come home. They think maybe law school."

"And what do you think? Do you think she would enjoy being in law school? Do you?"

"No." Ingrid can't stop staring at the closed door. "But...What about her friends? Maybe if she goes back to Norway, she can see them again."

"No offense, but your sister is the biggest lone wolf I've ever met. She's happy here, with us. She's more supported than she's ever been before. You need to put your foot down. She stays with us."

Ingrid sighs, looking at her phone screen. Your parents are calling again and she angrily swipes to reject the call.

She knocks on your door.

"Hey, can I come in?" She asks," I think we need to have a little chat."

There's no answer.

"Come on," She says," It's not a bad talk. We can get sushi after."

There's still no answer.

"I'm coming in," Ingrid warns," So if you're shirtless or something, cover up."

She pushes the door open, expecting to find you at your desk with your chunky headphones on but she finds nothing of the sight. The room is completely empty and Ingrid shoves her head out of your open window to spy the drainpipe that you've clearly climbed down.

"You already talk? That was quick," Mapi says as Ingrid comes back into the living room," Are we getting sushi already? 'Cause I would kill for some sushi right about now."

"Get the keys," Ingrid says," She's left out the window."

"Down the drainpipe?" Mapi asks," Damn, I only taught her how to do that for emergencies."

Ingrid sighs deeply, massaging her head with her hand. She'd deal with the clear bad influence Mapi has on you later as she whips out her phone to track your location.

You've made good progress from the time that you stormed into your room to now, making it pretty far across the city to the more rundown side of town that Ingrid knows for a fact has boarded up buildings from when businesses had to close during covid.

Mapi drives them down to some kind of packing warehouse that looks like had been broken into long before you came to stay. It's completely filthy and Ingrid just hopes that there are no squatters to contend with.

She finds you pretty quickly on the second floor. You've curled yourself into the corner on the floor, with tears streaming down your face.

Opposite you, is another mural.

It's a heartbreaking sight.

Yet again, your work is picture-perfect and, somehow, that makes it even worse.

In the background is a little girl. She's got her hands pressed up against a window, peering in. The foreground is dominated by a family. Most of their faces are made up of angry black and red swirls. Only one other person has a face.

It's clear who it is and Ingrid sits down next to you.

You don't say anything to her. You just move to lean against her. You press your head into her neck and sob.

"You're not going anywhere," She says," You're staying right here with me and Mapi."

#woso x reader #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

867 notes · View notes

gay-dorito-dust · 7 months

Note

For the writing requests, can I request a hurt/comfort scenario where Bi-han has accidentally hurts or almost hurts the reader with his powers? Like maybe he loses control during an argument or an intimate moment, or maybe they're training or on a mission he accidentally hits them with ice in the heat of battle. He feels really guilty about what he did, but reader knows it was an accident and tries to help him through it. Feel free to edit the scenario as you please. Thank you!

Bi-Han was furious.

No, that word doesn’t even begin to come close to describing how he felt in that moment. Bi-Han was livid and it was all in due to the sheer recklessness that you had shown during your most recent mission. You almost died on serval occasions throughout the mission but had managed to escape with minimal injuries by the skin of your teeth. However Bi-Han didn’t care about that part of the story because despite being happy and relieved as he was that you had came back to him with treatable wounds; his main focus was on the fact that you were so careless with your life, so irresponsible and so seemingly uncaring of the consequences that your actions would’ve caused had it weren’t been for your quick thinking.

So as Bi-Han was practicing patience whilst waiting for you to finish up your medical examination, you finally exited the room and just before a single word could escape your mouth to question his reason for being here, fulling believing that he would’ve been deeply involved with some Grandmaster business. Bi-Han then grabbed you by the bicep, his ice cold hand drawing a sharp gasp from you as he wordlessly dragged you to your shared room, where upon arriving, he swiftly shut the door behind him before addressing you directly. ‘What were you thinking out there!’ The cryomancer hissed, taking a step towards you. ‘Your reckless could’ve jeopardised the mission.’ Bi-Han adds and everything leading up to now had finally started to make sense.

You knew that it would only be a matter of time before word reached Bi-Han and you knew it would only be a matter of when before he would hunt you down and demand answers. ‘The only thing that you should concern yourself with is the fact that we achieved what we were sent out to do. The mission was a proven success, the method as to how we obtain that success shouldn’t matter.’ You replied straightforwardly, wanting to be done with this argument as fast as you possibly could, having already finding it redundant; and while the fact that you had gotten ahead of yourself during the mission was something worth criticising.

You weren’t new to this. You knew exactly what you were doing and you knew that Bi-Han’s frustrations often came from a place of worry and deep concern, but since he doesn’t give himself the leeway to express his innermost emotions that when he does, it comes across as him being angry or frustrated. ‘You almost got yourself killed!’ Bi-Han practically exclaimed, his hand that was clutching onto your bicep tightened it’s grip, causing you to wince as you felt a numbing or a painful tingling sensation -which one it actually was you weren’t really sure- spread across your bicep. You tried to breath through the pain and act as though Bi-Han wasn’t currently giving you frost burn, but you knew that the longer you let this went on, the more severe the damage you would sustain.

And not even a second later, your willpower to push through the pain was quickly reduced to nothing, as you found yourself wanting nothing more then the numbing, tingling pain stop. ‘Bi-Han.’ You tired saying with a steady voice but the inflictions of hidden pain within the way you said his name had him on guard. ‘Please let me go, it’s hurts, you’re hurting me.’ Was all you said in a whisper, just as a tear escaped from your eye and streaked down your cheek, before gesturing with your eyes towards the hand he had kept glued to your bicep since the beginning of your argument; which at this point had felt as though there was a small impact of ice growing from within. Upon your desperate plea to be released, Bi-Han immediately removed his hand as though you had somehow burnt him.

He watched as you whimpered and it all hit him hard that despite the fact that he had already let go, you were still very much in pain and he was the reason that you were in pain. He had let himself become overwhelmed with emotions and as a result his powers, something that he has sworn to only use as a means of protecting you, had potentially caused you irreparable damage. Bi-Han was sickened by the thought and by extension he was sickened with himself for allowing you to get hurt in the one place he promised that you’d never be hurt. Ever. ‘I hurt you.’ He said after a moment of torturous silence. ‘I was hurting you, the one person I’d swore to protect with my last breath.’ His soul was screaming, completely torn between wanting to come to your aid and comfort you but also fearing the idea of harming you more than he already had.

‘How long was I hurting you before you spoke up?’ Bi-Han asked as he gauged your expressions closely in the instance you were still withholding the rest of your pain from him.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ You say, trying to reach for his hand to hold but Bi-Han withdraw from your attempts, hiding his hands behind his back in shame as he averted your forgiving gaze that he didn’t feel he deserved.

‘It matters to me, my love.’ Bi-Han stated, clenching his fists. ‘I hurt you. Whether it was intentional or unintentional doesn’t make much of a difference when the end result is all the same. I hurt you. I caused you pain. I made you shed a tear. I made promises that I see now that I can not keep.’ The cryomancer finished as he chose to stare at the floor before closing his eyes, where he would be greeted with flashes of your pained face and the tear that streamed down your cheek; Even from behind his eyelids he was being haunted. If Bi-Han could take your pain he would without hesitation, but he couldn’t and with that brought the dreaded sense of helplessness.

‘Bi-Han.’ You uttered softly, moving to stand in front of him, watching closely as his breath hitched in his throat and took notice of how his body tensed uncomfortably into itself, as you reached your hands out to cradle his perpetually conflicted face between them before Bi-Han melted into your touch, practically nuzzling his face further into your touch. You smile at this as you proceeded to stroke the apples of his cheeks with your thumbs. ‘You didn’t mean it and I know you’d never intentionally hurt me. Ever. You’ve proven that more then enough times for me to know that you’re a man of your word.’ You told him as you pressed a kiss to his forehead, then down to his nose, then finally pecking his plush lips. ‘Your hands are the only hands I could ever feel safest within.’ You admitted, kissing his lips once again.

#mk1 #mk1 x reader #mk x y/n #mk x reader #mk imagine #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat imagines #mortal kombat imagine #mortal kombat x y/n #mortal kombat x you #bi han imagine #bi han imagines #bi han x reader #bi han x y/n #bi han x you #sub zero x reader

984 notes · View notes

celtic-crossbow · 19 days

Text

Blood Ties Chapter 23

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; a tad bit of angst; smidge of illness; all the pregnancy woes in the world; some suggestive dialogue A/N: There's some serious fluff in this. I tried so hard to keep Daryl in character while having him offer all he could to a person doing something precious for him. I hope I succeeded. The explanation of midnight blue is a little bit of self indulgence. It's my own favorite color and the reason why. I know I skipped the nursing home scene but I took the liberty of adding into the timeline somewhere as a mention.

The events of the day before had ended in the most amusing way, with you nearly inviting Carol in before getting dressed.

“She knows what tits and a vagina look like, Daryl.”

“She don’t know what my dick looks like, Y/N!”

“Touche, sir.”

All ended well and Carol saw no genitalia that fine day.

You had officially worn one another out. After the Tylenol and Carol’s snickers and knowing smiles, you and Daryl fell onto the pillows and slept until the next morning. The fever remained, albeit burning less and less hot each time the old man would look him over. His lungs were sounding better. Hershel removed the IV when the archer proved he could keep up with hydrating and promised to take it easy. Of course, he would. He had you as his warden.

The next evening, after a bowl of hearty stew with the venison you had brought back,—two bowls for Daryl—you laid in bed. He wasn’t complaining, for once, and actually seemed to be close to falling asleep. It had been a relief to watch him eat well, even if he did try to share the second bowl. You were feeling a little nauseated, sharing that knowledge honestly when you turned down his offering. Your condition had definitely improved, the severity of the occurrences much less concerning. Things were actually okay.

“Daryl?” You licked your suddenly dry lips but continued drawing patterns on his bare chest from your spot against his side with his arm wrapped around you. He hummed, his usual reply, eyes remaining closed while his thumb swept back and forth over your ribs. When you didn’t answer right away, he pulled you a little closer. It was unclear if it was intentional or not.

“What?” He cleared his throat, his voice still gravelly.

“Can we—I’d like to know more about you.” Your timid request must have snagged his attention because he was shifting your bodies to lie face to face, one hand below his cheek and the other rubbing small circles just over where the baby had finally stopped tap dancing. He was giving you that look, the squinted eyes that scrutinized someone for any indication of dishonesty or hidden agenda. He should know you better than that by now, but you remained quiet.

“Whaddaya wanna know?” He finally queried, his hand going still but remaining where it was.

“Anything. Everything.” You shrugged your available shoulder. “If we’re gonna do this—be an us—then we need to know one another, don’t you think?” He started tapping a finger against your abdomen.

“S’your favorite color?”

You huffed a laugh through your nose, scrunching it with a smile. “Midnight blue. What’s yours?” He pulled a face, curiosity shining through.

“Why midnight?” He asked with a sniff, shuffling around a bit on the pillow.

“Because even though I know it isn’t, I like to think that’s the color of the night sky. Not black, but dark blue and full stars. Black is nothing, it’s lonely, but to think of it as blue. It’s a little more comforting.” The archer gave you a thoughtful look, the corner of his mouth ticking upward so minutely that anyone else would have missed it. Not you. “Now, what’s yours?”

He mimicked your earlier shrug. “Dunno. Don’t really got one, I guess.” Your silence beckoned him to explain. After moving his hand from below his cheek to chew on the side of his thumb, he eventually elaborated. “Grew up learnin’ to ‘preciate all’a ‘em. House was—it was always dark, ‘specially after mama died. When my old man—I spent a lot’a time outside. Noticed things. Blue sky’d turn a bit purple before it’d snow, even if it was just a lil’. Grass—it’d be green but have those brown pieces where I’d walk all’a the time. Creek looked muddy unless ya stood in it. Then ya’d see the bottom an’ how the water’d catch the light. Sometimes it’d be blue, sometimes kinda green. Just depended on the day.” His gaze had dropped away from you at some point, focused on the miniscule area of bed sheets between your bodies.

You were glad for it because your eyes had started to fill and shine. You were granted the opportunity to blink back the tears before he looked up. Daryl was so much more than anyone had given him credit for, than anyone had been willing to learn. Carol had told you a story about an exchange with Andrea, when she had taken a jab at what she thought was his limited vocabulary.

“Get a dictionary. Look it up. Observant.”

“D’ya like dogs or cats?” He asked so suddenly that you nearly flinched, realizing that you had just been staring at some point past his head for an undetermined amount of time. There was no way he hadn’t noticed.

“I like both, but I’m a dog person.” You frowned. Having a dog would probably be something your child would never get to experience. “You?”

“Dogs. Cats ain’t trustworthy.” It was such an amusing thing to say with such a straight face. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Wait, I need to hear this.” You caught him staring at your lips, maybe watching you laugh or maybe he wanted to kiss you. Both? You pretended not to notice.

“Dogs’re smart but cats’re calculated. Make ya think they’re all innocent when they ain’t. Always up to somethin’.”

“What I’m hearing is that you’re afraid of cats.” You smirked, absently reaching to run your fingers through his hair. Daryl made a disgruntled sound and shook his head to stave off your attempts.

“Ain’t afraid’a ‘em. Just don’t trust ‘em.”

“Right.” You nodded, face falling into feigned seriousness before it became real, your next question burning inside your chest, just below the fear you’d need to surpass to ask. He was likely to shut down the session, maybe even close off completely. You could always hope he’d begun to trust you enough to open up, even if only a little, but the prospect suddenly seemed so far away. “Daryl.”

“Ask.” He was looking right into your eyes with a hint of determination you’d seen before when the circumstances were different, dire even. Was that how he saw this? A dire situation that could result in you being gone in some way?

“Who—what happened?” You let a single fingertip press gently against the deepest scar on his chest, your eyes lingering on it for but a moment before you contradicted his intensity with tenderness. Not pity, but a gentle curiosity. A request to allow you to understand.

“My dad—he was never a good man.” He swallowed hard. “Got worse after mama died. She drank. Fell asleep with a smoke, burned up in our house.” His fingers were plucking at the small space between you, a fine tremor in his hand. He pulled it out of your reach when you reached for it. “Didn’t know what to do with us, I guess. Me an’ Merle—my brother.” The brother that Rick had left behind in Atlanta, the brother who was likely dead. Yet another relative your baby would never know. “Merle tried to—he’d take the beatin’ when he could, did his best. Booked it outta there when he couldn't take it no more. Joined the army.” His eyes were wet, but he sniffed and cleared his throat. “Wasn't nothin’ standin’ between me an’ the old man then—between me an’ the belt. The cigarettes.” He fell silent, clearly finished with talking about his parents.

“Tell me about Merle?” You ventured, shot down with a shake of his head against the pillow.

“Ain’t your turn.” He sniffed again. “Your mama—tell me ‘bout your mama.” It wasn’t exactly a question, more of a soft demand; an it’s only fair. You didn’t mind. You’d accepted her abandonment long ago. You had been content with the amazing father with whom you were gifted.

“She booked it. We didn’t have a lot of money, and she never really wanted me in the first place. Tucked tail and ran the first chance she got.” You shrugged, unbothered beyond the twinge of guilt you felt for being so okay with the hand you had been dealt while Daryl struggled to even think about his past. “I didn’t even miss her. I mean, it sucked at first. I always felt bad, watching daddy struggle. So, I learned to help and that was that.”

He was so obviously jealous, yet another emotion that he didn't know how to process. You saw the anger flare before he doused it, returning to a solemn state of silence. He was awaiting your question, wherein you found a dilemma. Did you push through the conversation about his family? Or did you switch to something else, give him a break?

“Thank you for trusting me.” When you reached for him then, he didn’t pull away. His mask cracked and a few pieces fell away, but he held the rest steady. “That’s enough for now, okay? If you have more questions, I’ll answer them. Gladly. But you’ve shared enough, okay?” When he studied you, you didn’t let him proceed with his usual scrutiny. “It’s fine, Daryl. We can talk more when—if—you ever want to again. You don’t need to tell me anything else.”

He accepted the out with a long exhale and a nod, his gaze falling away. You embraced the silence and its discomfort, just touching him while he was in a place to allow it. You stroked his cheek, the stubble thicker than usual with his confinement to the bed. You smoothed his hair, scratched gently over his scalp. Finally, you scooted closer and pulled him toward you to meet in the middle. Tangling your legs around his, you guided his head to rest under your chin. He let you without complaint or denial, a testament to how he had silently endured when he needed comforting.

The two of you laid there, his breaths evening out to the point where you thought he had fallen asleep. Then, breaking the silence, he cleared his throat. “Why me?” You pulled back just enough to angle your head and look at him.

“Why you what?”

“Why ya settlin’ with me? We can raise a kid together without you givin’ up a chance with someone better.” He took a deep breath, keeping his head down. “I won’t hold ya to it if ya change your mind later—if someone shows—”

“There’s no one better.” You nearly snapped at him, your tone harsher than you’d ever meant for it to be. He flinched and you instantly hated yourself for it. You’d seen someone’s quick movements earn that reaction before, but words hardly affected Daryl physically, not like that. “Daryl.” You silently pleaded with him to look at you, but were left disappointed. “There’s no one better.” You repeated, so softly that it was almost a whisper, your breath disturbing his hair. “I want to raise this baby with you. I want to be with you. I love you. That’s not gonna change.”

He simply hummed, the sound reverberating against your throat. You wanted to throttle him, but none of his self-deprecation was his fault. You hated people you didn’t even know for it. “Don’t deserve all this.” Your brow furrowed deeply at his words. “Feel like m’gettin’ somethin’ meant for someone else. Like m’takin’—” The words died on the tip of his tongue. What could you even say to that? You could tell him he deserved the world—the fucking universe—but he’d never believe it. You’d just have to show him. It would take time and patience that would likely be tested over and over, but he was worth it.

“You’ll see.” You settled back against him, let silence fall between you again. After a while, he actually did fall asleep, the tension you had noticed in him finally melting away into a restful state he so desperately needed in order to continue getting well. A kiss was pressed into his hair. You never fell asleep yourself, simply lying there with him. Your heart ached yet it was full. With your fingers traveling up and down his back in gentle motions you hoped were comforting even within his dreams, you told him again. “You’ll see.”

Daryl was coughing strenuously by the time you reached the truck, his hand pressed hard against his chest. The cold air, the rush of grabbing up all the bags, the running from the herd—it was taking its toll on his still healing body.

“Keys.” You demanded. “I’m driving.” You could see it on his face that he was going to argue, but he doubled over in another fit of coughs and deep, wheezing gasps. Digging in his pocket through the ordeal, he tossed you the keyring. The bags you two were responsible for were tossed into the back next to the bike. It took the archer two attempts to pull himself onto the bench seat, which required the effort of both your bodies to move back in order to accommodate your 30 week bump. Just as your door closed, a discolored hand slapped against the window, startling you into a shout.

The van was already moving when you pressed the gas to peel out behind it, mowing down at least three walkers. Dark blood splattered onto the windshield, smearing but mostly washing away when you used the partially frozen fluid and wipers. Daryl’s forehead was against the dashboard as he fought to catch his breath in the chilled air. You were fumbling for the temperature controls when he smacked your hand away.

“Just—just drive. I got it.” He rasped, the warming air filling the cab a moment later. His back thudded against the seat, shaking it slightly, his head falling back against the headrest with his eyes closed. He was finally sucking in gulps of air into irritated, partially healed lungs. When you reached a point that was safe enough to pull off, you would make sure the group remembered his state of health and didn’t travel for too long before finding anything suitable and safe enough for a stay of at least a few days. “Quit your worryin’, woman. M’good.”

“Just don’t, Daryl.” You argued quietly, desperate to keep the peace between the pair of you that you’d managed to create. “Let me worry. If you don’t fight me on it, I’ll be less likely to do something stupid.” You glanced over, finding his head rolled toward you, his jaw set but he relented with a jerk of his head.

“Fine. Just have ‘em find whatever. S’long as it keeps your ass right here beside me.”

You smiled and silently celebrated your victory, even as he noticed and grumbled beside you. When you placed your hand, palm up, on the seat between you, only a heartbeat passed before you felt him squeezing your fingers.

Roughly eight weeks left, though Hershel said you could safely deliver if you made it at least four more weeks. You were actually becoming slightly miserable. The nausea would come and go, though you actually vomited less and less. Your ankles were missing completely under the puffy skin. Your belly felt so heavy that even just standing was becoming a chore. Lori was sympathetic, constantly giving you advice. Not only you but Daryl as well. You had seen her whispering to him, watched the way he would go completely still, not looking at her but listening intently. Rick could give him all the advice in the world but Lori’s input was crucial. She knew exactly what you needed.

The archer argued with you less and less, though you could see the restraint it took for him to bite his tongue, sometimes literally. He let you hunt with him because you were restless. Lori had said it was because of the urge to start nesting, which you had found amusing, but Daryl already knew about it because of the damn books he continued to snatch up on runs. Why it frustrated you that he was willing to go that extra mile was beyond your comprehension. Maybe because he knew more about what was going on with your body than you did? You should have been grateful, but all you wanted to do was kick him in the shins.

“Can ya just—nevermind.” He grunted from behind you while the two of you tracked some turkeys. You knew they’d be in the trees for the cold weather so you kept your eyes upward, irritating the hunter when you would nearly trip or run into something. Still, he kept his cool, which was admirable for your hot-headed partner. Daryl didn’t like the term boyfriend, you’d discovered during a brief conversation where you’d found your tongue looser than normal and spilling out questions you’d otherwise never ask. The two of you had settled on being partners, though you didn’t feel it was enough to describe your relationship. He had simply shrugged.

You couldn’t hunt with a gun. He’d all but forbade it. Too loud, would draw walkers. So he found you a bow. Not a crossbow but a traditional one. It didn’t take much practice. You only needed to become familiar with the tension of the string, how far to pull for the trajectory and speed needed. Aiming came naturally.

“Shut up, Daryl. I’m fine.” You snapped, instantly muttering an apology. It was but wasn’t his fault you felt so crappy. It took two to make the baby whose little foot or hand or whatever was always pressing into your ribs. You were just as responsible and tried to remember that even when it was you and not him that felt like absolute shit most of the time. As if the world was hellbent on fucking with you, the toe of your boot found its way beneath an exposed root and you nearly faceplanted. If not for Daryl’s constant observance, you surely would have.

He snagged your bicep, dropping his crossbow to reach across your chest and grip your other shoulder. All you needed was a dislocated shoulder when you were already so beyond miserable. He made sure you stayed on your feet, nearly stumbling himself, but saying nothing when you found his irritated but concerned gaze. The weight of it instantly brought on the sniffling you knew was about to lead to a breakdown.

Over the course of only three weeks, the archer had memorized the signs and adapted, learning how to soothe you even at the expense of his own comfort. He immediately pulled you into his arms as close as he could with your ever-growing belly between you, shushing you and rubbing your back.

“S’alright. I won’t letcha fall.”

Noble as his intentions were, that only seemed to stir up even more guilt. “I don’t know why I can’t just listen when you tell me I should stay behind! Why do you let me just do whatever I want even when you know it’s the wrong choice?!” You rubbed your wet face against his button up, leaving a dark spot and not for the first time.

“Cause you’re hard-headed an’ feelin’ like crap. Only make ya feel worse for me to argue with ya.”

And just like that, the switch flipped. “I’m not hard-headed, Daryl! I’m fucking capable and everyone wants to treat me like I’m gonna break!” You pushed him away roughly and stomped forward, sniffling harder than necessary. You heard a sigh from behind you, the sound of him picking up his crossbow and before following at a distance.

When you shot down the turkey, even beyond the pride you felt carrying it back, something told you that he saw it first but didn’t even raise his weapon.

Carol had heated some water for you so you could wipe down, feeling like your skin was crawling after being in the woods all day. It was a foreign feeling for the leaves and cool, fresh air to feel like it stuck to your flesh and needed to be scrubbed away. You were a mess. Your body hurt and you constantly needed to pee. You were irritable. You’d want Daryl to fuck you one minute and then shove him away the moment he touched the slick apex of your thighs. You were torturing the poor man who didn’t have a clue how to provide the type of comfort you needed when he couldn’t even process how to overcome his own lack of it growing up.

You didn’t hear him enter the room as you bowed over the small sink in the dusty bathroom, your skin still damp beneath your long sleeved shirt and flannel sleep pants. You had washed your hair to the best of your ability, the wet strands forming a curtain around your face that blocked your view of the door. You didn’t startle when you felt the heat of his body behind you. It was familiar at that point in a way you couldn’t explain.

“I’m so sorry, Daryl.” You whispered, the syllables of his name coming out as a soft whimper. His hands settled on your hips, fingers flexing nervously.

“S’okay.” He stepped closer and you fully expected to feel his erection press against your ass, but that wasn’t the case. There was only the firm safety of his body, your human security blanket. “Wanna—can I try somethin’?” His voice shook beside your ear but his hands remained steady, digits still squeezing and releasing. Not trusting your voice, you nodded, his exhale warm against your neck.

You weren’t entirely sure what you were expecting but it certainly wasn’t his warm palms sliding beneath your belly and lifting with more gentleness than you were aware a human being could possess. The absence of the weight pulling down was an instant relief, your muscles turning to jello. You leaned back against him and he kept you upright, silently offering you comfort and succor that your body didn’t even know it needed.

“Fuck.” You breathed, eyes fluttering closed and head laying back against his shoulder. The tears came when his lips pressed against your temple, wordlessly expressing his gratitude for what you were enduring. “Thank you.” Your own appreciation trembled over your lips, whether toward the man at your back or a god you weren’t sure you believed in for putting him there.

#murda writes #blood ties #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon fluff #pregnant!reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon twd #twd daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl dixon the walking dead

239 notes · View notes

beardedalcoholic · 17 days

Text

Space Cowboys

The humans had abandoned them. After seemingly endless cycles of fighting the battle was about to be lost and the war with it, and the humans had left them to fight for themselves.

‘So much for the legendary pack-bonding of humans.’ Krillna thought to himself as he leaned around his bunker to lay down some suppressing fire on the enemy. Tungsten rods magnetically accelerated to near supersonic speed ripped into the battle field and enemies died by the dozens…but it wasn’t enough.

Seemingly endless waves of the reptilian enemies known as the Slentine seemed to crawl and slither towards their position. Fields of scales and fangs greeted him every time he looked around his barrier, looks of desperation and hopelessness looked back every time he turned away from the battle.

“You would think the humans could have at least left us the weapons before they ran like cowards!” cried out one soldier before he was cut down by enemy fire.

Rollin’ rollin’ rollin’

“Did anyone else hear that?” Krillna asked after firing another salvo of rounds towards the slowly advancing enemy. Looking at his ammo counter and seeing it was empty, Krillna threw his weapon to the ground and grabbed the ceremonial bone dagger the warriors of his people were gifted upon maturity.

Rollin’ rollin’ rollin’

Holding the blade to his chest and breathing the prayers of his youth, Krillna begged the seven skies of his homeland for the power of the mighty storm, pleaded for his spirit to be flown on the winds to his ancestors. Finding himself at the end of his prayers and ready to face the enemy head on and to fight tooth, bone and claw in the ways of his ancestors, Krillna couldn’t help but think he heard something on the wind again. Looking to the forest side of the battlefield, Krillna felt a rumbling through the pads of his clawed foot.

Rollin’ rollin’ rollin’ RAWHIIIIIDE!

With the sound of thunder and snapping trees, Krillna felt all three of his hearts stop and fall.

Gierophants, mighty horned beasts weighing several tons with great crests of hardened skin behind the skull to protect the neck and a row of spines extending the length of the spine, each one several times as tall as Krillna’s seven foot frame. Easy to anger, nearly impossible to outrun, harder to damage and often found in herds of fifty to one-hundred the gierophant was this world’s largest inhabitant, but Krillna thought he saw something on the back of the lead beast.

Humans.

Humans were riding the gierophants…a herd of what looked to be sixty or more and each one had a human standing on the snout of the creature and even more behind the crest or between the dorsal spines.

RAIN AND WIND AND WEATHER

The humans were either lashed to a spine or each other with lengths of rope and each one was firing wildly into the horde of enemies, hanging sideways from the flanks of the great beasts, weaving between the spines, crouching behind the crest and all were firing their rifles.

HELL BENT FOR LEATHER

“Sir? Am I having a substance dream or are those humans riding Gierophants into the Slentine ranks in a stampede while singing what sounds like a human battle song?” A young warrior asked in disbelief as the battle field seemed to come to a stop. The pause didn’t last long as the slentine soldiers quickly turned their weapons on the stampede of human madness and animal rage.

WISHING MY GIRL WAS BY MY SIIIDEEE!

“You are most definitely seeing this pup, the crazy humans went and did the impossible again…WARRIORS OF CANTRAXA!” Krillna called out to the stunned warriors behind him, filled with a renewed hope for victory.

“DRAW YOUR BLADES AND RELOAD YOUR WEAPONS, THE HUMANS HAVE GIVEN US THIS CHANCE AND BY THE FIRE PLAINS OF OUR HOME WORLD I WILL NOT STAND BY AND MAKE NOTHING OF IT!” Holding his blade high above his head the Pack-Master let loose the battle cry of his ancestors with such ferocity that it seemed to ring from the very heavens, turned from his comrades and ran face first into the chaos of the newly evened battle.

ALL THE THINGS IM MISSIN’

Three hardened battle packs of Cantraxa warriors, thought to be beaten down by sheer numbers and attrition, thought to be defeated and simply too stupid to understand… howled. Each and every one felt what the humans referred to as battle lust and with the feeling of fire singing in their veins each and every one reached deep into their souls and called the ancient war cries of times long past. GOOD VITTLES, LOVE AND KISSIN’

The humans sang on, swinging wildly from the sides of the Gierophants or hanging on with one hand and firing with the other, seemingly oblivious to the rounds of enemy’s fire flying past them. With every human felled the others seemed to sing louder. Krillna was in awe of these small hairless creatures as he ran towards the battle, they rode the great beasts of this world like they were born to it, they faced a horde of enemies without fear and sang their defiance in the face of death and defeat. ARE WAITING AT THE END OF MY RIIIIIIDEEEEE~

================================================

The battle was won, the slentine ranks had been broken in half by the stampede and when the front ranks turned to fire on the new threat they were drowned in an avalanche of fur and fang, bullet and bone from the Cantraxa warriors.

The humans had run over and shot down much of the enemy, the field had been churned to a bloody mud pit of broken bodies and weapons, the Gierophants were long gone by then, the humans had dismounted and returned to base.

Krillna watched in curious amazement as the humans went about their post battle chores.

Groups of humans combing the battlefield for survivors, pulling bodies from the muck and determining if they could be saved or not. Slentine and Cantraxian alike were given final honors or medical aid…mere hours before these small hairless maniacs were riding juggernauts of death into battle while singing and laughing and now, they were providing aid and respect to not only their comrades but the enemy as well.

Amazing graaaceee

A hauntingly sad and seemingly profound song floated like fog over the battle field from somewhere among the humans.

How sweet the sound

Funeral pyres and graves were dug according to cultural wishes, wounded were cared for regardless of species or alignment in the war. Bodies counted and tears were shed that day and as the last sun in the sky fell below the horizon, Krillna found himself surrounded by his warriors and humans.

Holding a strange liquid in his cup, the humans called it beer…or maybe stout?...Krillna looked to the leader of the humans as she stood upon a table laden with food and drink.

“Tonight, we celebrate our victory!” The humans cheered and the Cantraxans yipped and howled like pups.

“Tonight, we mourn our glorious fallen!” With a silence that choked the very soul, every human raised their drink to the memory of those they had lost and drank deeply. Krillna and his warriors all mimicked the humans in their silence and honors.

“Tonight…we honor our worthy enemies.” The commander of the humans raised her cup one last time and as one all the humans followed. Krillna could not see the reason behind the last one but was not about to comment on it while surrounded by humans.

Instruments were tuned and soon employed to their fullest extent as humans began dancing and singing, wagers were made, games were played and for a few moments Krillna could almost believe that they were simply back in his homeland celebrating the lunar convergence festival.

Spotting the human leader on the outskirts of the revelry Krillna silently approached the human as she slowly drank and watched those she had shed blood with. Stepping on a fallen can of some kind alerted the commander and as she whipped her head towards Krillna, he froze in place…the look in her eyes was not that of a celebration, but rather that of battle mad soldiers. Items within reach categorized as weapons, responses and plans ranging from peacefully violent to disturbingly chaotic flashed through her face in seconds. Her grip on the cup she held and the tensing of her muscles told Krillna that she had to stop herself from launching the cup at his face.

Raising his clawed hands in a sign of peace Krillna approached the commander slowly. As he approached the tiny human, no more than five feet tall, Krillna noticed tears leaking from her eyes in a steady stream cutting tracks through the remaining dirt and grime upon her cheeks. Hands shaking the commander raised the nearly impromptu projectile to her mouth and took a steadying sip before addressing the large warrior.

“What can I do for you Pack-Master?” Asked the commander as she turned her eyes back to the celebration before her.

“You do not celebrate victory like the others? Why do you spill tears so freely War Mother?” Krillna asked, using the honorific of the greatest female warriors of his people.

“I uh…it just takes a little time for me to wind down from battle and get into the spirit of things, eventually I’ll head out and show these youngsters how to really party but for now I will just have to deal with the aftermath of the adrenalin.” The commander said with a small shake to her voice.

“I have heard of this adrenalin, most species would simply die if exposed to it but you humans produce it naturally?” The Pack-Master asked.

“Yes, our bodies naturally produce it and well…it dissipates quicker for some and for others it sticks around longer. Battle madness, bloodlust, berserker rage and more are just different names of the same thing, active or excess adrenalin…our minds are changed and muscles freed of restraints while under its influence but afterwards we have to put the beast back in the cage and deal with the mess it made, physically, mentally and spiritually.” The commander responded with a look in her eyes that said she was looking deep into the past.

“How did you humans tame the Gierophants? It was previously thought impossible to even safely approach them never mind ride them or direct them.” Krillna asked in an attempt to steer the conversation away from the maudlin thoughts the commander seemed to be sinking into.

With an almost visible brightening of her features the commander looked up at Krillna.

“We didn’t actually tame them, we were trying to find either a good escape route to get everyone out or possibly a way to ambush the Slentine army, make them fight on two fronts as it were. We ran across the herd of Gierophants by accident and sort of came up with the plan on the spot, we figured if they started to stampede in our direction the base would be destroyed but if they went just little to the side they would hit our enemies. Jackson over there used to be what we call a ‘Cowboy’ and said if you can point a bull’s nose in one direction the body would follow, so we made some lassos and climbing rigs and well, the rest is history.” The commander finished with a small shrug and a decidedly less shaky sip of her drink.

Krillna was almost to shocked to breath.

“You found a herd of the planet’s largest and most dangerous animal, decided to irritate them into charging you with the enemy directly behind, hoping that they would run over said enemy and while they did that you threw ropes on them so you could climb onto them and ride them…you humans are insane.” with a shake of his great furred head Krillna could only thank the seven skies that these lunatics were on their side.

With a laugh the commander tipped the last of her drink back and wrapped her hand around one of his fingers, his hand being large enough to completely encompass her own, and began to pull him towards the firelight of the bonfires, a mischievous light in her eyes and a smile that spoke of wicked delights to come on her lips.

“Oh you haven’t even begun to see the madness of humanity, come and we shall sing you songs of our people.” The commander laughed as the crowd enveloped them, music wound through the air like smoke, soldiers and warriors alike danced and spun and Krillna could only laugh as he downed the rest of his drink and threw reservations to the wind with a final thought.

‘Humans are weird, but wonderful.

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #ao3 fanfic

208 notes · View notes

luv4fushi · 11 months

Note

hi!! just wanted to say i love your works sm <3 i was wondering if you can do more megumi smaus or drabbles they’re too cute and i love the way you write him tysm!!

sorry this took forever! delivery is here ~~~

all mine

jjk fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

it’s not like megumi is incapable of showing emotions, it’s just that he absolutely sucks at it.

content: jealous megumi, shibuya never happened 🙏 life is good, he’s literally SO whipped for you, established relationship, fluff, aged up!megumi (17/18), word dump (not proofread)

click on my masterlist for more!

“where else did you get hurt?” megumi is sat in shoko’s office chair, rolled in from the room over.

you’re wrapped in bandages from your waist-up, a gnarly gash waiting for shoko’s healing hands. you have on a wide grin contrary to the injuries littering your body.

“nowhere else,” you say, “i promise.”

megumi frowns and gives you a slight glare. he looks you up and down—as far as you’ll let him with the blanket covering you—and sighs. “you need to be more careful.”

“i know,” you say, drawing out the syllables in hopes of calming him down. “yuji was there, though.”

his frown deepens. “it’s not like i don’t trust your strength or yuji’s… i just can’t believe you got so roughed up by a grade 2 curse.”

you roll your eyes. “i made a few mistakes. that’s my bad, dad.”

“shut up,” he mutters. he brushes his thumb against your lower lip, wiping away the crusted blood.

“i’ll be more careful next time,” you whisper, savoring the small acts of intimacy with him. you don’t get them as often as you’d want, so you want to hold onto this moment for a little while longer.

shoko is able to clean you up with her reversed curse technique. she walks into the room with several apologies leaving her lips, telling you that she’d been preoccupied with some other patients. she fixes you up quickly and offers you and megumi some privacy.

“i don’t think i need these bandages anymore.” your fingers twitch, itching to remove the cloth.

megumi immediately stands, his slender fingers coming into contact with your bare skin. you feel him freeze up next to the bed and you look up at him with questioning eyes.

“this isn’t your sweater,” he says with a scrunch of his nose. “it’s not mine, either.”

“it got cold,” you explain, “so yuji gave me his sweater. he thought i was dying so we figured i should go out warm instead of freezing my ass off.”

he taps you on the nose disapprovingly. “you’re an idiot.”

your lips purse and you swat his hand away. “i nearly died and that all you say?”

megumi ignores you, not that you notice—you’re too busy trying to strip off the bandages clinging to your rips—“yuji gave you his sweater?”

“yeah!” you nod, unaware of the rising tension in the air. “oh! i should wash it and return it.”

megumi zeros in on the clothing hugging your body. it’s a grayish pink hoodie with a fading logo on the front. it’s not part of your closet and you’d never wear something like that. something ugly lumps in his throat and he swallows it back.

“take it off.”

you look at him with wide eyes. “sorry?”

“the sweater. take it off.” he points at your chest.

your body heats up, embarrassed. “i… i’m not wearing anything underneath. my shirt was soaked with blood so i…”

megumi blinks rapidly and looks away, the redness creeping down his neck. “how could you go and get yourself so hurt like that?”

he takes a step back and gives himself enough space to slip his sweater off of his body. it’s black, like everything in his closet, and smells like the body wash he uses. he holds it out to you and you take the piece of clothing with hesitant hands.

“wear this once we take off these bandages, okay?” he says as he helps you peel them off.

once your wound is out in the open again, you realize how amazing shoko’s technique is. she’s one of the few sorcerers than can do reverse curse technique, so it’s not like you get the chance to see it every day (and you don’t get hurt badly enough to need her help). however, she isn’t able to completely heal your injury. you’re left with a scar deeply embedded into your skin.

“oh,” you breathe out when you notice the raised bump. “it’s sort of ugly.”

megumi cups your chin. he’s made himself comfortable on the edge of your hospital bed, his weight making the mattress dip slightly. he guides your face to face his own and presses a small kiss to your forehead.

“that doesn’t take anything away from you,” he mumbles shyly. “you’re still beautiful.”

“thank you,” you say, eyes dropping to your fisted hands.

“let’s get that sweater off of you, yeah?”

you laugh despite the rigidness prevalent in your bones. “what’s the big deal? it’s not that dirty.”

megumi almost scowls. “wear mine.”

“okay,” you say with a pout.

if it had been a year ago, megumi would’ve blushed profusely and turned away as you pull yuji’s hoodie over your head. now, he simply bites his tongue when you slip on his sweater with ease. megumi’s scent engulfs your the moment the soft cloth hugs your body. it’s still warm from his body heat.

“i should wash yuji’s stuff and return it later,” you mutter out loud.

“i’ll do that,” megumi interrupts, snatching the hoodie from your hands. “you’re hurt so don’t even think about getting up.”

“shoko just healed me,” you whine petulantly. “you’re being too dramatic, megumi.”

“i don’t care,” he replies with downturned lips. “i hate when you’re assigned to something without me. you always get hurt.”

you raise your brow and flick his forehead. “so do you, megumi.”

“not nearly as bad as you,” he shoots back. he gingerly pushes back your hair from your face.

“it was my fault,” you admit sorely. “yuji knows what he’s doing… i should’ve listened.”

megumi pushes your shoulder down so that you’re laying plush against the soft mattress. your head is propped up by a feathery pillow.

“he’s really cool, you know?” you continue, breaking up the silence in the room. “i think i would’ve died if it wasn’t for him. he’s a lot stronger, obviously. i thought i’d be fine going against his wishes, but i guess i overestimated myself.”

megumi’s eyes sharpen intensely. you know his anger isn’t directed at you because if it was, he’d be avoiding you (it’s a bad habit of his that you two still need to work out). you’re not quite sure what exactly he’s mad at, considering you’re not the reason why his face keeps souring.

“i would’ve kept you safe,” he mumbles out.

you giggle and take his hand into your own. “i know, baby. don’t blame him. it was me.”

“no it wasn’t.” megumi lets you play with his fingers as he speaks. “he’s basically a special grade sorcerer. you’re a grade 2 sorcerer. he should’ve taken precautions.”

“i’m fine,” you insist. “it wasn’t his fault.”

“why’re you taking his side?” megumi blurts out before he can stop himself. he shrinks into himself and pulls his hand back. “i mean—i don’t get why you’re so adamant about protecting his image. you got hurt and nearly died. i’m not doubting any of your abilities, but you know that you’ve only been here for a year.”

you swallow your words. megumi isn’t wrong—you’d been scouted not too long ago. megumi had been your main partner for a majority of your missions, which had sped up your relationship with him. everyone had been quite surprised when you two announced that you were in a relationship. your improvement had been steady, but slower than most. even now, you feel burdened when you’re compared to gojo’s other, more successful students.

“i don’t want you getting mad at your friend,” you choke out. you’ve never liked it too much when megumi scolded you, so you definitely don’t want him angry at his close friend, knowing how distant he can get when he’s mad.

he takes a deep breath and a soft smile appears on his face. “i’m not mad at anyone, stupid. i’m just… i don’t know. i don’t like you being so close to him.”

“what?” you tilt your head, thoroughly confused. “it was for a mission—”

“i know,” he says, and he sounds exasperated. you can’t help but stifle a giggle as he continues, “but you’re so… you’re so smart and beautiful and i wish i’d been there to give you my sweater instead.”

you can see the tips of his ears get pinker and pinker with each word that leave his mouth. your eyes crinkle up when you realize why he’s upset.

“it’s stupid,” he groans, throwing himself into your chest. his position is awkward, but not uncomfortable. his body weight presses you down like a blanket. “i shouldn’t be feeling this way, especially not when you’re half dead.”

you pinch him before wrapping your arms around his neck. he nuzzles into your body like you two aren’t in one of shoko’s treatment rooms.

“i’m not half dead.”

he hums dismissively and you can feel the vibrations of his voice. you take your fingers through his raven locks of hair, breathing in his familiar smell. it smells like home, even though you haven’t actually been there for a long time. megumi has abandoned his spot on the edge of the bed and is basically cuddled up with you at this point.

“i’m just,” he clicks his tongue, “just annoyed.”

“are you jealous?” you say, amused.

you feel him stiffen in your arms. “no.”

“you sure?”

“no.”

“so you’re jealous…?”

“a little.”

“yuji knows we’re together,” you attempt to explain. “so there’s no need to feel like that, megumi.”

“i know,” he says, voice muffled from his face in your neck. “but it still bothers me.”

“i’m all yours.”

“yeah…” megumi grumbles. “i’ll be the only one giving you my sweaters from now on.”

꒰ ♡︎ ꒱

“and what else did you do?” megumi has his face propped on his hands, sitting across from you in the dining hall. he’s got an enamored look on his face, his eyes softening tremendously. if anyone sees him like this, they’d make fun of him for sure.

“we went to the arcade! i was so bummed when you couldn’t come ‘cause of that stupid mission,” you exclaim, talking with your hands and making big gestures, “because you would’ve gotten me so many prizes!”

he nods, his attention fully on you. the cafeteria is empty for the most part—only a few of the first years waddling around curiously. gojo seems to favor the older students more; he doesn’t guide them as much as he had with you and the others.

it’s nearing dinner time. you’d been out and about with a few students of the graduated class all day while he’d been exorcising a nasty curse a few blocks away. he had taken care of it quickly, but felt a little intruding to invite himself on the get together so suddenly after having to cancel last minute.

“i got this!” you shove a stuffed plushie at him. it’s a black cat with a lopsided body from its poor filling. “it looks like you, doesn’t it?”

he throws you a “are you serious?” look, but allows you to have your fun anyway. “i don’t really see it.”

“yuta got it for me,” you say with an excited glint in your eyes. “he won it on his first try!”

megumi’s tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek. “oh?”

“he saw how much i wanted it,” you ramble on, unaware of megumi’s change in demeanor. “it was mainly ‘cause it looked like you, so he promised me he’d get me one if i bought him food.”

megumi nods, slower this time. “i see. anything else?”

“oh!” you nearly jump out of your seat. “i grabbed us matching keychains at the store i really wanted to go in. remember? the one we saw last week? you said we couldn’t go in ‘cause gojo needed us.”

he feels a pang of irritation bite his ribs. he’s been wanting to take you to that store for a while now, but his schedule isn’t the most open. he’s the closest thing gojo has to a successor of some sort, so he’s usually bombarded with missions from the higher ups.

“you get badtz maru and i get kuromi,” you say with a huge grin on your face.

megumi melts. “thank you. i love it.”

“i wish i got to meet yuta and everyone else when you all met…” you pout. “everyone is so cool… especially maki! it’s no wonder nobara adores her. yuta is so nice, too! he’s wonderful.”

“right,” megumi says, jaw clenching. “do you tend to find older boys more fun to hang out with?”

your smile drops. “what?”

“am i not fun?”

“megumi, don’t be ridiculous,” you say through bright laughter. “i would’ve hung out with you all day if you hadn’t been busy.”

“yuta is real cool, right?”

you playfully roll your eyes. “megumi! i’m serious when i say that nobody is cooler than you. i never got the chance to get close to any of the older students before they graduated so i was just really happy they invited me.”

megumi seems to be content with your statement. his shoulder relax and he regains that half-lidded expression on his face.

“did you do anything else fun?”

your face lights up with a mischievous tint. “i got a shirt that says ‘i love my boyfriend’ with your picture on it.”

megumi sighs, but his eyes are full of glee. “i need to stop being so bothered when you’re with other guys.”

“right,” you tease. “i’m yours.”

“all mine.”

a/n: this was really dialogue heavy but i think it’s still a fun read and i hope u enjoyyyyyy!!!!! i love me a jealous megumi bc he would be SO emotionally constipated abt it LOL

#jjk x reader #megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi x you #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro x you #fushiguro x reader #jjk x you

991 notes · View notes

fanaticsnail · 4 months

Text

The Hawk and the Fledgling (P2)

Masterlist Here, Part 1 Here.

Word Count: 3,365 (Yeah, it was meant to be a drabble but the words ran away with me again)

I ended the year with Mihawk, looks like I'm starting the year off with him too! Lets goooooooo.

Warnings: Kissing, pining, longing, fighting, mentions of illness, drinking, kissing.

Taglist: @whatthemonsterfuckisthis, @writingmysanity, @gingernut1314, @alphaash99, @someobsessionrequired, @bookandstar

Hanahaki Disease is a disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from unrequited love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings, or when the victim dies. It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear.

You presented your thumb and index finger up to your swollen lips, chapped and coarse from the hoarse coughing while warm to the touch. You felt no remanence of the illness that once eclipsed your body and rendered it unresponsive and trapped beneath the curling vines. The only aspect that remained was a small flurry of pale flower petals atop your tongue, prompting you to reach your fingers inwards to pull them out.

You were still sitting atop the wooden table Mihawk had placed you on moments prior, shock falling from your every fiber. You felt warm, light and breathless. Even though you had no weight placed on your chest, you felt burdened by the knowledge that lord Dracule Mihawk thought himself not to be the harborer of your affections.

As soon as you pinched one of the soft petals from its place atop your tongue and held it up to your eyes to examine the almost innocent-looking harbinger of doom, the door swung wide and Zoro was shoved harshly onto the cobblestone floor. His heavy boots were thumping franticly against the stone with haste, his eyes wide and searching yours for any affliction.

“I’ve brought the oaf for you,” your mentor spoke, his eyes not meeting with yours as he hastily walked through the kitchen to the leather-bound wall displaying his vast collection of wines. The many bottles were laying flat, perpendicular to the floor in catalogued rows from whites, roses and reds. Selecting one without reading the label, he reached his hand down and found a corkscrew and began hastily, and almost aggressively, brandishing it to rid the cork from the bottle neck.

Zoro gasped, sauntering over to you with wide strides and taking your cheek beneath his palm. He rose your chin upwards with the angle of his wrist, eyes darting between yours as his thumb smoothed a small circle over your cheekbone. He circled his grip down, your bottom lip feeling contact from his calloused thumb atop it as he continued looking you over.

“Hanahaki, right? Love unrequited?” he whispered softly, leaning down lower to your face in a low stoop. His eyes were warm, soft and almost apprehensive – a painted triad you were yet to see atop the green-haired swordsman.

This was the fifth time you were rendered speechless this day: the first being the knowledge that such an affliction exists in this realm, death and withering away your body by the doomed flowers and vines strangling your organs. The second was the knowledge that your unrequited and intense emotional love for your mentor, Dracule Mihawk, was the factor propelling you into this dooming fate. The third, Mihawk assumed your doom was due to the fact you were infatuated with your peer and his fellow pupil – not himself. The fourth, Mihawk confessed he had held a certain romantic fondness towards you; your love not as unrequited as you once thought.

The fifth was the fact that Zoro was descending in his stoop; his face leaning closer and closer to you, his lips drawing ever nearer to yours as he closed his eyes. Halting his descent, he raised his unoccupied hand up to brush several strands of hair out from shieling your gaze from his. Your lips were almost brushing, you could feel the heat from his breath tinted with the flavor of green matcha-mochi and cherry blossom tea.

“I do not yet harbor love powerful enough for you romantically,” he whispered, moving his hand through your hair to cradle the back of your head, while falling his other to rest atop your shoulder, “but I am a fast learner.”

At that, your eyes widened further as he pressed his lips against yours in a slow and deliberate kiss. You rasped out a small squeak as Zoro deepened the kiss, his brow furrowing as he deeply inhaled through his nose and circled his chin to rotate the open mouthed kiss he was pressing against you. He reached down, pulling your wrists upwards to circle his neck in order to bring you closer against him. His torso pushed flush against yours, he redrew his palms upwards to collect your face and lace his fingertips into the back of your hair once more.

He was passionate, deliberate and also cautionary. He was falling all of his desire onto you, along with the desperation that comes with the knowledge that one of his friends is ill – this embrace being the only cure, to his current knowledge. Hearing a small ‘pop’ of the cork being pried away from the green-stained wine bottle, the next sounds that were heard within the room was the glugging pour from the bottle into a crystal glass.

Continuing to remain unresponsive, and eyes perpetually unblinking and wide in shock, you brought your shaking hands down to Zoro’s chest and gave him a small shove to halt his movements. He apprehensively drew himself away from your lips, eyes first closed while his lips almost chased yours in response to his withdrawal. You pushed him a little harder to halt more deep and passionate kisses being pressed into your lips, while listening to a small whistled chirp sound indicating Mihawk was oxidizing his selected vintage over his palate and tongue.

Zoro received the message and pulled away from your lips, a frown prominent against his face and kiss-swollen lips partially parted. His eyes searched yours, leaning forward to press his forehead against your own to bring himself closer to you.

“Are you okay? Is everything okay? Was this okay-?” he began, halting as you pressed your four fingers against his lips to halt his words. Pushing your forehead against his in return of his physical affection, you whispered in a voice only audible for him to hear.

“Zoro, I adore you. You are my best friend, my peer. My brother in arms,” you removed your hand from his lips and caressed his cheek. Sighing out a deep breath, you shut your eyes as you spoke low your confession, “but it was not you that was holding me hostage to the disease.”

Zoro’s eyes widened, immediately seeking the gaze of his mentor who seemed to be looking bored and as disinterested as he could make himself out to be. His arms were crossed, him holding the crystal wineglass filled to the brim with crimson liquid and leaning against the marble benchtop with his legs crossed at the ankles.

“But you’re okay now. What does that mean?” he asked, his tone curious and almost frantic. He drew his gaze back to you and a warm blush tinted his cheeks as your confession dawned on him. “You haven’t spoken to Perona yet, so I doubt it was her. Does that mean- did he, did he-.”

“-Zoro, if you wouldn’t mind,” you winced out, a blush rising of your own to spread warmth over the apples of your cheeks and tips of your ears. Zoro immediately got the message, his nose scrunching up and shoving you playfully with his arm as his wolfy grin spread over his lips to paint his face with his knowing smile.

“A shame,” he chuckled, turning from you to make his way out of the kitchen, “I would’ve liked to see where this goes.” You laughed in response, looking to the ground as you swung your legs down from their position atop the table and jumped to place them on the floor. Mihawk’s unblinking gaze trailed after Zoro, scowling at the smirk his young apprentice offered. Zoro turned once more, arched his eyebrows up twice at you and closed the kitchen door behind him.

“What does that mean, Fledgling? Rabbit done with you so soon?” He arched his brow up as you approached. You steadied your breath and reached up to collect the wineglass from Mihawk’s fingers and placed it on the countertop behind him.

“I was drinking that, Fledgling,” he lazily disregarded you, turning away and bringing his hand over to collect the stem of the crystal glass from atop the counter. You immediately halted him by placing your hand atop his wrist, your eyes brimming with caution over how he’d receive such a touch. Keeping your gaze fixed on the hand clutching his wrist, you sucked in a slow breath and allowed the caution to remain steadfast in shielding your intentions from him.

“Sir,” you addressed him, his chin lazily snapping over to hold his intense and spiteful irises against your smaller form.

“Yes, fledgling?” was all he said in response to you words. You took a moment to syphon through your thoughts, attempting to relay what you needed to in order to confess your disease and the cure of it; only to have them halted as soon as they formed behind your lips.

“Little kiss fixed you up, did it? The rabbit and the fledgling, hardly a fit I would match. However,” he turned his gaze away from your face to fixate on his wineglass atop the marble bench behind him, “it is fitting, considering your age and stage. A match many would desire: similar interests-.”

“Sir,” you uttered a little more firmly, hoping to break him away from his lazy and annoyed rant; but alas, to no avail.

“I should move your rooms closer together. It would be good to spur on your training: pit you against one another to bring more passion into your sparring-,” he continued, rolling his eyes and breaking his wrist away from your grip to reclaim his crystal chalice filled with the bitter taste of a darkened Shiraz. Your temper was hanging by a thread, your nerves shot alite under your emotional state.

You had nearly died of a broken heart, Mihawk had confessed his fondness for you – healing you with his words. Zoro had kissed you, something you neither needed nor desired for yourself – especially since recovering from the death-like illness. And Mihawk: your boss, your mentor, your love, he was continuing to absolutely dance around his own confession by continuing to drink, and talk.

“My lord-,” you attempted to draw in his attention to you by using his formal title, to no avail.

“-I shall send for a priest. Perhaps you’ll be married by the weeks end-,” he turned away from you and drew up the chalice to his lips. Agitation was growing within him, his lips curling up and eyes narrowing.

“Lord Mihawk-,” you hoped his name would bring some kind of sway over him, but he continued on his tirade of nonsensical theatrics.

“-I will have Perona be your witness. Considering no family for either of you present; it will be up to me to give you away, I suppose-,” his voice was increasing in volume, his anger rolling off him in waves.

“-Lord Dracule Mihawk!” you reached your arm to collect his shoulder beneath your palm, only for him to roughly shake off your tender touch.

He turned to face you, his brows deep in their descent against his forehead. He was enraged; understandable from his perspective. He not only witnessed his own unrequited love be cured of their disease by another, but willingly drew him in to present his lips against your own. All he could do was watch and wallow in his own rage.

“And where will you honeymoon, hm?! Going to make some strong, sword-wielding children soon, I presume! You’ll need to halt your training in favor of your-.”

You lunged forward, jumping high enough to grip his shoulders with your arms and wove yourself around his form: legs hooking his hips and joining together behind him by your ankles. You immediately circled his neck with your arms and dragging him onto you and smashing his lips against your own to silence his taunts. Your hands wove into his hair, his form immediately falling victim to your embrace with a small stumble. His right hand clutched the wineglass firmly, although the liquid spilt over the brim at the hastiness of your embrace.

His unoccupied hand drew itself up to hook itself around your waist and hold you flush against his torso. Opening his lips, he danced his tongue around your swollen bottom lip and joined it with your own with a low gasped moan. Sharing breaths, you continued to harshly reciprocate his almost violent and desperate collision of lips, tongue and teeth. If he pushed firm, you pushed harder. If he brushed his tongue with yours, you lightly bit the organ with your teeth.

As he trained you to continue to advance in brandishing your blade towards an enemy, never backing down for any reason; you continued this mantra as you wove your fingers into his blackened waves of loose curls atop his head. The actions, however, were absolutely reciprocated by the man woven between your thighs. If you bit his tongue, he pushed your face away and trailed a violent flurry of open mouthed kisses against your chin, jaw and neck – tongue swirling over your pulse before reclaiming his lips with your own.

You reached your hands up, removing his wide hat from his head to get a better anchorage against his body, prompting him to unceremoniously throw the crystal chalice against the polished cobblestone floor. The red liquid pooled at his feet, prompting a gasp to rise from your parted lips. Taking this small moment of distraction, Mihawk used both arms to hook beneath your legs and rotate you around him – pressing now your body against the marble countertop and burying his face on the exposed flesh between your neck and shoulder. His lips grazed over the skin, a tingle shooting up your spine and elevating the hairs on the back of your neck to stand to attention.

“M-My lord,” you stuttered out in a breathy whisper, your eyes glazed over and irises blown with lust. He growled in response, claiming a small portion of skin between his pearled teeth and biting your flesh gently. He moved his lips up, trailing and pressing soft and tender kisses against each area of skin revealed to him.

“If this be the only time I will ever be permitted to kiss you,” he whispered against your cheek, pressing a soft brush of his kiss-stricken lips atop the smooth area; his silken moustache scratching against the skin, “I won’t waste a single moment on words, Fledgling.” He pressed a slow and timid kiss against your lips, his eyes closed as he allowed himself this small tender moment to fall over him and onto you.

You shook your head into the kiss, arching your back against his torso to remove his latch on your lips. His strong arms held you firm, you feeling his arms grip you tighter in response.

“Mihawk,” you managed to utter, his name being the only thing to halt his advance at this stage. He fell his forehead against the base of your neck, feeling his dark curls tickle your chin, and his heavy breath fall against your chest.

“Forgive me, Fledgling,” he uttered, removing his hands from their grip beneath your thighs and placing them atop the marble beside your hips. He was not quite ready to fall away from your embrace, but did not want to push his luck further.

Gathering enough courage to finally break your confession through, the words flew from your mouth at lightning speed.

“My lord, it’s you. You were the reason I suffered in such a way. You were why I was pushing myself so hard in training. You were the reason I broke my body under your direction, daily. My lord,” you took his whiskered chin beneath your fingers and elevated his gaze to you. His eyes were glazed, pupils blown only a little while he held such sorrow behind their deep amber. You brought your hand up, tracing the manicured beard up and cradling his cheek within your palm, “It’s you.”

His eyes widened, reality of the situation finally dawning on him. The pin had dropped, finding below it’s descent a balloon of latex and puncturing it beneath its small prick. As a balloon would deflate from its air and dart all around the room with no rhyme nor reason, Mihawk began to place the pieces of the evening together.

“But the Hanahaki-,” his words were halted within his throat as he continued to place them together, “-was broken with my offhand confession.” He sighed deeply, shaking his head to rid itself of his own assumed stupidity.

You smiled at him, continuing to hold his face within your palm and take in a visual map of the man you had come to adore. Dark hair tussled, lips swollen and tinted with the bruising shade of red, great-cloak disheveled and hanging loosely over his shoulders - his bare chest more so exposed to you. He was so beautiful.

“I hold such a deep admiration for you, my lord Mihawk,” you shook your head as you brought your other hand up to his forehead and brushed his hair from shielding his face, “it fell into something deeper along the way. As the disease indicates, it has swelled into love. I love you.”

He sighed, leaning first into your palm before placing his forehead against yours. You both felt waves of emotion falling from the two of you in this one moment, both pausing to feel the rise and fall of one another’s breaths and the heat reverbing from your bodies’ proximities. He allowed himself one final moment before he spoke his own confession.

“I loved you from the moment you first came to me,” he drew his hand from its position on the counter and placed it over the middle of your chest, “your spirit was so strong. At first, I wanted to break you as punishment for drawing such weakness from me. But then,” he withdrew his forehead from yours and replaced his prior position with his lips, “I saw you soar.”

Withdrawing his lips from your head, he held such deep devotion in his eyes as he relayed his final words to you, “and that is why I love you.”

“Because I’m a glutton for punishment?” you quipped at him, withdrawing your eyes from its connection to his and falling to the pooling red wine and shattered glass on the floor.

“No,” he chuckled at you, hooking his index finger below your chin and pulling your gaze to return to him, “it’s because, Fledgling, you are not a fledgling at all.” You knit your brows in confusion, knowing that he gives names to all of his apprentices. Zoro, the rabbit. Perona, the ghost. You, the fledgling.

“If I am no fledgling,” you whispered, “then what am I to you?” He smiled deeper, his eyes crinkling up at the corners as he revealed a rare and intimate smile with you.

“You’re a Formel,” he whispered, “My Formel.” You laughed a breathy giggle at this new title, placing a small kiss against the whiskered chin below his lips.

“Does that make you my Tiercel, my lord?” you asked him after pulling away from his chin. He chuckled at you and offered you one final utterance.

“Only in private moments, Formel,” he cautioned you, “which I hope we are to share more of together.”

Mihawk broke away from your embrace and looked to the mess he’d made on the floor with the wineglass. As you were about to hop yourself down from your seated position against the marble countertop, a strong arm hooked its way beneath your knees while another steadied itself around your back. You squeaked in surprise as he lifted you up and began carrying you away from the mess to exit the kitchen. You looked at the puddle of wine and glass on the floor before turning back to your love carrying you. His expression was almost playful, with his signature flavor of arrogance cascading over his face and posture.

“I’ll have Zoro clean that up,” he grimaced, lips pulling up in a sneer, “a fitting punishment for kissing my Formel.”

“On your orders, sir,” you uttered in return. He hummed, leaning down to press a small kiss against your cheek as he continued walking you both away from the kitchen and into the halls.

#one piece #opla #opla fic #one piece live action #x reader #mihawk #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #hawkeye mihawk #mihawk x you #hanahaki #mihawk one piece #opla mihawk

382 notes · View notes

the-traveling-poet · 3 months

Text

══════════════════════

Laughter

══════════════════════

Once the vets, yourself included, came to the realization you’d never heard so much as a chuckle from the infamous Captain Levi, a plan is immediately formed in order to find out just how his laugh might sound.

Although, you might just discover a little more.

══════════════════════

Pairing: Levi x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, alcohol consumption

Taglist: @21aurora @deepzombieyouth @braunsbabe

══════════════════════

A/N: I got inspiration from this lovely post to write a little drabble for Levi’s adorable little laugh, and getting to hear it for the first time. So here I am taking a quick break from my fic to write some fluff!

══════════════════════

Levi wasn’t one to physically express the emotions he felt on a daily basis. He kept his facial features neutral, for the most part.

Of course, if he were angered or stressed, perhaps concerned or confused, his facial muscles would respond accordingly; yet, always minutely. A raise of a brow here, a frown there, eyelids narrowing over grey pupils or nimble fingers tightening around the rim of his cup.

These were all physical signals his companions could take note of to guess at which emotion he was currently experiencing.

While discussing this once, among other things, you’d made the comment that soon shaped a plan you’d all soon hatch.

Had anyone ever seen him smile? A fleeting grin? Perhaps been quick enough to hear a chuckle, or even better; a full on laugh?

Hange, Miche, Nanaba and Erwin had no answers, and neither did you.

So here you all were now, sitting amongst yourselves in a loose circle with drinks in hand and a deck of cards splayed messily on the table top. The plan was to get Levi to loosen up a bit while under the influence, should he provide consent to your little game.

Hange had forced Levi to join the rest of you, despite his protests. Though, those soon died out when you stood and offered the man a seat with such a hopeful smile.

Grumbling all the while, he had sat next to your left and accepted a hand of cards and a bottle of alcohol. Satisfied that the first part had been accomplished, Hange shot you a triumphant grin and took their seat.

You all tried your best to either poke fun at one another or share jokes, ranging from mild to borderline offensive humor; just to catch a peak at Levi’s expression changing.

He indeed loosened up after several drinks, but hadn’t upturned his lips even once yet. Occasionally he had added onto some jest aimed another’s way, and leaned back comfortably in his chair. You were hopeful this would eventually lead to him relaxing his pressed lips into a smile.

But it wasn’t until you were on the brink of giving up nearly an hour into the card game, that he muttered a soft sound.

Reaching across the table for a card to draw, you’d scoffed under your breath with a glare aimed Miche’s way.

“Really, Miche? You play cards like titan’s shit; they cant.”

The muffled sound from your left made you hesitate to grab the card off the deck.

Surely not…

Hange nearly dropped their hand of cards, while Miche and Erwin easily let theirs clatter to the table. It finally was happening, you realized, as you stared at the raven beside you.

His red tinted face was half obscured by his hand, while the other hand laid his cards onto the table. With shaking shoulders and watering eyes, Levi met your bewildered stare and again the sound escaped him. Though he attempted to muffle it, he couldn’t seem to hold it in anymore.

Slowly that muffled chuckle turned into an actual laugh as his hand started to fall away from his mouth. His lips were pulled back in a casual grin, exposing white teeth as he took in a breath.

“…Like titan’s shit…” He giggled. Actually, giggled. The hand previously covering his face clutched at his stomach as tears lined his silver eyes. His laughter was contagious; lighter than his usual tone and somehow softer.

You stared on in awe as Hange soon burst out in laughter as well, making no attempt to hide their amusement. Erwin chuckled along with the shake of his head while Miche tried his best to grumble about the insult, but after a shared look with Nanaba he too snorted through his nose.

“That’s the best damn joke I’ve ever heard,” Levi chuckled, raising what was left of the booze in his bottle towards his lips to finish it off. He glanced back your way, and you couldn’t help but notice the blush adorning his cheeks and his ears remained as he continued to smile your way. Shaking yourself of the shock, a grin broke out over your face.

“And that’s the best damn laugh I’ve ever heard,” You giggled back, watching as he caught his breath. The tips of his ears grew a little redder, and he suddenly became very interested in gathering up the cards he’d set down, grumbling something or another under his breath.

You grinned over at Hange, expecting to silently celebrate your all’s success with them. But the section commander only grinned back at you, glancing between Levi and yourself with a suggestive wiggle of their brows.

Your flustered gaze flitted between Hange and Levi, slowly putting together what they had silently suggested. Levi caught the look and immediately reached for another bottle, and you were quick to do the same.

The game commenced; laughter bouncing off the walls and cards sliding across the table like nothing had happened. But with the sparse glances shared with Levi, accompanied by his occasional chuckle, you knew things weren’t quite going to be the same again. At least, between the two of you.

Laying down another card from your hand, you grinned the raven’s way with determination to make him laugh once again.

252 notes · View notes

skyflyinginaction · 8 months

Text

Clamp Art Style Analysis: Part 1: Creation Process and Materials

Introduction

Clamp is a manga artist team of four women. They are a prominent distinguished manga artist team known in the West and in China. The thing they are most recognized for is their highly detailed art style many people may have known and many may not. They did several manga you might have known such as Card Captor Sakura, Chobits, and even Tsubasa.

Clamp is one of the artists whose art style I highly admire and want to imitate in my art. I created this post so I can understand and take apart their art style and better understand it. It is going to be difficult since there are four people with different specialties and years of professional experience in their belt. They are constantly changing and adapting to every genre.

I am going to analyze Clamps’ art style in this post and this may take a while to crack due to how extensive the Clamp style is. I am going to pile up everything and explain this in this post which is going to take time to explain in this post. I am going to take apart interviews from different sources while explaining their art style in this post.

I am going to examine their art style and the materials they use. I am going to split into sections talking about the art style and what they use for materials for the manga.

To understand the art style and how it is defined I need to understand Clamp themselves since they created an entirely individual style that is going to talk about other things, not about the art style there is going to be so much I might miss while explaining in this post. I could be wrong while explaining this is an analysis I am going to take my crack at understanding the art style.

Influences

Though the members of Clamp are largely self-taught they are inspired by many figures that influence their art. The list consists of Reiji Matsumoto, Osamu Tezuka, Go Nagai, Hirohiko Araki, and Moto Hagio. The other works that influenced Clamp are animated cartoons and Galaxy Express 999. Reiji Matsumoto and Osamu Tezuka are major influences in their works Clamp used Osamu Tetsuka’s star system in their works which is seen often in the crossing over of characters from their series into their other works. You can see this prevalently in Tsubasa, X, and Kobato where you would find characters from the different series crossover.

Nekoi's favorite cartoonist was Moto Hagio in high school and Mokona mimics pictures by Reiji Matsumoto when she was younger.

While working on manga Nekoi started copying Shinji Wada and Rumiko Takahashi, in which She copied her art in drawing legs. She drew them thick and big. She liked the legs Rumiko Takahashi drew since they seemed long until short feet. She took them to make them more delicate and feminine. Clamp used other artists to help them while drawing.

Go Negai influenced the creation of X, taking inspiration from his work of Devil Man featuring two main male characters, and the murder of the lead's sweetheart triggers the apocalypse. Devil Man is used in creating x The extreme levels of violence depicted in X came from Go Negai's works. Clamp knows about Devil Man. They did a doujinshi of Devil Man in their works as doujinshi artists a while back and even had a doujinshi about the lead character's relationship in their works.

X was inspired by Go Nagai the heavy violence in x inspired from Go Nageis works and the assembled cast of x is inspired by Kyokutei Bakin's Nansō Satomi Hakkenden, The fight sequences of x were inspired by the manga Dragon Ball specifically Akira Toriyama's use of white backgrounds.

Mokona influences are H.R Giger and gérard di-maccio are used for the RG veda backgrounds.

Mokona likes Alphonse Mucha who is a considerable influence in drawing XXXHolic art.

Hirohiko Araki is another influence of Clamp with JoJo's Bizarre Adventure fan manga back when they drew doujinshi and starred in Clamp in wonderland animation with Jojo animated.

They drew a doujinshi on Jojo a while back starring Josuke and Kakyon and even they drew Jolynn once.

There is a lot of Kakyoin and Josuke fanart with Yaoi art drawn by these two characters.

Jojo was used in drawing wish with Kohaku and Shuichiro strongly resembling Jotaro Kujo and Noriaki Kakyoin and Kohaku's hairstyle strongly identical to Kakyoin and Shuiichiro resembling Josuke.

Members

Nanase Ohkawa

The main leader of the group, the main writer of the scenario, is in charge of the original story, script, and design. The other three artists are Mokona, Nekoi, and Satsuki, who are in charge of the art.

Mokona

Mokona is the artist and designer in charge of drawing. Mokona is in charge of sketching out the construction of the characters by hand. Mokona draws the storyboards and sketches out the characters. Mokona is responsible for drawing female characters.

Tsubaki Nekoi

Nekoi is in charge of character design, background scenery, finishing touches, and charge of the foundation of the art in their works. Her booth has been painted for design and screens for finishing touches.Nekoi likes to doodle and throw pages. Nekoi is in charge of drawing male characters.

Satsuki Igarashi

Satsuki Igarashi is in charge of design and drawing and is in charge of the finishing touches. She is in charge of designing the cover of the book itself.

Bio

Three members of Clamp were classmates in high school who took art-focused classes in school; none of them studied at school for manga. Nekoi tried using colored pencils and opaque watercolor in school when she was young. Satsuki and Nekoi were in middle school when they first started drawing manga. Mokona was in an art club in middle school. In high school, she started drawing manga with proper frames and dialogues. Mokona, Nekoi, and Igarashi studied art in high school Nekoi, Mokona, and Igarashi met in high school as a kid She found a friend who loved manga, Satsuki went to an art-type highschool and Mokona high school and college had art-focused classes, Igarashi was at an art department in highschool then to computer graphics vocational school. Clamp started as doujinshi artists who first published doujinshi fanzines Back then they had more people it went down to four in the year of their commercial debut.

The group never worked as assistants with most of the members being self-taught with Tsubaki and Nekoi being more self-taught.

They never used assistants to help them with their work since they wouldn’t be able to understand the years of jargon they created among themselves They created work for years without any help from assistants since assistants would slow them down and wouldn’t understand when we would tell them to do the same thing as before disrupting the workflow they created for work.

For inspiration, Ohkawa gets her ideas from dreams or inspiration based on events she hears or sees on the news a lot of times its deadlines. Ohkawa doesn’t always take notes and she usually loses ideas.

Clamp’s daily work hours while working on manga is in the morning, get in the studio at about 10 or 11 in the morning and in the afternoon they eat dinner at 6 in the evening then stop working at midnight.

The members share a single workspace and are separated into three booths while they work.

There are four separate studios and the member's workspace accommodates all four of them. Clamp work requires complete perfection with members having their own space where they have to work to create one of their works

The art of Clamp is lush layered and amazingly detailed. It has a high-quality art style with extensive details. Due to this, it's almost difficult to adapt to animation.

Each of Clamp’s titles has a different art style depending on the genre or magazine they are running in; their art styles change to suit the work and magazine the manga will appear in. The art style of the work is based on Ohkawa’s decision in charge of the art direction of the work. The art styles and pictures have changed but not their methods.

There is a lot to talk about the Clamp art style which may not be enough to explain one segment

Creation process

Clamp's work process is similar to an animation production; they work like a small animation studio. if you look closely at the work process for creating works it's more like an animation with the director, playwright, character designer, painter, background artist, creator, and publicist treating the manga or story like a script for a movie or anime, the creative process for creating manga is similar to that of animation and movies.

Ohkawa is the storyteller and writes the scripts other three draw drafts and original design, Mokona is the chief character designer, and Tsubaki and Nekoi work for the background Sometimes they they take turns doing different jobs

Ohkawa writes then it goes to Mokona who draws out the outline of the storyboard and sketches the characters

They would normally go to Nekoi for the finishing touches Igarashi and Nekoi work on the final touches the team may shuffle roles. Clamp members do get outside work with computer graphics. For drawing sometimes the members do character backgrounds or may draw everything depending on the story. They have a work where one person designs the character and another draws the actual story. They make storyboards and start drawing. Sometimes they decide who is going to make storyboards and then start drawing. The art is drawn by Satsuki, Mokona, and Nekoi, Nekoi draws the rough draft and thinks about how the story is going forward to next month's script. The designs are handled by Satsuki and Mokona. Satsuki worked on the design for the cover page. In the beginning, they believed that everything in the comic from front to back was important to the story. They take turns completing the rough sketch depending on the story. They divide the story into frames; they mostly draw it on art board paper after they create characters and scripts. Ohkawa explains what in each frame props and the characters in they have how they turn around and include emotions in the panel. Ohkawa and Igarashi never drew manga with split frames. They Look like frames from a movie

When Ohkawa comes up with stories Ohkawa drafts the outline of the story and the story setting The ending for each story is determined from the last scene back to the first scene and the end last and deciding the thing and heading into this way makes way for change drags the reader along for the story Ohkawa drafts the outline the other three members formulate characters designs by creating character profile sheets to avoid confusion. Ohkawas style of writing is considered a color woodblock print in the way it conveys and portrays things the manga is close to picture books and elimination of everything unneeded. Ohkawa thinks about the setting of where the story takes place and Ohkawa constructs a visual image at least in their head then splits up panels in their manga. for the writing process, they come up with the story Ohkawa gets together to discuss the story with the members about the purpose of the story and the main characters when writing and drawing After the members get well used to the story they write it down when creating a story for a weekly magazine they first decide on a rough story from beginning to end Ohkawa works backward from the ending for the story to have an ending like this the members don’t always know how the story develops. Ohkawa's style of writing for stories is not telling anyone the progression of the storyline before it happens reason for that is that when the members of Clamp learn of Hokuto's death one of the members couldn’t draw Hokuto's smile the same way this is how badly shaken they were since that the way Ohkawa created her stories changed for most of the works it was until Chobits she could tell them again. Ohkawa kept using memos in the beginning when she wrote the stories where she kept track of the flow of the story.

Before they start drawing they decide the flow of the story up until the end as well as the materials used for color and monochromatic drawing and the direction of the illustration. The members consider the art style during the planning stage and the materials for the manga, for materials Clamp uses color samplers In the order of how they draw. They draw them the same size as manuscripts, they draw rough sketches, and the size of the manuscript is b4 size and genkou size. They seldom use computers to create manga but only to color pictures, sometimes Clamp uses the scanning method when they draw or draw the rough draft using tablets. They don’t use references for their designs except at one time for Ohkawa she drew inspiration from a perfume and drink package she gathered together she drew more influence from the business art and art from Alan Chai's design.

The amount of lines and the thickness of the lines in the manga depends on the work. When you look at the manga, there are a lot of lines in the characters, Clamps can make the lines, and the thickness of the lines depends on the nature of their work from the thicker lines shows how serious and heavy the story thicker lines match the nature of their work that fits with a heavy theme like works like Tokyo Babylon, which have a heavy atmosphere. Mokona draws with thicker lines and uses pens with strong pressure when drawing. Clamps drawing methods changed with Tsubasa and xxxholic.

In the process of launching a serialization first is to decide on the major storyline work out the details of the characters later and consider the number of chapters needed to tell a story, second Ohkawa has a meeting with Mokona and Nekoi to decide on the design of the main characters Ohkawa asks for designs once they are finished they go over one more time. They go about creating manga and have two processes, one creating a manga based on the request from a publisher The second Clamp decides on the story first and then thinks about the magazine to write it for. Clamp comes up with an outline for the story First after they create the outline they discuss who's going to draw pictures or if they all draw together. They turn the project into a movie telling how a story goes and who the main characters are among themselves. They talk about the rough story and how they should do it when they bring a story to the publisher, attach the rough story and characters, attach characters' settings to them and draw the appearance in the manga to the publisher. Then after they show the work to the editor if the editor thinks it's okay they start the story. After receiving approval from an editor, Ohkawa assigns roles to each group member and then chooses the visual styles depending on the factors such as the complexity of the story and chosen art style the artwork depends on the genre and magazine of the story. Ohkawa provides a rough draft for each chapter with things such as dialogue panel size props and movement and characters' emotions. Storyboarding takes 12 hours while the script takes 8 hours to write. To Mokona from rough draft to inking 10 pages per day, the average Mokona puts into how many pages of black and white manuscript draws in a day the number of pages they draw in a month to finish one installment For example if they're in two monthly publications like Tsubasa and xxxholic one is about 19 or 20 pages other takes one day to finish 6 pages for the foundations for the fishing touches and inking takes a couple of days every 2 weeks when it comes to two weekly series its 120 and 130 pages a week. xxxholic takes two days and x took four days

Ohkawa will specify the proper production for the story and character. After the story, they will choose a person to perform the character design. Clamp switches up who works on character design and the drawing. Igarashi and Ohkawa do it together. One of them directs the work for design and the person in charge of the drawing for that work will draw a rough sketch which is discussed. Mokona is one of the concept artists When the scenario is specified in detail, Mokona listens to the basic story and consults the original concept with Ohkawa Mokona will show what she designed on the spot of the drafting and period. Mokona and Clamp often decide on the design first, then Mokona draws the illustration from format, paper, and photoshopping specifications to color specification. Mokona does pencil drawing first then ink and color it the pencil stage first so Mokona can fix errors in the pencil stage. Ohkawa as the main scriptwriter Ohkawa determines the story and setting and tells the members about it and the rest give their thoughts on it Ohkawa maps out the location, ideas, and character design Ohkawa gives the character's figures hairstyles, and clothes she envisions to the designers or sometimes Ohkawa draws them herself only sketches the rest get the art close to Ohkawa original version. Ohakwa doesn’t talk about the characters until it's time to create their visual design, Ohkawa decides the design of the character and the group visualizes it She explains their appearance she sometimes brings sketches instead of explaining Ohkawa decides the characters they have long or short hair their style of clothes and complexity. Clamp discusses together and thinks about how to make characters, Ohkawa makes requests and discusses them with the other three Ohkawa gives concrete and specific thoughts on what she wants the main characters to be. Ohkawa is the one who decides on the details of the characters and Clamp crafts their characters. They explain the story in the works that include the drawing of the clothes of what the character wears. Ohkawa takes all the info she gathered and has them design the characters based on the descriptions she gave like body build, hair length, and small details, next decide who is going to design the characters either Nekoi or Mokona design them characters and pick one of them then make a character setting chart and decide on the character's height. After the story they choose a person to perform character design. When that is happening, they use specific proper proportions for the story and character. They come up with a story through a character design phase Clamp and choose different styles and proportions for the characters. When it comes to designing characters they determine the head and body ratios since the person drawing can change the proportions in their sketches without knowing. They reference the proportions of the characters in case the person drawing it gets it wrong. Igarashi and Ohkawa consult each other and ask for revisions so that the proportions don’t shift, so it can come in tandem when working for 4 people. Mokona had difficulties drawing Yuko's proportions; she considered drawing them constantly a nightmare. Mokona found it reassuring to have partners who can check your work. Sometimes they decide on the colors to get the approval of the publisher to work on the storyboard and then agree on the birthday and height of the characters. The height is important because it's for drawing proportions that are made to keep consistency when drawing characters. The character designs look like character sheets like the ones you would see in anime. When they first set out to draw the members consulted such things as whether or not thin lines mesh well in the manga. what color materials they would be using the members play it by ear as they go along when they draw. Before drawing the portraits of the characters, Nekoi takes special care of the characters by differentiating them with their hairstyles.

For creating the clothes for the characters, Clamp dresses their character in stuff based on their own or things their acquaintances wear. Clamp reads a lot of informational magazines and fashion magazines on a personal basis which serves as inspiration for characters. Some of the clothes and other items that characters in Clamp wear are inspired by real-life pieces but most of them are done initially by Mokona.

Once the main characters are completed, they decide on the detailed settings for those characters, The members decide on each character's birthday and height. The height is used for doing the proportions of the characters. for the character settings the group goes into detail about the characters like what food they eat, special skills, how and when they do things, how they grew up, when they were young, their hobbies, the type of house they live in whether its Japanese or western style, if they are sleeping wearing pajamas or negligees and whether they like sweets or not; for example if a character is eating sweets it means that a character grew up in an environment where sweets can be easily eaten and if a character has long hair it can be tied or untied these details reference the characters way of life and polices the reason Clamp focuses on what a character likes to eat is because what a person eats says a lot about a character in personality. There's a lot of thought that goes into making character settings. It's mostly to advance writing their characters or fleshing them out as individuals. The character settings are important when writing the characters in the story These details are important for them to write for the characters the character profile is used so they won’t get confused when writing a character for the story to keep the writing of the character to remain consistent throughout the story.

Materials

When drawing manga and illustrations the group often determines the materials they use to draw during the meetings

Once they set out drawing they first consult things like whether or not thin lines and colors. Clamp used different techniques, art materials, and paper when they did manga and color illustrations Clamp used different materials at their disposal. For drawing Rayearth, the materials they use to draw manga are used include other works as well. The heavy colors are used to suit the tone of the story. This goes to show that you can change the impression by changing the pen you use and the paper used.

You can change the impression based on the paper you use. The paper makes a great first impression on the manga. Paper is not the only thing that changes the impression of the manga they draw, also the materials they use are used to change the impression.

Clamp uses different paper sizes for each work, the manga paper is sorted for each one of the members to use. Clamp has strong drawing pressure for their strong drawing pressure they chose thick paper. They use paper made by Daieidou printing for manga drawings because the members have a strong drawing pressure so they chose a thick paper that's three times thicker than manga paper. For the paper that the members use for illustrations Igarashi, Nekoi, and Mokona use Watson paper, BB Kent back of manga paper of copy paper. Both Ohkawa and Igarashi like acid-free paper, they love the sandy texture and don't like smooth art-coated paper. The reason for that is that if the paper is too smooth the texture will not be the same. Clamp uses many materials for works such as Copic markers and alcohol-based products, They use Kaimei Indian ink, and for color inks, they use Holbein and Holbein special black The screentone they use Brans that Clamp uses is I.C. 's and Letraset.

When they first used computer equipment, they were instructed by Takeshi Okazaki and Katsuya Terada. satsuki was into photoshop so Takeshi Yamazaki gave satsuki lessons in photoshop.

For the materials that Clamp used in their past works, rg veda used color inks, aeroflash, Liquitex, and modeling paste, Rayearth used Copic markers, Mokona used color inks for Mask of 20 faces, Tokyo Babylon used color tones and angelic layer had them use thick fountain pen like liner markers for drawing the manga.

Mokona’s pen uses a Kabura and a Marupen. Depending on the weather she draws a line to see which is better. Her favorite pens are Zebras Maru pen and Kabura pen nibs. with lnks, her favorite is Kaimei Indian Ink and Holbein’s Grey or Nouvel’s Burnt Sienna. What she used to draw backgrounds is Pigma 0.05, Mokona has strong drawing pressure. The G pen is too soft for her. She tried using one but it is hard to adjust and prefers using a harder pen. She uses a magic marker with a pigment ink called Prokey she used to draw letters on paper and uses Pentels water-resistant brush pens for solid areas like hair. She uses a powder board for paper with larger pieces and Baron Kent paper stretched with water. For RG Veda backgrounds Mokona used a lot of airbrush techniques. Mokona draws with thicker lines, and her drawings have been drawn with thicker lines. In the beginning, like in the third volume of Tokyo Babylon, the character's faces are angular and have thicker lines which show that her art is changing. Syaoran was Mokona’s favorite character to draw in Tsubasa.

Nekoi uses different nibs for the maru pen and g pen; she uses the Kabura pen for concentrated and close straight lines, also Pigma 0.5 for backgrounds.

For paper Nekoi uses whatever paper they have at hand to the back of wrapping paper bits of cardboard that have fallen around the back of cosmetics box envelopes from the publisher, the wrapping paper from a cup of tea that is Japanese style. She uses an eraser to reduce the tones in the screentone and sandpaper to reduce the large areas of tone she uses. A fine grit sandpaper will decrease nicely but not allow for fine adjustment which she had to fix with an eraser later. Nekoi loved experimenting with new painting materials; she especially loved painting in color.

Step to Step in Creating Manga

When it comes to drawing manga there are steps taken to create manga. these are the materials they use for drawing manga The list of materials and things they use in the steps to create manga are listed as this

1.) plastic eraser, mechanical pencil 0.5 HB

2.) Pigma 0.5, magic marker

3.) brush pen

4.) screen tone, tone cutters round sand eraser

5.) pen white, liquid paper ink, Mython

lastly, for writing the script, they use a pc

For the steps they use to create manga Rayearth I think it might be the same steps they use to draw other manga that come after it might be the same steps they did for Tsubasa,xxxholic, and other manga that come after it, and the materials they use. I bet it's the same materials used for Tsubasa, Card Captor Sakura and xxxholic.

1.) The plot is written by Ohkawa on a personal computer with manuscript paper, For the rough they draw frames with a pencil and roughly insert characters and other elements, they draw the rough while paying attention to the composition and balance the draw the panel as to what you want to show most when you are doing a specific scene. The rough is a lot of lines and its way is less detailed. The rough is used for the placement to know the place of things to ink. You can see the same rough stage with Tsubasa and xxxholic.

Clamp pays attention to the distribution of lines in the panels, the reason why Clamp pays attention to the number of lines is because it's a manga and they are going to ink over and over again. The reason they pay attention to the number of lines in the rough is to calculate how much you ink while you draw. the number of lines you use while you ink is important because you are going to use it over again

the rough is drawn with a pencil, they used a regular pencil for the rough rather than a mechanical pencil since the mechanical pencil has fine lines

2.) Next is the sketching phase, in the sketching phase the characters are drawn with a mechanical pencil they check the drawing by looking through the rough manuscript and back. Once the sketch is finished the member will fix it until they are satisfied The background is only included briefly in the sketch.

3.) The inking stages for the steps of Magic Knight Rayearth are inked mainly using a Pigma 0.05 or Kaimuji marker or brush. When Mokona was drawing Rayearth Mokona had strong drawing pressure so her lines became thicker She changed pens as soon as she noticed it her strong drawing pressure caused Mokonas tip of her pen to break quickly they often used 4 to 5 bottles a day for inking.

4.) Next up the beta stage, after they are done with inking they erase and check it again After that the members add solids the tool used is a brush pen to fill in areas like hair and stuff. They use ink that is resistant to water because if it is water resistant the area will become thin when the eraser is applied.

The steps for rough and sketch are used in their other works only the materials that are used for inking change consistently Depending on the series

5.) Next is the toning stage when they add screentone traditionally to a manga page, when it comes to screen tone they make sure that no more appears in the overlapped areas Clamp use a circular blade type cut when they apply screentone traditionally to a manga and small areas might be scrapped with a sand eraser scrapping the tone can change the texture of the object. They consider the effect and carefully cut it and their grain to the tone and know in which its neatly scrapped directions are not scrapped.

In Rayearth tint and gradation tones are used, and a little gala for the screen tone of the manga.

6.) This is the last stage of Clamp creation in drawing manga. The last stage is to express light and create glamorous images white is used for it. when applying white fluid to the image which is done by flicking the brush on the correction fluid with the rim of the container the effect changes depending on the concentration of the liquid. You can add white to the toothbrush or flick it with your finger. It changes the effect of the image. If you add fine white dilute it with water to adjust for the white. Clamp uses quirk drawing because the pen can be put on the white later.

This technique was applied in other manga like Tsubasa, Card Captor Sakura, and their other works. They used the same white ink to make a beautiful panel.

#clamp #x/1999 #meta #card captor sakura #card captor clear #tsubasa reservoir chronicle #chobits #tsubaki nekoi #Nanase Ohkawa #Satsuki Igarashi #Mokona #magic knight rayearth #xxxholic #kobato #angelic layer #tokyo babylon #my meta

387 notes · View notes