#ITS OKAY THOUGH ITS A GOOD PROBLEM IF ITS GETTING ME TO DRAW CONSISTENTLY AGAIN LOL | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

urfavnegronerd · 9 months

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stars in the sky- phora + jhene aiko

trope: fluff, s/o mick for the idea in my ask box smooches

sum slight

warnings: grammarly hates me, reader has trouble sleeping bc i said so (i’ve had so much trouble falling asleep idk why), no use of pronouns but use of mama, ma, n mami, idk how much i like it but im outa slump so yay, lmk if i missed anything

published: august 15, 2023

song lyrics are italicized

w/c: 1.3k ish

reader is black-coded like always

stay in the state of the greatest bliss

Miles’ room was dark. Well, dark-ish. He tried though, pulling the curtains all the way shut, turning off the light in his room and the hallway, but the afternoon sun still gently weaved its way through the fibers of his curtains.

“What’s the point of this, Miles?”

“To get you to try and sleep,”

“It's four in the afternoon,”

“Naptime,”

“What?”

“Just try, mama, okay?”

You’d never been a good sleeper and usually stayed awake while Miles fell asleep in your arms, that was how it usually went. Even more so when he came to your window late at night after his Prowler duties, those visits mainly consisted of cleaning any wounds or scratches, on occasion giving him stitches, helping him change, and kissing the top of his head when he inevitably dozed off on your chest. You were usually up then anyway, it was a fun addition to your nighttime routine. Miles had only begun to worry about your sleeping patterns when you fell asleep at 9 am while you were over his, watching a telenovela with Mrs. Morales. Gently nudging you awake after the telenovela marathon at about 1 that afternoon, he fell into the pattern of observing your moods. Most of which during the day consisted of you constantly being tired, and yawning, but somehow always getting school work done that assisted in your straight A’s. At first, he assumed that it was just you putting too much pressure on yourself to perform, but when he realized these patterns continued well into school breaks, he started to worry.

He had started to realize that every time he came to your window after his Prowler work, you were up anyway, reading, writing, drawing, or pretty much any activity you could get your hands on. Again, at first, he thought this was endearing, and went as far as getting puzzles for you after he had interrupted the puzzle on the floor when he gently knocked on your window. And so a much-needed conversation ensued the morning after.

“Ma, I’m worried about you,”

“For why Miles?” You turn your attention away from the mirror where you’re laying your baby hair down.

“Ian never seen you sleep,”

“So?”

“Do you sleep?”

“Yeah, I just have some trouble with it is all,”

“I don’t make you sleepy?”

“You make me feel safe, comfortable, relaxed, and loved, but no Miles, you don’t make me sleepy,”

He huffed, falling back onto your duvet.

“What's wrong papá?”

“I’m worried about you,”

“Sueñito, you don’t need to be worried about me,”

“You fall asleep when most people would be awake starting their days, almost always during the first and second period, mama, that's not normal,”

“Maybe I’m just sleepy in general,” You were beginning to get defensive then, why did he care if you were tired usually?

He sighed then, rubbing his eyes and urging himself out of your bed. He didn’t want to fight with you, he never wanted to fight with you, so he had just decided to leave it alone then. However, the very same conversation was repeated about two weeks later. The two of you were walking home, as school had gotten out early that day, and you had slowly begun to slump onto Miles’ shoulder, yawning and rubbing your eyes.

“Ma?” There was a twinge of concern in his voice, it was barely even noon, is it normal to be this tired? “You okay?”

“‘m just tired,” You yawn, still clawing at your eyes.

“It’s 11:45,”

“So?”

“Mama,” he knew you were just being stubborn, but he also knew you didn’t want to admit that you had a problem sleeping. You didn’t like to ask for help, you tried to get things right on your own, and you usually did. “Be honest.”

“Fine,” you forced out, shame tugging at your cheeks, and Miles knew exactly what you meant by that

“Thank you,”

And so, the two of you were here, in this moment.

“Please? Just try for me,”

You huff plopping onto his mattress.

“Now what?”

“We wait,”

“Oh, joy,”

whenever i’m in your atmosphere

The two of you had been lying, in the dark, for about an hour and a half. Naturally, the sun was slowly beginning to set, hence dimming the light in his room.

At this point, you were fighting sleep. It’s not like you didn’t feel exhausted all the fucking time, it’s that you had this mental block in your head. It’s like when you’re so tired but you can’t manage to fall asleep, like someone is forcing your eyes open. It’s hell, and it frustrates you, makes you want to scream and cry and essentially just throw a tantrum. Not that you’d ever admit it, but you feel so powerless, so out of control. A sigh mixed with anger, frustration, and disappointment breezes through your lips as you press the heels of your palms into your eyes.

“Uh uh ma, don’t do that,” he whispers, gently pushing your hands away from your eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“This isn’t working,” you whine. “I turn seventeen in a year and I can’t even sleep right,”

“Hey hey hey, it’s not that serious,”

“I’m so tired, Miles,” you mumble, tears poking at your eyes.

“Amor, I know it’s frustrating, okay? I know how much you love to be in control and I get that, but this is so bad for you,”

“I know,”

“So can we try? Just one more time?”

“Yeah,”

“Do you want like, some kind of noise?”

“Can you just talk?”

“Yeah. I can do that,”

And he does. He talks about anything and everything, all while staring at you, your body pressed against him, your face angled upwards at him. Your full lips slightly parted in a little ‘o’ as your big brown eyes ogle up at him. To a lot of people, everything he’s saying would seem pretty mundane, but the way his voice soothes you is something different. His voice is calm, cool, and collected, his nuyo accent ever so prominent.

You’re not sure just how much time passes until you slowly begin to get groggy, your eyes heavy. Miles, obviously, takes notice and brings his voice down to a whisper.

“Dad woulda been so happy I met you, ma,”

Your movements are thick as syrup, you nod, trying to open your eyes more so he knows that he has your full attention.

“No no no, don’t do that,” he whispers, running a hand over your eyes, forcing them to droop lazily once again.

“Jus wan’ you to know ‘m listening” you slur, languidly clutching his wrist. The point of this action? You didn’t know, but you held onto him anyway.

“You’re always listening, Ian gotta worry bout that.” He mumbles, softly stroking your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. His hands are calloused and rough, but they’re always soft and gentle, making sure to love every curve of you. As your eyes begin to wilt close, he delicately traces your cupid bow, in response to which your lightly freckle-kissed nose scrunches, your brows tightly knitting themselves together. With a quiet laugh, he gently runs his fingers over your eyebrows, desperately trying to relax your face, to which you hum tiredly in response.

“Kiss?”

“Mmmm,” you groan, fatigue finally catching up to you, in affirmation. Taking the hint, he kisses you- your cheeks, chin, jaw, everywhere– peppering light butterfly kisses all over your face. Gently, you sigh and fully close your eyes, your head relaxing into the pillow. Smiling, he brushes gentle kisses onto both of your eyelids and then your nose. Cradling your head into his chest he kisses the bonnet covering your hair, inhaling the scent of hair product and oil, the scent of you, something he adored in a way that words couldn’t describe.

“Sleep, princesa.”

i’m so glad that i got you, you’re my dream come true <3

a/n: everyone say thank u mick @lunarfleur

taglist: @hiimayee @masaidabest @lunarfleur @zo3ez @miguellover6969 @[email protected] (idk if this person is on tumblr or not but hey!) @nagi3seastorm @kombuuuu

reblogs are always appreciated for reach <3

xoxo,

rae <3

p.s. taglist form in my masterlist as well as my spam lmao

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justice4sasuke · 1 year

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Before I get into this I wanted to say someone said on one of my posts about Naruto and One Piece that they didn't feel their was a point in comparing them and I wanted to say my intention isn't really to compare Naruto and One Piece. My point is that Naruto is a standard shounen with some good ideas and points but is overall not very good and has lots of writing issues. One Piece is a standard shounen that is very well written with fewer issues. And because all of my problems with people on here seem to stem from people wanting to read Naruto differently than intended to make it look better I want to use One Piece as an example of what something that is just good writing on its own merits looks like.

Anyway, Iruka says chapter one that he thinks Naruto's struggles have given him empathy and I think that is funny because to me Naruto has never been a character with any emotional intelligence or kindness to be seen in him. The only time he has interest in other's emotions or feelings is when he can relate them to his own experience and this is 1. never addressed as a problem Naruto has and 2. is a consistent theme throughout the manga. Not only that but he never seems to be able to do anything helpful when he finds people like that (which could be an interesting commentary on Naruto's inability with personal interactions but once again the manga doesn't make note of it). Think how he treats Inari, think encouraging Hinata to fight Neji even though it endangered her because it personally triggered him, think how he ends up fighting Gaara and saying he will fight Sasuke after saying he relates to them (not that I think he's wrong for fighting Gaara since...he's attacking the village just, Choices Kishimoto for doing that more than once).

Now let me show an example of the main character for one understanding someone else's feelings and for two, shock and awe, helping them. Generally Luffy isn't a character anyone would describe using the word "intelligence" for on first blush, but reading the manga you will see in a lot of situations Luffy is actually incredibly emotionally intelligent. And honestly I think it's kind of funny that Kishimoto bothers making Iruka specifically says Naruto has empathy when he doesn't show it at least in a helpful way meanwhile no one says anything about Luffy being kind yet...here we are...just being shown things instead of told.

Anyway, here's the example. This one is from early in the manga and I chose one that involves a whale instead of a person just to really drive the point home.

The crew meets (and gets eaten by...look it's a whole thing okay) a whale (Laboon) and the lighthouse watcher/former doctor/whale caretaker (once again...it's a whole thing), Crocus, tells them the story of how this whale was waiting for his friends, a different pirate crew, to sail around the world and return to him, but it's been 50 years and Crocus believes the crew has abandoned the whale and Laboon, disbelieving this, rams his head against the Red Line (it's a land mass that circles the entire world...listen I can't be explaining the intricacies of OP's world building just for this post), seriously injuring himself in his attempts to break through and find his friends. Luffy, for lack of anything else to do I guess (if he could just intuit the problem and do something about it without listening to a whole ass tale he would, trust), listens though as usual the energy he's giving is "no thoughts, head empty".

But the next thing you know! Luffy has broken of the ship's mast (for some reason...) and is running up the whale to stab the mast into Laboon's latest slamming-his-head-into-a-wall-of-earth wound (in case you can't tell I'm not showing all the panels thus all the explaining).

Laboon is in pain and attacks, but Luffy fights back.

Luffy stops the fight by declaring it a draw!

Well, it looks like their match isn't settled so they will have to fight some other time. Luffy declares that they are rivals and after they sail around the world (like Laboon's previous crew of pirate friends) they will come back and Luffy and Laboon can have a rematch.

Luffy even paints their...uh, his version of their Jolly Roger on Laboon's head where his scars are and says he can't ram his head against the Red Line because that will erase the contract. This gives something else for Laboon to look forward to rather than him needlessly waiting for his friends to return. And it works! Every time we see Laboon in little asides or cover stories after this he is happily waiting for the Straw Hats at the lighthouse with Crocus. (And in case anyone was wondering his pirate friends and the Straw Hats can't just bring him with them because he's a giant fucking whale and they are circling the entire globe through dangerous waters, also the sky, also the bottom of the ocean, also fighting the government, also getting flung across the globe, and various islands.)

And what really REALLY touches me about this exchange is that Luffy knows he can't replace Laboon's previous pirate crew of friends. He can't just say "I'll be your friend" to fix this. So instead he positions himself as Laboon's rival, not replacing the friends Laboon is still waiting for or belittling his bond with them (and trust me...it's a bond 😢). And in case you're wondering does this somehow connect to Luffy's sad past and that's why he's doing this??? No. His sad backstory isn't anything like this. He's just doing it because it's the kind thing to do and if you're trying to do something and Luffy likes you he will do everything he can to help you.

#anyway read one piece #is going to be my tag for this nonsense #me every time: cries in whale

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cotgar2 · 1 year

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Hi hi!! I’m getting into drawing humans and I would love to see your process for your lined and coloured digital pieces! I would also love some advice for drawing in any nature if you can~

No problem at all!! Sorry this took a minute to get to, but I wanted to get a good drawing to show a step by step process for lol. And since I’m extremely aware of the fact that my handwriting’s crap lol, under the cut is a transcription!

NOTE: I’M NOT AN EXPERT. THERE ARE TOTALLY BETTER EXPLANATIONS OUT THERE LOL

Roughs, imo, help just understand wtf you’re doing lol. They don’t have to be neat in any sense, and they just serve the purpose of you understanding how you’re gonna go about whatever

I am literally insane and do lines in one layer 99% of the time. And usually my “lines” are what most artists consider their sketch. I’m just an impatient artist fhfhdbfb

In my experience, changing the lines after helps find spots that were missed when coloring much easier! Whether that’s with the fill bucket or by hand, it’s super annoying when it misses stuff. Happens to the best of us

If I could marry a stage of art, it’s these two. I feel like I black out and wake up when I do them, but they’re so fun. I apologize for the last one not really having advice, but it seriously is up to the artist on what to do here! I add gradients with different layer types to make colors pop, but the colors can change depending on where they are or even what character it is. There’s no set-in-stone advice there, at least in my experience, and that can go for both stages 4 and 5.

AND I GOT A HUGE TIP FOR DRAWING HUMANS: REFERENCES!!! USE THEM!!!! I am a big fucking idiot for not using them more, since a kid I’ve been resistent and IDK WHY, IM A BIG STUPID IDIOT, USE REFERENCES PLEASE. It helps so much and makes your art make sense. By that, I mean that the gestures are so much clearer and everything. Your best reference? YOU!! Take a photo of yourself doing a stupid-ass pose! I did that for my recent animation, where this exact frame was taken from me, posing in front of my camera!

(His fuckin pancakes :,( fhshhd im sorry)

Do not be scared to use references, please. I beg of you, I beg of ANYONE reading this. USE REFERENCES. TAKE STUPID CRINGE PHOTOS OF YOURSELF FOR YOUR ART.

Hope that helped!! And again I am not a professional and none of this is saying to copy me exactly. It’s purposefully leaving out some of my process so you can explore your own approach at drawing humans! I wish you luck, anon!! :Dcc

Transcript:

1) “Rough”. Note: A sketch doesn’t have to be this defined!! Gets shape and definition; understanding where limbs / hair / clothes go, consistent dynamics. General understanding of what to do, basically. Pointing at dog face: Wasn’t in final, and that’s okay! (Extra image: I wouldn’t worry about this, but this just shows how the dynamics try to flow. Basically just up lol)

2) Lines/Cleanup. Multiple stages can happen!!! Defines shapes… And that all I kinda do loll. Lineart differs from person to person! I personally try not to use the stabilizer unless I need to, just to give it a hand-drawn look! Though that definitely has its downsides… This part takes me the longest…

3) Flats. I usually don’t put too much work into this step. I don’t change lines until after flats! Pointing to dog face: No more mouth! Pointing to bottom image: For stylistic purposes, I put the highlights from JJK (Jujutsu Kaisen) here too

#if i had a nickel for every time I wish I had better handwriting #but yeah! i am seriously no expert and make it look so simple #i swear art is some form of wizardry. even going through it /i/ was surprised #it doesn’t feel that easy and it definitely isnt but how can it look that easy #anyways I hope this helps in some form anon! don’t be scared to look up tutorials and other stuff! no harm in doing so!!#my art #ask #cotgar rambles #long post

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inquisitorius-sin-bin · 1 year

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Ah yes now that my Inquisitor Valentines are out I can tell you what a STRUGGLE they were to finish, mostly because my tablet, which is of course infamously wonky, was in its last dying throes.

Like I've had it since ~2017, and used it consistently for about 3 of those 6 years, so I feel pretty strongly it shouldn't be in this bad of shape. It started with some strange quirk of the USB C connection, where every time you turned the tablet back on or woke it up from sleep, you'd have to change which port it was connected to in the computer otherwise it would read "no signal". Okay, weird, but I could live with that, even if I had to try like 6 combinations of ports between the tablet and laptop to find one that worked each time.

It would sometimes register phantom touches that weren't there and randomly hit a different tool or window or leave a stray dot on my work and I'd have to go back and fix it. Again, quirky, but liveable.

Then lately it's been just abruptly not registering pen touches in the middle of a drawing, and no amount of unplugging, re-starting, etc., would get it to register again. Even though the cursor would move when you hovered the pen over it, Wacom's software couldn't detect that a tablet was connected to the computer. The only fix was to completely uninstall and reinstall the driver. Every time. Which was annoying, but I lived with it when it affected me every 3-4 drawing sessions.

By the time I got to my lineart/coloring of Trilla on Sunday, this problem was occuring once every 5-30 minutes. I had a 2.5 hour drawing session where I had to reinstall my driver TWELVE times. I couldn't even finish putting flat colors on her face before it would crap out again! Luckily for Inky it only happened twice during the session, but by then I had HAD ENOUGH.

Again, I reiterate that I bought my Wacom Cintiq Pro 13 ~6 years ago. It was an incredibly expensive tablet then. They don't even make them anymore, now the smallest Cintiq Pro available is a 16". And since I JUST had to buy a new car after my last one broke down, I definitely did not have $650 to spend on a tablet. Besides, my faith in Wacom is shaken now. Even though my first tablet ever was a Wacom Bamboo back in the early 2010's, and I've also had an Intuos. This was one failure too far.

So my lovely husband has ordered for me a Huion Kamvas 13. The technical specifications look really good, and the price was even better. Really excited about the display and color range, since that was my biggest complaint with my Cintiq. Anything in the range of yellow/pink/orange/brown had a really green tone to it on my display, and it made it difficult to percieve the colors well, especially when trying to make realistic skin tones. I am looking forward to trying it out!

Hopefully this means faster, better artwork for you! And less frustration for me! So cheers, this has been an impromptu tablet review brought to you by inquisitorius-sin-bin.

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thegeneralsnotebook · 2 years

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Adventures in Deckbuilding #224: Princess Cadance, Friends of the Family (Pink/Blue Aggro) [Core]

Princess Cadance, Friends of the Family

The Deck that Almost Isn’t

I’ve been away for a long time now, and I’ve gone back and forth for quite a while about whether this article ought to be more about the difficulties that I initially had with building this deck, or the difficulties that presented themselves in terms of writing this post and keeping going with the series. I’ve actually had the deck built for what’s probably coming up on a month now, but I held off on writing the post for it because I was really just lacking in motivation.

Those who know me would know that I’ve gone through a phase of multiple years now of really only rarely playing the CCG. Doing Meticulous Talks and TIA, as well as the occasional convention, kept me plugged in enough for some of that time, but over the past few months I’ve felt increasingly distant from the game. This got to the point where I didn’t really feel qualified to be making these posts anymore, talking about these decks like I had any idea what I was doing putting them together, or any clue what the proper reactions to the current metagame would be. I realized that I could not keep on doing things as they were. I would either have to stop with this series, or find the energy to keep on going with it.

Now, the good news, obviously, is that this post is happening. As I had hoped, the way to rediscover the game turned out to be the same way that I discovered it in the first place: by playing it, with good friends. The onset of Continentals was a nice motivating factor in this as well. So as gloomy perhaps as all of that sounded, the upshot is that the series is back on and I’m ready to take it on once again.

With a fairly important qualification. That being that I’m never going to do the same Mane twice in a row again. Because, as I hinted at the start of the post, the process of just getting this deck down was bad enough on its own. I think it’s a pretty weak thing, kind of built around an idea that’s not really worth building a deck around. But it is what it is.

That build-around card here is Gallus, Cleaning Up. As I learned when playing Purple/Orange Aggro, while it can be difficult to win a game purely with gigantic Friends, there comes a point where it’s possible. In that deck I could consistently drop a 2-cost, 10-power Restricted Section and if the opponent couldn’t deal with it, that was it. I thought that surely I could build a deck with enough discard and draw to make a monster out of a card that gets +1 power every time that I discard a card.

Crucially though, Gallus is lacking in several key areas compared to Celestia. For one, his impact from hand will be limited, as we can only build up those +1 power counters over time. Similarly, because that power comes from counters and not from a continuous modifier, simply Gallus sets us back to square one. And, perhaps most importantly, the consequence is that in order to make using him feel worth it, the whole rest of the deck had to be built around the idea of discarding cards and drawing cards. Fair enough, Blue and Pink have a lot of good cards that discard and draw, and enough of them are griffons that we end up with some okay griffon synergy.

But the biggest mark against this deck came when I looked at it and thought, “You know, with all this hand-cycling draw, I should put in a few copies of Still Partying.” Why is that a Problem? Because then we’re not a quirky deck built around Gallus, we’re a bad Still Partying deck, and further optimization from there just merges back to Gabby Draw Combo. Which really isn’t a vote of confidence in the foundation of the original idea.

Next week, we are definitely not going to be building for Cadance, because this was her last deck. But I am fine with staying in Pink, for Princess Skystar, Out Of Her Shell!

#mlp ccg #adventures in deckbuilding

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merakiui · 3 years

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hii could we get an angsty scenario/hcs of xiao and scaramouche/any characters you prefer! who are basically head over heels for someone but that person keeps getting with the wrong people and constantly getting their heart broken? Preferably with a good/fluffy ending but it’s up to you!

cw: angst + heartbreak note - decided to go for scenarios! (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ*

[Xiao]

One Call Away—

The sudden shout of his name had brought him out into the open, where he finds you sitting in a field of wildflowers, your head hung and quiet sobs racking your hunched form.

“You called?” The gruffness in his voice startles you and your head snaps up. He notices your pained expression and the tears that refuse to cease, and it gives birth to a strange feeling within his chest. “What happened? Surely I am not too late.” And then he shakes his head. “No, I’m never late.”

“Ah... I’m sorry.” You sniffle, pitifully rubbing at your eyes. “I guess your name slipped out. I didn’t mean to bother you. I just didn’t mean to call for you either.”

Xiao raises a brow and then surveys the surrounding area. “Well, it doesn’t look like you’re in any mortal peril. In that case, I’ll leave you to—”

“No!”

Your sudden shout startles the both of you, with you drawing back and Xiao’s eyes widening ever so slightly. He wonders why you’re crying when beautiful scenery surrounds you. Are you truly that pathetic? Are mortals usually this weak-hearted? Xiao can’t wrap his head around the idea of grief; he’s an immortal who has seen plenty of hazardous scenarios worth grieving over. Yet with the passage of time he has learned to let such emotions drift away on a wind current. Emotions are useless to an adeptus.

But now he’s stuck with them.

“No?”

“D-Don’t go...” Your voice wobbles and you wipe at your reddened eyes. “I don’t want to bother you, but could you stay here with me? For a little while, at least. It’s all I’ll ask...”

He feels like he should decline your desperate plea before it spreads its perplexing roots throughout his system. The words are practically on the tip of his tongue and he struggles to verbalize them. If he could, he’d shake his head and vanish from your sight. There’s something about your expression that forces him to stay, and he truly detests the way his emotions run wild at the prospect of something he can’t quite comprehend.

“Fine.”

And so Xiao listens to you. It’s something he does best; his eyes and ears are open as he gives you his full, undivided attention. Half of him observes your reactions as you explain what happened and the other half zeros in on the way your subtle hand motions. While he might not be anywhere near a cupid—and he would never be caught giving out relationship advice to mortals, which is something he couldn’t do even if he tried—he is still a being of immense power. From what he’s able to understand from your explanation, your loved one decided to part from you because they believed it just wasn’t working. And you, having been struck with an immense sadness, failed to call out to them to clear up any misunderstandings.

Eventually, after internally wrestling with his own thoughts and feelings, he asks, “Do you want me to teach them a lesson? Should you need them to feel the same amount of despair you’re feeling—”

“Oh, no! No. No. They don’t deserve to be punished for that. I understand now that our feelings weren’t the same. We really weren’t working and that’s okay. It just...hurts.”

Xiao tilts his head, an innocently childish show of confusion. “Where?”

“It’s not a physical pain, Xiao. I mean, it could be. But...this is more emotional.” Your hand reaches out, fingers wrapping around his wrist. He stares down at your hand and he almost pulls away. Before he can even consider what’s happening, you’re guiding his hand to where your heart is. “In here. It hurts now, but I’ll overcome it eventually. I’m used to it anyways...”

The straight-faced adeptus remains still as he feels the fast-paced beat of your heart. Mortals have always been weak in his eyes: feeble beings who break at the slightest inconvenience. Although you don’t seem close to shattering and that confuses him more than he’d like to admit. Perhaps you are one of the more resilient humans he’s come across in recent years. It’s strange when he feels your heartbeat, so very certain and alive with the sour feelings a heartbreak brings. He’s never understood that either. Heartbreaks and relationships. The differences between friendship and romance. Both can be seen through to the very end, if fostered healthily.

So then why are you so sad?

Truthfully, you’ve always seemed sad to Xiao. As an adeptus, he’s never been able to fully grasp the meaning behind human emotions. They’re insignificant in his eyes, mere flashes of feeling that can hurt and blind. They’re troublesome and useless—certainly not something he would ever want to experience. But those emotions can heal and bring cheer. They’re not all entirely bad, nor are they as evil as he seems to think they are.

Xiao realizes his hand has been on your chest for a while now and he’s been staring at you so much that you’ve begun to shrink away, partially embarrassed to have him analyze you with so much scrutiny.

“Is...something wrong?”

He shakes his head slowly at first before retracting his arm. And then he notices you’ve stopped crying. He’s not sure when this happened, but he’s oddly relieved to see your neutral expression. Somehow your crying face is painful and it wounds him in a way he never would have imagined.

“Thank you for listening to my rant. I know this is probably meaningless to you, since you’re an adeptus and all, but it really means a lot. So I’m glad I was able to get these things off my chest. I feel a lot lighter now.”

“You’re not sad?”

“Ah. Well...” Your gaze flickers, eyes darting to and fro while you struggle to look at him. “I’m still sad, but I’ll get over it! Don’t worry! I’m resilient!”

Xiao’s brow furrows in confusion. As he has thought plenty of times before, mortals are far too complex. Eventually he sighs and says, “It’s okay to cry. Don’t keep that inside, okay? You’ll just hurt yourself even more.” Now he’s avoiding your gaze and there’s a barely noticeable tinge of pink dusting his pale cheeks. He’s really not good at consoling humans.

“Oh, Xiao.” You pull him in for a hug and he stiffens, trying to squeeze out of your arms like a cat near water. But then he feels your fingers digging into his arm and he realizes that you might actually need this hug. Despite the fact that he’s not used to freely giving out hugs—or even cheering up mortals, for that matter—he is definitely out of his element. “Really, thank you. I promise to make you an Almond Tofu as thanks.”

“There’s no need for that.” Hesitantly, as if he’s worried he’ll break you, he wraps his arms around your form. “I’m just helping you because you called my name. That’s all.”

But that’s not the full truth. Hidden in those words is the real reason why he even bothered to stay despite the false alarm. And it worries Xiao when he thinks about the implications. He really does like you and this admiration has surpassed platonic love. As long as you’re okay, though, he’ll swallow his feelings in favor of making sure you’re always happy. It’s one of his duties as your friend.

Friend. A word Xiao never thought he’d ever use, but it feels nice. He likes it.

Yet The Distance Remains Harrowing.

[Scaramouche]

To Mend a Broken Heart—

You’re spilling your emotional guts in front of the Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers, tears freely running down your cheeks like two faulty water faucets. It’s a pathetic sight, really. Scaramouche witnessed this exact show just a few weeks ago when you were so certain that that fisher was the one. Now, after meeting and getting together with someone else for a short time, you’ve come out of yet another relationship, unhappy and unsatisfied.

He’s jealous. There’s no denying the envy he feels when you talk so highly of these people and then wail about them a few days later. It’s a vicious cycle of mending a fragile heart and then breaking it into pieces all over again. With no end in sight, you fall victim to your own demise in the pursuit of love. He wonders if you’ll ever learn to choose your next partner carefully rather than settling for anything with a pulse.

“This is exactly what I said would happen, was it not?” he says with a sigh. “Oh, woe is you. If you were smarter, this last relationship might have lasted longer.”

“That’s rich coming from you. I’ve never seen you in a relationship before,” you mutter, wiping angrily at your eyes. His eyelid twitches at the not-so-subtle jab. “Ugh!I hate being so unlucky! This is the worst.”

“Rather than your foul luck, I think the problem lies within you and your taste in partners.”

Sniffling, you lower your head onto the table, hoping to just melt into the crafted wood before you end up making even more of a fool out of yourself. It’s rare to be in the company of Scaramouche, considering how often he’s assigned missions that require swift travel and a covert profile. But whenever you do find yourself sitting across from him, indulging in light snacks and tea, it’s always because you’ve lost your latest lover; and your own sadness requires the nullifying effects of Scaramouche’s cynicism.

“They’re good people! I just don’t know why it never works out. We’re happy and we both like each other—it doesn’t make any sense. Am I missing something? Is it my fault? They probably got tired of me because I’m not a good person.“

“Perhaps.” He takes a moment to sip his tea and you muster a weak glare. Only Scaramouche can delight in his beverage while you’re holding back another onslaught of tears. “Your crocodile tears are hardly flattering and your apparent need for consistent affection might come off as clingy. And you have a tendency to find flaws within yourself whenever something doesn’t go your way. Adding onto that, you doubt yourself a lot and you’re always quick to take the blame for things that are out of your control. In a way you are partially—”

“I get it. I’m not a good person.”

“I never said anything of that sort. Now you’re just asking for pity.”

Oh, how close you are to punching that smirk off of his face.

“Then since you seem to know everything, my oh so helpful friend, why don’t you tell me what I’m missing?”

“With pleasure.” His cup finds the surface of the table as he ponders your demand for a moment. “You’re missing someone who meshes well with your personality.”

“That’s not true. Everyone I’ve been with so far—“ His skeptical look makes you stop short. “Okay. Maybe we forced it because we thought it was love. But that’s besides the point! There was still an attraction! I think...” You huff and bury your face in your arms, nearly almost sprawling on the table. You’re too depressed to even consider how impolite your actions look, and Scaramouche scoffs at your poor display of manners. “Where am I even going to find someone who ‘meshes well with my personality,’ hm?”

“I’m sure you’ve already found them.” He clears his throat, tracing a finger along a sanded knot in the wooden table. “You’re sitting across from him.”

Whether he intended for you to hear that whispered part, you can’t say for sure. But your head perks up and you fix him with a lopsided grin. “You’re kidding.”

“Hm?”

“Me and you, a couple?” A small giggle escapes your lips and you swipe the remaining tears out of your eyes. “Don’t joke about that. I’m trying to be sad here!”

It wasn’t a joke, he almost says and he catches himself, suddenly self-conscious.

“I don’t think we’d work out,” you continue, motioning between you and him. “We’d hardly see each other and you don’t seem like the type for romance. Besides, I’m not attracted to you in that way. You feel the same, right?”

Scaramouche stares into his cup before he meets your gaze, a tight smile gracing his expression. “Of course. Your inability to settle isn’t all that attractive.”

Your eyes roll and you finally pick up your own cup to take a large gulp of lukewarm tea. The bitter Harbinger observes your actions with narrowed eyes. There’s a distinct pain that taps at his hardened soul, splitting it apart as your words echo within his spinning head. I don’t think we’d work out. I’m not attracted to you in that way. Why is he suddenly feeling...upset? He’s not one for pitiful emotions; he’s a Harbinger, not a lovesick fool! He ought to glare at you and storm off, demanding the two of you never speak again. But he won’t say that because he doesn’t want to hurt you. Because he cares for you. Because he loves you.

You feel the same, right?

No, that’s not right. This is the love he’s been wallowing in since he first got acquainted with you. It’s strange when he remembers every event that has led up to the blossoming feelings that reside deep in the epicenter of his heart, but it’s even more strange that he can’t find the courage to voice his own opinion.

“We wouldn’t mix,” he reaffirms your statement with a cold tone. There is no warmth in his eyes. “After all, your taste in tea is as bad as your taste in partners.”

And even though he wishes you could see through his walls—just this once he’ll allow you to tear them down for the sake of a half-baked confession—you just sit there and grin, no longer teary-eyed and forlorn. How odd. His heart feels far heavier than it’s ever been before. And you’re already scanning your surroundings, hungry for a love that will never keep you sated. Perhaps you weren’t even sad in the first place.

Upon realizing this, Scaramouche wants nothing more than to disappear into the wood like a feeble worm and never come back out.

You Must Break Another.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact scenario #genshin impact xiao #xiao x reader #xiao scenario #xiao #genshin impact scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche scenario #scaramouche

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meruz · 3 years

Text

once again i am answering asks in a big compilation post. included is... gotham, patrick stump, tips about drawing backgrounds, tips about drawing in general, links to my faq, and infinity train

like.... the tv series? No... I’ve drawn dc comics fanart before, though. But it’s been years since I’ve been really into it. I like jumped ship like 10 years ago when the New 52 happened LOL.

AFJHDSLKGH I’m sorry I (probably) won’t do it again??

Actually full disclosure I have a truly cringe amount of p stump drawings/photo studies in my sketchbook right now LOL. He’s just fun to draw... hats, glasses, guitar, a good shape... but I don’t think I’ll rly post those until I can hide them in another big sketchbook pdf.. probably Jan 2022. Stay tuned........ (ominous)

(ominous preview)

These are all sort of related to backgrounds/painting so I grouped them together even though they’re pretty much entirely separate questions.... ANYWAYS

a) How is it working as a BG artist? Is it hard? What show are you drawing for?

I think you’re the first person to ever ask me about my job! Being a background artist is great. It’s definitely labor intensive but I think that could describe pretty much any art job (If something were rote or easy to automate, you wouldn’t hire an artist to do it) and I hesitate to say whether its harder or easier than any other role in the animation pipeline. Plus, so much of what truly makes a job difficult varies from one production to the next, schedule, working environment, co-workers etc. But I will say that I think while BGs are generally a lot of work on the upfront, I think they’re subject to less scrutiny/revisions than something like character/props/effects design and you don’t have to pitch them to a room like boards. So I guess it’s good if you don’t like to talk to people? LOL

A lot of my previous projects + the show I’ve worked on the longest aren’t public yet so I can’t talk about em (but I assure you if/when the news does break I won’t shut up about it). But I’m currently working on Archer Season 12 LOL. I’m like 90% sure I’m allowed to say that.

b) ~~~THANK YOU!! ~~~

c) What exactly do you like to draw most [in a background]?

@kaitomiury Lots of stuff! I really like to draw clutter! Because it’s a great opportunity for environmental storytelling and also you can be kind of messy with it because the sheer mass will supersede any details LOL.

I like to draw clouds... I like to draw grass but not trees lol,,, I like to draw anything that sells perspective really easily like tiled floors and ceilings, shelves, lamp posts on a street etc.

d) Do you have any tips on how to paint (observational)?

god there’s so much to say. painting is really a whole ass discipline like someone can paint their whole life and still discover new things about it. I guess if you’re really just starting out my best advice is that habit is more important than product. especially with traditional plein air painting, I find that the procedure of going outside and setting up your paints is almost harder than the actual painting. There’s a lot of artists who say “I want to do plein air sometime!!” and then never actually get around to doing it. A lot of people just end up working from google streetview or photos on their computer.

But going outside to paint is a really good challenge because it forces you to make and commit to lighting and composition decisions really quickly. And to work through your mistakes instead of against them via undo button.

My last tip is to check out James Gurney’s youtube channel because hes probably the best and most consistent resource on observational painting out there rn. There’s lots other artists doing the same thing (off the top of my head I know a lot of the Warrior Painters group has people regularly posting plein air stuff and lightbox expo had a Jesse Schmidt lecture abt it last year) but Gurney’s probably the most prolific poster and one of the best at explaining the more technical stuff - his books are great too.

e) Do you have tips for drawing cleanly on heavypaint?

@marigoldfool UMM LOL I LIKE ONLY USE THE FILL TOOL so maybe use the fill tool? Fill and rectangle are good for edge control as opposed to the rest of the heavy paint tools which can get sort of muddles. And also I use a stylus so maybe if you’re using your finger, find a stylus that works with your device instead. That’s all I’ve got, frankly I don’t think my drawings are particularly clean lol.

f) Tips on improving backgrounds/scenes making them more dynamic practicing etc?

Ive given some tips about backgrounds/scenes before so I’m not gonna re-tread those but here’s another thing that might be helpful...

I think a good way to approach backgrounds is to think of the specific story or even mood you want to convey with the background first. Thinking “I just need to put something behind this character” is going to lead you to drawing like... a green screen tourist photo backdrop. But if you think “I need this bg to make the characters feel small” or “I need this bg to make the world feel colorful” then it gives you requirements and cues to work off of.

If I know a character needs to feel overwhelmed and small, then I know I need to create environment elements that will cage them in and corner them. If a character needs to feel triumphant/on top of the world then I know I need to let the environment open up around them. etc. If I know my focal point/ where I want to draw attention, I can build the background around that.

Also, backgrounds like figure compositions will have focal points of their own and you can draw attention to it/ the relationship the characters have with the bg element via scale or directionality or color, any number of cues. I think of it almost as a second/third character in a scene.

Not every composition is gonna have something so obvious like this but it helps me to think about these because then the characters feel connected and integrated with the environment.

Some more general art questions

a) Do you have any process/tips to start drawing character/bodies/heads?

I tried to kind of draw something to answer this but honestly this is difficult for me to answer because I don’t think I’m that great at drawing characters LOL. Ok, I think I have two tips.

1) flip your canvas often. A lot about what makes human bodies look correct and believable is symmetry and balance. Even if someone has asymmetrical features, the body will often pull and push in a way to counterbalance it. we often have inherent biases to one side or another like dominant hands dominant eyes etc. you know how right-handed artists will often favor drawing characters facing 45 degrees facing (the artist’s) left? that’s part of it. so viewing your drawing flipped even just to evaluate it helps compensate for that bias and makes you more aware of balance.

2) draw the whole figure often. I feel like a lot of beginner artists (myself included for a long time) defer to just drawing headshots or busts because it’s easier, you dont have to think about posing limbs etc. But drawing a full body allows you to better gauge proportion, perspective, body language, everything that makes a character look believable and grounded.

Like if you (me) have that issue where you draw the head too big and then have to resize it to fit the proportions of the rest of the body, it’s probably because you (I) drew the head first and are treating the body as an afterthought/attachment. Sketching out the whole figure first or even just quick drawing guides for it will help you think of it more holistically. I learned this figure drawing in charcoal at art school LOL.

oh. third mini tip - try to draw people from life often! its the best study. if you can get into a figure drawing/nude drawing class EVEN BETTER and if you have a local college/art space/museum that hosts those for free TREASURE IT AND TAKE ADVANTAGE OF IT, that’s a huge boon that a lot of artists (me again) wish they had. though if youre not so lucky and youre sitting in a park trying to creeper draw people and they keep moving.. don’t let that stop you! that’s good practice because it’s forcing you to work fast to get the important stuff down LOL. its a challenge!

b) I’ve been pretty out of energy and have had no inspiration to draw but I have the desire to. Any advice?

Dude, take a walk or something.... Or a nap? Low energy is going to effect everything else so you gotta hit that problem at its source.

If you’re looking for inspiration though, I’d recommend stuff like watching a movie, reading a book, playing video games etc. Fill up your idea bank with content and then give yourself time/space to gestate it into new concepts. Sometimes looking at other art works but sometimes it can work against you because it’s too close.

Also something that helps me is remembering that art doesn’t always have to be groundbreaking... like it’s okay to make something shitty and stupid that you don’t post online and only show to your friend. That’s all part of the process imo. If you want to hit a home run you gotta warm up first, right? Sports.

I should probably compile everytime i give tips on stuff like this but that’s getting dangerously close to being a social media artist who makes stupid boiled down art tutorials for clout which is the last thing i want to be... the thing I want to stress is that art is a whole visual language and there are widely agreed upon rules and customs but they exist in large part to be broken. Like there's an infinite number of ways to reach an infinite number of solutions and that’s actually what makes it really cool and personal for both the artist and the viewer. So when you make work you like or you find someone else’s work you like, take a step back and ask yourself what about it speaks for you, what about it works for you, what makes it effective, how to recreate that effect and how to break that effect completely, etc. And have a good time with it or else what’s the point.

for the first 2, I direct you to my FAQ

For the last one, I don’t actually believe I’ve ever addressed artwork as insp for stories/rp but I’ll say here and now yeah go ahead! As long as you’re not making profit or taking credit for my work then I’m normally ok with it. Especially anything thats private and purely recreational, that’s generally 100% green light go. I only ask that if you post it anywhere public that you please credit me.

(and I reserve the right to ask you to take it down if I see it and don’t approve of it’s use but I think that case is pretty rare.)

a) @lemuelzero101 Thank you!!! I haven’t played Life is Strange but actually that series’ vis dev artist Edouard Caplain is one of my bigger art inspirations lately so that’s a really high compliment lol. And yeah I hope we get 5-8 too...!

b) Thank you for sticking around! I’ve been thinking about Digimon and Infinity Train in tandem lately, actually. They’re a little similar? Enter a dangerous alternate world and have wacky adventures with monsters/inanimate objects that have weird powers... there’s like weird engineers and mechanisms behind the scenes... also frontier literally starts with them getting on a train. Anyways if anyone else followed me for digimon... maybe you’d like Infinity Train? LOL

c) @king-wens-king I’M GLAD MY ART JUST HAS PINOY VIBES LOL I hope you are having a good day too :^)

a, b, c, d) yessss my Watch Infinity Train agenda is working....

e) aw thank you!! i think you should watch infinity train :)

#ask #trying this new thing where i tag people in the body of the post instead

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gemma-collins-ily · 3 years

Note

Jesper with s/o who really knows how to kick ass (aka sis was trained by someone)

Jesper with a Trained S/O

a/n - I love the pairing of Jesper and the pet name honey too much aaah. Also this was written over two nights when I was half asleep so forgive me if it isn't top notch xoxo 💗💝

Warnings: fighting, poison, bruises/cuts but no real mentions of blood or anything

Kaz obviously employed you because of how amazing you are at any type of combat

but when asked the specific reason, he had only responded with a cryptic answer that gave the Crows nothing

"They're an asset to the team. Just as all of you are."

you would train at extremely early hours of the morning, often seen jogging back up the stairs to your room drenched in sweat right when others first awoke

but no one knew what you were actually doing

until Inej caught you in the training room in the Slat, practically beating a punching bag

the funny thing was, you didn't look as though you were a street fighter, one who had developed their own adapted technique that would get them by in a scrap

your punches were calculated, muscles flexing in just the right way and stature perfect

it was the ideal stance for a real fight in a ring

she didn't say anything and instead decided to get up just a little earlier each day in order to observe you

she was caught when she let the door creak accidentally, but instead of kicking her out of the room you only offered to leave so she could use it

she refused and said she'd rather watch you

and she did from then on, you having no protest or apparent problem with it

sometimes, you'd go up against Inej and circle each other warily, not daring to underestimate the other

you had only been on a few low level heists with the Crows at that point, Kaz mercifully easing you into the work

but it was noticed by Nina that whenever it was necessary to run and hide, you could sprint with full stamina and hardly break a sweat unless it was done for a long amount of time

she also noticed your heart rate barely raised

she brought it up once

"Ugh, (Y/N), I'm so jealous, you literally must be super-human, how are you so energised?"

this was said through panting breaths as she bent to rest her hands on her knees, much like the others were doing

this meant in turn it wasn't really registered by anyone

only you

you didn't really mind people knowing you were trained in combat, but didn't flaunt it or let anyone know without them finding out

you would act casually when found out, downplaying your skills

everything was a threat in the Barrel, and saying one wrong thing near one wrong person could cost you your head

you hadn't stiffened when Nina said that, only nodding and grinning, leaning against the wall with your hands in your pockets yet not saying anything verbally

you knew how to play the game and in order to do that, you had to let them subconsciously dismiss the very idea itself

Albert Einstein iq I'm telling you

psychology at its very core

you know

it's all forgotten until they see your skills put to use on a heist

if you've watched now you see me 2 and watched the spectacular card sequence, the next part is basically that

your tactful hand at cards could beat Kaz Brekker himself

on the heist, you know one of Kaz's sacred backup plans

only one, mind you

so, it's like the card sequence

you're all going in as guests but you and Kaz will shoot the card with the information between you and your separate searches

"Hands the other way, ma'am."

Your hands flew the opposite way, palms now facing the guard as the card was quickly flipped between your fingers, and with a single, efficient flick of the wrist Kaz had it in his possession.

"Alright, on your way you go."

Jesper had only seen because he was stationed behind you, otherwise he never would have known it was so seamless

Nina told them later that kind of thing seemed to be a regular occurrence as your heart rate had been completely average

showing how confident you are, go bestie

it was true

you and Kaz had trained for that heist often however barely for any length of time at all

the best part for you was that you had been checking how noticeable it was and flipping the card back and forth between you in meetings

Jesper's eyes had widened comically when he observed the whole thing and his jaw dropped

you laughed as you stepped past and kissed his jaw, making it close promptly as he chased after you, desperate for answers

your cards can also be poisoned

and in another heist they doubted you

because they had seen you help pull something off but not use any as a weapon

you were motioned by Kaz to appear innocent until another signal was given, one of which only you and Inej had been paying attention to and so understood

but after you hissed at Jesper out of the corner of your mouth, he stayed subdued too

you remained eerily silent as they pushed you against the wall and searched your pockets

the cards were brought out and ridiculed, even if you had cleverly concealed knives, now you knew how you would kill these men

after the go ahead was given, you burst into action, swooping downward and catching the man holding you off guard

you collected the cards and grinned as you stepped back, now the front most Crow in your little pyramid formation at the end of the street

"And what are they gonna do?"

A malicious glint appeared in your eye as Jesper tapped your shoulder, thinking you had backed yourself into a corner here.

but then, your hand flew out and struck one clean in the eye, making them wail and drop to their knees as you flung another card, swiping a man's cheek

they did not fall until a minute later, that minute consisting of you whipping cards at them and Jesper tugging on your sleeve

he'd do that a lot, before he knew of your training and maybe after too

it wasn't that he thought you couldn't handle yourself, just that he wanted to protect you in any way possible

so pulling you behind him was a knee jerk reaction, desiring to save his loved one from any possible threat or danger

he would do anything for you, let a bullet pierce his chest, a dagger land in his throat, as long as you emerged okay

it was only later, when you got Kaz to pick up the cards, saying it would be easier to wash them with a cloth than learn how to balance the slightly differing weight of a new pack

you made Kaz do it because he had leather protection and knew of the poison darkening the edges of the cards to an inky black

they were kept in a special and specific packet so there was no possible way of you being hurt unless you were completely careless

that was completely unable to happen because you were wary enough to know what to do and what not to

but Jesper still insisted you left them in his coat after he found out, wanting you to be totally risk free

"What if you're not with me? How will I use my weapons?"

"Well, my darling, that will not be the case," he paused to snicker at his unintentional joke about the container then continued, "because Kaz will absolutely keep us together at all times."

You hummed thoughtfully, "How do you know that?"

There was an immediate answer, no moment of hesitation from your sharpshooter, "He simply can't handle how fantastically amazing I am on his own, knowing I am far superior and so will continue to pair us together to avoid having to face that foe."

"Jes, honey, he could partner you with Inej or Nina or Matthias, you know that, right?"

He was stumped and his mouth opened before closing once more.

the cards were still not handed back though

don't worry, new ones were purchased after Jesper insisted on 'clinging' to the other pack like a lifeline, according to Kaz

he did find out about this after you saved his ass in a fight with them

he was so mad, not that you'd defied him but that you had put yourself in danger with the cards

but after Inej pointed out he had to trust you at some moment in time, he softened

because how could you think he didn't trust you?

he didn't ever want you to have to answer that question and set about trying to rectify the situation

you received breakfast in bed and apology cuddles

"I trust you."

It was the mantra he had been repeating for days and you smiled as your hand came to rest upon his jawline.

"I know, darling. I know."

You were met with a soft kiss to your collarbone as his head dipped to fall into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist in a tight but gentle hug.

He hummed before continuing, "Just wanted to make sure, honey."

the cards were left wordlessly on your bedside table, drawing a small sated smile from your lips

after he came to terms with the fact that you were a Dreg, a Crow, someone who would be targeted because you were entwined with him, he became just a little overprotective

not that you minded

just reassuring him often you were okay and he was too

after Wylan came along, you politely requested to know if he could make some kind of thing that would make the cards easier to collect

he came up with the idea of a magnetic substance that could be brushed over the centre of the cards, meaning if you kept one in your hand and waved it over the others, there would be no time delay in which you would have to pick them up

again

the added weight, even such a small increment, affected the momentum needed and angle necessary

for days, you were flinging your cards at a wall, barely stopping to eat, wanting to be useful

Jesper dragged you back to bed several times in the early mornings with coaxing syllables and sweet words, promises on how you would get it right tomorrow

"Sweetheart, just come back to bed. Wait a few hours and try again. You're so close to getting this. I just know it."

As you wrapped yourself in the comforter his hand came to stroke your cheek, "There you go, see, you were looking half asleep on your feet, doing yourself no good anyway, lovely. Or those cards."

when witnessing your physical combat skills, Jesper would let a surprised chuckle fall, not fully in control of himself

watching you flip an enemy who had underestimated you over your shoulder never got old

neither did seeing your boot swivel slightly on their chest as you proved just how skilled you were

awww such pure and innocent love

"Don't think I won't beat you in a fight again, Lion. Or there won't be another opportunity for you to."

"That's my partner!"

"Alright Jes, bit much but thanks for hyping me up."

Just as you turned and both of you were about to walk away, a cold and clammy hand clamped over your ankle and you instantaneously recoiled.

Then, before Jesper or the Dime Lion knew what was happening, your fist connected with his stomach, hand coming up to cover your false and exaggerated yawn.

"So cool." Was whispered from your sharpshooter as you stalked off, boots clicking on the gravel pavement.

he had forced you into a chair, begging you to let him take care of your now bruising knuckles and you begrudgingly agreed

"Wasn't so bad, huh?"

"Don't push it." Was the joking response as his arm slung over your waist, and his thumbs brushed over the bandage he had applied so carefully as his hand covered the one you had let hang at your hip.

"Wouldn't dream of it, darling. Don't have the foggiest why you would assume such of me."

if you ever couldn't handle the entire situation and obtained an injury, Jesper would stay by your side

when a minor one, like a small gash on your forehead appeared, he would insist on personally caring for it

and if major, he would hold your hand, allowing you to squeeze it as hard as you wanted when the pain became too much

the same went for the other way round, you giggling at bandages wrapped all around his head like a bandana

but only after you knew he was alright

if tears filled your eyes, caused by relief, his thumb would come up to brush them away and slightly pull the corners of your mouth into a weak and wavering smile

"I'm alright. I'm okay, honey, you just remember that."

the both of you would press gentle goodnight kisses to each others foreheads or lips, forgetting a bruise or cut

this would end in frantic apologies and inevitable laughter when you kept speaking over one another

basically, Jesper thinks you're so badass, amazing and fantastic, reminding you just how highly he regards you everyday

you will protect him and he will protect you, no matter what

#jesper fahey x reader #jesper fahey x you #jesper fahey fics #jesper fahey fluff #jesper fahey #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone x you #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone #grishaverse x reader #grishaverse x you #grishaverse fic #grishaverse #jesper fahey headcanons

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sylvie-writes · 3 years

Text

Dr. Husband

word count: 5278

pairing: doctor steve rogers x wife reader

warnings: talks about heat exhaustion? there’s nothing graphic, but if the hospital theme bothers you, then this isn’t the fic to read!

prompts (from @/fluffyomlette): “Your pulse is a little high. Is it because I’m holding your hand?” and “You’re not supposed to pick favourites, doc.” “Trust me, if I didn’t, you’d be dead by now.”

a/n: this just popped in my head about a month ago and i had to write it for no explainable reason. i really couldn’t think of a title oops. if you all have a better idea please tell me so i can change it lol.

please excuse any mistakes!

Summer was finally in full force, blazing sun rays beamed down on the dry ground and once gorgeous flowers drooped in dire need of water. Sounds of children playing outside, pool water splashing as a result of cannonballs, while lawnmowers whirled to life and laughter from the watching wives resounded this afternoon. In your neighborhood, it was tradition that the women would get together every other Saturday and have drinks in the cul-de-sac while their husbands had unsaid competitions of manicuring their yards. Unfortunately for you, your husband was a doctor and that meant little time for him to do the yard, and you didn’t have children at the moment that could go play with the others. The women who were your neighbors were a bit too picky choosy for your taste. They only seemed to bond over their children and sitting around home, two of which you didn’t have or do, so you weren’t ever truly invited to their day-drinking. It was actually fine with you as these people were so hot n’cold and you were just tired of trying to fit in with faux friends. You had plenty of true friends and then your husband who was a child of his own.

For three weekends so far, Steve had told you he’d cut the lawn and as much as you wanted to believe him, you knew that he was so exhausted from work and being on call a majority of the time, that he would never find the hours to do so. That was okay with you because what he did was important and you weren’t gonna be on his ass like the feds about the yard when you could easily do it yourself. It wasn’t like he was just sitting around, no, he was working so you just decided to cut the lawn yourself, something you’d done plenty of times before.

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Unfortunately the day you chose to do so, the sun was out blazing and a simple walk out the door was a trip to an off-brand hell. Instead of making a wise decision and waiting to cut the grass in the evening, you chose the latter and decided to cut the grass at noon, the very time the sun was in full shine.

Dressed in attire for yard work and having already eaten a sandwich for lunch, you headed out the garage door to tackle the mess there in hopes of finding the push mower within. Steve’s father, Joseph, had given you both a lot of his lawn equipment, but the riding mower was broken at the moment and you (again) stupidly decided to push mow the almost two acre lawn. It took a good half hour to get the darned thing out on the driveway and while doing so, you noticed that your neighbors, the wives to be exact, had decided to come out for one of their occasional and somehow spontaneous get-togethers which consisted of unattended kids drawing with chalk as their mothers sat a few feet away dipping their feet in the small splash pool. You often found the idea both inventive and funny.

For only a second more did you let your attention linger on the group before returning back to fill the lawn mower with gasoline. After doing so, you tossed on a pair of sunglasses and went full steam ahead with cutting the grass, disregarding the rising, and very unsafe, temperature.

About an hour in, the temp had already risen to be above 100 and something no one should have spent any longer than half an hour in. Steve had always said you were stubborn at all the wrong times and boy was he right. You had just finished up half of the front yard and quarter of the back yard. It was mad that you were actually thinking about pushing mowing two acres, especially in this unruly weather.

You were so determined and when your mind was set on something, you let all other matters slip away, including regards for your own health. The unusual amount of sweat on your skin seemed to go unnoticed by you as well did the growing headache.

Finally, about half an hour later, more of the backyard was finished and your inner saboteur continued to influence your goals.

“Just finish this half and you will be close enough to the end,” translated into “Just finish the whole yard, you might as well since you are this close.”

This was the worst mindset to have, especially with the given circumstances as you had been out here for at least two hours, no drinks of any sort, no real breaks aside from fueling the lawn mower, and no cares to the worsening symptoms that now included noticeable dizziness.

The lawn mower eventually ran out of gas and you went to refill it once more. Making your way through the front yard, your unknown adrenaline rush came to an end along with the machine’s power. It wasn’t until your vision started to star and blur that you finally noticed your decline in health, but by then it was too late and you were on the plush and groomed grass of the front yard. Ironically, you noticed the fruits of your labor since you were currently laying on it.

Five minutes had passed since your drop to the ground and one of the ladies out in the court, Genevieve, noticed your figure, quite the contrast to the viridescent grass. Despite that she thought you were “demented” for cutting the grass yourself, she knew you weren’t unhinged, so to say, that you would just lay on the grass as it would serve no purpose to do so. She didn’t take you for a nature lover either so this was not normal.

Genevieve squatted down in the lawn, her sparkly sandals reflecting in the sea of green. Unknowing of what to do, the woman in a panic threw the back of her hand to your forehead and you burned hotter than a metal kettle. By time she stood, the other ladies had gathered around and were now circling in mass hysteria as if they were staring at a dead body and not your unconscious, yet breathing frame. Many long seconds later, Priscilla, who was Genevieve’s closest friend and who despised you as much as you did her, decided to call 911. The other moms then left to go usher their children away from what they described as a “traumatic experience” and back to their large homes for some sort of last minute luncheon.

Eventually, an ambulance arrived in your usually quiet neighborhood, something that was clearly displayed as almost every neighbor popped their heads out of their houses in sheer curiosity. Their nosey nature often bothered you but was normally put behind some sort of service act such as a baked cake or bottle of wine just to be invited into your house. You didn’t miss the way your neighbors would study your house when they were finally welcomed in. Steve was much better at hiding his cross nature and would return some compassion of his own while you struggled to bottle your annoyance and sealed it with a forced smile. As luck would have it though, you were knocked out and couldn’t give them a piece of your mind for staring because heavens know this would’ve been the last straw and no one could have stopped your rant.

It was when you were in the red wagon and being attended over by paramedics that you noticed you were on the way to somewhere that wasn’t home.

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At the hospital, the doctor and nurses hydrated you back to reality and suddenly you appeared in a bed, a doctor standing at the side with a clipboard in hand allowing your mind to draw up a million conclusions before you remembered what you had done last.

The doctor spoke a fast introduction and he then moved on to fill you in on what had happened as confusion still painted your face although when he told you Genevieve’s account of what led up to your ultimate passing out, you visibly cringed at such carelessness that ended up bringing you here. Hundreds of falls, burns, and bruises thanks to your clumsy nature, but this had to be the one thing to send you to the hospital. Some sort of twisted joke it sure was.

Moving to roll a stool to your bedside, the doctor passed you a cold bottle of water before bringing his eyes to give your IV a quick check as a nurse had put it in not too long before you awoke.

“Luckily, Mrs. Rogers, your neighbors found you in time and you only experienced severe heat exhaustion. Had you prolonged your exposure anymore you could have experienced a heat stroke. For now, I ask that you rest and I’ll come back to release you.” The doctor expressed his reassurance with a kind grin before walking out of the plain and boxy room that could make one go insane with its lack of liveliness.

Staring out the open doorway and into the empty hallway, you knew that Steve worked on this very floor, but honestly what were the chances that he’d see you? At one point he’d eventually find out about today’s mishaps, but that was a problem for later when you were more conscious and caring. Letting your worries temporarily go (something that was only happening thanks to your fatigued mind), you slightly shifted into a somewhat “comfortable” position on the stiff bed and rough cotton sheets. Albeit that there was an IV uncomfortably stuck in your arm, you fell into a much needed slumber.

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Lunch break at last.

That was all that had been on Steve's mind for the past three hours which had been extremely hectic. Granted, he was used to this fast-paced workplace having worked here for almost a decade, but today was absolutely out of control with injured patients coming in left and right. It wasn’t some sort of bad omen, rather just an unlucky day for many Steve had assumed. He had just finished up with a pediatric case and was now on his way to enjoy the leftover baked chicken salsa that you had made just for him last night and packed for his lunch this morning. You knew how busy his week had been and you took the liberty to make his favorite dinner dish to compensate for the work that had left such a toll on him. A smile immediately overtook his face when he walked in the house last night and that’s when you decided that you would gladly cook anything he’d like over and over again just to see that look of adoration. As Steve held you in his arms at that moment, he kept thinking how he really didn’t deserve you and little did he know, the same thought ran in your own mind. Yet, in reality, you both went together like a puzzle piece to a puzzle. Without the piece, the picture would never be completed and without the other, you and Steve would have never enjoyed life to the fullest.

Strutting down the never ending hall, Steve passed many doors, some he had been in just a mere hour or two ago. As he walked past an open door and did a double take as he saw a patient asleep, but no sign of anyone else in the room. If he were that patient, he’d want the door shut for some privacy, something which the man highly valued, so he crossed the short distance and closed the door. He didn’t mean to look at the patient for so long as they weren’t in his care and that would be awfully creepy, but Steve could help but do a double take and noticed that the familiar face was, in fact, you. From first glance it didn’t even look like you and that was coming from the man who had studied your face just to commit it to his memory. In a loving way, of course.

He slowly walked in your room, taking in the image before him of you lying in a hospital bed. His mind had assumed that the worst thing had happened to you and for a moment, Steve’s breathing ceased and his legs were glued to the ground. As his eyes scanned over your body again, his fears were calmed when there were no visible wounds and you just seemed to be resting. Although as a doctor, he unfortunately knew anything could be possible.

Hunching over the top half of the bed, Steve smoothed your stray hairs away from your forehead and placed an awakening kiss there. You were a light sleeper a majority of the time and your spouse knew that this small action would wake, but not startle you. Every night he’d come home from work and do the same thing except then he knew you were safe and sound. Now, he was just filled with uncertainty.

“What happened?” Those were the only words he was able to get out and you gave him an answer, just not one that he was looking for. You were already getting defensive and he could sense it.

“Genevieve saw me pass out in the yard and overreacted, Steven. You know they all don’t exactly have good track records with medicine.” You rolled your eyes at the last statement remembering how your neighbors have often nonchalantly tried to get Steve to diagnose them when it came to something as simple as a scrape. Then again, all of your neighbors were in the business industry so that explained their lack of medical knowledge or at least that is the excuse you drew up for them.

“Nice try, (y/n), but you do have a medical chart and it’s over there,” Steve pointed over his shoulder and towards the doorway where a plastic chart holder sat mounted on the cream wall. “You didn’t just pass out, and the neighbors did not overreact. They did the right thing despite how much I know you hate that. Now, either you tell me the truth or I go read that file.” His tone was serious, but not condescending. Hidden in his eyes was a tad sprinkle of mischief.

Stubborn as ever, you didn’t respond and folded your arms over your chest in a form of defiance.

Against what is probably legal, Steve picked up your medical chart to read what had happened as you wouldn’t disclose the information to him. Your husband was a worry-wart sometimes and while you appreciated how he doctored you when you were sick, he could be a bit overbearing. A great example would be the time when you were cooking dinner and burned your forearm when taking the casserole out of the oven.

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“Babe, dinner is ready!”

The timer on the oven was currently beeping and you walked towards it. Turning off both the oven and the timer, you grabbed a short oven mitt and reached in to grab the casserole dish off the top rack. As you did so, you lifted your arm a bit too high and hit the side of your forearm on the interior roof of the oven. The temperature was ridiculously hot and the pain was immensely strong that you immediately pulled your arm back, the casserole long forgotten.

Steve came running in at your string of curses and came in to see you holding your arm and hissing a bit as if that would relieve the pain. He walked closer to you as you leaned up against the island. Your husband delicately took your arm in his hand, raking his eyes over the burn that was soon to blister.

After a short inspection, Steve placed his other hand on the small over your back and led you to the sink, flipping on the cold water and running it over your burn. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see you squeezing your own eyes shut in pain.

“I know, sweetheart, it hurts, I’m sorry.” He continued to rinse your scalded skin, but turned his head to sweetly kiss your temple.

A few minutes passed and Steve was content with the rinse job as you had finally opened your eyes, even engaging in some of your jokes that were always said at the wrong time. From the kitchen, the man guided you down the hallway, through your bedroom and into your joined bathroom. He sat you on the edge of the bathroom tub while rummaging through your unorganized medicine cabinet. It was barely ever touched and when it was, it was often in a state of panic hence the messiness of it. Fortunately, Steve found a tube of bacitracin and some cotton dressings from God knows how long ago. At this point he could care less and would rather have you cared for.

You curiously watched him as he dug through the cabinet and a loving smile grew on your face. How lucky were you to have this man. You were really appreciative of him in times like these especially.

Said man returned and crouched before you, distracting you from your thoughts as he softly grabbed your hand once more.

The doctor worked his magic and in no time was your arm wrapped up and lathered in ointment.

“Wow Doc, you did a great job.” Steve was still holding your hand as you quietly giggled in content. He placed a kiss on top of your knuckles and peered up at you with those gorgeous (and borderline seductive) sapphire eyes. Chuckling, Steve murmured against your skin, “Only for my favorite patient.”

As always, you decided to play along with Steve’s playful banter. “You’re not supposed to pick favorites, doc.”

Your husband knew your clumsy nature and seemed to have the perfect response, “Trust me, if I didn’t, you’d be dead by now.”

With your non-injured hand you went to hit his shoulder and he grabbed it in faux hurt.

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“You know, Dr. Rogers, that is a violation and I can actually report you for it.” You lifted your line of sight to see Steve who looked back at you with his lips pressed in a fine line. He shook his head disapprovingly after reaching the end of the report and now looked like he was going to sit back in the seat beside your bed.

“Hey, what are you doing? They already examined me and I am about to get released.” The man ignored you and instead leaned over the flimsy bed railing. Steve rubbed his hands together in a warming manner before placing two fingers on your next in an attempt to find your pulse. He unfortunately carried that common trait among doctors of having hands that were colder than that of a penguin’s ass. You knew very well this pulse check was useless as you were in conditional health and that he was probably doing this to annoy you.

“Well I like to do a check of my own. It never hurts to get a second opinion, darling.” Blue eyes squinted at you and you returned the patronizing gesture.

The free hand that was not on your neck had found its way to hold your own hand and when your husband pulled back, he wore a smug smirk on his lips.

“Your pulse is a little high. Is it because I’m holding your hand?”

“You know, your shoulders must hurt from carrying such a big head all the time.” Steve had the nerve to laugh at your elementary grade insult and even though you weren’t really mad, your face would have said otherwise to anyone else.

“So I’ll take that as a yes then, wifey.” He then quickly dropped to press a chaste kiss to your lips before releasing your hand and sitting down in the chair.

Looking to the clock on the wall, you focused your vision on the distant numbers to read that it was most likely Steve’s lunch break.

“Are you spending your lunch break with me?” Your tone was now sweet and soft as it usually was towards Steve and his heart leaped at the progress being made.

“It seems that I am. ‘Was really looking forward to that chicken salsa, though.” A heap of blonde hair rested on your hand that Steve had now laid his head against, still holding tight with both of his own hands. You giggled at his dramatics and ruffled a free hand through his greasy hair.

“I haven’t eaten anything, you think you could spend your lunch break with me?” His head popped up at this and his face held the eagerness of an energetic puppy.

“Of course, sweetheart. We can head to the cafeteria. Hopefully they have something good for my girl.” It was now your turn for your heart to swell at his words. Not even a second later though, the sentimental moment was replaced with Steve’s usual sarcastic humor.

“See, I love you so much that I am willing to sacrifice my precious chicken salsa just to have lunch with you. You should be grateful to have me as your husband.” Steve’s pearly whites beamed at you in a cheesy smile and you gave a dismissive wave of your hand.

The two of you talked and enjoyed the rare time together for the next ten minutes until Steve noticed you shifting to sit up against the pillows. He thought nothing of it until suddenly you were throwing your legs over the side of the bed and making to get out of the so called cotton prison.

Waving a finger, Steve tutted you and hurriedly scooped your legs back onto the bed. You looked absolutely peeved and Steve knew it was from the way that he was treating you like a child or better yet, a patient. His wife, the fighter and he, the doctor. Two unlikely personalities but ones that worked best together nonetheless. This made Steve laugh whenever he thought about it.

“You can get up the minute you get released by the doc, okay?” Caring eyes now gave you a pleading look and you felt a small tinge of guilt crawling up your chest at how mean you had been to your husband when he has only been trying to help.

A knock on the wooden door signaled a visit from the one person you had been waiting on for what seemed to be ages.

“Speak of the devil.” Muttering the phrase so only Steve could hear you gave him an “I told you so” kind of look.

The Doctor looked up from the same clipboard as earlier to greet you once he made it in through the doorway, but he was surely surprised by the figure sitting in the chair beside you.

“Oh Dr. Rogers, what a surprise! So this is your wife I presume? I guess I should have put two and two together,” Your doctor of the moment laughed with Steve who added in a chuckle or two of his own.

“Yep, this is Mrs. Rogers!” Steve didn’t look at you, but lovingly squeezed your hand that was resting against his, “We are quite the handful so I am surprised you couldn’t tell that she was my other half.” A snicker ended his words and you couldn’t help but do the same.

Once the short introductions were over, the doctor walked over to do a speedy final exam on what was necessary as Steve watched from the sidelines still getting used to the idea of not being the one doing the examination. He hadn’t been in any other position in the hospital for such a long time that it took some time to get used to the fact that he wasn’t the one diagnosing and rather waiting for the diagnosis.

The doctor pulled away from hovering over you and now sat back on his rolling leather stool, scooting his way over to the computer and desk.

“Well I must say, (y/n), that you definitely live up to some of the stories your husband tells.” The other man in the white coat finished up his typing before turning back around to face you and his colleague.

“Ah, I hope he’s giving me some good street cred,” You teased and from the side you saw Steve shaking his head and chuckling under his breath.

“I assure you that they were all good things.” With that, the doctor formally released you, walking out of the room to give you some time to redress and such.

You went to get out of the bed for the nth time, but finally succeeded. Your legs felt a bit wobbly upon the first step, and Steve noticed this. He came up to stand beside you and placed a hand on your lower back with the other out in front in case you did fall. Placing your own hand on his scrub clad chest to steady yourself, you silently thanked him with a tender pat.

With Steve’s guidance, you went to change out of the wretched paper gown and into your shorts and shirt from working outside. It wasn’t exactly the most flattering outfit but at this moment you could care less for the only thing on your mind was getting out of this room.

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The ride in the elevator seemed to move slower than a snail and almost stopped on every floor. You were so crammed by the time you were only on the fifth floor that you used this as an excuse to lean up against Steve. He rubbed your arm and enveloped you in a side hug and planted a kiss on your head. The two of you never cared for PDA but neither of you had realized the onlooking eyes.

You found it mildly comedic when some of your fellow passengers seemed disgusted that a doctor was handling a patient in such a way. It was definitely gonna be a joke for later on.

Eventually you made it to the first floor and begrudgingly pushed yourself out of Steve’s warm embrace when the smell of garlic bread hit your nose.

“Huh, they never cook spaghetti around here. They must know we have a special guest today.” Steve pressed his lips against your ear to jokingly whisper to you as he ushered you out the elevator doors.

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Standing in line with a plastic tray at the cafeteria made you have flashbacks to middle school lunch and you shuddered at the thought. The memories played back in your mind like a movie and were interrupted (much to your relief) when Steve tapped your shoulder.

“You want this?” Steve held one of the plastic salad containers in hand, the white sleeve of his lab coat draped on top of the other stacked bowls in the open air freezer.

You nodded and he placed it on your tray, slightly bumping your hips as he walked past to grab a drink.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

For a good twenty minutes, you and Steve sat in comfortable silence in one of the booths until clicking clogs came closer and closer. So close that a shadow loomed over your table conveying that someone was here to speak.

“Dr. Rogers, I don’t think it’s entirely wise of you to have lunch with your patient. Actually, it’s quite inappropriate.” The older woman in burgundy scrubs pointed her gaze to the hospital band on your wrist and both you and Steve started laughing upon noticing. So that explained all the weird looks.

“Oh no, Dr. Williams! This is my wife (y/n),” You politely beamed up at the woman and set out your hand for a handshake. At this, her unenthusiastic expression changed to one of apologetic and she shook your hand with much grief as Steve continued on with his introductions.

“(y/n), this is Dr. Williams. She is the medical director for my department.”

“Wow! I’ve heard many wonderful things about you, Dr. Williams.” She went to return the praise before a beeping in her coat pocket signaled the time for her departure.

“Duty calls, but I’ll have you know this one here never shuts up about you. It was nice to finally put a face to a name, (y/n),” You glanced at Steve and noticed he was sheepishly grinning and turning redder by the second. So much so that he was hiding his face in his palms.

““I hope you have a quick recovery as well, hon!” The standing woman gave you a nod of her head and then turned to your husband whose face had finally regained its color. “As for you Steven, I will see you later. You have another resident to deal with today.” Dr. Williams sighed at the thought, waving you both goodbye and soon enough she was out the double doors of the lunch room.

“Ooh babe you’ll have to tell me how all of that goes.” Spooning some spaghetti into your mouth, you goofily raised your eyebrows at Steve.

“Trust me, it is not fun at all. When I was a resident, I would have never acted like some of the people I’ve trained!”

You snorted, “Uh huh. Sureee.”

“No really,” Steve’s eyes widened and he leaned over the table like he was sharing some sort of secret with you, “The audacity of some of these people.”

“I think you are just an old man now, Stevie, and can’t keep up with the times.” The blond screwed up his eyes and stuck his tongue out at you.

“Oh hush and finish your food, Miss. ‘I am soooo young’.” A napkin flew at Steve’s chest and the two of you laughed at the childish antics that had just ensued.

Just as both of your styrofoam containers became empty, an unpleasant ringer sounded in Steve’s pocket, just like the one of Dr. Williams’s departure. Once he gave the screen a swift peek, he looked back up at you with a long face.

“You gotta go?” Golden strands bobbed up and down as Steve nodded and you grabbed his hand.

“It’s alright! Thank you for spending the time with me today, though. I really appreciate it. Thanks for putting up with me, you know how I am sometimes.”

The larger hand encompassing yours gave a sympathetic squeeze.

“Oh darling, anytime, you know that. If you need anything, call me okay? I will try my best to answer.”

The temporary silence that filled the room was now replaced by annoying buzzing from the device that Steve had silenced for the moment. He irritability took it out and shoved it back in his pocket. Normally this didn’t bother Steve because this was his job, but since you were here, having just been sick, he wanted nothing more than to drop everything and focus on you. Knowing that was impossible, he tried his best to juggle both yet it seemed that the world wasn’t gonna wait on him.

“Do you want me to call Ma to come get you? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Her and Dad love your company.” For the moment, Steve appeared to look like he was ignoring the constant beeping, but you knew internally he was already out of the cafeteria and sprinting down the halls.

“No no, I’m fine, honey,” The doctor stared at you as if he didn’t believe you. “I mean it, Steve. I am fine. Now shoo.”

Dr. Rogers shared another laugh with you before pecking your lips and running out the room shouting, “I’ll see you later!”

He really was too good for this world.

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a/n: i really enjoyed writing for doctor!steve, so if anyone has any ideas that involves him and that you’d like me to write, send it in! <3

taglist (is open!): @memissbee @tricereads @buckybarnesthehotshot @bval-1 @tonystankschild @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @turtoix @kelbabyblue @jakiki94 @aubreeskailynn @calirindo @lady-elena-adeline @siriuslyslyslytherin @sushiinmidnight @patzammit @iwik3it

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers headcanon #steve rogers x y/n #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans characters #doctor steve rogers #doctor steve rogers x wife reader

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startanewdream · 3 years

Text

It comes with the age

Summary: The thing about having birthdays is that you get older.

Or James Potter is not ready for his first white hair.

(Jily Lives AU)

Read below or on AO3:

It’s there.

James thought he had caught a glimpse of it in the mirror a few days ago, but he had accounted for just a strange reflex of the light. He had even searched for it in the mirror later - when he was alone, when no one would witness his moment of self-doubt -, but he hadn’t found it.

He was sure he had just imagined it.

Until today, when he was leaving the bathroom and checked himself in the mirror distractedly. On the morning of his birthday, as if the powers from beyond had decided to mess with him.

It’s there, a foreigner that has no right to be there and still is shining lazily and brightly against the dark locks around it.

His first white hair.

What should he do? Take it out?

He remembers teasing Remus a lifetime ago - though now he feels a lot more compassionate for Moony, whose hair was sprinkled with grey even before he was twenty - that if he took out a grey hair, another ten would appear in its place. It was Sirius that came up with it, so James is not sure he believes it, but he can’t take any chances.

One white hair is one more than he’d like to have until he was fifty at least. He just turned thirty. That’s way too young to have grey hair.

He takes a comb, something he doesn’t remember ever doing in this bathroom, and tries to arrange his hair for the first time in years (the last time was before his first date with Lily; Sirius almost laughed to death watching his attempt to straighten his hair and James had given up - whatever had possessed Lily to accept to go out with him, she clearly didn’t have a problem with his messy hair).

It helps to hide that white hair in the middle of the black strands, but then he turns his head and the light catches it again, exposing that revealing strand of hair. It seems to glow with the light, a bright silver sign yelling to the world: here, come look at it, James Potter has white hair.

It’s not that he is vain about his own hair - that would be Sirius, no question -, it’s just that its blackness was always part of it. If he was a fugitive, his character sketch would consist of his hazel eyes behind the rectangular glasses and his messy dark hair.

Dark hair. Not grey.

He needs to do something about it. It’s urgent.

He goes back to his room, searching on his bedside table for the ink they always leave there for some emergency letter. The pot is near empty and he files a mental note to replenish it later, but now he has more pressing matters.

He goes to the bathroom again, carefully opening the inkpot and pinching a little between his fingers. Then his other free hand grabs carefully the white hair, raising it; just a little bit of ink and it will all be fine -

'James? What are you doing?'

He lets the white hair fall immediately, his hand already messing his hair nervously and he turns to Lily with the most confident smile he can manage.

'Hi, love', he says, which makes Lily raise her eyebrows at him. It's really unusual for him to call her like that.

'You are taking long', she says slowly. 'Harry and I have your breakfast ready'.

'I'll be in a minute, just go downstairs -'

'Are you okay?'

'Yeah, yeah'.

'Then why is your hand covered with ink?'

James grimaces; his hand was hidden behind him, but the mirror - that treacherous thing that's exposing all his secrets today - showed the reflex, of course.

'Just trying something', he says nervously. 'Checking how I would look with a moustache, see?'

He draws a moustache around above his mouth with his hand, all curly at the end, and grins at Lily, expecting it to satisfy her curiosity - maybe Lily will just look at it as some weird prank.

'How do I look?'

'Classical', Lily answers amusedly. 'Now, not that I don't appreciate your effort, but what were you really doing?'

James sighs, defeated, and he sits on the closed toilet seat.

'I am old', he admits heavily. Lily blinks.

'Yes', she agrees carefully. 'Getting old is what happens on birthdays'.

'Not just because of it, but… look at it', he lowers his head.

'Hum… what should I be looking at?'

'Stop being nice to me, Lily. I know what is there. I can't deny it anymore'.

'James? I am starting to -'

'I have white hair!'

He raises his eyes, expecting to see the disgust on Lily's face, her realization that the dark-haired young man she married is fading away, but Lily is just blinking, confused.

'That one strand? It's no big deal'.

'Of course it's a big - wait, you already knew?'

'Yeah? You do know we sleep together, right? I saw it a few days ago'.

'And you didn't say anything before?'

'What was there to say? It's one white strand, not an illness'.

'It's a tragedy, that's what it is. It means my glorious youthful days are over'.

'I really doubt it, James', she says soothingly, kissing the top of his hair. 'You seemed pretty glorious last night', she winks at him and James feels smug despite himself.

The night before had been rather intense, he couldn't deny it; a very good start to his thirties, if he could say so himself.

And then there is something almost wistful sparkling in Lily's eyes, the remains of an old fear he always saw during the war.

'And I am glad you are old', she whispers, and when he opens his mind to retort, she lets out a soft laugh. 'More experienced, then. I mean… I am happy we are getting older together'.

'That's what we promised in our wedding vows', he remembers.

'To grow old and grumpy together', she repeats, eyes glistening. 'So… It makes me happy to see this one white hair. To know what it means. I hope to see many more'.

'Oh, fancying a grey-haired husband, Mrs. Potter?'

'If he is you, that's all I want', Lily assures him softly, and James grins back, raising his head to allow their lips to meet.

It's a very nice birthday kiss, and then he raises without interrupting it, pressing Lily closer to him, thinking that maybe he can also get a morning quality time for his birthday…

'Dad? Mom?', there is a cry coming from the bedroom.

They break apart with a familiar sigh - Harry always has impeccable timing; Lily winks at him, a promising gleam in her eyes, and James tries not to look too flustered.

'Here, Harry', he says nicely, leaving the bathroom. Harry is at the door of the room, his arms crossed and a grimace on his face.

'You were kissing, right?', he says, sounding properly appealed by the idea.

'A birthday kiss is a very good gift . One day you may find out', James teases, and Harry doesn't look convinced. James fights back a laugh. When he was nine, he wasn't very much interested in kissing anyone either.

'You were taking too long - wait, why is there a moustache on your face?'

'Oh', James flushes, while by his side Lily giggles, taking out her wand and cleaning his face. 'Just trying a new style. How would I look with a moustache?'

Harry shakes his head.

'I know it's your birthday - but don't'.

'And what's your opinion on grey hair?'

'Much better than a moustache', Harry answers, shrugging. 'I keep telling Sirius he should go grey, but then he goes he is a Black…'

'Wait', James blinks. 'Sirius has grey hair?'

'Oh', Harry stops, a guilty expression on his face. 'I shouldn't - never mind.

'Harry… come on, it cannot be that bad'.

'I shouldn't have seen it - I was just looking in his bathroom drawer for a band-aid, and then I saw it'.

'Saw what?'

'His entire hair collection', Harry whispers, amazed. 'He has a product for everything - more than you, Mom'.

'I knew his hair couldn't be that shiny naturally', James says to himself.

'Yeah, and then there was some hair dye too'. Harry flushes. 'That's when he found me. He told me it was for work, you know, for when he needs to disguise himself, but I am not sure'.

'So Sirius has grey hair then?'

'It comes with age', Lily replies, looking amused by the sudden change in James' humour. 'Now your ego is feeling better, can we go down for your breakfast?'

Harry jumps.

'Please, I am hungry! And we need to give you our gift!'

'We are coming', James promises, smiling. 'You can start, we will be there in a sec'.

Harry nods, grinning, and he runs out of the room; breakfast was always his favourite meal of the day.

'My gift is not a hair dye, right?', James asks playfully, as he and Lily leave the room.

She laughs.

'No, and don't go teasing Sirius about it'.

'I wouldn't dream of', James says, though he is feeling pretty happy that he is still far away from needing hair dye.

Maybe in his forties - if he still has hair; he remembers his father's hair had been wispy, and now he comes to think of it, the edges of his hairline have been thinning out...

'Oh, Merlin', he cries. 'Is my hair falling out?'

#Jily Lives AU #Happy Birthday James #James Potter #jily fic #T: fanfiction #Domestic Fluff

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yellowbellbird · 3 years

Text

Under the Moonlight- Part 1 - Her

Once again, it was pouring with rain. You had been at the academy for a week, and every day had been much the same. Of course, you were happy to be here, it felt wonderful to be around other witches, to feel a true kinship to people, but something was wrong. Something inside of you was just wrong, and you didn't know how to fix it. It happened sometimes; you'd wake up and feel the familiar ache. The rain didn't help. You longed for a clear sky and sun. The memory of the sun beating down on your skin like a thousand sharp kisses made your soul ache with longing.

You'd made some friends in the academy, but mostly you kept to yourself. It's not that you didn't like them; you did. It's just something about connecting to people was difficult. The distance you had created was reassuring, and you felt slightly happy that you had protected yourself this way.

Bounding out of bed, you stretch for a moment and look at the clock. 5am. Why can't I sleep like an average person, you thought in frustration. Abandoning the idea of sleep, you throw on a thick cardigan and quietly head downstairs. Maybe there's a recipe for a sleeping draft you could find. You ponder the thought in excitement. The academy is entirely silent, the girls asleep in their rooms. Something about the academy in the moments you see it in silence makes you marvel at its safety.

A rustle in the kitchen makes you pause, someones here. You are filled with anxiety as your mind rushes through potential problems. Someone's broken in. It's a witch-hunter, the men Zoe told you about or something else wrong, but before you can get too worked up, you hear a familiar sigh. A voice you think you would know anywhere. Cordelia's. The headmistress and supreme of the coven. You'd only really caught glimpses of the woman in your week here. Zoe and Queenie had explained that some minor threat had kept Cordelia away from the girls.

The first time you saw her was in a transfiguration lesson. Zoe was showing the class how to change tulips into chocolates when a gorgeous blonde woman had whisked in, capturing your attention instantly. She pulled Zoe aside and spoke to her in a soft voice. You could only hear because you were sat quite close. You weren't really interested in the conversation, more the sound of the angelic woman's voice. It reminded you of beautiful music. The blonde stopped talking to Zoe and suddenly met your eyes. You turned away as quickly as you could and attempted to put all your focus on the tulip in your hand. When you were brave enough to sneak a look again, she was gone.

Every encounter since then had been much the same. Cordelia would whisk in for a moment and be gone in the next. Sometimes you noticed the other witches trying to get her attention and how she would smile lovingly but only engage in the shortest conversations with them. I'd learnt that this was unusual behaviour for her as the other witches complained about her sudden absence frequently. You felt mildly sad that you'd come to the academy at the only time this gorgeous woman seemed to be away from it.

Your mind snapped back as you heard her sigh come from the kitchen again. You debated going in and seeing her alone for the first time, but fear got the better of you, and you snuck past the kitchen and tiptoed into the greenhouse. It was a paradise under the soft moonlight, and instantly, you sighed in relief. The idea of a sleeping draft suddenly flooded back into your head, and you began searching through draws and under plants for anything you could use. Some of the draws were locked, and you realised you were making quite a bit of noise. The lack of sleep was making you clumsy. You sighed loudly in frustration.

You had an idea. You weren't untalented with plants; you knew they had energy, each different and unique. Maybe you didn't need a recipe and could make one on your own. An ambitious task, but you were bored of looking and besides, what else were you going to do.

Closing your eyes, you began to search for your feelings. The darkness behind your eyelids started to show colours. The plants began to hum in a way you could understand ever so slightly. You held your hands in front of your body and walked forward, quickly feeling lavender. Keeping your eyes closed, you picked a few stems of it. You became engrossed in this little ritual, moving amongst the plants, picking a leaf here and there. Only when you felt a considerable warmth behind you did you pause. Something light and powerful was pulling you back around, and keeping your eyes closed and your hands forward, you moved towards it. This was the final ingredient, you were sure. You reached up and felt something soft and hair-like in your fingers. You pulled at it to break it off.

"Ouch."

You jumped back, and your eyes flung open. Standing before you was Cordelia Goode. Dressed in a beautiful pink robe, she was rubbing her head and trying not to laugh.

"Cordelia! I mean Ms Goode. No wait supreme? Um.."

You were so shocked and embarrassed that your face burnt and you had no idea what to do.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't see you."

She looked at you curiously.

"One doesn't tend to see people with ones eyes closed."

You put the leaves you were holding on the desk behind you and used its weight to steady yourself.

"I didn't think anyone would be here. I was..."

Cordelia looks at you and then at the ingredients on the table.

"You were trying to make a sleeping potion?"

Through your embarrassment, you couldn't help but feel slightly proud that your intuition was correct. You let out a small laugh.

"Yeah. I looked for a recipe but I couldn't find one."

You gesture to the leaves and plants you collected. "I was just collecting what I felt drawn too."

You blushed once again at the thought of pulling her hair. She must think you're the craziest person ever.

"Well I'm impressed, you collected nearly everything."

Cordelia moves next to you to examine your ingredients.

"You're y/n right?"

You nod with a small smile.

"I'm Cordelia. I'm sorry I haven't been here to welcome you this week, there were some complications."

Her voice becomes dark, and it makes you shiver.

"Yes Zoe told me. Is everything okay?"

Her eyes soften as she looks at you.

"Yes dear, it's all sorted now. Nothing you need to worry about."

Cordelia sits down, and you watch the elegance in her movements, unable to take your eyes off her.

"Anyway, trouble sleeping?" She says with a small laugh that you echo.

"Yep. For the last 20 years in fact. I never could get that skill down."

Cordelia laughs, and you can't help but smile at the fact that you caused that laughter.

"Would you like some help making the potion? Well it's more of a face mask if we make the one I usually make."

You blush and shake your head.

"No no you really don't have too. I'm sure you're really busy."

Cordelia shakes her head and smiles the most beautiful smile, her lips captivating you.

"Nope. There's no threat to the coven so I'm free as a bird."

You laugh slightly at the expression you hadn't heard in so long.

"Aren't you tired?"

You ask, looking at the little dark circles under her eyes.

"I'm not a great sleeper either."

You search her face to see if she just feels sorry for you, but you see only honesty in her eyes.

"Then yes, I'd love the help. I have no idea what I'm doing."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

The next hour is lovely. You come to life in the presence of the supreme, laughing like you haven't in months. She asks about your interests and what you did before coming to the academy, and you ask her about herself. You talk about your greenhouse at home. She's very open, but you notice very brief when answering a personal question. You understand, though, she doesn't know you, and you're just her student. For a moment, you feel sad, but your face lights up again when she begins talking about how she discovered the sleep mask recipe. The awkwardness you initially felt evaporates, and suddenly you understand why the other witches missed her so much this week. She's like the sun. Completely warm and captivating.

"I think it's done."

Cordelia says, pulling her paste covered hands away. You look down at the brown covered paste she's made.

"Ew."

The consistency of the paste looks disgusting, and you frown at it. Cordelia playfully elbows your arm.

"Hey this stuff is a lifesaver, trust me darling you won't be saying that later."

Your heart stops at the pet name, and you think that if you weren't sat down, your legs would give way. Instead, you focus really hard on the horrible looking paste.

"We'll see. I've tried a lot of sleeping recipes and nothing has worked before."

Cordelia hums in acknowledgement.

"Ah but you've never tried anything made by me."

Once again, her voice makes you melt, and you try not to look into her eyes which only results in looking at her silk pyjamas which make your heart race. You look into her eyes now and see that she's looking at you softly.

"It's only 6 am. I think you could get a few hours of sleep in."

Cordelia takes the paste and puts it in a jar before moving to the sink to clean her hands. She moves back to the seat and opens the jar, taking a small amount and putting it on her thumb. She looks at you with her big chocolate eyes, and you melt under her gaze. You barely notice her lift her hand, but you shiver when her thumb traces a line on your forehead.

You hum slightly as a warmth encases your body and then blush before looking back at the stunning woman.

"It works quickly. Come on let's get you to bed."

You're about to protest and insist you can get there yourself, but your legs give way as soon as you stand up. Cordelia grabs your arms and holds you comfortingly against her body.

"I told you it would work."

You hum into her shoulder, your head struggling to stay up.

"Come on sleepy head."

Cordelia chuckles and puts an arm around your body, and begins leading you upstairs.

"Which ones your room? Y/N?"

You try to get words out, but for some reason, your mouth refuses to move. Everything is soft and dreamlike. You think you hear someone saying your name, but you're not sure. Your eyes flutter open, and you see yellow and pink before they shut again. You hum contently into the warm feeling inside your body and let your brain finally sleep.

Birds. You can hear bird calls. The noise is comforting, and you cuddle into it. You feel like you're in a warm cloud. You sink into the calm feeling and listen to the birds for a while whilst feeling comes back into your body. It starts as a tingle in your toes; you wiggle them contently. Feeling suddenly comes into your arms, and you feel yourself holding something warm. You hug it tighter in a state of bliss you've never felt before. This is the warmest perfect moment, the very moment you've been longing for. More feeling comes back, and you freeze up.

"Someone's awake I see."

Shit. Feeling starts coming back everywhere, and you realise it's not a blanket you're holding, but legs. You freeze completely as memories come flooding back to you: Cordelia, the greenhouse, the sleeping draft.

"Cordelia?"

You say softly and guiltily as if you're saying sorry. You peek open your eyes and see Cordelia's soft skin under your head. Her nightdress had ridden up, meaning you were holding her soft legs and laying in her lap. You felt fear and embarrassment seep into your cheeks until you felt her hand on your head stroking your hair.

"I'm sorry y/n. I didn't realise how strong the sleep mask was and I didn't know where your room was..."

Wait, you thought, she's embarrassed? You were literally clinging to her legs, and still, she thought she was at fault? The craziness of the situation gave you strength as you slowly moved your arms to free her legs.

"I'm the one who should be sorry. I've been holding you like a koala all night."

That earned you a soft chuckle, and you moved to sit up but ended up only lifting your head to look around. Taking in your surroundings, you saw that this was definitely not your room. It was sparsely but carefully decorated, light and open, and the bedsheets were the softest and comfortable you'd ever felt in your life.

"I like your room."

You mumble and rest your head back down. This time you move your head to lay next to Cordelia instead of on her.

"Thank you."

The husky but gentle way she says it makes you open an eye to look up at her. She's sat up watching you with wide eyes, and for a moment, you think you see the longing in them.

"Damn that sleep mud was amazing. I've never sleep that well in my life."

You don't know what possesses you to do it, but you wiggle your head slightly closer to her, so it's resting against her legs. You feel her hand return to your head again.

"I told you."

She says, and you can't be sure, but you think she's smiling. Keeping your eyes closed, you reach out a hand to feel the energy of the sun. By the angle of your hand, you deduce that it's almost nine o'clock.

"I have a class soon don't I."

You mumble in annoyance. You've just had the most perfect sleep of your life, and now you have to have classes. You sigh against Cordelia's leg.

"What did you just do?"

Cordelia whispers.

"Sighed?"

"No, how did you know the time?"

You freeze up as you realise what you have been trying to ignore—your gift. If any of the other girls had paid any real attention to you, they would have seen it, you weren't exactly hiding it, but you knew that nobody knew.

"I felt it. I felt the suns energy."

"Felt it how?"

Cordelia says in engaged wonder.

"It's how I found the ingredients for the sleep draft. The energy that every living thing has I can feel. It's better when I close my eyes, then I can see it."

You move your head to look up at Cordelia again. She's looking down at you.

"Amazing."

You feel your cheeks blush and move to sit up.

"I'm sorry if I caused you any inconvenience last night. I didn't mean to ..."

You trail off thinking of all the things you could apologise for, but she just smiles.

"Don't be."

Her voice is so silky and warm that it takes your breath away.

"I should go get ready for classes. Thanks again for the sleep draft."

She smiles warmly at you as you climb out of her bed and head for the door. You take one quick look back at her, and she looks like an angel. You pry your eyes away before you do anything else embarrassing.

A/n

If anyone’s reading this I really hope you are enjoying it! I have written quite a lot of this book and will post as often as possible. I’ll post it on Wattpad as well.

#sarah paulson #american horror story #cordelia x reader #cordelia goode

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shcherbatskya · 3 years

Text

A case in suburbia, domestic dynamics, and a forever home. What could go wrong?

the moment i’ve been waiting for! chapter one is up now! read here or under the cut.

Cas and Dean were searching for a forever house. They had been pretty much since Cas got back from the empty. They were ready to distance themselves from hunting. Dean had always wanted a sort of suburban, white picket fence life, even if he didn’t admit it to anyone. And since he already admitted how he truly felt to Cas, why not throw his need for a domestic lifestyle into the mix. Cas was all for it. Ever since Jack had given up most of his powers to Amara, thus causing her to take his place as God and him almost human, Cas had been hoping for a place to raise him like a normal child. The bunker was great for hunting and a place for Cas, Dean, and Sam, but not so much for raising a 5-year-old kid.

House hunting had been a burden to bear, but they were making out alright. Up till this, they’d looked at about 3 other houses. They were all a no for different reasons. The first one Cas decided was in a school district that wouldn’t be good for Jack, the second didn’t have a big enough garage or backyard, and the third didn’t have enough bedrooms for all of their family to stay. With the whole credit card scam they’d been running for as long as they remember, budget wasn’t really a problem, but they didn’t want something extravagant.

There it was, 538 Chapel Street in Pine River Crossings. It wasn’t too far out of Lawrence, only a few hours' drive, and all the houses looked nice. Very cookie cutter, but that was sort of the appeal. They couldn’t guarantee that they would fit in with the traditional, upper middle-class people, but what the hell, if they could kill god they could take suburbia.

A few days passed, and they were set up to look at the home. They drove the hour and a half to the next medium-sized town with the belief in their minds that this was the one. It had all they needed, a two-car garage, a respectable school district, and two guest bedrooms. They were so caught up in this concept they made the mistake of not checking the news for the nearby areas. Once they arrived, a realtor who showed them around the dwelling greeted them. It was all they could ask for and more practically too good to be true, especially for people like them. The actual presentation of the house went over without too many problems. The person exhibiting the residence commented on how it had been on display for almost a month now, which was the first red flag. A house as nice as this, in a densely populated area, would usually not be on the market for that long in weeks unless there was some hidden con.

They signed on it not a day after seeing the house in person. It was all set up and they could officially start moving stuff in the next week. They officially shared the good news with everyone the day after they signed. Sam was beyond happy for them. Not only would he finally have a space to himself, he was proud of his brother for living the life he’d always wanted. Jack was thrilled that he would get to go to actual school and have friends that were his age and not cosmic entities. In the meantime, Cas did more research into the neighborhood. There was their hidden con. The newspaper Cas had pulled up on his phone said, “Local Couple Murdered in Own Home.”

“Dean, look at this.”

Okay, that was a setback. A murderer on the loose in the neighborhood they were moving into was not exactly what he had planned, but he had delt with worse. “Alright, that could be a problem.”

“I think it’s a little bigger than a problem,” Cas retorted.

“Is it our type of thing or just something local law enforcement could deal with?”

Cas read on in the article, “the couple was stabbed, there was no sign of forced entry, neighbors reported nothing amiss besides lights flickering before the murder. The weapon, as well as the perpetrator, was never found. No official suspects have been labeled, everyone has seemed to have an alibi.”

“It definitely sounds like our thing. Lights flickering, no breaking and entering, and all.”

They decided they could pose as residents, as it seemed perfectly normal for the newcomers to be concerned about the literal murderer on the loose. Since Cas was newly human, and Jack was, well, 5, Dean thought they might need outside help. Being out of practice to spend more time with your husband and child really had its fallbacks. Sam was off the table as backup. He was out of town and Dean didn't want to interrupt his first weekend without him in god knows how long. Plus, they needed someone who wouldn't draw too much attention to their family dynamic.

“Hey, Cas, what do you think about calling in Claire to help us with this one? You think she’d do it?”

“Calling her in for help is a good idea, whether or not shed actually do it is another question.”

“I’ll call and ask, and if she wants to help, and if not then I can think of something else.”

He kept his promise and called Claire not an hour later. He decided it might be best not to tell her it was undercover work, or that it was taking place in a white picket fence neighborhood, as that might turn her off from it almost immediately.

“Hey Claire, its been too long since we’ve talked,” he started.

“Hi Dean. what do you want, there’s no way you’re just calling to catch up if you’re starting with ‘its been too long.’”

“You got me there. I was just wondering if you wanted to come with me and Cas on a hunt. Its not too far from the bunker and we’d have you back home in a week.”

“Sure, that works. When do we start?” She hadnt seen Dean and Cas since they rescued Cas. That was over a month ago, she’d been meaning to visit, but she’d been so busy with hunting, and getting to know Kaia again now that she was finally back. This seemed like a perfect opportunity to reconnect and not miss out on anything too big back at home.

“If you could come down here by Wednesday, that’d be great.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” She was tempted to sign off with an ‘I love you’ but she was never a lovey-dovey person in that way.

On tuesday she promised Jody she’d be extra careful and would be back in under a week. Kaia told her to make sure to call every day and update her on what was happening. Claire agreed, promising to keep in touch. She spent the rest of the day driving down to Kansas.

Back on Dean and Cas’s end, they were trying to get the house set up for 4 people when they had no furniture prior to this. Cas had always loved furniture shopping even before he had a use for it. When he worked at the Gas-and-Sip, he would browse the home improvement magazines in his spare time. Dean was pretty much the opposite. He had never had reason to care for it, so he didn't. Maybe his hatred for Swedish furniture was rooted in his deep-seated commitment issues. It didn't matter much why he hated it, he just left most of the choices up to Cas. there was then the issue of appliances and such you couldn't find in a furniture store. That was left up to him. Cas sent him out to Walmart to get things for the kitchen. That was something he could do. He picked out a mixer, some silverware, and a pioneer woman kitchenware set. It came with pots and pans, mixing bowls, and a few normal sized plates. That was enough for him to consider it an absolute steal. He brought his finds home to the bunker, setting them on the table designated for things that were to go in the new house. Jack was sitting on Cas’s lap, pointing at things on the computer.

“What’re you guys finding?” Dean asked, hovering behind Cas’s shoulder.

“Djungelskog!” Jack exclaimed, showing Dean a photo of a large stuffed brown bear.

“I thought you were looking for furniture?” Dean directed the question more at Cas, but he was still looking at Jack.

“We are. Jack just got us a bit sidetracked. We found the majority of what we need. Among other things not of as grave importance.”

Dean looked over the shopping cart and then gave the go ahead. Not before adding the stuffed bear to the cart, though.

The next day Claire arrived. Everyone was thrilled to see her. Jack ran up and threw himself around one of her legs and Cas gave her an awkward dad side hug. Dean wondered when he would tell her what the hunt would actually consist of, but he didn't want to interrupt the moment.

A few hours later, Dean fixed everyone a real dinner and had them sit down at the kitchen table. The realization dawned on him that this was going to be his last sit down meal officially living in the bunker. Everyone sort of just sat in silence for a beat. Perhaps reflecting on their own lasts of officially living there. “Claire, I sorta forgot to add this when I called you, but the case is a lot of undercover work. Also its in a suburban area.”

“And why didn't you tell me this sooner?”

“Well to speak freely, I wanted you on this case and I was worried it would make you not want to come.”

“It almost does, but i'm already here now, and i wouldn't want to waste a days driving on something i'm not actually going to do.” She guessed this would probably take longer than a week. “And i'm guessing this isn't just something you decided to do out of the goodness of your hearts?”

“We bought a house in the area, and we just wanted to make sure it was safe,” Cas explained.

“Hang on, you bought a house for real and you didnt even think to tell me? You didn't think that that was valuable information?”

“It didn't come up in our phone call,” Dean said.

“And? That’s no excuse to leave your daughter out of major life events!” The ‘daughter’ part just sort of came out without her noticing, but seconds after she said it she regretted it. God, how embarrassing.

“You’re right. We should’ve told you sooner. It was kind of a recent decision, though, so you haven’t been out of the loop for too long,” Cas said.

The next day was moving day. Dean loaded the appliances into the back of Claire’s car, since the back of the Impala was already full. Claire took her own car, while Dean, Cas, and Jack rode in Baby. Their real furniture was being delivered as they spoke. Cas offered to ride with Claire, but she assured him she’d be fine by herself. The drive wasn’t even that long, especially compared to the distance she drove yesterday.

Dean was silently nervous. He wouldn’t admit it out loud but it was written all over his face. His first real stable house, with the man he loved, and his two kids, he could only hope that he didn’t mess it up. Cas put a hand on his shoulder showing he saw how Dean was feeling.

They turned onto Chapel Street and pulled up into the driveway of the house. It somehow looked bigger and more daunting than it had during the walkthrough. Claire arrived almost ten minutes later. Everyone just sort of paused in front of the house for a minute, reveling in the stability most of them had never had.

#pspspsps you want to reblog my hard work sooo bad #supernatural #spn #castiel #dean winchester #supernatural fic #samael speaks #sammy sires

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miraculouscontent · 3 years

Text

Asks I got about the “Marinette makes mistakes” tweet:

i-would-rather-be-a-fairy said:

I’m starting to think that the writers don’t particularly like Marinette.

Did Marinette spill coffee on the laps of the writers and they’ve been salty ever since? Because that’s all I can imagine.

Anonymous said:

Is there ANY episode where Marinette doesn't make a mistake and has to learn a lesson? There has to be right?

I feel like there must be? Like, “Silencer” at minimum, but I guess maybe they thought that her trying to combat Roth was her mistake and it got Luka akumatized? It wasn’t portrayed as a mistake though exactly?? (If anything, it just looked like her being awesome, and Luka being akumatized ultimately led to Roth being outed on some level, so it all worked out.)

Even episodes like “Stormy Weather” that really don’t need to be about her mistakes shoehorn in a line about “I should never have left Manon” (if she had, she would’ve been in the ice dome instead of Alya, but okay I guess; dialog choices in this show are so weird).

It really puts episodes into perspective knowing that they have to force Marinette screwing up/learning/apologizing in every episode.

Anonymous said:

Just curious about that Shanghai tweet: were you the one who sent it? I know there are other people who notice Marinette's unfair treatment, but I just wanted to know if you've ever reached out to Thomas Astruc personally.

Nah, that wasn’t me, I don’t use Twitter.

Plus, if that had been me calling Astruc out, I wouldn’t have blurred the name. I’d want full credit.

Anonymous said:

I am so irritated by Thomas Astruc's tweet. Do they even realize they're sacrificing Marinette's character and positive Chinese representation to make her chase after a boy and THEN get blamed for it? Yes, you read that right, a bunch of white men in a room decided that a Chinese heroine doesn't deserve to celebrate or learn more about her culture because she's in love with a white boy(who knows more about her own culture than her) and they need to use her as a punching bag. Ugh. At this point?

I am just completely done with the show. Yes, you heard me. DONE! Because the writers have admitted that their entire show is based around their main protagonist suffering, when it SHOULD be about "girl power". I'm not saying Marinette is NEVER allowed to make mistakes, be clumsy, or learn a lesson, but when the writers will literally REFUSE to let her develop and force her to always be in the wrong against ALL LOGIC, that's where I draw the line. As it stands, I can't recommend this show to any one.

I'm pretty much only watching because I don't like to leave shows unfinished(although there are shows I've simply stopped watching, this is the only one I've seriously been following to this extent since it started), and for the few Lukanette moments/other rare moments of Marinette being happy. Because the writers have NO RESPECT for their main character, have ADMITTED as much, and don't see a problem with it, or why everyone is upset. Oh, and they'll block you if you disagree with them.

I really wish I could’ve been in the writing room the day they said, “Hey, let’s make it so our biracial representation is always the one that screws up and has to learn a lesson/apologize for it!

Anonymous said:

I know comparison is not the best way to say why something is good or bad, but I think "Miraculous Ladybug" is as controversial as it is because "My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic" (a show I watched almost religiously for the first 4 Seasons) did the Lesson Of The Week so much better and came first.

I watched that show for a little over four seasons and I can confirm that the lessons were way more spaced out and balanced (though personally I feel like Dashie got the shaft on most of hers).

Keeping its rules like Miraculous would be like if Twilight was the only one allowed to screw up.

Anonymous said:

Disney's baby tv show "Sofia the First" genuinely deals with the "mc makes mistakes" so well. Initially, the main character is more prone to making mistakes (even if she’s generally well-meaning and kind), but she actually consistently applies her lessons and grows with them. At some point clearly the writers saw that this character’s development is complete; there is nothing more they can do with her because, due to applying her lessons, she is emotionally mature enough to handle anything they throw her way. Then they made a genuinely smart choice to commit latter seasons to having the mc become a literal guardian of the realm who travels to help other people solve their issues by applying the lessons she has already learned.

The show has a big cast of characters and distributes the lessons equally amongst all of them, as well as having many episodes, even in earlier seasons, where the main character actually /is/ in the right, and the lesson acknowledges that. TBH the show’s ability to consistently develop characters in an episodic format, as well as not disrespecting any of them and being written w/ heart, is impressive. Freaking Thomas Astruc wishes.

THAT WAS BASICALLY EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED; MARINETTE LEARNING LESSONS AND THEN BEING A “GUARDIAN” TO HER FRIENDS AND HELPING THEM LEARN TOO.

ugh, and instead it’s just--nope, she always screws up because it’s the rule

Anonymous said:

WAIT WHAT WAS MARINETTE'S MISTAKE IN NEW YORK?? WANTING ADRIEN TO GO??

APPARENTLY???

Or arguing with him mid-battle but can you honestly blame her after he betrayed her trust like that??

Anonymous said:

“It’s the rules of the show she makes a mistake and learns” SIR it’s season FOUR

I think we were meant to read it as, “a season 4 making Marinette screw up again even if she didn’t actually screw up.”

elflynns-horde-of-stuff said:

So the rule of 'Marinette must always make a mistake and learn something' inspired a little rant. I hope you're okay with this! Because it's usually a good thing for tv shows to have a rulebook for their stories, but they have to be GOOD rules. And this (awful) rule is easily fixed! Which makes it even more frustrating to me!

First. Replace 'Marinette' with 'A character' that way multiple characters get focus and development throughout the series. (At least the would if status quo wasn't God.)

Second. Why does all if Marinette's mistakes have to be huge? Why can't she use the wrong fabric for a design, research, and correct it? Or pronounce a Chinese word wrong and learn more about the language? Or use the wrong ingredient for Guardian related magic? If she has to be learning something every episode, why not allow her to develop skills and hobbies? Why make her miserable, anxious and guilty all the time? What purpose does it serve?

It is moments like this, where I am reminded how much potential this show has in better hands. Marinette deserves so much better it breaks my heart!

It breaks my heart too and I agree!

I dunno, the rule is so restrictive. It’s not that all restrictions are bad but this one specifically is crippling.

#category: salt #character: Marinette Dupain Cheng #other: ask and answer

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bonjour-rainycity · 3 years

Text

Double Heart | Chapter Sixteen ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 3021

Warnings: None

A/n Every chapter, you all make me smile so much <3 Thank you!

Haldir leaves and I let out something halfway between an exhale and a groan.

What. Was. That.

My room, which is a very respectable size, felt like a matchbox as the space between Haldir and I minimized. He went from weeks of keeping a consistent physical barrier between us to ghosting his hands over my arms, my hips, my waist…It’s…new.

And when he held me close, his chest so nearly brushing against my back—

I shake my head against the onslaught of scenarios that run through my mind.

I should not be thinking of him this way.

Haldir is a friend, a guide, an instructor, nothing more.

I let out a deep breath and begin to pace, trying to work off this newfound energy. Haldir and I trained for nearly two hours, I should be exhausted. Instead, I feel wide awake, invigorated, jittery, like I couldn’t possibly go to sleep. I groan, taking my hair out of its bun and letting it fall around me. I stop in my tracks, glancing at the spot where Haldir and I stood so close together just moments ago.

I cannot stay here.

I tear through the open door, turning right and taking the staircase that leads to the first floor. I turn left and, before I know it, I’m standing in front of Alex’s closed door.

I knock.

The door creaks open. “Hey,” he greets, opening it wider to allow me in. “What’s up?”

“I uh,” I purse my lips, having not really thought through my plan. I do need a distraction though, and being out of my room is already helping clear the fog from my brain. My eyes catch a pile of books on his nightstand. “I came to help you research, if that’s okay.”

His face lights up. “Yeah! Yeah, of course. I’ve read those three so far,” he gestures to a small stack by the window, “and there’s nothing helpful in them. Everything else in English is fair game. Is there anything specific you want to look into?”

“Fæs.” I’m surprised that the answer comes to me so easily, but as soon I speak the word, I know it’s true — I do want to learn more.

Alex nods slowly. “Yeah, okay, I think I’ve got a couple books on that here. Let me….” He trails off, spinning in a circle as he searches for a specific volume. “Ah.” He squats down and grabs a book near the foot of his bed, reaching it up to me.

An image of Haldir, crouched on the ground, hand warm against my ankle, staring up at me with such intensity, so much confidence—

Alex stands and I look to the ceiling, trying to will away the image and the feelings that come rushing along with it.

“What makes you want to learn about fæs? Isn’t that an elf thing?”

I purse my lips, stalling until the embarrassment fades enough to look Alex in the eye. “Haldir mentioned that humans have their own version of a fæ — a little weaker, a little different, but generally the same concept.” An idea begins to take form, and I roll with it. “I was wondering if—assuming that our fæs remained unchanged between our homeworld and Arda—well, if we could use it somehow, tap into it and reclaim our memories. If anything were to remember, wouldn’t it be our spirits?”

Alex nods slowly, a grin tugging at the edges of his lips. “That’s actually not a bad idea. Great thinking! Let me know if you find anything.”

He settles into the couch, leaving the bed for me. Gratefully, I cozy up against the pillows. I open the book, skimming the introductory chapter, which is basically just a summary of the core concepts Haldir has already explained to me. When I’m on chapter three, the sky passes firmly into night, and even the plethora of candles Alex has lit aren’t enough to keep my eyes from straining.

I pull my knees to my chest and lean forward, glancing over at my friend. His cheeks — which had been gaunt when we first reunited, now take a healthy shape. His shoulders no longer hold vestiges of tension — they lean relaxed, leisurely, against the back of the couch. Even in the limited light, he squints his eyes and continues to read, seeming intent on soaking up as much knowledge as he can.

I rest my chin on my knees. “I need to ask you something.”

He looks up, his eyebrows drawing together in concern. “Okay?”

“Are you alright?”

He sighs, shifting in his seat. “Cosima…”

“No,” I protest. I don’t care if it’s uncomfortable, he needs to talk about things. He’s been bottling it up since he arrived in this world and it hasn’t done anyone any good. “I mean it.”

Alex groans, shaking his head. “Fine, okay. It’s…strange.” He pauses, but I wait, holding out hope that he’ll continue. He does so, slowly. “I’ve…gotten myself to accept that I’m in a different world, but I can’t wrap my mind around the how. That’s stressful. We don’t have a solid plan to return home, nor do we know if we’ll find one. That’s depressing. And, I have flashes and snippets of memories, but otherwise, I feel like I don’t know who I am.”

My heart breaks. Here my friend is, hurting, lost…

And I’ve left him completely alone.

Alex tilts his head to the side, contemplating. “But I do feel better than when we arrived, or even just from a few days ago. Having things to do, feeling useful and like I have agency for the first time…it’s really good for me. And, well,” he dips his head then raises it again, leveling his eyes on me. “It’s helped me realize something else — that I owe you an apology.”

I blink in surprise. I’ve been the one that has pretty much abandoned and ignored him. I should be apologizing.

“On the road, I said some pretty mean things, and I isolated you from your friends and tried to take control. I didn’t mean for it to be like that. I was…” he sighs, shaking his head, “scared out of my mind. I already felt like I couldn’t do anything to fix the problem, and then on top of that I felt like you had completely given up and it was my job to save us both. And I know now that’s not the case, but for a while…” He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. “You’re just more adaptable than I am, I guess.”

I push myself off the bed, cross the room, and sit next to him on the small couch. Automatically, he throws an arm over my shoulder, the movement so familiar and easy that he must have done it a thousand times before. I lay my head on his shoulder, the bone there pressing against my ear.

I take a deep breath. “If we had really been kidnapped, or injured, or anything more realistic than what actually happened,” he gives a small, tired laugh, the movement shaking his shoulder, “you would’ve been the one to get us out. I know it. Even now, you’re the one putting in all the hard work to get us home. I’m sorry I’ve pretty much left you to handle it alone.”

He squeezes my upper arm gently. “I appreciate it, but I don’t blame you. I get it.” He shrugs again, a measure of sadness creeping into his voice. “It’s not like you remember anyone enough to miss them. If you have people you like here, of course you’d focus on them.”

I feel my lips pull into a guilty frown. “They like you too, you know. You all just need to spend some more time together—”

“Nah,” he shakes his head, pushing a smile onto his face. “It’s okay, honestly — we just don’t click. But I have you, and Baranor and I get along well, and I have this project to work on. It’s enough for me.”

I sigh, resting my head against his chest. I hope that’s true.

{***}

At breakfast, Lavandil and I make plans to meet at her shop. She gives me directions and I hurry up the stairs to my room, changing out of my tunic and leggings and into something a little more fun for my first day of work. I settle on a dark purple gown, one that billows down my arm in puffy gossamer sleeves and has a slight, sparkly train. I’m probably a bit overdressed, but knowing Lavandil’s extravagant wardrobe, I’ll fit in just fine. I bound down the staircase, eager to discover the market and the shop. I turn left, intent on exiting the building.

And crash into the middle of someone’s chest.

Hands grip my upper arms, steadying me as I stumble back. Once I’m righted, I look up, and my mouth falls open.

“Cosima—”

“Haldir—”

Both of us freeze, having spoken at the same time. I purse my lips, waiting for him to go first. He raises an eyebrow, evidently expecting the same of me.

But I can’t make the words happen. His hands on my arms send my mind right back to the tension of last night, to the room that started light and open and turned more intimate than it should as the night went on.

Haldir’s arms fall to his sides. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you turning the corner. Are you alright?”

I nod, my eyes darting from his chest clothed in a cobalt blue tunic up to his eyes. The intensity from last night is gone, now replaced with a noticeable degree of hesitance.

Interesting.

Did he feel something last night, too? Or does he know I did, and now feels awkward around me?

That last thought sends a wave of stress through me. Was I horribly obvious? Have I messed everything up?

“Are you off to Lavandil’s shop,” he inquires, pulling my mind away from these anxiety-inducing thoughts.

“Yes.”

He quirks a smile. “Then I imagine you will be seeing a lot of my brother today. He has a tendency to hang around there.”

“Probably a result of him being in love with the shop-owner,” I quip, voice going high with nerves.

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I suppose that would do it.”

We fall into awkward silence.

Haldir clears his throat. “Well, enjoy your day.”

“You too,” I nod, crossing paths with him to exit the building.

Once outside, I take in a gulping breath.

Did I create all that weirdness? Or is he struggling to figure out how to act around me, too? And why?

Things have never been strained or awkward between myself and Haldir. Once he got over his initial suspicion of me, we got along easily. I feel like he understands me better than the others and, if I had to pick a favorite, as Rumil prompted me not so long ago, it would be, without question, the supposedly-stern Marchwarden leading our company. And, based on the amount of time he spends with me of his own accord, I would say he enjoys my presence, too.

So, that begs the question, what could have happened to turn all that ease on its head and replace it with stilted, awkward, unsure interactions? We were fine until last night—

I suck in a breath.

My brain, apparently useless until I looked the issue straight in the eye, starts piecing together instances of my time with Haldir, forming a terrifying and exhilarating picture.

Sleeping between me and the entrance to our camp so I wouldn’t be frightened. Spending hours alone with me lying on a blanket staring up at the stars. The way he panicked and looked after me when I had my migraine. Big things like that and smaller ones, too — the way he teases me, the way he always makes sure I’m cared for, whether that means sharing from his canteen or sending me with food when I’m likely to miss dinner. The way he’s conscious of my fears—heights, orcs, you name it—and provides support without coddling me, enabling me to handle and face them on my own. The way his arms, so gentle yet so secure, held me close, even for just the smallest of moments.

Could we…have feelings for each other?

Could this rapid and strong attachment to an ellon I met mere weeks ago be something other than friendship?

With a sinking feeling in my gut, the momentary rush of excitement falls into something much more sinister. Something that, in any other world would be a wonderful, thrilling feeling—the one I am developing feelings for maybe, potentially, might see me the same way—is here, horrifying.

Because elves live forever and love only once.

And a human lifespan is dismally short.

Rumil’s face after our conversation yesterday, crestfallen and saddened, comes to my mind.

If my mere friendship with these ellyn will cause them grief when I’m gone, then even entertaining these thoughts about Haldir….

It’s deplorable.

From the heart of the city, the bell chimes. I’m late to meet Lavandil.

I shove down the ache that makes my lips quiver and hurry down the path that will lead me to the market.

The distraction of working with Lavandil will be my lifeline.

I cannot allow my feelings for Haldir progress any further. So, though I’m not sure how effective I’ll be, I swear not to think about him for the rest of the day.

{***}

“What happened last night between you and Haldir?”

Damn.

I made it two hours.

I swallow, trying to seem busy as I hang a tapestry on a display. “What?”

Lavandil comes up beside me, using her height to hang the art properly. “Rumil told Orophin who told me that Haldir came back from training with you and seemed quite flustered.”

My body runs hot. “Did he?”

“Mhm,” she nods decisively. “Apparently he returned to the room in a rush, wouldn’t say a thing, and then spent over three hours at the training grounds, sparring quite harshly with some of the guard.”

Even though the tapestry is hung, I pretend to fuss with it, not brave enough to meet Lavandil’s eyes. “Nothing happened. Maybe he just wanted a better workout — I can’t imagine I was much of a challenge.” I try for a joke, and mercifully, she gives me a pity laugh.

Her demeanor softens. “Cosima, you know there’s nothing wrong with having an attraction, or even feelings.”

“Of course there’s something wrong with it,” I shriek, much louder than I meant to. I look at her with wide eyes, surprised by my outburst.

Thankfully, no one is in the shop, and Lavandil only regards me with calm eyes, no judgement in them.

“I’m sorry,” I hurry to apologize, sitting myself in a chair at a nearby table. On top of it sits a beautiful garnet tablecloth — Lavandil’s work. She sits across from me.

“It’s alright,” she smiles kindly, resting her elbows on the table to mirror me. “I had a similar disposition when I realized I loved Orophin.”

“I don’t love him,” I correct quickly.

She puts her hands up in the sign for surrender, though her bottom lip pulls like she’s trying not to make a face.

“I don’t,” I insist, putting effort into keeping my tone non-angry. I lower my voice, worried, perhaps irrationally, that Haldir himself will go waltzing by and hear my dreadful confession. “It’s, at most, an interest, and probably not even that. Likely more of a curiosity.”

“Well, interests are nothing to be ashamed of.” Her tone matches my low volume and carries in it a gentleness I could never hope to emulate.

“Yes, they do!” My voice drops to nearly a whisper. “Lavandil, he is an elf. You know I’m human. The two don’t mix well.”

She huffs. “There’s nothing to say that. An elleth here, Arwen—”

“Is walking into a tragedy,” I cut her off.

Lavandil’s eyes narrow. “Too many people see it that way, and it is getting quite old. Do you know what I see? Two souls in love. Though their futures are bleak and incompatible, their presents are filled with joy and love and the connection that can only come from two fæs who want each other so badly finally bonded. They would still face pain if they ignored their love for each other — so why not give themselves what joy they can?”

“But she will die—”

Now it’s Lavandil’s turn to interrupt. “Arwen is fully grown. She is wise, and I trust that she knows herself well enough to make the choices she has. Her life is ultimately her own. She can spend it how she pleases.”

I press my lips together, head falling to stare at the deep red tablecloth. Despite Lavandil’s conviction, her words do nothing to allay my fears.

The only thing that awaits an elf bonded with a human is grief and death.

Arwen may have made her choice, but so have I made mine.

“Rumil said elves can take centuries to fall in love. Is that true?”

Lavandil pauses, caught off guard with my change in topic. “I-in some cases, yes. More that it could potentially take that long for an elf to admit they are in love. Often, even if they are not ready to accept it, their fæs know. And even then, that is the timeline in the most rare of cases. You know, for Orophin and I it only took a matter of—”

I raise my eyes to her, pleading. “Lavandil.”

She sighs, staring at me like she wishes I had asked her something else. “Fine, yes. Elves fall slower than humans.”

I take in a deep breath, nodding.

Good.

Because if I have only just noticed these feelings, chances are, if Haldir were to follow suit, he is way behind. The instance Lavandil described from last night, the other hints that show he might be feeling something…I can end them now.

I have time to stop this.

I have time to save him.

A/n So, funny thing, @errruvande got pretty close to guessing Cosima’s reaction to realizing her feelings for Haldir, so shout out to Liza!!! Seriously though, love her, love her blog, I’d definitely recommend checking her account out! Thank you all for reading!

|next part|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff

#haldir #haldir x ofc #haldir x oc #haldir fanfic #haldir fanfiction

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littleoldrachel · 3 years

Text

"how much did you drink?"

for the utterly wonderful @gumnut-logic who asked for how much did you drink? with virgil and scott from this prompt list. tysm my lovely 💚💚💚💚 this ran away from me a bit and i am Not Sure but i hope you still enjoy!

[if you wanna prompt me, hmu! but beware i am slooooow]

Scott slinks through the sliding doors, relishing the cooling sweat on his skin as the sky begins its raspberry ripple across the tropical island. His dawn runs are the only time he gets to really be - he loves his family with everything he has and more, but that half hour with just the consistent crunch of earth beneath his feet is his own perfect sanctuary.

And goodness knows he needs it after the past couple of days.

A flash of Alan’s terrified face as the grapple line gave way and he’d plunged -

Scott screws up his face, crumpling the image like one of Virgil’s discarded “rubbish” (read: brilliant, if rough around the edges) sketches.

Speaking of which, it’s time for Scott to do the rounds and check in on his sleeping brothers.

There’s Alan, sprawled haphazardly across the floor of his bedroom - the only sign of his near-death encounter in the careful bandaging around his forearm (“I can too still game like this, Scott, I’m not balancing the controller on my wrists??”). Gordon too, is starfished on his duvet, but beginning to stir as fractured sunlight dances across his room.

Virgil, however - most unusually - is not burritoed in blankets, which sets Scott’s choir of alarm bells ringing. He hesitates, then sighs, patching through to Thunderbird Five even as he makes his way to Virgil’s studio (also empty).

“John?” he asks quietly, because John works on an unpredictable sleep schedule that gives Scott more stress than he cares to admit, but he would like John to be sleeping right now.

“John is sleeping, Commander. May I be of service?” EOS’ voice is more than a little grating in comparison to the bird song that floats through Virgil’s open windows. Scott resists the urge to grit his teeth - he is trying, okay?

“EOS. Hi.” He rubs his chin, eyes catching on the top sketch of Virgil’s messy pile: Thunderbird One streaking across a stormy sky mid-lightning strike. “Can you tell me where Virgil is?”

“Virgil is in the hangars, where he has been for the last thirteen and a half hours,” EOS says primly.

Scott’s head snaps up, even though there’s nobody there to stare at. “What? Did he fall asleep down there?”

“No, Commander, he is very much awake.” There’s something in her tone that riles him up, a pre-rehearsed nature to it, but he deliberately sets it aside for Future Scott. He’s given a curt thanks to EOS before he’s even registered that he’s striding down to the hangars, concern driving him with a speed usually reserved for rescues.

He hears Virgil before he sees him, a loud swear and a clatter of tools as he’s rounding the corner into the workshop.

Virgil is kneeling over a workbench, picking glumly through the jumble of parts skidding across the surface. Dark brows knitted tight, skin pale beneath fluorescent white lights, a graveyard of abandoned mechanisms, drained mugs, and scraps of graph paper all around him.

"Virgil."

It comes out a little sharper than intended, slicing through the silent workshop and causing Virgil to start violently.

"Scott! What are you doing here?"

"I came to ask you the same thing?"

"I'm…" Virgil gestures vaguely at the chaotic work surface. "Fixing."

"Have you had any sleep?

Virgil frowns. "I'm fine, it's not that late yet."

Scott stares, concern steadily rising. Virgil is known for losing track of time when absorbed in a task, but only usually with his art, and only for this period of time when he's upset, working something through, or...

Only then does Scott take in the way Virgil's hands tremble around the pieces of metal in his fingers, the jittering beat of his leg like helicopter wings, and slight dampness of the unstyled waves of hair across his forehead. He blinks at Scott, squinting a little in that way that Scott knows means a killer headache is brewing.

Methodically, the Commander of International Rescue surveys the room, searching for the source of the issue. His eyes land on the culprit: a coffee-stained jug, completely drained save the dregs of coffee grounds plastering the sides of the container.

It’s a big jug.

Scott swears.

“Virg. How much did you drink?”

Virgil’s eyes dart all over, not resting for a second on Scott’s face. “I - I don’t know. I just had some whenever I got tired and now I’m-” He wrings his hands, sending metal parts spilling from his palms.

“But why? What the hell were you thinking?” Scott’s tone is chiding, too harsh, and he makes a deliberate effort to reign in the reprimand that’s rearing up inside him.

“I just... “ Virgil swallows, meeting his eyes for a moment, looking away at the disappointment there. “I just needed to understand what happened to the grapple lines. To make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Oh, Virg.

Scott softens, Commander melting back into Protective Big Brother because he gets it. God knows he gets it. He steps towards Virgil, wraps a hand around his elbow, feels it shake beneath his touch.

But why like this, Virgil?

“For thirteen hours?”

Virgil blinks and the genuine surprise in his eyes is enough that Scott accepts that this wasn’t a deliberate act of self-destruction and that loosens the anxious knot in his chest a little.

“I didn’t mean -”

“I know.”

Virgil ducks. “I just needed to find out -”

“I know.”

Virgil bites his lip, and Scott knows the image of their littlest brother’s panicked face is stuck on repeat in his mind. Scott closes his eyes, allows the video to roll in his own head, and the pain that rips through his chest has him tugging Virgil into his arms for a hug. Big as he is, Virgil is never one to say no to a hug, and he folds himself into Scott’s chest with a sigh. Scott can still feel the tension thrumming through Virgil’s body, and he instinctively tightens his grip.

Trust Virgil to hurt himself with his bean-juice addiction. Frankly, they’re lucky this hasn’t happened before with the amount of the stuff he pours into his body.

“I know I’m not having a heart attack, but -”

“You know I love it when you begin a sentence like that -”

Virgil tries to laugh but it comes out a little shaky. "Shut it, you." He rests his head on Scott's shoulder. "My heart is going so fast it hurts. Feels like a goddamn panic attack."

“What the hell have you done to yourself?”

“Mild caffeine overdose,” Virgil’s voice comes out muffled. “Sorry.”

“Mild. Caffeine. Overdose.”

Virgil laughs again, a little surer this time and pulls back from the hug. “I’ll be okay. Just gonna feel horrible for a bit, I think.”

“You think. Let’s see if Grandma agrees.”

“No! Let her have her time away - this is - it’s stupid. I’m fine.”

Scott gives him a Look, but Virgil glowers right back.

Scott loves him, but Jesus, does he wish he could trust Virgil to be honest with him about his health.

“Don’t make me set you up in the infirmary. You know I’m not bluffing.”

The glare intensifies. “I’m fine, Scott.”

Scott resists the urge to roll his eyes with a truly Herculean effort. “I want to do a scan, just to be sure.” “Scott -”

He plays the trump card (regrets playing it at the look on Virgil’s face, but needs must). “I could have lost Allie too, Virg. Don’t make this harder than it is.”

Virgil sags. He taps his watch. “EOS?”

“Yes, Virgil?”

“Please can you pull up my vitals for my dear big brother to fret over?”

“Of course, Virgil. Though I don’t understand why you want Scott to fret, he seems grumpy en-”

“Thank you, EOS.”

A holograph flickers into view, and Scott scans them, relaxing slightly at the lack of danger. Virgil’s heart rate is too high, as expected, and he’s dehydrated and exhausted, but otherwise, he really does seem okay. Still, Scott knows how dangerous dehydration and exhaustion can be, and more to the point, so does Virgil.

“You’re a stubborn idiot, you know that, right?”

“I learned from the best.” Virgil’s smile is teasing, but he’s okay, and Scott releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, Scooter, whatever you say.” Scott glares. “Right. You’re grounded for at least a day -” To his credit, Virgil only looks a little crestfallen. “- And you’re going to rest.”

Scott can practically see the cogs turning in his brother’s mind as he seeks a loophole or way to escape, but for now, he’s going to ignore it. Another problem for Future Scott, poor guy …

“Let’s go. Up to the lounge, now.”

“I should clear up -”

“Nuh-uh. Lounge. Now.”

Virgil lets out a loud sigh, and with much griping about leaving the workshop messy for Brains, leads the way up to the lounge. Scott follows closely, eyeing how Virgil’s feet drag with exhaustion even as his fingers tap away with restless energy.

Scott deposits him on one of the couches, tosses a throw over him, and resists the urge to tuck him in, but only because -

“I’m not sick, Scott. I’m okay! This isn’t necessary,” Virgil calls after him. Scott returns seconds later, a glass full of water.

“Drink all of this. And then have these.” Scott drops two electrolyte tabs beside Virgil. “Now excuse me, but I’m going to consult a qualified medical opinion before I believe you.”

“I am a qualified medical opinion -”

“- Who hasn’t overdosed on caffeine this morning.”

Virgil scowls. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

*****

Scott returns with Gordon, whose concerned professionalism quickly morphs into a shit-eating grin when it becomes apparent that actually, Virgil - for all his brilliance and talent - is an idiot.

But he’s surprisingly gentle when he fetches Virgil another glass of water and suitably soothing as they take a calm stroll around the flatter paths of the island to help Virgil burn some restless energy. The waft of pancakes draws them back into the lounge where Scott has stacked up thick, fluffy pancakes that melt on their tongues and warm them inside out.

By now, Virgil is visibly less shaky, and Gordon’s concern has dissipated to the extent that he blatantly steals three pancakes off Virgil’s plate. To be fair, Virgil probably doesn’t need six pancakes, but still. It’s the principle of the matter.

Scott - bless his heart - has also queued up the latest series of the ocean documentary that Gordon and Virgil gush over, but that Scott himself finds mind-numbing. The three of them squash together on one sofa, chomping pancakes and squabbling over blankets as the sun rises on another beautiful day.

Alan strolls in, nose first and still half-asleep. “Pancakes?” he says hopefully.

He catches sight of Virgil and seems to shake himself awake immediately. “Virgil? What the hell are you doing up?”

“Language,” Scott says thickly, the effect lessened by the mouthful of pancake and chocolate spread inside it.

“What the heck,” Alan waves a dismissive hand. “It’s barely ten, Virg?”

“Tell him what you’ve gone and done,” Scott says, because damn straight is he going to hold onto this one the next time Virgil’s yelling at him for taking a stupid risk. Well, at least I can drink coffee without poisoning myself, Virgil can just hear it now. .

“I drank too much coffee,” Virgil tells the ceiling.

“Sorry, V,” Gordon says, his smile wicked. “Allie didn’t quite catch that.”

Virgil sighs. “I overdosed on caffeine,” he says loudly.

“That’s a thing?!” Alan splutters. And then he bursts out laughing and Virgil wants to glare because he’s exhausted and his head is throbbing and there’s an anxious wriggle in his chest that keeps poking at his limbs.

But he also thought for one terrible moment yesterday that he wouldn’t get to hear that laugh again. The relief is infectious.

It never takes much to set Gordon off, but cracking Scott is a true victory, because for a second, the lines around his eyes crinkle with something other than stress.

Alan sets himself up with pancakes (far too smug that he’s allowed the chocolate spread on his where Virgil was only allowed syrup), and plonks himself down on Virgil’s right, bandaged arm and all. Whilst Gordon and Alan quarrel over species of tropical fish, Scott looks over at Virgil, raising his eyebrows. Are you okay? it says.

Virgil smiles and nods.

Inevitably, Scott and Gordon are called away on a rescue, just as Alan has grown tired of the nature documentary and is demanding something more exciting. Virgil consents to the first movie Alan picks out, because he’s too busy watching Gordon fly his beloved ‘Bird away with an expert hand.

God, he’s so tired. His limbs are heavy and aching from the tension of holding them in place all night and his head pounds in beat with his too-fast heart..

He’s utterly exhausted. If only his mind could get the memo. Instead it careens between thought processes: the grapple lines, his failed calculations, the disaster zone he’s left the workshop in -

It doesn’t matter though.

Because Alan’s alive and that’s all that matters.

Alan, whose gentle hand snakes through Virgil’s hair in a tender, soothing way that plucks at the knot of anxiety in Virgil’s chest, whose ministrations are a blessed, momentary pain relief for his sore head.

*****

It’s dark when he wakes, though he doesn’t remember his overwrought brain finally giving into sleep. His limbs no longer feel like they’re spasming out of control and his head aches with a more manageable pain, but he’s still drained. On the floor next to him, Alan is snoring at the centre of a nest of blankets - at least two of which Virgil is sure were wrapped around himself before...

He raises his head to look for his water glass, and nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight of his oldest brother standing in the shadows, watching. He’s still in his uniform, which suggests Thunderbird One just docked - presumably her engines through the open patio doors are what woke him.

“What the fuck, Scott?” he hisses.

“Sorry,” Scott says, though he doesn’t sound particularly apologetic. He moves into the light, and repositions Alan so that he can rescue one of the blankets for Virgil once more. “Go back to sleep.”

“Did the rescue go okay?” Virgil asks instead, relieved at Scott’s easy nod - and relatively clean, dry appearance.

“Gordon’s heading back now, all good. And no issues with grapples today, thank God.” Scott’s voice is low but Virgil still flinches from it.

“I’m going to find out what happened, Scott, I swear -”

“I know you will.” Scott’s voice is so firm, so strong that it momentarily steals Virgil’s breath how much faith Scott has in him. "I know you’ll figure it out, Virg. But you don’t have to do it on your own. You and Brains will work on it and find a solution, John’s going to identify the person responsible, and EOS will make sure they can never do it again. But it’ll be when you haven't overdosed on caffeine. Do you understand?”

It’s the kindest of reprimands. The same kind of pleading why won’t you just take care of yourself tone that Virgil finds himself using more and more on Scott these days, but with so much understanding and love, Virgil finds himself blinking back tears.

He can only nod and Scott steps back. “I’m going to go shower. Get some rest, Virgil.”

Scott turns to leave and Virgil forces himself to muster up his barely replenished energy reserves. He snags Scott’s sleeve, “Scott - thank you.”

Scott smiles a smile that’s just them, soft and trusting and concerned. “God knows you’ve looked after me through far worse hangovers than this. But don’t you dare do this again, Virg. I mean it. Don’t make me confiscate all the coffee on the island, because you know I’ll do it if I have to.”

“I know you will.”

Scott runs a hand through Virgil’s messy waves fondly, letting his hand rest at the nape of his neck where the headache pain is regrouping. “Sleep, Virg.”

And he does.

#thunderbirds are go #littleoldrachel writes #virgil tracy #scott tracy #earth and sky

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