#feel so rusty with pencil sketch but its okay I have not sketch for like idk 238292 years | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sprnklersplashes · 3 years

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fic based on the theory that sarah fier was the one to bring ziggy back, not nick/the devil (I thought this was gonna be much shorter than it is oops)

“Just let my sister live.”

The voice comes to her, faded, far away, but she hears it. Hears it because someone called out to her, which no-one has done in centuries, except to make fun of her. To mock her, smear her as the with they call think she is. But not this one. This one doesn’t mock her. She begs her.

“Just let my sister live!”

The picture comes into focus in front of Sarah’s eyes, as if it’s the first thing she sees waking up. Two girls, one small with flame coloured hair, one taller and covered in dirt, clutching Sarah’s own hand. Her throat is raw from screaming, her legs weak from running. Sarah can feel it in her spirit, the girl’s hand on the bone sharing her feelings with her. Weak, exhausted, and so, so scared. Not for her, but for the girl beside her, who turns helplessly in all directions.

It’s then Sarah realises the girls aren’t alone. Coming at them from all sides are... them. The people the Goodes have cursed. Cold skin, lifeless eyes, blackened hearts. Her own heart breaks when she sees them, her stomach twisting at the injustice.

William. Harry. Ruby. And now Thomas, the latest soul to be stolen by the Goodes.

She tried. It’s been so long since someone found her hand. She tried to show them what Solomon had done those years ago, her promise bound to her bones, but it was for nothing. Her hand is small, her body incomplete, and so whatever powers she’s managed to gain here are feeble, and no match for the Goodes and their deals. They’re ahead of her, again, and she can’t do anything to stop them. Can’t stop as the older girl, Cindy, her sister calls her, runs towards what was Thomas Slater, can’t save the red-haired girl from the knife that pierces her gut. She watches, forces herself to watch, as their respective killers hit them again and again. Knife in the side, axe in the chest. The picture grows stronger as the girls’ breaths grow weaker, the veil between this life and theirs growing thinner. Sarah feels grass beneath her bare feet, the sound of the young girl’s scream attacking her ears. Of course. Life. Death. They’re such strange concepts, and soon the girls will be making the same journey she did. At the hands of the Goodes.

And she will welcome them, and is prepared they will hate her.

The young girl moans, and Sarah can feel her life ebbing away. She may be the first to go. So young, both so young. Her sister’s body shakes of its own accord as the axe hits her again, scarlet blood spurting from her mouth, staining her pretty face.

No, she screams, but her words are a mere breeze. She runs at Thomas, runs at Harry, to try to hold them back, but she is nothing. If they feel anything, they feel a slight chill, and it does nothing to them. She falls to the ground, her limbs aching from this one attempt, and failure creeps up on her again. She can’t save them. She can’t save anyone.

“Nothing will pull us apart,” Cindy promises her sister just before the axe hits her chest again.

“Never...” The young girl gasps. “Again.” The knife hits her side once more, then a final time. Her chest stammers, flutters, and Sarah watches the life flee her body.

It’s over. They’re over.

The killers disappear, vanishing back to the underground cave, their souls trapped until they’re needed again. And the girls lie on the grass, their hands reaching out to each other, never to touch in this life.

Sarah sits and waits to greet them.

Until someone else comes running in. He runs right through her, and she feels the darkness in his blood immediately. A Goode. One who has already taken on his family’s legacy. She retches at the sight of him, although nothing comes out. This is the boy, the man, who sold Thomas Slater. Whose hands are stained with the blood of all those innocents. And who now, leans over the corpse of his victim, and begs her not to die.

The irony is enough to make Sarah smile.

“Ziggy? Ziggy don’t die on me, okay?” he begs, clutching her cold face in his hands. Sarah’s jaw clenches. She knows love when she hears it. The Goodes are monsters, but they are human, and humans love. But this love isn’t pure, not like her and Hannah. There’s a sting to it, in his desire

“What’s going on?”

Sarah turns, her blood cold at the sound of the voice. The smaller girl, Ziggy, stands before her, blinking blearily as if half asleep. It’s common for those who just crossed over, especially if it was before their time. Sarah’s experienced far more of that then she’d have liked to. It will take minutes, hours for young Ziggy to fully cross over.

Let my sister live! Cindy’s voice echoes in Sarah’s mind, her plea to her. She turns back around, sees Nick still desperately trying to save her, sending out a plea of his own, not to God. Somewhere, wherever he is, the Devil is no doubt pondering his wish, whether he will let Ziggy go or keep her blood for himself.

“No.” Her voice is small, rusty from disuse, but it’s strong, and she shouts again “No!”. She tilts her head to the sky and screams at it, screams at the Goodes and the Devil, “You will not have her! You will not have her!”

The sky opens up, rain falling right through her. If it is the Devil’s reply, she laughs at it, and she grabs young Ziggy by the arm. Her eyes still flutter, her gaze unfocussed, her form not fully here, as if sketched in in pencil. There is still time, if she acts fast.

“Wh-what?”

“They will not have you,” she tells Ziggy, even if she can’t hear her. “Your sister begged for you to live, and live you shall.”

She pulls her towards her body, where Nick Goode still tries to breathe life into her. It’s just steps away, but it feels like miles, her legs shaking with each move she makes. The Devi holds her back, unwilling to let go of his prize. Another dead Shadysider to add to his collection. Another innocent soul, demed unworthy by those in power. He wraps his arms around her, pulls them both away from her body, refusing to let his prize go.

“Not... today,” she pants. Her hand tightens around Ziggy, who blinks in confusion. She’s still not here, she still has time. Cindy’s begging rings in her ears, rings all around them.

Just let my sister live!

“Not. Today.” She pulls herself and Ziggy the last few steps, drags her until she is beside her body. Her own will pulls the two of them forward, the centuries of hurt burning like a furnace, but it’s something else, one key ingredient that pushes her over the edge. A sister’s love, so pure and steadfast, that it holds the veil back just those seconds more. She can’t see the Devil, but she knows he is here, and she snarls at him. “Not. Her!”

She turns to Ziggy, watches the girl’s eyes open and close slowly, her lips trying clumsily to speak. She won’t remember this at all, and Sarah is glad of it. God only knows what will become of her for now, but she’s fulfilled her promise to her sister.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and she pushes her back across.

Just before she disappears again, she sees her eyes open, her pained gasps for air. She can’t be sure if she did the right thing, saving her. Some say surviving a tragedy is worse than dying in it. She wouldn’t know. All she knows is the Devil has one less person’s blood to feed on now, but the curse remains still.

A half-victory.

“Where am I?” Sarah turns, slowly, and isn’t surprised to see Cindy behind her. She wears the same clothes she died in, but now free from blood and, whatever it was she was covered in. Sarah suspects she doesn’t want to know. She looks up at her, eyes wide and terrified, like an animal cornered by a hunter. “Who are you?”

“My name is Sarah,” she begins, but the words stick in her throat. She’s had enough of explaining herself, and only being believed half the time. Had enough of people sapping her, screaming at her, cursing her, for something she never did. “Sarah Miller.”

“Oh. Um, hi.” The young girl looks at herself, looks at the limbo surrounding them. Realisation dawns on her face, memory after memory coming back to her, and she drops to the floor, her hands pressed to her mouth to hold back her scream.

“Am I... dead?” she asks, finally. Sarah only nods and kneels beside her. She listens to Cindy’s muffled sobs, the slowly building shrieks of agony, and she lets her do what she needs before showing her where to go. It’s easy to see where this girl will end up, and at least she’ll have some peace.

“My... my sister?” she asks. “Where-where’s my sister?”

“She’s alive,” Sarah tells her. Cindy goes weak with relief, falling into Sarah’s arms and sobbing, muttering “Ziggy’s alive” under her breath.

Sarah wishes she can do more. Wishes she could say Ziggy will be okay, that Shayside will be okay, that this whole horrible saga is finally over. But she can’t. Because the Goodes were too powerful, again, and even as her hand tightens on them, theirs does on Shadyside. All Sarah can do is hold Cindy until they go to where they need to go, and hopes that the next time someone finds her, she can do more.

Hopes that one day, she can show them what was done.

#fear street #fear street fanfic #sarah fier #cindy berman #ziggy berman #fear street 1978 #THIS WAS MEANT TO BE A SHORT LIL THING BEFORE BED AND 40 MINUTES LATER HERE I AM #OOPSIE DAISY

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aphrodites-law · 4 years

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A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (10/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. (ao3)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9]

The play wasn't horrible by any stretch of the imagination. It was the most fun Clarke had had in a long time. She laughed so hard at parts that tears sprung to her eyes and her cheeks started to hurt by the end of it. The 1920s décor and costumes were stunning, the performances captivating, and the story the perfect balance between humor and social commentary. Even Lexa, who already knew the jokes and twists, still laughed loudly.

Clarke took as much joy from the sound as she did the play. When the curtain fell for the last time and the lights fully came on, she looked over at Lexa and found herself captivated. Lexa was still clapping for her cousin’s success, her face beaming with pride, and Clarke couldn’t really explain why it made her adore this woman so much more.

"Are you hungry?" Lexa asked her.

Clarke nodded mutely, unsure what to do with the intensity of her feelings. She let Lexa take her hand and lead her out of the theater, where the crowd spilled out of the great glass doors.

Cocoa Street was the longest street in Costial, cutting through the city in a curving fashion. Clarke's favorite part was the food trucks; rows of them on both sides with their own specialties and flair. You could very well order duck à l'orange with mashed pumpkin at one truck and a burger with fries at the next one. The Italian ice cream truck was between the rival crab cake trucks and the Noodle Brothers were right next to the Pizza Sisters. There were lines wherever you went, sometimes even street performers to soften the blow of the waiting time. It was absurd and it was wonderful.

They ate Chicago-style hot dogs and curly fries, slowly walking down the street as they laughed about the play. Lincoln had relied on alternate history to weave the visions into his tale, using them for comedic effect in the more dramatic beats. A secondary character had one in the middle of a monologue, suddenly passing out while a crowd rushed over to him. The visions were reenacted with tricks of light and masked characters, reminiscent of interpretive dances.

"Okay, I have to ask," Clarke brought up while they meandered down the street. "The castle on the hill - that's the Polis Hotel, right?"

Lexa nodded. "Lincoln has a complicated relationship with his heritage, to say the least. He's keenly aware growing up in a luxury hotel was a great privilege, but it also messed with his head. He basically shared a home with thousands of strangers for eighteen years."

"I'd always admired Polis from afar, but I can't imagine growing up there. Don't get me wrong, that was one hell of a party, but-"

"It's not a place for a kid," Lexa finished, in agreement.

Clarke ate the last bite of her chocolate waffle and threw the paper in the trash. “You must be pretty familiar with it.”

Lexa glanced at her and smiled. "The cat and I go back."

"Right. That night was a bit intense, even for you."

Lexa let out a laugh, looking away with a hum. "You know, you make me sound quite strange."

Clarke bumped her shoulder. "You pinned me against the staircase - you are strange."

"I didn't… pin you," Lexa replied with a huff. "I was drunk, high off an excellent game of poker… and I saw you. And I needed to be close to you."

Clarke stopped them in the street, grateful they'd left the busy part. "And the Gazette?"

“What about it?”

"You offered me a side job. Just like that."

"Oh," Lexa remembered. "I genuinely thought you'd be good at it. Still do. Your style would be perfect."

That was surprising, but Clarke wasn't convinced. "It wasn't because of your vision?"

"It was a way to talk to you, yes, but I meant it. I know the visions were… well, the reason for this, that they nudged us together, but I'd noticed you drawing before."

They walked a bit further before Clarke took a small breath. "I, uh, may have looked at the pages in older prints."

Lexa glanced at her. "And?"

"It could be fun. I'm just not sure-" Clarke scrunched her nose. "I'm just so rusty. Art is what I got into college for, but then I took up business classes and… I don't know, it just felt so much easier. Don't get me wrong, managing the café kicks my ass every day, but I like the challenges. With drawings, paintings, whatever… it feels like putting your heart on the line each time. And nine times out of ten, your heart ends up getting trampled."

Lexa took her hand to stop her. "I would never suggest you do something that makes you uncomfortable. If it's truly just a hobby to you, a way to pass the time, you should keep it that way."

It wasn't like Clarke hadn't considered it. Drawing, sketching; it came as naturally as breathing. She'd done it since she could hold a pencil and she still did it whenever the world became too loud. It was an escape; a different way of thinking. Her own little world. Illustrating short stories could be a welcome breath of fresh air. A way for her brain to snap away from bills, calls, deliveries, and the hundreds of post-its in her tiny office.

"And for the record," Lexa added as she stepped closer, her voice impossibly soft, "I would very much stand in the way of whoever or whatever would try to trample you."

Clarke grinned, very much aware that, not so long ago, these were not words she could have ever imagined Lexa Woods telling her.

* * *

As she had the last time, Lexa insisted that she walk Clarke back to her apartment. After a night full of laughs, great food, and Lexa's hand in hers, Clarke still didn't have her fill and so didn't tease Lexa too much for also wanting to enjoy every last second. When they made it to her door, Clarke turned around and leaned against it. Tonight couldn't end here.

"By the way, you were wrong earlier. My vision isn't the reason for this." Clarke waited a beat before playing her last hand: "It's not the vision I thought about that night after the rooftop."

Lexa's mouth parted open and she glanced at Clarke's lips.

"I was going to," Clarke continued, "but it didn't hold a candle to how you made me feel when you grabbed my hand."

Lexa swallowed when Clarke reached for her jacket to tug her closer. "How did I make you feel?"

Clarke pulled her in until their foreheads touched. "Warm. Dizzy."

"Dizzy on a rooftop? That's a safety hazard."

"Are you trying to turn me on or are you trying to make me laugh?"

"They're not mutually exclusive."

They broke into laughter anyway. Lexa leaned in to kiss her, only to stop just as their lips brushed.

"You never told me about your vision," Lexa pointed out. "Not… not exactly."

Clarke smiled, smug. "Oh you want details, hm?"

"I'm a journalist. A thorough account would be nice, yes."

Clarke narrowed her eyes at her before crushing their lips together, unbelievably pleased when Lexa moaned and wrapped her arms around her waist.

"Shut up, journo," Clarke husked between kisses.

Lexa kissed her with little restraint then, moving until Clarke was pressed against the door. Each one of Lexa's kisses felt like something special; like finally she'd shed her old fears. Clarke didn't even want to think of not being close to Lexa right now. The night couldn't end - not like this. She pulled back and gazed at Lexa, trying to catch her breath.

This close, Clarke could commit to memory every detail of her face. She'd always thought she got a good look at Lexa at the café, even with the counter between them, but it was nothing compared to this. Lexa's lips were full and at their most tempting when slightly parted, betraying her own desire. Her eyes were hooded now, longing, and Clarke had little doubt hers reflected the same want. She threw caution to the wind:

"Come inside?"

Lexa hesitated, visibly torn.

"We don't have to do anything. I have a nice wine we can try. Some of Gus's tartlets left over. We can even sit with the box between us. I just… I don't want tonight to be over yet."

* * *

It was not what she'd had in mind. She swore it. Nevertheless, when Clarke found herself straddling Lexa on her living room couch with the box of tartlets discarded on the floor (the tartlets well finished by then), she couldn't remember why the hell not.

Maybe the air had already been too charged by the time she wiped her thumb over Lexa's lip to catch a crumb there, and maybe Clarke had liked playing with fire, but now she was well on her way to being burned. Lexa's hands palmed her ass while they kissed, but it was the boldest she allowed herself to be and Clarke was quickly reaching her breaking point.

"Touch me," she pleaded between kisses.

Lexa let out a choked moan when Clarke reached for her hand and guided it to her breasts. She paused, looking up. The green in her eyes had darkened, especially in the dim light, and she breathed deeply.

"Clarke…"

"I know, I know, just - something. Anything." Clarke leaned her forehead against Lexa's. "I feel like a fucking teenager."

Lexa let out a small laugh before kissing her sweetly, slowly. It had the soothing effect she had intended, and before Clarke realized it, Lexa had lied her down on her back. She hovered over her, then looked down at her cleavage and pressed her lips against the exposed skin.

"Is that better?" She asked.

"Close…"

Lexa let out a hum against her skin, pressing another kiss lower. Clarke brushed her fingers in Lexa's thick hair, digging just slightly in her scalp, surprised when Lexa let out a small moan and then froze with wide eyes, like Clarke had just found her secret.

"Oh," Clarke breathed out, her smile widening. She repeated the gesture, pressing her fingers just a bit harder.

Lexa immediately grabbed her hands and pinned them down on each side of Clarke's head.

"Don't do that," she warned her, breathless.

Clarke smirked. "I think I will."

"It was just a reflex," Lexa blushed. "It's been a while."

Clarke couldn't help but laugh, happiness bubbling in her chest at how comfortable she felt with Lexa's body slotted between her legs. "Well, I'm very happy to find out whatever draws out those sounds from you."

Lexa seemed to realize just how close they were, locked together with their fingers entwined. And just like the rooftop when she'd suddenly grabbed her hand, her expression changed. Confident. Eager.

She sat back, eyes trailing down Clarke's body before she let go of her hands to touch her thighs.

"You like control, don't you, Clarke?" She asked. She ran her hands up her thighs, caressing them slowly. "But not now."

Clarke nearly lost her breath, not expecting the way Lexa had shifted so quickly from embarrassed to self-assured. She watched as Lexa drank her in, from her bunched up dress to the fast rise and fall of her chest.

"Touch yourself," Lexa told her, and then leaned down to brush her lips against hers. "The way you did after the rooftop."

"Lexa-"

"I want to watch you."

Clarke nodded, her hand trailing down her own body to the bottom of her dress. Lexa watched as she reached beneath the fabric, eager to follow her command. She slid her hand beneath her tights, beneath her underwear, moaning at the relief when she finally touched herself. She knew Lexa could feel her heat; knew they were both reaching a point of no return. It had started when Lexa had kissed her at the start of their date, but Lexa's hands on her ass while they'd kissed had awakened her completely.

Lexa briefly glanced between their bodies, groaning when she saw Clarke's hand moving.

"Is this how you did it?" She asked. "Two fingers?"

Clarke let out an obscene moan, too far gone to care. "Three," she whimpered.

Lexa's jaw clenched, but her control was remarkable. "Did you imagine it on the rooftop? Me inside you against that wall?"

Clarke's eyes squeezed shut as she bit down on her lip. "Yes. Fuck."

She swiped her fingers over her clit, but the angle and her tights restricted most of her movements. She was fairly certain Lexa knew it. Lexa leaned down again, kissing her neck.

"How did I fuck you?" She asked by her ear, one hand reaching up to lightly brush against her breast.

Clarke panted, fighting the unbearable need to penetrate herself. She needed release, and fast, but a part of her was too stubborn to give in just yet.

"You pressed me against the wall," she revealed, burying her face in Lexa's neck. With her free hand, she dug her nails in Lexa's ass, feeling a thrill when Lexa bucked against her. "And then- I… I needed more. I needed you deeper."

"So I turned you around," Lexa guessed, squeezing her nipple over the fabric of her dress.

"I- oh, fuck, I couldn't stop thinking about you inside me; how well you'd fill me," Clarke said, her middle finger trembling from the angle, desperate to inch inside herself.

"Jesus, Clarke," Lexa breathed out in the space between her neck and shoulder. Her lips felt like heaven against her skin. Clarke couldn't get enough.

"Clarke," Lexa repeated, raising her head. "Look at me." It was softer then, more of a plea.

Clarke opened her eyes and felt her movements slow down. It was like experiencing déjà-vu, except of course that was impossible. They'd never done this. But she suddenly realized it had all started here. She'd had her vision on this very couch and here she was - not fulfilling it, exactly, but close. Yet what she'd seen and even felt had never been like this. It had been purely physical - an erotic thrill in her otherwise predictable life. But she hadn't felt her heart beating out of her chest. She'd had a sense it was more intimate than what she was used to, but hadn't been able to quite grasp what that meant. She knew now. Their intensity wasn't so much physical as it was emotional.

She felt safe with Lexa. They still had so much to learn about each other, but she felt safe. And Clarke had never realized the importance of it. Lexa had trusted her with her pain and her heart - that wasn't something Clarke took lightly. It was a feeling not even her vision could have conveyed.

"Fuck, wait, wait, stop," she abruptly panted, pulling her hand out of her underwear.

Lexa backed away immediately, but Clarke sat up to stop her from moving off the couch.

"Lexa, I… I want to be with you," she said, as if remembering her vision had suddenly clarified everything. "When you're ready, I want to be with you completely."

"I want that too." Lexa still seemed confused, or maybe surprised Clarke had done the equivalent of dunking ice cold water atop her own head.

“Right. And - this is fun. I-” Clarke’s eyes briefly closed as she bit her lip. “Fuck I really want to get off-”

Lexa smiled.

“-but not like this.” Clarke reached out to cup her cheeks. “Not without you.” She kissed Lexa briefly, barely a brush of lips, and watched as her eyes followed her every move so tenderly. “Not if I don’t get to touch you too.”

"Clarke…"

Clarke shook her head, kissing her way down Lexa's jaw and neck. "Not if I can't see all of you. Can't hear you moan my name." She licked over Lexa's pulse, enjoying the way her hips bucked against her. "Not if I can't taste you while you come undone."

Lexa pulled back and brushed away some of Clarke's wild strands of hair. "Such words… You should be a journalist."

"I hear they have egos."

"Oh yes, terrible."

"I'm glad I found one that's not so bad then."

They smiled at each other, then took a breath.

"Sorry," Clarke sighed. "I feel like I'm the one giving you whiplash now."

"No, it's only fair. If anything I admire your restraint."

Clarke leaned back against the arm of the couch. "Maybe you'll just have to work harder next time."

Lexa smirked. "I can do that." She glanced at her breasts. "At least I made new friends."

Clarke let out a laugh, enamored. "Alright, well, you and my tits can pick up this conversation another time. I need a shower and if you're not gone in two minutes, I'm definitely dragging you in with me."

Lexa hummed in agreement.

After Clarke walked her to the entrance and watched Lexa put on her shoes and jacket, they lingered in the doorway.

"Thank you for tonight," Clarke said. She had never felt like this before - a part of her desperate to find a way for Lexa to stay. A way to prolong the conversation. To ward off the night so that Lexa and her could just live in this moment a while longer. "The play, the food, this… Everything."

She hoped Lexa felt the same.

"Trust me, it was my pleasure," Lexa replied, her face still slightly flushed.

"You've set the bar high."

"You took me to a secret hike. I was just trying to catch up."

At Clarke's smile, Lexa bit her lip and toyed with the button of her jacket. "Anya used to say I reacted to everything with either fight or flight. I didn't prove her wrong when I left for Costial, but I don't want to run away again."

Clarke nodded in understanding.

“It just… creeps up on me sometimes,” Lexa continued. “I could be having the time of my life one second and the next my chest gets tighter and the world gets smaller. Suffocating.” She gave her a resolute look. “When I meant slow, I meant… I just need to be sure that feeling won’t come between us again." She glanced at her lips. "But… It also means that once we do cross that line, I intend to make up for lost time.”

Clarke swallowed, fighting the urge to drag Lexa back inside. "I'm a patient woman."

Lexa smiled. "Goodnight, Clarke."

"Mm. Text me when you get home?"

"I will."

[part eleven]

#clexa #f: a bit of clarity #w #can you believe these two

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canonismybitch · 4 years

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Little Ducklings

By @canonismybitch for @just-the-daydreamer

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: Not rated

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Academic Decathlon Team, Bruce Banner & Roger Harrington

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Michelle Jones, Ned Leeds, FRIDAY, Academic Decathlon Team

Summary: Peter Parker was sick, and he would not let that keep him from going to his Field Trip. It also gave Tony a reason to take over the tour.

Hey Beca! Surprise!!!! I’m your off-holidays secret santa! I really hope you enjoy the fic!

Peter Parker-Stark was not having a good day.

But that wasn’t unusual, was it?

No, his luck had never been the best to begin with, so bad days were something he had grown used to (as sad as that was).

But his bad days were usually because of the villain of the week, or a study session for Decathlon he had forgotten about (but MJ hadn’t, because she never forgot stuff like that). Sometimes it was gym class and having to pretend that he was weak and couldn’t do the exercises like his classmates; some others because he had to leave Ned and MJ staying up for him to watch a movie that would have to wait because people apparently forgot that kidnapping was illegal.

All in all, bad days were even more common than good days, so it wasn’t at all surprising.

What was surprising was that Peter woke up sick.

Sure, he had been a very sickly kid all his childhood (and part of teenagehood, even if the word sounded weird), but after his run-in with a certain radioactive spider, Peter had had nothing else but perfect health. Ever since that horrible night when we spent an uncountable amount of time puking his guts out and fever-dreaming, he had not been sick. Nothing. Nada.

For four years.

So why the hell did he feel like dying?

Peter hadn’t felt more nauseous in his life. Well… except for that time when the spider bit him and his stomach had felt as if it was fighting a war with food (and losing), but that time he had actually thrown up.

Today he had woken up feeling as if all his dinner (and midnight snack) would be coming back up, except they hadn’t, and Peter had felt miserable all morning, especially when he had to bend over to pick his clothes even though his dad always told him to leave your clothes somewhere where I can’t step on them, Pete.

[He’d listen to his dad from now on. Maybe.]

His dad had left him a note on the kitchen next to a plate of pancakes that, if it were any other day, would’ve smelled heavenly. As it was, Peter just grabbed the note and ran (power walked, really) out of the kitchen so he could read it in peace.

Hey kiddo! See you in a few hours ;) Pls eat breakfast. It’s chilly out so grab something comfy, I don’t want a repeat of last Xmas. Love you! Dad

Peter sighed, if it were for him, he’d have stayed in bed all day, but nooooooo. Today had to be his Decathlon team’s field trip to the Tower and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to miss it. He didn’t even want to miss it. Sure, most of his class didn’t believe him, but he really wanted to show his home to Ned and MJ, since they could never visit because your dad is Iron Man! Danger! Authorized personnel only!

Besides, he would even get to show the team that the internship was real, maybe that way they’d stop calling him a liar behind his back; as if their whispers were subtle. Peter bet that he would be able to hear them even without his super hearing.

“Peter, Mr. Hogan is waiting for you in the garage. I would advise you to eat your breakfast while it’s still hot.”

Peter hurriedly grabbed a hoodie that someone (probably him) had left draped over the sofa and ran to the elevator. An unhappy Happy was not someone anyone ever wanted to encounter.

(Sometimes he wondered if the Happy from Snow White could ever be unhappy like his Happy. Not that he ever told anyone.)

People at school were staring at him for longer than usual. Peter thought it had something to do with the fact that his skin was most definitely green and that it looked as if he would make a dash for the bathroom at any second. Belatedly, he thought about the bus ride to the Tower and prayed to Loki (because Uncle Thor never really answered) that he wouldn’t have to ride at the back.

“Well, someone's feeling bold today. What gives, eight legs?”

Peter jumped a little when he heard MJ appear behind him and grab the sleeves of his hoodie. Ned wasn’t far behind her.

“What do you mean, MJ?” Peter turned around to look at her, “Bold?”

MJ let his sleeve go, an are you serious, Parker? look in her eyes that he knew too well.

“Dude! That is so cool! Tony lets you use his clothes? I thought they’d fit better but that hoodie is super baggy, where did you get it? Did you raid a cardboard box with other cool stuff? Did you find any science trophies-?”

Peter was pretty sure his face was the epitome of confusion, and MJ was merciful enough to put him out of his misery.

“The hoodie, loser. It says ‘Stark’ on the back.”

Oh.

Peter must’ve grabbed his father’s hoodie from his MIT days. Tony had a habit of leaving it in the living room for Peter to use when they had a movie night. Clint had called it proof of the Dadvengers being an actual thing, but his dad had thrown the bowl of popcorn to the archer’s face and that had been that.

[That had not been that, and Tony was now the (questionably) proud owner of a pair of Crocs that had big plastic letters with the word DADVENGER on the front. Not that Peter knew that.]

It made sense though, Peter always went to that hoodie for comfort, and today had been especially shitty.

MJ threw an eraser to his forehead, counting on Peter to catch it and snap out of whatever it was that he was thinking.

“It looks good on you, nerd. Now hurry up, because I am not sitting at the back of the bus and I’m dragging you two dorks with me.”

And with that, MJ turned around and started walking towards their bus, expecting Ned and Peter to follow.

Of course they followed. They were best friends with the scary lady, they knew that nothing good would happen if they didn’t. It wasn’t until they had already taken their seats that Peter remembered MJ liked to ride on the back and sketch people’s faces.

Awwww, so she did love him.

Flash made sure to kick his leg as he made his way towards the back of the bus.

“Good thing I’m not going to be anywhere near you, Penis. You look like you’re gonna toss your cookies at any moment-” Wait, was Flash worried about him? Did he really look that sick? “-I’ll make sure to film it though, maybe show it to every single employee we find, what do you think? They’ll see how pathetic the guy posing as an intern actually is.”

Or, Peter thought, maybe he’s just making fun of me.

When the bus rumbled to life, and Peter felt the engine and its little tremors on his whole body, he had to hug his stomach and bend until his head was practically hidden between his legs. Because of that, he didn’t get to see Ned and MJ exchange looks that practically screamed this idiot is actually going to toss his cookies, isn’t he?

Knowing Peter as well as they did, they figured out pretty quickly that he probably had decided to come on the trip just for them. And, yeah, they loved the adorable dork, but the second he was feeling better MJ wouldn’t hesitate to punch him for being an idiot.

Though, judging by the way Peter groaned and buried himself in his hoodie, they guessed the nausea (and the migraine that the spiderling felt coming) was enough punishment for now.

Ned shuffled on his seat until he managed to get his jacket off and proceeded to drape it like a blanket on top of Peter, who hadn’t even noticed that he was shivering until he felt the very warm and very comfy fabric on top of him. It smelled like Ned and his lavender cologne, strong enough to comfort him but light enough to not make him puke.

Peter still groaned when he felt the bus do a particularly nasty jump that left his stomach rolling and his head bouncing, which did not help his headache at all. The sound of a pencil over paper told him that MJ was having way too much fun with his misery. Flash’s snickering wasn’t really welcome either.

Mr. Harrington? Well, at this point he and Ned were the only people he would tolerate, so he wasn’t too angry when his science teacher knelt beside him.

“Peter? Are you feeling okay? I brought some Benadryl you can take if you’re feeling bus sick, maybe even some gum?”

He knew that his teacher meant well, but the thought of the peppermint gum his teacher was sure to be carrying made his nausea worse. Shaking his head was also out of the question when he felt his headache spiking into there’s a hammer on my skull levels.

Thankfully, he had the best friend in the whole world, and he spoke sick Peter (though he was a bit rusty in the language, the spiderling hadn’t been sick for a long time, though you didn’t hear Ned complaining about that).

“Uh, Mr. Harrington? Peter’s fine. Just, don’t mention the bus sickness? Or the gum?”

Their teacher –bless him– just gave them a look before going back to his place at the front of the bus.

When Peter’s head bounced again after their driver decided that he wanted to play a game of how to drive through the lanes with the most bumps, MJ sighed and threw her sweater at the vigilante. The smell of her fabric softener and the soft wool made for the perfect pillow, and he was out like a light for the rest of the ride.

You know how sometimes you feel sick, and you take a nap to make yourself feel better? But it actually does the opposite and you wake up feeling like shit?

Yeah.

If it weren’t for Ned, Peter thought he might not have been able to sit up from the (very uncomfortable) bus seat. As it was, he faithfully followed his best friends like a baby duckling until they were standing with the whole team in front of Stark Tower.

The oohs and aahs weren’t helping his headache any. Even though everyone from the Decathlon team lived in New York, they stared at the Tower as if it was a view they didn’t see every day.

Even Mr. Harrington looked excited, and he never looked like that unless he was explaining a particularly interesting chemical reaction. Peter wondered if that’s the face he would make when the class gave him the set of new beakers everyone had gotten him for Teacher’s Day.

Memo to me, he thought, remind me to ask MJ to sketch his face that day.

Before he knew anything, they were going inside the Tower.

Right into his home.

Peter’s head felt like it was made of cotton.

His nausea had returned tenfold, and now his muscles felt heavy, stiff. As if he had been gone out on patrol for far too long and his super healing had yet to kick in. Every movement costed him as if there were weights strapped to his limbs.

He knew that he wasn't the only one that noticed.

Still, he took a deep breath, straightened up as much as his rolling stomach let him, and let the glare of the sun right on his eyes and into what was becoming the worst headache of his life.

If anyone at the Tower figured out that he was sick, his dad would worry. Peter didn’t want that.

Surprisingly, Mr. Harrington managed to herd them into a line of students that could have been called straight, except for the fact that Ned and MJ had decided to be his personal bodyguards (how they were going to guard him from the worst case of flu he had ever experienced, Peter didn’t know) and stand at his sides in case he decided to take a little tumble. Still, since they were at the end of the line no one really seemed to mind.

They got Eloise as their tour guide. Peter liked to give tours of the Tower masquerading as an intern, and Eloise almost always ended up with him as her shadow. They had bonded over their sixth (seventh for Peter) sense that warned them of people trying to touch stuff they specifically told them not to touch. As much as Peter was relieved that their guide was someone he knew (not that he didn’t know everyone in the Tower), the second Eloise laid her eyes on him she’d know that he was sick. And if she knew, it wouldn’t be long before Tony did.

Sure enough, her eyes lingered a bit longer on his form before she clapped her hands animatedly and addressed his team.

“Well hello, Midtown! It’s a pleasure to have the winners of the National Academic Decathlon competition here at Stark Industries! I’m sure your teacher has gone over the rules with you, but you’ll have to bear with me,” his classmates were too busy being excited to really care about having to wait a few seconds longer to go inside, even MJ seemed especially attentive. “Our most important rule here at Stark Industries is that we do not condone harassment. If we see you harassing any of your classmates or any of our employees you will all be required to step out of the building. I know that it’s not fair for those of you that are sweet and innocent angels, but you have to be accompanied by your teacher at all times, and if one person has to step out, all of you have to follow. There are no warnings, no third strike, you’re out. You harass anyone, you’re out.”

Unsurprisingly, everyone subtly (and not so subtly) looked at Flash, promising him hell with their glares if he got them kicked out of the coolest building in the world. And –as if they had rehearsed it– all the team nodded at the same time.

Eloise smiled at them.

“Great! Now, rule number two is very simple: you do not touch anything unless you have permission. You will not believe how many times this rule is broken in our tours, but I’m counting on you to be a good group and keep your grabby hands to yourselves.”

That said, she clapped her hands together and motioned for the team to follow her through the metal scanner that doubled as an entrance to the public. Everyone followed Eloise through it without a second thought, probably ignoring the fact that their faces were being scanned as they walked right through. It wasn’t until Peter made his way to his teammates that FRIDAY spoke up, effectively scaring everyone into jumping a couple of feet in the air (even MJ, and that gave him bragging rights for months).

“Hello, Peter. It’s odd to see you back so soon, is everything alright?”

By force of habit, Peter answered the AI before he even realized that said AI had no right to be familiar with him.

“Hey, FRI! I’m on a field trip, not that you didn’t know that.”

“Your sassiness has been noted, Peter.”

He smiled at the ceiling as he often did when talking to FRIDAY, but someone clearing their throat brought him back to the very real fact that his Decathlon team was staring at him as if he had grown a second head, or those extra arms Ned liked to talk about.

“Stop stealing the attention of my tour group, puppy eyes. We have a schedule to follow.”

Eloise winked at him, purposefully using the nickname Clint and Nat had made for Peter. The vigilante mock-glared at their guide, but dutifully acted like a duckling and following her to the elevator.

His team kept staring at him.

Maybe he had grown an extra set of arms after all.

“Boss, Peter is in the building and he is looking remarkably under the weather.”

Tony looked up from his cup of coffee, half a cookie in his mouth.

“Run that by me again, FRI?”

“Peter appears to be exhibiting symptoms consistent with the flu, sir. Very noticeable nausea, very slow walking, and possible headache.”

Tony rubbed at his forehead, exasperated. His kid was going to be the death of him, and it wasn’t even 10 AM.

“Did he even eat breakfast, FRI? Like I told him to?”

“Negative, Boss. His pancakes are on a lunch box in his backpack. By my calculations, they are already cold and possibly unappetizing.”

This time, Tony let his head drop to the kitchen counter with a quiet thud. His teeth catching on the uneaten remains of the cookie.

“This kid…”

Riding on the elevator had been a Bad Idea. With capital letters and everything.

The moment they had started moving upwards to what Peter could see was floor 47, his nausea started up again, worse than ever. Dizziness had also decided to make an appearance, and for a good 12 floors, he had to lean on Ned to avoid dropping like a sack of potatoes on top of Cyndi and Charles.

MJ made sure to take a picture of his face so she could draw it later.

She also kept one of her hands hovering behind his back in case he decided to topple over Mr. Harrington instead.

When the elevator doors opened after what seemed like an eternity, Peter was one of the first people out, vowing to himself to never go inside an elevator again.

(He knew he’d have to break his vow the minute the team had to go to lunch, but he ignored that for now.)

“Well, Midtown, we’re on floor 47. This is one of the more advanced sections of the Tower, and tour groups aren’t usually allowed up here, but Mr. Stark made an exception for you guys. You can thank puppy eyes over there, Peter’s his personal intern and probably the reason you’ll get to meet some Avengers today–” everyone erupted into squeals of excitement, most of the team looking at Peter as if they were seeing him for the first time in their lives.

“Wait, so you do have an internship here, man?”

“And you’re Tony Stark’s personal intern?”

“Think you can give us a tour of the super-secret stuff, Parker?”

Oh, Thor. His team was staring at him as if they wanted to eat him alive.

“I’m afraid Peter can’t show you any classified stuff, or he’d risk being fired. However, we can continue on with the tour and I’ll show you to the super cool lab that’s right behind you.”

And with that, everyone turned to look at the glass walls that separated them from what Peter knew to be the prosthetics lab. From what he could see, Bruce was working down here today.

Apparently, his classmates made the same discovery promptly after Peter did and had started to whisper animatedly about Bruce Banner being right in front of them oh God they should have brought a picture of him so he could sign it.

If his team had been a bunch of puppies, they would have all been wagging their tails.

It was kind of cute, actually.

“Boss, Peter and his team are down on the prosthetic lab on floor 47. Dr. Banner is also working there at the moment.”

Tony grinned, grabbing his third cup of coffee and making his way to the elevator.

He had a kid to take care of, and two best friends he needed to meet.

The moment they stepped inside the lab, one of the interns –Mark?– grabbed Peter by the arm and dragged him to one of the tables at the center of the room. (And– yep, there was the headache again.)

“Uh, excuse me– I can’t allow you to take a student from the group–”

“Roger? Roger Harrington?”

Every single person in the room simultaneously turned to look at Dr. Banner and Mr. Harrington in what would have been a very comic reenactment of a tennis match if it wasn’t for the fact that Bruce Banner apparently knew Mr. Harrington and he hadn’t thought to tell them.

“Dr. Banner, ah… I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

Bruce came up to their teacher and hugged him.

Honest to Thor hugged him.

“Of course I would! Peter likes to talk about his science classes and your name comes up once in a while. He’s one of our best engineers, by the way, you’ll have to excuse us for trying to steal your student; we don’t usually get him to come down and help with this lab, even if it was his idea in the first place.”

The tour group had turned to look back at Peter, who by that time had made use of one of the stools in the lab and had sat down to examine what looked to be a prosthetic hand.

(Well, the tour group minus Mr. Harrington, who looked ecstatic about one of his students telling Dr. Banner about his science class, that he enjoyed.)

Queens’ vigilante was valiantly ignoring the looks his classmates were giving him, opting to test the mobility on the prosthetic arm he was working on. That didn’t stop him from listening to Flash’s sputtering, and Peter cracked a smile at the finger his bully was pointing at him.

“I did tell you I had an internship…”

“But you didn’t tell me that you had a Field Trip today, kiddo. Shouldn’t I have signed something?”

So this is how Peter died. The flu wouldn’t kill him, oh no. The flu was there to make him feel even more miserable while he watched his dad making his way to his table, Spider-Man mug in hand and sunglasses on, walking in like he owned the place (which, he did…).

“Uh… I had my Aunt sign it, sir?”

His dad set the mug down next to Peter’s tools on the table, before making grabby hands at his handiwork and examining, turning it every which way.

The room was eerily quiet.

And then–

“You’re Tony Stark!”

Tony turned to look at the tour group before him.

“And you all have elbows,” at the sight of the kids’ stunned faces, the billionaire shrugged, “What? I thought we were pointing out the obvious.”

He turned to look at back at his son and took note of the hoodie under a large jacket that could’ve only belonged to Ned. He smirked.

“Isn’t that my hoodie?”

Peter grinned back at his father, taking the prosthetic from his dad and carefully placing it back in its case.

“Hoodie? What hoodie?”

Tony just laughed, ruffling his kid’s curls and taking note of the way he winced when his head moved a little too much for his liking.

“Just for that, I’m stealing your hoodie next time I see it laying around in the lab.”

The mechanic’s eyes scanned the gaggle of stunned teenagers and one starry-eyed teacher before he spotted the two people he had been looking for. They were unmistakable, even if he had never met them personally –the walls in his son’s room were filled to the brim with pictures of these two. He pointed at them.

“Ted and Melissa, right?”

Peter hid his head on his hands. Of course Tony was picking today of all days to be a dad.

Ned didn’t look nearly as affected as Peter.

“Yes, sir! Well, kinda…”

His father huh-ed, and then looked at their tour guide.

“Eloise, was it? You’re free to go back to your project. I’ve got the little ducklings.”

She nodded quickly, saying goodbye to the team while Dr. Banner and Mr. Harrington swapped numbers.

Then, Tony led them to the elevator.

Ned and MJ were right there for him to lean on while they made their way to the training rooms. So was his dad, but by this point, he was pretty sure that FRIDAY had told him something was definitely not fine, and he wasn’t about to worry him even more. That didn’t make the elevator ride any less hellish, especially when Flash kept glaring daggers at him.

This time, the elevator stopped at the Avengers’ personal gym.

His class stayed inside the elevator, Tony the only one to actually step out and greet his team. Even though they had known that they’d see their heroes, everyone appeared to be too excited to move.

It wasn’t until FRIDAY had started closing the elevator doors that they all stepped out as fast as they could and gathered around Tony like the ducklings the billionaire liked to compare them to.

“Well! I’m pretty sure you know who they are, you’re free to pester them with questions! And don’t worry, they don’t bite,” he dramatically scratched his chin, “wait, Natasha does bite, but you’re safe with the others!”

His classmates made their way to the Avengers, slowly at first. Then, Clint made a joke and that was all it took before the heroes found themselves answering questions left and right.

Peter stayed by his dad.

Tony hugged him with one arm, both for affection and to ensure that he wouldn’t go say hi to the floor.

“FRIDAY said you were sick, buddy. Why didn’t you stay in bed?”

The spiderling shook his head, before wincing as his headache just got worse.

“I wanted to come. They didn’t believe in my internship, and I really wanted to show Ned and MJ around. Besides, I felt fine yesterday…”

“You should have at least eaten breakfast. You know your spidey metabolism needs fuel.”

Peter made a face.

“I… couldn’t really stomach anything. I mean, I haven’t thrown up yet, but that’s turning out to be a very real possibility.”

His dad frowned.

“When your team goes home I’m taking you down to the medbay, you haven’t been sick since the spider bite and a little stomach bug should’ve been nothing for your healing.”

Peter opened his mouth to answer, but someone yelling his name took his attention elsewhere.

“Pete! We’re gonna do a quick demonstration. Wanna spar?”

Uh, no thanks. He would definitely pass out if he did that.

Thankfully, his dad knew that too.

“Not today, Legolas! Gotta take the ducklings to lunch. Be a responsible tour guide and all that. Midtown! Follow me to the cafeteria, please!”

His classmates waved at the Avengers, taking some last-minute selfies and shaking their hands.

Peter resigned himself to another ride in the elevator.

Peter loved the cafeteria. Almost every day, he’d come down here for a quick snack on his way to help in whatever lab crossed him first, and Martha –the nice lady that sold ice cream– always saved him a scoop or four for when he got out of training. The vendors were really nice, and it was a common floor for all the scientists to have a good time (and a good meal).

But today? Today the mix of different smells and the chatter that could be heard through the whole floor made him want to run to his room and hide under the covers.

“Well, I’ll be checking some stuff on the upper floors while you get something in your stomachs. I trust your teacher to take care of you, but there’s still an AI watching over you at all times. Something happens, you tell her or someone from the staff, capiche?”

Everyone nodded, eagerly looking around the cafeteria and planning their meal.

“Good! Then I’ll leave you be, see you in 45 minutes, kiddies!”

And with that, he was gone, swallowed by the elevator.

The team pushed some tables together and decided that they’d be eating together. It wasn’t different from their breakfasts at the hotel they stayed at for the duration of the Nationals. In fact, it was oddly familiar.

But Peter wasn’t paying much attention.

He was definitely feeling worse after a day of running around in the Tower. The dizziness had definitely gotten worse, as had his nausea. It was horrible.

His headache was no better. The lights hanging from the ceiling were blinding to his sight, and fireworks danced behind his eyelids whenever he blinked. It had extended from the back of his head to his temples, and now even his ears hurt.

So Peter took to leaning on Ned while MJ let him borrow her sweater again, using it as a pillow (again) and draping one of the sleeves over his eyes in hopes of drowning out the light.

Mr. Harrington was definitely worried by now, as was the rest of his team. Not even Flash had made a comment. A quick peek under the sweater’s sleeve told him it was because his bully was not at the table.

It wasn’t until they all started to bring out their lunches that hell broke loose. Someone (probably Jason) had brought hard-boiled eggs, and the second the smell hit Peter’s nose, he jumped out of his chair and made a run to the bathroom, just in time to toss his cookies in one of the vacant stalls.

His stomach rolled and Peter felt oddly reminiscent of the time he had been stabbed on the abdomen last month. The pain certainly was familiar.

It felt as if an eternity passed before he was finally done, even though he hadn’t even had breakfast to begin with.

Someone knocked on his stall.

“Hey, Parker! You okay in there?”

Peter kicked the door open as best as he could when he recognized Flash’s voice. It wasn’t ideal, but he didn’t think that he’d be able to stand up on his own.

His bully grasped him by the shoulders, flushing the toilet as an afterthought, and helped him off the floor slowly.

“Answer the question, Penis. You okay?”

Awww, would you look at that? He did care.

“Just peachy.” He said, before a wave of dizziness made itself known and he promptly passed out.

“Parker? Hey, Parker! Who gave you the right to pass out?!”

Flash was freaking out, but he knew that Peter needed help, even if he was the worst when it came to actually doing something for Penis Parker.

He carefully adjusted his grip on the smaller boy, and prepared to lift him princess-style so that they could get out of that bathroom as soon as possible. He was expecting his classmate to be a little heavy, what with the muscle he had suddenly grown over the summer four years ago.

He wasn’t expecting him to be as light as a feather.

“Mr. Harrington! Mr. Harrington!” Flash yelled as he came out of the bathroom holding onto Peter.

“Flash what did you do?” Ned asked, as he hovered over his best friend, who was slowly waking up.

“He didn’ do nothin’. Hel’ed me…”

Mr. Harrington took Peter from Flash and helped him sit in one of the benches where they had been having lunch.

“Peter? What happened? Can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up?”

Just as Peter was about to answer (and he was seeing 7 fingers in only one hand, so that probably wasn’t good), his father stepped out of the elevator and ran to where the team was.

“Pete! What happened?!”

Peter groaned, making grabby hands at MJ’s sweater to block out the light and the sound of people talking all at once.

“M’fineee. Just lost a battle with some eggs…”

Tony laughed, if only to reign in his panic.

“Nope, that’s it. We’re making a trip to the medbay. C’mon Midtown, you’re getting to know where all the Avengers get patched up when they do something stupid.”

He went to pick his son up, and frowned.

Peter made it a habit to fall asleep on movie night, and Tony often had to carry him back to bed. So yeah, he knew that Peter was pretty heavy with all the muscle he packed.

He wasn’t used to carrying his son as easily as he had done when Peter was a kid.

Peter had been four years old when he first came to live with Tony.

The inventor had learned pretty quickly that his son was not what most physicians would call “healthy”. His little boy carried an inhaler around as if it was a necklace, and he knew exactly what medicine Tony should give him when he had a cough.

Peter would frown at the food Tony would give him if it had any kind of seafood or citrus until his dad learned all his food allergies.

His chubby hands would play with LEGOs in the living room, and the baseball and the glove Tony had bought were left forgotten in the back of a closet.

Still, the mechanic had learned to play with Peter and his LEGOs, with his coloring books and with his chemistry set. He learned that Peter didn’t like airplanes, and preferred his food to come to his mouth via a choo choo train.

He also learned that when Peter was sick, reading him stories about Tesla and Einstein would put him right to sleep. That the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling had to be blue and not green, because green gave his kid headaches. That Peter’s Captain America onesie was his favorite and he only wore it after a particularly rough night when his coughing fits wouldn’t let him sleep.

He learned never to watch Bambi or the Lion King when they had a movie night, and that Mulan would put his kid right to sleep.

Still, none of those had worked the night Peter turned five years old.

He remembered it clearly. That night, Rhodey had come to visit his nephew for his birthday, and they had had chocolate cake and a strawberry milkshake for dinner. His kid hadn’t been feeling well that week, so Tony and Rhodes had thought it was for the best to distract him with cake and toy trains and a Disney movie. They had even let him wear his Captain America onesie and have dinner on the couch.

But that night, Peter had woken up his daddy, asking JARVIS to bring him to his room because he wasn’t feeling well. Tony had run to his baby’s room and there he was, tears staining his face and a sweaty forehead that could only mean a fever.

He had gotten Peter out of his onesie, and let him hug the platypus plushie Rhodey had given him for his birthday while he went looking in the medicine cabinet for anything that would help with his fever.

Peter had ended up going back to sleep clutching his plushie in one hand and his dad’s shirt on the other.

It hadn’t lasted through the night, and he had woken up again crying about how his head hurt, and to make it stop, daddy! Hurt bad!

His fever wasn’t going down, and Peter wasn’t keeping down any medicine. His coughs had gotten worse and at one point he had needed to use his inhaler.

That night, Tony panicked.

He couldn’t take his kid to urgent care, or he’d risk paparazzi knowing that he had a son the minute they stepped inside a hospital.

But his baby was crying, and no amount of stories about the theory of relativity were making him feel better.

So Tony held his baby in his arms (and he was so so light) and sat down on the rocking chair Rhodey had given him as a joke. And he sang to his son. He sang every single lullaby in Italian he could remember from when he was a kid himself; and when he ran out of lullabies, he sang Disney songs until Peter finally went to sleep.

“You’re going to be fine, tesoro, you’re going to be just fine. Daddy’s here.”

Peter was not happy at being carried princess-style, and he frowned at his father all the way to the medbay. But Tony didn’t seem to notice, too far gone inside his mind.

Bruce was waiting for them when they got to the medbay, and helped Peter sit down on the table Dr. Cho used to examine him whenever he did something dumb on patrol.

Ned and MJ (and surprisingly, Flash) were right by his side while Bruce went through a routine examination on his nephew. MJ was showing him the sketches she had made of him during the day, and even Peter had to laugh at some of the faces he made when he was sick.

“With all due respect, Mr. Stark-” Mr. Harrington said, wringing his hands nervously, “-I’m required to send Peter to the hospital, or at the very least back home where a guardian can be informed…”

Tony waved him off, though not unkindly.

“It’s fine, teach. Peter’s home, and I’m his dad. You don’t have to worry about school policies.”

You could have heard a pin drop in the room.

Then, Peter groaned, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe you actually told them.”

At Tony’s request, the Avengers had come down to the medbay to –according to Tony– entertain their guests until it was time to go home. He bet that the fact that their new tour guides were the Avengers would give those teenagers and their teacher bragging rights for years to come.

Bruce and Tony stayed with Peter while they ran some tests, and Tony had been right in his assumptions. This was no stomach bug.

Someone had actually tried to poison his son.

And he still wasn’t out of the woods.

That evening, after his team had left the Tower and had made him promise that he’d keep them updated in the group chat, Tony went to lay down next to his kid.

Peter had been on and off, waking up from his naps feeling worse and worse until he eventually had to toss his cookies again, before going right back to sleep.

He didn’t wake up until the next morning.

And when he opened his eyes, he saw his dad right beside him, playing with his curls and watching Mulan on his phone.

Peter smiled at him, too out of it to really worry about the fact that he was still sick and that his very scary aunt and uncles were hunting down the guy that had poisoned him two days ago on patrol.

He was, however, very preoccupied by the sight of a familiar hoodie folded neatly at his feet. It smelled like fabric softener and soap, very different from the cologne and motor oil that Peter associated with his dad.

It occurred to him that they had probably needed to wash his hoodie.

So he nudged his dad’s shoulder with his head, and adjusted himself so he could watch Mulan for as long as he could stay awake (which wasn’t very long seeing that his dad was still playing with his hair).

Finally, seconds before he went into dreamland, he murmured into his father’s neck.

“Hey, dad? ‘m sorry ‘bout your hoodie…”

He fell asleep to captain Lee Shang singing I’ll Make a Man Out of You; his dad’s laughter echoing on his ears.

#gift exchange #fic exchange #the friendly neigborhood fic exchange #irondad #spiderson

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omniswords · 4 years

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Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 5

a question for you lovely, lovely readers!

the arc of the story is pretty much outlined, but i'm really really interested in writing a social media AU over on twitter that follows luka, marinette, and other characters after the events of chronicles. you could get screenshots of text conversations, social media posts, and so on.

what do you think? would you want to follow it? let me know in your reblogs or replies!!

[Read Chronicles on AO3]

okay, so maybe i lied about watching this space for a clip. it’s definitely not ready yet

but it will be. and when it is, you’re going to love it.

There are flowers on Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s apron, and Luka wonders why he’s never noticed them before. Actually, considering how many times he’s gotten lost in those eyes, and thought about it, it’s probably not so surprising.

It’s not until one of those Just-So-Happenings, when he’s biking between houses for his meal delivery job, that he catches her waiting outside the bakery, her sketchbook open in her arms and her pencil twirling between her fingers. He might be mistaken, or it might be the mid-June sun, but it looks like her eyes light up when they meet his, almost like she wants him to stop. He does—because really, who would he be if he didn’t stop for her?—but he does stay mounted on his bike, as if to tell her he can’t stay very long.

“Slow day?” he says with a polite smile, drumming his fingers on his handlebars. There’s no point in taking off his helmet if he’s not going to stay long, no matter how hot he’s starting to get in this thing. He almost has to wonder how Mr. Dupain can stand being around an oven for so long.

Marinette smiles, and wishful thinking aside, it seems less like a Customer Service thing and more like she’s… genuinely happy to see him. “It’s the usual. Just on a break, and waiting for someone to come by for a custom order.” She tosses a glance behind her, into the shop. “Papa’s been working really hard on it, especially the decorating. He’s kind of a perfectionist when it comes to his craft.” She manages a laugh, and it’s probably the first time since that first day that she actually sounds… nervous? “I guess I know where I get it from.”

Luka’s brow furrows, and his gut turns excitedly, and he’s fighting back a smile that seems to have come from nothing. “What do you mean? Do you bake, too?”

“Well… sort of.” She shrugs. “I’m really only good at making macarons.”

He hopes his eyes aren’t as wide as he thinks they are. Oh, God. She has been putting them in his boxes. No wonder there’s a letter M on all of them. Okay, he tells himself. Play it cool. They’re just—well, they’re not just macarons. He’s seen enough video tutorials on his uncreative days to know that it takes a meticulous baker to get them just right. But they’re pastries. Not a phone number. Not a date.

He clears his throat. “You don’t say.”

Marinette hums, gives her pencil another twirl, and returns to her sketchbook—except she’s not doing a whole lot of sketching. It’s more like a whole lot of staring. The frustrated kind that always asks art why it’s not doing exactly what we want it to do, every single time we want to do it.

Luka’s basically married to the feeling; it’s why it’s so easy for him to put aside all the Cute Bakery Girl inhibitions, just for a moment, and ask, “What are you working on?”

She looks up then, stops the pencil with her thumb, and eventually closes her sketchbook with a resigned sigh, holding it close like a child she wants to protect from prying eyes. “Just keeping busy. Don’t want the creative machine to get rusty over the summer, you know?” She taps her temple with the pencil. “I kinda need it for school.”

Something in her expression changes, but it’s hard for Luka to name what it is. It can’t possibly be self-criticism—unless she’s as good at hiding it as he is. “Oh yeah?” he decides to say instead. “Where are you going to school? PCA? École des Beaux-Arts?”

Marinette’s eyes spark, and a smirk tugs at her lips as she leans back against the shop. “New York City.”

Luka blinks. Quite a few times. “Oh. Well. That’s… cool.”

“Yeah, it’s…” She laughs, and it sounds human. Not that over-the-counter giggle that comes with a can I help you or a have a nice day, but the genuine, modest kind. “It’s something. I didn’t think cities got much busier than Paris.”

“It’s big there?”

“Huge,” she says, and Luka wishes he could capture that dreamily enthusiastic look in her eyes forever. It already tells him everything she’s seen without words. “Everywhere you go, there’s something. And there’s always someone yelling about something, too.” Another laugh. “You wouldn’t believe how… angry and stressed people are over there. Always acting like there’s only five hours in a day, like they have to get everywhere yesterday.”

At that, Luka laughs along with her, and maybe this the first time that he feels something there, some connection to Marinette Dupain-Cheng as a person. And it isn’t because there isn’t a register or a counter or a box between them. “So,” he says after a moment. “What do you study there?”

“Fashion design.” She smiles proudly. “I mean, I worked hard any everything, but I guess it helped to have a couple of good recommendation letters.” She looks down then, tapping her toe on the pavement, squeezing her sketchbook a little tighter and wincing even as she speaks.

You must’ve worked really hard for the two of them to notice you, he wants to say, or even, I’d love to see your designs sometime if you’ve ever released any. Instead, all that comes out is, “I play guitar.”

And then he winces. That was the best he could come up with?

Marinette smiles, and her gaze flickers just past him. Right at his guitar. Which is right in front of him. In his basket. “I figured.”

Luka would love to know just how soon the earth can swallow him up. “I mean. I’m also. In a band. Like, a band band.”

Any minute now, he thinks. Any minute the earth wants to do its duty would be fantastic.

“Mm.” Marinette’s expression doesn’t falter, but she does look down at her sketchbook again. “You and every Vans-wearing, guitar-strumming New Yorker at every street corner trying to score a date or a dollar.”

“I’m not—”

“I know,” she says, and she looks caught in the middle somehow, between the Cute Bakery Girl who wants to keep him on his toes and the sunny sweetheart who… seems to like him. Seems to want to open up to him, wishful thinking aside. Between New York and Paris. “You’re nicer than they are.”

She pauses to wave at someone just behind him—probably that customer she’s waiting for—then works on tying her hair into a high ponytail and dusting off her apron. He looks at it more closely now: the pretty contrast of baby pink against the black and white of her overall dress, the spray of flowers decorating the corner, the elaborate capital M accompanying it. The same one, he realizes, that decorated the macarons. “Duty calls,” she says with a faint stretch.

“Ditto,” Luka replies, sparing a glance behind him. There’s no delivery box attached to his bike this time, but where he’s going, he won’t need it.

Marinette gives him one last up-and-down as she opens the door to the bakery and it looks like—he thinks it looks like—those blue eyes of hers like what they see. “Maybe I’ll hear one of your rockstar songs sometime,” she tells him, and the melody he thinks he needs starts to fall into place.

He grins, feeling the buzz of each new note in his chest, and raises a hand to salute her with devil horns. “Maybe I’ll get to see a Marinette Dupain-Cheng original in person one day.” It’s the first time he’s said the name to someone who isn’t himself, and it rolls off the tongue like soft water, and the music in his body swells to a forte in seconds.

Her eyes light up. “It’s closer than you think,” she murmurs, the door closing with the tinkle of the bell behind her, and as he stands there, dumbfounded and half-mounted on his bicycle, he’s stuck trying to decide if she meant her apron, her ambitions, or himself. If this is the sass she’s picked up from New York or just from growing older, or if she’s always been like this.

And if—this is the crazy thing—if she’s actually flirting with him.

Either way, the music in him demands to be written now, played now. And inspiration, he’s come to learn in all his years of composing, does not like to wait on people for very long.

So he speeds to the Seine before the song can leave him behind, his bike beside him on the riverbank, and he plays with nothing but his ears and his phone to capture every attempt. He plays until the calluses on his fingers protest, until that beautiful blue bleeds into background noise and tells him it will see him again sometime. She will see him again sometime.

When Juleka comes down the river from home, looking for him, she finds him still cradling his guitar, playing and rewinding and replaying every second of this new song from his phone. “You’re ridiculous,” she says with a smile, draping his gig bag over his head and bending down to right his back.

Luka laughs, and even that sounds like music to him. “Maybe,” he says as he resigns himself to zipping up his guitar. “But you’d better get to work.”

“Work?”

He’s still grinning, phone in hand. “We’ve got a new gig to find.”

it’s starting to be ready

CBG, this one’s for you and your cute apron.

#miraculous ladybug #lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #fic: chronicles of a parisian dumbass #COME GET Y'ALL PINING LUKA BABES

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monstaxardeur · 4 years

Text

sunshine - ii

Warnings: Angst

Your hands brushed over the surface of your old sketchbooks, other books and diaries lay stacked up around you as you sat on the wooden vinyl flooring of your room, the sunlight poured through the lace curtains letting in a gentle summer breeze. Your mind recalled all the times people asked to see your work…it was strange how none of their words of praise affected you…you were never satisfied. How many times had you stepped out of the house, ventured into the woods, maybe spent an evening at the coffee shop hoping your ink could be of satisfactory when it splayed on the paper before you.

A silent tear trickled down your cheek and the rest followed as you hugged your knees sniffling softly by yourself in your empty room with boxes that lay open, there was a lot of unpacking left to do but it was hard….it was difficult to move on like this. This little home was all you had now and it was going to be littered with bittersweet memories that you could never let go, those you never wanted to let go..~

You had lost the touch, it was long gone, every time you picked up your pencil or paint brush or anything to create art….nothing came out..no..nothing came out the way you wanted, it was as if you hadn’t learned anything at all, as if you forgot the basics, the fundamentals, all of it kept withering away like dried off petals falling off a flower. You wept every time and eventually let go of the idea and penned down your emotions instead and then stacked them locked up in some long forgotten box, never reading them.

He squinted his eyes at times to read through the smudged ink, his fingers following the letters as some of the things written were hard to decipher, like poetry of endless metaphors that another human may not be able to relate to. His soft blonde fringes covered his eyes as he furrowed his brows…he’d reached the last page but he was sure there must have been more. Putting aside the rusty file he rummaged through the boxes, but it was a mess of scattered belongings, books, trinkets, diaries, photo albums etc. None of them could help him figure out which written piece belonged to which timeline.

After rummaging through a few more paper stashes he had found, he sighed giving up, gently putting them back away knowing very well he’s not suppose to be doing this but curiosity had gotten the best of him. He wasn’t all that happy knowing he’d been reading through someones personal writings, though his thoughts stopped at the sight of a photo album, it looked oddly familiar. He picked it up and noticed it was custom designed for polaroids of all sizes, it was cute with lots of stickers on it. But of course, you’d been looking everywhere for it, he remembered you describing it as you sulked about losing it. He noticed it was empty though except for the first page and he wasn’t sure how to react when he saw its contents….

The picture, the only picture that graced the albums first page…was his, a candid of him looking up at the trees as the sunlight filtered through creating patterns of shadows on his face. His heart swelled with a warm feeling of love seeping through him, his cheeks turned red. He slowly closed the album and kept it on your bedside.

‘you are my blue~’

You hummed along to the song, it was your favorite these days, quite a contrast to your love for the summer which was always yellows & oranges but of course it also meant clear ‘blue’ skies and crystal clear ‘blue’ water.

“My little blue bird, what makes you sing this blue song?” Hana inquired as he held two warm cups of hot coco in his hands and sat down next to you by the little table in front of the tv.

You only smiled at the cute nicknames he called you and sighed again as if defeated, you couldn’t bring yourself to pick from the wide array of collection of Disney and Don Bluth classics that lay before your.

“Ah I see your dilemma.” Hana spoke chuckling and placed a hand under his chin as if to think. You turned to see what he’d suggest while taking a sip of your warm coco and saw as he got up smiling, ‘ah I know just the thing’ he thought. He rummaged through his bagpack and came back to your side with a little brown bag that had a dvd stores sign.

“I would have packed it nicely as a gift but since you’re so down this should make you happy, I hope it does.” He ran his hands through his hair nervously as you opened the bag and what you saw made your eyes gleam with joy.

“Digimon season dvd’s…all the ones I was looking for..” you spoke and you couldn’t contain your feelings you’d been going on and on about wanting these, they were a connection to your childhood that you’d been wanting to relive. You hugged Hana and he was a little taken aback at your affection but he was overjoyed, to him it was as if a cat had returned the love he’d been throwing its way and he hugged back in a bear hug rocking a little, giving you reassurance. He knew you were going through some inner struggles but never voiced them, you never burdened anyone with them and tried to find solace in your new home.

As the ending song played for the sixth time, you had your head in Hana’s lap over a plush cushion and you had drifted off to sweet little dreamland and Hana who had been watching the show with more anticipation noticed suddenly how his dear friend was snoozing. He smiled softly not wanting to disturb you at all and reached for his hoodie ever so gently as to not wake you and laid it on you. You shifted a little curling up more and Hana couldn’t help but observe smaller details about you like how soft your hair was to his touch, or the way you tucked your feet under another pillow, the steady rise and fall of your form in your comforting sleep.

Unable to hold back, Hana leaned down to swiftly press his lips over your head. He swallowed a lump in his throat though, he didn’t know why he did that…he was sure there was no romance, he was sure of it or was he? He knew he never imagined anything beyond friendship with you but then why was he feeling this way. He started to care so much, he went out of his way at times for you, he felt protective of you as if he just wanted to hold you in his arms and hide you, to comfort you and tell you that..'it was going to be okay'~

Hana sighed turning off the tv and flipped through the channels but his mind was clouded by the same thoughts. He knew though he had some place in your heart, some place special perhaps? Your photo album couldn’t lie nor could all the times he found you trying to sketch him but per your say you failed every time & was just doodling for art block. He could however never decipher if you liked him like a crush or were you just genuinely feeling the way he did…mixed and stuck. But what if it was both and neither of you could distinguish anything?

Hana:

二人の間　通り過ぎた風は　どこから寂しさを運んできたの

泣いたりしたそのあとの空は　やけに透き通っていたりしたんだ

(futari no aida toorisugita kaze wa doko kara sabishisa o hakondekita no

naitari shita sono ato no sora wa yake ni sukitootteitari shitanda)

Marnie:

Speeches that my father gave me would always make me despair

Somehow, I feel a warmth and comfort today

Your ever kind heart, the way you smile, and even how you find your dreams

I knew nothing, so honestly, I’ve always copied you ~

Fireflies danced between the green underneath both your feet as you two sang softly holding hands rocking them back and forth. The night was beautiful, summer nights with chilly wind breezes were dreamy..~

Two little daisies strolled along to forget the world’s worries and just be happy in the moment~

-loading next episode…

#monsta x #minhyuk #monsta x imagines #monsta x scenarios #sunshine #writing for healing

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drakexwillow · 5 years

Text

One Long Summer

Chapter 2

Pairing: Drake Walker x Willow (OC) Maxwell Beaumont x Sophie (OC)

Warnings for the series: Smut, Swearing, Drug use, Sexual references. do not read if under 18.

Premise for the series: This will an AU following Drake when he leaves Cordonia to go to Texas for a year, instead of college he decides to get a job and just live a simple life with Maxwell joining him to also get away from court.

A/N: Okay this is my first ever series, i’ve decided to make the jump and just go for it so it might be abit rough around the edges. Let me know if you want on or off the tag list at any point

Tags: @burnsoslow @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @lyndsaycdrake1111 @furryperfectionlover @tinypenguincheesemachine @janezillow @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @msjr0119 @jlynn12273

Chapter one here if you need to catch up.

Drake was roused from his sleep when his alarm on his phone went off. Groaning her rolled over shutting it off before burying his head back into his pillow. His head was pounding and his mouth was dry, silently thanking himself for remembering to leave some aspirin and a glass of water on his bedside table. He popped a pill into his mouth before downing the glass of water. He dragged himself out of bed and hopped into the shower, hoping it would help him feel more awake. He swiveled the handle letting the water run before he climbed in, he stood as the water cascaded over his body. Once satisfied he climbed out, grabbing a towel and drying himself before throwing on his work clothes and boots and making his way to the living room in search of coffee.

Drake wondered into the living room finding Max sitting cross legged on the couch wrapped in a blanket, eating cold pizza from the night before and engrossed with the cartoons on the TV. He chuckled taking in Max’s disheveled appearance “you look like shit”

Max groaned as he rubbed his hand over his face “I think i’m dying”

Drake made his way to the kitchen, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard and pouring coffee into each of them “i thought you’d be used to a hangover by now”

“I’m never drinking again”

Drake snorted as he walked over handing him one of the mugs “We both know that’s a lie”

Max nodded “yeah” he took a sip of coffee while side eyeing Drake “Sooo...you and Willow looked like you got along last night”

Drake shrugged “just being friendly” taking a swig of his own drink and thumbing at his phone.

“so friendly that you kissed” Max waggled his eyebrows as he nudged Drake’s shoulder with his own.

Drake glanced at Max before looking back down at his phone.

“Drake and Willow sitting in a tree K-I-S-S”

“Okay” Drake interrupted standing from the couch putting his phone in his pocket “i preferred it when you were dying”

“Hey!” Max shouted “take that back”

Drake chuckled as he walked over to retrieve his keys from the bowl by the door “I’ll be back at 5″

“Are we watching the game tonight?”

“sure” Drake called over his shoulder as he left the apartment.

*********************************************

Willow’s eyes snapped open as she felt the covers being pulled off of her “5 more minutes” she groaned pawing at the blanket desperately trying to pull it back over her head.

Sophie stood, arms crossed over her chest “Willow get your ass out of bed it’s nearly noon”

Willow sat up rubbing the sleep from her eye’s “fine i’m up, happy now?”

Sophie cocked an eyebrow “sitting up doesn't count as getting out of bed and I've come to help you unpack your stuff”

Willow eyed the boxes around the room full of her things. She’d been back a few days and still hadn't unpacked not wanting the memories of the past 3 months to flood her mind. She sighed as she rubbed a hand down her face “Alright i just need to get this over with”

Sophie sat down on the bed placing a reassuring hand on Willow’s arm “Look i know it hard but the sooner it’s done the sooner you can forget about it”

Willow slowly nodded her head “I know”

Sophie pulled her into a hug “It’s good to have you back Lo, i missed you”

Willow pulled her tighter “i missed you too”

***************************

Drake was finishing up his work on the ranch for the day. Walking around the stables making sure all the horses were secure. he left the stables pulling the gate closed and securing the padlock around it. He slid both his hands into his pockets and began walking up the dirt path back towards the ranch. He paused as he looked at over the field's and rolling hills in front of him, the sun peaking over then casting a golden glow. Drake as startled when he heard a voice behind him “Beautiful isn't it?” He turned to see Willow sitting under a tree leaning against it, a sketch book on her lap and various pencils laid on the floor beside her. Drake looked back at the view as he nodded “sure is” he turned making his way towards her “I’m surprised to see you out here” Willow twirled the pencil in her fingers “trying to find inspiration”

Drake sat down beside her as he glanced down at the drawing on her sketch pad “you like drawing?”

“yeah, i’m a bit rusty i haven't drawn anything since I've been back”

“Mind if i take a look” Drake gestured towards her sketch pad. She nodded him handing him the book. she shifted pulling her knees up to her chest and rested her head on her knees as she watched him. Drake turned the pages looking through the drawings. All of them of different landscapes, forests, rivers, lakes and various other locations. Some had pictures taped to the opposite page he guessed used for reference “these are really good”

“you think so?”

“Yeah” Drake nodded “have you been to these places?”

“Most of them, i traveled for 3 months.Took a lot of pictures and decided to draw the ones i liked” Willow shrugged

“i think this ones my favorite” Drake pointed to the drawing on the page. Willow shifted to look over at the book, a smile tugging at her lips “Mine too and lucky for you i can actually take you there” she stood picking up her pencils and took the sketch book from Drakes lap “come on” Willow held out her hand to help Drake up. He took her hand and he got up onto his feet. He followed her to the ranch, just as they reached the steps she turned towards him “wait here i’m just going to put these inside” she motioned to her pad. Drake waited as Willow ducked inside the ranch and then appeared moments later. She lead him round the back of the ranch and to a wooded area, she held out her hand “take my hand it will be easier to get through” Drake placed his hand in hers as they weaved there way through trees and bushes until they came to a clearing. She lead him just short of a little cliff edge and dropped his hand, she sat down with her legs dangling over the edge and patted the space next to her. Drake complied and sat down mimicking her position, He looked out taking in the few. Not far down from the little drop was a lake that sat in the middle of a wooded area, as the trees encircled the lake. the sun shone through the trees causing the water bellow to sparkle in the light. It was quite and peaceful, the only sound to be heard where the birds singing. “This is beautiful i didn't even know it was here”

Willow smiled as she scanned the lake “Most people don’t venture past the trees that’s why”

“So how do you know it’s here”

Willow sighed “My mom used to bring me here all the time as a kid. every night we would sit out here and talk or just enjoy each others company away from everything. Once she died i used to come out here when i need to think or draw or just be away from everything when it all got too much. i haven't told anyone about it, it’s always been my own little safe place.”

Drake smiled as Willow slowly swung her legs back and forth over the edge “i’m surprised Sophie doesn't know about this seen as its part of her ranch”

Willow shook her head “It’s not, it’s my families ranch Sophie was just looking after it while i was away”

A comfortable silence fell over them as they both took in the scenery. Drake turned hie attention to Willow allowing himself to drink in the sight of her. Her hair was tied up in a loose messy bun. The way the light hit her caused the gold flecks in her brown eyes to shine. He loved the freckles that were scattered across her nose and sprawled down onto her cheeks. Willow turned to look at him, blushing under his gaze, she grinned caused to deep dimples to appear either side of her face “what?”

Drake shook his head not able to hide the smile on his face “Nothing just...thank you for bringing me up here”

Willow grabbed Drakes hand and squeezed it “I know we only met last night but i like you Drake, Sophie’s told me a lot about you”

Drake watched as her eyes flitted to his mouth and back up to meet his gaze, he licked his lips in anticipation as she started to lean towards him. There faces were inches apart when Drake’s phone began to ring, he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, he fished his phone out of his pocket to see Max’s name flash across the screen. Willow giggled as Drake rolled his eyes as he answered the call

“What is it Max”

“Drake the game starts in 5 minutes you were meant to be back an hour ago!”

Drake could see Willow Biting back laughter as he smirked at her “yeh sorry i got caught up i’ll head back now”

“Make sure you bring food”

Drake chuckled “okay i will” he ended the call and slide his phone into his pocket. Willow playfully nudged his shoulder “i didn't realize you had a curfew ill keep that in mind next time” Drake laughed as he rose to his feet, offering out his hand to Willow “come on I better head back he’ll only keep calling me otherwise”

the pair walked back to the ranch hand in hand, as they reach the steps to the porch Willow turned to look at him offering him a smile “i guess i’ll see you round”

Drake nodded “i’m sure you will” Willow stood on her tiptoes and placed a kiss onto his cheek, she turned and headed up to the front door as she reached it she turned and gave him a small wave which he returned. As she diapered through the door Drake headed towards his truck, a smile plastered on his face as he rubbed his cheek.

#trr #trr fanfic #trr/trh #the royal romance #the royal heir #drake walker #drake x OC #maxwell beaumont #maxwell x oc #pixelberry choices

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scaryscarecrows · 5 years

Text

Garden of Stone

He doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t sleep because he’s still hearing that gunshot and seeing that dog only sometimes it’s not the dog, it’s Kitty (what’s left of her) and-

Yeah. There’s a reason he’s sitting on his bed, shivering in the cool night breeze and watching the clouds vie for coverage of the moon.

Granny took something for her aches and pains-some bitter concoction the doctor makes for her-that’ll keep her asleep tonight. He takes advantage of this to get dressed and go outside for a walk.

It’s heavy outside. The breeze is pushing the clouds around, but there’s a weight to it. Rain’s coming again, he can feel it in the air.

He takes a path more on muscle memory than any real intention, and ends up at the old cemetery. The gate hangs on rusty hinges, more for show than anything, and he lets himself in and heads to the back, to the Grey Lady.

The Grey Lady probably used to be The White Lady, but she’s been here longer’n anything else, since before the civil war. He likes her. She’s quiet. Friendly, almost, for a grave marker.

He settles cross-legged at the base of her skirts and leans his head against the cold stone. She’s lifelike, apart from the blank gaze-it’s always a little surprising those skirts aren’t soft.

The moon manages to make itself visible, at least for a moment, and the crosses and tombstones gleam under its weak light. A barn owl, silent as a ghost, makes a sudden dive. There’s a squeak, and then it rises with a gently-swaying tail dangling from its talons.

Crunch, crunch.

Footsteps?

Crunch, crunch.

Yep, footsteps. And whistling, which is surprisingly creepy this late at night.

Doo-doo-da-da-dee-dee-dee-doo-doo-dee…

What is…wait. He knows that tune…what is that…kookaburra. Weird.

Crunch, crunch.

He scrambles behind the Lady and waits. Probably just someone out for a late-night walk, or maybe a tramp passing through. They get those sometimes, but it’s awfully late…

He pokes his head around the Lady. The moon’s still out, illuminating the path with surprising clarity. And, more importantly, the walker.

He doesn’t know that silhouette, which is strange in and of itself. Maybe it’ll come to him…nope. He has no idea who that is.

Whoever it is opens the cemetery gate and now he’s starting to get a little nervous. Late-night walkers he can understand, but he’s never seen anyone else here this late at night.

Crunch, crunch.

And no one ever comes this far back, ever.

The moon seems brighter than ever and he presses up against the Grey Lady, clinging to some childish fancy that she’ll protect him. Which is silly, there’s nothing to be protected from-

“I know you’re here.”

He catches his breath, pinching his lips shut to keep from making any sound. That voice is unfamiliar to him. It’s a genderless voice, not from around here.

“Come out. I want to talk to you about earlier.”

There’s nothing he can use for a weapon. He’s going to have to run for it and hope whoever this is doesn’t have a gun.

“About what you saw.”

He didn’t see anything.

“Don’t be frightened.”

He’s not.

He takes a deep breath and mentally gauges the distance between him and the gate, factor in clusters of tombstones to avoid, add in potential gun…

“Don’t run.”

Joke’s on them! Ask anyone-good luck catching Jonathan Crane if he’s really decided to ditch you. Call it a side effect of ‘I don’t want to be thrown in the pond again’, whatever.

He dashes out from behind the Lady, dodges a cross, and promptly flings himself behind a tombstone when a shot rings out.

“Stop.”

This isn’t the same thing as ‘get off my lawn’ or even ‘the book or you, Scarecrow?’ This isn’t even close. His heart’s going a million miles an hour and he doesn’t remember seeing anything with this much clarity-every little crack on the stones, every speck of dust, it’s all so vivid.

He doesn’t want to die. Not like this.

Like hell like this. He wants out of this goddamn town, and not in a pine box. He wants to get out and see the ocean and go to university and-

Crunch, crunch.

He’s going to have to risk it. It’s dark-the moon’s ducking back behind a cloud already.

He bolts for the gate, trying to keep low and not run in a straight line, and there’s another shot that whizzes too close for comfort.

The gate looms up, still partly open, and he squeezes through the gap and takes off down the road.

Crunch-crunch-crunch-crunch!

There’s another shot and he veers off-path, hoping they’re not familiar with the area. Okay…turn here, mind the tree root…

They’re not familiar with the area-the crunching has slowed. He can’t see them anymore, but that’s all right, he can hear them trying to feel their way.

Why does this tree have to shed so many leaves? Doesn’t it realize that the noise it’s causing could get him killed?

He inches back towards the main road, freezing every half-step, until he feels plain dirt under his shoes at last.

Crunch-cru-FUCK.

A nervous grin flits across his face. They’ve found the tree root, sounds like.

He backs away until he’s pretty sure they haven’t seen him, then turns around and runs for home.

* * *

Kitty’s not at school.

He doesn’t notice until second period, because they don't share a first and he presumed she was running late. But no, she’s not here and there’s a sinking feeling that says something’s wrong.

Nothing’s wrong. That’s ridiculous. She’s probably sick or something, that’s all. This has nothing to do with…whatever they’ve stumbled into. Nothing.

So he collects her homework assignments and pretends he’s not relieved when she answers the door that afternoon.

“Hey.” He’s never seen her this pale, or in pajamas, and it’s weird. “You can come in.”

He shakes his head.

“I-I brought your homework.”

She grimaces but takes the folder.

“Thanks.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Stomach flu.” She lowers her voice. “I needed a day, but Mum thinks it’s a bug. Y’know.”

“Did you tell her what happened?”

“She’d never let me out again!” That would be ideal. “M’fine. Just…this never happened at home.”

“Don’t…just…be careful.” Mrs. Richardson’s not around, is she? He doesn’t hear her… “I ran into someone last night, I don’t know what they were doing, but they, ah…they thought I’d seen more than I did. I guess. I don’t know.”

“What are you on about?”

“They shot at me and chased me down the road. I’m fine.”

She hugs him and oh god what does he do? Hug back? Stand still? Pat her head?

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know-”

Yeah, well, too late now.

He hugs her back, stiffly, and wonders if she’s going to let go. She doesn’t seem so inclined.

“Kitty?”

“Sorry.” She steps back. “I didn’t…there wasn’t much to see.”

“They thought otherwise. So just…just be careful.”

“What’s going on?”

He shrugs.

“I don’t know. Anyway. Um. There’s a test on Friday in math, just so’s you know.”

“Ugh.”

“It’ll be fine. Math is easy.”

“Maths is a fucking nightmare!”

“Watch your mouth!” Mrs. Richardson warns and Jonathan jumps. How much has she heard? When did she get here? “Hello, Jonathan.”

“Hello, Ma’am.” She frowns. What? It’s been ingrained, he can’t just turn it off! “I was just dropping off Kitty’s homework.”

“Thank you.”

“Thanks a lot.” Kitty grumbles. “I’m dying and you bring me work.”

“Go back to bed, sickie.”

“Mu-um…”

“Don’t you take that tone.”

She pulls a face.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Feel better?”

“Can I get you anything, dear?”

“No, I need to be getting home. Good-bye, Ma’am.”

“Mary!”

He tries a smile and turns around before she can try to make him say it.

* * *

He’s not nosey. That trait is reserved for his less enlightened neighbors. He is, however, annoyed that someone felt the need to shoot at him. He takes offence to that sort of thing. That’s a reasonable feeling, in his opinion.

So it’s for that reason alone that he’s sitting at his desk with a piece of paper and a pencil, drawing up a list of everyone in town.

He knows the person last night wasn’t a local, but there’s something about that property they’re interested in. A little too interested in-shooting at trespassers, okay. Hell, he can see some asshole losing their temper with the dog, even. (Griggs once chased a stray cat with a razor blade, boasting that he was gonna skin it alive. Jonathan has no idea how a black widow found its way into his backpack. None at all.)

But tracking him down? That’s weird. If he’s going to be shot at, there’d better be a good reason. Or at least a reason he can understand.

He jots down Wicker’s name, pauses, and makes a note that Wicker’s probably dead. Or at the very least incapacitated. He certainly wasn’t the one chasing him last night. He doesn’t love his property that much.

Who else…that’s everyone.

Why did he bother? He made a list. Wow. So productive. He already knows it wasn’t anyone from town, what good does this do?

He scrunches the paper up and slumps down in his chair. This is pointless. This is pointless and he’s just going to give up and when he sees Kitty tomorrow, he’s going to tell her to do the same. Hell, she’s probably going to drop it without his input. She was rattled this afternoon.

It’s bugging him, though. Nobody cares about Wicker-for all he knows, the guy’s been dead for months. So why the paranoia? What’s out there to find?

He frowns, un-scrunches his paper, and flips it over. The house had looked how he imagined it always had-bed, table, trunk. Nothing of value. If someone killed the old man for money, they probably weren’t getting much.

He sketches out a little diagram anyway, trying to remember if he saw anything else. Kitty might’ve-she’d said there was someone inside, had gotten a look through the window.

Hmm.

There’s a low rumble outside and he glances up. The sky’s black-rain. Rain is here. He’s not going out tonight, that’s for sure.

Well…maybe those rumors about gold are true. Why the place looks as bad as it does remains a mystery, but that might explain…

Forget it. He doesn’t want to know.

#Eyes Unable to Dream #Jonathan Crane #Kitty Richardson #reckless baby Crane #well #reckless by his standards #he's a small-town boy after all

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umberoff · 7 years

Text

HI HERE IS EVERY SAI BRUSH I OWN

sooo I tend to horde brushes, like, a lot. it’s been a slowly growing collection here, but now I’ve gotten to the point where I literally have next to no room and I desperately have to delete some. BUT I’m too paranoid of the fact that I’ll need one of them again some day. so I decided to dump ‘em all somewhere!

this is basically a reference for me in the future in case I need to remember That One Brush That Did A Thing that I may have deleted, but I figure I might as well also share them all since I’m saving them anyway and maybe someone will find something they like. you can take any of them if they interest you, and feel free to change ‘em as you see fit.

most of them aren’t mine, as I’ve basically always just swiped settings from a bunch of different places, so I have no idea where most of these came from. whoops!!

if you don’t have the texture/blotmap/whatever: I unfortunately don’t have a link to where I got all of mine, but most of them are here. if something’s missing, well, google’s your pal and I’m sure you can find ‘em.

anyway they’re under the cut. warning: there is. a lot. let’s go.

Brush

blotchy and neat. doesn’t blend much, but you can turn up “Blending” if you want it to. it’s pretty good for far away trees and bushes and all

Water

my usual blender, but I don’t really use it much anymore since I prefer manually blending nowadays?? still okay to smooth stuff out though

SpaceFoam

a really nice feelin’ brush!! I don’t even know what “space foam” means but it just ~feels~ it. just has this nice, dusty, foamy texture to it. I have another version of this brush that uses “Noise” instead of “Fine Flat 2″ if you want it more round instead of square.

Crayonz

used to be a general brush for sketching/doodling, but I don’t really use it much anymore. maybe you’ll like it.

Rough Chalk

super chunky, rough, and dry chalk brush

Speckle

self explanatory I guess! pretty good for texture or large skin blemishes

Chalk(Standard)

I really like this brush-- it’s great for making simple, blended backgrounds! keep in mind, because it’s a marker, changing its opacity works differently than other brushes, ie it doesn’t “layer”, it’s just a continuous tone

Badass Inker

OKAY I ACTUALLY DO KNOW WHERE THIS ONE IS FROM it’s here. mine is changed slightly but you figure out what you like. this was my main brush for lineart before I started inking in firealpaca. very sharp and crisp.

Marker

yep

RoughBrush

PKbrush

PKblotch

usually used it for a light, textured swash of color for an overlay layer or something. it’s supposed to be a big brush, but you can have it smaller I guess??

Acrylic

except it doesn’t really resemble acrylic at all, lol. in this state I use it as one of my blenders. BUT ALSO FUN THING: set that “normal” dropdown to multiply to get a subtle darkening effect. sometimes I use this for “lineart” in paintings.

Deliciously Dry

another brush from here. very nice rough texture.

Broken Chalk

I looove this weird little guy, lol. acts normal if you just go in a line, but it’ll get all “blocky” like that if you jitter your hand. because of this, it makes a pretty interesting leaf brush! it blends pretty cool, too.

BoneDry

aaaand ANOTHER from here.

Chalk

Chalk (... again)

Grass

it’s called grass but I honestly can’t imagine using it as a grass brush, lmao. stringy and soft though, may work as the flats for hair??

Clouds

this brush is...... kinda weird?? I mean, it’s clouds I guess. it’s not really perfect, but it’ll work if you spend enough time on it. I feel like it works better painting on the same layer than its own.

Gore

this brush is awfully light and soft for something called “gore”! actually I assume it’s called that cuz you use it as a patchy effect for wounds and stuff.

CG Smooth

named so because I think it’s supposed to resemble a brush used for very smooth, glossy, cg painting. (please excuse the shitty nose, I’m way rusty)

Paint

do you know how many random generic paint brushes I have

Paint 2

cuz it’s a lot

Paint 3

a loooootttt

Parrot

I’m weirdly fond of this one even though it’s not super special. I feel like it’d be good for smooth, bright, poppy blending.

Tint

this is another weird one. it’s like..... if you wanted to do a painty wash, I guess?

Chunky

like Broken Chalk above, this is another one that gets cool things when you jitter it. this one is a little more... jagged? reminds me of broken glass

CLead

this one works weiiirdly and maybe I should make a whole separate post about it?? well for now, this one’s basically like a dry marker or highlighter or something. I like it a lot.

PSPainting

I think it’s called that cuz it’s supposed to emulate painting in photoshop, even though it...... doesn’t, really, at all.

Copic 2

Water 10

another random blender. it doesn’t work on transparent areas though! (bring its dilution down if you want it to)

Copic

I have no idea if this is even remotely close to how a copic works (probably not)

TraditionalPencil

I’m never really 100% satisfied with most “pencil” brushes in sai, but here’s one anyway I guess.

Lead

and here’s another. this is the one that I actually tend to use

Acrylic (....... again)

and like our first acrylic, this is not really acrylic at all. super soft and light blender

BrushPen

SUPER rough and textured pen kinda thing

AmazingAcrylic

if you say so, name! actually this does look like it blends p cool

RIPbrush

why is it called this. what am I even doing with half these brushes. why am I here.

NEBULA

oh wait this one’s neat (neat enough to make two images even). good for all your spacey needs! the second one is a bunch of colors and set to “luminosity”, so you can get some cool effects.

shrugs (great name)

the marker tool is a strange being but I’ve really learned to love it lately. the key to this brush is setting that drop down up there to “multiply”, so you can get really deep darks with your base color where you need it. the downside to this being that you can’t really use preserve opacity to change it to a different color or you’ll lose the effect of those darks (you can use hue/saturation/brightness shift tho, but it might be a lil weird)

aaaand everything else I didn’t post were accidental duplicates! so that’s it!! that sure was a lot but maybe you found something in here you liked ;0

#paint tool sai #sai brushes #sai brush settings #is that enough?? lol

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insanitysscribblings · 7 years

Text

Reyna Writes: The Artist and the Athlete

@siderealsandman

*Kicks down door*

WHO HERE WANTS SOME KIMNATH FANFIC?

Have a fluff piece with ‘em~ Enjoy! <3

~Reyna

His pencil danced across his sketchbook, but not in the usual way. Rather that creating anything, it appeared to be an unconscious thing, Nathanael’s head propped up on his fist as he stared blankly down at his sketchbook, as if waiting for an idea to form. His hair was down today, too—it was common knowledge that Nathanael liked to work with his hair up, since he needed both eyes clear to really commit to his craft.

There was no commitment today, though—only a pinched brow and a slight pout, as if whatever he was trying to work on was being difficult, and Nathanael had no idea how to win its cooperation.

When he jogged past the agitated artist for the third time, Kim decided to pause his training to see what was up.

“Yo, Nath!” He called, announcing his presence with a shout and a hearty wave as he jogged towards the table Nathanael was sitting. He looked up, smiling vaguely as Kim took the seat across from him.

“Hey, Kim.” He swept his red hair behind an ear, but the gesture was useless; his bangs fell right back into his face again, but other than a brief roll of his eyes, he let them be. “What’s up?”

“Oh, you know—gotta keep up my speed if I wanna keep my track scholarship.” He shrugged with a grin that hovered just over the border of cheeky. “Also gotta keep my strength up since I basically carry my team.”

Nathanael chuckled, sliding his sketchbook shut. Kim noticed.

“Not feelin’ the artsy vibes today?”

Nathanael’s brow puckered.

“Not especially,” he confessed, running a frustrated hand through his hair with a sigh. “Not for lack of trying or anything—I guess I’ve just been uninspired lately.”

“Aw, that sucks,” Kim said sympathetically, wiping sweat from his brow with the towel slung around his neck.

“It does. Especially since I have a project due soon.” Nathanael folded his hands under his chin, slim fingers interlocking as he scowled down at his sketchbook. Kim grinned. If anything, the dude definitely had the ‘brooding artist’ look down pat. “I think I may need a new muse.”

“Don’t you have to sell your soul for one of those?”

Nathanael glanced up at Kim, something like a deadpan crossing his features. Kim raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“…You’re not going to make the obligatory ‘red head, no soul’ joke here?”

Kim blinked.

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” Nathanael dismissed the issue, relief taking over his expression now as he smiled. “Just…some of my American friends have imposed this, uh, ‘view’ on me.” He frowned again. “It got old real quick.”

Kim grinned.

“Okay, but it’s probably better than being asked if the curtains match the carpet all the time…am I right?”

“Oh god,” Nathanael groaned, dropping his face into a hand. “Add the nickname ‘Rusty’, and you have the unholy trio of red-head jokes.”

“Isn’t there also something from America about an orphan named Annie—”

“Don’t,” Nathanael said, giving Kim a sharp warning glance. Kim snickered.

“Hey, don’t get mad at me. I didn’t give you the red hair.”

Nathanael rolled his eyes, idly tapping his pencil on his sketchbook once again, which drew Kim’s attention to it once more.

“So what’s this project you have to do?”

Nathanael blinked, looking like Kim had pulled him out of some other void of thought.

“Oh…it’s an anatomy piece,” he said. “The concept isn’t difficult—I’ve done plenty of anatomy pieces before…” He frowned again, pale skin wrinkling. “But my professor says my style’s stagnating.”

“Rude,” Kim said with a frown, which brought a slight smile to Nathanael’s face.

“Thanks, but it’s important to be able to take criticism about things like this, even if it isn’t always something I want to hear.” Nathanael sighed, tucking his pencil behind his ear for safe keeping as he propped his head up with his elbows, frowning down at his sketchbook once more. “But I’m not sure what to do. I want to branch out and challenge myself, but how do I do that?”

“Why don’t you just ask him exactly what he’s looking for?”

To this, Nathanael let out a bitter laugh that had Kim cringing. Wow…in all the time he had known him, he had never heard Nathanael make a sound so dispirited…

“It’s an art class,” he pointed out after a moment, giving Kim a dry smile. “Nothing is exact. You have to feel your way through it in order to truly create…but with this…”

His lips twisted, and Kim was startled to find him looking so…unsure.

“…I don’t know,” he muttered, tearing his eyes away from his sketchbook to look away, into the distance. “I’m starting to question more and more whether or not I really want this to be my career, if I get stuck on something as simple as this…”

Kim stared, his mouth hanging open. Nathanael, the boy who never went anywhere without at least one sketchpad and a set of pencils with him since primary school…not doing art?

The thought was so inconceivable that Kim was seized with a sudden desire to correct this problem, no matter what it took.

“Nath…you love art,” Kim fervently reminded his friend, his hands splayed flat against the table as he leaned in, staring at his broody artist friend, who returned his gaze with some surprise. “You quitting art would be like me quitting track! It just wouldn’t be right, man! You have a gift, and it’d be stupid to throw it away! I’d hate to see you give up your passion just ‘cause you’re struggling with something so temporary.”

Nathanael blinked, red slowly painting his cheeks as he glanced away from Kim, a little, shy smile crossing his face. The sight amused Kim—university had definitely helped Nathanael come out of his shell, but it was the tiny gestures that pleased Kim, because they reassured him that Nathanael would never change too much.

“Uh…thanks,” he replied quietly, but all too soon, that smile turned back into a grimace. “Still…it would be nice to work through this block.”

“Right.” Kim sat straight again and folded his arms, frowning as he put on his Mr. Fix-It cap and tried to figure out how to assist his struggling friend. Anatomy, huh… “Is this, like, one of those naked drawing classes or something?”

Kim half-expected Nathanael to blush…but he didn’t. Instead, there was a thoughtful gleam in his eye as he gripped his chin in thought.

“I wouldn’t classify in that way, although we do have nude models from time to time,” he admitted, and Kim raised his eyebrows. The way he said that with no trace of embarrassment…Kim wasn’t sure if he could pull off that level of professionalism. He was almost envious.

“So, what? You need a model?”

Nathanael shrugged.

“Not in the way you mean. I came here to sketch people passing by, so it’s not like I need someone who’ll stay still for hours at a time…but maybe that’s my problem?” He closed his eyes and frowned, and Kim had to bite back a laugh at the way his brooding intensified with just two simple gestures. “I prefer to sketch things in motion more than stills…capturing a brief piece of someone’s life like that is fun, and still models feel more like I’m staging my art rather than creating it…but if motion sketches are all I do, I can’t really improve, can I…?”

He was talking himself in circles, getting so quiet that he was just muttering under his breath now. Kim could do nothing but watch, frowning as he wished that there was something he could do…

…Wait.

There was something he could do!

“Hey, I could be a model,” he interjected, grinning confidently, even at the startled look in Nathanael’s eyes once he opened them.

“…I appreciate that you want to help, Kim,” Nathanael replied, tilting his head a little with that vague smile from earlier, as if he wanted to be as polite as possible in his refusal of such an idea. “But being a model is very rarely interesting for the models themselves. You’d have to stay still for very long periods of time—”

“I can do that!” At Nathanael’s raised eyebrows, Kim pouted. “Don’t give me that look—I can stay still! …If I try…really, really hard…”

Nathanael laughed, teal eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Well…it’s not like I couldn’t use the practice, I guess,” he mused, “but Kim—are you sure? I don’t want to cut into your practice time—”

“It’s totally fine,” Kim insisted with a careless wave of his hand. “Friends gotta help each other out, right? Just name a time and a place, and I’ll be there.”

“…Okay, I’ll do that,” Nathanael agreed, smiling warmly. “Thanks, Kim.”

Kim grinned.

“Anytime, buddy.”

Not fidgeting was a lot harder than Kim ever expected it to be.

It wasn’t like he had to hold a crazy pose or anything either—though he had certainly tried, before Nathanael had instructed him to just sit down like a normal person instead of with his chest puffed out, or in a dab. Kim had complained that that wasn’t very exciting, but twenty minutes in, he was grateful for Nathanael’s foresight, for having to hold any of his previous poses right now would’ve been a bitch.

Nathanael’s dorm room was neat and tidy, save for a corner of the room that was covered in old newspapers and riddled with art supplies and an easel, the canvas splashed with paint, though no discernible shapes stuck out to Kim. They were not over in this corner, however—instead, Kim sat on Nathanael’s bed while he was seated in the chair at his desk, the only sound in the room the light scratches of Nathanael’s pencil, or the scrape of an eraser on paper as he undid a misplaced pencil stroke. His eyes shifted back and forth between Kim and his sketchbook, the glances to both brief, as if Nathanael didn’t actually have to look at what he was doing for very long. There was an implicit trust in his artist fingers that Kim found himself relating to—he never had to think about running, except to adjust his speed and pacing from time to time. It was a natural thing, easy as breathing, when his powerful legs propelled him across the earth, as if he could outrun the speed of light and sound—

Damn it, now he wanted to go for a jog. Running was the wrong thing to think about right now.

Kim’s fingers twitched as he sat there, trying not to move too noticeably. Huh…he never knew silence could be awkward. It wasn’t like he didn’t like hanging out with Nathanael—he was a cool dude, and Kim had known him practically forever, even if they didn’t become close until entering university together. But the fact that Nathanael kept looking at him without saying anything stirred him, and he didn’t know why…

The next sweep of Nathanael’s eyes stayed longer than usual, and Kim found himself tensing at the change. He didn’t know why…maybe it was because he was unused to meeting both of Nathanael’s eyes, instead of focusing on just the one that wasn’t perpetually obscured by his hair. Nathanael seemed to pause for a second…and then he lowered his sketchbook into his lap, letting his pencil rest in his hand.

“Are you done already?” Kim asked in surprise, wondering just how amazing Nathanael’s abilities had become.

Nathanael chuckled at the assumption.

“No. I just feel like you’re a little too tense. Relax a bit.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, I can do that.” Kim cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders before settling back into his slouched over position, a hand dangling in between his knees as he rested his elbow on his thigh. “Better?”

“Better.” Nathanael raised his sketchbook again, and kept his eyes upon it as he asked, “How’s your training going?”

Kim blinked.

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to move?”

“You can talk,” Nathanael allowed with a smirk that smacked of amusement. “The movement of your mouth is a minute detail…though I’m going to have to ask that you don’t talk with your hands as much right now.”

Kim frowned.

“I don’t talk with my hands,” he denied, waving a hand through the air to assert his point…oh, wait. Damn it.

Nathanael laughed, the sound free and easy. Kim felt himself swallow and frowned. Hmm…looked like he hadn’t hydrated enough today…

“And training’s fine,” Kim answered the question to move past his slip, watching as Nathanael focused on his sketchbook, pencil gliding across the page. “I think we stand a good chance of flattening our competition next month.”

Kim followed the slight curve of Nathanael’s lips with his eyes as he glanced up again, expression knowing.

“You’re never anything short of confident, huh?”

“You makin’ fun of me?” Kim challenged with a grin.

“Not at all,” answered Nathanael, and the earnestness in his voice made Kim pause. “I really admire that about you.”

Kim blinked. Well…that was…unexpected. He was always catching heat from someone (usually his coach) about being cocky, but to hear that someone actually liked that about him…?

Wow, it had gotten really warm in here all of a sudden. Kim cleared his throat. Jeez, how had he not had enough water today? That was a problem—if he was going to run, he had to stay hydrated. He’d ask Nathanael for a break to do so in a few minutes.

“Well, y’know…” he mumbled before petering off lamely, because he realized he had nowhere to go with that sentence. Nathanael seemed content to let it go, and silence fell between them once more as he sketched. Kim watched as his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, teal eyes focused as he worked on capturing the rare sight of Kim in stillness. He really did love his craft—it was obvious to anyone who watched him work. Idly, Kim wondered how many people had seen his focused look, and could guess from it just how deeply Nathanael felt about his work…

Nathanael glanced up again. Abruptly, Kim realized he was staring and glanced away, at the walls. It would’ve been clear that an artist lived here from just one look at the posters on the walls, ranging from well-known works that even Kim could name, to obscure pieces he had never seen before. Kim searched, squinting at the scribbled signatures on each piece, but none of them looked familiar…

“You don’t hang your own art up in your room?”

Nathanael’s eyes were back on his sketchbook as Kim looked at him; there was more to the furrow of his brows now.

“Why would I do that?” He asked idly, as if the answer didn’t matter much. “I haven’t made anything good enough to share wall space with my inspirations.”

“Whaaaaat?” Kim exclaimed in surprise, hastily adjusting his posture afterwards, for he had straightened in alarm. “Dude, I went to the school’s art exhibit last year—your stuff is great!”

Nathanael smiled vaguely.

“Thanks,” he replied, but it didn’t really sound like he meant it; it sounded like he was saying it just to be polite. “But I want to be a whole lot more than ‘great’ before I think about adding my own work up on the walls. Besides,” he muttered after a moment, and Kim watched with intrigue as red invaded Nathanael’s fair skin. “It’s…kind of embarrassing, hanging my own stuff up. Doesn’t it seem a little…cocky?”

Kim snorted.

“Dude, if you’re gifted, you should be able to look up and remind yourself of just how talented you are without having to apologize for it.” He winked. “Take it from a guy who gets called ‘cocky’ fifty times a day.”

Nathanael smiled again, and it was that slow, secret smile that took its time curving his lips, his eyes bright with amusement.

“Well…it’s not like the people who call you that don’t have a point—”

“Hey!” Kim complained with a scowl that he couldn’t hold for very long when Nathanael started laughing. It seemed like he had never done that much in collegé…Kim was glad to see that he felt comfortable enough to do so now.

The rest of their time was passed in back and forth banter, and when Nathanael finally announced that he was done, Kim made a show of stretching and sighing in relief, falling back on Nathanael’s bed. Oddly enough, however, there was a strange sense of let-down. Kim couldn’t place why at first…maybe because he’d been having so much fun that he kind of didn’t want it to end? He had always been one to overindulge, of course…

He opened his eyes when a shadow fell over him, to find Nathanael leaning over him with an amused look.

“Nap time?” He asked, and Kim snorted, propping himself up on his elbows. “I didn’t realize you modeling for me took so much out of you.”

“Psh, I’m fine,” said Kim with a wave of his hand, his eyes going to Nathanael’s sketchbook, which sat abandoned upon his desk. “So, can I see it?”

Nathanael’s eyes lit up.

“You want to?”

“Hell yeah!” Kim replied, a ‘duh’ tone included in his voice, though the way Nathanael looked so pleased that he wanted to see his work was…kind of endearing…

Kim sat up fully as Nathanael went to retrieve his sketchbook, plopping down next to him before he passed it over, his expression laced with anticipation…and trepidation. It made Kim curious—was Nathanael afraid that Kim would hate it or something?

“So?” Nathanael asked after Kim took the sketchbook and got a good look at the sketch. “What do you think?”

“…”

Kim heard the question…but honestly, he was having trouble articulating exactly how he felt about something that was so damn awesome. It was him, and yet, it was a better him, something Kim had no idea was possible—somehow, Nathanael had made his slouching form look regal and careless, like a prince upon his throne with the world dancing in the palm of his hand. There wasn’t a single detail Nathanael had gotten wrong, except for maybe his face, because Kim wasn’t sure that he looked that handsome…

The abrupt thought that this was how Nathanael saw him struck Kim, and suddenly, his face was on fire.

“…Um…”

Nathanael’s soft voice brought Kim back to the present, and he looked over to find Nathanael looking at him anxiously, running a hand through his tied back hair self-consciously, the movement tugging his bangs loose so that they hung in his face, as if he wanted to hide himself from view.

“Do you, uh…not like it?”

“Dude, I love it,” Kim assured him immediately, because he could not stand to see the self-doubt in Nathanael’s eyes, couldn’t stand to see him think that this sketch was anything less than perfect. In fact, it was so perfect— “Can I have it?”

Nathanael stared at him. Kim’s thoughts caught up with his mouth a second later, and he grimaced.

“Well, I mean…I don’t know if you need it for class or whatever, but if it’s just practice—”

“You…really want it?” Nathanael asked, as if he couldn’t believe it. Kim almost scoffed, but he didn’t. Instead, he held Nathanael’s gaze, willing him with everything he had to believe it when he said:

“I really do.”

Ah, and there was the slow-curving smile—no, no, wait. This one bypassed a smile—it was a full-on grin, as if Kim had positively delighted Nathanael. And it was a grin so bright that Kim felt himself swallow again, and slowly, an inkling occurred to him, that he might not be that thirsty after all…at least, not in that way…

“Sure,” Nathanael agreed, and it took Kim a second to realize he was talking about the sketch rather than confirming the swirling thoughts in his head. Hand outstretched, he grasped the sketchbook. “Just let me sign it…”

“Okay…” Kim would’ve watched him sign it, just to see the way Nathanael’s wrist moved as his pencil flicked across the page, marking the art as his…marking the sketch of Kim as his…but his phone distracted him, ringing in the silence. Cursing under his breath, Kim dug his phone out from one of his pockets to silence his daily alarm that told him to go to practice. Damn, he hadn’t realized how much time had passed…

“I gotta go,” he announced, getting to his feet with a sort of reluctance he dully felt as he shrugged his shoulders. “Gotta continue leaving losers in my dust.”

“Your teammates must love you,” Nathanael joked, tearing the used page of his sketchbook out, turning with a smile to hand the sketch over. “Well, good luck with practice. And thanks for your help.”

“Anytime,” Kim said, though it was with a little more feeling than the last time he had uttered such words. Barely able to manage a parting wave, Kim left the room, his legs automatically moving as fast as they could go, as if to outpace his suddenly racing heart. It wasn’t until he left Nathanael’s dorm building that he looked down at the sketch, wondering where Nathanael had stuck his signature.

He found it in an instant, tucked away in the crease of Sketch Kim’s neck. Almost like a kiss.

Kim stared.

That…was so goddamn cute.

“Fuck,” he mumbled to himself without any real negativity, feeling pleasantly surprised and tingly all over as his face heated, all from such a simple gesture. His next words, though he had never spoken them before, were still matter of fact: “I’m gay.”

There may be a sequel to this in the future that’s a little more...intimate, shall we say. ;)

Hope you enjoyed! <3

~Reyna

#reyna writes #miraculous ladybug fanfic #the artist and the athlete #mlm positivity #kimxnathanael #I'm actually really happy with how this came out #this pairing was cuter than I was expecting...#boy do i die

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