Phew, my third “micro fic” personal prompt challenge in the bag! @wrapped-up challenged me to write a Charlie/Draco one-shot with the prompt “things you said when i was crying” and er, this came out of that. I hope you enjoy this wee little one-shot!
“It’s for you,” Charlie says, and he runs the petals across the line of Draco’s pale, smooth jaw, the slope of his cheek, the curve of his ear adorned with delicate silver hoops. Below them, the mountains drop dramatically toward the glacial lake that winks in the sun like an eye, sat at the heart where all of the ranges slope and end, its water turquoise and glassy and still. In the distance, there’s a rumble chased quickly by the sound of a high-pitched screech: the dragons are out on the range today, heralded by the keepers and the wards that stop them from flying over to this secluded spot and the huddle of cabins and huts half a mile behind Charlie and Draco’s back.
Title: wildflower Rating:(soft) E Wordcount:1.3k
Tags:EWE, POV Charlie Weasley, Dragonologist Charlie Weasley, Herbologist Draco Malfoy, flowers, language of flowers, meadows, Romania, mountains, nature, developing relationship, fluff, art
Summary:Charlie and Draco’s relationship grows like the wildflowers on the alpine meadows, and Charlie wonders how many seasons they’ll survive.
nervous about this one but i’m doing my best, hope you like it ✨
icarus and his sun - shuu, keiichirou
The music room was illuminated by the subtle glow of the rising sun from behind the window, the warmth met blonde’s skin who was leaning comfortably against the wall. Vampire’s fingers met with something smooth, Shuu frowned, trying to guess what that nice-to-touch surface was. Warm, slender, silky, but rough in some spots.
The rough places appeared to be some sort of bruise or a scar.
Ironically, Shuu was too lazy to open his eyes, however too ambitious to study a thing with his hand.
Skin.
It was definitely a human skin, he hesitated a little over that option, after all, he didn’t sense the presence of a stranger.
It’s strange now when he was thinking about it, there was something different about the atmosphere of this place. He opened his eyes.
“Oh~ Shuu, you woke up, I wanted to do it myself, but you frowned your face so cutely I didn’t have a heart to do it”
Sakamaki looked at the man, not surprised at all.
“And let go of my wrist, you will crush it”
Yeah, that explains a lot. Keiichirou Seong, though Shuu could not believe it himself, Keii was his so-called rival, even if the red-haired guy was the only one who called their relationship rivalry. He didn’t know Seong for a relatively long time, but Shuu had gotten used to his presence. No wonder the company of the violinist did not impress him anymore, after all, he was already familiar with the scent of Keii, as if it already become one with the ambiance in the room forever.
It was frightening, to say the least, he had never felt anything like this. The blonde was sure that something was wrong with the redhead, but he didn’t know what.
Sakamaki looked at Seong’s wrist, there was a bruise, a thin, almost unnoticeable one, that reminded him of rubberband marks. He released his wrist and lay down again, turning his back on him.
“I told you not to come here.”
“Did you?”
“Did I?” a thought flashed through Shuu’s head, he quickly got rid of it.
“No, I told him for sure” He already know how good he was at making people second-guess themselves.
“Yes.”
“Then I chose to ignore it!”
Keii giggled, Sakamaki knew this sound rather well, a tainted, lie-filled performance hiding beneath a sweet as honey melody.
It always sounded the same, just as false, just as disgusting. You can’t call it a laugh, although others were charmed by it, he’d already figured it out. Keii was no longer able to confuse his eyes, or at least he thought.
And that wasn’t the only thing. The blonde most of the time thought the redhead was making direct eye contact all the time, but after some time Shuu noticed that his gaze curved slightly downward.
What are you hiding, Mister Perfect? What are you afraid of?
The truth?
People?
Or maybe yourself?
Why, when someone confides in you, you always drink a sip of water? Are you doing this to gain time to answer with a perfect tint of reassurance and good advice or because your throat burns so tremendously from every lie that comes out of your smiling lips?
Why do you hide your hands behind your back constantly? Are you so uncomfortable, or maybe you have blood on your hands?
Even so, He still shines, shines like a morning, like thousand suns.
Because he is the sun, and the awareness of pain does not take away it’s beauty
It hurts.
“Are you sleeping?” Keiichirou’s hand touched his shoulder.
It burns.
Sakamaki turned and looked at him annoyed, he sighed
“Trying to.”
Shuu did not want to be blinded by his flare and intimidated by pain. But his body alone, moved higher and higher and closer to the sun
“You’re doing it again, god you’re so desperate, Shuu~.”
However, vampire heard nothing, did not hear the warnings and the Star’s monologue. His fangs descended into it’s flesh, felt like touching the sun.
Excerpts from an Age Swap AU: Andy (1975 - ???) & Nile (900 BC - ???)
The new one is good enough to kill her once before they even reach the hotel room. Nile can see her experience in combat in the way she had responded immediately after waking up in the back of an unfamiliar car; the sort of experience that doesn’t need a gun to kill someone. Tiring as dying is, she appreciates that. When it comes to it, it’ll help her. Probably it’s already helped her before.
She didn’t seem frightened by what she must perceive as a kidnapping, and hadn’t flinched when she killed Nile, but when Nile reawakens, the bones of her back and neck snapping as they heal, she begins to throw up.
this is my old renaissance au with artist!billy and model!steve so enjoy lol
The light spills out onto the floor before the window, making the worn wood of the floor look bright again, like new. The light doesn’t reach Steve though. Billy set up the scene like that on purpose, closer to the center of his studio. No direct light. He wants this to be lit like it’s the beginning of twilight. In his head, Hyacinth dies at sunset.
The room is silent, has been for a while, other than birds outside the window, a breeze that made the window tap against itself lightly, and fabric shifting if Steve stirs from where he is at all, draped across this haphazard construction of pillows, blankets, and a bench.
That’s the word Billy used; “drape”. When Steve got to the studio Billy was kicking pillows around on his little model platform, trying to get everything set up right, hardly even greeting Steve at all before launching into his explanation of how he wanted Steve to look.
“-and he’s dying, but he’s not dead yet,” Billy walked half a circle around the platform, hands out. “So Apollo would- damn-” A pillow fell over, he pushed it back up. “Would be here. So if you can just sort of drape yourself across right here-”
Steve was stripping off the last of his garments when Billy turned back around.
“Here?” Steve finished kicking his stockings off, crossed to step up onto the platform.
Billy swallowed, looking Steve in the eyes because at least it meant he wouldn’t look down, slack jawed. “Yeah, that’s- that’s perfect.” Steve was already settling in to sitting down, letting his head fall back against the seat of the bench, throat exposed.
The way he was sitting shifted his weight in his hips more; Billy tried to look critically. Not appreciatively. He shouldn’t be appreciating the son of the nobleman that had decided to be his patron. Not that Steve was even supposed to be modeling for him beyond the two portraits he’d already had done.
“Tip your knee down more,” Billy stepps back, takes in the composition.
Steve drops his knee.
“Turn your head towards me.”
Steve obliges. The line of his nose looks perfect at three quarters.
Billy stepps up to the platform again, pulls some of the fabric forward, lets it fall over Steve’s legs more, over his groin- good. Less distracting. More poetic or something- and the line of his thighs beneath the fabric has just the heaviness Billy is looking for. He steps back again.
“What’s the myth again?” Steve’s jaw gains definition when he speaks with his head at this angle.
“The Death of Hyacinthus.”
“I know that part.” Steve rolls his hand a little. “The part before that. How does he die?”
“He- hang on.” Billy steps close again to push things around, make the lines right. “The wind- Zephyr- gets jealous of his beauty. Apollo throws a discus, and Zephyr pushes it off course, so it knocks Hyacinth in the head. Apollo holds him while he dies.” Billy says it all matter-of-factly. He’s trying not to get distracted. He picks up Steve’s arm to tilt back towards him a little. His skin is warm like the sunlight staining the floor.
“That’s sad.” Steve says. His arm feels relaxed in Billy’s grip. “Weren’t they close? Apollo and Hyacinth.”
Billy feels a familiar warmth at his neck of this topic. This thing that always comes up when he and Steve are alone. “They were lovers.”
Steve doesn’t say anything back to that.
Billy gets the composition mostly how he wants it- and he’ll probably try Steve in a couple different poses, this is only for sketching. He takes ages deciding where to set up to actually draw it- Steve makes fun of him. Billy says he’s not the one naked on a pile of old curtains. That makes Steve laugh. His stomach flexes a little when he laughs.
Billy’s glad Steve can be part of his process now.
He gets some general gestures down on paper. He really nails the angle of Steve’s throat- which he’s proud of. He needs the arch of the thing to be perfect. And he gets the general idea of Steve’s features down quick- he’s drawn Steve’s face maybe a thousand times by now. The way his arm falls is tricky- he’ll come back to that in a bit.
“Billy.”
Billy looks up at Steve’s voice. He’s sat up a little, something short of coy in his eyes. “I’m cold.” “You’re cold.” Billy says back to him. Because he never does what Steve implies. Only what Steve says.
“Yeah, like you said- I’m bare ass naked on a pile of curtains.”
“Your calling.”
Steve laughs again. “Do you think we could close the door?”
“We?”
“You. Can youclose the door.”
“Who’s the revered artist here?”
“Who’s the patron?”
Billy rolls his eyes, but he drops his chalk into the lip of his easel anyway, walks to pull the door to his studio shut, separating them from the rest of the house. Steve left it open in the first place.
“You’renot my patron.” Billy says when he gets back, picks up to start drawing again.
“I’m close.” Steve only sounds a little superior.
He’s right. He is close to being Billy’s patron. He recommended Billy to his family, he talked up Billy’s version of the pieta, he introduced Billy to the Influentials of Florence, got him this nice new studio, set up in one of the family houses. He was only a little superior about it.
Mostly he was nice.
Nice to Billy. Excited about the things he drew, always asking him what he was working on.
Asked to sit for him once, twice, how many more times, he was part of the process now.
This might be what having a muse was, if Billy believed in things like having muses.
Steve scratches the back of his calf with a foot, then sets his legs back down.
“I’m surprised you don’t get bored doing this.” Billy cracks two of the knuckles on his drawing hand, shakes out his wrist. He’s only prying a little.
“I like watching you work,” comes Steve’s easy reply.
“Still.” Billy smudges at a stray line with his thumb. “You’re always fidgety at dinners and shit. Not here.”
“Dinnersareboring.” Steve sighs.
He had expressed that sentiment before. That he found Billy much more interesting than anything his family ever did. That he’d trade his infinite wealth for the virve Billy so possessed. Only he didn’t say it like that. He said “I’d trade all of this shit for whatever makes your art so beautiful.”
And Billy said “You wouldn’t want to. Trust me.”
Billy, having seared the image of Steve into his brain by now, was adding more definition in places, really letting his focus slide out of his head.
And it’s quiet for a bit. Billy doesn’t notice when the silence breaks- the sound of shifting fabric, bare feet on wood floor-
“Shit, that’s really good.” Steve’s voice startles Billy a little, but he doesn’t let it show. Just turns a little abruptly to find Steve leaning over his shoulder.
“Looks just like me.” Steve continued, hovering his fingertips over Billy’s rendition of his nose.
“You don’t have to sound so impressed every time.” Billy rolled his eyes, pushing Steve’s hand away.
“Oh, excuse me for showing some enthusiasm.” Steve hummed another laugh, still looking at the paper. He traced a finger absentmindedly down his own flesh-and-blood nose, marveling at the likeness.
Billy couldn’t focus enough to continue with Steve so close. Not like he’d never seen Steve in next to nothing before. But this was really and truly nothing. And even naked as the day he was born Steve exuded wealth in just the way he stood. Like clothes were nothing but decoration on something already… beautiful.
“Can you go back to your spot, please?” Billy got out, looking away like he was annoyed.
Steve just smiled at him before padding back to his platform, throwing the fabric back over his legs.
But now the composition was wrong-
“So,” Steve’s voice carried across the sun-soaked chambers. “Why Hyacinth?”
“What do you mean.” Billy was trying desperately to collect his thoughts.
“I mean, he’s dating a god, right? Why him? What’s so special about him.”
“He’s beautiful.”
“And?”
“Well, I mean, he’s a Spartan prince, he’s legendary. Apollo doesn’t even really pick him. Hyacinth has, like, a bunch of people to choose from. He picks Apollo.”
Billy can’t draw like this, especially since Steve fucked up the composition- probably on purpose.
Billy gets up with an unintentional little huff and gets close to Steve again, has to adjust his legs again, avoid staring at the pinks that dust Steve’s everywhere-
“You draw me a lot.” Steve interrupts Billy’s train of thought.
Billy looks up, holding Steve’s wrist like it was his own. “You sit for me a lot-”
“What’s your favorite part to draw?”
Billy’s breathing feels thicker, like his throat is coated in honey, sweet but hard to breathe. “Of you?” “Yeah.”
“Your nose.” Billy says easily, because it’s safe to say.
Steve smiles. “You’ve said that before.”
“It’s true.” Billy prepares to turn away again, to tell Steve they should get more done while there’s still daylight.
Steve’s fingers hook against the palm of Billy’s hand. This is playing with fire.
Steve lifts Billy’s hand up, touches it to the bridge of his nose.
He can feel the sharp bone under his forefinger.
“Where else?”
Billy inhales. It’s a feat. “Your jaw.”
Steve pulls Billy’s hand down his cheek to touch his jawline. They’ve been avoiding this forever,
“And?” Cliche game of cat and mouse. Right now, Billy’s the mouse.
“Your shoulders.” Billy watches Steve drag his hand down his perfect neck to the slope of his perfect shoulders. “Steve.”
“Billy.” Steve mocks Billy’s warning tone just a little. “Come on, what else?”
Billy swallows again. He doesn’t respond he just lets his hand wander lower, lower, down his chest, to his stomach-
Billy stops his hand, pushes back against Steve’s. “I’ve never drawn you nude, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Maybe you should.” Steve’s finger’s slide up Billy’s forearm to hook under the edge of his rolled up sleeve.
“I’d need a couple different references…” Billy trails off. He knows Steve is about to kiss him.
It’s still delicious when he does. No number of days, weeks, waiting for one of them to make a move, of thinking what that move would be, what it would feel like, would have prepared Billy for the spit-sweet taste of a first kiss in the late afternoon.
-
i might do a part ii or just leave it like this lol
MLB AU where Adrien was only kind-of-famous at the beginning of the show
Some people might recognize him but they wouldn’t know him as ~Adrien Agreste the model~ they would know him as ~Gabriel Agreste’s Son~ if even at all
“Adrien???? Uhh… who? Oh! yeahhhhhh! Gabriel Agrestes son. I didn’t know his name. Yeah uh I think I remember seeing him next to Gabriel on TV one time”
He would still model for the brand and everything but he wasn’t like THE face of the brand and definitely wasn’t like a covergirl (would it be coverboy?) and he definitely wasn’t plastered on billboards as far as the eye could see
Adrien would be like that one model from fashionova who models like all their clothes. You know the one I’m talking about. You recognize them and you know where u recognize them from but you don’t know their name and you wouldn’t consider them like ~famous~ much less a celebrity
“Oh! Hey aren’t u that guy… yeah yeah! You are THAT guy. You know… the guy who is always in the Gabriel ads?”
Adrien was only kind-of-famous and only really bc of his dad. Otherwise he was just that model that people ~sometimes~ recognize
Well…
That is until ladybug unintentionally put him on the map…..
Although few representations of her exist and even if the most popular one is found in the Talbot Shrewsbury’s book, I thought I would illustrate Margaret de Anjou as we see her in the Coventry tapestry, a representation that I especially adore!
Thus, we have a beautiful and especially strong Queen in the foreground and a little further back is… her incredibly devoted husband! XD
one time he and i were sitting in bed and i said “where do you feel stuff?” and he said “what do you mean” and i said, “here is anxiety” and pointed to my bottom left rib where the spiders start. he pointed to his throat. “it’s here for me.”
i keep anger in my breastbone, he holds it in his hands. i feel sadness on my shoulders, he feels it in his lungs.
we play this game until we come to love, and i realize that i am terrified (jugular vein) of what might come. what if it is not the same. what if he feels it somewhere else, what if it is just a flash fire, not the slow burn, what if it is congealing in one place instead of radiating, i try to change topics, flight response (sternum)
he takes my hands in his and puts them over his ribs and says, “everywhere, everywhere, like a sun is trying to escape me, like i am being consumed and you are filling up where used to be empty.” i say, “don’t be ridiculous humans are 99% empty space,” i nervous laugh (spiders down spine), he holds his gaze with me.
