#and i take pencil to my empty canvas. and she turns up blank. like

[sapsolais]

,

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨2

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) nothing as yet.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: Thank you for your positive response to this one! I hope you enjoy what I have in store.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Your Spotify list of redundant tracks flowed through the apartment as you sat typing at your small desk in the corner of the front room. The boxy space was as oppressive as any office space, another reason for your voluntary work at the gallery. Vanessa let you in the studio to paint. Without the privilege, you wouldn’t have the space for your easel.

You stretched your fingers and rubbed your eyes. You felt dizzy from staring at the screen, even with night mode on. The work was monotonous and made you restless. You wanted a pencil or brush in hand, a canvas before you, not this blaring laptop. You yawned and took a sip of your lukewarm water.

Your phone vibrated from across the room and you checked the time. Your lunch started soon but no one was really keeping track. As long as you got your assignments done, it didn’t matter when you chewed on toast and disassociated.

You got up and grabbed your phone from the corner table and leaned against the arm of the couch. You remembered how Marcus woke up there and grumbled as he lifted his head in pain. You couldn’t really feel bad for him going into work hungover. He embarrassed you and it didn’t quite sink in until after Clark left you to stare down at your drunk boyfriend.

An unknown number showed on your screen and you answered tentatively, ready to hang up at the first sales pitch. Your name came from the speaker and you recognized the deep voice in an instant. It took you back to the night before and the canvas hung on the wall.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Clark said, “I only just had the paintings hung and I thought… well, I thought you might like to come see them in their new home.”

“Um…” you chewed your thumb, uncertain how to respond.

“Sorry, I know I can be a bit… to the point,” he laughed at himself, “how are you?”

“I’m good, just… taking a break.”

“You working?”

“Yeah, but I work from home,” you said as you touched the side of your neck, “I could… I could come see them but it might be a while before--”

“When are you finished work?” he asked bluntly.

“Four but I… maybe another day.”

“I don’t mean to be pushy but I did have something else to speak with you about,” he said, “a commission, like I mentioned.”

“Oh?”

“I kinda wanna get it started sooner than later, it will probably be pretty time-consuming,” he explained and you heard a clink and a soft sip, “I don’t wanna get into details on the phone but I promise, you will be compensated nicely.”

“You can’t wait until tomorrow?” you wondered.

“I suppose I can but it’d have to be during the day,” he responded, “why don’t you take some time to figure it out and get back to me by two? You can text me through this number.”

“Erm, sure,” you said uneasily, “I’m sorry, it’s just… very sudden, I don’t--”

“You can bring the boyfriend,” he said casually, “if you like.”

“He won’t be… home,” you said carefully, “I’ll let you know. Thank you.”

“I look forward to hearing from you,” he replied, “have a good day.”

“You, too,” you said and the line died.

You put your phone down and took a moment. Good things rarely happened to you. You struggled so long it was hard to think that might change. The skeptic in you told you there was something behind it all. That it couldn’t possibly be your art.

You went back to your computer and sighed as you waved away the screensaver with your mouse. The blinking cursor made you want to believe it was your big break.

🎨

You texted Clark at one and at four, you were in an Uber. Marcus drove his car to work and you stuck to buses and the underground when you could. The address was at least an hour out, the house among those estates on the edge of the city reserved for the upper echelon. You’d only ever seen the sprawling yards on your way to the next town.

When the car finally turned up the drive and you passed beyond a low brick wall, you felt entirely out of your depth. You tipped the Uber but didn’t feel too bad with the check from Vanessa sitting soundly in your account. You clutched the strap of your bag and walked along the curve of the brick work towards the stairs.

“Hey,” you stopped as Clark called to you, your ankle still tender from the night before.

You glanced over as he came out of the large garage and peeled off a pair of leather gloves. He smiled as he tucked them into his jacket pocket. You watched him and played with the clasp on your bag.

“Just got back from a drive,” he said, “I almost got carried away. I’m glad you made it.”

“Yeah, no problem,” you replied.

“Well, come on, let me show you around,” he waved behind you towards the front doors, “we’ll go on a tour and then we can talk details.”

“Wow,” you uttered mindlessly as you climbed the stairs to the door but kept the weight on your uninjured ankle, “this place is huge.”

“My contractor went a little crazy,” he scoffed, “but I can’t complain.”

He led you through the doors and directed you to the left. In the front room, your work was hung along the opposite wall, arranged in a way that drew the eye to them. You stepped closer and peered up at your work with a hint of awe. They looked even better in a place like that.

“I had my interior designer make the final call on where to hang them,” he explained, “I hope you don’t mind, I gave her your details. She said she had clients who might be interested in your work.”

“Really?” you breathed, “that’s… too nice.”

“Oh yeah? One day, you’ll be sick of rich pricks like me,” he grinned, “I’ll show you the pool, that’s usually the main attraction.”

“Sounds good,” you said as you followed but he paused and watched your stunted gait.

“I forgot, we can go slow,” he offered, “how’s the ankle?”

“I’ll make do,” you affirmed as you neared him, “just need to get my steps in.”

🎨

As you finished the tour of the second floor, you slowed along the long hall and admired the work of artists you only ever saw in museums. You couldn’t help but be enamoured by the historic blots of paint. You almost forgot where you were as you leaned in to read the initials beneath the pastel flowers.

“So,” Clark’s voice brought you back, you almost blanked him out entirely in your mind, “I think you might have noticed the empty space above the fireplace in the front room. I was hoping you could fill it.”

“Oh?” you looked at him and smiled nervously, “did you have something in mind? A landscape or--”

“Well, your portraits are great. I like the old world style. I was hoping you might do one of… me,” he suggested, “I know, it’s vain but why not?”

“I mean, yeah, I could do that,” you said.

“I’ll pay hourly plus materials,” he continued, “three hundred an hour.”

You almost choked at the number. You blinked and swallowed through your surprise.

“Even a small portrait would take at least twelve hours,” you warned, “are you sure?”

“I know it’s a lot of time for you, so… I was thinking, if you have to miss work, I’ll factor it into your rate. I would really like to get the project started as soon as we can,” he put his hand on his hip as he looked down at you, “the only thing I need from you is a list of materials. I’ll have them waiting for you here.”

“Here?”

“Well, yeah, I figure it makes most sense,” he turned his palm out.

“Hmm, sure, I prefer my own brushes but… you know I can just buy the stuff myself--”

“Ah, no, I want it to be perfect. You send me a list and I’ll have my assistant go out and get it all ready,” he assured, “How does Sunday sound?”

“Sunday?” you blanched. That was two days away.

“Like I said, Marcus is more than welcome to come with you,” he offered, “I’d hate to keep you from him too long.”

“I guess Sunday works,” you squeaked, “I’ll talk to Marcus.”

“Great,” he said coolly, “well, that’s business. How about a drink to seal the deal?”

“I don’t know, I should probably get back,” you fiddled with your bag against your hip.

“One drink won’t hurt,” he said, “go on, call the boyfriend and let him know you won’t be much longer.”

“I… thanks,” you murmured.

“You’re humble for an artist,” he joked as he sidled by you, “once you grow an ego, you’ll be unstoppable.” He neared the stairs as you turned to watch him, “I’ll be at the bar, waiting. You like gin?”

“Sure,” you answered as you pulled out your phone, “I’ll see you down there.”

🎨

When you told Marcus about your new side gig, he was even more excited than you. You were anxious and slightly hesitant. You hated to jump in feet first and risk losing more than a few tubes of paint. What if the work wasn’t good enough?

Marcus was more than willing to come with you when you told him about the size of the place. He knew by the area that it was extravagant. You sat in the passenger seat with the most expensive bottle of wine you’d ever bought cradled between your legs. You hated to show up empty handed after all of Clark’s generosity.

Marcus got lost and went down the wrong driveway before you righted your course. As you drove up, you were once more overcome from the rich rosebuds and sparkling fountain at the centre of the mosaic. You gripped the neck of the bottle and got out as Marcus whistled in awe.

“You weren’t kidding. This place is fucking nuts,” he swore, “I should’ve worn the tux from my brother’s wedding.”

“Please, Marcus,” you rolled your eyes, “let’s both try not to break anything.”

“You’re the clumsy one,” he chirped, “shit, you’re so lucky. You get to hang out here and paint all day? God, I wish I had an ounce of artistic talent. I’d trade it for code in a minute.”

You climbed the steps and clanged the large knocker on the right door. You waited a moment before an answer came and Clark appeared on the other side and beckoned you inside. He smiled as he shook Marcus’ hand.

“Thanks for joining us,” he said, “I would’ve felt awful stealing your girlfriend on the weekend like this.”

“Are you kidding me? She said you had a pool and I snuck the swim shorts into the backseat,” Marcus chuckled and you nudged him with your elbow.

“See?” Clark arched a brow, “the pool is always the seller.”

“Here,” you said as you held out the bottle of red, “for everything you’ve done and welcoming us into your home.”

“Ohhh,” he took the bottle and looked over the label, “I got a spot for this right behind the bar. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, I brought my brushes,” you patted the canvas bag on your shoulder.

“Mmm, yeah, well, I’ll just put this away and we’ll give Marcus the grand tour. Then I’ll get you situated,” he assured and rushed off.

He returned and pointed Marcus through to the front room, “you’ll see, just over here,” he directed him to your paintings.

“Oh, wow, babe,” Marcus marveled at the hung portraits, “you really did it.”

You smiled bashfully and Clark peeked over at you and winked. You squirmed as your cheeks burned and you turned away as he beckoned Marcus past the mantle.

“It’s a big place,” Clark said, “I’d like to get you started before noon.”

Clark led you along the same path as days before and slowed as you came back to the top of the stairs. He turned back and clapped his hands together.

“Marcus, if you wanna hop in the pool, we’re gonna start just in there,” he pointed to the one door you hadn’t looked through, “that’s the studio.”

“What about you?” Marcus asked.

“Well, I’ll be a part of the process so I’m afraid I will be just as busy but if you need anything, Nina, she has a crooked nose and mean mouth but don’t let her fool you, she’ll get you whatever you need,” he said, “just don’t track in water from the pool or she’ll string you up.”

“Oh, well, that doesn’t sound too bad. Some alone time in the sun and a pool,” Marcus grinned, “I really couldn’t ask for anything else… except you, babe.”

“Sure,” you scoffed, “go, have fun.”

Marcus kissed you quickly and thanked Clark again before he excitedly barreled down the steps. You scratched your neck as you looked back to your host, and you guessed, your new boss.

“I’m sorry about him. He can be such a kid sometimes,” you said.

“Nah, it’s fine,” he waved it off, “so, you ready to see your workspace? I kinda wanted it to be a surprise. Also, a bit last minute so it’s not perfect… yet.”

“Uh, yeah,” you answered, “can’t wait.”

He motioned you over to the tall dusty rose doors and hooked his fingers in the slotted handles. He slid them open and revealed an airy room with a tall ceiling and long windows. An easel stood facing the sun streaked glass, an immense canvas bigger than yourself, bigger than him, propped up on it. There was a ladder nearby and the table was set with a rainbow of paints and a large pallet.

Your lips parted as you neared the easel and stared up at the canvas, “you were right, it’s gonna be a lot of work.”

“I hope it’s not too much,” he said, “but you name your price. We’ll make it work.”

“No, no, I think for what you’re paying, I’ll do just fine,” you put your bag down daintily on the table, “so, uh, a portrait, I guess that means…”

Your voice trailed off as he went to the upholstered chair across the room, at an angle so you could see him from your vantage. Behind it, hung a velvet curtain to add to the scene and a bust on a pedestal. It felt surreal, like a dream.

You turned and pulled out the brushes, “I think you’ll get more tired than me, just sitting there.”

“I’ll make it through,” he assured as he sat, “is there anyway you’d like me to sit? Chin up, or…”

“Hmmm,” you turned to look at him, “I think… if you just put your shoulders back and… did you want a profile or--”

“I was thinking front-facing,” he stared at you steadily, unflinching as his eyes stuck to you, “just like this.”

“Perfect,” you said nervously and looked back to the table. 

There was water to rinse your brushes, rags, pencils, blending sticks; everything you needed and more. You took a pencil from the bunch and pulled over the ladder. You climbed up and looked over at Clark as he sat stoic and still. He looked picturesque in real life, you expected paint would only lend to his figure.

His eyes met yours and you turned to start tracing the basic shapes onto the canvas. You had to stop and steady your hand as you did. His gaze made it hard not to tremble.

[daydreaming-away-reality]

Winter Artwork

Jack Frost x Reader | ☁️ | 1.4k | Teacher!Reader

Grabbing the big bin of art supplies, you carefully navigated your way around the classroom to the desk at the front of the room. Setting it down on the ground, you started pulling out the different supplies. 

Pencil crayons, crayons, paints, brushes, glitter - nope. You put the glitter back into the bin. Not today - you were giving them enough free reign in art as is, glitter was not going to be a problem today. Paint would be easier to deal with.

Straightening up the piles of blank papers and cardstock ready to become canvas for your students, you tried to remember what you were missing.

“Ah, the extra art instructions and colouring sheets,” you recalled. Heading over to the printer in the resource room, you paused to peek out the window. 

Your students, among all the other students at the school, were happily screaming and playing outside in the snow. There was probably about ten minutes left for their outdoor break and they were definitely making the most of it.

(E/C) eyes scanning the playground, you noticed a certain figure that didn’t quite belong. While he could have been another staff member out on supervision, you knew that they were one of your co-workers. Taller than students and not dressed properly for the weather, the white haired male was excitedly engaged with playing with the kids. 

As if he could tell you were watching him, his blue eyes made contact with yours briefly. His charming crooked smile was flashed your way and had you blushing as you quickly turned away. 

Hopefully none of the students had seen that little interaction.

Returning to your trip to the resource room, you grabbed your pile of printing. You quickly checked your printing, making sure you had all the instructions, colouring sheets and, oh, looks like you printed the word searches too. Less work for next time.

The bell rang just as you were heading back into your classroom, the sound of feet pattering back into the school. 

“Alright, looks like I got everything,” you declared. 

The familiar sounding voices began to float into your classroom as your students started trickling back in.

“Ms. (Y/N)!” a voice chirped. 

You turned around with a smile. “Hi Camila!”

“Did you see the snow castle that me and Sonya built outside? We tried to make it super big!” 

“I haven’t! You’ll have to show you tomorrow when I’m outside with you!” you replied. “Is there space in your castle for me too?”

“Hmmm.” Camila paused to think. She turned to Sonya. “We need to make space for Ms. (Y/N) in our castle!”

Sonya gasped. “We completely forgot!”

You laughed at how cute they were. Greeting some of the others as they came back inside, you made sure everyone was accounted for before getting their attention.

“Alright, my friends!” you called out. “Remember what I told you we’d be doing for the afternoon?”

“Art!”

“Art,” you repeated happily. “So, today we’ll be making so wintery art to decorate the classroom. Since the winter holidays are coming up, I want you to draw or paint or colour anything you like related to winter. I have all the supplies up here and if you’re not sure where to start -” You picked up your print outs. “-I have ideas we can start with. Any questions?”

Your (E/C) eyes scanned the room.

“Sam?”

“Can I make a snowflake?” 

“Absolutely!” you agreed. “I loved to see your snowflake.”

“Henry?” 

“Are we allowed to draw what we did outside today?”

“Of course you can!”

You paused, waiting to see if there were any more questions. The excitement to do art seemed to sparkle in their little eyes as they all looked up at you.

“All right, supplies is up here on the table if you need it. Let’s get started!” 

Your students started moving around, getting the supplies they needed, chatting with their friends about what they wanted to do. Floating around the room to check up on everyone and help when you were needed, you soon found the classroom to be serene and on task. 

A rare treat from your energetic bunch.

Moving to the windows on the side of the room, you peered out to look at the snowy landscape outside. It was lovely to see the frost forming patterns on the glass. It was definitely chilly out though - you were glad you brought your scarf today.

“Ms. (Y/N)?”

“Yes,” you responded, turning around.

A teacher’s work is never done after all.

“Bye Ms. (Y/N)!” 

“Bye!!”

“Have a good weekend!”

You waved to your class as they all headed out for the day. Offering some of them hugs, you made sure everyone left the classroom before letting out your breath.

Another day done. 

Gathering the artwork piled on your desk, you flipped through what your students handed in. From pictures of snow people to playing in the snow to winter holiday traditions, your students had created lots of wonderful work. 

Seeing it all brought a smile to your face.

A certain drawing caught your eye - a picture of a boy with white hair, a blue hoodie and a wooden looking staff. 

You chuckled at the sight. How cute.

Armed with your stapler, some tape and the lovely winter art work from your students, you moved to the empty wall space to decorate the classroom. 

“Not heading home yet, (Y/N)?” 

You added a staple before turning to see the teacher next door. 

“Not yet, I still have some work to finish up in the classroom,” you replied.

“Thanks again for the coffee this morning,” they said. “It definitely helped me get through the morning.”

You smiled. “Anytime. Have a good evening!”

“You too!” they chimed before waving and leaving.

After working on putting up the art up for another fifteen minutes, you paused to look around the classroom. The place finally had some more cheer to it again - especially since you had taken down their last art pieces.

“Someone has been working hard.” 

The playful sounding observation was followed by arms wrapped your face and a cool breath tickling your neck. Leaning back into their embrace, you turned your head to meet the bright blue eyes that were watching you lovingly. 

“I always work hard,” you replied. “It was nice to see you playing with the kids.”

“They’re a great bunch,” he commented. His eyes shifted over to look at the art. “Oh, cool! Did you have them draw winter?”

You nodded, watching the boy excitedly move around your classroom to look at the student’s work. 

Jack laughed at the sight of one of the drawings. You moved over and laughed as well. 

Terry had drew and labelled his drawing - him and his friends having a snowball fight with the caption under one person who was being hit with the a snow as ‘Tony got hit in the face - we made sure he was okay after though!!’

“He’s a funny one,” you said with a chuckle, admiring the details.

“That might have been my snowball...” Jack confessed. 

You gasped and smacked his arm. “I better not need to fill out any incident reports because of you!”

“I’m careful! I swear!” The Guardian of Fun defended. 

You shook your head in amusement as you moved around the room, pushing in some chairs as you went. The last picture you put up before Jack came in made you pause.

“Sophie drew a picture of you,” you pointed out. “It looks exactly like you, Jack.”

Jack moved back to your side, his eyes taking in the details of the art. 

“Is this how I look in your eyes too?” 

You laughed. “I mean... It looks pretty accurate, but, I think she missed some of your charming details.”

Jack pulled you into a hug. “I love you, you know that right?”

“I love you too,” you murmured, returning his embrace. 

“When do I get to see some of your art?” Jack asked.

"Am I not a work of art?” you responded, kissing his cheek. Squirming out of his embrace, you grabbed your stuff and packed it into your bag. “Let’s go, I want to spend some quality time with you outside the classroom.”

Jack grinned. “Right behind you, love.”

[phoenixblack89]

Blank Canvas

Travis is definitely one of my favourite characters the gorgeously talented Mr. Reedus has portrayed. 

TAGS: @fandomsaremykryponite @autocon23 @lilythemadqueen @darylsgirl @writingdeadangel

WARNING: Just pure filthy smut 

The incessant beeping of your alarm clock woke you as you tried in vain to stay under the covers of your bed. Your head throbbed in pain, a lecture about hangovers and the dangers of drinking by your mother echoing in your memory.

It was all Derek's fault.

You would have been quite happy to have the loft to yourself last night while your three roommates went drinking but no. He insisted that you come along to make sure Travis didn't have another 'discussion with gravity' as he liked to call them. Needless to say all of you ended up slightly more than drunk, hell Travis was literally dragged into his room out cold last night.

The only thing making you feel better was the fact he too would be horridly hungover as you at the lecture.

"Y/N? You awake?"

"Just..." You croakily replied, throwing your pillow over your shoulder.

The door creaked loudly as Travis opened it and slowly, holding his head, made his way to you and climbed under the covers.

"Can we skip today?"

"Travis sweetums, you know we can't." You groan, turning and putting your head on his chest lightly. The crush you harbored on the quieter, shyer roommate was nothing secret. Both Jones and Derek knew, Travis seemed oblivious to it however. If he knew he wouldn't do his usual hangover routine which involved him climbing into your bed to snuggle and complain about his head until the afternoon. As it was you weren't complaining. You loved feeling the heat through your body from the innocent act by him.

"Fuck it. Let's skip. We can always catch up. We'll just say we ate dodgy food again. Blame Derek's cooking." You laughed and wrapped an arm around his waist and sighed.

"Shhh my head hurts. Let's go back to sleep" He wrapped his arms around you and closed his eyes.

/*/

The slam of the door jolted you awake. Fucking noisy bastards you thought, glancing at the clock and groaning. Travis rubbed his eyes and sat up slowly. Derek kicked the door open and bounced on the bed, crushing you and Travis back into the mattress.

"See you two finally fucked!" He laughed.

You and Travis both turned bright red and you shoved Derek hard to get out from under him. You stood and pointed at the door.

"Get out!"

"Hey I'm joking! Nice shorts by the way." He laughed, leaning on one elbow to look you over lustifully. You huffed and slammed the door as you entered the bathroom.

Derek was such an ass. If he didn't mind you being late on the rent occasionally you would of moved out but you knew you'd never find somewhere as awesome as the loft. Especially when it came to your art supplies. The space for your canvases was your priority. Hours and weeks and months were spent on your art and they needed special storage to ensure they didn't get ruined. Derek, thankfully, had the perfect conditions for this. Oil, acrylic, watercolour, whatever your classical and fine arts class called for you had on hand within reach. The last place you lived meant you had to rent out a storage unit and numerous pieces of art had been lost because of the shit climate and vermin. You shuddered as you showered, remembering Travis helping you clear the storage unit to move in and discovering one of your favourite pieces had been converted into a comfortable two up two down by a collection of rats. That hadn't been a pleasant sight.

Wrapping a towel around you, you exited the bathroom to a thankfully empty bedroom. The laughs of your roommates reached your ears and you smiled lightly, dressing quickly in your usual baggy clothes before throwing up your hair and sitting at your desk. You sent an email to your professor for the weeks assignment and leaned back, your head ending upside down as you looked at the large blank canvas behind you. You'd bought the thing on a complete whim. You didn't know what to do with it now you had it. And honestly, you'd forgotten you'd even bought it in the first place until the delivery men hauled it into your living room. Maybe you should just give it to Travis. He'd know what to do with it.

"Hey you."

"Hello Miss Jones. What can I do for you today?"

You knew what she was going to say as soon as she closed the door. When you gonna tell him how you feel... Blah. Blah. Blah.

"Before you say it. No. Things are good the way they are. I ain't gonna rock the boat."

"Y/N"

"Nope... Not a chance Jonesy. Ain't telling my cute, sweet, sexy as fuck, roommate I share a vast majority of art classes with I like him. Not happening."

"You should. He's a sweetie."

"I know. That's why I can't. I ain't his type anyway. He prefers thin blonds."

"Oh hunny, you have no idea what he likes." Jones smiled and patted your shoulder lightly. "Maybe you should ask for his help on that huge monster of a canvas." She smirked as she left.

Frowning, you bit your lip and considered her suggestion. Jones smirked as she passed Travis and winked back at you.

Shit. Had he heard?

"You... Erm... Need help with the... Assignment?" He stuttered, his head ducked lowly as you blushed.

"Er yea... Later... I... I... I need to look it over some more.."

He nodded and smirked as he tapped against your doorframe before spinning on his heel and leaving. As soon as you were sure he was out of sight and earshot yoh banged your head forward on the desk with a groan.

"Fuck my life."

/:/

"Lift! Careful! Careful" You huffed as you directed Travis and Derek, who were lifting the canvas into Travis's room for the project that you'd come up with. You laughed as Derek bashed his arm against the door.

"Remind me to not let you get another one this big!" Travis huffed, setting the monster down against his wall and flexing his thick fingers.

"Its not that bad! It's gonna look awesome!" You laughed quietly, tying your Y/H/C into a high ponytail and smiling as Derek left grumbling. "Come on Travis. Let's get this baby started."

"What exactly are we doing again?"

You shook your head and tugged the canvas into a more pleasant angle, last thing you wanted or needed was to injure yourself by overstretching yourself. Travis glanced over his shoulder as he picked up his paintbrush, twirling it between his fingers with a cigarette hanging from his sinful mouth. Your eyes gazed over his wide shoulders and down his back. The black vest clung to the muscles in his back and tucked into the overalls he was wearing, the sleeves tied tight around his narrow hips. His boots banged against the wood floor loudly as he tapped his foot expectantly.

"Y/N?"

"Huh?!" You startled out of your thoughts of how he'd feel under your hands as your nails dragged scarlet lines down that delicious looking back. "Oh erm... Well I was thinking maybe... Erm... A sex scene but not straight up porn. Like two lovers in an embrace kinda thing out in nature... Does that make sense?"

"Hmm... So... Summit like this?" He asked, quickly sketching a rough plan of two lovers on a scrap of paper. The lines were sharp with his haste, the angles a bit off but it was perfect. The woman's head thrown back as the man's lips kissed her neck, the hands gripping onto the males broad shoulders, her leg thrown over his hip.

You smiled widely and began sketching it on to the canvas roughly. Travis smiled, flicked his cigarette and joined you. Each of you taking one of the figures to draw. Travis's eyes lingering on your rapidly shifting hands. He loved watching you loose yourself to your creativity. It was as beautiful as the sun rise to him. The look of pure joy and concentration on your face, highlighted your beauty. The dimples in the corner of your mouth as you placed your pencil between your teeth drove him wild. He couldn't help but wonder what they'd look like as you sucked his cock. He ducked his head to the side as he felt his cock getting harder at the mere thought.

/:/

You backed away from the canvas and tilted your head to the side. Something was off with the sketch and it was bugging you no end. You just couldn't put your finger on what it was. Was it the angle? The pose? Was it something small and seemingly insignificant? Was it because you'd taken the male figure where Travis the female?

"Something is off about it... I just can't see what it is though..." Travis agreed, another cigarette dangling from his fingertips.

"Yea... I see it but I don't. Ya know. Maybe we should... Nah... That's stupid." You blushed and ran your hands over your face. Your eyes were a tad itchy and tired from the low light in the room plus the smoke. Travis chewed his lip and walked to you slowly.

"What?"

"Well... Maybe we should try the pose out. See if its because we didn't have a proper reference for it." Your eyes stayed on the floor, running over the numerous splatters of multicoloured paint that had been dipping onto it. Travis felt a lump in his throat as he shifted his weight nervously. He nodded his head upwards and slowly stalked towards you, licking his lip nervously. You shifted closer and with a glance at the canvas lifted your leg to his hip, pushing yourself closer to him. His fingers hesitated for a moment before wrapping around your thigh tightly. His lips slightly red from being chewed dropped to your neck before pulling away sharply.

"Trav?"

"Hold up. Camera. Can't hold pose and look at it at the same time."

He rushed and grabbed his camera, setting it up on a tripod and grabbed the clicker to be able to take the photo. He smiled as he reached for you and you flushed, feeling the heat from his crotch against your core as he lifted your leg back into place across his hip. His mouth once more just brushing your neck as you ran your hand through his short dark tresses. The camera flashed suddenly and you backed away as Travis quickly hooked the memory card into his computer and gave a laugh at the blurry image on the screen.

"Still looks wrong. Maybe we should lose the overalls?" He suggested quietly, swallowing audibly as the image became more focused. You nodded and blushed, slipping the boots off your feet and shrugging the dark paint splattered overalls off your hips to pool on the floor beside his bed. Your throat went dry as his gaze ran along your legs, over your plain black panties and up your stomach to the thin white cotton vest you had on. Your nipples were clearly visible through the fabric, a dusty rose colour and hard from the tingle of arousal running rampant through you.

Travis's eyes darken as he removed his own clothes down to his boxers before returning to your side once more. You shuddered as his fingertips ran up your leg to grip you up around his hip once more. His eyes drilled into yours as he lowered his head to your neck. Your eyes closed, feeling his breath ghosting over your pulse point. You felt his cock harden against your core as your nails lightly scrapped his scalp and sucked in a gasp. His lips brushed against your neck as the camera flashed. His hand tightened in the back of your neck as he trailed kisses up your neck before pulling back to look into your eyes. You bit your lip and nudged your nose against his lightly.

"Travis..."

"You... God... Y/N I like you. I've thought about you and me so much. I wanna..."

"Shut up and kiss me idiot."

You smiled at the smirk gracing his face as he did as he was told, pushing his hips into yours tighter. He grabbed your other leg and pulled you up into his arms, walking forward to his bed before dipping down onto his knees. His lips felt heavenly after so long of a wait. You nipped his lip lightly and pushed your tongue into his mouth as he gasped.

He growled and thrust against you as his hands ripped your vest from your chest and licked at your nipple. You grabbed his hair and tugged him back to your mouth as you pushed his boxers down his hips and felt the heavy, thick weight of his raging hard cock.

His lips left a trial along your neck, sucking and nipping gently as he ground his hips against yours slowly. A thrill of desire flared in your core, making your clit twitch against the cotton covering them. His fingers lightly tapped along the edge of your panties before gripping them tightly and dragging them harshly down your hips. Your hand ran up and down his length as he leaned his forehead against yours, his breaths coming out as soft groans.

"Fuck... I ain't gonna last if ya keep that up!" He moaned, feeling his orgasm rapidly approaching. With a slight growl, he grabbed your hand and pulled it off himself, slamming it down above your head and panted against your neck. "Fuck..."

"Travis... Please..." You moaned, wiggling under his weight. He smirked against your collarbone as he began kissing down your chest. He shifted his hips and aligned himself with your dripping core. In one swift thrust he buried himself inside your aching pussy as you gave a very loud moaning shriek. Your nails raked down his back as he set a hard, fast pace. His fingers digging harshly into your hips, sure to leave bruises for days.

You gave a loud moan as you felt your core tingling and fluttering around his hard cock, your pleasure sky rocketing towards the orgasmic bliss it craved.

Your release crashed over you as his fingers dug crescents into your hips as his thrusts became harder and rougher. His head leaned back as he enjoyed the sensation of your walls spasming around him, your mouth held open in a silent scream as pleasure rushed through your entire nervous system.

You pulled him towards you and crashed your lips against his as his hips began loosing their rhythm, his own release rapidly approaching. He gave a groan and pulled out, gripping himself tightly and splashing your stomach with his cum. He fell down beside you panting then chuckled.

"Fuck..."

"Yea." You replied with a breath laugh, your hand pushing your sweat soaked hair off your face and grimacing slightly at the stickiness coating you. "We should probably clean up.

"Sorry."

"Don't be. It was worth it."

"Yea... Definitely. We should of done that ages ago." He said smiling, leaning up onto one elbow to look into your blissed out face, his other hand using his shirt to clean his mess from your skin. You pushed your hand through his hair and drew his lips to yours before pulling away and biting your lip with a smirk.

"Maybe we should get some more inspiration for that canvas huh?" You said flirty, wiggling an eyebrow up and down. He glanced behind him towards the canvas before laughing and diving on top of you again attacking your neck with his teeth. You gave a loud laugh.

The canvas certainly wouldn't be blank for much longer that was for sure.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Lost Time

It was half past eight on a Monday and I was running late. I was known for being late as well as scatter-minded and it was an image I had been trying to combat since I was a young girl.

However, that didn’t change the fact that I had already missed the 8:30 train and the 8:20 one before that. I stood on the platform with the usual suspects of businessmen in charcoal dark suits, middle-aged moms on their way to the market with overly large floral-print tote bags, and a few highschoolers who looked just as late I was with a bruised-eyed emptiness about them.

I bounced on my heels as I waited and checked my watch every few minutes. I had been given several warnings so far about tardiness at my office job and while I wasn’t exactly thrilled about quality control work I was less thrilled about the prospect of being fired.

I texted my workplace friend about covering for me and then I checked my watch again.

For not the first time I missed university and the ideal of sleeping through whatever classes I didn’t care for and sneaking in a few minutes late to any lectures I actually did. My older sister kept insisting I was lucky I had gotten a job right out of college at all, but there was no helping it. It all sort of sucked.

The monotony was almost as bad as the knowledge that monotony was my future: pure predictable, clockwork knowledge of what I might be doing a month from now. And then a year from now. And the year after that.

I bounced on my heels and checked my watch for the third time. It was a leather watch with a round handsome face and a worn strap- my father had given it to me right before the Alzheimer's set in when I was around seventeen.

We hadn’t “lost” him, but we did lose the man I grew up with.

That was how I remembered that morning: thinking about Monday and work and my father’s watch which kept ticking much slower than I would have liked it to.

Maybe things would have been different if my work friend had texted me back faster or if I had woken up earlier or if I hadn’t bothered to wake up and go to work at all that morning.

I bounced in place and just as I was about to look down at my watch again a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. “Ah,” I jumped and swung around to start shouting at whoever it was or the very least pull away from the stranger manhandling me on a public platform.

I hesitated when an old woman looked back at me. She was small, and had neat grey hair swept back into a tidy bun and a hunched back with wide, heavyset shoulders. She was lined with deep wrinkles and had clear blue eyes that struck me as somehow attractive and open.

She smiled mildly at me and her cool hand was still wrapped around my wrist as I faced her. I wrinkled my nose slightly as the scent of something like chlorine hit me over the head. It was a saturated sharp kind of chemical smell.

“Excuse me,” the old woman spoke in the same tidy manner as her look. “May I borrow some of your time?” I frowned deeply as I suspected she was about to break out a bible and start a pitch for either Jesus Christ or some new age church of cardinals or weed or paying them money or whatever.

I drew back, “I’m sorry.” I tried to glance at my watch but it was still in her grip. “I gotta get to work.” “It won’t take long at all. No trouble for you, I promise.” She said and her voice was similarly friendly, high-pitched, and reminded me somewhat of a cricket.

The chemical smell funneled through my system and I tried to politely hold my breath. “Sorry. The train is about to come and I really can’t miss it.” “We have time.” She said slowly. “It will only be for a bit and won’t cost you a cent.” I sighed heavily and looked around to check if anyone there noticed me being accosted by the elderly, but no one even batted an eye in our direction. “Are you selling something?” “No.” She said suredly. “I know this sounds a little forward, but I’m trying to find someone and I could use some help.” “Huh.” I blinked a couple times and chewed on my bottom lip; I weighed my options carefully for just a moment more and then met her syrupy blue gaze. “Just looking for someone, yeah?” I exhaled slowly. “Alright. Sure.” Her smile grew wide and candied sweet. She released my wrist and I swore a popping sound erupted through the air and sent a shiver down my spine.

“But I really can’t do it right n-” I didn’t finish my sentence as the train whooshed onto the platform and I stumbled backward. When I turned to tell the old lady I would have to help her later, she was gone.

I sniffed loudly and rubbed at my wrist before hurrying aboard my morning train and trying not to get stuck on any of the details. It was Boston, sometimes weird people talked to you.

And you tried to forget them. At least, at the time I hoped to forget her and get to work without being noticed or reprimanded again.

--------------------

It was two months into December and I had a head cold like nobody's business. I hadn’t been able to breath out of my left nostril since the day before and I missed her dearly, as you would a best friend or lover.

Cold sheets of rain had been coming down in slushy torrents for days now and I had spent hours the week before helping move my roommate out. She had finally decided to go all the way with her questionable boyfriend and move in with him despite the old pizza crust smell and missing fire escapes in his neighborhood. But he had both a car and a netflix account.

I was happy for her up until I helped her move a couch in the pouring ice-rain and woke up the next day with the feeling of a balloon inflating in my sinuses. 

I went to work all the same in an effort to make management get off my back about the number of days I had missed. The world was a slow motion mess of dayquil and painkillers by the time I was finally able to head home in a daze. I produced kleenex after kleenex out of my purse as I traveled, like a magic trick where no one was impressed.

I was rocking gently back and forth in the train when my head pounded slightly and my nose cleared up for just a moment. I would have hit the air with my fist right then in victory if not for the sharp scent of chlorine that washed over me.

The uncomfortable sterile smell that reminded me of storms and sucking on copper pennies.

My eyes darted left and right to check if anyone had noticed, but the train was filled with pencil-skirt ladies on their phones typing away, school children with ipads out, and a homeless man softly snoring in one of the seats.

I massaged the bridge of my nose and hurried the rest of the way home with more kleenexes produced and thoughts of nyquil on my mind. I was surely too sick to be cogent I figured and becoming slightly delirious.

I slipped into my now one-person apartment, ate canned noodle soup, and tucked myself to sleep in my thickest sweatpants and sweater. It should have been over then, but it wasn’t.

I had dreams, and not the type of dreams I had ever had before. Dark shadows shifted and oozed under me, bright neon colors popped in my vision, stars exploded left and right and nonsense voices babbled in the distance.

It was like the confusing scene in Dumbo with the pink elephants singing except I didn’t even get to be drunk for it. And then the scent of chemicals came wafting through my head space and I exhaled from somewhere deep inside of me and everything went as blank as a canvas.

There was no proper way to describe it except the unclenching of every muscle in my body after a long day or letting go of a kite and watching it sail away with the wind. I let go of thousands of jumbled images and sounds and then I blinked again and I was staring at the night sky.

It was hard to process for a long hard second and harder to come to grips with the cold air against my flushed cheeks and the crevice moon up above. My muscles complained at me dully, but besides that my body was limber and I noticed I could breathe again.

I inhaled through both nostrils and when I sat up I realized I was in some sort of barren field. I gawked at the empty rows and dirt on my hands and the fact I could barely make out any city lights in the distance.

I hadn’t left Boston in months and I didn’t remember getting off my couch that night. Or driving. Or walking. Or bundling myself up in my heavy pink coat and lying down in a field.

I flexed slightly and noticed a tingling in my fingers and dirt on my knees and palms. I had been doing something as well.

I searched my person for a moment and was relieved to find no injuries, but also no clues. My coat pockets were completely empty and my only guiding source of information was that I was in a field and I wasn’t sick anymore.

I even sniffed the air for chlorine, but there was nothing but faint winter chill.

I took a deep breath and stood up after a few minutes and began to walk toward the city lights. It was a long walk and I went back and forth in my head on whether to take myself to the hospital and ask about sleep walking disorders.

On the other hand I remembered my father’s long struggle with in-patient care, his empty gaze as more nurses talked to him in gentle tones, and wheeled him around the blank white halls. I remembered the tears as he seemed to lose my face and then my mom’s face and birthdays and places and names like party balloons being popped. The hospital smell made me nauseous just thinking about and it had only been one night. 

Just one night didn’t mean anything.

I ended up finding change in the back pocket of my jeans and taking the 6am bus home from Northampton all the way to my apartment. I didn’t sleep well for days after that.

--------------------- I chalked the first time up to a weird combination of flu medicine, stress at work, and maybe even losing my roommate that week. And for awhile it seemed like a dream that someone else had.

For awhile.

It was February when the feeling crept back in. I couldn’t explain it, but I started checking hallways before I turned the corner and examining strangers faces twice if they sat next to me. I put bowls of water by my door so I might step in them and wake myself if I started sleep walking again.

Or perhaps someone else would step in them on their way in. I tried not to dwell on that last thought- no matter how many times it nagged at me.

There was a sensation of sickness in my gut and I couldn’t get rid of it. It was February and I was sitting on my couch watching some nothing TV show my mom recommended to me and just like before, something unclenched.

The kite was released and I blinked and there was an absolute nothingness so fine that I could have drowned in it. Been eaten by it, been destroyed by it.

And I blinked once and I was standing in the grocery store holding an egg carton and practically gagging on chlorine stench lodged in my mouth. “Ack.” I dropped the eggs to the floor and they splattered like firecrackers on the Fourth of July.

I started breathing heavily and clutching at my chest, several concerned shoppers stopped and looked my way as I leaned on my cart for support. The cart was completely filled with cartons of eggs.

I ran outside only to find I was just a few blocks from my apartment building. I sprinted home and when I tripped my way up my stairs, wheezing and eyes streaming, there was a single spilled bowl of water on the floor.

I melted into the carpet and shook slightly as I looked at it. Something had been in my apartment. Or else I had kicked it myself during the weird trance.

But it didn’t matter either way. I couldn’t remember.

---------------------

I finally went to the doctor with a complaint of memory problems and we met with a neurologist with iron-grey hair and a busy tie. He checked my pupil dilation and ability to track objects with my eyes. He tested my reflexes and had me remember colors and numbers in certain orders.

My mom came with me for the appointment and glanced at me every few minutes. She didn’t say anything, but I could read the thoughts on her face: it’s already got her too.

Maybe my mom thought she was cursed. But when all of my tests came back negative for any brain abnormalities she exhaled and I didn’t.

It got worse from there. I would wake up blocks from my house holding an umbrella I didn’t own, wake up with leaves and sticks in my hair, be walking down the street one second and then be in a completely different part of town on a park swing the next.

I started putting more bowls of water around my house and added bells and stacks of books and even a few stray mouse traps around the windows (one of which actually caught a mouse). Most nights there was nothing but gnawing silence and I waited and waited for the smell of ozone.

The smell of storms and pools and airplanes right when you get off. 

I blinked up at my dark ceiling and waited. It only happened once; I heard the bell: the chiming silver bell with all of my worst fears and highest anxieties pressed to it. I turned over in bed to grasp for my phone or a baseball bat or anything at all.

But then I unclenched. The world popped and the nothingness took hold with a profound sudden swallowing sensation.

And I blinked again and I was standing on the very top of a hotel building with cars honking down below and a fire exit open behind me. I looked down and I was holding a TV antenna in one hand and a spoon in the other.

“Goddammit!” I threw both of the items down on the ground and started pulling on my hair. “You can’t keep doing this to me!” I screamed at nothing, “I have a life! I never agreed to this.”

But somehow, I remembered I had.

---------------

I quit my job. I hated the endless spreadsheets and conference calls and management deadlines, so it wasn’t much of a loss. But everyone I knew asked “what’s next?” with big eager smiles and I stopped returning their calls after a while.

I stopped sleeping. I started prowling the streets like a cramped zoo animal with nowhere to go. It was late spring by then and the city was stinking with hot bodies and burning trash and my own simmering violent questions brewing under the surface.

What’s happening to me? I wanted to scream at someone, but didn’t want to have to return to the hospital. Why me?

There were no answers, only the endless strips of pavement and my red converse slapping against them. Fifth street: two young boys biking with matching helmets and noisily chewing gum that they blew into fat pink bubbles. Washington Street: cop pulling over a teacher with thick glasses and a hard look on her face as she got out of her vehicle.

South End: a busy farmers market with women in overalls selling backyard kimchi and a man with a beard almost down to his waist selling gourmet chocolates and homemade beer. Noisy, busy, yelling, laughing people that streamed past me and barely stopped to look at my blood-shot eyes and trembling hands.

I was well past the farmer’s market and on the seventh day of my trek when I heard it. A high, cricket voice that carried over the buzz of construction work nearby.

“No, no, not like that.” She spoke into a phone briskly. I turned on my heels and everything moved in slow motion and jerky fast images all at once. One second I was staring at an old woman with pleasing blue eyes and then I had her pinned up against the nearest wall with my forearm.

“Police!” She shouted without hesitation or even looking at me. “Police! Someone!”

I hissed through my clenched teeth. “Take it back.” I growled lowly. “Make it normal again.” Her lips peeled into a snarl and she leaned her head against the wall. “That’s not how it works.” And then the smell of chlorine slithered through me and I started to cough.

“No!” I held on with all my might- clenching and gripping and grasping for something I couldn’t name. “Not now! I need-” I gasped, “I need.” The old woman looked blankly at me, but with something that I might have classified as pity. Or despair. “Give it to someone else.” She said in a soft voice. “Pass it off.”

-----------------------

My hair was falling out in thin clumps and I kept wiggling one of my back teeth as it had seemed to have come loose. I had no idea what I had been doing for days by then and no matter how many traps I set it was always the same: crashing bowls and ringing bells and then nothing. Expansive, hungry nothing.

I stood at the train station platform and looked at my watch. I had forgotten to wind it and it had stopped ticking. I looked at it and I bounced on my heels and a young man in his very early twenties stood next to me.

He smelled strongly of aftershave and his suit seemed to swim around him despite being obviously tailored. He had coiffed golden hair and frantic eyes that darted back and forth over the platform.

He looked down at his watch.

I shot my hand out and took his wrist. “Excuse me,” I croaked and tried to get him to look me in the eye. “Can I borrow some of your time?”

[depths-of-hope-and-despair]

Retrospect

Not altering her typical nightly routine, Aditi found herself clutching onto one of her empty glass bottles by the end of the evening. Thankfully, she made it back to her room before finally closing her eyes, in hopes of a good night’s rest. Her last thought was that she would end up in the same office once again.

And wouldn’t she know it, she actually returned into the very same office, seated on the very same chair, with the very same man expecting her visit this time, smiling widely as he arched his back like a cat, basically buzzing as he greeted her: “Ah, if it isn’t Aditi. Back already, you just couldn’t get enough of me the last time.” He chuckled, leaning back in his chair and opening a notebook, scribbling in it as he continued. “Not that I can blame you, of course. I also have been looking forward to our....reunion.”

He slid the notebook aside, instead focusing on her again and asking: “How was your day? Did you follow my advice or were you not ready yet? Have you read any good books lately?” Typical therapist talk, though there was something about it. He didn’t break eye contact, just like last time, but this time he seemed more prepared.

Aditi blinked rapidly to take in the vision before her, not believing her eyes at first. Why was she back here? Her dreams rarely repeat. What is this? Her confusion turned to annoyance quickly, growling at the man in front of her, already unhappy with his presence. “Is this some kind of joke?” She spat, looking around the room for the sign of any change in scenery. “I try to drown my sorrows with alcohol to sleep peacefully for once, and I’m sent back here. Wonderful...” She grumbles.

Her gaze narrowed again at his questions. “It has been one night. I am not a speed-reader, I prefer to take my time and enjoy books. As for your advice, yes. I did open up to one of my roommates. Which wasn’t very successful, due to her having no emotional intelligence whatsoever.” She couldn’t help but pout that time, actually angry her attempt to open up took a backseat. “What on earth could you possibly have for me now? What else do you want to know?” She asked, guarded and standoffish.

“Magnificent! I see we are already making great progress, good job!” He remained calm, not caring about Aditi’s anger in the slightest, merely jotting something down in the notebook as he continued: “It is an important first step to take the courage and open up to someone. It is great for coping and you have more support that can help you direct your focus away from the past.”

The fact he practically ignored her seething anger only fueled it to new heights. “Your “step forward,” got me nowhere, aside from being judged.” She hissed, her hands gripping the table hard enough to leave small indents with her claws.

“Quite the opposite, Aditi.” He reassured her, observing her denting the table, the wood basically regenerating itself after a few seconds, elaborating: “How would you feel, if someone suddenly revealed something deeply upsetting to you? Maybe your friend was caught off guard. I’m sure they will react differently tomorrow, when they have time to digest the information. You said they lacked emotional intelligence. So it takes longer to compute.”

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” Her bright eyes shined through the dark, staring straight through him with an unreasonable amount of annoyance.

He chuckled, looking up at her, intense eyes almost glowing in the blue light. “I can get you something to drink if you want, but therapy usually takes more than one session. Granted, most people only need one session from me.” His laughter was darker this time, more sinister, but before Aditi could question him, he procured two pieces of paper and two pens.

“For our session today, I thought we would make the pictures ourselves. Who needs Rorschach anyway.” He spoke lightheartedly, sliding a paper and pen across so Aditi could take it, explaining: “It is easy, really. We all have something that causes us grief. Just let your thoughts wander and draw what’s currently haunting you on the paper. I will do it too, since you seem to like it when I participate.”

Aditi scowled down at the blank thin canvas offered to her. What causes her grief? What kind of therapist needs to know that? Did he believe he could make her grief subside by talking about it? Ridiculous. However, she knew the dream wouldn’t end unless she played along sadly. Disgruntled, Aditi picked up the pencil and paper and began to draw. She drew three sketches that immediately came to mind when associating with grief.

The three sketches she slide over to him, were; a sketch of a boy with spiky hair and wearing a button up shirt and tie with a smile, a sketch of her own clawed hand, and lastly, a sketch of a woman with short hair, cat pins in her hair, and broken arm. She too was smiling. She tapped her foot impatiently while awaiting his own paper and the questions to come.

He merely smiled, unfazed by her impatience, turning to his own paper and beginning to scribble. His artistic talent came fully to shine, taking a few minutes longer than her as he drew like a madman. He handed Aditi his paper, revealing a small picture. It showed a man with black hair that was parted in the middle, he looked similar to Albert, trying to get away from a group of horrific looking creatures and a man, only a big, toothy smile visible.

As sneaky as ever, Aditi grabbed his paper quickly, eyes glancing over it and firing her question off before him. “Who is this? Why does he look similar to you?” She questioned.

“He is my arch nemesis. We met during college. He....doesn’t have it easy at the moment. Someone wants him dead and almost succeeded, he disappeared for a few months. I am concerned he will meet an untimely demise.....” He sounded like he wanted to add something to that, but he already said enough. He was just a dream after all.

“And that brings you grief... why exactly?” Aditi asked, one of her claws carefully tracing the sketch under her palm. “You say he is your worst enemy, yet you feel grief at the thought of his demise? Do you worry you’ll be bored once he’s gone and nobody will challenge you? Or is it.. something else?” She inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s....complicated...” He responded, sighing into his hands as he contemplated whether he should tell her or not. He decided with a more simplified version: “He...challenges me in a way I have never seen with anyone else before. In university we raced to be the best in our class and he pushed me to great heights. Without him, I feel....bored. Nothing presents a challenge anymore. What fun is it to be at the top without someone you can watch squirm at their defeat?” He chuckled at the thought, reveling in the thought that he won in college against Vincent, even if their rivalry wasn’t the reason for his concern. It was… something else entirely. “Enough about me, dear. It’s your turn.” He held his hand out expectedly.

Begrudgingly, Aditi handed over the paper, watching him study the little scribbles closely before he wondered: “Who are they? A friend? Or a relative?” He seemed oddly off-put when he said relative, not even questioning if Aditi hurt them. He already knew she did.

Her expression flattened. Not deflating with depression, more so turning into a forced neutral gaze. “The male is one of my partners. The female is... my sister. A relative, yes.” She explained.

He studied the drawings a little closer, squinting and nodding to himself. “I see. Something bad must have happened if it causes you so much grief. Did you get in an argument with your relative and your partner got hurt in the process?” He traced the lines with his maybe gloved hand before putting the paper back down, looking back up at Aditi.

The tall girl sighed at him requesting an elaboration from her. “My partner, he... I was fated to kill him and be the successor to his legacy. Of despair, that is. The later years of my life, when he rebelled and chose hope, I was taught to hate him for betraying us. And now, look where we are. How can I be certain he loves me? Or that he is only toying with me to keep himself safe? How could you love someone who was destined to be your enemy? I don’t understand how he can choose. I understand Lucy. She found me, and I am grateful for her existence to no end. She means a great deal to me, and I would do anything to protect her. I feel the same about him. Yet... there is always the doubt in my mind. That he can’t love me. That he would be better off alone.”

“Just because he chose hope over despair doesn’t mean that he cannot love you. One doesn’t exclude the other.” His gaze softened a bit as he continued: “Your concerns are valid and you are not stupid for having these doubts, but if you ask me, you should seek conversation with him. At the end of the day, I’m just a therapist, and not a mind reader. All I can do is reassure you and encourage communication.” He grabbed his pen and drew a heart around the three of them, showing it to her: “See? It’s not as difficult as you think it is. Sometimes life seems like rocket science, but really, it’s just a quick skip over the river. You just need to take the offered hand.”

At this advice, she sunk into her chair and huffed. “.. It feels impossible to communicate how I feel to him without hurting his feelings. I fear, should I say anything wrong, he’ll blame himself. I pick my words carefully, but, there is no use tiptoeing through a minefield, is there? At times, it... feels better to be silent. To not make the problem worse. It’s... difficult to understand why anyone would choose me. Truly, their standards for beauty must be low.” She tucked a hair behind her ear and frowned at the ground.

He nodded at her doubts about the relationship, admitting to her: “I don’t think that silencing the problem away is going to help. You may not hurt him at the moment, but you are hurting yourself that way. If you leave these doubts unaddressed, they might be the reason the relationship will fall apart. Even if it hurts for a moment, I’m sure he will understand. It is a roadblock you need to work past. You are an intelligent and beautiful young woman, I’m sure both of them are willing to work with you for you.” He tapped his pen against the sketch of the three of them, surrounded by the heart again, inquiring: “Don’t let your doubts, or your pride, get the best of you. You might regret it in the end.”

“... I suppose. I don’t want it to fester forever, but I also don’t want to blurt out my own worries during an awful time. Timing does matter, I believe.” She sighed with a frowning, knowing he was right but unable to fully vocalize it outside of a slight nod. “.. I will talk to him. In the future. I will.” She promised to herself and him all the same.

“Now. About your sister.” He folded his hands together, resting his chin atop them as he leaned forward to listen.

She paused to inhale before speaking. “My sister has never liked me. We had opposing views from a young age. Our...” She swallowed trying to hide the contempt she held or having to use this word. “... mother. Our mother pitied us against one another frequently, to build our competitive spirits. She wanted a life she couldn’t have. I only wanted her to stay safe.” Simplifying their story into a normal family felt so strange. She was stubborn about not telling this man everything just yet. Dancing around the details would be fine for now. “She was reckless. I saved her from danger, took the blame for her idiotic decisions, and showed her everything I knew. Yet it.. was never enough. She never wanted anything to do with me. Mother treated her differently as well. Gave her... things I wasn’t allowed to enjoy myself. I grew jealous because of that. Between her taking my efforts for granted and my own jealousy, I came to resent her, sadly.” Her eyes looked to the side, clearly unhappy with this fact. She didn’t want to hate her own sister. She was the closest she had to someone who understood her own strife. Why did they have to be enemies? Was it her own fault? Was it Trifle’s? Both of theirs? Or was it all to blame on Celia? Would blaming anyone even fix the problem at all...?

He listened patiently when she revealed her concerns about her family. For a moment, just a moment, he felt a connection. It made him shiver, but he quickly disguised it as an arm movement. He had this weird feeling yesterday too. He should look into this more. But for now he needed to offer some advice. “So your sister got preferred to you by your abusive parental figure?” He tried to sum it up, humming and tapping the pen against his palm. “Maybe....try to see things from her perspective? I understand you wanted to protect her, but maybe she didn’t see it like that at all? Think about her character in comparison to yours and what your attempts at protecting her might have looked like from her perspective. And, if you find something....maybe try to contact her and apologize? I know, I know, it doesn’t fix anything that happened, those memories will always remain....but it is not only to clear your conscience, but also to show her that you changed. That you realize your past flaws. Try to explain yourself, how you feel jealousy over everything she had that you were denied. Try to explain your perspective too. Maybe she will understand it. Maybe she won’t. But at the very least you tried and got it off your chest.”

“I never.... said... she was abusive..? My mother.. I mean.” Aditi spoke of her confusion before being able to filter the words coming out. Realizing she had let out her doubts, only made her surrender more information. Was there any use in hiding it? He’s inside my head. He likely already knows. This “therapy session,” is only fun and games for him. “... Captor. She wasn’t my mother. She was my captor. My birth mother died when I was very young. My birth father likely doesn’t know I exist, since he never reared his face in my life. My captor raised me. Celia, is her name. My sister... isn’t blood related. I don’t.. have a family. I never have.” She admitted, frown noticeably turning less forced and more genuinely sad. “Trifle,'' is my sister’s name. She wanted freedom. I wanted her to keep her head down and survive. We had different priorities. I hate..” She took a deep breath, shuddering on the way out. “I hate her. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t want to hate her. But, every time I see her I- hah... she’s everything I’m not. I feel like a child again when I look at her. I feel helpless to my own emotions. It makes me feel... weak. So, I... I don’t look at her anymore.”

“Ah, so she wasn’t your mother after all, and she is not your blood relative. You were....all her prisoners, do I understand that right?” Now he had a better picture of the situation, thinking about it for a moment. “It is a difficult situation you are going through, and it probably always will be, but please trust me when I tell you, that it is okay to feel resentment. When you see her, all you can think about is what she had and what you hadn’t, right? ....I think you should take your time with this. Maybe tell her or write to her that you need some time away from here if you and her see each other often and just...take your time. It is okay to feel resentment, it is okay to carry that resentment for years, but you must also not forget that you are not there anymore. You have a place of your own, and you have acquaintances and you have a relationship” He smiled, tilting his head lightly as he assured her: “You are not alone. And things will get better. We will take it one step at a time, alright?”

The advice centering her family affairs seemed to catch her off guard. All her life, by everyone she confided in about Trifle, she was told her resentment wasn’t valid. She was wrong for hating her sister so adamantly. Trifle didn’t deserve it. She was a victim too. Never mind that Aditi was treated worse on purpose. Poor Trifle would never hurt a fly, and Aditi was cruel to her, so she must be in the wrong, right? She was the villain, like always. Everyone invalidating her only grew her hatred more, towards her sister and herself. It felt strange looking someone in the eyes, who thought she wasn’t entirely at fault. She couldn’t seem to find the words. What was there to say? The fact someone finally understood filled her with relief and tons of sadness on top of it. She barely knew him, and he understood her side more than anyone else did. It was pathetic, but gratifying, all in one. “... We? What do you mean? You intend to keep coming back to my dreams?” She felt herself smile for once. “You’d miss me too much? Heh..”

“Yes, Aditi, I just don’t know how to continue without my favourite hostile patient by my side, we are essentially best friends now!” He chuckled, he had no malice in his voice. He was just joking, thankfully, starting to chuckle to himself as he leaned forward, commenting: “I can tell you have taken a liking to me too, considering all the information you share with me.” He had a little smile on his face, a mixture of smug and happy, enjoying that he finally got through her walls. At least a little.

That description of her family life made him furrow his eyebrows though. Could she be...? No, this wasn’t possible, was it? He didn’t know, it could be her. But there were so many people with the same story. Did her find her? After all those years? “Aditi, would you mind answering me a question? You can always decline of course.” He cleared his throat, getting a little nervous as he asked: “Are you....did you have a name before your current name? You were ‘adopted’, weren’t you?” He just....needed to make sure....

Hearing his question, one of her hands reached up to toy with her midnight hair. “Yes. I’ve had three names in my lifetime. Aditi is my chosen name. Oddity was the one my captor gave me. My birth name was Orabelle.” She explained, tilting her head to the side curiously. “Why do you ask?”

When she said her name, he dropped the pen he had still been holding in one hand, his face morphing and making it look like he just invented a brand new emotion. He muttered something under his breath, hand starting to erratically grab the pen and write something in the notebook, calming himself down in a matter of seconds. “....I’m sorry Aditi. but I cannot tell you yet....I will eventually though, I promise....” And he meant it.

A weird noise echoed through the office, like a cuckoo-clock that was being tortured and Albert sighed, the disappointment heavy on his face. “It seems like this is the end of our session. How unfortunate.” His lips quirked up to a gentle smile, his two fangs poking out from his upper lip again as he ended their conversation with: “I hope we can see each other again very soon.”

Aditi watched his responses to her comments, mouth twitching to a smile when she felt needed. The reaction to her name caught her attention most, of course. When he dropped the pen, her smile dropped with it, back into a curious frown with her eyebrows knit. As he promised to inform her of it later, her mouth opened to protest but was once again cut off by the strange sound. “What do you m-?” She began, but as soon as the words left her, she jolted back to reality, waking up in a cold sweat like before.

[ownworldresident]

We Are Our Own Heroes. Chapter Two: Bayside

Book: The Royal Romance, seven years post-TRR

Premise: Six years after a tragic loss, Liam and his adopted daughter meet Cassandra, an artist with her own troubled past, and the three find in each other the friend they never knew they needed.

Disclaimer: Setting and some characters belong to Pixelberry. I am just borrowing them and will return them when they feel better.

Themes: found family, (power of) friendship, healing

The Master Masterlist (link) ---  Our Own Heroes Masterlist (link)

Liam

Saturday rolled around again. Nothing could lift the heavy circles under Liam’s eyes or take away his yawns, and the coffee could only do so much. He took solace in the fact that he could crash hard later that day. Emily had a harder time against this team. He kept score in his head, crossing his fingers and sending encouraging smiles whenever she glanced his way. The final whistle blew as they started from the centre of the court. Emily looked around to find her coach, then converged with her teammates. A moment later they cheered at the score. The crowd filed out and Liam waited for Emily to take her time with her friends. He nodded to the few spectators who looked his way. Today’s game was a late one, and the court was almost bare except for a few chatting kids and waiting parents. He yawned again, and when he opened his eyes, Cassie stood beside him. He blinked, too tired to conceal his surprise. “Sorry,” she chuckled, “didn’t mean to startle you.” “No, that’s alright,” he replied, “long week.” “Here I thought being king would be easy.” Cassie folded her arms across her chest. Liam breathed a laugh, but that was all he could manage. Something had happened, in the last few weeks, to throw him off balance.

“Challenging. But rewarding.” “A standard answer.” She smiled, then sighed. Liam watched her torn expression morph into resolve. “She’s lucky to have you,” she continued, turning to Emily a moment. Liam did not follow her gaze, but watched Cassie instead. “Thank you,” he answered, wary of the direction of the conversation. "My sister was really ill years back, and I moved in to take care of her boys for a while. I was only 24 at the time. I knew nothing about children, and they were so small.” Cassie smiled, and Liam waited to see if she would continue. He was glad the courts were emptying, and there was no one within earshot. “She was living out in the country, and I’d come straight from university in Amsterdam. No one really thought I should be the one to look after them, it was hard, but it… was the right thing to do, I think. They are such dear boys.” She looked down, a little heat in her cheeks, and Liam frowned. “You knew what they needed.” He found himself saying. “Where they’d come from.” She nodded, lifting her head again. “Maybe someone knew better. But I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I’d failed my sister when she needed me most.” Liam took in her words, feeling the memory come to him again. He blinked, and remembered where he was. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked gently. Cassie turned to him, then away again, cheeks a little redder. “I’m not sure.” She sighed. “I suppose I wanted you to know. It’s hard when no one believes in you. When no one understands.” Her voice trailed as she finished, but a moment later strengthened again. “I haven’t coached Emily before, but I have seen you around. I’m sorry if this is inappropriate, but if you ever need someone to talk to.” She lifted her shoulders, trying not to fold in on herself. “I’m here.” Liam pulled away from her, realising how unguarded he had been during the conversation. “Thank you,” was his final reply. What else could he say? Something more articulate if he was awake enough. Cassie nodded, then pulled something from her jacket pocket. As he suspected, the paper she handed him had her name and mobile number. “I’m not asking you to call me or anything,” she said with a more familiar cadence. “But if you need…” she smiled, “I’m here.” And with a nod, she walked away. Liam pocketed the note, and tried and failed to decipher whatever subtext he had missed. He didn't get much time to do so. A rush of colour preceded an impact against his side and he nearly stumbled. Emily wrapped her arms around his waist and looked up at him, grinning, eyes shining with exertion. “Movie?” she said, leaning her chin against his stomach. Liam could hardly watch her insistence without laughing. “That depends.” He raised his eyebrows, and Emily frowned. “On what?” Leaning down, Liam gently detached her from him, kissed the top of her head, and stepped back. “On whether you can beat me to the car!” He ran, but not to win. Odd looks followed from those around them, but Liam’s focus was on the small shape darting ahead.

Cassandra

The last of the kids departed, and Cassie continued to pack up. The work took her hands to complete but not her mind, and she whisked herself away to some place colourful. Somewhere she could go to create. With everything packed away, she hoisted the ball bag over her shoulder and carried it to her car. She reflected on her interactions with Liam and Emily. Had she been too abrupt with her offer? She’d only known him a few weeks and spoken to him twice, and he had seemed concerned. That was the reason she had offered it, she reminded herself. All she could do was hope that her manner wasn’t off-putting, if a friend was what he needed. And if he didn’t act on her offer, like her mother had always said, at least she had tried. Back in her studio apartment, Cassie tossed her keys in a bowl by the door and the sports bag on the ground. “Back to work,” she informed no one in particular. Peeling off her clothes, she threw them in the direction of her bed. Then she changed into old stained things, and twirled a charcoal pencil between her fingers. With soft music as a backdrop, several hours and a glass of wine passed before she admitted defeat. The line work on her canvas was approximately complete but nothing in her usual colour palette captured the feel of it. The much larger canvas nearby was as blank as the day she bought it. It taunted her lack of inspiration. There was plenty of time, she told it, and pointedly avoided the calendar on her wall ‘with exhibition’ circled two months from now. Around dusk, a miasma of sunset shades began to leak in through the window and touch her other pieces. Her stomach growled on cue as she registered the time. It occurred to her that she hadn’t eaten since midday yesterday. As good a reason as any, she reasoned, to take a break. She grabbed her jacket and keys and headed out again.

---

After dark on a Saturday, the boardwalk came to life. Cassie reclined in the corner of her favourite establishment, drink in one hand, pencil in the other. Always carry a sketchbook. And when she wasn’t in front of a canvas her hand flowed freely. The din of the bar was chatty and friendly. Two and a half walls were open to a balcony over the bay. People meandered in and out or stood or sat in groups, waving their hands in animated recounts of their life events. Warm lighting like this was perfect for sketching. Her knees were nearly against her chest at a booth in the corner and hid most of her work from prying eyes. An easy sketch sat nearby. Rolling her shoulders back, Cassie drew his outline. He hunched over the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey, denim jacket concealing muscled arms and a t-shirt. He came most weekends, she noticed -detailing the perfect frown- but never seemed to be fully here. When she looked up again he was gone. “Having fun?” The low voice resonated from the same booth she sat at. Cassie hadn’t noticed his approach. She pulled her sketchbook against her chest as she turned to him. Too late, the regular had noticed his likeness. “What gave it away?” she asked, reaching for her cocktail. He shrugged. “You’ve hardly touched your drink.” He gestured to the almost full glass in her hand, ice almost melted. She grinned and took a sip. “Likewise.” She indicated his glass. He rarely took more than a shot at a time. “This isn’t meant to be rushed.” He gazed at his drink with reverence and she tried not to laugh. “Uhuh.” Cassie took another sip and looked back at her sketch as she put the glass down. “What do you think?” “Of your sketch?” He reclined. “You’re very talented.” “Not what I was going for, but thanks.” Cassie smirked, then turned her book so he could see the drawing better. “Did I get you right?” He shrugged, took another sip, then shook his head. “I don’t frown that much.” Cassie spilled her drink on the table as she laughed, which only made her laugh more. When finally she regained control, he was waiting. “Yes, you do.” The man turned away. His attempt at a severe frown fell short as the tiniest curve of a smile touched the corner of his mouth. She picked up her pencil again and started adding the new expression. “I’m Cassie,” she said into the silence, no longer able to leave his sketches unnamed. Leaning toward her book to focus on the detail of his lips, she waited for his response. Instead, when she looked up, he had turned to her fully, and intensely. “What?” “So you’re Cassie,” he said. She frowned this time. “What do you mean?” He blinked, glanced at his drink for a long moment, then shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, sticking out his hand, “I’m Drake.”

What Happened Six Years Ago

Drake

Drake found Liam in the hall of the children’s hospital. The day was more than over, and the quiet was eerie. He lowered himself to the seat beside Liam, and they sat in silence for some indeterminate time, receiving awkward glances from the few hospital staff that passed. “Li—” Drake started, realising with a cough that he hadn’t spoken in several hours. He cleared his throat. “Liam, I think…” But there weren’t any adequate words to come after that. “We should figure out what to do next.” Liam didn’t respond. He stared wide-eyed at the ground, fingers laced around the back of his head and elbows braced on his knees. How far into his mind had he retreated? “We should think about—” “It doesn’t matter.” Drake's chest tightened at the heaviness in Liam’s voice. Like he couldn’t intonate. He paused, and searched for what to say next.   “You can’t sit in a hospital corridor all night. You need to decide what to do. There’s the… her…” Drake turned from his friend, trying not to imagine the view of the night before in that old, musty room. He wasn’t successful. “I can organise our trip back to Cordonia, and you can send people back to investigate, but you need to make the call about her…” he swallowed painfully past the lump in his throat. “Anna’s body.” The words came out hoarse. “Coming with us. Bastien is organising it.” New information to Drake, but he nodded. “And the kid.” “Emily.” Liam croaked, then sighed. The door closest to Liam’s other side was the girl’s room door. “She won’t be here much longer. We need to organise where to leave her.” “Leave her?” Liam looked up, finally, and Drake struggled to keep focus when confronted with the red, grief stricken eyes of his friend. “Once she leaves the hospital, we need to find a home for her.” Liam balked, leaning away from him, and the sudden movement was jarring. “Drake she’s coming with me. How could you even suggest …” Liam stood and looked down to him. “I made a promise.” “You said you’d take care of her.” “At my home, yes.” “Liam you can’t be…” Drake stood as well to be on a level. “She’s barely three years old. You don’t know anything about children.” Liam stared at him. “You still don’t get it.” Drake made a sweeping gesture but continued in an even voice. “Then help me get it. What do you owe her, after what she put you through?” “I promised—” Liam halted as his volume rose, then sighed again and lowered his voice. “I promised I would protect her. Handing her over to social care or their equivalent here, however fortunate she might be in finding a family who treats her as she deserves, is not enough.” Drake grit his teeth, struggling to find a way to bring reason to Liam’s emotional argument. He was no more prepared to raise a child than Drake was. “Three years old,” Drake repeated, hesitant. “She won’t remember what happened. Taking her away from here isn’t fair to her.” “And what if she does remember? Do you think you will ever for… forget…” Liam slumped back against the wall and down to his seat again. He raked his fingers through his hair and groaned, and when he looked up again he looked paler and more tired than Drake had ever seen him. “As I said,” Liam drew in a long breath. “I made a promise. I won’t leave her fate to chance.” No matter his grievance, Drake couldn’t force Liam to consider something he was set against. Maybe in a few days, when his thoughts cleared, he could convince Liam that finding Emily a family was better than taking her in himself. After all, there was no way he would be able to move on from Anna while raising a child who looked just like her.

------

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[voldemorthatesnose96]

COLORS IN SILENCE

As an only child of one of the most famous painter in the world, Sander Driesen is also expected to be as big as his father. But life takes turn when he sees a Deaf florist boy whose silence could speak a thousand of meanings.

Disclaimer : if there’s any mistake or misintepretation of my Deaf character, PLEASE feel free to dm me to correct it❤️it means a lot to me. Thank you!❤️

Prelude

“You know exactly what to do, right?”

I want to scream “NO!” to his face but I can’t. It’s always the same question for every single time I want to create something on the blank canvas. WHY does he have to think that I always know what to do, when in fact I don’t?! Unknowingly, I grip my pencil too hard.

“Sander?”

“Yes, Dad. I know.” I say with gritted teeth and start to sketch.

My hand always slightly trembles whenever it touches the paper—scared and doubtful. But unfortunately my Dad and many people think that it’s my ‘signature’ move.

What the fuck is that, actually? Are they blind, oblivious or simply stupid?

At first, I’m not sure whether to sketch a silhoutte or a bouquet of flowers but then I remember the dream I had last night about an abandoned castle and the dancing trees which surrounds its ground; of course it’s weird but somehow I feel so entertain when I wake up and that even bring a tiny smile to my face; which is a very rare thing to happen for these past 4 years. So yeah, I’m going to sketch my dream instead.

“Sander, focus!”

“I’m already focused.”

Dad shakes his head, “you curved this line too hard,” he points to the twigs. ”Fix it.”

Trying hard not to roll my eyes at him, I do what I’m told. I’ve never been the kind of person who could remember the tiniest bit of their dream but weirdly enough, I can recall almost everything that happened last night. How I suddenly walked in this forest which grass were humming melodiously everytime I stepped on it, the wind was breezy and peaceful and the abandoned castle was not as scary as it sound. In fact, the interior was still as good as new but the hallway was the most attractive of all—it filled with many beautiful and famous paintings all around the world from van Gogh to Frida Kahlo. All I can think of is magical.

If only my life is just the same.

For almost 7 years now, I create something that hopefully could transport people’s imagination to somewhere else, almost like escapism from their own cages. Wish they could expand their views just by looking at my arts. Sadly, this little world—little happy bubble I create for another humans, I can’t even go there, not anymore. Day by day, I feel like a robot. Sure as hell my Dad isn’t the right person for me to talk to about my worries and stuff—he won’t understand, he doesn’t want to understand. He’s a famous oil-painter and his arts are frequently exhibited in the most popular art galleries in the world. He was taking a break for 2 years when Mum died; I was 3 that time. Funny, I never feel sad whenever I think of her. For me, she’s just a distant memory that I could never grasp.

“Stop.”

My Dad’s voice startles me and my hand stops instantly.

“What now?” I genuinely ask.

“I think you should take a rest.”

Okay. This is weird.

“But I’m not tired.”

My Dad sighs. His brows furrows, “just do it, son. You can continue later. For now, rest.” And without saying another word, he walks out from the room and closes the door behind him while I just stand there.

I have no fucking idea why he suddenly acts like that. This is the first time since many years ago and I can’t help but feeling curious. Dad is never a warm person around me. All he cares about is to carve me to be someone just like him, to be the perfect artist, to be... everything he were and I used to be so supportive of his ideas, without questioning a single thing; like a good son should be. It all changed though.

For almost 3 years now, I constantly feel hollow and unsatisfy about my arts. Whatever I do to make it right, whenever I try to fix it, these feelings are still there; lingering, waiting for me to collapse at last. Know what? I almost relent. For whatever reason.

If I believe in miracle, maybe this is how it works because I’m still here and doing what I’m supposed to do. But right now, Dad’s right. I need a rest. Maybe even some sleep.

Our art room have a tiny bed in the corner and I sleep there more often that I did in my own room. I used to locked myself in this room for hours just to finish the new art I’m making and Dad never asked if I’m okay or not. Maybe it’s normal for him. The way artist should behave, I guess.

I plop myself on the bed while staring at the white ceiling, waiting for the sleep to take me away. It doesn’t take long for me to finally give in and once again, for so many nights, my heart screams “help...”

————————

School isn’t that hard today. In fact, I enjoy what I learnt. Cubism isn’t my favorite style because it’s too... rigid? I don’t know how to describe it. But the new professor was very clear and creative about it and she made me not wanted to get out of the class and eat in the cafetaria instead. The class dismiss before I know it. Wow. That’s fast.

“Yo, Sandy!”

Without looking I already know who that is because there’s only one person in this world that would call me with the name SANDY and that is Hugo Mulligan; my only friend in the entire school since the day we met as the Freshmen.

“Not in the mood, Mulligan,” I mutter under my breath as I pack stuffs in my red duffel bag. “go away!”

He scoffs, “you’re no fun.”

“And since when Sander Driesen is a fun person to be with?” I retort.

“For once in my life, I agree with you.”

I roll my eyes and he laughs.

“Actually I want to ask you a favour. If you’re not busy today.”

“No. What’s that?”

“I need to go to the bakery and the flower shop.”

“What for?”

Hugo sighs, “today is Violet’s birthday. I told you many times before.”

Oh yeah. His girlfriend’s birthday. An exchanged student from Boston a year ago. Since Hugo met her, he literally never stops talking about how cute and pretty she is—the perfect girl for his dark world, he said, which I thought is bullshit because Hugo’s world is far from dark. I know because I met his family couple times and they’re all lovely, caring and hilarious. Dad as a lawyer, Mum as a chef and two incredibly beautiful male twins who’s not yet 3 years old—Hugo loves them all and it’s clearly seen. So yeah, no ‘dark’ for him at all.

“Earth to Driesen!”

I blink, “yeah, sure. I’ll come.”

“Your Dad is okay with it?”

“He’s in Florence and won’t be back until two days later. It’s fine.”

Hugo claps his hands like a little kid who just got a flashy new toy. A bit overreacted but I never really mind about it. Being friends with someone like him is tiring at some point because his energy seems to never put out but I gradually getting use to it.

“Cool! I’ll drive!”

I never really like to drive my own car. Dad often insists me to use it instead of taking a bus everyday to school and I tell him many times that I don’t want to; probably the only thing that I still hold on against my Dad and I have no regrets, at all.

When me and Hugo finally on the road, he talks about the dinner plan he’s been working on for this past week and my dumbass brain can’t think of anything so I just nod and say “that’s great” as a response. I’m glad he’s too happy about Violet to notices my reaction.

“.... I think it’ll be the perfect opportunity to ask her on a mini getaway for 2 weeks. What do you think?”

“Perfect.”

“I was thinking about Santorini or Lake Como. Which one do you think is more suitable for her?”

I nearly scoff but hold myself back, “you can take her to Sahara desert and she’s still gonna love you.”

Hugo smiles at my witty remarks, “guess you’re right.” And then he starts to sing loudly to The Weeknd.

We arrive at the bakery not long after. I remember this place is kinda new because it used to be an Italian restaurant. Strange how small detail could take space in your memory, even for an useless information like this.

Though I have to admit that their decoration and cakes are visually pleasing. I even intrigue to try their paris-brest.

“Take whatever you want, Sandy. It’s on me.” Hugo said as he waits in the queue and even gives a smirk when he catches me almost drooling.

“I’ll just take that paris-brest.”

“How many?”

“Two.”

Hugo nods, “sure. Take a seat and wait for me, would you? I won’t be long.”

But of course there isn’t any empty seat left because this place is full. So I go outside and wait there, a bit annoyed that I didn’t bring cigarette with me today.

I watch people passing by and mentally sketching their silhouttes to kill some time but the more I try to make it vivid, the more blur it is in my mind—so I give up. My hands trembles for an unknown reason but obviously not because of the spring breeze.

“I’m done. Let’s go!”

I follow Hugo back to his car and luckily my hands are alright now. The last thing I want Hugo to see was the tremble. I don’t want him to look at me weirdly or worse, concerned.

“Here’s your cake, Sandy.”

If I’m in the mood, I’ll smack his head with my bag for calling me that but today I have no energy.

“Thanks. Gonna eat these at home.”

“You can gobble ‘em up here if you want. I don’t mind.”

I smile, “I’ll save these guys for tonight. Best thing always come late.”

“If you say so,” then Hugo looks at his watch and mutters. “Shit.”

“What?”

“I completely forgot that the flower shop will closed in 20 minutes! God, I’m so dumb!”

“Is it still far away?”

“About 10 minutes but not with THIS traffic.”

I examine the road and realise that there’s a car crash. The ambulance already there and one of the car is wrecked almost thoroughly. I hope there are no children involved. What a terrifying sight to see.

“Stop looking, Sander,” Hugo says, his tone is always serious whenever he calls me by my real name. “It’s no good.”

“I just hope they’re alright.”

Hugo doesn’t say anything but his hands on the wheel go rigid. I notice that immediately but doesn’t say anything. For more than 2 years we’ve been friends, this is the first time I witness him being like this.

“They’ll be alright. They have to.” His voice sounds icy cold but worries at the same time.

His sudden remark startles me, “I hope so too.”

After that, none of us talk to each other until his car stop near the flower shop. I think there’s nothing special or extravagant about this place, considering how Hugo loves being surrounded by something over the top sometimes. Well, maybe he does have layers that I don’t know yet—especially after what happened earlier.

“You stay?”

“I’ll go with you.”

Because it’s boring to wait alone again rather than curious of what’s inside, to be honest.

“I’m lucky the shop isn’t closed yet,” Hugo says with a shaky breath. “Violet would be pleased, right?”

I smile genuinely, “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself, pal. Relax. She’ll love you no matter what.”

He gives me a nervous smile as a response.

When I enter the shop, I’m not surprised how simple but clean this place is. Lots of different scent from each flowers catches my nose almost instantly, all at once and I can’t help but sneezes twice.

“Excuse me.” I say while wiping my mouth with a handkerchief.

“Robbie, my man!”

Hugo half-shouting voice make me jump and I follow his gaze; it’s the shop clerk, a guy around my age with unruly brown hair and a pair of eyes like Bambi, wears a green sweatshirt which a little too big for him.

“Cute.”

Shit.

Did I just say ‘cute’ that loud?

“Huh? What did you say?”

“Cute,��� I say a little too quickly. “The flowers. They’re cute.”

I force myself to past a glance to that brown-haired guy and he seems doesn’t catch what I just said about him. Thank God. Even though Hugo still looks at me with bemused expression. He’s the first person who knows that I’m a Pansexual and probably the only person in this world—and I’m not definitely not gonna come out to Dad anytime soon. There’s no use.

“Can we hurry? I’m hungry.” I try to change the subject.

It works. Hugo turns his head again to the cute guy and made some gestures I don’t understand.

Wait...

Gestures?

Can it be... that guy...

“Robbie,” he mouths while doing all he can to communicates using sign languages. “My flowers for Violet, please.”

The guy named Robbie smile and nod then later went to the back to get Hugo’s order.

“Hugo, does he...”

“Deaf. Yes.”

“Robbie. That’s his real name?”

“No, it’s Robbe but I call him Robbie just like I love to call you Sandy.”

I roll my eyes to my brain, “fuck you, man. You can’t just changed someone else’s name.”

Hugo gives me a smirk, “I just did, Sandy.”

Before I can say anything, Robbe comes back with HUGE bouquet which consists with any kind of red flowers from rose to tulip. I almost sneeze again but successfully hold myself back.

“Don’t you dare sneeze on my precious bouquet, Driesen!”

“I wasn’t.” I retort but give him my most smug face.

“You’re funny.”

“Sorry?”

“Robbie said you’re funny.”

I look at Robbe and there’s a smile appeared on his face—deadass looking at me in the eyes too. Seems like this guy is very straight-forward and unapologetic.

“Uh... thanks, I guess?”

Robbe shrugs but still smiling. Then he writes something on a piece of paper and gives it to me : “would you like some flowers too? It’s on me.”

I look up, perplex and say, “why?”

He writes again : “because I think you need one :)”

This is interesting.

“Well, okay then. Thank you. What will you give to me?”

Why do I sound more flirty than curious? For God’s sake, he’s a stranger! STRANGER! And I dare to sound like THAT? The fuck is wrong with me?

Hugo snorts beside me. He’s clearly been enjoying himself. But again, I also laughed too hard when he told me the story about him been slipping and falling in front of everybody at his family’s business private party; so yeah, I guess I deserve that snort.

Robbe comes back from the back of the room holding a simple bouquet; there were two Eglantines, one Iris and three Larkspurs. I didn’t speak flowers so I’m not sure why he gives me those but when he hands it to me, I accept it wholeheartedly and say thank you. Robbe smiles and makes some sign that I’m sure it’s meant for “you’re welcome”.

My ears catch a girl’s voice entering the shop. She’s also around my age; with blue eyes, auburn hair and very pretty. Her eyes twinkled like the sun is shining on them.

“Afternoon, everybody,” she says cheerfully and then walks toward Robbe and pecks his lips. “Hey babe! Glad you made new friends.”

Ouch!

So he’s already have a girlfriend and that realisation stings me a little. And I DARED to ‘flirt’ with her boyfriend earlier!

But of course he is. I shouldn’t be surprised. Beside, they looks nice together.

Hugo nudges my arm, “you ready to go?”

I nod and and without saying another word again, I force myself to get out from there. Damn. I should say something to Robbe but I just can’t.

“You okay?”

“Fine. Can we go home now? I’m tired.”

“Sure.”

Ever since I broke up with my ex around a year ago because she cheated, my heart always told me not to trust any kind of affection towards other people. I keep questioning myself what did I do wrong, about her and about us—and whenever I ask her about that, she says “it’s not you, it’s ME. I’m sorry. So sorry, Sander!” . But it only took a month for me to forgave her and know what? We’re friends now, even though she moves to another city with her new boyfriend. Sometimes life can be very strange. I thought she’s unforgivable but seem like I can’t hold grudges for too long—Hugo told me that it’s a bad thing but... I don’t know, part of me doesn’t agree with him for an unknown reason.

“He meant well, you know?”

My thoughts bursts like a bubble, “what?”

“Robbe,” Hugo mutters. “With those flowers.”

I look at my new given bouquet, “you know the meaning of these guys?”

“Well, I coincidentally understand the meaning of those,” Hugo says. “You see, my Mum often bring back Iris home to tell the whole house that good news is coming, Larkspur is my Dad’s favorite because it meant “lightness” and you’re gonna find a vase full of them in his study and the last one which is Eglantine is literally speaks for “I wound to heal” , it was my Grandma’s favorite because it reminded her of her childhood home. And that’s that.”

Now I understand why Robbe ‘said’ that I need some of his flowers but the most surprising part was he seems to understand what I feel just by a single glance.

But it can’t be, can it? It can be just a coincidence that he picks those flowers for me. Maybe they’re the most best-seller kinds there and he thought I might like them too.

And I do. I really, really do.

[fabllama02]

[ a concept where the dragon riders are a group of elites that are globally known. some are assassins, business people, noteworthy icons of some type. i have decided to make Hiccup the son of a CEO, building his own inventions and stuff that surprised the world. Jackson is a normal city boi with a demanding lifestyle, trying to help his family’s shortage in money. Jackson met them all in college, he is one of their dorm mates. they all grew fond of having him around and already considered him a part of their group. he also happens to have a job working in Hiccup’s father’s company, making it available for them all to see him often. Jack is a smart boi but he in a poor family. blablabla- HERE WE GO!] 

The bell above the door jingled as it was pushed open. The restaurant inside was small - tables cluttered together, the walls damp and the air heavy - and empty, no customers so late into the night. Still, the newcomers crowded the front entrance.

 The waiter before them stared, glasses slipping down his nose, before narrowing his golden amber eyes. “Get the heck out.”

 “’Heck’”, Tuffnut said, eyeing Jackson’s attire with raised brows. “Wow. And look at your little waiter get up! Isn’t he adorable?”

 “The cutest,” Heather agreed.

 “Out,” Jackson repeated, as he tried to bustle his gathered friends out the door with sweeping hand gestures. They were broader and taller than him - Snotlout wearing his discreet lifts - and refused to be budged.

 Snotlout looked at Jackson with raised eyebrows, his smile like a shark’s. “You’re going to throw out paying customers? For shame, Frosty.”

 “Peri?” Jackson tried weakly, turning to the only responsible person among the group.

 “Sorry, Jackson,” Periwinkle said, offering an apologetic smile. She was dressed in a pristine blazer and pencil skirt, her heels towering, an Ipad tucked under her arm. She stood out against the greying walls of the rundown restaurant.

 “Please?” Jackson asked, glancing backward at the kitchen. “ My manager’s going to come back any moment and flip the heck out.”

 “Adorable,” Ruffnut repeated his twin.

 “Who says we’re here for you, you narcissist?” Snotlout said, and pointedly ignored the knowing looks everyone shot him. “Maybe we just want to eat here. Just because we’re you’re friends doesn’t mean you get to throw us out. Don’t discriminate.”

 Jackson gave him a flat look. “This place is a dump, and you lived in an ivory tower with shimmering glasses, Snothat.”

 Snotlout snapped his finger, pointing at Jackson. “See? Discrimination!”

 “We’re here to help,” Hiccup interrupted. “Honestly, Jack. Nothing funny.”

 Jackson’s eyes went a little wide, realisation a punch to the gut. “This is a flipping recruitment drive, isn’t it…?”

 They smiled at him - Snotlout with a promising smirk, Hiccup tight-lipped and apologetic for what was about to happen - but before they could answer, the door to the kitchen swung open, and Jackson’s boss strode out.

 “Jackson,” his manager snapped, scrubbing a hand through his thinning hair. The man always became more irritated in the late hours of the night. “Don’t just fucking stand there looking pretty. If we ain’t got customers, take your pert ass outisde and wash some fucking dishes -”

 “Sorry, Mr. Walter,” Jackson said dully. He was exhausted - this was his second shift of the day, the other at his first job at the daycare - and powerless in this situation. He knew from experience he couldn’t reply to his boss without being threatened with unemployment.

 Walter stopped mid-step, beady eyes blown wide. The very recognizable group of people, crowded in the doorway of their empty, dirty restaurant, stared back at him. Hiccup’s jaw tightened, and Astrid was frowning at Walter. Periwinkle had pulled out her Ipad, and was tapping at it, fingers flying, wearing an expression like cold steel.

 Heather grinned, her smile sharp, and waved at the manager. “Good evening.”

 Walter made a strangled sound.

 “Sorry, sir,” Jackson said again. “They were just leaving-”

 “Come on now Jack,” Hiccup said, stepping forward. Before, he’d stood at the back, and appeared as though he was only there to keep an eye on his friends’ schemes. Now, gaze fixed on Jackson’s boss, Hiccup was stepping into a more active role. “There’s no need for that.” His frown dropped into a  soft and comforting smile when looking at Jackson; an attempt at reassurance. “We’d just like a good sit down meal.”

 Walter seemed to shake himself, before positively beaming.

 “Mr. Haddock, of course, anything for our VIPs,” he simpered. He motioned the group towards the largest table in the restaurant, bodily shoving Jackson out of the way as he went. “I’m sorry about my waiter, he’s a little slow. Very incompetent.”

 Jackson stumbled back, blinking wide eyes. His manager was larger than him, portly with broad shoulders and wide hands. Jackson often had to let the older man push him around. Fishlegs shot him a sympathetic look.

 The group took their seats at the long table. Walter pulled Heather’s seat out for her, and she managed a passable smile as she sat down.

 Walter clapped his hands together, teeth bared in a smile, and continued, “It’s such a privilege to have our note-worthy city icons in my restaurant. We’re all big fans, big fans - aren’t we, Jackson?”

 “Oh,” Jackson said. Tuffnut, perched in the closest seat, tipped his head back and smirked up at him. “Oh y-yeah. I’m a big fan of them. The biggest.”

Tuffnut’s smirk grew wider. Jackson fought to keep his features professional blank. The manager ignored Jackson’s stumbled words, and rushed towards the kitchen to talk to the cook.

 “Hand out the menus,” Walter ordered, pointing a stubby, threatening finger at Jackson, “and take their orders. Whatever they want, they can have, got it?”

 “But-”

 Walter stopped. He retracted his steps, until he was inches away from Jackson’s tense form. “You screw this up, and you’re fucking fired, you hear me?” It was obvious Walter was trying to keep his voice down, but the people sat nearby were trained asassins and business-people trained to hear the whispered threats of those around them. It was obvious they heard Walter by the way their hands balled into taunt fists, lips dipping into frowns.

 Jackson exhaled roughly, and nodded. His cheeks were burning. “Yessir.”

 “Good. I know you’re usually useless, but try for once not to be the colossal fuck-up that you are. Get this fucking right.”

 With that, Walter disappeared into the kitchen. Jackson was left in the middle of the restaurant in faded jeans and canvas shoes full of holes, a faded apron tied around his waist. His friends sat behind him, staring at him. He felt cut open, exposed; his friends only ever saw Jackson in his ever present bright smiles and cheery laughter. They never saw the small, real-life version of Jackson Overland.

 Jackson took a deep, grounding breath. He swallowed down his humiliation and collected the stack of paper menus.

 “Welcome to the J&K’s Grill,” Jackson said. He focused on handing out the menus and keeping his tone flat. His hands sometimes shook when he was anxious. He didn’t need that to happen now; he was humiliated enough as it was. “Tonight’s specials are a pork roast with potatoes, or a pasta-”

 Fishlegs snagged his sleeve as Jackson began to draw back, stilling the younger man. “Jackson,” Fishlegs said.

 Jackson shook out of his friend’s grip, and stepped back, suddenly exhausted. “Why are you guys-” He cut himself off with a frustrated huff, scrubbing a hand through his messy mop of brown hair. “Can you guys just - just please leave?”

 No dice, apparently. Tuffnut and Ruffnut didn’t so much as blink. Astrid folded her arms, face disapproving, a pose often dug out when Astrid was talking with an especially frustrating reporters and members of the public. Snotlout was staring at the kitchen’s closed door with unrepentant disgust.

 “What a complete-” Snotlout began. He made another gesture towards the kitchen, lip curled.

 “Agreed,” Heather said.

 “Fishlegs,” is all Hiccup said, his eyes narrowed.

 “Fired, arrested, or funds depleted?” Fishlegs asked, looking through the Ipad Periwinkle had handed over to him. “ I can have his possessions seized, as well. He seems to enjoy tax evasion-”

 “What if I dropped him off a really, really tall building,” Snotlout said. “The corpse would be unrecognisable. Just a smear on the sidewalk.”

 Astrid made a soft, considering ‘hmm’ sound. At Snotlout’s words, Tuffnut and Ruffnut turned to one another, twin smirks blooming.

 “No,” Jackson said. His voice was firmer than he felt.

 “If he lost his job and all of his funds,” Heather said, “he’d have a motive to jump, police won’t even look twice-”

 “Oh, my GOD,” Jackson said, throwing the remaining paper menus on the table. He frowned at the group. They didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed. “You aren’t killing my boss. What the heck? Some of you are role models! Your faces are plastered on national TV, can you please stop discussing murder casually around the dinner table?”

 Half of them opened their mouths to rebuke him, but Walter chose that moment to reappear from the kitchens, overly polite smile stretched across his face.

 “How are my favourite customers, huh? Jackson, you taken their orders yet?”

 “Not yet, sir,” Jackson said.

 “Well, you folks are lucky, one of our specials tonight is mushroom pasta. You tell ‘em about the mushroom pasta?” As Walter spoke, he elbowed Jackson in the side several times with especially sharp elbows. “Eh, Jackson?”

 “Not yet, sir.”

 “Well, our mushroom pasta’s the greatest,” Walter told the group. Periwinkle had looked up from her Ipad, and was looking at him with a pinched expression, like he was the most annoying person she’d come across. It was a feeling Jackson could relate to. “Ain’t it, Jackson?”

 Internally, Jackson was screaming. Internally, his arms were flung wide open, his head tipped back, and he was shrieking up at the ceiling.

 Externally, Jackson said, strained, “I love mushroom pasta.”

 That made the group of elites wrestle down knowing grins, hiding laughter behind discreet coughs.

 Movie nights had always been a sacred, bonding ritual for them. The dozen or so of them would ambush a poor restaurant and order food from them till they’re out of business (while leaving an outrageously large tip) or - more commonly - raid the industrial fridge for ingredients and proceeds to help Jackson out in the kitchen when he cooks some of the best food this side of the city. Jackson had spent many nights and even mornings leaning heavily on Hiccup, too full to move, dozing off to a low playing movie and the sound of chatting.

 It’s some of Jackson’s fondest memories.

 However, Jackson was also a young growing teenager with an abnormaly low metabolism and a demanding life style and not enough money. When he was around that much free food, he sometimes overacted. As in, ‘shoveling pizza slices heaped with friend rice and dripping mushroom pasta into his mouth’ overact.

 That had made his friends laugh at the time. Now, they smirk a little, remembering how Jackson had looked, sweaty hair mused and dozing off after another attempt at shoveling another plate despite his already full state.

 “Of course you do!” Walter laughed, one hand on his meaty belly. His other hands rested on the back of Hiccup’s chair, as the manager grinned at the CEO in supposed solidarity, and said, “I reckon, why pay the help in cash when they’re just as happy with greasy leftovers? It’s probably worth more than their paycheques, anyhow!”

 Walter laughed once more, expecting Hiccup - a man firmly within the 1% - to laugh with him. Hiccup managed a forced kind of chuckle. At his side, Astrid was cracking the edge of the table with her white knuckled grip.

 “You folks enjoy the food,” Walter told them, cheeks flushed with mirth. He clapped Hiccup’s chair once for good measure, nudged Jackson with clumsy strenght, and retreated once more to the kitchen. “Ask Jackson for anything you need! Ha, it’s the only thing he’s good for, anywho!”

 In the ensuing silence, all eyes gravitated once more to Jackson.

 “Now can you all leave? Now that you’re gotten your fill of humiliating me.”

 “Jackson,” Periwinkle said softly, “you don’t have to work here.”

 “She’s right, you’ve already worked so many jobs, I already saw you this afternoon working in a cafe,” Hiccup chimed in. Jackson looked away promptly, fighting against the flutter in his chest. This was the man who had taken over his father’s position as the CEO and single-handedly won the world’s attention with his latest inventions. This man is also, currently, his boyfriend and the love of his life. Jackson didn’t want to be a burden and ask Hiccup for some money to help him pay bills that he could probably do so himself. He wanted to be able to help his own family proudly. “You should be going to an ivory league university at the very least. And don’t try and tell me you can’t afford it - I’ve seen your grades. You could win a scholarship easily.”

 Jackson shook his head. “I don’t have the time,” he said, voice unenthusiastic and heavy with fatigue. This was a topic he’d discussed with himself before, mostly in the dark of the night, when he stumbled home to his waiting mom in the living room. Waiting with a tired smile and a cup of hot chocolate, informing that his little sister had waited past her bedtime and is sleeping upstairs. His exhaustion was pressing and he had work in mere hours. When Jackson felt like he was more tiredness than person.

 It was Astrid that leant forward. “You don’t have to spend so much time in my uncle’s vet helping the animals on top of being in the day care, caring for the kids. We’re more than willing to help set out some sort of roster so you don’t have to be in there 24/7-”

 “What?” Jackson said. “Are you crazy? I’m not there 24/7. No one could be. I don’t have time because I work three jobs on top of looking after my family.”

 There was silence along the table. Snotlout’s eyebrows rose. “Why the hell would you-?”

 “Because I’m not a billionaire, and I have my own rent and my mom’s mortgage and her medical bills. Car repairs, electricity, food - it all adds up.”

 Jackson straightened. The cuffs of his jeans ended above his ankles, and the hem of his over-the-thumb sleeves were fraying, but his stance was proud. He’d struggled, had to work himself into an exhausted state, to keep a roof above their heads. Sure, sometimes that meant working until he couldn’t see straight, or use his entire paycheque to pay bills and have to resort to living on buttered bread and too many glasses of water for the rest of the week…

 But, Jackson was proud of his hard work. He doesn’t have to be a member of an elite, globally renown group of people to be proud of the life he’s built up for himself.

 Snotlout opened his mouth to reply, but Heather kicked him under the table. The man yelped, shooting the woman a betrayed look, as Astrid smoothly cut in, “We know, you do what you have to survive. That’s admirable, Jackson.”

 “You don’t have to do all this,” Periwinkle said, gesturing at the grimy restaurant, the grease stained apron tied around Jackson’s waist, the faded paper menus. “As our fellow co-worker and honorary member, you’d be able to spend your time doing something worthwhile.”

 “We have health insurance, too,” Hiccup said. “And dental.”

 Jackson laughed, the sound quiet, a little raw. “I’ve never had dental before.”

 A startlingly familiar mischievous smile unfurled on Hiccup’s lips. “We could set your family up somewhere nice, too,” Hiccup planned. “Better health services and security, ooh, you’d move into the tower, I could build a new room for both of us right at the penthouse-”

 “W-what?” Jackson stuttered, looking around confused. A bit thrown off.

 The others all grinned and rolled their eyes.

 “Geez, what a way to ask someone to marry you.” Snotlout huffed with a disappointed shake of his head.

 Heather gave him a side-eye. “You asked me to marry you after I beat you at Mario Kart.”

 Snotlout nodded, “Valid. And you accepted.”

She gave him a peck on the cheek, “That I did.”

 Astrid had to look away with a shudder. “I still can’t believe they’re together. Even if I called it.”

 Jackson looked back at an approaching Hiccup, wide eyed and a little flustered. “Hiccup?”

 Hiccup gently took Jackson’s hands which was trembling a little bit. He carressed it softly before looking determinedly at livid liquid amber that he had loved so much. “Jackson. I know this isn’t what you expected nor is it probably an appropriate place or timing…”

 He sighed, looking away with a heavy blush staining his cheeks, “but I’ve been thinking about it.”

 Once more, vivid green eyes meet golden amber eyes. “Ever since I first met you in college, when I was stressing out about my dad’s decision to train me into a CEO for his company and you came into our dorm room as a new roommate with a bright smile and didn’t hesitate to help me out, despite not knowing who I was. Giving me the strenght I needed to accept my new position, unknowingly standing beside me as someone who could bear the brunt; as my equal. Someone who had accepted me for all that I am. Someone who has stayed by my side in all the time that I was lost and unsure, you had been there for me. Ever present and ready to catch me if I ever fall. At some point, I realized… that I’ve fallen in love with you.” Hiccup lifted his left hand and carressed the side of Jackson’s face, catching the tears that are falling as he continued. “I fell in love with you and no one else.”

 “So, will you, Jackson Overland, be my forever,” he lifted Jackson’s right hand and kissed it, staring straight at the watery liquid amber with a fond look, “and live the rest of your life with me?”

 Jackson, understandably, looked overwhelmed yet his teary expression gave away his euphoric state of mind. “I-I-!” He began before he was cut off.

 The kitchen door burst open, and Walter bustled in, a jug of water and ice cubes held in meaty hands. “Who’s hungry, ay?”, Jackson swivelled back at Walter, hands still clutched tightly in Hiccup’s grip.

 Walter put the jug aside and busied himself, fiddling with the half melted candles and salt and pepper shakers sat in the middle of the long table. His sweat was beading at his temples, but his too large smile remained as he straightened cutlery at their elbows. Yet, none of them paid the manager any attention.

 “Aw man, what timing!” Snotlout huffed angrily, wiping away stray tears. The others all nodded with barely restrained anger. Some wiping away stray tears and some are left with sniffles.

 “Jackson, cups!” Walter snapped which the others bristle at.

 But Jackson, hands still held tight in Hiccup’s grip, was too stunned to move or process anything. Mind spinning and making him dizzy. The day’s exhaustion starting to eat away his remaining energy and leaving him poofed. Hence, the barely controlled crying.

 Walter looked up when his call wasn’t heeded. Seeing the image before him, he narrowed his eyes, undoubtedly thinking the worst of his waiter.

 “What’s going on?” Walter demanded, squinting suspiciously. “Is my good-for-nothing waiter annoying you? Jackson, I swear to god-”

 Again, they ignored him. Snotlout looked to Jackson, and said, “The tallest building. The biggest. I can lift Fishlegs, it’d be no problem to drag him up there and then just accidentally drop-”

 “No, Snotlout,” Jackson said. Looking fairly exhausted yet his smile is wide. His chest feeling warm.

 “Jackson?” Hiccup prompted.

 “I-” Jackson glanced around at the expectant faces before looking back at intense green eyes. He swallowed, and looked at the floor, embarassed, his smile shy. “I’d like that actually.”

 Astrid fully stood up. Walter stumbled back several paces in surprise. “Is that a yes?” asked the blond haired woman.

 Jackson swallowed again before looking straight at Hiccup. “It’s a yes.”

 A roaring cheer erupted from the group, as they jumped up, swarming around the two. Arms wrapped around him, hands reaching over to ruffle his hair, legs banging into his as Jackson was swallowed up by a nest of excited limbs.

 “Guys, guys! Woah!” Jackson stumbled under his friends’ combined happiness, but he was laughing with them, head tipping back to wipe away his tears. “Hard to breathe under all this!”

 “Welcome to the family, Jackson,” Snotlout said. He was leaning against Heather, wearing his own proud smirk.

 “Finally,” Tuffnut corrected, arm thrown over Jackson’s shoulders. “Finally welcome to the family. Took Hiccup long enough to finally propose.”

 “By the way, Stoick’s been waiting for you to finally call him ‘dad’ officially and legally.” Astrid shakes her head.

 “He’s been waiting to embrace you into his family since you came into the tower after all of Hiccup’s gushing and love-struck state in his own house. When he was properly introduced to you, I swear, he has stars in his eyes.” Heather agreed.

 They all chuckled at that, remembering how Stoick had been. All excited and happy that his son had finally brought someone home. It’s not a secret that Stoick had grown an attachment to the boy ever since he laid his eyes on him.

 They were gathered around him in a loose circle, Jackson cocooned in their shared laughter, their boodies pressed against his. He felt breathless under the combined celebratory high. He felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

 Subsequent responsibility was important, and would always be a vital part of Jackson’s life, but he had reached a point where he was drowning under it. Life would always be a battle to swim upstream, Jackson knew, but if there was a way to make it a little easier, let people into his life, let them carry him a little further, then it wasn’t a crime to let them.

 And Hiccup was willing to provide him with a lot of care and support, even if Jackson never wanted to burden him.

 A cry interrupted them, “Pursue legal action?! Excuse me? You can’t do that-!”

 Jackson came crashing down from his high. Right, his boss. He’d forgotten.

 Hiccup and Periwinkle stood in front of the sweaty man, twin glares focused on him.

 “For professional misconduct, tax evasion, and the unlawful treatment of your waitstaff, I think I can,” Periwinkle said. Her eyes were like ice.

 Jackson wriggled out of his friends’ grip. Walter frowned when he saw him, gesturing at the two before him. “Jackson, tell them I’m a good boss. Tell them how good I am!”

 Hiccup stood up and blocked Walter’s view of his beloved. “Leave him alone,” Hiccup growled. Jackson hadn’t heard him sound that angry outside of stare-downs with frustrating business people.

 “He’s a good boss,” Jackson agreed. Hiccup’s mouth fell open, surprised, ready to rebuke the younger man, but Jackson just shook his head. “Alright, no, he’s not a good boss, but c’mon, Hiccup. Let’s just -  go. Don’t you wanna discuss our wedding plans?”

 Jackson was in the process of pulling Hiccup back towards their waiting friends, when Walter snarled, “Wedding plans…! You’re one of those freaks, aren’t you, Jackson? A gay marriage- oh, my god, did you trick Mr. Haddock? What did you do to seduce him- wave your pert ass around-”

 Astrid, her eyes like ice, straightened her cream blazer and walked over to Walter. Immediately, she stomped on Walter’s foot with her heel.

 Walter leapt back, howling. Heather, as quiet and deadly as she is, appeared right behind him and grabbed his two arms before flinging him over her shoulders with practiced ease.  

 Walter let out a wail before he was silenced by the two women’s piercing glares.

 Hiccup leant against the lip of the long table, casually crossing his legs and surveying the reddening manager before him with a hard look. Like what his father taught him, he began.

 “If you want to keep you job, Mr. Walter,” Hiccup said easily, handing out threats like tips, “keep your mouth shut. If you want to ever be employed in the country again, you’ll pretend that we never even stepped foot into this restaurant. If you don’t want all of your funds and possessions to be seized, you’ll forget you ever met a Jackson Overland.”

 “You- You can’t just-” Walter spluttered.

 “You’ll find that I can,” Hiccup said, “but I’m a fair man. Periwinkle.”

 Periwinkle was already typing something into her Ipad. “How’s a quarter of a million, donated anonymously into his accounts?”

 Walter’s eyes went wide. Hiccup met his gaze calmly, his eyes like steel, a reminisce to how Stoick dealt with uncooperative business people. “Remember exactly what I just said.”

 “Jackson Overland?” Walter said quickly. “Who?”

 HIccup snorted; the greed of men had ceased to surprise him. “Good man.”

 “I still think we should’ve gone with that tall building,” Tuffnut said, ignoring Jackson’s pointed frown.

 Hiccup walked towards them and pulled Jackson to him before intertwining their fingers together. He looked at Jackson tenderly,“Home?”

 Jackson smiled softly before standing on his tip-toes to give Hiccup a kiss, “Home.”

[benscursedkid]

what you make it

aisling casey x badeea ali

words: 882

a/n: okay, so firstly i started this ages ago and i am so sorry it only got finished now. secondly, i apologize again for my lack of content recently but i have been extremely busy as of late but i hope to catch a break soon!

listened to ocean eyes by billie eilish while writing if that helps!! as a thank you to @badeeaswife for her gift fic which you should absolutely read (metronome hearts) and for just being an amazing person. i hope you like it mori and i really hope i got aisling right and if not i apologize in advance!! ✨💙

*alternatively titled: diamond mind*

Something about the black lake always seemed to shimmer.

It’s a shame really, how almost no one seemed to notice. Too appalled by the thick surface color, they never stop to consider the way the light reflects off the top, like a mirror of waves. The sun’s rays spare no mercy as they beat down insessantly on the water, allowing for specks and tiny stars of light to bounce off. It’s just as beautiful as the bluest ocean or golden beach, better even when you take into account just how unique it is.

This is especially true when the gentle afternoon breeze ripples the water, casting a sense of serenity across the field surrounding it.

Badeea closes her eyes, reveling in the way the grass brushes across her cheek as she tries to get the right angle. The Hogwarts castle is a nice touch for the background, the way it sits lonely atop the hill.

Her hands itch for her paintbrush, a snowy white canvas, blank and waiting for her to lavish it in color. However, the canvas sits in her dorm, too big to bring all the way out here. Instead, she makes do with the pencil in her hand, exaggerating every stroke to match reality.

Many people may disagree that the scene of the black lake has masterpiece potential, but Badeea likes to think otherwise. There’s more than seven wonders in the world and she knows because she’s lived thousands. Art isn’t about replicating reality, it’s about shaping it the way you see it so others can see it, too.

Moments are what you make them, so why not make them beautiful?

Just as she’s finishing up some last minute details, a dark head of hair pops up over the hill. Much to her delight, it is exactly who she expected and her heart skips in excitement.

When her companion is finally within hearing distance, Badeea smirks coyly behind her drawing.

“You know,” She says impishly as they set their things down in the grass beside her. “For someone obsessed with time, you’re rather late.”

Aisling pouts from her spot beside her, using her bag as a pillow. “I tried to get here sooner but Snape was being particularly spiteful today, Di.”

Badeea attempted a straight face, but soon exploded into little giggles at the thought of her girlfriend serving a detention for Snape. She’s never experienced such a thing herself, but she can only imagine how tedious it could be for Aisling, much to Snape’s enjoyment.

Clicking her tongue with a poorly veiled grin, she doesn’t catch the way Aisling smiles at her softly. She releases a sigh. “I suppose you’re forgiven.”

Now it’s Aisling turn to grin as they settle into a comfortable silence. The latecomer conjures a book from her bag while Badeea attempts to resume her project.

The two of them never really needed words, anyway. It was never about such things between them. No, it was more like mutual understanding, compassion, companionship. And sometimes, like now, with everything always going on around them, that’s all they really need.

However, it seems that her companion is being extremely distracting...

Without second thought, the Ravenclaw flips to the next empty page in her journal, abandoning her previous attempt. The suns rays and the water’s reflection centers and fractures around Aisling in such a way that makes fingers twitch. The gentle breeze combing through her short curls doesn’t help either.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing, not really. Allowing her hand to simply drift across the page, she decides to let chance take a turn in her journal. However, before she knows it, a familiar face is looking back at her.

By this time Aisling has given up her reading and has decided to just enjoy the sun and her tranquil surroundings. Her eyes have fallen closed, a hand draped leisurely across her forehead as shadows pass overhead, grinning at the way the blades of grass caress her cheeks.

And, really, it’s not fair. Or at least if you asked Badeea it isn’t. She’s never seen anyone so pretty before...

So pretty

Finally looking down to her page, Badeea is pleased to find Aisling dreaming back at her. She’s quite proud of it, actually. She had made sure not to miss a single detail or perfection, right down the the individual freckles on the bridge of her nose.

It was perfect, she thought. Though, she thinks she might want to keep this one for herself. Something about the intimacy squeezed between every curve and pencil stroke just seems for private, something to admire in peace.

“You finished, Di?”

Badeea starts, not having expected her to speak. Quite frankly she thought Aisling was asleep. “Wha–”

“It’s hard to keep your endeavors a secret from students and staff without knowing when you’re being watched.”

The artist splutters, a flush warming her cheeks as Aisling grins satisfactorily. At this, her cheeks puff and she squares her shoulders.

“I had to,” She insists, her pencil lying limp in her grip, her dark eyes trained on her sketch. “For science... and art.”

“I know,” Comes Aisling’s easy reply as she reaches for Badeea’s hand and even dares to lean forward, placing a chaste but oh so soft kiss against her cheek. “I know.”

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Well... All Right

@strawberryfields-forever said: Hello my love, I saw the Beatles post, and I was wondering if I could request a John Lennon imagine? Maybe where the reader and him are out on their first date of sorts and she surprises him with how wild and rebellious she is, cause she doesn’t seem like that normally. Or just something cute and fluffy! Ilyxxxx

(a/n: i didn’t know how many people like queen AND the beatles so if ur on my reg taglist and see this, let me know if you’d like to be tagged in beatles imagines!! i don’t want to clog ur mentions with things u dont want hehe. speaking of clogs i hope brian may has a good night anyways here u go!!! fluffy misbehaving john lennon for ur viewing pleasure)

You hadn’t struck John as the type to say yes to dates with men you hardly knew, especially with such an unruly character like himself. So when he was fooling around in your painting class and started flirting harmlessly with you, he expected nothing out of it. You were usually quiet, kept to yourself, turned in your work on time, and asked no questions. Not exactly the kind of girl that would be climbing out of Liverpool’s waterfront, drenched and tipsy and laughing deliriously as she clutched onto John’s hat, which was also beyond soaked, while a cop yelled at you from afar

But here you were, drenched, tipsy, and clutching onto his hat. And he’d never questioned his personal judgement so much, a queer, amused smile coming to his face as he held out a hand to help you up the ladder.

It had started out innocently enough. The professor had brought in another nude model for you all to paint over the course of the afternoon, and you couldn’t help but smile a bit at the way John groaned loud enough for the class to hear. After the hell he’d raised with the female model last month when he managed to show up for one class, you couldn’t imagine what he had in mind for the male model that now stood before you.

“This is the last time I actually show up for class, I swear,” he mumbled, digging through his bag to pull out his paints as you feigned apathy, already mixing your skin tone for the man that laid on the table in the center of the room. But John had said that many times before – he’d always show up, take the seat nearest you, find out what was happening for the day, and swear that he’d never show face again. And then you’d see him eventually, maybe within days, maybe within weeks.

You tried to focus on the man before you, staring intently at the skin on his cheeks and noting that there was some discoloration, possibly rosacea, so you scraped some of your skin tone off to the side and added just a tick of red, mixing it in. John was watching you out of the corner of his eye, clearly not interested in all at painting what he was supposed to paint as his eyes wandered, the professor getting more irritated by the minute as his canvas remained blank.

“Mr. Lennon, you seem to be coming along well,” the professor remarked on his next round, tapping a bony finger to the empty canvas and sending him a sarcastic smile. John scoffed, looking over in your direction and rolling his eyes as if to say ‘This guy.’ Then, his ever-expressive face was blessed by a wide smile, and he gave the professor a thumbs up paired with a goofy, sweet grin, making you suppress a laugh as you tried to focus on the natural curve of the man’s thighs. The professor eyed you for a moment, then narrowed his eyes as he looked back to John – and with that, he was gone, off to his next victim.

“Geez, wonder if he’s ever heard of breath mints,” John mumbled, and that got a snicker out of you before you quickly pressed the back of your hand to your mouth, barely holding back a grin. Now he was actually looking at you, an ever-present mischievous grin on his face making a blush spread across yours as you sat your paintbrush down in your cup of water. “That was a cute little laugh. Do it again.”

“John,” you admonished softly, nodding towards the male model and stifling another laugh as you bit your lower lip. He only shrugged, appearing indifferent towards the subject at hand when he had you right there to bother. “We’re both going to get poor marks if you start bugging me.”

“You say bugging, I say making conversation. Who will ever win?” he countered, and he noticed that the professor had started to lecture, but didn’t really care much as he continued. “I never caught your name, what is it?”

Looking between him and the professor a bit nervously, you returned your eyes to your painting as you held back a grin, still chewing on your lower lip. “Y/N.”

“Y/N. Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he remarked, flashing you a dazzling smile.

He was a bit of a charming fellow in terms of looks, if not a bit odd for the school scene. He always came in with the most unruly, fluffy hair, shorter on the sides than it was on top, and he wore outfits that stood out among the rest of your peers. While they opted for loose sweaters and blocky trousers that hid any sort of curve whatsoever, John dressed in longer blazers, tight jeans, form-fitting trousers, and the likes, sticking out like a sore thumb. And he was attractive, you had to admit. He was young, just freshly 18, and had the teddy boy look down to an art – the swagger, the hair, the confident smile, the glint in his eyes that was so rebellious, and yet not threatening to you at all. His charming, boyish looks and mussy golden-brown hair were enough to send anyone with eyes crazy, especially in such a strict institute.

“Thank you,” you murmured in response, smiling a bit as you picked up your paintbrush, then dipped it in the paint and ran it along the curve of the painted man’s side. The paint thinly spread out and  started breaking up when the product ran out near the end of your swipe. “You always hit on your classmates like this?”

“Nah, just the really cute ones.”

“Mr. Lennon! Something important you’re discussing with Miss Y/N, I presume?” Your professor’s mention of your name set all of your nerve endings on fire and you clammed up, staring straight at your painting and wishing that you could melt into a puddle of nothingness at this exact moment.

But John was unashamed and unafraid, resting his hands on his knees as he sat up on his stool a bit, peeking around the canvas at where the professor was across the room. “Just making conversation, sir. Hard to flirt with all this noise in the background.” He really did not give a shit about this class, did he? You pressed your lips into a thin line as you tried not to blush even more at the fact that John was flirting with you and now the entire class was aware.

The professor looked very much annoyed, but just stared for a moment before continuing his tangent about getting the shading correct, and John gave you a devilish smile when you glanced over at him to shoot daggers at him. “You’re going to get us suspended, you cheeky bastard.”

“Oh, you’re so tame. I like that,” he laughed, starting to dump out some paint that didn’t even closely resemble any of the skin tones on the man before you. He stood, brushing his tight drainpipe trousers off and stretching his legs out so the trousers fell back over the white socks that peeked out of his suede creepers. And then he walked up to the model, crouching down directly in front of his face as you watched, entranced by this enigmatic, lively character that seemed to be studying the model’s … face?

When he came back, you raised an eyebrow in question, resituating yourself on your stool a bit so you could cross your legs. “What was that all about?”

“Give me a date with you and I’ll tell you.” The look in his eyes was challenging, daring you to say yes, although a part of him knew it would probably never happen. You were a straight-A student, and going out with the black-sheep of this college would definitely screw that image right up. So when you responded, a genuine look of shock overtook his features.

“Alright. When and where?”

So you’d decided to meet John the next night outside of a little restaurant in the bohemian district, grab a bite to eat before going out for a few drinks, then ‘see where the night took you,’ according to him. He showed up dressed in his usual tight black trousers, brown suede creepers, and a black shirt layered with a forest green jacket. It was particularly windy, so he’d opted to bring a hat, but it was twirling around on his finger when you saw him, an absentminded time-passer that slowed to a stop when he finally spotted you.

You weren’t in your usual blocky sweater and longer skirt. Now, a short-sleeve sweater of white accentuated all your curves right down to your waist, where the sweater met a relatively formfitting black pencil skirt that didn’t even dare to pass your knees, exposing black tights that slimmed your legs even more. The small tears in the tights led right down to the red heels you’d chosen for yourself, drawing so much attention from older generations as you passed on the sidewalk that you thought they’d drop dead from shock right there. This was rebellion in 1950’s Liverpool. Showcasing your body, accentuating your legs? Scandalous.

Scandalous, and yet you knew John loved it as an appreciative, yet puzzled smile crept onto his face. His jaw was still slightly slack, shocked from the contrast, but he reached out and gave you a polite kiss on the cheek when you finally made it to him, which you reciprocated. And then he offered his arm, walking into the restaurant with you side-by-side.

Conversation remained light during the meal, John footing the bill when it was time to pay and helping you out of your seat when it was time to go to the pub. When you both had a few drinks in you, that’s when things really began to start flowing.

“So what happened to the whole studious library girl look you have going on every day?” he asked, hand firmly wrapped around the mug of beer in front of him on the bar. You grinned fully, not hiding the smile you usually tried to repress in class, and John quirked an eyebrow slightly, noting how astonishingly mischievous the look in your eyes was.

“Every day? I haven’t seen you show up to class consecutively since the beginning of this semester. And here you talk as if you know what I look like every day,” you teased, tracing your finger around the rim of your own beer, John laughing and raising his hands in surrender.

“Okay, you got me. I may or may not skip class a bit. I’m the antichrist, I know. But you didn’t answer my question?” he prodded, leaning forward and resting his elbow on the bar, propping up his head.

“It’s a nice college, John. I’d like to get my degree eventually, but can you imagine what the professors would say if I showed up in what I usually wear?”

“Is this what you usually wear?” he questioned, no hint of malice or teasing in his voice. He was just genuinely curious, leaning forward and hanging on to your every word. He’d never seen someone flip a switch like this, and the ease with which you did it was astounding. It was like he was meeting you all over again, and it fascinated him.

“Yes,” you giggled, taking another drink of your beer before sitting it down and hopping off the stool, holding out a hand. “Any song requests? I’m headed over to the jukebox, the songs are awful right now.

He had to admit, the songs were not the greatest, so he dropped some money into your hand and told you to play whatever you liked before watching you easily slip through the crowd, taking a moment to pick a few songs before returning. And then the sound of Buddy Holly started softly playing as you climbed back onto your stool, crossing a leg and taking another drink of your beer.

John raised an eyebrow, again surprised that you listened to Buddy Holly. Buddy had passed away earlier this year, and you saw quite a few faces sober up, but it was such a good song that people were soon singing along to it. Others, not so much. The rock and roll trend still wasn’t quite a phenomena, and the genre was clearly divisive, but you very much enjoyed the rock and roll sound of Holly, tapping your fingers on the table to the beat and smiling at certain parts of the song.

“You like this kind of music?” John questioned, and you nodded, propping your head up on your hand as your elbow rested on the bar.

“’f course. Shame about what happened to him, really thought he was the best of the best.” John leaned back a bit, nodding slowly and grinning as he listened to you continue on about your preference for rock and roll. A girl talking so openly about such a damning subject was attractive to him, and he found his pulse speeding up when you’d finished talking, asking him what kind of music he liked.

“Same music, really. I actually play in a band, if you’re interested. Well, sort of,” he retracted, pulling a goofy face before pursing his lips and continuing. “We’re just three guys with too many guitars and not enough drums.”

“Sounds like you’re in quite a dilemma,” you observed, finishing off your beer at the same time that he finished off his. The bartender refilled them when he passed by a moment later, John paying and smiling politely at the bartender before they were off again. His focus returned to you, and he took a moment to remember where you were in the conversation as you sipped some of the foam off the top of your lager. When you took quite a big drink of the beer to chase that sip, John raised an eyebrow curiously.

“We are in quite a dilemma. But it looks like you’re going to be in quite a dilemma soon if you keep out-drinking me.” Giggling, you shook your head and took another drink, then propped your head up on your hand and gave him a challenging look.

“If you really want to see me outdrink you, you’d do shots with me.”

“Shots?” he laughed incredulously, his hand still wrapped around the handle of the beer mug. “I take back calling you tame yesterday. Don’t we technically have class tomorrow?”

“At noon, plenty of time to recover. And since when have you ever cared about class? Half of the school has wagers on when you’re going to be expelled, Lennon,” you retorted, raising an eyebrow and giving him a devilishly sweet smile, one that let on to the idea that maybe you were far more feisty than even he knew. “Three shots. That’s all.” Your hand shot out, daring him to take it and accept.

“Three shots?” he considered, mulling over it for a second before he sighed overdramatically and took your hand, shaking it. “You’re a funny girl. A surprise up your sleeve at every turn.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” you asked, flagging down the bartender as you kept your gaze on John expectantly, biting your lower lip to hold back a big grin.

A small smirk toyed at John’s lips as he scanned your face for a second, then shrugged. “We’ll see.”

It was most definitely not a bad thing. You both took the shots, no chaser for you and John looking at you in a disgusted sort of impressed that made you laugh. And when you’d begun to get flushed and overheated from all the alcohol in your system, you leaned on John and requested a walk by the waterfront.

Now here you were, holding on to John’s shoulder as you laughed at another corny joke he’d told in his slurred speech, being just as tipsy as you. His arm was wrapped around your waist, the both of you supporting each other terrible as you teetered and tottered down the sidewalk next to the water, gusts of wind blowing in and stinging your cheeks a deeper red than they already were from a combo of the alcohol and John’s flirting. The sun was getting low, shrouding you both in a semi-darkness that seemed to bring an exclusivity to the pair of you as you strolled down the waterfront.

“This wind is going t’be the death of my hair, I swear,” you complained, trying to push it out of your face to no avail and laughing at yourself when you failed miserably. “I give up. I’m just goin’ to look like a wooly mammoth forever.”

“Aw, I think it’s kind of cute,” he teased gently, squeezing your side, and then he reached up to move his cap from his head to yours, pulling it down over your eyes a bit. “There, is that better?”

“John, I can’t see!” you squealed, John laughing and pulling the cap down over your eyes more as you tried in vain to fight his efforts. “You’re such an arse! Can’t believe I agreed to come on a date with you, you little bastard!”

“Oh, you’re just spouting nonsense now!” he chuckled, letting go of the brim anyways and giving you a mischievous grin when you finally managed to pull the cap up from your eyes. Trying to resituate your hair, you shot him a playfully nasty look before stopping where you were, John’s arm slipping off of your waist for a moment as he slid his hands into his pockets. You used the rail behind you for support, your vision a bit hazy as you pulled your hair up into a ponytail with the hair tie that had been in your pocket, John smiling at the new look and making you blush a bit more. “Are my eyes deceiving me or did you just blush?”

“Definitely your eyes,” you countered, although there wasn’t even a trace of truth in your voice as you blushed even more, John taking the opportunity to lean his side against the rail next to you, taking one hand out of his pocket to lift up a strand of hair you’d forgotten and tuck it into the cap.

It was probably the alcohol, but as you looked up into John’s warm brown eyes, you’d never wanted to kiss someone so bad in your life. His fluffy hair was flying wildly in the wind, making him look even more tousled and adorable than he usually did anyways, and his lips were slightly chapped, but the pout of his lower lip made you graze your teeth over your own, contemplating for a moment. And he was doing the same, suddenly quiet as a mouse as his eyes ran over your own plump, tempting lips before looking back up to meet your slightly glazed eyes.

A mutual exchange must have taken place, but you couldn’t have registered it even if you tried, because the next moment, John was leaning down to kiss you, taking your face in one hand and smiling against your lips when you reciprocated, making a slightly surprised noise. The two of you moved your lips in sync for a minute or two, conveniently forgetting the hat on your head until John went to tilt his head the other way and managed to knock it right into the water.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered as he broke away from the kiss, both of you peering over the railing at the hat that was just lapping up against the concrete barrier below. Laughing a bit, you glanced at John, who had a mournful look on his face. “My favorite hat, too.”

“I’ve got it,” you shrugged, using the railing to lean on shakily as you began to yank off your heels, John looking at you like you were mad. “What? You said it’s your favorite, I don’t personally want to be the reason that John Lennon is without his favorite hat. I’d imagine you’d paint a memorial photo of it in class just to spite me. It’s not like you ever paint the actual subject anyways.”

“Have you gone mental?” he laughed, taking your heels from you and following as you started over to the ladder nearby, nothing but an open padlock to stop you from opening the gate. “It’s probably bloody cold in that water. You’ll freeze.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” you teased, giving him a gentle nudge before you swung open the gate, starting to climb down to his amazement. The hat wasn’t far from the ladder, but just far enough that you had to get in. When you did get into the water, you cursed lightly at how cold it was despite the fact that you were drunk, John laughing at your language as you swam over to the hat, snatching it up and holding it up in victory.

“You’re crazy!” he called out over the whistling of the wind, making you smile widely as you started to swim back over to the ladder. Grabbing onto the bottom rung, you were starting to pull yourself up when you heard someone down the waterfront start shouting. Both of you looked in the same direction, spotting a cop that was shaking a fist at you and screaming. You couldn’t make out what he was saying, but you assumed it wasn’t nice, and John burst out laughing at the same time as you, holding out a hand and urging you to hurry. “You’re going to get us both arrested!” he yelled, grinning as you laughed deliriously at the angry old cop who was cursing you out.

Scrambling up the ladder while you cackled, John hoisted you to your feet and didn’t waste a moment in taking off running with you, your hands clasped together tightly as you giggled breathlessly and made an escape down the backstreets towards your dorms. You were freezing by the time you’d managed to make it to your dorm, which was empty when you entered, gasping for air in between hysterical laughing bouts. John slumped back against your door and held his hand to his chest while you grabbed a towel, trying to dry yourself the rest of the way off and catch your breath.

“Here you are,” you giggled breathlessly, tossing him his cap and making him go into another round of laughter as it hit his chest, falling to the floor. “Don’t say I never did anything for you!”

“My god, Y/N, you’re mad,” he gasped, his smile ear to ear as he laughed at the state of you, soaked to the bone and shivering as you searched for dry clothes. When you found them, he covered his eyes graciously and just chuckled, finally catching his breath while he waited patiently for you to change. “I thought we were goners, for sure.”

“You have little faith,” you teased, changing into some pajama pants and a loose shirt before pulling your hair out of the ponytail. “You can open your eyes now, Lennon.”

“I don’t know if I like you calling me Lennon,” he remarked, uncovering his eyes and crawling to his feet after sitting your heels and the hat on the floor. “Reminds me so much of the professor in painting.”

“Would you prefer Johnny Boy?” you asked playfully, helping him out of his jacket and laying it over your arm as he turned to face you, pursing his lips.

“Not exactly.” But he let the subject drop as he tucked some of your still-damp hair behind your ear, grinning softly. “I quite liked it in the soggy ponytail, wild girl.”

“Wild girl?” you asked, briefly interrupted when he leaned in for a quick kiss. You kissed back, pouting a bit when he pulled away so soon, but continued your observation anyways. “I can’t tell if that’s an insult or a compliment.”

He grinned even wider, keeping his hand resting on the nape of your neck while taking his jacket from your arm and dropping it to the floor near his hat. “Definitely a compliment.”

let me know if you’d like to be on the taglist for my beatles imagines in the future! REQUESTS CLOSED!

[thearcanaqueeniewrites]

Modern Julian part 2

✨Queenie x Julian✨

Queenie was sitting in art class, trying not to let her mind wander off to the mysterious Julian she’d met the other day. It was quite obviously not working, seeing as her canvas was completely blank after an entire hour of supposed work. The others seemed inspired enough, so why wasn’t she? Wasting precious time like this was not good. At the end of term, a specific amount of work was expected of her, and extra art was pretty much a given. This was a minor thing, but she was not the type to take things easy. She was freaking out over some guy she didn’t even know, and she didn’t like it.

Her art teacher passed by, disapproving of what she’d done so far, but keept quiet. That was the one thing Queenie did like about college; the teachers didn’t bother her, because it was her education and her money she was wasting. As long as she passed, they were content.

The door to the studio slammed against the wall as it was opened quickly, and a tall, lanky figure walked in. Julian, Queenie gasped. He shot the teacher a stressed smile and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He then realized he’d been aggressive towards the door and started apologizing in a mumble. The art teacher simply chuckled at him and gestured towards the stool at the center of the room. Queenie freaked out even more. He was posing for them?

“Hey, Julian! What are you doing here?” she whispered.

Over the loud music her teacher was playing, her voice was nearly inaudible. “Queenie? Oh, hi! I’m posing!”

“Yes, I can see that, but why?”

He shrugged. “I’m a theatre major, so... extra practice?”

Julian waved nervously at the art teacher and shot her a sheepish smile. She muted the music and smiled back.

“Uh, I know I’m late... sorry everyone. My usual bus didn’t show up on time, so I ran all the way here.”

The teacher furrowed her eyebrows. “You... don’t live on campus?”

“I’m afraid not. But you guys have already started... what do you want me to do?”

Queenie’s heart started beating faster. She already knew the answer, but she hoped she was wrong.

“One of my students hasn’t started yet. You can be of assistance to her. Queenie, would you prefer to sketch in the courtyard?”

She nodded solemnly, grabbed her pencil, and led Julian outside. He seemed nervous too, which at least made her feel a little better.

“How do you want me to pose?” he gave her a smirk, raising an eyebrow.

She shrugged, looking down at her pad. “Don’t know. Have any suggestions?”

Queenie watched as he balanced on one leg and then leaned back, both his arms stretched out, until his upper half was completely, horizontally, straight, and his other leg was raised high into the air. How was he even capable of doing that? She suppressed a laugh as she began drawing. It looked as if he was doing a split standing up.

“Where did you learn to pose like that?”

His voice was strained. “School play... about a circus.”

She nodded. “I see...”

Some time later, Queenie had transferred her sketch onto canvas and had started painting. Somehow she’d managed to get ahead of the others. It seemed inspiration had struck her as well. Her teacher seemed very pleased, and Julian was so curious that he’d stayed just to watch the result.

She mixed several shades of blue and purple, and of course, red. On the painting Julian’s hair looked like fire, and he was painted in a very flattering way. Usually it would take longer to create a picture such as that one, but Queenie was a quick worker. She didn’t have patience to work on a single piece for more than a few hours, which was one of the things that had gotten her accepted at the college in the first place.

When she finished, just an hour and a half later, she called both Julian and her teacher over to see her work.

Her teacher looked surprised. “This is different from the other things you’ve done, Queenie. You always paint abstract.”

She glanced over at Julian, who was speaking to another student across the classroom. He’d said he wanted to look at it when the others had left. “It was a different type of assignment.”

“Of course, but I’m still surprised. It’s lovely, what inspired you?”

Queenie glanced at her red haired friend once again. “The fresh air.”

The classroom emptied, and Julian sauntered over to her dramatically. When she laughed at him, he laughed back, but that quickly faded as he caught sight of the painting.

She bit her lip nervously as he stared at the picture with a neutral face. “What is it? You don’t like it, do you...”

“You... you see me like that?” he pointed at himself.

He was drawn as a phoenix catching flame, and he looked strong, beautiful and wild.

She gasped as he turned to her with blurry eyes. She nearly did it again when he leaned down and kissed her gently.

This was all very odd for two people who’d only known each other for two days.

But perhaps they’d known each other a lot longer.

[penny-p-pen]

Simon

Knowing Eyes

They say eyes are the windows to the soul, I first fell in love with his eyes, so I guess also quickly fell in love with his soul. Those eyes of his, so warm yet so bold, they always seemed to be wanting something, wanting something more out of everyone, more out of life, he just wanted more.

No. More isn’t the right word; he wanted something better, more acceptances, a greater willingness to change. Those eyes wanted to see people grow, watch them make decisions that would better someone else’s life, better the world, and yet, they were never demanding, never glaring or cold. Those eyes of his looked at you, looked past the physical you and looked at your soul. They pleaded with it, yearned for that soul to be a beautiful one, one that caused change, he wanted that from everyone, but I think he wanted it from me the most.

           He saw into me, saw the timid little mouse of a man I was. Saw that there was something more I wanted from life. Those mesmerizing eyes looked into mine and somehow knew I was here for something important. That I held a far greater purpose then I would ever allow myself to believe. His eyes knew from the beginning, they needed no convincing, he knew I was meant to be something more. His belief in me was confirmed before I could even allow myself to dream that I could believe in myself.  

           So much had led us to that moment, allowed us to be there, staring soul to soul, heart to heart. Somehow time’s plan allowed us to be there, together and in that moment on that snowy night, that moment of bliss, I was finally free. Lip to lip he set my soul free and gave me the courage I thought I could never have. I pulled him in closer and smiled into it. I was finally free.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, a big event can only happen because of smaller ones, ones that a set a ball in motion without anyone knowing. Those small events called life are important, to me and to him…

 A Latte and a Laugh

We met in a coffee shop, both of us were laughing as the barista messed up name after name, saying strange variations of names that shouldn’t have been too hard, K-all for Kyle, Laura turned into Bora and m’lady was supposed to be Melody.

Marcus was the first to talk, first to start the ball rolling, he started the first conversation we’d ever have, started our connection.

           “I’m lucky; they can’t really mess up my name. Well I suppose they could say it in an odd way but Marcus… pretty hard to mess up.”

           I admired how easily he started up the conversation, I was a stranger, he didn’t need to talk to me, but he did. My mouth opened before my brain could spiral into self-doubt. “You are lucky. I’ve had a few uh…. Interesting… mess ups on Simon. Gotten Simone, Siman and uh… heh… seamon…”

           He turned to face me, blinking in silence, my mind raced, ‘stupid,’ I thought. ‘I’m so stupid, why did I just tell a him all th-“

           He burst out laughing. His nose crinkling as his laughter came out louder, a warm and genuine sound. “They messed up Simon? SIMON? Damn man, I am so sorry.” He set a light brown hand on my shoulder, bending forward, trying to get over his fit of laughter. He dried those tears you get from laughing from his eyes taking a deep breath. “I am so sorry man.”

He was about to say something more when the barista called out the next name, “Mareus? Is there a Mareus?... Grande vanilla cappuccino with skim milk?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle as Marcus let out a small huff, “guess I spoke to soon, they canin fact mess up Marcus.”

She called another name, “Simon?  Peppermint latte for Simon?” Marcus and I looked at each other, shaking our heads and smiling; they got my name right for once and oddly enough messed up Marcus’s. We stood there for a minute, not wanting to part ways. Marcus shrugged, “well enjoy Simon, I’ll see you around.” He walked off, leaving to continue his day.

I stood there, grinning like a goof, maybe this was what happiness was like, and maybe this was what confidence was like.

 Sketches

Days passed and those days turned into weeks, I didn’t see Marcus again until I went back to the coffee shop.

I sat in the back corner, soft chairs with large fluffy pillows that faced a window, I loved this back corner. It was always warm and always empty. It was like a little nook, a private place for me to relax. I sat there, watching people walk by, pulling out my sketch book; I pressed my pencil’s eraser to my lips, looking for inspiration. There was an elderly couple across the road, sitting on their usual park bench. He always held her hand in his; he looked like he did it so gently, as if she was an old china doll that needed to be treated with care. Her cheeks were always rosy and her eyes always bright and full of love, full of life. I glanced down the blank page and back up at the couple and started sketching.

“…That’s really good.”

His voice startled me. I looked up, not knowing my eyes had gone wide in fear, not realizing my hands had tightly latched onto the book and pencil. He took a step back, raising his hands in front of his chest. “Hey… hey it’s okay.”

I blinked a few times, “Marcus?”

He nodded, smiling a little, “thought you almost forgot who I was. Sorry if I startled you.” He sat down next to me, still looking at my work. “It really is nice Simon, you like drawing?”

I nodded, “sort of. I’m really no good at it but it’s always been a fun hobby.”

He snapped his fingers, causing me to jump slightly, “you should come to the art class I’m teaching at the Rec Center!”

“Wha’?”

“The art class I teach! It’s a beginner level painting class; we’re starting the new course next week. The first one seemed to be really popular but there’s still room in this one! Come on Simon, please.”

His eyes were sparkling, two emeralds, two dazzling orbs that sucked me in and would never let me go, and I felt myself nod, “okay…” Those eyes gleamed brighter, drawing me closer, slowly melting my fears while building up my confidence.

“That’s great! We meet on Thursday’s at 6:00! If you paint half as good as you sketch- well you’ll be a natural!”

As quickly as he came into my corner of the world he left, leaving me blinking in silence, ‘what had I just committed to?’

   Art and the Heart

           I stared up at the large brick building, gulping slightly. The place had always intimidated me, it seemed too large, too imposing, and someone like me couldn’t make it in there. Sure it was a ‘community cente’r; sure anyone could go in but someone like me… I knew I would be eaten alive by people who were better than me. I was about to turn around, about to jump back into my car and drive away, go back into me little home and hide, but I walked right into him.

           “Hey Simon, you ready?”

           “I- I uh… well Marcus maybe I shouldn’t-“

           “You’ll be fine Simon, come on!”

           He took my hand and pulled me in not allowing me time to protest. I couldn’t think, I was running on auto pilot, just following where he pulled me. His hand felt like it could manage a strong grip but the flesh of his palm was so soft. I shook my head, “nuh”, ‘you can’t be falling for him Simon.’

           “You say something Simon?”

           “N-no- I uh… I-“

           “Hey, you’ll be fine; no one is expected to be perfect their first time painting!”

           He pulled me into a large room, gesturing me to sit at a table near a large window. “Best seat in the house. Even at night that window can provide you inspiration.”

           I nod, sitting down and waiting for everyone else to file in, waiting for the class to start, hoping that I’d just be able to blend in. They soon did, Marcus started teaching, telling us to paint from the heart, to not question our instincts, to believe in ourselves and then he set us free, told us to just, paint.

           I hesitated with every brush stroke, even with his words fresh in my mind I couldn’t seem to let go of my fears and just let my brush move freely across the canvas. Marcus walked around the room, stopping at every canvas, giving advice and praise, but never criticism. He came to mine, watching my motions with curious eyes.

           “Having trouble getting a certain color?”

           I nodded sheepishly, “yeah, I want to paint the sky, it’s well… it was an inky black but a black that looked blue with… with silver from the stars… I’m sorry that probably doesn’t make any sen-“

           His hand was next to mine, gently taking the palette knife out of my hand, mixing black and blues. “Try that.”

           I blinked a few times, looking at the color; it seemed perfect on the palette, so hesitantly I dip my brush, closing my eyes as I let it sweep across the canvas. I peak at the canvas, hesitantly cracking one eye open. The color was exactly what I wanted. I turned to see Marcus smiling at my expression. “That the color you wanted?”

           I nodded, “yes, its perfect thank you.”

           “I’m glad, now for that silver; mix a little grey with a lot of white. We have an almost clear color that leaves a shine, which should work.”

           I nodded again, “th-thanks.”

           I’m smiling, the rest of the painting seems to come naturally, I’m so transfixed by watching it progress in front of me that I’m startled when Marcus addresses the class again.

           “Alright guys, 8:00, we have to start cleaning up now. If you didn’t finish don’t worry. Leave you canvas where it is and you can cover your paints with the lid the palettes came with.”

           “Simon?...”

           I jump as I turn around, not expecting to hear anyone other than Marcus call my name, My heart seems to jump and sink at the same time. “…Daniel?”

           “Surprised you still remember me.”

           I hate it, his voice is cold, his eyes, once full of joy were now a stormy grey. They now held so much sorrow, a sorrow that as much as I wanted to, I could never understand and never take away.

           “What do you mean? We dated for like- five years, I- I really can never forget you.”

           “Yeah,” he rolled his eyes. “Seems like you’ve moved on though.”

           He glanced towards Marcus, making his point painfully clear.

           ‘Is it that obvious?”

           “Have to be pretty damn blind to not notice. Finally getting comfortable with your sexuality? Finally gonna actually show love when out in public?”

           I let out a small growl that sounded more like a whimper, “Danny, you know that’s not fair I-‘

           “First,” I notice his hands ball into fists, “don’t ‘Danny’ me. And second, it is fair to bring up that you never wanted to be affectionate with me when we were in public!”

           I couldn’t argue, I was terrified to even hold Daniel’s hand when we were out together, and now here I was blushing when Marcus walked by. “And for that I’m sorry Daniel. I really am, I- I was scared, both for my safety and for your own.”

           “Why did you leave me then? We could’ve handled the hatred together.”

           “We- we were going different ways Danny. You wanted to leave this town, go make a better life in the city and I- well you know I like the familiar, I wanted things to stay stable. You were so set to leave and all I wanted to do was stay…. Why didn’t you leave?”

           He didn’t answer; we were silent as people started filing out. Daniel finally shrugged, “things just- didn’t work out. Place I was gonna stay fell through, couldn’t find work and then the... my… I- well things just got fucked up. So why are you here Simon? You never wanted anyone to see your art. So why take a class where it’s likely a lotta people will see it?”

           “Marcus sort of convinced me, he... he told me I was good… told me I should come and I… He pulled me in before I could chicken out. What about you? Thought you were never one for anything creative”

           “My fucking housemate made me join up. Thought I needed to get out of the house and do things. Said it was bad for me to just sit at home. Connor’s such an idiot, an art class isn’t going to help me with anything.”

           ‘Come on Danny I bet he isn’t that bad, and I’m sure this class will help you.”

           I reached out to comfort him, but he quickly slapped my hand away. “DON’T TOUCH ME! AND DON’T CALL ME DANNY! That part of us is gone Simon! Don’t start bringing what’s dead back to life!” He pushed past me, fuming and angry. I watched him leave, watched his back as he headed for the door, watched as he seemed to limp a little with every few steps. “…Daniel.”

           Marcus walked over to me, “hey, no tears, it’s alright.”

           I blushed, mumbling as I dried a tear, not realizing it had fallen.

           Marcus sighed, “Daniel doesn’t mean to be like that. A lot has happened in the last few years.”

           “How… How do you know?”

           “Connor and I are pretty close,” he laughed, “actually dated for a few months. Didn’t work but we remain close… Daniel doesn’t want to hurt you Simon. And I promise I won’t hurt you either.” He took hold of my hands smiling warmly, silently convincing me that I would be okay.

He walked out with me, heisting to leave. “You’ll be okay?”

           “Yeah… Yeah I’ll be okay. I’ll see you next week Marcus.”

           “I’m looking forward to it Simon.” He smiled as he got into his car and drove away.

[strawberriestyles]

Chapter 6

(Banner made by the loveliest @harry-nofookingway-styles)

Harry X OFC (AU)

In which Melody is reacquainted with an old classmate named Harry, and must keep afloat in the violent, criminal lifestyle of an underground boxer.

Read previous parts here.

Author’s note: I HAD SOOO MUCH FUN WITH THIS CHAPTER!! I feel like the characters start to develop personalities here. As always, please send some feedback and enjoy!!

The entire walk across town, Harry regretted ever saying yes to this stupid exhibit. He had buttoned his shirt up to his throat but felt like he was being choked, so he unbuttoned it to the center of his chest as he traveled along the sidewalk. He was sweating, for some reason, beneath the material of his black dress shirt and the jacket that sat overtop. He peeled the extra layer from his arms as he turned onto the street Melody had written on the napkin in his hand.

When he reached the correct address, Harry checked the flat number on the napkin and then stuffed it back into a pocket of his jacket. He walked inside the building and took the stairs up to the third floor, until he found the right door. He was really sweating and he didn’t know why, but he undid another button on his shirt before knocking.

“Coming!”

Harry shifted from foot to foot as he waited for the door to open. When it did, he found Melody in a lacey green dress. She was busy putting an earring in, but she stopped when she saw Harry. He was dressed in all black. She noticed a silver cross that glittered against the bare skin of his chest, where the buttons of his shirt were neglected. It seemed as though he had tried to tame his hair, too. She also noticed that the bruise on his cheekbone hadn’t completely faded. Instead, it had turned a sickly yellow. The skin was still swollen.

“Jeans?” Melody asked as her eyes fell to his lower half. They were black and skin-tight, and if no one looked too closely, she was sure it wasn’t noticeable. But the pairing with his nice shirt had her stifling a laugh.

“Yeah,” Harry said, finally peeling his eyes from the low cut of Melody’s dress and looking down at his pants. “Yeah. Didn’ have any dress pants.”

“You look nice,” she complimented as she slipped the back onto her earring and reached for her jacket. Harry wasn’t good at taking compliments and he was even worse at giving them. He waited silently for her to pull the coat over her shoulders and then reach for her clutch. She joined him in the hallway and then shut the door behind her, looking up at Harry expectantly. “You ready?”

“Aren’ yeh gonna lock the door?”

Melody glanced at the entrance to her flat and shrugged. “I don’t, usually.”

“Lock the goddamn door, Melody,” Harry ordered her, shaking his head in disapproval. “D’yeh have any clue what people in this city are like?”

“I’ve never had a thing stolen from me,” Melody protested, even as she reached into her clutch for her keys.

“I don’ care how many things yeh’ve had stolen or not. ‘S bloody stupid t’keep your door unlocked.”

Melody sighed, sliding her key into the door and turning it until she heard the lock click into place. She felt as though she was being reprimanded by her father. She dropped her keys back into her clutch and snapped it shut, raising an eyebrow at Harry. “Are you happy now? Can we go? You were already ten minutes late.”

“Yeah,” Harry muttered under his breath as he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to tromp back down the stairs. “Bloody thrilled. Ecstatic. Don’ even lock the fuckin’ door t’your place...”

Melody followed him and was more than surprised when he held the front door open for her. She passed him and began to walk up the street in the direction of the gallery. Harry could smell the perfume that lingered in her wake as he trailed after her.

“So, what,” Harry began after a few minutes of silence. He had been waiting for Melody to speak, but it was apparent that she wasn’t going to. Maybe she was trying not to annoy him anymore than she already had. He appreciated it, but the silence was making him uncomfortable for some reason. “‘S this place gonna be full o’ all your preppy, rich friends?”

Melody laughed at him, turning to fix her gaze on his face. “Do I look rich to you?”

Harry let his eyes wander down Melody’s bare legs to the wedges on her feet and then back up to her head, where part of her hair was tied back and the rest of it fell in curls around her shoulders. He raised his eyebrows. She certainly didn’t look poor.

“Right now? Yeh want me t’answer that?”

Melody grinned, facing forward again. They were nearing the gallery. She could see a few of her classmates standing outside in a huddle, smoke unfurling from their mouths into the chilly air. Her legs had been prickling with goosebumps since she stepped onto the sidewalk.

“Yeh definitely didn’ look rich in the hoodies yeh wore t’Brute’s,” Harry observed. His eyes landed on the group of Melody's classmates, dragging on cigarettes. His fingers itched to reach for one. “Not so sure ‘bout it now.”

Melody greeted the students at the entrance to the gallery with a smile. They nodded back and then fixed Harry with curious stares. He glared back.

Melody opened the door and Harry held it for her as she stepped inside. He followed closely behind as she led him to the first piece of artwork, shedding her coat along the way and resting it over her arm. The piece was a sketch of a woman’s face, with thick, parted lips and intense eyes and a beautifully wild afro that reached the edges of the page. Harry was thoroughly impressed with the artistry of it. A college student had drawn this?

Melody admired the piece and then moved on. Harry trailed behind her. He wasn’t as enamored with the art after that first piece. They were more abstract and seemed to be made by students whose knowledge of art didn’t expand much further than Jackson Pollock. Instead, he let his eyes wander the area that they were in.

The floors were a dark tile and the walls a blank white canvas. Can lights spotted the ceiling at even intervals. In the center of the room, Melody’s classmates milled about. Some of them were speaking with older people that Harry assumed to be their parents. A server appeared to Harry’s left, holding a silver tray full of hors d’oeuvres.

“Crostini?” the man offered, holding the platter out toward Harry. Harry stared down at the food. What the hell was a crostini?

“Thank you,” Melody said from his right as she reached to pluck a piece from the plate. She took a bite and looked up at Harry, nodding. “They’re good,” she assured him.

Harry hesitated before taking his own food. It was some type of toast topped with a spread and veggies. He took a bite and was pleasantly surprised.

“What kinda cheese is tha’?” he asked around a mouthful of crostini.

“Oh, it’s not real cheese,” Melody explained, swiping at her lip with the side of her thumb. She laughed at Harry’s horrified, confused expression. “There are a lot of vegans in my class.”

Harry stared disgustedly down at the toast and fake cheese in his fingers. He slid it back onto the tray, wiping his hand on the side of his pants. Melody’s eyes widened. She thrusted her clutch into Harry’s hands and pulled his toast from the platter.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized to the server. “He’s not used to events like this.”

The server gave Harry a strange look as he walked away. Melody laughed when he was out of earshot. Harry wondered why he was even here.

“Classy,” Melody said. She took another bite of her first crostini as she moved onto the next painting.

“Are we almost done?” Harry asked as he followed her, ignoring her comment.

“What?” Melody turned around to look at him, pausing mid-chew. “Harry, we’re not even halfway through the gallery.”

Harry sighed, twirling Melody’s clutch between his fingers. He glanced up at the next painting and tilted his head. It was a landscape, a rolling meadow that reached back to a treeline. The interesting part of it wasn’t the setting, though. It was the abnormal coloring. The trees in the back were healthy and full, glinting green in the sunlight. Toward the bottom of the canvas, however, the colors faded into grays and whites and ultimately, where flowers started to bloom in the foreground, darkness.

“What do you think?” Melody asked, noting the way that Harry had leaned forward.

Harry glanced at her and then back to the painting, settling back on his heels. He shrugged nonchalantly. “‘S nice.”

“Just nice?”

Harry turned his head again and found Melody looking at him expectantly. He frowned.

“‘S it yours?”

Melody nodded hesitantly and then turned to look at the painting, gnawing nervously at her toast.

“You painted this?” Harry asked, pointing to the canvas.

Melody didn’t even nod this time. She just glanced at him briefly and then moved on to the next drawing. Harry stared back at the painting and found a penciled signature in the corner. M. Rhoden.

“No,” Harry said, pacing behind her to catch up, “no, I like it.”

Melody hummed as if she didn’t believe him and then finished eating the remainder of his crostini.

“‘M serious,” he insisted. “‘S really good.”

Melody smiled at him. He wasn’t sure why he was being so nice to her, why he couldn’t stand the idea of her thinking he didn’t like her painting. But that smile she gave him almost made him drop her clutch.

“Really? Do you think so?”

Harry nodded, holding the clutch out to her. She took his from his hand and nodded appreciatively in response.

“Thank you,” she said.

The two of them moved through the gallery silently after that. They were offered glasses of champagne, and if there was one thing Harry knew how to deal with, it was alcohol. Sometimes, Melody would lean forward to examine a piece of art, clutching her champagne flute to her chest while Harry stood feet behind her with an empty glass. He was so grateful that he even thanked her when she offered him the rest of her drink.

They had almost reached the end of the exhibit when Harry glanced down at Melody and found her eyes trained across the room. An uncomfortable red blush had creeped up the sides of her neck and into her cheeks. Harry followed her line of vision to find a man chatting animatedly with a girl.

“Wha’s wrong?” he asked Melody.

“Huh?” Melody spun her head around. “Nothing. Are you ready to go?”

Harry glanced down the line of canvases that they had yet to see and shrugged. “I mean, yeah.”

Melody nodded silently and began walking toward the exit.

“Wha’? Is tha’ your ex or somethin’?”

Melody didn’t have time to answer before a rather unpleasant voice projected loudly across the room.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Harry twisted around to find the man that Melody had been staring at. He had taken a few large strides in their direction. His eyes were widened, his mouth parted in surprise. Harry could see Melody’s entire body go rigid.

“So, this is why you don’t have any free time?” the man asked. “That’s why you ran off to the bar? You had a thing for the boxer?”

“Oi, watch what yeh’re sayin’, now,” Harry snapped.

Melody swallowed nervously, shaking her head toward Harry. “Cooper, it’s not like that.”

“It’s not like what? You didn’t ditch me for this dude without an explanation? If you’re gonna be a bitch, that’s fine, just don’t lie about it.”

Harry had heard enough. He let go of the jacket that had been draped over his arm and grabbed Cooper by the collar, shoving him into a wall of the gallery so hard that a canvas fell. Melody gasped, covering her mouth. The rest of the voices in the gallery fell silent. Somewhere across the room, a champagne flute shattered on the tile floor.

“Yeh gonna keep runnin’ your mouth?” Harry demanded. Cooper opened his mouth to speak but Harry pressed his forearm to the lower part of his throat. “Yeh don’ speak t’her tha’ way,” he whispered. Melody could barely hear the words as he uttered them. “Yeh hear me?”

Harry shook Cooper when there was no reply. Melody stepped forward, grasping at the back of his shirt.

“Harry, that’s enough.”

Harry stared menacingly down at Cooper, who had gone bright red in the face. He grunted when he felt Melody tug on his shirt again and finally pushed away from Cooper.

“Watch your mouth,” Harry warned as he bent to pick up his discarded jacket. Cooper remained silent and straightened the collar of his shirt, peering around the room to see everyone staring at them.

“Let’s go,” Melody murmured, grasping Harry by the arm and leading him toward the exit. She avoided everyone’s gaze until they were outside. Then she let go of Harry, staring out at the traffic that crept along the street.

“I don’ get it,” Harry said after a moment. They began to walk back toward Melody’s flat as he spoke. “Is he an ex or not?”

“No, not really,” Melody answered. “We went on one date.”

“To a match?” Harry asked, perplexed. “He took yeh on a date to an illegal boxin’ match?”

Melody nodded. She was slightly reassured that someone else found the idea as ridiculous as she did.

“Seems like a complete git, ‘f yeh ask me.” Harry shook his head. Melody slipped her arms into her jacket, pulling the material taut around herself. “Yeh’ve got some poor decision-makin’ skills.”

“Oh, don’t,” Melody griped. “He was nice when he asked me out. And I have poor decision-making skills? You’re basically a criminal and you were about to beat him up in front of a crowd of people! My classmates, by the way!”

“Hey, you were the one tha’ invited me!” Harry snapped back, turning his head to place burning eyes on her.

Melody huffed and tucked her hands into her pockets. She took a moment to collect herself and then nodded.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, swiveling his head to watch where he was walking. The temperature had dropped even further. He could see his breath rising in the cold air as he slipped back into his jacket.

Neither of them talked again until they were inside Melody’s apartment building and up on the third floor. She was still shivering from the cold as she twisted her key in the door. She turned to Harry when it was unlocked.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” she said. She opened her mouth to continue, but Harry thought he already knew what she was going to say. Even if you embarrassed me. Even if you don’t know not to put your food back on the tray. Even if you can’t help but start fights with every man you meet.

“Yeah,” Harry said, turning away from her. “Just remember what you promised.”

“Harry!” Melody called after him, but he was already treading down the stairs. She heard the front door open and then heard it slam shut, and she didn’t think that she had ever been so confused.

Chapter 7

[vixxpirational]

Stranger Danger (AU) | Part 2 of ?

Inspiration: The need to write and my lack of ability to actually do it in a timely manner Group: Taehyung/BTS (and some other lovely lady but you don’t know who she is yet. Imagine all the sexy noonas). Warning: Blood lust Words: 3637

Taehyung wakes up but things have drastically changed

Taehyung woke without his shirt and curled on the cold pavement. He was sweating, his body on fire; everything seemed to radiate from his chest. He rolled onto his back with a low moan, his body sore and screaming for him to be still. Even his eyelids felt stiff as he blinked them open slowly.

The full moon was high in the black canvas of night and, for some reason, that registered in Taehyung’s mind that it must be a little after three in the morning. The last he remembered, it was about ten o’clock when he had settled down in the graveyard to work.

The graveyard.

He sat up, too quickly, his head spinning, his stomach lurching. He looked around. His canvas was still blank and intact, his pencil had rolled in the dewey grass. His toolbox of brushes, paints, charcoal, his life was untouched. His shirt was folded neatly beside him, a small note pinned to it. The writing was neat, cute, feminine.

Thanks for a good time. See you soon, handsome.

“What the fuck is this?” he mumbled as he stared at the pretty lettering. Whoever it was would need to learn the that even the smallest prick into his expensive clothing was unacceptable. He carefully removed the safety pin and note, setting it on the canvas so that he could shrug his shirt back on. He didn’t remember taking it off in the first place.

He didn’t notice the marks on his chest.

He reached for his phone next, swiping through the notifications. He stopped at the fourteen missed calls from his roommate and frantic texts of “where are you” and “are you okay” and “if you’re dead, i’ll bring you back to life so i can kill you again.”

A cold wind swirled the fallen leaves around the trimmed lawn and headstones. It was a wind that should have sent a nauseating chill to Taehyung’s bones, but it felt more like a gentle, warm beach breeze. The thought was pushed from his mind as he remembered the woman, her plump breasts and flawless legs, her tempting eyes and sexy smell. His crotch immediately began to swell and he groaned. His chest still hurt.

His phone buzzed with another text. “if you don’t answer in the next five minutes i will call the cops.”

He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but smile. Jimin had a knack for being dramatic, but he meant well. Taehyung went into Jimin’s contact, saved as Chimichanga, and pressed his phone to his ear. For sitting in the cold for so long, it should not have felt warm against his skin.

“You’re alive?”

“I’m calling from beyond the grave—” Taehyung started.

“Fuck you, Taehyung.”

“—to let you know you cannot have my Gucci collection.”

“Prick.” The relief in Jimin’s voice eased the pain radiating from Taehyung’s chest.

“Why are you worrying so much? You know how I get when I work.”

“How often do you paint in a graveyard?”

Taehyung laughed. “Good point. I may have dozed off a bit. I’m packing up now.”

“Can I still call the cops? You’re technically trespassing.”

“Sure.” Taehyung reached for his pencil and tucked it over his other ear. “I’ll make sure that I use your car as collateral on my bail money.”

“Prick.” Jimin’s soft giggle was soothing even after he cut the call off.

Taehyung gathered his things, and stood up. He had mastered the delicate balance of carrying too many art supplies in his arms, making it look easier than it actually was. Everything didn’t feel quite as heavy as normal. His chest still ached, but he ignored it as he loaded his truck and drove back to his dorm.

Jimin was hunched over his desk, anatomy book propped open to the a diagram of the cardiovascular system. Lines of red and blue curved and twisted inside of a grey silhouette of the human body. Taehyung’s mouth began to water as his tired eyes followed the arteries in the thighs, arms, neck. Sinking his teeth in would give the most blood, the loudest screams of pain.

“You okay?” Jimin’s voice pulled Taehyung back. He nodded and set his stuff on his bed. “You look like shit. You’re pale and clammy. Are you getting sick?”

“Don’t ‘doctor’ me, Chim,” Taehyung snapped. He didn’t know why he was suddenly so irritable. Maybe he was hungry? His stomach felt empty and his chest was still hurting.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m not feeling myself, I guess.”

“What’s wrong?” Jimin made his way over. He felt Taehyung’s forehead and frowned. He massaged Taehyung’s neck and something set his lips deeper. He pressed two fingers to the vein in Taehyung’s wrist, his eyes darting to his watch, and counted before stepping back.

“What? What is it?”

“You’re dead cold to the touch and your heart rate is dangerously low. How did you drive here? How are you even standing?”

“Dangerously low?” Taehyung rolled his eyes and pulled his shirt off and tossed it to his hamper. Jimin gasped.

“What is that?”

“What is what?” He looked down. His chest had been on fire since the moment he opened his eyes in the graveyard, but now he understood why. There were marks in an oval pattern on his chest that looked like the imprint of human teeth. Where the canines should have been were two wounds deep enough that even Taehyung knew there should have been a pool of blood around him when he had woken up. There was a deep red lipstick kiss in the middle.

“You’re going to the hospital.”

“No. I'm going to is my bed.”

“You could have died with where that’s located. How deep is th—”

“Jimin, I’m alive. Can I just sleep?”

“What happened?”

“Paint brush accident?”

“Very funny. If I let you sleep now, even against my better judgement, will you go to the hospital in the morning?”

“I’ll consider it.” Taehyung’s face twisted in exaggerated irritation as he stripped out of his jeans and into basketball shorts. He cleared off his bed, setting his supplies on his desk and situated his canvas on the easel. He climbed up onto his bunked bed, settling down for a hard, restless sleep.

He slept through his first alarm to shower. His second alarm woke him but only enough to remind him he had class in forty-five minutes. He turned it off, the effort to reach for his phone making him moan. He felt like his arms were ten times heavier than normal. His mind was hazy. His stomach rumbled in hunger. His chest wasn’t hurting anymore.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. It was too warm in his room. He scratched the back of his head and yawned, forcing his legs over the edge of his bed. He slide down his lofted bed and fumbled to reach for his lamp. His hand caught the line of sun peeking through the curtains as he did and it burned as if someone were holding a lighter against his skin. He jumped back and cursed, hand yanking on the cord of the lamp and pulling off his desk. It felt to the floor, the light bulb shattering.

He didn’t care about the racket as he stared at the burn on his hand. He watched the skin knit together and heal at an ungodly, scarless speed.  

“You can’t do anything gracefully, can you?” Jimin whined from his pile of blankets. Taehyung looked up and smiled.

“Just burned myself. Sorry. Go back to sleep.” His roommate sat up slowly, strong arms stretching above his head.

“How’d you burn yourself?” he asked, voice strained in a yawn. “You literally just woke up.”

“The sun.”

Jimin tilted his head, tired eyes narrowed in a threat Taehyung was all too familiar with. He had learned to hold the sarcasm until after breakfast because of that look.

“I’m not kidding, Jimin. I watched it on my hand disappear too.”

“You’ve sniffed too much paint.” Jimin hopped down from his bed, landing with athletic precision that Taehyung had always been envious of. He held out his hand, fingers wiggling, the all-too-familiar gesture of give me your hand and shut the fuck up because I know more than you.

“Your fingers are really cold. You still look pale.” Jimin moved his hands to Taehyung’s neck, fingers pressed to his jugular. “Your heartbeat is really slow still. How you’re functioning is a miracle.” His eyes darted down. “That’s already healed. It’s just a scar. Were you bitten by a radioactive spider?”

“I’m going to class.”

“No, you’re going to the hospital, remember?”

“Jimin, I’m swear I’m fine. And Peter Parker still went to class after he was bitten by a spider. Why can’t I?” Taehyung brushed passed his roommate to go to his wardrobe. His left foot stepped into the line of sunlight on the floor and he howled, falling back into the shadows. He watched his skin sizzle for a moment before going back to normal.

“What the fuck—”

“Can you develop a severe allergy to the sun overnight?” Taehyung asked, looking up at Jimin and unable to hide the fear this time.

Jimin stared at his roommate for a moment and shook his head before walking out of the dorm, leaving Taehyung confused and cowering under his desk.

Taehyung watched as the lines of sunlight moved across the floor of his dorm room. His stomach rumbled with hunger and he felt light-headed, irritable, scared. His throat was dry and scratchy; he had never felt so thirsty. He didn’t know what was happening to him or why Jimin just left him, but he was too afraid to know why at this point. It wasn’t until the two-in-the-afternoon sun finally left his room in completely in shadows that he finally climbed out, stretching his stiff limbs. He reached for his phone and climbed back onto his bed, reading through his messages.

NamJOON of Doom

you weren’t in class today? it was nice not having you answer all the questions. got to prove i’m actually the smart one. :P jimin said you weren’t feeling well, though. hope you get better soon, man. :( if you need anything, let me know. <3

JungSoup

did u finish the fear painting assignment thing for tommorrow? mine is shit so im gunna reserve a studio for tonite if u wanna join me. u know how creepy they are at night. nvm jimin hyung told me ur sick pls dont come and make me sick ur prolly jus hungover arent u hyung pls come cuz i dont wanna be alone with the studio ghost

Moldy Suga

you missed class. don’t die pls

He could feel the weight of everything lifting just a bit as he filtered through his friends’ messages. Everything felt almost normal. Even with Jimin’s reminder that something didn’t make sense, he found a way to find relief.

Chimichanga

sorry to bolt like i did. i’m going to help you figure this out. i know how to help. sit tight and stay out of the sun. if you’re going to die it’s going to be on my operation table and it will look like an accident ;) no way the sun is going to get you first

Everything faded away when he got to the next text.

Unknown Number

Meet me in the graveyard tonight. Our spot. You know the one. 11 o’clock. I will explain everything to you, handsome.

The woman from the night before came to mind, her perfect, alluring body; her smokey feline eyes; her soft, sultry voice. His hand pressed against his chest, fingering over the two scars on his chest and the faded red kiss mark.

He knew she was the reason this was happening but he wanted her back, wanted to be around her, learn from her. He felt drawn to her, connected in unexplainable ways.

Taehyung jumped when he heard doorknob rattle, cowering under the blankets on his bed. He didn’t understand why he was so jumpy.

“Jimin?”

His roommate walked in followed by a small, mature looking woman with short, blonde hair.

“Taehyung, this is my cousin, Choa. This is my dumbass roommate that got himself bitten by a vampire.”

“Vampire?” Taehyung asked. The other two ignored him.

“I’ve heard a lot more about you than just that, I promise,” she said with a friendly smile. Her presence was far more nurturing than Taehyung expected. She bowed to him before she made her way over to his desk. She delicately moved his toolbox to the side, setting her purse down.

“Jimin, what’s going—”

“She’s going to help, Taehyung.”

“How?” he asked as he watched the woman pull the largest bottle of sunscreen he’d ever seen from her bag.

“Doctors run in the family, but I am the black sheep that has her master’s in paranormal studies. I know more about your physiology now than future-doctor-conformist over here.” She pulled at hat out with rounded bill out of her bag.

“When you’re old and having heart problems from sleeping in haunted buildings your entire life, who will you go to?”

“Don’t trust him,” Taehyung said with a grin, sliding off his bed and landing on his feet with grace he’s never had before. Something about her presence was making him feel relaxed. “He’s always telling me that he’s going to make my surgical death look like an accident.”

Jimin rolled his eyes as Choa snickered. “He’ll have a hard time of that now, won’t he,” she said, patting his shoulder. She was much smaller up close. Taehyung could hear her heart beating. She smelled metallic and warm, making his mouth water and his throat ache.

“What’s happening to his eyes?”

“He’s hungry, Jimin. Why do you think I asked you to steal blood from my dad’s clinic on the way back?”

“Oh, right. I left the cooler in the car. Please don’t eat my cousin while I’m gone, Taehyung.”

He blinked and turned to look at Jimin, his head spinning. He hadn’t heard anything his roommate had said.

“What’s happening to me?” Taehyung asked as he watched Jimin leave their room. Choa reached up to touch his cheek and he could feel the blood pulsing in her palm. His eyes rolled closed and he took a deep breath. She smelled so… delicious.

“You need to eat, sweetie. Jimin will be back with something that will help settle your stomach. That will help with your anxiety.”

Taehyung nodded and leaned against his desk. She smiled and reached for his hand. She felt for his pulse in his wrist before feeling again in flat of his elbow, then at his neck. The closer she came to him, the more he could hear the sound of heart beating. He knew it was hers. She smelled delicious.

The sound of Jimin barreling back into the dorm room pulled Taehyung back.

“Do you know who turned you, Taehyung?” Choa asked softly as Jimin set a cooler next to her. She opened it up and pulled a plastic bag out, red liquid sloshing in it. She handed it to Taehyung.

“I remember her, but I never met her until last night,” he said as he stared at the bag. There was a cap on it where the line, connected to a needle, had carried their blood in. The small twinge of guilt was a flicker on his conscious compared the rumble in Taehyung’s stomach. He opened the cap and brought it to his lips, squeezing gently as if he were drinking from a juice box.

Taehyung had never tasted anything more delicious in his life. It was cold, but it didn’t matter the temperature when he could himself going back to normal with every luxurious swallow.

“Conversions aren’t very common anymore, right, unless there is a direct threat to the current population,” Jimin said, looking at his cousin. “Is there anything that you’re aware of going on?”

Choa shrugged. “I heard something about animal attacks, but that was on the other side of the country. The images I saw definitely didn’t come from an animal, though. I do have a connection with the local coven but they haven’t mentioned anything to me.”

“What does that mean?” Taehyung asked.

“It could mean anything, kiddo. I’ll keep in touch with you and check up on you, answer any question you have as best as I can.” She touched Taehyung’s cheek again, in a motherly way, her eyes suddenly sad, as he continued to suck the bag dry. “But you’ve got a rough road ahead as you adjust, especially if you don’t know who turned you.”

Taehyung had to convince Jimin that he was perfectly fine going out on his own. The sun itself had completely set for the evening and he still needed to finish his assignment. He had the sunscreen and hat that Choa had brought packed in, just in case he wound up staying out all night, and her instructions to reapply as often as every 30 minutes, depending on the sun’s intensity and Taehyung’s comfort level. It would prevent his skin from burning visibly, but he’d still feel the sun more than ever before. It was all he could do until the semester ended and he could adjust his schedule.

He texted Jungguk back, letting him know that he would come to the studio with him. He packed his things, Jimin watching apprehensively.

“Text me if you need anything.”

“Jimin, I’ll be fine. I’m just paining.”

“Did you eat?”

Taehyung rolled his eyes and held up the insulated lunch box that he had kept stored under his desk. He never thought he’d actually use it.

“If you’re going to have to kill a human, though, Jungguk would be a good start. You’d be making the world a better place…” Jimin smirked and crossed his arms. He acted as if he hated Jungguk, but everyone knew that they were close.

Taehyung didn’t respond, though. The thought of having to feed on a human for survival wasn’t something he had really thought about. He didn’t want to; the stollen blood bags were bad enough.

“Be careful, okay.”

“Promise,” Taehyung said as he walked out of their room. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should go. But he hoisted his canvas bag up his shoulder and started down the hall. He had to keep some normalcy in his life.

He started at the moon as he made his way across campus. There were still tricklings of pink and orange on the horizon, but the sun was completely gone. The moon was too bright. He knew just from the location of it that it was just past 9:30. He only had about ten hours of freedom to exist before he was bound to the shadows. He didn’t know how he knew that.

The smell of the art studios was always a comfort for Taehyung. He felt his muscles relax and his mind clear of everything as he made his way inside and through the halls to the studio Jungguk booked. He was home in his art, knowing that nothing would strip away his joy of creating something from nothing but pigment and paper.

“Took you long enough,” Jungguk huffed as Taehyung slipped inside the small room. There was already an easel set up for him.

“Got held up with Jimin. Just a bit concerned with how I was this morning.”

“You’re okay, though? Not contagious?”

Taehyung laughed. “Only if I bite you.”

Jungguk rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. Taehyung watched him dip his brush into a deep red oil paint, making his mouth water. It looked like blood. He stepped forward, eyes not leaving the color, his nose picking up the smell of something metallic. He could hear a resting heartbeat, pumping delicious blood; Taehyung wanted to hear it; he want to feel blood trickle rhythmically into his mouth with his teeth clamp hard on Jungguk’s neck.

“You sure you’re okay, hyung?”

Taehyung blinked and stared at Jungguk for a moment. He cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah, just a lot on my mind. Sorry.”

He pulled out his blank canvas. He stared at the few faint pencil lines of the gravestone he’d been staring at the night before, when his biggest fear was still death. Taehyung was pretty sure his biggest fear was his own reflection now, a creature he didn’t recognize anymore, a creature that wasn’t exactly alive.

He set it on the easel, taking in everything he remembered about the night before. He was so sure he’d finish, so inspired by the name and dates on the stone. Then she showed up. Taehyung touched his chest as she flooded his mind. She was so sexy, so easy to talk to, so easy to trust. She told him it was a big mistake to trust her, but he didn’t think so at the time.

The text message came back to mind. She had to have been the one to send it. He didn’t remember anyone else that night, not even a security guard. She had to be the one that turned him. And she wanted to meet him at eleven.

He pulled out his phone, looking at the time. 9:45. He could leave and come back. How long would Jungguk be there? Would he have time to finish his assignment if he left? Why should he even go. He didn’t need anything explained to him; he had Choa that did that. Right?

He glanced at the canvas again. Painting a headstone, painting death as his greatest fear, it seemed foolish now. He dipped into his toolbox, pulling out his eraser. He’d paint what he had become. He’d paint her.

[floral-and-fine]

What’s Invisible to Others pt.1

Fem! Reader x Sirius Black

A/N: A little idea I had recently. Enjoy!

Summary: The reader is an artist searching for inspiration, and finds it when she spots a shaggy black dog.

Why was this such an issue? You’ve never been without inspiration for this long. 

It had to be a conspiracy organized by the muses themselves! 

Now that you had the means to actually make a living as an artist, you suddenly lost the passion and inspiration to actually create something.

All your ideas were either cliche or failed to invoke the right emotions. They lacked that edge and creativity most of art pieces conveyed.

It also didn’t help that everywhere you turned you reminded you of your current crisis. 

You recently moved into a flat/studio. It was a spacious long room room with big windows. Your bedroom, living area, and studio weren’t exactly defined spaces, they all sort of blurred together. Your couch was covered in sketches and water colors, and the coffee table had random brushes and tools. 

You couldn’t stand it any longer, you had been staring at a blank canvas for hours and all your sketches were crap. 

Suddenly, the room felt too stuffy!

You opened one of the large windows to let in some air. You didn’t have the best view in town. Most of the scenery was worn down buildings and factories.

Now there was a cool breeze coming in.

You leaned against the window frame enjoying how it felt, when something caught your eye. In a small alley across the street, was the mangiest black dog you’d ever seen.

He was so thin and shaggy, but there was also something a little menacing about him, like he was a criminal. 

You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You wanted to remember every little detail.

You slid on a pair of sandals, and headed out the door. You really didn’t want to lose him before you had the chance to at least sketch him.

In a hurry, you ran down the stairs and then across the street to the small alley way. When you arrived you were out of breath and couldn’t see the dog. Walking down the path you tried to see if you could find him.

‘Clank’

You looked to where the sound came from.

A metal can had fallen over, but back in the shadows the dog emerged.

Being this close to him had you regretting your impulsiveness. What if he wasn’t friendly? Or had rabies?

Why didn’t you bring anything with you like cold cuts to bribe him? Or a bat in case you had to defend yourself?

You gave him a nervous smile, “Hey boy, I’m Y/n.”

The dog watched you closely.

“I was actually looking for you,” you said with a shy smile.

“You see, I live across the street, and I saw from my window,” you pointed to the direction of your building. “I’ve never seen a dog quite like you so I wanted to take a closer look.”

Did his eyes just narrow!? It’s not like he understood you, right? 

“A little suspicious aren’t you?” you sighed. “I would be too, but please don’t attack me… Maybe we can work out a deal?”

You rubbed your forehead, did you really just suggest negotiating to a dog?

“Well here goes nothing…” you muttered, before continuing to talk to the dog.

“I’d like to paint you, just as you are, maybe in exchange I can give a place to stay and some food?" 

The dog slowly approached you, sniffing around you a bit, before heading in the direction you pointed to earlier. 

"Is that a yes?” you asked, following him.

“Welcome to my lovely abode, excuse the mess by the way…” you announced letting the dog into your home.

You decided not to worry about how crazy it was to talk to the dog, and just go with it. And you completely ignored how he seemed to understand everything you were saying.

You opened the fridge, trying to find something to feed him, “I don’t have any dog food, but I’ve got left over Chinese take out?”

You dumped the left overs on a dish and sat them in front of him. The dog didn’t even bother to sniff the food before turning away.

“Don’t tell me you need me to heat it up first?”

The dog looked up at you and wagged his tail a couple of times.

“Unbelievable.”

You put the food in the microwave for a couple of minutes. The oven dinged, and you removed the hot plate and placed it again in front of the dog.

“Happy?”

He wagged his tail in reply and started eating.

While he was eating, you prepared your materials to create some drawings of him.

You directed him where and how to sit. He complied easily enough, actually it was almost too easy, but now was not the time to think about this dogs above average intelligence.

You created sketch after sketch using a variety of materials, a few in charcoal drawings to capture the rich dark tones of his fur. A few in pencil to capture all the small details, especially around the eyes. The ink sketches were your favorites, the ink reflected how striking he was.

After a couple of hours, you had what you needed to start a large painting. But it would have to wait until the morning. If you started now, you would work all night instead if sleeping.

“Nice work, boy” you complimented the dog scratching him behind the ears. “You were better than a lot of the human models I’ve worked with.”

The dog responded happily, panting and cuddling up to.

“Oh who’s a good boy? Huh?”

You continued to pet him.

“You are! Yes you are!”

You started getting ready for bed, taking off your jeans and tee shirt. As you were about to remove the rest of your clothes, you felt like you were being watched.

You looked over at the dog, and noticed his intense stare.

“What?…” you demanded,  “You’re making me very uncomfortable.”

But he didn’t shift his gaze. Weird pervert dog!

"I’m going to finish changing in the bathroom!”

Now that you were dressed in your pajamas, you washed your face and brushed your teeth.

“You can sleep on the couch or in the chair… Doesn’t really matter,” you instructed the dog. 

He hopped onto the couch and curled up.

“Good night." 

You gave a him a quick at on the head, before in getting into bed. 

The next morning you woke up feeling miserable. You felt too weak to hardly stand, your body ached, and your face felt hot.

Forcing yourself out of bed you stumbled to the bathroom. Quickly, you rummaged through the medicine cabinet, only to come up empty handed. You were out of Tylenol and had no cough syrup.

How did you get so sick? It was probably that stray’s fault... He probably had some kind of disease. But when you entered your living space again, you noticed the window was still open. 

You groaned, so the cold night air is the culprit. You felt guilty that you were blaming the dog for it. 

He was still resting. Poor guy looked like he had a hard life.

Using almost all your strength you closed the window. You flopped onto your bed, your hands were ice cold and your face felt like it was on fire. 

Moments later you passed out.

Sirius woke up on the couch, and stretched all four of his legs.

Looking around he spotted you still in bed. It didn’t take him long to notice that something was wrong.

Despite his better judgement, Sirius transformed out of his animagus form, there was nothing he do for you as a dog. You looked so tired and fragile laying there. 

Gently, he placed a hand on your forehead, you were burning up.

From your linen closet he retrieved a wash cloth, and rinsed it in cool water before placing it on your forehead.

Sirius sighed, you needed medicine in order to reduce the fever. He knew that muggles had developed medicines to help treat colds and such.

He searched through your things only to discover that you didn’t have any medication that could help. But he did find some money and clothes that looked like the previously had belonged to a man.

He changed out of his dingy clothing and into the clean ones. Then proceeded to the nearest muggle shop.

Confronted by shelves full of brightly colored bottles and packages, Sirius carefully read about the intended purpose of each one. He finally selected one based on your symptoms. Before checking out he 

When he returned, you were still out cold and the fever remained. Sirius removed the washcloth and wet it again replacing it on your head.

He wasn’t sure what his next course of action should be. The sooner you took the medicine the better, but he was concerned about how you’d react to seeing the real him.

"Hey, wake up,” Sirius spoke quietly, nudging your shoulder.

You blinked a few times still groggy. Looking up at whoever was talking.

What a handsome man with gray eyes you thought to yourself. Then you rolled over, wanting to go back to sleep.

He shook you gently, “Y/n, please wake up.”

“What?” you groaned.

“I’ve brought you some medicine, and-" 

You took the pills out of his hand and the glass of water out of the other. Rapidly, you gulped down the pills and gave him the glass back.

Sirius chuckled to himself, your fever must have been getting worse if it didn’t even register that a stranger was in your house.

In a weak voice you muttered, "please let me sleep now… I’m so tired.”

He smiled, who was he to deny such a request.

Stroking your hair, Sirius helped sooth you back to sleep.

“Go to sleep, Y/n. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

While you slept, Sirius took the chance to explore your home a little more.

For a muggle, he found you to be quite interesting. You’re taste in music was good, and you were in fact a very talented artist. 

That’s what he always appreciated about muggles, when it came to music and art, they constantly worked on trying to create something new and different.

The wizarding world was static in comparison, not changing as much as it should. All the paintings were similar and the style never varied.

As Sirius admired your work, he wondered what your paintings would say or do if they were enchanted by magic.

He had to admit, he was becoming quite comfortable here with you, even if it had only been a day. Sirius smiled to himself, thinking about how spending the rest of his days as your pet would be a large improvement over Azkaban.