#and then i finished sketching him and was like hol up

[luckykero]

the guys

[gunstellations]

in dangerous waters

[bite-sized-devil]

Hi Saadie! Congrats on 500+ Followers!

Here's my info for the matchup! ^^

Star Sign : (November) Scorpio Age : 18 Height : 5'3 Identity : Female; She/Her MBTI : INFJ-T Occupational : (tired) College Student Favorite Things : I like books (mostly fantasy), action movies, musicals, my computer (lol), any type of music, anime, flowers such as azaleas and roses, milk chocolate, birthday cards my sister makes for me and butterscotch ice cream What I do in my spare time : Read books or fics, play piano, watch gamers on YouTube and sometimes sketch random objects out of boredom What I look for in a partner : Passionate, loyalty, overall great sense of humor, kindness, funny (my humor be broken haha) and honesty! Favorite Obey Me Character(s) : Mammon, Leviathan, Satan Belphegor and Barbatos Appearance : I am a South Asian person who has olive-peach skin but not so pale looking either. I have a really small mole on the left side of my cheek. I have short black hair, light brown eyes, pretty big eyelashes and am pretty much average in height (or short- not sure how much 5'3 is classified in some countries lol). I have small dark circles under my eyes which can't be distinguished since I wear glasses which somewhat covers them up.

I hope this is enough! If you need, I can DM you a picture of my appearance! ^^

( -@amberrskiies )

🌻 500 Followers Bite Sized Event 🌻

Hello cutie! I'm sorry this took a little while, I'm trying to go in order of who sent in first. I originally wanted to give each submission all of what I promised all at the same time but uhhhh.... That would take way to long 😂 and so I'm just releasing the match ups first then I'll do the fics/script fics if I haven't already written them. Oh also nightbringer distracted me a buuuunch! So sorry!!

Mostly SFW, slightly suggestive. 💕

Match up:

Satan Avatar of Wrath

May I offer scrunky furious cat boy to you? He's very passionate, funny, loyal and honest! I think he'd be quite taken with you, you love to read and play the piano what a charming little thing you are 💕 He'd love to help you study for your exams, you'll reward him with kisses won't you?

Head canons for you two:

This mother fucker actually asked you out mid screaming match with Lucifer. Or well actually you think that's what happened? You remember "MC GOOD YOU'RE HERE I WANT TO TAKE YOU TO DINNER! THAT IS AS SOON AS IM FINISHED WITH THIS ARSEHOLE RIGHT HERE!" So now you're in your room at HOL dressed and ready but starting to think maybe you heard wrong? Your brain doesn't really function properly during screaming matches, even ones you aren't involved in. So you're sitting on your bed considering changing before anyone notices you're all dressed up. Fuck that would be so embarrassing! But you hear a knock on the door, just one simple but sharp knock. It has you up off your bed in seconds racing to the door nearly as fast as the beat your heart is setting. You open the door and find him there waiting. He gives you a warm smile and takes your small hands in his. "Your beauty flaws me MC, truly you are something to behold. I want to apologise for my rudeness earlier, I'm not sorry I asked you to dinner. Just how I went about it."

How cute is it when you read together. 🥰 Your head resting on one of his legs reading your lastest fantasy novel. The fingers of his free hand comb through your short black locks absentmindedly. His other hand holds his book against the thigh of his raised knee. It's mostly comfortable, until he gets to an intense part and the fingers in your hair are no longer combing but sharply pulling as his hand gets turned into a fist. He's quick to pull you into his arms and smother you in sweet kisses in-between sorry's when he hears you utter a quiet 'ouch'.

If you weren't a member of the anti-lucifer club you are now. Pranking just became a favourite pastime for you both. If anything Lucifer is thankful as you tend to do childish pranks now instead of murderous ones.

Can he help you study? Please, he'll be good! He won't distract you! Say you'll let him help you, he'd love to. Honestly he'll only kiss you a little bit, promise they will only be as rewards for correct answers and not because you look so cute when you're concentrating. Oh no, was that a paper cut? He'll kiss it better, he'll kiss it better at your wrist, up your arm, along your collar bone, over your pulse point, along your jaw, over your lips with his tongue down your throat. Wait where did it hurt again? You can't remember, everything feels hazy. No pain, or study, only Satan.

It is now your life's mission to find a horror movie that actually scares Satan. Unfortunately you haven't found one yet, it's not however unfortunate for Satan. He loves watching horror movies with you, loves the way you tuck yourself in close to his side almost half hidden from the screen. Thinks it's so cute the way you jump and squeal a little at jump scares. Once you actually jumped into his lap, he kept you there the entire rest of the film just holding you close. So yeah he definitely likes watching them with you.

Will absolutely loose his shit if you dress up as a kitty. He's a blushing, stuttering mess! He's so fucking into you, and then you do this? His brain isn't working, not enough blood reaching it... It's circulating elsewhere. 😳

No offence to Satan or whatever but can you do me a favour and teach him how to dress himself properly? This might shock him a little but when you wear a coat you usually use both of the sleeves 😂 also stop with the hats! Again respectfully no offence 🙏

When you're together he always has to have a hand on you. It's more of a starved for affection thing rather than possessive. He really can't seem to get enough of you. It's his hand in yours, or at the small of your back, or wrapped around you. Or if he's feeling naughty grabbing your ass.

If you wanted more NSFW content I'm sorry! I felt kinda weird writing it for an 18yo like I'm some sort of predator! I'm like 10 years older then you, it gave me some icky feelings. So I'm sorry! 😔😔

[slater-later]

i'm not saying prompt 10 with brian kelly,, but that totally is what i'm saying... please? :)

OH YES!  *cracks knuckles* I’m on this boat before it even sailed!

20/10 I really enjoyed this prompt. It was *chefs kiss* glorious. I love Brian Kelly with my whole heart. I’m rewatching the movie right now as we speak!

******

The two of you had aged. The long nights spent together, sitting together at the skate spark, munching on a bag of chips and an Arnold palmer, had shifted. 

You first met at the park, the boys and him grinding some railings over a long flight of steps. You had to watch, curled up on the park bench drawing. They hadn’t noticed you at first, curled up with your legs crossed as you marked your sketchbook. Drawing the flipping skate boardings and fast motions of their legs. It was a perfect way to fit in some figure drawings practice. They were so well absorbed in their tricks and banter, they didn’t notice. 

You had filled about a full page and half of their bodies, arms spread wide in the air as they balanced their board on the pipe. Grinding the worn rail with fresh marks, leaving a trail of red behind. 

Brian was having some trouble making it to the end of the line. He’d get about two-thirds of the way down and lose his balance. Clamoring onto the hard concrete steps with a shout, rolling down the rest of the way. A few times, he was able to land on the steps and kept on running, kicking his feet forward to run through the momentum. And the throb at his feet. He was furiously bright red in frustration, knees buzzing in ache. He was relentless and stubborn. He wanted to finish the trick!

And slamming his skateboard on the ground wouldn’t fix it, though it did happen a few times. It got him nowhere.

He had caught wind of your eyes. Curious as he was, he ran up the hill, wanting to say hello. 

“Whatcha got there?” He smirked.

“Hm?” You picked your head up, head milky from the self-absorbed high of drawing. “Oh, I was making some sketches of you guys. Is that okay?”

“Okay? Hell yeah! That sounds cool,” He laughed, gleaming. “Can I see?” He eyed your book. 

“Sure,” And you spun it around, his face lighting up. He had never seen something as fun as this! He loved skateboarding but add art? Even sicker! 

“God, this is amazing! You’re really good at this,” He tapped at one of your pictures, enjoying the style. You passed it to him. “I wish I could do something like this, I’m jealous.”

You laughed and he passed it back to you. You showed him another page of your drawings, “It’s not that hard, it’s practice,” You paused, showing him another. “And time, lots, and lots of time.”

“Hol’ up-” He stepped back, snapping his board to his feet. “Can you do something like this?” He pulled an olley, snapping his feet and the board into the air. 

“Yeah, I think I can… Just give me a sec…” Your eyes squinted, snapping the moment into your mind and making a fast sketch. Enough to get the gesture. 

He waited until you finished, sliding into the seat next to you. Patiently waiting and observing. “My god… You’re the next Picasso,” He mumbled, dumbfounded.

“Picasso wasn’t a great guy… but he was a good artist. Though, I appreciate the compliment.”

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t know,” He scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. “Do you want to come down and hang out with us? You seem really fun.”

“Yeah, sure, that sounds nice,” And the two of you walked, joining the group of friends.

****

  Slowly, your relationship bloomed. Friends turned to lovers and the two of you eventually moved in together. You both had properly graduated high school and you had enrolled in art school. Brian was taking a year off to work and figure out what he wanted to go to school for her. It seemed like the appropriate thing to do.

And it had given him time to properly grieve. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go to school and work on building a happy life for himself. It’s that the weight and chaos of his last year of high school were overwhelming. He didn’t have the proper time to understand how much the weight of his brothers’ life affected him. He had thought, they would be in each other’s life forever. He still didn’t like going home when he visited his parents, the memory of Vinh lingering. 

Moving in together was good for both of you. It cut your guys rent and living together was easy. He worked at a skateshop by the beach during the day while you went to classes. Taking the bus to get there. He was very supportive of your decision and had gotten your work to hang on the walls of the shop. He was proud to watch you grow. He even talked up your art and beamed when it sold.

Some nights with him rough. He’d be distraught over his brothers' death and the hole it left in his life. You’d soothe him, listening to his words and holding his hand as he cried. Pulling him close, tight.

Other days went well, you two laughing about some silly joke and the faces he’d make at you. He actually had quite the talent of doing impressions, one that you happily egged on.

One thing that you loved, was the sleepy nights in bed. Feet crossed and fished together, slipping against each other’s smooth skin. Brian was like a small radiator. He’d curl up into himself, pulling the sheets of the pillowy duvet cover around him. He’d tug at them, burrito-ing himself, exposing your feet to the cold biting air. 

“Brian-” You’d wine softly, shifting closer to him as you spooned. You could tell he was sad today, he had been quiet all day.

“Yeah?” He sniffled, turning his head softly. 

“Hey- are you alright?” You sat up, pulling his shoulder down against the bed. His face was red, slow tears flowing. 

“Honey,” You cooed, slipping back down and wrapping your arms around his torso. Brian wrapped them around your body, pressing his burry eyes into the pillow as he sobbed. “Shhh,” You whispered, pressing your cheek into his warm chest. “What’s got you upset?” 

“Vinh- again!” He choked bitterly, “I miss him. And I’m so sick of being upset! I hate this Y/N, I want it to end!” He bellowed. His body curled around you, the pressure solid. “I want… I want him back. I wish he didn’t die, I wish I told him how much I cared about him.”

You softly brushed the tears from his eyes, letting it pour out of him. You had learned that this was the time to listen. That you couldn’t change the way he felt. It was grief. “Your love for him is felt, he feels it,” Your soft lips were hushed, like a quiet prayer to his ears.

“I keep thinking if I could have done something that day- like um,” He sniffed, trying to clear his stuffy nose. “I should have convinced him to take that gig at the corner shop,” He shook his head, staring up at the ceiling. “But then I stole that box of pop rocks and blew it for ‘em”

“You’re blaming yourself again.”

“I know… I just, I hate that he’s gone.”

You stroked a hand through his hand.

“I’m alright, I’m…” He looked down at you, thumbing your cheek with a heavy sigh. “You know how I get. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, he’s your brother. You should be upset.”

“Yeah,” He chuckled, forcing a tiny smile. Trying to peek a bit of happiness for you. He hated getting like this. He knew it hung heavy on the both of you. “Can we get some pizza? I’m hungry.”

“Of course, Bruno’s? Hawaiian with extra bacon?”

“Extra bacon!” He gleamed, bursting out with a laugh. “You’re spoiling me!” He roared, pulling you up and in for a kiss. “Thanks, Y/N,” He hushed, his tender tone creeping into his voice. His hysterics falling away. “I really appreciate you, for everything that you do. I love you,” And those lips came back, pulling you in close as your fingers slipped together for a deep kiss. “I don’t know what I’d without you, you’re my rock Y/N. Thank you,” He sniffed.

Your feet curled together, bodies relaxing as you took in the stillness of the quiet air. A siren passed, the sound drifting into your small apartment together. The two of you layed together, the hum of your warm bodies melting, the weight of each other a comforting feeling. The two of you stayed like that for some time in silence and your bodies grew sleepy. Unmoving in your quiet support for one another.

Eventually, your tummies grumbled. Gurgling with need.

“Y/N?” He whispered in your ear and you shifted, reaching for your phone.

“I got it,” And you called for the pizza. Delivery.

[undine-taz]

5 times Diavolo failed to be a sugar daddy and one time he succeeded

I'm just imagining poor Diavolo trying SO HARD to spoil an MC who is just. Not greedy in the slightest and loves weird little shinies while being totally indifferent to the super crazy expensive gifts he usually gives to people he's trying to woo. Just in case, this is the PUREST OF FLUFF and completely sfw. I can’t even think of any tw to tag??? Let me know if you notice something. Oh, and MC is imagined to be gender neutral. There’s a mention of perfume, but not in the feminine sense- that’s just the proper word for a certain level of scent concentration.

1. Expensive Perfume

Diavolo's first attempt is the most expensive perfume/cologne money can buy

He's not quite sure what MC's favorite scent is, so he buys a wide variety

All the bottles are sleek and minimalistic and the scents inside are VERY obviously expensive, the kind of thing Mammon would probably lose his mind over

MC's reaction is perfectly grateful, they say sincerely how much they appreciate him thinking of them. He doesn't feel a single lie off of them and he walks away mostly satisfied thinking maybe they’re just the type to not show a ton of excitement over gifts

That is, until he's walking down the hallways in RAD and happens to overhear a conversation between Asmo and MC

Asmo's talking about how he's been going through perfume at a record pace lately, and he feel so bad about wasting these beautiful bottles... would MC like them? He has one shaped like a rose, one like a star, one modeled after the cosmos... 

Asmo doesn't even get to finish because MC is already flapping their hands in joy (I'm autistic and MC is going to happy stim if it kills me) and wiggling and practically jumping into Asmo's arms in excitement

Asmo's laughing and promising to save all of his prettiest empty perfume bottles for MC from now on and MC is practically wiggling in joy and nuzzling their face into Asmo's chest in happiness

They’re talking about spending the night in Asmo’s room trying to make perfume blends for each other to fill up the bottles and tossing scent ideas back and forth

And Diavolo is sitting there feeling a bit like he's been bonked over the head. Those happy stims are ADORABLE and he wants to be the one who causes them. He's not sure why his perfume failed and Asmo's literal empty bottles worked but he's DETERMINED to try again

2. Fancy gemstones

Diavolo's next attempt is fancy gemstones. He finds large, beautifully cut and processed gemstones, the type that are so perfectly processed they look almost identical except for color

Again, when he gives MC his gifts he can tell that they're sincerely grateful! They tell him they love that he was thinking of them, they worry that he spent too much money on them ( they try to refuse at first because it's too much, but Diavolo breezes past their protests with a smile and an iron will) and Diavolo doesn't sense even the tiniest hint of untruth from their professions of gratitude

But.... there are no happy wiggles, no stunned gasps, no joyously flapping hands, no nothing. Just calm gratitude.

Diavolo goes back to the drawing board, and he's just going to visit the HOL library for inspiration in a rare book (and as an excuse to see MC) when he hears Satan and MC laughing together in the library.

When he walks in, he sees Satan and MC crouched together with some strange tools in their hands, gently chipping away at a large rock. There's a tiny pile of uncut, unprocessed gemstones at MC's elbow.

As soon as MC sees him, he's aflood in a wash of excited chatter as MC tells him about the gemstone mining kit Satan bought after reading a book on gemstones. In fact Diavolo can see the book open at Satan's elbow along with a notebook where the two have been identifying every gemstone they dig up.

Before he knows it, MC seizes his hand and he's drawn into the game, watching their eyes shine and seeing them bounce in their seat with excitement every time they uncover a new gemstone.

Dammit. Another failure. But, Diavolo finds as he watches MC's obvious joy, he can't be too frustrated when they're this happy. 

3. Shopping spree at Majolish

Diavolo is undeterred! He takes a day to bring them to Majolish, having them try on outfit after outfit. Sure, they're not picking out very many things, but he loves spending time with them and they say they're enjoying themself.

After several hours, Barbatos gently reminds him that he has a meeting soon and that MC seems absolutely exhausted.

Diavolo pouts, especially when he sees that MC hasn't picked out very many things, but he sighs and concedes.

When he drops them off at the HOL, MC gives him a hug and thanks him for helping them pick out some more formal outfits for any upcoming RAD events. Diavolo accepts the hug gladly, but there's no squeaking or jumping and DEFINITELY no flapping. MC seems rather exhausted, and Belphegor has appeared from nowhere and draped himself over MC and is mumbling about needing a nap buddy and MC isn't even trying to argue 

The next day, Barbatos shows him Levi's post on Devilgram. It's a video, of Levi giving MC a plain, unassuming box.

When MC opens the box, their mouth drops open, their eyes go wide, and they fling themselves at Levi, happily nuzzling into his chest and mumbling incoherent thanks while Levi turns bright red and starts stuttering and clearly tries not to combust

The video cuts out for a second and then starts again with MC wearing a simple shirt embroidered with a strange logo, which Levi explains from behind the camera is inspired by MC's favorite series and was handmade by Levi for practice. Levi was apparently asked to design formalwear inspired by anime, and he chose MC's favorite to practice a design. According to the caption, the two spent an entire day together watching the series and sketching ideas!

MC is beaming and happy stimming while Diavolo thumps his head into his desk dramatically and Barbatos elegantly stifles a chuckle behind him. 

4. Bouquets of flowers

Well now Diavolo is determined. HE WILL MAKE MC HAPPY STIM IF IT KILLS HIM

HE HAS HIS PRIDE AS THE FUTURE DEMON KING DAMMIT

He begins watching the corniest of romcoms for ideas.

Midway into one of them, he sees the character buy their love interest bouquets upon bouquets of roses

BRILLIANT! He's up and placing orders immediately. Barbatos stays behind for a few minutes to actually watch how this particular ploy works out on screen, before laughing and going to watch the chaos

As dedicated as he is to the young lord, watching Diavolo scramble around trying to impress his first puppy love only to fail because the target of his affections is simply too humble.... well, it's honestly adorable. He'll step in if it goes on for too long, but for now it might actually be good for the young master to experience something he can't have by throwing money or influence at it.

Diavolo has some of the Devildom's finest florists on the horn and he's sending a veritable flood of their finest cut flowers... AND he's sending them from an anonymous source, just like in the movie! The woman in the movie only sent over THREE bouquets to the object of her love, so Diavolo sends 300. Only the best for his MC :)

He's waiting impatiently for the results of his little scheme when he gets an apologetic text from Lucifer saying that he'll be late to the meeting and MC won't be coming at all. Some anonymous admirer sent MC an excessive amount of flowers and the sheer amount of pollen triggered allergies in ALL of the demon bros and MC.

Lucifer needed time to clear out the house and distribute allergy meds to everyone and buy out the nearest store on tissue paper

Barbatos is no longer even bothering to stifle his chuckles while Diavolo buries his face in his arms to hide his shame

To rub salt in the wound, Lucifer tells him a few days later that he set up a miniature greenhouse for MC to grow humanworld herbs in and they've barely left it in the last two days

Lucifer’s been spending most of his free time in the greenhouse with them, helping them tinker with humidity spells and listening to their excited monologues on human gardening techniques

Lucifer is definitely smirking as he tells Diavolo this and Diavolo doesn't bother to ask how Lucifer knew what was going on, because his old friend knows him too well and Diavolo realizes he's not exactly subtle.

What he doesn't realize is that Barbatos is also a dirty dirty snitch and he and Lucifer have been watching over his attempts with a mix of hilarity and pity

5. Desserts

Some might give up, but not Diavolo! His newest ideas is fancy desserts. He was told by a sweet old succubus that the best way to his lover's heart was through the stomach (actually she initially had some far raunchier suggestions that had made Diavolo blush and had given him some ideas for far, FAR in his future relationship with MC, but that's neither here nor there) and so here Diavolo is, placing a giant order at Madame Scream's to be delivered to the HOL.

This time he has learned from his mistakes and he signs it as being from him and addresses it to "MC and the residents of HOL" because even he recognizes there are far too many sweets for a human to eat before they go bad

Barbatos by this point is starting to feel pity and is almost tempted to suggest he wait until it's not Beel's day for Fangol practice to send a giant array of tempting sweets.

Almost. If it weren't for the maid cafe fiasco of last week Barbatos probably would have, but that lace had chafed in areas that should never be chafed.

Diavolo sent his gift only to receive a poorly drawn thank-you card drawn by Beel and signed by everyone at the HOL, including MC, even though "I didn't even get a chance to eat any, BEEL"

This poor man feels his soul leave his body, especially when he returns home from RAD to find Barbatos and MC baking together and singing along to Disney songs (well, MC was singing, Barbatos was simply watching them with a smile and occasionally twisting them into a simple dance to make them laugh and squiggle with joy)

Et tu, Barbatos?

After yesterday's glitter incident, Barbatos has no shame and simply smirks back. He'll help the young lord when he can shower without finding glitter in every crevice.

+1: Tea together

Diavolo is planning his next gift when he gets a message from MC, of all people

His heart flutters, he has butterflies in his stomach, and he hasn't even read it yet!

It's a simple text- "What are you up to?" 

Obviously Diavolo can't admit he's shirking paperwork to try and figure out a gift that would make them happy! So he improvises and claims he's working. He gets back a sad face emoji and a simple "Miss you! I feel like we haven't hung out in forever, but I know how busy you are. Good luck, I'm rooting for you!"

SHOT THROUGH THE HEART AND MC IS TO BLAME

This man is dramatically draped over his desk wailing about how cute MC is.

Luckily for him Barbatos has forgiven him for both the maid cafe incident and the glitter incident and Diavolo has been too distracted trying to plan gifts to cause any new chaos

Barbatos hands him a lovely picnic basket, complete with tea and fancy sandwiches, and tells him to go see MC and take a break since he's clearly not getting any work done as is.

Cue guilty glance to the overwhelming stack of paperwork that's been building up. He swears he's never seen Barbatos place more and yet they keep growing, are they breeding somehow...? Did Lucifer curse him after the taffy incident?

Either way, Diavolo takes the basket and heads off to HOL.

He's either very lucky or (more likely) Barbatos bribed Lucifer into helping him out, as MC is the one to answer the door.

They look kind of down until they see him and he explains he's there to spend time with them, and then they absolutely LIGHT UP.

Before he knows it, they've thrown himself into his arms and they're bouncing in excitement and snuggling him and happy flapping and boyo is confused but OVER THE MOON.

He finally did it!?!?! What was it!?!?! The picnic basket? Do they have a thing for picnics baskets!?!?! 

And then he actually tunes in a d listens to their flood of chatter and how happy they are to see him and how much they've missed him and how excited and grateful they are they he took time out of his busy schedule to spend time with him and out in the thought to prepare a way for them to spend time in each other's company...

O H

He is M E L T I N G

He can't believe it was this easy.... no need for fancy gifts or anything like that, just... paying attention to their likes and spending time with them???? 

Holy shit he is gonna protect this human's smile witH HIS LIFE 

And now that he understands them better he can buy EXPENSIVE SHIT THEY'LL ACTUALLY LIKE AND HE'LL GET ALL THE HAPPY SNUGGLES AND JOYOUS STIMMING IN THE WORLD!!!! 

Yes, he decides, wrapping his arms around them while trying to keep the basket level

Now that he's gotten a taste of their sincere joy, he's hooked and he's going to make them as excited and happy as this as often as he possibly can. 

[melbee]

Electric Love

Chapter 2

A David Lee Roth Fanfiction

She got a smile and it seems to me,

Reminds me of childhood memories,

Where everything was as fresh as the bright

Blue sky

- sweet child o’ mine

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

True to Holly's promise, I finally received a phone call from the designer in California.

I was washing my dishes, my elbows soaked in soapy water when I heard the phone go off in the living room.

I quickly shut the water off wiping my wet hands on a towel, and rushed over to the phone, and reached over, shoving it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Hola, chica! Is this Rose?” A slightly prominent Spanish accent asked over the phone.

“Yes, that’s me! Are you-”

“I’m Lewis, the Designer in the rolling hills of California? Holly Bell told me all about you.” He said with a muffled giggle. I laughed awkwardly at his unique sense of humor.

“Well, Holly Bell happens to be my best friend.. and my favorite Christmas decoration.” I laughed into the phone. I heard a chuckle respond to my joke as the sound of static shuffled through the phone.

“Well, that’s just wonderful, chica. I hope not to be too frank but I could use some help. She told me your designs are wonderful.. do you happen to have any clothing you’ve made?”

My eyes widened to the size of saucers as I stuttered. I looked around trying to see if I had left a sketchbook lying around, lunging toward my desk drawers looking for some sort of sketch. I cursed silently when I remembered most of my sketches were in my bedroom. ‘I... Uhm... I don’t really have actual clothes made to try on. Mostly just samples and a few sketches.”

“Oh well, that’s okay... I was told you worked? Do you happen to recall any names I might be familiar with..” Lewis asked over the phone. I heard the familiar sound of a pen writing on a piece of paper, as I inwardly panicked.

I grimaced at his words, slapping my head with my palm. God Holly, what did you tell him about me... “I.. nothing really popular just a few local artists in my town..” Okay, that wasn’t a total lie. I did work with a few clients after college. Mostly for bar mitzvah's and retirement parties... not that it changed anything.

He sounded a bit hesitant before responding, and I sucked in my breath for the bad news. 

“Okay..you’re hired!”

My heart stopped. “What? What do you mean?”

He laughed over the phone. “I mean, chica... You’re hired to be my assistant. I’m sure this will be just the push you need, and I have no doubt your visions are excellent. Plus I need a passionate individual who’s strong-willed. You seem just the type.”

For the first time through this whole interview, I genuinely smiled. “Oh, that’s so wonderful. Lewis, thank you so much! So do you want me to send sketch ideas, or what?”

“Oh dear... you are new at this. Chica, I want you to come to California.”

“Uhm... California?” I said as I gulped, the nerves racing back into my heart. It looked like a wonderfully beautiful and diverse area, with so many different cities, I just didn't know how I would survive.

“Yes, and don’t you worry darling. I have everything covered. I’ve got a spare bedroom where I live. You can stay there, while we work. All I ask is you to perform your utmost best. My business is serious, and I have just been dropped some new... very wealthy and famous clients.”

I smiled, “Oh wow this is.. this is wonderful. How can I repay you, this is so much!”

I could hear the smile in his voice. “If you give me the ideas, and possibly a bit of secretarial work, I’ll see to it that you will have a wonderful career in fashion.”

“Oh, Lewis. Thank you so much. When do you want me to come?”

“I’ve got a big call for a few outfits coming in that need to be done by next week. I know this is a bit rushed. But I’d love to have your stuff packed and sent, along with your cute self, to California by this week."

My eyes seemed to pop out of my head as I checked the calendar. “It’s Tuesday.”

“Indeed it is, but fashion waits for no one, Chica. I need your help now.”

“Okay.. well then. I guess I’ll meet you at the end of this week.” My breath beginning to thin out, as I pulled out a chair for me to sit down on.

“I’m looking forward to it, Chica. Caio!” Lewis said as I heard the line go dead.

My hands slightly shook as I put the phone back on the dialer, turning my head to look out the window, my finger placed gently on my lips. This was it, I was moving to California.

“Holy Fucking shit.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

By Thursday night I was pacing. I had begun to pack boxes of personal items, some essentials, and clothes but I was frightened.

I was jittery, had one too many cups of coffee, and had begun to break out in hives because of the anxiety.

I had wanted to call Holly but I was too worried.

What should I say? I eventually would have to call her and wish her goodbye, but for some reason I was stuck.

Words never failed me when I was with Holly, but now there were none that I could comprehend into sentences.

I set a finished pile of folded clothes into a suitcase when I heard a ring come from my living room.

I raced to the phone and picked it up putting it to my ear, “Hello?”

“So.. when were you going to call me, you rude little toehead.” A familiar snarky voice sounded out of the phone.

Holly. I wanted to laugh but I was too much in a mental crisis to say a word, I just fumbled. “I’m so sorry Hol’, this all just happened so soon and I’ve been trying to pack everything, and emotionally I’m confused, and scared this all so quick-and I-“

“Honey, I could really carry on the convo’ forever, but I’d rather not on the phone, plus I’m using Ms. Myers's phone and I’m afraid she’ll hear our entire conversation.” She said bluntly.

I paused. Ms. Meyers was my next-door neighbor. “Holly, are you at my apartment building right now?”

“Open the door, I’ll be there in 10 seconds,” Holly said as I heard the sound of the phone being disconnected. I placed the phone down, as I walked swiftly to the door.

Just as promised the minute I opened the door, I saw the familiar red-head best friend of mine in all her crazy glory. She smirked “Told ya.”

I gave her a small smile, which she frowned at. “Sorry to burst your bubble Rosie, but I just didn’t think having this much of a conversation was worth big brother listening in on us.”

I knew she was talking about Ms. Meyers, who always had the habit ever since she got two phones in her apartment, to eavesdrop on anybody who borrowed her phone for a quick call.

She opened the door further and walked in. I trudged behind and looked up to see suspicion grace her eyes. “Rose, I thought you were leaving for California this Saturday.”

I gave her a questioned eyebrow. “I am?”

She whipped her head around to face me, “Then why the hell does it look like someone’s moving in and not moving out?”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes “I think that’s based on perspective Holly.”

“I don’t care! You’re nowhere near done. Why didn’t you ask for my help sooner?”

Right then and there I broke down into a sob, and I felt the familiar grasp of my friend as she hugged me. “I-m... Holly this seems so much bigger than me.”

“Adapt and overcome sweetie.” She said as she patted my back affectionately. I scoffed at her bluntness. For all that it was worth, sometimes I needed to hear her harsh words.

“Holly, how can I do something so sudden? It’s like up until now I’ve been perfectly fine working in a diner for the rest of my life, now I’m going to California to work for someone I never met..”

“Honey, it’s only abnormal if you make it out to be. You’ve spent so much wasted time doing something you do not love. You’re fucking 23! Go out and do something spontaneous! Reach for the stars!”

“What if I fail? What if he doesn’t like me?”

She removed me from her grasp and gave me a deep look, “I don’t think that’s humanely possible for someone like you Rose.”

I furrowed my brows, before turning away and walking over to an empty box. “Well, I don’t really want to talk about it. So, do you want to help?”

Holly walked over to where I was as she scanned the room before sighing, “Do I even have a choice?”

I laughed, folding my arms to my chest. “You always have choices, Holly.”

She shrugged before grabbing a roll of packing tape, flipping it around as if she was in some western cowboy duel. “Let’s Rock n Roll.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

[saultnpeppah]

Day 5: Dress Shopping

May 15. Downtown Gotham. 09:37.

Diana

"Oh Diana, that is beautiful."

I glance over my shoulder, taking in the reflection of myself in the mirror, dressed in the sixth wedding dress I've tried on today. The lace that covers the top crawls up my neck, meeting the satin that lays just above my breasts, before it flows down the rest of my torso, clenching at the waist and finishing in a long train. My eyes shift and meet Lois', who sits, head tilted, examining all the angles of the dress on my body as I turn to meet the women seated behind me.

"It is beautiful," I say, agreeing with Lois' earlier claim, "but don't you think this is a bit much?" I lift the train, bunching up the excessive fabric into my hands, showing the girls the part of the dress I don't particularly like.

Ahead of me, my four bridesmaids are seated, squished together on a loveseat only made for two. Lois sits on the end, next to Donna, who has been spending the last few days with Bruce and I in the manor, wanting to be here since my mother was unable to come help me find a dress. Beside Donna sits my old college roommate, Shayera Hol. She has been in California for the last six years, working with the FBI, and although I've missed having a female friend to vent to, we've kept up with weekly video calls. She was one of the first people to know when Bruce and I started dating, and was overly excited when we got engaged. She had work in New York next week and was able to stop in Gotham for a few days, wanting to spend some time with me and Bruce before the wedding.

Beside Shayera sits Charlie, who whistles my way as she fills her champagne glass once more. "Oh you can always get that fixed," Charlie says, sipping from her glass. She watches as Shayera nods in agreement, her lips pursing as she stays deep in thought, before Charlie turns to Donna. "What about you, Donna," she asks. "What do you think?"

Donna shrugs and I can see she is not in love with the dress I wear. "It's nice," she says. "But this," she motions to her neck, pointing out the lace that adorns the neckline, "is too much."

I nod, pulling the lace from my neck and take a deep breath. "I agree." I take a seat on the chair across from the girls and drop my head in my hands, frustrated that it's been over two hours and I have still yet to find the dress I am going to wear for my wedding.

Lois stands from her spot on the love seat and walks around the room, pulling various dresses from the rack to look at them. "We'll find one, Diana," she says.

Donna joins Lois looking at all the dresses, trying to be as helpful as she can since she's only here for a few days. She feels guilty that she can't do more from Greece, but I appreciate the fact that she's traveled here more than she knows.

I watch the two of them continue their quest for the perfect dress, knowing nothing they pull will be it. There are dresses they flash my way that have the perfect neckline, and some that have details sewn in that make my heart flutter, but none scream out perfection.

"You know Bruce is going to find you beautiful in anything you wear." I glance up to see Shayera standing by my side, her half empty champagne glass in hand.

I offer her a smile. "I know," I say, "But that doesn't mean I don't want the perfect dress." And I mean it. I only hope it doesn't take another two hours to find it.

XXXXX

May 15. Wayne Manor. 22:17.

The manor is dark and quiet. Alfred has already retired for the night and Bruce is still at the office, trying to prepare for a board meeting he's supposed to have in the morning. My hand skims over the sheets of the bed, grasping at the empty space where Bruce should be laying. I want nothing more than to be in his arms tonight, his taunt muscles holding my body against his as he lets me complain about not finding the dress today.

I had spent over three hours trying on dress after dress, each with a charm of its own, but none that matched the idea that had been bouncing around in my head since the day Bruce proposed. As a child I hadn't put much thought into a wedding. After all, my mother had never married, and she was a strong woman, someone I admired. But the moment Bruce proposed, I found myself looking at more wedding magazines and online boards than I thought possible, wanting that perfect day to share our love with family and friends.

My hand squeezes the sheets once more, wondering if I should just stay awake until Bruce gets in. I know I will not be able to sleep until he is laying next to me, so I quickly pull the comforter off and roll out of the bed. Walking to the bedroom door, I grab the robe laying over the chair by the vanity and pull it on, before I walk out of the bedroom and down the hall.

The wooden floors creak under my weight but I continue on, knowing nothing I do will stop the old floorboards from announcing my presence. When I first moved into the manor, I was always worried my walking around at night would wake Bruce, or Alfred, but that fear quickly diminished when I realized Bruce had an even harder time sleeping than I did, and Alfred never heard me, or if he had he hadn't said anything.

There were some nights I would find myself exploring the manor, trying to learn of Waynes past. One night I had found myself in the library and, enticed by the mountains upon mountains of books, had occupied myself until morning, where I had cursed myself for at least not getting a small nap in before work.

But tonight I wasn't in need of exploration or a good book. No, tonight what I needed was a hot cup of tea, something to calm my nerves until Bruce rolled through that door, exhausted and ready to climb into the bed with me.

As I descend down the stairs I find myself staring at the photos along the wall. As a child, whenever I would visit the manor, Bruce never wanted to talk about the pictures, not wanting to remember those he had lost. But as time went on, he was more than willing to share the names of his family, always stopping to smile at the wide grins of his parents, forever immortalized by the photograph. It was his most treasured memory of the three, the night before their deaths, when Thomas had stayed home with Bruce and Martha, wanting to show Bruce how to master the game of monopoly.

Once I hop off the last step I waste no time in making my way to the kitchen, cautiously flipping on only one of the lights. It is all I need to allow me to maneuver around the room without bumping into anything. I quickly retrieve the kettle from beside the stove and fill it with water, placing it back onto the burner and turning the appliance on, taking a seat on one of the bar stools that line the breakfast bar.

To the right of me is a pad of paper and, knowing I have a few minutes before my water will be ready, I reach over and grab it, plucking a pen from the container by its side. Before I know what I am doing, my hand is sketching a few things on the paper, on autopilot as my mind thinks back to all the dresses I've seen. Countless hours of research on the types of necklines, and material, and trains, and I still have no idea what I am wanting in a dress. I had originally toyed with the idea of getting a custom dress, something that was specially tailored just for me, but our date was much too close, and I still was unsure of the details I wanted included. It was a hard way to convince someone to expedite a custom dress if you weren't even sure which direction to go. So that idea was quickly abandoned.

My hand continues to drag the pen along the paper as I absentmindedly stare at the blue ink. The light flickers on, startling me, and I drop the pad and paper, turning in the stool to see Alfred walking my way, his robe cinched tightly around his waist.

"You're up awfully late, Ms. Diana," he says. He walks to the stove, where the tea kettle has just begun to whistle loudly, shifting it from the hot burner to a cold one, before he turns and pulls two mugs out from a cupboard.

I shrug my shoulders, watching as he moves around the kitchen with ease. This is his solace, his sanctuary, just as the library is mine. He knows this room like the back of his hand.

"I couldn't sleep," I confess. "Waiting for Bruce."

Alfred nods. He understands the attention Bruce's company and title needs from him, especially when they have business and partnerships with other companies. Recently Wayne Enterprises has been doing business with Queen Consolidated and I know Bruce is working his hardest on it in an effort to help out Ollie.

"Ah, Master Wayne," Alfred says, "he is much like his father. Working long into the night, trying his hardest to help all those that he can." I nod, watching as Alfred pours the boiling water into the two mugs that he has already placed tea bags in, before he places the kettle back onto the stove. He hands me the mug and I graciously accept it, knowing full well that Alfred has already added the chamomile that'll relax me enough until my fiance comes home.

"How was this afternoon?" he asks, switching the conversation to what I'd rather not talk about. I only let out a sad sigh, sipping the hot beverage, folding my legs under me as I sink into the stool. It is all the response Alfred needs. "Unable to find one," he asks, although his tone implies he already knows the answer.

I only shake my head and close my eyes. "It's not supposed to be this hard, Alfred."

Alfred takes a sip from his own mug and shrugs, twisting his lips into a pout as he ponders his next few words. "You'll find the perfect one, Ms. Diana," he says, "and then all this worry will be a figment of the past."

I suppose Alfred is right. Soon I'll find the perfect dress and there will have been no sense in having worried so much, but after the three hours this afternoon, part of me is still skeptical. I am unable to voice my skepticism, however, when the door to the kitchen swings open and Bruce walks in, shoulders slumped and tired.

He walks into the room, greeting both me and Alfred, stopping only to kiss the back of my head and whisper that he is heading straight to bed. I nod, letting him know I'll be up as soon as I'm done with my tea, and he leaves the room. For the next twenty minutes Alfred and I sit in silence, sipping our tea contently, happy to have the company of the other.

When I finish I rise from the stool and attempt to take my mug to the sink but Alfred intercepts me and takes the dirty mug, shooing me off to bed, telling me to get a good night's rest. I oblige, thanking him for everything he does, which he only responds with a nod and a bright smile, before I head out of the kitchen and upstairs to our bedroom, discarding my robe as I jump into Bruce's waiting arms.

XXXXX

July 16. Wayne Manor. 17:42.

My head still swirls with thoughts of uncertainty as I walk through the front doors of the manor, greeting Alfred with a nod as I step into the foyer. He takes notice of my puzzled face and raises an eyebrow, his eyes traveling to the elegant box in my hand, shutting the door behind me as he asks, "Is everything alright, Ms. Diana?"

I hesitate for a moment and give him a nod, still sure there is something I am missing. The box in my hand baffles me even more as I am unsure why I now own this item. Having received a call this morning from the dress shop saying they had an order for me, I was confused and thought they had made a mistake. I still had yet to find that perfect dress, and with two months already gone and wasted, I was feeling more and more helpless by the day. Ultimately Charlie had convinced me to take a long lunch to go to the shop and try and sort things out, promising that this was not another elaborate scheme Bruce was a part of, and that she'd oversee the packaging and shipment of items from our Tibet exhibit, which had finished two days prior and were now going to be sent to D.C. in an effort to widen our network.

On my lunch I went to the shop, trying to rattle my brain for any reason I should be there. Maybe they had found another dress that might suit me? Maybe they had gotten in touch with other designers who were more than happy to help me find something to my liking, all willing to help just to get their designs on the cover of every magazine once photos of the wedding were leaked, and while that sounded like a marvelous idea, today I did not have time to try on another dozen dresses.

This, however, had not been the case, as when I went there and told the younger lady at the front desk I had received a call from their sales manager, she disappeared behind a door marked "staff only", only to appear a few minutes later holding a delicately wrapped box. It is the same box I hold in my hand now, only less delicately wrapped, as I had ripped it open as soon as I was back in the solace of my own vehicle.

"I went back to the dress shop," I explain, "and they gave me this." I open the box and carefully pull out the piece of lace, lifting it high enough for Alfred to see.

"Why I do believe that is a veil," he says slyly.

I nod. Of course I know what it is, but why do I have it? "But why would they give me a veil when I have no dress." Alfred only smirks and I raise an eyebrow and gently place the lacy veil back into the box. "What are you hiding?" I ask, suspicious of the butler.

"Just follow me, Ms. Diana," he says. He playfully snatches the box out of my hand and walks up the stairs, turning once to glance over his shoulder and make sure I am following him, before he continues to lead me down the hall to the bedroom I share with Bruce.

He flashes me one more smirk and opens the door, moving aside so I can step into the room. My eyes focus on the item in front of me and I can't help but gasp, covering my mouth in shock as I stare at the mannequin of a torso placed in the middle of the room. Covering it is the most beautiful dress I've ever seen, however I can't help but feel as if I've seen this before. It's sleek, it's detailed, it's form fitting….it's mine.

"Alfred," I say, still in shock as I let my fingers gently graze the light fabric that makes up the top layer of the dress, the intricate designs woven in between the lace and tulle. The lace sleeves have the same designs woven in and the train that is attached is long enough to have the desired effect, but short enough to be practical. "Where did you get this?"

I turn to face Alfred and flash him a wide smile. He says nothing as he pulls the sketch I had absentmindedly done the night of my failed dress shopping with the girls. "I knew you had something beautiful here, Ms. Diana," he says, "I just wanted you to have your dream dress."

I am at a loss for words. This man has done more for me in the last six months than my own father has my entire life. Before he knows what is happening, my arms are wrapped around him, pulling him in for a tight hug. His body tenses at first but I soon feel him relax and wrap his own arms around my body, hugging me back just as tightly.

"Now, now," he says, "There's no time for tears." He pulls away from me and wipes my cheek with his thumb, where the evidence of my emotions has started to fall, and nods toward the dress. "Let's try it on, shall we?"

I nod, kicking my shoes off and onto the bedroom floor, watching as Alfred steps out of the room to give me privacy. Excited, I discard my work clothes into a neat pile on the floor, pushing them aside with my foot, before I untie the back of the dress. Carefully minding the fabric, I slip the dress off the mannequin, and pull it up and over my body, pulling my arms through the lace sleeves, a smile on my face as more and more pieces fit like perfection.

I turn to face the large mirror beside the bed while my hands run down my sides, smoothing the fabric that has bunched up around my torso, and I wonder how Alfred has made this dress fit like a glove. The dress hugs each of my curves like an old friend and I can't help but smirk when I see the neckline stop just above my bust, which leaves a beautiful visual, but still tastefully leaves some to the imagination. This is definitely the dress I am going to wear on my wedding day, and I can't thank Alfred enough for the amount of work he has put into this, never once stopping to think of how much stress it was going to cause him. Planning this wedding without my mother or sister around hasn't been the easiest, but Alfred has helped much more than I could have ever hoped for.

Taking one last turn I notice the corset in the back still needs tightening, and no matter how long I may think my arms to be, I will not be able to do it myself. "Alfred," I call over my shoulder, "can you help me tie up the back?"

The door slowly opens and Alfred steps in. He stops when he sees me, his eyes doing a once over of the back of the dress before his eyes meet mine through the mirror. I can see there is a smile on his face which means the tears that threaten to fall from his eyes are nothing more than happy tears.

Alfred has known Bruce all his life, and me most of mine. He was the one who would pick the two of us up from grade school when my mother was working late in the office, ensuring my mother he would make sure I completed all assignments before any play time was had. My mother trusted him, he was probably the only man my mother could actually trust, and because of that trust, I came to love him as part of my own family. That love only grew when Bruce and I started dating, where I could confide in this man things I was not able to voice to Bruce. To me, Alfred was more than a butler, more than a man who had taken Bruce in after his parents' deaths- he was family.

I turn to face the English man, my own smile etched on my face as I shake my head, letting him know he needed to save those tears for the actual wedding. "If you cry," I say, trying to clear my voice before it cracks, "then I cry."

Alfred chuckles, pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, and dabs his eyes, before he takes a deep breath. Placing the handkerchief back into his pocket he says, "I wouldn't dare." He steps further into the room and closes the door. He knows Bruce isn't set to come home for another hour but he doesn't want to risk me being seen in the dress. "But you look absolutely radiant, Ms. Diana," he compliments.

I dip my head down, trying to avoid having him see the small blush that colors my cheek, before I shake my head. "It's the dress," I say, "It's beautiful."

He twists his finger, asking me to turn so he can access the corset, and I oblige. He's quick to work on the corset, pulling it taunt as it tightens around my waist, conforming to the shape of my body. When he is done, he takes a step back and admires his work, moves to the front of my body, and fiddles with the neckline. "I'm so glad this came out as well as it did," he says nonchalantly, as if he didn't just create the most beautiful wedding dress I've ever seen from scratch.

"How did you know my size," I ask, turning to look at the back of my dress, which is now completely done, showing just how complex this dress is.

Alfred only smirks. "You forget who helped Master Bruce buy your last birthday gift." I only nod, remembering the beautiful little black dress Bruce had given me for my birthday. He reaches over and plucks the veil from the box laying on the bed and gently places it on my head. "And now for the finishing touch," he says, carefully arranging the lace that compliments the lace in the dress Alfred has made.

I take one last look in the mirror, my heart hammering in my chest as I look at myself. Alfred was right, the veil was the finishing touch that tied up the entire look. I can't wait to wear this on the day Bruce and I marry. "This is the dress," I whisper. "This is the dress I'm going to wear to marry Bruce." Alfred wraps an arm around my shoulders and gives me a gentle squeeze glad to know he did well. "Thank you, Alfred. I don't know how I can repay you for this."

He only shakes his head and says, "Consider this a wedding gift." He takes one last look at the dress, content to know he has done well.

I turn and smile at Alfred one last time, throwing my arms around the man, silently thanking him for everything. This may have been unexpected, and it may have been more stressful to Alfred than he would like to admit, but this dress, this beautiful dress, is better than any dress I could get from a shop. And for that I am truly grateful. Only 5 more months to go.

@fyeahwonderbat

[thedistantdusk]

Close

For Goods, who requested Jealous!Dean. Also available on AO3. Happy pride!

_________________________ Once upon a time, Dean had naively thought being chucked by Ginny Weasley would be the worst thing he’d experience this year. He’d been miserable when it happened, when she’d finally called it quits… but he can’t say he’d been surprised. Ginny had been increasingly distant since Christmas hols and on more than one occasion, she’d started a fight on purpose — much like the one where she’d chucked him. What had surprised Dean, though, was that being chucked actually wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that a few weeks later, she’d moved on. Very publicly. Very excessively. With him.

Because now, HarryandGinny (one word) are lying beneath a tree on a particularly glorious Saturday — a day that Dean finds particularly shitty. He’d shrugged off revising in the common room because he hadn’t wanted to see them; he knows they’re fond of the couch. And the windowsill. And the rug near the fireplace. And the floor. But Dean should have known better: HarryandGinny (one word) haven’t kept their bloody hands off each other in a week. Why would today (of all days) be any different? Why would today give him any modicum of relief? Dean’s empty stomach churns as he glares at their sprawled forms not twenty meters away. His charcoal pencil is gripped in his fist, but the tip has long since shattered on his sketch pad. He’d been drawing the lake, hoping for a glimpse of the squid, hoping for anything, really to take his fucking mind off of things. But for some sick reason, he can’t stop watching the only thing he’d hoped to avoid. He’d heard them arrive about five minutes ago, each utterly oblivious to the peace they’d been disturbing. HarryandGinny (one word) might’ve been saying actual words as they’d relaxed beneath the tree, but Dean isn’t certain. Their dialogue had consisted of a weirdly flirty cadence punctuated with occasional giggles and snorts. They’re quiet now, though, which is almost worse. Ginny’s lying on her back and Harry’s propped on his elbow. One of his hands is brushing her cheek, the other caressing her hip. That’s not the worst part, though. The worst part is the dazed expression on Harry’s face. Or maybe it’s the way his eyes have clouded over. Or the way his lips are curved in a perpetual half-smirk as he gazes at Ginny like he can’t get enough… like he’s trying to savor this, to store it up, to remember everything. Then without coordination, without a single spoken word, they lean towards each other… and just like that, they’re snogging again. Dean groans and clenches the fist not holding the pencil. Didn’t take long, did it? He amends his earlier assumption: Snogging is much worse than silence… much, much worse. Now Harry’s releasing a deep sound somewhere between a moan and a growl as Ginny pulls him closer, as her pale fingers grasp his tie. Harry comes up for air a second later, his chest heaving, his eyes even darker than before, but to Dean’s dismay, Ginny doesn’t seem to need air; it’s like taking a break mid-snog was a necessity unique to their relationship. HarryandGinny (one word) aren’t done, though — and Dean is really starting to doubt they’ll ever be. Harry may not be kissing her, but his hands have wandered. Without breaking eye contact, the fingers caressing her hip are now dipping below her waistband. Then, as if Harry owns her, as if he’s been given permission to do so, the fucking Chosen One pulls the tail of her shirt out, leans in, and starts kissing her again. And his hands don’t stop drifting. Dean seethes as Harry’s fingertips dance over the creamy expanse of her stomach, as Ginny arches into his touch, her head tilted back. He’s not close enough to decipher any sounds she’s making, but Dean can nonetheless infer these aren’t noises she’s ever made with him. All of this would have been bad enough, really... but then Ginny does something that truly takes the biscuit: She wraps her leg around Harry’s waist. While they’re snogging. Horizontally. Dean's eyes narrow in contempt as acid crawls up his throat. They’ve barely been dating a week! When he and Ginny had been dating a week, she’d barely let him hold her hand. When they’d been dating almost a year, she’d flinched when he’d touched her waist — over her clothes. But she has no problem letting Harry’s hands drift up her stomach, does she? No problem pressing herself against him, no problem ignoring the rest of the world and losing herself and— “Mate.” An exasperated voice rips him from Dean from his thoughts — and it’s a voice he’d recognize anywhere. It’s also the voice of a person who’s told him off for doing this more than once; Dean scrambles into a sitting position, trying his hardest to pretend he hasn’t been caught doing exactly this for the past week and a half. He needn’t have bothered pretending, though, because Seamus knows him too well. Dean’s not sure how long he’s been standing there behind him, his hands stuffed in his pockets, a sympathetic look on his face… but he looks rather content back there, so perhaps it’s much longer than Dean’s realized. “Mate,” Seamus repeats, shaking his head. “Why’re you torturing yourself?” Dean heaves a sigh, a vein ticking in his jaw. “She’s a fucking hypocrite,” he snarls, fully aware that he sounds like a petulant child. He still can’t bring himself to answer the question, though. Not yet. His head is still swimming with memories of Ginny’s reluctant glances over her shoulder while they’d snogged, her halfhearted protests of wandering eyes and six brothers, her uncomfortable winces if he’d tried more than a peck in public...   Seamus shuffles his feet, but doesn’t say anything. Dean appreciates that too, even though having his friend around is leaving him rather exposed. It's as if Seamus has lifted a sheet, revealed the man behind the curtain. Dean draws a breath that slithers down his throat, one that settles in his stomach, hollow and cold — and he dazedly wonders how it’s possible that burning ire has masked loneliness, all this time. Seamus clears his throat, drawing Dean’s attention from the writhing couple beneath the tree.   “I know how badly you wanted her,” Seamus soothes, his eyes kind and warm. Then he sighs, his posture stiffening, and Dean knows that look anywhere: Seamus is bracing himself to share an uncomfortable truth. And like it or not, Dean also knows he’s going to listen.  

“But mate,” Seamus starts again, this time with a hint of a plea. “She’s moved on. Maybe it’s best you do, yeah?” A pause stretches between them — but in the span of a few beats, it’s like Dean’s heard a glass wall shattering, like the world has been colorized, like a missing puzzle piece has slid into place. Dean swallows and turns to his friend with a bewildered look… because for the first time, he realizes that Seamus is wrong. He’s not sad because he’d wanted her: He’s sad because he never had her at all. Perhaps Seamus has jarred him into noticing it. Or perhaps it’s been Harry’s wandering hands or his dazed look or Ginny’s inexplicable allowance of each of these. But now, Dean now accepts — with astonishing clarity — that the intimacy he’d shared with Ginny Weasley had been incredibly brief, even if their relationship hadn’t. In between snogging and smiling and general pleasantries, he’d only gotten fleeting flashes of the chinks in her armor. Dean had gotten soft smiles and flattered flushes and wide-eyed looks of surprise and breathy moans caught in her throat… but in retrospect, all of that had been akin to standing just above a volcano, one that can’t choose between activity and slumber. He’d gotten to feel the rumbling beneath his feet and the warmth glowing from the earth as angry red zigzags splintered and cracked across the barren landscape. Like a fool, he’d just assumed she’d eventually crack. Dean had spent a year telling himself that Ginny would let him in and trust him and confide in him; he’d convinced himself that the near-constant earthquakes were a good sign, that the churning lava under the dirt would bubble over and explode. What he hadn’t counted on, though, was that Ginny'd never had any intention of losing control. Not with him. Dean shudders as a mixture of relief and horror washes over him. He’d gotten undeniably close to her light… but she’d never let him share it. He swallows again and stares back at HarryandGinny (one word). They’re both private people — very private people. Ginny’d emphasized moving slowly from their first bumbling days. She’d been cautious. Reticent. Secretive, even. A delirious laugh slips through Dean’s lips; the whole situation is so fucking ridiculous. Ron had interrupted them in an innocent snog — once! —  but Ginny had spent the next six months hiding in dark corners and double-checking her surroundings before agreeing to do it again. Unbelievably, Harry is even worse. This is the boy who’d spent the last six years ruminating in silence over everything from death to neglect. This is the boy who’d made a habit of quietly slipping out of the common room to fight Death Eaters and have midnight duels and go on some of the grandest, most dangerous adventures Hogwarts has seen. And yet, here the two of them are… wrapped in each other, like they’ve never shared darkness, like there’s no difference between where his heart beats and where her soul stops. Dean doesn’t know what to do with that. Really, he doesn’t. Because he doesn’t know what he’d had with Ginny… but they’d never had that. They’d never had finishing sentences and staring into the depths of each other’s eyes and not giving a shite about touching in public. Dean’s never been that close with someone... never found himself lost in someone who’d filled in all the gaps, all the time. Well, except for Seamus. Of course. He turns his head to look back at his mate. Seamus is peering at him warily, attempting to asses if he’s hurt his feelings. But he hasn’t… because he’s Seamus. Dean replies with an affable shrug (Nah, mate, you’re probably right) and Seamus shoots him a relieved grin (Good, you needed to hear it), his white teeth glinting against the sun. Seamus hadn’t made the quidditch team, but Dean doesn’t know why. He’s certainly built like a beater; he’s stocky and muscular, he’s lean and agile. The veins on his muscular forearms move in fascinating ways when he’s angry, when his cheeks are rosy and flooded with rage. Dean loves that quality about Seamus: He understands righteous indignation… and he’ll fight anyone for him. Dean also loves when he slips into bouts of Gaelic, his brow furrowed as he fires off unintelligible curses about someone’s mother. Dean sighs and sets his sketch pad down. Contrary to popular belief, he’s not an idiot. He may have been slower on the uptake with the Ginny situation, but with Seamus— Dean bites his lip. Seamus is crossing his arms and staring at HarryandGinny (one word) in sympathetic disapproval — but now Dean realizes that he’s been playing it up this whole time. Seamus doesn’t particularly care that they’re snogging everywhere: He cares that Dean cares. Dean rips his head away, a gentle smile on his lips. Now more than ever, it’s pretty clear there’s been something there. For quite a long time. It’s something Dean really doesn’t want to label, something that scares him to admit, but now that he’s thinking about it — now that he’s thinking about him — his stomach floods with warm reassurance, like he’s swallowed a mouthful of butterbeer. It’s only now, though, that this butterbeer also gives him butterflies. And to be honest, Dean’s not sure what to do with that, either. Luckily Seamus seems to have his wits about him. He gestures towards the castle, and Dean rises to his feet. He brushes off his trousers and picks up his sketch pad, but this time, his eyes don’t go anywhere near HarryandGinny (one word). Instead, he and Seamus head inside, just as they always do — but this time, Dean finds familiarity in the routine. Their arms swing at their sides, but never touch. They flash each other wry smiles and raise their eyebrows and whisper things only meant for the other to hear. They talk about Dean’s dad and Seamus’ mum and lament that they’ve still got so much school left. They reach the entrance hall and Dean pauses, staring at his best friend. For the first time, he’s pleased that he and Ginny have broken up. He’s somehow glad, even, that HarryandGinny (one word) are together... because they’ve shown him the difference. They’ve illuminated the contrast. They’ve proven what’s in the past, given him a reference point for the future.   Seamus turns to him with a soft smile, his sandy hair tousled in the breeze. Dean doesn’t know what intimacy is, really… but he knows, without a doubt, that he shares it with him.

[demaisepouco]

I remember you when I look at the rain - Part 2

Pairings: Kara Danvers x Lena Luthor

Word count: 1218

AO3

Part 1

Rain stained the balcony glass of Lena Luthor's large office the first time Kara's work had crossed the path of LuthorCorp's newest technology headquarters. She tried to find something through it to distract herself from her loneliness in that white-walled with not much happier furniture and found herself once again that week watching the heavy blanket of dark clouds conceal the skies of National City.  

Her fingers tightened on the new book in an attempt to calm her nervousness. A reminder of why Cat Grant was known to be cruel to her employees. The media queen had offered Kara's assistance to her grumpy fellow Snapper who in turn had tasked her with accompanying the new junior reporter almost as unpleasantly as him, Mike Matthews. What Kara just couldn't figure out was why a job that required as much professionalism as interviewing Lena Luthor had been assigned to this inexperienced man,  still consumed by the same behavior that Kara would say to be of a reckless frat boy. Not even on time Mike could be there. Kara held back her complaints for a moment, wondering if this had all been combined to take the form of Cat's personal retaliation. From her boss it was not expected anything less elaborate.

She watched the next few minutes crawl ahead of her, while her only company was still the nervousness of meeting National City's newest personality. The thought that Lena Luthor herself was also late, was unnerving, since if she arrived at any moment she would come across the fact that her interviewer would be even later and all of this would fall once again on Kara's shoulders.

“I have to apologize for my delay”, Kara's feet seemed to be stitched to the floor as that familiar voice reached her ears, not moving an inch until the owner reached the spot in front of her, distracted by the tablet in her hands. “I had no idea that something so simple would hol-” The green eyes finally raised to Kara's face. She could see her own surprise reflected on Lena's parted lips at the sudden disappearance of her words. “You”, Lena said then with a smile that made Kara sure she wouldn't be able to form any words. "You know, Mike isn't exactly a name I'd associate with your face."

Kara opened her mouth hoping she could make an answer, but all she got was a short and embarrassed laugh, as if the blush creeping up her neck was no longer enough. Lena raised one eyebrow in a gesture the blonde had already witnessed, the necessary measure in order for Kara to make her attempt to stop embarrassing herself harder. 

“I'm not Mike. Actually, I'm Kara Danvers, also from CatCo”, she pushed her glasses up her nose and looked down at the floor to erase the evidence of her foolishness. "Mike had an, huh, he had some problems. I hope it's not a problem if I get on with the interview", the messy sketch of questions in her block of notes that she had helped Mike formulate seemed to weigh tons. Kara just hoped not to be fired for making that bold decision. Mike being irresponsible was not her fault, however, and Lena Luthor was a very busy woman.

"Of course it won't be, as long as we follow the same line I was previously informed of," Lena folded her arms and leaned against the table behind her.

The thought of how she looked different in that black pencil skirt and crimson blouse suddenly hit Kara like a runaway train, especially how beautiful Lena was. Even if Kara had concluded that other day that the worn sweatshirt and jeans was not a choice that underestimated her breathtaking beauty. Maybe Lena was one of those people who might look good even in a trash bag.

“Of course, Miss Luthor.” 

“So I can conclude that there is nothing else in our way but all this formality. Please call me Lena”, LuthorCorp's new CEO smiled again and circled around her white table to sit in her comfortable-looking chair. “Please take your sit, Miss Danvers.”

“If I call you Lena, I think it's fair that you call me Kara.”

“Kara it is”, Lena tested the word, filling in the name of the woman in front of her with her slight accent that the blonde suspected was British. Kara thought her name could never have sounded prettier.

"So, Miss Lu… Lena, what do yo-"

A panting man walked through the dark wood doors before Kara could finish her first question. "I'm sorry for the delay, but you should know what traffic can be like and even on a day like this", he advanced to the chair next to Kara, sitting without waiting for the invitation, and extended his hand to receive Lena's firm grip. "I'm Mike Matthews from CatCo, but I think Kara already said that."

Kara wasn't amused watching Mike invade her space in the interview as he asked the questions and Lena answered. At least Kara was still able to realize that Lena had taken a different stance with her colleague. More professional and less smiling, she threw sharp answers to questions Kara didn't recognize from her draft, that she could be sure it came completely from Mike's mind, by the slightly accusing and disrespectful tone.

"I think that's all", Mike finally said after his shallow interrogation session. "Thank you, Miss Luthor", He got out of his chair and left the room quickly, not even caring about his colleague.

Still sitting Kara watched Lena raise her eyebrows in an expression twisted by the man's rough exit.

“Sorry about Mike, he's new at this."

"It's okay, nothing I'm not used to", Lena smiled, wiping away the evidence of her annoyance that remained in her expression and Kara had to strain to pay attention to what was being said. "So can I hope to see your name on the byline too?"

"Oh, hum, actually no", Kara pushed her glasses up her nose, looking away from Lena's eyes. "I'm not a reporter. Cat Grant's assistant… Well, Snapper Carr now, and in charge of accompanying Mike, for now. ”

"You could fooled me", Lena finally said, very different from what Kara had expected, and pursed her lips in a new smile, drawing the blonde's blue eyes back to her. “I hope this isn't the last time we talk."

"Me too", Kara smiled too, unable to break the steady eye contact that lasted a few more moments, out of the ordinary of anyone else occupying this place. "I should go. Thank you, Lena. I'm sorry if I took longer than I should." Kara got out of her chair and extended her hand to Lena.

"It wasn't a bother."

"Have a good day", Kara saw the red lips open in some kind of protest as thunder reached her ears. "I didn't forget today", she said taking a flowered umbrella from her purse.

"You know, I can lend you my driver," Lena bit her lip and Kara almost fumbled with her feet. "It's free for cute girls."

"I-I like the rain!" Kara hurried out the doors to hide her embarrassment, but not to the point where she couldn't hear a melodic laugh from where she had just left. 

Lena Luthor would be her death.

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Your brand part 2

Genre: Tattoo Artist AU, smut, romance

Pairing: Tattoo artist!Taehyung x Reader

Warning: No warnings apply

Summary: ''Let me ink your ink your skin like you've inked your brand on my heart.''

For Ana, my partner in crime and source of inspiration.

What should have been a simple outing to get a tattoo at the most well-known tattoo shop in town, Ink Borough, results in being engraved by the biggest name in the world of ink and boss of the parlour, Kim Taehyung. However, getting a tattoo can entail a whole lot more than one might think.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Masterlist

Thoughts are briefly distracted from the painful prospect through the refreshing breeze and straying drops of fountain water that are refreshingly spraying the bare skin of my arms, one of which shall soon have a memory engraved into it by an artist with, suspected, hidden motives.

Although, it is clear he wants to have a drink together, albeit it on the job. Normally, one would not even consider doing such a thing, but something about Taehyung makes me do the opposite of what is seen as common sense. The two cups filled with bright red strawberry smoothies next to me obviously the evidence of that.

There are still ten minutes to go before the hour has passed, but if I simply sit here and do nothing more doubtful thoughts may slip in, causing me to contradict my own words in the end. I refuse to let that happen, partially because I do not want to grant the artist the knowledge of being right after all.

I stand up from the white marble bench, pick up the cardboard holder with the beverages, and head back to Ink Borough through the streets filled with tourists and locals who enjoy the warm weather. 

However, whereas they let themselves be warmed by the sun, I am doing quite a pretty good job doing so myself by unintentionally feeding a probably unnecessary fear.

Taehyung has not budged an inch since I left, sitting barefoot and cross-legged on the leather sofa in the exact spot, lost in sketching. Next to him lays a heap of papers torn from his purple notebook in the meanwhile, the finished options for the tattoo. His latest work joins the rest when I put the smoothies on the glass coffee table in front of the couch.

'You're early,' he remarks with a hint of humour. 'Don't tell me you're now actually looking forward to the needle.'

'Ha ha, very funny,' I retort sarcastically. 'I brought something to drink.'

'Strawberry smoothies.' His deep voice turns thoughtful when he glances at the refreshments. 'My family has a strawberry farm down south.'

'Really?' When you take a look at him, take in the predictions on his skin, the least you would expect is for him to be a farmer's boy.

'Yeah, can't say that I have tasted one in any sort of variety for a long time though.' A hint of a past trouble glazes over his eyes. 'Huh, funny.'

'Is there a reason for that?'

'Wouldn't you like to know, detective.' And we are back to the snark. 'Anyhow,' he gestures to the various drawings of phoenixes, 'see if you find any of them to your liking.'

Drink in hand, I place the pile on my lap. Page after page is filled with a sophisticated design of the mystical creature ascending from either a pile of ashes or the residue dancing around them. Some do not have the dust of its former body included, merely the impression it flies upwards.

After going through the stack, I find the perfect design. With a smile, I turn to him, once more almost bumping my head against his. The grin instantly transforms into a snarl. 'Do you have to be so close? It's uncomfortable.'

He feigns offence. 'I am only observing your reaction, Y/N. Nothing unseemly.'

'Sure.' Now it is my turn to be sarcastic.

'Funny and knows how to use sarcasm. Y/N, I may just start to like you.'

'Nothing unseemly,' I remind him.

'Would that angry face change if I did?' He leans back, lip caught between his teeth, expression smug.

An effort to offer a reply that fails, an averted gaze focused on the chosen symbol, a brief hush in which the heat is very tangible though it is uncertain whether it is due to summer or wild thoughts.

'Although, I do quite enjoy your current expression.' He takes a sip of the smoothie. 'You should drink as well before you pass out on the chair as I am doing the outline. That is if the cotton dabbed with alcohol already won't do the trick.'

'You find it really amusing, don't you, teasing me so much because this is my first time.' Gaze turned fierce and courage regathered, I snap my head up to look Taehyung in the eye.

'Calm down, Y/N. I'm just doing it because I like you and want you to feel more at ease about this big commitment.' He holds his big hands up as if I am holding a gun, ready to shoot him. Which, in some way, I am, completely fed up with his sass. Yet, hearing him say he likes me in that manner makes me think he does not simply say it to every customer, be it newbies or more experienced persons.

'Don't say that, you say that to everyone.'

'Y/N, I don't-'

A careful smile. 'Taehyung,' his eyes widen when he hears me say his name so kind-heartedly. 'Or better said: "person who handles the decorating tools",' I correct myself, the humour back in my voice, 'can we get started before I seriously run away?'

A square smile, a playful glint in dark eyes. 'I can bind you to the chair if you want.'

'Didn't know you're into bondage.' The remark has passed my lips before I even realize what I said. The rise in temperature is now certainly due to inappropriate imaginations.

Heartfelt deep laughter nuances the meaning one may find in the comment. 'I'm not, though I can't say I ever tried it,' he adds casually. This man is bad news when you try to preserve your sanity, but it is already too late in my case, the realization has dawned too late. 'However, there is one question I need to ask before we begin.'

'Which is?'

'Colour or classic black and white?'

'Colour. Life isn't black and white, so why would the piece of it I carry with me be?'

'You sound like a friend of mine, he's also a bit of a philosopher. But it'll take longer, just so you know.'

'I would almost believe you want me out of the place as soon as possible.' I give him a challenging glance, awaiting his response as I take a sip of the strawberry beverage.

'And lose my favourite target?' He shakes his head, locks of his hair sway with the movement and tempt me to run my hand through them. Fortunately, I am able to will them to keep holding on to the plastic cup between my fingers. 'Shall we get started?'

'Yeah, good idea,' I agree lest the conversation takes a turn for the worst. However, a voice deep inside says it would not mind if it did.

The alcohol soaked cotton feels chilly upon my skin as Taehyung cleans it, the gloved slender fingers of his left hand lightly supporting my right underarm. Afterwards, he removes any hairs, both visible and invisible, with swift movements of a disposable razor. Maybe it is part of the standard procedure, maybe it is not, but he lets his fingertips languidly glide over the prepared skin, almost in what can be called an appreciative manner. If that is indeed the case, it is not minded at all and in fact let it cost me all my might to prevent the goosebumps from rising, thus betraying what he does to me. It becomes even more difficult to do so when he places the stencil on my forearm and wets it to transfer the design in its entirety. The pressure of his digits reminds me of his grip on my wrist and the sensations that caused.

'You're awfully quiet,' he comments as he peels the soaked wet paper away. His eyes meet mine, wondering what has suddenly silenced me.

'Just watching you work is fascinating.' To add a flair of faked nonchalance, I shrug.

'And I haven't even begun in earnest,' he chuckles.

I bite my lip, initially placing the reply in a context which absolutely does not apply at the moment, and cast my gaze downwards at the outline of the phoenix. 'Sorry if it makes you feel awkward.'

'It's fine, Y/N. If anything, I-' A pause followed by a strangely confident answer. 'I like your eyes on me.'

Abruptly we lock gazes. 'What?' I ask.

'What?' he repeats the enquiry.

'Anyhow,' a scrape of the throat, 'do you like the placement?' He nods at the outline. 'Take a look in the mirror, see the overall picture.'

I get up and walk to the tall mirror opposite the chair matching the fake leather sofa to admire the soon permanent piece of art. In the reflection I can see Taehyung preparing the equipment, filling cups with ink and one with clear water. For a second his gaze strays from the tattoo machine to my backside and takes in my figure, every curve revealed by the lack of coverage summer clothes cause. The instant he notices I am on to him, he shifts his focus back to the original task. He takes a sip of the smoothie, hoping it will help, but nevertheless seems to have a bit of trouble.

'You like it?' Unconsciously, Taehyung runs a hand through his hair, his stare slightly arrogant due to the pride he has in his work. Yet, the ring in his deep voice can also easily be placed in another context. A context that resonates a pleasant stir within me.

'Love it,' I reply, corners of my mouth curled up into a small smile to hide what he does to me.

'You didn't pick the most painless of spots, so this may hurt throughout the entire time,' he informs when I sit down again.

I pick up the smoothie cup I placed beside the seat and take the last sip of courage, after which I return the empty version of it to its spot on the brown linoleum floor. 'I guess it's time to be brave then.'

In spite of the ointment to smoothen the skin, it is as he said. The needle penetrating and marking me with ink feels as if the fires of Hell are burning in my veins, searing the pure skin away to leave black lines behind.

It is agony at its finest, but also forms an unexpected source of pleasure. Somehow, in a wicked sense, it is as effective as a drug to have Taehyung engrave me with his brand. The careful yet tight hold his fingers have on my arm, gradually climbing up, and his concentrated dark eyes on me feed the frenzy. Especially each time he glances upwards from the tattoo to check how I am doing, the corners of his mouth curled up into the sliver of a satisfied grin when he sees how desperately I am trying to stay strong.

'Just tell me when you need a break. Don't want to make you cry,' he comments shortly when we have passed the halfway mark, briefly interrupting the process.

'As if you could.' Sarcasm has slipped in to hide the stinging yet bearable hurt, but he must be aware of my true feelings since he likely has experience with newbies that play it cool. Or try to do so, anyway.

'I wouldn't. Even if I did, I'd try my best to comfort you.' A rose-coloured flush tints his cheeks. Rapidly his stare shifts from me to the machine next to him.

Absolutely baffled I look at the snarky guy turned marshmallow. 'Did you just- are you flirting with me?'

'Guess you'd know if I do, right? You're a grown woman. Surely you recognize it when a guy is falling for you.' Feigned arrogance betrays his true thoughts.

'Are you?' I ask to test the water.

'Who knows? Maybe I do, maybe I don't.'

'You said you like me.'

'Let's just crack on, okay?' The return of the whirring and sensation of the needle interrupt the conversation and he is concentrated on the tangible part of his world of ink.

The pleased grin soon changes into something indescribable as we progress into the colouring stage, when the tears begin to form in the corners of my eyes and soft moans caused by conflicting emotions begin to spill from my lips every now and then, despite the endeavours to hold them in. It is desire and pain combined, a toxic potion I can drink any day. At least inhale its scent, as I do now. No longer able to mask it.

He changes as well the more the phoenix appears on my skin. Charisma fades, vague sonorously mumbled words meant to not be heard mingle with my utterances whenever they escape, a lush lip is caught between bright white teeth more often, awkward movements on the stool to hide a growing desire that hopefully will remain unnoticed but does not as it grabs my attention more than once, making the want for him greater. The tight grip relaxes, fingers undeniably wanting to stray but instead worshipping the piece of me they currently have within reach.

Moreover, Taehyung smells it too, without a doubt, but nevertheless tries to finish what we started. Focus weakens, dark glossy eyes trailing to the source of the new scent of a twisted nature until he remembers what he is doing and has priority.

After going on like this for another hour and a half, neither of us saying a word, the silence filled with images of his gaze regarding me in other ways than only this one and him occasionally uttering curses or barely audible groans of the word "baby" falls from his lips, the tattoo is finally completed. The gorgeous phoenix is bigger than intended and covers my forearm as it rises in a storm of scarlet red tinted with hints of gold and amber, ascending into the pastel sky, black ash falling from its wings and tail.

A deep sigh that contains a hidden impatience. 'Go have a look up close.' He nods to the white wall opposite us.

I walk to the mirror on the other side of the space to regard the tattoo, this new piece of me, and the overall renewed tougher image it creates. The only signs of vulnerability are the tears which are still present.

Fingers that are not my own rest on the underside of my arm, a big hand on my hip, a broad chest forms a wall to lean against, a hard heat source touches my behind, a husky deep voice speaks.

'What do you think?' Taehyung's gaze locks with mine in our reflection and although the question is meant to estimate my opinion on this symbol behind which hides a story, the tone he uses is out of place and his eyes look at me in anticipation.

'It's beautiful.' Gently I let my digits caress the reddened sensitive skin, secretly enjoying the last bit of remaining pain.

He bends forward to whisper in my ear, his warm breath making it seem as if the room temperature rises a few degrees. 'Just like you.'

'Taehyung-' His hands trail slowly up and slip underneath the fabric of my top, digits tracing a path to the edge of the black bralet that is concealed underneath it. A grunt falls from his lips when he rolls his hips and I meet the action by leaning into him.

'Can we go to the back office? The bandaging supplies are there.' An absolute ridiculous argument since I spy the needed tools for the treatment on the counter behind the chair, but chose to say nothing of it. Instead, I simply nod and follow him.

The tiger caught its prey, the phoenix all too willing to let it lead her to a new death.

[neighbourart]

GYURICZA GERGELY - festő/painter

Gyerekként a somlószőlősi Zichy-kastély harangtornyában Batman jelmezben vigyázta a környéket, legkedvesebb tárgya Anyukájának gyűrűje, amit nyakláncként hord, a művészet számára terápiás eszköz, nem volt még alkotói válsága.

As a child he was looking over the lands from the bell tower of the Zichy castle at Somlószőlős in a Batman costume, his most precious object is his mother’s ring, which he wears as a necklace, art for him is a therapy tool, he never had an artistic crisis before.

Gergő asztala/Gergő’s table.

Milyen típusú emlékek inspirálnak jobban: a jók vagy a rosszak?/What kind of memories inspire you the most: good or bad ones? Amit tudni kell rólam, hogy pszichológus vagyok, és 2009-ben elvesztettem édesanyámat mellrákban. Ekkor fordultam, terápiás célból a művészet pszichológia felé, és innen a képzőművészeti indíttatásom. Alapvetően a művészetben terápiás eszközt, a tudatalattim  megnyilvánulását, szublimációját látom.

You have to know that I am a psychologist and I have lost my mother in 2009 to breast cancer. This is when I turned towards art psychology and this is where my artistic orientation is coming from. I see art as a therapy tool, as the projection of the subconscious, sublimation.

Hogyan lendülsz túl az időszakos alkotói válságon?/How do you overcome a temporary artistic crisis? 2009 óta alkotok, 300 festménynél és körülbelül 500 grafikánál, 100 graffitinél járok. Nem volt még ilyen.

I am creating since 2009. I have made 300 paintings, approximately 500 graphics and a 100 graffitis. I have never had an artistic crisis.

Kinek mutatod meg először az új munkádat?/Who sees your work first? Nyilvánossá teszem az interneten. Az internet egy praktikus, őszinte és esetenként elég kegyetlen feedback forrás, de mindenképpen reális.

I am publishing them online. The internet is a practical, honest and sometimes cruel feedback source, but it is real nonetheless.

Mi a legkedvesebb gyerekkori emléked?/What is your favorite childhood memory? A nagymamám nevelt fel, aki Somlószőlősön lakott a Zichy-kastélyban. Hogy hogy került ide, az egy picit hosszabb történet, de a gyerekkoromat nagyrészt kincskereséssel és a szellemektől való meneküléssel töltöttem. Kedvenc DC hősöm a Batman volt, hát Nagymamó varrt is nekem egy denevérember jelmezt. Abban ültem a harangtoronyban és néztem, hol vannak a bűnözők. Amikor elmeséltem neki, hogy azért vagyok szomorú, mert egyedül kell küzdenem, varrt egy ugyanolyan jelmezt a plüss kutyámnak is. Onnantól kezdve ketten vigyáztunk mindenkire.

My grandmother took care of me and she lived in Somlószőlős at the Zichy castle. The story of her ending up in the castle is a long one, but I have spent most of my childhood with searching for treasures and running away from ghosts. My favorite DC hero was Batman, so my Grandma sewed me a bat costume. I was sitting in my costume in the bell tower looking out for criminals. When I told her I am sad that I have to fight alone she made an identical costume for my plush dog as well. From that point on it was the two of us watching over everything.

Mit érzel, amikor egy másik művész a tiédhez hasonló munkát készít?/What do you feel when a fellow artist creates something similar to your work? Rá akarom venni hogy kollaboráljunk. Sokat dolgozok fotósokkal, stylistokkal, grafitisikkel. Engem ez inspirál. Van bennem egy szakmai hiúság, ami szerintem az innováció egyik katalizátora.

I try to talk them into collaborating with me. I am working a lot with photographers, stylists, graffiti artists. This inspires me. I have a professional vanity which I think is one of the catalysts for innovation.

Mit szeretnél, hogy miről emlékezzenek majd rád?/What would you like to be remembered by? Társadalmi felelősségvállalás a művészet által. Idén volt például volt egy kiállításom a Barabás Villában, amely bevételének teljes egészét a Greenpeace Magyarországnak utaltam el, így támogatva civilként a civil szervezeteket.

Social responsibility through art. This year I had an exhibition the Barabás Villa and I gave all of the profit to Greenpeace Hungary so I can support the organization as a civilian.

Van olyan gyerekes szokásod, amit akkor csinálsz, amikor senki nem figyel?/Do you have any childish habits that you do when no one is watching? Képregényeket olvasok, rajzfilmeket nézek és videojátékokat játszom. Történelmileg a pop artnak négy fundamentuma volt: filmek, reklámok, márkák és képregények. Ez mostanság kiegészült a videojátékokkal,mint új médiumok. Ebben keresek inspirációt. Ez egy olyan közös nevező, ami mindenkit összeköt a világon, és én pontosan ugyanazt a kólát iszom, mint a gyerekek Manilában, vagy mint az Egyesült Államok elnöke.

I read comic books, I watch cartoons and I am playing video games. Historically speaking the pop-art had 4 pillars: films, advertisements, brands and comic books. This is now supplemented with video games as new additional media. I am searching for inspiration in them.  This is such a common ground that connects all of us in the world and I am drinking the same exact coke as the children in Manila or the president of the United States.

Mi volt a legnagyobb őrültség, amit eddig csináltál?/What was the craziest thing you have ever done? Nem tudnék erre úgy válaszolni, hogy az ne számítson bűncselekmények, tehát kihagyom, ha megengeded.

I cannot answer this question without that being a criminal confession so if you don’t mind I won’t answer this one.

Van-e napi rutinod?/Do you have a daily routine?  Projekt menedzserként dolgozom egy multinacionális vállalatnál, hogy meglegyen a teljes anyagi függetlenségem az alkotáshoz. Ez azért fontos, mert van két egymást kölcsönösen kizáró koncepció: kreativitás és a befektetői elvárás. Mivel egy befektető (gyűjtő, galéria, megrendelő, cég) saját elképzeléseit szeretné megjeleníteni a végterméken, nem valósul meg a művészi autonómia. A napi rutinom a következő: 9-12-ig dolgozom, ebédidőben sportolok, 13-18-ig dolgozom, 19 órától pedig a műtermemben alkotok.

I work as a project manager at a multinational company so I can have a full financial independence to create. This is important to mention because these are two mutually exclusive conceptions: artistic integrity and investor expectation. An investor (gallery, collector, customer, company) wants to see their own ideas on the end result, so artistic autonomy is eroded,  My daily routine is the following: I work from 9 a.m. to 12 p.m. I do sports at lunchtime then I work from 1 p.m. to 6 p.m. and from 7 p.m. I am in my studio.

Kedvenc tárgyad?/Favorite object? Anyám gyűrűje, amit nyakláncként hordok.

My mother’s ring that I wear as a necklace.

Hogyan fogsz neki egy új munkának?/How do you get started on a new project? A tervezési fázist (ami vázlatolást jelent) egy pár hónapos inkubációs időszak követi, majd a projekt kivitelezése (ami változó, attól függően, hogy festmény, videó vagy street art meló készül).

The planning phase (which means sketching) is followed by a few month incubation period (online research) and then comes the execution ( which differs according to whether it’s a painting, video or street-art).

Mit szeretnél kifejezni az alkotásaidon keresztül?/What would you like to express through your artwork? Az alkotásaim során az egyéni traumafeldolgozás a célom. A művészet a belső drámára figyel, és érzéseket dolgoz fel, jelenít meg konstruktív formában. Az itt megjelenő desztillált tartalmak rezonálnak azokkal, akik hasonló dolgokon mentek keresztül. Ilyen értelemben, és erre most jöttem rá, kapcsolatot szeretnék építeni hasonló emberekkel. Ha van akár egy ember is, aki ezen interjú alapján megismeri a munkáimat és engem, már nyertem.

The goal of my art is to individually process trauma, to understand the inner needs of people. To deal with the inner drama of the individual, to address specific feelings and articulate it, speak to it con-structively. The distillated contents that appear here resonate with the ones who have gone through similar things. This way and I have only just realized this now, want to contact with similar people. If there is at least one person who after reading this interview will get to know me and my work, I have already won.

Milyen a stílusod?/What is your style like? Kortárs pop art (neo pop). Ez az irányzat a 60-as években indult Angliából, majd később a USA-ban terjedt el. A munkamódszerem: akril polimer emulzióban oldott pigmentet manipulálok egy vászon hordozófelületén ecset segítségével, hogy kialakítsak egy kétdimenziós, kreatív és affektív jellegű vizualitást.

Modern pop art (neo-pop). This trend started in the 60’s in England then later spread all around the US. My working method: I use paintbrushes to manipulate pigments dissolved in an acrylic polymer emulsion on a canvas surface to create a two dimensional, creative and affective  visuals.

Mi a legrosszabb tulajdonságod?/What is your worst characteristic? Agresszív vagyok. Kényszeresen ráfeszülök projektekre és addig nem nyugszom meg, amíg az meg nem valósul. Ez nem nekem rossz, hanem annak, akivel dolgozom.

I am aggressive. I am compulsively clinging to projects and I cannot calm down until it is not finished. This is not bad for me but rather for the ones I am working with.

Melyik korban élnél szívesen?/In which era would you prefer to live in? 1960-as évek, Los Angeles, California. Meghonosítanám a pop artot, és döbbenetesen gazdag lennék. A négyléptékű női portréimban olyan típusú modelleket mutatok be, akik ezt az érát idézik.

1960’s Los Angeles, California. I would introduce pop art and would be incredibly rich. In my female portraits, I am showing models who are echoing this era.

Ha egyetlen tanácsot kellene adni más, esetleg még kezdő tehetségeknek, mi lenne az?/If you could give one piece of advice to someone else, maybe to a beginner talent, what would it be? Nézd, őszintén kell élned, halnod. És azt garantálom, hogy ez egy nap véget ért. Leélhetsz jól, rosszul 50-60-80 évet egy testben épen és szépen, de ez nem tart örökké, előbb vagy utóbb kopogtatni fog az univerzum, a jó isten, az örökkévalóság. És amikor ő lesz a küszöbödön, egy kérdést fog csak feltenni: hogyan élted az életedet? El kell számolnod azzal, hogy mi vagy te. Egy halom kétség, vagy szorongás? Vagy olyan ember, aki elfogadta az örökkévalóság meghívását és hagyatékot épített és rajta hagyta a kezének a lenyomatát az égen, hogy azok akik utánad jönnek, követni tudjanak...

You have to live and die honestly. And I guarantee you this will end. You can live for the good or for the worse 50-60-80ish years but sooner or later you will hear a knock on your door. Be that the universe, god or eternity. And when eternity is at the door, there is only one question left to answer. ‘How did you live your life?’ ‘Who are you?’ Are you a cluster of anxties on the neuroticism coordinate scale? Or are you a person who left his handprints on the sky, so others, later, may follow...

-------------------------------------------- NÉVJEGY - Gyuricza Gergely:

"Gyuricza vagyok. Kortárs, budapesti pop-art festő. A misszióm az, hogy kreatív és affektív jellegű műtárgyakat hozzak létre, és védjem a pop art műfajt. Közelíteni kívánom a művészet-befogadó kapcsolatot, kiállítások és online iniciatívák révén."

"I am Gyuricza. Modern pop-art painter from Budapest. My mission is to create creative and affective-like art objects and to protect the pop art genre. I would like to have a closer relationship with the art-recipients through exhibitions and initiatives."

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// GERGŐ MUNKÁI ITT TEKINTHETŐK MEG/CHECK OUT GERGŐ’S WORKS HERE: Official website Facebook YouTube

[sorayahigashikata]

Chapter 39: "You're welcome?"

[legendarycrusadestudentuniv-blog]

Ali At The Doctor

For the past couple of months I've been wearing the Garmin vívofit and also the Garmin vívofit 2. To point out that I am right now addicted to this everyday data is possibly an understatement. I can sketch out a 1 to 2 mile loop that will have me passing by my house for urgent quits, which operated properly. I began to administer a bunch of things I profited from smoking to running featuring simply concentrate on one habit at once so I merely performed managing upcoming. I think the biggest issue is that physicians are actually CERTAINLY NOT utilized to accommodate energetic pregnant women. But I knew that Scott Dunlap was actually arriving and also indeed, he was the initial one to wish me a great special day run. Results from differing amounts of pronation on the mediolateral ground reaction forces throughout without shoes versus shod operating. Tom's interest for route jogging and also specialized running retail adventure shine through with all of his highly technological reviews, which do array outside minimalist shoes. Our team presumed we had actually located the sub-2 hour corral, but this turns out we resided in wave 3 instead of wave 2, thus pressed our method up to the face from the group as high as our experts could. I am actually heading to operate my very first one-half marathon this year in oct and also you really encourage me. Best of luck for your initial marathon, I recognize you will certainly be fantastic. In Chi Running as well as Chi Strolling our company inquire you to rest your whole reduced leg and NOT shove off with your toes. I never presumed as much of you as this Saturday, these many hrs that you invested after our company had finish our operate. Create sure you touch bottom with your operating technicians when that is opportunity to return to running. We were 6 coming from our QuickSilver Ultra Operating Team today, with a strong representation at Radiation Miller 50K and 50-mile the same time in South The golden state. I've checked out a married couple groups and discovered that a lot of individuals are managing substantially a lot faster speeds in comparison to me. I hate the concept of slowing any person down, therefore I operate solo. I have actually finally gotten to an area in my running where I am actually prepared and famished to drive the limits, obtain faster, and find just what I may actually do. I've been curious about trains for some time now (as a previous crew sportsmen). Instead of consign the swimming pool to the harmed, Terranova and also others are using pool going to add a measurement valuable to his instruction. Regarding Blog site - Having the Long Method House is actually a blog site concerning managing and instruction and also driving beyond your limitations. I suggest, I couldn't make this stuff up. This was a favorite and also run, which normally definitely would not be actually very funny, but it failed to happen in the regular sense: typically the wrongdoer does the attacking and the running; within this scenario, a lady attacked me with her automobile yet I was the one which ran! The managing neighborhood is positively such an impressive point to be a portion of. http://izekegeszsegugyi.info/onycosolve-hogy-mukodik-hol-kaphato-velemenyek-az-forum/ am actually therefore appreciative to have discovered your blog post! Anyway, just because I'm a loss who has dropped the capability to manage quicker compared to I can easily walk, does not indicate everybody else is consequently, if you are actually teaching for an endurance as well as wants to gain some things to help you sustain before, throughout and also after instruction as well as the competition itself, at that point I have actually received merely the free offer for you. You are actually obstructing your toenails versus the footwear hundreds or also many thousands of times each operate when you assume concerning it. But I was definitely struggling on the roadway component where you are actually operating downhill as well as the smoother component of the declination in the desire woods where you can open up. That is actually when I was like, I'm going actually slow. Approach Training: Learn the Chi Jogging strategy as well as method particular Type Pays attention to every run. I was close behind, leaving edge Jonathan Gunderson, Jesse as well as Paul, but, after half a kilometer, I made a decision to withdraw a little realizing all the uphills our company possessed in advance of our team. I also received chicked in this very first mile and also that wasn't also some of the three female faves (Joelle Vaught, Darcy Piceu and also my generation resilience style, Meghan Arbogast that, at 54, still place total the majority of the moment!). I had organized to manage today yet when I rose, my lower legs were actually still hurting off last week's operate (although I do not assume they can still be actually hurting coming from last week's run; that should be off something else. I carried suggestion when I began operating what does it cost? I would certainly develop to enjoy that as well as what does it cost? this will change me as a person. Clothing put on in the health and fitness center need to be lighter than the ones utilized for managing or even jogging. Concerning Weblog - Laura Water fountain is a UK Sports Train in Running Physical fitness as well as Amount 3 Individual Coach. Kermit shocked http://izekegeszsegugyi.info through introducing that he accepted that Vincent steps him for his Badwater manage this summer months. I normally have one right before a race and after that every 5-6 miles (relying on exactly how I feel/how quickly I am actually managing). I enrolled in my 1st one doubtful - not sure I will manage to manage that much, operate swiftly sufficient, stay healthy and even if I did, I was not sure I would certainly as if. When it's as well nasty out to run ... and right now that I reside in California that variety are going to possibly be no, I directly manage inside maybe 4-5 times a year. I understood I possessed a very tiny window of possibility before Rich Hanna offered that a try out as well as, absolutely enough, Rich lowered the document off 3:19:33 to 3:17:48 at Jed Smith, as well as I was actually 2 moments responsible for ... Rich is so much quicker in any case, that produced complete sense, he deserved the file. Therefore listed here I am actually practically 2 months eventually, informing you why my instruction has substantially modified.

[neighbourart]

SZAKOS DÁNIEL - grafikus/graphic designer

Egyre csak gyűlnek a teleskiccelt kockás füzetei, egy tartalmas beszélgetés tölti fel a leginkább, a telefonjához nagyon kötődik - amióta ritkábban gördeszkázik, ezen tudja levezetni a trükk-éhségét, stílusa letisztult, tipográfia- és geometria központú, saját magát egy igazi typochonderként aposztrofálja.

He has more and more of squared notebooks full of sketches, a meaningful conversation can recharge him the most, he is very bound to his cell phone, since he is rarely skateboarding he can release his “trick-stress” this way, his style is clean and typography and geometry centered, he calls himself a real typochonder.

Dani asztala/Dani’s table.

1. Milyen típusú emlékek inspirálnak jobban: a jók vagy a rosszak?/What kind of memories inspire you the most the good or the bad ones? Azt hiszem, mindkettő.

I think both.

2. Hogyan lendülsz túl az időszakos alkotói válságon?/How do you come over a temporary artistic crisis? Mivel egyidejűleg általában több projekten is dolgozom, ha valamelyikben megakadok vagy eltévedek, azonnal van egy másik feladat, amihez már van a fejemben néhány ötlet. Eközben, a másik gondolatban érlelődhet. Ha egy hosszabb „szellőztetés” után is marad a válság, akkor azt csak sok-sok tervezéssel töltött óra oldja meg.

Since I am working on several projects at a time, if I get stuck with one of them, I already have another one to turn to with ideas about it already. Meanwhile, my thoughts about the other one can develop. If the crisis remains after a longer period of rest to it, then it can only be solved by a lot of hours spent on planning.

3. Kinek mutatod meg először az új alkotásodat?/Who sees your work first? Változó, ahány projekt annyiféle feltétel, határidő és kimenetel. Van, amit csak megrendelő lát, de ha lehet, szeretem kikérni a barátok véleményét egy-egy fontosabb állomásnál. Bár azt gondolom, hogy jó kritikusa vagyok a munkáimnak, mégis hasznos a megerősítés menet közben, akár egy jó tervről van szó, akár egy elvetendő irányról.

It varies. Different kinds of projects with different kinds of condition, deadlines, and result. There are works that only the customer sees, but if I can, I like to ask for my friends`insights at specific stages of a work. However, I think I am a good critic of my own work it is good to have some encouraging in the process no matter whether it is a new project or a direction that should be rejected.

Francia kártya - Magyar Nemzeti Galéria

4. Mi a legkedvesebb gyerekkori emléked?/What is your favorite childhood memory? Szép gyerekkorom volt, sok kedves emlékkel. Mostanában gyakran eszembe jutnak, főleg az általános iskolás éveim. Akkor a matek volt a kedvencem, de a számolások mellett a kreatív firkálgatásoknak is szorítottunk helyet a négyzetrácsos füzetben. Mikor az egyetemen az első betűm tervezésébe kezdtem, bevillantak az olyan rajzórai feladatok, mint a szabványbetű rajzolás milliméter-papíron, vagy újság címbetűből ABC-tervezés. Illetve az első – saját kézírásomon alapuló - script betűmnél az, hogy ötödikben „engedélyt” kaptam az irodalom tanárnőmtől, hogy nyomtatott betűkkel írhassak.

I had a beautiful childhood full of nice memories. Recently I have been thinking a lot about my elementary school years. Back then maths was my favorite subject, but besides counting, we also made space in our square notebooks for creative sketches as well. When I started to design my first letter at the university, I had flashbacks from art classes in elementary school when we in art class we ad to draw standard letters on graph paper, or when we had to design an ABC after the title letters in newspapers. When I designed my first script letter –based on my own handwriting- I thought about when I was in fifth grade and I got ‚permission‘ from my literature teacher to write with printed letters.

5. Mit érzel, amikor egy másik művész a tiédhez hasonló munkát készít?/What do you feel when someone does something similar to your work? Nem találkoztam még ilyennel, de örülnék neki. Szerintem sokkal fontosabb az ötlet maga, mint az, hogy ki álmodta meg először. Mivel minden projekt egyedi megoldást igényel, próbálok az összes munkámban találni valami megismételhetetlent.

I’ve never seen something like that before, but I would be happy about it. I think the idea is more important than who executes it first. Since every project requires a specific solution, I try to find something unique in all of my works.

6. Mit szeretnél, hogy miről emlékezzenek majd rád?/What would you like to be remembered by? Valami olyanról, ami inspirálja őket.

About something that inspires people.

Hommage à Kurtág György

7. Gyűjtesz valamit?/Are you collecting something? Tudatosan nem, de a teleskiccelt kockás füzeteim gyűlnek…

Not consciously, but I have a lot of squared notebooks full of sketches.

8. Van-e napi rutinod?/Do you have a daily routine?  Nincs.

No.

9. Kedvenc tárgyad?/Favorite object? Valamiért nem kötődöm túlságosan tárgyakhoz, a telefonom nélkül viszont nehezen vagyok meg. No nem azért, amiért szerintem manapság sokan - amióta ritkábban gördeszkázom, ezen tudom levezetni a trükk-éhségemet. Veszélyes, mert bár nem állok a deszkán, így is könnyen eltörhetem valamimet. Ha valaki űzi még ezt a sportot rajtam kívül, az keressen!

For some reason, I am not bound to objects. Although, I can hardly imagine life without my phone. Not for the same reason like most people need their phones nowadays, but because I can release some “trick-stress” on it since I am not skateboarding anymore. It is dangerous because even though I am rarely on a skateboard I can still break something of mine easily. If there s someone out there who feels the flow of this sport as well, contact me!

10. Hogyan fogsz neki egy új munkának?/How do you get started on new projects? Rendet rakok az asztalomon, aztán ceruza és papír.

I clean my table and then a pencil and paper.

Diósgyőri vár logó - MGL Creative

11. Van egy jól körülhatárolható hangulat, amikor könnyebb számodra az alkotás?/Is there a specific mood, atmosphere which makes creating easier for you? A legjobb érzés, amikor beugrik egy ötlet, és az ember már alig várja, hogy megvalósíthassa, ekkor bármilyen környezet megfelel, de a hosszabb session-ök esetében nem bánom, ha azok az estébe nyúlnak. Kint sötét, bent csak a monitorom és a lámpám világít, fülemben szól valami zene. Sehol egy e-mail, vagy telefonhívás.

The best feeling in the world is when an idea pops into your mind and you can’t wait to realize it. In this case, any mood and atmosphere will do, but in the case of a longer session, I don't mind if they extend into evenings. It is dark outside, inside the only light is provided by my monitor and my lamp, I listen to some music. No e-mails, no phone calls.

12. Mit szeretnél kifejezni az alkotásaidon keresztül?/What would you like to express through your artwork? A „mi” a munkám során általában adott, viszont igyekszem mindig egy ötlet köré felfűzni a mondanivalót, legyen az akár egy logó, vagy egy reklámkampány. Ez lehet nyelvi, vagy grafikai poén egyaránt.

During ‘our‘ work it is pretty specific however, I try to build the meaning around an idea, regardless whether it is a logo or advertising campaign. This can be a lingual or graphical gag as well.

Typoszalon - Iniciálé sorozat

13. Milyen a stílusod?/What is your style like? Letisztult, tipográfia- és geometria központú.

Clean, typography and geometry centered.

14. Mi az, ami a leginkább feltölt?/What can recharge you the most? Egy tartalmas beszélgetés, amiben tanulok valamit. Illetve ha sikerül utolérnem magam, minden teendőmmel. :)

A meaningful conversation during which I learn something. Besides that when I can catch up with all of my tasks. :)

15. Hol leszel 10 év múlva?/Where will you be in 10 years? Szeretnék Magyarországon maradni, és itt hasznos dolgokat alkotni.

I would like to stay here in Hungary and to create useful things here.

Esküvő arculat

16. Kedvenc évszak?/Favorite season? Amíg aktívabban sportoltam, egyértelműen a nyarat preferáltam. Minél hosszabbak a nappalok, annál többet tölthettem kint mozgással. A túlságosan hideg hónapokat nem szeretem, de azoknak is megvan a jó oldaluk: télen hamarabb indulhat az éjszakai műszak. :)

When I was more active in sports I preferred summers. The longer the days, the more time I could spend outside. In general, I am not fond of cold months, but those also have their bright sides to them: In winter my night shift can begin sooner. :)

17. Van visszatérő álmod? Miről szól? Esetleg megjelenítetted már valamelyik alkotásodban?/Do you have a reoccurring dream? What is it about? Have you ever realized it in any of your works?  Nincs, de egyszer volt olyan, hogy a reggeli félálomban ugrott be egy logómegoldás, nem bánnám, ha ez visszatérne néha. :D

No, but once during a morning half dream a logo idea came to my mind. I would be more than happy if this occurrence would come back sometimes. :D

18. Ha egyetlen tanácsot kellene adni más, esetleg még kezdő tehetségeknek, mi lenne az?/If you would have to give one piece of advice to a young talent, what would that be? Ne feledjék, ha tehetségesek, nem csak a lehetőségük, de a felelősségük is több.

Do not forget: If you are talented, more responsibilities come with more opportunities.

--------------------------------------- NÉVJEGY - Szakos Dániel:

"A Metropolitan Egyetem végzős hallgatója a tervezőgrafika mesterszak betűtervező-tipográfus szakirányán. Saját magát egy igazi typochonderként aposztrofálja: képtelen elmenni egy felirat, vagy logó mellett anélkül, hogy azt ne analizálná. Az egyetem mellett szabadúszó tervezőgrafikusként dolgozik, legszívesebben logókat, arculatokat tervez."

"He is a senior master’s student in graphic design at the Metropolitan University of Budapest, he is majoring in character design- typography. He calls himself a real typochonder: he just cannot pass by a logo or label without analyzing it. Besides finishing his studies, he works as a freelancer graphic designer. He likes to design logos and corporate identity the most.”

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// DANI MUNKÁI ITT TEKINTHETŐK MEG/CHECK OUT DANI’S WORK HERE: https://www.behance.net/szakidani889b2 https://www.instagram.com/szakos_/ https://www.facebook.com/typochonder/