#final thing. the indents in the paper are NOT my actual attempt at drawing

[grapeskeeto]

kinito I missed uuuu. messing around with shading

[tobiosmilktea]

red ink — semi eita

2.5k words | genre/s: tattoo shop!au, friends with benefits, smut | warning/s: uhh badly written nsfw | pairing: musician!semi x tattoo artist!reader

↪︎ in which famous musician, semi eita is a regular at your tattoo parlor and only gets work done from you and you only. the only catch is that fans only know that much and definitely not the fact that you and him are friends with benefits.

a/n: happy belated bday for my good friend @kitsunetea. here’s my shameless second (third?) attempt at writing smut as a late bday gift bc fuck it, amirite haha ✋🏻😔

please take it easy on this one,, this is singlehandedly one of the worst nsfw pieces i’ve ever written and i just want to apologize in advance...

semi had forgotten the tingling feeling of a tattoo gun striking away at his skin. he liked how each indent of minuscule pinpricks would leave a mark on him forever. the pain, though not enough to make him grit his teeth like the first time around when he impulsively got one on the side of his ribcage, was actually quite nice. the sensation was almost addictive, however, it wasn’t as nearly as addictive as you.

it was no shock nor surprise that each reveal of his newest tattoo was always done by you. most would understand the practicality of going to one tattoo artist consistently. if anything, most of his fans would come to believe that he simply just liked your style of tattooing and artistry, but no one would even claim to think that you two had even a pinch of something going on behind the scenes. it wasn’t like he would always stop by your shop all disguised and covered up in a black cap and a face mask just in case there were any hidden onlookers that would blatantly assume the worst.

the worst being that semi eita, the nation’s current rockstar heartthrob, was hooking up with some obscure, back alley tattoo artist.

but it was safe to say he was as addicted to you as he was addicted to the infamous pain of receiving a tattoo.

it had been ages since his last tattoo. this one especially was placed on his right forearm of a snake that spiraled up and around his wrist in red ink.

times like these—here, where your eyes are focused and locked onto his skin, making sure to capture each intricate detail, brows drawing together in concentration as you made swift and accurate runs over his skin—came to realize how much he missed the feeling of getting tattooed. but most importantly, he missed the feeling of you. the warmth of your skin, body blazing underneath him as your breath tickled at the nape of his neck.

at moments like these where he could just stare at your entirety for an hour and a half, admiring how the low lights cast shadows upon each and every curve of your body was enough to keep him occupied through the process.

you lifted your tattoo gun up as your other gloved hand wiped the area clean from any residual ink. you took one last look at your work, clean and well-done.

it was pretty good if you could say so yourself. the linework was easily one of your best, and the shading was even better. no wonder semi liked getting work done by you so much (other than the fact that you two are friends with benefits—he would joke, “i’ll give you the best night of your life and you can give me a free tattoo in return.”)

you’ve never seen that man back out of a joke that quickly in your life. regardless, you still found yourself taking him up on that offer, still paying for his tattoos as a good customer should. support local businesses as they always say.

“alright,” you say, breaking the last ten minutes of silence as you cleaned him up. “you already know the drill–gently wash it with warm soap and water at least twice a day, pat dry, and then apply ointment.”

semi looked up at you once you stood up to grab a box of saniderm from another station. he stands up, making his way to one of the large mirrors on the wall to inspect his tattoo as a smile crept onto his lips.

“how is it?”

“it’s perfect,” he says, “as always.”

“well, you shouldn’t expect anything less from me.”

“you know, you don’t have to be so professional all the time. the shop’s already closed and no one else is here but us.”

you give him a pointed look as you take out a strip of saniderm large enough to cover the circumference of his forearm. you press the thin plasticine carefully around his freshly bruised skin, peeling the protective backing off of the clear bandage. “technically, you’re still a customer. can’t really give you any more special treatment.”

“says the girl who literally gives me tattoos after the shop closes,” semi fires back.

“or you could actually come in during normal hours to get one instead of coming a minute before we close just so we can hook up,” you deadpan, ignoring the look he gave you as you turn around and made your way towards the front desk.

semi doesn’t miss a single beat in following right behind you, stopping in front of the counter as you were on the other side with the cash register.

“well if you didn’t want to fuck in the back room anymore, you could’ve just told me,” says semi as you tap away at the screen in front of you, “we can go to my apartment instead.”

“paying with card again?” you ask, completely ignoring the way your body heated up all of a sudden.

the musician in front of you nods, handing you his card quickly. you take the thin plastic out of his hand and swiped it in one quick motion, handing it to him once the machine properly reads his card. within seconds, the receipt comes out of the printer. you snatch it from the opening before shoving it into semi’s chest.

“so what do you say?” he presses, continuing to follow you around like a dog as you serpentine your way back to your station.

you let out a sigh, huffing as you start cleaning up, “about what?”

“about me taking you home. maybe spend the night?”

you swerve around to face him, a spray bottle of disinfectant in one hand and paper towels in the other. you give him a coy smile, “you’re funny,” you huff before pushing past him to spray the chair then wiping it down.

“come on, (y/n), it’s been a while since we’ve last done anything together.” semi gives you a mischievous pout, “don’t you miss me?”

his words immediately flush out your cheeks as you recalled the memory so vividly, it was like you could almost feel semi’s large hands exploring every inch of your body, memorizing every dip and curve like it was second nature. to think that all happened in the storage closet while there were people still in the shop. the simple thought of your last rendezvous with him went straight to your heat.

no wonder you haven’t done anything with semi in a while after that little stunt he pulled almost a month ago.

in order for a tattoo shop to run properly, it needed to be completely sanitary to prevent any health complications considering your job was to literally puncture tattoo ink deep into people’s skin, the risk of infection runs high in situations like these. so by law, fucking in a tattoo shop, regardless if it was in the backroom, was completely out of regulations. not to mention the scandals to potentially spread like wildfire that one of the world’s favorite musicians being at the root of all this.

those poor fangirls, you thought. drama was the last thing you wanted.

“so?” you say, trying to pull yourself together as you finish sanitizing the chair. you turn to face him, hoping that he couldn’t see the way your cheeks were burning up knowing he would only keep up the teasing. “why don’t you just fuck one of you groupies or something?”

semi scoffs, “i’d never stoop that low. besides, you’re the only one i’ve been with ever since this started happening between us.”

“good for you for not being a whore, i guess?”

you brush past him again, this time cleaning up the mess on your table. placing the spray bottle of water, rolls of paper towels, bottles of red ink, and your gloves away–you discard anything else in the bin.

“don’t be like that,” he sighs as he comes and wraps a strong arm around your waist. he rests his chin on your shoulder, the tip of his nose tickling at your skin as his mouth latches onto your neck. “i for sure missed you.”

“eita,” you say, attempting to hold back a moan as he nipped at the sweet spot on your neck. despite your efforts, quiet mewls escape your lips as his thumbs rubbed circles over your hips. “i-i still have to clean up. let me finish and then maybe we could—”

without another word, semi lets go of you and immediately starts getting to work, gathering up all the one-time-use disposable items and dumping them all in the trash. he moves quickly, rubbing down every nook and cranny of your station until it’s squeaky clean. your eyes widen at his state. it was clear he wanted to get this over with as fast as possible so he can finally have you all to himself.

did he really yearn for you this much?

in just a few minutes, the job is already done. clean and spotless and ready for tomorrow’s workday as semi gives you a hopeful look. “is that all?”

you hold back a smile as you motion towards the boxes stacked up near the entrance of the backroom, “i still have to put those away and then we’re all done for the day.”

the man doesn’t even let you finish as he’s already making his way down the hallway. There was no sign of hesitancy in his actions as he grabbed two of the boxes, one stacked on top of the other as he barged into the backroom. you follow him in with only one box in your hand as you placed them in their respective places on the large industrial shelving.

you let out a grunt as you picked up the last box and inserting it into its spot. you sigh, dusting your hands as you turn around to face semi, “alright, we’re all d—”

semi doesn’t hesitate for a second to push you up against the wall, his lips crashing into yours with such desperation and fervor. he had been anticipating this for the past two hours. from the moment he walked in, to the moment you finished tattooing him; all he wanted was you.

you moan into his lips, his hand cupping your jaw while the fingers of the other were already working their magic. his touch greatly juxtaposed the zeal in the way he kissed you deeply, dipping his tongue between your soft lips as his finger, slightly calloused from years of guitar playing, gently trailed their way up your shirt.

there was a brief moment where you had to pull away from him in order to catch your breath. chest rising and falling rapidly along with the quickening beat of your heart, semi dived down to your neck, marking you with dark red bruising to anywhere he had access to. his large palms rubbed your sides before squeezing at your breasts to elicit a pleasurable groan from you. the pent-up heat within you only built the more he played with your body, fingers flicking at your nipples.

“what happened to taking me back to your place?” you asked breathlessly.

“i couldn’t wait any longer,” he mutters on your warm skin, feeling his soft lips twitch into a lopsided grin as before you knew it, he was already tugging your shirt over your head. “jump,” he says and you don’t miss a beat.

he catches you quickly, hands palming your ass as he steers you towards one of the supply tables. pushing away loose items and paperwork off to the sides.

semi’s lips meet yours again as he fiddles with the button and zipper of your jeans, diving his hand inside. he palms your sex, the pads of his fingers teasing up and down your slit as his thumb rubs circular motions around your clit. your moan muffles into his shoulder, breathe heavy and uneven.

you couldn’t seem to catch your breath as he dipped two fingers into you, pumping them in and out slowly. it was a nice change of pace from earlier, and yet you couldn’t help but let out mewls of impatience as you ground your hips into his hand, desperate for more.

semi knew what the hell he was doing.

he was a musician after all. his entire career was literally built off of his innate ability to play the guitar that each expertly placed finger and movement that accompanied it was guaranteed to send waves of pleasure throughout your entire body. he was good at what he did and he knew it. he didn’t need to see the way you were shaking under him, coating his hand with your juices, or have to hear your addicting moans to know you felt so, so good.

“eugh, eita–” your breath hitches when he curls his fingers inside you, rubbing the spongy spot deep within you in the best way possible. you curse under your breath, savoring the pleasure as you felt your release coiling in your abdomen.

“you’re close aren’t you?” semi didn’t even have to ask to know as your walls tightened around him. you nod hastily, eyes coating in lust and the desire to feel the release as you look at him.

the look that you gave him as enough to send him over the edge, his thoughts blurring once he quickens his pace, his middle and ring finger pistoning in and out of you.

you let out a cry, practically trembling under him. “oh my god, oh my god.”

with his other hand, he finds your clit again, rubbing you over the edge. it was all too much. from the mixing cacophony of the most obscene and vulgar sounds of sex emanating from the backroom to the absolute thrill of how good semi was making you feel—you were ready to feel that euphoric glow.

“fuck,” you clawed at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin even through the fabric of his shirt. “shit, baby, i’m gonna—”

semi doesn’t mind the sting of your scratches at his body as he was too busy paying mind to you cumming all over his hand. gushing fluid escapes from you in waves as semi continues pumping his fingers in and out of you, his pace matching with the way your walls pulsated around him.

as you came down from your high, your arms that rested on the table to hold you up felt weak. almost immediately, your body slumps onto semi as he licks your pleasure off his fingers. you bury your face into the crook of his neck as you both stayed there for a few beats to catch your breaths, savoring the unique afterglow whenever you were with semi.

perhaps it wasn’t so bad doing this type of thing with him a bit more often. you didn’t mind what you had with him right now even if you two were just friends with benefits. you liked what you had now and asking for more would certainly cause a strain you don’t want to happen so soon.

your hand reaches up to run through his soft hair.

“hey,” you softly say. he only responds with a hum, “what about you?” you ask as your eyes cast down to the straining tent in his jeans.

he doesn’t answer. instead, he places a few kisses on your cheek and down to your neck before placing one of your lips. “let’s continue this at home, i have a surprise for you.”

general taglist: @yongboxerrr @rosepetalhaven @tvwhoresblog @tanakaslastbraincell @kellesvt @kitsunetea @anejuuuuoy

[not-xpr-art]

Art Advice #3 - Drawing tips!

Hi everyone!

As you may know, every week or so I’m writing blog posts with art advice hints and tips for artists of any skill level in the hopes of helping some people out a bit! The tag is here so feel free to check out some of my other posts!

This week’s post is going to be some drawing tips I’ve picked up over the years that could hopefully be useful for beginner artists! 

(this is about 1800 words altogether btw)

Drawings tips!

I’m going to split this post up into little sections which will hopefully make it easier for you to scroll to find certain advice you’re particularly interested in!

Part 1 - How to get started?

I’m a firm believer that anyone can be an artist, regardless of what materials or equipment they have. So when it comes to my advice on what kind of materials I recommend for beginner artists, I’d mainly say ‘whatever you have’. 

But if that’s a bit vague, I’d essentially recommend you have a set of pencils which you can usually get relatively inexpensive online or in craft/art shops which range from 6B all the way to 6H (’B’ being for softer, darker pencils, often good for shading, and ‘H’ for the harder pencil leads which are best for much lighter shading or if you want a really faint sketch. Something important to note about ‘H’ pencils is not to press too hard with them since they’re a lot more likely to leave indents in the paper than ‘B’ pencils! For general sketching I personally use 2B or 3B pencils since they have the perfect balance of soft & hardness in my opinion!) 

Of course, you can just draw with whatever pens or pencils you already have, so definitely don’t feel you have to go out of your way to buy something new or expensive just because your favourite artists use a particular brand of pencil or pen... Of course, often higher quality pens or pencils (especially colouring pencils) will have better pigment payoff than the cheaper alternatives, but as someone who’s been using the same WHSmith pencils they got when they were a child, I definitely think that as long as you have something to draw with, you’re all set to produce masterpieces of your own!

A lot of my art education got us using charcoal for a lot of our drawing practise. It’s not a medium I’m particularly fond of personally, but it is a great way to practise being a lot quicker and expressive with drawing, so definitely if you’re up for the challenge you can try some charcoal stuff! Only piece of advice is that I wouldn’t really recommend those ‘charcoal pencils’ you can buy in some shops, since they mostly just break apart every time you try and sharpen them... Regular charcoal is messy, though, and smudges very easily, so if you are interested in using it I’d say to do a little bit of research before hand! 

(Or feel free to send me an ask if you want any further advice on using it!)

If you’re wanting to get into digital art, I’m planning on making a post discussing my tips for beginners to digital so... keep an eye out for that in the near future lol!

~

Part 2 - Getting over ‘Drawing Anxiety’

Drawing can be a daunting thing, particularly when artists who are already pretty good at it can seemingly produce a perfectly proportioned face out of thin air. But these artists weren’t magically born with this skill, of course, so with practise and some perseverance, I can assure you that you’ll be at that stage one day!

So my first piece of advice here is to be patient with yourself. Don’t expect yourself to be perfect straight away. 

Second piece of advice is to sketch constantly!! I notice a lot of people who haven’t been drawing long are really careful about how they draw, almost like they’re afraid to be rough with the pencil. So I’d really recommend just starting to sketch a lot: be rough, be messy, draw things you can see and things from your imagination! 

Observational drawing is another thing I think is crucial in improving your drawing skills (and I’ll go into more detail with this in a bit), but honestly just sketching things you like is such a great way to help you grow as an artist! And yes this includes drawing anime fanart or drawings of your original characters! 

Below is some comparisons of my attempts at drawing Freema Agyeman from 2013 to 2019... Is the latest version of this perfect? Of course not. But I just want to show what constant practise can achieve!

~

Part 3 - Observational drawing

I honestly think that observational drawing was one of the most important things I learnt in my years of art education. 

Observational drawing can take on many meanings. Perhaps it’s drawing a still life of a fruit bowl, or a life drawing class with a naked dude in front of you, or even drawing from a photo. The point of observational drawing is to improve how you translate the world around you onto a 2D surface, essentially. 

And you don’t need anything fancy to do observational drawing either! Just placing an array of things in front of you and trying to sketch them (try and focus on a mix of textures and surfaces for the objects. So, for example, including a cup along side a woolly hat will help you get a handle on how to create texture with your drawing, and drawing anything with a reflective surface like cutlery is both challenging and interesting to do! Basically just use what you have around you!)

If you’re lucky (or unlucky, depending on how fond you are of seeing naked people lol) enough to have the chance to do life drawing, I would honestly recommend it! Often the final results aren’t great, but it’s a really good way of practising your observational skills! And even if you don’t have the opportunity, just trying to sketch a friend or family member from across a room, for example, is something that can really help you improve! 

Top tip: a teacher once told me that when you’re drawing something like a face, for example, a way to improve how you draw is to see the face not as a ‘face’, but instead as a collections of shapes. Because our brains have a preconceived idea of what a face looks like that we end up drawing what we think we can see rather than what we can actually see! 

There’s a lot of art snobs who believe that drawing from reference images is ‘cheating’ in comparison to life drawing, Of course, this is bs, and I’d say I’ve learnt just as much from using reference photos for the basis of my art as I have from drawing from ‘real life’. For more information about my thoughts on references and how to use them, see This post!

~

Part 4 - Drawing from references: Tracing, Grids and Freehand (which is best?)

Tracing in the world of art is a ... Contentious subject to say the least. And I’m not really interested in getting into the ‘moral’ implications of whether it is ‘cheating’ or not.

Instead I want to focus on the pros of using something like tracing when you’re starting out. I think particularly if you’re trying to improve how you shade things, colour things or how to get better at blending, then I do think that tracing can be a useful tool! Even I used tracing in the very start of my delve into digital art, but soon found that tracing wasn’t really something that was helping me in the long run so moved onto freehand stuff. 

Overall, I think tracing is good as a starting point when you’re still learning about art, and also if you’re not too comfortable with your freehand drawing skills yet. I’d also recommend you mention if you have traced a piece if you share art to social media. Of course, no one is obligated to do this though! 

This is an example of an artwork that I traced (it’s from 2013, hence why it looks... like That lol)

But if you’re someone who perhaps has used tracing in the past and found it doesn’t really work for you, or if you don’t want to start with tracing at all, then a good ‘next step’ I’ve seen other artists get into is using grids. 

Now I have to admit, I’m not the best person to talk about grids since I’ve actually never used them lol... But I know a lot of artists who do, particularly people who do a lot of traditional work, since it makes it a lot easier to translate the reference image to your piece of paper or canvas. 

And in a way I would recommend grids more for people starting out in drawing than tracing, and this is mainly due to the fact grids force you to use a lot more observational drawing skills than tracing! If you’re interested in getting into using grids I’d recommend doing a bit of research yourself! 

The final technique of drawing from references I want to talk about is freehand! Now this is the one I’ve been doing for the majority of my art ‘career’ and honestly is probably the most ‘difficult’ to do of the three techniques. 

But I find freehand drawing particularly rewarding with the ways it can make you reimagine an artwork in ways you never intended! Like what I mentioned in my Reference advice post, I have found that making ‘mistakes’ in freehand drawing can actually lead to more interesting and unique works of art than tracing or grid work could ever do! 

I also think that freehand allows you to create your own characters or concepts in a much more free way. For example, my Spirit of Somerset piece was something I created from a variety of references (I seem to remember I used Isak from SKAM’s mouth as a basis for the girls’ mouth?) and the dragon was based on a real mishmash of references, which is something that I I feel I couldn’t have done if I’d have been using grids or tracing!

With this I’m not trying to say that freehand is the ‘best’ way of drawing, it is just the one that I personally have found to fit me the best, which is the entire point of this post! All of my advice is just pointers I think could be useful for new artists, it is up to you to find which ‘path’ in art suits you best!

And of course, I’ve phrased these techniques as separate purely for the sake of explaining them easier, but the fact of the matter is that you can use a combination of these in your art if you wish! 

If you struggle with drawing the outlines of hands, perhaps use tracing as a way to get a handle of the shape and then maybe use freehand to fill in the colour of them! Use a grid to draw a tree but freehand the leaves and bench below it! 

Remember that your art is your art, and no one can tell you how to draw things! 

~

I think I’ll leave this here for now! But I may do a part two at some point in the future! & my ask box is always open for anyone who wants any specific advice!

I really hope you found this at least moderately helpful, and a massive thank you to everyone for the constant support of these posts and my art!

[angelanimedesaray]

Through the Looking Glass Chapter 9:  April

AN:  I’m getting ahead of the question now and stating that in this world, AOT isn’t an anime (Poor souls). So no, the Reader isn’t going to become omnipotent to Levi’s life/world.

They did not binge this in one day.  The first round, for sure they did, but it was a little broken up in spurts.  For the sake of brevity, considering this was already going to be a long chapter, I cut out all the flickering back and forth and just focused on their Movie Nights and them watching the show.

It might feel a weird mix of rushed and long, because they’re watching the entirety of Your Lie In April, but I wasn’t going to transcribe the whole show, so there’s a lot of summarizing and cutting things out and highlighting certain pieces, but its still long because there’s a LOT to cover.

Also because of how emotional this chapter is actually going to be, I want to just remind...that Levi is like, mid teens, and hasn’t gone through much of the stuff that adult Levi has been through, so in my mind, that justifies a bit more of a REACTION for some of this stuff.  But he’s still Levi, and he’s still going to be reserved and such, just...not as controlled as Adult Levi.

This whole chapter is like one big lead up to the next chapter, funnily enough. XD

Also got to listen to “Constellation” by Far Out feat. Karra on repeat writing this.  It felt so fitting!

I’m putting quotes from Your Lie in April in italics with quotes and an indent like this, so its clear that they came from the show.  Levi’s thoughts/memories will just be in italics, no indention .

Characters:  Levi, Reader

Pairing:  (Eventual Levi x Reader)

Warnings:   SPOILERS FOR “YOUR LIE IN APRIL”, Angst, FEELINGS, Language

Word Count:  10994

<----Previous Chapter    Masterlist    Next Chapter---->

*Levi’s POV*

At long last, Y/N was finally going to show him those movie, show things she kept talking about.  He knew plays and acting and putting on an act, but the concept of a show that was saved so you could watch it whenever you wanted without having to make people do it over and over was novel to him.

Boisterously proclaiming that it was going to be a “Movie Night” day, she’d grabbed his hand and dragged him after her like she’d used to do when they were young, despite his protests.  To be fair, he didn’t try too hard to wiggle away, either, letting her pull him along to the living room as she fussed and tried to decide what they were going to watch.

After all of her attempts to explain what a movie or TV show was, she decided that the best way to explain it to him was just to show him, though she still had to stop and explain the type of show they were watching.

“Okay, so what I’m showing you right now, is actually called an anime.  It’s a type of animation from a country called Japan, and it’s made from computers or hand drawn.  They draw the story, picture by picture, and put it together to make the characters and such move, with actors doing their voices and recording it in time with the pictures, sound effects like bells and wind also being saved, background music, so on and so forth,” she explained as she cut up pieces of paper and layered them on top of each other, pulling out a pencil and drawing a circle on each page, moving its position slightly each time.  “See, if you do it frame by frame, and then move it really fast, it's like the ball is bouncing--animation, and anime, works off the same concept, except they’re drawing everything,” she continued to explain, grabbing the bottom page and then letting the papers rapidly spring free, causing Levi to see the ball she drew appear to move along the page, even though he knew it was a bunch of individual drawings going by rapidly.

“They draw a solid background that doesn’t move, and then they add another layer on top that you can see through like glass, but they draw the moving parts on that layer, so it looks like they’re in the solid background and they’re walking and whatnot.  It’s really cool--makes me wish I could draw,” she continued, putting aside the papers she’d used for her demonstration and picking up the controller so she could get them started, gesturing for Levi to take a seat on the couch.  “I haven’t seen this one yet, but a friend recommended I watch it cause I love music, and I play the piano, and she said it was a really good coming of age story.  I’m a little wary cause she said she wanted my reaction to the end, but she usually suggests stuff I love, so I’m gonna trust it,” she continued to babble as the screen lit up with colors and pictures like a computer screen, most of it nonsensical to Levi as she shifted rapidly past most of it looking for the specific show.

She stopped on something extremely colorful, blues and yellows and pinks and reds in vibrant color with four drawn people lying in what looked like the sky, and she abruptly turned to face him.  “Are you okay with having to read what they say?  The original is in a different language, so it’ll have subtitles at the bottom translating what they say.  There are other versions where they redid the speaking parts in different languages, but I really like listening to the original--I feel like it really gets the emotions across because it's so well done.”

Levi hesitated for a moment, contemplating her offer of putting it in a language they understood or keeping the original and having to read what they were saying.  Eventually, he just shrugged.  “Whichever you want.”

“Subtitles it is,” she said, turning back to the TV and messing with a few things before she finally started the show, coming over to sit by him on the couch.  He was sitting normally, his ankle propped up on his leg with one arm resting against the back of the couch, the other lying casually in his lap.  Y/N, however, sat directly beside him, his arm behind her shoulders and her side pressed slightly against his, causing Levi to glance at her, mind flashing back to how she’d sat at the piano with him not too long ago.  She wasn’t even glancing at him, though, gradually relaxing next to him like a kitten curling up to get warm, her eyes fixed on the colorful display that was now on the TV.

Turning his attention back to the TV, Levi studied the images in front of him, a cheerful bit of piano music fluttering towards them as vibrant and colorful images of a girl chasing a black cat moved seamlessly across the screen, much smoother than the quickly drawn bouncing ball Y/N had put together to describe what they would be watching.

If she was trying to sneak a peak of his reaction, she would catch his eyes had widened at the vibrant colors and amazing detail, the realistic sounds that came through and made him want to check and see if the piano behind them was being played, or there were people hiding somewhere making the character’s voices and singing the song as the scene suddenly shifted to what Y/N described to him as an intro, a quick prologue of sorts that set the tone of the show.  Thankfully, however, she’d already explained to him that the sounds were done beforehand, recorded and somehow stored so it would be repeated to the images on the screen as they watched.

It was a little...outside his realm of understanding, how it all worked, and he had the sneaking suspicion he’d just have to accept that it just was and he needed to sit back and try to enjoy it.  That was how a show was supposed to work, right?  And that was exactly what Y/N seemed to be doing.

As she had warned him, the characters were speaking an entirely different language, so Levi couldn’t understand what was being said on its own.  Thankfully, there were the subtitles to translate, Levi’s gaze flickering between reading the small letters to looking at the colorful screen to see what was happening, trying not to get too caught up in the details he didn’t understand, like the games the kids were playing, and how different the environment was even to what he saw in Y/N’s world.

At least the basic stuff he could easily make sense of--the main character was obviously the quiet and reserved, black haired, blue eyed pianist Kousei, and the characters were around Levi and Y/N’s age.  The point of the story wasn’t clear yet, but she’d explained this was going to be episodic--it would be played like chapters in a novel, stopping at the end of a chapter before they would have to start the next one.  So it might be a while before he started catching that.  Right now, they were meeting characters, finding out their relationship to one another and getting hints at the history between them all.

Like the fact that Kousei lived alone because his father was absent, and his mother was deceased.  She’d succumbed to illness when he was still young.  That alone had the stirrings of empathy settling in Levi’s chest for the main character.  He couldn’t relate to the abuse, but the desire to make her better, that somehow he could do something to make her feel better did resonate.  It made him listen to their conversations a bit more, since he already had a foothold and something relatable.

Once he started drawing comparisons to the story unfolding in front of him, he couldn’t stop noticing them.

“The moment I met him, my life changed.  Everything I saw, heard, and felt.  All the scenery around me started to take on color.  The whole world began to sparkle.”

A world of monotone, devoid of color, until he meets a certain vibrant youth who brings a sudden rush of color and life into the world around her, dragging Kousei in by the hand--as if he could ever resist the force of nature she was.

Hm.  He wondered who that reminded him of.

He didn’t even notice when the “chapter” ended and the next started, his gaze flickering subtly towards Y/N on the couch beside him, appearing just as taken by the story as he already was.

However, this new chapter did bring about new questions, and was a bit closer to his grasp of understanding after watching Y/N play music for so long.

“Do you ever do competitions?” Levi asked as the characters walked around the competition and the history Kousei had at this specific building was teased, easily able to see that there was a piano on the stage despite it being a violin competition.  Surely if there were competitions for violins, there were for pianos?

She shook her head, chewing slightly on her lower lip as she answered him.  “No way--I play piano for myself and a few people.  I’m not looking to make a career of it or become famous for it.  Not to mention, I don’t think I’m cut out for competitions.  There’s a lot of pressure, and they’re really strict about playing the pieces exactly how they were originally written.  I want to play the piano how I feel, and that’s not always by paying attention to how it's written on the sheet.”

“And violins?  What are they like?” he asked.  He hadn’t seen or heard a violin yet, and was curious to hear what they would sound like.

“They’re a string instrument--portable, small.  Really beautiful, too--they’re my second favorite instrument.  They usually pair wonderfully with pianos--I’m pretty sure it’s common for a piano to accompany a violin in shows and competitions.”

Levi hushed with his questions again as the scenes playing out on the TV continued to unfold and the first violin performer took the stage, Levi hearing the light and lively music of the violin for the first time, the same song being performed over and over by the nondescript and nameless musicians on the stage in the show.

Beside him, Y/N was slowly tilting her head side to side as she listened to the music being played, eyes fixed on the screen.  She must have felt almost in her element watching this, while Levi felt a bit more like Tsubaki, not understanding a lot of the names and such that were being thrown around by the characters in discussion, but still there to enjoy it nonetheless.  When Kousei was tapping his fingers on the armchair to the piano music, Levi’s gaze flickered to Y/N to see if she was doing something similar, since she seemed focused on the music as well.  It wasn’t as precise as Kousei, maybe she wasn’t playing every note in her head, but her fingers were lightly tapping against her legs like she wanted to be playing the keys on the piano.

Then came Kaori’s first performance.

Watching, Levi felt a familiarity in the girl’s intensity, once again reminded of the girl sitting next to him, who seemed to throw herself into every aspect of life around her--at least compared to him.  There was a tension in the air, a feeling that this was going to be much different than the music they’d been hearing up until this point.  Even Y/N had stilled next to him, eyes riveted to the girl on the screen.

The first notes were shocking.  After listening to Y/N play the piano for so long, even his unprofessional, inexperienced ear could hear the shift in the sound, and how rich and deep it suddenly was.  Beside him, Y/N shifted into a more upright position, eyes suddenly lighting up and sparkling as she leaned forward, her breath catching.  The ripple through the audience wasn’t just in the show, but in reality, as the two of them on the couch suddenly focused entirely on Kaori’s performance.

The girl’s eyes flashed on screen, and the music suddenly leapt to life before them, making his own heart seem to pound a little faster, the sounds pleasant and uplifting to his ears, making him restless in a good way.  It sounded similar to when Y/N played the piano with him that one day, not necessarily in skill, but in the life and emotion that was in it.

Like Y/N, Kaori was pouring herself into her playing, she shone brightly through in the piece, made like it was pulling back a curtain to reveal a part of her soul.  Kousei even said as much, stating that Kaori was making the piece hers and hers alone.

The performance ended, and Y/N suddenly grabbed his arm with a squeal.  “That was awesome!  I’m going to have to find a recording of that!” she said breathlessly.  Her excitement was infectious, and almost prompted Levi towards a smile as they slowly settled back onto the couch, the story progressing in front of them.

She was such a stark contrast to the black haired youth in front of her, the whirlwind to his reserved personality, but even she would show flashes of vulnerability, for his eyes only, it seemed.  And he did what he could to hide what he could in order to protect her, without her ever knowing, probably.

Wait, was he still thinking about Kaori and Kousei?

Levi shook his head, focusing back on what was happening, reading Kousei’s contemplations about how he could still hear the refrain of the music Kaori played in the competition he witnessed, over and over.

Levi’s fingers tapped slightly against the back of the couch and in his lap, barely tapping out the melodies for the song they’d played on the piano the other day, music he heard even when he was alone with his thoughts in his own world, still able to feel her fingers aligned with his, guiding him through each key.  He’d find himself tapping them out in rare moments of idleness, like he was still clinging to the memory of the sound even if he didn’t have a piano in his world.

Y/N shifted entirely back to her relaxed position against Levi’s side, head brushing briefly against his shoulder and making his skin tingle where the brief contact had been, his stomach squirming.

Kaori dragged poor Kousei around everywhere, usually into situations far out of his comfort zone, and far more aggressively than a certain someone sitting beside him.  However, it seemed like more often then not, those situations were wonderful places that he wouldn’t have found or experienced on his own.

She brought color to his monochrome life.

Where he was hidden in shadows, she was cast in light, and she didn’t hesitate to pull him into the sun.

”I know you’re broken and beat up, but I want you.  I choose you.  I want you here.”

The beginning chapters seemed to fly by quickly, with Kaori pushing Kousei more and more, and beside Levi, Y/N seemed to be slowly wiggling closer to him.  Was it intentional?  Did she realize she was doing it?  He did--he seemed hypersensitive to every motion, yet he didn’t pull away, didn’t even twitch.  He stayed still, like sudden movement might frighten her away as easily as a stray cat.

As intriguing as the events on the screen were--and he was taking in the information, such as how Kousei used to have a black cat, how he couldn’t hear the sound of the piano after his mother died and quit piano directly afterwards, important stuff like that--Levi’s thoughts kept wandering as he watched.

He thought of how beautiful the trees with the pink petals were, how breathtaking every scene with them was, and how prominently they seemed to feature in every scene that had something meaningful going on.  Y/N called them cherry blossom trees.  He wanted to see one.  What would it look like?  What would the scene be if he stood under one with her?

Before he knew it, Kaori had cornered Kousei into accompanying her on the piano, and they were rushing towards another performance.  Anticipation stirred in the air between him and Y/N, both of them wondering how this piece would sound, considering Kousei had already been framed as a child prodigy on the piano, and they knew Kaori was breathtaking.  What would it sound like when they played together?  Levi worried about how it would turn out, how Kousei seemed to be unraveling in front of them just before they went up on stage.

Before Kaori gave him a literal smack to get him out of his own head.

As lighthearted and carefree as she seemed to be, every now and then, she would drop these little petals of wisdom.

Levi’s gaze flickered to Y/N again.

Her eyes would shift from a sparkle that almost seemed naive to a depth he hadn’t expected to see, and she’d say something that seemed beyond her years.

“Go on a journey.  A man away from home need feel no shame.”

“Natural.  Bizarre.  It’s like this girl herself is the journey with no clear destination.”

“You’re Freedom Itself.”

The couple took the stage.  The song started out slow, sensual, peaceful.  It reminded him slightly of the song Y/N taught him.

Before, predictably, Kaori brought her wild, fast paced playing back, bringing liveliness to the performance.  It started beautifully, but just as the music seemed to portray some kind of descent, Kousei lost sense of the notes, the sound distorted even for them, listening, as if they were Kousei, only able to faintly hear Kaori while the rest sounded muffled, strangled out by water.  When they were allowed to hear the sound again, it was off, it sounded harsh and jarring, out of sync.  Not at all pleasant.

Considering the earlier mentioned problems, he should have known this wasn’t going to be a perfect and completely enjoyable performance.  It was grating, and while he understood the emotional significance of seeing Kousei give up halfway through, his ears were a little grateful by that point.

The surprise was seeing Kaori stop as well.  He’d thought perhaps something would urge Kousei to start playing again, but he hadn’t expected Kaori to stop in the process.  Beside him, Y/N seemed to be biting on her thumbnail, her brows furrowed as she watched the screen in concern, a frown on her face, leg shifting restlessly around on the couch as she suddenly curled closer to Levi, directly against his side, oblivious to the surprised look he shot her because she was so focused with what was happening on the screen.

“Maybe there’s only a dark road up ahead.  But you still have to believe and keep going.  Believe that the stars will light your path, even a little bit.”

Kaori began to play again, the sound of just the violin playing on its own sounding lonely and out of place, especially when he knew there should be a piano playing with it.  All they needed was for Kousei to play again.  Would he?  No excuses, Kaori needed his support, and Levi found himself silently judging Kousei, mentally pushing him to help her, to play, because that was what she needed from him.

”So what was it that you saw in me?”

“But you have me!  Look up, and look at me.  Look at me.”

Kousei starting to play again was a relief, even if it wasn’t quite right at first.  After a bit of inner reflection, some time where they spent listening to the underwater sounds, it all faded away, and a soft scene of a mother and son filled the screen.  The mother’s softly sung lullaby was soothing, and as it shifted to a scene of the sky, Levi’s eyes widened at the brilliant beauty it was, the range of color, of blues and whites and even some purples and pinks.  How it sparkled and shimmered, stirring up emotions he didn’t know he’d buried somewhere inside him as he suddenly felt small again, curled up in a nest of soft warmth, staring out a small window up towards the sky high above him for the first time, gazing in wonder at the stars and moon that glittered high above him.

Words from one of the many times Y/N had played the piano for him drifted to his mind.  How she had perceived her music had struck some kind of chord with him, even if he wasn’t saying anything--even when he realized he had no words to describe what he was feeling listening to her play that single song.  He remembered how she’d told him that the point, what made music with her time, was how it could communicate what couldn’t be said with mere words.

The music shifted, and Kousei finally began to play, and the sound was enrapturing.  There were no words--it could only be felt, what was happening between the boy at the piano and the girl with the violin.

Could he find a violin in his world?  Could he learn to play it, so he could play with Y/N like Kousei played with Kaori?  Would they manage to produce something similar, something wonderful like that?  What would it feel like?  What would the sound between them be?  What would it say?

”I can hear your sound.”

So caught up in his thoughts, in the raw emotion and the music that had just enraptured them both, Levi was caught off guard when the mood took another shift.

He tensed, hand gripping the back of the couch a little harder as the sound faded away into an echo as Kaori suddenly collapsed.  The hairs on the back of his neck seemed to raise, warning him of something incoming, even though there was no physical threat.  He had a bad feeling, suddenly, seeing Kaori’s paler form in the hospital, seeing Kousei’s disbelieving look, the way all of her face wasn’t visible during certain key answers.  It put dread inside him over what was happening with her, where this would go.  A brief moment of happiness...but what did it mean in the long run?  What did it matter, if it was going to be ripped so harshly away, anyway?

“It was everything to you, and you’re trying to rip that away by force.  As if you were plucking off your limbs.  That’s why it hurts too much for you to bear.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to forget?  No, not a chance.  Because you and I are living for that moment.”

“I won’t forget.  I won’t forget, even if I die.”

“Thank you.”

The mood of the show mellowed drastically, far more serious notes seeping into the air around them as Kousei and those around him were faced with far more serious matters than who liked who, and music competitions.  The competitions seemed to be fading into the background, a mere backdrop to the true story.

Ah…

He might be seeing it now.

There was more to this tale than just playing in competitions.

And he had the feeling he was going to be facing some...difficult scenes.  Not the kind of gristly scenes of the everyday Underground.  The personal, emotional kind.  He was already getting flashes of past events, old emotions stirring this early on.  What would come next?  How deep was this show going to dig to bring out emotions or thoughts he didn’t even know he was keeping buried?

Y/N shifted again, now blatantly sidled up beside him, head leaning slightly to the side, coming to rest very lightly on his shoulder.  Levi stilled, pulled entirely from his thoughts, both of them seeming to hold the position to see what the other would do.

She didn’t pull away.

Neither did he.

Her head leaned a little more heavily against his shoulder, and she got more comfortable in her position next to him.  Levi relaxed, letting her do as she pleased, silently grateful for the companionable warmth her presence beside him seemed to be offering him, allowing the scarier thoughts to temporarily be soothed and chased away.  It helped that the story was shifting towards the more light-hearted as well, as Kaori and Kousei began to prepare for a piano competition.

“Before your fingers touch the keys, you must determine in your mind how you’re going to play it.  Why do you play the piano?  Is it for your sake?  For someone else’s sake?  How do you want to play this piece?”

Levi turned his head slightly to look at Y/N, curiosity stirred up in his mind as Kaori grilled Kousei for his mental imagery while he played.  “What about you?  What do you think of when you play the piano?” he asked her.

“Hm?” she asked, pulled for the first time out of the show as she turned slightly to meet his gaze, surprised by the inquiry.  “I...don’t know.  It depends on the moment.  Usually it’s memories, though.  Certain songs make me think of certain people, usually memories with that person.  Maybe something I want to do or say to them?  I haven’t thought of that much before...usually I just...do it.  And I tend to get lost in what I’m doing, too.  I guess that’s part of the reason why I haven’t thought of it much before.”

Levi continued to look at her even as she turned her attention back to the show, barely holding back a question that bubbled up inside him.

Have you ever thought of me?

She was teaching him to play the piano, right?  What would his mental imagery be when he played?

While Levi got his quick question in and mulled over his own thoughts once more, the mood shifted to something more serious in the show again.

Kaori was worried she was being too pushy, that Kousei might resent him for forcing him into the position he was in, now.  That she was being too hard on him.  And something that they said resonated with him, because of recent events.

“You’re suffering because of me.  I’m sorry.”

Levi saw Y/N in front of him in his mind’s eye.  Her eyes were downcast, lips pressed together, shoulders slightly hunched, and she was on the verge of tears after his barbed words expressing how shitty this situation was for him, how it teased him with what he could never have.  Did she blame herself, for him being pulled into her world, always around her for a brief while before he was kicked back?

But again, she’d been right.  Even if it was brief, that didn’t mean the time he spent here with her was worthless.  It still meant something to him, and it still brought him some comfort and, oddly enough, a sense of security.  From the very first time they’d met, she’d provided him with somewhere he could truly feel safe and cared for.

“It was you who swept away all the dust.  For sweeping away the dust that had collected on my body...thank you.  For encountering me.”

The more hints the story dropped about Kaori’s health, the more worried Levi became about the turn this story might take.  He was bracing for impact, a small frown on his face as he saw the pile of medicine Kaori was carrying around with her at the competition.  Kousei’s musical rivals didn’t register so much with him in the previous two chapters, because he was still so focused on what was happening with Kousei and Kaori.

Y/N had gotten up at one point by now to get a drink, bringing back a water for him to sip on as they continued the story, time passing by without either of their knowledge of just how long they’d been sitting here.  Even Levi, usually so much more active, was content to sit here and watch, hardly noticing his inactivity as he drank up every scene, every word, some ringing out through his mind, others falling into place as narrative importance, worry and elation and nostalgia, as well as so much more, all stirred together inside him, Y/N curled up like a kitten at his side, his arm still leaning against the back of the couch, his hand resting softly on her shoulder.

However, while he and Y/N were falling into a position of ease, the story seemed to be starting to shift more to the relationship between Kousei and his mother, and what happened to her.  Kaori was getting worse, it seemed, and they were digging into a relationship that felt, in certain ways, similar to what Levi had gone through, and not too long ago, either, now that he was forced to look at it.  It made him...uncomfortable, to say the least, but he wasn’t saying anything--he needed to see where this story was headed, with how invested he was at this point.  And even if it got personal, he thought he might be able to sit and endure it all the same.

”My mom’s coming from the hospital to see me perform...so you see, in order to make Mom well again, in order to make her happy, I’m gonna play my very best as a gift!”

The first hit actually made him flinch.  It was slight, but it was there, and Y/N might have caught it--he wasn’t expecting it, not from the tone, or what had just been discussed, or the way the scene changed so rapidly from the cheers of the audience after little Kousei finished playing his best for his mother to the slap across his face from the ailing woman.  He suddenly felt tense, his hand still on Y/N’s shoulder and his expression suddenly unreadable as the hits kept coming, making something dark and angry well up inside him as Kousei was hit hard enough to draw blood against a backdrop of the abuse he’d been suffering the entire time.

Perhaps Y/N hadn’t caught it, because she was flinching as well, and her reaction was far more open on her face, eyes watering with near-tears, a slight shake in her body, and the occasional, shaking breath.

”All I wanted was for you to get better.  All I wanted was for you to be happy.  And yet...I wish you would just die.”

“That was the last time I said anything to my mom.”

Levi’s grip tightened on Y/N’s shoulder, but neither of them said a word, a grimness in the air as they continued to watch the story in front of them that had started so colorful but was taking a darker turn rather quickly.

Levi scowled slightly at the switch to such an upbeat little song at the sudden end of the chapter, which would be followed by another upbeat song at the beginning of the next.

“These ‘intros’ and ‘outros’ are deceptively cheerful,” Levi criticized.

“What’s a good story without some struggle?” Y/N replied, though she briefly untangled herself from her position at Levi’s side and wiggled off the couch.  “Though, I think I’m going to go grab some tissues.  I’m starting to think there’s going to be some really sad or heartfelt stuff coming up.  Tell me when it’s back on if I’m still missing!” she added before darting away, leaving Levi to sigh quietly to himself and look up at the ceiling, keeping track of the show in front of him as he waited for her to run off and come back with a colorful box, squirming back into place beside him and letting his hand return to her shoulder as she placed the box next to her on the couch, sighing contently.

“The show must go on!” she insisted, face devoid of the strong emotion they’d been sharing just a few moments ago.  She settled next to him with a soft sigh, the sight of Kousei struggling at the piano returning where the previous chapter left off.

They watched him struggle against the ghost of his mother, trying to force himself to play through it, to play even though he couldn’t hear, even as the sound grated on them.  Watched as he slowly gave up, until he stopped entirely before the song was even over, just like he had with Kaori.

Part of him had expected Kousei to have some kind of revelation just before he quit and push through, but he’d really stopped.  Now it just remained to be seen if he could start again.  Of course, after his performance with Kaori, they knew he was disqualified.  But would he find a reason to play anyway, like she had?

”Even the you that’s here inside me, won’t let me give up.  That day, I wonder.  What did you play for?”

Levi felt the ghost of her fingers on his again, unaware that he was tapping the keys against the skin of her shoulder at the memory.

Once more, the sound changed as Kousei found his reason to play.  The girl who’d changed his world from monotone to color, who dragged him into a whirlwind of life without giving him the chance to think twice about it.

“Just one person matters to me.  Only you matter.  Thank you...Will it reach her?  I hope it reaches her.”

”Your hidden emotions.  The you that you’ve never known.  The piano drags out everything…”

Levi’s gaze once more was unfocused on the screen as he was swept away in a sea of his own thoughts, thinking back to the times he’d listened to Y/N play.  What had he been hearing those days?  What would he hear in her playing in the future?  If he put enough effort into learning to play as she tried to teach him...could it help him communicate some of the things he struggled to say?  It was at least worth giving it a shot.

And he would be sure to pay closer attention in the future to see what he could hear, what he may not be aware of.

The pacing lulled into something more relaxed once more, a brief reprieve after the emotions that were just thrown at them, allowing him and Y/N to talk a bit more, both of them keeping one eye on the subtitles even as they made little comments about what they’d heard so far.  The unspoken love triangle?  Maybe it was a triangle.  The romantic feelings were crisscrossed and all over the place between this group of friends.  They commented on their observations about Kousei and Kaori, what they thought was going to become of the two as they watched, whether Kaori or Tsubaki would end up the one with him in the future.

Music was another thing they talked about, obviously.  How they wanted to hear Kousei and Kaori play together again--and were excited they had the chance to with the upcoming concert.  Y/N also expressed how she loved Chopin pieces, and as a result was happy about how many Chopin pieces were in the show so far and was hoping to hear more.  She also mentioned that Love’s Sorrow, the song they were working on now for the concert, was a beautiful piece--mournful, obviously, but beautiful.  She even offered to help him learn it when he got more used to the piano if he wanted to.

Levi was a little distracted, though, by the further warning signs that something was going to happen to Kaori.  In the same stroke that he contemplated how she had a skill for seeing the beauty in the world, like Y/N tended to do for him, she said something ominous that further solidified a growing suspicion that Levi was keeping in mind.

“You know, I’m not always going to be around to help you.”

As worried about Kaori as that line made Levi for the context of the show, it also reminded him of his own situation with Y/N.  He helped when he could, but he was absent so often...and it worked both ways.  He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself when he was on his own, but Y/N he worried about.  What if something serious happened when he wasn’t around to help her?  Would she be all right?  Would she be able to take care of herself until he could be here to help her?

It was another line that resonated with him, another one that was going to burn in his mind and make him brood over their situation.  This show was rife with them, and it had his emotions all over the place, despite his outward calm posture.

He had no way of knowing just how strongly the next chapter was going to hit him.

He was as riled up as Kousei after hearing that smart mouthed kid claim that the music Kaori made was just disastrous noise.  If he’d ever heard someone say that about the music Y/N played, he was liable to sock them in the mouth.  Honestly, after that comment, he’d thought that the focus was going to be on Kaori again, even with all the recent focus on Kousei’s mother.  That misconception was quickly fixed, though, when the chapter began with a flashback to Kousei’s mother and how he became a pianist, further reinforced when Kousei started to play and they were given the first glimpses into his thought process, and what his new mentor--his mother’s old friend--was thinking.

Kousei’s mother’s favorite song, Kousei’s lullaby.

”Would she have played it like this?”

Kousei was curled up against the wall in the darkness of a room with no one else, knees pulled up to his chest, head buried, trying to shut out the world, the woman who’d known and been close to Kousei’s mother finding him in the darkness as Kousei cried out for his mother, for someone to help him, save him.  Levi tensed, going completely still beside Y/N with his gaze riveted on the scene in front of him.

”That son of ours is about to bid you a last farewell.”

”Will it reach her?”

Levi’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together as he attempted to keep a lid on the emotions that were trying to rise inside him again.

“After I’m gone, what’s going to become of Kousei?  Will he be able to earn a living?”

There was a pressure on his chest making it impossible to breathe and a forceful pain in his throat that was pushing right at the back, like there was something stuck there that wanted to come out but couldn’t, because he wouldn’t let it no matter how much it pushed.

”What a terrible mother.  There’s nothing I can leave that boy...”

His breathing ground to a halt except for the barest, shaking whisper through his nose.

“I wish I could’ve stayed with him longer...Will my treasure ever find happiness?”

Eyes fixed on the screen, Levi suddenly felt the overwhelming need to bolt, could feel his fingers and legs twitch like he was about to without warning, but the music was reaching a crescendo, and he thought maybe, just maybe, he might be able to make it through this, even as the pain in his throat and the pressure on his chest seemed to grow more crushing, more painful, so much harder to contain.

”Do you think it reached my mom?  The way I played my very best?  Do you think it reached Mom?”

“You two are connected, aren’t you?  Of course it reached her.”

Kousei broke on screen, and Levi suddenly realized he wasn’t going to make it to the end of the episode.  He needed to bolt now or he might shatter.

Levi tapped Y/N on the shoulder to get her to move, not daring to look at her and possible see her a crying mess already at the emotional scene.  He gave a brief, “I need to take a shit,” that he managed to get out in a steady voice past the pain in his throat by some miracle, and then stood up, the brief statement her only warning to shift before his movement accidentally dumped her on the ground.  He didn’t run to the bathroom, that would be too much of a tell.  Instead, he got up calmly and made his way to the bathroom, not hurrying his step until he was out of sight and already halfway up the stairs.

By the time he reached the bathroom, he couldn’t hold it back any further, safely locked behind the bathroom door with the water in the sink running seconds before he finally choked on the feeling in his throat and chest.  A strangled sound left him, and he leaned over the sink, trying to catch his breath even as his body tried to make him sob.  His breaths hitched painfully, a slight shake in his hands before they clenched the edge of the sink, shoulders hunched and teeth grinding painfully as a soft whine escaped his rigid body.

Y/N was waiting for him.  He couldn’t stay up here forever, but he at least had to get ahold of himself before he headed back down there.  Out of stubborn determination, Levi tried to gulp in air and steady his breath and hands.  Once he had a strong enough hold of his breathing, he cupped his hands under the water and splashed some of it onto his face to help calm himself down.

Only when he felt his composure had returned, Levi dried off his face and hands, then carefully made his way back downstairs, well-aware that the chapter wasn’t even over, and there were still several chapters left--nine, according to Y/N.

A lot could happen in nine chapters.

Levi calmly returned to his seat on the couch, Y/N giving him a quizzical, examining look before she resumed the position they’d been in before resuming the show in the exact spot he’d left--thankfully, it was after Kousei’s breakdown, so he wouldn’t have to see any of that again.

That didn’t, however, mean that he was in the clear.  No, now that they had put a neat little bow on Kousei’s struggle with his mental image of his mother, they were moving on to the one who had been concerning Levi since one of the first few episodes.

”There’s an ever present sorrow hanging over Arima’s music...Then it’s a demon’s path he must walk.  His growth is spurred by sorrow.  If he walks that path, he might have to lose someone to move forward.”

Kaori was in the hospital again, and Levi felt the uneasiness and dread about the direction this show was taking grow substantially.  Especially as Kousei ran inside the room and saw Kaori in the exact position his mother had been in.  The way this show was starting to dig at some subconscious and deeply buried pains and fears of his that he would rather keep far from the front of his mind, but it kept plodding on, and he felt far too invested now to just leave it where it was.  The curiosity and need to know what happened next would eat away at him if he asked Y/N to stop it there--plus, asking that might tip her off that something about it was upsetting him, considering at this point he couldn’t claim he was bored with it.

”You’re gonna be fine, right?”

“I can see you again, right?”

“You won’t leave me like my mom did, right?”

At this point, the focus on Tsubaki and Kousei’s relationship was a much needed break from the reality and darker questions being asked with Kaori and Kousei right now, questions that he had asked himself from time to time regarding Y/N, questions and concerns he didn’t want to think about for his own sanity.  What was happening with Tsubaki was more lighthearted, less grim, even if it was confusing and brought up even more questions to ask himself.  After all, Tsubaki was being faced with the question of how she felt about Kousei--the boy who had been her friend since they were little, who she was falling in love with no matter how much she tried to deny it, who she had always been beside and wanted to be beside forever.

It made him wonder.  He and Y/N were friends--had been for years now.  She was there for him during his darkest moments, and he’d been there for some of her scariest moments.  Yes, they were friends, but...was it starting to go deeper than that?  Did he feel closer to her, somehow?

Her hands had felt warm against his when they played the piano together, pressed against one another with his arms around each other so they wouldn’t get in each other’s way.  His skin had tingled where she touched him when she’d taken care of and cleaned him up after that fight.  He felt comfortable sitting beside her now, with her leaning against him, her head on his shoulder, despite how borderline intimate it felt.

Had she felt something similar?  They hadn’t really looked at each other in these moments--they’d been avoiding looking at each other whenever something like that happened, so he had no idea.  Was she aware of just how comfortable he was around her?  How different that was for him?  Did she have any clue how important she was becoming to him, how big a part of his life she had gradually become despite the very real distance and difference between their two worlds.

This entire time he’d been drawing similarities between them and Kousei and Kaori, when perhaps the comparison should have been with Tsubaki and Kousei.

It sure as hell might make him feel better, considering he was rather sure she had a terminal illness.  After growing up in the Underground and with the experiences he had so far, fatal illnesses were something he could spot, especially when there were as many warning signs as there were for Kaori.  She only seemed to be getting worse--he was pretty sure she’d been told she was going to die, even though there was no audio for the moment to confirm it.  Since the first episode, Kaori had been centered on making an impression, about living on in the memories and hearts of others--she was clearly afraid of disappearing without a trace after she was gone.

Still, amid all the aching and pain, there was still flashes of hope as Kaori struggled against her illness, and more moments that made him think about the relationship between himself and the girl next to him--more damn connections between them and Kousei and Kaori, which did nothing to sooth his nerves and fears he didn’t even know he had.

“Why are the sounds you make so beautiful I think I’m going to cry?”

“That devotion you showed.  Her heart had turned grey, and you gave it color.”

Had he managed to give her what she gave him?  He felt like he didn’t have anything to give, coming from the dreadful world he did.  She was always the one bringing color into his life, had he ever brought color to hers?  Would he ever be able to?  His world, his life, was ugly and dark and probably tragic.  What could he offer her out of that?

”Did I reach him?”

“You don’t have the time to see me.”

“It’s not about time--I want to see you.”

The chapter started so calmly--discussion about the next round of the competition, Kaori continuing her struggle to get better, Tsubaki finally admitting her feelings for Kousei in a way.  Levi even made a quip about how Watari and Kaori really needed to stop dragging him along as the awkward extra in their group, practically rubbing it in his face even if it was unintentional.  There was even another moment of resonance with something Tsubaki said to Kousei.

“So you won’t lose your way, so you won’t have regrets, I’ll stay by your side forever.”

Still, he should have seen it coming.  It shouldn’t have surprised him, considering he was well aware of the cruel shittiness of the world, even if Y/N wasn’t.  All this time he’d spent bracing himself with the hints of just how bad Kaori’s illness was, the ominous lines of hers.  All the lightheartedness and self-discovery of the past several episodes came crashing down with the emergency with Kaori as, from what Levi could see even though they clearly had far more advanced medicine that Levi knew nothing about, Kaori had some kind of close call, a brush with death, right in front of Kousei.  And then with the damn cat getting hit and dying literally moments later, Kousei having to wash the blood off of his hands and breaking down in the wake of everything that was happening.  He shouldn’t have been surprised, but it still ached to see it.

And there were two chapters left.  Realistically, he doubted that Kaori was going to recover in two chapters after all this time.  By now, he was certain that she was going to die by the end of the story.

She wasn’t even gone yet, and Kousei had already given up.  Levi had seen plenty of people reach that point.  No fight left, no will to move.  Kousei was right back in the position he’d been in at the start, the impending loss of Kaori the final nail in his coffin, his breaking point.

“Why does it have to end up this way?  I can’t...go on.  No more...I can’t try anymore.”

He hadn’t hit his breaking point--he hoped he never reached that point.  But he was sure even he had one, even if he wasn’t sure where his limit was.

Levi blinked at the white fluttering from the sky on screen. A novel sight he couldn’t ignore or just accept.  Snow, Kaori called it.

So that was what it looked like.  One of the many things he’d heard about but hadn’t seen…

“Have you seen snow before, Levi?  Since you live Underground,” Y/N suddenly asked from where she was curled up into his side, head turned to look at him curiously.  Levi shook his head no, and she hummed.  “You’ll have to show up some time in the winter so I can show you all kinds of awesome things you can do when it snows.  It’s cold, but it’s fun.  And everything looks so clean and pure...my favorite things are the trees encapsulated in ice,” she said with a wistful sigh, eventually quieting down as the scene on the screen continued to develop.

Maybe one day.  But he would have to come through not only when it was winter, but on a day that there was snow, and he had no control over when he blipped over into her world.

Blipped, blip...her word for when Levi flickered into and out of her world.  Clearly, it had caught on even in his mind.

“The people I care about keep leaving me...I’m going to be left all alone.”

Inwardly, Levi felt himself flinch, and that desire to bolt was trying to rear its head again, the desire for her to shut it off and spare him these comments that kept digging into the darker corners of himself, the weakness he kept hidden away for no one to see.

“But you have me.  But you have me.”

For the first time, Levi felt Y/N’s hand give his little squeeze on his knee as Kaori repeated her sentiment to Kousei.

Perhaps the feelings were mutual.  Maybe he wasn’t the only one drowning in emotions on the inside and drawing parallels while they watched this show, if she was giving him a little squeeze after those words.  After he registered that he had felt it, and he hadn’t imagined it, he gave her shoulder a small squeeze in return.

“I’m going to struggle as hard as I can.  Struggle, struggle, struggle, like there’s no tomorrow.”

“You gave me this desire to cling to the time that I spent with you.  Aren’t you going to struggle to?  We’re so good at struggling.”

Hell if that wasn’t the story of his life so far, right there.

Collectively, the two of them held their breath, watching as, after Kousei declared how useless it was for him to even try to play in the state he was in right now, Kaori got to her feet on her own, and the sound of the violin softly flickered towards them from the screen.  It was like the music was from a dream, her imaginary violin ethereal, Kaori lit up by a flurry of snow as she played to a crescendo and smiled at Kousei.

“See, miracles can happen just like that.”

Shaking, legs trembling, sweating, collapsed into Kousei’s arms with a breathless laugh, clinging to him like a source of comfort.  It wasn’t her reciting of the things she knew about Kousei, or what she wished she knew, that drew a response from him, but her heartfelt pleas with Kousei as he held her in her arms.

“I’m scared.  I’m scared!  Don’t leave me all alone!”

That was why it was familiar.  That was how Y/N had held him when…

And perhaps the reason he’d lashed out when he’d found out about how fleeting this world was for him had been because…

Levi shifted, and it was only when Y/N started to pull away did he realize he’d been shifting to get up and walk away, to bolt.  When she fixed him with that questioning look again, not-yet-spilled tears in her eyes from the emotion of the scene, her hand still fisted in his shirt, it brought him back to what was happening in the present, and he shook his head as if to dismiss the movement as he sat back down, relieved when the scene changed again.

Considering it was going to the competition and Kaori’s surgery at the same time, he doubted he was going to get much of a reprieve before the emotions hit again.  Kousei was still a mess, though it was a miracle he’d at least shown up to the competition, but even watching him was worrisome, wondering if he was going to break at the piano again after all this progress he’d made throughout the show, everyone watching in concern in the show and on the couch.

“I made you remember something you don’t want to remember…”

“I won’t forget, even if I die…”

“You can just forget about it all, like you’ve pressed the reset button…”

“I guess maybe we never should've met, huh?”

Levi had to close his eyes for a moment after that one, sucking in a sharp breath.  It was like it had come right out of his denial of their entire situation, how angry he’d been, the pain it had caused, how for a few moments, he’d felt like it would have been better if he could forget it all, if they had never met, because then he wouldn’t know about what he could never have.  His heart ached painfully, the words reverberating not in his mind, but in his bones as the pain in his throat already seemed to be returning.

He opened his eyes, and on screen, Kousei started to break down again, face in his hands, on the brink of tears seated at the piano, on stage in front of everyone once again.

Tsubaki sneezed, and after a few moments of reflecting, after realizing how many people he knew were there...Kousei finally began to play, the notes reverberating deep inside his chest in a full, resonating sound.  Something about it made him nostalgic, but also so...it was so…

“Bursting with such mournful color.”

The chapter suddenly came to an end mid performance, which startled Levi--especially when Y/N darted forward so suddenly to grab the remote and quickly jump to the next one, immediately snapping back into his side, clutching to his clothes like her life depended on it, curled into a ball as he realized for the first time that tissue box was suddenly right in front of her, easily accessible.

The last episode.

Considering the set-up, neither of them were going to get through this last part unscathed emotionally.

It started from the beginning of the piece this time, the commentary being made by the onlookers and Kousei different this time, centered entirely on Kousei after the very beginning.  Levi and Y/N were both enraptured by the performance though, holding to one another on the couch with gazes fixed forward, completely still, even their breathing slight as they paid full attention to every word, and let the music pull them in deeper into the emotional symphony Kousei was creating with just the piano.

“I’m so scared...Somebody…”

“But you have me.”

“I’m not alone.  From the moment that we meet someone else, none of us can ever be alone.  We’re all connected.”

Levi’s grip tightened slightly on Y/N’s shoulder again, and he felt her grip tighten in return.

“Don’t leave me all alone.”

“Dummy, you have me.”

“Inside me...you exist.”

Y/N nuzzled into his side like a cat, and he thought he felt his shirt starting to get damp.  He ignored it, keeping his grip on her firm and steady, staying still beneath her as he stared stalwartly at the screen, even as the emotions were starting to stir violently around inside him.

”No way am I going to leave you all alone.  Reach her.  Reach her.  Reach her.  Reach her.”

The scenery changed entirely, like Kousei was playing in the sky amid a shower of colors, floating around like leaves that autumn day when he and Y/N had jumped into the piles and sent them scattering into the air.  Kaori’s whispered ‘Thank you’ as Kousei carried her back down the stairs sent a shiver down his spine, especially when Kousei of the present reacted, and turned his head to see Kaori materializing beside him, violin in hand.

Beside him, there was suddenly a whine from Y/N, and a rather large sniffle, as well as that damp feeling on his clothes starting to spread.  She trembled slightly beneath his arm and hand, and he realized she was starting to cry rather heavily, her face partially buried in his side.

The music was jarring, disorienting, suddenly intense and tragic as Kousei closed his eyes, barely holding back tears.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

And there it was.

Kaori’s rich violin playing joined into Kousei’s suddenly mournful and tragic playing, and Levi realized that they were witnessing the last time the two would get to play together.  It couldn’t happen again in body, but at least in spirit.  Words weren’t needed for this moment.  Nothing was said between the characters on the screen, and not a word was spoken between Levi and Y/N.  She was continuing to cry into his side, with Levi starting to semi-awkwardly rub her shoulder to try and comfort her even as his own heart seemed to be pounding painfully at the sight in front of him, every note piercing him deeper than he thought possible with the raw emotion behind and pure weight of this single moment.  All there was at this moment in time, was him, Y/N, and the music being created on the stage in front of them between Kaori and Kousei, one last time.

A sob broke past Y/N’s control as the colorful day turned into a rich night, and Kaori stopped playing.  Levi held his breath, watching as transfixed on the scene as Kousei was transfixed on Kaori, the music softening for the briefest moment before it started to turn slow, mournful, and tragic again.

”Wait...please don’t go!”

As Kousei started to beg Kaori to do all of these things with him again, good and bad, Levi felt the pressure on his chest return, the burn in his eyes and the clench in his jaw, the pain in his throat.  Memories of his own were flickering before his eyes in place of what Kousei begged of Kaori.

A small hand offering a still-warm roll.  A splash of cool water to the face with shrieks and giggles filling the air.  The security of being able to lean comfortably against a warm back with the sun shining down from above, hands gripping his legs and his arms wrapped around the girl who carried him home on her back.  The cool taste of ice cream as they leaned against the brick store.  A gentle hand rubbing soft circles on his back as he slipped in and out of lucid thought in his feverish state.  The sound of hope amid darkness that they managed to create together despite his crude piano playing.  Her hand even now clenched tightly in his shirt seeking comfort, like when he’d led her home in the dark through the desert.

His hand was stretched out before him, pulled along by the girl that suddenly disappeared when he closed his eyes.  He tried to reach a little further, as if his fingertips could press past some veil between his world and hers, so he could reach her even for another moment.  The warmth and the softness of the comfort she wrapped him in evaporated into smoke between his fingers, disappearing in translucent curls, leaving him with nothing to hold, the weight of her presence suddenly disappearing.

What if one day he didn’t come back?

What if one day it all just...ended?  Without any warning?  The only sign that he would never return the passage of time and gradual loss of hope?

“Don’t go, don’t go, please don’t go, please don’t leave me behind!”

Y/N was sobbing openly into his side now, but she didn’t move to stop the show--she kept watching it.  Levi was unaware of the fact that his hand was shaking against her shoulder, all of his effort on keeping the emotions bottled inside him as he watched Kaori disappear before Kousei’s eyes in a flurry of petals, swept away by an indifferent wind.

The rest of the last chapter seemed to pass by in a blur, Levi spending most of that time trying to work his way down from the emotions that scene had stirred up in him, glancing over at Y/N to see a collection of tissues around her while her gaze remained fixed forward, still a blubbering mess over the events that were unfolding on screen.  Shards of Kaori’s letter made it through to Levi, certain fragments sticking with him in the moment, others slowly settling in likely to make an impact on him later.

“I want Kousei to play the piano for me!”

He understood that sentiment.  He loved listening to Y/N play for him, it was one of the many reasons why he brought it up so often.  Sure, it was nice she was trying to teach him to play, but the true moment of enjoyment for him was when she played for him.

“Isn’t it funny how the most unforgettable scenes can be so trivial?”

“None of it was trivial.”

No, none of it was.  From playing card games in her room to playing tag on the playground, or eating frozen treats on the steps while they played simple games with their hands.  Every little moment was one Levi kept stored away, a secret trove of memories just for him and her, something bright and...something that the Underground couldn’t corrupt, because it couldn’t reach or touch this world or the girl at his side.

“Was I able to live inside your heart?  Do you think you’ll remember me at least a little?  You better not hit reset.  Don’t forget me, okay?  That’s a promise, okay?  I’m glad it’s you, after all.”

Like Y/N said, just because the moments were fleeting, didn’t mean they didn’t matter.  Even if they stopped one day, for whatever reason...at least he would have everything that had come before, the memories, the moments that nothing could take away.  He didn’t think she would want him to try and forget, anyway.  And a part of him wouldn’t want her to forget him, either.  Unlike everything else in his life so far, he wanted this good thing to last, one way or another.

“Will I reach you?  I hope I can reach you.”

This time, when his mind procured the image of his hand outstretched in front of him, trying to catch the disappearing back of the girl in front of him, fingers finding nothing but air, he let his hand squeeze slightly against Y/N’s shoulder once more, reminding himself she was right here in his arms right now, and not to take that for granted.  Maybe sometimes she’d be out of reach, but right now, she was right here.  She wasn’t always out of reach.  He’d just have to make each moment he was here count for something.

Thankfully, she already seemed pretty good at making that happen, so he felt like he wouldn’t have to worry about it too much.  She was always taking him by the hand to have him run with her wherever she wanted to go and explore, and so far, she hadn’t made him regret following her on her little adventures.

She made his life colorful.

“Thank you for being my friend, Levi.”

“I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

Next Chapter---->

Levi Tags:  @clary-quinn @humanitys-hottestsoldier @whalerus @sunny-flo @thirstyforsometea

Through The Looking Glass Tags:  @artist-bby @kaz2y5-pie​ @tartheyes​ @super-peace-fangirl​ @huntersbunker​ @nefelimalfoy​ @soft-levi-girl-blog​ @honeygivemeachainsaw @regalillegal​ @sugas-daddy7​ @cathyannecookie @chaoticshepardplaid @roayaloveslife​ @sanrioclit​

[deathduty]

Child || Solo

WHILE DEIRDRE’S MOTHER IS VISITING, and after THIS.

Deirdre's legs grew long first, tall and thin. Like a newborn deer, she stumbled around any patch of uneven land. Her legs quivered as they struggled to keep the rest of her steady. Her knees turned thick and hard under the constant scraping. Bruises melded into the paleness of her skin until purple was simply an undertone.

Her mother had grown gradually, like the swell of an orchestra. She blamed Deirdre’s choppy growth on her father. She should have known better, looked harder. Except this was not guilt, or ownership of something, it couldn’t have been with the way her eyes bore into Deirdre every time she fell over. Her daughter was clumsy. There was no father to blame.

Just the child.

Deirdre had been meaning to fix the odd shrieking that her door gave off every time it was closed slowly. It sounded a lot like a wounded animal losing its voice to give one last plea for help, which she might have enjoyed if it wasn’t for the way the sound sliced through her house. It also never was much of a problem unless she was sneaking into her own house, a thing she’s never done before.

“There’s a joke here about watching my daughter sneak into her own house, but I’ll let you make it,” her mother, Siobhan, smiled. She was leaning against Deirdre’s kitchen island, against her marble countertop just barely in sight from the entrance. Deirdre figured she must have done this deliberately, so that her curiosity to see what her mother was up to would propel her into the kitchen. 

And it did.

Without being asked, she stood at the threshold between her great room and the kitchen, where decadent hardwood turned into cold tile. And like always under the gaze of her mother, or merely in her presence, Deirdre felt herself shrinking. She opened her mouth to work out that joke about the sneaking in, but the words jammed in her throat, begging to be swallowed down with an audible gulp instead. 

“What--what--” What are you doing here? It was the middle of the night, and there was no one who hated eating after 6 P.M. like her mother. But Deirdre couldn’t say that either and blubbering around like a child didn’t appeal much to her so she swallowed that too and waited for her mother to offer up an explanation. 

Instead of words, Siobhan stepped aside. On the island, revealed by her movement, was a piece of paper. Deirdre knew the stationary. Her face turned pale, almost the same fairness as her mother. She tried to account for all of Morgan’s letters, all she knew to be tucked away in the safe behind the lackluster painting of a beach. She tried to account for her own, those she knew to be hidden well in the safe under her workbench in the shed. 

Deirdre inched closer but Siobhan’s voice halted her.

“It would seem like you have an admirer, actually. Though not much of an interesting read.” The older banshee shifted again, sparing a glance at the paper from over the tip of her nose. “I was looking around for that knife your great-great-grandmother gave you and that was what greeted me.”

Deirdre didn’t move. She tried to account for the letters she knew she’d stored away safely, where this sort of thing couldn’t happen. Behind the painting of a beach at night, behind a shore of a different world where the stars were bright and plentiful and the ocean waves were calm and cyclical. There were two letters. Were there still two letters there?

“Well,” her mother hummed, pulling a knife from her side with the same grace and ease that Deirdre did. “I could do you a favor---” she smiled, stabbing the knife into the letter, letting the sound of cracking marble ripple between them. She pulled a lighter from her pocket next, and flicked that open. “---and just spare you having to read it. Fates, it’s such degrading stuff.” Siobhan pressed the lighter to the end of the letter. Her eyes were set on the flame, not her daughter. “Let me get rid of it for you.” 

Deirdre, propelled by something monstrous to which she could not put a name, dove forward. She shoved her mother aside, tried to pull the knife out with one hand and stamp the flame out with the other. 

She heaved. The charred remains dangled off her throbbing fingers. The beginning of the letter was still readable, it was only near the end that the ink smudged and tearing and burning morphed the sentences. This was not one of the two she already had. 

“What are you doing?”

Deirdre spun around, clutching the letter to her chest, afraid her mother would rip it away. 

“Look at yourself, child.”

And like the child with the long, thin legs that didn't know how to keep her upright, Deirdre tumbled backwards. The cold tile slamming into her backside was more welcome than her mother's withering gaze. Her mouth quivered, and she worked around more words that had to be swallowed away. 

She imagined herself as that child, dwarfed by her mother's height and skill. When words would tumble out of her mouth without thought, and with a whimper she'd ask "are you going to hurt me?" But Deirdre could imagine the answer to that too. There was nothing more unforgivable than hurting a Fae, and her mother respected rules so greatly.

She might have held her daughter's hands steady against rods of cold iron to teach steadiness, or held her head under water to teach perseverance, but never once hit her. And she didn't need to hurt Deirdre to get her messages across. 

“Have you considered this is why you couldn’t activate that poor banshee?” Siobhan sighed. She glanced down at her daughter, decidedly refusing to move to her level or even tilt her head. "Can you imagine anything worse than never being given your gift? And can you think of a greater betrayal to who we are than not fulfilling your duty?" She turned her eyes to the bed of her nails, more intriguing a sight than her daughter quivering on the floor. "You are still such a child, aren't you?"

Siobhan picked the knife up from where Deirdre had haphazardly discarded it in her attempt to protect the letter. She tossed it between her hands, hovering over her daughter’s legs, something she’d finally grown into.

But she’d never hurt her. Deirdre believed that, even if her body didn’t.

Deirdre could remember nights spent with her cursed legs tucked under her, head pressed against the wall as their orange kitchen light streamed across scarred marble flooring. The light caught in every indent, drawing attention to each mark. She could remember trying to count them as her mother and great-grandmother's hushed whispers filled the air. She was supposed to be asleep, but she had so much trouble sleeping between nightmares and panic.

"I hate children," she'd say, "so red faced, screaming…helpless. Without you, I’m not sure how I would have managed through Deirdre."

Her great-grandmother would laugh in that wheezy way she did, as if she took too much air into her lungs and needed to cough it out. Her voice was deep and hoarse, like a woman who smoked too much despite having never touched a cigarette in her life. "Children are children. What are you going to do?"

"I hate them," her mother repeated. "Demanding. Selfish. Ungrateful. Insufferable."

Her great-grandmother, without fail, would always ask, “what of your own?”

And her mother, equally without fail, would always respond, “perfect, but still a child.”

The marble's scars always seemed larger then, deeper. Splitting apart and sitting silently on the verge of cracking apart. She knew they were the same marks, but under her mother's venomous tone, everything became a canyon. She never could if her mother knew that she sat there, listening to them, or if she didn't care either way. 

What she couldn’t remember was when her mother had left, and when exactly she’d taken from being half sitting up to curled up on her cold tile, a charred letter sitting in front of her. Or when, exactly, her great-great-grandmother’s knife had found its way into her shoulder. 

She laid in her blood, looking out across her immaculate floor. She missed the scarred marble of her home. There was nothing to count here.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m---I’m---” Deirdre, 8, knew better than to blubber like some child. She hadn’t cried this much since she was a baby. The taste of salt dripping into her mouth was odd, but she couldn’t help it. Unable to speak without floundering, she didn’t dare try. 

“You’ve been given such a great gift,” her mother reached up, a sharp smile was her attempt at comfort. She held her daughter’s face steady and rubbed away her tears roughly with her thumb. “Why are you crying? No one can love you like we can. No one can understand you like we can. No one else matters. And now you’re just like your mother.” Siobhan pulled back. The sounds of Deirdre’s  chéad scread thumped on from behind her bedroom door made of marred wood. For the first time, she heard her mother’s voice turn sharp---dissolved into the crude echo of a stranger. “What else could you want? Everything you need is right here.”

[mysticsparklewings]

Ziggy Crossing

Still not quite sure I'm 100% back into the swing of things (posting regularly and being more present) yet, but time will tell. For now I'm testing the waters. Anyway. In the time I've been away, I ended up talking to some friends about (to the surprise of absolutely no one) Animal Crossing, and in that conversation, the idea of drawing my cat, Ziggy, as an Animal Crossing villager came up. I'd toyed with it before after seeing some other people draw their pets as villagers, and that conversation more or less sealed the deal for me to at least try it, even if my attempt didn't pan out and see the light of day. Obviously, things went pretty well because here I am posting this. The first step, as it is 90% of the time for me, was to come up with a sketch and go from there. I primarily used Olivia and Lolly [pre-existing Animal Crossing cat villagers] as my references--Olivia for the pose and eyes, Lolly for the stripes and some details regarding the ears and face--but I also checked certain things across the various cat villager models so that details could be consistent where they needed to be. I think if I missed the mark anywhere, it's probably in the proportions. Namely the size of the head and length of the body. But I think it's close enough that unless you compare it directly to Olivia's model that I referenced for the pose, the proportions aren't so off that it's distracting or off-putting. I did originally have trouble figuring out what pattern to put on her shirt though because the real Ziggy doesn't really have anything I could pull a pattern from. These days she does wear a white and silver collar, but that's not a whole lot to work with. So I left that alone while I pondered how I wanted to go about coloring the whole thing. My plan at the beginning was to use this sketch as a test piece for some acrylic paint markers I recently acquired (which you will be seeing me talk about in the future), but once the sketch was finished and I went back to check the colors I had (you know me; gotta have a swatch chart for everything), it was pretty obvious that if I want this to be my dear Ziggy and not just a random tabby cat, I needed to figure out a different coloring method. I could have just done regular acrylic paint, but that sounded like a chore and thus I was not interested. Same with gouache. Colored pencils were on the table, but the main problem I have with those is that they can be pretty slow and personally I think their texture really lends them better to replicating the 3DS/Animal Crossing: New Leaf style, as opposed to the look of New Horizons, and that's not what I was going for here. That left me with two main options: Watercolor, which was a hard pass for this kind of art (at least for Ziggy herself), and alcohol markers, which I did use quite a bit on the last Animal Crossing artwork I made, and they had worked out fairly well. Alcohol markers it was! Of course, even after that decision was made, there was the issue of how to handle the lines of the drawing. When I was planning on using the paint pens/acrylic markers/whatever, that seemed a lot simpler because, in theory, I could just use the same pen I wanted to color with to do the outlines and then fill them in. And because that would be using mostly opaque paint, if I needed to I could just cover up any overlap with relative ease. Alcohol markers don't play by the same rules though, so I had to re-think all that. In the end, I pulled out a pale warm gray Polychromos pencil close to the main color of alcohol marker that I had picked out that I figured would also be light enough to blend in everywhere else. That way I could have the defining lines that I needed without having to worry too much about them being visible in the final product. [For clarification: I picked a Polychromos because once sharpened they tend to hold a point longer and better than the other colored pencils at my disposal and I really needed to keep a sharp point as long as possible to do the lines here.] In retrospect, I do think it might have been to my benefit to pick out a pink for doing the inner ear lines, but the end result there isn't so awful that it single-handedly (paw-ed-ly?) ruins the drawing for me. It's just something to take note of for next time if there is a "next time." Once I had my lines (including doing the eyelashes and mouth with one of my usual black fineliners), the next challenge was the actual coloring. Mostly because I had to be very careful around the edges so that the marker ink didn't feather out too far (as alcohol markers do on any paper that isn't marketed as "bleed proof" because that's what bleed proof in paper actually means--not that it won't bleed through to the other side, though that is less common with that kind of paper, but that it won't "bleed" across the page), and I also had to be a little careful and choosy about how I did any blending or shading. Again, my blending and shading plan was going to be different had I used the acrylic markers. The main thing I ended up doing here was trying to find areas that needed to be layered so that the one-color shading could act as a line/barrier between sections. Best example: Where the ears meet the head, I shaded the bottom portion of the ears. You can also see this a little bit where Ziggy's tail meets her body and where the legs intersect at a few different points. By no means did this turn out perfectly, considering that I really wanted to stick to use as few colors as possible (which means pretty much all the shading is just layers of one color to darken it) which means there isn't as much distinction or variation as there could be. And I feel it necessary to note here that I was worried when I first finished the lines that the eyes looked wonky, but after coloring pretty much everything else in that concern dissolved because 1. It's harder to tell and 2. Even if they aren't exactly the same, it makes visual sense because it looks like her head is slightly turned, meaning the eyes wouldn't be identical anyway. Never underestimate the power of coloring your work in! Speaking of which, you might be wondering about her shirt by now. Well, after toying around with some ideas I got it in my head that a good way to tackle that problem might be with washi tape, as I've used it in this manner before and worked out pretty nicely. Even though it wasn't a lot to work with, I did like the idea of the base color for her top being white like the real Ziggy's collar, and that narrowed down my tape options considerably. Of the options I had that I thought would be suitable, I ended up having a choice between one with small rainbow-colored polka dots and the decidedly less vibrant small triangles that you see here. The polka dots seemed a little too peppy for Ziggy, so I went with the triangles. And this, I must say, is one of those artistic decisions that I feel even better about the longer that I see the end product.   The main issue I have with using washi tape, and thus why I don't use it in this way that often, is because cutting the washi tape to fit a specific shape is a process that doesn't get much easier even with practice.  And even if it did, that wouldn't eliminate the very real possibility of cutting or indenting the paper underneath while you're cutting the tape. Of which, I have not yet figured out how to totally avoid short of forming the washi tape on a separate piece of paper, cutting it there, and then moving it to the final piece. But that method comes with its own problems too, so... Still, I made the decision to go through with it here and just accept the rough edges/lack of precision and all that. Before I put the tape down though, I did do a little shading with some light gray markers that I was counting on showing through the tape to give it a little more dimension. Seeing it now, I do think I could've stood to go a little darker, but again this isn't something that totally ruins the end result for me. Just something worth noting. After all of the above, I was left with one lingering problem: The background. Which I've noticed seems to normally be a "problem" area for me in that I don't always have a solid idea for what to do with it. I did consider what exactly I wanted to do earlier on in the process, before I started on Ziggy on the final paper, even. Briefly, I thought I might cut her out and put her on a separate background as is sort of a go-to background method for me. Something just didn't feel right about doing that here though and it feels like I've done that a lot lately (you know, when I've not been drowning in mandalas for NaPoWriMo...). So it was at this early stage that I locked in the idea of adding in the background in later, probably doing something kind of loose to give a general idea that hopefully wouldn't take too much time or effort. We've already established that I wasn't super keen on the idea of using acrylic paints or gouache for this drawing, and that remained true for the background too. Although, I don't really like using alcohol markers for backgrounds either because it can be tricky to keep things smooth and consistent. That left me with colored pencils and watercolor. Colored pencils are usually hard pass for backgrounds for me for a number of reasons. So! Watercolor, hmm... I drew Ziggy here on my darling Strathmore 400 series mixed media paper because I love how it handles markers and it has enough weight and texture to it that it handles a lot of my other go-to options with little fuss. Watercolor is really the only thing I have trouble using on it, the main problem being that sometimes (not always) the paint doesn't like to blend out super smoothly and certain watercolor techniques don't work the same on it. This doesn't mean it's useless for watercolor (at least not for me), that just means I have to be more careful about how I choose to work with watercolor on it. In this case, the blending issues lined up with the idea I had of letting the background have more texture since Ziggy came out a lot smoother by the very nature of alcohol markers. Somewhere in all this, the idea struck me to use my Gelatos to leave behind some crayon-like texture. That idea seemed fitting to me since Animal Crossing is a fairly light-hearted and child-friendly game, themes that crayons go along with. The gelatos are water-soluble but not every color dissolves completely when activated with water. This should be pretty evident here because I didn't try to hide it. I wanted quick and easy, and without a doubt just letting the texture do whatever it wants is the quick n' easiest method to use with the gelatos. Once I'd done a bit of back and forth with two greens and two blues to give me the solid suggestions of a sky and ground, it still felt like it was missing something. Ultimately, it seemed like a good idea to me to try and mimic the triangle pattern/texture that New Horizons features. (In past games you could get squares or circles for a grass pattern at random.) And while I as per usual I had to think on how to go about this, in the end, the best solution I could come up with turned out to be drawing the triangles in with alcohol markers. Truly, I'm surprised to be reporting this because I fully expected the creamy nature of the gelatos to make using alcohol markers on top feel disguising and unproductive. But not so! At least not with the limited gelato use here. The creamier areas do soften the color of the marker, but I think that worked to my advantage. Although, I did end up using a little bit of my yellow Moonlight gel pen because I felt like I needed some yellow triangles for balance and I knew transparent yellow markers wouldn't do what I wanted. But that brings us to the final product. I'm happy with it. And I do really like how the grass ties in with Ziggy's green eyes. It's just a nice little touch of visual cohesion in my book. As I always say, I'm sure it's not perfect and there are some missteps here and there or things that could be improved. Nevertheless, it was a fun experiment and serves as good encouragement for me to continue playing with the lineless look, among other things. I do have to note though that it feels super weird to just leave the eyes like this with no indication of shine on them! I made the choice not to since it's not a common trait with the official character models (at least not for eyes in this same style) but part of me still feels like it's incomplete. As I've said before recently and I'll probably say again, I can't promise I'll be getting back to a regular upload schedule now, but it's on my mind. I want to get to that point soon. I do have the acrylic markers I mentioned to talk about and another supply in the mail, and some other art in my backlog. So if you can be patient with me a while longer, there will be more from me to look forward to. In the meantime, please be kind to yourself and others. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram 

[missnmikaelson-main]

The Forgotten - Chapter 5

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

1914

She stared up at the imposing structure – three stories, Grecian columns, and towering turrets. The dark house bore little resemblance to what she had always considered a cottage to be; where she came from the term brought images of quaint and cozy buildings to mind, buildings filled with happy people and laughing children. The sprawling mansion before her invoked a sense of trepidation – larger than the Boarding house and Kol’s home combined. The house would take days to properly search. She possessed the length of a Catholic mass, and being raised Protestant she was unsure how long the service afforded her.

She estimated an hour.

Her time slipped away the longer she stood rooted to the sidewalk, balking at her impossible task.

He had asked what she believed in and after everything she had seen and been through – vampires, werewolves, doppelgangers, hybrids and actual death – she had been unable to provide a true answer. How could she believe in someone who allowed horror to seep into her life?

She wasn’t sure what she believed anymore, but she found herself praying for a miracle as she ascended the steps because she knew Kol would never gain an invitation from the dowager.

A length of wire and several spare hair pins weighed a hole in her pocket; she pulled them out with a deep breath and inserted the wire in the lock. She had picked more sophisticated locks than the state of the art 1914 technology before her, and she had done that drunk.

“Shh,” Caroline stumbled, giggling, “you’re gonna wake the neighbors.”

“Then they’ll call the Sheriff,” Bonnie slurred.

“Are you too drunk to remember the security code?” Elena pushed up the sleeves of Matt’s letterman jacket and wiggled the pin to click the last tumbler in place.

“How dare you?” Caroline gasped, full of mock indignation. She threw her unsteady weight into her gasp and stumbled.

“You were too drunk to search for your keys,” Bonnie nudged the blonde with her hip.

“I know exactly where my keys are,” she huffed, “they’re in my locker. Oh…” Caroline clapped her hands; a half formed idea flashed in her unfocused eyes. “Let’s go get them…”

Bonnie grabbed her arm, pulling sharply so that both girls stumbled against the porch rail.

“I’m not picking the school lock and getting detention on top of a grounding,” Elena twisted the knob.

The door swung inwards.

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. A round table stood in the center of the foyer with a single lamp the dowager had left to light her return. She picked up the lamp and moved towards the stairs, but a cabinet in the parlour caught her eye.

Hoisting the lamp aloft, she approached on silent feet. Her hand slapped over her mouth, stifling her startled shriek. Dozens of dead eyes stared out at her from behind the glass: heads stacked one atop another.

“Creepy,” she breathed, making no attempt to hide her shudder. She turned away and prayed the search would not lead her back to the cabinet of doll heads.

Most people she had met kept the items they valued most close to them and locked away, but most people were not paranoid someone would steal into their homes in the dead of night – at least not to the point that they never left.

Her father had always kept his treasured items in the home office; a wall safe contained the Gilbert heirlooms and personal papers of the family. A typical house – mansions included – featured offices and studies on the first floor; she counted several that she knew of while peeking into each open door: the Boarding House, the Lockwood mansion, and Kol’s house.

Locating a room full of shelves and a desk she gave a silent cheer, adding the cottage to her list.

The desk drawers slid open with ease and her heart sank, but she persisted in giving each a thorough search. Her efforts were rewarded with a black box; the satin lining revealed a large indent in the shape of a precious gem, but the diamond remained missing.

She replaced everything and checked her watch: twenty-five minutes. Her eyes flickered to the shelves, but she shook her head. A hollowed out book felt too obvious.

With the lamp in hand she oved back toward the parlour, pausing to open boxes and baskets along the path; every container came up empty. At the round table she checked her watch again: fifteen minutes.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes to rack her brain for everyone she knew to be paranoid; only three names came up.

Katherine Pierce would have compelled someone to hold the item and plant decoys, or hold it on her person. The first scenario seemed unlikely, and if the second were true Kol would have the gem soon enough.

Klaus too would keep such an item on his person – provided it held no danger to him.

And then there was Damon – Damon who had hidden the moonstone in plain sight with artisanal soaps. Where would he hide a perfect paragon diamond large enough to fit in a decanter?

Her eyes snapped open. A glance at her watch showed twelve minutes as she raced into the parlour.

++++

Astrid had thought she knew of chaos and death – the war had brought curse upon curse to the city – but never in her life had she known such needless violence. From the moment Mary-Alice drew her to the other side she had expected it in some way, and now her fears had come to life on a grander scale than she could have ever imagined.

She remained unsurprised, yet her voice stuck in her throat. Her heels clicked over the wooden floors slowly allowing her eyes to roam from one empty face to another as the feeling of horror mounted. Every face built up the rage until it burst forth, fueled by the final sight of a blood splattered pram.

“You’re a monster,” she jerked against Mary-Alice’s hold.

“I didn’t know what the dowager looked like,” Kol wiped a spot of blood from his thumb. His stomach lurched but his voice came out cloaked in a heavy layer of indifference. “Best just to kill them all.”

“You knew she didn’t look like the altar boy,” Astrid spat.

He hopped down from his perch on the alter, ignoring her outstretched finger. He knew what he would find at the end of her point: crimson stained white silk and unseeing eyes.

“I was parched,” he shrugged, catching a glimpse of his blood streaked skin. He would need to clean up; luckily he kept some clothes at the compound. She need never learn of his lost control. “I’m off to a family dinner now. I’ll see you later tonight.”

He strode around the pair towards the arched doors, but froze in his tracks.

“We are not helping you!”

He spun around to face them. Their hearts stopped when he glowered, but Astrid maintained her determined stance. His eyes cut to Mary-Alice. The blonde relented, addressing her friend over her shoulder.

“We’ve come this far, Astrid.” Her breath caught in her chest when she turned back and Kol grinned before pressing a quick peck to the corner of her mouth.

He vanished into thin air, and she touched the blood clinging to her upper lip.

Mary-Alice cleaned her face with a handkerchief and stared at the stain for a moment while drawing in a slow breath.

“I’ll meet you outside the cottage at nine,” her voice sounded distant to her ears. Astrid’s came from further away. “I have something to take care of.”

Astrid waited a few moments before following her friend’s path out of the church, but by the time she stood on the steps Mary-Alice was gone and a woman was coming to a stop, bending over the railing to draw in quick breaths.

“Good evening, Elena,” her voice sounded hollow.

The brunette’s head snapped up as she reached for her left hand with wide eyes.

“Your coat is distinctive,” Astrid breathed, descending the stairs.

Elena’s shoulders sagged with relief. She straightened up and swallowed. “Have you seen Kol, Astrid? I was hoping to catch him before he went to dinner.”

Astrid tilted her head, looking down the last three steps into the doppelganger’s bright eyes; Elena bounced on the balls of her feet, practically vibrating.

“The last I saw him he was inside,” she jerked her thumb over her shoulder.

“Thanks,” Elena’s eyes narrowed. There was something unreadable in Astrid’s gaze, but she shook off the feeling and hurried inside.

Astrid watched her go, listening for a moment to the reigning silence before making her way down the street.

Inside the chapel Elena paused.

“Kol,” she called softly, knowing he would hear her. The smile slid from her lips and the blood drained from her face. She wondered what it said about her life that her first response was not to scream.

She rushed to the first body and sought a pulse. She hurried from body to body in search of anyone still alive. She had no idea what she would do if she located a survivor; medical attention wasn’t exactly a phone call away. The only thing she could do was hold their hand, but everyone – all twenty-seven bodies – lacked a heartbeat.

She ripped her bloody gloves off and fell back against the alter. The wood dug into her back. Her fingers tore through her hair knocking her hat from her head and dislodging several pins.

A soft rustle drew her attention to the corner of the room. Loosened tendrils of hair tumbled around her pale face as she climbed to her feet, gloves and hat forgotten.

The pram sat half-hidden behind a column. Blood dripped from the polished wood to the tall wheels.

Her heart thumped.

Holding her breath she inched closer until she heard a second rustle at which point she sprinted the remaining distance and bent over the open basket. Large blue eyes stared back.

++++

“What troubles you this evening?” Rebekah scrutinized the brewing storm behind his eyes over the rim of her wine glass.

Silverware clinked. Three sets of eyes locked on his profile, searching for what Rebekah had already noted in his silence and picked over food.

He loathed his baby sister’s perceptive nature. He never could lie to her.

Nine hundred years of life – six hundred years of awareness – and he had never hidden anything from Rebekah. Every time she caught him in a lie – as a mischievous child there had been many instances – he always told her the truth and brought her in on the game, but there were some things she could never know; at least not while they sat in present company.

Horrified screams, empty eyes and toppled furniture flashed through his mind; he did what came naturally after centuries of practice and shoved the rising guilt down to be buried with everything else he refused to acknowledge for the sake of his sanity. Then he did something that had never come naturally.

“Nothing,” he lied.

“I believe that is the first lie you’ve ever told me,” she cocked an eyebrow and sipped her wine.

“Not still upset about that woman, are you?” Klaus smirked when Kol’s jaw ticked.

“I’m certain I will regret asking this,” Elijah sighed, “but what woman?”

“I found her in his house yesterday,” he grinned. “She ran out of there so fast,” his eyes flickered to Kol, “I’m sure that must have been bruising to your ego.”

“Did you stop to think she ran from present company,” he gritted his teeth, “and not past?”

“Nonsense,” Klaus scoffed, “I happen to be delightful company.”

Rebekah choked on her wine.

Elijah bit his tongue.

“She was of a different opinion,” Kol tilted his head.

“There was something familiar about her,” Klaus hummed. “Have I met her somewhere before?” His eyes hardened.

The blood drained from Kol’s face.

“No.”

“Perhaps I should remedy that –“

“Stay away from her Nik,” his tone betrayed his annoyance.

“In case you’ve forgotten little brother, I don’t take orders from you.”

“Niklaus,” Elijah warned, catching a glimpse of Kol’s features.

“Don’t fret Elijah,” Kol glared, “I will refrain from starting a fight.”

“That’s unlike you,” Rebekah frowned.

“I have a previous engagement,” he stood, pushing the chair back with a screech, “and I would hate to be late.”

“We’ll see you at the Christmas Eve ball?” She twisted in her seat.

“Don’t count on it,” he murmured and flashed away.

“Well done, Nik,” her shoulders slumped, “you’ve driven him away.”

“By all means, sister, chase after your favorite brother,” Klaus snatched up his wine glass.

++++

Hark how the bells, sweet silver bells, all seem to say, throw cares away…

Kol pushed open the iron gate and stepped through, pausing to watch the firelight flicker over the faces of the Christmas carolers. The small group paid him little mind in favour of the bonfire and their song.

… Christmas is here, bringing good cheer, to young and old, meek and the bold…

Mary-Alice fixed the head of a porcelain doll to the fence post and murmured a spell under her breath, sealing the house against the unwanted visitors.

… ding dong ding dong, that is their song, with joyful ring, all caroling…

Kol moved up the path as the music continued behind him, following him over the porch and to the door where he paused. His brows drew together as he caught the lingering scent too faint to properly identify.

The door swung inwards to reveal Astrid. He shook away the feeling and stepped over the threshold. Pulling off his gloves he tucked them in his pocket and accepted a Gaslamp from a smiling Astrid.

“Alright, darling, you know what to look for.”

He watched the witches take off in opposite directions before following the light floral scent through the entry to a glass cabinet. The gas lamp reflected off the empty eyes of several dozen disembodied doll heads.

“Creepy,” he muttered, opening the cabinet. Heads rolled over the hardwood as he tore the cabinet apart before moving on.

The parlour held five jewelry boxes; he emptied them all and kept one ear on what was happening through the house. Mary-Alice and Astrid made no attempt to keep their actions silent, nearly drowning out the music on the street.

… on on they send, on without end, their joyful tone, to every home…

He caught sight of the bar from the corner of his eye; the promise of a stiff drink called to him and he abandoned the wicker box in his hand. He held out the lamp to examine the liquor on offer: bourbon, scotch, wine.

Rainbows reflected on the wall.

He froze, staring at the effect. Lowering the lamp he tilted his head and picked up a bottle stopper, peering at the sparkling interior of the stone; it glinted grey and white.

“You sly old bat,” he smiled. His grin turned to a smirk when Mary-Alice and Astrid stepped into the room. “Clean up. Meet me at the cemetery. This little beauty and I have a date with a dagger.”

He didn’t wait for a response before fleeing the house.

“He’s such a fiend,” Astrid seethed. She surveyed the damage with narrowed eyes.

“He is,” Mary-Alice agreed, “but so am I.” She toyed with the bottles on the bar. “I spelled the door to his clubhouse shut. If he wants his precious dagger back he’ll need a Claire witch to open the door.”

Astrid spun to face her friend with a line between her brows.

“All this time I thought you were blinded by your lust for him.”

“I know what you thought,” she snapped.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with-“

“No,” the reply came too fast to be convincing. “Come,” she took a deep breath and plastered on a smile, “let’s explain to him that if he wants his dagger back he’ll have to start acting with a little decorum.”

++++

Kol paused outside the cottage, listening to the sudden silence. The absence of carolers set him on edge but he didn’t know why until he passed through the gates and his arms were taken.

“You’re looking very dapper this evening Kol,” Klaus grinned, “I don’t believe I mentioned that earlier.”

“Though, gloves without a tailcoat?” Marcel hummed. “Unusual, wouldn’t you agree Klaus?”

“I would,” Klaus nodded. He paused and held up a finger. “Unless, of course the gloves are utilitarian in nature…”

“I didn’t realize you lovebirds were so interested in fashion,” Kol sighed.

“I can take it or leave it,” Klaus shrugged. His lips curled in a slow smirk.

“Did you follow me brother?”

“It’s always best to know where the hurricane is brewing, but no, I did not. The mayor came to me concerned about the rash of thefts in the city, so I put Marcel on it…”

“After a little digging, and a little compulsion, I formed a theory, so I had my informants follow out suspect…”

“And he led them here, to the mansion of the Dowager Fauline – who rumour has it met a grisly end earlier this evening. You know,” Klaus met his brother’s eyes, “she’s famous for her collection of rare and priceless jewels. Most notably, of course,” he reached into Kol’s pocket, “the perfect paragon diamond.”

The jewel glinted in the moonlight. Klaus nodded to a nearby woman in black who began chanting over the doll’s head.

“I don’t know what your plan was, but I wouldn’t bother waiting for them,” Klaus smirked over his shoulder at the mansion, “they will never leave that house again.”

++++

She sat cross-legged before the tree with a needle in one hand and two bowls at her knees. Every few seconds the sturdy weight between her legs would shift, forcing her to lower her garland with a deep sigh that lacked any true exasperation or malice.

“If you keep this up, my cranberry to popcorn ratio is going to be skewed.”

A cranberry disappeared from the bowl.

“I suppose you’re right,” she sighed. “A whole lot of popcorn with cranberries throwing in for colour is nice too,” a second berry vanished, “but you’ve got to leave me some berries.”

A third berry fell against the floor, rolling under the tree. The weight between her legs lurched after it, vanishing beneath the greenery.

She giggled, placed the half-finished garland on a nearby table and lowered herself onto her stomach. Reaching under the tree she snatched the choking hazard and placed it on the table. She prepared to reach beneath the branches again, but was stopped by a slamming door. The branches rustled but there were no signs of distress from under the tree so she sat up in time for Kol to storm in.

He had replaced the crystal vase Klaus had broken with one of porcelain and it toppled from the table as he strode into the parlour.

She cringed, glancing at the tree.

“Damn him,” he seethed, kicking over an end table.

“Problem?” Elena slid onto her belly. “Was dinner lacking in holiday cheer? Or is it mass that’s set you off.”

In his rage he missed her biting tone. He paced in front of the fire, attempting to stifle the urge to tear the room apart with his bare hands.

“Kol,” she prompted, stretching her arms under the tree.

“I went to the cottage,” he curled his fingers into fists. “Niklaus followed me.”

“Naturally,” she murmured, “likely exercising his power as an invasive ass.”

His mouth quirked up in a wry smile, but his humor faded.

“That invasive ass took the diamond,” his voice dropped to a growl, “and had one of his witches manipulate Mary-Alice’s boundary spell. He turned the cottage into an inescapable prison. I have no diamond, no witches, and no way of protecting you!”

“What about – what was her name – the woman who made the rings?” She slid forward on her stomach, but her fingers came up short.

“Freya left town this morning and will not return for a week,” he shook his head, “and even if she were here, Kemiya requires two witches; I shall have to start at the beginning.”

“So, what you’re saying is you have no witches, no gem, and no dagger…”

“I have a dagger!”

“Mary-Alice sealed the tomb with some kind of blood spell,” Elena nudged the sofa with her toes. Her foot brushed Kol’s leg when he moved to pick up the short note. “I don’t know why she sent that to me.”

His eyes scanned the page, heart beating faster with each penned word.

“No witches, no diamond, no dagger,” she continued, “and twenty-seven people dead for no reason.”

He stiffened, focusing his gaze on the back of her head. His voice emerged in a whisper.

“You went to St. Anne’s?”

“You mean the site where you massacred over two dozen people – including the altar boy?” She pushed up on her hands, twisting to glare at him.

Her head barely reached his knees, but her eyes managed to make his heart clench.

“You were never meant to see that,” he twisted the letter in his hands.

“And that makes it alright?” She struggled to maintain her anger in a low voice.

“Yes,” he threw up his hands, “no,” he groaned. Ignoring her wide eyes he fell to sit on the sofa next to her and ran his hands over his head to grasp the back of his neck. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Her voice cracked. “Twenty-seven people are dead and you don’t know?”

“I had to kill the dowager,” he propped his elbows on his knees and brought his hands together. “It was the only way to gain access to her home. She needed to die…”

“Twenty seven dead,” Elena whispered, blinking back tears, “including the altar boy.”

“I didn’t know what she looked like,” he swallowed, “and once I started…” His gaze dropped to his joined hands. “I never learned control Elena,” he met her eyes again, “I was so angry after turning that I didn’t want to… until tonight. I told myself I would only kill the woman old enough to be her, but then the bloodlust took hold of me…”

“You could have waited,” she whispered the words, “come up with a better plan… saved innocent people from losing their lives.”

He shook his head, exhaling sharply.

“It couldn’t wait, love, Klaus came too close to discovering you. Eventually Freya’s glamour will wear off completely and when it does nothing will stop him. The dagger is locked away, the diamond resides in my brother’s care, and even if I had both it would take months – time we do not possess – to train witches in the art.”

“You could have waited,” she snapped, “for an alternate solution.”

Her grey skirt reached nearly to her ankles and boasted deep pockets hidden in the pleats; she rummaged in one for a moment and then slapped a folded sheet of heavy paper in his hand.

He cast a questioning glance at her as he unfolded the page to reveal a sketch of a paragon diamond. He tilted his head, scrutinized the image and came to the conclusion that the picture was a perfect copy of what he had recently held in his hands.

“You drew it?” He cocked a heavy brow.

“Nope,” she popped the ‘p’. Her eyes flickered to the page. “I did not draw that, but as it turns out I can make a very convincing…” she drew her hand from her other pocket, burying the sharp point of the star into his palm, “… copies.”

He grunted when the blade pierced his flesh. Putting down the paper he pulled the devil’s star free and watched the single cut knit itself back together before he sought out her eyes.

“You didn’t find the diamond,” she licked her bottom lip, “and Klaus doesn’t possess it, I do,” she held out her hand for the page.

“This is the diamond?”

“Yes.”

“Klaus has a copy?”

“Yes.”

“So, technically, I possess it?” He smirked.

“I’d love to see you take it out,” she scoffed. A trace of amusement flashed in her eyes.

“Very well, darling,” he chuckled, “you possess it.”

“That’s right,” she tucked the page away, “finders-keepers applies in this situation; at least until everything else falls into place.”

He examined her smooth features with narrow eyes.

She saw his gaze and frowned.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he sighed, “you’re just taking this mass murder rather well.”

“I’m not taking it well,” she gripped her skirt. “People are dead because you couldn’t control your bloodlust. How many innocent people have died because you couldn’t control your bloodlust? Do you know the number after nine hundred years? Did you ever count?”

“I know the exact number of bodies left in my wake, Elena. I remember every face, every lost life. I assure you darling that in another nine hundred years I will remember the night I killed everyone in that church.”

She searched his earnest gaze for a long moment before her eyes were drawn to the rustling branches of the tree. She released a breath as something small thumped on the hardwood.

“What the bloody hell is that?” Kol’s eyes narrowed. His mouth twisted into a frown as Elena spun around and lay out on her stomach to poke her head under the tree again.

She shimmied forward a few inches and his eyes traced the length of her spine, admiring the drape of her skirt. She wiggled enticingly as she moved into place and gave a tiny grunt of exertion. He had to admit he enjoyed the sounds she was making, but then a second sound came from under the branches: a high pitched giggle.

The laughter swelled as Elena backed up, shifting onto her knees.

His eyes grew round and for a split second he forgot how to breathe as curious blue eyes turned on him.

“What is that?” His eyes flicked to Elena.

“You missed one,” she swallowed, cradling the small baby to her chest. “I know you’re old, and that it’s probably been awhile, but you should be able to recognize a baby.”

The boy regarded Kol with nothing but curiosity in his eyes and he had yet to scream blood murder; those coupled facts told Elena her suspicions were likely correct.

“It seems he slept through the entire ordeal,” she bounced the baby gently before setting him on wobbly legs.

“And you brought him here?” Kol backed up an inch when the baby reached for him. “Why?”

“Was I supposed to leave him there, surrounded by the dead?” She chewed her bottom lip. “I couldn’t do that. I brought him here until I could find his family.”

“Klaus thought you looked familiar,” he listened to her pounding heart, “it’s only a matter of time before the glamour wears off completely, if it hasn’t already.”

“I can’t go outside,” her breath shook. House arrest, again.

“Not until the glamour can be renewed,” he shook his head, “and as I’ve said Freya will be gone for a bit.”

Elena nodded and took a deep breath. Her eyes shifted back to Kol. “I guess that means you’ll have to do it,” she got to her feet, balancing the boy on her hip. “Let’s call it your penance.”

She headed to the door, pausing when he called out.

“If he has no family?”

Elena turned her eyes to the baby. He had stuck two fingers in his mouth. She watched him for a second and then glanced back over her shoulder. A lump formed in her throat.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

2011

“There’s no chance I can talk you in to staying, is there?”

Elena paused on the sidewalk. She pivoted on her heel and came to face him with a playful smile on her lips. Her eyes twinkled.

“You are nearly a hundred years old. Do you really want your old mom hanging around?” She held his elbows in the same way she had as a child; the only difference being that she didn’t have to kneel down to his level anymore.

“I’ve missed you,” Thierry shrugged, “Marcel has too, even if won’t admit it. I just have to prepare myself for when we get to the end of the street and you leave New Orleans.”

“If you want I could stay; it would piss Klaus off enough that he would probably come looking for me.” She tilted her head, releasing his arms to clap her hands together. “I could stay and show your lovely girlfriend you baby pictures; tell her about the time when you were three and refused to take a bath. Do you remember? You went running out the front door completely naked.”

“You know what,” he spun her around by her shoulders, “on second thought; you’ve been waiting almost a hundred years for this. I’d hate to take that away from you.”

Elena laughed as they came up on Caroline and Bonnie where they leaned against the car. Caroline flashed a cheeky grin.

“So this street you lived on… was it crowded?”

“I forgot you were a vampire,” Thierry muttered.

“Very,” Elena grinned, “and it was right about the time people were returning from work.”

“Mom!”

“Sorry, sweetie,” Elena giggled.

“Why do I get the feeling that this car ride will be filled with embarrassing stories about me?” He crossed his arms.

“Mothers brag about their kids,” Elena smiled. She stood on tip toe and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I know it’s been eighteen years, but that’s no excuse for not calling your mother.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll text you every day and call as often as I can,” he promised, “I love you, mom.”

“I love you, too,” Elena adjusted her purse. She took the second bag from Thierry and loaded her things in the trunk. With one last goodbye she climbed in the car.

@elejah-wonderland @elejahforever @eternityunicorn @morsmornte @fandomrulesall @xanderling @cry-btch @kol-and-elena-fanfiction @geekofmanyfandoms

[1dffexchange]

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

To: E @unofficialxstyles​

From: Leigh @thatoddpanda​

Summary: There will come a day when Alena will know his name, but for the meantime, he'll be that Cute Guy Who Lives In 4D, and she'll be the girl from 4B.

An AU about neighbours, meddlesome roommates, dogs as the best wingmen, and things sent to the wrong person.

Author’s Note: My deepest apologies for taking so long. E, I hope you enjoy this!

Janelle and Tilly are totally gonna pay for this.

The girls will regret leaving her alone this early in the morning – on a weekend, no less – and Alena will make sure of it. Tilly’s going to be sorry for not coming home last night and Janelle’s going to wish she didn’t wake Alena up at the crack of dawn with a rushed “Brett surprised me with a romantic getaway in Cornwall please take Chowder out on a walk thank you love you bye!” as a seemingly appropriate explanation.

Hell will be unleashed on Earth.

At least, that’s how Alena puts it as she chases after the ball of fluff at the other end of the leash. It’s unfair, really, that she’s the one running along the cobblestoned streets of Oxford before the sun is fully out when she should still be in bed right now. This is Janelle’s job. It’s her puppy, for crying out loud. What was the purpose of drafting up a contract – courtesy of none other than Janelle Prescott herself – outlining their responsibilities over Chowder when they’re all just going to leave her high and dry?

She’s being dramatic, of course, but that’s just Alena before nine in the morning. Snarky and grouchy with a penchant for conjuring up empty threats directed at her flatmates.

Alena wants to cry by the third time Chowder manages to escape her hold. She loves the dog with all her heart – really, she does. Arguably legions more than Janelle does. But God it’s six in the morning and she’s running on two hours of sleep and Chowder’s way too energetic for this time of day. It’s impossible for her to keep up at this state. Alena just isn’t made for mornings. She knew it then when she was a naïve first-year signing up for 7 AM classes, and she knows it now when she pretends she doesn’t hear nice old Mr Lindbergh’s cheerful greeting as she passes by his bakeshop.

She feels a bit guilty about that right away, so she promises to herself that she’ll buy an extra bag of pastries from him the next time she pops in for a cuppa.

When they finally make it back to their building, Alena lets go of the leash for good. She has one hand on her waist while the other grips the neckline of her shirt in a shoddy attempt to fan herself. Chowder is now sitting on his hind legs. He stares at her, bearlike features shining with innocence as if he didn’t just make her go after him for five bloody kilometres. At this point, it’s hard to discern whether it’s sweat or tears that are running down Alena’s skin. Either way, she can’t bring herself to hate Chowder when he looks that bloody endearing. A possible demon clothed in thick brown fur, yet still endearing all the same.

There’s a ding at the other end of the lobby just as Alena wipes the dirt off her face rather ungracefully. Very quickly does she pull her thin grey shirt back down. A bloke steps out of the lift, yawning as he rubs his eyes from beneath his glasses. She recognizes him quickly – the short, seemingly soft brown hair and the scruff that perpetually lines his jaw something that Alena has grown accustomed to seeing nearly every other day.

It’s because of the run, is what she can say on the off chance that someone wonders why her cheeks are tinted pink. It’s really due to the cute guy that lives across the corridor making his way to the letterboxes lining the wall, but he doesn’t need to know that. He doesn’t even know her name, to begin with.

Nor does she know his, but it’s a work in progress.

Saturdays have always been mail days for Alena. The same goes for him, she thinks, considering that the two of them have seemingly developed an unspoken routine of running into each other in the lobby at the end of the week to check for any post or package. It has never happened this early, but it’s a surprise that she certainly doesn’t mind

Nameless Neighbour from 4D presses his forehead against the cool metal doors. He stays like that for a few minutes – unmoving, not bothering to check their mailbox like he’s supposed to. She’s half-certain that he has fallen asleep standing upright.

Rooted in her spot, Alena doesn’t realise that she’s been staring at her neighbour until she feels Chowder’s fur tickling the exposed skin of her leg. Her eyes widen, and just when she thinks the redness of her cheeks has subsided, it comes back in a rush with the recognition that the sun’s just rising and she’s already acting like a total creep.

She certainly isn’t admiring the way his white henley is stretching across his back. That she swears on Chowder’s life.

After a deep breath and a quick check of her reflection through her phone’s screen, Alena fishes her keys out of the pocket of her running shorts. Chowder is roaming around the lobby as she walks up next to the boy and she lets the dog be — because, really, what sort of trouble can a four-month-old pup cause that’s worse than the hellish morning she’s just been through?

It takes another lungful of air for Alena to compose herself, to play it cool as she slips her key inside the hole of their own mailbox, to make sure her tone will not waver when she speaks, “You’re here early.”

The close proximity of the sound disorients him if the way his shoulders jump is anything to go by. He says “Huh?” to the wall when he lifts his head, a faint indent lining his skin where the steel hinge of one of the doors pressed against it. His eyes blink in rapid succession before it dawns on him that the person who just spoke is standing to his left.

“Oh, hey,” he smiles softly. Alena supposes he was only half asleep since he is able to answer, “Yeah, uh… my flatmate’s been looking forward to this package all week.” He proceeds to open the metal flap of their own box. “You?”

“Well—”

Chowder answers that one for her by nuzzling against his leg. There’s a brief second of surprise before 4D is bending down with a grin to scratch between the dog’s ears. It seems to excite Chowder so much that he takes to licking the guy’s face. Though he doesn’t seem to mind the pup’s antics — what with the corner of his eyes crinkling in pure delight despite having half his face smothered with saliva — Alena still takes caution.

“Chowder, behave.”

The smile doesn’t leave his face when he puts enough distance between him and Chowder. After he wipes his cheek with the sleeve of his shirt, he tilts his head up, chuckling, “Chowder? Chowder the chowchow?” And before she can defend her choice of name, he continues, “That’s genius. Personally, I would go for Chow mein but that’s only because I love myself some Chinese food.” He gets up after one last rub, pulling the hem of his shirt down in the process. “He’s adorable. How long have you had him?”

“He’s actually my roommate’s. Been with us for like, three months.”

He nods, acknowledging, and their conversation hits a lull as they both tend to their mail. 4B’s box is unusually full today. Beneath the stack of envelopes is a brown parcel, slim enough to be pulled out with ease yet big enough that it takes up half the space. It’s the first thing she grabs, a gasp promptly tumbling out of her lips at the sight of the student radio’s logo marking the middle of the wrapping paper. ‘Congratulations!’ emblazon the bottom right corner in block letters.

“Anything interesting?” he prompts, locking up with their own mail on hand.

She holds up the package, beaming. “I won a contest!”

He draws in a sharp breath that makes her smile falter and hang awkwardly. “Err, sorry to break it to you but… unless you’re named Harry Styles then I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

When he’s met with furrowed brows, he points at the back of the rectangular box. She flips it over, frowning when she sees a name on it that is indeed not hers. Her shoulders slump. A signed copy of WKW: The Cinema of Wong Kar Wai is in her fingertips, hiding underneath the wrap amongst other freebies, and it will not find a home in her bookcase. It will be in the possession of some Harry Styles, who — now that she thinks about it — has a name so ridiculous he probably doesn’t even exist in the first place.

Alena takes the rest of their mail then shuts the flap close. There’s a trace of disappointment in her tone when she voices her thoughts out loud, “Don’t think I can swing by their office to give it back right away though.”

“You don’t have to do that. I live with Harry.” Oh, she thinks, He’s real? How unfortunate. “Reckon that’s the package he’s been waiting for too.”

“Well…” her eyes flicker down to the parcel. “Okay then.”

Alena hands the prize to him so quickly as if it burns to the touch. She knows that if she holds onto it for a little while longer, it’ll be harder for her to part with it. She takes Chowder in her arms, which the puppy takes as an opening to lick the phantom frown off her face. They both head to the lift, and with her hands full, she thanks him when he presses the button to their floor.

It isn’t until the doors have closed and they have reached the upper level when he speaks again, “What’s in this anyway?”

“A book about Wong Kar Wai’s films.” She cuddles Chowder closer to her chest. “It’s signed by him too.”

“Never heard of him,” he admits, a pensive look crossing his features. “Don’t think Harry has, either. Dunno what he’d want with this.”

“There’s some other stuff in it too, but I’m not sure what. Didn’t pay attention, really. I was just after the book.”

He hums in response. A brief bout of silence falls over them as they continue the rest of their ascent. It’s a quick ride up, the doors parting on the fourth floor with no other pitstop. They make their way out and come to a halt at the corridor where their flats meet halfway.

Still-Unnamed-Bloke from 4D (she really should ask him what it is) turns and dips his head down to get to Chowder. “Be a good boy, yeah?” he says, running his fingers through his fur one last time before looking back up at Alena.

All too quickly, she’s hyper-aware of the current state of her appearance. Stray strands have escaped the tight ponytail holding her long black locks together. Baby hairs stick out in every which way possible. Her shirt has ridden up slightly, exposing a strip of her skin where stretch marks line her hip. Her lips are pale, poised in a tight, awkward smile. In her arms is a high-spirited dog still trying to paw at her neighbour.

She’s seen better days.

“So, uh…” he sticks his thumb out to point at the cherry wood behind him.

“Yeah,” she chuckles lightly and nods.

Alena pivots on the heels of her red trainers and takes the two steps to get home. Chowder runs free once the flat is unlocked. Her hand is on the bronze knob when she tilts her head up and sees that he still hasn’t moved an inch in the hallway. He’s got one arm crossing over his chest as he scratches the back of his neck.

The smile on his face is immediate when he notices her looking back at him.

“Uh… yeah,” he breathes, finally dropping his arm back to his side. “See you around, 4B.”

His back is on her before she can respond — if she can even do so in the first place — and then he’s disappearing into the comfort of his own flat. All she faces now is the bronze 4D engraved on a metal plate contrasting the dark wood. It isn’t until barking sounds echo in her living room that Alena finally shuts their door close.

She crouches down, taking Chowder’s fluffy face into her hands, before stealing a scratch between his ears. “We are not telling Tilly and Jan about this, alright?”

She takes the fat stripe of saliva across her cheek as a yes.

///

It’s futile to even attempt going back to bed — Alena realises that after tossing and turning for a considerable amount of time, only to find out that sleep doesn’t have its arms wide open for her anymore. It takes about a good hour or so ‘til she finally gives up, jumping in the shower before getting a headstart on her still-life portfolio.

Not that it’s due anytime soon, but preparedness is key for a professor like the great Sinead O’Malley.

She has done about fifteen shots of an empty drinking glass on the countertop, trying to get the composition just right, when Tilly does up the final steps to her walk of shame. Or perhaps it’s a stride of pride, depending on how good the bloke did her last night.

“Aren’t I such a wonderful roommate?” Tilly lilts, waltzing into the kitchen with a paper bag in hand. It’s as if she’s floating on air, and yep, it definitely is a stride of pride.

Alena doesn’t miss a beat. “Nope.” She clicks the shutter and it turns out like all the previous ones — lacklustre, mediocre. “I had to take Chowder out today.”

Said puppy is currently dozing off peacefully on the couch. That could’ve been me, Alena muses.

“Where’s Janelle?” The ringlets of Tilly’s fiery red hair come loose as she takes a container out of the bag.

“In Pornwall.”

Tilly snickers. “I like that. I’m stealing that one.” She picks up another box and holds it out to Alena like a present of some sort.

It’s a slow reveal as Tilly sings— rather, tries to carry out a high note (it’s more of a shrill, really) while opening the lid. Not that it actually would’ve held up under normal circumstances, but Alena’s carefully crafted plan of vengeance is but a mere afterthought at the sight of her favourite mouthwatering stack of coconut pancakes from the cafe along St Michael’s Street.

“Now, am I a good roommate or not?”

“The absolute best!” squeals Alena. She places her camera down on the table and replaces it with Tilly’s peace offering.

They both take their places on the stools and begin digging into their own breakfasts. In the midst of the silence, Alena takes note of the unusual glow of Tilly’s pale skin. It does a wonderful job making the lovebites on her neck stand out. She doesn’t miss the way Tilly is swaying her head along to some beat that only she knows of.

It’s when Tilly’s phone chimes and a shy smile worms its way onto her lips that curiosity gets the better of Alena. “You’re in an awfully good mood.”

Tilly tries to keep her glee at bay by keeping her spoon in her mouth, but it is to no avail. “Well… let’s just say Louis Tomlinson’s definitely going to get a phone call one of these days.”

“Tallulah,” she says loftily, cocking an eyebrow paired with a smirk. “Is this commitment I hear?”

“Oh relax. It’s just shagging, not bloody marriage.” Tilly sets her spoon down on the box. “Besides, he’s a fun guy. I wouldn’t mind if this becomes a thing.”

A gasp is the most Tilly can handle hearing from Alena right now, so she reaches for the stack of mail sitting on the corner of the island to save herself from any further inquisition.

“What do we have here?” Tilly thumbs through each envelope, all the while mumbling, “Liam Payne… Liam Payne… Liam James Payne… Are you sure you didn’t get the neighbour’s mail? Liam Payne… Oh!” She takes a red one out of the pile. “This one’s for Jan.”

“Liam Payne is like,” Alena wipes the sugar off her lips with a napkin, “the captain of the footie team now, right?”

Tilly hums her assent as she continues to segregate the mail.

“And he lives across the hall, yeah?”

Once again, Tilly hums. There’s a whopping total of two envelopes addressed to their flat when she’s done sorting. Though there’s still a third of the pancakes left on the plate, Alena reaches for the taller stack as she gets off her chair.

“I should probably get these to him then. Might be important.”

“They’re just fan mail.”

“Still,” she insists.

Tilly doesn’t really care enough to protest, so Alena gets to exit their flat and head on over to 4D without another word. The door opens to a bloke with buzzcut hair, black sweatpants hanging off his hips and a grey shirt brandishing the uni’s logo across his torso. Alena doesn’t live under a rock. She knows who Liam Payne is; everyone does. Smart, gorgeous, athletic Liam Payne who never stops raving about saving the environment. Alena in her first year would’ve been thrilled to be standing on his doorstep. Third-year Alena? Not nearly as much, apparently.

“Hey!” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, trying not to take a peek inside the flat over Liam’s shoulder. Not that she could, either way, as he’s got a good few inches on her. “Liam, right?”

“Yes!” he smiles warmly. “What can I do for you, love?”

She hands over the envelopes to him. “These got sent to ours.”

“Oh, sorry ‘bout that.” His lips curl to a slight frown for a moment before they spring back up. “Thanks for bringing them around though.”

“Sure thing!” she beams, a bit too enthusiastic even by her standards.

There’s a beat of silence that passes between them before Liam decides to break it first. “Well, do you want to pop in? I’ve made some Greek chickpeas on toast for breakfast. Good for the health and is delicious too.”

Alena contemplates on the offer for a bit. While it makes for a wonderfully sound excuse for her to finally know Glasses Guy from 4D’s name, there lies the possibility of her coming off a bit stalker-ish. The chance encounter just hours ago has already filled in her quota. Besides, there’s still a bit of pancake across the hall that has her name written all over it. No toast can beat that, no matter how tasty Liam claims it to be.

So, she says, “Ah, I’ve already eaten,” a half lie, “but thanks for the offer though.”

“Alright. Well, thank you…” he trails off, and it takes a second and a half for her to realize that he’s waiting for her to introduce herself.

“Alena.”

“Right. Thanks, Alena.”

“You’re welcome, Liam.” She gives him a brief nod and a smile before flitting back to her flat.

Liam closes the door behind him and heads back to the kitchen where he and his flatmates — or rather, one current and one former flatmate — are having breakfast. He drops the mail onto the rest of the pile Niall had gotten earlier and takes his place on the seat next to Zayn.

Niall pushes his glasses up his nose. His mouth is full of chickpeas when he asks, “Who was that?”

“The neighbour,” Liam responds nonchalantly.

To downplay his curiosity, Niall takes a moment to gulp down the last of his food before continuing, “From 4B?”

“Mhmm.”

And, before Niall could further ask which one of the girls from across the hall brought it in, Zayn speaks, “Did you seriously have your fan mail sent to a different address?”

“They don’t want it sent to Merton anymore!” defends Liam.

“That doesn’t mean you should address it to your bloody neighbour,” chides Niall, “Great. First, there’s Harry’s prize from Oxide, now it’s your fan mail.” He circles the breakfast bar and stops next to Zayn. “By the way, you might want to leave early. Harry’s gonna be—”

“Too late!” They hear him before they see him, but in a matter of seconds, Harry is striding into the kitchen with his nose upturned. “Good morning Liam. Good morning Niall.”

The absence of Zayn’s greeting rings clear, so Niall tunes out the inevitable bickering between the two by going through the mail. There’s an odd one out, a square envelope that isn’t Liam’s fanmail nor a monthly bill. A careful, golden flourish of a name that’s foreign to him sits on the cream paper.

“Does anyone know an A-lee-na Diane Mercado?” He holds it up for the rest of the lads to see.

“Oh, no no no,” Zayn says quickly, turning to Niall to weasel himself out of Harry’s cold glare. “It’s A-leh-na. Not A-lee-na. She hates it when people pronounce her name wrong.”

“Who’s Alena?” asks Harry, pronouncing it correctly at the first try. He’s looking at Niall instead of Zayn even though the latter has a higher probability of answering that question.

It’s Liam who responds instead. “The girl from 4B.” When Harry just blinks at him, he continues, “You know, black hair, a wee bit short—”

“The cute one with the pretty brown eyes, yep. Got it,” mutters Niall when the recognition hits him right in the face.

The rest of the boys hear him loud and clear though, which is why Zayn attempts to retrace Niall’s words.

“I’m sorry, cute one?”

“With the pretty brown eyes?” adds Harry, a mischievous glint sparkling in his own eyes.

“Is our little Nialler crushing on someone?” Zayn probes further.

“Not just someone, our neighbour!” Harry eggs on, eyebrows wiggling. His shoulders are shimmying too, but Harry has never been known for his coordination so his timing looks a little bit — no, extremely — off.

“I’ve got it.” Zayn snaps his fingers. “We can call you Niallena!”

“Or,” Harry sing-songs, “Aleniall!”

“Yes, yes, Aleniall does sound better.” Zayn shifts on his seat and looks up at Niall. “Say, mate, how pretty are her brown eyes?”

“Are they prettier than me?” Harry leans on the counter, propping his chin on his intertwined hands as he bats his eyelashes meticulously. Niall grabs the dirtiest dish towel within his reach and chucks it at his roommate. To his dismay, Harry catches it in the nick of time and slings it over his shoulder.

God, Niall wants to buy a one-way ticket back to Ireland and bury himself in the soils of his homeland. Maybe he could go somewhere farther, somewhere warmer — like Ecuador, maybe — so that his corpse will decompose faster. If this is what Zayn and Harry are like in the midst of a cold war, he doesn’t even want to imagine what it’d be like once one of them waves the white flag and decide to team up.

“Sod off, will ya?” Niall turns to Zayn with his brows furrowed. “How do you even know her in the first place?”

“She’s in Fine Arts too. Absolutely wicked with a brush, that lass.”

“Ohhh.” That makes sense, he supposes, especially when he thinks back to the day she moved in and he caught a glimpse of an easel being hauled inside their flat. “You friends with her then?”

“Yeah, I guess. I was the one who told her that the redhead in 4B was looking for roommates. Worked out well then, eh?” Zayn smiles wickedly.

“Hold on,” Liam chimes in with a contemplative look on his face, “Is she the reason why you’ve been getting the mail? ‘Cos I’ve lived with you for three years now mate and you’ve never done that once before.”

“I’m just being a good roommate!”

His friends know him all too well, so clearly, no one buys his thinly-veiled excuse. He can feel the heat rising up his cheeks, and such is the curse of the Irish because now they’re snickering at how red his face has become. It’s an admission in plain sight, there’s no need for him to spell it out loud.

“God, you lot are the worst,” huffs Niall.

Harry drapes an arm around his shoulder, looking down on the envelope in between his fingers. “Well, go on then Postman Pat. You’ve got one last mail to deliver.”

With both hands now resting on Niall’s shoulders, Harry starts pushing him out of the kitchen and lets go only when Niall is standing in the corridor. Harry leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. Defeated, Niall heaves out a sigh. He looks between 4B’s door and the letter, and then he turns his head back to Harry who’s got an expectant look on his face.

The internal battle wagers on until Niall eventually decides to head back inside. He grabs a sticky note and a pen from Liam’s room, as it is the one closest to the front door. Big chunky letters saying ‘It got mixed in our mail :)’ are scrawled on the Post-It and attached on the envelope. Niall comes back out and sticks it on the door with a strip of masking tape. He knocks twice before dragging Harry back with him inside and shuts the door close behind them.

Harry takes the towel off his shoulder and hits the back of Niall’s head with it. “What the hell was that?”

Niall grumbles and shoves Harry off him. “Enjoy your vegan breakfast.”

It might not be much, but Niall will take the look of disgust on Harry’s face as a bout of victory.

///

It could be a splash of ice-cold water or someone farting right in your face. Maybe the sound of a jackhammer working on the street or the news of a loved one taking their last breath. There are worse ways to be woken up, but that doesn’t mean Alena appreciates having the fire alarm be the first thing she hears in the morning.

Strike one was last Sunday, and— well, okay, maybe she needed that or else she would’ve been late to brunch with her sister. The second: two days ago, with only one hour of sleep after a late-night shoot. Janelle had choice words with Liam to make sure it won’t happen again; a barking Chowder and a grumpy, sleepless Alena are just too much to deal with in the morning.

It’s Thursday, the sun is barely out, and it’s happening again.

Alena jumps out of bed with an agenda. She tears off a page from a random notebook, scribbling on it furiously with thick strokes underlining particular phrases. Her flatmates practically cheer when she marches across the hallway. Three knocks and a note taped to the door after and Alena buries herself back underneath her covers.

Inside 4D, Niall exits his bedroom when the alarm goes off, jaw clenched and nostrils flaring. “Harold! What the bloody hell are you on again?”

“How is the water burning? How?!” Harry screams. Chestnut curls sit wildly atop his head, eyes blown wide in sheer panic. Niall would laugh at how ridiculous his flatmate is looking right now had the bloke not been a constant pain in his ass for the entire week.

“Jesus,” he mutters. He grabs a towel, dampening it before pushing Harry out of the way to stop the fire. He doesn’t even want to think about it. Doesn’t want to know how one of Oxford Law’s most brilliant minds can be such an absolute buffoon in the kitchen.

Harry just stands there, helpless, as Niall cleans up after him. “This wouldn’t happen if Zayn still lived here.”

“This wouldn’t happen if you stayed out of the damn kitchen,” snaps Niall.

“I can’t live like this anymore, Ni! Liam’s diet is going to kill me!”

“Not if you burn the flat down first!”

Harry loses the opportunity to defend himself as the sound of loud knocks fills the room and Niall is already marching to the front door. Niall’s befuddled by the sight of an empty hallway, but before he could chalk it up to one of the little kids in the building pulling a prank, he catches a glimpse of a sheet of paper contrasting the tan floors of the flat.

Niall doesn’t know what to expect from it, but he supposes a complaint from one of their neighbours is well-deserved (and honestly long overdue) at this point.

Dear 4D,

Please stop tripping the fire alarm at six in the bloody morning. Some of us need sleep. This is the third time you’ve woken me up. Show some mercy.

Also please tell Liam Payne that we have his fanmail. Again!!! If he doesn’t win the game next week we’re telling his fangirls his REAL address.

Sincerely, 4B

PS: DO NOT INTERACT UNTIL AFTER 9AM!!!

PPS: have you guys been feeding our dog?

Niall’s trying his hardest not to castrate Harry when he looks up from the note with an early morning fury that only he can possess. “Now look what you’ve done!”

“How was I supposed to know that water burns?” Harry yells back, and shit, why isn’t Liam here to keep Niall from strangling Harry to his untimely death?

“It doesn’t, you bloody idiot! How did you even get into Oxford?”

Harry gasps, loud and ostentatious that make Niall question if he truly did hit a nerve. He decides he doesn’t care. What he does care about is getting back to sleep, stat, and to amend the bridges that Harry’s (inadvertently) burning down. So he tears off a page from the legal pad on the coffee table, scribbles a heartfelt apology, waits patiently until the clock strikes nine to slip the note under 4B’s door, then bans Harry from even breathing in his direction until he’s resurfaced back from his hard-earned slumber.

///

The Saturday that follows the fire alarm incident isn’t her designated mail day, so it takes a little bit longer for Alena to bump into Liam’s — and Harry’s — Still Nameless Roommate.

Funny how she practically knows everyone who lives in 4D except for the one guy she actually has eyes for. Social media should do the trick. Tilly could drop his name without an afterthought. Heck, she can utilise her acquaintance with one of his former roommates who’s in the same course as her. But a small part of Alena — the one with a voice too loud for anyone’s good — wants it to happen through the old-fashioned way.

She’s also got slippery fingers prone to double taps on Instagram. And Tilly’s the biggest blabbermouth of all of Europe. And Zayn owes her one too many favours that she doesn’t want to cash in yet.

So she doesn’t take the risk.

It finally happens on a Wednesday. Alena wants to take advantage of the fair weather so she exits her flat with a sketchpad and her watercolour kit stashed in her canvas tote. She’s just pressed the down button for the lifts when she hears a voice from behind her.

“Hey!” It’s 4D, waving his hand as he walks swiftly towards her. He’s got a blue polka dot shirt with a pair of black skinny jeans to match. A strap of his backpack rests on his shoulder.

“Hi!” She smiles when he stops next to her.

“No Chowder today?”

“No,” she laughs, hoisting her bag up higher, “He’s with my roommate.”

“Ah, I see.”

The doors finally part and they enter the lift. Already inside is a man in his late thirties who smiles at them in acknowledgement when they nod at him politely.

“Listen,” Friendly Neighbourhood Guy From 4D begins again after they’ve made it two levels down, hand reaching back to scratch his neck, “I really wanna apologize ‘bout the fire alarms last week.”

“Well it hasn’t happened again, so it’s all good,” Alena reassures him with sincerity because apparently, her grudges expire at the 9 o’clock mark.

He sighs, relieved. “Great! That’s— good! Great!” He clears his throat just as they reach the ground floor. They’ve only taken a few steps into the lobby when he sticks his hand out to her. “I’m Niall, by the way.”

Niall.

Niall Niall Niall.

Not 4D, not Glasses Guy, not That Nerd Who Lives With Liam as Janelle once said. Just Niall.

Alena tries to contain her glee, so the rest of the world will have to pretend not to notice that she’s lighting up at the mere discovery of the guy’s name. “Alena!” She accepts his hand and shakes it briefly before pulling back.

“So, erm… d’you go to Oxford too?” he asks as they exit their building together.

“Yep,” she nods in the midst of pulling down the sleeve of her tawny button-up. “Fine Arts. You?”

“History and Econ,” he answers, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Are you off to class then?”

“Not yet. I’m gonna hang around at the Grove to work on a project.”

Niall stuffs a hand in his pocket. “Oh, well… is it alright if I walk with you? I’m meeting a few mates at Magdalen so I’m going the same way.”

“I don’t mind.”

It takes fifteen minutes to get to The Grove on foot, during which Niall and Alena fill the silence with mindless chatter. He tries to apologise two more times for Harry’s Kitchen Disasters and she brushes him off both instances with light chuckles to show that she really has gotten over it. Apparently, Harry is going bonkers over Liam’s vegan diet, and since Zayn has moved out of their flat and Niall is practically dead to the world in the mornings, Harry has decided to take matters into his own hands.

Those fifteen minutes fly by way too quickly for Alena’s liking. It’s just a little after her grand retelling of how Chowder nearly ruined her latest artwork when they eventually bid their farewells. She’s on her phone in a heartbeat, though the autumn leaves sparking her inspiration keeps her from fully paying attention to the message she’s typing.

omgggg ate i finally know his name

It’s supposed to be sent to Casey. The response should be coming from her older sister, but sticky fingers do not pair well with distraction, so of course, Alena finds herself texting a different thread instead.

Tilly Who?

Alena wants the ground to swallow her whole. Uproot her entire life and create a new identity for herself. Maybe move back in with her parents, even though they live 6,000 miles away and are basking in all the sun Pampanga can offer. All ideas seem more appealing than her flatmate knowing she’s been harbouring a crush on their neighbour for a while now.

Janelle OOOOOOOOOOH! Is this the nerd boy?

Tilly Nerd boy??

Janelle Brett says hi, btw.

HI BRETT 👋🏼👋🏼👋🏼

Tilly Bye brett Dont change the subject Whos nerd boy

jan is chowder wit u? give him kisses for me! xxxx

Tilly hellooooooooo

Janelle Will do 😘🤗 Brett wants to know too.

Tilly WHO IS NERD BOY I want to know!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Janelle She’s gonna know eventually Lens.

Tilly WHOOOOOOOO whoooo

oh my gosh FINE its the bloke in 4d

Tilly Oh shit NIALL? YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON NIALL

thats how u spell it? and what makes u think its him 🤨

Tilly

Because everyone knows who liam is And zayn doesnt live there anymore And harry doesnt look like a nerd DEDUCTION, BITCH!! omyGOD

Janelle

See? I told you he looks like a nerd!

stopppp dont be mean ☹ tilly please dont tell anyone about this PLEASE

Tilly I WONT! 🤐🤐 Im just gonna lock you out tonight

um where do u expect me to sleep then

Tilly

sleep with him 😉😏😉😏 🍆✊🏼💦💦💦

TALLULAH

///

As it turns out, Harry Styles is an actual name of an actual, living and breathing human being who really does live across the corridor. Alena confirms this at a party that Janelle’s coursemates are throwing, and Brett walks over to a bloke and screams “Styles!” as he claps said guy’s back. Harry turns around and Alena gets a good view of him — the same set of rowdy curls and the slightly slouching stature that she’s seen more frequently ever since she started hanging out with Niall.

The party is a bit too posh than what Alena is used to, but nothing short of what she expects from Law students. Oddly enough, she ends up chatting the night away with Harry, who admits feels a slightly out of place even though these are the same people whom he goes to classes with. His number makes its way to her phone when the night draws to a close, paired with a promise to ring him should she need his assistance.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever have to.

She’s certain she won’t find a use for it.

Except she’s now lost track of time and it’s nearing midnight and it just so happens to be pouring buckets on the very same day she’s without an umbrella. She’s the only one left in the studio, Ruskin is still a long way away from home, her flatmates aren’t picking up, and she only realises just then that she doesn’t have Niall’s number.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and today, desperation is synonymous to shooting Harry Styles an SOS.

HARRY! Its alena from 4b Sooooo sorry i know its late but can i ask u for a favor?

Had Alena been in the comforts of her own flat, she would’ve heard the way Niall calls for Harry — fuming, brows set in an alarming dip as he shows the texts to his roommate. She also would’ve assumed that the lads have given a home to a hyena with the way Harry flat-out cackles at the fruits of his hard labour. But she isn’t, so all she’s left with is a text message that comes in a few minutes later.

sorry love its niall . harry mustve given out th wrong number Everything alrite tho ? maybe i can help

Stuck in the rain and none of my roomies are picking up :( Was gonna ask if u could check if theyre still alive

theyre not home . chowders staying with us for 2night where r u ? i can pick youu up

Alena stares at her screen for a moment. Contemplates and weighs the pros and cons. She’s beyond exhausted and all she wants is to cuddle with Chowder. On the other hand, she doesn’t want to be a bother. She looks frantic, hair a wild mess atop her head, cheeks splattered with purple and gold paint, skirt askew her hips that the zip that’s supposed to be lining her leg now runs along her backside.

When she yawns, she decides that sleep trumps everything else. Inconvenience and unsightliness be damned.

Ruskin

Alright . be there in 20 x

Niall shows up in less with a grey Skoda that she knows belongs to Harry. He jumps out, opens an umbrella for her, and she voices out her gratitude as she straps herself in. She gets comfortable as Niall rounds the car and gets inside the driver’s seat.

“Why’re you out so late?” he asks as he starts the car.

“Been working on a project and lost track of time.”

He alternates his gaze between her and the road. “What’s it about?”

“It’s supposed to be about magic but… I don’t know…” she sighs, hugging her overflowing tote closer to her chest, “It’s not coming out like how I envisioned it to be.”

Niall frowns briefly before the corners of his lips tug up to a soft, sincere smile. “You’ll figure it out.”

The lampposts that they pass by illuminate Niall in warm, methodical flickers. He looks calm and soft, like a favourite pillow that brings comfort as the moon shines and makes it hard to get out of bed when the rain falls. And as the wheels graze the asphalt that will take them home, Niall distracting her with mindless chit-chat about this new diet that Liam’s trying (and consequently bringing Harry closer to his grave), Alena has a good feeling that she will do just that.

///

“Just ask her out, mate.” Liam’s chin digs into Niall’s shoulder with every syllable he speaks.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees through a mouthful of dumplings. The Notebook playing on the telly has his full attention, which is how he ends up dropping another xiaolongbao back on his plate. That and his fingers appear to be sworn enemies with the chopsticks he’s gripping.

“You’re holding it wrong,” Niall assesses in the midst of pushing Liam’s face away.

“I’m just saying!” Liam grins, leaning back with his arms propping him up. “She’s nice, she’s pretty—”

“She willingly hangs out with you,” adds Harry. He seems to have given up on the chopsticks. “That’s a very rare trait.”

“Fuck off,” Niall huffs.

He takes to staring at his notes on world economy to fend off his flatmates. Except none of the words makes any semblance of sense to him because now it seems his brain has taken up residence in the room across the hall. A whole month has passed since he finally struck up the courage to introduce himself to the girl from 4B — Alena — and it feels like the stars and the planets have all aligned in his favour.

And Niall doesn’t even believe in all that cosmic mumbo jumbo.

“C’mon,” says Liam, “You haven’t been out on a date in years.”

Niall shoots him a pointed glare. “Years? You were there when Lisa broke up with me. That was six months ago.”

“That’s six months too long.” Harry pops the last dumpling in his mouth and places his plate on the coffee table next to Niall’s books.

Liam seems really keen on this whole idea so he continues, “Just give it a shot, Ni. What have you got to lose?”

Everything? Niall presumes. A friend. A perfectly wonderful neighbour who once split a sandwich with him simply because she’s really proud of how the melted cheese turned out. Someone to pick up at Ruskin because of a shoot that ran until the skies are tinted pitch black. The bi-weekly mail runs that he’s come to enjoy. Maybe even Chowder, and Christ, Niall really has gotten attached to that growing furball.

Even though Harry’s eyes are practically glued to the telly, he still puts in his two cents. “Go for it. Maybe she can draw you like one of her French girls or summat.”

“Jesus,” Niall grumbles. “That’s it, I’m out.”

He gathers up a few things — his laptop and its charger, a legal pad that most definitely belongs to Harry, an Econ book that’s seen better days, and a green highlighter that’s about to put itself out of commission — then heads out of the flat. It’s only when he’s shut the front door that he realises he has nowhere to go to. It’s late. He’s not really in the mood to trek all the way to the library. No coffee shop within a three-minute radius is open. His room isn’t even remotely an option. The bed is far too inviting and he won’t get an ounce of work done.

The hallway is the only way.

It isn’t so bad. No flatmate to bother his peace nor depict him as a modern-day Rose. He can still access their wi-fi from where he’s sitting. The floor’s a bit colder, but he can manage. In the thirty minutes he’s been outside, only the couple who lives in 4F has passed by; drunk off their arses but not enough to disturb Niall (or at least, sober enough to navigate around the makeshift blockade he’s created).

He’s completely in the zone he doesn’t notice the door in front of him open.

“What’re you doing out here?”

Niall lifts his head up, mouth slightly ajar, though it takes a little longer for him to take his eyes off the screen. “Hey,” he smiles at Alena, who’s holding a garbage bag as she looks at him with furrowed brows. “Liam and Harry are being… well, Liam and Harry.”

Alena gives him a sympathetic smile. “Lemme just throw this out and you can study at mine.”

“You sure?”

She now has her back to him as she heads to the chute at the end of the corridor. “Yep. We’re all staying up late anyway. You just have to be really quiet though. We don’t like noise.”

“That I can do.” He picks up his stuff once more, though he only has his laptop and charger in his arms now as Alena is quick to grab the rest.

“Remember, absolutely no noise.”

Niall runs his thumb and forefinger across his lips to mimic a zip then holds his hand up in a silent vow. Chowder is bounding over to them the second the door opens, wide-eyed and tongue out. He only manages to say “Hey bo—” before the girls shush him right away.

Right. Total, absolute, complete silence.

The rich scent of coffee takes over his senses. Tilly has her readings spread out on the coffee table while Janelle has set up shop on the couch. In front of the crackling fire are sheets of paper and some paint brushes, along with a couple of mugs with murky brown water. He situates himself near Alena’s spot, more out of fear of encroaching her flatmates’ space than anything.

He settles in quite nicely. It’s serene. The heat from the fireplace is a welcome change. Every once in a while, one of the girls would ball up a piece of paper and throw it at anyone who’s on the verge of falling asleep. Chowder would pad over to Niall to trick him into giving some belly rubs.

Niall falls for it every single time.

It’s only when he’s going over his notes when a distraction comes in the form of a small scrap of paper that Alena slides over.

Do you want anything? Coffee? Tea? It says, in the same hurried script as the noise complaint they got last month.

Niall tears a portion off his pad and uses his highlighter to jot down his response before handing it to Alena. She smiles at him before getting up, returning a few minutes later to hand him a steaming cup of coffee. His name is on it, scribbled on a bright pink sticky note with a smiley face at the bottom. He chances a look at all the other cups on the floor. They’re all labelled accordingly — ‘DO NOT DRINK’ and ‘coffee paint’ and ‘SAFE to drink’ in different colours of Post-Its.

He wonders how many mishaps there have been in the past, drinking from the wrong cup and ingesting paint water instead, for her to take such precautionary steps.

Alena goes back to work right away. Try as he might, but Niall couldn’t. It’s the occasional glances, watching as she purses her lips to the side. Tendrils escape the ponytail that holds her hair up. Her shirt, white and splattered with paint both old and new, hangs loosely around her frame. The light of the fireplace casts a warm glow on her skin, one side illuminated better than the other. He gets lost in her concentration; mesmerized with the way her tongue darts out just the tiniest bit as she tends to the details of her painting.

He takes it all in — the way her eyes sparkle in the firelight, narrowing as she assesses her work; her back slumping forward to a degree that is probably not good for her spine; the crease between her brows, the left one dipping more than the right; how her gaze shifts back and forth between two sheets as if she’s torn as to which one of her self-portraits showcased her skills better — the one that captures her in the midst of a laugh or the other that has her all stoic and collected.

Niall is so caught up in his daze that he doesn’t see Janelle crumpling up a sheet of paper.

Shit.

He’s nowhere near dozing off and yet here he is, getting hit square in the cheek for being too distracted.

From where he’s sitting on the floor, Niall looks up at Janelle with an unimpressed glare. She returns it with a smirk before diving back into her case studies. It’s the push he needs to finally mind his business and type up the damn conclusion for his paper. He doesn’t check the time once he wraps up the essay, but it’s only him and Janelle that appear to be the last two men standing.

One sticky note on top of a painting, a hushed farewell, and Niall takes his leave.

When Alena wakes up, it’s with a soft, shy smile at the sight of Niall’s chunky handwriting. She ends up choosing the one swirling in different hues of brown that depicts her with a grin as bright as the soft morning light.

///

Take one glance at Alena and you’ll see a woman who has the whole world at her fingertips. Loose tendrils that frame her face are curled to perfection. The rest of her hair, parted at the middle, is pulled back to a sleek bun. Janelle has done a wonderful job on her makeup for the night, cheekbones accentuated and plump lips looking even pinker. She’s in a pristine white dress and nude heels to match.

She’s in her element by the looks of it — surrounded by art that’s brought to life by her own fingertips (well, hers and a few of her other coursemates). Wide smiles tug at her lips as she welcomes the exhibit’s guests. Anyone would think she’s having the time of her life, and for the most part, she is. Though there’s still this tiny squeak inside her that doubts the quality of her work, it’s easily quelled by the positive remarks she’s being showered in all night.

And had she been eagle-eyed, she would’ve noticed the way Niall’s jaw drops at every artwork that has her name attached to it.

When Alena finally catches a breather, she spots Niall in front of one of Zayn’s paintings. She excuses herself from her sister and a few of her professors to go up to him. She reaches Niall at the same time as Harry, though the latter takes one look at the caption before he’s scoffing and moving onto the next work.

“What’s the deal with those two?” she says to Niall, thumb directed to where Harry is slinking off to.

Niall pauses from reading the description to turn to Alena. “Who, Zed and Haz?”

“Yeah. Didn’t you lot used to live together?”

He nods. “Would you believe me if I said they were the best of mates?” Her eyes widen, and he chuckles in turn. “Proper inseparable those two. Had this whole plan to live our final year to the wildest of their abilities. Except Zed moved out to live with his girlfriend and now, well… you know. Harry’s just being stroppy but he’ll get over it. Anyway,” he breathes, lips curling upwards, “I should offer my congratulations, star of the night.”

“Not even remotely true!” Alena defends, although the rosy glow of her cheeks isn’t simply because of the makeup now. She holds back her grin, points her head to the side and says, ”Care for a tour?”

With a nod, Niall takes her up on the offer. It’s quite a task, he realises as they roam around the gallery, deciding which one to focus on — the artworks or Alena’s animated commentary. She’s all smiles talking about her peers’ art yet gets more timid and reserved when discussing her own. There’s no suppressing her vibrant glow, however, and Niall simply gives up on everything else to let himself get caught in her light.

He takes it all in, from how her lips twitch to keep herself from grinning to how she twiddles her fingers when someone compliments her on her works. Freckles dot the expanse of her cheeks, like constellations that could no longer be contained by the universe that lies within her eyes. He just wants to stare and stare and stare, marvel at the art among the art, and he probably would have had Alena not been dragged away by a few of her colleagues at some point in the night.

It takes a while, but Niall eventually finds his way back to Harry, who’s now sipping on a flute of champagne as he stands in front of one of the artworks. He’s got a pensive look on his face; shoulders square, brows drawn together, and nose slightly upturned. Niall’s lived with the bloke long enough to recognise the show he’s putting on from a mile away.

“Say, Haz,” Niall begins, saving him from dragging out his pretence, “D’you still have that book you won from Oxide?”

“The one about the director? Yeah, why?”

“I’ll take it.”

Harry turns to him, curious, but he doesn’t press on any further. “Yeah, okay.”

///

There are things that Alena has grown accustomed to as of the late, such as Chowder waking her up with slobbering kisses whenever she falls asleep on the sofa, and catching Louis Tomlinson tiptoeing out of Tilly’s bedroom every Saturday morning.

Today is no different, and though these weekly rendezvous have never been a well-kept secret within 4B, Alena indulges Louis in his sneaky exits and lets him slink away in peace.

That is until Alena realises that today might be slightly different after all when she hears a familiar voice as Louis opens the front door.

“Tommo?”

Louis stiffens and grips the doorknob tightly. “Nialler?”

From the living room, Alena halts from sorting her hair out to look back and forth between the two blokes. “You know each other?”

“Erm, yeah,” responds Niall. Despite the glasses, his eyes squint, mind going a mile a minute to discern whether or not his vision is playing tricks on him. A flustered Louis and a dishevelled Alena; put two and two together and Niall comes up with: “Are you two…”

“What? No!” Louis defends.

And then, Alena groans, “Oh god, no.”

“Oh, okay then,” says Niall, smiling lightly, squared shoulders slowly easing up. “Where’s Chowder?”

“In the—” Louis turns around in time to see the dog by the fireplace, busying himself with an eerily familiar lump of cloth, “Shit, my jumper!”

Unbothered (and confident that Louis can deal with Chowder all on his own), Alena grabs her keys, joins Niall out in the hallway and into the lift.

“Wait, so just to be clear,” Niall begins as they make their descent, “Louis and Tilly?”

Alena schools her expression to remain neutral. Except she has never been blessed with acting chops to begin with, so the slight curl of her lips gives her away even though she claims, “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“So that’s a yes then,” he grins. “By the way, I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye last night. Harry, uh…” he rubs at his nose, looking at all the metal confining them before settling with: “He was feeling poorly.”

“Oh?” she frowns, “Is he better now?”

“Hm? Oh— yeah, yeah, I think he’s fine. Just needed to sleep it off I guess.”

“That’s good.”

It’s quiet as they fall into the routine of getting their mail. Head in the clouds, Alena doesn’t notice how fidgety Niall is being. Had it been any other day, she would’ve picked up on the little glances he’s been throwing at her, the way he presses his lips when she takes out a brown parcel from the mailbox, or how he pulls his hood over his head and draws the strings together when they make their way back up.

Except she’s still reeling from last night’s festivities that Niall fades away in the background for the time being.

“Earth to Alena?” Niall snaps his fingers then waves a hand in front of her face, “Helloooo.”

“Oh, sorry.” She bites her lips and looks up at him with wide eyes. “Do you wanna come in for a bit? Chowder misses you.”

His hand comes up and it disappears underneath his hood as he smiles apologetically. “Maybe later? I gotta check up on Harry.”

“Alright.”

They slowly step backwards, eyes not leaving each other even if their backs have hit the doors to their rooms. It feels almost juvenile, the way they trade shy smiles and mumbled goodbyes. Alena wonders as she enters her flat if there’s ever an end to her schoolgirl crush.

There probably isn’t.

“There’s toast for breakfast.”

Alena looks at the couch and sees Louis with Chowder on his lap. She makes her way over to them, rubbing the dog’s fur before sitting next to him.

“You should try harder than that if you want to woo Tilly.”

“I am not trying to woo Tilly.”

She pats his shoulder as she sits back. “Sure you are.”

Alena ignores his defensive “I’m not!” as she goes through the mail. Only the rectangular package is addressed to her, so she sets the rest of the envelopes down on the coffee table. She tears off the wrapping paper, brows furrowing at the sight of the Wong Kar Wai book that she’s been pining over all those weeks ago. Her curiosity only amplifies when she’s met with a folded piece of paper with her name on it instead of the title page.

Dear Alena,

Please consider this book as a gesture of goodwill. I truly believe that you are its rightful owner. The other book with the prize was about Susan Sontag (did I get it right?). Harry only wanted it to woo a girl. Spoiler alert: he failed. Let me know if you want that one too.

Congratulations on the exhibit, by the way. I wasn’t kidding when I said you were the star of the night. You were practically glowing. I didn’t have the chance to tell you this but you really looked beautiful tonight. I think you look pretty all the time, actually. Especially when you smile. And you smiled a lot tonight, so I really liked that.

I hope you’ll let me make you smile all the time.

Sincerely,

That very fit bloke from 4D

(I’m kidding it’s Niall)

PS: We watched In the Mood for Love the other night. I can see why you love his work. Harry probably won’t let me choose for the next movie night but that’s his loss.

PPS: Feel free to set this on fire.

“What are you waiting for?” says a voice that’s distinctly far from Louis’ brash tone. Alena whips her head around and finds Janelle looking over her shoulder, staring at Niall’s letter. Instead of budging when Alena pushes her away, Janelle points to the door and says, “So? You know where to find him, go!”

“Chowder supports you,” adds Louis, holding up the dog next to his cheek as he flaps his paws in the air.

“But I haven’t got an excuse to go over there.”

“You don’t need one. Come on.” Janelle rounds the couch and grabs Alena by the hand.

“But—”

“No but’s!”

In a flash, they’re right outside 4D, Janelle’s knocking on their door, and Harry’s opening it as Janelle goes back to their own flat.

Harry’s lips curl, a sly, knowing smirk, before looking over his shoulder to say, “Niall! Special delivery!” and then he’s pulling Alena inside. He’s practically a blur as he speeds through grabbing Liam’s arm and shoving him inside one of the bedrooms. A blanket of silence befalls as they’re left alone, with her still lingering by the doorway and him in front of the couch with his hands shoved deep inside his pockets.

“You can talk now!” yells Harry, voice slightly muffled from behind closed doors.

It prompts Niall to shake his head, mutter “Jesus” under his breath, and then he’s ushering Alena back out into the hallway.

“So,” she begins as the door clicks shut, tucking a stray strand behind her ear.

Shyly, he echoes it back. “So…”

“I’m guessing Harry’s feeling better?” she jokes, and he goes along with it with a smile.

“Oh, much. Sleep? Very underrated. Easily one of the best forms of medicine. Highly recommend it. You should try it some time.”

“Hey!” she defends, although the edges of her chapped lips are turning up. “Thanks for the, uh… gift, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.” He shoves a hand back in his pocket, rocking back and forth on the heels of his trainers lightly. “So… uh, have you burned it yet?”

“Don’t really want to.”

“Oh?”

Alena nods, and the silence begins to stretch between them once again.

“Just ask her the fuck out already!” It’s Harry, followed by a harsh shushing from Liam. Alena goes pink and Niall’s throwing his head back with a groan.

“For the love of God.” Niall bangs his fist against the door once. “Sorry about that. Fuck.”

“It’s alright.”

He scratches the back of his neck for a bit before running his hand up and down his arm. “Erm, so, uh… there’s this open-air cinema tonight. Do you uh… maybe... wanna go? With me? Like, on a date?”

Alena smiles softly, nodding, and Niall swears he’s forgotten how to breathe. “I would love that.”

“Finally!” It comes from 4B this time, a synchronous yell from Louis, Tilly, and Janelle. Alena wants to die from embarrassment, but at that moment, they couldn’t have been more right.

Finally indeed.

[sarahbethimagines]

Chapter 7: Just a Kid (possible warning)

Chapter Log!

"I'll be up here if you need me!" I called to my dad as I kicked my bedroom door open with my foot and slid into the decently sized space. Not really bothering to wait for any acknowledgment that he'd even heard me. A smile found its way to my lips as I sucked in a deep breath and looked around the room. Feeling content inside its four walls as I made my way over and flopped onto my bed. Now happy and full after the home cooked meal my father had made for the two of us just before, and just thinking on that day. While I hadn't planned on waking up when I did, I don't think even if I'd woken up on my own I would have anticipated that day to go as it had. But thinking back on it, I was pleased with the events that had transpired. And in comparison, to the day before, and all those that had succeeded it I'd remembered quite a lot. From owning the car to meeting Alex, to solidifying my hope that I had more than just him as a friend. Not that Alex seemed to be a bad friend from the fragments I'd collected, but it was reassuring, to say the least, that he wasn't the only person I'd found to deal with me in the four-plus years I'd spent in this town.

I smiled to myself as I went through all that I had discovered about my past. I really was making progress and I was happy that come Friday I would be able to report all of this with a smile to my doctor. It's still not easy to forget who you are, but when things come back to me I've learned I have to take them in strides no matter how big or small a step they may be. Slowly but surely, I was inching my way back to myself and I should be grateful for that. And I think I really was trying to be. Folding my hands over my stomach, I looked around at the varying decorations which littered my walls. I hadn't really taken the time to soak in anything I'd chosen to hang on them the day before. And while I wasn't trying to make anything come to me as I examined them now, I found it interesting to just acknowledge all I'd collected in high school and summers past. The majority were poorly taped drawings and band posters, but there was the occasional photograph or picture frame scattered into the mix. Nothing I could clearly make out from my place sprawled on my back. My fingertips had begun to tap a beat by my bellybutton when my eyes scanned across to the other side of my room where they caught sight of a poster I instantly recognized. The large square print captured the album art to Jimmy Eat World's album Bleed American. And even though I couldn't quite put my finger on any song titles, or what it even sounded like. I knew I loved that album somehow. And I smiled. But That wasn't what truly captured my attention about it. The poster was taped at just the top two corners, clear scotch tape pressed into the wall I'm sure would destroy the paint if I ever tried to remove it. And the air flowing in through the window just beside it was lifting the bottom of this poster up. Letting it flutter softly in the light steady breeze. I squinted at the wall being exposed with every gust of wind, as something just barely visible in its center peaked my curiosity. Just enough to pull me into the sitting position by my intrigued mind. I slowly clambered to my feet and shuffled on my socks across the carpet to the poster and lifted it up, exposing a rather decently sized indent in the drywall where the gray flecks had chipped off, letting the light hit the white chalk-like material which lay underneath. "The Hell?" I whispered softly to myself as I ran my hand down the dent, pulling it away and rubbing the white dust between my fingers. Staring back and forth between my now dirty hand and the indentation. I felt something quickly stab at the side of my head which caused me to cringe. I squinted at my wall, lips contorting for a second as I stared before reaching up and touching it again. The small seemingly innocent act suddenly caused that dull stab to be dragged violently through the entirety of my body. From my finger, up through the deep folds of my brain and down to my feet, the pain coursed through me. Stumbling back a step or so, I managed to catch myself and reach up to grasp my head. A memory taking me over and sucking me down a black hole. A sound mixed between a sob and a wince ripped through my throat as I choked down another swig of the whiskey. Letting the crimson liquid, I'd swiped from my father's precious liquor cabinet burn long jagged holes in my throat as it crawled its way down to my stomach. The only other sound filling my room beside my violent sniffles was the crunching and cackling of papers and letters beneath my feet as I paced around the space. I lifted the thick glass bottle to my lips again, wiping the hot tears that streamed down my face from sight with my free hand. Not caring how mad my father would be to find the bottle missing and empty beneath my bed. Maybe if I was lucky he'd actually kill me this time. Then I wouldn't have to feel this way. I let out an innate hiss as the whiskey went down and I kicked the empty bottle of Smirnoff I'd finished long ago at my feet. Sending it flying across the room and rolling under my dresser. Everything was slowly beginning to spin around me. But whether it was from the copious amounts of alcohol I'd consumed or just the anger and hurt flooding my overworking brain, I wasn't certain. I took one last swig for the moment and kicked some more of the papers beneath me, sending them fluttering around in the still cold air which was spilling through the window by my side. I glared down at the stack of letters and photographs spread across my cream-colored carpet. The moonlight from outside catching the edge of a single framed photo causing it to glisten so bright even I could see it through tear clouded eyes. "Oh, you fucking bitch." I spat, reaching down and picking it up in a fowl swoop. Holding it now, I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, just letting the glass bottle roughly bang against my cheekbones. I couldn't feel a thing anymore anyway. I was numb. My chest was heaving up and down I'd been crying so hard for so long. Completely unable to catch breaths between the hefty swigs I'd been forcing back as I stared, sniffling at the frame. Inside, sat a photo of me and my mother, I remembered exactly the day it was taken. Clothed in the most beautiful frilly pink dress with small white polka dots. My mother stood behind me knotting my hair into a stumpy French braid. It was my fifth birthday. But all I could see now was what she'd scratched across the glass in a skipping red sharpie before she threw it in the box with all the others. Shipping them off for me to receive on this very day. 'THE LAST DAY I EVER LOVED YOU' was written now in the same handwriting I'd always received on little love-filled notes in my lunch box. Now, it scrawled a proclamation that in her eyes I was no longer considered her child. Exactly ten years after the original photo was taken. A sob ripped through me, and I fell to my knees amidst everything else she'd deemed useless to hold onto back in New England. Everything and anything that was related to me. Chocking and coughing now I cried, unable to move for a moment as my heart began to shred itself into nothing within my chest. My only solution then was to press the lip of the bottle to my own, kissing it in an attempt to fill the empty cavern my heart once held with the scorching hot whiskey. I placed the bottle down slowly, my other hand still clutching the frame for dear life as I struggled to push myself back to my feet. Knees trembled and knocked together with every step as I staggered to my bed where I'd thrown the house phone. Not knowing what I was actually trying to achieve or get at, I picked it up and began to dial a number I'd once known so well and loved so much. I pressed it to my ear and listened to the empty dial tone as I swayed on my feet. Four... Five... Six times it rang as I counted. The scowl on my face growing deeper and deeper the longer I stood. Till finally a click escaped between my heavy breaths, and the automated track of her answering machine began to swirl through my ear canal. Mindlessly my mouth fell open and an Earth-shattering screech ripped out as I dropped the phone to the floor. The back popping off and skidding onto the letters. My mind and heart were racing. Against me, against one another. I couldn't take it. My head was screaming at me, at my lungs, at my heart, at my sobs. A strangled whimper left me and without even thinking, I whipped the frame I'd still been clutching across the room and into my wall. Without even flinching, I watched as though in slow motion as the frame collided with the drywall. Glass shattered and sprayed through the air like fireworks display before cascading to the floor in a glistening mess. All that matched my whimpers was the echoing boom of the wooden frame splintering and spilling to the carpet. I glared at the mess I'd made of my wall and my floor; expression unwavering and unapologetic as finally silent tears continued to escape my eyes and pour down my cheeks. I had no intention of moving. The smallest bit of release had eased off my shoulders at the sight of glass dancing to the floor. I would have been content in standing there and staring down with clenched fists till the sun rose and my father came home. But the universe, as always had other plans. Right on cue, my small silver cell phone began to violently ring and vibrate on the nightstand behind me. I didn't have to look to know exactly who it was, or even what time it had been. And had I bothered to, I would have been right on the money with my hostile assumption. It was precisely 12:01 AM on April 12th, 2003. I was officially fifteen. I'd been expecting that call excitedly all afternoon. And now I wanted more than anything for that phone to halt its obnoxious sounds and die on the spot. Only I knew it wouldn't. I knew he'd assume I was asleep and keep calling till morning came in attempts to wake me from the slumber I wasn't even in. And I couldn't think with that damned ringing going on. I turned almost too quickly on my unsteady feet and snatched it from the stand, flipping the small grey device open with brute force. "HAPPY BIRTHDA-" "What?" I barked down the phone, cutting him off. My throat thick with whiskey and tears that had rubbed it raw, making me flinch at the sound of my own harsh tone. For a second, he said nothing. Seemingly listening to the blended sounds of sniffles and sighs escaping my mouth and sliding down the phone line. "Dee?" He called, concern filling his words. "what's wrong?" I pursed my lips and looked around the mess I'd made of my room. Physically feeling my eyes starting to burn again as red-hot tears pooled in my lower lids, threatening to spill any second. I took a sharp and shaky breath in as I shook my head. Like he could see me just then, the hot mess I truly was in all my damaged glory. "Are you okay?" He asked again, and I could judge from the ruffling happening in the background of the call he was slowly starting to get out of bed and move around the room. "No." I made out, my voice sounding flat and emotionless as I shut my eyes and felt small tears spill onto the apples of my cheeks. "I'm not okay." "Where are you?" He quickly asked as I heard a creaky dresser drawer slide open. "What's going on?" "Don't come after me," I told him, walking over and snatching the bottle of Maker's Mark from the floor once again. Slowly running my thumb over the red wax dripped down its neck. "You'll only be wasting your time." He stopped his movements for a second. "Kennedy, what do you mean, you're scaring me." He whispered in shaky notes as I tipped the bottle back yet again. "I'm a waste of space!" I snapped once I'd pulled the bottle back. "Trying to help me is pointless because I destroy everything I touch and I'll only destroy you like I did this family!" "I'm coming over." He said plainly, certainty dripping from his tone as he started to move around his room again. The sounds faster and more frequent now in the background. "DON'T!" I hissed down the line, squeezing the life out if that whiskey bottle. He didn't bother to answer me for a passing moment while I waited and listened closely. Hearing the jingle of his car keys, something inside me started to snap. "I won't be here, don't bother." "Kennedy Paige Murphy!" He barked back at me, causing me to flinch at his use of my full name. Something he almost never did. "Don't do anything!" He all but yelled, and I heard something crack in the back of his throat. "I'm coming right now, please don't move..." I could hear his front door open and the sounds of outside fluttering in that were followed quickly by the sound of his truck door opening. "You're scaring me, Kennedy..." He whispered when the door shut again. And I could hear it then. He was crying. At the sound and the realization, a sob ripped through me again, my face contorting as I fell to my knees. The bottle slid seamlessly from my hand and flopped to the floor, honey-like liquid dripped out onto the letters and the carpet as I clutched the side of my head. "I'm so scared, Alex..." I admitted then, words shaking off my tongue and into my tears. "What's happening to me?" I quickly stumbled back from the wall, tripping over my own two feet and falling flat on my ass. My chest was heaving wildly as my head spun and tears continued to pour down my face. All I could do in that instant was clutch my chest in an attempt to stop the pain that was ripping through me as though that had all just happened again in real time. Right before my very eyes. Every emotion I'd experienced that night was still being thrown around my mind. Smashing into the walls of my head causing the rippling pain from before to only heighten. All the pain, confusion, fear and hurt was still drowning me from the inside out. And I couldn't do a single thing to stop it. I tried my hardest to control the sobs that were spilling from my mouth uncontrollably, sinking my teeth down into my lips. I scooted further and further from the small dent in the wall that had just shaken me to my very core. I kept scooting backward on my butt till my back hit the frame of my bed causing something to tilt off the side and land on the floor with a light thud. I almost didn't even hear it over my heavy breathing, but still, I hesitantly turned my head to see my cell phone lying face down beside me. I didn't even give myself a second to think before I snatched the maroon colored sidekick off the ground with shaky hands and instantly searched for a name in my contact list. One of the very few that would jump out at me among all the rest. Once I found it, I didn't even pause before tapping the name and pressing down on the green call button with all my fleeting force before pressing it to my ear. Hoping and praying he would answer. A mangled hiccup left my lips while I waited, using my free arm I pulled my bare knees tightly into my chest while I tried my best to rock myself from my place on the floor. "Kennedy?" He questioned down the line once he answered. The sound of his familiar voice bringing both comfort and fear back to the front of my mind. And when I tried to respond, all that came out of me was soft sob-like sounds. "Hey, are you okay?" He quickly asked, and I instantly felt like I'd somehow slipped back into the memory I was now trying so desperately hard to forget. "A-Alex!" I cried out, knotting my free hand in my hair and giving it a tug in some half-assed attempt to distract myself from a splitting migraine inside me. I could hardly speak; my throat was swollen shut as I tried to get anything at all out. "B-Birthday..." "What?" He rushed, completely alert sounding now. "Kennedy, what happened?" "I remembered..." I sniffled, releasing my hair in order to wipe my eyes. "Why did I have to remember that?" I cried, "WHY?" "What Kennedy, what did you remember?" He ushered, his voice dropping and leveling out as though he was trying to control his emotions. Probably figuring damn well I couldn't. "My birthday..." I spilled. Holding my head again as I heard Alex fall silent. Seeming to instantly connect all the dots I didn't understand and was now uncertain of if I even wanted too. What felt like hours passed between us in seconds as I sobbed into the phone before I heard shifting from his end. "Stay put, okay..." He said cautiously and slowly. "I'm going to come over, just try and take deep breaths until I get there." "Alex?" I whispered, my voice coming out so fragile and small. "Will you stay on the phone with me until you get here, I don't want to be alone." "Yes." He whispered back. "Anything you need, I'd do for you."

[beckybuildscosplays]

Making Soldier 76′s Gloves: A Tutorial

Yay gloves! This is a walk-through that shows how I made them. I did make several mistakes along the way, but hopefully there is still value to be found in the process. Enjoy!

Warning: Ridiculously image heavy!!

As usual, I started by hoarding references. The 3D model I downloaded was very helpful for this.

Several months ago at the beginning of this adventure, I sat down and planned how all the costume components would be built. At the time I intended to use spray adhesive to tack down some type of stretchy, plastic-y fabric--probably vinyl. Later I learned that my library’s makerspace had a die cutter, so “stretch vinyl” was replaced with heat transfer vinyl. I did choose to omit the grey palm, but otherwise these are accurate to the game model.

The pre-existing gloves were a pair of these from Costco. In hind sight, they weren’t 100% ideal; see that seam across the knuckles? It’s going to cause trouble later.

Next I needed to make a digital cut file for the Silhouette die cutter. Die cutters are basically digital cutting machines... sort of like printing with a knife. You give them a file with lines, and a knife (or other tool) traces them onto materials like paper, fabric, and vinyl. The software requires vectors to cut, so I used Adobe Illustrator. If you don’t have access to this software, the open source equivalent Inkscape would work just as well. I began by very carefully measuring the gloves to make a janky but correctly scaled pattern. The red armor was drawn over the top.

Next, the templates were printed and laid over the glove to check for scale. as you can see, the guard on top of the hand is much too large. I made a few  adjustments to the paper templates, scanned them, and modified the vectors to fit.

Then it was cutting time! Only the finger and knuckle guard bases were made from heat transfer vinyl. (If I didn’t have access to the die cutter, I would have traced the templates onto masking tape and used them as a mask for fabric paint.) 

Next I wanted to make the knuckle guards. These could have easily been made with Sculpey, but I sit next to a 3D printer all day at work so I took the easy way out. 

As normal with 3D prints, these had a distinct texture. I decided to take the opportunity and try out Automotive Filler Primer since it’s supposed to be the bee’s knees for smoothing 3D prints. Sanding PLA sucks, so I’ll jump on any possible opportunity to avoid it. In preparation for spray painting, the knuckle guards were stuck on a piece of cardboard with hot glue. A little clearance from the surface means their edges will be more clean, plus I don’t need to keep track of 8 tiny pieces of plastic. The hot glue will peel off cleanly later.

From what I had heard, you don’t need to sand filler primer because it self-levels. After one coat, I was not so sure. 

Three coats in and the ridges were actually more pronounced, so I broke out the sandpaper.

Amazing!!! It looks awful but dang did it feel smooth and it sanded SO MUCH EASIER than PLA! 220 grit paper was plenty remove material.

After two more passes of spraying and sanding, the guards were looking pretty smooth. Here they are after their final spray:

Fun fact, that stuff will clog up your paper something fierce! Buy a lot of sandpaper if you have large things to surface.

Next up was painting. Normally I would spray paint or airbrush something like this, but the weather has not been cooperating lately so I hand-painted them instead.

Since the red paint is somewhat translucent, I gave the parts a thin coating of white first. Then red was layered on until I achieved full coverage.

The final detail for the knuckle guards was a thin, black line running around their base. Any permanent marker will do.

The knuckle guards still need weathering, but I prefer to weather everything at once so I moved on to building the hand guards. Using the paper template from Illustrator, I traced the main shape onto 6mm foam. You will notice some indents running along the flat surface:

Those were recreated by scoring the foam with an X-acto knife. When blasted with a heat gun, the foam will contract slightly to create a groove (pictures of this later).

I added a second layer to the guards with 2mm craft foam.

In order to emphasize the angles, I carved a teeny grove with my pen knife and removed the excess material with a pair of tweezers.

This channel helps the foam bend a little sharper. It might seem subtle, but the effect was worth it.

Next, I used a sharpened aluminum tube to punch perfect circles into the foam. You can find these at most hobby stores and sharpen them with a needle file--also to be found at most hobby stores. The holes were expanded into slots using my handy X-acto. This was surprisingly hard to do neatly; I wish EVA foam was a little more dense :/

The parts were adhered together with contact cement. I had to do this outside and it was dark, so I don’t have good pictures :( As a last step before painting, I used a heat gun to give them a gentle curve and emphasize those grooves. Unfortunately, I was a little liberal with the heat and you can see some low-key melting. Oops. Given the size of these parts, it was an interesting challenge to attempt without gloves.

For painting, I decided to use my airbrush. I was gifted a setup yeeeeeeeears ago and I hardly ever use it. Time to change that! I primed the foam with this all-purpose primer which claimed to be slightly flexible. This is a lie. Don’t buy this brand of primer if you need something to be flexible!!

Like the knuckle guards, I gave the hand guards a light pass with white so it would take less red to reach full coverage. Full disclosure, I kind of suck with air-brushes. See that weirdo blob on the left corner of the left guard? That’s what happens when you spray too much paint with an air-brush. They also had a funky texture which I believe was a result of too much paint at once.

For weathering, I used 400 grit sandpaper to remove paint from corners and edges revealing the primer beneath. I think it gives a pretty neat effect! Grime was a mixture of Mars Black, Burnt Umber, and water. Finally, a coat of brush-on varnish sealed the paint job.

It was only after applying the varnish that I realized it was glossy, so I misted the parts with Matte Fixative meant for sealing drawings. This is not ideal and you should be smarter than me and buy the right varnish to begin with.

Finally, it was time to add the finger pieces and assemble the gloves! This was done with an ancient (circa 1970′s) iron, a scrap of muslin, some cardboard, and sewing pins.

Note about the vinyl: There is such a thing as stretchy heat transfer vinyl. I didn’t know this when purchasing, but stretchy would definitely have been preferable. The fingers of a glove are constantly flexing and moving, so over time my regular vinyl will break down. I did verify that my pattern would stretch, but you should still purchase the proper variety if you choose to do something like this. Thankfully the pattern I cut allowed the material to stretch somewhat.

Once cut, the vinyl needed weeding. Weeding is the process of removing everything you don’t need from the piece to be transferred. While there are specific tools available for this task, I like using an X-acto knife. After you get a piece started, tweezers can help remove the rest. Be very careful during this step; sometimes the machine doesn’t quite slice all the way through and you can pull off the wrong parts.

With the parts weeded, it was time to iron them in place. Heat transfer vinyl needs to be pressed while perfectly flat. The fingers of these gloves have gussets on each side which equals a lot of fabric and seams in a small area. Such construction makes them form-fitting and comfortable, but I couldn't get them to lay flat. To remedy this I made an insertable cardboard finger and pinned the fabric in place. It was important NOT to stretch the fabric while doing so or else the vinyl would crumple when un-pinned.

With the fabric secured, I attempted to stick the vinyl in place using the mildly adhesive cover plastic. Alas, it just wouldn’t stay, so I used a snugly pinned piece of muslin to hold it down. 15 seconds of pressing with the iron, and ta-dah! Red decals :)

These gloves are two sizes too big for me in case you couldn’t tell :)

Remember how I mentioned that seam across the back causing trouble? Unfortunately it runs right through the middle of a decal. It was very tricky to iron without burning the vinyl and it’s kind of ugly. 10-foot rule will save me, but it could have been avoided by buying better gloves.

The last step was gluing the hand and knuckle guards in place. Because the fabric is stretchy but my parts are curved, I needed to put the gloves on Casey before gluing down anything rigid. Alas, I don’t have many images here because Casey didn’t feel like being a hand model and we were outside because of glue  fumes. Each hand guard got a thorough application of E6000 in the center with hot glue around the edges. I wanted the strength of E6000 but needed the quick dry time of hot glue, so this worked fairly well. Overflowed hotglue was colored with a Sharpie and disappears from a distance. 

More E6000 was used to fix the knuckle guards. Then the gloves were tossed into the Bin of Shame ™ to cure without fumigating my room.

After two days of curing, everything was finished! I'm really happy with how they turned out :D 

[annaowensartwork]

thesis

Stitched Together

Anna Owens

Stitched Together is a collection of works that embodies themes of love, familial history, nostalgia and community. In this thesis I discuss how these themes are rooted in my work and how the medium of textiles has been my form of expression. I’ve researched the art of quilt making and contextualize how different communities and movements have influenced my work. I will be talking about my journey as an artist and important pieces of work that I’ve made that have lead me to create Stitched Together.

The Thread of Love

Love is the thread that ties all my work together. This expression of love has come through in all mediums I’ve worked in, but I’ve found it most successful and tangible for me in my current practice of textile work. Researching the history of this art form I’ve found it’s heavily connected to ideas of community, femininity, design, and family history which have always been important to me.

Throughout my life I’ve always been surrounded by creative energy that has influenced the way I interact with the world. My parents, who are the most influential artists in my life, would constantly make cards, paintings, collages, prints, boxes etc. for my brother and I as gifts for holidays or sometimes just because. I haven’t, until recently, fully understood that in these gifts there was, and continues to be, a constant stream of love. This is how I have learned to create and express love, the two go hand in hand and cannot be separated for me.

These relationships are the backbones of the work I have created. Relationships are the most constant and confusing thing in my life so I have always created work to attempt to understand them. I enjoy the process of embodying intangible and unexplainable feelings I have attached to relationships. Part of being an artist for me is projecting exactly how I am feeling. This expression of the intangible has been successful with my work in fabric. When I am creating I’ll be holding a memory, a person, a moment, an overall feeling and I’ll be projecting it onto a pieces. The time I take in contemplation of color, material, and form is connecting to understanding the feeling I have inside of me.

Influential Moments of Art

As expressed, art has always been part of my life, but I first became interested in studying it in the Summer of 2016 while I was living in Providence Rhode Island. I got an internship at the Rhode Island School of Design and spent my days working in the conservation department polishing silver for an upcoming exhibition. Each day a new group of people who worked in various departments in the museum would come into a small room and we would polish silver together. Through our conversations I learned that many of them were art majors. They told their stories of how they became interested in the arts and what had lead them to the work they do now. This day after day meeting was something similar to what happens at events like quilting bees, the gathering of a community and the sharing of stories while creating something. After this experience of being fully immersed into the arts I was sure that this was what I was going to be studying.

The spring of 2018 was a time of experimentation and challenges as it was my first time creating work independently, and not from a prompt in a class. The work I began to produce was about human connection and ideas of home. This is an idea I had been interested in printmaking the fall of 2017 where I had made a book of prints that had maps connecting my family members to specific places. This piece was embodying an overall idea of connecting people and place. This was a huge leap and risk for me as I was working with shaved plates, a tedious printmaking technique that I had never worked with before. This piece was detrimental in ideas for the work I continued to make.

Everything I create is for someone, embodying a feeling, a person, a moment, a friendship, a connection, love in general. I am constantly trying to understand the role I play in relationships and why they are such a part of me. Through my life, and practice, I have had an interest with communities. Being brought up in a small place with a tight knit community I grew amongst the same people. I formed deep relationships that have continued to impact me and shape me to this day. The beauty of growing with someone and the importance and innocence of those friendships have let me see what I value in my life.

Jumping back into the spring of 2018 I wanted to express the feelings I had of connecting myself to people and places. I began to create plaster forms that were abstracted maps from where I grew up. I cut out shapes of cardboard and stuck them into 3 inch deep plaster creating an indent and together an outline of the shapes of a map of Hamilton, New York. I liked the abstractness of the work, but there was a stiffness to them. I painted them colors imagining each pocket in the plaster as an individual, and with color tried to bring them all together. The pieces I made from this period were a continuation of exploring maps. However, it didn’t feel like I fully expressed my ideas in these works and wanted to continue to push this concept.

Through looking at maps I find resonance of the ideas of home in them. I’ve used printmaking processes mixed with plaster forms to capture the mystery of maps. In this earlier work, I looked at the structures of maps and compiled lists of places that evoked feelings of safety, which I discovered was very connected to home for me. I experimented with printing techniques layering map images onto different papers, with different colors building up the depth and texture of the image. During this time I was starting to experiment with size, being heavily attracted to largeness of work. My experimentations with plaster were really about wanting to be sculptural rather than flat. So, with the prints of my maps I glued them together making a large map that measured about 2 feet by 8 feet. To make it sculptural I hung it in a doorway where light also played a role in interacting with the different papers, illuminating some parts of the map print. Subsequently, I added more prints, cut out pieces, and hung it in different locations to try to transform it. I realize now that this was my first quilt like piece. The final piece measured about 2 feet by 12 feet. I continued to push scale, however, in seeing this work on a large scale, I missed the intimacy of my earlier work.

Thinking about intimacy in my work I created a book of prints called Home. Behind all my works exists a story of purpose. I’ve always strived for a connection between myself, the artist, and my viewer. This interactive book I created in the Spring of 2018, was filled with prints of safety. I wanted to explore more the idea of home, and how the sense of safety connecting myself and my viewer in one location, the artwork. The cover had a hand stitched envelope on it and inside was a print of my thumb. This represented my own unique map. In the book were prints of my drawings, images of my hometown, words from a letter my dad sent me, and drawings of a caterpillar’s metamorphosis into a butterfly. I experimented layering creating obstruction of the image, overall tying them all together. With the layering of images I found myself telling the story of change and rebirth in a place, while also revealing how constantly changing ideas of home actually are.  

The Journey to Stitched Together

Fall 2018 ~ Spring 2019 Works

The work I began to produce in the fall of 2018 was full of energy. I was working in photography and textiles, two new mediums for me. I was energized by the newness of everything, constantly absorbing and learning. Being inspired by photographers like Sally Mann and Nan Goldin, whose works are heavily narrative, I started thinking about capturing that unspoken story in my own work. Creating my own worlds became a heavy theme as I transformed spaces coating them with fabrics and photographing people interact with them.

I discovered fabric was a narrative in itself. I researched textile artists like Aminah Robinson, who combined the mediums like painting, collage of found objects, and textiles to create magical works of art. She called her entire life’s body of work “Aminah’s World” which is a journey that confronts struggle, oppression, and despair and that also celebrates joy, freedom, and hope for the future. Each work is busy provoking thought within the viewer as your eyes jump from painted images, to text, to fabric, to found objects like shells, buttons, twigs, and more.

In the fall of 2018 after an internship in New York City for the summer, I projected my feelings about the art world that I experienced into a first piece, “The Bed Project.” Inspired by Tracey Emin’s, “My Bed” where the artist took her exact bed from her room with all it had on it clothes, empty alcohol bottles, trash, and displayed it. I created my piece titled Plagiarism. For this project I bought a blanket from a thrift store that had Norman Rockwell image knit into it and then screen printed my signature, along with Denison University’s code of conduct onto it. I was questioning the idea of ownership in art which had been an ongoing conversation over the summer. Was this blanket now mine because I had bought it and then put my signature on it? Interesting conversation came up when it was displayed, specifically people asking me if I had made this blanket.  

This was my transition into the world of textiles. I realized that what I most liked about my Plagiarism piece was the sculptural feel of it. It was large and hanging on a wall, and later found it in the studio being used as a rug and blanket. I appreciated how approachable the work was, and how it didn’t feel like this untouchable art piece, but usable and transformative in different spaces. I started to looking at artists working with quilts and was very inspired by Tracey Emin’s work. Emin has been appropriating the quilt, which is seen as strongly associated with domesticity and the feminine, by adding bold narrative text. Specifically I was attracted to Emin’s first quilt, Hotel International. On it Emin had appliquéd the names of the significant members of her family and places in her life together with small sections of handwritten text recounting stories and events. Capital letters cut out of felt and sections of fabrics – brightly colored squares, printed flowers, hand-written text and drawings printed onto fabric – are all stitched to the base with deliberately large uneven stitching. Edges are left frayed; there is no attempt at a needle woman’s meticulous craft. Instead, Emin’s quilts represent the idea of appliqué as a form of collage. The intimacy, but also boldness of this work was what I was attracted too, bring modernity to the art of quilt making.

Girls Just Want to Have Fun (Part 1)

Inspired, I went to the thrift store to collect fabric to make a quilt of my own. I collected towels, sheets, blankets, pants, shirts, and other fabrics. Purple, as a favorite color, was the theme of this piece. Through this color I see myself, all the fabric being purple was a representation of myself. Intimidated by the idea of sewing, I cut out squares and glued them together in the structure of a quilt. I then put a line from Cindy Laupert’s song “Girls Just want to Have Fun” reading in bold orange letters, “Father yells what you gonna do with your life.” I was going to include more lines of the song, but I found this one to be very powerful and thought provoking as it was seen alone with no context of the song. I displayed it draped over a couch giving it a quilt like, warm, inviting feeling, but then having a harsh contradictory statement on it.

The piece felt like a breakthrough as I finally felt my grasp on materials. Connecting it to my map piece I had been restricted in the realm of paper, but now I had full access to diverse textural materials that I had always longed for. Putting it together was satisfying as well, as its scale was new and appealing to me and I had always struggled in working large in the mediums of printmaking and plaster. There was also something intriguing about the possibilities of learning and working in this new medium.

I became fascinated with the innocence of my work through sewing, as I being untainted by any knowledge I had about it. As I taught myself I started stitching and slowly moved into using a machine. It was more frustrating then not as my stitches were uneven and inconsistent, but I was obsessed with the process. The time it took to make something was not as immediate as I had experienced with process in my other work. Because of this it gave me more time to contemplate what my work was about in content and physicality.

Girls just want to have fun (Part 2)

This piece was created in the Spring, months after Girls Just want to Have Fun (Part 1). I had been thinking alot about lyrics and the power of them in songs, but also when they are removed from the song. Like in my first piece the words “Father yells what you gonna do with your life” removed from the catchy pop song become more powerful. From this piece I wanted to create another piece that was in conversation with this that read another line from the song “Mother says when you gonna live your life right.”

Girls Just Want to Have Fun (Part 2) was partly documentation of the accomplishments I’d made in the medium of sewing. The Part 1 was glued wonkely and unevenly together. There were canvas strips holding each square together. On the five square by six square purple quilt popped fraying orange text which was glued onto floral fabric. Part 2, being made months later had a more sophisticated approach. I used green fabric from the thrift store and cut it all into squares and sewed them together. The red text was appliqued onto a pink border leaving the center of the piece a grid of green.    

I contemplated the placement of the two pieces in this space, knowing I wanted to create a conversation between the two. Girls Just Want to Have Fun (part 1) had been so successful on the couch that I wanted again to place them in a domestic like place. I finally decided on placing one on a bed. This has many meanings, connections, and associations for me. Firstly, it connects to Tracey Emin’s Bed, displaying the everyday life, the bed a lived in habitat. I started thinking about the space in association with the lyrics. In my own life I can often times feel the pressure of everything, the feeling of not succeeding, me asking myself what am I doing with my life? I usually have these anxieties when I wake up in the middle of the night feeling paralyzed by fear. The bed is a stoppage of time, where you are alone with your collected thoughts from the day, and replaying what has happened or planning what is next. This is where these pieces belong. Their energy and message lives in this space of anxiety, but simultaneously comfort. Just like the pieces themselves, a quilt; an object of comfort with a phrase; a message of anxiety.

Fort

As mentioned earlier in the fall I began for the first time experimenting with photography. In this work, I sought out creating an alternate world within my photos. I had created scenes and had people interact with them, and in the end was using a lot of fabric in my images. In one if my projects I created a tea party scene covering objects in fabrics and scraps of fabric, ribbons, buttons, spilt all over the table creating a chaotic scene. I wanted there to create confusion for the viewer. My goal was to bring textiles and photography together to create a world of its own.

Simultaneous to this photographic work, I created additional works to bring the viewer into a different world, but more literally and physically than the photos. This brought me to make my piece Fort, which combined my interest in childhood, material, textiles, and scale. Using different fabrics I created my own world of an entanglement of memories. I brought the viewer into this different world by interacting with the piece. I returned back to the color of purple thrift store fabric, as it reveals a true expression of myself and my autobiography. My childhood room was purple and I wanted this piece to connect to my childlike ideals of the world. I have memories of creating forts with my older brother when we were younger. We’d raid the linen closet and pile all the sheets, blankets, and quilts we had in the center of a room. We’d then construct a structure taping sheets to bookshelves and chairs, stacking books on top of blankets to to keep them in place, and blocking out any light that could creep in from a room. We created a fort that was our own, a secret, remote, exciting place that always felt far far away from everything and everything even though it was set up in our living room. You’d crawl in and we would be in a spaceship, or a submarine, taking a journey to a far away place. Anything felt possible and I always felt safe inside those forts. At the end of the day the walls of our fort were folded and placed back in the linen closet and there was no trace that our magical fort had ever existed. Thinking about how special these memories are in terms of how beautiful our imaginations were, I wanted to recreate these forts.

Fort was a wonky hand sewn, folded, glued and pinned wall that went from floor to ceiling. I wanted to give these fabrics new vibrant ways of existing together as a whole. Each one was a different size mostly rectangular shapes, glued together in the same fashion as “Girls just wanna have fun.” In the center of it there was a door with another piece of fabric covering it that the viewer could walk through. From each side you couldn’t see what was on the other side. Watching people disappear into the doorway and onto the other side felt like the really were entering a different world, and made people want to follow questioning what is on the other side? This interaction between the viewer and the work is what I was attracted to in my artist book “Home.”

Community

Community brings people together. We are constantly surrounded and part of communities that help us navigate the world and ourselves as human beings. We are part of a community of the place we live, the school we attend, the career path we choose, the classes we take, the things we are interested in. Each one is uniquely special and a place of learning and growth.  

I’ve been extremely grateful for the communities I’ve been part of, as they’ve helped me navigate through my own life. Community is very tied into the history of quiltmaking, another reason why I became so interested in it. I’ve researched quilting bees, sewing circles, stitch n’ bitches, which are all groups that have been around for centuries where primarily women gather and create quilts together.  

The Community of Gee’s Bend has had a huge impact on me. I have become fascinated in Gee’s Bend because of their performative artistic practice of life. Located in Alabama, Gee’s Bend is an isolated community of 700 people. The community originated out of a plantation and has had a long history of hardship specifically in relation to their isolation and impoverishment. Because of these factors the community had limited access to the outside world. They repurposed and found material to make houses out of, they grew and raised all of their food, and they most famously created quilts together. This limitation of resources brought the community closer together in the act of creating as they had to collect material and scraps of fabric from wherever they could find it, recycling old clothing and scraps and giving them a new life for their quilts. Throughout the years they developed a distinct style which was based off of geometric shapes and simplicity. Their improvisational approach to creating quilts derives from their personal vision and have lead them to create works of interesting patterns, unexpected colors, and a rhythm like no other.

Stitched together, a community project  

After researching Gee’s Bend specifically and learning about their collaborative quilts I knew I wanted to have a community project of my own. I did a lot of research on community art projects learning about The AIDS quilt which is one of the most successful and largest community art projects in the world. Each handcrafted quilt is commemorating someone who has died of AIDS-related illness.The goal of the project was to spread awareness of what aids was, and help people understand the devastating impact of the disease. It also was a way to bring families and friends of those who were lost to mourn and grieve. Each quilt holds a story of love and captures a person’s life. The panels are accompanied by letters, biographies, and photos. This project has redefined collective quilt making in contemporary times and serves to memorialize many of those who were discriminated against during their lives. The quilt itself has become a wonderful historical record of human life

Being inspired by art making through community I created, “Stitched Together, a community project.” For my project I sent out a flyer to family and friends asking them to create a 9 inch by 9 inch square which would be part of a larger quilt. My goal was to inspire people to create. I kept the prompt vague as I wanted each work to be a true expression of the artist. Through this I’d hope that people would be excited and inspired by the creative process and continue to create works of their own.

I’ve received an overwhelming number of squares. They’ve been sent to be from across the country from friends, family, even people I don’t know who heard about the project. One of the most special parts of this is the emails, messages, texts, letters, and notes I’m receiving along with the squares. People are sharing their excitement about the project. A few people have said that they’re so happy they’ve been able to get back into sewing, reminded of memories of sewing from when they were younger.

My main goal was to bring people together in the act of art making. I was interested to see how people would read the prompt and think about community. I strived to make everyone believe that they can create and through art express themselves. I think this connects back to never thinking I could draw which lead me to automatically be intimidated and scared of art classes. However, in college that barrier of what an artist is was broken down and I learned to express and be myself through creation. I want everyone to believe in themselves as artists and see that their art can be part of something larger than themselves.

Quilts  

I became interested in the popular contemporary artist, Yayoi Kusama, who has transformed rooms into colorful optical illusions. This work embodied everything I was exploring, bringing the viewer into a confusing world of color. I did heavily enjoy her rooms filled with polka-dots and pumpkins, but I was most inspired by her paintings. Her paintings are as overwhelming as her rooms, they brightly bring the viewer into a different world. I became obsessed with connecting her paintings to quilt making as they helped break down the barrier of what a quilt should look like. Her painting, “I Who Cry in the Flowering Season” immediately reminded me of a quilt in the layout of the canvas. However, colorful shapes that were blossoming all over the canvas had no pattern to them, like a quilt usually would inside a boarder.

Even though I did not discover Kusama’s paintings until after I finished my piece Memory Clouds, I still heavily associate the two together. I started creating this piece with just cutting out one shape and having another shape grow from it. I tried different shapes balancing the size and weight of each element contemplating how each would play a role in the whole. The piece kept growing and growing and with the addition of a shape an entirely new whole was born. It had no pattern, no planned out shape, and no end goal for its size, it just kept growing and growing until I felt it was complete. Each shape holds a memory, a moment, that grows into a new one each playing a significant role in the whole.

Before making this piece I was thinking a lot about how things keep changing and redefining themselves to us as we grow. At this time, I had been re-reading significant stories from my childhood and observed how their meaning had transformed for me. Specifically, I associate Dr. Seuss with my childhood. His stories were a constant stream of imagination and inspiration to me as I’d imagine inventions, animals, places, worlds of my own. I wanted to create something that, like these stories, was representative of specific time for me. For Memory Clouds I used the colors from “Oh the Places you’ll go” by Dr. Seuss as it is a story about the infinite beauty of the future. This piece is a combination of a childhood dream, but also representing the future and how it can also be as playful, creative, colorful, and imaginative as the past.

Along with this being my first all sewn piece it also was a breakthrough for practicing concepts of design. In The Fall of 2016 I studied abroad in Aix en Provence France where I studied painting and drawing. This is where I learned about color, form, balance, harmony, and how these elements each play an integral role in the whole. While creating Memory Clouds I was actively weighing each shape of color balancing them to create a whole. Working the medium of sewing let me add or remove shapes to see what would work.

The piece itself

This conversation of the craft of quiltmaking and art has been an ongoing one throughout my research. I do not know how to technically quilt which is why my work holds a lot of power in the context of what a quilt is. I do not use templates or quilt designs, I just start cutting fabric and sewing it together. Me categorizing my work as quilts and not tapestries, paintings, or drawings adds to the ongoing conversation in the art world of the legitimization of the quilt as art. Quilts are seen as craft, as something your Grandmother does in her free time, as women’s work, as something that belongs on your bed, but what if quilts were seen in the same light as a medium such as painting? Why aren’t they? This is an integral question that’s been at the root of my research.

As I researched quilts from throughout the 1900’s and even earlier, I found beautiful works of art. Quilts made by the women of the Gee’s Bend community are some of the most groundbreaking pieces in thinking about color and design. What’s dumbfounding to me is that in society these were never considered art, and the quilters would have never considered themselves artists. This slowly began to change in the late 1950s and early 1960s as female pop artists used textiles and patchwork in their work as an early feminist connection to handicraft traditions. University art programs began incorporating craft programs into their curriculums. In 1971 the Whitney Museum of American opened their exhibition, Abstract Design in American Quilts. This opening changed the way the quilt would be seen forever. Quilts had never been in contemporary art museums until this exhibition, which triggered a wave of artists to start working in the medium of quilt making.

Still today there is an ongoing conversation about quilting and weather it holds the label of art. I believe that artists like Tracey Emin who make political feminist statements through quilts are helping legitimize quilts as an art form. Through working in the medium itself I believe my work is adding to the conversation and pushing people to redefine what a quilt is in society.

Functionality

“A lot of people make quilts just for your bed for to keep you warm. But a quilt is more. It represents safekeeping, it represents beauty, and you could say it represents family history.”

~ Mensie Lee Pettway, a Gee’s Bend community member and quilter

There is more to a quilt then just to keep one warm. When making my own quilts functionality has been an interesting aspect. Where does a quilt live? Some of the work in my show has been placed on the wall because that’s where they lives, but others on beds. The range of placements of each piece represents the vast functionality and purpose of quilts themselves. Quilts function as explorations of design, as objects to keep us warm, as storytelling devices. Connecting back to the quilts of Gee’s Bend, they combine aesthetic and unique design with their function being to keep people warm in unheated houses. Their work has also been a role in changing the way quilts are seen in the art world, challenging ideas craft and art. These quilts have been unique stories which are blurring the lines of verbal and visual. Women were writing their lives through their quilts and I’ve followed the story of love through each work.

Memories

In my house there’s a banister between my upstairs hallway and my staircase. Growing up a quilt was always draped over it. The quilt had colorful flowers meticulously stitched into it. I never knew what the quilt was, but I knew it was special and precious because it was always placed on display on the banister instead of on our beds. One day it wasn’t there anymore. I don’t remember why or if I ever asked where it went, but now looking at it it’s this strange idea of making a quilt an art form in my household.

This quilt was made by generations of women on my mom’s side. My great Grandmother started it with my grandmother and then it was given to my parents as a wedding present. The meaning that is held in this blanket is sacred. I discovered that it was hand stitched and had taken on new meaning through generations. To me, I see it as a sacred art piece rooted in my families history. My great Grandmother, who I never met, started to make this quilt that I now have in my possession. Like a family heirloom, a blanket can hold significance and memories. As I associate this with the memory of sprinting passed it as a child in my hallway, my mom associates it with her wedding. The rebirth of new meaning within an object is fascinating to me specifically in the stories it holds and the transformation of it being a household object into a sacred piece of history.

Storytelling Through Materials

Through materials I’ve been able to tell my own stories in a non literal place. I’ve found this medium a place of exploration and experimentation. Even with adding text into some of my pieces the meaning behind the piece is still ambiguous. Learning how to sew throughout this year is captured in my work, the slow understanding and playful innocence of a new medium. I’ve also been drawn to the history behind the medium and fascinated in discovering how connected it is to my interests.“Fabrics offers a familiar space on which to share stories that need unraveling. There is no wrong was to tell a story on cloth, the tactile, even comforting, nature of textiles can conjure memories and inspire people to share them.”

Tying into storytelling Fabrics themselves hold stories for me. A lot of the fabrics I’ve used are from my home, old curtains, blankets, reupholstered chairs, my parents shirts and sweaters, sheets etc. These items are heavy with memories and specific times in my life. Using them in new creations is giving them a new life while simultaneously connecting back to a different memory and time in my life.

Along with the memories and stories fabric can hold there is something about the physical quality of a piece of fabric that helps me better understand the whole of a piece. Also, the slowness of working in the medium of sewing has made experimentation thoughtful and deliberate. I can contemplate form and color by taking pieces out and placing new things in. I can compare this understanding to my work in printmaking as it was also a time heavy process full of contemplation. However, I am successful in the textile realm in relation to a non literal body of work and my grasp on color.

Design

Considering the tie between design and textile work Anni Albers was a revolutionary leading inventor of modern abstraction, bringing together the ancient practice of weaving with modern art. Anni Albers was a designer, weaver, writer, and teacher who dedicated her practice to expanding the boundaries of weaving and how it could be understood as an artistic medium. Studying Paul Klee’s practice of learning structural composition, patterns, and compositional themes such as rotation and reflection, her work is based in elements of design and visual aesthetic. She found a freedom of independent experimentation, and developed a way of working called “Back to Zero.” This philosophy was derived in her early work in weaving which was mostly self taught. Even though she was enrolled in a weaving program Albers found the medium a place of experimentation since she knew nothing about it. There was a innocence and excitement about the possibilities of the new medium, she said, ". . . a free way of approaching a material seems worth keeping in mind as far as the work of beginners is concerned. Courage is an important factor in any creative effort. It can be most active when knowledge in too early a stage does not narrow the vision."

Albers throughout her life continued to redefine weavings meaning. Seen as ancient women’s work and then into a medium of artistic expression based in structure, color, and texture. She emphasized that Ancient techniques could continue to revitalise contemporary practice. As a teacher and artist she always thought about process and the foundational start of things. She said in her writings on weavings, “Beginnings are usually more interesting than elaborations and endings. Beginning means exploration, selection, development, a potent vitality not yet limited, not circumscribed by the tried and traditional. . . . Therefore, I find it intriguing to look at early attempts in history, not for the sake of historical interest, that is, of looking back, but for the sake of looking forward from a point way back in time in order to experience vicariously the exhilaration of accomplishment reached step by step. . . . This is learning. And I try to take my students also on this journey back into early time, to the beginnings of textiles. How did it all begin?”

Thinking of Alber’s work and philosophies in connection to quilting I believe that there continues to be this barrier of the quilt as this crafty women’s work and an artistic practice. My piece Memory Clouds explores elements of structure, color and overall design as each shape of color is balanced with another. I’ve also done studies of color in my watercolor series, exploring the relationship of color, and how the image changes when it is looked at from different perspectives. Quilting has been a fascinating way to study shape and color. I’ve been able to place and re-arrange shapes of color contemplating what works and doesn’t work and questioning why. I’ve discovered the harmonious idea of balance with shades of colors and what can overwhelm a palette. All of these ideas have been tangible with quilting because of my visual and physical understanding with pinning fabrics together and staring at something for days, and then changing it.

Conclusion