#series: trapped in watercolours

[joonipertree]

To show someone that you care, is a gift itself. | Sugar Daddy Bakugo Series

Where you show Katsuki what a gift can be.

Tags: Artist!reader, very self indulgent, like guys....please buy me watercolour paper instead of Versace. Watercolour paper is stupid expensive. Im also not skilled enough to actually make the gift so--

Pt 1 Pt 3

Katsuki's birthday had been looming when the two of you started going out, like a weighted shadow. You had spent a very long stressing about what to get him with a budget that wasn't even worth a fraction of what he would buy you.

But, like gift giving was Katsuki's, it was your love language as well. And you'd gotten good at getting heart felt things for people. Admittedly, it took a lot of brainstorming and notes upon notes of what to get.

You'd always go overboard to please the people you cared about, afraid that they'll leave if you didn't cross the limits and bend over backwards for them.

Katsuki had always taken care of you, never asked for anything and your love was returned albeit in a quieter and tsundere manner. So the urge to go above and beyond didn't fester for long, knowing that your bare presence made him warmer.

Your gift idea came when he was on the ring, swift on his feet and solid in the rigidness of his body. You'd brought your sketchbook and while you wanted to keep your eyes on your boyfriend, your hands became busy with large curves and sharp flicks of your pencil that brought dark edges .

You'd made at least 20 quick gestures drawings that were more crude representations of movement for you. But with those and the feelings you trapped in your heart, you made thumbnails and chose one to draw large scale.

One where Katsuki's face was partially blocked by his arm and he gave a blow. His elbows were jagged, muscles taut and rippling. And his eyes sharp and cat like.

The charcoal pencils and sticks used to create tapered lines to create hard surfaces was 340 yen. The watercolour pallete used had messy paint splattered everywhere and its lid broken, having been with you for a good while. The coat over the charcoal was 50 yen hair spray that worked just as well as professional sprays.

It didn't cost a lot but your hands were full of care and by the end of it, you hoped that it'd be something Katsuki would at least like. The man could have the world but all you had was you.

You didn't realize that you were more than enough

Katsuki to lost his voice when you handed it to him at midnight, eyes wide as he stared at him but not him. The layers on layers of paint held emotions that he could only describe as love, meticulously hand picked and felt in strokes. He'd seen HD pictures of his fights, seen videos of them where his sweat and pores were as clear as day. The most he'd thought of them were how his form could improve or how cool he looked.

But what you made, it twisted something in his chest and stung his eyes and filled him to the brim with love so warm and overwhelming that his body wasn't big enough to hold it.

You two had been dating for 4 months, Katsuki had spent that time falling in love with you in ways he didn't think possible. He'd fall with every giggle and kiss and ramble and your face when you were concentrating. He'd never said 'I love you', hoping his actions showed it enough, still too scared to speak it in case it was met with hesitance or silence.

But Katsuki had gently put down the canvas, something you that you'd built, stretched and primed yourself. And while you made eye contact with the walls and ceiling, you explained how the only thing you could come up with was the painting, that you wanted to capture the emotions you felt when you saw him fight. That it wasn't much but---

Katsuki had engulfed you in a hug, hand on the back of your head to press it against him and an arm around your waist. He squeezed you, tried to express all that he was feeling with one hug alone. You felt it, held him tightly and carded your fingers through his hair. With his shoulders shaking, you had an inkling that he had been crying. When he spoke, with a wobbly voice, you were sure that he was.

"I love you." He'd muttered out for the first time.

"I love you more." You whispered back and Katsuki had firmly denied it, that no one could love a person as much as he loved you.

Getting a gift for you became hard after that, because Katsuki sucked at making shit.

[somekindofsentience]

tossing around the idea of a heromari spiderverse au...

mostly because you could very easily make hero miles and make mari gwen and keep most things the same, lmao.

and i'm a heromari guy and i love them so much please kiss heromari.

(spiderverse and omori spoilers, under the cut, obviously)

because i'm not an artist, but rather, a nerd, i want to explore things based on what will better enhance or explore character development/arcs.

the addition of siblings would really change the spiderverse series, i think. imagine the implications of gwen's choice to leave her father in the second film if she had a younger brother who admires and loves her waiting for her at home. sunny could even be (overtly or secretly) obsessed with spiderwoman, increasing tension in the home.

in a similar way, it'd be interesting to see the conflict caused in sunny's family if sunny's mom died. we know the family becomes completely shaken after mari's death, and if we take their father's choice to abandon the family as a habit, watching him struggle to pull the strings together after the loss of their mom would pressure his character more. this could even trap him further into his "duty" to catch spiderwoman.

figuring out who gwen's peter parker would be is difficult, but i've decided on hero. in fact, it would be interesting to explore how a gwen-esque character would cope with the having miles in his position in her universe, and needing to reconcile with this idea that he is alive, but he is not the same. giving mari restraint despite the desire to see "her hero" again would also be very interesting to explore.

also MAYBE i just wanna see mari drawn in the gwen watercolour style. i wanna kiss her. leave me alone.

miles honestly feels like the kel sibling, so i'd prefer to just have him be hero with kel characteristics. however, there is more to it than just that - hero's character would inhibit the story of spiderverse at multiple points, because of his maturity, so he needs kel's immaturity to choose to take particular actions. if you need an example, miles' choice to enter the portal after gwen was an impulsive, emotional decision, which simply doesn't fit hero's character.

this scene was absolutely gorgeous btw. i can't believe people don't talk about it, the upside down scene was amazing but THIS. THIS. and sorry for awful quality

there are several aspects to miles' character that mimic hero's personality. the pining for gwen and miles' surprise when he sees her again could easily fit into hero's character. although implied in the original movie, having hero as a character could bring miles' acceptance that he might never see his friends again to the forefront. (although the desire to study physics could replace hero's desire to be a chef in the original game, to smoothen out the story.)

i'm not sure how to input kel or basil, but aubrey would make a good peni parker, i think.

[urapocolypticcrush]

heyy rose!! 👋👋 hope ur doing well <3

i remembered about some of the questions u asked me a little while ago and im so sorry i forgot about them but heres some of my answers!

i draw, and i love drawing, creating characters, and colouring them in with paint and coloured pencils and markers! i havent really experimented with much else than acrylic, guache and watercolour paint, and painting makes me a little bit stressed sometimes, but when im in the right mood i do enjoy it! (i really love drawing tho, my sketchbook & pencils are some of my favourite things)

i also love musical theatre if u count that as art! ive been in two productions so far, and currently doing shows for my second one!

i play the piano (i told u about that!) and also love playing accoustic guitar 🎶 im really passionate about music, its my lifeline along with reading books, which connects to my next point!

i ABSOLUTELY LOVE BOOKS AHHHHHH i love reading books, buying books, looking at books, talking about books omg

i read 3 or 4 books per week (if im not too busy) and the bookshelves in my room are stuffed i own over 200 books...

my fave series (my comfort reads): keeper of the lost cities, nevermoor, wings of fire, the small spaces quartet , the stella montgomery intrigue, the rosewood chronicles, a pinch of magic series, miss peregrine's peculiar children (only books 1-3 though i dont like 4-6 because jacob becomes an idiot imo), heartstopper

my fave books: the lucky list, six times we almost kissed, the seven husbands of evelyn hugo, the secret garden, little women, alex, approximately and so many others

i love movies & tv shows! some i like are: pirates of the carribean 1&2 (will turner & elizabeth swann are SO PERFECT AHHHHHH), heartstopper (literally the most wholesome thing ever created), enola holmes 1&2, the parent trap (the lindsay lohan one), the owl house, she ra, wednesday, alexa & katie, tangled, frozen II, the dragon prince, alice through the looking glass

omg this is so long... but let me know if u like any of these too!

from anon 💌

omg hihi anon 💌 !!!

do not be sorry, i’m so glad you’ve answered them because i LOVE this list!!

it’s so cool that you create characters!!! i really wish i was talented enough for that so you’re literally the coolest!!!

i wish you the best of luck for your second musical production!!!! i hope the shows go well you’re amazing!!!!

i love music and books too so we’re literally the same person teeehee!

I CANT BELIEVE YOU READ 3-4 BOOKS PER WEEK. i read a book either everyday or every 2 days BUT THATS ONLY WHEN IM OFF SCHOOL (because i dont have the focus to read when im at school) so i think you’re SUPER impressive omg! and my bookshelves are ALSO stuffed…

out of your comfort reads, i’ve only read a pinch of magic series and heartstopper! but i love both a lot so i can see you have great taste!!

in your other list, i’ve read six times we almost kissed and little women!! (the seven husbands of evelyn hugo IS on my list and i WILL read it - eventually)

but you have super cool taste and i LOVE how much you love books AAAH

STOP I LOVE ENOLA HOLMES AND THE OWL HOUSE AND SHE RA AND TANGLED AND FROZEN 2!!!!! (you really do have good taste)

anyway this was super cool, i love getting to know more about you!!!!!

thanks so much anon 💌 <33

[mostlyghostly66]

Okay official pinned post time yayy expect this to be edited over time

Hiii im Lor Ghost (it/it/its + coo/coo/coos) and this is the art sideblog for @mostly-ghostlyo !!!

Im a traditional artist who uses watercolours. I also sometimes write fic (u should totally go read Rotten Work, btw)

Right now im posting a lot of ttyd stuff! I also am eventually gonna post more about my ocs (more on them under the cut)

I am always open to talk about basically anything ive made! I am also famously slow at replying so i do ask u be patient with me 👍

ALSO. i am an adult. I will occasionally post adult content. This will be tagged "after dark" and when applicable have the "mature" content label applied

OCS WHO U WILL HEAR ABOUT BY BEING ON THE ART BLOG (THIS WILL GET MORE INFO LATER I PROMMY):

Morrow Fortune (any, it/its most preferred): psychic ai whos trapped itself in a timeloop to save its partner from an untimely demise. Also in pokemon au its a sigilyph controlling a life size doll (QUICK SIDE NOTE: morrows partner is a canon character from a very very obscure series so i. Am not putting ocxcanon in tags that get maybe a single post a year if that. The organizational tag for its partner will be "kb" but i. Would not say to get ur hopes up about seeing her around)

Alyssa Silverscale (he+she, no preference): depressed ex politician picking her life back up as the world is ending. Driving across the united states in the worlds shittiest car to get back to california and be there to support her parents. Themes and imagery heavily involve the fairytail idea of a princess in a castle guarded by a dragon- she is both the princess and the dragon

Oculus Obscura (they, it, any EXCLUDING he+she): camera enthusiast and amateur stalker of alyssa. Sees alyssa as their soulmate and is trying to get him to love them back before the world ends, which means joining him for the shittiest road trip ever. Also this dudes got some major family issues

Marion Helsing (he/him): lust demon whos also both an adult entertainer and the head chef of a middle of nowhere diner. Cares a lot about his employees, even when he doesnt get along with them. Has major issues with reducing himself to something easily fetishizable and struggling to let people see him as a whole person

Jade Greene (she/her): envy demon influencer whos life is falling apart and whos lashing out wildly because of it. An employee of marion's. Kind of a dick to him during "canon" but mellows out significantly afterwards. Struggles with chasing her own desires and not just following whatevers most socially acceptable

(Ok one last thing: Spacers by saradika-graphics)

[yodartist]

17.01.2024.

Wednesday brings a full workday for me. I aim to create a watercolour to refine my digital sketches for a series of paintings I'm currently working on. Additionally, I plan to draw the landscape outside my window using white pen on black paper, as the frigid -10°C temperature makes outdoor sketching impossible.

Being in Estonia is a wonderful experience, and I would regret not capturing Estonia's beauty in my artwork. Over a year has passed, yet I haven't drawn a single thing, despite the stunning landscapes revealed during my daily walks.

An invitation has arrived for me to spend three hours at a spa – Estonia is renowned for its delightful Nordic spas. My month-long subscription is ending soon, and a spa visit might be a tempting option. However, it would likely encroach upon my full workday and disrupt my drawing plans. This has happened to me far too often.

I need to make progress on my paintings and adhere to my scheduled work time. Only by doing so do I have a chance to complete ten paintings in four months and also create a dozen drawings of Estonia.

But then, a question arises: can I truly call my artistic pursuits "work"? Here in Estonia, I have no exhibitions, no income from my artwork. This brings my activities back to the realm of a hobby.

The "hobby" label sticks in my head, eroding my motivation. "Spa, or anywhere really," I tell myself, "since I have no actual work, just a hobby."

Yet, I know I will regret not painting. Procrastination and an inability to say "no" to temptation will gnaw at me, diminishing my self-esteem and professional integrity as an artist. My drawing technique still requires refinement, and I'm not seizing this chance to be surrounded by nature, create multiple drawings, and progress in landscaping—crucial for my upcoming paintings.

In these moments, I feel trapped, weak, and indecisive. A failure in the making, I fear my weaknesses will forever hold me back from achieving true artistic greatness.

[hetbigbang]

Weekly Round Up 3

Hello everyone! Here is our third Weekly Round Up of Stories and Fanworks! Weekly Round Up 1 Weekly Round Up 2 Completed Works Here are this week’s works that have been posted in their entirety! Title/Author Reinvention Isn't Such a Bad Thing by Jedi Buttercup (jedibuttercup) Fandom/Rating: Sleepy Hollow (TV)/Teen Pairing: Ichabod Crane/Abbie Mills Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: (Click on arrow) It might not be the time to act on the realisations he'd lately made, but Ichabod would not pretend the emotions didn't exist; that was how he had ended up failing her before. And not a particle of his being wanted Abigail Mills to think she wasn't wanted. Title/Fanworker Stronger Together (Fanmix & Covers) by MistressKat Rating/Warnings: G/No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: (Click on arrow) This is a fanmix for Jedi Buttercup's Reinvention Isn't Such a Bad Thing. Chaptered Posting Here are this week’s works that are being posted by the chapter! Title/Author Vellichor by Naaer Fandom/Rating: Doctor Who/Teen and Up Audiences Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Chapters: 1/3 Warnings: Author chooses not to use Archive Warnings Summary: (Click on arrow) As John gaped at Rose, colour spreading rapidly on his high cheekbones, she let out a small groan. What the hell had she gotten herself into? ~ A Modern Fake Relationship AU, in which Rose tells a rather large fib involving her sort-of-best-mate and has to work out how to handle the grand charade - especially as old memories come back to haunt her... Title/Author Cochenille by AlexSeanchai Cochenille [accessible version] by AlexSeanchai Fandom/Rating: Miraculous Ladybug/Mature Pairing: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug; Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe Chapters: 6/20 Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: (Click on arrow) Marie Sancoeur knows very little about herself. She's Mère's only child, and like a daughter to Monsieur, more trusted than his own son if not more loved; Madame is—absent—but will surely admire Marie's skills both artistic and alchemical, just as her son does, once Madame is safe again; she would prefer not to be the enemy of Ladybug and Chat Noir, but both so-called heroes are the enemies of Monsieur and Madame and Mère, and so they have made an enemy of Marie. (If she thinks Ladybug and Chat Noir could simply sit back and watch Monsieur destroy himself and his legacy in a trap of his own making—truly if Monsieur ever even wants grandchildren, he should consider letting Adrien kiss Marie, leave the mansion and talk to people, or both—well, she thinks all that very quietly, and finds music Adrien enjoys to play rather louder.) Nino is not taking sides on whether Monarque lied about killing Ladybug or whether Chat Noir has abandoned Paris. He's especially not siding against Alya. She would understand if he could explain. Marinette Dupain-Cheng has no idea who any of those people are, and she has no idea what she did to be saved and protected by a cat-eared angel. Title/Author watercolours in the rain by Killaurey Fandom/Rating: Naruto/Mature Pairings: Nara Shikamaru/Yamanaka Ino; Haruno Sakura/Yamanaka Ino Chapters: 10/18 Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Summary: (Click on arrow) "Don't hang up. It's about Ino." Nothing less than the purest of loves could reel him back to the hell that had raised him. Sakura plays her cards well, when she wants to. That it all goes desperately wrong from there is... about what he'd expected. Shikamaru doesn't want to save the world. Maybe, just maybe though, he can save the girl. (Don't dare me to write a love story.) -- (This series is in chronological order. You do not need to have read womb under water to follow this story.) Title/Author Growing Strong by apckrfan Fandom/Rating: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling/Mature Pairing: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape Chapters: 6/9 Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Summary: (Click on arrow) Home post-war by himself other than Ministry-sponsored healers to aid in his healing, Severus finds himself at his wit’s end with the state of his life. He never intended to survive the war and has no desire to continue with his life. He plans to combine an overdose of an enhanced sleeping draught with a dose of Felix Felicis, wanting to see his true love one last time and determine once and for all if she’s forgiven him before dying. He doesn’t exactly get what he was expecting (which shouldn’t surprise him after all). See fic header in body of text for full summary. WARNINGS: Depressed, suicidal intentioned Severus Snape but it will be HEA and is not steeped in darkness Title/Fanworker Growing Strong - Fanwork by Esmalt Rating/Warnings: General/Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Summary: (Click on arrow) He caught her in a rare inactive, and unaware moment, as she was seated in his study at the desk. If you have missed your posting date, or you need to change your posting date, send us an email ASAP and we will get your posting date changed! If you have any questions or concerns, here is the Page-A Mod Post. You can also contact the mods via email, thehetbigbang@gmail.com, or by messaging LuciferxDamien or Jesterlady on the HetBang Discord server. from Het Big Bang https://ift.tt/MhrtFs5 via IFTTT

[daretogobeyondtheunknown]

Trapped in Watercolours 4.1/? [The Reality That Doesn’t Exist]

“Take it back.”

Trini blinks.

It is all fiery hot and a kind of anger she has only heard once when someone thought it would be okay to poke fun at Billy. Kim is, if anything, loyal to a tee and protective of Billy in a way Trini is of her brothers.

And it’s cute, adorable really, when Kim thinks prodding some six foot something, thousand-pound, linebacker is totally okay.

But it is a level of anger - rage - reserved for stupid and never once has Trini been on the receiving end. If she is honest, it doesn’t hurt, at least not in the way she thought it might, because it is all just confusing. Why should Trini take back anything? Does Kim not want her apology that much?

“Kim, what-”

Fingers dig into her side, desperate as they cling to her flesh.

Trini doesn’t feel the pain, in the physical sense anyways, because all she feels is the overwhelming wave of emotions and the way Kimberly’s eyes are watering. It hurts, and Trini just wants it to all go away, back to normal.

Whatever that might have been.

“Kim, I don’t understand. Please don’t cry, I really am sorry.”

Wiping away the tears feel like wiping away a part of her soul. Trini is just grateful Kim lets her because she isn’t quite sure her heart could last if Kim just walked away. It seems irrational, stupid really. But then again, Trini thought lying to Kim would be okay and this drunken blunder would stay her secret, as if that was somehow rational and remotely smart.

“T, I am only going to ask you this once and I swear to God if you lie to me… I don’t know what I’ll do but it will probably be stupid and emotional as all fuck so just don’t.”

Nodding is all Trini can really think to do. Her mouth feels drier than the Sahara and words just aren’t quite her thing.

“Was it a mistake?”

Sometimes, Trini wishes, her eyes wouldn’t sting, and her chest wouldn’t clench. And maybe, Trini thinks, just not feeling much of anything would be great because the way Kim speaks, all watery and unstable, feels like a bomb detonating somewhere in her chest and the collateral damage is simply immeasurable.

“No.”

It isn’t more than a whisper but Trini thinks - knows - it is enough.

“Oh, Trini.”

The way Kim leans into her body, as if it is the only solid ground to ever exist, makes Trini’s heart flutter and her mind dare to dream.

Maybe, just maybe…

But this isn’t some cinematic production and the solid warmth leaning against her frame is nothing more than the figment her imagination is weaving. A poor means to cope with the all too real feeling of rejection and the unspoken pity Trini can see pooling in Kim’s eyes.

“If this were a movie, I think I would say I love you and we’d probably live happily ever after. But you’re my best friend, Trini, and you deserve more than some declaration of love that just isn’t true.”

[novaviis]

Collateral Damage Chapter One. Rock Bottom. 

Watercolour Series.

Words: 6k Status: In Progress Rating: Teen and Up Relationships: Dick Grayson/Wally West, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Will Harper

Summary: His boyfriend is dead. His brother, his parents, dead. Barbara Gordon, his best friend, is lying in a hospital bed and may never walk again. And Dick Grayson has finally had enough. Pushing away from his friends and family, Dick sets out on a self-destructive path to find the Joker and make him pay - by whatever means necessary. Bruce and Will do their best to bring him back before he does something he may regret.

(Or: How much can one person take before they finally break?)

Excerpt:

He’d been doing better - or so he thought - since moving back to Gotham. Leaving California was difficult, but being surrounded by family really had helped for a while. He had the support he needed, a familiar and comfortable place to stay while still getting some distance from the apartment he’d shared with Wally and the memories that seeped through every wall. He’d spent most of his time working out to relieve stress, going through case files, reading books - just about anything to keep from thinking about what he’d lost. And while he’d still been hurting, Dick really though he was on the mend.

And then they’d encountered Psimon.

The only way he could describe it was having a freshly scabbed over wound torn back open and infected. Salt rubbed into the oozing sore, acid poured over his skin. He’d left Hollywood worse than he’d left the Arctic - because now he was angry. He was angry, and frustrated, because he’d just gone through what everyone told him was the “healing process” and in one hour he’d been sent right back to square one and he didn’t want to fucking do it all again. Every night, he found himself back in the halls of the orphanage, running from room to room, the doors changing to trap him in the unending labyrinth. And every time he saw Wally standing on the other end of the corridor, the dream would end just before he could reach him. Worst yet was that when he woke up sweating and shaking, he found himself wishing M’gann had never taken him out of that dream. That he could have just stayed there and felt whole for the first time in his life. Just for those few moments, the screaming voids left behind by his parents, by Jason, by Wally, had been filled. And he knew that none of it was real, but he’d been so fucking happy he hadn’t cared.

In the following three months, Dick had distanced himself from his teammates and friends. Stopped replying to their texts or calls, responded with feigned attention and short replies when they met face to face. More than anyone, he’d been avoiding Barbara. The logical part of his mind acknowledged that it wasn’t her fault, that she couldn’t have known Psimon would single him out like that - but the logical part of his mind was too fucking exhausted to take the reigns. He was hurt, and fuck, he wanted to feel it, to feel anything. He couldn’t help but begrudge her for pressuring him to come out of his sabbatical, even if she thought she was helping him. The distance, he’d told himself, was for her benefit just as much as his. He did still love her. That much he wouldn’t deny. He loved Barbara, and he didn’t want to say something to her that he’d regret later.

Dick had barely spoken more than ten words to her in three months, and at the moment, all that silence was coming straight back at him. Compounding in that hospital room, changing the pressure in the air as it condensed and solidified into a suffocating, nauseous gas and burned like acetone in his nostrils. All Barbara had ever done was do her best to look out for him, and what had he done in return.

Ignored her for months for something she didn’t do.

Declined going on the assignment that ended in her being paralyzed.

[wiypt-writes]

Consciousness Of Guilt

Chapter 1

Summary: It’s a year since Ransom was murdered, and you’re settling well into your new life in Boulder. It hasn’t just provided you with a fresh start-it’s brought you a new sense and purpose, an appreciation for the things you took fore grated, and the friendship of a former ADA…

Warnings: Bad Language, allusions to past abuse (Non Con/Dub Con) but nothing explicitly described in this chapter.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar the reader and any other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

W/C: 5k

Consciousness Of Guilt Masterlist // Main Masterlist

A/N- So, here it is! The sequel to Murder, He Wrote . This is the last time I’ll post this note, however, please be aware that the prequel is a Dark series. Whilst this is not, it will contain flashbacks and themes as we progress, however nothing will be as dark as MHW. Chapters will be clearly labelled with appropriate warnings. If anyone is uncomfortable with the themes of a certain chapter, I will be more than happy to post/provide abridged versions which will not deviate from the storyline.

Sunrise. You used to hate the coming of each day. It meant another monotonous day in your young adult life. A 'depends on the day' type of job at the paper in which you got your start, it meant earning little for the slave work you put into each piece or research. It meant another day you'd woken up in fear, not knowing what was coming next. Then, for a little while, sunrises were okay. They were a soft glow across the room, illuminating hard lines and soft curves, whispering words and lingering kisses. And then, they became fearful again, bringing the unpredictable nature of a life in which you were trapped.

But now, over the last few months, since taking up your new hobby, sunrise had become a beautiful thing. The feeling of peace and comfort washing over you like a warm rain, bringing the redeeming nature of a new day as vibrant watercolours paint the new-born sky. Whether you caught it from the East side of your condo; your master balcony and study or your garden, or even your hikes, you appreciated every, single sunrise as if you were seeing it for the first time ever, each and every day.

For this morning's sunrise, you were perched along Boulder Creek Path, a trail that runs from the foothills to across town, a typical recreational getaway for many locals and tourists. You looked out over the bridge as the creek flowed beneath your feet. You were lost in the serenity of it, the bubbling water lulling your mind into a deep mediation that washed peacefulness through your entire body.

A year ago today, your life changed and you were freed. Free of the nightmare that had plagued you, robbing you of nearly a year of your life. The months that followed weren't so easy, but once things settled and the fires were extinguished, you found peace.

You found you.

Your phone buzzing in your pocket brought you back from your reverie, pressing your thumb onto the screen to unlock it. You opened your messages tab and tapped the most recent incoming text.

A smile flicked on your face as you slipped your phone back in your pocket. It didn’t escape your knowledge how Andy didn’t need to even ask what coffee you wanted. But then again, this wasn’t the first time you’d had breakfast in the small, independent coffee place not far from your home and place of work. You knew when you arrived that a large caramel vanilla latte, with an extra shot would be waiting. But no food, your order varied depending on your mood.

Twenty minutes or so later, you parked your sting-grey Jeep Grand Cherokee SRT 4x4 back in your garage to your condo at the corner of 9th and Pine Street and set off on the short ten minute walk to your designated meeting place, centred near the town square, not far from your office which was a gorgeous old red-brick building on the corner of 16th and Walnut Street.

As you approached, you didn’t spot Andy’s black Audi TT in any of the spaces littered around but it didn’t bother you. Barber was reliable, if he said he was going to be there, he’d be there.

And sure enough, as you walked along the side of the cafe you, spotted him at your usual, preferred table by the large window, overlooking the street. He saw you approaching and smiled, giving a small wave.

The smell of roast coffee beans, baked treats and other delicious aromas hit your senses as you opened the door. You approached the table and Andy stood up to great you, smiling. A light grey tee sat exposed under a partially zipped up light weight blue leathered hoodie whilst dark and crisp denim covered his narrow hips and long legs, his go to well-worn black work boots on his feet. His hair was styled and soft looking, his beard always trimmed and neat. He gave you a strong, yet gentle hug, a juxtaposition he managed effortlessly before he turned and waited for you to sit first before he took up his previous seat, nodding to your waiting drink.

“Thank you.” You beamed at him, taking a quick sip. "Of course." He smiled as he took a drink of his own coffee, straight black, before he leaned back a little. His left arm rested over the back of the booth bench, the platinum of his wedding ring catching the early morning sun which streamed through the window. You momentarily glanced at your own hand, bare of the heavy rings which had been taken in the ‘mugging’. Mind you, you wouldn’t be wearing them even if you still had them. Your story was a lot different to his.

“So, where'd you go this morning?" his soft baritone drifted across the table and you glanced back at him. "Fiddled around down Boulder Creek Path." "You seem to be getting around better now." "Yeah, thank God for GPS. Did I tell you that last week I was looking for some store Amber vaguely told me where about it was and ending up like thirty minutes down the highway towards Denver." He laughed, his whole body smiling, radiating genuine amusement. "You have more faith in GPS than me, when I first moved here I got pulled over for going the wrong way down a one way street because it told me to.” You grinned as he shook his head. "And that annoying voice! I want to wring her damn neck." You gave a chuckle but before you could reply, the middle-aged woman, who owned the café, interrupted you both with her usual familiar greeting and the smile she reserved for Andy. “Hey Patti, how are ya?” He smiled back. “Same old, same old.” She winked back. “What can I get you kids today?” “Y/N?” Andy looked at you and you smiled. “Can I get an almond croissant and a granola pot, please? With the blueberry compote.” “Sure honey, and for you Mr Barber?”

“French toast please, all the trimmings.”

A fizzing filled your ears as you were suddenly back on a clinically clean, modern kitchen, nervously scouring a fridge and cupboards for something to make your captor breakfast with. You swallowed, taking a deep breath, counting backwards from five as you always did to keep the memory from swallowing you.

“Hey,” a gentle touch to your hand jolted you back and you looked at Andy who frowned. “You okay?” "Yeah, no, I mean yes, I'm okay. It just…it dawned me this morning that this was the best thing I could have done for myself. Like there's just a newfound peace that's settled with me, you know?" He just smiled as he squeezed your hand before slipping his away. “Yeah, I do.” No more was said about it, and Andy didn’t press. He never did. In the eight weeks or so that had passed since you’d met him that Friday evening in the bar, the pair of you had struck up a friendship that was based on a mutual understanding. You both carried a heavy burden of a traumatic past on your shoulders, but you had an unspoken rule. He had never mentioned Ransom. And you, in turn, never broached the subject of Laurie or Jacob. You understood you were both moving on with your life, both wanting to heal from the past and you wanted to spend the rest of your life never in fear again. Instead, a simple chatter always flowed between the two of you, and today was no exception. You barely stopped to thank Patti for dropping your order off at the table. Current work was never a topic of conversation, although office gossip featured on occasion, but mostly it was always about happenings around town, him asking about you, your parents and your old job, the two of you talking about your favourite places in Boston. You never missed certain facial and eye cues Andy gave off at the mention of certain things, but when you saw them, that sag in his smile or the far off look his eyes would give, you'd change the subject. You ate in comfortable companionship and after another coffee, Andy asked for the bill and then pulled out his card to pay. "Next one is on me, you paid for the last two and coffee all this week." You gave him a stern look as you headed towards the exit. “Well, if you wanted you could grab us a beer later.” He shrugged, pulling the door handle to open it, allowing you to step out before him. “I gotta nip into the office for a coupla hours but...” "Breakfast AND drinks?" You smiled as he fell into step beside you. The July day was starting to warm a little now, the slight chill of the early morning all but gone. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you actually like hanging out with me." “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. I just find you slightly less irritating than everything and everyone else.” He teased and you laughed. “So... Happy hour?" "Yeah." You nodded “It's a date." Andy confirmed and you quirked your eyebrow, trying not to laugh at the look on his face as he realised what he had said. “A date?” “Well, I don’t mean a date date but...” You felt the heat in your neck a little, so to save your embarrassment and his blushes, you smiled, "it's a date-not-date. Say Oskar’s, 6:30?" "Oskar’s." He confirmed. "I'll save you a tall, cold one." “You’re an angel, you know that?” "I wouldn't go that far. My halo is held up by horns” “Even Prometheus was an angel at some point, Y/N.” He replied as you reached the corner of the street where you would part. Him towards the office, you back home. You rolled your eyes and shook your head. "I'll see you tonight." At that he gave you another quick hug, his hand rubbing your back over the top of your light jacket before you headed your separate ways.

You enjoyed the walk home. It gave you the perfect chance to just mellow out and walk off a bit of your breakfast. You tucked your hands into the pockets for your vest, your white thermal keeping your arms covered. You headed down Pearl Street, watching as the little shops and boutiques began to set up their patios and side walk spaces for their Saturday. You took in the clean fresh mountain air deep into your lungs and allowed a warm smile to cross your lips. 

From Pearl to 9th you went, hooking a right up 9th until you walked to the corner of Pine, and onto the porch of the nice and spacious condo you closed escrow on just weeks ago. 

That deep feeling of home greeted you as you stepped inside, wiping your boots on your door mat just before kicking them off and setting them by the back door you’d come through. The cream walls invited you in, the oak furniture and fixtures, a feature that reminded you of home, the decor you grew up with, a safe place. 

You'd bought the condo outright with the money you'd inherited from Ransom's untimely death and subsequent estate. You knew before you'd even stepped foot into the property initially, that it'd become yours. The week you closed escrow, you and your parents moved you into the three bedroom, three and a half bath condo, never looking back. 

The open floor plan and panoramic views had stolen your breath and it was then, the first night your parents had left you alone, too anxious to sleep alone, you had fallen in love with the sunrise, seeing it from your front garden patio, bundled up with tea and a wool blanket. All three rooms in the space had no adjoining walls and their own en-suites. The master bedroom, your room, was massive. An en-suite with walk in shower, soaking tub and Jack and Jill sinks. Two walk in closets that you knew you'd probably never fill completely, an Eastwardly view and balcony. The two spare rooms, were separated, one on the second floor down the hall from yours where it's balcony looked West, as it were above the garage and the third on the top and final floor with its own balcony. That was your office space, a spot for you to work and to breathe in the fresh air. 

Everything in that condo was yours, down to the logs you'd put in your fireplace and the silly little amenities you'd given yourself from knickknacks to the colour of your dishes. There was one space however you left untouched. And only your parents had been inside to pack away your unused things as storage space. That room was your basement. You didn't need to go down there, you figured if you needed something from there, you'd go buy it anyway. All that was truly stored down there anyway were things from your childhood your mother insisted on you bringing along.

As if her ears were burning, your phone buzzed from your back pocket, revealing your mother calling. 

"Hey, Mom." You answered. 

"Hi, honey. I was just calling to see how you were doing. Check in on you." You could hear the worry in her voice and you couldn't help but smile. 

"I'm really good, Mom. It’s been good here." "You still hiking every day?" She sounded hopeful now.  "Lately it's just been on the weekends. I've been really busy at work, which isn't exactly a bad thing either." You had made your way to your room, looking for some lounge pants to change into while you continued your conversation.  "Well, busy is a blessing. Do you have anything planned for today or...."  "Uh, well I just had breakfast with a friend from work who I'm also meeting for drinks later." You smirked at the thought.  There was a joyful sigh that poured into your ear from the ear piece, "Oh, this friend wouldn’t happen to be the mysterious Andy you’ve name dropped the last few calls would it?"  You hesitated, "y..ye...yeah." Then you heard the tell-tale sound of your mother's chuckle. “We’re just friends.” "I'm not saying anything." You could picture her with her hands held up in defence. "You sound happy." “I am. I feel okay, more than okay even. I’m good.” "Alright. Well, don’t waste your day. Enjoy it. Your dad and I will talk soon." “Yeah, listen Mom, why don’t you come over for a few days in a couple of weeks? You’ve not been since the week you came to help me move in. It would be nice to show you round now I’ve got my bearings.” "We would love that. I'll have your father look at booking some time." “Okay just let me know. Tell Daddy I said hi.” "I will, sweetie. Love you, bye.” "I love you too, Mom, bye." The seventeenth of July, a date that you hope one day will come to mean nothing and be like any other day. But for now, it was a sting that reminded you of all that had happened. Not unlike Halloween, a day in which you'll forever hold in a fearful anxious place in your soul. It served as a reminder of the moment your life had taken a very dark turn, a darkness that you were still, in a lot of ways, finding your way through. Ransom. His name still tasted sour on your tongue. But left a sadness over your heart like a sheer curtain. You had truly hoped he wasn't going to revert back to the beast that held you captive. But you were wrong, and post the revelation of the real reason he had taken you, he’d been far more brutal and cruel than he had with you before, something you’d thought was impossible. And he’d broken you for a second time, or so you’d let him think. Desperate to escape his clutches, you’d done the only thing you could- you’d killed him. Whilst you may not have held the knife, you’d arranged it all. And, even though it had been an absolute last resort, you’d be lying if you said there hadn’t been a satisfaction to watching him bleed out and choke on his own blood. The realisation that had clouded his arrogantly handsome features as he came to understand it was your doing would be forever etched into your brain. That said, it made you feel a little bit queasy when you thought about how taking someone’s life could make you feel a sick sense of pleasure. The nightmares had plagued you for months after. The torture which sleep brought you only ceased around the time things were settled within the system between you and his parents. With a deep sigh and the need for distraction, you set about some spot cleaning in between loads of laundry and by early afternoon you had settled in on your couch with a beer and your latest box set binge. Not two episodes in and your phone pinged next to you.

With a smirk, you snapped a photo of your beer bottle in your hand and a few moments later his response came through.

The angel made you laugh, a direct reference to his teasing before. But before you could reply, you got another text with simply saying “fuck it” along with a picture of a tumblr of whiskey on his desk. With a snort you replied

With a smile you tossed your phone down onto the seat beside you, and resumed your watching.

***** Andy was kidding when he playfully said he'd be there by 6:45, fully intending on their agreed upon 6:30. But, he was late. He'd been so involved with his brief that he'd lost track, and for the first time since meeting her, was late for a meet up with Y/N. She was fully understanding as he'd text her apologizing for the time as he'd rushed out of the office and quickly headed for Pearl Street. He'd gotten very lucky with close parking and literally stepped inside Oskar's Taproom promptly at 6:45. He found Y/N sitting at the bar, her hair down, a nicely fitted black tee and skinny denim jeans, her foot tapping against her bar stool in waiting. Next to her was an empty stool and a full, cold looking tall pilsner on the bar, saving his space.

"Hey," he said as he leaned into her, a gentle hand on her back, getting her attention.

Y/N startled a bit but realized it was Andy and grinned, "'bout time! I was going to get started on yours without you." She nodded to the cold beer.  “I’m so sorry.” He shook his head, “I just got caught up.” "Well, you haven't stood me up yet, so I trusted you'd show." “And I did tell you 6:45 before. You know, on account of you being a cheeky little shit.” She rolled her eyes at him, "whatever." She smirked. He slid onto the stool next to her and took a long pull of his beer, damned it tasted good. He gave an appreciative sigh and turned to her. “So, do anything much this afternoon?” "I did absolutely nothing, well nothing of importance. Talked to my mom, did laundry, you know nothing exciting." “To be honest, sounds like a pretty good afternoon.” He chuckled. “Sometimes there’s nothing better than laying in front of the TV with no where you have to be.” "Cheers to that," she raised her glass to him. He clinked his with hers and returned the smile she had. The blues band that was set to play happy hour was starting to tune up and it gave Andy an idea. "What do you say we find a spot in the patio, little less noise." “Sounds good.” She nodded. Andy flagged the bartender down for another round to take with them. But before Y/N could pick up her glass, Andy took it for her and gestured with her head for her to go on in front. She looked a little surprised at his act of basic good manners, and not for the first time. He'd often seen her look at him in a similar way when he held doors open for her or helped her with her jacket. It made him wonder what kind of asshole Drysdale had been. But, then again, he got the impression it hadn’t been a particularly happy relationship to start. Not that it was any of his business, nor was he one to talk. The last seven months he’d been married to Laurie had been as strained as they'd ever got. They found a spot at a two top near the corner of the patio at the gate that separated it from the sidewalk. Andy waited for Y/N to sit before he set their glasses on the high top table and took his own seat. "So...much better," he leaned in across the table. "Love this place, but it's not always the best for conversation." “Yeah but it has a good atmosphere.” She smiled. “I like it. Not the type of place that-“ she stopped dead and took a deep breath. “Doesn’t matter.” He half smiled, "you know, I've been meaning to tell you, it's okay to talk to me about anything you want. No pressure, no strings. Just a friendly ear." She smiled. “I know, thanks. And the same goes for you too.” For the first time, an interesting silence came between them. They each sipped their drinks in an almost a mirrored like fashion and chuckled when through. "I think that's the first time we've ever not had something to say." Y/N shrugged. He nodded, and then she took a deep breath. “I was just gonna say its not the type of place Ransom would ever have taken me. He’d have thought it beneath him.” "I think that's the first time you've ever mentioned his name." He pointed out. "Yeah, I try not to. It's uh," he watched her as she struggled to start her story, playing nervously with the earring in her ear. "Complicated." He leaned on the table, his forearms crossed and supporting his weight. He wanted her to know she had his full attention. “Well, from what I know about him, which granted is only what I saw on the news or heard around Boston, he certainly enjoyed the finer things in life.” "That's one way of looking at." She chuckled dryly. "It wasn't an easy marriage, despite how short lived." "Well, I was with Laurie since law school and we still had our ups and downs. I don't think marriage is easy in general." Andy admitted. "I was with Ransom less than nine months before we got married. It, uh, lasted three weeks."

Andy paused, “okay, so granted Laurie and I were a whirlwind what with her falling pregnant so fast but... I’ll give you that one.” “A whirlwind?” She asked and Andy nodded. “Yeah, we hadn’t even been together a year when she got pregnant with Jake. Not gonna lie, I shit myself but...” he sighed, swallowing. “Well, he was worth it.” "I'm sure he was." She nodded. Andy cleared his throat. “He was a good kid, despite what he, well what he was accused of.” “I can’t even begin to imagine how that felt, for any of you.” She said gently. “Fucking shit.” He said bluntly. She blinked and then the pair of them laughed quietly. "I'm sorry, Andy. And I mean that in all sincerity." He sighed and gave a soft little smile. “Thanks. You know, for the most part it’s just happy memories. But then sometimes it’s hard...” he trailed off shaking his head, “but of course you’ll know that.” “Suppose so.” She shrugged. “I doubt our marriage was anything near as loving as yours. I, uh...well, Ransom was mentally abusive, very controlling. Getting married wasn't exactly what I'd wanted but, I felt trapped in a way." She paused as he listened intently. "I guess it's harder to explain than I thought." She bit her lip and then shook her head. “Then the asshole went and got himself killed.” "I hate that you had to witness that." She shrugged and her finger swiped at the condensation on the outside of her half empty beer glass. “It was a year ago today.” “Jesus fucking Christ.” Andy shook his head in shock as he took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry.” “I’m not.” She sighed. “And I know that probably sounds awful but... I don’t mourn him, I can’t. Not after everything. I’m just glad to be away and out of it. Fuck, that makes me sound like a really cold hearted bitch.” She scrunched her nose and chuckled a bit. Andy cocked his head to one side, studying her face which was, despite what she said, laced with sadness and he took a deep breath. There was more to her story than she was telling him, he could see that, but he had his own secrets too. And he found himself realising he didn’t care. Moving away post the accident that claimed Jake and later Laurie’s life had been a way for him to leave all that shit behind. And she was trying to do the same. “Okay, let’s make a deal.” He leaned forward. “No reverse gear. We look forward and not back, at least not at the hard stuff.” It took a moment for her to process it, and Andy watched her expression behind her eyes as he did so. Then she smiled, "deal." Andy smiled as she reached for her beer. He watched her pretty face as she drained her glass, setting it down in the table before she leaned towards him. “Have you eaten? Because I’ve suddenly got a hankering for something greasy and very bad for me.” “Sounds like someone I used to work with.” Andy shot before he could stop himself and Y/N threw her head back in a loud laugh. “Lawyers for you.” “Hey, not all of us are jerks.” He pouted and she shrugged. “Jury’s out.” She winked. At that Andy raised his brows, downed the rest of his pint and then stood up. “Something dirty and greasy that isn’t an attorney coming up, I’ll grab us a menu.” They each ordered a greasy, filthy cheeseburger with all the fixings and two smaller beers a piece to go with it. They moved their conversation away from their pasts and talked music as the band played some songs they were familiar with. Y/N finding the perfect moment to joke with Andy again about his age versus hers, despite it being maybe seven or eight years. Neither seemed to mind.  Again, when the bill came, Andy slapped his card down before Y/N even had a chance to grab her wallet, which caused him to laugh loudly at her pout. “You’ll just have to get it next time.” “Oh," she smirked, "so that’s your game? You paid, so I owe you a next time?” He shrugged. “Would that be such a bad thing?” She bit her lip and grinned with a shake of her head. “No, not really.” “Good, I’ll hold you to that. And, as a lawyer I feel obliged to tell you that’s a legally recognised verbal contract.” “Uh, I’m sure there’s a rule that a social agreement made between friends is done so without an intention of being enforceable.” Y/N shot back and Andy felt his mouth curl up on a little surprised smirk. “Therefore no intent, no legal comeback. Your move, Counselor.” He laughed and shook his head. “Nope, I got nothing.” “In that case, I call recess.” She grinned. “Oh faahk off with the legal puns!” Andy snorted and once more she laughed as they stood up, their night at an end. He walked behind Y/N with a gentle hand on her back as she weaved through the tables on the patio, eventually ending up on the sidewalk out front.

"Thanks, for breakfast, dinner, drinks," Y/N shook her head, feigning annoyance. Andy smirked, "thanks for meeting me. You're not walking home are you?" "I can, it's not far." She replied, folding her arms over her chest.

"Absolutely not, I'll take you," he nodded his head in the direction in which his car was. He gave a small wink when she accepted his offer. He held the door open for you as you slid into the passenger seat of his Audi TT. You quickly realized that this was the first time you'd been in his car and the very first time he would see your doorstep. However, the thought of both those things didn't bother you one bit. In fact, you found yourself more comfortable than you'd expected.

All in all the drive was no more than five minutes, and if he hadn’t been going that way already, you’d have felt like a complete fraud, but he assured you it was on his way.

You helped yourself out but Andy waited for you around the front hood and walked you to your doorstep, lit by the lantern porch light your Home Owners Association contract insisted be up. "So, this is me," you sighed. Andy had his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans and he rocked a little on his heels as he waited for you to open your front door. When you'd opened it, he scratched behind his neck and said, "so I'll see you Monday?" "Yeah," you agreed. He turned to go but you called out to him, "Hey, Andy?" He quickly turned back to you, his one foot on your stoop, the other the next step down, "yeah?" In a sudden moment of courage, you stood on your toes and placed a soft kiss to his cheek. His smooth cheek and the slightly rough yet softer than anticipated scratch of those dark whiskers, intermittent speckled with auburn, felt amazing against your lips. And fuck, did he smell amazing. Which you knew already from the tight and friendly hugs he'd seemed to start giving you. The first hit of his aftershave was always the same, dominated by a white-out of bergamot and pepper, a bright flash of sweet, dewy citrus that is both crisp and clean, underpinned by a freshness that was both light and gentle and completely different to the heavy sandalwood based fragrance you’d grown so used to. It was brief, but when you pulled back, you gave a content huff, “Huh.” “What?” He was clearly puzzled. “Your beard. It’s kinda soft.” “What? What the hell did you expect?” He laughed. “I dunno, maybe a toilet brush type bristle.” “You kiss a lot of toilet brushes Y/N?” “Try not to.” She winked. “Thanks again, Andy. I enjoyed today.” He chuckled and shook his head as he watched you turn back to your door and finally stepped inside your home. Before you closed the door, you turned back, noticing he was watching you go in. "Bye."

"Goodnight, Y/N."

**** Chapter 2

[confused-as-all-hell]

i am thrilled to announce the second installment in my idle series, focusing solely on jesper and wylan. i would simply like to remind everyone, however, that these are meant to be poetic and full of prose, rather than serious and solid fics, that's all.

tag list was removed for bewildering reasons, but anyways

Wylan Van Eck hadn't always loved him.

Once upon a time, he had only been a quiet boy from the largest city in the world, lips smudged with paint, copper lashes low over eyes bluer than the fucking summer sky.

Once upon a time, he had spent his days sequestered in his favourite studio, head tilted just so slightly, dappling the canvas in shades of green and gold, a spare brush between his teeth.

Once upon a time, his evenings were spent alone at the piano, slim fingers hovering over the keys as if he could wring his childhood from the notes, copper curls damp with bathwater.

Once upon a time, artwork meant slender brushes and sticky gouache and glass jars of paint; now he could only define it as eyes like dusty sunlight, soft lips that tasted of forgiveness, a grin to light the world aflame.

And Wylan was fucking aflame.

He was burning.

When he was sketching sleepily at his desk, the sun a dying cinder at his back, sharp angles and vivid coats and pearl-handled revolvers sprawled from the tip of his charcoal pen.

When he was laying alone in the bath, water lapping over the hard planes of his body, the room aglow in soft shades of bronze and green, all he could do was dream.

When he was sitting in a lecture hall, information and dates and names pounding through his ears, all he could see was the elegant figure before him, scrawling down his notes, one leg kicked up against a girl's chair.

Wylan couldn't help but track the careful movements of his hand, the graceful loops and lines of his writing, one finger braced against the metal spiral of his notebook.

His name was Jesper, he knew. Jesper Fahey.

A soft name, the sound a rolling wave on his tongue, rising and falling. It tasted like whiskey, smooth and sweet, every note rich and unfettered.

He wanted to find out how it would feel in his mouth, during the final hours of the night, how it would sound.

He wanted to hear his own name on Jesper's lips, a breathless gasp, a quiet moan, a pleading whisper.

He wanted to hear Jesper say his name, so simply.

He wanted to hear his name.

The very first time Wylan painted him felt like taking a drug. He was sprawled in his bed, staring dazedly at a dark spider clinging to the leftmost wall, and he was losing his fucking mind.

He couldn't get the image of Jesper's hands out of his head. In the chamber of his mind, he had locked away the sight as if to keep it safe and sheltered; those fucking beautiful hands, broad and warm, lines etched into the calloused palm, nails squared off, three rings circling each finger.

He wanted to draw them in charcoal and graphite and ink.

He wanted to paint them in gouache and acrylics and watercolour.

He wanted to line them in silver and bronze and emerald.

He wanted to lift those hands to his mouth and kiss them.

And so at three in the morning, still in his pajamas and hair utterly bedraggled, eyes swollen with exhaustion and limbs sore, he was setting himself up before a blank canvas.

"Just one painting," he whispered, touching a slim finger to a brush.

He promised himself a quick sketch, just the soft shape of his hands, or the lilt to his smile, or maybe even the blazing hue of his eyes.

One painting.

He made quick work of locating his favourite paints, a set of vibrant gouache his mother had gifted him, bottled neatly into little glass jars.

And, so fucking tenderly, he selected every single colour that he had likened to Jesper.

Rich gold and heady crimson, molten copper and softest ivory, prussian blue and clinging silver, dreamy amethyst and clear chrysocolla.

They stained Wylan's hands as he dappled the bare canvas in every prismatic hue, smudging over his wrists and fingertips and the limber handle of his brush.

When the sun rose, fierce and proud against a backdrop of blue blue blue, he only wiped a droplet of copper from his lip and kept going.

There was something utterly consuming about being locked away in that room, the strong scent of paint and turpentine, the haze of shades and light and quiet piano music, the blur of being trapped in lands one never wanted to leave.

He spent hours kneeling there on the floor, head bowed over the canvas as if the painting was his altar, reveling in every last detail. And there were Jesper's hands, soft and gentle, and the sight nearly drove him mad.

He wanted to feel those hands tangled through his hair.

He wanted to feel them on his bare skin.

He wanted.

"Just one painting," he echoed, and set down his brush.

But when he glimpsed Jesper laughing in the fields, snow dripping down his cheek like tears, he wanted to capture that indomitable joy in acrylics, brilliant in their beauty.

But when he caught Jesper downing a mug of his friend's coffee, he never wanted to forget the way he winked, the way his hand wrapped carelessly around the cardboard cup.

But when he saw Jesper dancing against a curvy girl in red velvet, he couldn't tear his eyes from the sharp set of his jaw, the lowered lashes, the vulnerable angle of his bare wrists.

He wanted to trace them in charcoal, wanted to preserve the sight in paper, never to be lost or forgotten.

Jesper grinned lazily at the girl, one corner of his fucking beautiful mouth lifting, and then he was pressed up against a different boy, head thrown back in laughter.

He whirled past his partners, leaving them with only a whisper or a slow, deliberate kiss. They grabbed for his attention, for the gift of his smile, reaching out with greedy hands.

Then Jesper was scanning the club, honey eyes roaming over the floors and walls and bars. They locked on Wylan, and something in his gaze lit.

A blazing match.

A building on fire.

A city burning, burning, burning.

And Wylan never knew how he found the courage, but suddenly he was striding up between the writhing bodies, and the ocean was roaring in his ears, and he was saying lightly, "Would you favour me with a dance?"

It was not graceful and elegant and slow.

It was stumbling and gasping and and breathless laughter.

It was drowning within the cacophony of pulsing music.

It was drowning within the steady depth of Jesper's eyes.

The flashing strobe lights were pulsing blue and green and red and pink, and the sounds of laughter and shuffling steps filled the club, and there was music echoing up the walls and skittering up the vertebrae of his spine.

It felt like being trapped in a prism where time did not exist.

Wylan's eyes fluttered shut, and he thought, I will burn as those cities burned.

And when Jesper lowered his head and whispered, "What would you say to a kiss, Wylan Van Eck?" he was fucking gone.

Jesper had never looked more handsome, his lashes low, the curve of his jaw sharp, every glint of gold in his eyes sparkling.

Wylan wanted to draw him bare and asleep in his own tangled bedsheets, the elegant lines of his body extended, every single angle and plane etched deep.

He wanted to draw the way he looked in that very moment, beautiful and brash and bold.

And that was a terrible idea for so many reasons.

It was a terrible idea because Jesper was raucous and brazen as the sun, and Wylan was soft and elegant as the moon, and neither of them could read the stars, but surely it was fated somewhere that dark and light did not find peace within one another.

It was a terrible idea because they were two fucking stupid collage kids who could never, ever find a life together.

It was a terrible idea because it was Achilles and Patroclus all over again, the boy who thought he could save his heart, the fucking idiot who believed love was indomitable.

Love would not absolve Wylan of the quiet terror that had sunken into his bones. Love would not ease the addictions that had crept upon Jesper like hungry vines.

He would not be the boy waiting, dishonored and broken, in the war tent.

He would not be the boy who watched as the world's cruelty took all that was dear to him.

He wouldn't.

But there was Jesper, with his lilting smile and the fierce look in his eyes, the scent of brandy clinging to him like smoke, and all Wylan could do was croak, "Yes."

And when Wylan staggered home at four in the morning, his hair a tangled copper halo, he couldn't help but think even Achilles and Patroclus might have hoped once.

They might have made out like teenagers and laughed in between kisses.

They might have been doomed, fated to die within the stars, but perhaps Wylan and Jesper would defy the odds. Perhaps Wylan could bear the magnanimity of his father's terrors, and perhaps Jesper could set down the playing cards and walk away from a bad hand.

They didn't have to be the heroes made history, legends turned legacies.

They could just be Wylan Van Eck and Jesper Fahey.

And in his paintings, they were.

In his paintings, they were very simply two boys kissing in the dark, all roaming hands and breathless gasps, shirts unbuttoned and sleeves rucked to their elbows, lips that tasted of redemption.

But as the days whirled past, and spring blossomed, Wylan came to realize life was so much more than soft, secret paintings. Life might even have been better.

Because life was Jesper asleep in his bed, one hand tucked beneath his cheek, limbs sprawled out across the silk sheets, sunlight gilding his bare body.

Life was standing at the stove with Jesper beside him, bickering over who got the first waffle, nearly doubled up in their laughter, exchanging sleepy kisses that tasted of sugar.

Life was laying in the fields with Jesper, leaning against him ever so slightly, their shoulders pressed together, the quiet brush of the wind lulling them to sleep, sweet as any melody.

Life was Wylan playing the piano in the midst of the night, cold moonlight easing through the blinds and slanting across the elegant notes, and Jesper's head was pillowed on his lap, and he was whispering, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Wylan hadn't known love could be so simple.

He hadn't known.

And sometimes Jesper would read to him, the low cadence of his voice a melody sweet as sunlight, and Wylan would listen with his eyes fluttering shut, and he would think, If this is burning, I will spend the rest of my life with my hands in the fire.

There was the fierce freedom of open roads and summer air and vibrant artwork and daring kisses.

There was the quiet freedom of elegant piano music and large windows and scalding coffee and history books.

There was the unfettered freedom of them, of leaping across the broad rim of a water fountain, Wylan turning his face to the sun, warmth and light and the soft glitter of water, and Jesper's eyes were the colour of hope in the haze of dusk, and he whispered, "You look like a fucking prince, Wy."

Ice cream on his hands and seawater dampening his curls and blinding sunshine everywhere, and Jesper thought he looked like a prince.

What do I see, when I look at him?

Starlight slanting through their windows, grazing the idle curve of Jesper's lips.

Chocolate ice cream dripping down the cone, catching on Jesper's tongue.

Glittering rings of silver and amethyst and veined gold, looped around Jesper's fingers.

What do I find beautiful about him?

Was it his laughter or his smile or the way he buttoned up his shirt in the morning?

Was it the soft cadence of his voice as he read aloud, or the way he stroked Wylan's curling hair idly?

Was it the clever lilt of his smile or the quick wink of his lashes or the mocking shrug of his shoulders?

Was it the very simple fact that when the morning sunlight swept through the windows and slanted over the bed, Jesper looked as though he'd been crowned by the gods, a vision in bronze and gilt and amber? With his hair rumpled and his lashes low and the hard planes of his bare body clear as he knelt, Wylan had never seen anything so fucking wonderous.

What do I want to remember?

Their mornings, a sleepy haze of pancake batter and orange juice and tangled bedsheets, of rambling stories and dazed kisses?

Their afternoons, a blissful tangle of shared smiles and iced coffee and inside jokes, of hurried texts and chocolate bars?

Their nights, a frenzied blur of pulsing music and strobe lights and bedraggled hair, of breathless moans and fizzing champagne?

All of it. I want to remember all of it.

So what do you see, when you look at him?

Wylan saw love.

He saw salvation.

He saw soft lips and blazing eyes and broad hands.

He saw cities burning, burning, burning.

He saw Jesper Fahey.

[warynerd]

Writing List: Year 2021

Since 11 Sept

Word Count Total: 45020

Word Count, Supernatural: 22420

(Also available on AO3. Please do not repost my work anywhere.)

Gen/Other

Whose furbaby is this?, gen, g, 100w ◌ Dean encounters a surprise in the bunker.

Destiel

Drabbles

Always Wanting, destiel, t, 100w ◌ How could Cas leave him behind?

honeysuckle rose, destiel, g, 100w ◌ Dean enjoys the peace of a quiet day with his family.

I wanna hold you so much, destiel, t, 100w ◌ Cas is good with being a plushie for Dean.

We'll Be Ready, destiel, t, 100w ◌ Weather and seasons change.

it's all needlework to me, destiel, g, 100w, Canon AU ◌ Dean is a supportive partner

Would I mind another one?, destiel, t, 100w, Canon AU

hungry for your touch, destiel, m, 100w, Canon AU

I love to take a photograph, destiel, m, 100w, Canon AU, Cas has an idea

say night-ie night and kiss me, destiel, g, 100w

for only he can heal me, destiel, g, 100w, Canon (Pre 4x01), Pre-Slash

it’s a supernatural delight, destiel, g, 100w, Canon AU (During 14x10), ‘This is the dream’

no one hears, destiel, g, 100w, Canon (During 12x23), Angst

don’t stop me now, destiel, m, 100w, Canon AU, Sam makes an inopportune call

we’ve only just begun, destiel, g, 100w, Canon AU, Watercolours [Jack's Artwork]

set it running free, destiel, g, 100w, Canon AU, Holding hands

Mmh whatcha say, destiel, g, 100w, Canon AU, Cas and Jack discover viral videos

just waiting to burst out, destiel, t, 100w, Canon (During 11x23)

to suffer is human, gen + hint of destiel, t, 100w, Canon (During 10x02), Hint of Crowley x Dean

high for your return, destiel, t, 100w, Canon (During 13x06)

sick day, destiel, g, 100w, Human!Cas

faces of our memory, destiel, t, 200w, Canon (During 8x02), Hint of Benny x Dean

I had to hear ya, destiel, t, 100w, Canon (During 4x17)

sometimes solutions aren’t so simple, gen + hint of destiel, t, 100w, Canon (During 7x17)

you always will pull me through, destiel, t, 100w, Canon (During 9x06)

men on the chessboard, gen + hint of destiel, g, 100w, Canon (During 6x20)

filled with poison, destiel, t, 100w, Canon (During 15x09), The Trap AU, Vamp!Dean

we'll decide, as always, gen, g, 100w, Canon (During 5x22)

darling, I want the same thing, destiel, t, 100w, Canon (Post 15x19)

One Last Night, destiel + saileena, t, 100w, Canon

your love is good enough, gen + hints of destiel, g, 100w, Canon, Outsider POV

Serenity, destiel, t, 100w, Canon (Post 15x18), Human!Cas

Ficlets

cast a glow, destiel, t, 600w, Pre-Series AU, I Dream of Jeannie Inspired

Holding Tight, destiel, t, 520w, AU – No Supernatural, Firefighter!Dean

I will hold on to you, destiel, t, 1700w ◌ It’s New Year’s Eve, time to celebrate as a family before life goes back to normal. Or whatever passes for normal for a Winchester.

EVENTS

Suptober 2021 Drabbles

[Event Details] [Tag ◌ Blog, Tumblr] [AO3] [Event Wrap-up]

SPNovember 2021 Drabbles

[Event Details] [Tag ◌ Blog, Tumblr] [AO3] [Event Wrap-up]

Destiel Month 2021 Drabbles

[Event Details] [Tag ◌ Blog, Tumblr] [AO3] [Event Wrap-up]

B&B’s Advent Calendar

[Event Details] [Tag ◌ Blog, Tumblr] [AO3] [Event Wrap-up]

[bibliocratic]

variants on a scenario or: ten Martin Blackwoods walk into a house.

episode 170 spoilers, like BIG SPOILERS. 

jonmartin, one sided Martin/Lonely

In every universe, eventually, he finds the house we've built for him.

1.

There is a smudge that copy-cats the shape of a man, and they wander the corridors. Sweep from room to room, dust-mote slow and purposeless. They are the colour of the wallpaper on our walls, and a sludgy heartbeat follows the metronome of our clock, and their eyes reflect back only the fog-rent vistas of our rooms. We cosset them in mist, give them the means to bury themselves forgotten.

They are not happy, but much happier. They are not safe, but much safer.

We have loved them like children love toys; loved to faded-ness, to sun-stained faint watercolour, to dereliction, dilapidation.

Once, the Avatar stalked past them in the corridor, shouting a name long rusted. The Avatar did not see them, and the man-shaped being didn't remember that was their name anyway.

It is better this way, we think.

2.

It is a poorly observed phenomena, how closely we ally with so many of the others. Seep in at the corner of their shades like a fading gradient. We are beloved of the Mother, The Choke, The Everchased. The One-Who-Sees has bordered us close-knit, and though its gifts of awful revelation and exposing the terrible as-it-is have never found much fertile soil  with the Not-as-They-Should-Be, we at least have always been on pleasant terms with the Twisting Deceit.

The Stranger's lessons are in our fog, which refracts light and image like carnival mirrors. We build cliff-faces of falsehood, impassable paths bricked along with lies designed to distract, waylay, confuse.

This is your house, we whisper to him.

You have always been here alone, we promise.

We recite to our beloved that he has never been loved, and our winds, our walls, our winding mists tell him so often that eventually he believes us.

3.

It is cruel. A kindness we had thought to spare him.

We tailored this room, these walls, this house for him to wear, fitted and befitting, yet he picks at the seams, rubs patches into the weft of us through the friction of his insistence.

He always remembers eventually. Cycles round in conversational fits and starts, spasms and shocks, frowning at the tape recorder in his hand. He always remembers, and the intrusion of the wanting Eye, like a splinter, a broken bone, a half-glimpsed glimmer through our fog, won't let him rest, won't allow him to drift away properly.

Oh, hello there, he will smile at the little recorder. And steadily, his numbness will recede to fear, his blankness to panic, his silence to desperate declarations of a selfhood we have long worked on eroding.

Is this – this isn't my house, this can't be, why am I …. Jon! J-Jon, I'm here, I need you to find me Jon, please.

Before the realisation surges back out, gripless as tide. Memory washes away just as easily with the surf, we have found.

Oh, hello there.

Round and round and round he goes. Ad infinitum. It would be kinder just to vanish.

4.

Sometimes we are lucky. Our traps snaring multiple.

After all, we have so many rooms going spare. Enough for both of them to join us.

5.

The feast we desire walks into our open mouth.

His hands are chilled, frost-touched, trembling; he is babbling because he is nervous, because he smells the brine and sea-breeze and chemical tang of hospitals, because he knows he is enclosed by our teeth.

He does not fall behind. He does not lose his grip, does not stray from the hallways, the corridors. Our fog clouds his ankles but he doesn't stumble.

He leaves us, holding his anchor like a talisman, and our jaws are left wanting and empty.

6.

He never chooses us willingly.

He never wants us, not like he did. He does not yearn for silences, for the world to be washed colourless and simple and painless, not like he used to.

It hurts, how often he rejects us.

7.

The Avatar rips the clock from the wall. Shatters chair legs, tears down the lining of wallpaper, the carpeting, colouring the air with the name of the one we have taken.

He Sees into the heart of us and still cannot find him.

He is furious, powerful, but he is also insensible with terror, mired in guilt and recrimination and loneliness, and this only serves to help us dig our teeth in. He may be king in this world but he cannot conquer tide. He never deserved him, he who we claimed long before, our tendrils deep-rooted, historical. We have had our beloved all his life. 

8.

Not now, Martin.

You're a bad son. You put her there, and she hates it, how could you do that to her, your own mother –

Not now, Martin.

Useless. Forgetful. Clumsy. Loud.

Shut up, Martin.

Boring. Poor company. A placeholder for better friends.

They're all better off without you.

We don't have to tell him many lies. Life taught him to lie to himself far better than we ever could.

9.

He is a work in progress, work of art, our masterpiece.

Over time-honed hours we sand away the corners of his recollections. After-work drinks, and inside jokes, and drunken songs shared between three. We touch up the shading so his mind does not stray to remembering small triumphs, earned successes, hard won victories. We scrub at the stubborn stains of his mother's disdain, the gnawing panic left by a series of jobs that left him empty and frustrated and desperately trying to make the budget match up, the easy everyday dismissals he believed he deserved.

We sand off the more recently applied paint of carefully cultivated loves and wishes and hopes, the whitewash of acceptance he thought he could finally claim. The Archivist's love has upholstered parts of him we had already weakened, but we are patient, we have time aplenty to sow our seeds and watch our meadow flourish, and we toil and scrape and wear him down until we can see the raw wood of him peaking through.

When we have finished, we are the only thing he can ever remember being.

10.

We know we have failed this time when he finds his name.

I am Martin Blackwood, and I am not lonely anymore.

When he refuses to be quiet, when he shouts his value, his worth, the things that we have failed to wipe from him so they echo and shake our walls down.

I am not lonely anymore. I have friends. I am in love. I will not forget, I will not.

He clears the borders of our domain with his head held high, his anchor walking by his side, and we know we have lost him for good.

[failsandfortunes]

Somewhere, in the dark and nasty regions where nobody goes, stands an ancient castle. Deep within this dark and uninviting place lives Berk, overworked servant to the thing upstairs. But that’s nothing compared to the horrors that lurk beneath the trap door. For there is always something down there, in the dark, waiting to come out. 

Does anyone else remember this series?

Well, today’s Castle is an attempt at the castle from The Trap Door. Another adventure in my inability to translate watercolour paintings into ink drawings. But yes, it is intentionally that wonky.

[tolrais]

tag people you want to get to know better

tagged by @queenofsovngarde thank you, i love tag games, but I almost never get tagged :’)!

your name and then what you would have named yourself: I don’t tend to give out my name on tumblr, just because the way that I spell it is super distinct and links to my irl socmed. I did go through a phase of hating my name, but now I wouldn’t name myself anything else, although I did debate going by my middle names, Jasmine or Emily, at various points. 

astrological sign (sun/moon/rising if you know them): Aries, moon Capricorn and Pisces rising. Apparently my aunt, who is like full-on Glastonbury hippy, got my Star chart done when I was born but my mum wouldn’t let me look at it before I was 18...8 years on, I still haven’t seen it 😅😅

when did you join tumblr and why?: 2013 - my favourite ficwriter in the time kept reccing it in her authrour’s notes and I was like, huh, neat.

top 5 fandoms: Currently: mdsz/cql, Tian Guan Ci Fu, Critical Role, but trying desperately to avoid spoilers because I’m only a few eps behind now. I mean, I guess Harry Potter used to be, and then Cursed Child came out and JK Rowling revealed herself as a terrible person so  🙃🙃🙃🙃. uuuuh? I guess Naruto? maybe? I was never that into it as a manga but the small specific chunk of the fandom I’m in really appreciate for what it’s done with the building blocks...which could also be applied to the Star Wars prequels, now I think of it. 

top 5 favorite films: PRINCESS BRIDE, UUHHH everything after that is so hard. I mean Mad Max Fury Road should probably get a mention as one of the few films I’ve seen more than once in cinemas. I do love Brave and a few of the other Pixar Films. Oh! The Parent Trap (1998). Disney’s Robin Hood, which I was obsessed with as a kid and probably at least in part explains me now owning 2 medieval bows. 

go to song when you wanna Feel something: Either Watercolour by Pendulum, or a few of AURORA’s songs - depending on what I want to feel.

what’s your religion or faith if you have one?: Agnostic, I guess?

a song that makes you feel seen: Warrior by Aurora (and I guess Animal a little bit, minus the serial killer vibes 😅😅😅)

if you could have any career: Fantasy Author

do you have a type?: For guys, tall, slender, kind of a nerd...for girls? Yes?

what does your heart/soul yearn for: freedom

if you had to describe yourself in 5 words to someone who doesn’t know you: creative scatterbrained musical daydreamer eccentric

favorite subjects in school: music, english, french

where does your soul feel most at home: out in the forest at home home, preferably with my horse

top 5 fictional characters: Xie Lian - TGCF, Wei Wuxian - MDZS, Nymphadora Tonks - The series that must not be named, Sam Vimes - Discworld, Lan Wangji - MDZS

top 3 moments in a show that made you ugly cry: Not that many things make me ugly cry, but definitely the bit at the end of Doomsday in Doctor Who where Rose and the Doctor get separated by the rift...I definintely bawled at a couple of moments in OUAT, and definitely at a few in the Untamed, mainly episode 32

the earth, the sun, the moon or the stars: the stars. When I was in high school my dad and I went up to Scotland to go skiing and it got to -20Csomething (which is VERY rare for Scotland), and it was crystal clear. I’ve never seen so many stars, it was awe inspiring.

favorite kind of weather: Pure Sunshine over 3 ft of snow 

top 3 characters you kin with: i’m sorry WHAT

favorite medium of art: they’re all my favourites

introvert/extrovert/ambivert: introverted ambivert? Is that a thing?

a favorite literary quote: I read so much I don’t think I could pick one.

some of your favorite books: Discworld series by Terry Pratchett. I still have love for Harry Potter, despite its author, the Parasol Protectorate by Gail Carriger, Artemis Fowl, in know its a web novel, but Tian Guan Ci Fu

if you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?: probably the Alps, the Highlands or the Lake District - somewhere with lots of mountains and lakes

if you could live in any time in history when would it be?: Honestly? This one, I like havig rights and wifi! But I have a list of decades/centuries I’d like to visit, starting with the 12th century, and the 19th.

if you could play any instrument masterfully it would be: I mean, I already play viloin, it would be nice to master that, otherwise maybe my rebec, or a harp...or BAGPIPES

if you have one, what mythological god or goddess do you feel a connection to: no, not really.

and lastly, favorite recent selfie in your camera roll:

tagging (but only if you want to): @rowantalks @naia10101 and anyone else who I’m mutuals with ^-^ 

[inexpensiveprogress]

Paul Nash at Avebury

Avebury is a Neolithic henge monument containing three stone circles. The Village of Avebury in Wiltshire was built around them and now bisect the circle with a High Street. Avebury contains the largest megalithic stone circle in the world. Constructed over several hundred years in the Third Millennium BC, during the Neolithic, or New Stone Age, the monument comprises a large henge (a bank and a ditch) with a large outer stone circle and two separate smaller stone circles situated inside the centre of the monument.

 Paul Nash - Avebury, 1936

When England was converted to Christianity, Avebury was considered a non-Christian monument. At some point in the early 14th century, villagers began to demolish the monument by pulling down the large standing stones and burying them in ready-dug pits at the side. During the toppling of the stones, one of them (which was 3 metres tall and weighed 13 tons), collapsed on top of one of the men pulling it down, fracturing his pelvis and breaking his neck, crushing him to death. Trapped in the hole that had been dug for the falling stone he was found by archaeologists in 1938. They found that he had been carrying a leather pouch, in which was found three silver coins dated to around 1320–25, as well as a pair of iron scissors and a lancet. 

In the latter part of the 17th and then the 18th centuries, destruction at Avebury reached its peak. The majority of the standing stones that had been a part of the monument for thousands of years were smashed up to be used as building material for the local area. This was achieved in a method that involved lighting a fire to heat the sarsen, then pouring cold water on it to create weaknesses in the rock, and finally smashing at these weak points with a sledgehammer.

In the 1920s Marconi wanted to build a radio station on the hills above Avebury and the Air Ministry wanted to close Wayland Smithy area with standing stones as a bombing range in the 1930s . †

 Paul Nash - Avebury, Personage, 1933

In July 1933 the ailing Nash went on holiday to Marlborough with his friend Ruth Clark. From there they made a day trip to nearby Avebury. ‡

 Paul Nash - Avebury Stone (Double Exposure), 1933

The epiphany that Paul Nash had to use he standing stones artistically, seems to have come with an interest in the Neolithic period in publishing with the British Public. It is an era where Paganism has become popular, as many alternative religions did after the First World War. In trying to make sense of the carnage and brutality of the War the public looked for ancient wisdom and this maybe why we have to tolerate people smothering themselves over Stonehenge every solstice.

In these paintings and photographs Nash was also documenting an interest that other artists such as Henry Moore had in the primitive. Moore looked towards early Peruvian pottery and flints for organic shapes and old works made by early man. These monuments are the few examples of art that survive. Even in the medieval period the only arts to survive in Britain of the common man would be the carvings of bench-ends in churches, pottery or other folk art.

 Paul Nash - Landscape of the Megaliths, 1934

Margaret Nash said this was Paul’s first painting of the Avebury stones, which he saw in August 1933. Nash himself gave the following description of Avebury in ‘Picture History’ The preoccupation of the stones has always been a separate pursuit and interest aside from that of object personages. My interest began with the discovery of Avebury megaliths when I was staying at Marlborough in the Summer of 1933. The great stones were then in their wild state, so to speak. Some were half covered by the grass, others stood up in the cornfields were entangled and overgrown in the copses, some were buried under the turf. But they were always wonderful and disquieting, and, as I saw them then, I shall always remember them . . .   Their colouring and pattern, their patina of golden lichen, all enhanced their strange forms and mystical significance. Thereafter, I hunted stones, by the seashore, on the downs, in the furrows. ♣

 Paul Nash - The Nest of Wild Stones, 1937

I found my first nest of wild stones on looking closely into a drawing I had made of some bleached objects on the Swanage Downs. It lay just below the level of my consciousness, slightly out of focus. But there was no mistaking its lineaments a moment later when I moved the dry thoughts to one side. ♠

Below Paul Nash writes of the effect of Avebury on his work. That he wasn’t only painting the stones themselves but placing ordinary stones he found in a picture as if they were large monuments. 

In most instances, the pictures coming out of this preoccupation were concerned with stones seen solely as objects in relation to the landscape. But later certain stone personages evolved, such as the stone birds in the ‘Nest of Wild Stones’ and the more ‘abstract’ forms in ‘Encounter in the Afternoon’. ♣

Many of these works may be down to another external influence, Eileen Agar. Nash had met and fallen in love with Agar, who was a surrealist artist and using stones and found objects in her works around the same time.

 Paul Nash - Photograph of Stones in his Studio, 1936

 Paul Nash - Encounter in the Afternoon, 1936

 Paul Nash - Landscape of Bleached Objects, 1934

 Paul Nash - Circle Of The Monoliths, 1937-8 

In the painting above (Circle of the Monoliths) is the stepped hill what is likely Silbury Hill. The construction of the hill in the Late Neolithic period was originally stepped, then filled in. Silbury Hill is very close to Avebury.

When the artist Paul Nash first visited Avebury in 1933 he was amazed by the scale of Silbury Hill and by the ancient circle of megaliths, the great glacial boulders that had been dragged from the Downs in prehistoric times. ♥

 Paul Nash - Silbury Hill, 1938

 Paul Nash - Silbury Hill, c1937

All Nash’s other statements about Avebury and stones are much more direct, it is almost as if he contrived to intellectualise his ideas simply to be provocative, but in face the Landscape of the Megaliths Nash does resolve the equation. The picture shows the adventure of stones receding away from the spectator, in the foreground in the convolvulus curls round a snake which rises upwards. ♦

 Paul Nash - Avebury Stone, 1933

The stones at Avebury come up again when Nash was asked to illustrate a cover to the magazine Countrygoing. Though I think it was commissioned in 1938 it was published in 1945.

 A Paul Nash Cover to Countrygoing, 1945

 Paul Nash - Circle Of The Monoliths, 1937-8

Above is the finished painting of Circle Of The Monoliths. Below is the study for the work that was found painted on the back of The Two Serpents c 1937.

 Paul Nash - Circle of the Monoliths, 1937-1938

Nash’s abstraction of stones in the 1930s went on with his distortions of landscapes, found stones and the real Neolithic stones. In we see Mên-an-Tol and the stone ring there placed in the top right corner in front of more found stones. To the right is a grid that can only be echoing Encounter in the Afternoon and Circle Of The Monoliths.

 Paul Nash - Nocturnal Landscape, 1938

Below we see the same Avebury stone used on the cover to Countrygoing with the wedge shaped cut in the side.

 Paul Nash - Druid Landscape, 1938

Initially, using a No.1A pocket Kodak series 2 camera, Nash captured images so that he could refer to them in the creation of his paintings. Increasingly, however, he saw his photographs, not as aids or sketches, but as artworks in their own right.

Here Nash depicts one of the Avebury Sentinels, and his choice of subject matter is characteristic. Nash was always interested in landscapes and aspects of the natural world, not for their historical or aesthetic interest per se, but more because he thought that certain places as he called them (see Biography) had about them a mystical importance, a genius loci; which lent the place, the stone, the tree, an importance which transcended its apparent properties. As he wrote there are places whose relationship of parts creates a mystery, an enchantment. It is this mystery, this enchantment, which Nash tries to capture in his photographs. ◊

  Paul Nash - Avebury, Sentinel, 1933

Some of the quote below may be a repeat of what has been read about Nash, but I featured it for the Convolvulus park that features in Landscape of the Megaliths. In the background of the watercolour and lithograph below are two hills, both likely to be a Neolithic Sidbury Hill and how it looks today. 

Last summer I walked in a field near Avebury where two rough monoliths stand up … miraculously patterned with black and orange lichen, remnants of the avenue of stones which led to the Great Circle. In the hedge, at hand, the white trumpet of a convolvulus turns from its spiral stem, following the sun. In my art I would solve such an equation Paul Nash, “Contribution to Unit One”, in Andrew Causey (ed.), Paul Nash: Writings on Art (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 107–110.

 Paul Nash - Landscape of the Megaliths - Watercolour, 1937

Some time ago I made a blog post on Paul Nash and the process of colour layers used to make the lithograph below. 

 Paul Nash - Landscape of the Megaliths - Lithograph, 1937

The photographs below are dated 1942 by the Tate. I don’t know is Nash went back to Avebury or if they are catalogued wrongly. But I thought it was worth including them with the car by the roadside. 

 Paul Nash - Avebury, 1942

 Paul Nash - Avebury, Sentinel, 1942

 Paul Nash - Avebury, Sentinel, 1942

 Paul Nash - Avebury, Sentinel, 1944

 Paul Nash - Avebury, Sentinel, 1944

 Paul Nash - Avebury, Sentinel, 1944

 Paul Nash - Avebury, 1944

† Joanne Parker - Written on Stone: The Cultural Reception of British Prehistoric, 2009   ‡ David Boyd Haycock - Paul Nash, p54, 2002 ♠ Andrew Causey - Paul Nash: Writings on Art - Page 142 ♣ Paul Nash - Paintings and Watercolours Exhibition Catalogue, Tate, 1975 ♥ Julius Bryant - The English Grand Tour, p16, 2005 ♦ Paul Nash, Places, South Bank Centre, 1989 ◊ Art Republic

[hetbigbang]

Weekly Round Up 2

Hello everyone! Here is our second Weekly Round Up of Stories and Fanworks! Weekly Round Up 1 Completed Works Here are this week’s works that have been posted in their entirety! Title/Author Coulomb's Law by shnuffeluv Fandom/Rating: The Mysterious Benedict Society (TV)/Explicit Pairing: Nicholas Benedict/Number Two Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: (Click on arrow) Coulomb's Law: The force of attraction or repulsion between two charged bodies is directly proportional to the product of their charges and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them. Nicholas and Pencilla have a little too much alcohol, leading to a lovely night between bedsheets. This is what comes next. Title/Fanworker Let's Play (Artwork) by LuciferxDamien Rating/Warnings: Explicit/No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: (Click on arrow) Pencilla and Nicholas spend some time on the yellow couch, getting to know each other and working out their kinks~ [Artwork for HetBang 2022 work "Coloumb's Law".] Title/Author Of love and loyalty by Melime Fandom/Rating: Eternals (Movie 2021)/Mature Pairing: Gilgamesh/Thena (Eternals) Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: (Click on arrow) Gilgamesh decided to stay with Thena because it was the only way to keep her alive. Over the years, without battles to break their peace, they realize that love binds them together. Chaptered Posting Here are this week’s works that are being posted by the chapter! Title/Author Cochenille by AlexSeanchai Cochenille [accessible version] by AlexSeanchai Fandom/Rating: Miraculous Ladybug/Mature Pairing: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug; Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe Chapters: 4/20 Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: (Click on arrow) Marie Sancoeur knows very little about herself. She's Mère's only child, and like a daughter to Monsieur, more trusted than his own son if not more loved; Madame is—absent—but will surely admire Marie's skills both artistic and alchemical, just as her son does, once Madame is safe again; she would prefer not to be the enemy of Ladybug and Chat Noir, but both so-called heroes are the enemies of Monsieur and Madame and Mère, and so they have made an enemy of Marie. (If she thinks Ladybug and Chat Noir could simply sit back and watch Monsieur destroy himself and his legacy in a trap of his own making—truly if Monsieur ever even wants grandchildren, he should consider letting Adrien kiss Marie, leave the mansion and talk to people, or both—well, she thinks all that very quietly, and finds music Adrien enjoys to play rather louder.) Nino is not taking sides on whether Monarque lied about killing Ladybug or whether Chat Noir has abandoned Paris. He's especially not siding against Alya. She would understand if he could explain. Marinette Dupain-Cheng has no idea who any of those people are, and she has no idea what she did to be saved and protected by a cat-eared angel. Title/Author watercolours in the rain by Killaurey Fandom/Rating: Naruto/Mature Pairings: Nara Shikamaru/Yamanaka Ino; Haruno Sakura/Yamanaka Ino Chapters: 7/18 Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Summary: (Click on arrow) "Don't hang up. It's about Ino." Nothing less than the purest of loves could reel him back to the hell that had raised him. Sakura plays her cards well, when she wants to. That it all goes desperately wrong from there is... about what he'd expected. Shikamaru doesn't want to save the world. Maybe, just maybe though, he can save the girl. (Don't dare me to write a love story.) -- (This series is in chronological order. You do not need to have read womb under water to follow this story.) Title/Author Growing Strong by apckrfan Fandom/Rating: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling/Mature Pairing: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape Chapters: 1/9 Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Summary: (Click on arrow) Home post-war by himself other than Ministry-sponsored healers to aid in his healing, Severus finds himself at his wit’s end with the state of his life. He never intended to survive the war and has no desire to continue with his life. He plans to combine an overdose of an enhanced sleeping draught with a dose of Felix Felicis, wanting to see his true love one last time and determine once and for all if she’s forgiven him before dying. He doesn’t exactly get what he was expecting (which shouldn’t surprise him after all). See fic header in body of text for full summary. WARNINGS: Depressed, suicidal intentioned Severus Snape but it will be HEA and is not steeped in darkness Title/Fanworker Growing Strong - Fanwork by Esmalt Rating/Warnings: General/Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Summary: (Click on arrow) He caught her in a rare inactive, and unaware moment, as she was seated in his study at the desk. If you have missed your posting date, or you need to change your posting date, send us an email ASAP and we will get your posting date changed! If you have any questions or concerns, here is the Page-A Mod Post. 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